The Angels of Destiny (18 page)

"Bin 8, for the third time this morning, Rob," Yuri enthused, as McPherson entered the control room.

"Worth further investigation I think," responded McPherson, enthusiastically.

"It feels like we're homing in on something here."

"Bin 9," shouted Yuri, as the light on the main panel illuminated red. "That
’
s significant isn
’
t it, Rob?"

"It should be, if my software is doing what it was designed to do." McPherson sat down at a spare computer screen and tapped in his security code. The system acknowledged him and opened the menu page. McPherson picked up the mouse and pulled the cursor down the options on the screen until 3D Spectral Analyzer was highlighted. He quickly clicked on it and absorbed himself in the details.

"We seem to be closing in on something," said Jerzy Rozanski, excitedly. His square chiseled face, flushed with excitement. He was normally the quiet type, not one to show his emotions, but today he was stimulated, and it showed.

Vicki could sense the excitement in the room and her pulse quickened. As she bent forward to look at one of the monitors she felt a sharp pain in her belly and it caused her to take in a short breath and her hands instinctively cradled her now large pregnant tummy. No one noticed her discomfort in the excitement and the pain didn't persist.

"What have we got?" said Hunter, entering the dimly lit control room.

"We
’
ve got a Bin 9,
”
replied McPherson, staring at the screen as he typed. His intense expression lit by the glow from the monitor.

Hunter wanted success badly. "Have we made contact?" he asked eagerly.

"No, we haven
’
t," but the data
’
s becoming more structured.

Hunter again asked. "What do you mean, structured?"

Absorbed, McPherson didn
’
t hear the question. "There are four or five Globular Clusters in this sector aren
’
t there Yuri."

"That's correct, Rob.
”

McPherson
’
s mind was focused. "Okay, lets home in on this baby. Yuri, send positional instructions to the five other satellites so that they all face this sector."

"Right away," said Yuri, sitting at another monitor some feet from McPherson. The instructions were tapped in and the
‘
Confirm Positional Details
’
button flashed on the screen. Yuri clicked the cursor on the screen button and the information was transmitted to the satellites. High above the earth, silent Retro
’
s fired on the sides of the huge metal structures, hovering effortlessly, like birds of prey in the sky. Simultaneously, each unit obeyed the new positional commands, slowly turning their long detector tubes to lock on to the new co-ordinates in Ursa Minor. Servomotors turned on each satellite adjusting the immense solar panels to compensate for the change in position and maintain maximum power generation from the sun's rays. The message
‘
New station positions confirmed
’
flashed on Yuri
’
s monitor.

"It's done, they
’
ve all locked on," confirmed Yuri, staring at the monitor in front of him.

Vicki smiled at no one in particular and gave a little shiver of excitement.

"Bin 10, we
’
ve got a 10!
”
Jerzy shouted, as the last light lit in the row. McPherson looked up, almost nonchalantly, for the briefest of moments before studying the monitor again.

"What have we got, Rob?" shouted Hunter, as he quickly walked towards him. "Answer me, Rob.
”
Hunter said, impatiently.

"I don
’
t know
yet.
It
’
s much too early. I need to do a lot more analysis, but it appears to me that we
’
ve found a sequence of long data repetition."

"You mean a message?"

"I don
’
t know. It may take days to search this stuff for meaningful data, if there
’
s any at all, it
’
s not guaranteed, Colin."

"We have the weekend my friends. Let
’
s get down to business," said Hunter, as he strode purposefully out of the room, leaving his loud, enthusiastic voice ringing in their ears.

McPherson could feel his pulse racing, he knew this was significant but at the same time found it hard to believe it was happening. As he was sitting at his terminal something showed on the filter monitor that made him freeze. For some thirty-seconds or more McPherson franticly typed instructions on the keyboard. "Someone get Hunter back here now," he shouted in excitement seconds later.

"What is it?" Shouted Rozanski.

"Someone get Hunter, now,
”
repeated McPherson impatiently.

"What the hell
’
s going on, Rob?" Asked Yuri. Just then Hunter returned to the control room sensing there was something happening

“
Okay, what have we got?" he said, smiling nervously.

