Angels of Apocalypse, Part I: Alignment

by J. J. Harkin

  Soon Rachel was calling to them. “Looks like we can drop anchor pretty much anywhere we want! It’s a complete drop-off at the water’s edge. You only get this with man-made islands, but it sure is handy.”

  After circling the isle for a while, they finally found a break in the wall of trees, and decided to pull in closer. Exiting the boat would be even easier than coming aboard had been back in LA, for the massive wall of concrete had been built at nearly the same level as the deck of the ship itself. This left the gangway almost perfectly horizontal as it was lowered to meet the landing, so that they all wondered at the precision of the docking. Apparently, though the builders had not tried very hard to make the island appear natural, it seemed exceptionally equipped to receive incoming vessels. Den’s island was a lonely, free-standing wood atop a rock amid the sea, and all there was utterly silent.

  Hurriedly they secured the boat. With Dogie clenched securely under David’s arm, the four friends carefully crossed the gangway in single file. The break in the line of trees was swathed in thick grass. The companions glanced at one another, wondering if they should be expecting to be greeted by some sort of caretaker. All remained still. Following the little path onward, they entered an overgrown, natural pathway, formed by the meeting of the trees high above.

  A breathtaking view greeted them as they exited the tunnel. As might have been guessed, it seemed the trees had only been intended as a windscreen, for the island’s center was utterly devoid of foliage. Nothing but rolling, green grass covered the island’s broad, slightly hilly interior, but for one outstanding feature. At the center of the massive, lush lawn stood a sprawling villa which was designed in classic Southern Californian style, seeming for all the world as if it might have fallen from a housing development in the sky.

  “No way!” David exclaimed. Den was speechless, and literally pinched himself.

  They plodded forward in a daze. The house seemed to get bigger and bigger as they approached. What looked like a front door could be seen some way ahead, and they made for it. A lively garden surrounded the villa, full of plants they recognized well. Like the stucco walls leading up to it, the tiled roof three stories above had been assembled with the finest craftsmanship. Den found himself wondering which Californian contractor Victoria had convinced to construct this far-flung place, and how long it might have taken.

  Soon a pebbled path became discernable. The stones beneath their feet led them on a meandering course through the garden, past lily ponds and even a fountain, until they reached the home’s high entrance, an arched doorway of wood and thick glass. Den tried the door tentatively, and found it to be blessedly open. They stepped inside with a sense of great relief, having finally reached their destination after a long journey.

  “Holy crap!” Rachel exclaimed, standing there with her jaw dangling in a most unladylike fashion. They were in a vast entryway near a carpeted stair. David set Dogie upon the floor, and immediately he hurried off into the lavish distance, sniffing near and far characteristically.

  “Land o’ Goshen…” muttered David, equally nonplussed. He reached for a nearby light switch without much hope, but found, to his surprise, that it was quite functional.

  “Now how the hell does a distant place like this manage to have its own power supply?” wondered Den, to no one in particular.

  “I’ll bet there are some solar panels around here somewhere,” guessed Rachel.

  “Let’s have a look around!” Den exclaimed, bright eyed.

  “But with our shoes off,” put in Rachel, quite responsibly. “Looks like everything in here is either white, tan, or beige.”

  The entire house was lavishly decorated with the finest furniture, window hangings, carpeting, and tile flooring. The place might literally be fit for a king, though Den had never met one. Soon they arrived at the kitchen, and found it to be modern in every respect, though only sparsely provided with canned goods. It seemed they had done well to bring along so much food, though the camping gear had obviously been unnecessary. They separated to canvas the entire place next, eventually finding a game room replete with a massive television, countless bedrooms and bathrooms, a library, and even a solarium.

  At the very center of the house, Den came to a room labeled with a brass plaque bearing the odd title “The Chapel of Endless Stairs.” Foreboding gripped him as Den pried the doors open gingerly, and there he saw it: the grandest pipe organ he could ever have imagined. It had been carefully positioned in an area that accommodated numerous ornate stairwells, all of which served to connect the home’s various floors, and still the high-ceilinged elegance of the space was barely able to contain it. The organ was a massive tumble of piping and valves, and the seat before the keyboard had been placed poignantly upon a raised dais, centrally located among the myriad of intertwining staircases and galleries that adjoined the nearby living spaces.

  Den had trouble taking it all in. The sight of the organ in all its brilliance made him feel decidedly small. Staircases surrounded him, heading in seemingly every nonsensical direction. Was he a fly in a web? Den almost felt transformed into one of the little, stair-climbing men in the M. C. Escher drawings he loved so much. He approached, therefore, with inexplicable caution, knowing somehow that he had entered into Victoria’s secret domain.

  Slowly Den tiptoed further into the room, feeling more timid with each step. He had to pick his path carefully to make sure he was on the right track to reach the dais that held the organ’s keyboard. The stairs had definitely not been organized for travelling efficiency. Rather, they were tangled in just such a way as to provide numerous picturesque avenues of sight for those who might be interested in watching the performing organist.

