by Siegel, Alex
Harlow shrugged. "That's your opinion." He nodded to another scientist wearing a white lab coat and latex gloves. "Begin the autopsy."
"Yes, sir," the scientist said.
Harlow looked at Colonel Knox. "I'm not needed here, sir, and I have work to do."
"You're dismissed," the commander said.
Harlow rushed out of the room, glad to finally be away from the corpse.
He stopped and took a moment to compose himself. He was in a hallway which led to bathrooms and other bedrooms. The house was huge. He had heard a mob boss had once lived here.
Harlow went down a flight of stairs to the main floor. Two guards stood on either side of the front door. They were wearing green camouflage fatigues with high-grade body armor. Helmets with attached radio headsets left only their faces exposed. They carried FN SCAR Mk 17 rifles.
Harlow nodded politely to the men, and they nodded back.
He continued walking through the spacious house. The front room had been converted to an office for Colonel Knox. The dining room was now a mess hall for the entire team, and at mealtimes, seating was in short supply. A downstairs guestroom had become a small datacenter. A study now served as an armory.
Harlow went down another flight of stairs to the basement where he spent much of his time. The physics research was performed down here. He had lasers, ultrasensitive meters of all types, Geiger counters, and radio detectors. Ongoing experiments were performed on large steel tables with anchor holes in the surfaces. Recently installed LED panels provided plenty of bright light. The entire basement had been thoroughly scrubbed, but a few stains remained in the old concrete surfaces.
Other scientists were working, and they looked at him curiously with unspoken questions. He was their boss.
"We need to start building a robotic probe," Harlow said, "one capable of surviving extreme forces and intense radiation."
"Will the portal take a robot?" a female scientist said.
"We'll find out. If not, we'll put a guy in an armored spacesuit."
"The portal might not like that either, sir."
Harlow shrugged. "It's an experiment. I need twenty minutes alone please. Take a break."
His colleagues left the basement.
As soon as he was alone, he went to an electron microscope. It was an antiquated model with a big brass tube, and it probably weighed a hundred pounds. He opened a desk drawer, took out a small, velvet box, and opened it. The jewel box contained a badly tarnished, silver coin. Feathery wings were engraved on both sides. He placed the coin on the specimen holder inside the microscope.
He turned on the vacuum pump which produced a soft humming noise. He shifted his weight impatiently while he waited for the air to be sucked out of the electron tube. He glanced at the stairs to make sure nobody was peeking into the basement.
Finally, the machine was ready for use. Harlow turned the dials until the microscope was in a special configuration known only to him. An image appeared on the phosphor display. A cloud of dots formed an abstract face with circles for eyes and a straight line for a mouth.
"Hello, Dr. Harlow," the face said. Its voice was an echoing, raspy whisper which was difficult to understand.
Harlow checked the stairs again. He also looked around the basement to reconfirm he was alone.
"Hello," he finally said. "I just saw Corporal Hartmann's body."
"A regrettable death."
"Do you know what happened to him?"
"Of course I do," the face replied.
"Will you tell me?"
"No."
Harlow clenched his jaw. "Why not? What are you hiding?"
"I wouldn't want to deprive you of the thrill of scientific discovery. Proceed with your investigation as I have instructed."
"The toll in human lives keeps rising. Three so far and counting."
"Dr. Harlow," the face said, "don't try to make me feel guilty. You couldn't care less about the lives of others. Your callous, even sociopathic attitude is one reason you're in this most awkward situation and must do as I say."
"That may be true, but dead bodies are a political problem. Rena Penn wants to shut down the program."
"Then deal with her. Show some backbone for once. I suggest you hurry. Time is running short."
"Why?" Harlow said. "What will happen?"
"Your adversaries have become aroused. They seek you as we speak."
"I have adversaries? Since when?" He checked the stairs again nervously.
