Blue Angels: Vengeance is Mine

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

The Adventures of Shock and Awe is temporarily on hold, until I can come up with a worthy ending. It's meant to be a shorter one, anyhow. Hope to have it finished soon.

****
Prologue (A Dark New Angel)

Goldenwoods Federal Prison isn't on the map of Greenbrier County, West Virginia. Few of the citizens of the nearest town, Lewisburg, know of its existence, and those that do keep its secrets close to the heart. The one road that connects town and prison is sealed off by a barbed-wire fence. Any intruder who chooses to ignore the fence has thirty seconds, tops, before the security forces make the interception. The uniforms don't arouse much attention; blue, loose jumpsuits, no different than a worker at a sanitation or power plant. Usually, the Rottweilers captured the attention of any miscreants.
Here is where the non-headliners make their home, where those who don't get the press of Aldrich Ames or Robert Hanssen find themselves permanently detained. Any traitors who are found guilty within the agency are sentenced to life within the blinding white walls of the Woods, if they're lucky.
Carter Roberds was one of the newest residents, with only two months under his belt. He never thought the simple tactics used would have yield such effective results. The lights stayed on twenty-four hours a day in every room, seven days a week. Word got out quickly as to what he had done, and some of the less immoral inmates decided to use him as a punching bag right out of the gate. Roberds took beatings in the mess hall, in the restroom, in work detail while cleaning the linens. One of the more hardened prisoners, a former member of the Covert Ops, sprung the lock to Roberds' cell and proceeded to smack Roberds across the back on several occasions with a smuggled tire iron. The guards watched until the spy had run out of steam, laughing as the latest Benedict Arnold screamed for help.
Two months later. Two months since Faith-Mari Hopkins and her little band of cheerleader spy wannabes brought him before Karla Lee and told her what he had done in Boston. Two months, one broken arm, one eye's vision compromised, and two cracked ribs later...

"I would like to see Mr. Carter Roberds, please," said a voice, getting the attention of the burly guard walking the corridor of cells in Block H. He spun around to see a tall man in a white suit, tie, and cape, twenty feet away. His eyes were hidden by the largest sunglasses the guard had ever seen. Behind him, a slightly shorter figure in a black cape, covering the body. The guard couldn't tell who was behind the cape, but it didn't matter.
"How did you get in here?" he asked.
"The front desk let me pass. They were so polite, and those dogs were absolutely adorable." The man began to take off his shades as the guard fumbled for his walkie-talkie.
"Dean, are you there?" asked the guard. "Dean, this is Lattimore. I need some help here..."
The man looked deep into the guard's face, past the eyes, into the synapses. "You will forget we were even here. We just came to check on a friend."
Lattimore's face went pale at the sight, and his irises shrank into dots. "I understand, sir."
"Please open the door to Mr. Roberds' cell."
Without hesitation, Lattimore reached for his keychain and produced the one for 8H. In seconds, the heavy metal door creaked open.
"Many thanks, guard. Take a nap now."
Lattimore fell as though he had taken a slug to the chest. His heavy body slammed into the concrete, creating a slap that echoed through the hall.


Meyrick Marwolaeth entered the 8 by 8 cell, unphased even as Carter Roberds jumped back at his presence.
"This is quite unexpected," said the disgraced Deputy Director, cracking a grin for the first time in weeks. His right arm remained encased in a plaster cast. His formerly well-nourished frame had withered, and his gray prison shirt and slack hung loosely. His left eye glared bright red from the Covert Ops attack, unseeing.
"Consider it good luck that we found you," said the preacher. "It takes some time to find a secret CIA post, even when you have our resources." At this time, the black-robed, hooded figure came into the room, walking into the corner, and standing still.
"Who's the monk?" asked Roberds.
"First things first," said Marwolaeth. "You must know why I'm here."
"I tell you, they have no clue. Langley's running around like a gamecock with its head cut off. They still think Stackhouse was the one behind the Boston incident. From what I've overheard, Lee wants an extradition deal from the French, but I doubt she'll get it."
"Very good, and now you must know what's coming next." The head of the robed figure looked up, and Roberds thought he could see the hint of a mask underneath.
"No. Enlighten me."
"Where did you stow away the copies of the plans?"
"And why would I want to tell you that?"
Marwolaeth smiled, teeth faintly stained. "Because I would feel no need to free you if you don't. And with all these guards asleep, and your door open, I doubt they'd feel any remorse in making things... even more comfortable for you here."
Roberds gulped. "They're in a series of disks, twelve in all. Look underneath the trash bin at the Blackwater Library in Smithfield, near HQ. Always wanted to keep things close to home."
"Good thinking," said Marwolaeth. His brow furrowed as Roberds let out a half-mad laugh.
"Let's get going. Let's go, go, go. I hear Dublin's great this time of year," said the prisoner.
The hooded figure slammed the cell door shut.
"What's going on?" asked Roberds.
Marwolaeth turned. "My associate has looked forward to seeing you for quite some time."
"Associate?"
The figure lowered the hood from her head. Long, luxurious, fiery red locks spilled out over the shoulders. Her features were hidden beneath a white plaster mask, its face etched in a look of irredeemable sorrow. The rest of the robe floated to the floor. Her body had been poured into a regal purple bodysuit, with the hue turning darker until the legs were the shade of night. Wings, as long as her's arms reach and almost touching the ceiling of the cell, unfurled from her back. She turned to face Marwolaeth, and Roberds could see that the bodysuit was backless to the waist, allowing the wings to spread out. Metal wires poked in and out of the skin, digging into the wings.
"Agent McCullers?"
The masked figure turned to Roberds and cornered him. She reached for his throat. When she felt the windpipe gripped firm, she squeezed with every bit of strength she had. She wanted nothing more than to hear the death rattle of this man.
"That's Archangel to you," she hissed. "You left me to a lifetime of misery. You left me to die. Now know what it is like." She lifted off the ground as her wings flapped, gusts of wind blowing within the cell. Roberds tried to talk, but was cut off by the stone-hard chokehold.
"Know what it is like to walk a mile in my shoes." Then she began to bang his head against the wall of the cell.
As the cement began to give way, Marwolaeth grinned.

[superpics4les]

Ninja:

Great start! I wondered when Cyan would show up again and you don't disappoint. Archangel is a great name for her. I look forward to more. :smt023

[SGWriter]

Ah, love how the stories all flow into one another Ninja, I see the black hole bombs are back, great stuff.

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Thanks for the compliments. Hope the rest of the story is satisfactory.

***

Dr. Abraham Zorin gnashed his teeth as he stepped back into the outside world. Beyond the walls of the secret underground laboratory at Ponchartrain Memorial, people were at work, at play, on the brink of death. People with opinions. People who would look at him with a mix of pity and scorn if he were to ever confess his deeds. Take one girl with an explosive distemper, splice the genomes of the original with those of unsuspecting runaways, and you have a new soldier for the boss. The reactions of his experiments exceeded his expectations. Even the bone structures of the test subject would slowly resettle to create a near-match of the original. Father Marwolaeth would ask for a moment alone with the subjects, and when the good doctor returned, they were the perfect ciphers...
He sighed when thinking about the original. She had run from Missouri, hoping to find a life as colorful as New Orleans itself. When that failed, and every hostel in the Big Easy barred her for life due to her constant fighting, she looked for salvation. Enter Meyrick Marwolaeth, and by process, Abraham Zorin.
He felt his tears well up at the memory of the pictures in the Times-Picayune. Shredded, mutilated, exsanguinated. The crisp white catsuit darkened to the pinkish hue of a raw steak. Sesen Villone had neutralized Alpha. She killed his first experiment.
The eyes dried when happier thoughts cast rays over the gloom. It had been only a day since Cyan McCullers had been released from PMH, and already compliments were being phoned in from the boss himself. One more liquidation was necessary, and then the Rising would be in full effect...
The ping of the elevator snapped him back to the present. The doors opened, and a musak version of The Girl from Epinema blared from the speakers. Dr. Zorin sneered. If anything, elevator music was a clarion, a stark reminder that funtime was over, and a world of buffoons awaited.
He walked through the lobby, trying his best not to touch anybody. He could feel the ignorance radiate off the injured. His sneer grew. Most of the time, people were hurt because of their own stupidity. Heart attack? Maybe they should've had a better diet, more exercise. Fell off a ladder? Perhaps they should know how to use one before putting themselves in such a position. Stabbed? Shot? He had gone through forty-two years of life without being threatened with either. How hard could it be to not end up in a hospital?
Whistling Ride of the Valkyries, Zorin entered the fourth floor of the parking garage. It was two in the morning, although the halogen lights made the walk to his Prism bright as noon. He reached in his pockets for the keychain.
He didn't see the young woman crouching behind the Jeep Cherokee, tracking him since he strode into the garage. He didn't hear the click of a ten round box, inserted into the body of a sniper rifle.
The L96, primarily used by the British Army, has an effective range of 900 meters.
Kelly Penrose only needed fifteen.

The idea that he had been shot didn't register with Dr. Zorin until he hit the ground, flat on his back. A scream caught in his throat, he tried to look forward, barely high enough to see a red circle blossom from his sock.
My ankle, he thought. I've been...
"Help!" he shouted. "Somebody's shot me! Someone please..."
His pleads were cut off as the butt of the rifle came whistling down.

"Are you ready to tell me something good?"
Dr. Zorin's field of vision opened in a blurry haze. He could see he was moving, in the car. Not his, someone else's.
"What did you do with my friend?"
His eyes focused, and he could see the woman behind the wheel. His mind ran through every face in his life like a database. He studied the driver. Brunette, pixie haircut. Eyes the color of burning kindling. Fragile face. The bright red silk blouse, the short black nylon skirt, the brown tights encasing toned, athletic legs...
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"No. Just a friend of a friend."
Dr. Zorin tried to get up, back couldn't move a millimeter. Looking down, he could see that his torso had been wrapped in duct tape, tying him down to the seat.
"What are you going to do to me?"
"That depends on you, Doc," said Kelly. "First, you can tell me where Meyrick Marwolaeth is tonight. I'm tired of waiting to run into him."
"You can catch him at the Father's Church every Sunday." Zorin could feel beads of sweat running into his eyes, matting his carrot-colored hair.
"No. Too public. I want to meet him in person. Alone." She turned a hard left, doing seventy on the freeway. Zorin's body held fast to the duct tape trap, and he let out a high-pitched scream.
"I'm sorry," asked Kelly. "You want to drive?" She took her hands off the wheel for a second, looking at the doctor. Then she laughed. "Oh, yeah. Forgot for a second there."
"I can't help you."
"You know, for a smart guy, you're giving a whole lot of wrong answers. If you don't know where Marwolaeth is, maybe you can help me with this: yesterday, you helped a girl in a black robe and hood into one of the the Father's henchwoman's cars. I lost them in traffic. So now I'm asking you: what is Marwolaeth doing with Cyan McCullers?"
Zorin laughed, his teeth painted partially red with blood. "I'm sorry, girl. Cyan McCullers is dead. You keep trying to find Father Marwolaeth, you will be, too. No room for sinners in the Rising." He continued to laugh until Kelly swung around with her right fist, knocking him out with a well-placed blow to the side of the head.
"And now, to your new home."

