The aurora city
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| Chapter 18
The next morning began with murder. Markman sat at the kitchen table sprinkling a spoon full of sugar on his corn chex as Cassiopia eyed him with a disapproving stare. In response, he reached out and sprinkled sugar on her oat brand and the two sat staring in silent combat. Before the conflict could escalate into actual battle, text tones from both cell phones rang out. The messages were from John Paul.
immediately to 5104 Kirkman Road, the Tymer Building, suite 1175, and investigate. Report your findings back to me ASAP. The area has been secured. Police are awaiting your arrival. Special identification cards are attached to this message.
“Why is he sending us to investigate a crime scene?” mumbled Cassiopia. “You forget, my dear. That is exactly the kind of work I do. He’s using us as agents like we already belong to his organization. Besides, if this is really about the Professor, he promised we would be kept advised of everything. And, he knows you too well. He probably thought you’d demand to go anyway.” Cassiopia stood and made a “humph” sound then marched off toward her computer station. “Ha! No come back for that, right? He’s not even here and he got the last word. Why can’t I ever do that?” Markman sipped his coffee and waited. In a few minutes she returned. “I printed out our ID’s. They need to go into a windowed folder of your wallet. The card paper’s kind of thin.” “Let’s see.” Cassiopia spoke in a bemused tone. “According to this, we’re Homeland Security Agents. What would you like to bet if they ran checks on these IDs they’d come back okay?” “Well, this is no good. Your picture makes you look like a doll. Mine sucks.” “The text says we need to go right away.”
Markman pressed Core for a quick trip to the Tymer Building. Orlando traffic was heavy. Several police cars were parked in front of the place. An officer standing by tried to wave them away. Markman held out his ID above the Vette roof and the officer nodded and allowed them to park. It was a twelve-floor high-rise. When the elevator doors opened to the eleventh, yellow police tape prevented anyone from getting off on that floor. Markman raised the tape for Cassiopia and followed her down the hall. There was no need to search for the correct suite. More yellow tape and a uniformed officer guarded the office. As they approached, the officer stiffened and held up one hand. “Cassell and Markman. We’re here to look things over.” The officer leaned into the taped-
off room and yelled, “Hey Lieutenant, the Barneys are here.” A plainclothes police officer with a badge clipped to his wrinkled gray suit coat appeared in the door and looked the two visitors over. He had a salt and pepper receding hair line, too many wrinkles for his age, and dark, distrusting eyes. He gave a disapproving stare at the uniformed officer who had called him. “Take it easy, Briggs. Okay?” He turned to Markman as though the man must always be the one in charge. “We’ve been waiting around for you guys. You got some ID?” The newly printed cards ID cards were not questioned. The Lieutenant lifted the yellow tape for his unwanted guests. The view of the crime scene made Cassiopia wince and look away
with a hand over her mouth. Markman’s attitude quickly changed. He searched the disrupted room with discerning eyes. It was a large office with French doors that opened to a small white cement balcony. There was a modest adjoining bathroom on the left and a large walk-in storage closet on the right. An expensive carved oak desk sat in the middle. An impressive array of computer and printing equipment lined one wall. File cabinets and shelves of supplies filled the other. The place looked like a bomb had gone off. The floor was covered with paper and broken pottery. Anything left on the shelves had been knocked over or broken. The desk had been wiped almost clean though one computer terminal remained in place. The
centerpiece of the room was the body lying on the floor, face up, legs slightly spread, hands at the sides palms down, expensive dark suit coat spread open. As they entered the room, a second detective in gray coveralls came into view. He held something out to Markman. “Please put the booties on over your shoes and here’s rubber gloves if you need to touch anything. The photo guys are all done so don’t worry about moving anything.” As Markman finished putting on his second bootie, he looked up at the Lieutenant. “How long ago did this happen? When did you guys get here?” “The call came in at 8:40. The woman next door has some kind of import business. She has tea on her balcony every morning. She said she heard a faint scream coming from here.
