The Angels of Destiny

by Haydn Jones

  One hour later there was a knock on Starks door and he knew exactly who it was. With trembling hand he grabbed the door handle and opened it to see Summa standing there, his expression almost manic, his blood replaced with pure adrenalin.

  "This is it Rich, are you ready?" asked Summa.

  "I'm ready," responded Stark, trying to muster an ounce of enthusiasm.

  Minutes later, Stark could hear the roar of the Chevrolet Suburban SUV Alamo hire car as Summa drove it up the ramp from the underground parking lot into the bright sunlight.

  "Get in Rich, no time to waste," instructed Summa through the open front window, as he braked to a stop at the top of the ramp.

  Richard Stark took a deep breath and jumped into the passenger seat. The SUV growled once again as the pair headed for the Interstate 10 and the lock up at Beaumont, some two hours drive east of Houston. He had to listen to the excited rantings of Summa for most of the journey. Silence only came during the long inhalations of the large cigar Summa relished. Adrenalin had turned him into a hyperactive, annoying individual, that Stark wanted to gag.

  "Here we are Rich — it’s just down here, opposite that old Ford truck." Stark felt sick. The reality of the situation was happening too quickly and he could do nothing to stop the clock. To take time out. Time to think.

  Within fifteen minutes the equipment had been loaded into the truck and the lockup closed again.

  "Fuck me, Rich, I think I'm going to come. This shit is better that sex."

  "Pull over please, NOW," shouted Stark.

  Summa stopped the truck and Stark opened the passenger door, leaned out, and vomited the entire contents of his breakfast onto the road.

  "You okay, buddy?"

  "I guess I'm not as good as you at this sort of thing, Summa," Stark said, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.

  "You'll be fine don't worry. I'll do all the hard work,” Summa said, reassuringly.

  “Yeah, I know, I'm sorry Summa."

  "It's okay, don't worry, this is not something we do everyday Rich. This is something monumental man. Even I'm feeling nervous you know." Richard Stark looked at Summa and just knew he was lying.

  "When we get back to the hotel we'll take the launcher and the rockets up to my room in the fishing bags. No one will suspect anything Rich, okay?"

  "Whatever you say."

  "You'll feel better knowing that you've brought it up and it's safe.”

  Richard Stark was sitting, pale faced, staring straight ahead. He offered no response to Summa's comment.

  Eighteen

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee in the NYPD office filled Adam Watt's nostrils as he inhaled deeply, clasping both hands behind his head he looked upwards for some kind of divine intervention.

  For almost eight years Watts had given a lot of his resolve trying to solve a number of hideous murders in the New York area. When he finally lowered his head the bright light from the computer screen in the dimly lit office illuminated his craggy shaven face, highlighting his blank expressionless look.

  All of the murders followed a similar pattern of mutilation. Each of the eight victims had had their eyes and tongues cut out and their throats cut. The females had been disemboweled. There were no witnesses and no fingerprints at any of the murders.

  Harrowing scene of crime pictures were stuck to the panel in front of Watts' desk and he stared at the named images, deep in thought. It appeared that the victims were selected randomly. There were four young female prostitutes, two male drug dealers, a small time thief and a Catholic Priest who had been castrated. This evil bastard is on a mission: yet another sick delusional missionary but why cut out their tongues, it wasn't to stop them talking, the dead don't tell tales.

  He'd lost count of how many times he'd tried to find the motive for death other than the obvious; removal of scum from the streets of New York. But then the priest, how did he fit in to that argument? Watts had checked the Priest out and he appeared to be clean, no suggestion of child abuse or sexual wrong doing, so why castrate him?

  Watts lifted his large frame out of the seat, dropped his glasses nonchalantly on the desk and walked slowly to the coffee pot some twenty yards away. When he returned with a strong hot black brew in his black 'Batman' mug, the computer screen was alerting him to a new email. In no rush he sipped his drink, still obviously deep in thought.

  As a youth Watts decided that he wanted to be a cop, even though the family business would be his one day, pawnbroking offered him nothing of interest. Walking the streets as a young cop gave him a sense of fulfillment and every day was different. Now with six years left of an unexceptional career he was not expecting any further promotion. Detective Watts was going through the motions as he slipped back into his swivel chair and clicked his mouse.

  The email was a departmental notice from the Head of IT stating that from one o’clock tomorrow the systems would be down for about two hours to enable improvements to the system. These improvements would allow searches not just around the New York area but as far away as California, now that National database integration was implemented. Watts continued to read with interest. Credit card searches and DNA files were now integrated into one application. Search criteria improvements will allow the individual to enter multiple fields.

  Watts finally finished reading the memo, downed the remaining coffee and decided to head for his favorite bar some two hundred yards down East 20th. Street. With no one to go home to he was in no rush to get back to his empty, drab apartment. Without his wife who had died in a car crash seven years ago and no children, his life had lost a lot of meaning. Watts grabbed his jacket from the hook near the glass exit doors, mumbled a good night to one of his colleagues deep in thought at his computer to his left and closed the door behind him as he left. The implications of the database improvements were to change his life forever, he just didn't know it yet.

