Angelopolis(85)

skin was golden and he had the white wings of an archangel. Angela’s second child would have been

a warrior. He would have brought peace and tranquility to our world. But this savior child died with

her.”

“What became of the angel?” Vera asked.

“After Angela’s death, I knew that I needed to find Lucien,” Valko said. “And after searching for

many months, I found him imprisoned in Siberia.”

“They must have taken him to the panopticon,” Vera said. Rumors about the existence of a great

Siberian prison were forever circulating among Russian angelologists. It was just the kind of

detention center to be found in the wilderness—old-fashioned, aesthetically complex, flawlessly

designed, and impenetrable. But no one had ever verified if the panopticon actually existed.

“The very one,” Valko said. “The same day Angela was murdered, Lucien was taken into captivity

by the Russian hunters and transported by train to Siberia.”

“They wanted to study him?” Vera asked.

“Clearly,” Valko said. “With such a magnificent creature there would be much to examine and

explore. The biological breakdown of an archangel’s son could occupy researchers for years.”

“But the society was founded to fight the Nephilim,” Sveti said. “How could someone get away

with the imprisonment of a creature proven to derive from an altogether different, truly divine angelic

form?”

“I’m not sure the guards would have known the difference,” Valko said. “And besides, that prison

conducts its business outside of the confines of our conventions.”

As if by a sudden impulse, Valko gestured for them to follow him back outside into the garden,

where a table had been set with a breakfast of Valko’s antediluvian fruit—orange strawberries and

blue apples and green oranges. Vera shivered, feeling the crisp mountain air on her arms as she made

her way to the table.

“Sit a moment,” Valko said, pulling a chair out for Vera. “We’ll have something to eat while we

finish our conversation.”

Vera sat alongside the others, watching as they chose fruit from a platter. Vera took a strawberry,

picked up her knife and fork, and cut it in half. A thick orange juice seeped from the center. Valko

opened a thermos and poured coffee into their mugs.

Valko continued where he had left off. “The panopticon prison is funded beyond anything you and I

could dream of. As a result, it is extremely well equipped and secure. The scientists there are using

captive angelic creatures as experimental subjects. They are taking blood and DNA samples; they are

taking biopsies, bone samples, MRI scans; they are even operating on the creatures. They are very

powerful and, as they say about absolute power, well . . .” Valko paused to cut a fruit that seemed a

cross between a kiwi and a pear, “the aphorism is a perfect expression of the chief technician there—

a British scientist named Merlin Godwin.”

Vera nearly choked on her coffee. Hearing the name Merlin Godwin now, uttered in this Edenic

garden, was so jarring that she could hardly swallow. She glanced at her watch. Almost twenty-four

hours had passed since she had seen Angela’s interrogation projected on a cellar wall of the Winter

Palace. Finally, she found her voice. “Merlin Godwin is a traitor.”

“Godwin has been in the Grigoris’ pocket since the beginning,” Valko conceded.

“Why has he been permitted to continue his work, then?” Azov asked. “Sveti and I are struggling to

keep our projects going, and this criminal is set up with unlimited funding and equipment.”

“The academy believes that the work he’s doing is of benefit to them,” Valko said. “Keeping him in

Siberia is a form of containment: He is a permanent resident of the panopticon. He has absolutely no

contact with the world outside.”

“He’s a prisoner himself,” Vera said.

“As director and chief scientist of the facility, I would hardly call him that,” Valko said. “He has

ultimate control of the facility. But his power lies only within the walls of the prison. His work with

the Grigoris is something he has managed to maintain, apparently, although I have no idea how.”

“Or why,” Sveti added. “How could they allow him to continue his work? I can’t imagine the

Grigoris using their own kind as experimental subjects.”

“I have my own theories about that,” Valko said, winking at Vera. “I suspect that they are

attempting to develop a new genetic pool as a way to renew themselves. What they may not realize is