Bones of Angels

by Christopher Forrest

  The video screen now displayed the photograph of a church obviously ravaged by fire. It was a mere skeleton of charred wood. Within its frame were a few blackened pews and statues missing heads or limbs.

  “In a rage of vengeance, Father Reynard entered this small cathedral on the outskirts of Genoa one night and burnt it to the ground. As you can see, the fire consumed virtually the entire structure. Incredibly, Father Reynard emerged from the burning church as fireman fought the blaze. A crowd had gathered. Reynard was unharmed except for severe burns to his face. His former followers regarded it as nothing short of a miracle.”

  Hawkeye sighed heavily, clearly exasperated.

  “Is there a problem?” Archbishop Donovan asked, turning towards Catherine Caine.

  “You will give your full attention to the Archbishop, Mr. Hawke,” said Caine. “You should regard this as a mission briefing. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” said Hawkeye.

  Donovan resumed his report.

  “Reynard was recruited by a radical apocalyptic sect of Christians called the Council of Nine,” he said. “It has thousands of underground followers, but it is ruled, as the name implies, by a council of nine men, most of them present or former clergy members from various denominations. In time, Reynard became second-in-command of the organization.”

  “Who is the leader?” asked Quiz.

  “I wish I knew,” said Donovan, “but our team of covert agents has never been able to uncover his identity.”

  “You have a team of agents?” Hawkeye asked in a chastened manner.

  “Actually, we have several teams. Our Beta Team was recently collaborating with Quiz’s grandfather, Charles Whittington. We’ve haven’t been able to contact Beta in over three hours.”

  Quiz nodded. He apparently knew of his grandfather’s more esoteric pursuits.

  “Excuse me, Archbishop,” said Hawkeye, “but why does a church need intelligence operatives? And what were they working on, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “All churches have many enemies, Mr. Hawke,” Donovan replied. “It pays to know when there’s going to be a controversy before the matter hits the newspapers and Internet. But more to the point, we also investigate matters that are a bit off the beaten path, shall we say. Let me give you an example. When the Catholic Church begins investigations into whether miracles have been performed in answer to prayer, it does so very discreetly. The same applies to when it looks into the many claims that the Blessed Virgin has appeared somewhere in the world. Lack of discretion is what Bishop Reynard displayed, and it’s what got him into serious trouble with the Vatican.”

  Hawkeye rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “May I infer, Archbishop, that the Church of England is currently investigating a very sensitive matter, one unknown to the general public?”

  “You infer correctly,” said Donovan. “We seek exactly what Father Reynard and the Council of Nine are frantically looking for: the bones of St. Michael the Archangel.”

  Hawkeye’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry. I probably didn’t hear you correctly.”

  “No, you heard me correctly,” said Donovan. “The bones of an angel. Skeletal remains and ancient texts were discovered by a Crusader named Godfroi St. Omer in 1098. Please address your attention to the screen.”

  Onscreen, the bones discovered beneath Mount Moriah over a thousand years earlier were now visible in the conference room.

  “My church and its operatives are not sure when or where this photo was taken, although photographic experts have naturally been able to use a bit of forensics in determining that it was taken within the last sixty years.”

  “How can an angel have bones?” asked Hawkeye.

  Donovan remained silent for a moment, his eyes focused far beyond the conference table, and then spoke. “I wish I had an answer, Mr. Hawke, but I don’t. That is precisely why the Church of England wishes to find the bones. Father Reynard, however, has a different agenda.”

  Hawkeye took a deep breath. “This is going to be good, so let me have it.”

  “The Council of Nine believes, based on many ancient texts, as well as its interpretation of various biblical prophecies, that the discovery of the bones will herald the end of the world.”

  “It sounds like it would be better not to find this artifact,” said Hawkeye wryly. “Not that I’m willing to believe this alleged prophecy.”