She wrote the note as she drove. As she parked next to the Precinct Two police house, she stapled the note into the duct tape covering the unconscious doctor. Throwing the keys onto the roof of the precinct, she abandoned the car.

The cops found the car moments later. In it, they found a bloody, unconscious man in a white smock, covered in grey tape, with the following written:
"Check out Basement Level Three at Ponchartrain Memorial. Don't listen to the staff; it's there. This guy's got a lot of cool stuff down there that will catch your interest. Regards,
Sniper."

****

One of the perks of being in ANGELS is the global variety of vacation spots that the relaxing agent can choose from, all provided for under a secret payroll division in Langley. Thailand, Kenya, Greece, Iceland, Mexico, Brazil, Australia, Japan... the list of countries to choose from almost matched the UN's Charter.
Faith-Mari chose Antibes, a town on the Riviera coast of France. Director Lee immediately told her that this was a vacation to get her mind off of work, and the New Orleans debacle, which she stressed over and over again was not the young agent's fault. Faith-Mari was not, repeat not to spend her time off looking for Victoria Stackhouse; the authorities were doing all they could, and any further interference would only provide obstacles.
She spent the first couple of days laying in her bed at the Thalazur Hotel, overlooking the Mediterranean. The same thought crossed her mind of dozens of times: Faith-Mari Hopkins, for killing a fellow Angel and losing your partner, your prize is... a all-expenses paid French Holiday! Tell her what else she's won, Rod Roddy.
Eventually, the claustrophobia caved in her resolve, and she strolled onto the beach on Day Three. She spread out a plain white blanket onto the silken sands of Antibes. She looked at the scenery, at the old Fort Carre, giant stone walls which overlooked the town as if in a state of eternal vigilance, the yachts that cruised down the coastline, the line of stores and museums that carried the ghosts of centuries.
Ghosts. Even the vacation was serving as a reminder. She looked to the miles of ocean that stretched out before her. Need to exercise her thoughts and demons away. She almost grinned, wondering if that was how exercise and exorcise became almost identical words.
She pulled off her sweatsuit, revealing a sky-blue, X-backed one-piece. When her toes hit the water, she slowly exhaled, then jumped in. The gentle waves worked subconsciously, scrubbing away layers of guilt and regret. Within an hour, she felt as though she might be able to enjoy this vacation after all.
She walked back into the hot sand, and as she did so, she heard a whistle.
"Qu'une belle fille!" said the man, who looked slightly older than Faith-Mari. His well-tanned arms and legs served a bright contrast to his short-sleeved white T and carpenter shorts.
Faith-Mari blushed. "Non, remercie. Je suis en vacances."
The man nodded. "At least the lady took the time to learn some of the language."
She nodded. "Un peu. Tres petit." She surprised herself by chuckling, if only for a moment.
The man offered his hand. "Alain Lambert."
She shook his hand. "Faith-Mari Hopkins. I'm afraid I have to go."
"Believe me when I say this," said the man, flashing a smile that could be seen from space, "it is not safe here for a striking young lady to be walking by herself."
"I've always heard Antibes was a very pleasant community."
Alain grinned. "I have lived here my whole life. Never has the need for an escort been as necessary as it is now."
Faith-Mari nodded. The man was persistent. She gave him that. "I know how to handle myself."
"Really? And what does a lady do that requires such toughness?"
Of course, she wouldn't tell him. She hadn't told her mother; why a man she had met moments earlier? "Tae Kwon Do instructor."
"No kidding. Well, when I go to America next, I shall like to join your class. Where shall I find you?"
Quick. Anywhere. Pick a town. "San Francisco?" She smiled. The perfect town to choose. Large, memorable, three thousand miles away...
"Well, is this your place?" he asked.
She looked to see the entrance of the Thalazur.
"See?" she said. "Not too far."
The grin from Alain's face reminded Faith-Mari of many a car commercial in the States. "So you are," he said. "Until then," and at this, he leered at Faith-Mari, sweatsuit carried over her arm, still slightly damp in her swimwear, "thanks to you, the sky is now my favorite color." He spun around and sauntered down the brick road.

He waited until he was out of hearing distance, then whispered, "Alouette is confirmed. Je te plumerai la tete."
The transmission ended. Alain grumbled. "Whoever decided to use children's songs for codes, I am killing him."

Faith-Mari was almost in the lobby when she heard the squeals of the white Renault come down the street. By instinct, she ducked down, well before the burst of gunfire. The automatic pistol stabbed holes into the sand-colored walls. Rose-filled vases exploded, sending shards of dried clay into the air. Sparks signaled where metal met metal, as the bannister of the stairway took several shots. The shots were drowned out by screams as hotelgoers ran inside, ran the opposite way down the street, into the alleyways.
Faith-Mari stood up before the Renault took the corner. She was close enough to see a white hooded head sneak back inside the car, the rifle tucking in soon after...
The crowd died down within seconds. Some people began dialing their cell phones; most to report the shooting, a couple to brag about how wild their vacation just got. Faith-Mari took a deep breath and checked herself. She ran her hands down her legs, up the sides of her suit, her arms... no wounds.
She raced into the hotel lobby. "Concierge, le telephone, s'il vous plait." When the desk manager, gave her the phone, she punched in the numbers to Langley, followed by the various codes for identification. When she heard Karla Lee's voice, she simply said, "Director, I think someone just tried to kill me..."

****

The limousine ride back to New Orleans felt much briefer than the trip to Goldenwoods, now that the task at hand was done. Marwolaeth broke open a bottle of Dom, pouring a glass for himself. He offered the bottle to Cyan, then replaced it when she remained silent.
"You did very well, today, my angel."
He didn't expect her to speak. He was surprised to hear her give Carter Roberds a piece of her mind before going to work.
"You know what to do next, don't you?"
She didn't move.
"You also know that your agency was fully aware about my plans, and failed to inform you."
The plaster mask looked his way.
"They threw you to the wolves."
He could not see a facial reaction, but the purple gloved hands balling into fists let him know everything she felt.
"We are making a stop in Washington. You can get out there. I have a gift waiting for you at a parking garage outside the Smithsonian. We'll take you there. Would you like that?"
Her body tensed, easily seen through the purple bodysuit. Slowly, the plaster mask nodded.
"Good," said Marwolaeth. "Go and avenge yourself."

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

While restructuring Chapter Two, thought I'd do as many far more-talented folks have done, and set up images of the principals in Vengeance is Mine. Hope I don't mess this up too badly.

***

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

And the others...

****

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Sorry it took so long. Lost most of the chapter in a window crash. Hope you enjoy.

****

The New York newsroom for VBC’s Sunriser Show had been abuzz for the last couple of hours. Between rumors of a new break-in at CERN, the drive-by shooting in France, and the latest scandal to rock the American government (this time involving a cabinet member, a secretary, a blindfold, and a wheel of cheddar cheese), a constant purring of noise shattered any chance of serenity.
Rebecca Cornell couldn’t be any happier. She preferred the rumble. It made up for the quiet days on the job, when new ways of cooking chicken took up valuable minutes of time. She closed her eyes, running over the questions in line for her guest.
Behind her, a gruff but slightly nervous voice said, “Two minutes to air, Becky.”
She waved him off. She got the fluff piece again, but she didn’t mind. It was another religious leader who found himself on top of the slippery slope of success. He would fall eventually, just like Bakker, Swaggert, and Tilton before him. If he was lucky, he might make a good Trivial Pursuit answer.
A drop of foundation found its way up her nose, tickling her. She sneezed, and then glared up at the make-up girl, damp dabber shaking.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Cornell,” said the girl, eyes dilating behind cat’s eye glasses.
“Just more on the cheeks, less in my respiratory system. Thanks.” With a whip of the head, she tossed her shoulder-length brunette locks, almost held solid by a liberal application of Clinique.
“One minute,” shouted the same gruff voice.
Rebecca smiled. “Time to shine,” she said. She stood straight up from her chair, pressing any wrinkles in her burgundy jacket and skirt. Looking down, she noticed a run in her matching hosiery. Cripes, and new, too, she thought. Good thing the camera only gets you from the shoulders up.
She walked calmly to the newsdesk as the cameraman counted down the seconds. She almost cracked a grin as she watched the sweaty equivalent of Victoria Falls cascade down the face of the stage manager.
“Five seconds,” said the perspirating man, his low voice shaking.
“All the time in the world,” said Rebecca, and then she was on.
“Good morning, and welcome back to The Sunrise Show. Our next guest has been described by some as the living embodiment of the American Dream. Born into poverty, he moved to New Orleans from Wales with his family. From these humble origins, he founded the Father’s Church, the fastest growing religion in Louisiana. He is also the CEO of an expanding entertainment empire that stretches from Minnesota to Florida. Joining us live from our New Orleans affiliate is Father Meyrick Marwolaeth. Good morning, sir.”
Facing her from the TV set, the man in the white suit grinned, eyes hidden behind giant sunglasses. “And also with you, m’am.”

****

Kelly Penrose checked the numbers on the treadmill at the Dryades YMCA, deep in the heart of the Big Easy. 12 miles and counting. Less than eight to go. Then it would be back to the weights for an hour. Beads glistened down her face. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth slowly blowing old air out, strained with the effects of a three-hour workout.
She kept in step as she heard the familiar voice blare from the television set, exchanging pleasantries with the news anchor. In front of her, she saw the smug face deflect questions about his past.
“Hey, babe. How’s it going?” said a deep voice behind her. She refused to look back, continuing with her exercise. It would be the same wannabe Romeo, sans the thought and intelligence. The guys who think muscles can compensate for everything else life had to offer.
The guys who weren’t Dylan Smith.
“Maybe the girl doesn’t hear too good,” said the voice.
“Maybe the girl doesn’t want to hear you,” said Kelly. “I’m trying to listen to the TV. An old friend of mine is talking.”
“What? That cat up there?” The gym goon walked around, blocking her view. He was everything she expected. No neck, no brains. Freshly mowed haircut topping lazy eyes, gray tank top, artificial tan, biceps and pecs spilling out like ten pounds of manure in a five pound bag.
“Yes,” she said, sighing. “That cat up there.”
The musclehead laughed. “He’s nothing but a preacher man. He’s doesn’t know anything. Least of all how to treat a PYT like yourself.”
She could feel his eyes crawling down her. She hadn’t dressed in a more flamboyant manner than any of the other women working the bikes or the treadmills or the rowing machines. But still the eyes had grown slimy little feet that raced down her navy blue t-shirt, slaloming her shiny, electric blue leggings.
“How about you come by my place? I’ll put on some Barry White, turn the lights low, and let me unwind you. By the look on your face, I can tell nobody’s ever lit you up before.”
Kelly turned off the machine, and the metallic whirr of the engine died down. “How about you leave me alone, and I won’t let the director of the Y know you’re harassing anyone with a second x chromosome? That deal suits me fine.”
The grin on his face crumbled. “Wow. Now I can see why no one’s ever done the trick. Keep on truckin’, ice princess.” He stepped behind the treadmill. As he strode past Kelly, he gave a mild but solid slap to her backside.
He took a couple of steps before she reacted. Walking briskly, she passed him heading into the corridors of the locker room, She intercepted him before he made it to the showers, blocking his path. In a whip-like motion, she struck under his left pectoral region with an open hand. The effect was instantaneous. The mountain of muscle fell as if Kelly had flipped a switch. She watched him for an instant, to make sure he was breathing. Then she realized it was time to leave. Someone could walk into the corridor at any time.
But not before she did one more thing.

