Armageddon by James Patterson, Chris Grabenstein Page B

everything okay, Daniel?”
    “Hmm?”
    “You look like you’re here but your mind is off somewhere else.”
    “Yeah, buddy,” said Joe. “You look a little out to lunch, which is too bad, because this
dinner
is awesome. What do you call this soup, Agent Judge?”
    “That’s Kentucky Burgoo,” replied Mel’s dad.
    “It’s so thick, I could stand my spoon up in it—if I wasn’t busy using my spoon to eat it. What’s in it?”
    “Mixed meat. Beef, lamb, pork, chicken. Tomatoes and celery and a couple of potatoes. Spices and Worcestershire sauce.”
    “Don’t worry,” Mel said to Emma. “I made yours and mine with just the vegetables, and none of the chicken or beef stock.”
    “I appreciate it,” said Emma. “As do the cows, the lambs, the pigs, and the chickens.”
    We all had a chuckle over that.
    “Well, don’t blame me, Emma,” said Agent Judge. “It’s my late wife’s recipe.” When he said that, his eyes looked a little sad.
    “So, Daniel,” asked Willy, “what did your horse say we should do next?”
    I gestured toward the dinner table, laden with plates and serving dishes. “This.”
    “You’re kidding,” said Dana. “He told you to eat Kentucky Burgoo?”
    “Basically.”
    “Best spiritual advisor ever,” proclaimed Joe. “Did he also suggest the Derby pie for dessert? Because it looks
amazing
. Like a chocolate-walnut candy bar wrapped inside piecrust!”
    “He also told me that when the time comes, Abbadon will bring the fight to me.”
    “Abba-dabba who?” said Mel.
    “Abbadon. That’s the name Number 2’s given himself, so I did a quick Google search on it.” I tapped my head, indicating my built-in Wi-Fi access. “In the Book of Revelation, at the very end of the Bible, Abbadon is described as the king of the bottomless pit and the leader of a legion of beasts with locust wings and scorpion tails.”
    Dana put down her spoon. “Like those things that attacked us on the bridge back in D.C.?”
    “And probably would’ve torn us all to pieces,” said Emma, “if Mel hadn’t blasted them with those ultrasonic waves.”
    Mel shrugged. “I improvised. You guys would’ve done the same thing.”
    Dana was looking uncomfortable, so I figured it was time to change the subject. “Agent Judge? I’m a little worried about security. If Abbadon is going to bring the fight to me, he and his troops could come here.”
    “Rest easy. My men have set up an impenetrable perimeter around the entire property.”
    He gestured toward the matrix of high-tech security screens built into the dining room wall. We could see FBI agents armed with heavy alien weaponry patrolling the white fence line of the horse ranch.
    The hulking navy cook came in from the kitchen, sporting a hand blaster strapped on under the strings of his stain-splotched apron. “You guys still have room for dessert, right?” said the chef.
    “You bet,” said Joe.
    “Always,” added Mel.
    “Good,” said the cook. “Because an army marches on its stomach.”
    “And retreats on its butt,” said Joe.
    We had another laugh and, somehow, everybody at the table, including the cook, who sat down to join us, managed to find just enough room for a slice or two of Derby pie.
    Things stayed pretty quiet until Joe scraped the pie plate clean with his fork and the rest of us leaned back in our chairs to digest the feast.
    “Was the pie your wife’s recipe, too?” asked Emma.
    “Yes,” said Agent Judge softly. “It was.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss,” Emma said to both Agent Judge and Mel.
    “Thanks, Emma,” said Mel.
    “Did she pass away recently?”
    Mel shook her head. “No. A long time ago.”
    Agent Judge didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he turned to me. “I guess that’s something else you and Mel have in common.”
    “Sir?”
    “You both lost your mothers at an early age.”
    I nodded, but I wasn’t ready for what he said next.
    “And they were both murdered by the same