  “I appreciate your skepticism, Mr. Hawke,” said Donovan. “For what it’s worth, the Anglican Church does not necessarily agree with the Council’s claim either, but we wish to study the bones for ourselves. For the sake of scientific accuracy, if nothing else. Extraordinary claims require that extraordinary standards be applied.”

  It was Michael Zoovas who spoke next.

  “I was a police officer in New York City for many years,” Zoovas began. “My son Eddie is currently a detective there. He notified me that a man — Archbishop Joseph Connolly — was tortured and crucified in the Roman style about thirty-six hours ago. He called Mrs. Caine to tell her that a neighbor of Connolly’s saw men in gray robes and cowls entering his Manhattan residence. Mrs. Caine and Quiz subsequently did a bit of research. This has all the earmarks of the Council of Nine. They will use any methods to obtain their goals.”

  The video screen showed the horror enacted on St. John’s Cathedral Campus in Manhattan.

  Hawkeye let out a low whistle. Zoovas shook his head in dismay.

  “Connolly was a friend of my grandfather,” Quiz said, swallowing hard. “Charles Whittington lives on Long Island at Whittington Manor. I’ve been unable to contact him for the past twelve hours. My grandfather Charles was very interested in the bones Archbishop Donovan speaks of. He’s a tad eccentric, but he’s also brilliant. I believe his life may be in serious danger.”

  Hawkeye was already nodding his head as he glanced at Mrs. Caine. “And you want Titan Six to go to Long Island to rescue Whittington and capture Father Reynard.”

  “No,” said Caine. “I want you and Quiz to go to Long Island and make contact with Charles Whittington. The manor has a very complex architectural layout and history, but Quiz lived there for many years. We’re not going in like storm troopers. We’re going to do a little recon first.”

  “But what about this Reynard character?” asked Hawkeye. “I may need some firepower and backup if he’s lurking anywhere near Manhattan.”

  “We’ll monitor you from the Ops Center as usual,” Caine answered. “You’ll have all the usual support provided by your tactical and sensory suit. The Alamiranta has already passed through the Strait of Gibralter into the Atlantic. The sat-com link will be hot when you get to New York.”

  “Quiz isn’t trained in the use of our gear,” said Hawkeye. “Nor has he ever received any BioMEMS injections from Dr. Nguyen.”

  Caine merely smiled. “Quiz will do just fine. DJ has been giving him private training.”

  Hawkeye smiled broadly. “I’m sure Quiz and DJ have been quite aggressive in their tr — ” He paused.

  Archbishop Donovan cleared his throat.

  “Understood,” said Hawkeye.

  “Very good,” said Caine. “You deploy in two hours. You’ll be flown to a U.S. carrier group nearby. From there, you and Quiz will be flown to New York, where you will be deposited on the Whittington estate by stealth helicopter.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Hawkeye said, standing.

  Archbishop Donovan stood and shook Hawkeye’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hawke. And if you could also try to locate my Beta Team, I’d appreciate it. They’re good men.”

  Chapter 11

  Whittington Manor, Lab #2

  Long Island, New York

  When Charles Whittington regained consciousness, he found himself strapped to a stainless steel coroner’s table in an adjoining laboratory beneath the manor. It was where he often experimented on cadavers. He had been conducting experiments on the electromagnetic fields contained in all living tissue, both human and animal.

>   The bodies he used were indeed dead, thanks to Eddie Zoovas giving him the occasional unidentified body of a homeless person from the city morgue — with the bodies always being returned, of course. But Charles had found that residual energy resided even in dead bodies. Everyone emitted light and energy in a portion of the EM band undetectable by human vision.

  Charles’ hands and legs were bound to the table by wide leather bands.

  “Are you inclined to speak yet, Professor?” asked Reynard.

  Charles remained as silent as a sentry at Buckingham Palace.

  “Very well then,” said Reynard. “Brother Antonius will now do some experiments of his own while other members of my order search your mansion.”

  In the floors above, a dozen gray-clad acolytes were ransacking the manor.

