Cherubim and Seraphim
A Captain
Scarlet and the Mysterons Multiverse Challenge Story
By Tiger Jackson
As instructed by
Captain Ochre, the medics who came to help Lieutenant Olive wore protective
clothing and breathing apparatus and had brought kit for him as well..
Instead of sending
for another agent to back him up, Captain Ochre chose to check Melody’s suite
alone. He was afraid of what he might
discover, but he wanted, he needed to know whether — He bit his lip.
He’d been attracted to Magnolia Jones for a long time. She hadn’t discouraged
his attentions. And lately, he’d begun to hope she was feeling something for
him, too. But he knew, for certain, that the other four Angels were dead; at
least three of them had been duplicated by the Mysterons. Melody — Magnolia —
was the only one unaccounted for. He radioed Captain Grey that he and
Lieutenant Olive had found Destiny Angel in her suite, dead, and that he was
going to check on Melody.
Captain Grey swore
under his breath as he listened to Captain Ochre. “S.I.G., Captain Ochre.” Grey
added that although Destiny presumably had a mysteronised counterpart, although
so far no one had reported seeing her since last night, and he hadn’t seen her
in the shattered room. “Destiny could be there, buried under the debris but we
can’t count on that. Melody was definitely seen entering the breakfast room
this morning. She’s unaccounted for now. Be careful.”
“S.I.G.”
A “Do Not Disturb”
sign hung from the doorknob of Melody’s suite. Captain Ochre used the passkey
to open the door. Just like with Destiny’s, he discovered the door’s deadbolts
had not been thrown. He stepped carefully into the foyer and looked ahead into
the living room. The curtains were drawn and it was dark. Remembering Captain
Grey’s warning, Ochre scanned the room for movement, his pistol at the ready.
After a few minutes, he decided that the sitting room was clear. He nudged open
the door to the bedroom; it was also dark inside. He waited and watched for a
while. Nothing moved. There was no sound. Cautiously, he entered. The room was
apparently clear. Captain Ochre reached for the curtains and pulled them open.
He turned around.
“Oh God, no.”
The warm light
flooded over the bed in which Melody slept her lasting, dreamless sleep. Ochre
knelt beside the bed and stroked her cheek gently. “Oh Mags. I didn’t get to
tell you I’m sorry about last night.” He tried to control himself but his voice
was husky with unshed tears. “I never got to say I love you.”
In each of the
other Angels’ suites, the investigators reported the same sad discovery. Each
woman had died, without apparent cause, in her sleep.
There were no
doubts and no hopes left. Captain Grey radioed Cloudbase. When he finished his
report, he waited for a response. The silence stretched for more than a minute.
“Cloudbase, are you receiving me?”
“Yes, Captain
Grey.” There was a heaviness in the Colonel’s voice that Grey had never heard
before. “Carry on with the investigation. We must presume that there are two
more Mysterons at large. Find them as soon as possible.”
“S.I.G.” Grey
signed off.
Lieutenant Green’s
jaw had dropped. He could not believe that all the Angels were dead. He had
overseen every suggested arrangement for their protection. They had reached
their destination safely. And yet they had been killed by the Mysterons. For
once, the Mysterons’ cryptic threat made less sense after the attack than it
had before.
“Lieutenant Green.”
The commander’s brisk, steady voice broke through the young man’s shock.
“Recall Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue from Moscow. They are to proceed to
Chicago immediately and rendezvous with Captains Ochre and Grey. How long will
it take them to arrive?”
Lieutenant Green
had worked alongside his commanding officer for several years now. He knew that
Colonel White would grieve for the Angels, but his duty to Spectrum would
always come first. Concentrating on his task, Green determined how long it
would take Spectrum Moscow to prepare an SPJ, then calculated the flight hours
and the time of day Captains Scarlet and Blue would arrive in Chicago. It was
good to keep busy.
