Chapter 334: Archangel Michael's Second Appearance; Washington, DC

Sunday, April 15 to Monday, April 16, 2007

The meeting to discuss Archangel Michael's next appearance started in my bedroom, one of the reasons for locating it there being that it was one of the Faraday cage rooms and we had that function activated. All of us attended except the pointedly excluded Donna. Ava was included because Ava is fully included in everything these days, effectively being part of what I refer to as "my families". Her trustworthiness has resulted in her knowing as many of my secrets as Julia and Carol do. Even one more, during the few weeks before the angel's first appearance.

To give you an idea of what my bedroom is like, it has a living room area at one end with enough seats for all of my families, without anyone having to sit on the bed. Silly really, although the prospect of accommodating that many pretty girls did appeal to me.

The first thing I said was, "Before we start, I've got something to show you in my Secret Study that has relevance to our discussion. You should see it first."

These days Julia was instantly agreeing to my every suggestion, but Mom wasn't feeling contrite, so she asked me, "Can't you just tell us?"

"I could, but your seeing it will have more impact. Besides, we need to practice using the slides."

^

[The Army had given us various emergency drills to practice, but we'd barely started on those. So far we were way too slow getting to safety. We were improving though, and learning useful lessons:

• Our male guards learned that the best job during a drill was to be holding the stopwatch outside The Kids' Panic Room.

• The Kids learned that the slides didn't 'slide' well when the users were naked, the stickiness of human skin acting as a very effective brake.

The second problem was fixed by replacing the smooth base of the slide out of our bedroom with thousands of small rollers (they had to be small, close-fitting rollers, or important parts of our anatomies might've been injured or plucked.

Paul Olsen, our Head of Security, won't let us delay to put clothes or robes on before we're all inside the panic room with the door shut behind us, so the first 'problem' was fixed for my girls by getting the stopwatch recording done by one of our two female guards.

My modesty wasn't an issue because I apparently sleep dressed in a bulky set of pajamas. I don't really, but we had to lie about that because I need to hide Archangel Michael's body. The etiquette for these drills is that there's no etiquette. When the siren sounds, we've been told to leap down the slides and run for the panic rooms as fast as we individually can. The males have been told not to be chivalrous gentlemen who pause to let the females go first. Dad will help one-legged Prof get from the bottom of the Williams' slide to the adults' panic room because that can shave a few seconds off the total time, but Paul insists that my pausing to help my girls would only increase the total time. Fortunately, I'm easily the fastest member of my household, especially because I'm normally awake when the siren sounds. That gives me time to get dressed in my pajamas, hold my cock discreetly between my legs with NP, and get down the slide before the last of my girls. No doubt our security staff think I'm crazy for wearing long pajamas when I sleep with naked girls, but their thinking that is preferable to their thinking that I'm Archangel Michael.]

^

I opened my bedroom's "cat flap", as we called the flaps to our emergency slides, even though they're FAR, FAR stronger and more secure than an ordinary cat flap, as it's essential that even well-equipped baddies be delayed long enough for all of us to get to safety inside a panic room. I held it open while everyone slid down, Dad first so he could assist with the others' landings.

I led them to the Kids' Panic Room, my bedroom's nearness to this being the other reason the meeting had started where it had. I opened the door (it uses a fingerprint scanner to unlock the door quickly, which we can deactivate once we're all inside. I usually open it from the inside as I approach, as that's even quicker). I ushered them into the first of the two rooms inside the panic room, using NP to unlock the other side of the door into my Secret Study, suggesting, "Prof, you lead the way into my study please."

Prof wasn't any good at leading the way, because he opened the door then froze on the spot, immediately understanding the implications of what he was seeing.

Vanessa looked over Prof's shoulder (which wasn't hard to do), exclaiming, "Gosh!" That got Prof moving again. Soon everyone was entering the room and admiring the nine columns of four portrait-oriented screens. It looked very impressive, even though 24" screens aren't nearly as intimidating as 30" ones.

Prof asked, "Does this mean what I think it means?"

I answered, "Pretty much, I can read a number of sources in the high-20s or low-30s now. Rather than my old rate of three degrees per year, now I can complete the studying for about twelve degrees, although doing them formally isn't practical because there'd be about fifteen courses completed per week, so forty five hours of exams per week. With lab work, group work, and other reasons I'd have to go to OSU, I'd have to spend nearly every daylight minute struggling to keep up with the my nighttime studying rate. Not to mention that twelve degrees in one year seems WAY too freaky for the rest of the world to react well to." (I could practically do more like twenty five or thirty degrees worth per year, or forty five if I really pushed it, but I didn't want to explain the reason for that increase. See if you can guess how? I'll give you the answer in a few hundred pages.)

