Free Bones of Angels by Christopher Forrest Page A

narrow corridor lit only by a weak sixty-watt bulb. The cinderblock walls were dark green.
    A female emerged from a doorway fifteen yards ahead. It was Angela Marshall. She held a small metal box in her upraised right hand.
    “Don’t move,” she told her two visitors. “If you do, I’ll immobilize you with a high-energy particle beam and then call the police.”
    “I’m Quiz. This is Michael Hawke, also known as Hawkeye.”
    Angela lowered her right arm.
    “Quiz?  As in David Denton?”
    “Yeah. That would be me.”
    “Come inside,” said Angela. “Quickly.”
    Hawkeye and Quiz entered the room from which Angela had emerged. The sign on the door read
    ARTIFACT ROOM 4
     
    GITH INSTITUTE
     

Chapter 14
     
    Ops Center
    Aboard the Alamiranta
     
    “They’ve disappeared!” said a worried DJ.
    All heads in the Ops Center turned towards the holographic display.
    The two red dots representing Hawkeye and Quiz had reached the bottom of the manor and then evaoprated.
    “Were they affected by the electromagnetic pulse?” asked Caine.
    “Negative,” replied Touchdown. “What I sent could have made their skin tingle a bit, or maybe feel itchy, but nothing more.”
    “I’ve got a schematic of Whittington Manor,” said DJ, who had rolled her chair to an adjacent station. “It’s on Quiz’s computer. There are several basements and sub-basements below the manor.”
    “The interference is gone,” reported Touchdown. “I don’t see any kind of shielding below the mansion, however. I should be able to read them.”
    “Boost your signal,” ordered Caine.
    Whittington Manor, Sub-basement #2
    Long Island, New York
     
    “We’re here to help,” said Hawkeye. “A mad priest is running amok around the manor. He’s looking for — ”
    “The bones of St. Michael the Archangel,” Angela interrupted. “My employer, Charles Whittington, is fascinated by the subject of angels. He and Archbishop Connolly of New York are especially interested in locating what are believed to be the bones of Michael.”
    “Connolly is dead,” said Hawkeye.
    Angela’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God. He was such a kind old man. And very sick.”
    “Are you my uncle’s part-time curator?” asked Quiz. He was taken aback by the grad student’s beautiful features and trim body.
    “Forgive my manners,” she said, extending her hand to Quiz, then Hawkeye. “Angela Marshall. I’m an anthropology student, and I seem to be spending more and more time here with each passing week. What’s going on upstairs?  A soldier passed by here a little while ago.”
    “Was he wearing a gray robe?” asked Hawkeye.
    Angela frowned. “Robe?  No. Kahki outfit. He was holding an old-fashioned carbine and speaking Italian. I was going for a cup of coffee and ducked back in here. He didn’t seem to notice me, and God knows this place gets some strange visitors. I came back in and locked the door until I heard a basement alarm indicate that somebody was entering the sub-basement via the secret chute. This place is crawling with strange portals and passageways.”
    “We’ve noticed,” remarked Hawkeye. “By the way, what is the Gith Institute?”
    Angela laughed. “If you rearrange the letters of Winton T. Gith, you get the name Whittington. It’s a pseudonym of the Professor’s. He’s a philanthropist who likes to maintain a low profile. He doesn’t do charity balls and dinners. He says it detracts from his work.”
    Static crackled in Hawkeye’s helmet.
    “ . . . eye?  Repeat. Are you there, Hawkeye?”
    “I read you, Touchdown. We’re safe. We’re in an artifact room below the manor with Charles’ assistant.”
    “Roger that,” said Touchdown. “Reynard and his acolytes have left the mansion. I read only three energy signatures, and they’re all in your location.”
    “That means they’ve taken my uncle,” stated Quiz. “Or killed him.”
    “Where was his last known location?” asked Hawkeye.
    “I believe he was