Chapters 31, 32, 33 and 34
Today we meet - for the first time - one of God's actual children.
Uriel is a 990-million-year-old Archangel...and a spoiled brat with a gambling problem. She's also the fourth and final member of Christine's new team.
And through Alicia Sonnet, we get a horrible peek at the nature of the plan the dark side has in store for us.
Enjoy...
Chapter
31
Bent Copper Bar
Georgetown
Alicia
Sonnet accepted her drink with a nod of thanks, waiting for the server to
depart.
“The
Irregulars were a disaster, Frank. I thought they would at least cause some
damage, but nothing. Nothing but alerting our presence to Harry Moss and Black
Ops.”
Juno
sighed. “Really…what did you expect? They’re nothing more than unwashed
cowboys.”
Frank
Juno, as usual, was dressed in an expensive suit that had seen better days.
There was an ancient wives’ tale that stated being ugly on the inside can
affect a soul’s outward appearance. This wasn’t always the case…but for Juno,
the old saying hit the nail on the head.
“I expect
more from you, Frank. This shadow
operation is insane. I’m the assistant deputy secretary for Homeland Security,
for God’s sake. I never should have become involved.”
“Tell me
about it.” Juno said. “But then again, maybe you shouldn’t have fallen in love
with that James character. Quite frankly, that whole business is beneath you.”
Sonnet
nodded. “Perhaps. You’re right at my side, though, you nut-bar….making the
exact same mistakes that I am.”
Frank
Juno blew out cigar smoke and sat back in the shadows, his forehead creased,
eyes hidden.
“I see it
in a different light. Who is going to come out on top? I always ask myself that
question at the beginning of any operation. You see, Alicia, I naturally have a
very jaundiced view of life. From my standpoint, everyone is corrupt, but I
have always made that fact work in my favor.”
Sonnet
sipped her bourbon, trying to relax her nerves in the dark bar. The Bent Copper
in Georgetown was one of the few places where damned souls could meet – and
more importantly – smoke, in Washington. She lit a Marlboro and drew in the
sweet nicotine.
“Frank,
you try to talk like a gangster…but cut the act. We both want the same thing.”
“And what
is that precisely, my dear?”
“To live
here in peace, of course! I certainly don’t want to go back to Hell, and I know you don’t. So cut the shit, okay?
We both enjoy our status and comforts here.”
“True
enough.” Juno shrugged. “We’re in it now, so get used to that fact. I agree, I
am perfectly happy with my lot in life here on Earth. The Hallstatts chose us
for a simple reason, and that is because most demons and damned souls
are…what’s a good word? Ah, yes! Dumb. That’s
the correct word; most escapees are as dumb as a bag of hammers. They needed
our intelligence, and our connections. You just fell into the well deeper than
I did; overcome by whatever James Hallstatt has in his trousers.”
Sonnet
pounded the table. “You’ve made your point crystal clear concerning James.
Enough already.”
“Very
well. The timetable has changed, Alicia. The Sempticemic Plague will be
released soon, which moves up other priorities…and you still have another
important job to do.”
“You’re
kidding me.”
“Nope.”
Juno shook his head. “I received the flash traffic from Ulf with specific
orders for you. A certain chemist needs to be released from federal custody,
and Ulf thinks your credentials will work perfectly.”
“But that
will blow my cover!”
“So be
it.” Juno paused, and took a drink. “The Hallstatt brothers are not the
trusting types, my dear. It seems they have someone specific in mind to work on
the corticosteroid antibody to protect the Dal Clann Hallstatt here on Earth
from the upcoming plague.”
“Hold on
a second…I thought the virus wouldn’t hurt us.”
Juno
puffed his cigar. “Oh, it won’t hurt you
or me…but it will certainly kill any
human followers here on the East Coast. And we can’t have that, now can we? The
Hallstatt brothers would have our heads.”
Everyone
knew that the Oubliette in Hell and its dubious operations were run by two
powerful, extremely vicious brothers - King Brian the Hated and Ulf the
Quarrelsome.
