by Gary Starta
By changing this equation, Crowley entrusted the gods would recognize his mastery of wizardry. No magician had ever laid claim to making all of humanity disappear before. But in case the gods were not impressed, Crowley clung to his ace: the human, Caitlin Diggs, the woman whose makeup closely resembled that of the Egyptian Goddess Isis. She would serve as his backup plan.
Crowley delighted in his craftiness. This time he had covered all the bases. The Special Agent would never realize how special she was, until it was too late. Her death would release the pure golden white light necessary to unlock the portal and grant access to the fourth dimension, whether the gods deemed his access worthy or not.
Right now, such magnificent designs would yield to a brief interlude. An intruder had arrived. Crowley commanded his vessel to take care of that intruder, to eliminate the threat, to cover all bases. The purple-robed man complied, harboring the most evil intent.
***
She could not remember how she got here...
Her padded paws rebelled against the cold, hard January ground. She moved on with eyes wide, ears pricked and rotating, until she came upon a dilapidated structure. She sensed its evil without one flick of a whisker or employment of her superior olfactory abilities. Black things resided here. It was a sure bet bad things would follow.
She pondered possibilities. How could she thwart the evil lurking inside this chapel-like structure? True, she had razor-like claws and a set of sharp teeth. Yet what tactical advantage did this give her over the enemy? She could not move brick, wood or steel with them. She would have to settle for a reconnaissance mission. Humans depended upon recon to flush out the enemy.
With steadfast resolve, she backed away from the structure to take in its full scope. It sat firm between two alleyways littered with debris. Celeste knew she must risk traversing one of these alleyways in order to complete her mission. Humans labeled buildings on whichever side happened to face the street. The nearest intersection of street sat about twenty five yards away, beyond the alleyways.
She weighed the risk. If she were to identify the enemy, she must determine the topographical location of their nesting place. She absorbed all sounds before taking a step. A horn blared in the distance. Wind played a tune on a chime. Both sounds emanated somewhere behind her. Her senses told her the alleyway was safe for passage. She chose the passageway to her left.
Unfortunately, her senses could not pick up the scent of the purple-robed man lurking behind her. With the aid of Crowley, the robed man emitted no worldly signatures for Celeste to identify. He masked his identity with the mundane—a horn and a chime. By the time Celeste had made her journey halfway through the rank-smelling passageway, a shadow fell over her. She caught it from the corner of her eye. She turned tail, daring to glimpse whatever now followed her.
The form defied categorization. It did not walk at ground level, but floated behind her, all without the aid of wings. Celeste took flight. Somersaulting on the ground as if she were a spinning top , she gained a few yards on the shadowy form. The head start enabled her to scoot all the way down the alleyway until she met a sidewalk. She paused to crane her neck so she could view the building’s entranceway but the shadow intervened, still hovering over her, preventing her from recording the building’s address.
She bounded across the street to a park. A gold taxi lurched to a stop, narrowly missing her. Still, the shadowy purple-cloaked figure continued pursuit, casting a reflection in a window of a building beyond the park. Celeste sped on, spying the figure’s mirrored image in the window. Choosing a pathway lined with trees, the cat turned the purple-robed man’s aerial advantage into a handicap. He ducked and swerved to avoid hitting a maple and a spruce. A flock of startled black birds took flight in response, knocking the dark figure on the ground. He rolled helpless for a moment. .
Celeste raced for the building, gaining valuable seconds. By the time the figure could take flight again, she had reached the building’s façade. She scrambled up the face of the structure, defying gravity. But again the shadowy figure intervened, startling her. Her right paw nearly lost purchase with the concrete surface. She righted herself with the aid of a window ledge, catapulting herself back onto course with her left paw. She increased velocity, scurrying up the building as the reaper-like man pursued. Now both man and cat pounced vertically, but not one eye dared take notice or reason anything was out of place.
