London. Bohdan's computer lab at Triple S Security. Crowley, Evgeny and Bohdan are seated in their ergonomic executive chairs before Bohdan's console. Crowley is speaking.

. . . she reported that the highest security staff of the Heavenly Host imagines that it's simply possible to turn off GPS to stop tracking.

Bohdan erupts in explosive horselips snicker. Then looks extremely smug as he comments:

At least Heaven is using Apple. And they have their own server system. Which, by the way, thanks to a recent little hole my Hong Kong friends discovered, we have now exploited. Big data dump. Looks as if we'll have all personnel records, at the very least. About ten million angels.

Crowley grins.

Problem is, there are lots of languages.

I know a fellow demon who can help out with that. If she's willing. Question of motivation.

Crowley's distant gaze indicates wheels are already turning. He snaps back to attention as Evgeny murmurs:

Not that Daji demon, is it?

Nah. With any luck, she'll be off in Shanghai soon, learning how to loot cryptocurrencies.

How sharp is she, anyway?

Fairly bright. Nothing like Bohdan here. You know, the big mistake that both Heaven and Hell make is to assume they're superior to humans. Your lives may be short, but you're equal to any angel or demon in the brains department. Well, with the exception of Lucifer and Beelzebub.

He unconsciously crouches with his hands clasped in his lap.

Bohdan silently hands Crowley his vaporizer. Crowley takes a deep inhale and slowly uncurls back into a relaxed posture in his executive chair.

Heaven and Hell creak along on the same old hierarchies and are always playing catchup to you.

Bohdan retrieves the vaporizer, takes a whiff, then speaks.

Have to say, I've been running skims of the Heaven phone logs and have yet to find anything remotely interesting. Just a lot of bureaucratic bullshit. Compliance reports. Miracle expense accounts. Staff reassignments. No plots being hatched, no corporate raids, no financial transfers, no research . . . and no fun at all. No dick pics, gossip . . . They do like to share pics of new outfits. Designer clothes.

Any pattern?

Seems to be a little rivalry going on between Europe and China over who's got the best designers. Otherwise boring as hell.

You mean "boring as Heaven." Hell can get quite exciting if you're down there. Not in a good way, of course.

Evgeny and Bohdan are silent for a moment, recollecting the video clips of Crowley's last visit to Hell. His flight over the blue sulphur pools, Lake of Fire, and up the immense red cliffs.

Evgeny murmurs:

Points to Hell for dramatic scenery.

I'll take the view from Heaven any day. Got a chance to see it after young master Adam derailed Armageddon. The Heavenly Host were trying to kill me, of course. But the view from the top is spectacular.

You do live, don't you, Crowley.

I haven't any choice. But the point is . . . my point is . . . The war.

Which war? There's always one going on somewhere.

The war between Heaven and Hell. Armageddon didn't happen. So what? Did that just put everything on hold for awhile? The Heavenly Host and the Legions of Hell still want their war. And you humans will be so much roadkill if they get it going again and turn Earth into a pile of burning goo. What I want to know . . . what I want to know is . . . Can I have some of those cheese crisps, Bohdan?

Bohdan hands him the bag. Crowley munches down a handful, then resumes.

What is their focus now? Still plotting war? Or just settling down to the daily grind of harvesting souls?