"While Angels Watch"

All rights reserved by Denlinger's Publishers, including the right to reproduce this electronic book, or portions thereof, in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

While Angels Watch is her second suspense novel published by Denlinger's and the first volume of her angel trilogy. The second trilogy volume, Genesis Contingency, will soon be available through Denlinger's and she is currently completing the third angel volume.

Shelle resides in the Heartland with her husband of twenty-three years and spends her leisure time gardening and painting and listening to R&B.

The story opens with a gathering of humanoid angel creatures who are watching a captured American satellite broadcast regarding rancher Hiram Steiner’s discovery of the buried remains of one of their own near the fictional community of Harrison, Oklahoma, located in the middle of the fundamentalist Bible Belt, where rumors of cattle mutilations and satanic cults once flourished.

Sheriff Wylie Wilkins, a close friend of Steiner, calls for BegiGen Foundation archeologists Hank and Marta McCrae to excavate the site of the uncovered remains. A media circus swoops down, and a deadly dispute arises between religious, scientific and government entities. Unexplained accidents, miraculous rescues and supernatural events haunt the community, and those who have had contact with the remains are being systematically eliminated.

The story line examines the result of mankind allowing one illogical belief system to conquer the world, culture by culture, declaring all other belief systems as demonic in nature and forcibly eradicating them. It weaves together metaphysical concepts, angel folklore, alien abduction accounts, and Hopi Indian legends.

While Angels Watch is the first volume of a trilogy.

Wednesday, September 15, 1999 - 11:32 P.M. Sheltered in a futuristic sanctuary located somewhere beneath the Atlantic ocean, the humanoid creatures were gathered around the video monitor, intently viewing the latest captured broadcast from an American network satellite. The remains of one of their own, Gabriella, had just been discovered. She had disappeared during a scouting mission nearly two centuries ago.

"Just moments ago," the broadcaster said, "we received confirmation that a rancher in Harrison County, Oklahoma, has uncovered the decayed remains of a creature that appears to be part human and part bird." The broadcaster paused and stared into the camera to emphasize the significance of the bizarre discovery.

"While many experts are crying fowl, suggesting an elaborate hoax, others predict that angels will no longer be considered spiritual entities, and instead be proven to be a missing link in the evolution of man, or, perhaps, beings from another world.

"The current leader of the Christian Confederation has voiced a stern warning, declaring that Christians must band together and fight the demon-driven powers that seek to make a mockery of God's word through shrewd trickery.

"During the 1970s, Harrison County was a reported site of numerous incidents of livestock mutilation. Though the cause of these incidents was never determined, theories ran the gamut from alien abduction and experimentation to satanic cult rituals."

"Very interesting," Gustav said. Though usually a jovial creature, he now appeared deeply disturbed by the words of the broadcaster. He vigorously rubbed his aging chin.

"What?" Josef said.

"These primitives believe they have come so far, that they are so technically advanced. Yet nothing has really changed, has it?" The revered elder walked away from the video monitor to ponder on the current broadcast, on what steps would have to be taken.

"What do you mean?"

"Their belief systems are still driven by superstitions conjured up thousands of years ago. You'd think science would have prevailed over folklore by now."

"Yes, it is very puzzling," Josef said, agreeing with his friend and mentor. "The same natural phenomenon will be judged as a divine revelation by some and a demonic work of evil by others. Why do you think they continue to view similar events in such differing ways, especially when science often offers a logical explanation?"

"It seems the development of their social skills hasn't kept pace with that of their intellectual abilities. These primitives are too easily swayed by charismatic sociopaths who are eager to lead their followers down the destructive path of ignorance. Ignorance is tyranny's best friend."

"That it is," Josef said, nodding in agreement.

"They've developed no unity," Gustav said. "Thousands of years have gone by and no common goal has ever evolved amongst them. They'd rather be at war with one another over petty differences in a belief system that has no factual basis."

"What can we do? We're running out of time."

Gustav stared into space, pondering what their next move would be. His people had waited so long for the right moment to arrive, for an opportunity to avail itself where the wrongs of their past could be righted, so that their existence could be secured into the next world, as was intended by their ancestors.

"Josef," he said, "you and Mari take a shuttle to Harrison, Oklahoma. You can observe the situation and keep us apprised of any significant developments."

"What about Gabriella? Shouldn't we bring her remains back for a proper burial?"

"No, not yet. Let's see what events unfold with the primitives. Perhaps the proverbial door will open, and we'll finally be able to put our plan into motion."