  Before long Den found the right path to the dais, which was raised to a point nearly level with the second floor. The massive stained-glass windows behind the organ drew his attention as he approached. There a kaleidoscope of colors had been arranged into the form of a rising sun, the beams of which seemed to radiate outward from behind the organist’s seat. Pearlescent keys twinkled at him as Den approached. To his dismay, he noticed that a handwritten note had been placed into the slot designed for holding sheet music. Snatching it up, he glanced quickly down at the letter, and realized that he recognized the handwriting all too well:

  Denny-dear,

  Welcome to your new home! Can you believe it? I wish I was already there to enjoy it with you, but all in good time. When you need money, go to the vault in the basement. The date I died is the combination. Joseph says you’ll be fine, so don’t worry about a thing. It was his sound financial advice which built this place and everything in it, so do remember to be courteous when you eventually meet him.

  You are here to work on your inventions! That’s right, I know how creative you and David are, and I intend for this to be your big opportunity. So spend your money and time wisely! You never know just how crucial your creations might become to the world at large. I’ll be by to visit as soon as I can!

  Love Eternal,

  Victoria

  After reading the bizarre note, Den wasted no time calling his companions loudly into the room. Dogie, certain something must be terribly wrong, came bounding into the place howling like a firehouse dalmatian after an alarm.

  “Where are you?” called David, coming up from the basement.

  “I’m up… over… I swear I’m in here somewhere!” exclaimed Den plaintively. “I think I’m on the second floor!”

  “Where?” Rachel was finding her meandering way into the chamber as well, but from the floor above him. Dogie clearly had no idea where he was going, for he was frantically capering and barking in every direction, and so Rachel mercifully scooped up the confused dog on her way down. When they had all finally found him, Den let them each read the letter, and they stared at one another, utterly befuddled.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” said David, with a crinkled forehead. “She left you the island in her will, yet she writes this letter as though she mig
ht be by to visit any time.”

  Rachel was confused as well. “Maybe she originally intended to introduce you to the place while she was still alive, but that still wouldn’t explain how she knew her own death date ahead of time. Didn’t you say this Joseph was just a bike messenger?”

  “Yeah. If it’s the same guy anyway,” said Den, turning to her.

  “But who manages to get sound financial advice from random bicycle couriers?” asked David, to no one in particular.

  “Apparently my grandmother did. I mean, look at this place.” Den looked around, feeling increasingly forlorn.

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” continued David. “And I’ve just been to the basement. There really is a massive vault down there.”

  “But this is mental!” announced Den, sitting heavily upon the piano bench. “Don’t you remember what I told you? I met Joseph only minutes before Victoria died, and he specifically mentioned that I ought to wait for a financial confirmation of some kind. This is it! He knew Victoria was about to leave me all this, and took the opportunity to plant ideas about hydrogen separation in my head!”

  “But why?” wondered David.

  “Whoever this Joseph is,” put in Rachel, “he is certainly more than he represented himself to be. He is no bike messenger.”

  “But who is he, then?” asked Den. “Some sort of rogue scientist?”

  David frowned. “One thing is certain: Anyone with the investment savvy to pull off turning the mole hill that was Victoria’s fortune into an island in the South Pacific is no ordinary working stiff.”

  “I just can’t see what he might have had to gain from all of this,” persisted Den.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” said David, turning to go, “but come on. You’ve gotta see this vault.”

  David led them back down the stairs upon which he had arrived, and then off to the left toward an arched stone doorway. There a long, cool stair led down into the foundations of the building. The companions looked around upon reaching the bottom, and saw that the place had the look of an old-fashioned wine cellar. Brick catacombs surrounded them, yet there was no sense of gloom, for all was lit warmly by attractive brass lights which had been attached to the ceiling, stretching off into the distance. Dogie squirmed in Rachel’s arms, but she held him close, feeling certain he would become utterly lost in such a place.

  David took the lead then, striding ahead confidently as he turned this way and that. The storage space seemed nearly endless, so that they quickly realized it must cover every inch of ground beneath the island’s surface. Periodically the passageway opened on one side or another to reveal the spacious, wood-paneled rooms it interconnected. They spotted doors at the back of some of these rooms, but David said that all had been firmly locked when he tried them, and they hurried after him obediently. Beyond these doors it seemed the clink of metal could be heard, but their exploration would have to wait until the appropriate key had been found. Eventually they came to the end of the hall, and found themselves standing before a massive, black, metal door with a digital faceplate at its center.

  Den stepped forward to see what entering Victoria’s death date might achieve, yet his first try accomplished nothing. Thinking that perhaps he was meant to enter the year in its entirety – rather than just the last two numbers – Den gave it another try. That did it. With a hiss the vault popped open, and Den pulled the heavy door aside. Lights were flickering on inside, revealing wealth unimaginable. They could not even see the back of the vault. Stacked bars of gold, silver, and platinum, as well as many other forms of wealth, filled their entire field of vision.

  “It’s…” began Den, scratching his forehead. “It’s…”

  “Yep,” agreed David, “this should definitely be enough to cover our startup costs.”

  “And then some,” put in Rachel, in equal disbelief.

  Yet Den still could not shake the feeling that something fishy might be going on. “Do you think this has something to do with drugs or – I don’t know – perhaps arms dealers?”