The manager of the Y was reading the latest copy of Men’s Health when the shot echoed, followed by the screaming of the gym’s patrons. He ran into the main building, where people were already getting off of the various apparatuses and heading for the exit. He couldn’t see any gunmen, but he could see the target. The television set hung by a wire from its perch, a single bullet hole still smoking, placed precisely where Meyrick Marwolaeth’s head had been broadcast just moments earlier.

****

“Why did you start your own denomination?”
“Because nothing seemed right. Christianity asks that you believe in Jesus, or be sentenced to eternal damnation. So, according to those rules, monsters like Adolf Hitler have a chance at redemption, while men like Gandhi are punished. This makes no sense to me, nor should it to anyone. I believe in a just universe, where the good are rewarded and the wicked punished. It may be a bit old-fashioned, but that’s my creed, and that’s how I live my life.”
“So what would you say to those who would reject joining your church?”
“Well, this is America, isn’t it? That is their right. I cannot determine their path to righteousness. It’s only fitting that they forge their own way. And to those who take comfort in the Father’s Church, I can only hope to help them in creating a fulfilling new life.”

****

Faith-Mari Hopkins marched into Deputy Director Whitman’s office, then stopped at the doorway when she saw Karla Lee standing behind the desk, hands gripping the sides. The bulldog of a DD sat in the chair on the other end, looking down at the floor.
“And that is why you will clear the missions with me, understand?” the founder of ANGELS asked. “I will not put up another star on that wall, so help me…” Then she noticed Faith-Mari. The scowl turned into a faint smile. “Miss Hopkins. Please, come in.”
Sheepishly, she entered the room. Whitman couldn’t help but glare at her as she took the seat next to him.
“I assume you haven’t heard the news,” said Lee, tossing her brunette hair from her left shoulder to her right. “Carter Roberds was found dead at The Woods this morning.”
Faith-Mari gulped. “How?”
“We’re hoping to find out at the autopsy later today,” said Lee.
“With what?” asked Dr. Whitman. “Ah yes, the half of his body they didn’t need Lime Away to clean up.” A single look from the director quieted him immediately.
“We interviewed the guards. So far, no one knows anything. It looks like someone used mind-altering substances. Maybe the perpetrators got it in through the water system.”
“Not likely,” said Dr. Whitman. “The network is self-sustaining there. No connections to the outside towns. Security is as tight as an ICBM site. If anyone had gotten to the water, the guards would’ve known about it before the first drink would’ve been poured.”
“Speaking of security, it looks like they took the tapes to the cameras, as well,” said Karla. “Whoever did this knew their way around the site. Which doesn’t leave a whole lot of people. CIA, FBI, Counterintelligence…”
“ANGELS?” asked Whitman.
The old look from Karla froze him again. “All hands were accounted for, Doctor.”
Faith-Mari raised her hand. “Is my task to find out who killed Roberds?”
“And why they did it, of course,” said Director Lee. She pressed the button on the speaker system. “Agent Delfina, to the Deputy Director’s office.”
The hairs on Faith-Mari’s neck stood on end. “Who was that you just called?”
“We’re not letting you go in alone,” said Dr. Whitman.
“No partners,” said Faith-Mari.
A young woman in the ANGELS business uniform raced to the doorway, and Faith-Mari’s heart sank. The girl was a rookie, no doubt. She looked eager, chipper, too sanguine to have been through a real mission. There was a vivacity about her, as though she would be difficult to keep down. A porcelain bronze face accentuated inquisitive hazel eyes. Long, flowing locks of light brown hair, mixed with blonde highlights, ran halfway down her back. A swimmer’s build, with razor sharp legs that were only enhanced by her light blue tights.
“Stacy Delfina, this is Faith-Mari Hopkins. She will be your superior when you go to the Woods.”
The new angel stretched out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Hopkins.”
Instead of acknowledging her counterpart, Faith-Mari turned to Karla. “With all due respect, Director, I don’t think I need a new partner.”
Lee nodded. “I was afraid you’d feel that way. Miss Hopkins, what happened in New Orleans was unfortunate, but the investigation conclusively proved you were not at fault. Each angel should be able to defend herself. I am positive that if you had any foresight as to what happened to Miss Penrose, or in regards to Miss McCullers’ behavior, you would’ve done everything in your power to prevent what happened. This is not a dangerous mission. The interesting stuff has already happened.” The director pointed at Faith-Mari. “You are a leader.”
Dr. Whitman coughed. “As a dissenting opinion…”
“That wasn’t asked for, you will remain silent.” Lee walked around the desk and stopped within inches of the doctor’s face. “You should consider yourself lucky I don’t demote you to the mailroom for what happened. Next time, you let me decide what information is to remain classified. We will not send them in blind ever again. Dig?”
“Yes, madam.” He breathed out, and the light caught his light blue workshirt, soaked to the suspenders in sweat.
“Now, Agents Hopkins and Delfina are excused from the meeting. Dr. Whitman, please remain.”
With a deep sigh, Faith-Mari stepped out of the office, her new assistant in tow. She could still hear Karla Lee’s scolding voice across the floor.

****

“Much criticism has been made of your gambling operations, especially in regards to The Holy Rollers Casino, which is minutes away from the Father’s Church. The Eliza Reid lawsuit cost your industry millions of dollars. How do you justify your extraneous business affairs with your status as a religious leader?”
“I love irony. Think it makes the whole world go round. I figured that if we were to take the proceeds from such a sinful practice as gambling and put that money to good use in the church, and thus reach out toward a greater audience, we would have irony in action. The sin would end up being the cause of its own destruction. Like the ouroboros, it bites down on its own tail, devouring away until it has eaten itself out of existence. As for Eliza Reid, rest assured. Those responsible for the embezzlement who weren’t imprisoned were released from their duties at Marwolaeth Entertainment, and we are running an upright organization again.”
“And as to those allegations that you were responsible?”
Meyrick Marwolaeth laughed. “Well, that’s about the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t oversee everything in my company. I’m not God.”

****

She drove into Virginia as the clock struck eight. Most of the personnel would be in by the time she got to Langley.
She could see the faces of everyone she wanted to meet again.
Carter Roberds was already done. She smiled at the thought of his head banging against the bars of his cell, over and over, until something gave way.
Dr. Whitman, who sent her on the trip to New Orleans. Top secret, they said. Need to know, they said.
And Karla Lee, who authorized the mission.
“Time for a homecoming,” she said as she stepped on the accelerator.

****

“Well, that’s all the time we have. Thank you, Father Marwolaeth.”
The preacher took off his sunglasses. “The pleasure is all mine. And to all those in the church, hope is on the way. Your patience will be rewarded.”
Rebecca Cornell felt the solidity of the newsroom give way, as though it were melting away. She felt adrift, being pulled in to the man’s eyes, pitch-colored eyes that seemed to flutter away into a deeper light, something glowing and aware…
For a brief moment, she shook her head free of the cobwebs. “When we return to The Sunrise Show, the latest on the shootings in France.”
The camera cut as commercials rolled, and Rebecca fell back in her chair.
“You know,” she said to herself, “Father Marwolaeth was absolutely right.” Unknown to her, millions of viewers found themselves thinking and saying the same thing.

[SGWriter]

Nice update, glad to see Karla kicking but as a good director should!

[superpics4les]

Great job, Ninja! =D> I felt helpless reading the small paragraph letting us know that Archangel was on the way to CIA HQ. :o I kinda wish I could warn them! Please post again soon! I'm dying to see how this one unfolds! :-D

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Faith-Mari Hopkins had known her for only five minutes, and she was already exhausted by Stacy Delfina’s enthusiasm. The rookie bombarded her with questions about the Boston conflict, about what it was like to collar Carter Roberds and keep the CERN Project out of enemy hands, about what it was like to be a hero. The pair barely made it to the locker room before Faith-Mari couldn’t contain herself any longer.
“Kid, I’m no hero,” she said.
Stacy blew an errant strand of hair off her face. “Miss Hopkins, I’m not a child.”
“Really.” Faith-Mari stared into her partner’s youthful eyes. “What are you, a high school dropout?”
“I have my diploma, thank you very much,” said Stacy. “I’ll be twenty in a month. You talk about me like I just got off the yellow bus. You can’t be more than twenty-one yourself.”
Faith-Mari sighed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel old. Being on missions will do that to you. Having to use lethal force on one of your own will do that to you. Losing your partner will do that to you.” She looked back at the lockers for April, Cyan, and Kelly. The names still remained. “Is any of this sinking in?”
Stacy shook her head. “Not everyone gets to save the world, Miss Hopkins. We should be excited about the trust given to us by Uncle Sam.”
Nothing was getting through. Faith-Mari let out a sarcastic laugh. “Kid, when the ANGELS do a commercial, they should let you do it. That was a great pitch.” Then the laughter stopped. “Now let me tell you what really happens. The bad guys don’t roll over because they’re the bad guys, and thus they should lose. Evil wins sometimes. It may very well win most of the time. Some of them just lack a moral compass. But some of them, like Meyrick Marwolaeth, are hopelessly twisted. They think they’re the good guys, if that makes any sense. And they will kill to win. They already have.”
“I know that,” Stacy said, with a bit of anger at the condescending nature of her superior.
“You may,” said Faith-Mari, “but until you hear bullets whizzing by your head, until you are captured by the enemy, you don’t really know.”
Then the alarm sounded.

