The Apocalypse Four: 93 Million Miles To Gotham Page 2

  Perhaps I should return, he thought to himself. This war can’t last much longer. Both sides have been ready for a truce. The secret chiefs have to be busy with it and that’s why they haven’t contacted me.

  He thought about the nights in the desert with Viktor. What had it achieved, all those workings? He’d crossed the abyss only to find himself in a worse place. The demon Chronzon was fully in control on the Western Front as it killed young men left and right. Or where his visions just the product of those Arabian herbs?

  Chapter 2

  Crowley turned to watch the tall man feed the pigeons. He could never understand why anyone wasted good food on those disgusting creatures. Didn’t he read somewhere they build their homes out of shit? He watched the man, surrounded by them, as he spread grain out on the ground. Soon the man, who was dressed in a fine coat, had a flock of pigeons around the park. They were inside a pigeon cloud.

  Why did this man look familiar?

  Finished, the tall man sat down on the bench next to Crowley. Was this some kind of pass? He still didn’t know all the routines they used in this town. The American coppers were notorious for what they would do when men were found together. He’d stuck to women whenever he had the money, as it was safer.

  Now he could see the man’s profile clearly. He was tall and sported a black mustache over his thin face. The hair was in the process of turning grey. It was the eyes that stunned him. The man had the most intense set of eyes Crowley had yet to see in Manhattan.

  “I’m going to miss this,” the man spoke to Crowley. “Miss all of it.” He had a strong accent Crowley couldn’t place.

  Miss what? Crowley thought. Was this another man who had to go back overseas to Russia? Was today the day for Russian exit?

  And then he remembered where he’d seen this face before, the New York Times. It was obvious to him.

  “What brings you to this park, Mr. Crowley?” the man asked him. “I would expect your spirit guides have already planned a way out for you.” There was no trace of irony in the voice.

  “The secret chiefs have been quiet as of late,” Crowley referred to him. “And, Mr. Tesla, what brings you to this park?”

  It had to be the great electrical inventor, Nikola Tesla. A few years ago, the papers were full of information about him. He hadn’t been profiled much recently, but Crowley remembered that face.

  “My pigeons,” he told him. Tesla turned his attention to the flock devouring the last of the grain he’d tossed. “I don’t think they could survive without me. It won’t matter much longer.” He sighed.

  “Are you leaving this fine city?” Crowley asked him. Perhaps his money was almost gone as well.

  “It’s all going to end soon,” Tesla spoke as he stood up from the bench. He swept his hand across the skyline. “All if it will be gone unless I find the right solution.”

  Now Crowley was intrigued. “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about, dear fellow,” he responded to Tesla. “There is no way the Germans could send Zeppelins over the sky of New York. At least not yet.”

  “I’m not talking about Germany. This city is about to be destroyed by a celestial object.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s on a direct collision course with Earth. The entire planet will be destroyed.”

  Crowley was speechless. Had the man gone daft? He wasn’t that much older than he was. Tesla was a respected electrical scientist. Although there wasn’t much about him in the popular press as of late, Crowley remembered when he was lauded all over the western world. Yet, there were some rumors; he tried to place them, that the man was unsound in his methods. Something to do with his fear of women and particular obsessions. Hadn't several of his projects came to naught after his investors became tired of a lack of results? Perhaps his genius had passed to madness.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t heard anything about this celestial catastrophe,” Crowley spoke. “Is there any mention of it in the newspapers?”

  “Celestial object,” Tesla corrected him. “It might be a comet, but I doubt it from the pattern it’s moving. Could be an asteroid or meteor. No, it’s not been reported in any paper of which I’m aware.”

  “Then how did you learn of it?” Crowley asked as he adjusted his hat. The wind picked up for some reason.

  “I’ve built a number of devices,” Tesla told him, “of which I’ve decided not to patent. Ever since Marconi stole my ideas for wireless messages, I’ve been reluctant to let them out to the general public. I learned of the object through using one of them.”

  “If you’re correct,” Crowley decided to humor the inventor. “We’re all doomed. In which case I don’t have to worry about my creditors. Too bad my dear mother never lived long enough to see the world end; she did so look forward to it.”

  “There is still a chance for our survival.”

  “God forgives our sins?” Crowley asked. Eventually, Tesla would catch on, so he needed to watch himself.

  “If God sent the object, it won’t make much of a difference what I do. However, I feel God is testing me to prove my latest device actually works.”

  How is this?”

  “I’ve built a generator more powerful than anything I’ve ever designed,” Tesla explained as he watched the pigeons fly away. “Now I must see if it’s capable of destroying the object before it collides with the earth. Like Nimrod of old, I am weighed on the scale and found wanting.”

  Crowley was about to correct his biblical reference but stopped himself. As he was forbidden to read anything other than the King James Bible until college, Crowley could quote it inside and out. Best to let the man continue on with his tirade and see where it went.

