Terry Thorne always had a sense about things, a trigger somewhere inside that told him truths others never saw. Even as a child, he could watch a chess game and see all the options, several plays ahead and know … just know the outcome. It was an innate facility, an intellect that always served him well. A rhythm, a timing … an instinct. And even far from earthbound existence, deeply imbedded in his life and job in the heavens … it continued.

Master Guardian Terrence Thorne performed his duties exceptionally well, with perfection and insight that brought respect and admiration from even the most skeptical; even from Elite Guardian Ansilon who wanted nothing more than to despise the man. Ansi had carried several human flaws into heaven and unfortunately, struggled with them constantly. This Terry could see and had put extra efforts into helping the angel overcome the inevitable limitations. He used human approaches, the kind he would have implemented with his own team on earth and for the most part they worked. There was only one true obstacle Ansi and Terry couldn’t … would never overcome. Seraphima. They both loved her; Terry had won her. Ah well, life in heaven wasn’t all that different from life on earth, at least not for Terry.

He still worked hard as hell, still focused heavily on assisting those around him, those he cared for; his ‘Charges’, his friends and his woman. Needless to say, the standard earthbound quandaries held no importance in heaven. These were usually simple, easily identified and even more easily solved. Sometimes all it took was a look from Thorne to set things right. He and the Elite Guardians had created a form of communication that passed quickly and efficiently between them, answered questions and devised solutions. It was amazing and still, after all these years, surprised Terry.

But that day, like the last hundred and forty days, held the seed of something his instincts were not willing or able to ignore. Something cosmic, overwhelming and all encompassing was at play and as hard as he tried to set it into an easy category, he could not. It was bigger than anything he’d experienced in heaven or on earth and it pressed heavy on his gut. As he walked to his office door, he stood and looked out over the large space filled with top notch Elite Guardians and sighed. They were on top of things, but unseeing, unable to grasp the fact that their ongoing successes were about to wreak havoc, change everything … become …catastrophic. They were doing what they knew. But Terry knew something else. In his vision he could see it. All the energy of their combined efforts, the energies of their Charges, the shifting of the universe … it was like a massive tornado, swirling above them, feeding into itself and looming ominous and black, sparked with the flashes of lightening and horror.

He rubbed his eyes. Maybe he just needed a break. Like Sera, Terry wasn’t an archangel good at taking his mandatory rest periods. His heart and mind were always working, even when he tried to sleep or take leisure. R&R was never Terry Thorne’s strong suite.

One more gaze over his team and he turned, his attention called by the bonging chime from the screen on his desk. He sat, clacked a few keys and the message made his heart stutter, restart, slip into a smooth pulse again. He blinked, groaned and tapped a few more keys. There on the screen, a disheveled former Master Guardian Paul yawned and ran a hand down his chin.

“Thorne?”

“Yeah, mate. Sorry to disturb but … what’s He want?”

Paul grinned. “You already know. You’ve been calling to Him for quite some time. He’s giving you the appointment you want.”

“I never made contact, Paul. How the bloody hell …”

“You think He doesn’t know what’s going on in your head? You think you’re seeing something He’s not seeing?” Paul chuckled, yawned again and smacked his lips. “Time to meet the man behind the curtain, Terry. Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Will do.”

And Terry did what any man in heaven or on earth would do under the circumstances. He left his office, wound his way through the maze of desks and Elite Guardians then stopped at his wife’s chair. He lowered a sweet kiss onto Sera’s golden curls and sighed.

“What’s up?” Sera asked, swiveling her chair to look up into his face. “Oh, what’s wrong, Terry?” Her hand had slid to cover her heart.

“Nothin’ love. Leaving for a meeting. Not sure when I’ll be back. Putting you and a team of four Guardians on to cover for me.”

“Cover?” This had never happened before; not just never happened with Terry … it never happened in the department in all of time as far as Sera knew. She stood and looked deep into his eyes, his expression quiet but his mind on fire. The soldier in her responded to the soldier in him. She squared her shoulders and nodded crisply. “We’ll cover as long as you need, sir. And,” she whispered, the lover in her taking over. “I love you. I’m praying for you … praying for us all.”

***

Teresa Thorne-Reese rolled over and smiled, her eyes sliding the length of her lover and her heart beating a smooth cadence she only experienced while at Michael Cromwell’s side. He grinned, slid a tender finger along her arm and sighed.

Tress was beautiful. An amazing woman with gentle almond shaped eyes she’d gotten from her lovely Asian mother, a personality straight from her father, Henry … and a brilliance of mind that could have only come from her late grandfather, Terrence Thorne. It was odd to think of Terry, as Michael almost never even had a fleeting thought of him these days. Embarking on the astounding relationship with the much younger, married granddaughter of a man he respected and admired had pretty much obliterated Thorne from his mind. He chuckled quietly. What the hell would the man have to say about this? Michael didn’t even want to think about that.

There was so much wrong with the relationship he could barely begin to create a list. There was a twenty year age difference. He and Tress’ father, Henry, had been best friends for years. He and Terry Thorne had battled long and hard about Michael’s life choices and unfortunately, none of them were real … he just sort of liked driving the older man crazy.