Shortly after ten, a white moving van pulled into Langley. The words “U-Fix-It for Free” were scrawled on the side in blue letters. It whisked past the Restricted Area sign on the road to HQ, brittle leaves leaving a wake in the wind. The vehicle maintained a well-painted, bright, almost sanguine appearance, perfect for the cloudless day that lay before it.
It stopped at the checkpoint, hitting the brakes at full speed. The squeal of tires pricked the attention of the guard, who rushed from his post immediately. With his M-16 at the ready, he approached the driver’s side of the van.
“You are on federal property,” the guard yelled. “Back up your vehicle and turn around or you will be placed under arrest.” There was no answer, save for the idle putter of the engine and the faint smell of gunpowder.
The guard cautiously walked up to the window, keeping the barrel of his gun out of reach of any sudden grab. He peered inside.
There was no driver.
“What in the heck is going on?” He didn’t know anyone was behind him until he heard the swooping of wings, and the fresh chill of air at his back. He turned around in time to take a stiff right to the face. He was out before he the floor.
“Good job, guard,” said Archangel. She cracked the knuckles in her right hand. Clutched in her left hand was an electronic device the size of a PSP. She raised the antenna on top of the device.
She then walked to the back of the van. Opening the doors, she checked the large black box that took up most of the supply space. She flipped a switch on the edge, and a small red light blinked on and off.
“Send my regards,” she whispered. She slammed the doors shut, then took up shelter in the guard’s booth. She placed her thumbs on two levers, one which moved forward and backward, the other side to side.
She pushed the forward lever as hard as she could. The van revved up and squealed forward. She counted the seconds as she lost sight of the van. If the HQ was a half-mile away, and the van tops out at 60 miles an hour… shouldn’t take more than thirty seconds to get there.
When her watch hit half a minute, her thumb slid up to the red button on the top of the remote. Seconds after pressing the button, she heard the alarms sound. With a grin so wide it almost showed through her plaster mask, she took to the skies.

Dr. Whitman was riding up the elevator, fuming over his tongue lashing from Dr. Lee, when the concussion rattled the carriage. He climbed out the top of the frame and took the ladder the rest of the way up. As he opened the door, a thick, green gas spilled out through the cracks. Whitman quickly put the collar of his shirt up over his nose and entered.
He saw the outer shell of the truck, crashed through the glass entrance. The metal envelope was buckled, but not blown out, as in a van packed with explosives. The gas provided the most evidence. Whoever drove the truck had a bomb inside, triggered to explode, letting out its contents over a wide area. Already he could see counterintelligence agents passing out in the lobby, knocking over vases and chairs as they stumbled around. Unconscious bodies were strewn across the tile floors.
He ran toward the open air outside, but the gas streamed out with him. Through the green smoke, he could see an ANGELS agent almost tripping over herself, coughing violently. She fell to her knees, almost collapsing full to the concrete.
Then a huge shadow swooped down toward the kneeling agent. Whitman tried to warn her. But choked on the first mouthful of gas. The shadow picked up the angel by the arms and lifted her skyward. The agent’s tights-covered legs flailed, kicking desperately as the pair flew out of sight.
Whitman held up his shirt with one hand, and unlocked his gun from the holster. When he got out of the gas cloud, he looked up, trying to figure what he had just seen. A scream alerted him, and he jumped out of the way just in time. When he opened his eyes, he saw the agent, embedded in the cement.
He kept his gun at eye level as he checked the skies. There was nothing in sight; no clouds, no birds. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Then he felt someone grab under his arms and lift him up.
He squirmed around, trying to see who was doing the heavy lifting. By the time he was face-to-face with the flyer, he was over fifty feet high.
The mask covered the face, but not the eyes.
“McCullers?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No more.” She flew higher, higher. “And when the Rising open the eyes of the world, and Father Marwolaeth takes his place at the throne, we will finally have an order, a peace on Earth. I just thought you should know that before you die.”
Whitman tried to lift up his gun against the oncoming wind. “You can’t do this.”
Archangel let go of him, then snatched him by the tie, strangling him in the air. “Why not? You’re only the second deputy director I’ve killed this week.”
She released her hold on the tie, and listened for the impact. It only took a couple of seconds.

Karla Lee walked through the lobby as the gas cloud dissipated. She saw the body of the agent, cracked into the road. She immediately went for her gun.
She aimed at anything that moved. Everything became hypersensitive; the mere brushing of the leaves got her undivided attention. The chirping of crickets twisted her around one hundred and eighty degrees. She didn’t hear Archangel until the wings swooped down directly behind her.
“Hello, Karla,” she said.
Before the director could turn around, she found herself rocketing from the ground. She kicked away, finding only air.
“So glad we could talk again,” said Archangel, lifting Karla to over the height of the headquarters.
“Wish I could say the same,” said Karla. “What do you want, McCullers?”
“To see you die tops the list,” said Archangel. “I also want you to know that once we kill the last witness, the way we killed Roberds, you’ll have no way of knowing when the Rising will take place, or where. Know this: Father Marwolaeth shall be king, and a new era of peace will be upon us. And you cannot stop it.”
Karla smiled. “Always like the villain to talk her head off before fouling everything up.”
Archangel laughed. “The Talking Killer Rule only works if the prey survives.”
Karla grabbed two handfuls of Archangel’s bodysuit, holding on even as the flyer attempted to drop her. The director then reached up and grabbed onto the wings, one by one, holding them close to the body. Unable to move, both Karla and Archangel plummeted down to earth.
“Your choice,” yelled Karla. “All or nothing, Cyan.”
She held onto the wings until the third level of the CIA building flashed by her. As she let go, Archangel swooped parallel to the ground, dropping Karla in the process. The director rolled down the hill in front of the offices.
The swooshing sound of wings blocking the air came a few feet behind her. Karla, unable to get up, saw Archangel standing above her.
“Get ready for your gold star,” she said before the sound of gunfire came from the HQ direction.

Archangel turned to see Faith-Mari Hopkins and another angel, a trainee, firing at her with Beretta 9MM pistols. Two rounds clipped through the gossamer of the wings, leaving holes.
With the agents approaching, Archangel took to the air. She pointed at Faith-Mari.
“You will be next, Leader,” she said. Within seconds, she was out of sight.

Stacy kept watch over the skies as Faith-Mari walked to Director Lee.
“Who was that?” asked Stacy.
“A ghost,” said Karla as she got up to her feet. “I thought you said Cyan McCullers was dead.”
Faith-Mari shook her head. “Falling out of the 31st floor of a building normally does that to a person. Besides, they had a death certificate in New Orleans.”
“I imagine someone had a hand in faking one for her, because she just tried turning me into a lawn dart. And now we know who killed Roberds.”
“McCullers?” asked Faith-Mari.
Karla nodded. “Under orders from Meyrick Marwolaeth. She just fessed up to turning Roberds into a stain at the Woods. And she said she was going to kill the last witness.”
“Who else would be a witness?” asked Stacy.
“Well, the only players that we know of that worked with Roberds in his other affairs were Louise Brach and Genevieve Comeaux.”
“Who?” asked the rookie.
“Henchwomen of Roberds. They were known as Monstrosity and Coquelicot. But I doubt Monstrosity is doing anything right now. They found her body in New Hampshire after she fell out of the Mini-Concorde.”
“Also,” said Karla, “Cyan could’ve been referring to you. You’re the last Angel left out of your original team.”
Faith-Mari frowned. “I know.”
“I want you and Delfina to go to Montreal. Look up which banks haven’t been pinched in a while. She doesn’t tend to stay in the same part of the city for long. If it’s you, then I don’t have much to worry about. You know how to take care of yourself. And if it’s someone else in the Department, we’ll keep our patrols in groups. Safety in numbers.” Karla stared at the sky, her eyes narrowed. Then she looked at the bodies of Whitman and the ANGELS agent, both embedded in the road. “I’ll be damned if I lose one more of my girls. I’ll be damned.”

Father Ruggero Borromeo walked through the cloisters of St. John Lateran Basilica as darkness loomed over Rome. He whistled through the columns of marble, over eight centuries standing. Looking out at the baptistery nearby, he took in the sights of the illuminated manuscripts that made up the octagonal structure. Every evening he would walk the cloisters, letting the worries of the church and the world melt away with the fleeting sunlight.
His first reaction to the nun walking nearby was surprise; he had never seen anyone else patrol the cloisters at this time. His next reaction was of shock, as the nun threw off her habit.
She was in the crouching position, clad in a white hooded catsuit, with a gold Greek letter, Sigma, embroidered on the chest. She smiled back at the priest, who began to run in the opposite direction. He only made a few steps before she jumped overhead, landed on the cobblestones while facing Father Borromeo, and executed a pitch-perfect bicycle kick. The target was unconscious before Sigma gracefully descended, never touching ground until her 360 degree backflip was complete.
When she was satisfied that no one awake bore witness, she slipped back to the fountain. She pulled out a heavy black suitcase. It only took minutes to bury up a foot of dirt, place the briefcase in the hole, and replace the sod, as though nothing had happened. Once the primary goal was done, she pressed onto a white device, placed in her ear.
“Target acquired,” Sigma said. “Package is hot.”
“Now take some items. Make it look like a burglary.” There was a few seconds of silence. “I have heard from the Archangel that our pesky problem made it out of France alive, and that she is already at CIA HQ. Have you dealt with Monsieur Laurent?”
“Yes, sir.” She jumped over the wall of the basilica. “Alain will not be speaking to anyone.”
“Very good, my child. Now, came back to the fold. We have more work for you to do.”

The same scene played itself out throughout the world. Theta left her black briefcase on the roof of the Salt Lake Temple of the Church of Latter Day Saints under cover of night. Alpha 2 left hers in range of the Grand Shrine of Ise, one of the holiest places of Shinto. Beta 2 traveled to Gaya, a holy site of Hinduism. Gamma went to Temple Mount in Jerusalem.
They left briefcases in Istanbul, in Echmiadzin, in Lhasa, Acre, and Sergiyev Posad. They left briefcases in Wittenberg, and Canterbury, and Geneva, Bhimashankar, and the Golden Temple of Sikhism in Amritsar. They left no denomination unturned.

She returned to New Orleans with a heavy heart. Under the night sky, she flew into the Father's Temple. He was waiting for her, standing at the plush, red carpeted altar.
"Why are you so upset?" he asked.
A tear fell from the mask. "I've failed you, Father. Karla Lee and Faith-Mari Hopkins are still alive."
He nodded. "So you told me." He sat down at the throne. "Please do not fear me, my child. I am forgiveness. And you shall have another opportunity to be worthy of my love. On that glorious day, you will lead the crusade, at my right hand. You will go up against all who aim to destroy us, and you will cast them asunder. So do not fret, you will be worthy again."

****

Coming Up Next: Vengeance is Mine (Part IV: The Rising)

[SGWriter]

Oh man the tension is killing me, hope it lasts :twisted: Can't wait to see the next update Ninja, and see if the plan comes to furtion. It is like the last few chapters in a Clancy novel, can't wait!

[superpics4les]

Ninja:

I read this installment earlier but didn't get the chance to comment. I love this story, man! :smt055 Like I said before, I wish I could have warned the ANGELS, but I was hoping Faith-Mari and Director Lee would survive the attack. The other guy got what was coming to him! :twisted:

Can't wait to see more! 8)

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Thanks for the comments, y'all. Been reading False Face, Tales of the Cat, and MVP. Must say that it's been an excellent job done by all you guys. Hope you enjoy.

