The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels

by Valmore Daniels

  “I really don’t think you’re going anywhere, Priest.”

  “Then you must complete my mission, Detective.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek a moment. “I’ll tell you what; explain last night to me, and I’ll think about it.”

  He gave me a hard look for an instant, and then nodded. “Ask your questions.”

  “Did you run into that police car on purpose?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but only because I was trying to save him.”

  “Save the cop?”

  “Of course. Why else would I run into him?”

  I hated when people talked in circles. “How does crashing your car into someone save them?”

  “He did not see the trap set for him; I did. I had hoped that the collision would cause enough attention that the man who intended to kill the police officer would leave.”

  I growled. “That’s not the way it turned out.”

  “No.” Dropping his head, Father Putnam said. “It was a desperate attempt on my part.” He looked me in the eye, and I could swear he was being completely sincere, even though every word he spoke sounded deranged. “What else could I do?”

  Waving the question away, I asked one of my own: “You say it was a trap. How do you know it was a trap, and how do you know it was set for the officer?”

  “I was out looking for one of my employees when I saw what was going to happen. I couldn’t help but notice the signs.”

  “What signs?”

  He took a deep breath, as if irritated by the naiveté of my question. “You know what I’m talking about. You can tell when someone is filled with dark purpose; the confident way they hold themselves; the malicious aura radiating from them. The stink of evil is electric.”

  “Yes,” I said, growing impatient, “but how did you know that was the man’s intention?”

  “I was forewarned.” He gave me a puzzled look, as if surprised that this was news to me.

  “How? Who?” I tapped the table with my index finger hard enough to make the metal ring. “Enough of this runaround, Putnam. Tell me what you know.”

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ll have to start from after the last time we met.”

  “Fine.”

  Putnam drew in a long breath. “Once I left Illinois, I met with the few others in the Society who remained. It was when we were debating our next move that I realized they were following the same ill-fated path as Father Webber. If we continued using the same medieval techniques as before, we were doomed to failure.”

  I paled. “You didn’t…?” This madman was capable of anything.

  “Leave them behind to debate their ineffectual plans until they were hoarse? Of course I did. What use do I have of such small-minded individuals? They weren’t fit to be foot-soldiers, even.”

  “Ah,” I said, relieved.

  Putnam lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry smile. “I decided to adopt the techniques of our enemy; use their weapons against them: science and technology. I assembled a team of computer experts, geneticists, anthropologists, and engineers.

  “We collated every bit of information we had on the Watchers—incidents such as those in Arizona, Washington, and Chicago. They determined the highest area of activity is in New York. I made my way here directly to set up a base of operations.”

  I asked, “They figured this out that quickly?”

  “The information was out there on the internet just waiting for my computer technician to find.” He gave me a single, knowing nod. “He managed to hack into a database owned by Sam and his Watchers. We had access to the genetic research he’s been undertaking … and,” he added, smiling widely, “we believe we’ve found the underlying weakness of the Watchers. We may be able to stop them once and for all.”

  I felt a thrill of anticipation run through me. Despite the horrors this priest had committed, he’d managed to leapfrog ahead of Eugene Yates and Darcy Anderson in just a few short weeks.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Ah.” His chains clinking, he waggled a finger at me. “Not yet; not until you’ve agreed to help me.”

  “Hey, that was the deal,” I said. “You tell me what you know about the killing, and I’ll see what I can do to help you.”

  Suddenly, I remembered that there were other people listening in. I wasn’t sure I wanted any of them to hear what Putnam said about the Watchers; that would lead to a number of other, more uncomfortable, questions. Besides, the NYPD didn’t want me out here so I could work on my investigation; they wanted answers about why four of their own were murdered.

  I said, “So let’s focus on the killing last night.”

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat and said, “Well, we set up a number of programs to monitor web traffic—it was one of these alerts that flagged the contract.”

  He paused long enough for me to realize there was something important about what he’d just said.

  I asked, “What contract?”

  Father Putnam frowned. “Surely, you’ve seen the video by now. It’s—how do they say it?—gone viral.”

  “What video?” I hated being ignorant, especially in an interrogation. This was the second such time today, and I was getting frustrated.

  “He was hidden in the shadows, but I could tell. It was a Watcher. He offered a reward.”

  I found myself asking, “What reward?”

  “One million dollars cash for every New York City police officer murdered in the first ten minutes after midnight, with proof of the kill.”

  Chapter Seven

  And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind.

  –Book of Enoch 7:4-5

  “Wait a minute,” Father Putnam called as I shot to my feet and raced out of the interrogation room. “What about our deal?”

  I didn’t bother replying to him. I had more important things to think about. I let the door shut behind me, cutting off the priest’s protests.

  Alders came out of the observation room right next door at the same time. I could see by the expression on her face that the contract for the deaths of the police officers was news to her. She had her cell phone out and was making a call.

