“I’m Quiz. This is Michael Hawke, also known as Hawkeye.”
Angela lowered her right arm.
“Quiz? As in David Denton?”
“Yeah. That would be me.”
“Come inside,” said Angela. “Quickly.”
Hawkeye and Quiz entered the room from which Angela had emerged. The sign on the door read
ARTIFACT ROOM 4
GITH INSTITUTE
Chapter 14
Ops Center
Aboard the Alamiranta
“They’ve disappeared!” said a worried DJ.
All heads in the Ops Center turned towards the holographic display.
The two red dots representing Hawkeye and Quiz had reached the bottom of the manor and then evaoprated.
“Were they affected by the electromagnetic pulse?” asked Caine.
“Negative,” replied Touchdown. “What I sent could have made their skin tingle a bit, or maybe feel itchy, but nothing more.”
“I’ve got a schematic of Whittington Manor,” said DJ, who had rolled her chair to an adjacent station. “It’s on Quiz’s computer. There are several basements and sub-basements below the manor.”
“The interference is gone,” reported Touchdown. “I don’t see any kind of shielding below the mansion, however. I should be able to read them.”
“Boost your signal,” ordered Caine.
Whittington Manor, Sub-basement #2
Long Island, New York
“We’re here to help,” said Hawkeye. “A mad priest is running amok around the manor. He’s looking for — ”
“The bones of St. Michael the Archangel,” Angela interrupted. “My employer, Charles Whittington, is fascinated by the subject of angels. He and Archbishop Connolly of New York are especially interested in locating what are believed to be the bones of Michael.”
“Connolly is dead,” said Hawkeye.
Angela’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God. He was such a kind old man. And very sick.”
“Are you my uncle’s part-time curator?” asked Quiz. He was taken aback by the grad student’s beautiful features and trim body.
“Forgive my manners,” she said, extending her hand to Quiz, then Hawkeye. “Angela Marshall. I’m an anthropology student, and I seem to be spending more and more time here with each passing week. What’s going on upstairs? A soldier passed by here a little while ago.”
“Was he wearing a gray robe?” asked Hawkeye.
Angela frowned. “Robe? No. Kahki outfit. He was holding an old-fashioned carbine and speaking Italian. I was going for a cup of coffee and ducked back in here. He didn’t seem to notice me, and God knows this place gets some strange visitors. I came back in and locked the door until I heard a basement alarm indicate that somebody was entering the sub-basement via the secret chute. This place is crawling with strange portals and passageways.”
“We’ve noticed,” remarked Hawkeye. “By the way, what is the Gith Institute?”
Angela laughed. “If you rearrange the letters of Winton T. Gith, you get the name Whittington. It’s a pseudonym of the Professor’s. He’s a philanthropist who likes to maintain a low profile. He doesn’t do charity balls and dinners. He says it detracts from his work.”
Static crackled in Hawkeye’s helmet.
“ . . . eye? Repeat. Are you there, Hawkeye?”
“I read you, Touchdown. We’re safe. We’re in an artifact room below the manor with Charles’ assistant.”
“Roger that,” said Touchdown. “Reynard and his acolytes have left the mansion. I read only three energy signatures, and they’re all in your location.”
“That means they’ve taken my uncle,” stated Quiz. “Or killed him.”
“Where was his last known location?” asked Hawkeye.
“I believe he was being held in one of the labs in the basement above,” said Touchdown. “I was finally able top penetrate the basements with my telemetry.”
“Come on,” said Angela. “I’ll take you to the Professor’s laboratories.”
The three figures left the artifact room and hurried up a concealed staircase hidden behind a revolving wooden bookcase.
“Why am I not surprised?” muttered Hawkeye, looking at the revolving volumes. “This place is downright weird.”
Hanger 15B, Laguardia Airport
Queens, New York
Father Reynard stepped aboard the Gulfstream used by members of the Council of Nine. Most of his acolytes would fly a chartered DC-9 to their destination.
The bones of St. Michael the Archangel.
