“And we would’ve been on it,” Shi’mon interjected. “But we got nothing!”
“Indeed, sir,” Antonio agreed, and he narrowed his eyes as if trying to come up with a possible explanation for what could have happened.
“Let’s focus on the crash,” Shi’mon said, interrupting Antonio’s thoughts. “There was a crash but no explosion. Why?”
“I was wondering myself, sir,” Antonio agreed.
“Because of the absence of any buzz about a crash in that area,” Shi’mon said. “I think our ball of fire contained a living creature.”
“I see what you’re saying, sir!” Antonio agreed.
Antonio pulled up a chair and sat next to the young priest. He took the controls from the younger priest’s hand and clicked a few times on a still shot of the video. Then he right-clicked and tapped two keys simultaneously on the keyboard. The image magnified to twice its size. He continued tapping on the same keys until the image was enlarged to his satisfaction. He then returned the controls to the young priest.
“Could you filter and enhance the image layer-by-layer?” Antonio asked the young priest.
“Yes, sir,” the young priest replied and proceeded to do so.
As he did, a silhouette began to form within the ball of fire, and he stopped.
“Keep filtering!” Antonio ordered, and the young priest obliged.
After filtering through twelve layers, a faint, but distinct outline of a human form curled up in a fetal position could be seen. The young priest gasped, uttered a few expletives and then quickly apologized after realizing that he was in the presence of two of his highest supervisors. He was extremely grateful that they ignored him.
“You were absolutely right, your supremacy,” Antonio said.
“And to explain why there was no explosion on impact,” Shi’mon added, “this being was still at a vibrational pattern that was slightly above ours. His materialization was only one hundred percent complete upon impact. This is a very, very evolved being to be able to demonstrate such control during its fall and –”
Shi’mon suddenly stopped, and his face went pale from shock. He swallowed and took an involuntary step backward. Usually, he could maintain his composure even in the face of adversity. But what he saw in that image made him lose his cool.
“What is it, your supremacy?” Antonio asked shakily.
“Where was the crash?” Shi’mon asked.
“The U.S., sir,” Antonio replied, pointing at a spot on a tablet he held. “It’s a rural area in the state of Oklahoma,” Antonio added.
“How many agents did you dispatch out there?” Shi’mon asked, still staring at the screen.
“One, sir,” Antonio replied, knowing his boss would be pleased with him taking the initiative.
“Dispatch two more, immediately!” Shi’mon ordered and then turned to face Antonio. “They are to locate but not, and I repeat NOT, to liquidate the target. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Antonio replied and swallowed.
“Once they locate the target, they are to report to you immediately and you are to report to me immediately. On absolutely no occasion are they to let the target out of their sight. They will be this creature’s guardian angels at all cost. This is a very high priority mission from now on. I want instant updates on the target. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Antonio replied.
“One more thing,” Shi’mon added as an afterthought. “Should the target prove to be dangerous, then our boys are to do what they do best, but only with my blessing.”
“Yes, sir!” Antonio affirmed.
Shi’mon had an intensity and sternness in his voice that Antonio had never heard before and it made him tremble a little. But that was not what frightened Antonio the most. As Shi’mon turned to leave, Antonio called out to him.
“Just one last thing, sir,” Antonio said.
“What is it?” Shi’mon asked without turning around.
“What or who is their target?” Antonio asked.
“A new guy in town,” Shi’mon replied and exited the control room.
Antonio whipped out his phone and dispatched two more agents to the site of the crash. As he did, his mind kept returning to that moment when he had been paralyzed by fear; fear of what he had seen and fear at what his boss was. His world was about to crumble around him, but he would have to err more on the side of caution from now henceforth. It might turn out to be an impossible feat, but he will do his damnedest best! After all, it was not every day that one got to realize that one’s boss was a Bright Eye.
In his moment of sternness and shock, Shi’mon’s eyes had flashed. It was for the briefest of moments, but Antonio saw it. It was enough to make the man fear for himself and the organization. Now so many things made sense, like his boss’ supreme fighting skills. And as Antonio was busy with thoughts of his own, he missed a priest walking out of the room to use the restroom.