"Are you that naïve?" the face said. "What did you think would happen when you started sending scientific instruments through a secret passageway to Heaven? You're trafficking in knowledge forbidden to all mortals. You're putting stress on the celestial system. You're pissing on the Lord's plan."
"Oh." Harlow swallowed and lowered his voice. "Who are these adversaries? Angels? Demons?"
"Neither. These entities are on Earth and appear human, but that is just a disguise. They are monsters. You will have a very difficult time stopping them."
Harlow grimaced. "I need to tell Colonel Knox! He needs to step up security. But he believes we're looking for space aliens."
"The same lie works," the face said. "Aliens are secretly on Earth, and they want to stop the project. It's quite close to the truth actually. Wait until the danger becomes apparent, and then tell him."
"Why not tell him now?"
"Because timing is everything, but don't let the situation become a crisis. Walk softly on the narrow, dangerous road you have chosen. Even a small slip will send you plunging into the abyss. Good bye."
The face faded from the phosphor display. He fiddled with the controls, but they had no effect. With a sigh, he turned off the microscope.
Harlow distrusted the face, but he had no choice but to follow its instructions. The alternative was an eternity of roasting in hellfire. He had many sins to pay for.
He removed the silver coin from the microscope. He put the coin back in its jewel box and shoved the box to the back of the desk drawer. He wasn't worried about somebody else finding the coin because nobody would know what to do with it. It was just an interesting artifact worth maybe a hundred dollars for the silver.
Harlow looked at the scientific equipment in the basement. He had to build a robot, and apparently, he didn't have a lot of time.
* * *
His doorbell woke Thomas Haymaker from a deep sleep. He blinked at the clock and saw it was 9 AM. He had been in bed for only two hours. He rolled over and closed his eyes. His wife would deal with it.
A few minutes later, his wife yelled, "Tommy! Somebody wants to talk to you! It's a woman!"
Haymaker groaned. One of the worst aspects of being a high-profile police detective was the odd hours. People expected him to be available all the time, day or night.
He rolled out of bed with his eyes still closed. He groped around until he found his bathrobe, and he shrugged it on. He reluctantly opened his eyes so he wouldn't walk into a wall.
He made his way through his small house. He and his wife, Wanda, didn't have children so their needs were modest. A two bedroom home in a fairly nice neighborhood was plenty. Wanda was a successful attorney who worked out of their home.
Haymaker arrived at the front door, rubbing his bleary eyes and yawning. Wanda stood there with an irritated expression. She was a Hispanic woman with black hair tied back in a bun. She was wearing a green business suit.
He looked through the screen door at the visitor. The face was familiar, but it took a moment to recall the name. She had called herself Gina Miller during their last encounter. She had silky blonde hair and the beautiful, tanned face of a movie star. Tight jeans showed off her slender legs. Diamond studs in her ears sparkled in the morning light. Her makeup was perfect.
Haymaker raised his eyebrows in surprise. They had met during the first mission of the First Circle Club in September. She had pretended to be the ex-wife of "Reverend Megistias." Haymaker had assumed she had fled and was long gone.
He tried to focus on what promised to be an interesting conversation.
"Can I help you?" he said.
"This is a little awkward," she said. "I have something to confess. Actually, I have a lot to confess. First off, my name isn't really Gina."
"That doesn't surprise me. Who are you?"
"A professional con-artist. I was hired for that job. My working name is Cat Lady, or just Cat for short."
"That's the name your parents gave you?" Haymaker said.
"No. I never, ever use my real name."
Haymaker glanced at Wanda. He could tell she wasn't pleased about a mysterious, beautiful woman visiting their home unexpectedly.
"Darling," he said, "can I have a few minutes?"
"Sure. I need to get ready for a client call anyway." She walked off in a huff.
Haymaker opened the screen door to allow Cat into the house. They sat across from each other in the living room, her on a blue cloth couch and him on a leather chair.
"Talk," he said. "I'm listening."