McPherson looked at Hunter, his expression was intense. "I think we need a video link with the President."

"It had better be good, Rob, what is it?"

McPherson responded. "You remember the digital signal that was sent into space in 1973 from the Arecibo Telescope?"

“
Yeah.
”

"Well, we've just received a reply."

"Can you understand what they
’
re saying.
”
Hunter asked.

"It
’
s too early for me to tell but the signals are definitely some kind of structured communication." Replied McPherson.

Vicki flinched, but nobody noticed.

"Get the President on the line!
”
shouted Hunter. "Right now!
”

"Where are they from, do they say?
”
Rozanski asked.

"They're showing some kind of positional map like our digital message showed Earths position but I don't understand what it means."

The video screen lit up next to McPherson and the President
’
s face appeared.
“
Gentlemen, what do you have for me?" he asked with interest.

“
Mr. President," replied McPherson. "We appear to be receiving signals from an alien source far more advanced than ourselves."

"How do you know that?
”
enquired the President.

"Because they
’
ve mastered time-travel.
”

"What do you mean?"

"The signals we
’
re receiving are coming from our own Solar System."

There was a chilling silence in the control room as everyone wrestled with Rob McPherson's words.

Summa looked at his watch, through barely open eyes. It was six o
’
clock and he had slept well. He pulled his naked body upright and leaned on the headrest. Last nights cigar was still in the ashtray next to his bed and he reached out to pick it up. It tasted good as he rolled the end around on his lips. He thought about the day ahead as he stared at the plain wall opposite and decided to go to Beaumont in the rental car later that morning, to pick up the launcher and rockets. Impatiently, he got up and walked to the veranda.

Looking across the plaza he could see the tall Ellington Building and its fragile glass skin mimicking the blue sky. He raised his hands to hold the imaginary launcher and recoiled as the invisible rocket headed towards its target; his pert lips making a childlike rocket sound as he exhaled. He laughed loudly as he walked towards the bathroom, not waiting for the rocket to reach its target.

Richard awoke to the sound of the phone ringing on the table next to his bed. Reaching out he slowly fumbled to pick up the receiver and pulled it to his ear "Yea," he said with a deep, rough morning voice.

“
Rich, get up, we
’
ve got work to do."

“
Yeah, okay."

"Order breakfast in bed and be ready to leave in one hour okay."

"Okay, where are we going?"

"Beaumont," and then the phone buzzed in his ear as Summa ended the call. Richard Stark lay in bed and stared at the blurring ceiling as tears fell from his cheeks on to the starched white bed sheet.

One hour later there was a knock on Starks door and he knew exactly who it was. With trembling hand he grabbed the door handle and opened it to see Summa standing there, his expression almost manic, his blood replaced with pure adrenalin.

"This is it Rich, are you ready?" asked Summa.

"I'm ready," responded Stark, trying to muster an ounce of enthusiasm.

Minutes later, Stark could hear the roar of the Chevrolet Suburban SUV Alamo hire car as Summa drove it up the ramp from the underground parking lot into the bright sunlight.

"Get in Rich, no time to waste," instructed Summa through the open front window, as he braked to a stop at the top of the ramp.

Richard Stark took a deep breath and jumped into the passenger seat. The SUV growled once again as the pair headed for the Interstate 10 and the lock up at Beaumont, some two hours drive east of Houston. He had to listen to the excited rantings of Summa for most of the journey. Silence only came during the long inhalations of the large cigar Summa relished. Adrenalin had turned him into a hyperactive, annoying individual, that Stark wanted to gag.

"Here we are Rich
—
it
’
s just down here, opposite that old Ford truck." Stark felt sick. The reality of the situation was happening too quickly and he could do nothing to stop the clock. To take time out. Time to think.

Within fifteen minutes the equipment had been loaded into the truck and the lockup closed again.

"Fuck me, Rich, I think I'm going to come. This shit is better that sex."

"Pull over please, NOW," shouted Stark.

Summa stopped the truck and Stark opened the passenger door, leaned out, and vomited the entire contents of his breakfast onto the road.

"You okay, buddy?"

"I guess I'm not as good as you at this sort of thing, Summa," Stark said, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.