Josef nodded in agreement. "We'll leave at dawn," he said, and turned to exit the chamber.

"Josef," Gustav said, calling after him, "reconnaissance flights have indicated the presence of the ancient ones in the Midwestern United States. You must take care not to interfere."

Harrison, Oklahoma

He pushed the silvery-brown locks of hair off his forehead, and yawned and stretched back as far as his bucket seat would allow. This was a lonely stretch of highway, and there was never much to look at but a sprinkling of sagebrush that dotted the treeless fields from here to there.

This was a road with few distractions, a road meant for deep thought, for mentally sorting through life's day-to-day challenges, and maybe even for contemplating one's fate. Brother Bob, as his congregation fondly nicknamed him over two decades ago, had traveled this road almost every Thursday night for the last three years.

At first it started as a brief escape from the exhaustive demands of his life as pastor, advisor, and mediator. He would drive into the big city and disappear into the crowds for a few hours to enjoy the secular pleasures of the general public.

He would often treat himself to a nice dinner, usually Mexican or Chinese fare, and then head to one of the many mall theaters to enjoy the week's newest blockbuster release. Admittedly, many members of his congregation would think some of these new releases a little too risqué, if not downright sinful, for their beloved pastor to be watching. So he'd never discussed his outings with anyone, not even his devoted wife of thirty-four years, Doris. Bob had always told her he was attending a weekly ministerial association meeting, and all these years she had never let on that she had any doubts about his whereabouts.

He wasn't sure when or just why things had changed, but he had begun to seek out movies of a completely different nature, movies that were shown in dark, musty old theaters and usually rated triple-X. Perhaps it was because he was approaching his mid-fifties and now recognized his own impending mortality. He had begun to crave a little zing in his life, a little of the old zip he had always taken for granted.

His still-shapely and attractive wife had long since lost her own urge, or sense of obligation, for regular sexual intercourse. Bob had tried quoting scripture to her and encouraging her to pray about her lack of desire to fulfill her wifely duties, but it hadn't seemed to faze her a bit. Instead she would laugh that gentle, musical laugh that had made him fall desperately in love with her so many years ago, and proceed to remind him they weren't teenagers anymore.

He had rationalized his moral right to visit the corrupted section of the business district by telling himself he needed this adrenaline rush to renew his spirits and support his continued ability to minister to the never-ending needs of his congregation. Occasionally as he exited the rundown old theater, he would try to soothe his ailing conscience by offering kind words of hope and other religious renderings to the many prostitutes who strutted their wares up and down the littered street.

There came a fateful evening, six months ago, that would forever change his outlook on life, if not doom him to the very fires of hell...

Thursday, September 16, 1999 - 3:15 A.M. - Albuquerque, New Mexico: The ring of the telephone broke the early morning silence as Hank reached from beneath the covers and haphazardly slapped the bedside table in an attempt to shut off the alarm, sending papers and trinkets flying to the floor.

"Honey...the telephone...answer the telephone," his wife, Marta, said as she turned over and pulled the gray quilted coverlet over her head.

"Hel-hello," he said.

"Hank, this is Jackson. You are NOT going to believe this."

"It's three in the morning, for crissake!"

"And I've booked you on the 4:45 a.m. flight. You've barely got time to pack."

"No way, Jackson. You promised me a month at home with Marta, and I'm holding you to it."

"Look, I'm tired, too," Jackson said, "but nothing is keeping me away from this find. People like us, we dig and scrape in the dirt our whole lives and never get an opportunity like this."

Hank took a deep breath and sighed. "Okay, spill it. What's got you all stirred up at this hour of the morning?"

"You've heard of Tulsa, Oklahoma, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"The foundation just called about a find in Harrison, Oklahoma, a small community located just east of Tulsa. Seems some farmer was digging a trench yesterday, for a landfill or something, and dug into something that looked like human remains," Jackson said.

"Human remains? You call me at three in the morning to tell me a farmer dug into the bones of some outlaw, probably shot and buried for horse thievery." Hank reached back and stacked the plump, ivory satin pillows to prop himself up.

"Not hardly. This farmer, name of Steiner -- he was thinking the same thing. Called the local sheriff's department, asked them to send their people out to finish digging up the evidence. Guess what they found?" Jackson said, pausing for emphasis. "Seems this humanoid thing had a huge pair of wings that had grown right out of his back."

"No way! I'd bet those wings are a failed experimental flying apparatus that some idiot strapped on," Hank said. "That's probably what killed him."

