The front of the lobby exploded outwards on to the street in an enormous, ballooning orange cloud as the bomb detonated. The forty or so people just inside the doors never even knew what happened as they were instantly reduced to fiery ashes. The entire glass façade with the ANGEL ADMINISTRATION AFFAIRS lettering burst outwards in the fire of the bomb, and the force of the inferno instantly pulverized those unfortunates still standing on the pavement. Light from the flames reflected off the millions of shards of glass as they shattered, falling like razor-sharp snowflakes, tinkling, along with whatever remained of the dead office workers, on to a row of burning parked cars. Flames from the cars licked angrily at the sky, roiling black smoke and fire up into the dark.
One woman, her face covered in dark soot and crimson blood, had been saved because she had been standing behind a car. She screamed in agony, her leg a mess of blood and bone. Another man rolled on the lawn, his flaming clothes melted to his body. Most of the others weren’t so lucky, the front pavement a scene of mayhem and carnage beyond what even the most terrorized imagination could envision.
Somewhere in the distance, a police siren began. Then another. The building alarm itself had been abruptly silenced by the blast.
The trees in front of the building rocked back and forth, their palms flaming and sizzling blood-red in the night.
CHAPTER 7
The offices of the NAS, where Maddy had been just yesterday, now transformed into a kind of command centre. Inside a small auditorium that also served as an enormous conference room, Archangels perched around a massive table, their faces gaunt from concern and lack of sleep. Many high-profile Guardians sat in seats in the circular auditorium, along with a number of human lawyers, who were seated just behind the main table. A number of chisel-jawed, black-suited Angel Disciplinary Council Agents stood discreetly at the exits of the auditorium, ensuring safety. Frantic assistants flitted in and out of the room. Phones rang constantly. Footage of the smouldering carnage that had been the front façade of the Angels Administration Affairs building a few blocks away played on the massive projection screen at the head of the room. Pillars of smoke swirled up from the glowing ashes of the wreckage on the screen.
A technician readied equipment for a video conference with Angel branch headquarters in Paris, London, Rio and Beijing.
In the far corner, Mark Godspeed looked contemplatively out of the tinted windows that formed a gleaming wall – a wall that looked down on to Beverly Boulevard from many stories up. Golden morning sun filtered through the thick glass. Behind Mark, the newscast scrolled the latest fatality count for the bombing: eighty-three and growing – all humans, but the attack had clearly been on the symbolic seat of Angel business.
Archangel Holyoake brought his fist down on the solid oak table with a thump, causing the half-drunk cups of coffee on the table to shake. Holyoake was a hulking figure, his bulk contained under a steely blue suit, powder blue shirt and silver tie.
“We have to come out strong. This bombing is a frontal assault, and we need to respond accordingly! We cannot be seen as weak!”
A female Archangel shot Holyoake a glance. “William, how many times do we have to go over this? We have no solid idea where this threat is coming from, or who it could even be. No one is claiming responsibility yet. Jumping to conclusions now would be foolish and would open us up to serious criticism further down the line.”
“We need to practise restraint,” Archangel Steeple agreed.
A deep voice erupted down the table. It was Archangel Charles Churchson, who stood up to address the assembled Angels. Mark turned his head slightly towards Churchson as he spoke, although he still maintained his gaze out of the shimmering window.
“Don’t play dumb. It must be Senator Linden and his people. It’s the logical next step for their organization, even if he is running a presidential campaign,” Churchson said gravely. “He’s campaigning on an anti-Angel platform, and some are starting to listen to his lies. The proposed ‘Immortals Bill’ would be the single most dangerous threat to Angels since the Great Awakening. He’s fuelling hatred, turning humanity against us. They’re making a power play, and they won’t stop until we’re totally rendered toothless, intimidated and weak. Some violent act like this was bound to happen. The question is, what will we do about it? Stand by and watch as they attack our prized institutions? Or something else.”
More than a few heads at the table were nodding in agreement with Churchson.
Mark Godspeed turned all the way around to the assembled Angels in the room and spoke. “Regardless of what’s decided here today, we must ensure safety and security for Angels across Angel City and the world. Whatever it takes.”
“Mark’s right,” Holyoake said. “And part of ensuring safety is ensuring that the investigation is done properly and that we bring the perpetrators to light. That’s why we must conduct the inquiry entirely. We can’t trust a human police force. With the growing influence of Linden and his agents of hate, we can be sure there will be moles in all the human agencies.”
Mark disagreed. “We do have friends within the police department. Perhaps we can use their resources, as well.”
“We cannot trust them. Full stop,” Archangel Churchson said. He turned to the bank of nondescript men sitting along the wall. “How has our closing out of the police been going?”
One of the lawyers responded. “The scene was sealed for Angels-only access shortly after ACPD arrived from the 911 call. The police complied.”
“Good,” Archangel Churchson said. He took a drink from his coffee mug and set it back on the table.
The glass doors to the conference room swung open. Jackson Godspeed stood there in a grey hoodie and dark blazer. A number of Angels turned to the door, surprised to see him.
“Jacks, what are you doing here?” Mark said. “I thought you were with your mother and sister.”
The world’s most famous Angel scanned the room, seeing Archangel Churchson’s nephew, Steven, along with a couple other Guardians from his Commissioning class last year. His cheeks burned hot with anger and embarrassment for a moment as he thought about how he hadn’t even been called for this most important of meetings. He addressed his stepfather.
“I’m a Guardian, aren’t I? Even if I can’t fly right now,” Jacks said. “I’ve sworn to uphold and protect the ideals of the NAS.”
A few of the Angels uncomfortably studied the table in front of them rather than match Jacks’s direct gaze.
Mark stood up from his chair and walked over to Jackson. He put what was meant to be a conciliatory hand on his shoulder.
“Jacks, you’ll be no good to us at all if you don’t get better,” Mark quietly said. “You need to focus on your recovery. Get your wings back.”
Jackson’s gaze floated past his stepfather and up to the devastation and disaster of the bombing playing on the screen. Fury and determination combined in his glinting blue eyes.
“No, Mark. I want to help. I need to help,” Jacks said emphatically. “I want to bring whatever monster did this to justice. I have to be useful somehow. Just doing anything. You’ve got to put me to work.”