Bones of Angels

by Christopher Forrest

Long Island, New York

  Following a jagged green line displayed on the inside of his helmet visor, Hawkeye threaded his way through a complex maze of hedges and flowerbeds. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he slowed his forward progress.

  “Something feels strange, Ops,” Hawkeye said. “Do you have any new intel?”

  “As a matter of fact, we do,” Touchdown replied. “Our holographic display here in the Center shows all four floors of the manor. I now read additional hot spots. Fourteen are red — more of Reynard’s men, I suspect. But the holographic display now shows approximately a hundred orange spots as well.”

  “So what are we up against?” asked Hawkeye.

  “Working on it,” said Touchdown.

  “Be ready to abort,” Caine said. “If you’re vastly outnumbered, I want you and Quiz out of there. I’m ordering the stealth chopper to hover nearby for emergency extraction.”

  DJ had opened her mouth to speak, but had checked herself. She had wanted to advocate for immediate withdrawal of the Titan recon team.

  Whittington Manor, Main Lab

  Long Island, New York

  “Make a hardcopy of all computer data, back it up on CD, and then erase the file.” Reynard ordered. “And alert our brothers that we will be leaving very shortly.”

  “Yes, my master,” said Antonius, “but . . . ”

  “What’s wrong?” Reynard barked.

  “The computer to my right is linked to the monitoring room on the second floor. One of the external cameras shows two men directly outside the east wing.”

  “Who are they?” asked Reynard.

  “They look like . . . ” The acolyte was afraid to finish his sentence, but he swallowed and took a deep breath. “They look like soldiers.”

  Reynard left the lab and climbed to the first floor, where he found two of his order, Brothers Simeon and Erastus. He leaned close and gave them orders in a whisper before returning to the main lab.

  Whittington Manor, Outside the East Wing

  Long Island, New York

  “Ready to climb?” Hawkeye said to his companion.

  “Uh, sure,” said Quiz. “But these trellises don’t look too sturdy.”

  Hawkeye jabbed Quiz’s right shoulder lightly. “Rule One isn’t even written in a manual.

  “Rule One?”

  “Always make use of what’s available. Since I don’t see an elevator, we use the trellises. You’re lighter, so you take the wooden one. I’ll take the iron trellis.”

  The two trellises, separated by three feet, were laced with ivy and ascended the entire façade of Whittington Manor’s east wing.

  The two men stepped onto the latticework of the trellises and slowly began climbing the wall of the mansion.

  “Let’s try this window,” Hawkeye suggested when they’d reached the first floor. The window was directly between the two trellises.

  Hawkeye tried to lift the sash, but it didn’t budge.

  Quiz chuckled. “You’re wasting your time. Look how deeply the window is set into the wall. It’s fake.” He produced a small pocket flashlight and shone its narrow beam through the pane of glass. “See? Behind the glass is just brick.”

  “Okay then,” said Hawkeye. “We go higher.”

  “Two red spots beneath you,” alerted Touchdown. “Not sure whether they see you or not.”

  Ten feet further up, Quiz felt a sharp sting in his left shoulder. “Dammit! I think I’ve been stung by a bee or a wasp.”

  Hawkeye glanced to his right. “No bee sting, pal. There’s a dart in your shoulder.”

  Quiz’s body abruptly fell backwards, six inches away from the wall. The frail, weathered trellis was separating from the manor.

  “Everything’s getting a bit blurry,” the young man said.

  “Hold on, kiddo,” said Hawkeye. “I’m going to hook us together.”

  Hawkeye fastened a line from his belt to a metal loop in Quiz’s belt with a carabiner. He then reached out and steadied his teammate. “Can you step sideways, Quiz?”

  “Dunno. I’m seeing double. I think I’ll take forty winks.”

  Grunting, Hawkeye circled Quiz’s waist with his right hand and pulled his companion to the left, situating the man’s feet on the iron trellis. That’s when Hawkeye felt the sting in his thigh.

  “I’ve been hit, too, Ops.”

  “Releasing adrenaline in Hawkeye’s BioMEMS system,” said Touchdown without missing a beat.