  The evening was just another reason to spend time at the bar and tonight was no different. There were a couple of women that visited the bar and sometimes Watts got into conversation with them. He hoped that one of them would be there tonight. Sitting alone drinking was no fun, tonight he felt to need to talk. He was a person who liked company, especially female company. Happy to buy their drinks all night in exchange for their time but not expecting anything in return. His confidence as a lover had left him years ago and the last time he'd had sex was too painful to think about.

  Watts opened the door to the bar and noticed one of the women was sitting, chatting to the barman. He walked up next to her and ordered a drink.

  “Hi, Adam, great to see you."

  "Hi sweetheart, mind if I join you?"

  "Be my guest, I'm on my own as usual."

  "Thanks."

  "Solved any crimes today, big boy?"

  "No, just another day in paradise, Jane.” Watts picked up his glass and downed it in one. "Same again and one for the lady please barman."

  “Thanks, Adam, don't mind if I do."

  "How about you, Jane, what was your day like?"

  "About as far from Paradise as you can get."

  "What exactly do you do?" Watts enquired.

  "I'm a shrink, for my sins. I sit and listen to people and I try to analyze what the fuck is going on in their crazy messed up heads. Believe me I sometimes think I need one myself some days."

  "Jane, can I ask you a question?"

  "Go ahead, I'm all ears."

  "I've got a lot of murders that are unsolved and they’re pretty horrific. Do you mind if I talk about that sort of thing with you or not?"

  "Don't worry about me, I had a husband once and he was the cruelest bastard on the planet," she said laughing. "And, anyway, my life needs a bit of excitement at the moment."

  Watts smiled at her. "This person, if it is one person is cruel too."

  "Cruel in what way?" Jane asked, moving closer to Watts.

  "Well, he kills men and women, seemingly randomly, by cutting their throats."

  �
�Oh, fuck! — My husband wasn't that bad."

  "Yeah, but there's more....... Are you sure you want to hear this?" Watts asked with genuine concern in his voice.

  "Perhaps another drink would help."

  "Same again, barman. Jane, have you eaten?"

  "Not yet, no."

  "Fancy a cheese burger and fries?"

  The gentle kiss on the side of his face took Watts by surprise. Jane was a good looking middle aged women who'd clearly looked after herself. Blonde, blue eyed and slim. Her low cut dress showing off her full breasts. When she leaned over towards him her expensive sweet perfume rammed into his dormant senses like a runaway steam train. It was going to be a better than average night for the big detective. He felt alive again for the first time in years. Someone was actually enjoying his company. He still had something to offer, it wasn't all over yet.

  "If I explained the details of the murders to you, could you throw any light on the kind of monster that continues to elude me?"

  "I can't promise anything but I'm prepared to give it a go for you Adam, but only for you, you understand?” she said teasingly.

  "Thank you, I appreciate it." Watts leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  The next morning Adam Watts arrived at the NYPD building in East 20th. Street at precisely eight o’clock in the same cloths he'd worn the night before. He was unshaven and smelt of ladies perfume. The place was already bustling with activity as he entered the large open plan office on the third floor. A few waves and hellos, as usual, as he made his way, smiling, on autopilot to the coffee that smelt so appealing. After a later than normal night at his local bar and the first sex in ages, he needed to clear his head if he was to do a days work.

  A bigger than normal pile of new files were on his desk when he arrived and he knew it was going to be another long boring day with last nights memories helping to pass the time of day. He felt tired but at the same time invigorated. Jane was one hell of a woman.

  The morning passed quickly as he absorbed himself in reading files and documenting attempted murders, robbery, GBH, traffic incidents and drug offenses intermingled with images of Jane's massive nipples willingly pushed into his eager mouth and the wonderful feel, taste and smell of tender female flesh again.

  Paperwork was one of his main pet hates so Watts planned to be out of the office after lunch on case follow-ups. It was lunchtime and the pizza delivery was on time. For a large man, over six foot five, he strode quickly to the delivery boy at the office entrance and paid for his large Margherita pizza before settling back in his chair to enjoy the delicious thin base that tasted twice as good as it looked.

  Lets give this new database a whirl, and see just how good it is.

  Watt's big frustration was the unsolved murders that had plagued him for years. The eight mutilated bodies with no witnesses, no prints and no evidence to convict anyone. Time was running out, he knew that but deep inside him he still had a spark of enthusiasm that continued to burn and a small amount of pride that refused to abandon him.

  There were a number of suspects but not enough evidence to build a case for the prosecution. Entering the hideous details of the eight murders into the database took about fifteen minutes, Watts then hit the search button and sat back to enjoy the rest of his pizza. He wasn't expecting anything back from the search criteria but then on the screen, information started to appear about a similar recent murder in San Francisco where the victims had had their eyes and tongues cut out. Four potential suspects with their photographs appeared on the screen, one of them was an Adam Domaradzki. Watts was sitting up intently, staring at the screen. Has my luck finally fucking changed?

  Today, unusually, the detectives lunch had become unimportant and most of the pizza ended up in the bin at the side of his desk.

