Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1)

by Suggs, Lester

  He folded his wings and returned to a more empyreal form. Looking around at the destruction he caused and again down on the man who was once Mark White, Gabriel allowed a fierce satisfaction washed over him. He threw up his left arm skyward and flung a beam of light straight into the night. In a moment his form had dissolved into the beam and he was gone. The fires he had left behind grew and began to devour what remained of the church.

  The Press

  It took much longer than Joe liked. Glancing at his watch for the fourth time in the last five minutes didn't help his anxiety. The S.W.A.T. command vehicle was just pulling up. The squad van had been here for forty minutes. It was four fifteen in the morning and Joe was on his last nerve. Thankfully, Bryce was with him, and Chris was running a skeleton crew back in operations.

  The team had found Mr. DeLuca and Ms. Aledar, an Indian national, staying the night in a Resident's Inn off Settler's Cabin Road. The pair had doubled back to this side of Pittsburgh, after being seen on the north, shopping. They were doing a great deal of shopping, Joe imagined. Were they leaving the area? Were they soon to elope?

  Both were registered under assumed names again. Tom and Sara Briggs. It was nearly comical. Mr. DeLuca seemed to have no end to these false identities. It was his team who tracked the pair down again. After this was over Joe promised his team high praise and personally written letters of recommendation. Each, even the Turd Twins, had earned his respect. Any future department would do well to have any of his team.

  Joe rounded the S.W.A.T. command van. He found Sgt. Timmons running his team through a weapons check. Joe counted nine men including the sergeant.

  “Sergeant, when will your team be ready?” Joe asked the sergeant as he checked then holstered a Sig P229. The sergeant pulled a Remington 870 shotgun from an unlocked cabinet off to the right of the business end of the van.

  The sergeant looked Joe over for a moment then said, “Ten minutes, tops,” as he looked at what must have been his second in command. The other S.W.A.T. member nodded agreement, and the sergeant nodded again toward Joe.

  “Ten minutes, good,” Joe said.

  Joe Diclaro turned and walked back over to Bryce who was looking threw a pair of matte black binoculars at the motel.

  “Anything new?” Joe asked Bryce.

  “Nothing Chief,” Bryce replied. “All is quiet.”

  Joe pulled a heavy radio from his raincoat pocket and keyed the mic button. His team had requested and received a private channel for tonight's operation.

  “Team, S.W.A.T. will be ready in ten minutes. Go time will be oh four twenty five. We will wait for the road barricades to be in place before we send in the guns. Is everyone in place?”

  Joe listened as all of his regular police officers checked in. Joe had to use several teams to block the roads going in and out of the area. The overpass had to be blocked at each end. The feeder road and two sets of on-ramps also had to be barricaded while Mr. DeLuca was brought down.

  “No one moves until I give a 'Go' call over this channel at my oh four twenty five,” Joe said into the radio. He pocketed it and looked back over toward the hotel. His team had assembled in a retail parking lot over looking the east facade of the Resident's Inn. The building was a simple six story box, hotel chains like to throw up in a month. It wasn't ornate. It's only feature was a large awning covering the main door. The hotel manager had confirmed with Joe that the back door would be locked from the outside. Foot traffic could only exit the building from the main entrance and the back exit.

  Bryce and Joe now looked down upon the hotel from a distance of two hundred and fifty yards. There were no room lights coming from any of the hotel's windows. All guests were asleep. The plan was to have S.W.A.T. roll into the hotel quietly and have the manager open the room door with a pass key. Surround the fugitives and have them cuffed and shackled before they could wipe the sleep from their eyes. Morning breath and all.

  Joe turned and looked back toward the S.W.A.T. command van. The sergeant saw him and gave Joe a thumbs up. His team was lined up receiving orders. Any minute now, Joe thought. This will be all over soon.

  “Sir!” snapped Bryce.

  Joe instinctively spun and looked down at the hotel. The rental car his team had identified was gunning out of the parking lot. Rounding the corner onto the feeder road the car tires squealed before they made traction. The night had begun to sprinkle and a light rain was forecast for the upcoming day.