"You'll be fine don't worry. I'll do all the hard work,
”
Summa said, reassuringly.

“
Yeah, I know, I'm sorry Summa."

"It's okay, don't worry, this is not something we do everyday Rich. This is something monumental man. Even I'm feeling nervous you know." Richard Stark looked at Summa and just knew he was lying.

"When we get back to the hotel we'll take the launcher and the rockets up to my room in the fishing bags. No one will suspect anything Rich, okay?"

"Whatever you say."

"You'll feel better knowing that you've brought it up and it's safe.”

Richard Stark was sitting, pale faced, staring straight ahead. He offered no response to Summa's comment.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee in the NYPD office filled Adam Watt's nostrils as he inhaled deeply, clasping both hands behind his head he looked upwards for some kind of divine intervention.

For almost eight years Watts had given a lot of his resolve trying to solve a number of hideous murders in the New York area. When he finally lowered his head the bright light from the computer screen in the dimly lit office illuminated his craggy shaven face, highlighting his blank expressionless look.

All of the murders followed a similar pattern of mutilation. Each of the eight victims had had their eyes and tongues cut out and their throats cut. The females had been disemboweled. There were no witnesses and no fingerprints at any of the murders.

Harrowing scene of crime pictures were stuck to the panel in front of Watts' desk and he stared at the named images, deep in thought. It appeared that the victims were selected randomly. There were four young female prostitutes, two male drug dealers, a small time thief and a Catholic Priest who had been castrated. This evil bastard is on a mission: yet another sick delusional missionary but why cut out their tongues, it wasn't to stop them talking, the dead don't tell tales.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd tried to find the motive for death other than the obvious; removal of scum from the streets of New York. But then the priest, how did he fit in to that argument? Watts had checked the Priest out and he appeared to be clean, no suggestion of child abuse or sexual wrong doing, so why castrate him?

Watts lifted his large frame out of the seat, dropped his glasses nonchalantly on the desk and walked slowly to the coffee pot some twenty yards away. When he returned with a strong hot black brew in his black 'Batman' mug, the computer screen was alerting him to a new email. In no rush he sipped his drink, still obviously deep in thought.

As a youth Watts decided that he wanted to be a cop, even though the family business would be his one day, pawnbroking offered him nothing of interest. Walking the streets as a young cop gave him a sense of fulfillment and every day was different. Now with six years left of an unexceptional career he was not expecting any further promotion. Detective Watts was going through the motions as he slipped back into his swivel chair and clicked his mouse.

The email was a departmental notice from the Head of IT stating that from one o
’
clock tomorrow the systems would be down for about two hours to enable improvements to the system. These improvements would allow searches not just around the New York area but as far away as California, now that National database integration was implemented. Watts continued to read with interest. Credit card searches and DNA files were now integrated into one application. Search criteria improvements will allow the individual to enter multiple fields.

Watts finally finished reading the memo, downed the remaining coffee and decided to head for his favorite bar some two hundred yards down East 20th. Street. With no one to go home to he was in no rush to get back to his empty, drab apartment. Without his wife who had died in a car crash seven years ago and no children, his life had lost a lot of meaning. Watts grabbed his jacket from the hook near the glass exit doors, mumbled a good night to one of his colleagues deep in thought at his computer to his left and closed the door behind him as he left. The implications of the database improvements were to change his life forever, he just didn't know it yet.

The evening was just another reason to spend time at the bar and tonight was no different. There were a couple of women that visited the bar and sometimes Watts got into conversation with them. He hoped that one of them would be there tonight. Sitting alone drinking was no fun, tonight he felt to need to talk. He was a person who liked company, especially female company. Happy to buy their drinks all night in exchange for their time but not expecting anything in return. His confidence as a lover had left him years ago and the last time he'd had sex was too painful to think about.

Watts opened the door to the bar and noticed one of the women was sitting, chatting to the barman. He walked up next to her and ordered a drink.

“
Hi, Adam, great to see you."

"Hi sweetheart, mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest, I'm on my own as usual."

"Thanks."

"Solved any crimes today, big boy?"

