Archangel Crusader (12 page)

Still chuckling, Debbie came with a napkin dipped in cold water and dabbed at his forehead.

"Let me try again. This time, I'll concentrate better." Michael gently pushed Debbie's hand away from his face.

"This is ridiculous, Michael, don't do it," she pleaded.

"I have to convince some skeptics." After a look at Walter, Michael closed his eyes and breathed slowly, concentrating through the pain pulsing in his skull. When he felt all the molecules of his body adjust to the new vibration, Michael slowly walked through the wall and onto the patio.

Debbie and Walter stared at the wall, speechless, then used the sliding glass door to join him outside.

"My God, Michael! Is this how you got into the house this afternoon? I knew I locked the doors this morning." The German shepherd almost ran Debbie over, rushing to be petted by Michael. "I've never seen him like this with anyone before. He's supposed to be a watchdog."

"Well... How do you explain this ability of yours?" Walter finally gave in to professional curiosity.

"It's an unbelievable story. Let's only say for now that I was born with a special gift. I always suspected it but only recently learned to use it. We all have it to some degree, though. And it can be developed."

"Did you learn it on your own?"

Michael could tell Debbie was hooked. "No, I had some help" He hesitated on how much to tell them, then continued, "from my father."

"Your father? Michael, no one ever knew who your father was. Your mother even denied you ever had one. How did you find him?"

"I didn't. He found me. He was far away all this time but just came back."

"This is great news! How wonderful. I'm so happy for you. How do you feel about it? Can we meet him sometime?" Debbie bubbled over.

"Maybe, who knows... Anything is possible, but for now, I have to make a case for psychic powers, so let's just do it. Debbie, didn't you mention this afternoon you found this cherry tree too small and too far from the house for decent shade?"

Walter rubbed his chin, but Debbie seemed to enjoy the game. "Yes, I said I would have liked it right there at the south corner." She pointed, delightful in her excitement.

"Like this?" A slight flicker of magnetism, a faint rustle of leaves. Now, the cherry tree, three times its original size, stood at the southern angle of the house. Instead of blooms, it carried dark red cherries, months ahead of the season. Michael then teleported himself to a heavy bough and picked a handful of crimson fruit. "Care to try some?" He popped one in his mouth and jumped down like a cat, dropping the rest of the cherries into the hands of a wide-eyed Walter.

"This is too much. No one can do this." Debbie, in shock, laughed nervously. "I had no idea you could do such things. This is incredible! Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming this."

"Is there anything you cannot do?" Walter, sober and dead serious now, asked. "Do you know what this kind of power could do in the wrong hands?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I even experienced it." A shadow passed over Michael's mind. "Veronica's death was not an accident as it was made to appear. There are others with no scruples, no ethics and no conscience. I need your help to fight my battle. I want nothing for myself, I only want to make this world a better place."

"All right.” Walter stuck both hands in his pockets. “I guess you made me a believer in the paranormal, but UFOs are another matter altogether. I know about the big controversy in the media about the Roswell incident and government secrets of that time, but I'm not convinced that there are aliens out there."

They all walked through the open glass door, back into the living room.

"All these things are linked," Michael continued. "You will just have to take my word for it. I can't give you any proof. Let's just say that if it weren't for a UFO, I wouldn't be here today. Literally." Michael sat in the armchair, leaving the couch for Debbie and Walter.

"Whoa! I would really like to hear about that." Debbie's enthusiastic curiosity comforted him, but it was too early to explain, yet.

"Why are you doing all this? What's in it for you?" Walter's inflection still had a ring of suspicion. He had taken Debbie's hand.

"Besides the challenge and the obvious satisfaction of doing the right thing?" Michael felt like a mischievous child. "To be perfectly honest, I'm settling a score with Veronica's killer. I would love to nail him to the wall and, given a chance, I will. But I have to warn you that if you are thinking of helping me, you are placing yourself in the path of danger. This deadly character knows no compassion, no human feelings. He's after me and will stop at nothing to see me dead. You could get hurt in the shuffle, or worse..."

Walter looked absorbed in thoughts. "I don't know... I could risk my career getting involved in this kind of venture."

Ever prudent Walter, Michael thought, but he remained silent, letting them make up their minds.

"Oh please, Walter, let's help him. You can get him on at least four different TV programs. You have friends in almost every network in the country. You know all the talk-show hosts. You could even get him some free commercial time. No matter what you think about some of the issues, it's all in the best interest of humanity." Intensely vibrant, Debbie was definitely Michael's best advocate tonight.

"Lovely Debbie," Walter started with a smile then paused. "How could I possibly decline such a passionate plea?" He brought her hand to his lips.

Michael sensed the strong currents flowing between his two friends. He could feel Debbie's hopes and Walter's sensual desire. Reading Walter's intentions, Michael stood up and shook his hand. After kissing Debbie on the forehead, Michael thanked his friends and excused himself, discreetly retiring to a bedroom on the second floor. The incredible expense of energy needed to perform the display of psychic powers had drained his energy. He felt weak. Away from the energizing presence of his alien father, he needed much meditation and deep sleep to recharge.

*****

After Michael left the room, Debbie's warm and trembling gaze fell expectantly into Walter's deep blue eyes. "Thank you, Walter," she whispered. "This means a lot to me."

"The Crusade?"

"Yes, the Earth Crusade...and also the fact that you're doing it for me. It makes me feel very happy inside... I don't know how to explain." She looked for help in his eyes, at a loss for words.

Walter took over. "What if I told you that you are so important to me, that the highlight of my day is when I see you for lunch or for dinner? What if I told you that a day without seeing your smile or touching your hand would feel like an eternity?" He had both her hands in his now. He was so close, so vulnerable, so openly inviting.