  “God Damn it!” Joe screamed.

  Ripping the radio from his coat pocket, Joe keyed the mic, “Officers, everyone into their cars, leave the barricades and pursue that light blue ford sedan. The target has left the motel parking lot heading north on the feeder.”

  Joe watched as DeLuca’s vehicle turned left onto over pass. Police cars pulled out from cover and were already within one hundred yards as DeLuca sped by them.

  “Now heading west on the overpass. They are going to make for three seventy six,” Joe barked into the radio.

  Bryce broke away and headed toward their unmarked agency ride. Joe spun to yell at the S.W.A.T. sergeant, “Sergeant, mount your people up and follow us. The fugitives have left the hotel.”

  Bryce was already seated when Joe yanked open the driver's door and jumped inside. With one swift set of motions the engine roared into life, the driver's door shut, and the car was dropped into gear. Unfortunately, the logistics of the retail parking lot was eighty feet above the feeder road and everyone in the staging area had to drive completely across the parking lot and down a swerving entry road before coming to a traffic light at the bottom of the hill. Joe's sedan made outrageous noise as it was thrown down any flat surface he could navigate. They were flying.

  Behind them came the police commander's patrol car, a local precinct supervisor vehicle, and the two S.W.A.T. vans. One loaded with special operations police, the other, the command van was loaded with equipment and weapons. Joe could see as he gunned across the overpass there were six patrol cars already in pursuit. Their lights making a parade of flashes against the nearby hillsides. Sirens yelled into the night. Joe was thankful traffic was almost nonexistent. However, he threw his magnetic flashing light onto the roof when he could take advantage of lower speed while turning left to go down the entry ramp. Joe didn't want that one half-asleep early riser to T-bone him on his way to downtown.

  “Suspects have turned off three seventy six and onto the north bound lanes of seventy nine. We will be on them within seconds. What are our orders?” an officer chattered from the radio.

  Joe fished the unit out of his pocket. Keying the mic he said, “Do not engage. Hang back fifty yards. Do not engage.” Joe dropped the radio onto the center console between him and Bryce. Without being told Bryce secured the radio so it would not fly out a window or get lost in the floorboards. Moments later their car ripped down the exit ramp with four vehicles closely behind.

  The six squad cars fell back the ordered distance and matched Griffin's speed. Three of the cars in each lane. Their emergency lights created an epileptic event down the I-seventy nine corridor. Communicating between themselves, they agreed to kill their sirens. This area of suburban Pittsburgh was home to many tax paying citizens. It would not do well to have hundreds of complaint calls awaiting them once they each returned to their precincts. They were now a quiet high speed disco entertaining no one but the heads of deer chewing grass on the side of the highway.

  Within minutes Joe and their train of five vehicles had caught up to the other six patrol cars. The S.W.A.T. van motors made an awful screaming noise straining to keep up. The patrol cars, modified for high speed, were barely straining. The train of cars merged with highway seventy nine with two seventy nine, heading north away from the city. Joe was relieved to see they would not have to coordinate ad-hoc road blocks into downtown on a work morning. The press would eat them alive and the paper work would have gone into the following year. Joe and Bryce looked at each other, obviously each was having the same welcom
e thought.

  Itishree looked back over her shoulder and saw a riot of flashing lights. The sirens could be clearly heard through the rolled up windows of their rental sedan. She said nothing but looked over at Griffin.

  When they had left the hotel parking lot she and Griffin had discussed Griffin speeding, but not to speed too much. Neither wanted to lose their lives, taking a chance of crashing, and ruining their mission. Griffin looked in his rearview mirror almost as much as he look forward. They were doing eighty miles an hour. It wasn't long before the police cars were nearly on top of them.

  Griffin took the exit ramp to catch the east bound lanes of highway three seventy six. There would be even less cars on this connector section between major inlets of traffic. He knew traffic would begin to clog these roads in another hour.

  “This is going to get ugly,” he said.