Unsurprisingly,
they didn’t get the nicknames by playing well with others.
Both had
risen to prominence in 1014 during the Battle of Clontarf in Ireland. King
Brian and his younger brother Ulf put an end to Scandinavian power over the
nation by uniting Ireland using the most bloody and grisly means possible. They
built an army 40,000 strong, made up of rebels and malcontents, massacring
anyone or anything that stood in their path.
Together,
the Hallstatt brothers perfected the slow death of impalement, and quite a few
other nasty methods of torture. Ulf had taken the title of most ruthless,
however, when he captured the would-be Norwegian conqueror Brodir.
Ulf tied
Brodir’s arms behind his back, sliced open his belly and pulled out his guts,
attaching one end of the intestinal tract to a tree. Ulf then led Brodir around
the tree over and over until the guts were completely removed. Brodir died in
agony a short time later, his heart was eaten by the Hallstatt brothers and his
head used as a fetish for years.
And with
that bit of naughty mischief, Ulf the Quarrelsome cemented his name into
history as a truly insane badass.
The two
brothers ruled Ireland with an iron fist for decades. But one day, they made
the unfortunate decision to invade England - at the same time the murderous
King Harald had set his sights on the same piece of property. A very bad move.
The
battle was legendary, although not in the Hallstatt brothers’ favor. After two
days of desperate fighting, the Irish army was overrun…with all but 25 men
killed. Both King Brian the Hated and Ulf the Quarrelsome had their skulls
bashed in at the Battle of Stamford Bridge in 1066.
This
event - to history buffs, at least - marked the beginning of the High Middle
Ages.
King
Brian, without question, had ruled the Oubliette in Hell since his death. Given
his uncompromising nature, it was inevitable, really. He had been an imposing
man in life, and the epitome of the perfect demented demon in the afterlife.
Brian had no conscience whatsoever; he wasn’t interested in money or the
accruements of an easy life.
King
Brian the Hated simply wanted to watch the world burn…just for the hell of it.
Ulf the
Quarrelsome was another story altogether. His eHarmony page, in the modern
world, would have read, ‘enjoys long walks on the beach and torturing people’.
Ulf ran
the corrupt Out Town – the frontier-like city built onto the outer walls of the
Oubliette.
All of the prostitution, weapons, alcohol, and drugs destined
for the Oubliette passed through Ulf’s greedy clutches first. He also
controlled the limited supply of electricity, the water mains and the telegraph
station.
And no
one could ever say he was good boss, either. It was rumored that one of Ulf’s
deputy henchman complained of his leader one day within earshot of the demon.
Ulf calmly dismembered the henchman and ate him raw in front of his other deputies.
The
suggestion box remained empty after that.
Sonnet
shook her head. The Hallstatt brothers were certifiable, and it was little
wonder she didn’t want to go back to Hell. The place blew.
The
waiter brought fresh drinks and emptied the ashtray. Juno relit his cigar and
swirled his bourbon thoughtfully.
“Alicia,
everything is moving forward, whether you and I like it or not. Soon, this
country will be trying to bury its dead, and the government will be in utter
chaos. If you don’t want a part of that, you better find a deep hole to ride
out the storm.”
Sonnet
smiled grimly. “Is that what you’re going to do?”
“I
haven’t decided. I’m not sure there’s anywhere we could disappear to…the
Hallstatt brothers would find us.”
“I think
that maybe you’re right, Frank. We’re going to have to ride this one out. Who
does Ulf want busted out of prison?”
“Your
boyfriend’s grandfather…Fighting Jack Hallstatt.”
Chapter 32
Blakely River Battery
East Potomac River Park
Christine
and Pine Coffin leaned against the landing hand-railing, sipping their scotch.
“Thanks
for what you did today.”
Pine
Coffin smiled. “No problem. Those idiots got what they deserved, ma’am.”
“No more
ma’am. Christine, please.”
