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spoke to them came in the guise of ordinary human beings: nurses, delivery men, clerks, or everyday people walking along the street, all of whom had some special message or gift of healing for the person undergoing the encounter.
    Angels apparently came in all shapes and sizes. It was Angela’s task to categorize as many of these encounters as possible. She herself was an agnostic, but Gith paid her well, so she was more than happy to immerse herself in the research.
    And it beat the hell out of dating geeks.
    Whittington Manor
    Long Island, New York
     
    Charles had been tied by two acolytes to his desk chair. Several other acolytes were now searching the mansion rooms above them. Reynard paced back and forth and stared without emotion at the scientist. Charles could see that his face was scarred from severe burns, and the corner of his mouth was turned up in a perpetual sneer.
    “Explain what we are looking at on the computer screen,” Reynard ordered.
    A few hours earlier, Charles had made a promise to the voice in the empty hallway. He was not to cooperate with men who might suddenly appear at his residence. He didn’t realize when the warning was issued, however, that the men would be intruders and use high-tech electronics to disable the manor’s sophisticated security system. The priest and his cohorts had slipped in through a little-used delivery door while Charles had been getting his dart gun.
    Charles remained silent. A promise was a promise.
    “I find you vexing, Professor Whittington,” declared Reynard.
    Brother Antonius administered a stinging slap across Charles’ face. The Professor’s red cheek burned from the physical insult.
    Reynard sat at one of Charles’ computers. Brother Gerasimus had hacked into Charles’ email account with little effort and retrieved the TrumpetingPlace file. Reynard scrolled through the document, which was comprised of photographs.
    “I’m looking at wings,” said the priest. “That much I know. What fascinates me is that some of the pictures look almost . . . bleached out. I can barely see the skeletal outline. Others clearly show the articulated structure of a wing, but the bones themselves are black against a white background.”
    Gerasimus faced Reynard. “I think I know what we’re looking at, my master.”
    Reynard waved his hand in an impatient gesture, indicating that the acolyte should say what was on his mind.
    “This is very similar to the phenomenon of the Shroud of Turin. The features of Christ evident on the Shroud are only seen clearly in photographic negatives. The same appears to apply to the photographs of the Archangel Michael.”
    “Why is this the case?” Reynard asked.
    Gerasimus tilted his head as he responded. “Many scientists who have studied the Shroud believe that such a phenomenon could only be caused by an incredible burst of light that emanated from the body of the man beneath the Shroud.
    Reynard now understood. Believers in the authenticity of the Shroud claimed that a pulse of light from the body of Christ occurred at the moment of His resurrection. Obviously, Michael had given off a similar burst of light, though the precise circumstances that had accompanied such a luminous event were unknown. These light emissions apparently affected nearby objects and their photographic sensitivity.
    Reynard shot Charles a sarcastic smile. “I don’t suppose you would like to shed some light on this matter, Professor, if you’ll excuse the pun. When did the Archangel emit such a bright pulse of light?  These pictures were sent to you by Archbishop Connolly for a reason. Don’t feign ignorance. There may be hell to pay. And again, excuse the pun.”
    Charles remained silent. Someone was standing behind him. Suddenly, small bolts of lightning seared his vision. Sharp pain shot through his head. He had been beaten with a blunt instrument.
    Charles Whittington blacked out.
    The Armory
    Aboard the Alamiranta
     
    Of all special ops used by