by Mark Wandrey
“Church of the Avatar of God?” she said. “What the heck…” she clicked on the link. The page, while not complicated, was well constructed. It showed a somewhat dilapidated building with an obviously printed banner covering whatever older sign had once been there. It proclaimed, “The Avatar of God Comes!” and a black man in his 30’s stood under it, arms wide open in welcome.
The website piqued Mindy’s curiosity. The man didn’t look like the evangelical type. Tattoos were visible at the cuffs of his modest suit, and his eyes spoke of a difficult lifetime. Again, what did a church have to do with her search results? One of the links inside the page was “The Portal of God.”
“Oh,” Mindy said and clicked it. Unlike other images of the portal she’d seen, this one was drawn, not photographed. Even so, the detail was startling. “Someone has a very good memory,” she said, comparing it to pictures found elsewhere on the web. They were spot on. That, at least, explained why it was coming up on a search.
She examined the drawing in more detail and quickly realized something. The drawing had details she’d never seen before. There were little circular spots around the portal. She counted 144 of them. There were symbols as well, some drawn in detail, others just fuzzy. As with the spots, there were 144 symbols. The detail in the drawing was simply stunning.
“Someone sure likes 144,” she mumbled. Her half grin slowly faded. It gnawed on her for a quarter of an hour as she prowled other portal images for confirmation of the detail she’d just seen. After a time, she admitted defeat. Still, the number 144 continued to bounce around in her head.
She finished the arrangements for a fundraiser for the following week and several hours went by. She was thinking about a cup of coffee when it hit her. The signal!
Mindy accessed the organization’s data system and called up the file on her alien signal. There were dozens of sub-files associated with the signal analysis. She opened the one labeled ‘Construct.’
The signal broke down into twelve millisecond blocks, twelve blocks per group, and into semi-repeating segments of 144 blocks each. Twelve, twelve, and orders of twelve! Someone really loves twelve, she thought; someone who sent a signal from space, and someone who’d delivered portals all over the planet. Somehow, she knew there were twelve portals on Earth. She just knew it.
Within the signal files was the origin data. It was that data which had undone her when she’d made the announcement. It showed the likely transmission point of the signal.
Her elation was short lived as she considered. Was the radio signal she’d partially received a first attempt to contact them? When it failed, had they sent the portals instead? Or worse, was the signal necessary to operate the portals?
“Damn it,” she cursed, “I wish I could see those portals myself.”
She considered the question of communication. They recorded the signal seven years ago. Their best guess put the signal origin close to 650 light years distant, near Betelgeuse. If that were true, it had to have been broadcast around the time when the great famine was killing millions in Europe. So, the idea that the portals were a result of getting no response from the transmission was, on its face, somewhat ludicrous.
She continued thinking. If the message was linked to the portals, what exactly were the aliens trying to say, and why send a message back when humans hadn’t even discovered the light bulb?
* * *
When Lt. Billy Harper arrived for his twice-weekly briefing at the 14th Precinct, he found an unwelcome surprise. On his desk, in the office he shared with three other investigators, was a notice.
“See the captain upon your arrival,” read the note, written in a neat hand he was quite familiar with. Billy stared at the note for a minute before crumpling it up and tossing it into the garbage.
“Problem, Harper?” Billy glanced over to see Lt. Orlando, one of his officemates, coming in with a steaming cup of coffee.
“I gotta see the captain,” Billy said with a dark look.
“Oh shit,” Orlando chuckled. “You screw the pooch?”
“No clue,” Billy lied. “I’ll see you at the briefing later.” The other man grunted and sipped his coffee. Billy dropped his computer bag in his chair, slipped off his suit jacket, and tossed it over the back of his chair before heading out.
The captain’s office was at the end of a hall with three more offices like Billy’s. Together the 16 lieutenants made up the precinct’s investigative division. He tapped on the door with “Capt. Bandov” written in boring paint script.
“Come,” a voice answered. Billy pushed the door open. His captain was sitting behind his old, battered desk with a look of annoyance on his face. Two people seated in chairs turned to look at him. One was Asst. Chief Niedelmeir. He didn’t know the other, but he suspected the man was a government agent.
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” Asst. Chief Niedelmeir said and gestured to the last remaining chair. Billy glanced around.
“Is this an official investigation?” Billy asked.
“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Niedelmeir said with annoyance in his voice.
“I’d like to have a union representative present,” Billy said immediately, still standing.
“It’s not an investigation, Billy,” the captain said softly.
“Then what is it?” Billy demanded.
“I simply have a few questions.” The agent, a man in his 30’s with a severe look and an equally severe suit, spoke for the first time. Billy upgraded his opinion from simple government agent to spy.
“We’ll decide if it’s an official investigation later,” Niedelmeir said with a small smirk. Billy caught a furtive glance at the agent, meaning the other man was the one in charge.
“Who am I speaking to?” Billy asked, finally taking a seat.
“My name is Mark Volant, and I’m with the NSA.” Billy sat slowly, finally settling into the chair. The agent consulted a file in his lap and spoke again. “On March 16th, you accepted a duty assignment in Central Park. During the investigation, you interrogated and subsequently booked on misdemeanor possession charges a suspect named Victor Smith. Victor Leonard Smith, to be precise. We need to know where this man is, Lt. Harper. Can you help us with that?” Billy did his best to look mildly interested.
