The Descent

'It could be worse,' commented Rau, the untouchable, another Nobel winner. Born to the  lowest  caste  in  Uttar  Pradesh,  he  had  still  managed  the  climb  to  India's  lower house  of  Parliament.  There  he  had  served  as  his  party's  speaker  for  many  years. Later,  Ali  would  learn,  Rau  had  been  on  the  verge  of  renouncing  the  world,  shedding his clothes and name, and throwing himself onto  the  pathway  of  saddhus  living  day  to day by  gifts of rice.

Thomas  gave  them  several  more  minutes  to  greet  one  another  and  curse  him.  In whispers   to  Ali,  January   went   on  describing  various   characters.   There   was   the Alexandrian,  Mustafah,  of  a  Coptic  family  that  extended  on  his  mother's   side  to Caesars. Though Christian, he was an  expert  on sharia, or  Islamic  law,  one  of  the  few to ever  be  able  to  explain  it  to  westerners.  Saddled  with  emphysema,  he  could  speak only in short bursts.

Across  the  table  sat  an  industrialist  named  Foley,   who  had  made   several   side fortunes,  one  in  penicillin  during  the  Korean  War,  another  in  the  blood  and  plasma industry, before going on to 'dabble'  in  civil  rights  and  underwrite  numerous  martyrs. He was arguing with the astronaut Bud Parsifal. Ali recollected his tale: after  teeing  off on  the   moon,  Parsifal   had   gone   searching   for   Noah's   Ark   upon   Mount   Ararat, discovered  geological  evidence  of  the  Red  Sea  parting,  and  pursued  a  legion  of  other crazy  riddles. Clearly the Beowulf Circle was a crew of misfits and anarchists.

Finally  they  had  gone  full  circle.  It  was  Thomas's  turn.  'I  am  lucky  to  have  such friends,'  he  said  to  her.  Ali  was  astonished.  The  others  were  listening,  but  his  words were  for  her.  'Such  souls.  Over  many  years,  during  my  travels,  I've  enjoyed  their company. Each of them  has  labored  to  bend  mankind  away  from  its  most  destructive ideas. Their  reward'  – he wryly  smiled – 'has been this calling.'

He used that word, calling. It  was no coincidence. Somehow he had  learned  that  this nun was faltering in her vows. The  calling had not faded, but changed.

'We've  lived  long  enough  to  recognize  that  evil  is  real,  and  not  accidental,'  Thomas went  on.  'And  over  the  years  we've  attempted  to  address  it.  We've  done  this  by supporting one another, and by  joining  our  various  powers  and  observations.  It's  that simple.'

It  sounded too simple. In their spare time, these  old people fought evil.

'Our greatest  weapon has always  been scholarship,' Thomas added.

'You're an academic society, then,' Ali stated.

'Oh,  more  like  a  round  table  of  knights,'  Thomas  said.  There  were  a  few  smiles.  'I

wish to find Satan, you see.' His eyes  met Ali's, and  she  saw  that  he  was  serious.  They

all were.

Ali couldn't help herself. 'The Devil?' This group  of  Nobel  laureates  and  scholars  had made evil incarnate into a game of hide-and-seek.

'The Devil,' Mustafah, the Egyptian, wheezed. 'That  old wives' tale.'

'Satan,' January corrected, for Ali's benefit.

They  were  all  concentrating  on  Ali  now.  No  one  questioned  her  presence  among them, which suggested  she was already  well known  to  them.  Now  Thomas's  recitation of  her  Saudi  plans  and  the  pre-Islamic  glyphs  and  her  protolanguage  quest  took  on force.  These  people  had  been  studying  her.  She  was  getting  head-hunted.  What  was going on here?  Why had January brought her into this? 'Satan?' she said.

'Absolutely,' January affirmed. 'We're dedicated to the idea. The  reality.'

'Which  reality  would  that  be?'  Ali  asked.  'The  nightmarish  demon  of  malnourished, sleep-deprived  monks? Or the heroic rebel of Milton?'

'Hush,' said January. 'We may  be  old,  but  we're  not  silly.  Satan  is  a  catchall  term.  It gives  identity  to  our  theory  of  a  centralized  leadership.  Call  him  what  you  want,  a maximum leader, a caudillo. A Genghis Khan or Sitting Bull.  Or  a  council  of  wise  men, or warlords. The  concept is sound. Logical.'

Ali retreated  into silence.