Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1)

by Suggs, Lester

  “Gotcha, Captain GabrielAngelVoicePants,” Griffin mocked.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind,” Griffin shot back as he stripped and headed for the shower.

  A Call from Work

  Itishree was busy digging up as much information as possible on Keystone Energy through her cousin's laptop. She wanted to be prepared for her tomorrow’s interview. Itishree dug into Keystone’s policies, current projects, and went as far as to learn which charities Keystone supported. It was important she knew enough to answer any question she may face and to ask intriguing questions of her own.

  A phone rang in the apartment. Itishree glanced over at hers. It was an inanimate hunk. It was Aruni’s cell phone. Part of her wanted it to be her phone that rang because she’d never had a working cell phone before yesterday. They were just too expensive in India. Her cousin had been watching TV until her call. Itishree spied a glance at Aruni as she walked into the kitchen. It must be her pseudo boyfriend, Itishree deduced.

  After Itishree woke her and Aruni shared hours of conversation. The two had been close in Pune’ and Itishree was glad to have her cousin near again. Itishree imagined Aruni was thinking she was having a private conversation but in reality Itishree was fighting not to hear the struggles the two were having. Aruni had already briefed her on the difficulties Indian women have in relationships in America. Trying to balance the wishes of a free woman with the confined culture of old-world India many of the men brought with them, was sandpaper on any Indian-to-Indian relationship. Aruni wanted to have fun and to love as she pleased. Itishree wanted neither. She wanted to work and build a career, to make something of herself beyond the traditional Indian female role. She wanted more.

  A ringing noise near Itishree shocked her back to the present. She could hear Aruni talking in the kitchen and knew she shouldn’t hear Aruni’s phone ring.

  Itishree laughed. It was her new cell phone. No one had called her on it yet. She answered without knowing the number. The newness was a little intoxicating.

  “Eye Tigh Shree?” came an unsure female voice.

  “It Ish Ree Ale Dar,” Itishree enunciated, trying not to allow her own accent to fog the vowels. Itishree learned that Americans were easily overwhelmed by the habit of Indians speaking too fast and pouncing bird-like, on vowels and syllables.

  “Oh, thank you, Itishree Aledar,” the woman said, carefully enunciating in return. "This is Brenda Ancosky, Keystone Energy.”

  Itishree shot up, toppling everything on the coffee table. “Yes, hello, Ms. Ancosky, how are you today?” Itishree felt that greeting wasn't quite right.

  “I am fine, thank you. Listen, we've had a military air accident over the city, and Keystone has sent everyone home,” Ms. Ancosky said.

  To Itishree, it was a hammer blow.

  “Oh, okay,” Itishree said, not knowing what else to say or where this was going. She realized she could not hear her cousin in the kitchen. Turning, Itishree saw her cousin quietly walking from the kitchen, a hopeful smile on her face. Itishree saw her cousin was more interested in her call. Apparently the half assed boyfriend could wait.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to postpone our interview until I know more. It shouldn’t be but another day or two. Are you set for accommodations? You have a place to stay for a few days?”

  “Yes, I have a cousin in town, and I'm here with her,” Itishree said as her smile returned.

  “Excellent, Itishree. I’ll call you back when I know more,” Brenda said.

  The call ended and Itishree saw Aruni coming unhinged from curiosity.

  “Was that your interview?”” Aruni asked with excitement.

  “Yes, it has been postponed due to a military accident?” Itishree said, but it came out as a question. She looked to her cousin for more information.

  “Oh, for how long?” Aruni asked.

  “Until she notifies me,” Itishree said.

  A feeling a dread came over Itishree. She had counted on this interview and two backup interviews to secure her a job. Without the job and a sponsor, her ability to stay in America was in jeopardy. Her dream began to crash down around her.

  “Itishree, wipe that look off your face. This means you have a couple of days before you interview. You have more time to sharpen your interview skills.” Aruni paused and a smile like gamma radiation broke out on her face. “And, we have time to shop!” It was like Aruni had won a prize.