She said it sounded so terrible it scared her. She called out but no one answered. She went inside to the office door and knocked but no one came so she called us. When we ran this address there was already a flag on this guy by Homeland Security… your office. It says he’s an expert at making fake ID’s. Real good ones. ID’s that will pass most any security check. We sent a car right over. They banged on the door at 8:55. Building security let them in 20 minutes later. What you see is exactly how we found it.” “So the door was locked when you got here?” “Yeah.” “So somebody did all this, took the victim’s keys and locked the door when they left?” “Must be. We haven’t found the
victim’s keys.” “Why would somebody do all this and then take the time to lock the door as they left?” “So the cleaning people or somebody else wouldn’t open the door and discover the murder. More time to get away. For god’s sake, who are you people? Are you new at this or something?” Cassiopia’s analytical mind had already dismissed the Lieutenant. She began poking around, staying as far from the body as she could. She fished through papers in an open filing cabinet, and pulled out a thin stack of bound bills, fanning them in her hand to count them. “Ten one-hundred dollar bills. Someone was not after money. They were after documents.” “Yeah, so he snuffs the seller,
tears the place up finding his illegal IDs, and bugs out without paying. Pretty straightforward, if you ask me.” Markman looked over the room. “I don’t know. Looks like an awful lot of searching to me. Too much. Maybe he didn’t find what he was looking for.” “Either way, he’s long gone now,” said the Lieutenant. “You search the body?” asked Markman. “Cursory. All we found was a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand with the name Theopolis Cassell on it. We ran that through the Homeland Security database and the computer went berserk for a few minutes. I’m guessing that’s when you guys got pulled in. What’s the deal, anyway?” Cassiopia and Markman froze at the sound of the Professor’s name.
They stared at each other in acknowledgment and continued on. “Did you search underneath his clothes?” “We leave that for the coroner.” “Mind if I have a look?” “Suit yourself. Not something you’ll catch me doing these days.” Markman patted down the body causing Cassiopia to wince again and look away. He opened the man’s shirt and felt behind the torso, then began to undo the pants. “Is that really necessary?” complained the Lieutenant. “It’s a new trick,” answered Markman. “It’s worth a look.” He got the man’s trousers down to the knees and began searching behind the legs. He stopped suddenly and looked up at the Lieutenant. “Bingo! Help me roll
him over.” Reluctantly the Lieutenant complied. On the back of the right leg was a flesh-colored packet taped neatly in place. Markman tore it off and opened it. Carefully pressed documents were hidden inside. The Lieutenant took them from Markman’s grasp and stood to look them over. “It’s an Epi-pack,” said Markman. They’re pretty new. Made to contour a specific part of the body so that in a standard pat down they’re not detected. Taped to the back of his leg like a pro so a quick shake down would almost be sure to miss it.” “Well, this stuff must be what the killer was looking for. Fresh new ID for an alias Doctor Patrick Montgomery, PHD. Driver’s, Social Security, Voter ID, Passport, everything needed to live
or travel anywhere. Nice. There’s a couple other things here. A death certificate for the Theopolis Cassell guy and transfer papers to transport the body.” Cassiopia stopped abruptly and looked at them with fear and revulsion. It took a moment for her to recover. With an angry stare, she began appraising the crime scene again. Out on the balcony, she looked over the railing and straight down. Only this floor had balconies. Four stories directly below, two men were on a scaffolding cleaning windows. One of the men looked up, spotted her and stopped working to smile and wave. “Lieutenant, have you spoken to those men washing windows?” The Lieutenant cast another annoyed look. “Ms…Cassell, is it? Of
course we have interviewed them. They began work around 7:00. They been working their way down. They heard some unusual noises coming from up here, but they figured it was none of their business.” “And the woman who reported the crime, is she still here?” “No. She was shaken up by what happened. We let her go home.” Cassiopia stepped carefully back into the room, consciously avoiding the direction of the body. In one corner, in a pile of discarded items, she found a bent and twisted antique gold desk set. It was a pen holder, wind-up clock, and cigarette lighter. It looked like it was made of real gold, quite valuable. The bottom padding had been ripped off by someone searching it. She carefully studied the desk set and placed it
gently on the nearby desk, then casually approached the Lieutenant. She leaned in close and whispered. “He’s still here.” The Lieutenant stared back, shaking his head. He shrugged and held up his hands in exasperation. She next went to Markman, leaned in again and whispered. “He’s still here.”