  The wooden trellis fell to the ground. Hawkeye was growing woozy as he looked beneath him to see two men in gray robes — Erastus and Simeon — standing in the manicured garden.

  “Hang in there, Hawkeye,” said Caine. “The cobwebs will be gone in a minute or two.”

  DJ tensed as she watched the drama unfolding. Instruments in the Ops Center indicated that Quiz’s blood pressure and heart rate were dangerously low.

  Hawkeye felt his one-handed grip on the iron trellis grow weak. The weight of two bodies was pulling him down.

  “Increase the dosage!” ordered Caine.

  More adrenaline flooded the bloodstream of Titan Six’s leader.

  “Hello there,” said Hawkeye. “I think I’m up for a little more climbing.”

  The ascent was perilous. With each step higher, Hawkeye needed to let go of the trellis for a split second as his one free hand lurched upwards to find the next piece of grillwork. Five feet higher, he reached a doorway.

  “Who the hell puts a door in the outer wall of a mansion?” he asked himself.

  He tried the handle, but it was locked. Quiz was completely unconscious.

  A pencil-thin laser protruded from Quiz’s breast pocket. Hawkeye bent his head to the right, grabbed the laser between his teeth, and jerked back. His tongue searched the small silver cylinder for the ON button.

  Click.

  Two more darts hit the nearby bricks. Missing their marks, they fell harmlessly to the ground.

  Hawkeye aimed the laser at the keyhole in the mysterious doorway. A puff of smoke wafted into the night.

  Squeezing Quiz’s body more tightly so that the fingers of his right hand could curl around the iron, Hawkeye extended his left hand quickly, turned the knob, and pulled the door open. The next move would be tricky.

  He planted his left foot inside the doorway, hooking it around the doorframe. Next, he took hold of the frame with his left hand, tightened his grip, and pulled Quiz and himself into the mansion. Quiz’s legs dangled outside the structure. Hawkeye crawled forward on the polished wooden floor and then grabbed Quiz by the shirt and hauled him all the way in.

  “We’re inside the manor,” Hawkeye told Ops. “Second floor.”

  Looking up, Hawkeye saw a glowing figure standing five feet away. The body possessed an orange tint.

  “Welcome to the party,” said the Confederate soldier. “The more the merrier.”

  Ops Center

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  “Hawkeye, take the pre-loaded adrenaline syringe from your med kit,” DJ instructed. “Wake up Quiz ASAP.”

  “Roger,” said Hawkeye.

  “I show an orange target five feet away,” Touchdown said urgently. “Report!”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Hawkeye said. “At least, I don’t think there is.”

  “What’s going on?” Caine demanded.

  “I’m looking at a Civil War soldier,” answered Hawkeye. “He’s grinning like an idiot. Seems like a nice enough fellow. Any of those Civil War re-enactments going on nearby?”

  Caine advanced and looked at Touchdown.

  Touchdown shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me, ma’am. I don’t know what the hell’s going on over there.”

  Whittington Manor, The East Wing

  Long Island, New York

  Eying the dozens of oil paintings of angels on the walls around him, Hawkeye administered the adrenaline to Quiz. Within minutes, the young man began to come around. His eyes fluttered as he lifted his head. “I think I got hit . .
. by . . . one . . . of Grandfather’s tranquilizer darts.”

  “It sure as hell wasn’t your grandfather who shot us,” Hawkeye explained. “Can you stand up?”

  Quiz staggered to his feet slowly. He, too, now saw the Confederate soldier. “Just humor him, Hawkeye.” Quiz saluted the semi-transparent soldier, who nodded and saluted back.

  “Status report,” said Caine. “I need to know who these other targets are.”

  “Ghosts,” said Quiz. “They come around occasionally. Usually when negative energy enters the mansion. They originally haunted my great grandmother Mary. I don’t think they’ll bother us.”

  Hawkeye rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. They should have sent Saint Shooter on this mission instead of me.

  * This is what I warned you about. *

  Like I said. They’re harmless.

  * Maybe. Maybe not. There are other dangers, too. *

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway around the corner.