Shi’mon resisted every urge to teleport into his office. He took quick strides along the hallway, and the elevator could not go up fast enough. He issued orders to his administrative assistant not to let anyone disturb him for any reason. He locked the door and sealed the office completely. He sat in his chair and breathed in a few times deeply. His mind kept going back to the image he had just seen. The creature in the ball of fire was wrapped around something that looked like fire. But it was not fire! It was extra-dimensional. If the others had seen it, they must have thought it was just a pattern of the flames. But to Shi’mon, it was as clear as the fact that Antonio had seen his eyes flash. It was a deliberate but harsh introduction to a truth Antonio would be privy to.
“Something big is coming, brother,” Shi’mon said, telepathically.
“What do you mean?” Yehuda asked.
“We have a fallen angel amongst us!” Shi’mon replied.
There was a moment of silence.
“Even though it is their fight,” Yehuda said, “I think we must speed things up on our end. If it gets nasty up there, and they want to bring it down here, we can’t go down without a fight!”
“You don’t say,” Shi’mon replied. “Assemble everyone, including Miriam and Marissa. I want Maduk and Beelzebub located and liquidated immediately.”
“ROGER,” Yehuda replied and disconnected the telepathic link.
The priest from the control room stepped into a stall in the restroom, locked the door and whipped out his cellphone. He speed-dialed a number and waited as the phone rang on the other end. After three rings, someone picked up.
“Ball of fire crashed just outside Oklahoma City. Big boss very concerned and issued rapid orders. Must be something big! Out now!”
The priest ended the call. He flushed the toilet, walked out of the stall and washed his hands at one of the sinks. He complimented himself for his hygienic propensity, even though he could not say the same about his allegiance to the O.R. Meanwhile, in a studio apartment in a town on the outskirts of Liverpool, Walter Peabody ended the call and smiled. The queen would be very thrilled with this update. It was time to get busy.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ONE YEAR LATER
“COME ON, SARA, just one more shot!” Johnson slurred and staggered at the bar.
“I’m gonna call your wife now, Mr. Shamus,” Sara admonished. “You’re drunk as a skunk! You best be on your way now!”
Sara reached over and seized the shot glass from Shamus’ hand.
“Will you please take him home, Jimmy?”
“Sure thang, Sara,” replied Johnson’s friend, Jimmy.
He tapped Johnson on the shoulder and helped him off the stool. Johnson took two wobbly steps and face-planted on the floor. The bar erupted with laughter, and Jimmy shook his head.
“Gimme a hand, Bob, will ya?” Jimmy urged.
Bob reluctantly stepped away from the two girls he was talking to and together, they helped Johnson to his feet.
“Don’t you ladies go nowhere now,” Bob said and winked at the g
irls.
“You keep dem dranks comin’ and we ain’t goin’ nowhere, mister!” one of the girls replied and Bob winked.
“Ya gonna gimme a hand or what?” Jimmy called out to Bob.
Bob obliged, knowing his ‘gesture of goodness’ was going to eventually earn him a free drink or two later.
“Another day in paradise, ma’am?” said a stranger to Sara.
“Sometimes, I just wanna bend them over and do what they mommas shoulda done a long, long time ago,” Sara replied.
“You can do that to me anytime you want,” offered a customer.
He was a regular, probably in his mid-sixties, and he looked like he had been baked in the sun all his life. He sounded like Conway Twitty on helium.
“And Hell freezes over!” Sara replied with exasperation.
The older gentleman flashed a brown, semi-toothless grin and inched closer towards Sara, rudely pushing past the stranger. He reeked of alcohol and liver cirrhosis.
“You gotta tell me, Sara,” he said, looking around as if he was trying to share the nuclear launch codes with Sara. “What is your secret, huh? Why do you never age? You’re as pretty and young as you were twenty-five years ago.”