***********************
It was almost
midnight in Moscow. So far, everything had been quiet but Captain Scarlet was
certain that would change very soon. Usually the Mysterons carried out an
attack within twenty-four hours but there had been exceptions. It appeared to
him that this would be one of them. Spectrum Moscow’s network of agents had
found Captain Black’s hideout but, unfortunately, missed the man himself and
recovered no weapons or clues as to how he would carry out the attack. Captain
Scarlet was double-checking the security arrangements at St Michael’s Cathedral
when his epaulets flashed green. As he listened to the message from Cloudbase,
his expression was grim. He acknowledged the new orders and radioed Captain
Blue.
“What’s up?” asked
Captain Blue.
“We’ve been
reassigned. To Chicago.”
Captain Blue caught
his breath, but when he spoke his voice was steady. “Then the Mysterons carried
out their threat.”
“Lieutenant Green
didn’t say.” He didn’t have to.
Neither man spoke
to the other beyond the necessary exchanges during the long flight. Each wanted
to keep his thoughts, hopes, and prayers private for as long as possible.
*********************
Captains Grey and
Ochre made reports to Cloudbase throughout the day.
The investigation
into the cause of the Angels’ deaths began with frustration. There was a lack
of overt clues, apart from the same curious maltreatment of the flower
arrangements that Lieutenant Olive had first noted in Destiny’s rooms. There
were no signs of a struggle anywhere. None of the Angels had ordered a meal
from room service or apparently consumed anything from the in-room mini bars.
They had each unpacked some of their personal things before changing into
nightclothes and going to sleep for the last time. Some of their luggage was
missing, including the special bags they carried their Spectrum flight suits
in, but the helmets had been left behind. The Mysteron replicants had been
wearing the uniforms; but where had they taken the bags and why?
The rooms were all
similarly decorated, right down to the disarranged flowers and their vases. The
furnishings were removed for testing in a Spectrum laboratory. Samples were taken of the water, the dust,
the air, the soap, everything. Spectrum’s scientists were grimly determined to
discover how the Angels had died.
Security guards
scoured the hotel, searching for signs of the remaining two known Mysterons.
They made no progress; no one had seen either of them since the early morning.
All day long, search-and-rescue teams combed the debris for survivors and
recovered bodies. Nearly one hundred people had attended the breakfast. Only
six were found alive.
The remains of the two unaccounted-for
Angels, Destiny and Melody, were found that afternoon in the debris. They had
apparently been blown to pieces by the bombs, as many others in the room had
been. There was little doubt that they, too, had been Mysterons, and that the
replicated Angels were the actors behind the catastrophe. When and how the real
Angels had been murdered and replaced remained a mystery.
The Angels’ missing
luggage had been discovered during the search. The room had been registered to
a Mr Black some three days before the conference had begun. A desk clerk
immediately identified the photograph of Captain Black as the man to whom she
had given the card-key. She was certain she had not seen him again. The
housekeeping staff reported that Mr Black’s room had been attended to daily but
appeared never to have been occupied before they discovered the pile of
suitcases and garment bags belonging to at least five people. On investigating,
Spectrum Security found a few blasting caps and bits of fuses scattered on the
room’s desk. Doubtless this was where the bombs had been prepared.
“So there was
a connection with Captain Black,” growled Captain Scarlet. “He was here before
the conference began. Then the Mysterons sent him to Moscow to lead us on a
wild goose chase.”
“It seems so,”
nodded Captain Ochre.
It was evening
before Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue arrived in Chicago. Captain Grey had
been anticipating their arrival with a measure of dread, which he had kept well
hidden. Captain Ochre had spent some time briefing them about the events of the
last two days and the discoveries that had been made up to that point. In the
morning, he continued, they would have some test results, as technicians would
be working through the night on the samples they had collected from the Angels’
suites. Until then, there wasn’t anything more they could do except plan to
continue the investigation based on what they learned from the lab reports.
The briefing
concluded, Captain Grey excused himself. Captain Blue made a move as if to
follow him, but settled back into his seat when Captain Ochre held up a hand
and shook his head. He waited until Grey was out of earshot.