She smiled hesitantly. "I'm one of the best con-artists in the business. I've been working the streets since I was a little girl."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"The last time we met, another man was with you. Very handsome guy. Wavy, brown hair. Early to mid-thirties."
Haymaker nodded. "Virgil."
"He looked at me, and I felt very guilty. For the first time, I regretted the crimes I had committed."
He knew what Cat was talking about. Virgil had the power to inflict profound guilt and shame with his gaze. He could give people a glimpse of being condemned to Hell. The experience could change a person's life. Haymaker had felt the effect, and the memory still haunted him. He had seen damned souls roasting over beds of coals. Other souls were buried under mountains of rock, trapped forever in darkness. He had tried much harder to avoid sin since then.
"You want to confess?" Haymaker said. "You're hoping to ease your guilt?"
Cat nodded. "But I'll confess to him, not you. Just tell me where he is."
"And then what? You'll disappear again?"
"I want to work for him. I'll use my skills to stop crimes instead of committing them. I'm planning to work off my debt to society."
"What about all the money you stole?" he said.
"I'll give some of it back... a little."
"I see." He stared at her pretty face. "And I gather you're not willing to go to jail even though you probably committed a hundred felonies."
"I can't stop crimes if I'm locked away," Cat explained.
"This is a very convenient kind of penance. I think you're missing the essential point. Maybe I should arrest you to teach you a lesson."
She frowned. "You have no hard evidence, and I haven't confessed to anything specific. You can't hold me."
Haymaker wasn't sure what to do with her. She was a habitual criminal and unclear about how to lead a good, law abiding life. She would pay for her crimes only if the price wasn't onerous. He had met her type before.
"I'll call Virgil," he said. "Maybe he'll talk to you, or maybe he won't. He's rather busy at the moment. Just wait here."
He searched the house until he found his phone in the kitchen. Then he peeked into the living room to make sure Cat was still there. She smiled at him, showing off perfect, white teeth.
He called Virgil.
"Hello?" Virgil said.
"What's your status?"
"Mei is still trying to get us a lead using every trick she knows, but she's striking out. The Office of Experimental Aero-Physics is a hard nut to crack."
Haymaker gritted his teeth. "That's annoying. So we're stuck."
"For the moment. Why are you awake?"
"I have a visitor. Do you remember Gina Miller?"
"Beautiful blonde?" Virgil said. "We interviewed her in a hair salon."
"That's the one." Haymaker explained the situation.
"Hmm. This isn't the most convenient time."
"I could tell Cat Lady you're not available. If she's serious about changing her life, she can do it on her own."
Virgil hesitated. "No. I should hear her story. Many questions remain from the last mission, and she might have an answer or two."
"You can't trust a word she says. She's a world-class liar."
"I'll bring Alfred. He'll get the truth out of her."
Haymaker nodded. Alfred's supernatural power complemented Virgil's. Alfred's voice could fill a person's heart with trust and peace. He gave people a preview of Heaven, and they naturally wanted to tell him every secret they knew. Haymaker had felt that power and knew it took a strong will to resist it.
"You want me to send her to Chinatown?"
"No," Virgil said. "I don't want her to know where we live. Someplace nearby though."
"There is a coffee shop favored by cops. Uniformed officers get a free cup. She'll be on her best behavior there. Rooney's Coffee in Greektown. I'll send her straight over."
"Sounds perfect. Thanks. Bye."
Haymaker hung up and returned to the living room.
He smiled at Cat. "Good news. He'll meet you."
* * *
Virgil shoved his phone into his pocket and looked at the people gathered in Mei's workshop.
Sara had returned with Alfred. He was the oldest member of the First Circle Club in both appearance and reality. Sparse brown hair exposed most of his scalp. Wrinkles on his pale face made him look worldly and wise, but Virgil knew he didn't have a cynical bone in him. Alfred was eternally cheerful even in the face of hideous evil. He was wearing a jean jacket over a violet shirt.
Lisa was watching Mei work. Except for Haymaker, the entire team was present.