^-- "If I become Mark again, I'll formally enroll in only three degrees per year, but I'll read the online notes for every course in them, even though many of the courses are electives. Reading the surplus optional courses is what I'm doing at night now. Plus I'll read courses from whatever other degrees interest me..."

Vanessa interrupted, "I hope you've got broad interests, because at fifteen courses per week, it isn't going to take long for you to cover a significant proportion of OSU's total offerings."

Prof was shaking his head, saying, "I can't possibly imagine how you could do this. I could vaguely understand how someone MIGHT be able to read two or even three screens at once. Eight was REALLY stretching my ability to accept as possible, but 30-odd isn't conceivable under any circumstances. No one could even make out the print on that many screens at once, let alone comprehend them individually."

"I can't read them with my flesh-and-blood eyes, but I can with the other way I've got. I had this system installed on Friday and I spent last night studying on it, so I can tell you with certainty that it works very nicely for me. Let me show you what it's like in use."

I used NP to wiggle the mouse, waking up all the screens at the point that I'd left them before breakfast. I moved my overwatch sight blob into position, expanding it to the same size as the display area, and started studying. I've long since got past the point where I need a mind to be on Inactive Duty to study. Remaining centered is unconscious second nature to me now; so much so that even the concentration and thought required to study doesn't make me lose center. I wouldn't want to guarantee that some highly exciting emergency wouldn't uncenter me, but it's pretty unlikely. As a result, I can study on thirty two screens at the same time, although I'd closed three of the windows before the meeting started, to disguise the geometric progression.

[One of the other things I don't have to consciously keep practicing because I can now do it automatically, is strengthening my ki by 5% per month through constantly projecting it. I no longer have to have a mind dedicated to practicing that. I'm still doing it, and whenever I'm near Prof, I usually practice projecting ki by radiating it into him. He had asked me to. Prof is very conscious of the damage done to his body by being nearly dehydrated to death. He has frequent medical checkups and keeps me informed of how he's doing; which is pretty good, but he's getting on in years so he could do better. Vanessa also gets me to help her heal when she is feeling sore somewhere. Mom and Dad know about it, but they don't really appreciate how useful it is, although I do project ki into them if they make a comment about pulling a muscle or the like. There's no sensation from incoming ki, so they don't know.]

I said, "I wanted you all to see this so you can see how much Mark would be capable of achieving. Ron could read the same material of course, but he can't do anything public with that knowledge, which severely limits his life."

While I was carefully studying, Vanessa commented, "Your eyes aren't shut?" I've never explained the full functionality of sight blobs to the parents; not even the name.

"No. I don't need to shut them to use my special vision any longer. During the day I have my special vision looking behind me as an extra safety precaution. It's literally impossible for anyone to creep up on me. I've got a few little capabilities that I've never explained to you in detail, but which allowed the angel to uncover the law enforcement types on the platform."

^-- "If you've seen enough, shall we go back upstairs to restart our meeting?"

They agreed. I used a sight blob to check that my bedroom was empty, then floated everyone up the emergency slide. In a real emergency I could use that to help get everyone into a panic room faster, and especially to slow the attackers down, but we'd still practice the way the Army told us to, and now how our own Head of Security tells us.

Back in my room, we started discussing whether the angel should reappear. My studying demonstration had shown everyone that Mark could achieve a great deal more educationally than they'd previously thought, and that I also had greater defensive abilities than they'd known about; both of which argued in favor of proceeding with the angel plan.

The purpose of the angel's next appearance was to extend the suggestion that he resurrect someone, and to invite the public to suggest who. There'd be no mention of Mark Anderson or anything else specific to my families, so the only risk from the next appearance was in what could happen to me during my exposure, or my saying something that gave myself away. We could minimize those by doing the next appearance outside of LA, giving no prior notice, keeping it short, and leaving quickly.

Because the risk was small and brief, and because the prospect of having Mark back was even more attractive than before, the families agreed with me that the next appearance was worth doing. We wouldn't make any decisions about activities beyond that yet.

We needed to create a pretext for my having to prove my divinity, and the one we came up with was to have the angel snatch the Director of the FBI - Robert Swan Mueller III (with a name like that, he was almost asking for trouble) - carry him to a hastily called press conference, where I'd ask him about the prosecutions of criminals identified by Majestic Countdown's leaked emails. I wouldn't be satisfied by whatever answers he gave, which would lead to an apparently spur-of-the-moment decision by God that I should resurrect someone to prove myself.

