Bones of Angels

by Christopher Forrest

  “What happened to the bodies of the acolytes?” asked Tank. “All we found on the way out were empty robes. The commandos had scattered and left the island.”

  “Unknown,” said Touchdown. “Their energy signatures simply vanished from radar.”

  “We’re in uncharted waters here,” Caine said. “I doubt I’ll have all the answers when I write my final report for the files of Titan Global. My guess, however, is that Father Albertus gave us an important hint: there had been enough killing on the island.

  Crew Quarters, DJ’s Cabin

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” DJ to Quiz. “I wanted to say thanks. I hear you’re a pretty good surgeon.”

  “I had a little professional help.”

  DJ studied Quiz’s face for several moments. “I’m sure you did, except that Grace Nguyen claims she didn’t need to say anything once you started operating on me.”

  “I kinda zoned out,” said Quiz. “I was very focused. I probably read about surgery in my grandfather’s study years ago. Or maybe I was being guided by an angel or Father Albertus.”

  “Maybe. Whatever the case, I’m very grateful for what you did.”

  “You’re welcome. I need to be off now. I have some business up on deck.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Quiz left. DJ lay in her bunk, a tear rolling down her cheek. Quiz had obviously made his decision.

  Catherine Caine’s Private Office

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  Caine and Charles Whittington relaxed in two upholstered chairs in the sitting area opposite the CEO’s desk. The office and its accoutrements harbored a more intimate elegance than other areas of the ship, such as the Gallery.

  “Nobody asked about the giant elephant sitting in the Gallery,” said Charles.

  “Are you using the standard cliché?” asked Caine with a smile. “I do have a mastodon standing somewhere in my collection.”

  “I was, of course, referring to the matter of Father Reynard. Your team didn’t find his body at the bottom of the shaft in the catacombs on Mont St. Michel. And your technician no longer saw Reynard’s crimson tracking signature when your systems came back online. Did he disappear like his acolytes?”

  “Touchdown assures me that Father Reynard was at the bottom of a shaft,” Caine said. “Blood was later found on the rocks outside one of the cliff caves, however.”

  “I trust your team took a sample, which you have subsequently had analyzed.”

  Catherine cocked her head and issued a matter-of-fact grin. “I would have considered my team negligent to pass up such a find. And we naturally ran the blood sample. It indeed belonged to Father Reynard.”

  “Another mystery,” Charles said. “The caves and passageways below the monastery are both numerous and complex. Maybe Michael himself allowed such a dramatic escape.”

  Caine knit her eyebrows. “Why? Archbishop Donovan didn’t fare very well.”

  Charles raised an index finger, a look of concern claiming his features. “It is obviously not yet time to eradicate all evil from the world. An even more provocative idea is that the crafty old Fox has a destiny in the great human drama that is not yet fulfilled.”

  “That’s an unsettling thought,” Caine said.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Charles, “but Titan Global exists to explore unsettling ideas. Mr. Hawke wasn’t resurrected for nothing.”

  “Touché, Charles.”

  Main Deck

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  Quix approached Angela, who gazed at the blue horizon rimming the Mediterranean in a gentle arc.

  “So how did you enjoy being a member of Titan Six?” Quiz asked.

  “I have to admit that it was a welcome change from academia,” Angela replied. “I could use more excitement in my life, though far less danger.”

  “I could see to it that Mrs. Caine finds you a position on board, one that would be challenging yet safe.”

  Angela looked at the Mediterranean wistfully. “I have to finish my dissertation, plus I have a commitment to your grandfather.”

  “Would you mind if I visited Whittington Manor once in a while?” asked Quiz. “Or even on a regular basis? It is, after all, my former home. Or you could occasionally visit the Alamiranta.”

  The grad student rested her hand on Quiz’s arm. “I was looking forward to getting to know you,” she said. “We have a lot in common. I think we’d be really good together, if you don’t mind me using an outdated cliché. But . . . ”

  Quiz’s muscles tensed. He sensed what was coming. One word had wrecked so much potential in people’s lives: but.

