CHAPTER ELEVEN: NIGHTMARE II

Castiel's eyes gazed blankly at the Oval Office's elegant decor, her mind consumed by the looming threat of Samael and the impending Armageddon. President Carolyn Harrington's voice droned on, discussing trivial matters of state, but Castiel's attention remained fixed on the apocalyptic scenario unfolding in her mind. She envisioned a world in flames, angels and demons clashing, and humanity caught in the crossfire.

The President's words snapped her back to reality, her eyes locking onto Harrington's expectant gaze. "Castiel, your expertise on this matter would be invaluable," the President said, her tone firm but laced with concern. Castiel's expression remained detached, her voice laced with distraction. "I'm listening, Madam President," she replied, her mind still grappling with the weight of the impending doom.

Castiel's patience wore thin as the President continued to speak. She would have left hours ago if this meeting weren't so crucial. But she was stuck, forced to listen to the woman's ramblings. Her mind kept wandering back to the bombshell Rafael had dropped the previous day - Samael was escalating things, and she needed a plan, fast. But wisdom had never been her strong suit, and Uriel, her usual source of guidance, was nowhere to be found.

Just as she was about to zone out completely, the President asked, "So, tell me, Ms. Wellington, what's the scheduled time for the launch?" Her tone was firm but laced with desperation. Castiel's eyes narrowed, her focus snapping back to the meeting.

Castiel's gaze rose, meeting the President's gaze. Her eyes locked onto Hamilton's, her expression unwavering. "That would be approximately one hundred and eighteen thousand and eighty seconds from now," she replied, her voice firm and confident.

The President's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Pardon?" she asked, her tone laced with skepticism.

Castiel's eyes flicked to her Rolex. "In the next one thousand nine hundred and sixty-eight hours, or to be more precise, eighty-three days from now," she clarified, her voice devoid of emotion.

The President's expression turned impressed, her eyes wide with awe. "I've heard about your exceptional intellect, Castiel Wellington," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "You're a walking computer, or at least, a walking clock."

The President's gaze intensified, her piercing green eyes boring into Castiel's electric blue ones. "I want you to keep this out of the public eye," she emphasized, her voice firm. "A technology like that would be disastrous in the hands of civilians, and our enemies would stop at nothing to get their hands on it." The air was thick with tension as the two women engaged in a silent staring battle, their eyes locked in a fierce and unyielding gaze.

"Do I make myself clear, Wellington?" the President asked, her tone firm but laced with a hint of condescension.

Castiel's temper flared, her eyes flashing with anger. "With all due respect, Madame President," she replied, her voice icy and detached, "like I said earlier, the tech is strictly for military use. As an ex-Marine, I'm well aware of the dangers of letting the Armeta fall into the wrong hands."

The President's grin was conciliatory, her right hand extended in a gesture of goodwill. "I never doubted your judgment, Castiel. I apologize if my words came across as otherwise. I'm well aware of where your loyalties lie."

Castiel's gaze narrowed, her eyes fixed on the President's outstretched hand. For a moment, she hesitated, her mind racing with the implications of this deal. Then, with a curt nod, she reached out and shook the President's hand. "Deal," she said, her voice firm and resolute."Good walk with me, Castiel," the President said, her voice laced with a hint of friendliness. "I'm allowed to call you that, right?" She arched one slim, penciled brow, her grim lips stretching into a smile as she awaited Castiel's response.

Castiel rolled her eyes internally, her gaze fixed on the President's expectant face. Despite being thirty-five, President Hamilton looked like someone in her early forties, the weight of her responsibilities etched on her face. Castiel reined in her anger, knowing it would be fatal for the President and everyone in Washington DC. She was a killing machine when provoked, and every angel and demon feared Azrael's wrath.

"Not at all, ma'am," Castiel replied, her voice neutral, her eyes locked onto the President's. The President smirked, knowing she had managed to unsettle Wellington. She had been informed by Castiel's old superiors in the Navy that the woman was a hard nut to crack.

The files on Wellington revealed a remarkable history. She had enlisted in the Marines at just fifteen, with no mention of her parents. Her exceptional skills as a sniper and hand-to-hand combatant made her a standout, earning her recognition as an excellent marksman. The CIA recruited her at nineteen, and she went on to take down Ishaq Al-Anon, the notorious leader of the terrorist group Maharibu alhuriya, also known as Al-Mahuriba, which had terrorized East Europe, Asia, and Africa. By twenty-two, Wellington had left the agency and founded her own firm, becoming the most influential person on Earth.

President Hamilton felt a twinge of intimidation as she gazed at Wellington, her respect for the woman's abilities evident. Two imposing agents in dark suits positioned themselves beside the President, but she waved them off, aware that she was safer with Wellington by her side. The President's eyes locked onto Wellington's, a silent understanding passing between them.

Caz's attention wandered as the President chattered away, leading her towards the garden. A sudden, sharp cry in her mind jolted her back to focus. "Elohim ya'azor Li," Castiel blurted out, involuntarily switching to Hebrew.

The President's eyes widened in surprise. "Did you say something, Castiel?" she asked, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

Castiel didn't hesitate, pulling out her cell phone without waiting for permission. "Just give me a minute, ma'am, I need to call my brother," she said, already dialing the number.

The President nodded, granting her the space she needed. "Rafa, Emily's in trouble," Castiel said, her voice low and urgent as soon as the call connected.

—_—

Moloch's grin grew wider as he savored Maurie's terror. He knew she wasn't his intended target, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself. With a flick of his wrist, he sent Maurie crashing into the wall, her head striking it with a sickening thud. Blood trickled down her forehead as she cowered, her eyes fixed on him in horror.

Moloch's eyes gleamed with malevolence as he advanced on his prey. Maurie shrunk away, her back pressed against the wall, her voice shaking. "Don't come near me, you pathetic sonofabitch...or..." she threatened, her words trailing off as she clutched at her neck, where the demon's bite had left a bloody gash.

Just then, a thud echoed from upstairs, distracting Moloch from his victim. "Emily, Emily, where are you? Come out, let's play," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. Emily's grip on her pendant tightened, her eyes fixed on the demon as he crept closer, her heart racing with fear.

"Don't come near me, mister!" Emily shrieked with false bravado, clutching her pendant tighter than ever. The demon laughed hard, the sound resonating throughout the house, halting and scaring Emily. He was taken aback by her audacity. Humans never ceased to amaze him. They thought they were superior, believing in their feeble strengths. How quaint. Which was why he delighted in breaking them, just like he would this little wretch.

"Or what, Pipsqueak?" Moloch sneered, raising one bushy brow in amusement. "Or I will blow your motherfucking brains off!" a deep, masculine voice barked, causing a chill to run up the demon's spine as he turned to face the speaker. The owner of the voice smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he saw Moloch tremble. "Hello, Moloch. Did you miss me?"

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