“Okay,
Christine. You’re our Operational Control?”
“Yes,
that’s correct.” Christine was enjoying the warm glow of whiskey in her
stomach, and how it had steadied her hands. “So…Pine Coffin….are you the muscle
of the team?”
“No…no,
I’m not.” Pine Coffin’s chuckle was a rumble from the Marianas Trench. “I’m a
surveillance and counter-surveillance specialist, as well as long-range
eliminations. Parker Noble is comms, logistics, and transportation.”
Christine
heard a truck pull up outside of the flak tower, and watched as a small teen
girl hopped out – then began directing the truck driver as he backed the rig
into the doorway.
Christine’s
spirits lifted, realizing that the tarp-covered objects on the flatbed truck
were two vehicles – one of which would be the Bumblebee Camaro she’d requested.
But she was puzzled by the young slip of the Asian girl waving the truck in.
“Who is
that?”
Pine
Coffin took a deep gulp of his drink. “That’s
the muscle - Uriel.”
“God’s
youngest Archangel?” Christine exclaimed. “That Uriel?”
“Yes….and
the fourth member of our team.”
Christine
looked again. Uriel was a Hmong teenager, about five feet tall, 95 pounds or
so, and dressed in black jeans and a peach blouse.
“That’s the muscle? You’re kidding,
right?”
Pine
Coffin shook his head. “Nope. You and I were human at one time, Christine. We
have limitations imposed upon on us by that fact. Uriel was never human.”
“Never
human…that’s a little hard to comprehend.”
“It was
for me too at first. Try to understand, though - Father God made her from materials
only found in deep space, just like Michael, Raphael and Gabriel. But they are
much, much older. Uriel is only 990-million-years old.”
“Only!”
Pine
Coffin nodded. “Even so, she is absolutely
indestructible.”
“If you
say so. Let’s go see my car.”
Parker,
Harry and Pine Coffin trailed behind Christine as she bounded down the spiral
staircase to the ground floor.
“Harry!”
Uriel squealed and hugged Harry so hard that Christine swore she heard a few
ribs crack. Uriel was a pretty girl with almond-shaped eyes and silky black
hair that stopped at her waist. Apparently, she liked technology. Uriel wore
the latest Oris dive watch and had an iPhone 5 clipped to her belt. And like
any teen, she was practically imploding with pent-up energy.
“FathercalledandsaidthatyouneededmyhelpandIwas,like,Iamsothere!”
“Hello,
Uriel.” Harry said patiently. “This is your team leader, Dr. Taylor.”
“Hi,Dr.Taylor!”
Uriel smiled toothily. “I’mUriel,butyoucancallmePepper.”
Harry
sighed. “Do not call her Pepper,
Christine. It only encourages her.”
“You can
understand what she’s saying?” Christine said, looking at Harry quizzically.
“FathersaidthatthiswasanimportantassignmentandthatIshouldbeonmybestbehavior!”
“I get
the gist of roughly half.” Harry answered.
“SoIwaslike,duh,and,thenIhadtogethesecarsandbringthem,sohereIam!”
“Wow.”
Christine said. “Does she even pause to breathe?”
Uriel
frowned. “Umm…I can hear you, you know.”
“Uriel is
somewhat excitable.” Harry shook his head. “It is like being under fire from a machine-gun nest, though, isn’t
it?”
Uriel
stomped her foot. “I can hear you,
you know!”
Christine
smiled. “What’s with the name Pepper?’
“Uriel
has this crazy notion in her head.” Harry said. “She wants to become human,
change her name to Pepper and spend her days beating the casinos in Vegas.
Uriel thinks she has a system for
winning at blackjack. Sadly, Uriel is developmentally-challenged.”
“I can
hear everything you are saying!” Uriel hollered. “I’m standing right here! And
my system is unbeatable.”
“Uriel’s system is also known as cheating.” Harry said, then tapped Uriel
on the nose. “And it’s been done before…by much smarter people than you. Behave
yourself.”