“I know what you
want to talk to him about. Take it easy on him. He’s not saying much, but I
know he’s having a hard time.” Captains Blue and Scarlet both nodded.
When Grey returned,
he said, “I guess you have some questions for me?”
“Maybe we should
get some dinner first,” Ochre suggested, but Grey shook his head.
“No, thanks. I’d
rather get this over with.” He turned to Blue and Scarlet and waited.
Captain Scarlet
spoke first. “Just tell us what happened, Brad.”
He took a deep
breath and slowly recounted what had happened. He closed his eyes as he
described his encounter with the mysteronised Angels and their deaths at his
hands. “I was certain they weren’t human. They’d sustained too many injuries
and they were healing before my eyes.”
“But the way they
spoke to you before they died. Could they have been like . . . ?” Blue glanced
at Captain Scarlet.
Captain Grey’s face
was as ashen as his uniform. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I’ll be
wondering for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, Blue, Scarlet. I really am.”
There was an awkward silence before Grey spoke again. “I did what I thought I
had to.” His voice dropped. “But I don’t know if it was right.”
***************************
In the morning, the
technicians reported that the mystery of the vases had been resolved. Bits of plastic explosive had
been found at the bottom of each one taken from the Angels’ suites. Traces of
the same plastic explosive had been found in each of the handbags that the
Angels had been carrying when seen, unchallenged, on their odd nocturnal
wanderings. Presumably, the Mysterons had told the newly replicated Angels
where to find it. The investigators learned that the hotel owned the vases in
its rooms, but routinely sent them to the florists when special floral arrangements
were ordered. The old arrangements were discarded first by the housekeepers.
Because it was possible one or more of them had planted the explosive
materials, Spectrum checked all of the hotel’s staff members with the Mysteron
detector. Everyone passed. So the plastic explosive could only have been placed
inside the vases while they were at the florists.
The flowers were
easily traced. Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue obtained a Mysteron detector
and a Mysteron gun and immediately drove to the shop that had supplied them.
The astonished florist, Mr DiMarco, proved to be human.
“I bid for the
contract to supply the Driskill Hotel with all the flower arrangements and
welcoming bouquets for the entire Air Mach conference. But I didn’t prepare any
of the arrangements personally; the order was massive!” DiMarco explained.
Although the temperature in the shop was quite cool, he mopped his brow
nervously. There had been a terrorist attack right there in Chicago yesterday.
It was all over the news. The Spectrum agents hadn’t told him why they were
there, but the florist guessed that his flowers were somehow linked to it. “I
designed how the flowers should look and hired a bunch of temporary assistants
to do the actual arranging.”
Captain Scarlet
showed him a picture of Captain Black, but DiMarco shook his head. “I don’t
know him. I’m sure I’d remember a man that distinctive looking.”
“What can you tell
us about your assistants?” asked Captain Blue.
DiMarco scratched his
head and mopped at the sweat on his face again. If it got around that Spectrum
agents had been in his shop because of the tragedy, it could devastate his
business. “I asked each of them about their backgrounds when I hired them, but
immediately forgot most of it. I am an artist; I care more about the flowers
than the people. But all of them did magnificent work. I could look at a
picture of an arrangement and tell you who did them.”
Captain Scarlet
raised an eyebrow. “Do you have such pictures?”
“I make a picture
of every arrangement for my portfolio,” DiMarco said proudly. “Satisfied
customers often ask for similar arrangements to be sent to friends and business
contacts in other cities.”
“Are they labelled
generally with the customer’s name or more specifically?”
“Oh, specifically!”
Now that he was explaining his art, DiMarco felt more confident. “You see,
people have very strong feelings about what they like in a foyer, or a bedroom,
or a living room. I keep meticulous notes about precisely where the customer
intends to display the flowers I provide.”