Only twenty-years-old, Michael began his association with Terry Thorne after getting the man’s son arrested for possession of marijuana. It wasn’t his intention to get the fifteen-year-old kid into so much hot water, but you know those Brits. The kid was enamored of the Yank, and Michael was just happy to find someone to enjoy a good high with. An American through and through and a young man in seminary at the time, Michael had little choice but to leave his stash with the kid. Who the hell knew where such a seemingly disconnected incident was about to lead Michael’s life?

As he cuddled Tress close, his memories poured over him, washing him, making him sad and happy and down right terrified at once. Such a long, treacherous journey from those early days … days so innocent he could hardly believe he’d lived them.

And there were pivotal points Michael could have never suspected would thrust him into the life he now led. Simple decisions that had twisted what could have been normal into the duplicity of what he now lived, day in and day out. Facing Terry Thorne in South Carolina not long after Henry was arrested was one of those critical points. Winning Terry’s trust and agreement for Henry to come along the hard road of the Peace Corps at Michael’s side was another. And then, the most critical misstep on Michael’s part … permitting Terry to teach him how to use a firearm and protect himself should the worse happen during his Peace Corps work.

Michael had grumbled, he argued against it, he refused training with ammunition and nearly walked out of that military style facility outside of London, bound and determined that there was only one way and that was the way of peace. Odd how much his point of view has changed since those long ago days. Odd … how his mind and conscience and bank balance have changed. Odd … how his soul had not. And for the thousandth time, Michael Cromwell wondered why he didn’t stay the course and become a priest. But then again, his primary client … the Vatican … had quite a lot to say in that choice as well.

Tress too had her concerns and doubts. She’d known Michael most of her life. He was a friend of her father’s and a nice man, although a scarce man as well. But at least once each year, he’d visit the Henry Thornes and Tress enjoyed watching the two men get on like they did. Laughing and chatting about her grandfather, telling stories of Chile and Peru, of Ecuador and Russia, of the Peace Corps and what clearly seemed to be the best times of their lives.

Henry had spent many years as a pilot in his father’s business, long after Terry had retired and even longer after the old man passed on. But with Henry’s retirement came a strange renewal of her father’s life. He and her mother, Soe Lynn were now off traveling the world … plenty of K&R insurance in hand, no doubt.

Before her grandfather’s death, Tress had begun dating Robert Barkley Reese. Robbie was full of big ideas, overloaded with brilliance and skilled with politics as it was the long standing tradition of his family to pursue such careers. But back then, Robbie was young and wild and pleased with his freedom. He convinced Tress to follow the same roads her own father had taken, working with the Peace Corps until she woke on day, deep in an African tenement and clearly aware that she was pregnant.

It was an issue for William Barkley Reese, this scandal among scandals and he convinced her that it was best for all concerned to do away with the pregnancy. Robbie made good on every promise he made to her that hot summer afternoon in Africa. They married a year later in a socially elegant event her grandfather would have deemed pompous at the least. She lived in a large beautiful estate far enough from London for privacy but close enough for convenience. She traveled the world with her diplomat husband but unfortunately, after her one and only unwanted, eliminated pregnancy, Tress could no longer conceive.

Robert made her as happy as she could expect. Her father once explained that Tress lived much as his own mother had … pampered, adored, lonely … until Felicity’s unfortunate death when Henry was fourteen. This jarred Tress. To have lived as her famed grandmother was a terrible thing. The woman had nothing except love for her son. She had a second husband who died in the same auto accident with her. She was nothing to aspire to ... and already Tress was three years older than Felicity Watson Thorne was the day she died. There was a stark jolt with that reality.

Two years ago on a simple trip to Dublin with Robert, Tress noticed Michael Cromwell among the elegant diners at a formal reception. She extricated herself from Robbie quickly and made her way across the large ballroom.

“Is it possible? Am I truly looking upon the elusive Michael Cromwell?” she teased with a glint in her eye.

“Teresa Thorne! Look at you, all grown up and lovely as all hell. But now it’s Teresa Reese, I suppose. How is the old hard ass?”

“Robert is well, but nowhere was well as you look. Where have you been?”

He pushed back his grey streaked hair and grinned that casual American grin. “Around. Here, there, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I hear you’ve been staying at the farm here in Ireland.” Something about Michael always made her feel relaxed, easy. Perhaps it was his casual ways, his easy smile, the way he looked at her like she was more than the daughter of an old friend. Like she was a woman worth listening to when she spoke.

“Yeah. Henry told me I could crash there whenever I was between jobs,” he shrugged.

“And are you? Between jobs?”

“Yup.”

“And,” she knew it was a fruitless question but she asked anyway, “what is it you do, Michael?”

His eyes drifted off. “Whatever they tell me to do, Tress.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Whoever signs the check, sweetheart. How long are you and the good diplomat here in Ireland?”

“Weeks and weeks. I was thinking to drop by the farm and visit there a bit.”

“Oh, well. I’m driving back tonight. I’ll just get my crap together and be out of your way.”

“No!” she spouted rather desperately. His brow rose and she smiled sweetly. “No, don’t leave. I’d enjoy a visit with you, Michael.”