Uriel
scuffed a boot on the concrete. “You’re no fun.”
Parker
pulled the tarp from the vehicle on the back of the rig. The driver lowered the
ramps and unchained the unusual 4x4.
“What is
that?” Christine said.
The
vehicle rolled backwards down the metal ramp and Pine Coffin put a hand up,
stopping the big SUV. Then he ran a hand along the sleek, black truck’s flank.
“Nice,
Parker. Armored?”
Parker
Noble nodded. “Against bombs and light weapons. Called in a favor so we could
have some decent wheels. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Assault DV8. Built
by Noble Industries – my family.”
“The Noble Industries is your family?”
Christine asked. “I thought you were a scientist.”
“I come
from a family of scientists.” Parker said. “My sister took over the business
after my death. But we made our money the old-fashioned way…by bilking the
American government. Noble makes nearly every armored vehicle that goes into
combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. And we are very good at building trucks that
are outrageously overpriced.”
Christine
assessed the armored truck. The Assault was a four-door SUV vaguely similar to
the VW Touareg – a cross between an off-road vehicle and a sports car. The
entire truck was air intakes, big tires and aerodynamic lines. She was
impressed, but still anxious to get her Camaro off of the rig.
Uriel
climbed aboard the flatbed and pulled the tarp from the second vehicle.
Christine was nearly speechless…again. She took a long moment to collect
herself, then sighed and punched Harry in the arm. Hard.
“Oww!”
Harry said, rubbing his shoulder. “What was that for?”
“You know
very well what that was for. Does that look like a Bumblebee Camaro?”
“Well…not
exactly.”
“Not
exactly?” Christine fumed. “What – pray tell – does that look like, Harry? Exactly?”
“Listen,
Christine…we have budget restrictions, you know. This isn’t a Michael Bay movie
where Chevrolet just gives us whatever we ask for. I did the best I could to
get you a high-performance muscle car.”
Christine
looked at Harry in amazement. “A high-performance
muscle car? That’s a Volvo wagon, Harry! From the 60s! The 60s! You can’t even
use high-performance and Volvo in the same sentence, it’s against the law.”
“I think
you might be overreacting a bit, sweetheart.”
“Don’t
you dare ‘sweetheart’ me!” Christine
screamed. “I know when I’m being bamboozled.”
Parker
and Pine Coffin rolled the Volvo off of the flatbed, smiling. The three members
of Christine’s team opened all of the doors, inspecting the station wagon.
“Hey,
Christine!” Parked yelled. “Your ride is sweet.
A mint 1967 Volvo 122? You don’t see one of these every day. I think this might
be the original tan paintjob from the factory. And – whoa – brown cloth seats…nice. I may be just nursing a semi.”
Christine
nearly went ballistic.
She
forcibly made her blood pressure lower to an acceptable level and tried
practicing yoga techniques that she’d learned in Heaven. She discovered quickly
that yoga was shit – but tried to be reasonable.
“Cloth
seats, Harry? Tan paint, Harry? Are you insane?”
Harry
shrugged. “The guys like it. See? It’s a classic.”
“Soon,
Harry.” Christine said through her teeth. “I am going to eat your bones. You
won’t know when I’m coming. It could be when you’re asleep, or at the office.
You will never see it coming. I will
become a Harry Moss bone-eating ninja.”
“You may
want to rephrase that.”
“Harry!”
“Pumpkin,”
Parker said, “maybe you should give the car a chance.”
“You,”
Christine pointed at him, “shut it. You’re not helping a bit.”
Harry
checked his wristwatch. “I have to get back. You know the mission, Christine.
Go to the Hallstatt residence and make sure the child is safe. Keep a close eye
out for anything suspicious until further notice.”
Christine,
expended and resigned, turned to Uriel. “Up for a road trip?”
“You
bet.” Uriel smiled sweetly. “Umm…are you really a bone-eating ninja?”
“Can it.”