The robed man succumbed to a shortness of breath. He didn’t think he could make it to the rooftop. He questioned his faith to the great dissatisfaction of his supernatural roommate. They communicated telepathically.
“Why am I tracking this animal, Lord Crowley?”
“I thought I made this abundantly clear in your last vision!”
“But isn’t this a vision? What threat does this animal pose?”
“It’s a vision with a very dangerous consequence—for both of us.” Crowley released the equivalent of a telepathic sigh. “Visions will become reality in the Golden Mean. What we experience now is a false reality—a user illusion of sorts... Or put more simply, a false consciousness. But you must reach the fourth dimension to comprehend this paradox. This is a lesson. You must learn to control visions, because they are reality.”
“I did try.” The robed man panted. “I tried to control Diggs... I am controlling Diggs.”
“Not quite, my friend. I have been closely monitoring your tether to the one I behold as a goddess. I have been responsible for sending her false visions. I have also tempted her, feeding her clues concerning her divine nature.”
“Then what have I accomplished?”
“You were the one who created the conduit. You gave her the robe. And because of this robe, the cat has unwittingly hacked into our reality. She is to be considered dangerous. She is a threat that must be neutralized.”
“How can a cat become tethered to our consciousness?”
“Stop thinking and start feeling.”
The purple-robed man gasped. “This can’t be!”
“Yes.” Crowley laughed at his disciple’s discovery. “The cat has a soul. This is a rare find indeed. A cat with a soul would normally be utilized in a sacrificial ritual. But in this case, I want you to exterminate her.”
Infuriated, the robed man used his negative energy to leap upon the roof. The cat bared its fangs at him. A hissing sound followed.
“I don’t care if you’ve got a soul, my furry friend. No cats are to be allowed ascension if I have anything to do with it.” Feeding his fury, the robed man summoned a lantern and a staff. Both fell gracefully into his hands. Crowley’s eyes now peered out from underneath the hooded robe.
“Now, we’re playing with fire. Here, kitty kitty.” A demonic laugh erupted from the demonic hybrid’s diaphragm. In mere seconds, the Master-Crowley union ignited the staff by dipping it into the lantern. They swung the lantern until it illuminated the entire horizon. “Now you have nowhere to hide!”
Celeste rocked back upon her hind legs. She lifted off, nearly missing her intended landing spot, an adjacent building some ten yards away. The shadowy one dove toward the cat in a headlong freefall. Enraged by emotion, he almost missed the building’s rooftop. He careened off the building’s side and bounced slightly backward. Only sheer will allowed him to hook an arm onto a rooftop gutter, two feet above him. He propelled himself over the side, and when he did, the cat was nowhere in sight.
Both Master and Crowley listened intently. “I can hear you...” Their voices blended in sick harmony.
Celeste popped out from behind a ventilation shaft. She pounced upon her pursuer’s back, scratching and clawing until he threw her off him. She had only managed to slightly rip his garment. A small purple fiber became imbedded in her claw.
He laughed. “Soul or no soul, you will yield to my power. You are an animal, and therefore inferior. It’s time to give up this game of cat and mouse.”
Celeste froze, not with fear, but with fascination. She could understand th
e language this man spoke. All the human gibberish she had ever heard was making sense to her.
“I am a grand champion, a psychic detective...a feline with a soul!”
Now Celeste became energized with rage. She rocked back again, determined to escape this robed asshole . She leapt, landing firmly upon yet another rooftop, fifteen yards away.
“You’re testing my limits, feline!”
The Master floated effortlessly across the buildings. His confidence burned brilliantly once again. He had not come this far without conviction. Determination had always restored his spirit, no matter the setback. He dropped the lantern and fixed both hands upon his flaming staff.
“Burn, baby, burn.”
A rocket of light cascaded toward Celeste. Before she could leap again, it singed her backside. She smelled burning rubber before the pain set in. She bit down hard on the purple fiber caught between her claws and...
