The Complete Book Of Fallen Angels

by Valmore Daniels

  The man with the headset got up and moved to stand behind the video camera. He flipped a few switches, keyed in a few settings on the control panel, then adjusted the lighting against the wall. The other one, who’d been manning the computer, stood up also, and brought a television on a wheeled cart over to the side of the spot where the Bellator would be standing.

  The two producers conferred for a minute in voices too low for me to hear, then the computer tech went back to his station. The video camera operator gave the Bellator a silent countdown with his fingers.

  The Bellator spoke in a thunderous voice:

  “…And there followed another angel, saying, Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city, because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her fornication.”

  He let the seconds tick by before speaking again. This time, he spoke with finality.

  “New York City is fallen, and with ease.” He motioned to the television beside him, and the video ran.

  There were a dozen scenes played out on the screen: people fighting in the street, looters smashing store windows, cars turned over by mobs, garbage bins lit on fire, a lone child crying…

  While the video continued to play in the background, the Bellator said, “And all this on the first day. Imagine what horrors will come tomorrow? The city will collapse in on itself, and there will be no one there to protect you, no one to save you from destruction. Where are the police? I will tell you.”

  He gestured to the Watcher standing behind Alders and me. With strong hands, he grasped the back of our necks and pulled us to our feet. The grip was painful, and I had no choice but to let myself be led toward the stage.

  The Bellator grabbed us and roughly shoved us to the ground so that we were kneeling on either side of him.

  “Here are your saviors: a fat man and a little girl. Ha!” the Bellator laughed. “Is this is the best they have?” He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “It is not much. No, not much at all. I feel sorry for the citizens of New York. You have no protectors. It is time for you to rise up and take back the city. If you do not, you will surely suffer a grim fate.”

  Lifting us back to our feet, the Bellator gave us both a strong shove off the stage. Only the strong arms of the other Watcher prevented us from falling on our faces.

  He practically threw us into our seats. The force of it knocked my chair back far enough that I was now able to see the computer monitor at the workstation.

  The Bellator said, “Now I will show you the proof of how ineffectual your police force is.” He gestured to where the other men were waiting beside the Watchers. Mike pointed to four of the younger men in the crowd, who then approached the stage.

  As they stepped into the spotlighted area, I saw that their faces were being digitally blurred on the monitor.

  The Bellator produced a duffel bag. He opened it to show stacks of money.

  “Our first reward goes to these four enterprising young men who saw their opportunity, and struck quickly and effectively.”

  He pointed to the television beside him, and the video feed changed to a scene that looked like it had been taken with a cell phone camera.

  I’d read the report, but seeing the attack on the lone officer on foot patrol was gut-wrenching. Three of the young men went after him with baseball bats; I assumed the fourth recorded the killing. Even in the darkness, I could see the street running red with blood as the three young men shouted congratulations to each other, standing over their kill and waving their arms in triumph.

  Alders turned her head, and for a moment, I thought she was going to be sick.

  When the video finished, the Bellator handed the duffel bag to one of the young men and said, “Well done. You deserve every dollar.”

  I strained against the bindings on my wrists. The Watcher behind me, as if sensing I longed to do something rash, put a heavy hand on my shoulder to keep me still.

  Once the four left the stage, clapping each other on the backs, the Bellator gestured for the next prize recipient to come forth.

  On the television, the video was a mix of cell phone footage and street camera recording of the officer who was killed in his car from the Molotov cocktail.

  I didn’t even hear what the Bellator said as he handed over the reward; the blood rushing in my ears drowned out all other sounds. All I wanted was to take every one of these sick, twisted bastards out.

  The macabre presentations continued with the third murders—that of the officer and his wife who were asleep in their homes—and the final killing of the officer which Putnam had attempted to stop.

  At long last, the parade of horrors was finished, and four million dollars in blood money was paid out. Mike and Bob herded the well-paid killers back down the stairs.

  The Bellator faced the camera.

  “You see, there is only one way to survive in this new world order, and that is to rise up and take what is yours. Do so, and you will be rewarded. Cower in your homes, and risk becoming yet another victim of the oligarchy that has repressed you all these years.

  “Some of you may still not believe there is a revolution coming. You may think this is but a storm soon to pass. I assure you; this is only the beginning. Once the citizens of New York have taken back control, other cities and other nations will rise up and throw off the shackles of their oppressors.

  “I have proven to you the police are weak and ineffectual. They are nothing more than trained dogs, obeying their true masters.

  “Tonight, I bring you another challenge. At the midnight hour, you will bring judgment upon those who have long judged you. For every lawyer you kill in the first ten minutes past midnight, I will award one million dollars; for every judge who receives their final justice at your hands, I will award five million dollars.” He reached just off screen and retrieved another duffel bag, and lifted it up in front of himself, opening it to show more cash. “All you need do is upload your proof to this website.”

  He put the duffel down and spoke his final words. “I bid you all good hunting.”

  * * *

  Once the man in the headset turned off the camera, the Bellator said, “Get packed quickly. We need to be out of here within the hour. If those two simpleton cops can find us, others can, too. Bring everything to the alternate location.”