Chapter 33
Bent Copper Bar
Sonnet
downed her drink and signaled for another. “King Brian wants me to get Fighting
Jack out of federal lockup? Is he insane?”
“Of
course, he’s insane.” Juno said. “We’re talking about King Brian and Ulf –
remember? They give new meaning to the term insane - you know that. They want
this plague to work, and the Hallstatts are deadly serious.”
Indeed,
she did know how serious the brothers were. Sonnet had met the King Brian and
Ulf around 1910 or so, just before she’d bought her way back to Earth. Ulf had
taken her life savings without a second thought, then beat her senseless just
for fun. She considered herself lucky that neither brother had raped her.
“Madness.”
Sonnet said. “Sheer madness. Tell me again about this plague.”
Juno
smiled and settled back. “It’s all very simple and elegant, really. The Dal
Clann Hallstatt will be using a virus that science has forgotten about, and for
good reason. The Sempticemic Plague hasn’t been seen since it wiped out Venice
and Florence back in 1381, burning its way through the trade routes right to
the Mediterranean Sea.”
“How was
it spread?”
“The
Yersinia bacteria are transferred by a rat or insect bite initially…but after
that a cough from one victim to another can easily pass the virus along.”
“Just a
cough?”
“Yes.”
Juno said. “However - Sempticemic Plague, like most others, dies outside of the
human body within a few hours.”
Sonnet
sipped her fresh drink. “Theoretically, though, someone could wipe their nose
on an airplane seat and pass it on that way?”
Juno
nodded. “Absolutely….within certain parameters. What most people don’t realize
is the Black Plague – which unjustly got credit for the deaths in Europe - was
mostly curable with a decent bath, but the Sempticemic had a 100 percent
mortality rate – even by today’s standards. The poor soul that was infected
usually died the same day as contraction, and it’s very hard to combat that.
Even so, certain antibodies will reduce the chance of death to roughly half.”
“Wait,
Frank…I thought this was some kind of super-virus. What you’re describing
sounds like it will move too fast to infect a large population. I don’t
understand why this plague is being used…why not something more modern…like
Ebola?”
“That’s a
very good question.” Juno took a slug of his bourbon. “And you’re right; the
simple fact is that most plagues and viruses burn themselves out too quickly.
Or rather, they kill their victims too fast to spread effectively. Ebola will
kill an entire village in Africa, along with itself, before it can spread to
the next village. The Sempticemic Plague can only kill in a single day when the
infected has never had access to a hot shower, like in the Middle Ages. That’s
usually someone who already had a weak immune system.”
“Really?
It’s that simple?”
“Yes,
indeed. In the modern world things are a bit different, mainly because of our
sanitary conditions and superb health. This works in the Sempticemic Plague’s
favor, actually, spreading at the optimum rate to decimate an entire
population…from contraction to death is usually two weeks.”
“Two
weeks!” Sonnet was stunned. That was a whole lot of time for a sick person to
move around, coughing on everyone they met. “What happens to the infected?”
“When the
bacterium first begins to multiply in the blood stream of an infected person,
the body responds by going into what’s called ‘systemic response syndrome’.
Microbes in the blood, urine, lungs and skin produce endotoxins that cause
disseminated intravascular coagulation.”
Sonnet
sighed. “English, please.”
“Severe
sepsis, Alicia. Extreme necrosis of the body’s tissues due to a lack of blood
circulation. To put it bluntly, the body shuts down – then the opposite begins
to happen, and that’s when things get bad.”
“Bad?
Worse than no circulation?”
“Yes, the
body then starts bleeding and can’t stop. Organs, skin, everything. Once it
starts, no hospital on Earth can save you.”
“Interesting.”
Sonnet signaled the waiter, pointing to her empty glass. “How many will die, do
you think?”
Juno blew
out his breath. “That’s tough to answer. I think perhaps half of America’s
population would succumb…maybe 150 million. That’s conjecture; really, I could
be off by 25 percent either way.”
“And if
this plague spreads across the ocean?”
