Malice of the Devil Read online

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Read on for a preivew of THE KILLER ANGEL

  Malice of the Devil

  Copyright © 2018 by Mike Conklin All rights reserved.

  First Edition: August 2018

  [email protected]

  Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  “To my parents”

  The human race, after by the malice of the devil, it had departed from God, the Creator and Giver of heavenly gifts, divided itself into two different and opposing parties, one of which assiduously combats for truth and virtue, the other for those things which are opposed to virtue and truth.

  — Pope Leo XIII,

  from the Humanus Genus: 1884

  Chapter 1

  September 1

  RAF Chicksands, UK

  A radio transmission intercept icon snapped on.

  The message continued to blink in the small dark room throughout the night until it was logged during a routine check by a bored air force NCO. The sergeant dutifully noted the time and date of the transmission: September 01, 2046, and the transmission source: Portland, Oregon. Because there was no effort to mask the transmission, it was easily located and intercepted. The sergeant downloaded the transmission to take to his Flight Commander, who would then send it to Ft. Meade in Maryland to be decoded.

  Sergeant Sells, dressed in the usual sloppy manner of most Air Force support services, took a sip of his coffee and pulled the drive from the computer. Like clockwork for the previous four years, always on October 13, a brief message had been intercepted. This time, coming in out of sequence on September 1, peaked Sells’ curiosity. Not only was this message out of sequence, but this time the intercept appeared to contain a message.

  Sells opened the file that would give him information on what had been intercepted, and as he looked at the report he unconsciously read the numbers out loud to himself, “Hummm… one three oh seven.”

  As a screen came up with the data Lt. Sue Gratkowski, the duty Flight Commander, a young Second Lieutenant making her rounds, stepped into the room, “What’d we get?”

  The NCO was a bit startled by the unexpected noise and jumped slightly, then exhaled and clenched his eyes in frustration for a second before turning to acknowledge his commander. Even after six months he was still trying to get used to his lieutenant’s popping up at any moment, and though he was sometimes irritated by her diligence, he and most of her flight liked her. He smiled at her, turned back to the screen, then took a sip of his coffee, “You know L T, one of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack. You gotta remember, I’m an old man.”

  Lt. Gratkowski smiled back and nodded slightly in feigned amusement, “All right, gramps, I’ll try to remember that. So, what’ve we got?”

  Sgt. Sells studied the screen for a moment then took another sip of his coffee, “I don’t know, it looks like a straight line retrans off a satellite. We get a message through here once a year. But, always in October. In fact, I almost didn’t come down here tonight.”

  Sue stepped in closer. “I wonder why they don’t use the Internet. Seems like cyber-space would be a lot easier, and a lot more secure.”

  “Ummmm, maybe they didn’t think anyone listened to radio waves anymore.”

  Sue pursed her lips in thought as she studied the screen then bit one of her nails loud enough for Sgt. Sells to hear. “Maybe, so what’s it say?”

  “Just four digits – one, three, zero, seven.”

  “Well, guess we won’t get much out of that. Can you tell where it originated?”

  Sells ran his finger down the screen until he came to a line of tiny print he needed to answer the question, “Yeah… These always come out of Oregon. But, I guess the guys at Ft. Meade’ll have to get the exact location.”

  Sue studied the screen but was too far away to read the tiny print. She looked at her Sergeant then punched him on the arm. “And?”

  Sells smiled at the effect his delay was having on his boss but acted surprised that he hadn’t given her all the information she needed. Suddenly, he became serious. “This is odd, Looks like something’s up. It looks like we might have a reply. At least a transmission on the same freq. Looks like it’s coming out of… looks like Majorca.”

  Sue looked back at the screen as if an answer she couldn’t immediately see was written there, “Majorca? Who the hell’s in Majorca?”

  “I don’t know. But, we’ve never intercepted a reply before. Something’s up… We should pass this up to Meade and tag it.”

  Sue looked at the drive and unconsciously began to click the nail of her thumb on her lower teeth. “Really? You really think so?”

  Sells turned down the sides of his mouth as he shrugged slightly. “Well, I’ve been here for four years, and since I’ve been here we have gotten one message a year from that source. Always on October thirteenth. It’s always been zeros, and there has never been a reply. Now we have a message out of its standard time – a real message this time, and it’s gotten a reply.”

  Sue became a bit excited as she thought about what Sells’ was saying. She had only recently been commissioned into the air force, and now on her first assignment as a young second lieutenant they have a reportable event. She was apprehensive and excited that she may be becoming involved in some sort of a real intelligence operation. “Well, let’s call it in.”