“The arrangements
you sent to the Driskill Hotel. Are your notes thorough enough to identify
where each one was placed? Those for the VIPs at least?” Captain Scarlet kept
his tone even, though he was skeptical.
“Yes!” DiMarco’s
answer was unequivocal. “I gave special attention to the flowers for the most
important guests and designed each arrangement especially to fit the place it
was assigned to. Unless the hotel’s manager changed her mind and put them
elsewhere, I can show you exactly what they were like.”
Grimly, Captain
Blue produced a list of the suites the Angels had been assigned to. It took
DiMarco only a few minutes to find the pictures on his database.
“There they are!
Ten arrangements in all.”
“Do you remember
who worked on them?”
DiMarco toggled a
key. “I have the assistant’s name encoded beneath the picture. Ah! Steven! Yes,
him I remember! He was such an unusual applicant; he had plenty of experience
in flower arranging but he was a full-time graduate student in history. He said
that he was working on his dissertation and wanted the job because it was
relaxing to work with beautiful things.” DiMarco readily supplied the young
man’s name and address to Captains Scarlet and Blue.
Steven Morrissey
lived in a flat at the top of a private house. He wasn’t at home when the
Spectrum officers arrived. His landlady was shocked to learn that they wanted
to search his rooms; Steven was a quiet, studious young man, she told them. She
couldn’t believe he could possibly be connected with terrorism! But in the end,
she agreed to allow the Spectrum officers to search his rooms. She led them
upstairs, chattering constantly about what a pleasant tenant Steven was, no
trouble at all, unlocked the door, and stood aside to let them in. She remained
on the landing, watching.
The flat was
untidy, with partially filled glasses, empty dishes, and papers strewn about.
Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue looked at each other. The young man’s slovenly
habits apparently extended to every bit of his life.
Scarlet shrugged.
“We’d better get started.”
To their mutual
surprise, the search was a short one. While Scarlet began pulling boxes down
off the book shelves, Blue chose to begin with the desk drawers. He picked up a
shirt that was draped over the desktop and partially obscuring the drawers.
“Captain Scarlet!”
There on the desk,
in plain view, sat a white, clay-like lump. A sniff confirmed what both
captains suspected; it was plastic explosive.
“Funny thing to use
as a paperweight,” Blue commented. He read the page the lump had been sitting
on. It was covered with handwritten edits. “Looks like Mr Morrisey’s
dissertation has something to do with Italy.”
Scarlet had been
scanning the desk, noting the titles of the books stacked on it. Most were
about the Italian Renaissance but several were about poisons. All the books
bristled with bookmarks. Scarlet furrowed his brow. Why would a history student
have books on poison?
“I think we should
look at the rest of that paper,” Scarlet said. He looked around at the
scattered pages. “You start reading whatever you can find. I’ll try to pull it
up on the computer.” He booted the computer and began searching. He found the
dissertation files quickly enough but also discovered that they were password
protected. He was still working on breaking the password when Blue interrupted
him.
“Captain, I think
you should take a look at this.” He handed over some pages.
They appeared to be
the dissertation’s opening summary. Scarlet scanned the pages quickly at first,
then went back and read them over again, slowly. “My God,” he whispered. The
dissertation’s theme was a study of Italian Renaissance techniques and devices
for carrying out subtle assassinations, including the use of flowers to slowly
release fragrant poison vapours into a victim’s room.
Captain Scarlet and
Captain Blue looked at each other. The Mysterons had threatened the Angels with
“death in the air.” Scarlet radioed Ochre and told him what they’d discovered.
Using that as a
starting point, the hunt for an answer to the Mysterons’ riddle soon met with
success. The lab techs had already discovered that the air in each Angels’
suite was filled with a deadly airborne poison. Now they pinpointed the source:
the flowers in the arrangements that the hotel had ordered as welcoming gifts
for the Angels. They had been kept in cold storage until they were delivered.
As they warmed up, they had slowly released the sweet-smelling poison with
which they had been impregnated. Further tests on the air indicated that the
women must have died not long after they went to sleep that night and been
replicated by the Mysterons.
