Archangel Protocol Read online

  "Actually," I said, "I was just out wandering. Maybe it was psychic. I have been thinking about you."

  "Oh, really? Decided to join us finally?"

  "No," I said, "but I hear we have a mutual friend."

  "Is that so?" Leaning back on the stool, Rebeckah observed me carefully. "Who could that be?"

  "Michael Angelucci," I said. "Apparently he contacted your people before talking to me. Hear anything about him?"

  "No," her mouth said, but her eyes were dark and guarded. "We've been keeping our dealings with the Italians to a minimum, you know that."

  I laughed. "He'd prefer to be called 'Roman.' "

  "A Vatican agent?" Rebeckah scoffed, jumping to a conclusion I hadn't even considered. "Thanks to that hotheaded ex-partner of yours we haven't had contact with Vatican City in over a year."

  I started to chide her for being so public about her business, when the full impact of what she'd implied struck me. In a conspiratorial tone, I whispered, "Your people had a Papal connection?"

  She laughed. "Don't look so horrified, Deidre. Historically, your popes have made questionable alliances with nastier folks."

  "No, no, that's not what surprised me," I said. Picking at the crumbs on my plate, I tried to piece things together. "The Pope ... he was, er, sympathetic to your cause?"

  "To our methods, no," Rebeckah admitted quietly. "But our aims ..." She shrugged.

  "Your aims?"

  "We've always been Free Staters. Even though America is a theocratic republic, at least there's still a pretense of the representational government model. Christendom is a badly disguised oligarchy."

  "But isn't the Pope the leader of Christendom?" Rebeckah's political jargon made my head ache again.

  "He is now. Innocent had a plan to decentralize his power and give it back to the people."

  "I'll be hanged," I said. Putting my hands on the countertop, I leaned back on the stool. This information was a big hole in the case against Daniel. At the time, everyone claimed Danny had been motivated partly out of fear a presidential alliance with the Pope would bring Christendom to America.

  Rebeckah nudged me on the arm. "I hate to cut this short because it's been a long time, but I have to go." Jerking her chin in the direction of the window, she frowned. "Seems like you were followed here, Dee. I can't risk another arrest right now. I've been compromised enough lately."

  "Wait," I begged. "If you do hear something about Angelucci, will you contact me?"

  Her eyes flicked about nervously, but she paused long enough for me to press my card into her palm. Glancing down at it absently, she sighed.

  "Sure." She squeezed my shoulder tenderly. Reaching up absently, I placed my hand over hers for a second. Too preoccupied to make a more formal or proper goodbye, she headed for the door. My eyes were riveted to where she'd gestured out the window. I scanned the crowd for a suspicious or familiar face. When I found none, I found myself looking up at the evening sky searching for dark wings – raven's wings, or angel's.

  I laughed under my breath. Rebeckah's paranoia was rubbing off on me. No doubt it was just some sleazy reporter or a remote cam; they were forever darting in and out of my peripheral vision. All the same, I decided to err on the side of caution. I relinquished my precious window seat to an anxious patron and headed for the bathroom.

  The toilets, the sign indicated, were located down a narrow, dingy hallway. Instead of choosing the door clearly labeled, women, I took a detour. I boldly entered the one marked employees only and found myself in a tiny kitchen. A half wall separated the cashier from the kitchen, but the noise from the deli could only barely be heard over the humming of several industrial-looking refrigerator units that flanked the wall closest to me. Vat-grown lettuce and other vegetable matter were strewn across a low metal table. Soy-salami and other meats hung in disarray on the far wall. Then, I saw what I was looking for. Over the head of a surprised chef glowed an exit sign.

  Rapping the edge of the counter as I passed him, I said, "By the way, excellent knishes. Best I've ever had." My offhand compliment must have taken the poor man by surprise, because I was already at the door when I heard him shout in protest.

  As the door closed behind me, I found myself in an old abandoned trade-way. Most restaurants and stores were connected by a set of delivery tunnels. As respectable businesses moved closer and closer to the top floors of the skyscrapers and began using roof access for delivery, the money for upkeep of the tunnels disappeared. Some places still used the trade-ways, but the farther from city center you got, the more likely that gangs of Gorgons had taken them over as private thoroughfares.