  “That certainly doesn’t sound like the Victoria I knew…” replied David.

  “I know,” Den agreed, “it really doesn’t. But we still know nothing about this Joseph guy, now do we?”

  Yet Rachel, never having known Victoria, Joseph, or any other such mysterious persons, could not remain perplexed or confused for long. “Try to remember this is a blessing,” she insisted, nudging Den briskly. “If Joseph was some sort of creepy drug dealer or extortionist, then he certainly wouldn’t have left you anything. But here you are with your own island mansion! Cheer up!”

  Knowing she was quite right, they decided to settle in. Before long the three friends, under the strict observation of Dogie the doggie, had set about the laborious task of unloading their extensive belongings from The Sea Hag. Though the mysterious behavior of Victoria and Joseph had not been forgotten, Den and David knew it best to focus on what was most important. They now had the time, money, and space to pursue their scientific interests, and they were not going to let this opportunity pass them by.

  The Whispers of Essien

  “Listen! Did you hear that?!” shouted the pale waif to her friend. The San Tropez club was so loud that the floor beneath their feet shuddered like a train platform.

  “WHAT!?” replied the other. “Honestly, Francine, you know it’s too loud in here for talking!” Neither girl could hear anything over the endless boom of energetic house music. “Just go to the bathroom by yourself for once!”

  “Oh, never mind!” shouted Francine, knowing that she had been completely misunderstood. She turned slowly on her heel, scanning the discothèque for signs of unusual activity, and then plunged into the surrounding crowd.

  “Come with me!”

  There it was again: the strange voice she had heard. Francine looked this way and that, desperate to learn what voice might have the power to so easily cancel out the blaring interference of the French Riviera all around her.

  “Over here! In the DJ booth!”

  Her heart beat in her throat as Francine looked toward the little hole in the wall at the back of dance floor, where the two wickedly smiling eyes found her at last. He was standing directly behind the DJ himself, looking for all the world as if she might be the only one in the nightclub who could see him. Francine gasped as a vibration like pleasure washed over her, and immediately she began to make her way toward the other side of the dance floor.

  “I am Essien! Come to me!”

  Francine had only just reached the shabby door which sealed off the booth from unwanted visitors when a long, shapely arm reached out to pull her in. Eyes of deepest brown found her in the next instant, as Prince Essien pulled her toward him for closer examination. The structure of his face was a perfect vision of masculinity, the touch of his skin a blaze of heat.

  “You are beautiful, my dear,” he said. “I would have you remain with me forever. Do you wanna ride?”

  “Do I?!” laughed Francine, in utter disbelief at her luck. “Where are we going?”

  “Where aren’t we going?” returned Essien. “But take this.” He pressed something like an inhaler into her hand, before glancing toward the back of the booth. “This is your ticket. The conductor is just outside. I will be aboard shortly, after our last guest has arrived.”

  So, feeling as bewildered as she was curious, Francine did as she was told. After fumbling in the darkness to turn the door handle at the back of the DJ booth, she found herself in a short hallway. At the end of this she stepped through yet another door, and found herself in the most surprising alley she might ever have imagined. Before her stood a man dressed in all the traditional vestments of an old-time train conductor, replete with both stopwatch and monocle. Behind him Francine was shocked to see that a huge, black train filled every spare bit of the cramped side street.

  “All aboard the Essien Express!” shouted the man, as he checked that she too held the necessary inhaler required of all who sought ent
rance to the train. “Right up the stairs, Miss, and then straight to the back to find the rest of the newbies.”

  Though it was far too dark to see any rails herself, Francine found herself idly wondering if every club in San Tropez was located so conveniently near to train tracks. Excitedly she climbed aboard the first passenger car, heading eagerly toward her new destiny further back. And that was the last anyone in the outside world ever saw of Francine. Never again in her short, pleasurable life did she leave that train, where Essien’s new breed of ultramodern jetsetters wielded pleasure like chains of iron.

  Chapter VIII

  THE GEOMETRICAL QUANDARY

  Moonlight drenched Jerusalem’s Temple Mount. Sémeion smiled as he looked down upon it all, for he had climbed the secret stair which spiraled up through the back side of the New Temple’s Holy Place, and there stood for many hours, surveying the pride and joy of Israel in the manner of an expecting father. All was finally finished. Though Sémeion knew the monumental rectangular wall of stone which now framed the Mount had only just been finished at sundown, it seemed to him as though all might have stood there since the times when his ancestors roamed the land. Every bit of the old, decaying stone had now been carefully sealed beneath new workmanship. The artisans had done well.

  Inside the Mount’s far southern wall, al-Aqsa Mosque remained standing, just as Talman had recommended. About fifteen hundred meters north of that the Dome of the Rock remained as well, though now it stood in the shadow of the Hebrew Temple’s inner courts. Another, even higher, wall surrounded these, yet it was only half as high as the roof of the Holy Place, for this was meant to serve as the pinnacle of the Holy City itself. All had been constructed from traditional white stone, which had been excavated from Jerusalem’s ceremonial quarry nearby. All glowed brilliantly in the moonlight.