Elwood gripped the wheel tight. Jake was pushing the Winnebago at a high rate of speed down the Virginia highways. The angel was tuning in on Buster—some higher function only angels had, he'd tried to explain. Somehow Jake was also providing their bodyguards with enough speed to keep up with them. Although Elwood was used to this by now, it amazed him to see Jake make them miss cars on the road at the last second. He prayed Buster's life wasn't in peril at the moment.

It was now that Jake braked everything to a stop. "Over there," he pointed to a blue Chevy parked on the side of the road, "I can tell he's up to…"

Elwood was out of the Winnebago and striding across the highway before his brother could finish. For him, this was personal. He could already hear Buster screaming in pain. He yanked open the driver's side door. "Get your filthy repugnant hands off that kid right now!" he yelled.

Jack spun around. He'd clearly had even more drinks since he'd left the prison. "You're not supposed to be here!" he yelled slurrily, "You belong back in…!"

Elwood hauled him out of the car and decked him hard. "Buster's my responsibility from now on!" he yelled, hitting him again, "You ain't gonna hurt him no more!"

Jack drew a knife and took a hard slash at Elwood. "Actually, you're not going to bother me anymore!" he snarled.

The knife was abruptly jerked out of his hand by an invisible force. Jake caught it in midair and crushed it. He then made a pulling gesture toward Jack, who was pulled through the air toward the angel. Jake took hold of the man's collar. "You know, where I come from nowadays, beating up one's own child is considered one of the worst offenses a person can commit," he said coldly.

"Break his filthy neck, Jake," Elwood urged him on.

"Can't do it, Elwood," Jake shook his head, "Number one rule for field operations is never take the life of a living being no matter how much they might deserve it. I can, however, do this."

Without touching Jack, he spun him around and bent him over. Then he caused the car's hood to pop open, whacking the drunk in the face. As a clincher, he levitated the engine out of the car and dropped it on his head. Jack groaned and collapsed to the ground. Satisfied, Jake walked over to his brother, who was embracing a heavily struck Buster. "Hey kid, over here for a minute," he told Buster, who ran into his arms. Jake touched the boy's face, and immediately all his injuries were healed. "Thank you," Buster told him with great gratitude. Then he ran back to Elwood. "I knew you wouldn't let anything happen to me," he said between tears of joy.

"You know it," Elwood lifted him up in the air.

The sound of a cell phone ringing filled the air. Jake pulled it out of his pocket. "Foley, it's about time you called up," he said to his heavenly contact, "I almost got killed again down here. You did? That's great, Foley, I'll make sure they commend you for this. Well, if you'll be there, I'm sure we could talk it over. I think…"

"Uh, Jake," Elwood tugged his arm. Jack was slowly getting back up. He howled in rage and lunged toward them…

And was grabbed by the head disco biker. "Yo slick, you don't go touchin' these cats," he told him, walloping him with a lead pipe and knocking him out again.

"Nice one, Arhtur T," Jake shook his hand, "You're earning this position. Yeah, Foley, just our earthly contacts. Right, see you there."

"Good news?" Elwood inquired as he hung up.

"Yep, Foley was able to extract everyone close to us the H.E.R.E.T.I.C.s were holding prisoner," Jake informed him, "We'll meet them at our next rest stop—the Eisenhower Farm in Gettysburg."

"But ain't that a public national site?" Elwood pointed out, "Tourists'll be all over the joint."

"The guy running it now was one of the orphans," Jake said, "He's had it closed for the next couple of days."

"And it's nice and out in the middle of nowhere," one of the disco bikers spoke up, "We'll be able to keep a good watch."

"Let's get movin' then," Elwood scooped Buster up and walked back into the Winnebago. "Pal, you know how to get from wherever here is to Gettysburg?" he asked Keith.

"Hmm, let me check Mapquest here," Keith typed several things into his laptop, "OK, from here, Elwood, go right and head about a quarter of a mile to Interstate 95 and take that north into Maryland. I'll give you the rest when we get further up."

"Works for me," Elwood shifted into drive and drove off into the night, the Gibbstown Disco Gang maintaining their protective circle around the Winnebago.

"So you failed again?" the Devil snarled on the monitor at Zildohar back at the Sears Tower, "And lost our new slaves? You should know my patience is starting to dwindle! And now they almost have the Relic intact!"

"I assure you, Master Satan, I am learning from these mistakes," Zildrohar stammered apologetically, "I will need your help in protecting the last piece."