****

Kelly Penrose entered the Candlelight Hostel, only a few blocks from Meyrick Marwolaeth’s apartment. It was another fruitless stakeout. He hadn’t returned to the thirty-first story promenade since Cyan McCullers’ disappearance. He had probably found another safe house in the city.
Sighing, she placed her briefcase, which contained the disassembled L96, on a round table in the guest kitchen. She walked to the refrigerator, starving after another sixteen hours of constant surveillance. She slammed the door when she saw a man peering inside the briefcase, his eyes growing wide.
“You always open things that aren’t yours?” she asked.
His eyes met hers. Faded and watery, they were surrounded by a thin layer of dirt, caked into his eyebrows, skin, and gray beard. His salt-and-pepper hair hadn’t been washed in weeks.
“Did you see anything?” Kelly asked.
“Only that you plan on hunting someone,” said the vagrant. “Who you going after?”
Kelly frowned. “I’m hunting the devil.”
“Ah, yes,” said the man. “He’s a hard one to catch. Been battling him for the last fifteen years. Find him in here every night.” He held up a brown paper bag, the neck of a glass bottle sticking out of the opening. “His words are too sweet. What does he tell a pretty thing like you?”
Kelly grabbed the handle of the briefcase and pulled it close to her. “That he can take everything I love. And now I’m going to show him I can take everything he owns. I just need the opportunity to get him alone.”
The man laughed, the tone made harsh with years of liquor. “Never going to happen. When his lies don’t work, he’ll make you believe through the power of force. Which means, he’ll never be alone. He works on his own timetable. You’re never going to be able to pick your shots. When you see him, you have to catch him. Catch the devil by the tail. And when you grab a hold, never let go. If you do, all is lost.”
Nodding, Kelly swung the briefcase to her side, and left the kitchen.
“Happy hunting,” said the man as she unlocked the key to her room.

****

On day four of the Montreal assignment, Faith-Mari Hopkins and Stacy Delfina posed as security guards at the CitiBusiness headquarters. With the cooperation of the bank, the Angels took the 9pm to 9am shift. Their black jackets and calf-length skirts kept their field uniforms under wraps, save for the electric blue tights.
“I don’t think she’s ever coming back,” said Stacy.
“Don’t worry, she will.” Faith-Mari took a seat next to the vault, leaning her head against the wall. “It’s been over a year since she came by for a withdrawal. These guys are past due.”
Stacy yawned. “Almost wished she’d try to do it.”
“Welcome to the real world of the agent, kid,” said Faith-Mari. “Every minute you spend in action, you might spend an hour or two just waiting for something to happen. Not all fun and games, you know.”
“I know that.” The rookie took a seat on the other end of the vault, scratching at her shins, causing slight ripples in her tights. “So that’s why you signed up for this gig? Forty hours gigs, and only an hour or two of real work?”
Faith-Mari smiled. “Nope. Did it to prove a point. When you’re considered a disappointment for being a B- student in high school, and the folks think you’re crazy for not giving college a try, you think of ways of getting back.”
“I thought you’re not supposed to tell anyone outside of the agency,” said Stacy.
“And I haven’t. I’ll wait until everything’s been declassified, and then I’ll go back to Eau Claire, drive up to their house. And when they welcome me back, I’ll say, ‘Hey. Remember when you said I would never do something with my life? Guess what? I have helped keep America safe since I was twenty. How do you like them apples?’”
Every pause in conversation reflected the still air of the bank. There was nothing out there but an overcast sky, the dimmed glow of the moon, and the occasional star peering through.
“So how about you, kid? What made you decide to fight for your country?”
Stacy shrugged. “Something to do.”
The laughter reverberated through the bank. “Not exactly the answer I was expecting.”
“It’s true,” said Stacy. “I’ve gone back home once since training. And all my high school buddies are working at the local movie hut, the Arby’s. The lucky ones get to go to the four year destitution known as college. All in all, I thought joining a clandestine organization was the way to go. If only the brochure had mentioned the long waits.”
“That’s why they’re brochures,” said Faith-Mari, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t see people advertising a used car saying the A/C doesn’t work, the transmission is shot, and the battery needs a jump every other time, do you?”
“Guess not,” said Stacy. The silence was broken by a slight scratching sound.
“That you?” whispered Faith-Mari.
“Definitely not, boss.” The scratching stopped, followed briefly by a faint shattering of glass.
Faith-Mari smiled. “Time to meet our guest.”

Coquelicot jumped through the hole in CitiBusiness’ glass roof, landing without a sound. She walked into the moonlight, which faintly reflected on her gold catsuit. The crimson flecks sown throughout the bodice beamed brightly.
She took a look at the vault, and the two guards that sat on the sides. Gliding to the target, Coquelicot grinned.
“You know,” she said. “I don’t recall the last time the guards didn’t try to rush me when I broke through their ceiling. I also don’t remember the guards at CitiBusiness wearing blue tights. It’s almost as if I was expected.”
The guards stood up from their chairs and removed their jackets and skirts in a single swipe. The blonde wore the dark blue leotard of an ANGELS veteran; the brunette with highlights wore the baby blue leotard of a rookie.
“Faith-Mari?” asked Coquelicot. “Is that you?” She laughed. “I’m glad to see you survived Carter and his pet monster. How’ve things been?”
“Could be better,” said Faith-Mari. “It would make my day if you come with us quietly.”
Coquelicot shook her head. “No. I don’t think I’ll be doing that. Thanks for the generous offer, though.”
Then the trouble began. Faith-Mari ran at full speed, putting all her weight behind a right fist. The burglar saw the approach with plenty of time to spare. She ducked out of the way, then elbowed the charging angel in the neck, keeping her down.
With the villainess’ back turned, Stacy took advantage by jumping on her back, wrapping her arms around the neck. Coquelicot struggled, running backwards. The teller counter sandwiched the angel, but she refused to let go. Again and again, Coquelicot backed Stacy up into the wooden wall. With the grip loosened, the thief grabbed Stacy by the arm and attempted a seoi-nage. She flipped Stacy over, but was surprised when the rookie landed on her feet, followed by a savate kick that landed flush on the jaw. Coquelicot went down as though she had been shot.
Stacy straddled her, holding onto Coquelicot’s outstretched arms. As she wrestled the shoulder blades down, Stacy yelled, “Faith-Mari, I got her down! I got her!”
Faith-Mari stumbled onto her feet. Even in the dim light, she could see Coquelicot’s eyes turn orange.
“Kid, look out!”
By the time she screamed the warning out, she could see the orange mist being blown out, catching Stacy in the face. As the cloud dissipated, the rookie began to cough. Her hold on Coquelicot faded rapidly, and seconds later she slumped face first to the ground. The thief pushed her aside, leaving her flat on her back.
With a devious grin, Coquelicot slid up the body of her vanquished foe. With a red gloved hand, she placed her pointer finger on Stacy’s lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Go to sleep, now.” She raised herself up to a kneeling position, admiring her prey.
As she ran her hands through Stacy’s highlighted hair, she said, “She’s a cutie pie, Faith-Mari. Is she new?”
Faith-Mari scowled. “Yeah. You’ll have to excuse her enthusiasm. Her first mission.”
“First mission?” Coquelicot’s eyes lit up. “You mean… I’m her first?”
“Yes. She’d never been knocked out before.”
“Wow.” The thief stood up, running her gloves down the sides of her catsuit. “I’m honored.”
“Great, you can scratch an item off your wish fulfillment list. What’s important is that we get you to Langley.”
“And why would I want to do that?” Coquelicot’s eyes began to glow orange again.
“Because if you don’t, you’re going to die. Carter Roberds is dead, and his boss is looking to eliminate anyone who might know about the Boston incident. That included Roberds, and that includes you.”
“Sorry,” said Coquelicot. “You may not have noticed, but I can take care of myself. How many times do I have to prove it to you?”
Then the glass shattered over their heads. Faith-Mari and Coquelicot ran out of the way of the shards. As the pieces stopped bouncing onto the tile floor, two figures jumped into the bank. Both figures, the same in height and athletic build, wore white hooded catsuits. The only way to tell them apart was the gold Gamma symbol on the chest of one suit, and a gold Omega symbol on the corresponding spot of the other.
“Speak of the devil,” said Faith-Mari. “Your executioners are here. Ready to help us now?”
Coquelicot shrugged. “I’m up for anything once.” She waited for Gamma to get within range, then spit the new batch of orange mist into her face. The assassin clutched at her face, weakening almost instantly. Soon she fell, landing on her side, unconscious.
Omega lunged for Faith-Mari, knocking her over. The white hooded girl unleashed a barrage of rights into the angel’s face, dimming her running lights. An attempt at a left was blocked as Faith-Mari grabbed Omega by the shoulders, moved her left leg into the midsection, and monkey-flipped her enemy over. Faith-Mari kipped up to her feet as Omega made another lunge. This time, the angel saw the move coming, dipped her head under, and backflipped the aggressor over. With Omega stunned, Faith-Mari brought her up by a handful of the white catsuit’s front.
“Tell Marwolaeth that we aren’t going away.” She then reached down and lifted Omega into a fireman’s carry. With a yell, she ran towards the teller’s window and tosses her prey through the glass. With the fight over, she turned to Coquelicot, who was slightly wide-eyed.
“Mon cherie, you have some anger in you,” said the thief.
The angel nodded. “So, are you going to come quietly, or what?”
The clock chimed midnight. It was now Sunday.

****

The churchgoers rose in unison as the organ played. Behind the book carrier, clad in his white three-piece suit, tie, and cape, was Meyrick Marwolaeth. As he made his way to the altar, he made a lowering motion with one hand, and the hundreds in attendance immediately took their seat.
“My brothers and sisters, our glorious day is now upon us. Our cries, our prayers, and our demands have been heard. We have been looked upon with love. Before this week is out, God will have singled out the false prophets, the golden calves, and the beliefs that have led the stragglers astray. He shall them asunder, and they will fall into the abyss. And when that day has ended, and the world shall see whom the Lord has favored, we will install a new order, and a new peace. A peace that shall be without severance, and without end.”
The churchgoers cheered, oblivious to the events taking place in the roped-off balcony. The white hooded guard that kept watch upstairs turned to the staircase, only to be met with the butt end of an L96.
Silently, Kelly Penrose placed a tripod on the banister of the balcony. Then she propped up the L96. It didn’t take long for the scope to find the head of Father Marwolaeth.
“To be sure, there are those who will try to stop The Rising. There are agents in religions all around the world, and in governments around the world, that will try everything in their power to stop the will of the Lord.
“Take, for example, the young lady with the sniper rifle, perched upstairs.”
Hundreds of heads turned up, viewing Kelly as she looked up from the scope. Looking back in, she could see that her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Marwolaeth was staring right back at her, sunglasses riding the red center dot.
“Go ahead, miss. Take the best shot you can. I am not carrying a weapon on me. Do it! Do it! You’ve come here to kill me. Now do it!”
The recoil rang out through the church. She waited for the body to drop for a second, two seconds. The result didn’t register at first. She looked up from her gun.
Father Marwolaeth stood tall, the sniper bullet caught in between his pointer finger and thumb. With a simple flick, he tossed the bullet aside.
“You have had your turn,” he said. “Now, witness my wrath.” He removed his sunglasses, revealing slightly transparent eyes, with a strong glow radiating underneath. The brightness overtook his face, and a dark blue bolt shot from Marwolaeth to Kelly, lifting her off her feet. The zapping sound of electricity shook the church as she collapsed to the floor of the balcony, unconscious.
“Security, please take the young lady away,” he said. “Now you have all witnessed what happens when you have the power of the Lord inside you. He is with all of us, and no entity on Earth can stop us now!”
The parish cheered as Kelly was taken away by Omicron and Epsilon. Marwaoleth raised his hands, soaking in the applause of the parishioners.