He sat in a brown leather seat and fastened his seatbelt as the pilot revved up the twin jet engines mounted directly forward of the tail.
“And now the world will be judged,” he said to Brothers Antonius and Gerasimus. “The light Himself shall return to the world. The prophecies of Daniel and the Book of Revelation shall come to pass. This unbelieving, adulterous generation shall be judged and consigned to hellfire. With Him, we shall rule over the twelve remaining tribes of the earth. The chosen.”
He paused and scowled.
“And I shall be scoffed at no longer,” he added.
He ran his index finger across the scars of his face.
“I shall be vindicated. Let the papists be judged first for their arrogance and disbelief.”
Antonius and Gerasimus merely nodded.
Whittington Manor, Main Lab
Long Island, New York
Hawkeye, Quiz, and Angela had first examined the coroner’s table in lab #2, noting warm blood on the stainless steel surface. They then moved on to Charles’ main lab.
“They’ve got Whittington,” Hawkeye told Caine. “Looks like they tortured him. My guess, though, is that he’s more valuable alive than dead.”
“Agreed,” said Caine.”
In the main lab, Angela sat at the computer Charles used for personal correspondence.
“The Fox, as the Professor calls him, seems to have erased an email and attachment from Archbishop Connolly,” Angela said. “Fortunately, I have this.”
Angela produced a small jump drive from the pocket of her lab coat.
“All emails with attachments get copied to my computers in the artifact rooms below,” Angela explained. “I’ve been instructed to research any and all information that comes in pertaining to the bones of Michael.”
The curator inserted the external drive into the USB port, hit a few keys, and opened the email and its attachment. Together, the small group studied the photographs of the bones.
“I’ve seen these before,” Angela stated, tapping a few more keys.
The pixels on the screen transformed into a different display.
“That’s pretty cool,” said Quiz. “What did you just do?”
The photographs had changed to several maps.
“The attachment is a palimpsest,” Angela explained.
“A what?” said Hawkeye.
“A message on top of a message. In medieval times, when parchment was scare, original text was erased so that new text could be written on the parchment. But they didn’t have the technology to erase the original perfectly, so that such parchments usually contained two texts if one examined it closely enough. A palimpsest today is essentially a layered message. Government agencies use them all the time.”
“So what are we looking at?” asked Hawkeye.
“That,” said Angela, pointing her index finger at one of the onscreen maps, “is where the Professor and Archbishop Connolly obviously believe the bones of Michael are currently hidden. As you can see, the maps were drawn in medieval times. These are photographic reproductions that were apparently scanned into Connolly’s computer.”
“It looks like we’re going to France,” said Hawkeye, studying the maps.
“Return to the Alamiranta,” instructed Caine. “And bring Ms. Marshall. We’re going to debrief and re-deploy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Hawkeye. “Send us a pair of wings, and we’ll find our way back.
”
A moment passed.
“By the way,” added Hawkeye. “Tell Archbishop Donovan that Beta Team was killed by Reynard.”
Whittington Manor, Main Lab
Long Island, New York
* Here we go again. You’re smitten with the grad student. I can tell. *
I must admit that she’s quite attractive.
*Come, come, dear boy. Attractive? *
Okay. She’s a knockout. And her name is Angela. An angel.
* And? *
She’s very intellectual. That’s a big turn-on.
* What about DJ? *
DJ? Well, it’s not like we’re married or anything.
* That may be your perspective, but it will be interesting to see what DJ thinks of Ms. Marshall. *
Hey, Angela’s just a curator for my grandfather.
* I warned you that there was going to be trouble in the manor, but you paid no heed. Now you’re ignoring my psychological insights. *
You’re making too much over nothing. If I didn’t notice Angela’s beauty, I wouldn’t be human.
* Neither would DJ. *
Ops Center
Aboard the Alamiranta
DJ studied the feed from Hawkeye’s helmet cam. Angela Marshall was quite attractive. Too attractive. And she was very good with a computer — Quiz’s specialty. DJ had definitely noticed how her young lover had gazed at Marshall’s every move. She imagined herself in hand-to-hand combat with the grad student.