“I remember him,” Billy said right away, “but I was never called to testify at his trial.” This time his captain spoke.
“The DA pleaded out his case for a $250 fine and time served. He was released a week after being detained.” Billy nodded as if he were hearing this for the first time, even though he already knew it.
“Have you had any subsequent contact with him?” Agent Volant asked. Billy remained calm though his pulse increased. He was entering dangerous territory. Had IA, internal affairs, been following him? If they had, they knew he’d been to visit Victor at his northside church.
“No,” Billy said, rolling the dice. “Can you tell me why the federal government is interested in a small-time drug bust? Why doesn’t the government just find him itself?”
“Just answer the questions,” Niedelmeir growled.
“I don’t think there’s any call to let this friendly little get together become nasty,” Agent Volant said. “Do you, Assistant Chief?” Billy glanced at the agent and narrowed his eyes curiously. The man was a completely unknown factor. “Mr. Victor Leonard Smith is simply a person of interest in an investigation around the incident in Central Park.”
“The crashed satellite?” Billy snorted. It was almost a universal joke among the NYPD. Even if the satellite had contained radioactive materials when it crashed into the park, they could have cleaned up a hundred such crashes by now. No one believed the story, although Billy knew much more.
“Yes,” Agent Volant said with a tiny nod. “We’re afraid Mr. Smith may be contaminated, and he could spread that contamination.’
“Huh.” Billy grunted dismissively. “That might improve the city. You never know.”
“I think we’re get
ting off course,” Capt. Bandov said. “Lt. Harper followed procedures in booking Mr. Smith and setting an arraignment date. As I stated earlier, the judge released Mr. Smith. Lt. Harper had nothing to do with it. That’s it.”
“I’ve read the jacket,” Niedelmeir said and waved dismissively. “The fact remains that the lieutenant had the authority to choose the arraignment judge and the charges. He went easy on this person.”
“Are you accusing me of being intentionally easy on that man?” Billy asked. Niedelmeir shrugged.
“If the shoe fits…” Billy felt his temper coming off the leash a little.
“If you weren’t so insecure and such a shit weasel to the chief, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“You insubordinate fuck,” Niedelmeir snarled.
“I’m beginning to think there is some history between these officers,” Volant said, glancing between Billy and the Asst. Chief.
“Very astute,” Billy said. “We were in the academy together. I chose to be an officer, he chose to be a suck up.” Niedelmeir and Billy both came half out of their seats.
“Gentlemen, sit down,” Volant snarled. “Can we keep the soap opera bullshit to a minimum? Lt. Harper,” he said turning back to Billy, “you maintain you have no idea where Victor Leonard Smith is now?”
“Yes,” Billy said, and shook his head. “How would I know? I haven’t seen him since his booking. There are probably a hundred thousand drug addicts in this city.” Volant glanced at the file in his lap, nodded, and closed it.
“Very well. Thanks, you may go.”
“Just like that?” Niedelmeir demanded. “He’s concealing something!”
“Only my loathing for you, Assistant Chief,” Billy said, with a huge ear-to-ear smile. Niedelmeir started to say something, then choked, his face turning red. With a glance at his captain, and a moment’s eye contact with the NSA agent, Billy got up and left.
“So, you think he’s lying?” Volant asked Niedelmeir once the lieutenant was out of the room.
“Without a doubt,” the man said and hooked a thumb at the office door. “He’s a career liar.”
“What about you?” Volant asked, looking at Capt. Bandov. Billy’s commander gave a little shoulder shrug.
“He’s a damned fine investigator. Yes, he’s passed up promotion several times, but that’s hardly unusual. Many career investigators aren’t interested in command.” He glanced at the Assistant Chief before continuing. “He’s never been under investigation, never been accused of anything, and always executes his responsibilities with due diligence. His performance reviews are top notch. If I retired today, I’d recommend him for my job.”
Niedelmeir snorted. “I say he’s lying. Get an IA investigator to follow him.”
“Not without evidence,” Captain Bandov said.
“Are you refusing a direct order?” Niedelmeir demanded.
“He’s under my command. I’m refusing to violate regulations.”
“Fine,” Volant said, “I’ll give the order. Have him followed.” A second later he got up and left.
“Arrogant asshole,” Niedelmeir said after a minute, then left.
“You’d know,” Bandov said to his back after the door closed.
Outside, Harper got into his unmarked car and immediately headed toward his duty area. A few blocks away, he made a couple of quick turns and ended up on 2nd Avenue, not far from Times Square. He double-parked in front of a McDonalds and went inside.
Billy bought a burger and sat down. Using his personal cellphone, he accessed the restaurant’s free Wi-Fi and logged onto the web. He pulled a card from his wallet, checked the web address, and manually typed it in. The banner for The Church of the Avatar of God came up. Finding the button labeled “Contact,” he clicked on it and started typing.
