Bones of Angels (13 page)

Level Three, Subterranean Chapel

Mont St. Michel

Angela had not been completely honest with Reynard. She had noticed a single line of text in the Codex Angelorum, a line that seemed to throw the whole idea of apocalyptic prophecy on its ear.

She moved forward and stood before the Archangel’s skeleton. “How could such a heavenly being get trapped in stone?” she said aloud, addressing no one in particular. “That has been the ten-thousand dollar question all along, right?”

“Angels have entered human history frequently,” Charles said. “The Archangel Gabriel announced Christ’s conception to the Virgin Mary. Angels have taken human form countless times as they interface with the material world to bring us messages or fight the powers of evil. Christians believe that even the resurrected Christ possessed both a spirit and a real body.”

Angela lifted her right index finger and began tracing the outline of Michael’s bones. It moved along his skeleton and across the lower bones of his wings.  

“What are you doing? asked Shooter, who had resumed her praying. “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”

Angela made no response. She continued tracing the figure of Michael as she began reciting the line she recalled from the Book of Angels: “De die autem illa et hora nemo scit, neque angeli caelorum, neque Filius, nisi solus Pater.” 

It was a quote from the gospels of both Matthew and Mark: But as for that day or hour, nobody knows it, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.

And then it happened.

Lines of gold light filtered through the bones as Angela stepped away. Blue and white lines also appeared, filling the outline of the skeletal structure, both the body and the wings.

Angela Marshall had summoned the Archangel Michael.

Father Reynard and Archbishop Donovan raced in, their arms outstretched. They were ecstatic.

“The prophecy is fulfilled!” Reynard cried jubilantly. Tears of joy welled up in his eyes.

Archbishop Donovan was also moved to tears.

“The end of the world might be only moments away!” proclaimed Reynard. “The unbelievers of a lost and wicked world will be cast into hellfire.”

Loud trumpets could be heard in the distance.

The figure entombed in the ancient stone now glowed brightly as it stepped majestically forward from its former prison. Michael stood in the chamber, radiant and resolute. He had the appearance of a thirty-year-old man, eight feet tall. A single blue band of cloth was wrapped across his shoulders and around his waist. His wings glowed white. His muscular form was quite human, although pure golden light emanated from his body.

“This woman has spoken correctly,” Michael said. “It is written in scripture: But as for that day or hour, nobody knows it, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”

“We should have known it all along,” Charles said. “It was so obvious.”

Reynard and Donovan exchanged worried glances.

Shooter stood. “I understand, too. The Bible says that no one knows when the Day of Judgment will be. Only God in heaven.”

Michael turned towards Reynard and Donovan, his wings fully extended. “Wicked servants!  My master is displeased!  Did you think you could control the heavens and the earth?”

He looked at the other figures assembled in the chapel.

“I am not confined to a single form, but I now take up my glorified body again to battle those who would try to usurp God’s power, as I did with Lucifer.”

A bright pulse of light shot from the angel’s body.

“It’s so beautiful!” cried Shooter.

“Magnificent!” cried Charles.

“My eyes are burning!” yelled Reynard!”

Donovan howled. “I’m blind!”

Ops Center

Aboard the Alamiranta

Light flashed from every monitor in the Ops Center.

And then the screens went dark.

“There’s been a massive energy surge in the catacombs,” Touchdown said. “It overloaded all of our equipment. It’s of an order that I’ve never seen before.”

Catherine Caine smiled. “I suspect few people in history have.”

One monitor flickered back to life. It was the screen that showed the satellite view of Mont St. Michel.

“My God!” Touchdown exclaimed. “The island!  It’s glowing!”

Level Three, Subterranean Chapel

Mont St. Michel

The sound of a powerful wind filled the passages beneath the island, including the chapel of St. Michael.

* We have company. *

The acolytes?

* Yes. And so much more. *

Ethereal warriors — Michael’s avenging army — passed through walls and through the catacombs, their sword blades composed of narrow columns of yellow fire. Hundreds of luminescent angels searched out the acolytes. Their swift, multi-colored forms moved in a blur, occasionally coming into sharper focus when they paused in mid-air to reveal bodies clothed in shining robes, wings tilted at various angles.

The sound of triumphant trumpets filled the catacombs.

Michael himself began spinning quickly, his flaming sword outstretched. It sliced through both Reynard and Donovan, their bodies bursting into flame.

“The world moves closer to destruction!” came the booming voice of the warrior Archangel. “But the time has not yet arrived for the Father to unleash his judgment on the four corners of the earth. Only the King of Heaven knows the appointed time!  Woe unto those who would seek to end a world they have not created!  Woe unto the Council of Nine and its followers!”