  “You’re conflicted, Quiz, and that’s okay. You and DJ are obviously very close. You have a great deal of unfinished business with her. Here. Take this. If you ever feel that you have closure with her . . . ”

  Angela didn’t finish her sentence. She simply turned and walked away, disappearing through the nearest door on deck.

  She had handed Quiz a piece of paper with her email address and cell phone number.

  Quiz folded the paper and put it into his jeans’ pocket, wondering if he would ever use it.

  Chapter 28

  Catherine Caine’s Private Office

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  Charles and Quiz passed each other in the waiting room of Caine’s office. The young man had been summoned to Caine’s inner sanctum by Michael Zoovas, who occasionally protected her office in his role as ship’s Security Chief.

  “Have a seat,” said Caine.

  Quiz sat in the chair his grandfather had vacated only moments earlier.

  “You carried out your two missions admirably,” said Caine. “If I didn’t need your skills so badly in the Ops Center and our research labs, I’d make you a full-fledged member of one of our assault teams.”

  Quiz blushed.

  “That was quite a feat — operating on DJ,” Caine said.

  “As I told DJ a few minutes ago, I read a lot.”

  Caine brought her hands together, fingertip to fingertip. “Quiz, I’m not the only person on board who hears you talking to yourself sometimes.”

  “A silly habit. I usually have a lot on my mind, and it occasionally spills over.”

  “A reasonable explanation,” Caine said calmly, “but we both know that something more is going on in your thought processes. Something in the Whittington lineage has bestowed very unusual talents and abilities on you. In some ways, you and your grandfather are quite alike.”

  Quiz sat up straighter. He hadn’t expected to be confronted about Dante. Usually relaxed, he was very nervous.

  “Relax,” Mrs. Caine said reassuringly. “I merely called you in to say that when you want to talk about it, I’m here. So is Grace.”

  Quiz nodded his head slowly. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Shotgun Alley

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  The battle simulation had been spirited and productive. Titan Six had routed terrorists from the crowded, dangerous streets of Beirut. Hawkeye, however, had been listless. After an hour, the team headed for the exit.

  “You were a bit sluggish out there today,” Shooter told Hawkeye.

  “Was it that noticeable?” asked the team leader.

  Shooter laughed. “If this had been live in the field, you’d have been killed a dozen times, and that’s a conservative estimate.”

  “I’ve been dead once already. I think that’s enough.”

  “Then why did you miss so many targets and leave yourself vulnerable again and again?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. I’m a soldier, and I’m clearly called to continue in that vocation in the here and now. But when I felt myself drifting through space after Reynard killed me, well . . . I felt that there’s something I’m missing.” He raised his assault rifle. “Something more than this.”

  Shooter draped her arm around Hawkeye’s shoulder. “I think there’s hope for you yet,
Michael.”

  Hawkeye looked Shooter in the eye. “Maybe. But it still doesn’t mean I couldn’t whip your ass one-on-one.”

  They both laughed.

  Ship’s Library

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  I guess it was inevitable that one day we would be confronted about our ongoing conversations. I just didn’t think it would come from Mrs. Caine herself.

  * I thought she was both supportive and gracious. *

  Yes, but I think it might be more prudent to confide in my grandfather one of these days. He’s into all kinds of weird stuff. He would find the whole thing fascinating.

  * I agree, although he might want to conduct some experiments that might sever our connection. He is a bit balmy in the head despite his superior intellect. Most true geniuses are. *

  I hadn’t thought of that. No telling what might happen to our symbiotic relationship if he hooked me up to one of the machines in his basement labs.

  * Do you think we are true symbiants? *

  It didn’t start out that way, but I think that my particular brain chemistry owes a great deal to my Whittington genes. I think that certain beneficial genetic mutations allowed a symbiotic relationship to develop.

  * Quiz, do you believe I’m real? *

  Yes. I mean you’re real to me. Or maybe you’re the one who’s real, Dante, and I’m the imaginary one. Just a character in your fertile poetic imagination.