  Itishree wondered on his expression. She turned looking behind them. The patrol cars were closing. Maybe two hundred meters and quickly catching. One hundred fifty meters. Then fifty meters. The light from the combined headlights was blinding. She couldn't make out any detail. Chasing them was a screaming wall of bright lights.

  But now the police vehicles stopped advancing. The stayed back, three abreast, with their high beams lit.

  “They have stopped getting closer,” she said.

  Griffin checked his mirrors several more times before agreeing with her. “They are either waiting for something or something is waiting for us just ahead.”

  Itishree's attention went back to the road ahead.

  Then Joe realized where they had to be going. Highway seventy nine didn't connect with two seventy nine southbound. The path they were taking was headed for the Pennsylvania turnpike.

  “Bryce, if you were a fugitive and had just purchased enough clothes and equipment for weeks of travel, what would your travel options be from here?” Joe asked.

  “Sir, the airport was the opposite direction two highways ago. The train station is downtown. If you wanted to drive yourself, the PA turnpike is just ahead, maybe five miles.” Bryce said.

  “Must be the turnpike,” Joe said. He made a head nod towards the radio in Bryce's hand. “See if there is time to have cars block the exit to the turnpike.”

  Bryce made busy with the handheld while Joe pondered his next options. They were in a rolling chase, not at terribly high speed, suspects were almost contained.

  “Two cars will pass the suspects and continue on to the turnpike exit at high speed,” Bryce said.

  “Good,” Joe said stealing a glance at Bryce.

  Two patrol cars peeled off and launched down the left lane. They shot past DeLuca and were ahead in moments. Then, DeLuca took the next exit at high speed.

  Joe and Bryce fumbled for the radio. Joe gave up as Bryce's thumb found the mic key. Far ahead twin sets of break lights danced and swerved. The patrol cars slowed searching for an avenue to cross the median. Joe followed the patrol cars still chasing DeLuca. The rental had made a reckless left and was cross the overpass. They were now a conga line of lights. Joe made the left. He was five cars behind DeLuca.

  “There’s nothing down here,” Bryce said. “Endless subdivisions and shopping plazas.”

  As if on cue DeLuca made a side-ways left making for the exit ramp south bound to two seventy nine.

  “Shit, they're heading back into the city?” Joe asked Bryce, or no one.

  “Or back to the airport?” Bryce asked.

  At the bottom of the ramp everyone pickup up the pace, back to eighty miles per hour. The parade continued just as before.

  “Can anyone see activity in the suspect vehicle?” Bryce asked into the radio.

  “Nothing. No sign of activity,” the radio replied.

  “Why the U-turn?” Joe asked Bryce.

  True Panic

  “Should we pull over and let me drive?” Itishree asked with a smile.

  “All right, all right. I was a little lost. I don't come this way often,” Griffin said. He was also blushing. He could laugh at the absurdity. He knew if a helicopter was overhead they would make the local police blotter vids for the evening news.

  He checked his mirrors again and saw the patrol cars were keeping their distance as before. The two cars that had passed them had rejoined the pack. What made Griffin curious were the two dark delivery trucks behind the cars. News crew? Camera vehicles? It was difficult to make out details of the large vans from the darkness and the flashing LEDs of the cop cars.

  And then it hit Griffin. S.W.A.T trucks he realized. That suited jackass had called the cop military. With the thought Gabriel came to life within his mind.

  “I will intervene,” the Archangel said.

  Griffin didn't like those words. The last thing he wanted was a spectacle. But after checking his mirrors for the bah-jillionth time, he had a spectacle. He was the spectacle. It was taking all of his effort to concentrate on driving, checking on Itishree, and imagining how they were going to get to the train station with eight or nine vehicles in tow. All bent on stopping him or worse.

  Griffin was hurtling down I279 now at over eighty five miles an hour. They just blew past the Camp Horn Road exit. Two cars were coming up the entry ramp. Each made sharp decelerations seeing the blue, red, and yellow lights dancing in circles around the valley. A single siren waled, warning other traffic of the comet of metal coming down the freeway. The siren continued to scream.

