The Angels of Destiny

by Haydn Jones

  Summa stood up and aimed the launcher at the Ellington Building. His finger squeezed the trigger and then released, as a bullet entered his head from Stark's gun. Summa slumped onto the floor with the launcher on top of him. His body was still jerking for a few seconds even though his brains had been blown out and the right side of his skull was splattered in fragments all over the bloodied white wall and tiled floor of the veranda.

  “Susan, shut up, and listen to me please." Starks voice was breaking up and tears welled up in his eyes. "I want you know that I love you and the kids more than anything else in the world and I want you to tell Vicki that I love her too, but I have to go now. Please find it your hearts to forgive me." Stark held the smoking gun under his chin and pulled the trigger again.

  Susan's frantic voice was still screaming out of the cellphone, but there was no one there to hear it anymore.

  Twenty-one

  Sunday, around noon in San Diego was quiet, in the small bar, on Seacoast Drive. There were a couple of regulars sipping cold beer from bottles and enjoying a game of poker on a table in the corner of the room and a stranger, sitting at the bar. The barman's Mexican girlfriend kicked open the door from the kitchen and deftly glided a cup of freshly brewed coffee onto the bar under the nose of the stranger who ignored her. The barman finished texting someone and put down his phone on the back of the bar by the optics. He picked up a cloth and beer glass, checking every few seconds as he wiped it to see if it was clean by holding it up to the bright sunlight flooding into the smoky bar through the open doors. The sound of a police car wailed in the distance.

  "Not seen you around these parts before," said the barman to the stranger, trying to kick off a conversation.

  "No, I'm heading for Mexico and I needed a break. The coffee tastes real good."

  The TV screen in the top left hand corner of the room was tuned in to the news channel and on the hour news had just started.

  The female announcer introduced herself and then went on to give the main headlines. The barman stopped cleaning glasses and turned to watch.

  The announcer said. "The top story on the hour...It appears that one of America's most respected scientists has been killed in a car bomb attack.” The announcer continued to explain that Dr Robert McPherson has apparently died along with his wife and newborn baby son, shortly after 10am in Houston Texas. The motive for the killings is, as yet unknown. According to government sources, the husband and wife team were working on a project, based in Houston, studying climate change and Global warming.

  Images of the burnt out car filled the screen, followed by an interview at the murder scene with the Head of the Houston Police Department.

  "What kind of a sick mother fucker would do that?" said the barman in disgust, to no one in particular. The stranger was paying no attention, just sipping his coffee.

  "Don't tell me there's a God when this sort of thing goes on," the barman continued with anger in his voice, hoping to get some kind of reaction, but none came.

  In frustration he looked at the stranger wearing dark sunglasses and a Black Giants baseball cap, showing no sign of emotion. Unperturbed the barman continued. "I was a devout Catholic you know, all my life, and then one day I saw the light."

  The stranger slowly looked up. The barman noticed, clearly pleased that he had finally got the man’s attention. "I realised that this religion thing was all a load of crap. A money making machine that preys on the poor and the vulnerable, filling them with false hope, fear and guilt. An institution riddled with hypocrisy and corruption," he said, pointing to the TV screen. "And, that just proves my point. What kind of a loving God would stand by and let that happen?"

  This time the man in the sunglasses and cap responded. "Never doubt the word of God, for come the Judgement Day, when you meet your maker, you will have to answer for your sins and blasphemy is a sin." There was a pause as the barman looked on in disbelief at the short sermon he'd just heard.

  "Oh yeah, he finally retorted, smugly, and when's that likely to happen?"

  "Very soon, my friend — very soon.”

  Deep underground below the Pentagon, the ice-blue eyes of the dead aliens opened.