  An interesting hypothesis. *

  But suppose I’m mad as a hatter.

  * There’s a fine line between genius and madness. *

  Continue reading

  to enjoy a bonus excerpt from the

  next Titan Six novel:

  TEMPLE OF FIRE

  by Christopher Forrest

  Chapter 1

  Summer Solstice

  Temple of Kalpur-az

  The young king and queen walked slowly behind High Priest Ixmilan, who held the sacred artifact of light in his cupped, tanned hands. The gleaming blue crystal, housed in a polished stone reliquary, had been passed down for thousands of years. The clear hexagonal crystal was eight inches long and possessed great power, though its source of magic was unknown.

  Legend claimed that the sacred stone had been found on the western plateau by a child. Others said that Ixmilan was a shaman who had made the crystal himself.

  King Enhaht and Queen Qu-lo were adorned in the traditional white robes of ceremonial purity. The loose-fitting royal garments would be worn until the final moment of the ritual. The High Priest, wearing colorful robes and ceremonial headdress, was preceded by the incense bearers and temple maidens as they approached the temple.

  Behind the royal procession were the citizens of the large city, the great walled fortress of Raj Kithune. The throng chanted as they swung knotted prayer ropes of hemp above their heads. The skin of all women had been painted with a yellow paste made from ochre dust.

  It was the Day of Light and Death.

  Gongs were struck throughout the city: in the temples of the gods and goddesses, in the royal palace, atop the astronomical observatory, along the row of step pyramids where previous rulers had begun their journey to the afterlife, and beside the clear pool of Ashtak, god of water, which was fed by a dozen streams from the fertile plains surrounding the city.

  With great solemnity, the procession ascended the entrance to the temple. The terraced stone edifice rose one hundred steps toward the heavens, where Kalpur-az dwelled and smiled upon his dutiful servants on the green and blue earth below.

  Ixmilan entered the mating chamber and peered at the round hole in the stone ceiling high overhead. Soon, Kalpur-az would reach the proper point in the endless blue sky.

  The incense bearers and temple maidens remained outside the chamber, kneeling. They prayed that the royal rulers of their city might bear many strong sons and daughters.

  The High Priest opened the reliquary and placed the blue crystal in the niche carved into the sandstone pedestal in the center of the chamber. He then bowed from the waist and slowly backed into the ante-chamber, where he knelt with the temple maidens, his hands raised in supplication to the source of life above. Ixmilan knew how sacred his obligations were.

  The moment had arrived.

  The sun shone through the hole at the apex of the temple, directly striking the crystal. The crystal pulsed with energy for several seconds before filling the chamber with a pure, radiant, bluish-white light. Even the colorful paintings of amorous couples on the walls were washed away momentarily by the brilliance of the sun’s dispersed light.

  Enhaht turned to his queen, who spread her arms wide, allowing her robe to fall to the floor. The king kissed his queen sensuously on the lips and placed his strong hands on her slender, bare shoulders.

  Outside, the city feasted and lived in the glory of the divine ecstasy experienced by their rulers. The people knew their kingdom would last forever.

  Chapter 2

  U.S. Petroleum Corp., Camp 12A

  Northeastern Nevada

  Martin Benneker, CEO of U.S. Petroleum Corporation, didn’t spend much time in the field. He’d been born in Manhattan fifty-one years earlier, and he disdained the dust and dirt produced by the thousands of drilling sites of his company, nicknamed U.S. Pet. But he made exceptions when there was an opportunity to put billions of dollars on U.S. Pet’s balance sheets. He preferred the look of newly printed greenbacks to the sheen of shiny black oil.

  He entered Trailer 3 and shook hands with Chief Geologist Ted McDonald, who was also Benneker’s son-in-law. Nepotism was alive and well in the boardroom of U.S. Pet. McDonald was on day-shift with his assistant, Charles Glenn.