  This one was clearly not in use. The smell of urine was close in the stale air. Graffiti dotted the walls. Some of the scrawl appeared to be a phonetic approximation of English, but mostly the colors bled together into a kind of urban artistic expression.

  Someone was illegally siphoning electricity to power Christmas lights duct-taped haphazardly across the ceiling. The track of lights closely followed the strip where the train used to run. Apparently following someone's internal sense of aesthetics, the Christmas lights occasionally abandoned the linear and burst into starlike patterns. As I looked down the tunnel, I noticed the designs seemed to happen at regular intervals.

  Curious, I moved to a spot directly underneath one of the starbursts and looked up. The lights danced around a shifting rectangular shadow. The object didn't look like any kind of conduit box I'd ever seen before. Also, maintenance crews tended to paint things like that with fluorescent yellow stripes, so that they were easily located in case of emergency. This box was a flat gray metal that seemed to absorb the light intentionally. If I could only get closer, I thought, I might be able to take the cover off to see what was inside.

  Just as I was about to search for something to use as a stepladder, I heard a shuffling noise. I decided not to take any chances and headed for the exit. As I walked, I stepped over discarded fast-food containers. Finding a door marked exit, I quickly pushed through. As I expected, the doorway opened to the pedestrian skyway system, which roughly followed the same path as the traffic tunnels.

  I hugged myself as a blast of air breezed through my damp clothes. The sound of my shoes scuffling against the nubby carpeting mingled with the noise of the other evening strollers. Strains of a rock tune wafted out of a pool bar. The green neon hanging in the window proclaimed that the tavern proudly served imported stout. Slowing my pace, I contemplated going in to sample the bitter, dark brew for Daniel's sake. He had loved the stuff, and often dragged me to similar smoky, raucous places for a "nip," as he called it.

  A fond smile playing on my lips, I approached the door. Through the glass, I could see Celtic warriors posturing around the pool tables, holding their cue sticks like ancient spears. Daniel's broad-featured face and crinkle-eyed smile greeted me in every glance.

  With my fingers still wrapped around the door handle, I froze. Suddenly, I remembered how rage had splotched Daniel's cheeks with purple. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the scene from replaying in my mind.

  "You going in, then?" A lilting voice broke me out of my reverie. "Or are you just going to stand there gawking?"

  "Uh." I looked up at the curious frown and backed away from the door. "No. No, I'm sorry. I can't."

  "Suit yourself," I heard him murmur as I moved off.

  Heat rose on my cheeks. I hurried my steps. Trying to calm my jagged nerves, I took a deep breath. I crossed another skyway toward the shopping district. A woman walked by with an arm entwined around her lover. They leaned into each other, laughing. Her mauve scarf matched her shoes exactly. Her lightly colored hair was coiled in a style I had attempted but could never maintain with such perfection. I imagined myself in her place: 1..3 kids and a condo in midtown. Despite my fierce independence, some days I would kill for a warm, strong arm to hold.

  I paused to examine this week's haute couture as advertised by the mannequins in Bloomingdale's window. The holog
rams moved in an alluring yet businesslike way, skillfully showing off the cut with a swirl of the skirts. The images behind the mannequins flashed scenes of somebody else's affluent life. Without the LINK, it was like watching a silent movie: picture, but no sound.

  Pressing my fingers to the glass, I tried to feel the pulse of information emanating from the display. I touched my cheek against the cool, smooth surface. If I shut my eyes, I could almost sense the barrage of advertising slogans and insistent sales pitches like the distant thrum of a bass cord.

  "Infoslut." A familiar rasping voice shocked me out of my reverie.

  I pulled myself away from the shop window and blinked. "Oh, it's you." In front of me in a ragged, wet coat, stood the Revelation preacher. It was strange to see him out of context and at such close range. I almost checked my watch out of habit. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

  The pungent odor that hung around him was intensified by the steamy wetness of his clothes. His eyes were distant, but a shaky hand pointed unfailingly to my heart. "Sin," he declared, his voice rising to a fever pitch. "Sin flowers in you like a tainted rose."

