by Tanya Allan
Michelle looked at the two men.
She then surprised them by laughing.
“You think I am this person?”
The men looked at each other, and then back at this attractive girl, who by every second seemed less and less their quarry.
“Please, gentlemen. Be sensible for a moment. I am a big girl, yes, but I have no extra powers. If I had powers, would I have allowed myself and my fiancé be blown up by a bomb? Would I be pregnant? Would I be suffering the loss of the man I was to marry?
“This person you talk about, she belongs in the movies or in a comic book. It is not me. And I don’t think I see anyone in New York. So I am very sorry.”
Jim had one last trick. He asked her a question in Russian.
“Miss Czakan, where are you from?”
She answered without hesitation and in fluent Russian with a Ukrainian accent.
“I am from Donetsk, in the east of the country. Do you know it?” she asked.
Jim shook his head, feeling more lost than ever. Her accent was faultless, and he knew he had come to the end of the road.
He stood up.
“Miss Czakan. Please accept my apologies for intruding at this time, and also accept my condolences for your loss. It must be very hard for you, and so I thank you for your kindness and patience towards us. If you think of anything that could assist us, here is my card. It is toll free from anywhere in the world.”
Kyle stood also. Relieved that he could now escape and leave this poor girl to get on with her life.
Michelle closed the door and smiled. They may have been put off for a time, but they’d be back. She monitored their conversation as they left.
Jim and Kyle drove slowly away. Jim had a frown on his face.
“I was so certain,” he said.
“Yeah, but it isn’t her,” said Kyle.
Jim went over the conversation they had had with the girl, then he suddenly said, “Stop the car.”
Kyle pulled over.
“What?”
“Think. I was absolutely convinced that it was her. You felt it could be, yet nothing was said in there to remove that conviction, so why do I now feel it wasn’t her?”
“Huh?”
“She denied being the Angel, but never gave us any good reasons as to why it wasn’t her. She was in town, and she was in Russia. If she has such incredible powers, she could have easily sown the seeds of doubt in us. Now we are out of her immediate sphere of influence, she cannot touch us any more.”
Kyle frowned as he thought about everything. Jim was right, she simply denied it was her, and they agreed with her.
“So, what happens now?”
“One, we get fingerprints, and DNA. We see if it matches with Officer Dunwoody.”
“If it doesn’t?”
“Then we have found us another one.”
“How the hell do we get the DNA?”
“Hair samples. We wait until she goes out, and go in professionally. Our man, Carter, at the Embassy should be able to help.”
“Carter?”
“Yeah, he’s CIA.”
“So, if it turns out she is the one, what the hell can we do?”
“Simple, make her an offer she can’t refuse.”
“And if she does refuse?”
Jim frowned.
“Let’s just hope that doesn’t happen.”
“We have to think about it.”
“Yeah, but I somehow think this is going to be one hell of a lady to crack.”
Kyle started the car again and rejoined the traffic.
Michelle smiled, as she had been right, they would be back.
Michelle remembered Bill Richardson, the policeman who had so generously given her £50 that first night. She drove the Range Rover out to Heathrow Airport, and parked outside the police station. She walked into the front counter and asked for him by name.
The Station Officer rang the CID and a few minutes later Bill appeared frowning.
As soon as he saw the stunning girl at the counter, he remembered her, even though she was looking even better than that first time.
“Hello Michelle. You look very well. I saw you have had quite a time of things in Russia.”
She smiled, and it was as if someone turned on a powerful sunlamp.
“Yes, I have had a terrible time, but I am a survivor.”
Her accent was much less pronounced, but her voice still had a profound effect upon the policeman. He brought her through into the small interview room.
“So, what can I do for you?” he asked.
She took out £50 and passed it to him.
“I also owe you a dinner, so if you name the time and the place, I always pay my debts,” she said, with a smile.
“That was my treat. Believe me, I should love to, but Mrs Richardson would not be so amenable,” he replied with an embarrassed grin.
“You were very kind, and I want you to know that I appreciated your help very much. You are a very good man.”
“It was a pleasure, and I hope things get better for you.”
“I hope they will, too,” she said, kissing him gently on the cheek, and was gone.
Bill stood there for a moment, feeling that somehow he should have taken her up on the meal, but he shook his head sadly. Some things just weren’t meant to be.
Michelle did not want to continue working for Gordon’s company, so they let her go with a little relief, as she was too intense and made all the directors feel very uncomfortable.
She had sufficient from Gordon’s insurance, investments and property to ensure a comfortable standard of living. But she needed to be occupied. She found the pregnancy was a double-edged sword, as it was certainly a restriction, yet it was also quite wonderful. There were times when she seriously considered termination, and other times when she was aghast at herself for even considering it.
In the event, nature had other plans, and she was rushed to hospital with severe abdominal pains.
When she came to, she immediately sensed that all was not well, and as soon as the first Doctor appeared, she started to cry.