"Walter, I couldn't bear not seeing you. I need your strength, your fortitude, your conversation, the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. I want you near me." Now that Debbie had bared her soul, was he going to hurt her?

"I know, Debbie. So do I."

Walter shifted slightly on the couch. His lips came close, almost touching. "I'm in love with you, Debbie." His sweet breath caressed her cheeks. He held her frail body against his chest.

Debbie welcomed the demanding lips that covered hers in a long, soft, endearing kiss. "Walter, I will love you like no one did before," she echoed in pure bliss, hoping this was not just a dream.

*****

Jean-Marc Fontaine slammed down the receiver and burrowed in the breast pocket of his beige Pierre Cardin blazer for a piece of gum. He chewed it nervously, breathing fast, not even enjoying its icy taste. He could have chosen a better time to stop smoking.

Fists clenched and unclenched in the deep pockets of the creased tan pants. Facing the wide bay window of his office, Jean-Marc did not really see the view. Manhattan, from the thirty-seventh floor of the Chemitek building was still only Manhattan, just another place to work.

Jean-Marc, the French corporate director in charge of the European division, a sharp dresser in his mid thirties, wore elegant, loose-fitting clothes in a deceivingly casual way. Today, however, his nonchalant attitude gave way to explosive wrath.

As he paced back and forth, he grumbled in French, passing long, smooth fingers through light brown hair, once short but now curling in the back of the neck and around the ears. Jean-Marc pressed the red button on his desk, and his assistant's head popped through the door.

"You called me, sir?"

"Yes, Miss Goldbloom. I need your help. Come in, please. Sit down," he said with a heavy French accent.

The young woman in the navy business suit and high-heeled shoes looked tall and heavy compared to the shorter, slender Frenchman. Her subdued demeanor, however, left no doubt about who was in charge. Jet-black hair, pale skin, bright eyes, and prominent nose made her handsome rather than beautiful.

Jean-Marc Fontaine opened the manila folder with the red "confidential" stamp lying on the desk. "How long have you known about this?" He pointed a finger at three lines highlighted in bright yellow in the middle of the last page.

Miss Goldbloom, who had never seen her boss outraged before, seemed shocked at the tone and the flash of anger in his eyes. "I heard a rumor a few weeks ago, but I did not believe it... Not until I saw the report myself this morning."

Since she sounded genuinely concerned, Jean-Marc felt grateful for her feelings. At least he was not the only one appalled by the ethical violations corroborated by the American Board of Chemitek Enterprises.

"Do you have any children, Miss Goldbloom?"

When she blushed, Jean-Marc realized his mistake. "Of course not. I'm sorry... Well, I don't either... But my wife has a daughter. Do you know what this careless disposal of chemical waste can do to innocent children playing in their backyard or on the school playground, given the right atmospheric conditions?"

"I read horror stories in the paper, but as long as it cannot be definitely tied to the dumping, it's only a coincidental observation. Circumstantial evidence, though disturbing, is insufficient. The secret dumping will continue. Our CEO will make sure of that. The cost of safer disposal would be outrageous. The board did not deem the expense cost-effective." The regret in the woman's tone contrasted with her accurate account.

Deciding to trust her, Jean Marc ventured, "I need names, places, times, anything you can find out about what is going on. They won't tell me much. They know where the European Community stands on these matters, but they have no reason to suspect you. How long have you been with the company?"

"Five years, Sir." Apprehension modulated her voice.

A short silence followed, filled with the soft humming of the air-conditioning. Jean-Marc broke it first. "How would you feel about losing your job? It could happen, you know, if you are caught hacking into the company's secret files. I may not be able to save you."

His honesty seemed to touch her more than any plea. "I'll be careful." She smiled timidly, implying acceptance.

"Thank you, I knew I could count on you. How would you feel about working exclusively for me if we succeed?" Jean-Marc returned the smile.

"I would like that." Miss Goldbloom looked down. "Excuse me." She pushed the blinking button on the desk phone. "Jean-Marc Fontaine's office. How may I help you?" She had regained her professional composure. "Certainly, please hold... It's your wife, long distance, on line one. I'll keep you posted." She disappeared discreetly and closed the heavy door behind her.

"Tori? Comment vas tu, mon amour? In English? Of course... Hi, Jennifer. Welcome to Paris. I wish I could be there with you both, but something came up. I have to stay a little longer to straighten out this mess. It may take a few more days, or a few more weeks... Jennifer's dad? Not really... His brother's farm in Arkansas? That would be central time. Give me the number just in case."

He took a fountain pen out of his pocket and wrote the number on a note pad. "Of course. I'm sure you can have fun without me for a while. I will let you know as soon as things clear up here and I can come home. In the meantime, I send you both my love. I miss you. Je t'aime, Tori... Au revoir mon amour."

When he hung up the phone, his features had relaxed, and a dreamy smile brushed his lips. Jean-Marc had often wished for a family. It would feel good to become a father, even for a little while.

Chapter Ten

Playing with a single ice cube in a glass of Chivas Regal, Krastinios smiled to himself. He enjoyed the stare of the women here tonight, especially the blonde femme fatale in a black velvet sheath revealing white shoulders, watching him from the end of the bar. A bombshell by international standards... Krastinios had not looked at her once but knew exactly who she was, how he would crush her indomitable temper, and how he would dominate her and make her beg before the evening was over.

Krastinios already enjoyed Paris, the capital of innumerable pleasures and infinite possibilities. Some men stared at him too, hypnotized by his grace. An interesting thought sprouted in his mind. Why not create a new cult, a fresh supply of pleasure slaves for private orgies? But not tonight...