  Nineteen

  When Summa awoke on Monday morning, he felt rested and relaxed. He walked into the en suite bathroom of his hotel room and looked at his calm refection in the mirror. He picked up his toothbrush and began cleaning his smoke stained teeth before splashing his unshaven face with cold water from the sink tap. His thoughts soon focused on yesterdays trip to Beaumont and how well it went. Just to hold the rocket launcher excited him so much be could barely control his emotions in the lockup. He walked back into the bedroom and lovingly stroked the large fishing rod bag, laying on the spare bed, that now concealed the launcher. His pulse immediately quickened.

  The long wait was nearly over, soon the rush of adrenalin, that death and carnage sparked in him, would be pumping through his veins, satisfying his craving like heroin; a craving deprived since the heady days of Vietnam, now just distant memories but soon to be resurrected from the fire like the Phoenix in the desert.

  Every part of the operation had been rehearsed in his head numerous times and now he needed to do it for real. Within hours Houston would be a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah and the evil would be eliminated.

  Summa picked up his cellphone and called Adam Domaradzki, as previously agreed in San Francisco, but strangely the leader of the sect didn't answer, just his voicemail greeting asking the caller to leave their name and number and a promise to return their call ASAP, which Summa ignored. Irritated by the lack of response he deciding to call him back a little later. He then called Richard Stark who responded immediately to the call.

  “Summa?”

  “Hey, you okay?

  “I guess so.”

  “Good, then get breakfast for two sent to your room Rich and I'll join you in ten minutes to talk through the details.” Summa ended the call and took in a deep breath. It was time for a shower.

  The atmosphere on Monday morning in the Ellington Building control room was electric, everyone was upbeat after contact had been made on the weekend. The whole team was in early, just after dawn, most had been there all night high on caffeine, eager to find out who had communicated with planet Earth and all lenses were desperately trying to get images of the Alien craft or crafts communicating. NASA had been instructed to turn the Hubble telescope to the area where the signals were emanating in an attempt to see the spacecraft but nothing was visible as yet.

  Vicki was walking across the room to one of the spare monitors when she stopped. Her waters had broken and she smiled to herself. The birth of her baby was now about to start, at last, and she couldn't wait.

  "I think I need to get to the hospital," Vicki said, quite calmly.

  Rob turned to look at Vicki and immediately went to her aid seeing her predicament.

  "Are you okay, darling?” Rob asked, far more nervous about the incident than Vicki.

  "Perfectly fine, thank you, it's what I've been praying for the last two week."

  "We need to get you to hospital straight away. Gentlemen you'll have to excuse us, but we have some urgent business to attend to at the maternity ward," McPherson said proudly, but clearly nervously. The moment had upset his usually calm, controlled, professional manner and he looked uncharacteristically flustered.

  Everyone wished them well as they left the room for the hospital. Clearly embarrassed by the disturbance the team quickly turned their attention back to the immediate tasks at hand.

  Twenty

  Richard Stark, after the breakfast meeting with Summa, had done his reconnaissance of the Ellington Building parking lot and had checked off all the team members as present. He made his way back to the hotel with the information and photos of each automobile on his camera, unaware, that Rob and Vicki were about to leave the building for the hospital.

  Richard Stark parked up the rental car at the hotel and made his way up in the elevator to Summa's room on the twenty-fifth floor.

  Arriving there Stark knocked on the door and waited. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and his hands visibly shook.

  Nervously, he knocked the door again, this time harder and eventually, Summa answered.

  "Well?"

  "I've checked them all in, nobody is missing," responded Stark in a monotone way.

 
; "Good, then I'm going to blow them all to hell.”

  Stark could see the rocket launcher on the bed and it was loaded with a thermal head rocket. The window onto the veranda was open and Stark knew Summa had been out there eagerly looking at the target and imagining the imminent carnage the thermal rocket-heads would cause.

  "Have you managed to speak to Adam yet?" Enquired Stark.

  "I've been trying, but I can't get through to him."

  "Is there something wrong, Joe? Should we wait to speak with him first?"

  "We have our instructions what more do you want,” snapped Summa, in an irritated manner.

  "Where the hell is he? He specifically told us to call him before we acted."

  "I don't know where he is, but it doesn't change anything. We still carry on as planned."

  Starks cellphone rang, interrupting the conversation.

  "That's probably him now," said Summa enthusiastically.

  Stark answered the call as his wife's picture appeared on his cellphone.

  "Hello darling, how are you?"

  Summa realised it wasn’t Adam, picked up the launcher and carried it out onto the veranda, leaving Stark to take the call. He sat down and rested the launcher on his shoulder. The time was right.

  Richard Stark was stunned by what his wife was shouting down the phone. Adam, his leader, was on the run from the police and wanted as a serial killer of over twenty people. He had escaped the raid to arrest him in San Francisco and was on the run, but other members of the sect had been arrested by the FBI. She was screaming that the police were also looking for him and Summa as accessories to murder. Susan was crying down the phone at Stark and his head began spinning in disbelief.

  "Call her back, Rich, we’ve got work to do," shouted Summa, impatiently.

  "Watch this mother fucker go!” he cried out, excitedly, as Stark walked out onto the veranda.