“I’m sorry, Miss Czakan, there was nothing we could do. The baby was in a bad way and had died.”
“Was there any deformity?” she asked, through her tears.
“No, not that we could discern. These things just happen, and, well your friend was saying what you have recently been through, so it could have some bearing.”
“Friend?” she asked.
Rebecca came in, and she was almost overcome with grief.
“Oh, you poor darling, what you must be feeling like?”
Rebecca stayed for about an hour, and was actually more harm than good. Eventually she left, and Michelle silently wept for her child.
8.
Ryan Marcham was a thief. He wasn’t an ordinary thief; he was an exceptionally clever one. He never broke in, nor did he take from the poor or needy. In fact, most of the time, his crimes went undetected for months, and when they were, no one had any idea how the offence took place.
He had several degrees in computer related subjects, and although he had the interpersonal skills of a Tsetse fly, he was a very rich man, courtesy of those computer skills.
At thirty-four, he was a short man, overweight and with a receding hairline. He had no partner, and was not inclined to acquire one yet. He got his kicks, such as they were, from cyber sex with equally frustrated persons on the internet chat rooms.
The ‘girl’ he was currently involved with was probably equally repellent, but her semi-naked photograph on her personal profile would declare otherwise. She was a stunning blonde from France, and used the profile name of ‘ma’mselle_la_belle’. The fact that Ryan’s own photograph was of a body builder taken from a Gym magazine was another story, and he used the name, ‘super_stud_001’. He was actually aware that her photograph was probably equally fictitious, but the chat was blisteringly hot and steamy.
His new home was in the more classy suburb
s of Los Angeles. He had moved from Detroit, where his career had started, so when his finances allowed, he bought the $1,000,000 property. It was probably worth nearly double that now, but Ryan couldn’t care, he had almost $100,000,000 salted away.
His method was simple. He would find a huge corporation, hack into the various computer systems, and place simple yet unidentifiable programs in places no one would look. These programs would remain dormant, and then suddenly, all the fractions of cents would be rounded down in every transaction, and the residue filtered into a dummy account. Within seconds the account would be closed, and cash transferred to another account, so ending up with a cheque being issued to a phoney company.
One cheque, cashed, and the company then ceased to exist. All within a one hour period.
Each target was hit once, and never touched again. The program was so written that after execution it self erased. One U.S. Pharmaceutical Company was hit for $1,300,000. It took exactly fifteen minutes for the whole operation to complete. By the time any accountants worked out anything was missing, Ryan was long gone.
Ryan had also set up a legitimate company that provided security firewalls and other software purporting to prevent cyber-theft. The company was worth in excess of $50,000,000 in its own right. All the clients were companies whom had at one time suffered loss at Ryan’s hands. His policy of never attacking a company twice, meant that they paid him twice, and once legally.
He was not concerned with the money, as he could never spend what he had accrued in any case. His joy was in the acquisition of the cash, and it was almost sexual, it was really the rape of the companies’ assets.
He returned to his house and opened the front door. The alarm did not bleep at him, and he found it had been switched off. Frowning, he thought back to when he had left, and shook his head. He could not recall whether he had set it or not. Normally a meticulous man, this concerned him, but then he heard the music.
He had no gun, as he was actually terrified of them, but also was not inclined to call the police. He cautiously advanced towards the source of the music, and found a complete stranger in his pool, the music centre was playing one of his CDs at full volume.
The stranger was a very tall and beautiful woman, and she was stark naked.
He switched the music off, and the girl was still swimming front crawl up the pool.
She reached the far end and executed a perfect racing turn to return rapidly up towards where he now stood.
She reached the end and, in one fluid movement, lifted herself effortlessly out of the pool and walked towards him, with no attempt to cover her luscious and perfect body.
“Bonjour cherie. ‘ow are you?” she said.
His jaw dropped, it was his internet friend. Ma’mselle_la_belle. Not only that, she was even better in the flesh.
“How, how did you find me?” he stammered, as she ran a damp hand over his trembling head. Her full and very firm breasts brushing against his chest. She was many inches taller then he.
“It was easy. But your picture is not ze truth, non?” she said. Her accent made her voice sound like honey dripped in fine French wine.
She wrapped a towel around her long hair and another round her ample figure. She had the body of a goddess, and Ryan found his erection said it all.
She walked over to him, and one of her hands brushed the outside of his straining pants.
“Oh la-la, you want me very much, non?” she said, and laughed.
Ryan shook his head. This was unreal, things like this just don’t happen.
She took his chin in one hand, and he saw the delicately varnished nails, beautifully crafted into long and lovely shapes. She gently moved his face so he was looking into her eyes.
“We are going on a journey,” she said.
When he woke up, it was dark.
The girl was gone, and for the life of him, he could not remember anything that had happened.
He called out.
“Hello?”
There was only silence.