  Antonius approached the coroner’s table. He held a scalpel in one hand and a pair of dental pliers in the other.

  Whittington Manor, Lab #2

  Long Island, New York

  Hair disheveled, brother Cedric hurried into the lab, out of breath. His pale, frightened eyes darted around the room as he endeavored to speak, as if he were looking for something. He was clearly shaken.

  “My master, this is an unholy place!”

  “Have you found anything yet?” asked Reynard, unfazed by Cedric’s panic.

  “So far we have discovered only a few photographs of interest, but no clues as to the bones’ whereabouts.”

  Reynard stood. “Return to your duties, Brother Cedric. Steel yourself. We are protected by God.”

  Trembling, Brother Cedric slowly backpedaled to the doorway. “I will do my best, my master.”

  Reynard turned and walked to the coroner’s table. “Perhaps, Professor Whittington, your face will look like mine before too long. Unless you wish to cooperate, that is. You’ve been on that table for almost eighteen hours.”

  The scalpel wielded by Gerasimus had made several vertical cuts on Charles’ cheeks. Blood pooled on his neck, in the small triangular cavity above his sternum.

  “You will not prevail,” Charles said weakly, his voice hoarse from screaming. He was missing three teeth from his right jaw line, and his hair was matted with sweat. “And you have summoned evil back to the manor after many years.”

  Reynard eyed his captive with suspicion, unsure what he was talking about.

  Whittington Manor, The Rear Gardens

  Long Island, New York

  Hawkeye and Quiz crept forward as the stealth helicopter lifted into the late evening sky. Its rotors made only the slightest whisper as it banked and headed towards the ocean.

  “We’re behind a greenhouse,” Hawkeye said into the headset of his helmet. His visor was down, displaying several schematics of the surrounding gardens.

  A former Titan Six operative, Touchdown spoke to Hawkeye and Quiz from the Ops Center aboard the Alamiranta.

  “Reading you perfectly,” said Touchdown, the communications liaison for most Titan missions. “The manor is three hundred yards ahead. Showing two hot spots very near you. Their temperature is 98.6. We have intruders on the premises. I’ve also got a shot of your immediate vicinity. Your head cam is operational.”

  “Roger that,” Hawkeye said.

  “Let’s get moving,” Hawkeye said to Quiz.

  Quiz was outfitted in military fatigues, with a Kevlar vest beneath his shirt, and a Glock holstered over his right hip. He wore a slim headset, but no helmet.

  Two men in gray sweats, the hoods of their sweatshirts pulled over their heads, sprang from behind a tall, well-shaped hedge of hawthorn. Legs braced, their karate chops were aimed for the necks of Hawkeye and Quiz.

  Quiz gasped and fell to the narrow concrete path. Hawkeye deflected the karate blow and grabbed his assailant by the forearm. Pulling the gray figure closer, Hawkeye slammed his knee into the man’s groin. Reynard’s servant doubled over in pain as he exclaimed unintelligible syllables.

  Hawkeye glanced at Quiz. It was time to see if he could pass muster in the field. His attacker was already preparing to immobilize the recumbent figure with a swift kick to the ribs.

  Quickly, Quiz rolled his body in a half-turn away from the attacker, arms and fingers spread wide as he prepared to regain his balance. Pulling his right knee under his chest, his arms pushed against the ground, allowing him to spring to his feet. He whirled around, sending his left foot into the stomach of the advancing enemy. When the man doubled over, Quiz clasped his hands and brought them up swiftly into his jaw. The sound of bones cracking was audible to Hawkeye. Not letting up, Quiz slammed his left fist against the man’s head. The attacker toppled over, motionless.

  “Sweet,” uttered Hawkeye, who ducked as his own attacker charged once again. The man flew over Hawkeye’s bent body and landed in a patch of damp grass.

  Hawkeye jumped high and came down hard on top of the man’s chest, knees smashing against his ribcage. Hawkeye angled his body and threw a hard punch at his enemy’s left cheek. He pounded his fist against the man’s face twice more until blood spilled from his open mouth.