It was possible to reconstruct
what had followed. The Mysteron replicants had torn apart the flowers and
retrieved the plastic explosives. They would not have been immune to the
poison, which became more concentrated as time passed, so they couldn’t remain
in the Angels’ suites all night. Instead, they had taken what they needed of
the Angels’ luggage and met in the room engaged by Captain Black. There they
had constructed the bombs, hidden them in their handbags, then gone down to the
breakfast room and planted them. Then they had only had to return to Black’s
room and wait until morning.
Steven Morrissey,
the florist’s assistant, never returned to his job, his flat, or his school.
The young man’s body was found floating in Lake Michigan, almost a week after
Captains Scarlet and Blue tracked down and destroyed his Mysteron replacement
in the university’s library.
**********************
The families of the
Angels had agreed to a joint funeral on Cloudbase so that their friends and
colleagues would be able to attend and say their goodbyes. The chapel was too
small to hold everyone, so the service was to be held in the auditorium
instead. The Cloudbase chaplain, Father Ivory, gazed down from the podium on
the five identical white coffins, distinguished by magnificent sprays of flowers:
scarlet roses for Rhapsody, rare ice-blue roses for Symphony, yellow for
Melody, white for Harmony, pink for Destiny. Portraits of each woman stood
before the coffins. He remembered when, such a short time ago it seemed, the
five Angels had assembled on the stage and been formally presented as new
members of Spectrum. Perhaps it was fitting to say goodbye to them here as
well.
Before the joint
funeral began, the grieving families received condolences from the Angels’
many, many friends on Cloudbase.
Captain Ochre had
never met Melody’s family and had not planned to intrude on their grief apart
from offering his heartfelt condolences. He was more than a bit surprised when
Mrs Jones smiled at him. “Magnolia wrote about you often. She said she loved your
sense of humour. She said you made her happy.” She wiped her streaming eyes.
“I’m so glad to meet you and say thank you, Captain.”
“She was a
wonderful woman, Mrs Jones. My life won’t be the same without her.” He bit his
lip and ducked his head as he felt tears sting his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he
took a deep, calming breath before looking into Mrs Jones’ eyes again. She
reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder in a motherly fashion,
offering him the comfort he wanted to give her. As easily as if they had known
one another for years, Ochre and Melody’s family found themselves talking for a
long time about Melody’s life and, finally, her death. Captain Ochre
reluctantly admitted that he had been the one to find her body. His voice
thickened as he assured them that Melody had not suffered. “I’d hoped she was
only sleeping. She looked so peaceful.”
At that, Mrs Jones’
brave façade finally crumbled. “My beautiful baby girl is gone!” she cried.
Captain Ochre embraced the grieving mother, blinking hard to hold back his own
tears.
One of Melody’s
brothers, his face wet with tears, patted Ochre on the back. “Thank you,
Captain. I can see why my sister loved you.” For the first time, Ochre let his
tears fall unselfconsciously. When you’re among family, no one minds if you
cry.
Captain Blue talked
for a long time with Symphony’s parents. He’d visited them with his beloved
many times and gotten to know them well.
“We missed you in
February, when Karen came home to visit.” Mrs Wainwright’s voice was shaky and
her smile trembled.
“I’d hoped to go
with her, but I couldn’t get leave.”
Mrs Wainwright
nodded. “That’s what she said. That’s why I couldn’t understand why Karen
seemed a bit upset when she got your letter. I asked her what was wrong and she
refused to say anything. I said, ‘I’m your mother, let me help.’ I told her
talking about something can make it better.” Symphony’s mother shook her head
sadly at the memory. “I kept pushing. I shouldn’t have, but I was so worried
that something was wrong between you two. We, Karen’s father and I, sort of
expected you’d, you know, be our son-in-law eventually,” she said shyly. “Karen
and I ended up arguing. We both apologised, but I don’t know if she wasn’t
still a little mad at me when she left.” She looked at Captain Blue
beseechingly, asking for an answer he didn’t have.