“To
Europe and Asia? It’s not a question of if, but when. The mortality rate
overseas will be much, much higher. The population in Asia, for example, is
much more tightly packed together than America. I would say Asia would say
suffer the worst, with three out of four dead. Russia would experience the
least infection, because it’s so damn big and spread out – plus, no virus likes
cold weather…and the United Kingdom, I believe, would be roughly the same as
North America. As for South America, I have no idea.”
“What
exactly is the plan?” Sonnet said.
“King
Brian has ordered a preemptive strike using the Dal Clann Hallstatt against the
CDC in Atlanta. That will severely hamper any efforts to combat the virus.”
Sonnet
drew on her cigarette. “And then?”
“The
Sempticemic Plague will be released in nearly every big city on the East Coast
immediately afterwards. We just need those antibodies first. How much do you
know about Fighting Jack Hallstatt?”
“Just
what James told me…apparently he’s crazier than a shithouse rat.”
Juno
smiled broadly. “That would be putting it mildly.”
Chapter 34
Blakely River Battery
“I can’t
get a signal on my phone here.” Christine said to Uriel. “We really are out in
the boonies.”
“Did you
go Lion King on it?””
“What?”
“Hold up
your phone like Rafiki did when Simba was born, and do the music in your head.”
“You are
a weird kid.” Christine replied, climbing into the Volvo. “An absolute mental.”
“Heard that before…like a lot.” Uriel bounced
in the passenger seat. “Should I put on my seat belt, Dr. Taylor?”
“No,
Uriel.” Christine said, turning the Volvo’s ignition-key. “I believe the sheer
G-forces will hold you in the seat just fine. And call me Christine.”
They
threaded through the front gates of the River Battery and onto the washed-out
track, finally pulling out into traffic. The sun was going down and Christine
found the headlamp switch, flicking it on.
Uriel practically buzzed with teenage
excitement. “This is so cool. I like your ride a lot. You know, this car
doesn’t sound half bad…kind of like a nuclear-powered pepper grinder. What are
these?”
Christine
looked over. “Those are the window winders.”
“Really?
I’m used to a simple button, must be new technology.”
“Uriel…”
“I’ve
seen better equipped caves. Wow, you get a radio and a dial! That’s awesome.”
“Uriel…”
“And the
ride is so smooth, kind of like falling down a flight of stairs.”
Despite
Uriel’s sarcasm, there were a few indicators that the Volvo was far from stock.
The dash of the grocery-getter was odd, laid out with a large tachometer and
two turbo boost gauges.
Christine
also noticed the gear shifter wasn’t standard. A very tight six-speed and
shared space with a racing-type E-brake lever. The throttle response was crisp,
and the car accelerated hard when she pushed it.
Since the
car wasn’t the Camaro she’d asked for, though, Christine had already decided
she would never admit the station wagon was growing on her.
“So, you
want become human, Uriel? Is that correct?”
“Uh-huh,
uh-huh. And marry Ryan Reynolds and have some sex…have you ever had sex? I’ve
never had sex…but I want to have sex. Lots
of sex. Know what I mean? Intercourse, parking the plunger, vacuuming the
volcano, bumping uglies, riding the pink twizzler - ”
“Uriel!”
Christine was horrified. “That’s icky!”
“Uh-huh,
uh-huh…I want to see Ryan Reynolds’ frank and beans, like right now. Have you
ever seen a gentleman sausage?”
“Phrasing,
please - or I’m going to throw up.”
Uriel
giggled. “The willis and the doodleberries? Sakman and Throbbin? I want Ryan’s
male genitalia to meet my female genitalia. Hello, genitalia!”
Christine
held up a hand. “Bleck. I get the picture.”
“Yeah,
yeah.” Uriel cackled with laughter. “Of course, Ryan has to cut that hair,
though. His hair is just gross. He’s not gross….but that hair? Gross. If there
are two or three or four or five things I can’t stand it’s hair like that. I
like ‘em preppy, don’t get me wrong. A nice tapered cut in the back, yeah baby.
