Good Omens

said Newt manically. “Just pick one. Any one. It won’t matter.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, if Agnes is right, and we’re doing all this because she’s predicted it, then any card picked right now has got to be relevant. That’s logic.”
    â€œIt’s nonsense.”
    â€œYeah? Look, you’re even here because she predicted it. And have you thought what we’re going to say to the colonel? If we get to see him, which of course we won’t.”
    â€œIf we’re reasonable—”
    â€œListen, I know these kinds of places. They have huge guards made out of teak guarding the gates, Anathema, and they have white helmets and real guns, you understand, which fire real bullets made of real lead which can go right into you and bounce around and come out of the same hole before you can even say ‘Excuse me, we have reason to believe that World War Three is due any moment and they’re going to do the show right here,’ and then they have serious men in suits with bulging jackets who take you into a little room without windows and ask you questions like are you now, or have you ever been, a member of a pinko subversive organization such as any British political party? And—”
    â€œWe’re nearly there.”
    â€œLook, it’s got gates and wire fences and everything! And probably the kind of dogs that eat people!”
    â€œI think you’re getting rather overexcited,” said Anathema quietly, picking the last of the file cards up from the floor of the car.
    â€œOverexcited? No! I’m getting very calmly worried that someone might shoot me!”
    â€œI’m sure Agnes would have mentioned it if we were going to be shot. She’s very good at that sort of thing.” She began absentmindedly to shuffle the file cards.
    â€œYou know,” she said, carefully cutting the cards and riffling the two piles together, “I read somewhere that there’s a sect that believes that computers are the tools of the Devil. They say that Armageddon will come about because of the Antichrist being good with computers. Apparently it’s mentioned somewhere in Revelations. I think I must have read about it in a newspaper recently … ”
    â€œDaily Mail . ‘Letter From America.’ Um, August the third,” said Newt. “Just after the story about the woman in Worms, Nebraska, who taught her duck to play the accordion.”
    â€œMm,” said Anathema, spreading the cards facedown on her lap.
    So computers are tools of the Devil? thought Newt. He had no problem believing it. Computers had to be the tools of somebody , and all he knew for certain was that it definitely wasn’t him.
    The car jerked to a halt.
    The air base looked battered. Several large trees had fallen down near the entrance, and some men with a digger were trying to shift them. The guard on duty was watching them disinterestedly, but he half turned and looked coldly at the car.
    â€œAll right,” said Newt. “Pick a card.”
    3001. behinde the eagle’s neste
a grate ash hath fellen.
    â€œIs that all?”
    â€œYes. We always thought it was something to do with the Russian Revolution. Keep going along this road and turn left.”
    The turning led to a narrow lane, with the base’s perimeter fence on the left-hand side.
    â€œAnd now pull in here. There’s often cars here, and no one takes any notice,” said Anathema.
    â€œWhat is this place?”
    â€œIt’s the local Lovers’ Lane.”
    â€œIs that why it appears to be paved with rubber?”
    They walked along the hedge-shaded lane for a hundred yards until they reached the ash tree. Agnes had been right. It was quite grate. It had fallen right across the fence.
    A guard was sitting on it, smoking a cigarette. He was black. Newt always felt guilty in the presence of black Americans, in case they blamed him for two hundred years of slave trading.
    The man stood up when they approached, and then sagged into an easier stance.
    â€œOh, hi, Anathema,” he said.
    â€œHi, George. Terrible storm, wasn’t it.”
    â€œSure was.”
    They walked on. He watched them out of sight.
    â€œYou know him?” said Newt, with forced nonchalance.
    â€œOh, sure. Sometimes a few of them come down to the pub. Pleasant enough in a well-scrubbed way.”
    â€œWould he shoot us if we just walked in?” said