  Sells grimaced. He was almost his boss’ exact opposite. He was close to retirement, often complained that he was too old for any new excitement and wasn’t thrilled about being at the tip of the spear for a developing operation. “Call it in? You mean forward it and tag it for attention… Right? Nobody calls a report in.”

  Sue was insistent, “No, this might be big. We should call it in.”

  Sells shook his head almost despairing. But, went with her to call it up.

  They made the call indicating that the message had a FLASH priority. Giving the message a FL
ASH priority required that the message be given immediate attention.

  The next morning Sue was tense and disappointed that they hadn’t gotten a response from Ft. Meade. Her shift was about to end, and she didn’t want to leave before hearing something about the report they had sent up. So, she sent a FLASH request for an acknowledgment that the message had been received.

  Almost immediately after sending the message she hunted down Sells, “I sent a request for an acknowledgment to the report we called in last night. Now look at this.”

  She handed Sells a note that she got back from Meade within moments of requesting the acknowledgment.

  Sells took the note and read it. “Re: Message Intercept 9-1-46. Message Received: Disregard.” Sells shrugged, “that’s odd, but okay. We disregard, and we go home. Shift over.”

  Sue looked at Sells with frustration and determination, “What do you mean? That’s not all.”

  “Oh God. The plot thickens.”

  Sue continued without stopping for a breath. “So, I sent a second note indicating what you told me last night – about how different this message was…”

  Sells’ face became strained. “Please tell me you didn’t”

  “Of course I did.”

  “And?”

  “And, I got a call back. Somebody at CIA told me to drop it.”

  “CIA?” That caught Sells’ attention. “Why would CIA be involved? This is NSA business. And, why are they in it so quick? That is very interesting. But, still, it’s out of our hands. Interesting, but none of our business. We’re soldiers, and we need to be good soldiers and do what we’re told.”

  Sue rolled her eyes, “Half a league, half a league, and all that. Right?”

  “Maybe, but it’s what we’re paid to do.”

  Sells could see Sue’s mind beginning to work. He could see that she was beginning to get excited at the prospect that the news she had given him might be significant. So, he knew he had to be careful about what he said. He didn’t want to get her too motivated and get her wanting to continue to push for action on the message.

  Sue watched him think for a moment, then tried to prompt him. “Do you think we should call NSA directly and tell them about the call?”

  Sells shook his head. “LT, let me make a couple of calls to some people I used to work with at the Agency. Let’s keep this quiet for a bit – at least until I hear back from them.”

  Sue sighed and grudgingly agreed to give him a little time to run down some of his contacts. She wasn’t happy about it, but Sgt. Sells’ paternal manner calmed her down and helped put her in a more patient frame of mind.

  Sells went back to his desk and sat down. He studied the phone and wondered whether it would be safe to use a government phone to call about the messages to Sue if the CIA was already involved. But, after a moment of decision-making he began making the call.

  The line rang twice then picked up, but with no visual on the screen, just the number he had called, the date/time group, and a chronometer clicking off the seconds that the line was engaged.

  A voice exuding indifference picked up on the other end, “Andrew.”

  Sells began to second-guess the wisdom of his call but went on despite his self-doubt. “Andy, this is Bob Sells… How are you doing?”

  After Bob identified himself Andrew Aubrey lit up his screen causing his image to pop up on Bob’s phone. “Well I’ll be goddamned. Bob, you old fuck. What are you up to? You in Mexico with some twelve-year-old hooker and a twenty-year-old whiskey… or, is it the other way around? I forget with you.”

  Bob Smiled. He and Aubrey had worked together and had become good, but distant, friends’ years before while he was with Special Operations in Latin America in any one of a number of small bush wars. Back then Aubrey was in the army, although anyone looking at him never would have been able to tell. In those days he wore his hair long, sported a Fu Manchu mustache, and was almost never in uniform.

  Bob smiled as he reflected back on the freewheeling days that were so long ago. “Andy, unless this call is a big mistake, Mexico is where I will be in about two months.”

  Aubrey leaned back away from the phone, obviously settling in for what might be a thought provoking call. “Hmmm… Okay, what’s up.”

  Bob took a deep breath, pausing for a second before he started. “I want to run something past you.” He then went on to tell Aubrey about the message, and about the call from someone at CIA.

  Aubrey listened. Occasionally taking a sip from a cup of coffee spiced scotch. He thought what Bob was telling him was interesting, but not particularly important. However, Bob was a friend, and he knew he wouldn’t have called if he didn’t think it was significant. “Bob, I don’t know anything about it. But, I’ll tell you what. I’m heading out for a few weeks… Something I can’t put off. But, I’ll put one of my people on it and get back to you with what I find out. You say the originating transmissions come out of Portland, Oregon?”