"You know I help no one," the Devil told him roughly, "Nonetheless, to keep Heaven from obtaining the Relic, I will reinforce it."

"I request thus the assistance of as many of the souls in the Ninth Circle as can be spared," Zildrohar told him.

"I will see what can be done," the Devil abruptly disappeared. Zildrohar slumped forward on the counter, petting his snake. How could the Blues Brothers be able to evade them so long, even when he'd already thrown half of Hell at them?

"Master Zildrohar," one of the H.E.R.E.T.I.C.s popped his head into the lobby, "We need you for the beginning of the pit ceremony."

"Coming," Zildrohar took hold of his staff and rose up. At least the ritual would take his mind off other matters.

"…and so Topton managed to show up at the right time and get me to the church in time to recharge," Jake told Elwood. The Winnebago was cruising through the early morning up Route 15 toward southern Pennsylvania. Everyone apart from them was sound asleep, although this was a bit surprising considering the loud blaring disco music coming from the 8-tracks on the motorcycles surrounding them.

"I'm glad he came back," Elwood said, "It really meant a lot for him to get involved with us."

"I know," Jake nodded. "Here we go, Steinwehr Avenue, get off here and turn left," he instructed his brother. Elwood cranked down the window and whistled at Rocky and the disco bikers to follow him off the ramp. "This thing ain't quite got the Bluesmobile's power, but it's a reasonable enough highway drive," he commented, patting the Winnebago's stick shift.

The sky was just starting to brighten in the east when they turned into the driveway to the Eisenhower farm several miles down the road. Elwood took note of the many former Secret Service outposts positioned near the gates. They'd have much advance warning if the authorities were to come upon them. "There's Foley," Jake pointed toward the barn next to main house, "Pull over there."

Foley struck Elwood as a man who was essentially a blown-up version of Jake. Large, overweight, and with a wild shock of hair, the junior angel mobbed Jake the moment he stepped out of the Winnebago. "Hiya Jake!" he roared in a high-energy voice, squeezing Jake practically to death—again, "So glad we could finally work together on this!"

"So you're Foley?" Elwood shook his hand, "Any friend of Jake's friend of mi—ow!"

Foley was crushing him to now as well. "I model ever facet of my afterlife after Jake," the large junior angel told him as Elwood squirmed out of his grasp, "He took me under his wing, and we're been buddies, pals, amigos!"

He delivered the last few lines at a pitched shout, as if he wanted the whole world to know. "Nice guy you've got here, Jake," Elwood commented at him, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was your long-lost son."

"Don't I wish," Jake shrugged. Turning to his protégé, he asked, "So you got everyone the H.E.R.E.T.I.C.s were holding prisoner out safely?"

"And no worse for wear," Foley told him, "They're inside with the rest of your group (Elwood noticed everyone else's cars parked inside the barn) and sleeping their first sweet dreams in a while. I also got the rest of the band together."

Two more figures appeared from the back of the barn. "Murph, Willie, welcome back," Elwood greeted them.

"Well, I suppose it's great to be back," Willie shrugged, looking more or less ambivalent, "Your big fat pal here," he gestured at Foley, "Swept into our place and told us it was a matter of life and death. I figured, what the hell, might as well go out and play one more concert before the end of the world."

"Although," Murphy added, "I don't know how we're going to do with two keyboardists and drums."

"We'll work it out, trust me," Jake patted him on the shoulder, "Ah, here's our contact."

"Good morning," announced a middle-aged African-American man with already graying hair, "James Lech, in case you don't remember me. I'm now the National Park Service representative in charge of the farm here. I've taken the liberty of locking everything down for the next few days. As far as the public knows, it's for routine repairs. The observation tower over the horizon there's closed down, so no one can look in. Just don't try and rearrange too many stuff or the tourists who come back may get suspicious. You can park you camper there in the barn with the other cars, no one'll see it there."

"Works for me," Elwood nodded. He climbed back inside and started guiding the Winnebago into the barn. There were low hushes as everyone woke up. "So we're there yet?" Mack asked sleepily.

"Yep," Elwood told him, "Three days in hiding. I'm guessin' breakfast's ready for all of us."

"Have to do one thing first," Keith reached for his laptop. He started typing out a message:

OCTOBER 30

YANKEE STADIUM, BRONX

BLUES BROTHERS RHYTHM AND BLUES REVIEW

ONE NIGHT ONLY

WITH A SPECIAL SURPRISE

BE THERE.