  I turned away. He was talking Jesus-nonsense again. I don't know what I'd expected. Perhaps I'd hoped that off duty he was a coherent, normal man.

  "Cast out of heaven, driven from Sodom, thrust down from the tower of Babel ..."

  I stopped paying attention and walked back toward the office. Experience taught me it was best not to encourage him. Ignoring him, however, I discovered, was easier when separated by walls. The preacher trudged behind me like a faithful dog, his voice falling into the rhythm of our steps.

  "Jezebel, Jezebel, Satan tempts you again, and again you fall. You would sell your soul for access to the LINK."

  I spun on my heels and caught the collar of his coat. Shoving hard, I yanked him around until he fell against the bulletproof glass of the skyway window. We hit the surface with a muffled thrum. He was smaller than I was, so I pressed my full weight against his slender frame. "What? What did you just say?"

  "Sin tempts you, but you should resist. The flesh is weak. Sin is always the path of least resistance. Fight him, fight him."

  "Who sent you here?" I demanded.

  His eyes rolled up into his head. "Thus is the word of our Lord. Thanks be to God."

  "Amen," I said, continuing the service. I let go of his collar. The preacher's knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. The excitement taxed his already overworked neurons, and his head lolled against the glass.

  A small crowd had gathered. Twice in one day I found myself fleeing the scene of, if not a crime, then, at least serious assault charges. Maybe it was the fear behind my eyes, but no one made a move to stop me.

  * * *

  New Jersey State Penitentiary Jan. 12, 2076

  Dee,

  I feel like a blushing schoolboy. Every day at mail call I get hopeful that you've written, and I eye up all the packages in the screw's bag. Never anything for me. I'm not trying to guilt you, though I'll admit to secretly hoping it might work. After all, I hear you Catholic girls have an overabundance of guilt. Seriously, it's okay. There's a big chasm between us. It's going to take some work to get across. I know that.

  They had all the evidence against me, Dee. You told the truth. There's nothing wrong with that. Sure, at first I figured you should have more loyalty to me. I'm your partner for Chrissake. I was LINKed to all the news coverage during the trial. There was a lot of brouhaha about the fact you tried to finagle a secret deal with the FBI: my premeditation for your anonymity. Of course, when Interpol seized jurisdiction you had to take the stand anyway, didn't you? I didn't think you'd really go through with it until I saw you there. I felt pretty betrayed all right.

  At the time, I figured you were still pissed off about that night. I thought you were paying me back for trying to ... you know, get it on. Let me just say again – I don't know what came over me. I completely lost it. I was just, just ... overwhelmed by lust. I know that really fucked with our trust. I never had any feelings like that for you before ... well, no, that's a lie. Of course, I thought you were attractive, but that just means I'm a het, right? I mean, half the straight guys on the force thought you were to die for. It wasn't anything more than that ever, Dee, I swear. That night came out of the blue. Scares me to think about it, really. I'm sure it must've scared you worse.

  You never mentioned that night. You could have, you know. It would've made things worse for me inside. Nobody likes a rapist. And an attempted rapist is just some prick with no follow-through. Murderers, I've discovered, command some respect, at least. Without that reputation to hold people at bay, I'd probably be a dead man for being a cop.

  * * *

  I don't want to waste too much of your time, Dee. I just want to say, I don't harbor any of those resentments anymore. I know why you did it. You're a good cop. Telling the truth is what good cops do. Sometimes truth outweighs loyalty.

  Daniel

  Chapter 6

  The rain started up again, and my hair was soaked by the time I got back to the office. Though much of the sky was blocked by traffic tubes, water found a way to ooze though the holes to reach the ground. Ten minutes to spare, but Michael was there already. He leaned casually against the door. The tip of his broad shoulder covered part of my name and title stenciled on the frosted glass. The moisture in the air made his hair curly, but otherwise he was dry as a bone. Either he drove, or he'd been waiting a long time.