  “I feel a sick day coming on!” Aruni continued to radiate.

  “No, I can't get sick from you this close to my interview!” Itishree said, horrified.

  “It’s an expression, silly. My work knows I took today off. I'll extend it by taking a sick day. Oh crap! My work is downtown too.” Aruni began dialing her work.

  Analysis

  Within the closed room he and his techs had set up as an operations room, Joe took the liberty to remove his shoes. Sitting at the long briefing table, Joe flexed his toes while the technicians gave their oral reports. Joe had separated the techs into areas of interest he thought most important: Criminal history, Financial Responsibility, Communication Quality, Work Status, and Family Status.

  Criminal history would be the most obvious attribute. Once a criminal always a criminal. Joe and most professionals in law enforcement and DHS felt this way, and there was no need to apologize. Financial responsibility was a trending attribute that was a good indicator if a person was desperate enough to commit a crime in order to achieve some nobel goal, i.e. paying off a large debt. Communication quality was a misnomer. What it really meant was were you on the internet sowing the seeds of discontent. Making noise over the oppressive government, flaming the wrong topics in a blog or someone else's wall. Work status was an indicator if one was employed, under employed, falsely employed, or unemployed. Employment status was an indicator that help explain a persona when coupled with one or more other attributes. Family status was key and could be a trigger indicator. Did a parent just die, spawning undesired behavior? Was there suspicion around a recent death in one's family? Loners? Jealous siblings?

  Putting these data points together, in such a small geographic area, would quickly lead to a person of interest. What Joe was attempting to assemble was difficult - there having been no crime. However, this exercise always demonstrated results or at least interesting data. Joe arrived at the operations room in the evening. The techs had at least seven hours to research. And one hour of setup allowance, Joe judged. There should be some results by now.

  Joe had made the mistake of letting the two techs who were given criminal history free rein over presenting their report. The two fumbled over each other until one must have decided the other wasn't worth a pinch of monkey shit and just began rambling.

  Joe held up a hand, and the bright young doofus stopped talking.

  “If you were not aware, every community in these United States of America is chockablock full of criminals. It isn't difficult to stand on any Main Street and throw a rock and not hit a convicted shoplifter, drug user, child pornographer, or some degree of assault. We are a nation of criminals, gentlemen, and lady. What I am interested in is if these residence cross reference a crime with another attribute I requested.” Joe looked back at the two young men. “Just give me the totals of each crime you found, and keep that list handy once we begin to narrow our interest.” The better presenter of the two looked over at Mr. PinchOfMonkeyShit and handed him the tablet computer. Surprisingly, Mr. MonkeyShit was happy to oblige.

  Next, Bryce, a kid Joe actually liked, presented his findings on financial responsibility. Taking cues from the dork twins before him, Bryce was clear, upfront, and precise. And to no one's surprise, a healthy minority of folks were neck-deep in debt and not making any headway. A small percentage had their heads out of their financial asses. While Bryce was finishing, Joe leaned across the table with his hands out for the criminal and financial data hard copies. The Turd Twins and Bryce slid their papers across to Joe. Bryce finished his oral report
and all waited for Joe to continue. Joe was looking for two specific names he had become suspicious of while walking the streets of Spring Hill: Albert Schreiber and Griffin DeLuca. Albert had a minor controlled substance infraction, and a DUI six years in the past. The heavy penalty of the DUI seemed to have righted Mr. Schreiber, although Albert had generated a healthy amount of debt because of it and had made no headway against the small mountain since. The system doing it's job of keeping losers down. Joe found Griffin DeLuca's name on the financial report as being one of those few who had their house in order. Mr. DeLuca didn't appear on the criminal report. Interesting. Joe made a mental note.