Donovan collapsed, his charred skin shriveling. Reynard ran from the room and hurled his body down a shaft similar to the one that had claimed Hawkeye’s life. From the bottom, he howled in agony.

The heavenly army battled the acolytes and Council commandos. Flaming swords sliced through the gray robes, filling the order with terror. Gerasimus and Antonius had rushed to the chapel, but angelic creatures plunged their holy fire into the gray habits, which crumpled to the ground. The bodies of the acolytes were nowhere to be seen. Indeed, all through the catacombs, empty gray robes lay on the stone floors. Their occupants had vanished. The commandos lay unconscious, but had not been killed.

The catacombs were being purged by a holy army of breathtaking light that no human had ever beheld.

Michael glowed brighter and brighter. The wind below the monastery screamed like the gales of a hurricane. Candles, boxes, statues, papers, and rocks blew through the catacombs, slamming against walls.

“It’s the Holy Spirit,” Shooter said.

Quiz, Angela, Charles, Tank, and Shooter knelt before the Archangel. Their minds were filled with an almost mystical ecstasy.

Five angels, honey-golden in color, came to rest behind each team member, as if protecting them.

“Awaken, Michael Hawke,” said Michael, his words sounding as if they were uttered by ten different men at once. “You have not finished your tasks on earth.”

The light grew brighter still, and yet the eyes of Titan Six were unaffected.

And then Michael and his angelic avengers merged into a single column of light and disappeared. There was no longer any skeleton or stone block in the chapel. A few candles burned quietly in the corners. A sweet smell lingered in the air.

“Madre de Dios,” Shooter uttered.

Hawkeye raised himself on his elbows. “What a strange dream I had,” he said. He looked around him. “Hey, what’s everybody staring at?  Where are we?”

Ops Center

Aboard the Alamiranta

“Systems are back online,” Touchdown said. “And — ”

“What’s the matter?” asked Caine.

“Another malfunction. Hawkeye’s life signs are registering as active again. And DJ’s are perfectly normal. The energy pulse must have fried some circuits. I’ll track it down.”

The audio speakers in the Ops Center crackled and hissed.

“ . . . for further instructions.”

“Repeat,” said Caine. “Your signal is weak.”

“Waiting for further instructions,” said Hawkeye.

Touchdown and Caine exchanged puzzled glances.

“Um, don’t take this the wrong way, Hawkeye,” said Touchdown, “but what are you doing alive?”

“To paraphrase Mark Twain, reports of my death were greatly exaggerated.”

“Status report,” said Caine.

“The artifact we sought has disappeared,” Hawkeye said. “The acolytes are also gone. The team will have to fill you in on the details. A lot of things happened while I was out cold.”

“I’m sending in a transport chopper now,” Caine said. “Prepare to return to the Alamiranta.”

“Return?” said DJ, who sat up, stiff and groggy. “I thought we had a mission to complete.” 

Caine laughed and looked at Touchdown. “This is going to be a very interesting debriefing.”

Crew Quarters, Hawkeye’s Cabin

Aboard the Alamiranta

Tank and Shooter stood opposite Hawkeye, who sat on the edge of his bunk. He leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows propped on his knees.

“You say I was . . . dead?”

“Right, big brother,” said Tank. “Grace, Touchdown, and Mrs. Caine all verify it. You were gone for more than fifteen minutes. Reynard beat the crap out of you and tossed you down a shaft. Even with our kind of gear, it’s doubtful anyone could survive such a fall.”

“What do you remember?” asked Shooter.

Hawkeye sighed deeply and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “I’m afraid it’s going to sound a bit strange.”

“Try us,” said Tank.

“Well, after fighting with Reynard, I seemed to be traveling through space towards a field of stars. They were growing in number and brightness. I recall thinking that I was on some kind of mission. That’s when I saw him.”

“Who?” asked Tank.

“Our dad.”

Jonathan Hawke, Tank and Hawkeye’s father, had died the previous year from pancreatic cancer. His death had been far more difficult for the brothers to endure than any covert ops mission for Titan Global. Their once-robust father had lost weight over a period of months until he looked like a paltry collection of bones covered with wrinkled skin.

“His face hovered before me,” Hawkeye continued. “It was smiling, and it looked young and vibrant.”

“Did he speak to you?” asked Shooter.

Hawkeye nodded as he looked at his two visitors. A small tear formed in the corner of his left eye.

“Yes. He said he was feeling fine now. He told me that he loved us, Tank. He said that would never change.”

“Wow,” said Tank in a low whisper as he sat in Hawkeye’s desk chair, blood draining from his face. “Then what?”

“A spotlight was shining on me. I heard a voice saying that I hadn’t finished my tasks. Next thing I knew, I was awake in the underground chapel.”