"That was Haymaker," Virgil said. He explained the situation.
"You're really going to talk to this chick?" Lisa said. "She's a slime-ball."
"Why not? We're waiting for Mei anyway. Alfred and I might as well do something productive."
Mei was working at her computer. Her face turned red, and she said, "I'm doing my best. This is hard."
"I didn't mean it as an insult," Virgil said.
"I'd better tag along," Lisa said, "just in case."
"You don't think Alfred and I can handle her?"
"I'll hang out in the corner and watch your backs. I also need something to do."
"Be my guest," Virgil said.
"And I'll keep Mei company," Sara said. "Somebody has to hold down the fort."
"Great. Let's go."
* * *
Cat Lady was sitting in the center of Rooney's Coffee where she had a clear view of the door. The place reminded her of an Irish pub as much as a coffee shop. A long bar served caffeinated beverages instead of alcohol. Sunlight filtered in through green stained-glass windows. Wooden chairs and tables showed plenty of scuff marks. Racks of newspapers stood by the door.
Cat was more interested in the customers than the décor. A steady trickle of police officers in uniform came and went. Each received a free cup of coffee, but they often paid for a muffin or other pastry on the side. People sitting at tables usually had a laptop or a tablet, and they were trying to get work done while they drank their coffee.
Cat focused her attention on a man and a woman sitting side by side. Cat could read body language at a glance. The man's aggressive posture and rapid speech indicated either anger or sexual interest. The way his eyes moved told Cat he was lying to the woman. She had turned slightly away from him, and she wouldn't meet his gaze. Her hands were clutching her coffee mug. She wanted him to go away but was too timid to say something.
Virgil and another man entered the coffee shop together. She immediately recognized Virgil by his wavy brown hair and impressive body. A bit of color in his skin indicated mixed ancestry. His brown eyes had an intensity which Cat found attractive. His posture and crisp movements told her he knew martial arts. He was wearing a black sweater and jeans.
His partner was slimmer, softer, and fifteen to twenty years older. He
walked with his palms open in an unconscious gesture of trust. A pleasant, natural smile put Cat at ease.
A moment later, a black woman entered the shop. She was tall, lean, and muscular. She checked out the place like a cop would. Instead of ordering coffee, she went straight to a corner and sat down. She watched attentively from across the room.
Virgil brought backup, Cat thought.
Virgil spotted Cat and obviously recognized her. He brought his friend over, and they sat at the table with her.
"You picked an interesting place to have a meeting," she said.
"I didn't want you to cause any trouble," Virgil said.
"I wasn't planning on it anyway. The detective told me your name is Virgil."
"That's right, and you go by Cat Lady. My partner is Alfred."
Alfred reached across the table and shook her hand. His skin was as cold as a corpse, but she assumed it was because of the cold weather outside.
He leaned forward and watched her intently. He was analyzing her, just as she was doing to him. She recognized the signs of a professional.
"You're a psychologist," Cat said.
Alfred raised his eyebrows. "That's correct. Very good. I specialize in criminal behavior. I treat people like you."
His voice had a powerful soothing quality. It was almost hypnotic, and she relaxed despite her natural paranoia. She instinctively tried to resist even though the sensation was very pleasant.
"What do you think I am?" Virgil said.
She observed his straight posture, but it wasn't exactly military. His haircut also marked him as a civilian. He didn't have scars on his knuckles. The way he talked told the rest of the story.
"Federal agent," Cat said.
Virgil smiled a little. "What kind?"
She abruptly reached across the table. His hand reflexively moved towards his hip, but he didn't have a gun. She could tell where he usually carried one though.
"U.S. Marshal."
"You're good," he said.
"I'm the best."
"And humble, too. You want to confess to me? Why?"
"The last time we met," Cat said, "you looked at me strangely, and I felt very bad about my life. At that moment, I knew you were different and special. You could see my sins, and you understood them. You weren't just some holier than thou priest who would never get what I had to say."