Then she awoke.
Celeste licked her fur for a five full minutes, finally realizing she had not been set ablaze. She could not recall speaking or understanding the language of the robed man in her dreams. She could recall the image of fire quite vividly. It compelled her to utilize it. Pouncing off the fuchsia robe on which she had fallen asleep she determined only one course of action could follow.
Simultaneously, the Master awakes. No longer experiencing Crowley’s full presence, his eyes become his own. He curses, unable to comprehend how the feline escaped him. He sits alone in the dank darkness of his abandoned church. Wind sifts through the poorly insulated walls. He wishes his small but loyal congregation could one day convene in a much grander setting, one where throngs of followers would fall upon their knees before him. He then realizes this is a dream and dreams are not reality in his current state of consciousness. The thought rankles him. His head droops from fatigue. In minutes he falls asleep in the abandoned church, allowing his conviction to slightly veer off course because he is human and humans sometimes experience despair.
***
She had fished out a pair of binoculars from the trunk of her G6. Moments later she wished she hadn’t. They only served to further illuminate the futility of the situation playing out in the air above her.
Special Agent Caitlin Diggs watched as two army helicopters began to hover very close to one another. The binoculars confirmed the blue Apache Longbow was the only thing that stood between the Black Hawk and the wave of destruction it promised to levy on helpless army ground troops below it.
They were clearly outgunned. Lt Colonel Louis Stoker had all but confirmed the hopelessness of the situation via radio, imploring the Longbow to take down the Hawk if necessary. Not a single man or woman scurrying for their lives over the eight miles of rough terrain below carried a gun capable of live fire. Caitlin paused to wonder about this man’s penchant for honesty. He could have left some doubt for Colonel Sweizer to ponder. Now, the only thing the crazed colonel had to worry about was taking out the Longbow and resuming his assault on the troops he had once proudly commanded.
Diggs could only take comfort that her new boyfriend Ross Fisher had been ordered off the base as quickly as he stepped upon army soil. She didn’t need a press leak, and right now, she sure as hell didn’t need a relationship leak either.
She and Rivers had spent the last few moments in uncomfortable silence. Diggs was sure Deondra had sensed a bond between her and Fisher. She was as sure about this as she was about her rookie partner’s resemblance to Halle Berry. Fisher now camped a few hundred yards away on the shoulder of a bordering public roadway while Rivers engaged a search of Colonel Sweizer’s office for tainted water. Diggs stood alone with her thoughts, or so she thought.
Joint Chief of Staff General Otis Farnell began to pace behind Diggs. The sound of his boots clacking upon the frozen ground confirmed his close proximity to her.
He then paused momentarily to whisper in Caitlin’s ear.
“This is what’s known as homegrown terror, agent. You should be investigating this accordingly, not accusing the military of duplicity or worse, labeling the army as incompetent. Think how this will look in the press. The public will hate us. The enemy will laugh at us. I implore you to take a good hard look at the catastrophic consequences you might be responsible for. Consider these attacks for what they are, Agent Diggs. They are attacks upon the United States, not attacks upon the war movement.”
“I do agree with you on one point, general. This is an example of homegrown terror, all right. Someone who feels they have been scorned or duped by the military is now using their own weapons against them. How else do you explain how a terrorist, homegrown or not, could get their hands on top secret military weaponry?”
Farnell did not respond. He backed away a few paces and began transmitting a radio message. It sounded like he had given orders for a deployment of some kind.
He walked back to Diggs’s side.
“We’re going to show these terrorists how the United States treats those who dare attack us on home soil. And even if they do turn out to be peace activists, Agent Diggs, they have now engaged us in an act of terror. So how could you classify these perpetrators as anything but terrorists?”