“That’s what Michael told you right before he disappeared.”

“Michael said that?”

“The Archangel,” said Shooter.

Tank nodded. “It’s true. I saw it all.”

Several moments of silence passed in Hawkeye’s cabin.

Shooter sat next to Hawkeye and put her hand on his arm. “It’s a lot to take in, Mike.”

“What do you make of it, big brother?” asked Tank.

“Hard to tell. I can’t say that I’ve been miraculously converted to a man of faith.”  He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “But I think I have an open mind, if nothing else.”

“That’s a good start, my friend,” said Shooter, kissing Hawkeye on the cheek.

The Titan Six leader had no snappy comeback. He looked straight ahead. He wasn’t going to tell anyone, at least not yet, but he knew in his heart that he had really met his father. He wasn’t at all sure where the meeting had taken place, but the encounter had been real.

More real than anything he had ever experienced.

The Gallery

Aboard the Alamiranta

The debriefing occurred the day after Titan Six had returned from Mont St. Michel. Everyone involved in the mission was assembled at the conference table on the far side of the Gallery.

“It’s hard to know where to start,” Catherine Caine said. “I think I’ll let our distinguished guest, Professor Charles Whittington, begin.”

Charles smiled like a kindly family patriarch. On the table before him was a Twix bar and a martini.

“First, I want to thank Titan Six for saving me and Angela from the Council of Nine. And, of course, for locating the bones of Michael and initiating such a unique climax to a prophecy that has endured for two millennia. More on that in a minute.

“I must first vindicate the Church of England, which had no knowledge of the actions of either Reynard or Donovan. That’s not to say that the COE doesn’t have covert agents such as the unfortunate Beta Team, which had been searching for Michael. COE teams in the western hemisphere had been directed by Archbishop Connolly until his cancer diagnosis. One of those teams uncovered the medieval maps, which I am told Angela examined here on the Alamiranta. Joseph — the Archbishop, that is — knew that these maps almost certainly revealed the exact location of the bones. He prayed very hard as to what to do, and when his chemo began, he decided that he was going to forward the maps to me via encoded email.”

Charles paused to take a bite of his Twix bar.

“The bones had been taken to the Vatican by Godefroi St. Omer,” Charles continued. “They remained there, a closely guarded secret, for two hundred years until Pope Clement V was elected as St. Peter’s successor in 1309. Clement declined to move to Rome, and had his entire papal court relocated to Avignon. The bones of St. Michael as well. The period from 1309 to 1377, when the pope returned to Rome, is known as the Avignon Papacy.

“Joseph and I suspected that the bones were somewhere in France, although there was no way of knowing for sure. The Vatican and the Council of Nine were just two organizations among many that sought the sacred relic. Rumor had placed the bones everywhere from China to South America. When the maps were brought to Joseph, we believed our search was drawing to a close.

“Pope Gregory XI ended the Avignon Papacy in 1377. I now suspect that most of the people who knew of the special chapel beneath Mount St. Michel had died by then or mysteriously vanished before Gregory returned to Rome. Many no doubt went into hiding so that they could avoid torture at the hands of those looking for the sacred stone. Some, I believe, drew the maps before they went into seclusion.

“The Council, including Reynard and Donovan more recently, had seen the Codex Angelorum many times, but only copies from the Middle Ages. Donovan had not seen the actual Dead Sea Scroll until a few days ago.”

Shooter seemed troubled. “Judging from the words of St. Michael himself, the prophecy of the Codex Angelorum was obviously false,” she said. “So much secrecy and bloodshed over the years for nothing.”

There was a twinkle in Charles’ eyes.

“I think that the matter of whether the prophecy was true or false is open to interpretation,” the Professor said. “The bones did indeed exist as a result of a previous battle between Michael and the forces of evil. He never ceased to exist, of course, but for reasons that we shall never really know, he abandoned that earthly form until two days ago. But more to the point, the fact is that he did indeed return to that form and reanimate the bones.”

“I’m not following,” Hawkeye said.

“I think I understand,” Angela said. “Assuming one believes that there will be an end to the world as foretold by the Bible, one can no longer dispute the prophecy in the Book of Angels. Whenever it happens, it shall forever remain fact that the discovery of Michael’s bones preceded it.”

“Exactly,” said Charles. “When the bones came to life — his residual electromagnetic energy probably never completely vacated the bones — St. Michael merely said that it was not yet time for the end of days. The Codex Angelorum says that after the bones are discovered, Michael shall once again don his armor for a cosmic battle between light and darkness. Whether that happens in a hundred years or a thousand is irrelevant if one looks at the precise wording of the prophecy. That was the fallacy of Reynard. He assumed that Armageddon would immediately happen once he found the bones. Biblical prophecy, however, is not necessarily a literal roadmap and timetable of events. Christ himself used parables and symbolism to express the truths of Christianity. So then — is the prophecy true?”  Charles laughed as he sipped his martini. “Once again, Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle merges with faith. The position of the observer — or believer, in this case — determines our perceptions. Having heard the sound of trumpets in the sky, I myself intend to be good just to be on the safe side. Hopefully, excellent vermouth will not offend the Creator.”