Markman hurriedly began scanning the room. Cassiopia stared back at the Lieutenant as though she expected him to do something. The Lieutenant could stand it no longer. “Lady, you’re even crazier than I first thought. Are you trying to say the murderer is still here? Do you think we haven’t checked this place out? It’s a one room office for Christ’s sake.
What in god’s name makes you think anyone could still possibly be here?” A strange, heavy silence came over the crime scene. Both Cassiopia and Markman felt it and braced, expecting the worst. Nothing happened. Cassiopia picked up the destroyed gold desk set from the desk. “Lieutenant did you notice this gold desk set?” The Lieutenant stepped over the body next to Markman and in a low tone asked, “Does she have some sort of impediment?” Markman blurted out a laugh but quickly thought better of it. Cassiopia frowned. “Lieutenant! You see the back of this clock is smashed?” “Yes…so? You’d get maybe ten or twenty dollars for that amount of gold
plating. So what?” “Well Lieutenant, you should have learned in kindergarten or maybe second grade for you, that when the little hand is on the nine and the big hand is on the ten that’s ten minutes after nine. This clock is fully wound but stopped at ten after nine. It has the day and date in these little side windows. They are set correctly with today’s date. You said you banged on the door at 8:55, and were let in twenty minutes later. That means this clock had to have been smashed while your men were somewhere outside waiting for building security to unlock this office!” “For cripes sake lady, why would any fool murder somebody and then wait around for us to show up, even if there was someplace to hide, which
there isn’t.” Cassiopia spoke with irritation. “Lieutenant, he killed this man and checked the body for the fake IDs, but he missed them just like you pros did. He had already been told the documents were ready, that’s why he was here…to pick them up. He knew they had to be hidden somewhere in this office. He wanted them so badly he continued to look, even after the victim’s scream. He searched right up until your men started banging on the door. That’s why he had enough time to mess this place up so badly. He didn’t care that you guys were coming.” “Lady, for the last time, we searched the place thoroughly. There’s nobody here. And like I said, what good would it do a killer to be here when the police showed up?”
Cassiopia shook her head and spoke with exasperation. “The only way out of this room besides the front door is that balcony. The window washers were out there and would have seen anyone trying to climb out that way. The killer searched the body and missed the documents. He’s been waiting for you to take it away and seal the place so he can continue searching the room. By finding those documents, we’ve now ruined that for him.” As the Lieutenant rolled his eyes in ridicule, all hell broke loose. From a narrow outside ledge above the balcony, a shadowy figure dropped down and came at them like a charging bull. The two detectives were driven back, one into the wall, the other into Markman who spun and used the energy to shove Cassiopia into the
walk-in closet. The killer drove through the men, unlatched the door and was gone before they could regain their footing. The disheveled detectives charged into the hall, ignoring the uniformed officer unconscious on the floor, just in time to see the elevator doors snap shut. They raced to the end of the hall followed closely by Markman, and hammered on the call button, pacing in place as they waited for the number 2 elevator, cursing at the overhead number display counting down the escape of their suspect. When the doors of the second elevator finally opened, they rushed in and, as one detective hit the lobby button, the other held up his hand to Markman and said, “We’ve got this.” The doors shut as Markman looked up at the hopeless chase being counted down on the
elevator display. As he watched, an alarming thought struck Markman. He leaned over, pushed open the heavy gray door to the stairwell just in time to hear the door for the floor above click shut. Only one person would have used those stairs. He lunged into the stairwell, jumped-stepped up and pushed into the twelfth floor. At the end of a very long hallway, he saw a man in a dark suit hurrying along between people. The man reached the door to the stairwell on the other side of the building and paused to look back. His eyes met Markman’s. Markman had memorized the faces of Professor Cassell’s abductors. It was Palermo, one of the three. Palermo lowered his chin in dismay and then shook his head in warning. At that moment, a woman
with a small boy backed out of an adjoining office and bumped into him. Palermo smiled at Markman, grabbed the boy by his collar and amid shouts and screams from the woman, dragged him along into the opposite stairwell, kicking at the attacking mother and knocking her to the floor. Markman broke into a run. Fighting his way through the confusion of people, he slammed through the stairwell door and looked up in time to see Palermo continue up a metal service stairway to the roof. Markman charged after him. Enough distance was closed that he could make out Palermo, wrestling with the service door to the roof, struggling with the child at the same time. Markman reached the top as the pair disappeared outside and the heavy door clacked
shut. He shouldered it open and jumped to the tar and stone surface of the roof. The place was a mess. A new tower was being constructed. Equipment was everywhere. A stiff, cold wind was whistling by, carrying with it the smell of oil, tar, and gasoline. A crane was attached to the building on one side with scaffolding hanging from it, tied off to a stanchion alongside the building. Palermo was weaving his way through the equipment toward the scaffolding. Markman stopped a few feet away as Palermo dragged his small victim onto the scaffolding. He did not bother to look up at Markman, but went directly to the heavy rope tie-off and began undoing it. Markman ran full out and reached roof’s edge just as the scaffold
came free and swung away. A two-foot jump across a twelve-story drop put Markman on the opposite end of the swinging platform. Cables creaked and ropes stretched. An angry gust of wind forced both men to stop and hang on. Finally, Palermo turned his attention to Markman, and shouted over the tempest. “Mr. Markman, you must know I would enjoy watching him fall.” Palermo looked down at the terrified boy clutching the railing. Markman hung to the rail, afraid to approach any further. “Stay where you are and perhaps I’ll let him live,” added Palermo, the tipping of the scaffold forced him to bend further at the knees. “Where can you go? You’re trapped.”