  -End of Book One-

  THE ANGELS OF DESTINY

  -BOOK TWO-

  THE ROAD TO ARMAGEDDON

  "Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known” - Carl Sagan -

  Twenty-Two

  Cancun Mexico

  Adam Domaradzki had a lot on his mind as he walked the few hundred yards to the Aquamarina Beach Bar at Puerto Juarez. His once long white hair was now short and dark brown and his beard was gone, replaced by smooth tanned skin. He wore Ray Ban sun glasses to protect himself from the hot Mexican sun that today, mercifully, was cooled by a welcoming sea breeze.

  His appearance had changed, of that there was no doubt, but inside he was still a dangerous serial killer who's appetite for murder had not been quelled by the multiple deaths of the McPherson family in Houston only four weeks previously.

  Cancun is located on the Yucatan Channel that separates Mexico from the island of Cuba in the Greater Antilles. Cancun's region is sometimes known as the Mexican Caribbean. To live in this adults’ playground can be expensive, but to Adam Domaradzki money was not a problem. He was rich, very rich, thanks to the inheritance he received from his guilt ridden father and the money he took from the disbanded Church in San Francisco, branded now as a fanatical and murderous secret religious sect.

  Domaradzki pulled out a white wicker chair and settled down at a beach view table, raised his hand to the young waiter at the bar and a cold bottle of Modelo Especial arrived in less than a minute.

  "How are you today, sir?” the waiter enquired.

  "Just fine, Micky, just fine." Domaradzki smiled and looked out at the Gulf of Mexico, sipped his beer and started planning the final destruction of the remaining members of the elite team of scientists once headed up by Rob McPherson. He breathed the fresh salty sea air deep into his lungs and looked up at the clear blue sky. Today was going to be very hot again.

  Leaving the USA was easy but getting back in was going to be very difficult, especially since he was being hunted by the CIA and the police. Domaradzki knew it would require a boat if he was to eventually implement his plan to stop the evil misguided project. Richard Stark's actions had not been expected and it was a major setback, but it was only a setback. If the job was to be done properly he would have to do it himself. There was no room for error this time. Money can buy you anything in Mexico and now Adam Domaradzki no longer existed. He had a new identity matched by a fake Mexican passport under the name of Diego Martinez, born in Mexico City and now aged fifty-five. For an extra one thousand dollars he had also ordered a fake US passport in the name of Christian Hansen.

  "Hi, mind if I join you?"

  Domaradzki looked up somewhat surprised to see an attractive young girl with an American accent standing next to him.

  "Feel free," gesturing to her with his hand to join him at the table.

  "My name's Kim, but people call me Honey."

  "What can I do for you?"

  "A drink would be lovely," she said, with a broad smile.

  Intrigued, Domaradzki raised his arm to attract the attention of the waiter as he eyed the girl sitting next to him. She was tall, extremely beautiful, tanned and obviously in need of money to feed her drug habit.

  “So, what's your name then?" she asked, as she crossed her long tanned legs.

  "Does it matter what my name is?"

  "Hey come on, how can I drink with you if I don't know your name?"

  "My name is Diego."

  "Pleased to meet you, Diego."

  "Drink for the lady please, Micky," Domaradzki said in a monotone voice as the waiter arrived.

  "Bourbon on the rocks," Honey replied looking into his eyes having already noticed his gold Rolex.

  "I've not seen you around here before?”

  “No,” she replied, “I've onl
y been here a few days. Had a big bust-up with my boy friend and he just fucked off and left me. I've got no money and nowhere to sleep."

  "Forgive me, but I thought you were a hooker for a moment." Honey just smiled innocently.

  "How are you planning to get home?" Domaradzki asked with interest.

  "Not sure yet," Honey replied, frowning thoughtfully.

  "Do you want some change to call your folks?"

  "If I had any I would. A Marlboro would be nice though." Domaradzki offered her his pack. She nervously held the cigarette between the fingers of her trembling hand until he reached over and lit it for her. Honey sucked the smoke deep into her lungs and visibly relaxed.

  "So why do they call you Honey?"

  At that moment the waiter brought the drink to the table.

  "Thanks," said Domaradzki.