  As the Watchers and their human servants went about shutting down their stage, I reeled from what I’d just witnessed.

  The Bellator had, in two nights, fomented the kind of uprising you only saw in third-world countries. Today had been bad, but tomorrow would be hell on earth.

  While the concept of killing cops would appeal to the criminal element in the city, the idea of going after lawyers and judges was something even normally law-abiding citizens thought about occasionally. Who hasn’t been screwed over by a lawyer at least once in their lives? Between divorces, petty lawsuits, and high-priced defense attorneys getting their scumbag clients off scot-free, there were plenty of reasons to hate lawyers.

  For anyone who’d ever gone to court over a parking ticket, or been given a steep child support or alimony judgment, their resentment would have been festering for years.

  Now, with the added incentive of one or five million dollars, the temptation to act out on those homicidal fantasies would be too much for some—there were enough people already on the edge; this would tip them over.

  Instead of four killings, I imagined there would be dozens tonight, at the very least, perhaps as many as a hundred. Even the anticipation of that kind of murder rate would cripple the city’s infrastructure.

  I could only guess how many people in the legal community were phoning in for immediate police protection, or hiring every available security company to guard them.

  Even if every officer in the five boroughs were called to duty, there wouldn’t be enough to police the streets. If they were spread out too thin, they wouldn’t be able to react to any emergency.

  The only possibility of maintaining peace was to declare
martial law and bring in the National Guard. That would send every right-wing militia group into a frenzy, citing the action as proof of a government out of control.

  The Bellator had a genius for evil. If his goal was to undermine the fabric of New York—or the country—he had succeeded in a way no other terrorist organization in the world ever had … and he hadn’t had to fire a shot. Instead, he got our own citizens to do the dirty work for him.

  When I looked over at Alders, I saw she held her face in a mask of fierce defiance, but the tears running down her cheeks told the true story. How many people were going to die tonight? If the Bellator was capable of this kind of atrocity, there was no way we could count on his mercy when it came to our fates. Alders and I were already dead; we just didn’t know how, yet.

  Mike and Bob returned from below, with Stanley a few steps behind.

  “Saw it on the computer downstairs,” Mike said. “Perfect.”

  The Bellator made a grunting sound. “It went on too long. People don’t have any attention spans these days.”

  “I’m sure we’ll see good results.”

  “We’ll know in a few hours, won’t we? It would have been better if we hadn’t had to move up our schedule. I would have liked another few weeks of preparation.”

  Stanley spoke, his voice shaky. “Is all this really necessary? Isn’t there another way?”

  Facing the ‘leader’ of the Watchers, the Bellator said, “Don’t stress yourself, Semjaza. We’ve only one more night after tonight. Once the people have turned on their mayor and the legislature after tomorrow night’s broadcast, and burned city hall, then we’ll step in—with you leading the charge—and save the city from itself.

  “When we’ve restored order, the people will love you; embrace you with their hearts and souls. You will become their immortal savior. Then we will be able to move against the rest of the country from a position of power. If all goes as planned, the world will be firmly under our control by this time next year.”

  Stanley took in a deep, ragged breath. “I’m just not sure about all the killing.”

  “The purge is necessary. Our ranks will swell after tonight. We need more of our brethren to cross.” He put a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. “Don’t fear; all those humans who are corrupt of heart will be punished.”

  Mike nodded in our direction. “What about them?”

  “The two police officers are of no further use to me. Take them out to the back alley and make it look like they were attacked by a gang. Take the scientist to the alternate location and ensure he lives; he still has not explained himself to my satisfaction.”

  “Consider it done,” Mike said, and beckoned Bob and Stanley to help him.

  The three approached us and Mike, with a grin on his face, looked me straight in the eye. “What, no quips or comments? Where’s that dry wit of yours?”

  With all that had just happened, I couldn’t have brought myself to say anything, even if my mind had thought of a snappy comeback.

  Mike sneered at me, then he addressed the other Watchers. “Stanley, help me with the equipment. Bob, you and Anton see to the prisoners.”

  As he and Stanley walked away, I looked in the direction of the Bellator as he resumed his place off to the side where he seemed to be deep in thought. He pulled his balaclava off and glanced at me as if in question.

  His eyes met mine, and that flash of recognition I’d had earlier was confirmed.

  There was no doubt; he was the spitting image of a man long dead…

  …I knew who the Bellator was, but I still couldn’t believe my own eyes…

  How was this possible…?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Then said the Most High, the Holy and Great One spake, and sent Uriel to the son of Lamech, and said to him: Go to Noah and tell him in my name “Hide thyself!” and reveal to him the end that is approaching: that the whole earth will be destroyed, and a deluge is about to come upon the whole earth, and will destroy all that is on it.

  –Book of Enoch 10:1-3

  The Bellator seemed to dismiss me from his thoughts; he headed toward the stairs. “I’m going to ensure the alternate location is secure,” he said when Mike looked up at him. “Finish here and join me as soon as you can.”