[SGWriter]

What's better than a relgious zelot? One that can shoot lasers from his eyes :-D Great update Ninja!

[superpics4les]

Ninja:

I have no words. Well, maybe a couple. :-D This thing reads like John Grisham! I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting for the next update! Fantastic Job! Truly first rate! \:D/ Oh, yeah! It's good to see our pulchritudinous poppy princess again, Coquelicot. I hope you don't kill her off. [-o< I kinda like her! :smt007 Please give us more soon! 8)

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

Kelly woke to the splash of water. She shook her head, sending a spray arching across the rectory.
“Rise and shine, Little Miss Hitman,” said Epsilon. “Time to meet your Father. Look into his eyes, and learn the true meaning of salvation.”
The light through the stained glass window of St. Jude spilled into multi-colored beams. The room smelled musty, as though it hadn’t been used in months. There was dust on the crucifix that stood at the edge of the corner desk, and the constant drip of water broke the silence. Epsilon poured more water out of the pitcher, drenching Kelly’s face and trenchcoat. The former angel got up to her feet.
“Do that again, and you’ll be drinking that water through an IV drip.”
“Really?” Epsilon tossed the rest of the pitcher full on, hitting Kelly in the face.
She wiped her face. “That’s it. I gave you fair warning.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Epsilon’s laughter was choked off as Kelly lunged toward her, grabbing her in the groin. Any attempt to scream was cut off when Kelly wrapped her other hand around the throat.
The stained glass light temporarily blinded Kelly, and the pain from Marwolaeth’s blast still echoed in her bones. But she had to get out. With a surge of power, she backed Epsilon into the wall and lifted her overhead. She could feel the softness of Epsilon’s uniform on the top of her head and in her hands. Catching her second wind, she lifted her arms into full extension, raising her catsuit-clad victim into a military press. Using Epsilon as a dart, Kelly tossed her into the wall. The guard crumpled onto the floor, moaning in unconsciousness.
“Workout’s been yielding results,” said Kelly. Dusting off her trenchcoat, she remembered her struggles in Boston with Monstrosity. “Jesus was right. It is better to give to than to receive.”
She kicked open the rectory door and burst into the corridor. On one end was another stained glass window, depicting St. Cecilia. On the other end was Cyan McCullers.
“My God, Cyan,” said Kelly. “What have they done to you?”
“They have shown me truth. They have shown me family.” Archangel shook her head. “Penrose. What are you doing, and so far away from your master’s leash?”
“I’ve got no master.” Kelly backed into the rectory, looking for a weapon. She saw the bronze pitcher, resting next to Epsilon’s still hands.
“You will soon enough.” Kelly thought she could see the hint of a smile peek through the plaster mask. “Father has wonderful plans for you. He’s impressed with your initiative. He says you will make a powerful servant of his word.”
Kelly waited for her to enter the doorframe. “Tell him thanks, but I’m an agnostic.” When Archangel peered in, Kelly tossed the pitcher, connecting with a full hit. Archangel fell backward, her mask slightly cracked in the forehead. Kelly jumped out and swung with a wild haymaker, leaving her arm exposed. Archangel grabbed it, pulled Kelly in, and clotheslined her.
Before Kelly even hit the floor, she could hear deep, dark laughter. “I am more powerful now, Penrose. The Angels teach you nothing but how to be an efficient pawn. Father will teach you how to be a leader of men.”
Archangel knelt down, knocking Kelly into semi-consciousness with blows to the face and stomach. In a fit of desperation, Kelly reached up, into Archangel’s mask. When she found the eyeholes, she dug in. Archangel backed away immediately, feeling at her face through the mask.
Kelly stumbled to her feet, and saw the figure of Marwolaeth standing in the atrium of the corridor, his shadow cast across the hall, casting a pall over her. His sockets, no longer wearing the disguise of human eyes, glowed in a blue fog. As the brightness intensified, swallowing his face, Kelly ran for the plate glass window and dove through it, shattering Cecilia’s image as she fell down both stories of the Father’s Church. By the time Marwolaeth and Archangel looked downward, she had fled out of sight.

****

“So you didn’t know Roberds’ benefactor?” Karla Lee rocked in her office chair. Coquelicot sat in the opposite seat, flanked by Faith-Mari and Stacy.
“For the thousandth time, no. I was given instructions by Carter. I followed them. I get paid. End of story. I figure that the head honchos don’t like to make friends with the delivery girls, you know?”
“She does have a point,” said Faith-Mari.
Karla pulled out a manila envelope. A paper clip fastened a black and white photograph to the front. All three Angels were well aware of the man’s identity.
“Do you know Meyrick Marwolaeth?”
Coquelicot shrugged. “Should I?”
“Probably. He’s the man who sent those girls to kill you last night.”
“Really?” Coquelicot slinked back into her chair. “Can’t say I’m much of a fan, then.”
Karla rose from her seat, pacing behind the chair. “Fine. Some word association, then. Father’s Temple.”
“Nothing.”
“Bronson Harris.”
“A guy with two last names. He and Carter probably would’ve gotten along.”
“Well, they do have one thing in common,” said Karla to herself. She then glared at Coquelicot. “The Rising.”
“A Springsteen song.” Coqeulicot sighed. “Look, are we through here? Can I go?”
“Not quite,” said Karla. “I think there are a great many financial institutions in Montreal that would love to know where their funds have gone. Also, the whole aiding a national traitor thing. That’s another strike against you. I figure you’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison when the final score is added up.”
Coquelicot rose up. “You cannot do this to me. I saved your precious little angels from those assassins.”
“Assassins we wouldn’t have had to deal with if you were a good, law abiding citizen.” Karla sat back down. “Hopkins, Delfina, place her in the temporary cell. We will hand her to the Canadian authorities in the morning.”
Hopkins and Delfina lifted Coquelicot up by the arms.
As she was sent away, the thief yelled out, “Ceci est la foutaise!”
“It’s not b. s. at all,” said Karla. “It’s the law.” She sighed. “You’re not the only one who can speak French here, lady.”

****

“She’ll go to the police,” said Archangel as she walked down the main aisle of the Father’s Church with Meyrick Marwolaeth.
“No, she won’t.” He grinned. “She doesn’t want arrests. She wants vengeance. The police won’t help her get that.”
“Then what do you plan to do?”
“When the Rising is complete, and I have returned, I will wait for her. She’ll be back. And she is nothing I can’t handle myself.”
Archangel turned to face Marwolaeth. “What shall I do to regain your trust, Father?”
“That sniper was an Angel. They are still seeking my destruction. I cannot be safe until I have been assured that they have been deposed. Take everyone to Langley. Show no mercy.”
A gust of wind blew through the open doors of the church. “And when we have overpowered them, Father?”
Marwolaeth took off his sunglasses. The cerulean glow filled his sockets. “Exterminate them. Every last one.”

[superpics4les]

Ninja:

You've done it again! Really great update! I'm glad to see Kelly and Coquelicot surviving. Ms. Lee really doesn't think she can hold Coquelicot does she? Well, we'll see. BTW, quick update, Je t'amie! (I hope I got that right!) Keep 'em coming! 8)

[SGWriter]

Hope Langley is ready for the coming assualt!

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

She followed Marwolaeth as he entered his limousine, telling the taxi to stay on him without attracting attention. She got off outside of Louis Armstrong Airport, as the limousine sped into the terminal. Pouring through the waves of travelers, she looked through the concourses. Outside stood Hangar 18.
Kelly Penrose frowned. This was the first visit to Dylan Smith’s place of death, weeks removed from his meeting with Bronson Harris. The air in the concourse, which seconds before smelled cool and antiseptic, now smelled stale and musty.
She saw him boarding the Golden Argosy, with nonstop service to Rome. She had known for a couple of days, since she had broken into Argosy Air’s database (the fourth she had accessed) and found his name on the manifold for Flight Two. With the boarding pass she had bought from the pawn store money (the L96 put her over the top for funds), she boarding in the last row of coach a half-hour later. She’d then rest for the next few hours, pillow over the face so he wouldn’t see her. She’d go over the plans in her mind over and over.
He couldn’t see it coming.
She ran the sentence in her head countless times as the engines revved up.

****

Four black Dodge Caravans parked outside the guard’s booth. Archangel stepped out of the driver’s side of the front vehicle. Calmly walking back to the trunk, she removed a long black case. As she opened the locks, she could see the guard frantically dialing headquarters in the booth, which stood a hundred feet ahead of the minivans.
When she picked up the rocket launcher inside, she could see the guard drop the phone and run into the woods, screaming.
“Smart move,” she said as she pressed the trigger. A stream of sparks and smoke shot out the back of the launcher, and the rocket blasted through the window of the booth. The shattering of the window was overscored by the huge explosion that sent the four walls flying outward.
Turning back to the vans, Archangel shouted, “All hands in!”
The doors to the four vans slid out, and every white-clad minion at Marwolaeth’s disposal exited. Without being asked, they formed four columns, six deep.
Archangel swooped to the front. She turned to face her squadron, at attention in their rows.
“Forward, march!”
And thus they advanced toward the headquarters.


Faith-Mari Hopkins ran into the cell corridors, looking for Director Lee. She found her as the prison doors swung shut on Coquelicot, who continued cursing in French at her captors.
“We have company,” said Faith-Mari. “Security detected enemy combatants marching toward HQ.”
Karla marched up to the ANGELS task floor with her apprentice in tow. “How many?”
“The guard counted twenty-five before we lost contact.” Faith-Mari looked to the director. “I think they found him.”
“Why would they march on us? Why not just drive right up, if they were going to bombard security beforehand?”
“You know Cyan. She has a flair for the dramatic. Why not just march on in? Why not use explosives when you could use knockout gas? Why not…”
“….shoot people when you could drop them from great heights?” finished the director. “Are any other departments still in the building?”
“No,” said Faith-Mari. “They were sent to the Shadow HQ until the gas was cleaned up. We’re alone here.”
Karla went into her office and pulled out a green notebook entitled Missions. Her finger went down the alphabetical listings of all agents, and where they were stationed. “We’re going to be outnumbered here. We have eighteen angels on active duty, and three in the infirmary. Tell them all to suit up.”
“Even the injured?”
“I’d rather they be injured than dead. We need every arm and leg we can get.”
“Every arm and leg?” Faith-Mari asked.
Karla’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” The silence in the room spoke for both angels. Then Faith-Mari added, “The worst she would do is run away. You think she’s going to join the people trying to snuff her out?”