"No, just another day in paradise, Jane.
”
Watts picked up his glass and downed it in one. "Same again and one for the lady please barman."

“
Thanks, Adam, don't mind if I do."

"How about you, Jane, what was your day like?"

"About as far from Paradise as you can get."

"What exactly do you do?" Watts enquired.

"I'm a shrink, for my sins. I sit and listen to people and I try to analyze what the fuck is going on in their crazy messed up heads. Believe me I sometimes think I need one myself some days."

"Jane, can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead, I'm all ears."

"I've got a lot of murders that are unsolved and they
’
re pretty horrific. Do you mind if I talk about that sort of thing with you or not?"

"Don't worry about me, I had a husband once and he was the cruelest bastard on the planet," she said laughing. "And, anyway, my life needs a bit of excitement at the moment."

Watts smiled at her. "This person, if it is one person is cruel too."

"Cruel in what way?" Jane asked, moving closer to Watts.

"Well, he kills men and women, seemingly randomly, by cutting their throats."

“
Oh, fuck!
—
My husband wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, but there's more....... Are you sure you want to hear this?" Watts asked with genuine concern in his voice.

"Perhaps another drink would help."

"Same again, barman. Jane, have you eaten?"

"Not yet, no."

"Fancy a cheese burger and fries?"

The gentle kiss on the side of his face took Watts by surprise. Jane was a good looking middle aged women who'd clearly looked after herself. Blonde, blue eyed and slim. Her low cut dress showing off her full breasts. When she leaned over towards him her expensive sweet perfume rammed into his dormant senses like a runaway steam train. It was going to be a better than average night for the big detective. He felt alive again for the first time in years. Someone was actually enjoying his company. He still had something to offer, it wasn't all over yet.

"If I explained the details of the murders to you, could you throw any light on the kind of monster that continues to elude me?"

"I can't promise anything but I'm prepared to give it a go for you Adam, but only for you, you understand?
”
she said teasingly.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Watts leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

The next morning Adam Watts arrived at the NYPD building in East 20th. Street at precisely eight o
’
clock in the same cloths he'd worn the night before. He was unshaven and smelt of ladies perfume. The place was already bustling with activity as he entered the large open plan office on the third floor. A few waves and hellos, as usual, as he made his way, smiling, on autopilot to the coffee that smelt so appealing. After a later than normal night at his local bar and the first sex in ages, he needed to clear his head if he was to do a days work.

A bigger than normal pile of new files were on his desk when he arrived and he knew it was going to be another long boring day with last nights memories helping to pass the time of day. He felt tired but at the same time invigorated. Jane was one hell of a woman.

The morning passed quickly as he absorbed himself in reading files and documenting attempted murders, robbery, GBH, traffic incidents and drug offenses intermingled with images of Jane's massive nipples willingly pushed into his eager mouth and the wonderful feel, taste and smell of tender female flesh again.

Paperwork was one of his main pet hates so Watts planned to be out of the office after lunch on case follow-ups. It was lunchtime and the pizza delivery was on time. For a large man, over six foot five, he strode quickly to the delivery boy at the office entrance and paid for his large Margherita pizza before settling back in his chair to enjoy the delicious thin base that tasted twice as good as it looked.

Lets give this new database a whirl, and see just how good it is.

Watt's big frustration was the unsolved murders that had plagued him for years. The eight mutilated bodies with no witnesses, no prints and no evidence to convict anyone. Time was running out, he knew that but deep inside him he still had a spark of enthusiasm that continued to burn and a small amount of pride that refused to abandon him.

There were a number of suspects but not enough evidence to build a case for the prosecution. Entering the hideous details of the eight murders into the database took about fifteen minutes, Watts then hit the search button and sat back to enjoy the rest of his pizza. He wasn't expecting anything back from the search criteria but then on the screen, information started to appear about a similar recent murder in San Francisco where the victims had had their eyes and tongues cut out. Four potential suspects with their photographs appeared on the screen, one of them was an Adam Domaradzki. Watts was sitting up intently, staring at the screen. Has my luck finally fucking changed?

Today, unusually, the detectives lunch had become unimportant and most of the pizza ended up in the bin at the side of his desk.