Palermo laughed. He looked over his shoulder and pointed with his thumb. “That’s my ride. The scaffold is just to give clearance from the tower. Although I admit, I did not expect it to be this challenging.” Markman searched the sky as the planking shifted beneath him. He spotted the small spec of a helicopter heading their way. Palermo’s voice had the tone of evil in it. “You’re still alive only out of curiosity. Why did you follow me? Didn’t John Paul warn you to stay away? You are out of your league, as they say. There’s nothing you can do here.” “The boy. Let me have the boy and I’ll stay out of your way.” Palermo laughed a guttural laugh as the scaffolding scrapped along the
side of the building. “He thinks he’s in my way. How quaint. You don’t understand, Mr. Markman. Why would I give up the pleasure of seeing the boy fall, and your reaction? You are not smart enough to understand how superior I am to you. That’s what this entire battle is about, after all. Pathetic humans being heralded above we heavenly creatures. We will win in the end.” Markman dared not respond. He knew no words to say. The helicopter continued to draw closer. “Mr. Markman, let me show you how insignificant you actually are.” With that, Palermo yanked at the child’s shirt collar, tearing him away from the railing. Holding on with one hand, he lifted the boy up to face level. Markman lurched forward but stopped
from a warning stare, but in the next moment, it did not matter. Palermo swung the child over the side between the building and scaffold and let go without the slightest hesitation. The boy plummeted toward the street below. Markman dove onto his stomach. Purely by instinct he shot out his open right hand at the falling child. To his relief, the child’s fall quickly slowed and stopped. The boy hung in midair ten feet below the scaffold, his arms flailing, his feet kicking. With every ounce of concentration in his soul, Markman raised the small form and moved it over to the building’s roof. There he dropped the boy gently to the gravel surface. Still prone, he looked back at Palermo to find him staring wide-eyed, the sound of the
approaching helicopter now dominating the wind. Palermo held both hands to the ropes supporting the shifting scaffolding and spoke with annoyance. “How…? Who are you, really?” For the first time there was a touch of concern in his voice. Markman pulled himself to his feet and stared back in contempt. Palermo glanced up at the approaching helicopter. “No matter. It is time for me to leave.” High above them, a door began to slide open on the helicopter, as the pilot fought to hold position. Markman yelled back, “Maybe not. Maybe your time is up.” Markman dared let go of the railing with one hand and moved into a shaky fighting stance. With the precision of a Chang
Hun Master, he threw a cutting knife- hand strike at Palermo. Palermo immediately realized it was energy being thrown through the air and twisted away, raising one hand to block. The cutting edge strike deflected into one of the ropes supporting the scaffold. Instantly it splayed out and snapped. The corner of the scaffold dropped as the torn rope fed up through its hoist ring leaving Palermo’s end of the scaffold completely unsupported so that it fell away beneath him. In desperation, he grabbed for a loose cable, only to find it heavily greased. It slipped though his grasp, leaving him to fall backward into the abyss. Markman was thrown onto his back as Palermo’s end of the scaffolding nosed downward, and swung like a
pendulum. He groped wildly but missed framework as he slid down the nearly vertical wooden walkway. As his body slipped over the edge, he lunged and caught the last angle of steel with one hand. He pulled up and found a grip with the other hand and hung from the swinging, twisting scaffolding, staring down at Palermo kicking and flailing backwards toward death. In that moment, something unearthly happened. Halfway down the twelve story drop, a green mist escaped Palermo’s form. The body abruptly ceased all movement as it continued the dive, finally slamming into the street below. The green mist drifted away with the wind. Markman began to survey his plight and watched as the hovering helicopter banked and pulled away. He