Archbishop Donovan interrupted DJ’s reverie as he addressed the staff in the Ops Center.
“I think your team should retrieve what is in a safe deposit box in Chase Manhattan,” said Donovan. “Before Beta Team was captured, they told me they had found an important manuscript, although they never had time to examine it or tell me what it was. They feared our communications had been compromised. But since they were willing to be murdered rather than speak of their find, I can only guess that the manuscript is crucial to our mission.”
“Of course,” said Caine. “I’ll call the president of Chase myself and make sure that Hawkeye is granted access to the safe deposit box. And my condolences on the loss of your team, Archbishop.”
Donovan lowered his head. “Thank you, Catherine. Let’s hope they didn’t die in vain.”
Titan Global Lear Jet
35,000 Feet above the Atlantic Ocean
Having retrieved a carefully wrapped package from the safe deposit box at Chase Manhattan, Hawkeye, Quiz, and Angela had boarded one of Catherine’s private jets, which was en route to an airbase in Portugal. From there, the trio would be ferried by helicopter to the Alamiranta, which was reversing course and sailing back into the Mediterranean.
“So what did you think of the Confederate soldier?” Quiz asked a pensive Hawkeye.
“Probably a holographic projection,” Hawkeye answered. “Your grandfather is a scientist and a scholar. I’m sure he knows how to create a hologram.”
“I’ll personally vouch for the fact that the manor is haunted,” asserted Quiz.
Hawkeye grinned thinly. “We all see what we want — or expect — to see.”
“Then how do you explain all those electromagnetic signatures Touchdown saw? And those shrieks?”
“Anomalous energy readings from your grandfather’s equipment perhaps,” said Hawkeye. “As for the shrieks, they were the cries of Reynard’s acolytes.”
Hawkeye retuned his gaze to the sky beyond the cabin window. The wings of the Lear jet maintained enough uplift to keep the jet in the sky. That’s how things flew. Things. Not people, not angels, not ghosts.
He then gazed at the white cumulus clouds and the blue sky through which the plane was flying. He thought of many great works of art that depicted angels hovering in azure skies, or cute cherubim sitting harmlessly on white, fluffy clouds.
Hawkeye was a true-blue American, but he thought Karl Marx had gotten at least one thing right: Religion was an opiate for the masses.
Chapter 15
Crew Quarters
Aboard the Alamiranta
DJ sat next to the sleeping Quiz on his bunk.
“Hey, lazybones,” she said, kissing him on the forehead lightly. “Want some company?”
Quiz propped himself on one elbow while running the fingers of his free hand through his hair. Squinting, he reached for the watch on his nightstand.
“Holy crap,” he said. “I’m late.”
“For what?” asked DJ.
“Mrs. Caine asked me to show Angela around the ship before the late-morning briefing.”
“Go back to bed,” said DJ. “I’ll give her the grand tour myself.”
“Thanks, but I need to ask her a few questions. I believe there’s an upcoming mission. I’ll, uh, need some historical background.”
DJ stood, her features expressionless. “Very well. Maybe some other time,” she said with no inflection.
“Sure,” said Quiz.
* I believe the modern expression is ‘I told you so.’
You’re in deep trouble, my friend. *
I have to obey Mrs. Caine.
* Quite true. But don’t expect DJ to be happy about it. I’d tell you what’s coming, but you wouldn’t believe me. *
Ignorance is bliss. I have to get going.
Aft Observation Deck
Aboard the Alamiranta
Having completed a tour of those portions of the ship open to civilians, DJ and Angela stood side by side, leaning on the ship’s railing.
* Since you spent years ensconced in your grandfather’s library, reading every book on his shelves, scholarly and otherwise, you know the logical questions to ask. *
Yes, I do. Especially since I think I’ll be assigned to the mission to find my grandfather.
* You most certainly will. *
“Father Reynard and the Council of Nine believe that the discovery of the Archangel’s bones is a harbinger of the end of the world,” Quiz said. “But I’m puzzled over a few things.”