Marta crawled out from under the covers and sat up, looking curiously at Hank.

"'Fraid not. The medical examiner confirmed that the bone structure of the wings appears to be connected into the skeletal system of the humanoid remains."

"You'd better not be yanking me around."

"I promise. This is no joke. The foundation has already put the legal department in charge of leasing the land surrounding the site. As we speak, your excavation equipment is headed down the road, along with your wife's portable lab. Marta's flight is scheduled at 9:20 a.m., after we've confirmed the validity of the find. I'll be waiting for you at Tulsa International," Jackson said.

Hank heard the receiver slam down on the other end and then silence. He lay back staring towards the ceiling rafters, not knowing what to think. The phrase "missing link" was about to take on a whole new meaning. His thoughts were drawn to memories, early in his career, of the panels of exquisitely carved rock art he and his associates had studied in a Utah canyon. The art had depicted large humanoid creatures, some with birds for heads and decorated with expansive wings, others with glowing halos floating above their humanoid faces. These had only been pictorial accounts of ancient Indian mythology, he thought -- or had they?

Washington, D.C.

In a secret office buried beneath the political structures of the city, the uniformed members of a covert committee gathered stoically around the massive conference table.

"Gentlemen, our agents in the field have activated the Level Seven Escape and Recovery. The situation should be contained within the next seventy-two hours," General Atwater said.

It was not supposed to happen this way, he thought. They had promised there would never be any evidence, not until the time was right. Thank heavens for the covert relationships the committee had established with news rags like the National Scandal. It was getting harder and harder to keep the public in the dark.

The Atlantic Ocean

The moon glistened across the calm, gray waters as the first hints of the approaching dawn emitted colorful rays ever so lightly across the vast horizon. A circular turbulence began to build as marine life escaped rapidly in all directions.

A spinning object burst forth from the water and hovered briefly, sending gentle ripples across the calm waters, then vanished abruptly into the twilight.

Tulsa, Oklahoma

Sally was taking her first sip of coffee when the phone rang. "Hello," she said.

"Sal, this is Alex. Friend called from the sheriff's department and said there was one heck of a story waiting for us, just this side of Tulsa at the Steiner ranch. Since you live in the city, thought it'd be quicker to have you check it out on the way in."

"You have directions to this place?" Sally grabbed a pencil and notebook off the kitchen counter.

"Yeah," he said, and told her the directions. "The deputy will be waiting for you there at precisely seven a.m. His name is Johnson. He'll show you the way to the ranch, and make sure you get some good pictures," Alex said.

"Okay," Sally said. "Just what will I be taking pictures of?"

Alex hesitated to answer, chuckling softly before finally speaking. "Seems this rancher uncovered the remains of what looks like a human with wings."

"You are joking, right?"

"I'll let you tell me if this is a hoax or not. What do you bet the National Scandal is already out there?"

"This assignment ought to be short and sweet. Catch you later. Angels," she mumbled as she quickly replaced the receiver….

….O'Rourke slowly approached the curve and observed the fresh streaks of rubber leading towards the canyon. He pulled over on the shoulder and parked, then exited his vehicle, trying to look as calm and professional as possible to passing motorists.

He walked over to the edge of the ravine and looked down. "Damn," he quietly said. Why hadn't her car hit that tree? he wondered angrily. There would have been an explosion, fire, and destruction of evidence.

O'Rourke walked down towards the vehicle, noticing the driver-side door was standing open. He immediately began to scan the landscape from side to side, looking for Sally.

Soon, he saw her lying unconscious in the grass. There was no movement, no sound coming from her, as he quietly and cautiously approached her. He reached down and felt the side of her neck for a pulse. It was strong and steady.

He stood up and carefully surveyed the horizon, looking for any sign of motorists. There was none. It was just him and Sally, for now.

O'Rourke quickly assessed his options and made a firm decision. He'd break her neck in one quick movement and leave her body lying in a twisted state, retrieve the film from her car, and be on his way. Doctors would think her neck had snapped on impact.

He thought he heard a whirring noise above him, but looked up and saw nothing. Kneeling back down, he reached to lift her head.

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light blinded him, and the most putrid odor invaded his nostrils. He fell backwards into the oblivion of forced unconsciousness as he felt his body being tugged upwards.

A strong breeze swirled and sucked upwards through the branches of the trees surrounding the accident site, and then Sally lay alone and unconscious in the grass. O'Rourke's car remained parked by the side of the highway -- empty. In the far distance, the sound of approaching sirens could be heard….

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