“Would you now? Missing your dad?”

“No. Missing you.”

Michael sat at his table and tugged her hand to sit beside him. The area was empty and quiet, those he was sitting with not exactly honored guests and seated in the far corner. “Not a happy diplomat’s wife?”

Tress sighed. “Just … not so happy, that’s all. I’d really enjoy visiting with someone I have no need of wearing tight shoes and a false smile around. Please stay at the farm. It’ll be fun, Michael.”

She knew what she was feeling. Understood the strong attraction that had been there since puberty for her father’s friend. She knew it was inappropriate. She knew it was foolish, childish, even dangerous. She knew what she wanted … but still she was surprised that Michael too knew what was on her mind.

“Tress,” he looked into her eyes. The gold flecks in his own eyes seemed to glow in the soft light and she held her breath. “How old are you, sweetheart?”

“Thirty-seven. But I feel fifty-seven,” she sighed, sure it was all for naught.

“Well, babydoll. I am fifty-seven but I feel thirty-seven. This … this … this silliness just might work out.”

It was the last night Teresa Thorne-Reese ever slept in the same bed with her husband. Nothing was ever said and there were no intentions for divorce. Robbie needed an upstanding wife. Tress needed a lover. And they all needed to be as quiet as rats about the whole thing.

Quiet as rats, that’s what they’d been. But Michael had taken a flat in London for between jobs, made love to his best friend’s daughter every chance he got and worried over it when he wasn’t with her. His soul was headed for hell and he knew it. He continued to evade her questions. Told her he only did good work, was a political consultant and even opened up about how extensively he traveled. What he actually did, he had never told anyone. Even those who signed the checks spoke in code. Hell, his last check came from the United States Government after he’d effectively assassinated a man providing guns for the uprising in South Africa. The check before that, from the U.N. The one before that, from the Vatican. Michael Cromwell was a busy man and he knew without a doubt, that one slight movement of his trigger finger could exact more positive change than a hundred Robert Barkley Reeses could make in a hundred years with ten thousand legal policies.

Loneliness was the biggest pain in his life … and Tress had helped to ease it. Was there anything else on earth that mattered? He glanced at his beautiful lover and tenderly kissed her brow.

“What would granddad have to say about this?” she whispered.

“Shit, Tress. He’d kick my ass from here to the fucking States. What made you mention him?”

Tress shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

Michael nodded, unwilling to admit that even his dreams lately were plagued by the late, great Terry Thorne.

“No,” Tress grinned. “He wouldn’t have kicked your ass. I think maybe he’d be kicking Robbie’s ass.”

“No,” Michael groaned out of bed and tossed a robe to Tress. “He’d be kicking my ass. Trust me.”

***

Terry walked into the anteroom. He stood briefly then the large heavy polished doors opened. A sudden, brief grin flashed at the corner of his mouth. It did almost feel like a visit with the great and powerful Oz … only this really was the GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ.

He stepped through the threshold and drew in a deep breath.

“Have a seat, Thorne,” the voice said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about and not a whole lot of time.”

Terry lowered into a chair and felt more fear and trepidation than he’d ever experienced. His knees bounced beneath his white robe and he pressed knotted fists against them. He blinked and looked up into God’s face.

The man sighed, leaned back in his big chair. “Close your eyes, Terry.”

As he did, he felt his terror ebb away. In a split second, everything he knew and everything he was concerned about flashed clear and solid before him. What was happening on earth, what was about to happen, those playing key roles and what it would take to correct it all. As he slowly opened his eyes, he brusquely pushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb and nodded.

“Your assessment, Thorne?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m the only man for the job, sir.”

“Correct. Within twenty-four hours you will return to earth. This is your dossier, your records and background.”

A file was slid across the big desk and Terry reached for it. He briefly flipped through the pages then again cleared his throat. “Um. This name, sir?”

“Yes. You will be known as Terrence Thorne.”

“But … uh …”

God grinned. “Never let it be said I don’t have a sense of humor. You’ll figure it all out. But Thorne, listen to me and listen well. I am giving you something I have never given another human. This is a chance to again be with your family in the flesh. With Henry, With Teresa. But … you are there to help Michael. Don’t get caught up in it all. You have serious work to do.

“You will be given no powers, Thorne. I’m counting on your brain to get us all through this. We’ll be watching over you from up here. Already Paul is at your desk so you can ready yourself for this mission immediately.”

“Um,” Terry scratched his temple.

“Talk with Sera. She’ll manage, I’m sure. But there is one more thing. You will be rewarded for this great sacrifice.”

“I need no reward, sir.”

“I know, but I’m offering anyway. This case could take weeks and it could take years to complete. Living again as a human, you may find it … pleasurable. And at your smallest request, I am willing to grant you that. Another full life, Thorne. You will step on the earth as a young man, thirty-eight-years old. In that time you may find love, you may find happiness … and … you may have it all on completion of the mission.”

“I won’t want it, sir. I’ve work to do here.”

“Oh, either way, you’ll be coming back to work, Thorne.”

Terry fingered the folder. “Um … ‘bout this name … maybe something else will work better.”

“Nope.”

“How am I gonna …”