  The communication quality presentation was done by the only woman in the group. Melissa presented her report with the precision of a surgeon. Joe was surprised at the depth of her report. Many of the Spring Hill residents were boisterous in their complaints about America's wars, their relatives, the companies where they worked, and their state of general health. Of the area, Melissa had chosen eight individuals from six households of interest to further study and track. Melissa was also keen enough to slide her hard copy across to Joe for his scrutiny. When she did so, the other techs looked around the table at each other. Joe saw they were catching onto his method of reasoning.

  Mr. Schreiber had a passing interest in free pornography and non-cash video poker. Mr. DeLuca routinely checked his email, surfed for restaurant recommendations, the occasional geographical driving directions, and weather reports. Mr. DeLuca didn't voice his opinion anywhere on the internet.

  A throat cleared at the table. Joe looked up to see Mark painted with an apologetic look.

  “Yes?” Joe asked, pressing Mark to ask his question.

  “Are you looking for something specific, Agent Diclaro?” Mark asked, visibly squirming. Clearly these techs had no experience working directly with a field agent, much less a supervisory field agent. They were cute. Joe would try to keep them after this worked was wrapped up.

  “This morning I walked the streets of this neighborhood and noticed a couple of interesting peculiarities. Yard content, care and maintenance, those sort of things,” Joe replied, feeling more like an instructor than a supervisor. “When a person fills their yard with objects to maintain, it is a sign they are fulfilled by their own kingdom. We have no interest in those people. When a person fills their kingdom with junk and doesn't maintain their yard, home exterior, vehicles, then the person is consumed with sensation and doesn't care for their personal presentation. And, those I only have interest in if they have a past criminal record above a certain bar.” Joe made a gesture indicating height above an invisible starting point. “However, when a person's yard is devoid of anything; trees, shrubs, statuary, no sign of pets, and the exterior of the home is clean and non-ornamental —“

  “That appears as a safe house?” Jason, one of the techs who had yet to report, broke in.

  Joe smiled at the influence of watching too much television.

  “Rather cloak and dagger of you, um isn’t it Jason?” Joe pointed at the clearly written ID tag with a dry smugness. “This denotes a person who has supreme interest outside his life. Someone possibly caught up in a work promotion, or someone who truly loves their work. God bless them. Or, a person who works out of town.”

  The techs were silent. Joe pointed at another member of the group, Perry, who began his oral report on work and family status. Perry wasn't solely responsible for his work. There was another tech who sat behind and to Perry's left. And, had the ubiquitous name, “Bob.” Bob, appeared senior of all the techs in the room, possibly very late twenties to thirty years of age. There was something more interesting about Bob but Joe dropped it to concentrate on the report. Perry gave employment statistics on the neighborhood. He specifically denoted any persons with recent changes in employment. There were a few with new positions, and a couple who had the recent misfortune of being laid off. When the other techs heard the figures Perry gave, there were mutterings of discontent around the table. Comments of the region and the long lost steel industry.

  “No, kids,” Joe said between Perry's sentences. "The true unemployment rate for the nation is eighteen percent. This area is somewhat better than the norm.” Joe’s remark gave legitimacy to Perry's figure of sixteen percent. “What the general public doesn’t know is that the United States had a much higher unemployment rate than the media outlets disclosed.”

  “I’ve broken down the family status into a spreadsheet,” Perry said, sliding another hard copy across the table. Perry had chosen to submit the copy to Joe instead of reading the figures. Smart, Joe thought.

  And there it was, on the work status report. Griffin DeLuca had, without prior concern, taken a two-week personal leave without explanation. Very interesting. The remaining family data showed Mr. DeLuca lived alone.

  Joe sat in silence for a few minutes reviewing each of the reports. He took out his pen and circled names from the list he used during his morning walk-through. He removed the list from his clipboard. Placing the list on top of all the tech's reports, Joe laid the stack in the center of the table and looked around, making eye contact with each of the techs.

  “Concentrate your efforts on these names,” Joe announced, rising from the table. “Dig deeper on each and begin tracking. I want warrant requests in the morning.”

  He started to leave the room, but paused by the door. “And get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long long day.”