Karla ran back into the cell block, with Faith-Mari and Stacy in tow. Upon seeing them, Coquelicot unleashed a new torrent of invective, her voice already half-hoarse.
“Now you shut up and listen to me,” said Karla. “Those nice people who tried to kill you in Montreal are back, and they have a few more friends with them. And as much as it pains me to say this, everyone has the right to defend their life.”
“That’s right,” said Coquelicot. “I’m not going to rot in here.”
“Well that depends on you, kid.” Karla’s glare froze the thief. “If I see you so much as head for the exit, you won’t be spending the rest of your life in jail. Oh no. You’ll be spending the rest of your life in traction. Comprende?”
“It’s imperative to both our well-being and yours that we team up. After all, we didn’t do too badly yesterday, right?” Faith-Mari smiled.
Coquelicot looked down at the ground. “I guess I’m up for anything twice, then.”


Kelly hid in the lavatory after the 707 touched down, out of view of the stewards and flight crew. She waited until she heard the last trampling of feet exit the plane.
It didn’t take her long to find Marwolaeth; he stood a good head taller than most of the passengers. He walked through the labyrinthine concourses of Leonardo Da Vinci Airport. She noticed that he walked directly to ground transportation. No waits for luggage or customs. He wasn’t planning to stay long.
She flagged down a taxi and followed Marwolaeth’s black limousine, identical to his ride in New Orleans. The two vehicles exited Fiumicino, heading toward the northwest section of Greater Rome.
Kelly looked at the signs that passed by, paying little attention to the centuries old landmarks that dotted her path.
“Oh my God,” she said. “We’re heading to the Vatican.”
The taxi driver nodded. “Si. Siamo vicini al Vaticano.”
Marwolaeth left his limousine running, heading for Saint John Lateran Basilica. Kelly jumped out of the taxi without paying. She didn’t hear the shouts of the driver behind her. All sounds were muted. The only thing she could see in front of her was the racing figure in white.

Meyrick Marwolaeth entered the basilica as night fell on Rome.
Father Borromeo, freshly released from the hospital, tended to the altar. The entrance of Marwolaeth in the basilica, closed since the burglary, startled him.
“Excuse me, sir, but you’re not allowed to be in here…”
Immediately, the blue glow enveloped Marwolaeth’s head. The bolt of light that shot out gripped Father Borromeo, lifted him off his feet, and sent him flying into the back wall.
Grinning, Marwolaeth took out a remote control from his coat pocket. “To the cloisters,” he said.
His footsteps, which reverberated in the empty church, were drowned out by the scream.
“Meyrick!”
He spun around. Standing in the aisle was Kelly Penrose, a Beretta 9mm in each hand.
“You’re a tad too persistent for your own good. You do realize that.”
Kelly aimed the pistols at his head.
“You’re the guest from my penthouse,” he said. He let out a laugh. “Bronson told me all about you. He said you had a boyfriend. By the way, how is he doing?” And then he grinned until the edges almost touched his ears.
He heard the clicks of the safeties being turned off.
“Oh, let’s not do this again,” he said. “You know you can’t kill me. Why don’t you just turn around and walk away. I may even consider sparing your life.”
The bullets came quickly, ringing out until the clips ran dry. Marwolaeth raised his open palms to her, barely budging. When the last echoes rang out, he looked up, his hands bunched into fists. When he unclenched his palms, the spent ammunition fell out, ringing against the floor.
“Second verse, same as the first,” he whispered. His head glowed to an intensity beyond his head. The laser was halfway to Kelly before she jumped out of the way, in between the pews of the church.
She tried to stop the quickness and volume of her breathing, to little effect.
What do I do? Kelly asked herself. What do I do now?

****

To be concluded...

[The Great Dutch Ninja]

The march of the assassins reached the parking lot when they were intercepted.
“Halt!” yelled Archangel.
They crawled through the broken arches of the CIA Headquarters front gate. They came in pairs, in threes. Coquelicot marched out with twin angels. Faith-Mari Hopkins, Stacy Delfina, and Karla Lee exited last. Director Lee suited up for the battle, and despite her age, she had maintained a strict regimen to match the most battle-hardened angel. She didn’t look out of place at all.
“It’s been over ten years since I’ve been in field uniform,” she said. “Feels pretty good.”
The phalanx of assassins moved into twelve columns, two deep. They were unarmed, but each had murder in their eyes.
“Attention, Director Lee,” said Archangel. “We have come to make an offer. Those of you in the ANGELS organization that wish to see tomorrow, and to step into salvation, may surrender at this time. Otherwise, consider yourself a target. Consider yourself the walking dead.”
The line of angels, twenty-one strong, didn’t budge. Coquelicot also remained, unflinching.
“Very well. Director Lee, know this. Their deaths, like those in the prior attack, and those suffered in the unlawful persecution of Our Holy Father, will rest on your conscience.
Company, attack!”
The white-clad assassins ran headlong towards the angels, who also broke rank and rushed into the fray. The twin waves of white and blue crashed into each other with audible force. Bodies fell over each other as fists, kicks, and elbows flew in every direction.
Faith-Mari kept close to Director Lee, overlooking the brawl. She could count the assassins, but she soon lost track of Archangel. She didn’t appear to be involved in the rumble.
She didn’t hear the wings until the former angel swooped behind her and carried her away.
“Faith!” screamed Director Lee before she was tackled down by a white figure.

****

Kelly Penrose crawled across the pew. She couldn’t see Meyrick Marwolaeth, but she could surely hear him.
“Little girl?” asked the minister. “Please don’t hide. I would hate to destroy this church to find you.” With his head still glowing, he motioned a laser toward the closest pew. With the seats enveloped in light, he raised his head. As he did so, the pew lifted out of the ground, levitating in the air. Without a trace of effort, he tossed the pew halfway across the church, until it crashed into the aisleway.
Kelly grimaced, but exhaled, glad he hadn’t hit his target.
“I can do this all day,” he yelled out. He lifted another pew, sending it hurtling closer to Kelly’s hiding spot, smashing into splinters only a couple of rows away.
“Or not,” he said. He breathed out, then summoned a greater amount of energy. His whole body went into a blinding sphere, which burst forward as he extended his arms outward, hands reaching out. The rows of pews flew backward, crunching back into the front entrance of the church.
He waited until he heard a whimper come out of the pile of broken lumber that used to seat the parishioners of Saint John Lateran.
“Could that be you, little girl?” he asked. He grabbed shattered pieces of wood and tossed them aside until he unearthed a hand, cut and scraped. Smiling, he grabbed onto the hand and yanked Kelly’s prone body out of the rubble.
“I need to show you something,” he said. He was stopped momentarily as Kelly’s trench coat snagged wreckage. He pulled at Kelly until her arms fell out of the sleeves, leaving the coat behind.

****

Karla Lee shook the cobwebs, but not the white assassin kneeling down on her wrists, choking the life out of her. She tried to raise her back, but Upsilon hung on and pushed all of her weight down on the director. Gasping for air, Karla searched for any object to retaliate. A stick, a rock, anything.
Her search stopped with a metallic clang. Upsilon’s grip went limp, and she slumped forward, out cold. Karla looked up.
Coquelicot stood over her, desk drawer in hand.
“Don’t mention it,” she said.
Karla nodded, then stopped when she saw another white figure, this one with a Theta symbol on her chest, running straight for Coquelicot. She waited until the assassin came within range of the thief, then kipped up to her feet, swinging with a straight right hand.
Coquelicot winced, only to hear the crunch of fist against face. She turned and saw Theta’s unconscious figure, laid out on the concrete.
“Don’t worry,” said Karla. “I won’t.” The pair then ran into the main brawl.
There were too many fronts to choose from. The new Alpha grabbed the long blonde hair of two rookie twin angels, Charlie and Chrissy Chase, and rammed their heads together, scratching two from the brawl. The new Beta straddled young Josie Beckett, trying to hold the fighting angel’s nylon-clad legs together. She almost had the inexperienced agent tied up when Jennifer Ryan came from behind, yanked Beta up by the neck of her catsuit, kneed her in the stomach, and headbutted her in the face. Gamma lifted a dazed auburn-haired angel with a handful of her blue leotard’s front and bieled the agent over her head. Stacy Delfina spun around in the midst of the action, saw a charging Xi, and ducked her head, backflipping the assassin over.

****

“Where’s your teacher now, Faith-Mari?” asked Archangel as she flew, the angel squirming in her arms. “What good is a teacher’s pet without some to see her wagging her tail?”
“I don’t need to impress anyone,” said Faith-Mari. “How does it feel being Marwolaeth’s lackey?”
“I’m no one’s lackey,” said Archangel, who flew into the woods near the HQ.
“Please,” said Faith-Mari. “You couldn’t hack it as a leader with ANGELS, so you went to the first place you could find power. It was all too easy for Marwolaeth to hypnotize you, to make you believe. He gave you everything you wanted. But you’re still a lapdog. You always have been, and you always will be.”
She could almost hear Archangel’s face tensing through the mask.
“I could kill you right now,” said the masked flyer. “But it’ll prove nothing. Killing you without wings is the challenge. And I will.”
She landed in the thick forest of northern Virginia. As soon as she touched down, she dropped Faith-Mari over one knee, clawing at her stomach as she did so.
Faith-Mari screamed out, but no one could hear her. She reached up for Archangel’s face, clutched onto the eyeholes, and yanked away. The plaster exploded on the ground, smashing into several pieces.
Cyan McCullers’ face saw the light for the first time in weeks. Faith-Mari caught a full view. Red scars arched down a once porcelain face. Flakes of skin fluttered in the wind. Patches of bubbles and blisters covered the right cheek.
By the time Cyan became reacquainted with the light, her prey was gone.
“Where did you go, coward?” she yelled out. “Is this the way you fight?”