  “Will do.”

  The Bellator descended, taking the steps two at a time.

  While Mike and Stanley helped the two producers take down the stage equipment and computers, Bob and Anton saw to Alders, Clarence Brigson, and me.

  Ensuring the three of us were still secured by the handcuffs, they pulled us to our feet and dragged us toward the stairs. Brigson went along without even a hint of a struggle, but Alders tried to resist.

  “Let me go, you son of a bitch,” she spat at Bob, who had wrapped one of his hands around the back of her neck like a collar.

  “Behave yourself, little girl.” Bob squeezed tighter, his fingers digging into the skin of her neck hard enough to make her yelp. Then he gave her a harsh shove. Alders stumbled and almost fell, but managed to keep her feet at the last moment. She scowled at the Watcher.

  Ignoring her scathing look, Bob grabbed me by the arm and said, “Let’s go.”

  With Anton maneuvering Brigson, the two of them herded us down the stairs. I glanced out into the main shop, expecting it to be empty. Why would last night’s assassins stick around when they had all that newly won cash to spend?

  I noticed that there were several dark shadows on the floor, and when I looked closer, I recognized the silhouettes of the murderers’ bodies. I had to blink to be sure, but it seemed like they were all pancaked to the floor.

  Mike must have used his gravitational power to flatten them.

  Sick to my stomach at the brutality of it, at the same time I felt a twinge of satisfaction that the cop killers had been served with just ends.

  Alders’ voice cracked when she said, “You killed them all.”

  “They were corrupt,” said Bob. “For the wages of sin, death.” He pointed to the back door. “Hurry up. Out there.”

  We stepped out into the back alley, and I had to blink when a bright light flashed in my eyes.

  A loud, booming voice spoke from a megaphone. “This is the police, you are surrounded. Get on the ground and place your hands on the back of your head.”

  There was a single police vehicle at one end of the alley, parked sideways with both doors open. One officer was in a firing stance, using his door as a shield, while the other officer pointed the spotlight at us.

  It was then that I heard the rising din of sirens in the distance.

  How had the police found us so quickly? Then I pieced it together. Alders had left a message with the desk sergeant earlier. She would have given the address of the deli. Even if Captain Armstrong had initially dismissed her report, things would have changed the moment Alders and I were shown on the terrorist video, which was likely being monitored live by the cyber squad.

  The precinct was only about twenty blocks away; every available officer in Brooklyn would be here in minutes.

  Bob, roaring like a beast, gestured his hands at the first officer, who squeezed off a round.

  I reacted quicker than Alders. “Get down,” I shouted at her, and bowled her over, our momentum sending us into Brigson as well. The three of us fell in a tangle of legs and curses.

  The officer tried to fire his weapon again, but it had already been turned to rust the same way as Alders’ had earlier.

  The second officer fired, and the bullet sailed wide, missing Bob and ricocheting off the deli’s back door.

  With a wave of his hand, Bob turned the second gun to rust, then he tensed, directing his power at the police car.

  Before our eyes, the vehicle’s paint seemingly changed color from white to reddish-brown. The siren wail changed pitch as the electronics in the car seized.

  Two more police cars appeared at the end of the alley behind the first one.

  Bob turned to Anton. “Get the scientist out of her
e. I’ll deal with the cops.” Without waiting for a response, the angel of rust marched forward. The two police officers, whose guns and vehicle had been rendered useless, were understandably unnerved. Weaponless, they retreated to join the reinforcements.

  “Come on,” Anton growled, grabbing Brigson and pulling the man down the alley, where a dark cargo van waited. He seemed to have dismissed Alders and me from his mind.

  My first impulse was to try to subdue Anton. I glanced at Alders, who was favoring one leg. When I knocked her down, she must have twisted an ankle or something. She tried to fight back her tears, and I could see she was biting her lip against the pain of it. There was no way she could back me up.

  My hands were still bound. I had no idea how to stop Anton.

  As he and Brigson continued toward the van, glass from the windows above the deli shattered, the splinters cascading on the cement below, and two figures appeared in the opening: Mike and Stanley. They scrambled out of the window, hanging from the ledge for a moment before dropping to the ground.

  Mike waved at Anton frantically.

  “Go, go, go! I engaged the—”

  Before he could finish the words, I heard an earth-shattering rumble, the kind that penetrated deep through ever fiber of your being. The rest of the windows shattered, spraying glass everywhere.

  A column of smoke and a pillar of fire shot out of the second floor of the deli.

  I was shocked to realize I was on my back on the ground. My ears rang, and I was slow to get back up.

  “—security measures,” Mike finished as he pushed himself up to his feet. He grinned like a maniac. “Wow. I thought we’d have more time than that.”

  A second blast knocked me back down to the ground. The metal door of the shop flew off and slammed into the building across the alley. The fire must have reached the deli’s gas lines in the kitchen.

  I saw no sign of the two technicians. The fire would eliminate all witnesses and evidence of the Watchers’ activities.

  Anton pointed past Mike, and I looked in that direction.