“And Imma tell ya what I done told ya many times before,” Sara replied without missing a beat. “You’re always looking at me through your beer goggles. Plus, I keep my tail away from the sun and I don’t get drunk on my own stash!”
“That’s a pile of horse crap, Sara,” the older gentleman slurred, and spittle sprayed from his foul-smelling mouth.
“And in case you didn’t notice, sir,” the stranger said, “I was tryna have a conversation with the lady!”
“And who da hell are you!” the older gentlemen spat.
He tried to stand up straight but staggered backward.
“Who I am, ain’t important,” the stranger replied. “But you best pay your tab and head on home now before you hurt yourself.”
“You-, you not the boss of me-” the older gentleman started saying and then dropped his empty bottle to the ground.
It did not break. Two officers of the law suddenly walked in and scanned the bar. Sara waved at them and then gestured at the drunkard. The cops took the man away.
“I appreciate you trying to stand up for me, sir,” Sara said. “But I can handle myself.”
“Meant no offense, Ms. Sara,” the stranger said. “Hope ya don’t mind me calling you Ms. Sara. I heard everyone calling you by that name.”
“I know you meant no offense and you certainly can call me Ms. Sara,” she replied. “It’s rare to find such manners these days in these parts, ya know? Your next drink is on me, sir!”
“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am!” the stranger replied. “But I must insist on paying-”
“And I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Sara countered, smiling.
“Much obliged, ma’am,” the stranger conceded.
“And it’s Sara,” she said and started wiping the space on the bar next to the stranger as a customer eased onto the seat next to the stranger.
“Hey, Don!” Sara called and flashed a smile while opening a bottle of beer and snatching a $20 bill a customer had left of the bar with such coordination that only a bartender and owner like herself could exhibit.
“Hey Sara,” Donald called back. “Great night so far?”
“Don’t even get me started, hun,” Sara replied as she served a couple a shot of whiskey each.
“Let me guess,” Donald said. “Shamus, Paulson, and Mrs. Stadbury?”
“First two are correct!” Sara said. “But Mrs. Stadbury’s a no-show.”
“Awww shucks!” Donald said. “I missed one this time.”
As Donald drank his beer and exchanged pleasant chats with almost everyone, the stranger assessed his environs. He had done his research on the town and townsfolk. There were two strip malls and a mall that was no bigger than the strip malls themselves; well, maybe a little bigger. There were three bars in the town, but Sara’s was the most popular, busiest and by far the cleanest. Maybe that was why the bar was so busy. Or maybe it was her exquisite physique that seemed to draw every human who was into girls for miles around. The stranger had to admit that Sara was a stunningly beautiful woman. She had a look-but-don’t-touch demeanor about her that was either innate or borne out of many nights of staving off the drunk and horny, or a combination of both. One thing the stranger did not buy though was her explanation for her alleged agelessness!
It was a small bar in a small town of maybe no more than eight thousand folks; most of whom were farmers and housewives. If you owned a store, you were rich! And if you owned a bar like Sara’s you were considered wealthy! It was such a small bar, but it was the life of the town on most nights. It was four walls of sweat, stink and sex-craving folks. Here, everyone came to either drink their poverty and life’s monotony away, to seek solace from solitude, or a temporary release from loneliness. A very minute few must have seen the bar as a meeting ground for a potential lifetime mate. Talk about the perfect recipe for gossip! On the surface, though, Sara appeared to be a hardworking and dedicated business lady.
“You must be from outta town, stranger,” Donald said.
“Is it that obvious?” the stranger asked with a smile.
“Well, aside from the fact that everybody knows everybody and their momma in these parts,” Sara chimed in, “a fine black guy like yourself would stick out like a flower growing outta concrete,” she winked at him.
“Never took you for a poet, ma’am- Sara,” the stranger said.
“You’d be pleasantly surprised,” Sara replied.
“Why don’t you surprise me then?” the stranger said and flashed the sexiest smile he could summon.
If Sara wanted to be flirtatious the least the stranger could do was play along.