He was naked and on his bed. He shook his head, and try as he might he could remember absolutely nothing. He remembered the girl, or rather her beautiful body, but her face was a complete mystery.
He got off the bed, wrapping his robe around his portly body. He searched the house, but found no trace of her. Then he logged into his computer.
Under his list of friends there was one glaring omission, that of mamselle_la_belle. He tried searches of all his files and, to his shock, he found his hard drive had been tampered with. His computer had the most sophisticated security system he could devise, and still he noticed that many crucial files were missing.
He began to panic, so then he tried to access his bank codes.
The screen went blank, yet no matter how hard he tried, nothing happened.
Then a graphic appeared as a small white dot and got larger before his eyes.
It filled the screen; it was a beautiful female angel.
“I am the Avenging Angel. You have paid your debts,” she said. Her voice was devoid of any accent, and yet he recognised it for being very similar to something he had heard recently.
The screen cleared, and he was into his accounts.
His heart raced as he saw all his ill-gotten gains had been returned, with interest to the companies he had stolen from, together with a full confession.
He tried everything he could think of to reverse the actions, but to no avail.
The doorbell rang, and thinking it might be the girl, he stomped off and opened the door.
Two men in suits stood there.
“Mr Ryan Marcham? We are agents from the Treasury Department. We have reason to believe you have been involved in currency and tax offences.”
Ryan’s heart, not in the best of health, decided that enough was enough, and simply stopped. His last memory was of a beautiful woman, and she was smiling as he died.
“She’s in LA,” Kyle told his boss.
“When?”
“Right now. One of the guys at the airport rang in. She flew in two days ago and just disappeared. He had one of them black moments, so by the time he realised what had happened, she had gone.”
“Get the team, let’s go,” Jim said, and they left the office for the heli-pad. Jim was feeling low, as the DNA and fingerprints did not match with Sergeant Dunwoody. However, her DNA was unusual. The scientist stated that although definitely human, there were unique characteristics that he had never encountered before.
Jim focussed on the present.
“Has anything untoward happened in the last few days?” he asked.
“Not that we know of. Certainly the Police Departments have nothing unusual reported.”
“She is too clever for that. I don’t think we will get events like New York any more.”
“So what then?”
“I don’t know. Shit. This is tricky. She’s playing with us.”
“You still think she is the one?”
“Absolutely.”
They boarded the helicopter, as the rest of the team arrived with all their special kit.
Winston MacGilvary was a happy man. He had eight girls working for him now, and he had a good mile strip along Hollywood Boulevard staked as his personal turf. They were good-looking girls, and all were on the coke he thoughtfully provided. They were turning around $1000 a night, so he was also clearing a similar figure from his drugs sales.
His pink Cadillac was well known, and he even had a couple of cops on the take. He was receiving a blow job from Candy in the back of the car, when he saw a girl walk past.
She was a tall blonde girl. A very tall blonde - with a figure to die for and her short leather skirt made it look as if her legs went all the way to heaven. Now, Winston was an expert on girls, and he knew this was a high earner. But she wasn’t one of his, and she was on his turf.
Candy finished him off, so he handed her a small packet of rocks. She grabbed them with shaking hands and got out of the car. Winston got
in the drivers seat and drove after the tall girl.
He found her standing a few yards up the road, so he pulled over.
His window lowered, but she still stood back, making no effort to approach his car. This meant she was an amateur, or she knew who he was.
“Hey girl, come here,” he said.
She slowly moved towards him, and he whistled. His first guess was way out, this was the real top stuff, so she could earn him a fortune.
He took his shades off and looked into her ice-cold blue eyes.
Officers Pete Simms and Howard Russo were cruising the Boulevard in their marked cruiser. The prostitutes smiled and waved, and both officers shook their heads.
“Goddamn whores,” muttered Pete.
“Hell, it ain’t them, it’s the damn pimps and the marks.”
They turned a corner and were met with a weird sight.
“What he hell?” asked Howard.
Pete put on the siren and lights, so the crowd dispersed, rapidly.
The officers got out of the car and made their way over to the focus of the crowd’s attention.
Winston MacGilvary was dressed in a little red mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, five-inch heels, and a boob tube. He had on a black lacy bra, filled with silicone breast forms, and a long russet wig on his head. His black face was heavily made up, and he was handcuffed to a lamp post.
“Blow job - fifty cents, lover?” he said to the officers.
Howard and Pete looked at each other. MacGilvary was well known as a crack dealer and pimp. He was a dangerous man, and was suspected to have killed several times.
“Hell, Winston, are you stoned or what?” Howard asked, staying back.
“Oh officer, I have to tell you everything. I been a very naughty girl,” he said, and giggled like a schoolgirl.
“Winston, what are you doing like this?” Pete asked.
“It’s my penance officer. The angel said I have to.”
“This is shit,” said Pete to his colleague.
“I killed four men.” Winston said.