“There’s a bottom line to all of this, General. How did the perpetrators get their hands on this drug in the first place? I’m quite sure my investigation is going to conclude the army originally designed a drug to create the ultimate soldier. So who was the army in bed with, general? If you’re telling me DARPA scientists weren’t developing this drug, then that leaves only one suspect, a civilian. Perhaps a civilian who once owned Genesis Biopharmaceuticals? It’s not going to be hard to narrow down the list of suspects.”
Diggs was bluffing. She could only target former owner Drake Sutter as a conspirator at the moment. Thoughts of the mystery men he had worked with, the ones that continued to elude her—even in the confines of her visions—only served to infuriate her. She took some of this anger out on Farnell. “You’ve got no one else to blame for what’s going on up there right now but yourself, general.”
Farnell stormed away to answer a radio transmission.
As he did, a wave of guilt washed over Diggs. She wondered if she could have prevented what the press would soon label The Fort Belvoir Massacre. Had she made a selfish choice, choosing to respond to the needs of her colleagues first? Her initial vision had focused on the military base, not on Hoyt’s laboratory. And even more disturbing, why had the gunfight at the FBI turned out to be a false vision?
A deafening blast intervened, forcing Diggs to retrain focus on the hopeless situation at hand.
***
“They’re not responding to hails, sir !”
Apache Longbow Pilot Frank Adams’s bark of desperation sent shivers up and down Lt. Colonel Louis Stoker’s spine. He was only supposed to take command of a simulation. He had kept repeating that fact to himself for the last five minutes. It did little to boost his confidence. Stoker swallowed a curse, concluding that Sweizer must have staged this to ruin him.
An incoming transmission from General Farnell jolted the lt. colonel . It distanced his mind from the personal pity party he had been throwing himself.
“I need a status report, lt. colonel.”
“We’ve engaged the enemy, general, but efforts to negotiate Colonel Sweizer’s surrender have failed. I believe we have no choice but to take the Black Hawk down via force.”
“I concur, Lt. Colonel Stoker. Relay the order to your pilot. In the meantime, I’m deploying units to contain this threat.”
Pilot Frank Adams sweated profusely. He had to disobey his commander’s direct order.
“Sir, I cannot fire upon the Black Hawk at this distance. The explosion will result in collateral damage to both the Longbow as well as any soldiers in a half-mile radius. Permission to adjust course, sir.”
In the nanosecond of time Adams waited for his inexperienced commander to acknowledge him, the Black Hawk fired multiple rounds from its M240 machine guns. The ensui
ng explosion broiled Adams to a charred crisp. Seconds later, smoke billowed from the Longbow, its descent mimicking that of a falling boulder. The hard ground below offered no mercy as the helicopter smashed into a dozen pieces.
“That a boy!” Colonel Sweizer took a victory sip from his bottle.
“Now don’t look so glum, Pilot Aims. Our actions will end up saving more lives than those we’re taking.”
“Damn you, colonel. You mean the lives you’re taking!”
“Why do you think Lt. Colonel Stoker ordered the Longbow to intercept us? If we didn’t surrender, he surely would have killed us both. You should be thanking me for saving your life, son. They would’ve as soon murdered you as a traitor.”
Aims’s head swam. How could this maniac rationalize mass murder—and without one shred of guilt? He had killed at least a half dozen soldiers. The colonel punched Aims’s right arm with the fist that still held the hilt of his knife.
“Now stay the course. Follow the troops. Meanwhile, I’ll ready my little friend for some more friendly fire.” The colonel laughed drunkenly.
From the corner of his eye, Aims spotted something. He knew it condemned his fate. He would die horribly. And worst of all, his friends and family might believe he had conspired with Sweizer. He would not die as a traitor, though. He took his hands off the control and punched Sweizer squarely in the jaw. A second blow failed to reach the colonel. Instead, it made direct contact with Sweizer’s knife. Its blade almost sheared off Aim’s middle finger. He nearly laughed from delirium brought about from the subsequent blood loss. Aims dearly wanted to give the colonel the middle finger at this very moment, but he had a far more pressing problem .