suddenly realized rescuing the boy and throwing the Qi strike had drained him slightly. He was now dangling well below the edge of the roof. There was no superstructure in reach that he could use to pull himself up. To make matters worse, one hand was clutching steel angle iron that had a blade edge to it. Blood was running down his forearm and had already reached his shirt. Nerves were being cut. As he hung for dear life, a face appeared on the roof edge overhead. It was Cassiopia, holding the boy. “Oh my god, Scott!” Cassiopia disappeared in search of rescue equipment. Markman tried to estimate how much strength remained in his hands and arms. He looked down at the death drop and decided he had plenty. The scaffolding was keeping a
steady swing back and forth, but twisting occasionally as it went. Markman looked at the remaining rope loop supporting it and felt a new pang of fear. Cassiopia reappeared, still holding the child under one arm. “Scott, there’s nothing. I called for John Paul. You’ve got to hold on.” Markman took extra breath and yelled back, “Okay.” “They’ll be here quick. Please…” Markman worked the grip with his left hand and winced at the blood now running down his chest. “Hey, there’s something maybe I should ask you since we’re not busy.” Cassiopia’s voice carried fear and anger. “Damn it, you hold on Markman, you hear?” Markman looked up but for a
moment could not gather the strength to reply. “They are coming. Just hold on” The hand that was being cut, wanted to convulse. Markman fought to concentrate. New gusts of wind demanded more strength. The dangling scaffolding twisted and swayed. “You know they’ll be here any second,” repeated Cassiopia. All at once, Markman’s cut hand cramped with such force it almost came free of the steel. Cassiopia cried out, “Scott!” Markman winced knowing he could not last forever. He looked up at Cassiopia. “Hey…”
“Scott, don’t you dare…” “Hey, would you marry me?” “Of course I’ll marry you, you
idiot. I mean… yes, yes I’ll marry you.” A sudden new surge of strength filled Markman. He dared not look down again. His good hand was cold from wind and lack of circulation. He wondered how much longer. Cassiopia started to say something but was interrupted by a figure suddenly standing behind her. It was an MIB. The MIB turned and ran to the crane operator’s compartment and climbed in. The sound of an engine starting roared over the wind noise. Smoke from an exhaust belched into the air. With the greatest of delicacy, the MIB lifted the damaged scaffolding up and over the roof. As it cleared the edge, Markman dropped to the rooftop and fell into a fetal position, holding his injured hand. Cassiopia started to lurch toward him but suddenly became
conscious of a second MIB standing beside her. She handed off the boy and ran to Markman. She tore off a sleeve of her blouse and wrapped the bleeding hand tightly. Markman’s eyes were glazed. He was not aware of the screaming, weeping mother bursting onto the roof to recover her son. He paid no attention to the small army of uniformed police officers also emerging in a state of confusion. Of equally little concern, were the two detectives who had made the aberrant choice of chasing an empty elevator down to the lobby. He barely remembered Cassiopia guiding him to the ground floor and driving him to the nearest emergency room.
Fourteen stitches later, Markman sat dazed in the passenger seat as Cassiopia guided Core home. She kept
casting irritated glances at him. He pretended not to notice. Finally, she could contain herself no longer. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again. Ever!” “Okay.”
After a silent, twenty-minute pause to regain composure, she decided it best to change the subject. “Did you get what was happening with that fake documents man?” “What do you mean?” “Besides Palermo’s new identity documentation, there was a death certificate for my father along with paperwork to transfer a body somewhere. You see what they were doing?”