“She wasn’t mad at
you,” he told her, hoping it was the truth. “We did talk about marriage. We
needed to keep it a secret for security reasons, and that’s why she wouldn’t talk
about the letter I sent.”
Karen’s father
looked tired and careworn. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders as she
began to cry softly. “I told you,” he said gently. “I told you everything was
okay.”
Embarrassed,
Captain Blue looked away to give Symphony’s parents a modicum of privacy. Not
far away, he saw Captain Scarlet speaking to Lord and Lady Simms. There were no
tears and no raised voices. They were all very decorous, but, Blue noticed,
they all seemed rather stiff, as if they were self-consciously holding up and
holding back.
When the
formalities began, the families were escorted to the front seats by Spectrum’s
senior captains. Father Ivory made a solemn invocation. Led by Colonel White,
many people came to the podium to talk about the women they’d known: friends,
sisters, daughters. The occasion was marked by both laughter and tears as
people shared their memories of the Angels.
Father Ivory
finally delivered the benediction, and the long day came to an end. With due
honours, the Angels’ coffins were carried onto an SPJ and their families
escorted aboard for the return to the surface. From there, individual jets
would take them to their final destinations.
After leaving the
hangar deck, Captain Grey found his knees turning to jelly. He slumped against
a bulkhead and rubbed his face with his hands.
**********************
It was difficult to
accept that the Angels were gone, more so for some than others.
But Spectrum had to
carry on and had done so, with difficulty. Many of the captains volunteered for
extra shifts as pilots, and other officers, who were not trained to fly,
offered to take on extra duties so the Interceptors could be kept manned by
those who were. The arrangements were less than ideal but it bought needed time
until better could be made.
Spectrum had relied
heavily on its elite pilots and had not been prepared for their loss; there
were no auxiliaries who could be brought up quickly. Before the War of Nerves
had begun, there had been plans to establish an Angel academy to parallel the
field agents’ academy at Koala Base and to station squadrons at Spectrum bases
worldwide. But President Pemberton had stymied those plans as unnecessary and
wasteful. So there were no reserves to call up to Cloudbase and take over the
Angels’ roles. None at all.
Colonel White did
not want to hastily replace the Angels, but he also needed an interim solution;
his officers could not be expected to continuing as substitutes for much
longer. After much argument and discussion, it had been decided that temporary
substitutes would be sought to serve on Cloudbase while Spectrum recruited and
trained new, permanent Angels to be stationed on Cloudbase and in auxiliary
squadrons at earthbound bases. This would assure that there would be reserves
to call up, and the present crisis would never be repeated. But the process of
finding temporary replacements had been a difficult one.
Colonel White had
received the personnel files for the temporary substitute pilots, but had not
yet found time to review their qualifications. He was, he admitted to himself,
reluctant to look at them. Very soon, he would have to.
They were arriving
today, to take up their duties.
Lieutenant Green turned
from the console. “The SPJ carrying the new pilots has landed, sir. They’re
requesting permission to come aboard Cloudbase.”
“Permission
granted. Tell them to come straight to the Control Room.”
“S.I.G., Colonel.”
* * * * *
Lieutenant Peach
watched from behind the thick glass while the Spectrum Passenger Jet was
lowered into the hangar bay. It had taken several minutes to pressurize the
deck. In another minute or so, she would meet the new pilots. Although she
still mourned the loss of the Angels, she was excited to be the first to greet
their temporary substitutes. They would have to be amazing women, Peach was
sure of that.
The SPJ’s door was
opening. The Lieutenant hurried out, then slowed as she took in the first sight
of the five new arrivals. What will the Colonel say? she thought.
Author’s Note:
Chris Bishop first suggested a
romantic attachment between Captain Ochre and Melody Angel in her Halloween
story, Master of the Night. Thank you, Chris,
for letting me play with that suggestion (again) for this story.
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