  “You’ve got company,” declared Touchdown. “Human company, if my instruments are correct.”

  “Are they armed?” asked Hawkeye.

  “From what I can see — ”

  Touchdown’s words became garbled with electronic noise.

  “Touchdown,” said Hawkeye. “Are you there?”

  A steady hiss on the link was punctuated by crackling and popping noises.

  “Touchdown?”

  There was nothing but static.

  Chapter 13

  Whittington Manor, First Floor

  Long Island, New York

  Five acolytes stood frozen in their tracks. Before them stood ten Serbian soldiers, all glowing brightly. Each one held a rifle aimed straight at the acolytes, who screamed in terror.

  Shrieks, in fact, could be heard on all floors of Whittington Manor.

  The five trembling acolytes ran helter-skelter down to the basement.

  “We must leave, my master!” exclaimed Brother Simeon. “Unholy spirits possess this house.”

  “We have what we came for,” said Father Reynard tersely. “To think I am surrounded by cowardly brethren! Tell Gerasimus that we’re leaving. And make sure that he brings Whittington. The Professor might yet be persuaded to help us once we’re near the bones of Michael.”

  “Yes, my master,” said Simeon.

  “Where are the two military intruders?”

  “I believe they made it onto the second floor.”

  Reynard headed for the nearest stairway.

  Ops Center

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  “I’ve lost the COM link to Hawkeye and Quiz,” said Touchdown.

  “Is there a problem with the satellite feed?” queried Caine.

  “Negative,” said Touchdown. “The feed is very strong on my end. The satellite is fully operational.”

  DJ swiveled in her chair. “The bandwidth of the signal began to fluctuate when those orange energy readings appeared on the holographic display. Electromagnetic interference is jamming the signal to our men.”

  “And exactly what are those damn orange readings?” asked an irritated Catherine Caine.

  “Just what Quiz said they are,” answered DJ. “Ghosts. Paranormal investigators report such electromagnetic interference frequently when investigating hauntings.”

  Archbishop Donovan had been standing off to the side, observing the Ops Center team at their stations. “Our own covert agents have occasionally encountered the same phenomenon,” he said. “The Church of England is not as heavily invested in the idea of ghosts and demons as the Catholic Church — just consider its exorcism rituals, which are very well established but seldom spoken of in public. There are those of us in the Anglican Congregation, however, who place a bit more credence in such matters. However, we believe them to be of a more spiritual nature than paranormal.”

  “Which also predisposes you to hunt for the bones of angels,” Caine said with droll wit.

  “Guilty as charged,” said the Archbishop with a disarming smile.

  “Give me a few minutes,” said Touchdown. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Caine looked confidently at the Archbishop. “He usually does.”

  Whittington Manor, The East Wing

  Long Island, New York

  Two robed acolytes entered the hallway where Hawkeye and Quiz had entered the mansion. They fired their semi-automatic pistols straight ahead.

  Hawkeye and Quiz had crouched on either side of the hallway. Aiming their sidearms up and to the center of the hall, they squeezed off two rounds apiece. The acolytes dropped, their robes billowing around their fallen forms. Spots of blood grew in size on the fronts of their religious habits.

  “Hawkeye,” said Touchdown urgently, “I think you should know that — ”

  Hawkeye and Quiz both felt a tingle of electricity flow from their backs down into their legs. They fell to the floor, having been tasered from behind by two more of Reynard’s followers.

  “It’s only a mild shock,” Reynard explained, appearing before the stunned Titan operatives. “I wanted to know who else was trying to make contact with Professor Whittington.”

  Hawkeye took a deep breath and shook off the shock. Climbing to his feet, he leaned forward, hands braced against his thighs. “I’m . . . ”

  Hawkeye took a deep breath. Then another.

  “I’m waiting for an answer,” said Reynard. “Who are you? More operatives from the Church of England? If so, you should know that your Beta Team is now quite dead — at the bottom of the bay a few miles south of Manhattan.”

  Hawkeye suddenly charged forward at the disfigured cleric, driving him into the wall. Reynard responded by slamming his two fists against Hawkeye’s cheek bones.

  Hawkeye staggered backwards on his heels.