I already knew he had an office in the FBI headquarters in DC, near the White House. I'd discovered that fact during one of Majestic Countdown's several snooping visits around DC. I'd fly there tonight to check the situation out, and hopefully do the deed sometime on Monday, if I got the chance.

I had a little preparation to make. It was quite likely that investigators could turn up in a few weeks asking questions about Ron's movements and we didn't want my absences to coincide with the angel's appearances. My families could say I was at home all Monday, April 16, helping to unpack after the move, but that could come unstuck if any of the gardeners had unsuccessfully come looking for me that day.

So I went looking for the Head Gardener, telling him, "I've been reassigned off gardening duties for the next couple of days. I've been demoted to Julia's household slave, to help her set up our home's furniture. Already I've changed the living room into six different layouts, so it's going to be a nightmare. Let's discuss the gardening plan for the next few days so I won't get interrupted by queries from your staff. Julia wouldn't appreciate me being called away at what she'd doubtless consider a critical moment." I was sure Julia wouldn't mind my using her for an excuse, if I tell her about it very carefully.

He laughed in sympathy with my pained expression, and I spent fifteen minutes with him, delegating all my current landscaping jobs.

^

As soon as it was dark enough, I flew off to retrieve my A-man costume, putting it on and then my black traveling clothes on top. I set a course for Washington DC.

I descended halfway to do some research on Robert Swan Mueller III, especially to find a photo of him. It only took a couple of minutes to find a house with an unattended computer, and even less time to find Mueller's photo. That accomplished, I resumed my journey.

I knew which was the FBI head office, and where the Big Man's office was. I was reasonably sure it'd been Mueller's name I'd seen on paperwork in it, but I hadn't made a special effort to remember it so I wasn't positive. Once I carefully got near the building, it only took a few seconds to confirm that I'd remembered correctly. As expected, he wasn't in his office late on a Sunday night. There was also no indication whether he was in town or away. No appointment book open on his desk, for example, so I'd have to wait and see.

The 'high-rise' buildings in DC are all about the same low height, none more than thirteen stories high, a surprising situation considering the towering egos here. I appreciated their being so much lower than my 500-foot maximum range because that would make it conveniently easy for me to sit on top of a building and watch the cars arriving. I located the garage entrance the Director's car would use and found a suitable waiting spot, in a cranny a couple of rooftops away, out of direct line of sight of the FBI building just to play safe.

I moved a few miles away, looking for a building roof that was a suitable gathering point for the press. After finding that, I flew out of town to find a suitable second location for when I moved the press conference.

The top of the roof I'd be waiting on was white, so I went in search of a house that had a small, white sheet in its linen closet, which I stole by sliding it out the narrow opening in their bathroom window.

I flew to the nearest point of the east coast, flew a little offshore, then moved around until I found a place where the geography lined up nicely to enable me to find this spot again and the water was about twenty feet deep. I put a box around myself and descended to the bottom. I removed my dark clothes, put them in the watertight plastic bag I'd brought with me, then placed them under a rock on the seabed.

Taking the sheet with me, I ascended then flew back to the rooftop of the building opposite the FBI's garage entrance. I flew standing upright, to minimize the chance of my silver-colored suit being seen.

I descended rapidly onto my target location, then lay flat on it, along the corner of an air conditioner protrusion, using NP to hold the sheet taut over me. Any helicopters flying above during daylight would have to look extremely carefully to tell that the small diagonal corner at the base of the protrusion was unusual.

I used one sight blob to toggle back and forth to cover the two directions the Director could come in, using the other sight blob to snoop with, to pass the time entertainingly. I just did low impact snooping; nothing that would leave much trace of my presence. There were enough people working in the FBI and other nearby buildings that what I mostly did was read over their shoulders.

Occasionally one of the Fibbies would leave their desk, giving me a chance to do a quick search. "Angel Michael" found me a file titled, "Michael, Archangel". I thought that'd make for interesting reading, although it had to be in short bursts, depending how long it took people to get coffee, or get rid of it, depending on what part of that cycle they were on. The file turned out to be dryly worded versions of much the same material that'd been repeated on TV many times. With no other sources of information, I guess that was inevitable.

There was one exception though, the file contained a large section analyzing my speech. I had used different rhythms and accents (I've gotten good at mimicry), and especially once the cameras were rolling, I'd tried to avoid some of my usual expressions, humor styles, etc. My mixed English and American heritage muddied the waters quite a lot, especially because I hadn't picked up a lot of the normal vernacular kids use because I was a loner for several years, but there were still too many comments in the file that struck uncomfortably close to home. They were buried among other comments that were wide of the mark/Mark, but I definitely had to be more careful. The file several times mentioned the need for a larger sample of my speech, so I'd make sure I'd try to keep those short in the future.

