The Angels of Destiny (5 page)

The feelings of relief amongst the team were immense, now that they were listening to the Universe
—
To the star cluster M13. Data was coming in at such a rate it was not possible to do anything other than store the majority of it for retrospective analysis afterwards. McPherson had already started his scrutiny of stored data and was categorizing the first batch of signals into different
‘
bins
’
(a name given to an area of storage space in the non-volatile memory banks). Signals that showed no possible form of pattern were stored in bin 0 for ten days and then discarded. Others, depending on the kind of repetition or of unusual signal strength, were put in bins 1 to 10. Bin 10 would be the location for signals deemed to be possibly from another intelligent life form. Bins 8 and 9 would be labelled
‘
Of Special Interest,
’
and like bin 10, of privileged access only. No signals had yet made bin 4.

McPherson
’
s knowledge of fusion reactions, like that of our Sun and the billions of other stars in the Universe gave him the ability to sort the information and discard what was known as
‘
Fusion noise
’
from that of genuine communications. That in itself was not too difficult a task and something the Chinese team would already be doing, but the software he had created allowed the information to be automatically analyzed at such speed, it was unique.

Samuel Black was sitting on the veranda of his villa, overlooking the Woodlands Golf Complex, just north of Houston and a short ride from the International Airport. Once, it was his favourite time of the day. The quiet stillness was such a contrast to the hot, noisy, overcrowded city. Racoon sounds in the woods replaced the continuous drone of city life and offered serenity and escape from reality, the reality that was eating through him, intent on devouring what was left of his broken existence. The strong outer shell that hid the inner man was cracking. Black looked numb from the cocaine and red wine, something he was making a habit of.

Inside the house there was an abundance of photographs of his wife, mostly in golfing attire and holding some prized trophy won on the circuit but there was none of him. Kim was successful, very successful but at the age of 38, her career
‘
at the top
’
was over.

Although she had never won a Major title, she had earned a huge amount of money on the tour. Unfortunately, for him, that meant that he saw precious little of her. Even at the dinners they went to, he was never part of the scene, never able to be one of them. She was always leaving him alone, much too busy
‘
sucking up
’
to some well-known sponsor or sports personality. Even though he was successful in his own right, she never acknowledged it.

He was no longer part of her life, and yet he was the instrument of her success. When Kim did spend time at home with him, there was always someone invited to dinner, always someone sharing her attentions. It was as if she couldn
’
t stand to be alone with him anymore.

Samuel stood up, his face expressionless, his eyes filled with tears. He seemed in need of another drink. As he walked towards the double glass doors, they opened with a gentle hiss and he felt the coolness of the room as he entered. The doors shut behind him and the quiet loneliness closed in again.

There seemed no end to the nightmare that started many years ago in the Bay, when he was a student. In those days he had girls whenever he wanted them, lots of girls and sometimes two at a time, but her face continued to haunt him. The pitiful lifeless expression and acrid smell of the vomit that oozed from her sweet young mouth. The image that would stay with him and haunt him, like the ransom demands, for as long as he lived.

Pouring himself a double bourbon, he stared at the crystal-cut-glass for some time, before adding two ice cubes. With a circular motion of his hand he cooled the contents. Slowly lifting the glass to his mouth he raised his head and downed its contents in one. Before the night was over the bottle would be empty.

Switching on his PC, Samuel Black selected the MPEG security files and watched as Vicki Stark entered the shower, dropping her dressing gown on the bathroom floor behind her. He looked lustfully at the screen images as she washed the perfect body that he wanted so much. Slowly he unzipped his flies. For a few minutes at least he would not be thinking about the next ransom demand.

The sound of the alarm buzzing at four-thirty on Saturday morning woke Hunter from a deep sleep. Today he had to catch a flight to Washington for a meeting with the President. Hunter was, by nature, a very methodical man and prided himself on preparation but today was different, he was not able to study a dossier, glance at an agenda or even read minutes of a previous meeting. It was a case of the President calling him at home at eleven-thirty last night, to tell him to be at the
‘
White House
’
for an eight o
’
clock briefing that morning. He at least had a record of all the project meetings on his laptop and he would be able to update himself during the flight. The subject, he was told, would be made clear at the meeting.

After a cold shower and a wet shave Hunter got dressed. He chose a white shirt, blue patterned silk tie, black leather shoes and a black pin-striped suit of Italian cut that looked and was expensive. Making his way down stairs he made for the coffee on the hot plate and downed two cups while he waited for the chauffeur to arrive to take him to the airport. The effect of the coffee soon stimulated him and he appeared alert and refreshed. It was unusual for the President to call a meeting at such short notice unless it was a real emergency. Hunter was aware of that and he walked around looking pensive

As he looked out of the window the chauffeur-driven automobile pulled up outside the main entrance. The driver was Sam, someone who had worked for him for over ten-years. Closing the front door behind him Hunter walked down the steps to the awaiting vehicle. The rear door was already open and Sam was standing, waiting for Hunter to enter.

"Sorry to get you up on a Saturday." Hunter said, apologetically.

"No problem for me, sir
—
Sleeping
’
s not something I do well." Sam
’
s voice was husky from the three packs of cigarettes smoked during the all-night poker game. Closing the door behind Hunter, Sam slipped into the driver
’
s position, put the stick into drive and accelerated off down the long tarmac drive.

"Airport?"

“
Yeah."

"Will you be back this evening, Mister Williams, sir?"

"I sure plan to be, Sam. I
’
ve promised my wife a meal at the club. Give my secretary a call later in the day."