  “I’m well versed in the martial arts,” Reynard said, stretching forth his two arms in a classic karate stance, the palms of his hands flat. He leaned forward, the weight of his body leveraged on his left knee.

  Hawkeye glanced to his rear. Quiz was struggling to stand. The two acolytes stood behind him, each still holding a taser.

  “I think you’re outnumbered,” said Reynard.

  Hawkeye thrust his hardened right hand toward the priest, but it was deflected. With Reynard slightly off balance, Hawkeye kicked Reynard in the abdomen. Reynard winced and shot forward with a blow to Hawkeye’s sternum, followed by a sharp jab to the throat.

  “You’re going to tell me what I want to know,” Reynard said. “If you don’t, I’m going to kill you.”

  Ops Center

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  “I’m sending a rather strong electromagnetic pulse through the sat feed,” said Touchdown. “Since they’re jamming me, I intend to jam them.”

  “The ghosts?” asked DJ.

  “Right. The ghosts. It should disrupt their energy patterns, at least temporarily.”

  “Will it destroy them?” asked Caine.

  It was Donovan who answered. “No, it won’t. The energy patterns of such spirits are too cohesive. They’re made up of some kind of plasma energy that is formed around the memories and thought patterns of a lifetime. They can’t be permanently destroyed, only temporarily disrupted.”

  “Impressive,” said Caine. “You surprise me, Archbishop.”

  “People assume that clerics simply stay inside and pray all the time,” said Donovan.

  “Throw the switch, Touchdown,” ordered Caine. “Time for some ghostbusting.”

  Whittington Manor, The East Wing

  Long Island, New York

  Reynard was about to renew his attack against Hawkeye when high-pitched screams sounded from every corner of Whittington Manor. To Reynard’s ears, they resembled the wailing of a thousand banshees. Mingled with the screams were the cries of his many acolytes.

  “Master!” someone cried in the adjoining hall.

  Reynard turned his head. As he did so, Hawkeye wheeled around and ran, grabbing Quiz by the arm. The two operatives pushed aside t
he startled acolytes holding tasers.

  “Run into the picture frame straight ahead!” said Quiz. “Trust me!”

  “Go after them, you fools!” yelled Reynard, returning his attention to the hall straight ahead.

  Brother Cedric appeared by Reynard’s side. “We must leave, master. Our brethren are in chaos.”

  Hawkeye and Quiz charged into an eighteenth century oil painting of a proper English gentleman standing next to his mount in a rural setting. Smashing through the canvas, the two men hurtled forward into darkness.

  A steel door came down in place of the canvas.

  Ops Center

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  “They’re descending rapidly,” Touchdown said. “But they’re . . . ” He glanced over his shoulder at Caine in disbelief. “Look at the hologram. They’re moving down in a spiral motion.”

  In the middle of the Ops Center, two red dots corkscrewed downwards in the holographic representation of Whittington Manor. Meanwhile, a hundred orange energy signals were dispersing throughout the home, growing fainter.

  Simultaneously, fourteen red signals gathered on the first floor.

  Whittington Manor

  Long Island, New York

  “Where are we, Quiz?” asked Hawkeye.

  The two operatives were sliding down a spiral chute in complete darkness.

  “We’re taking a shortcut,” said Quiz. “Enjoy the ride.”

  “A shortcut to where?” said Hawkeye as his body twisted and turned at breakneck speed against a smooth metal surface.

  “Somewhere safe,” said Quiz, gasping for breath. “At least, I think so. It’s been a while since I took this ride.”

  “That’s comforting to know,” said Hawkeye, whose skin felt as if it were crawling with mosquitoes.

  Their two bodies emerged at great speed from the bottom of the chute. Both men tumbled roughly onto the coarse wooden floor of a narrow corridor lit only by a weak sixty-watt bulb. The cinderblock walls were dark green.

  A female emerged from a doorway fifteen yards ahead. It was Angela Marshall. She held a small metal box in her upraised right hand.

  “Don’t move,” she told her two visitors. “If you do, I’ll immobilize you with a high-energy particle beam and then call the police.”