“Please continue. My mind’s not up to full speed yet.” “They planned to somehow make it
look like my father died. Then they were going to pick up his body at some point, revive him, and go back to work on their inter-dimensional physics.” “Geeez, I should’ve figured that!” “You’ve been too busy finding trouble like you always do.” “It’s a gift I think.” “No. It is not.” Pulling into the driveway at home, they were surprised by the black sedan parked across the street. John Paul climbed out and joined them as they entered the house. Inside, standard greetings were exchanged. Cassiopia went to check on her father. John Paul turned to Markman. “Scott, can we step outside for a second?” “Sure.” Markman gently rubbed his bandaged hand and opened the
front door for John Paul, then followed him out. He turned and for the first time saw anger in John Paul’s expression. “Scott, I’ve told you repeatedly not to confront Palermo or Moriana. You agreed not to. Now you’ve not only pursued them, you chased one of them onto a 12-story rooftop, and leaped onto a dangerous scaffold during the pursuit. I have told you over and over to leave these individuals to others. You have agreed to every time. Why did you break our agreement and go after Palermo.” “I was going to leave it to you guys. I was, really. I was just going to follow him from a distance. I knew Cassiopia would call you to come. I thought someone needed to keep him in sight.”
John Paul’s tone remained angry. “I only sent you there because the police had reported the crime scene secured, and I had your word you would not engage those individuals. So why did you break your promise and go out on that roof? I told you these individuals would chew you up and spit you out. Why didn’t you listen?” “Well when he grabbed the kid, I couldn’t bear to just let him get away with that. Somebody had to stay with the kid. We couldn’t just give him up.” “You understand you were almost as good as dead, don’t you? We’ve already reviewed all of this on our satellite monitors. The winds on that roof were gusting to forty miles an hour. The building’s work crew was down in a break room waiting for it to let up. The wind was above the limit of
the crane and way above the limit of the scaffolding. Hell, the scaffolding was only rated for 15 miles per hour. That’s why the scaffolding rope snapped. It could have just as easily been your side of the scaffolding that dropped out. You were just damn lucky. Same with the kid. That was the windward side of the building. There was a tremendous updraft. A vortex formed just at the right moment. That is the only reason he was pushed back onto the rooftop. It was a miracle no matter how you look at it. Maybe if you hadn’t been there, maybe if you hadn’t pushed so hard, Palermo would have let that kid go. Maybe the only reason he dropped him over the side was because of you, to show you some tragedy—one of his favorite things.” “John Paul, you think that guy
would have shown the kid mercy? That’s not what he said to me. He said dropping the kid over the side was like fun to him. He was going to kill that kid either way.” John Paul hesitated and collected himself. “Scott, we are dealing with an imminent invasion of Earth by creatures only you and Cassiopia have had direct experience with. You are still the only person that can go into that sensesuit computer as a legitimate player and citizen of Aurora. If Palermo had succeeded in killing you, think of what that would have meant. Besides losing you, it would affect Cassiopia beyond measure, and her father, as well. I will tell you this once more. Do not go after Moriana. He has powers you don’t know about. He‘s not of this Earth. He is evil. He will chew you up
and spit you out before you even know it’s happening. Do you understand?” “Still everything worked out, right? Palermo is gone…dead.” “No! Palermo is not dead.” “But I saw him fall twelve stories. I saw him hit the pavement. Nobody could survive that!” John Paul sighed and bowed his head. He looked up with irritation. “No body could survive that, true. But when that body hit the pavement, Palermo was not in it. Did you see anything else as he fell? Anything unusual?” Markman thought back to those frightening moments. “Yeah, I did. There was like a green gas that came out of him halfway down.” John Paul nodded. “That was the real Palermo. Palermo’s not his real name. Palermo was the name of the
man who fell. Fallen angels look for completely corrupt men. Those men can be taken over, their bodies used as surrogates. The creature possessing Palermo’s body left that body during the fall and drifted away looking for the next best place to take refuge. They are most vulnerable out in the light of day. He was intercepted by our agents and taken prisoner. He is in custody and is no longer a threat.” “What?”
“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. There are things going on here you don’t understand yet. You have a basic spiritual knowledge from your training in Tibet, but you have never applied it to this level of spirituality in real life. You have got to listen to what I say or you and the rest of us will get burned. If
you ever break an agreement like this again, I will make you wish you hadn’t. Do you understand?” “Yep.”
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