"Got it." A sane person would have stopped there. After all, my college roommate had just admitted to murder. Instead, I added, "How many others did you expel after him, Rebeckah?"
"Two more, all in a matter of months."
"Huh." I'd asked the question mostly out of the old habit of leaving no hunch untried. "Do you think maybe they came across something on the LINK that changed them, infected them?"
"Like what?" Rebeckah's voice was curious.
"This is totally off-the-wall, but Daniel and I were working on a tech-theft case involving software that manipulates the brain's pain and pleasure centers. I've been thinking ... maybe whoever discovered those parts of the brain came across others, like: obsession ... lust ... maybe even the awe of seeing an angel."
"I don't understand," Rebeckah said. "What are you saying exactly?"
"I'm not sure yet, but I think there's a connection between the tech-theft case and the LINK-angels. Maybe the person who stole from the Jordan Institute is using the emotional aspect of the tech to cause the mass euphoria ... or the fear," I added, thinking of Phanuel, "that the angels' cause. Maybe this person can also heighten other emotions, like the ones that cause wire-addiction."
"How is that possible?"
"That's the part I'm not sure of yet. I'm just running on a hunch right now. And, I suspect the angels are a construct" – I smiled although I knew Rebeckah couldn't see it – "just like you always thought they were."
"So, you think my hackers ran afoul of the LINK-angels?"
"If they're not for real, it'd make sense that they'd target you," I said. "After all, that's part of what you do, isn't it? Debunk their magic?"
The truck rumbled to a stop. Unprepared, I slid into an invisible Malachim. The toolbox opened up seemingly on its own. Rebeckah said, "We'll talk more about your theory later. On the belt pack there's a sonar. It's approximately two fingers from the buckle on your left. You might want to turn it on; otherwise, you'll lose us when we enter the stadium."
I mumbled a thanks, feeling for the switch. A loud ping sounded in my ear when I found it. The helmet's visuals sprang to life, widening to a 360-degree view. At every ping, a ripple of light moved around me, illuminating the shadowy figures of the Malachim.
A queasy disorientation threatened to blur my vision, until I noticed the glowing crosshair moved as I moved my head, distinguishing "ahead" from "behind." Despite the focus point, I nearly stumbled when I took my first hesitant step. This was going to take some getting used to.
Rebeckah's voice startled me. "Raphael and Sharron will check in every half hour from a nearby hideout. If something goes wrong, they have instructions to abandon us, and we'll be forced to make our way back to headquarters on foot. If the FBI or anyone else has followed Daniel, it's likely they'll have sonar and infrared. Don't assume you're invisible standing in center field. Always have good cover. Copy?"
"We copy, Commander," the team leader said for the Malachim.
"I understand," I said.
As the truck pulled away, I stood before a partially crystallized Yankee Stadium. The next ping of my sonar showed the Malachim moving toward the service entrance. I followed them.
The Medusa-glass had drawn an uneven slash in the center of the stadium, dividing it almost perfectly in half.
In places, the deadly crystal escaped its bounds and seeped under the folds of the curtain facing that decorated the upper rim of the ballpark. Glass crackled in the mortar between stones.
I followed the Malachim around the stadium until we reached the section of the arena that remained mostly untouched by the Medusa bomb. Moving cautiously into the building, the Malachim set up guard posts at every entrance as though following a predetermined plan. I stumbled less gracefully behind, admiring their cohesiveness and trying not to destroy it.
My body still felt heavy from my adventures in mouse.net, and my brain struggled to make sense of the wide-angle view the helmet provided. Just when I felt I'd gotten used to aiming for the crosshairs, we encountered stairs. The Malachim moved easily up them and took positions on the landing. I stood motionless at the bottom of the concrete-block obstacle as my resolve wavered.
Seeing the stairs and the wall behind it, the floor and the ceiling simultaneously, my eyes didn't know where to focus. I flailed my hand out until I connected to the railing. Once my hand wrapped around the solidness of the rail, I felt my center of balance returning. I shut my eyes and made my awkward way up the stairs.
The Malachim waited patiently, but I felt like a rookie again – I was obviously slowing them down. When my shuffling feet encountered no resistance, I opened my eyes, sighing in relief. I'd reached the landing and looked out an opening that led into the ballpark's central space.
I stood in position. The blip of the sonar steadied as the last of the Malachim settled into their places. Through the mesh of the fence, I could see the remains of the field. Years of neglect had sprouted tall grasses and a flowering tangle of weeds. A frozen crescent of shorter bluegrass, frosted by the bomb blast, stood in testimony to the original glory of this place.
I sat on the bleacher and waited. The smog had cleared somewhat, and I could see a hazy moon. As a thin cloud floated by, I thought of the Sunday school image of Heaven's cotton-candy landscape. Angels, real angels, were nothing like those harp-strumming, navel-gazing, billowing-winged cliches. No wonder Michael was pissed at the propagation of the LINK-angels myth. I tried to imagine the Michael that I knew sporting a halo and strumming a golden harp. My mind refused to see him that way. Instead, all I could visualize were narrow stripes of sunlight across his bare chest. I remembered the brightness in his eyes like molten steel. There was a majesty about him, but it was nothing Sunday school had ever prepared me for.
I stretched my toes, anxiously watching for a sign of Daniel's approach. A sound at the gate broke my reverie. I sat up and strained against the darkness to see any sign of Daniel. The shadows confounded me. Though I wanted to shout, I kept my voice a soft whisper of hope: "Danny?"
Rebeckah's command crackled through the intercom. "Front gate, confirm."
"Bogey confirmed, Commander. One man in a trench coat headed to the bleachers."
"Track him, front gate. It could still be a ruse."
When I saw a form coming up the stairs, I stood up. He wore a trench coat, but, even in the pale moonlight, I could see the brilliant orange of prison trousers beneath.
"It's him," I said, as I made out the black buzz cut.
"I've got him on scope," Rebeckah said. "I'll track him from here, front gate. The rest of you, keep your eyes open for others. If it's feds, they could also be in armor, so keep your infrared and sonar on."
I touched the button on the inside of my sleeve. "I'm decloaking."
"Keep your com connected, Dee. If you remove the helmet, take the external wire that fits in your ear, all right?"
"Got it, Chief," I said, as the helmet came off. I tossed it on the bleacher. The holographic defense returned to blue-screen blue. As I tucked the com in my ear, I waited for Danny to notice me.
He was leaning over the edge of the fence, looking out at the wild weeds of the former ballpark. The coat hung loosely on him, making him look thinner. His hair was a close-cropped helmet, and the ears he normally kept hidden stuck out. Even from behind, the haircut made him look vulnerable.
Finally, he turned toward the bleachers where I stood, my arms out. His eyes widened as he took in the Israeli uniform; then, finding my face, he smiled.
"Hey, Danny boy," I said, my voice catching in my throat.
"Dee." He took the stairs two at a time, and nearly bowled me over as he wrapped me in a crushing bear hug.