****

Director Lee gripped Rho in a headlock and ran her into a thick oak, knocking her out. When the assassin’s body crumpled to the ground, Karla looked around.
The front of CIA Headquarters was a tangled mass of white and blue bodies. There were no more assassins left upright. The only people standing were her, Stacy Delfina, and Coquelicot.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Stacy. Coquelicot nodded.
Karla slid down the tree, placing her hands on nylon-covered knees. “Well, that was close, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” said Coquelicot.
“Delfina, start moving the angels to infirmary. I think we can all use it today. Phone the Shadow HQ. Tell them we have a couple of dozen new inmates to take to The Woods.”
“And as for me?” Coquelicot asked.
Karla sighed. “Get going, kid. You’ve paid a lot of your debt just being here. Consider the slate clean as far as we go. Can’t make any guarantees about the Quebec authorities.”
“And any future transgressions?” Coquelicot’s eyes lit up. Her hands slid up the sides of her gold catsuit.
“Give them an inch,” said Karla under her breath. She looked to the thief. “Any more robberies, and we’ll be back on your tail. You dig?”
“Of course,” said Coquelicot. “That’s the fun of it, director.” She winked, then raced down the road.
Stacy and Karla began lifting the injured angels and carrying them into the third floor. Karla looked back to the main road. As she expected, there was no trace of the thief.
She sighed. “See you soon, kid.”

****

The sun burned Archangel’s eyes. She looked from left to right, but she could only see brightly lit trees, almost golden in the sun. No sounds were made, except for the crunching of leaves under her boots, the chirping of crickets, and the flutter of birds overhead. She continued her search until Faith-Mari made her presence known, punching her in the sides and back. The blows had little effect, and Archangel had no problem finding her former leader’s neck.
She backed Faith-Mari into an evergreen tree. “How smart was that, leader?” she asked as she bounced the angel’s head against the tree, over and over.
Her brains scrambled, Faith-Mari slumped down the tree. She held her head, trying to stop her ears from ringing. But she didn’t get much rest.
Archangel lifted her up to a vertical base and gripped around her tight, bearhugging her. She could feel Faith-Mari’s figure go numb from the force. Her blue nylon legs slid down the sides of Archangel’s bodysuit.
In an act of desperation, Faith-Mari brought her arms out to wingspan length, then clapped down on Archangel’s ears as hard as she could. The bearhug came to an instant end. Archangel stumbled, trying to regain her balance, as Faith-Mari got back to her feet. The angels leader ran toward her prey, then slid to the ground, taking out Archangel’s knees from underneath. The villainess fell to the ground, clutching her legs in pain.
When Faith-Mari came within range, Archangel dug deep into the ground, clutching a handful of dirt. Her toss was pitch-perfect, catching Faith-Mari in the eyes. The mask took most of the missile, both enough got through to temporarily blind.
Archangel jumped back to her feet, and took off her gloves. With her bare hands, she grabbed Faith-Mari by the back of her neckhole and the seat of her leotard, and with breakneck speed, flew her headfirst into the evergreen.
Faith-Mari fell to the ground, flickering in and out of consciousness. Her fading sight caught the disfigured visage of Archangel, staring at her.
“This was my right,” said Archangel. “Now do you see? I have always been better.”
“Really,” said Faith-Mari. She kicked through, hitting the front of Archangel’s right ankle, tearing her ATFL. The resulting scream drowned out the sounds of the forest. Another straight kick, took out the other ankle, with identical results.
When Faith-Mari got up, she saw her opponent down on her knees. Looking around, she saw a piece of wood, almost the size of a two by four. Without thought, she picked up the plank, reared back, and clocked Archangel across the head, leveling her.
Faith-Mari kneeled over Archangel and placed the plank over her throat, placing dangerous pressure across the windpipe. “I should do this for Dr. Whitman, and for Director Lee, and for the danger you have placed this country under.” She increased the pressure, and for a moment she could see fear in Archangel’s eyes.
Then she threw the plank away.
“But I won’t, because I’m not you.”

****

Kelly Penrose awoke to the most thunderous sound she had ever heard. When she looked up, her field of vision was filled by the swirl of matter, sinking into the center, where nothing could escape.
Meyrick Marwolaeth stood over her. “Good morning. You are about to make history. How does it feel to be the first person to ever journey into the heart of a black hole?”
“Don’t know yet,” said Kelly. “Don’t plan on ever knowing, either.”
“Oh, you will know, as will the citizens of this city, Salt Lake, Istanbul, Geneva. This moment will be mine.”
Kelly got up to her feet, only to be backhanded down by Marwolaeth.
“And it shall not be stopped. The people must know that I am the way, and that I am the light. Darkness shall swallow the false prophets, and only in my presence shall darkness fail.”
As he spoke, Kelly saw the remote in his hand. It was a CR18T Global. She knew the type from her classmates in computing class. Marwolaeth wasn’t messing around; it had worldwide reach. Any button that he pressed could set off a CERN bomb on the other side of the world within seconds. But she knew that any disruption to the radio control would leave its vehicles unusable.
“Now,” Marwolaeth said. “Is time for the world to know.” He reached for Kelly, but missed as she rolled out of the way, perilously close to the edge of the CERN bomb. As his hand swooped, she came down with her leg, crunching his hand.
Marwolaeth didn’t react. He continued to bend down, and he gripped down on Kelly’s neck.
“Your inheritance is darkness,” he said, and he tossed her into the swirl.
She reached up before hitting the event horizon of the bomb, grabbing onto the tails of his coat. Marwolaeth had walked half a step away before he was yanked off his feet, flat on his back.
Kelly looked down to her feet. Already, she could see the light warping around her legs. She could see her feet disappearing into brown streaks that used to be her nylons. Her body had broken the event horizon. She wasn’t going to survive.
As she was dragged into the bomb, she kept a rigor mortis tight grip on Marwolaeth’s coat. As she was dragged in, he was pulled in with her.
“Catch the devil by the tail, never let go,” she said before the pain became too great. She screamed out, but even as she went insane from the unearthly pressure of gravity against bones, she held on. She could hear Marwolaeth screaming with her, and the parts of her mind that hadn’t been warped took comfort in that.
“No!” she could hear him scream. “Help! Somebody help!"
The last thing Kelly Penrose saw before the gravity reached her eyes was the body of Meyrick Marwolaeth breaking the spectrum of the event horizon, radio control still tucked in his pocket.

****

A few days later, Faith-Mari Hopkins watched the news coverage of the strange sightings in the Vatican. Father Borromeo had regained consciousness and reached the cloisters, where he believed he had seen the Gates of Hell. He saw two people being dragged into an enlarging, swirling pit of darkness, then saw the spherical gate close as the second person was fully enclosed. Nothing, save the spherical cut that engulfed part of the cloister’s central fountain, the pathway, and the ground, gave evidence to the fact that such a singularity had opened.
The news had made much of the destruction done to the church, and to the sightings of Father Meyrick Marwolaeth in the Rome area. The only major piece of evidence found was a brown trench coat, which contained the wallet, and identity, of Kelly Penrose.
Faith-Mari fell back into her seat, shaking her head. “She always had a knack of saving the day,” she said to herself. She spent the next four hours, eyes glued to the screen, hoping that someone would say that they had found the former angel. She never expected them to, and they never did.

****

The next day, still shaken, she visited The Woods. There was an influx of twenty-five new prisoners. She only wanted to speak to one.
“McCullers?” she asked. “It’s Faith-Mari.”
The prisoner, who had been sitting on her bunk bed, head resting on her hands, didn’t look up. Her wings had been surgically cut from her body, and she still couldn’t sit straight back as a result.
“I just want to know this. Why was it so important to be the leader?”
Cyan turned to face her. “It wasn’t being number one. It was being better than you. You were always Director Lee’s favorite. You were a challenge. And now, you think you’ll always be number one. I wanted to show that you didn’t need to kiss up to the boss to be the best.”
“You were never the best,” said Faith-Mari. “You may have been bigger, and stronger, and faster, but you always got ahead of yourself. You could have all the gifts in the world, but you never had it where it counted.”
Cyan smiled. “You don’t think this place will hold me forever.”
Faith-Mari looked at the steel bars, the lack of windows. She thought of the guards outside, the motion detectors, and the guard dogs. She thought of how she didn’t have to worry about Meyrick Marwolaeth ever again, even if the cost was higher than she would’ve ever wanted.
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.” She walked away from the cell, out of the block, and into the sun.

****

Faith-Mari walked into Director Lee’s office. She was still the only homebound angel available for active duty, with one exception.
“Agent Hopkins,” said Stacy Delfina. “We’ve been called.”
“Indeed,” said Karla. “Looks like you might get a lot of work, at least until the other agents can get back on their feet. We need you on call, day and night. Of course, that’s nothing new for you.”
Faith-Mari nodded.
“So I hope you can teach your new partner the ways of being a true Angel. And there isn’t anyone else I’d want on the job. You’ve taught people how to save the world.”
The silence spoke for everyone.
“I know what Kelly did. As much as I wish she wouldn’t have gone her own way, she did save countless lives. And you were her leader. You cannot unteach vengeance, Miss Hopkins. But you can teach people to do what is right. She wouldn’t have been able to do what she did when she first came to Langley. That was you, Faith-Mari. Now, I want you to teach Miss Delfina. Are you up to the task?”
“Absolutely,” said Stacy. She got quick looks from her two superiors, and she sat back down instantly.
Faith-Mari saluted her boss. “It would be an honor, Director.”
“Very good,” said Karla. “Now, that would mean you’ve got work. So stop lollygagging around in my office, will you?” She looked to her papers, a solemn grin on her face.

Faith-Mari and Stacy walked down the offices of the ANGELS floor.
“So, what is the first lesson?” asked Stacy.
“Simply this,” said Faith-Mari. “Whenever you say you have someone, you don’t. Whenever you think it’s a good idea to walk into a conspicuously empty apartment, don’t. And above all, consciousness is your friend. Never lose track of it.”
“Well, I haven’t done the best job of that so far,” said Stacy.
Faith-Mari put her arm around the rookie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We all learn the hard way.”

****

Blue Angels created by Mighty Hypnotic

Based in part of characters created by pzgr6

Written by Liam Venture (a.k.a. The Great Dutch Ninja)

Blue Angels: Vengeance is Mine

Starring Faith-Mari Hopkins
Kelly Penrose
Meyrick Marwolaeth
Cyan McCullers

Co-Starring Stacy Delfina
Genevieve Comeaux
Carter Roberds
Abraham Zorin
With David Whitman
And Karla Lee

(if it pleases the board)

The Angels will return in Blue Angels: The Bookkeeper

[SGWriter]

(if it pleases the board)

The Angels will return in Blue Angels: The Bookkeeper,

Of course it pleases us! This is one of the best stories written on the board! Excellent work Ninja! =D>

[superpics4les]

Amen to that, pz!

This is indeed one of the best! You should write Bond novels, Liam! I was a little upset when Kelly died, but she died doing what an Angel should do, saving us all. First rate job, my friend! =D> =D> =D>

[Catwacher]

It most DEFINITELY pleases the board, at least this small part of it! Your writing is excellent, and you acknowledge that there are casualties in combat. Keep up the great work!

Cat

[MightyHypnotic]

Absolutely! You did a great job with this story!


MH