“What happened to the bodies of the acolytes?” asked Tank. “All we found on the way out were empty robes. The commandos had scattered and left the island.”

“Unknown,” said Touchdown. “Their energy signatures simply vanished from radar.”

“We’re in uncharted waters here,” Caine said. “I doubt I’ll have all the answers when I write my final report for the files of Titan Global. My guess, however, is that Father Albertus gave us an important hint: there had been enough killing on the island.

Crew Quarters, DJ’s Cabin

Aboard the Alamiranta

“I’m glad you stopped by,” DJ to Quiz. “I wanted to say thanks. I hear you’re a pretty good surgeon.”

“I had a little professional help.”

DJ studied Quiz’s face for several moments. “I’m sure you did, except that Grace Nguyen claims she didn’t need to say anything once you started operating on me.”

“I kinda zoned out,” said Quiz. “I was very focused. I probably read about surgery in my grandfather’s study years ago. Or maybe I was being guided by an angel or Father Albertus.”

“Maybe. Whatever the case, I’m very grateful for what you did.”

“You’re welcome. I need to be off now. I have some business up on deck.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Quiz left. DJ lay in her bunk, a tear rolling down her cheek. Quiz had obviously made his decision.

Catherine Caine’s Private Office

Aboard the Alamiranta

Caine and Charles Whittington relaxed in two upholstered chairs in the sitting area opposite the CEO’s desk. The office and its accoutrements harbored a more intimate elegance than other areas of the ship, such as the Gallery.

“Nobody asked about the giant elephant sitting in the Gallery,” said Charles.

“Are you using the standard cliché?” asked Caine with a smile. “I do have a mastodon standing somewhere in my collection.”

“I was, of course, referring to the matter of Father Reynard. Your team didn’t find his body at the bottom of the shaft in the catacombs on Mont St. Michel. And your technician no longer saw Reynard’s crimson tracking signature when your systems came back online. Did he disappear like his acolytes?”

“Touchdown assures me that Father Reynard was at the bottom of a shaft,” Caine said. “Blood was later found on the rocks outside one of the cliff caves, however.”

“I trust your team took a sample, which you have subsequently had analyzed.”

Catherine cocked her head and issued a matter-of-fact grin. “I would have considered my team negligent to pass up such a find. And we naturally ran the blood sample. It indeed belonged to Father Reynard.”

“Another mystery,” Charles said. “The caves and passageways below the monastery are both numerous and complex. Maybe Michael himself allowed such a dramatic escape.”

Caine knit her eyebrows. “Why?  Archbishop Donovan didn’t fare very well.”

Charles raised an index finger, a look of concern claiming his features. “It is obviously not yet time to eradicate all evil from the world. An even more provocative idea is that the crafty old Fox has a destiny in the great human drama that is not yet fulfilled.”

“That’s an unsettling thought,” Caine said.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Charles, “but Titan Global exists to explore unsettling ideas. Mr. Hawke wasn’t resurrected for nothing.”

“Touché, Charles.”

Main Deck

Aboard the Alamiranta

Quix approached Angela, who gazed at the blue horizon rimming the Mediterranean in a gentle arc.

“So how did you enjoy being a member of Titan Six?” Quiz asked.

“I have to admit that it was a welcome change from academia,” Angela replied. “I could use more excitement in my life, though far less danger.”

“I could see to it that Mrs. Caine finds you a position on board, one that would be challenging yet safe.”

Angela looked at the Mediterranean wistfully. “I have to finish my dissertation, plus I have a commitment to your grandfather.”

“Would you mind if I visited Whittington Manor once in a while?” asked Quiz. “Or even on a regular basis?  It is, after all, my former home. Or you could occasionally visit the Alamiranta.”

The grad student rested her hand on Quiz’s arm. “I was looking forward to getting to know you,” she said. “We have a lot in common. I think we’d be really good together, if you don’t mind me using an outdated cliché. But . . . ”

Quiz’s muscles tensed. He sensed what was coming. One word had wrecked so much potential in people’s lives: but.

“You’re conflicted, Quiz, and that’s okay. You and DJ are obviously very close. You have a great deal of unfinished business with her. Here. Take this. If you ever feel that you have closure with her . . . ”

Angela didn’t finish her sentence. She simply turned and walked away, disappearing through the nearest door on deck.