The Angels of Destiny Read online

  At six o'clock McPherson awoke from a restful nights sleep. He smiled when he felt the slight pressure of Vicki’s arm resting across his chest. She was still asleep and breathing gently. Even in the morning, with no make up, he thought how beautiful she looked. They had been inseparable ever since that night, over a week ago.

  Still half awake his thoughts drifted back to his home in Washington, in his mind he moved from room to room like a potential buyer viewing the property, perhaps, subconsciously, looking for Amanda. They had spoken by phone a couple of times in the past month but Amanda’s tone was always cold and conversation was strained. McPherson knew he still loved her and her abrupt attitude hurt him.

  Emotionally, McPherson was now unstable; he was quickly falling in love with Vicki, yet still yearning for Amanda. Sex with Vicki was wonderful but was it just too convenient? Would he want her if they were apart, like he wanted Amanda?

  Samuel Black was first into the office that morning, looking remarkably fresh, considering he had spent the night in a hotel room with a prostitute and taken alcohol and performance enhancing drugs, that by now should have given him a ‘downer.’ His wife Kim always obliged him but being on the golf circuit she was often away from home for long periods and Samuel Black just wasn’t able to wait. He knew he was wrong to do what he did; but it never stopped him. His excuse for satisfying his over active sex drive was based on the unfounded assumption that she was probably being screwed on a regular basis by some young stud on the tour.

  Vicki Stark looked decidedly pleased with herself after signing the acceptance certificate for DGATE. The latest version of the encryption code had performed faultlessly for more than a week. The entire network loading tests had been passed and the speed of operation was impressive. She immediately walked down the corridor to Samuel’s office. The door was open and she noticed Samuel was busy checking the latest project schedules as she walked in without knocking. His face by now had become drawn and pale. Dark bags were visible under his eyes.

  "Good morning, Samuel, I have some good news,” said Vicki, not waiting for a reply to her greeting. "I’ve just signed off DGATE," Vicki said, proudly.

  “Oh. Thank God for that. I’m going to call a project meeting immediately. We need to define the next course of action," said Samuel, in a relieved voice.

  "I thought you’d be pleased."

  "Pleased.... I’m bloody ecstatic. You don’t realize the pressure I’ve been under from Hunter."

  "Maybe not, but I’ve got a good idea,” she replied, with a hint of irritation in her voice.

  “Yeah… Yeah… of course, I’m sorry. I know that it’s not been easy for you either."

  Surely not recognition from Samuel Black? Vicki thought.

  Within twenty minutes everyone had gathered in the project room on the eighteenth floor. Yuri Klyushin, Walter Rottenburg and Jerzy Rozanski were stood in the corner of the room, discussing things astronomical. Rob McPherson was talking to Raymond Strong about last night’s meal and Vicki Stark and Linda Washington were talking women’s talk, occasionally reinforcing some point, by touching the other. Their conversations were always deeper and more personal than any of the men in the team, because they were able to express their feelings without embarrassment.

  Nobody noticed Samuel Black walk into the room and he was thankful.

  “Let’s make a start please,” he said, causing the chatter to stop abruptly and heads to turn in his direction.

  McPherson looked at him and noticed the black rings under his eyes, worsened by his sallow complexion.

  "Please take your seats and switch on your laptops, we have a lot to do this morning." Samuel Black managed a small smile, feeling a little better, now that he was in control again. "The good news ladies and gentlemen is that DGATE is now fully operational. That means we can, at last, start to analyze data from M13. I would like to record my personal thanks to Vicki for all the hard work she’s put in these last few weeks. We didn’t need the delay but it’s behind us now, so lets get on with the task ahead."

  The double-edged compliment made Vicki blush slightly; and McPherson guessed it was more in annoyance than embarrassment. She’d worked bloody hard to resolve the problem and a simple thank you was all that was necessary, but no, he had to stick the knife in. McPherson was beginning to dislike Samuel more with every working day.