I was watching Celebrity Apprentice
and I noticed Donald Jr. has a terrible cut, right in the back - like father
like son, right? Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. I mean, cut that crap, why don’t you?
Ryan, too…all squirrely and such. Just get a decent haircut, that’s all I ask.”
“Umm,”
Christine said. “You seem to have some strong opinions.”
“I watch
people a lot, that’s all…for 70,000 years now. I really enjoy watching guys - but they can be real wiener-lickers,
you know? Like guys that spit? Eww. Just…ick! Really? You have to spit in
public? Where I walk? You’re going to make me walk in your bodily fluids? Come
on, you douche canoe! I mean, really. When was spitting ever cool? Never,
that’s when. Not even in middle school, you jerk-offs. And guys with visible
belt loops and no belt? Not cool, dude. If I can see loops, there better damn
well be a belt there…and not one of those lame braided ones from 1993, either.”
“Uriel…”
“And when
has it ever been appropriate to wear Crocs…with anything? Especially with shorts and socks, Mr. I-Have-Given-Up-On-Life?”
“Uriel…”
“Or a
dude in a tracksuit? What? Are you in the Russian mob? Come on! Or any guy over
the age of twelve with a T-shirt advertising the WWE Raw or Tap Out? Grow up already! And any guy
that chugs energy drinks, lathered in
Axe body spray? Ugh! Oh, and also guys with earrings. It’s 2012, dumbass. You
are not a rapper, you are not in the X-Games... put that shit away. And guys in the passenger seat of a
car with their bare feet on the dash, listening to a Smash Mouth song full
blast? Ick! Just ick! Makes me throw
up in the back of my mouth just thinking about it. For one thing, Smash Mouth has been genetically
engineered to get stuck in your head like some incurable mind-AIDS. And bare
feet? On the dash? That is just so nasty.”
“Uriel!
Enough!”
Christine
pulled onto the Washington Memorial Parkway and shifted into fifth gear. The
car was far more responsive that she’d anticipated, hitting 75 mph with ease.
She was
pleasantly surprised by the car, as it gave the unique impression of holding
back a great white shark from a feeding frenzy. Christine wondered what would
happen when she unleashed the chained beast. When pressed, the engine changed
note entirely, sounding very much like a leopard having sex with a circular
saw.
She
looked around, taking in landmarks. Washington hadn’t changed much since her
death, and she knew the general direction to drive. The address obtained by
Phillips, however, was in a bad neighborhood west of the Reagan National
Airport, which was a new addition in
the last few decades. Aircraft landing lights soared overhead the closer they
got to the airfield.
Uriel
rolled her window down. “So, you know where we’re going?”
“I used
to live here.” Christine said. “What about you? What have you been up to?”
“Helping
out in Laos, mainly. I’ve been living with the Flower Hmong, putting together
the identities and paperwork that’s needed before they can immigrate to the
states.”
“Really?
Why do you do that?”
Uriel
grimaced. “The Hmong are still being persecuted by the Pathet Lao, and
thousands of refugees have been singled out for retribution after the U.S.
pulled out of Southeast Asia. I have some strong connections in the State
Department, and we’ve built sort of an underground railroad for Asians over the
past few years. I was putting together passports here in Washington when Father
called and said that Harry needed help with a bad situation.”
At first,
Christine wasn’t so sure that Uriel could be of any assistance to their
mission, but the more they talked, the more she was impressed by the young
Archangel. Despite the motor mouth.
“I don’t
know if it’s going to be a bad situation, Uriel. We need to locate this child
and evaluate our options. We’ll have to wait and see.”
Uriel
pointed. “I think we have our answer.”
Christine
pulled to halt outside of the entrance to Laurel Park Apartments. A dozen
police cars were parked in the lot haphazardly, blue lights flashing. A SWAT
van rolled past them and stopped near the staircase of the apartment address
Christine held in her hand.
“Oh,
crap.”
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