  Benneker wore a stylish khaki safari outfit, complete with Indiana Jones hat, while McDonald and Glenn wore jeans and checkered shirts. The CEO sat down in the air-conditioned trailer and was handed a cup of coffee by his son-in-law. The trio was surrounded by a bank of computers, all scrolling data. Printers occasionally came to life and clacked out hardcopy stats.

  The trailer windows admitted a view to the scrub desert beyond. It was a mercilessly hot day, with the temperature hovering at 110 degrees. A distant brown mountain range cut jagged teeth into the skyline. The terrain was flat and dry, dotted with sagebrush, snakeweed, cheatgrass, and an occasional pricklypear cactus. Tire tracks had carved paths in the mix of sand and desert hardpan.

  The Great Basin Desert covered 190,000 square mile of America’s west. It was bordered on the east by the majestic Rocky Mountains, on the west by the Sierra Nevada Range. The Columbia Plateau was its northern boundary, the Mohave and Sonoran deserts its southern. It was expansive enough to cover portions of Colorado, Idaho, Nevada, Oregan, Utah, and Wyoming. The U.S. Petroleum CEO and his employees were sitting one hundred miles northeast of Elko, Nevada, a mere stone’s throw from where the state lines of Utah, Idaho, and Nevada intersected. It was a barren, dry land with no other towns than Elko within hundreds of miles of the U.S. Pet Trailers.

  “It’s a hell of place to change the world,” Benneker remarked.

  “A hell of a place to make a fortune,” said McDonald.

  “It’s a hell of a place — period,” said Glenn, pouring an ounce of Jack Daniels into the cup of each man in the trailer. “I sure wouldn’t want to land here after I die.”

  The three men laughed as they looked at the Hemmington 5600 Drill two hundred yards to the north. A large titanium corkscrew, twenty feet long and twelve inches in diameter, hung from a black steel tripod. It was fastened to a heavy-duty cable assembly that descended straight down into the earth’s mantle for three miles. A half dozen bare-chested men walked near the site in hard hats. They wielded enormous wrenches and other tools.

  “Who would have thought that oil really was the answer to the earth’s energy crisis?” Benneker said, taking a long sip of coffee and bourbon. “Here’s to the limitless supply of oil beneath our feet.” He pushed his hat back leisurely, revealing a broad forehead and thinning hair.

&nbs
p; The three men clanked their ceramic mugs together.

  “Here’s to abiogenic petroleum!” McDonald said.

  Benneker let out a loud belly laugh. “The Department of Energy thought we were crazy when we requested permits to start drilling here! Even the environmentalists didn’t care if we placed a few Hemmington screws in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Maybe the mountain lions and rattlesnakes will picket us,” said Glenn.

  The men broke into a fresh round of laughter.

  A rumble spread across the desert floor, rocking the three men gently in their chairs.

  “Probably another mini-quake out in California,” Glenn said. “The San Andreas has been burping over the last month.”

  “That’s not from one of the screws?” Benneker asked.

  “Nah,” said McDonald. “There’s a screw down there now, but . . . ” He glanced at one of the computer screens. “She’s humming along at 500 rpm’s, as sweet and smooth as can be.”

  The trailer rocked from side to side, throwing Benneker and Glenn from their chairs. Outside, the drillers were running from the tripod.

  “I’ll check our seismology office down in Vegas,” McDonald said, concern now creasing his forehead.

  Cracks appeared in the desert crust, sending hardhats scrambling for their pickups. Steam rose from the drilling hole, and two storage buildings next to the trailer complex collapsed.

  “What the hell is going on?” Benneker cried, his coffee spattering against a map on the wall as the trailer tipped thirty degrees.

  The ground shook violently. Black smoke poured from the well, accompanied by a heavy shower of dust and rocks. A large boulder shattered the glass window of the trailer.

  “I don’t care what the hell is going on!” Glenn yelled. “I’m getting out of here.”

  The three men bumped into each other as they tried to crowd through the narrow door simultaneously, looking almost slapstick in their attempt to retreat from the trailer, which was lurching from side to side like a bronco.