"Sure will, Mister Williams, sir."

The traffic that morning was light and the trip to the airport was surprisingly quick. Dropping Hunter at the domestic departures building, Sam headed back to his apartment to get the sleep he always denied needing.

Hunter walked through the main doors to be greeted by a young male airport official, smartly dressed in a white short sleeve shirt and charcoal grey slacks.

"Good morning, Mr Williams." Hunter raised one hand and smiled in recognition of the greeting.

“
Your jet is waiting sir... Please follow me." Hunter was taken through the area designated for VIPs. At the bottom of the lounge stairs an airport limo was waiting to take him the short drive to the twenty-seater US Government jet, waiting on the runway holding zone. Once on the jet Hunter settled down to read the project notes on his laptop, only stopping to take a light breakfast of fresh fruit, yoghurt and black coffee.

The flight was uneventful and soon Hunter was sitting nervously in the back seat of another government limousine that was waiting for him at the Washington airport. It was seven-twenty when he looked at his watch again and by then he was approaching the left bank of the Potomac River. Hunter looked out of the rear window across the river to the Pentagon and his office and where the two alien bodies lay deep below ground. Swiftly, the long black limo entered Constitution Avenue and was then only minutes away from the White House. He was as well prepared as he could be, under the circumstances, but, his nerves appeared on edge and perspiration wet the back of his shirt.

After passing through White House security, Hunter was taken to the Diplomatic Reception Room overlooking the South Grounds, a place normally reserved for visiting dignitaries, not Pentagon staff. Decorated in gold and white it was furnished as a drawing room of the Federal Period (1790-1820) and housed some fine examples of New York and New England cabinetmakers. In the middle of the ceiling hung a fine cut glass Regency chandelier.

Waiting to greet Hunter at the entrance to the room was a young lady not that unlike Linda in looks and mannerisms. "Welcome back to Washington, Mr. Williams. My name is Jo, I
’
m a Presidential Assistant."

"Thank you. It
’
s great to meet you, Jo." Hunter replied, with a hint of nervousness in his voice. Jo was not someone Hunter had remembered from previous visits but then, the White House had many so called
‘
assistants
’

"Please be seated, Mr. Williams," she said, pointing to a polished table and chairs positioned near the windows. "The President will join you in a short while, make yourself comfortable, while I arrange some coffee," Jo said, reassuringly, as if sensing his tension.

"Thank you," said Hunter, sitting down to admire the panoramic North American views depicted on the wallpaper all around the room. He had been to the White House before but never this room; it was obviously designed to impress. Removing his laptop from the shoulder bag he placed it in front of him on the table and switched on the power. Hunter
’
s hands were moist and his shirt was sticking to his back. Removing a handkerchief from his suit pocket he dried his palms and then dabbed his brow and neck.

The approaching voices alerted him to the imminent arrival of the President and he quickly put his handkerchief back in his jacket pocket. He could hear the President telling someone to get it sorted before lunch as it would be an embarrassment if the meeting was cancelled again.

"Of course, Mr. President,
”
came the immediate response.

Hunter was on his feet as the President and two other stern faced, officials entered the room. Only the President was smiling as he held out his hand to greet Hunter. He was a big man, with thick dark hair and brown eyes. His face sported a slight tan and his smile showed off his white teeth. At forty-nine, he looked in remarkably good shape and appeared to Hunter to be quite relaxed.

"Thanks for coming at such short notice, Colin."

"No problem, sir," he replied, returning the smile.

"You
’
re looking mighty fit, for an old-timer, Colin.
”

"Thank you, sir, I hope to keep going for at least another three weeks.
”

The President laughed loudly and his aids felt forced to smile. "Sit down please, gentlemen," said the President, pointing to the beautifully carved Sheraton style chairs around the table. After everyone was seated the President looked at Hunter and said, "It appears we have a problem, Colin. Yesterday, I entertained a delegation from the Christian Church
’
s of America. Something that happens fairly regularly, you understand. This time, though, they pulled no punches, and their message to me was quite plain enough. They wanted reassurances that America was not wasting time and immoral amounts of money trying to disprove the Word of God. They knew about China and Sky Watch and put two and two together. They also quoted a figure of nine hundred million dollars that supposedly indicated the cost of Sky Watch. I didn
’
t correct them. I assumed their assumption was that we would spend a similar amount. Obviously I didn
’
t tell them our costs, especially when they thought nine hundred million was obscene.
”

The comment made Hunter smile and he appeared to relax.

The President continued. "They said, if we were doing the same thing, it was immoral and a destabilizing influence on the Christian Religions; the very keystones of our society, as they put it. If the American Government didn
’
t believe in God the Creator, then what hope was there for world stability? Then if that wasn
’
t bad enough their spokesman went off on some long drawn out sermon about what they could do with that amount of money, you know; good bloody causes, homes for the homeless, money for the poor, new churches, blah blah bloody blah."

"I presume you didn
’
t admit to the project, sir?
”
enquired Hunter.

"Did I hell. I was economic with the truth, if you know what I mean. I played the whole thing down, indicating that it was normal practice and an integral part of American defense procedures to monitor the Universe for asteroids, meteors and all that crap. I think they swallowed it. I made no mention of M13 Colin, and I do not intend to allow the Church or our press to get their hands on it, especially not now that I
’
ve publicly denied it to the Christian Church. Hopefully, one day in the future when I
’
ve got revelations to announce to the World that will be of significant benefit to mankind; they will forgive me my little white lie. The Church has great power these days and they could make life very difficult for us, if they choose to." The President
’
s voice was becoming forceful.