  "You ready? The LINK awaits."

  "Deal's off," I growled as I stomped up the stairs. I muscled past him to unlock the door. "Somebody is on to us."

  He sprang upright with the speed of a snake. "What are you talking about? Who?"

  "I don't know, but the preacher seemed to know a lot of details, too many details. I can't risk it. Not even for ..." – the LINK – "... for Danny."

  The key didn't seem to fit. I jangled it angrily, trying to force it. The lock finally clicked open. I swung the door wide, with the intention of slamming it back onto the hinges with a lot of force. Tracking my thought process, Michael caught the edge of the door with enhanced speed.

  "Deidre, be reasonable." His fist gripped the door over my head. The muscles in his arms jumped at the constant pressure I applied. "I understand your fear. You're taking a lot of personal risk, I know. But there's more than you at stake here."

  "So you've said." I leaned harder on the frame. The door creaked, but his grip never wavered.

  "You don't believe me."

  "I don't even know who exactly you're working for, Michael. Why should I trust you?"

  "Because it's the right thing to do," he said firmly. His gray eyes searched out mine. "And because I can give you what you need – access to the LINK."

  My mouth went dry. Swallowing hard, I lied bravely, "That's not enough."

  "So you're telling me if I walked away right now and you never got connected – you could live with that?"

  "I'd have to, wouldn't I?" I said, but I couldn't look at him. I eased up the pressure on the door, then let my shoulders drop. "It'd be better than selling my soul."

  "But would it be better than saving it?"

  In his voice there was a whisper of something familiar: a warmth, a sense of Tightness I hadn't felt since the LINK-angel Gabriel appeared on the LINK. The LINK-angels had appeared one by one, each bringing with it its own emotional aura. Unlike Phanuel, who appeared to people individually, Gabriel had been simulcast on all frequencies. Strength and power were the purview of this one. He was the enforcer. We felt the righteous burning of his sword as it bored through the LINK'S collective consciousness. Every LINK-angel's eyes were molten cores of light and right. The face before me had a similar conviction. His eyes glowed with a shimmer of the fierce fire I had seen and felt in the LINK-angel's visitation.

  After what I had learned about Jordan Institute, I was beginning to believe that the LINK-angels might not be the miracles everyone claimed them to be. I didn't really th
ink it was possible, but Michael insisted that the LINK-angels weren't real, that there was someone, a human hand, behind their appearance.

  I decided to play a game with him.

  "You're a LINK-angel, aren't you?" I asked.

  Michael jumped back as if I had slapped him.

  I'd hit a nerve. "Let me guess ..." I was running with it now, hot on a hunch. "That's the connection to your reputation. If the LINK-angels are constructs like you say, one of them was modeled on you, wasn't it?"

  Michael stood stock-still and didn't reply. Still, I felt encouraged to go on.

  "That's why you're so certain that the angels are frauds," I said, "and why you won't tell me who you work for. It's him. It's Letourneau. You're ratting him out. That's why you want me to do it ... because you can't without implicating yourself. No wonder pressure has been coming from all sides. So tell me, are all the angels cops?"

  His face was wide with surprise. I couldn't tell if I'd played him right yet or not.

  "No." He schooled his expression. "Definitely not."

  "But, I'm right aren't I? You're one of them ... an angel."

  "I am the archangel Michael."

  "What a coup." I beckoned him into the office. "I was never the best catechism student, but that means you're number one, head honcho, right?" He nodded. I looked him over. If he was the mastermind behind the LINK-angels, I'd have to reassess my impression of his intellect. Looking at his wide-eyed expression, I was having some trouble.

  "So how'd you do it? I mean, to fake something like that has got to take some major equipment, major programming."

  Michael hovered in the doorway and gave me an anxious look. "Do I have to remind you we have an appointment to keep?"

  "Cool your heels, angel boy, I haven't decided anything yet." Walking past the broken cup on the floor, I deliberately hung up my coat and settled behind the desk. "Sit down. We have to talk."