“Is he giving you any trouble, hon?” Donald asked playfully.
“Not at all, sweetie,” Sara replied. “He’s taking real good care o’ me. I feel safer with him here already.”
“Don’t listen to her, partner,” Donald nudged the stranger in the arm. “Said the same thing to me when I just started coming here a year ago.”
“Hey, stop ruining my game now!” Sara wagged a playful finger at Donald.
“’Preciate the tip, partner,” the stranger said and raised his glass at Donald.
He realized his glass was empty and signaled to Sara.
“May I have a bottle o’ beer, please? And a bottle for ma friend over here as well. Owe the man ma life!”
Sara, Donald and the stranger laughed a little as Sara opened two bottles of beer for the men. Donald and the stranger cheered.
“Much obliged, sir!” Donald said and took a swig from his bottle.
“Not at all, partner!” the stranger replied and took a swig from his bottle as well. “So, ready for the game on Sunday?”
“Hell yeah!” Donald replied. “Who you with?”
“Ravens baby!” the stranger said.
“You gotta be kidding me!” Donald replied, and his eyes bulged like a kid who had just received the best toy ever for Christmas. “I’m a Ravens fan too.”
“I’ll be damned!” the stranger replied, incredulous himself. “What are the odds! You must be the only Ravens fan in these parts!”
“And Imma leave you two chocolate wonders be,” Sara chimed in. “Y’all just lemme know when y’all need something else.”
“Thanks, Sara,” the stranger said.
Sara smiled and walked to the other end of the bar.
“So, where you from?” the stranger asked.
“Texas,” Donald replied. “I live with Mr. Weinberg at his farm. My dad and him is friends since ‘Nam. Here to learn how to farm first-hand before I head on up to college. Been a year now. What about you, sir?”
“I was born in Cameroon, but I was raised in Alabama,” the stranger said. “My dad had a scholarship up there and, so he took me and ma momma with him when he came over to
this country. I was about nine years old then.”
“Cameroon…” Donald repeated. “That’s in Africa, right?”
“Central Africa, yes!” the stranger replied.
“Neat!” Donald remarked. “What happened to your accent?”
“What happened to yours?” the stranger retorted, and the two men burst out laughing.
“I’m Donald, by the way,” Donald said and extended his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Donald,” the stranger replied and shook Donald’s hand. “I’m Patrick.”
The two men chatted the night away and six-bottles-of-beer-each later, Donald bid Patrick good night and asked that they hang out again before Patrick returned to the East Coast. Patrick said he would love that. It was getting a little late and Patrick asked for one last bottle of beer. The bar was half full and as Patrick sipped on his beer, he wondered if Donald could even sense that the total stranger he was having a conversation with was there to protect him from some serious threat that was headed his way. But even as the question formed in his head, he realized it was a stupid one. He took another sip.
Another agent was keeping an eye on Donald without Donald even knowing. When the first three agents dispatched to this location started reporting sightings of Sinisters within forty-eight hours of their arrival, it had caused a stir at the O.R. It was evident there was a mole within the O.R. and it had to be someone from the control room. They were the only ones who had seen the video of the ball of fire falling from the sky. The process of elimination had been surgical, and the mole had been identified. He was subtly fed a lot of misinformation that led to the systematic elimination of so many Sinisters that a few months later the mole stopped showing up for work. A few days later, his lifeless, rotting corpse was found in one of Rome’s filthiest slumps. Someone in Sinister Camp was not a happy camper! No one missed the mole.
The first three agents had done a phenomenal job at locating the target of interest. They had narrowed down the coordinates of the crash site to within a two-mile radius and had begun investigating immediately. After over eighteen hours of nonstop searching, they zeroed in on his location and under the cover of darkness, discovered the crater beneath a large platform of plywood Mr. Weinberg’s backyard. The ground had been charred away to a hard smoothness that could not have been achieved using conventional machinery. Three days into their stakeout, they concluded that they had finally located their target of interest and Fr. Antonio was immediately informed.
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