  Honey paused until the waiter had left, then she sensuously sipped her drink and slowly opened her legs to expose herself.

  "I'm called Honey because I tastes so good.......Does it look tasty to you?"

  Domaradzki knew she was desperately in need of a fix. If I keep you wanting for a while longer my sweet intoxication, then soon you will be all mine.

  "When did you eat last?"

  "Yesterday," replied Honey.

  Domaradzki again attracted the waiter’s attention. "Two flamed burgers with cheese and chili sauce, fries and salad for two."

  "Thank you, you're very kind. I wish there were more men like you in the world." Her comment brought a smile to his face.

  Two hours had passed since they'd eaten and Honey had finished taking a welcome shower at Domaradzki's apartment. She headed for the bedroom drying her body as she walked with a large white bath towel. Her breasts were large and firm and her nipples hardened as her sexual anticipation heightened. The alcohol and line of coke had kicked in and she felt exuberant. Domaradzki lay on the bed naked admiring her young tanned body and his heart beat began to race.

  "My god you are a big boy, aren't you?” she said, somewhat shocked. “How do you want me?" Honey asked casually while drying her short black hair.

  "I want all of you and a whole lot more," replied Domaradzki eagerly.

  "Then try this for starters," Honey provocatively dropped the towel and walked onto the bed. Straddling him she slowly lowered herself onto his eager tongue which quickly probed deep inside her wet pussy. Soon she was gyrating on his face in uncontrollable excitement. Caressing her sensitive nipple with one hand, she began stroking his throbbing shaft with her other. The flickering tongue that stimulated her clitoris so expertly brought her quickly to orgasm for the first time. As she pressed down a second stronger orgasm ripped through her and she knew there was more on the way. Eagerly she embraced the growing crescendo of pure ecstasy that would burst out of her shaking body like an erupting volcano. Looking down she saw her love juices glistening around his attentive mouth and her eyes rolled as another orgasm shook her entire body with the force of a massive earthquake.

  "Does it taste good?" she asked, almost delirious with pleasure.

  "Like honey," he replied. "Like honey."

  "I told you so, didn't I?... And now I'm going to fuck you, like no one has ever fucked you before." Holding his stiff shaft with both hands she slowly lowered herself onto it. "Oh my god, Diego, it's massive."

  Blasphemy is evil.

  The alarm clock rang on the bedside table next to Domaradzki at exactly seven o’clock. He lie spread-eagled on the bed like da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. Slowly, he awoke and eventually he walked out onto the sun drenched veranda straight to his pack of Marlboro reds and his zippo on the table. He lit a cigarette and inhaled, waiting for the hit. Remembering last night brought a smile to his face and he walked back into the coolness of the room and down the corridor to the utility room. He lifted the lid of the chest freezer and looked down at Honey's severed head.

  At eleven o’clock, Domaradzki walked the short distance from his apartment to 'Avenue de los Talleres'. He knew it was necessary to go to confessions to beg forgiveness for his sins. He knew he was weak and he knew he was unable to resist the temptations of the flesh.

  The main heavily studded hardwood door to the church was ajar so he pushed it open and walked in. At first he couldn't see in the relative darkness, so he stood still for a few moments until his eyes accustomed to the light. The cool air was pungent with the smell of burning candles and wood polish. There was an overwhelming serenity in the building which he gratefully embraced. Colored beams of red, orange and blue light fanned out from a large circular leaded window that faced south and illuminated the stone floor that lead to the altar. After making the sign of the cross he walked to the confession box to the right of the altar. Closing the frail narrow wooden door behind him he sat on the polished wooden seat.

  "Are you here to confess?" a voice asked from behind the wooden screen.

  "Forgive me father for I have sinned. These are my sins."

  Domaradzki gently pushed one thousand dollars under the gap below the wooden screen that separated him from the priest and watched as it quickly disappeared from view.