  “This one was out of Portland. But, they are always out of Oregon.”

  Aubrey thought for a moment. “Okay, let me do some checking, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Aubrey hung up, took a sip of his coffee, and called his new guy, or as Aubrey called him, his FNG — fucking new guy — into his office. “Fly, you got my travel papers ready?”

  Walt ‘Fly’ Ventor walked into Aubrey’s office carrying the orders he was working on. “Yeah, got em right here boss.”

  “Great.” Aubrey paused a second, crossed his arms across his chest, and began to rub his lips with the index finger of his right hand. “I want you to look into something for me. Keep it low key. I just got off the phone with a friend of mine in SigInt (Signals Intelligence). Apparently, they intercepted a transmission sent out of Portland, Oregon. Someone at Langley told them to drop any investigation into it. Just look into it, see who gave the cease and desist order, and dig up what you can on the transmission. Here’s a little background.” Aubrey handed Fly some brief scribbles on a notepad that he had taken when he was on the phone with Sells.

  Fly took the note, read it. “Boss, this doesn’t have anything to do with that Bishop out in Oregon you asked me to read up on, does it?”

  Aubrey perked up and looked up at Fly. “Huh… Could be. What have you got on him?”

  “Here’s the file. His history, some notes on his background, military records…”

  “Military records?”

  “Yeah. Chaplain. Saw some action, though.”

  “Really?” Aubrey flipped through the file. “Did pretty well for himself… How about this, now he’s the head of the UCC in the northwest – and they say a military background doesn’t help.” He flipped through a couple of more pages. “But, what connection would he have to anyone in Majorca?” Aubrey continued to flip though the file, pausing every couple of pages to almost absently review some notes made to the file. “Hmmm… and now he’s interested in a Biblical end of the world. Well, they may not be connected… But, let’s put this in the same file. And look at any references to October 13 in the Bible… Revelations.”

  “Revelations?”

  “Yeah, put em both in the same file with the work I’ve been doing on the cryonics experiments going on out in Oregon.”

  “You got it boss. You think they’re connected?”

  Aubrey shook his head as if thinking about exactly what Fly was asking him. “I don’t know. But, it sure is curious.”

  Chapter 2

  October 6

  Eugene, OR

  “Ladies, gentlemen. If you would, Doctor Keinnig is next on the agenda. I’d like to remind everyone that the research he is about to discuss is classified. So, any discussion of it stays in this room. That also means not discussing it with husbands, wives, lovers, or whatever, that are not a part of the board and present now. That being said; Doctor Keinnig.”

 
Dr. Thomas Keinnig stepped to the podium and placed a dark blue file he carried carefully and methodically on it. The folder was thin; containing only a few sheets of paper and was tied closed with a piece of red ribbon giving the document an official air. The cover of the file was stamped OLYMPIC in bright red letters which stood out brilliantly against the blue background, an effect Dr. Keinnig purposely planned.

  “Thank you, Doctor Thompson, I believe you’ve all had a chance to look at the file.” Dr. Keinnig paused for a second as he looked around the room to make sure everyone was paying attention.

  Dr. Keinnig was head of a sensitive resuscitation project being conducted at the University’s Martin Biological Research Department. He knew the information he was about to release to the Investigative Review Board would be significant in that resuscitation research was in its infancy and had yet to be considered a real success; and was illegal.

  As Dr. Keinnig paused, his confidence and self-assurance was immediately evident, expressed by an unflinching gaze as he looked out over the group. “Gentlemen, ladies, the rationale for much of the basic research done at this university is the belief that understanding the nature of disease at the molecular level will lead to the development of definitive cures, or the medical magic bullet. Many of us have spent our lives searching for the magic bullet of the twenty-first century. Unfortunately, I don’t have a magic bullet to offer, but I may be able to provide increased survivability for your subjects during the course of that search.”

  “I’ve had the distinction of heading a team of doctors on a project codenamed OLYMPIC. A project ostensibly designed to discover the effects of freezing on human bodies in which life functions have terminated by other than natural means. The research has been classified under article 8 of the University’s Studies and Research Charter and has been funded through the Biomedical Research Department. However, OLYMPIC is also a cover project for PHOENIX. A project involving historians, research psychiatrists, and members of my medical staff. A project designed to revive humans who had succumbed to an affliction that was at one time considered fatal.”