One thing that did please me was that the file confirmed my previous guess that the physical way I talked was more important than the words I used. The file had many pages of tonal analysis, and comments that it would be very easy to compare the angel's tones to the recordings of any suspects to find a match (the FBI was VERY eager to find the owner of the body I had borrowed). Because I'd reshaped my throat, mouth and nose, the sounds I produced as Ron, Archangel Michael and Mark would all be different and wouldn't match tonally.

There was a link to "Majestic Countdown", that file containing far more, and FAR more detailed, information. Ever since Maj's first appearance, the FBI had been hot on his non-existent trail. There was a great deal of dead-end information (e.g., biographies of the people who worked in each of the buildings I'd used, attempts to find common threads between them, etc.), and I was pleased to find no references to telekinesis being used to access computers.

There were several references to collecting videotapes from the surrounding area and using them to spot any common people. That was worrisome because I'd done quite a lot of walking around. I was almost positive they'd be unable to ID me from those photos as I'd always made sure I was fully covered. But what might happen is that next time I wandered around, they might vector cops to me because I matched the height, gait and dress of the commonly recurring person. I resolved to do a great deal less walking around the outsides of my snooping locations in the future, and to change my gait when I did.

The favored theory seemed to be some sort of RAM-based virus, which deleted itself after I used it. There was a great deal of technical analysis on how that could be possible, and several technicians were busy searching for traces of it in computers I'd already used, or computers I hadn't yet used but were owned by outfits that fit the profile of those I'd snooped. There'd been several programs written by the FBI's software guys to monitor their own computers for anything like that. They'd be ineffectually running on the computer I was using now.

Then I found a VERY interesting section on trapping me. There were half a dozen bait computers spread among likely offices in DC. If anyone touched a single key on one of them, The areas would be immediately sealed by high-strength security doors, while an alarm screamed to bring half the Fibbies in DC charging for me. There were also several more computers that were in areas that didn't suit fitting security doors, so were just wired to activate silent alarms if anyone touched a key. All these computers were full of files about governmental corruption. All false, but designed to be interesting and be time-consuming reading.

I wondered what to do about my new knowledge. My first reaction was to want to zip around town setting every one of them off. On second thought, with a second mind, maybe I should just set one of them off as that might bring the Director to his office, which meant I might get home before daybreak. It was very tempting, but when I worked out the timing it was too tight. Most likely I wouldn't get all the way home in time, which wouldn't help at all.

The first option appealed to my ego, which meant I should be doubly cautious about doing it. The Fibbies would wonder how I knew about all the locations, which would lead them back to my snooping in their own files. It'd probably be best that they not know I could do that, because I'd almost certainly want to do it again.

It was boringly disappointing, but I ended up deciding to set none of them off. I just memorized their locations to make sure I didn't do so by mistake in the future. Doing so wouldn't cause any direct harm, as I'd be sitting on top of the building at the time so safe from capture; but it'd eliminate one of their theories about my methodology, which I'd rather not be eliminated. The more wrong theories they had, the less chance there was of them eventually arriving at the highly implausible but accurate theory.

I resumed my reading, leading me to another little discovery. The Government's email server had been reprogrammed to reroute any emails containing "Majestic" and "Countdown" to an office where they'd be checked by a human. If okay, they'd be allowed to proceed to their original destination; if not okay, they'd be permanently blocked or changed before being forwarded to their intended recipient(s). Apparently the FBI didn't want news of government corruption getting publicly released.

The reprogramming was three months old, so I knew my emails would get through if they originated from a non-governmental location (the last couple of months of leaks had come from law firms), but it looked like they certainly wouldn't have gotten through if they'd come out of a Government office. I could get around it easily by misspelling my name. Then I'd have to check this file again to see what the Fibbies were doing next.

Majestic Countdown had been low key for the last few months. The scandals were taking so long to be resolved that I was releasing new ones only every month or so, plus finding good quality dirt had become VERY difficult. I wasn't going to do any leaking while the Angel Plan was in progress, so the Fibbies' efforts wouldn't matter for a while. Perhaps for a very long while, because one of the consequences of the Angel Plan working would be that the angel had to stop appearing in public, because my body had to change to become Mark's. And it should stop making its presence felt even by arranging leaks, otherwise people would keep chasing Mark to ask him to get the angel to resurrect their loved ones. People chasing Mark would be a pain in the ass and potentially dangerous, so it'd be best if the angel said it had to leave Earth and then it disappear entirely, thus there could be no more Majestic Countdown leaks. Juggling my four personas - Mark, Ron, Archangel Michael and Majestic Countdown - is a tricky business.