Angela turned towards her tour guide. Her face was inches from his, and she maintained direct eye contact with the young computer expert. Her hair was tossed sensuously by the winds of the languid, blue Mediterranean.
* Body language, my boy. *
Yes. I see that. Now be quiet for a while.
“Archbishop Donovan told us that Reynard’s beliefs are based on ancient texts and Biblical prophecies,” said Quiz thoughtfully. “But the Book of Daniel in the Old Testament speaks of a future battle of good and evil, of a battle of the angels at the end of time. So does the Book of Revelation. What do bones already entombed in rock have to do with the future? I’m not getting the connection. It sounds like the battle has already taken place.”
Angela nodded her head. “You’re pretty smart.”
Blushing, Quiz gazed momentarily at the azure sea. “I guess so. My head’s been buried in books most of my life.”
Angela laughed. “That’s not a bad thing, Quiz. Remember, you’re talking to an anthropology student.”
“Point taken. So what am I to make of all this?”
“You’ve read Milton’s Paradise Lost, no doubt.”
“Of course,” said Quiz. “An epic poem about the fall of Lucifer.”
“Right. But Milton based his classic on a few sources.”
“Such as?”
“Isaiah, chapter fourteen, mentions the fall of Lucifer, also called the Day Star or Light Bearer. He dared to believe that he and his followers were greater than God himself.”
Quiz nodded, once again looking at the grad student he found so scintillating.
“But Milton’s tale is also derived in part from certain apocryphal Jewish books not included in the Old Testament. The two most famous are the Book of Enoch and the Assumption of Moses. They speak of the fallen angels. More specifically, they talk of a battle between Michael and Lucifer.”
“But I still don’t understand how — ”
Angela put an upraised index finger agains
t Quiz’s lips, silencing his question in mid-sentence. Quiz smelled a lovely fragrance on her hand.
“Patience,” Angela said. “Your grandfather and Archbishop Connolly have believed for some time that there is another text that possibly bridges the two accounts. They believed they were getting very close to a truth hidden for thousands of years. The Fox obviously was — and still is — aware of the additional text.”
“You certainly know a great deal about the subject.”
“Like you,” said Angela, “my head has been buried in books for most of my life. Speaking of the devil, have you ever read Dante?”
“Yes. Many times, in fact. I practically carry the man inside my head.”
Catherine Caine’s Private Office
Aboard the Alamiranta
The brown package retrieved by Hawkeye from Chase Manhattan in New York sat on Catherine Caine’s desk. Several dozen pages of brown parchment, frayed at the edges, lay between two rectangles of thin, cracked leather.
“It’s the Book of Angels, sometimes called the Codex Angelorum by scholars,” Donovan said, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazed at the manuscript. “One of the Dead Sea Scrolls that was never officially catalogued after its discovery in the caves of Qumran, Palestine in 1945. I personally think that a copy of this very scroll was found by Godfroi St. Omer in 1098. It is believed that Vatican agents stole the actual Qumran manuscript from the Rockefeller Museum in 1966. It’s content is thought to be too controversial.”
Wearing latex gloves, Donovan removed the leather cover and looked at the top page. “It’s written in Aramaic.”
“The Dead Sea Scrolls,” said Caine, “were composed by a Jewish sect called the Essenes in the second century after the birth of Christ. Many of the scrolls were gospels that were never accepted into the New Testament, such as the gospels of Phillip, Thomas, Bartholomew, Judas, Mary Magdalene, and many others.”
“Correct,” said Donovan. “Other scrolls were apocalyptic texts based on Jewish scripture. In the early third century, Bishop Irenaeus of Gaul, now France, chose certain books for the Old and New Testament in order to unify the early Christian community. Most of the other texts were later destroyed over time and were not rediscovered until 1945. I believe this is one of them, however. It is rumored that a few copies of the Codex Angelorum were not destroyed and were circulated throughout the Middle Ages. Some scholars say that most, but not all, were eventually confiscated by the Vatican.”
Bones of Angels Page 7