Later, driving through the bustling streets of NYC, he tried not to notice the unmarked car following him. As he went about his duty, responding to calls and taking reports, that car or another was always there, just within view, with two men sitting in the front seat wearing sunglasses and conspicuously not looking at him.
Hours later, when he drove home and parked in his customary space, the under-cover car parked less than a block away. No one got out when its lights went off. Billy pretended to take no notice of it and went inside.
* * *
Kadru sat in one of the seats at the back of the dilapidated theater and watched Victor preaching to the new arrivals. The numbers were steadily growing, from a few dozens a day to almost a hundred in this crowd. As Victor’s oratory prowess improved, the number of people who joined did as well.
“They’re like an army,” someone said. Kadru looked to see Gabriel leaning against the wall at the back of the auditorium. As usual, he observed everything around him. No matter where he was, he was always aware of his surroundings. Gabriel did it because he was a former police investigator, but to her, he looked like a criminal. “I’ll bet they’d do anything for him, especially the ones we’ve had for a while.”
“There’s some truth to that,” she admitted.
“I know who’s been putting those huge sums of money in the donation bin.”
“Yeah?” she asked, trying to appear unconcerned. “Maybe you should keep it to yourself, so they don’t stop.”
“Hmmm,” he said and popped a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. She knew he’d been a chain smoker before joining the church. They’d all had sins they’d left behind when they saw the truth; Kadru just saw a little more than some. “I’m just wondering what the mysterious benefactor’s motivation is.” Kadru glanced back at him.
“You don’t wonder where the money is coming from?”
“No,” he said and smiled that thin, predatory smile. “I already know.” Kadru felt a chill run down her spine and she visibly stiffened. He gave a chuckle. “Fear not, fellow disciple, we all have our personal demons.”
“Thank you,” she said with a bow of her head.
“Forget about it.”
“No,” she insisted, “I’m afraid of what Victor would say.”
“About where the money came from?” Gabriel asked, and Kadru nodded. “You know Paul’s history. If he can tolerate the sort of stuff that got someone stabbed in the lockup, he can handle a little hacking and money laundering.” He gave her a little wink and a chuckle. “After all, I’m here too.” He walked off leaving her wondering.
After a bit, she decided she needed to take his advice and forget about it. If he’d wanted to cause trouble, he could have. It was likely he’d seen her dump money into the donation box at some point. She had to be more careful.
Kadru eventually took out her powerful laptop. She’d made sure the Wi-Fi in the church was top notch, and she had a direct link to the small server farm installed in the basement. She checked the condition of the website, then email. As usual, it was a grab bag.
“You people are a crazy cult that should be outlawed,” wrote Anonymous from the Bronx.
“ET is out there, man, keep looking!” added Jeffery Finnegan from Seattle.
Anonymous from the Upper East Side wanted to know, “Do I have to cut off my balls to join?” She deleted that one and hoped the guy wasn’t serious. Then she came across one that made her sit up in surprise.
“To the Prophet Victor, from New York Blue.” She read it quickly and realized the email was from Lt. Harper. Halfway through, she knew Victor would want to see it right away. She closed the computer and raced out.
Victor finished preaching to the new initiates and left for his personal quarters in the old theater offices. When she turned a corner in the hallway, she again ran into Gabriel who was carrying a case of soup cans toward the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” he asked when he saw the look of concern on her face. She gave him a brief synopsis of the message. “He’s in his sanctum,” he said and gestured. “You better tell him.” She nodded and trotted off.
“They’re like an army,” he’d told her earlier. Gabriel’s face was se
t in stone as he headed off to find Duke. Victor wasn’t the only one who knew how to motivate the faithful.
* * * * *
Chapter Nine
April 23
The alien sounds of the forest night still left her feeling unsettled. During the daytime, SGT Lisa Simpson could look at the wall of unusual trees and let it fade into blank greenness, completely forgetting that plants like that hadn’t grown on Earth for more than a hundred million years. At night, it was much harder.
She stood outside the little shelter she’d help put up the first night after her arrival. It was a lean-to made of wooden stems from the palm-like fronds of the trees. The bigger stumpy tree bodies provided wood, if not terribly long. When cut with the long whip-saws they shipped over, they smelled like bamboo.
In her lean-to was a simple bunk, a table, and a chair, all made from local materials and paracord. They had almost 100 pounds of paracord in storage now. The stuff was crazy useful and, if stored with care, would last almost forever.
The nearly black moon she’d named Remus was just over the horizon. The evening had to be perfectly clear to see it. She’d checked her notes before sundown for the passage of the other moon and thought she’d estimated correctly.
She sipped her MRE coffee and waited as lizards skittered through the brush and strange flightless insects chittered. When her watch chimed, she glanced up at the western tree line. A few seconds passed, and she began to wonder if her calculations were accurate. But a moment later, a green glow appeared on the horizon.
“Good evening, Romulus,” she said, and lifted her coffee cup.
“Are you really insisting on calling them that?” Lisa turned to see her commanding officer standing a few feet away. She could just make out his outline by the starlight. As Romulus rose and its eerie green light began to spread across the glade, she could see he was holding a cup, as well.
“Are you really calling this place Ft. Eden, Colonel Wilson?” she asked.