  “They’re Reynard’s acolytes,” Quiz pronounced. “I studied a briefing folder while we were in transit. The monks who are expected to mix it up a bit usually wear gray sweats under their robes.”

  “Nice work,” Hawkeye said. “Very nice.” He smiled. “So much for a little recon, as Mrs. Caine put it.”

  Hawkeye stood straight and surveyed the grounds. Stone angels, both tall and short, guarded the grounds with stone swords unsheathed and stone wings outspread. Even some of the topiary had been pruned and shaped into the shapes of angels or crosses.

  “It takes all kinds,” Hawkeye said to himself.

  Whittington Manor, The Rear Gardens

  Long Island, New York

  * I suppose I should congratulate you, but I find violence so distasteful. *

  We watch it on monitors all the time from the Ops Center. I would think you’d be used to combat by now.

  * Growing used to combat signals a very dangerous mindset. Since I’m here, however, I suppose I should warn you that trouble lies inside that manor. *

  The Ops Center will keep us posted on what’s in the manor, but thanks.

  * The Ops center may not be able to help you with everything. *

  Sure they will. You’re crazy.

  * Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. *

  Ops Center

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  DJ had been watching the fight on Long Island from her station in the Ops Center, the tactical heart of Titan missions.

  Located in the heart of the Alamiranta below Deck Six, the Ops Center was round, with a blue-gray marble floor. A ring of workstations circled a raised platform in the center, which projected a holographic display of mission sites.

  The workstations were filled with computers, keyboards, and video displays showing images from live feeds around the world. During missions, the main consoles displayed the activity of Titan field teams. The stations were manned by Touchdown, DJ, Quiz (when present), and a dozen other Titan technicians.

  An elevated observation catwalk ran around the perimeter of the Ops Center, and the air smelled faintly of ozone courtesy of the xenon lighting.

  “Yes!” DJ said under her breath as she watched Quiz defeat his foe with surprising agility. Her attacks in the gym and the bedroom had apparently paid off.

  She settled back in her chair. She had become sexually aroused by the physical display of the young warrior.

  Whittington Manor, The Rear Gardens

  Long Island, New York

  Loud barking came from behind a stately line of tall Leyland cypress trees. Hawkeye drew his sidearm, but Quiz put his hand on his leader’s forearm and pushed it down.

  “That’s George and Gracie,” said Quiz.

  The Rottweilers advanced as Quiz sank to one knee. “Hi, guys. It’s been a while.”

  The dogs licked Quiz’s face as he patted each on the head. They then bounded away, satisfi
ed that the new humans posed no threat.

  A loud shriek emanated from the manor.

  “I think some of the intruders may have stumbled upon a few of the manor’s original residents,” said Quiz.

  “Who would that be?” asked Hawkeye.

  Quiz laughed. “Dead soldiers from the nineteenth century.”

  Hawkeye shrugged. “No stranger than the bones of angels.”

  Two hundred yards ahead, sniper fire from the manor caused Hawkeye and Quiz to dive to the right, taking shelter behind a Cornish hedge of stone and earth topped by evergreen plants.

  “I place at least a dozen men inside the manor,” Touchdown said. “I’m going to send several routes through the gardens to your visor. The green one will offer you the most cover.”

  “Got it,” said Hawkeye. “Green is for go.”

  Chapter 12

  Whittington Manor, Main Lab

  Long Island, New York

  “I’ve found something, master,” said Brother Antonius as he stared at the screen displaying the photographic attachment sent to Charles from Archbishop Connolly.

  Antonius typed quickly and the screen changed. It now showed various maps.

  Reynard stood directly behind Antonius. He was obviously pleased.

  “The Lord has guided us,” Reynard proclaimed, his eyes raised to heaven, his voice almost chanting the words. “That is the location of the bones of the Archangel. Henceforth, the world will be forever changed.”

  Whittington Manor, The Rear Gardens