  “How did we miss that video?” I cried out.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m contacting the cyber squad right now and getting them on it.”

  Connecting with them, she identified herself and told whoever was on the other end of the line what Father Putnam had revealed and what to look for.

  The moment she hung up, her cell phone rang. “It’s the captain,” Alders said, and answered it. “Right away, sir.”

  “He was monitoring the video feed?” I asked.

  She nodded. “He’s already contacting his superiors and the other precincts. The entire NYPD is on this by now.” She beckoned one of the young officers standing at post to come over, and gave him a grim smile of greeting. “Please take the priest back to lock-up.”

  Turning to me, she said, “The captain wants us back in operations. He’s putting together a task force.”

  “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  The briefing room was filled to capacity. Every available officer wanted to hear the news firsthand.

  It took at least ten minutes before Captain Armstrong arrived to lead the meeting, and he got right to the point.

  “Earlier this morning, in an interview with a suspect, we were tipped off about a video posted on the internet offering a one-million-dollar reward for every police officer killed after midnight.

  “Once we knew what to look for, one of our cyber squad officers picked up the broadcast from an illegal file-sharing site. It’s only a few minutes long, but…” He couldn’t finish; his face reddened with anger at the mention of the video.

  Regaining control of himself, he said, “As of now, every precinct in New York is aware of it. We have forensic analysts going over it frame-by-frame. It could take hours to go through it, but the FBI’s Terrori
sm Task Force has ultimate jurisdiction. They’ve taken over the direct investigation into the terrorist. Both Homeland Security and the CIA are also investigating.”

  He glanced across the crowded room. “I know each one of you is eager to get out there and track down those responsible. I assure you, once the FBI has any solid leads, they’ll pull us in for support, and we will bring this matter to a swift”—he emphasized his words with a hard look—“conclusion. Until then, we have a bigger problem at the moment.”

  All ears perked up.

  The captain said, “Unfortunately, the server that is hosting the video is located in Indonesia; we have no way of shutting it down.” He growled. “Anyone can access the damned thing. The press got wind of it, and I’m told they’re running a story on it right now. They’re blowing this whole thing wide open. You know it’s going to spread through the city like wildfire.”

  A rising sea of voices drowned out the last of the captain’s words. Once news of what happened hit the streets, there would be panic. Emergency services would be swamped. Calls to the police would quadruple. People would take the opportunity to loot, protest, or riot. Others would become hyper-defensive; it was certain the number of unintentional deaths would be high for the next while.

  “The killing of police officers is of grave concern.” The captain’s hard eyes scanned the assembled cops. “We can’t let the criminal element feel like it’s open season on anyone dressed in blue. As for the public, if they can’t trust us to protect ourselves, how can they trust us to protect them?

  “I’ve put out the order: all officers on leave will be recalled to duty. Every available uniform will be out on patrol, showing our presence. We have to maintain order in the city.”

  The captain turned to the duty sergeant. “Wilkes, the floor is yours.”

  Stepping up in front of the crowd, the sergeant began to call out names and assign patrol districts.

  Before he left the room, the captain caught my eye and motioned with his head for me to follow him. I did so, with Alders a step behind.

  * * *

  “What the hell was the priest talking about?” the captain asked moments after he led me and Alders into his office and shut the door behind us. “Watchers? Genetic research? Areas of high activity? And who is this Sam Lancaster person? Does any of that have to do with what happened last night?”

  Slowly, I shook my head. “I don’t think so. What you have to understand is Father Putnam’s insane. He belonged to a group of priests who call themselves the International Society of Exorcists. Of course, he made it sound like he left voluntarily, but it’s a good bet he was expelled. I’ve contacted officials high up in the Church, and they’ve indicated to me that the Vatican has excommunicated and laicized him for his actions in Chicago. According to one of the deacons I spoke with, while his soul might be absolved of the death of the dozen priests, they want him locked up as bad as we do.”

  Giving me a look of assessment, the captain asked, “So you think the priest took part in the killing of the officer last night, or—”

  I shook my head. “I think he’s telling the truth about that. In his mind, if he saw that video, he would assume it was the work of…” I waved my hand around. “…the devil or something, rather than some terrorist.” I cocked my head. “That’s who we think is behind this, isn’t it?”

  The captain stepped behind his desk and turned his computer monitor around so we could all see.

  “Watch the video for yourself,” he said. “You tell me.”

  * * *

  As with most terrorist videos, it was shot on a camcorder against the dull cement wall of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. The background was dark in contrast with the bright floodlight pointed just off to the side.

  A sole figure stood in the middle of the frame; because of where he was positioned, he was mostly silhouetted, though I could make out some basics.

  The man was tall and muscled like a body-builder. He stood at ease in military fashion; feet shoulder-width apart and his hands folded behind him with his arms fully extended.

  He wore tight, black clothing and a tactical vest that was very similar to a SWAT outfit, except without the markings. On his head, he wore a balaclava. I couldn’t make out any of his facial features. I hoped the audio-visual techs could pick something out that the naked eye would miss.