  Continuing, he said, "I have been unable to resist the temptations of the flesh. I was weak and seek forgiveness. I am sorry for this sin and all the sins that I cannot remember."

  After a short silence the priest spoke. "My son you must learn to show strength by remembering the Word of God. The penance for your sins is that you read Romans, Chapter 8, verses 1 to 39.”

  "I accept the penance. My God I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good. I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help to do penance and to sin no more and to avoid whatever that leads me to sin."

  "Your sins are truly forgiven, go in peace."

  "Thank you, God.”

  Moments later he walked out into the unrelenting dry heat and bright sunlight, donned his sunglasses, lit a Marlboro and walked briskly back to the Aquamarina Beach Bar for his first cold Modelo of the day. He felt spiritually cleansed.

  Twenty-three

  The Pentagon, Washington DC Four Weeks Ago

  Kevin Short, Head of Pentagon Security, was awakened from a deep sleep at precisely four o’clock by the phone ringing next to his bed. Groggily he reached out for the receiver. "Kevin Short speaking," he said, in a gruff voice from a smoke dry throat. Within a few seconds he was wide awake and sitting bolt upright in bed. "You're fucking kidding me, right?...When did this happen?...HOLY SHIT…I’m on my way."

  Short stood in the temperature controlled room that had housed the bodies of the dead aliens for as long as he could remember and his body was shaking uncontrollably. The inch-thick bulletproof, hermetically sealed glass walls and ceiling were intact and gave the room its nickname, 'The Tank.’ Positioned in the centre of a much larger subterranean room and lit by banks of high powered halogen flood lights from all four outer walls, the chamber was like a huge illuminated aquarium but without the water. The numerous motion, temperature and pressure sensors had remained silent and the only door to the chamber was in place and secure when he arrived. In the security control room overlooking the chamber he had watched the CCTV footage of the two aliens in silent disbelief. Pronounced dead since their discovery in the Nevada desert in 1962, they had been in 'the tank' ever since.

  "This is impossible, it couldn't have happened.” Short said out loud, to no one there. One hour before, the room had been crawling with people confused and in shock, trying to find out how the trick had been achieved; but it was not a trick. Now the chamber was silent again and eerily empty without its two long term occupants, occupants so top-secret that only a handful of people in the world knew of their existence. Occupants that had just vanished into thin air. In synchronized unison their muscular, pale white bodies arose from their stainless steel beds and walked naked, without hesitation, through the glass as if it didn't exist. The CCTV images scared him to his bones. Where the fuck ar
e they? Where did they go to? Short suddenly felt the need of a cigarette. He needed to think, and at this moment in time he had no explanation for what had happened. How the fuck do you explain the impossible?

  Twenty-Four

  Houston Texas. Present Day

  Hunter was sitting at his desk in the Ellington Building staring out of the window, deep in thought. Moments before he had put down the receiver after a tiring fifteen minute phone conversation with the President. His face looked strained and he rubbed his forehead to relieve the tension he could feel building in his neck and shoulders. It had been a month since the aliens had disappeared and thankfully, as yet there had been no public sightings. But more worryingly, there had been no sightings at all, even though a lot of highly skilled CIA agents were looking for them. The President was mad, very mad.

  The alien communications had stopped and the source of the signals was still unknown other than to say they were coming from somewhere in the Solar System. Hunter had been fully briefed after the attempt to destroy the project by the religious sect from San Francisco had failed. The details had surprised him. Vicki's brother had basically saved the team with seconds to spare before blowing his own brains out in utter desperation. Worryingly, the connection between Richard Stark and his sister Vicki had been missed by Officer Wayne.

  All of the remaining members were now in custody awaiting trial, except for their leader Adam Domaradzki. Hunter knew he was in Mexico, but Mexico was a big place. The documentation found at the Sect headquarters was disturbing. They had all signed a 'last man standing' pact that meant, until Domaradzki was found, the team would be at risk and Hunter was acutely aware of the danger posed by this maniac on the run.