  In reality all the team members had worked hard and no time had been wasted in setting up their particular tasks. Yuri Klyushin’s team had commissioned the ten transceivers and the data link to Earth was working fine. Positional co-ordinates had been sent to the transceivers during a one-week test and feedback from the on-board computers had shown nine of them were responding. The tenth was operational but not as sensitive as the others, due to a minor problem with its positional retro-rockets, not meteor damage as first thought. Rob McPherson’s software had been installed and tested against simulated data and the results were good, with a higher than expected signal-to-noise ratio.

  "Would you like to explain the latest situation to the team, please, Vicki?"Asked Samuel Black.

  Vicki stood up before beginning to talk. She was holding a pen in her hands, something she often did when speaking.

  McPherson glanced at her and felt a warm contentment knowing he was in love with a very special woman indeed.

  "Only this morning I signed the acceptance certificate for DGATE. It has been under rigorous test for just over one week and zero failures were recorded. Also all communications links from the transceivers through to Houston have been tested. In short, we’re looking good."

  "Excellent news," interjected Samuel Black. "Thank you, Vicki, please be seated. I suggest we start listening ASAP. So, this afternoon we all meet in the control room because I want to start analyzing data by fifteen-hundred hours. At sixteen-hundred hours I have to report our progress to Hunter, who, likewise at seventeen-thirty hours, has to report to the President. Yes, ladies and gentlemen — The President.” Samuel Black quickly glanced at each member of the team, in another attempt to reinforce the importance of his statement..."Lets think of today as... Day One. Good hunting everyone.”

  At precisely four o’clock, Linda Washington showed Samuel Black into Hunter’s office and closed the door behind him before walking back to her desk. She looked uncomfortable after the short walk with him. His innuendoes, the way he looked at her and touched her was so repulsive and so unnecessary. If Rob had paid her attention, that would have be different. She often had fantasies about making love to Rob, something she never mentioned to anyone except to her closest girl friend, about how he would tenderly tongue her most private parts driving her wild with excitement and then forcefully take her over an office desk. Sometimes her fantasies involved Rob and Vicki, but it was her that he chose to have. All the while Vicki just standing and watching their gyrating bodies, until they ultimately fell into each other’s arms’ through sexual exhaustion.

  It was now five o’clock and Samuel Black had left Hunters office some ten minutes before. Hunter was always slightly nervous before a conversation with the President, even though he had done it many times before. The good news, relayed to him, had helped to calm him somewhat and he wished he had been there when the first data had arrived to hear the cheers from his team, the team he had chosen, and the team he was proud of.

  The videophone buzzed and asked for a code number. Hunter must have known it was the President. Composing himself, he entered the code and spoke his name. The screen came to life and Hunter could see the President’s impassive face on the videophone.

  "Good afternoon, Colin, how are things in sultry downtown Houston?" he said, in a detached manner.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. President...Things are finally going well."

  “Excellent. Tell me more, Colin."

  “Well, sir, we started collecting data from M13 today."

  "That’s good news. It’s difficult to say how far behind the Skywatch Project we are now, but we are behind at the moment; s
o intelligence informs me. Don’t know whether to believe that or not though," commented the President in a dull tone. Hunter laughed, making the President smile.

  "We have to get there first, Colin, it’s important to this great country." His tone this time was more serious.

  "I realize that, sir. Thankfully our methods are far superior to those of the Chinese. We estimate that we can analyze data one-thousand times faster than them and more importantly, twenty-four hours a day. It shouldn’t take long before we’re in front, Mr President."

  "That’s what I want to hear. Keep me informed of any progress will you? I want to be the first President of America to talk to a Martian." Both laughed loudly before saying their farewells and signing off. Hunter sat back in his chair, raised his head and exhaled. He knew that behind the lighthearted comments and the friendly facade of the President, there was a more serious message.

  Six

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Airport?"

  “Yeah."

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

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

  "Sure will, Mister Williams, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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