  From all appearances, it was the same setup as used by terrorist organizations around the world. They wanted to get their message out while retaining their anonymity at the same time.

  The biggest difference between this video and the others I’d seen was there didn’t seem to be any insignia or flags in the background depicting the identity of their group.

  He spoke English, in what I thought was a local accent. His voice was deep and rich, full of conviction, and there was something of a hypnotic quality to his speech.

  “…And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared for an hour, and a day, and a month, and a year, for to slay the third part of men.”

  At that, the captain shot me a glance, obviously remembering Father Putnam’s rant in the interrogation room. I studiously kept looking at the terrorist on the screen.

  “The regime of the United States is at an end. Wrapped in the cloak of a republic, the truth is this: we are being oppressed by an oligarchy of the super rich, who control all levels of government: executive, legislative, and judicial.

  “We live in a prison state. How better to control a society than to threaten them with summary imprisonment should any dare to question those in power?

  “The truth is, their power is an illusion. They are frightened of you. They know they do not have any real control.

  “I will prove to you that you are the true inheritors of the world. Once you show that you will no longer bear the yoke of their slavery, they will scatter into the darkness like cockroaches. You will see them for who they truly are: bottom-feeders, leeches, parasites.”

  The man moved for the first time. He reached off camera, and when he straightened back up, he had a duffel bag. Opening it to reveal stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills, he concluded his speech.

  “We will begin our test in New York City, long thought to be the heartland of liberty.

  “I challenge you, citizens, to rise up. For every one of New York’s finest you slay in the first ten minutes after midnight, you will receive one-million dollars. Upload your proof to this website and claim your reward.”

  He dropped the duffel bag and resumed his previous stance.

  “For those of you who doubt my words, wait until tomorrow. You will witness the fruits of tonight’s work, and then you will know how ineffective the system is, how complete their failure to protect you is.

  “In twenty-four hours, I will broadcast our results, and then offer another challenge to you.”

  * * *

  “Well?” the captain asked. “Domestic terrorist or religious fanatic? You see, we have no idea who he is, what organization he represents, or what his purpose is, other than to cause chaos. For all we know, he could be a psychotic working on his own.”

  Alders, who had remained quiet up until that point, pulled at a cross pendant hanging from her necklace. “That first quote is from Revelations, but the rest of his speech might as well be from any anarchist’s manifesto. And then to offer a cash reward for the”—she made a sour face—“slaughter of officers. It’s almost like he’s got a vendetta against the police. He’s a madman.”

  The captain faced me. “In your opinion, is there any connection between this lunatic on tape and the lunatic we have in lock-up? Do they know one another?”

  My first impulse was to say it was all a coincidence, but then I remembered something Father Putnam had said, how he had recognized right away there was something about the man in the video that told him he wasn’t completely natural.

  That he was a Watcher.

  I saw it, too, though at first I hadn’t recognized the signs. I’d had been right up cl
ose with Lawrence, who embodied evil. Even when dealing with Kyle Chase, Darcy Anderson, and Richard Riley, though they were good people, I could still tell there was something wrong underneath. The stink of evil. The three of them fought to keep control of it, but it was there nevertheless.

  The man in the video was just like them. He was possessed. I couldn’t prove it, but there was no doubt in my mind.

  Father Putnum must have realized this as well, which was why he tried in vain to stop the murder from happening. Ignoring his actions for the moment, I would bet my next bottle of scotch the priest knew a lot more about the Watcher than he’d told me.

  If I informed the captain of this, he’d continue grilling the former exorcist until he got the entire story—which he wouldn’t believe. He’d likely put me on the first plane back to Chicago just for being a part of it.

  If I dismissed Father Putnam’s connection, I might lose access to him.

  Instead, I played it close to the vest. “I think it was just a coincidence. Two psychotics playing in the same arena are bound to run into one another,” I said. Then I added, “Putnam did mention he hired a computer hacker. Maybe if we find him, they might have some answers we can use.”

  Although he might lead us to the Watcher, it wasn’t the hacker I was interested in; it was the scientists he’d hired. I thought back to what Putnam had said. They might have found a way to stop the Watchers permanently.

  Giving me a long look while he considered, the captain finally nodded. “All right. Do it, but,” he added, shooting a glance at Alders, “you go with him. Hollingsworth doesn’t have any jurisdiction here. He’s strictly an observer and consultant. Since he’s got twenty-five years under his belt, you’ll follow his suggestions to the letter, got that?”

  As if remembering her animosity toward me, Alders started to protest, “But—”

  The captain cut her off with a chopping motion of his hand. “No ‘buts’. We’re already getting thousands of calls from frightened citizens. You know as well as I do, we’re going to have our hands full over the next twenty-four hours. We need every resource we can get. That’s an order, Alders. Am I making myself clear?”