  Griffin knew downtown was only moments away. The police and Agent Joe were going to have to do something, and soon, if they wanted to stop Griffin. He found himself looking behind the rental car more than forward. Griffin piloted the car past the high occupancy lane entrance. His attention swung forward now as the freeway began a sweeping downhill left. Griffin could feel the car under him struggle for traction. Tires squealed behind him.

  With an explosive glow of blue-white light Gabriel ripped himself from Griffin's body flying backwards over the back seats and out the rear glass. The action made Griffin gasp. Part of his control of the car was Gabriel's and suddenly he found himself one hundred percent at the wheel. The rental swerved to miss a slower car. Their car chase was meeting morning traffic.

  Itishree spun as Gabriel had shot from the car. Griffin saw her mouth was wide open but couldn't make sense of the sound coming from her. He couldn't afford to check his mirrors. Traffic was coming too fast now and he had to recall the exit closest to the train station.

  Behind them Gabriel created a heavy gravity wave beneath his form. Spreading his wings, the field grew wide covering half of the lanes to either side. Gabriel flew low as the first patrol car was under his wings in a flash of swift motion. The force and speed of Gabriel and the trailing gravity wave crushed the patrol car like a giant rolling pin. The headlights and grill blew out with a shower of glass and metal. The hood wrapped around the engine ripping all mechanical extensions from the motor block. The alternator bounced off the pavement and shot into the air. The force met the passenger compartment and crushed the roof around the headrests of the seats. The officers inside were pulverized from the waist up. Their blood, and worse, exploded left and right before the roof was friction welded to the doors. The tires made concussive reports. When the bare metals of the wheels and underside of the car hit the asphalt an arc of sparks shot across the freeway.

  Gabriel never slowed. He crushed the next police cruiser, and the next. The crushed patrol cars crunched into the concrete jersey barrier as highly compressed slabs of mixed metals.

  The remaining police cars impacted the pavement in the same way. The drivers had a few seconds to react but their forward speed was too high and the gravity wave too wide. Pancaked metal crashed into concrete barrier on either side of the the freeway. Two flipped over. Heaps of steel were dancing across all southbound lanes.

  Gabriel jinked to his left when he crossed over Joe's plane marked car. Bryce was smashed. His upper body liquified. The seat upright smashed into the rear floorboard. Joe's left arm and head w
ere hammered by the roof and trapped in what used to be his driver side window. The glass vaporized when Joe was thrown at his door. The S.W.A.T. heavy van, loaded with assault forces, crashed into Joe's car. The veer Gabriel took punched into the first of the S.W.A.T. vans tossing it over onto its side. It pirouetted like a massive grinder chewing into the highway. The second S.W.A.T. van, loaded down with weapons, tools, and gear drove into the underbelly of the first van. The two spun together and each imploded as they hit the side barrier. The last crashing sounds were of the toolbox lacerating the length of the equipment van and crashing into the hillside thirty meters away.

  “May God have mercy,” Itishree said. She had remained turned in her seat, witnessing most of the destruction.

  Griffin never slowed. The rental crossed the river and disappeared under the canopy of tall office buildings.

  Escape

  Griffin stuffed the rental car down Strawberry Way, an alley two blocks from the Amtrak station. The alley was dark and lifeless. Perfect. He got out of the car, pulling the trunk latch, and walked around to the rear of the car. Carefully he checked Grant Street for any sign of... Griffin sighed. He had no idea what he was guarding against or why he was afraid. Regardless, there was little movement.

  He faced the trunk which held their two large duffle bags and two backpacks. Going through the motion of emptying the compartment, Griffin noticed Itishree was still seated in the car. Neither he nor Itishree had spoken since the chasing police had disappeared in a metal tsunami of sparks and wrenching sounds.

  As gently as Griffin could manage he opened her car door and squatted down. Small tremors took her for a moment. Some form of shock, Griffin guessed.

  She turned her head, recognizing him, and her thousand yard stare vanished. He stroked her hair and down across her cheek. Seeing Itishree like this pained Griffin. A helpless feeling entangled his spine. The morning's events had shaken him too but Itishree was a mess.