  He was beat and needed sleep himself. Another fifteen minutes and he would have been fighting yawns. Joe made up his mind to go home and sleep. He would run his techs ragged in the morning. Joe smiled. The feeling waned as he left the building. Something felt wrong, foreboding. Joe ran through the day in his mind. He could find nothing he had missed, nor could he think of further instruction he could have given his techs. Joe tried to put everything out of his mind as he fished his keys from his Dickies slacks. But a feeling was gnawing at the back of his neck. Joe looked up as if to see a giant hammer about to fall on his head. There was none. Before getting into his car, he looked in every direction. There were no eyes on him. From his parking spot southeast of Liberty Avenue, Joe could see city workers still scouring for any parts, plane or human, left from the crashes. He looked again in all directions. Nothing. No one was looking his way. Joe opened the door and plugged in the hotel address into the GPS. His mind let go of the day.

  Watching the Watchers

  Griffin stepped back around the corner of the building two blocks away. He was now wearing a plain, medium blue, short-sleeve shirt, dark blue slacks, and black sports shoes. From a distance he would look like any city employee working inside the temporarily restricted city. It was lucky for Griffin that the DHS had set up shop just beyond the strip district in lesser-used buildings.

  “This is a cool trick,” Griffin thought to Gabriel. “How does it work?”

  Gabriel replied with mental shrug. “You have access to me, and to a degree, you tell me how it works.”

  “Uh, you’re asking me to step onto an alien space ship and take over the controls without any instruction. I can't do that,” Gabriel thought, using the first metaphor that came to mind.

  “You can if you are a part of the pilot's mind,” Gabriel answered. Griffin felt an invitation to ride the Archangel’s senses.

  “All right, challenge accepted, Mr. Archangel,” Griffin thought. He slipped back into his own mind and found Gabriel. Griffin slowed his breathing and cut everything else out, concentrating purely on the sound of his own breath. He became aware of the air filling and exiting his lungs. He felt his shoulders rock back and forth with each cycle of air. And then he could feel where everyone else around was looking. He wasn’t exactly seeing through their eyes, but had gained awareness of what held each one’s attention. With further concentration Griffin found this information wasn't just coming from their sight, but from their minds. And suddenly it was filtered in simple colors. Each person within several blocks now appeared in the
ir combined thoughts. When distracted by a sight, thought, conversation, or action that didn't include Griffin, they appeared blue-green. When a city worker, police officer, or FEMA worker would look in Griffin’s direction, Gabriel sent an impulse to the worker averting their attention away. Griffin saw sometimes it meant intervening another person to distract the individual whose attention was falling near him. It was subtle, too, not a glaring action. Griffin marveled at how easy it was for Gabriel to do.

  “With this much access to human thought, why do you need me to talk to this prophet?” Griffin asked in thought.

  “If I removed myself from you, I would just be another source of energy. And a visible source at that. Without you I'm cut off from the transmission. Imagine me as a radio signal, and each human is a radio, and you are my transceiver.”

  “Ah. Makes sense,” Griffin thought. “Is there anything else to see here?” He had been nervous when they entered the city, but now he was bordering on paranoid.

  “No, we've seen what we need to see. That man is leading a team of people looking for you. He has singled you out with a five others. They will begin to take great interest in you very soon. We need to approach to prophet soon. This evening.”

  “Tonight?” Griffin thought about see the woman again, and a range of emotions popped up before he could control them or notice Gabriel's reaction.

  "We are here to convey the messages of God, not ask her out for a date. You will need to control your fear of seeing her.” Gabriel thought sternly in Griffin's mind.

  If Griffin could mentally wince he would have. He was embarrassed by his mix of emotion. Part of Griffin thought the woman was attractive. Part was unsure about the entire adventure. Being rejected by a common man-woman approach was crushing enough, but Griffin’s role as vessel unsettled him more than he had ever imagined. It was important to be accepted by the prophet in more than one dimension.