I went back to my reading, finding lots of details about stuff that didn't much matter, plus a few reminders of things I should be careful of if Majestic Countdown stays in business, presumably because the resurrection doesn't go ahead. For example, there was a geographic analysis of my leak locations, using them to predict where I might appear next, as the necessary first step in creating some sort of trap. I patted myself on the back for using random number generators.

At the end of the file there was an update section discussing the situation now that Majestic Countdown was apparently an angel, or whatever the claimed angel really was. A previously very dry and technically oriented file lurched into cuckoo-land. It was amusing and wouldn't be useful to anyone. VERY pleasingly, there was nothing about the Anderson family.

The highlight of the rest of the morning was seeing an early starting secretary spit into a pot of coffee she was making for her yet-to-arrive boss. Otherwise I just got an education about what people in the buildings around me did, when they weren't spitting.

At 8:30am, I spotted Robert Swan Mueller III in a car heading toward the garage entrance. In the front were a driver and a bodyguard (I presumed), with Mueller putting paperwork into his briefcase in the backseat.

I sent a sight blob under the hood, then created NP-fingertips to disconnect the spark plugs. The car's engine died and it rolled to a stop about fifty yards short of the garage entrance, and not much farther to the building's front door.

The driver spent a few seconds trying to restart the car, which was ample time for me to use a nearby building's computer to compose an invitational email to the major news networks. I held a fingertip over the "Send" button, waiting to see that my snatch was going to work.

The car having proved itself to be as dead as a dodo, Mueller and his escort got out to walk the remaining distance. It was trivially easy to give the bodyguard a push away from Mueller, while I grabbed Mueller and accelerated him upward.

I hit the "Send" button, inviting the networks to send a reporter and/or cameraman to record a conversation between Archangel Michael and the Director of the FBI on top of a nearby convention center. I added, "The conversation will start in five minutes. We won't wait for you. Any crews containing a law enforcement ringer will be thrown over the side, as last time, but with a concrete landing." If there were ringers, I would toss them over the side, but I'd brake their fall so they only got injured rather than plummeted to their deaths.

I removed the briefcase from Mueller's hand, flying it rapidly down to place it beside the upset bodyguard. He had his gun drawn and was eagerly looking upward for someone to shoot, but the only person above him was his rapidly receding boss.

I stood, bundled the sheet tightly within a squashing NP-box to take with me as I didn't want to leave any evidence lying around. I launched myself skyward. Mueller had more vertical velocity than me, but I eased his acceleration and increased my own, and we were soon in formation a couple of thousand feet up. Getting two different accelerating objects into formation is mathematically quite tricky, but I'd had so much experience flying things around now that I did it intuitively. I formed a box around us and let go my NP-grabs on his body.

He didn't take any time to recover, filling the instant quiet with an immediate demand, "What do you want?"

"We're going to have a talk in front of some press soon..."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then you can make your own way back to the ground from here and I'll extend the same invitation to the new Director a week from now. Don't ask stupid questions; you have no power and all I'm doing is requiring a couple hours of your cooperation. You can keep your gun provided you don't try to touch it, and I'll let you call your office shortly. I have very little tolerance for people who insist on being idiots, so behave like you're in the presence of your superior. Got it?"

"Yes."

I canceled the floor he was standing on, reforming it two feet lower. He was still recovering from the shock of his unexpected fall, when I suggested, "Try your answer again."

"Yes, SIR!"

"Watch the attitude, Mueller."

I kept him standing two feet below my level while I flew the distorted box we were standing in toward the convention center.

After thirty seconds of silence, he asked, "WHAT are you?"

I canceled his floor again, recreating it four feet below him. We were flying horizontally and not under any acceleration, but he still hurt himself when he landed. I imagine it's damned hard to land gracefully when you fall by surprise and you've got no idea where the invisible floor is. I was being harsh with him because I wanted him have at least a halfway decent attitude before we got in front of the cameras.

When he finished his profanity, I said, "When I first picked you up, you should've said, 'It's an honor to meet you, sir. How can I be of service?' If you keep falling short of that attitude, you're going to keep falling distances that double each time. I'll leave it to you to determine what gives way first, your ego or the bones in your legs. In answer to your impolite question, I'm an archangel. One of God's many 2ICs. Don't you watch TV?"

Much more intelligently, Mueller answered, "Yes sir, but you also said there had to be some doubt."

I could use this topic to plant a seed for later, by saying, "I've always said that I'm an angel, so when you asked me what I was, you were always going to get that answer. God wishes living entities to have freewill, which means flexibility over whether or not they believe my answer. That you've got freewill doesn't change the truth or my answer, only how much effort I put into convincing you.