  “I understand how you feel,” Crowley tried to find a way to agree with the man. “I was tested many times in my life. When I was given the sacred book of the law by my Holy Guardian Angel, I put it aside for years and didn’t bother much with it. If you would like, I can have a copy sent to your address.”

  “There isn’t the time,” Tesla told him. “Good day to you, dear sir.” Crowley sat on the bench and watched as the tall form strolled away and out of the park. Minutes later, he disappeared around a corner.

  Crowley sat there in a state of disbelief. Tesla had bested him, something he didn’t take from any man. Crowley wanted to know more about the doom about to be visited on the world and why Tesla was certain of it. If the man had access to some kind of advanced machinery, he wanted to see it. All the years he’d spent talking about True Will, here was someone who’d found his own.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” the woman said next to Crowley. “He gets off on these proclamations and there isn’t much you can do about them.”

  Crowley turned to see a tall woman with long red hair who stood next to him. She was light of complexion and wore a white dress in the cold April weather. He didn’t see a coat around her, which he found odd, given the chill. At first, he thought her to be Irish, but there was no brogue in her voice. She appeared to be in her early 20’s.

  “Excuse me,” he asked her. “Are you the woman who sent me the letter last week? I waited an entire hour outside the building where I live and you never arrived.”

  “You’ve known me a long time, Edward,” she spoke to him. “I did send the letter and I’m glad you waited.” Crowley wondered how she knew his birth name.

  “I’ve met three people today I didn’t know,” Crowley told her, “but was expected to know. A revolutionary, a scientist, and now you. You know my name, but I don’t know yours. One wasn’t included in the letter.” He took a drag off the cigar and blew the smoke in her direction.

  The woman stood in place as the smoke formed two streams and passed around her. It was a fascinating thing to watch and Crowley was impressed. Finally, he had some proof.

  “So which one of you contacted me?” he asked her. “I’ve waited a long time and now, you’ve finally arrived. What took you so long?”

  “You don’t know
as much as you think,” she told him. “We’ve watched you for a long time. It wasn’t my decision to make the contact, but I was over-ruled. You need to find Tesla and work with him. He won’t succeed unless he has help.”

  “Who are you?” Crowley demanded. “I need to know.” He rose up from the bench and dropped his cigar.

  “You lack the need to know,” she told him. “I’ll see you again.”

  She vanished before his eyes. One minute, the beautiful woman was there, and then she was gone.

  Crowley retrieved the cigar and walked in a circle around the bench. He looked under it and blinked his eyes several times. At last, contact, but he lacked proof. She didn’t even give him a number or phrase to analyze.

  “Babalon,” he spoke to himself. “I’ve finally met Babalon.”

  Crowley thought about her for a long time after she left. The woman was striking; there was no way he could deny it. Could it be her, the one he’d tried so long to find all these years? He sat back down on the bench and tried to think with some clarity. The wind died down and he felt the breeze on his face.

  He’d seen her every place he’d been. She was always the distant one in the background who beckoned to him when he couldn’t possibly reach out to her.

  And her name was Babalon.

  The name hit him at a rough patch while he was out with Viktor in the desert. It was a name known to Dee and Kelly by way of their conversations with the angels. Crowley couldn’t figure out who she was until he opened his mother’s bible one day and found the picture of the woman on the back of the dragon. At that point, he’d found what he always searched for, the woman who could give him everything he needed. For the longest time, he thought she might be a human. If so, he could find her in the flesh. This turned out to be a bad idea, as a selection of women were wanting in every aspect of what he needed. None could match him for his desires. He’d toyed with the idea there might be a multitude of women who could fulfill his destiny. But no, it could only be one. Just as he was the prophet foretold in the Book of Revelations, so there would be a woman to accompany him.

  The woman who’d been here had all the symbols of Her. She had the red hair, the green eyes and the pale skin foretold in the divinations. The ones he kept to himself. Crowley slapped himself on the head for not asking Her more questions when he had the opportunity.

  Right now, he needed to capture the moment so he would remember Her when She returned to him. Crowley fumbled for his pockets for some writing material but lacked any. There was only one thing to do, go buy something.

  He found a small shop on a corner that sold dry good supplies. With the few coins still on him, Crowley selected a pad and a pencil. The shopkeeper was good enough to let him sharpen his pencil before he left. He almost made another purchase when he saw the tobacco display, but decided he needed to get to work while he still had the chance.

  A few minutes later, Crowley was back out on the street park with his pad in hand. No one bothered him today, although there were a few families in the park. He began to work and soon had a reasonable facsimile of the woman he’d seen. Crowley began to fill in the lines and shaded some empty space on his sketch.

  A good two hours later, he was done. Crowley held up the drawing to get a better feel. He was satisfied. This was the Babalon he’d seen today. Well, not exactly. The Babalon in this sketch lacked clothes, but it was important for him to capture the essence of her. He’d accomplished this goal.

  Crowley folded up the sketch and placed it in his pocket. He walked out of the park and tried to remember where he was supposed to go next.

  Crowley was headed down the street when he noted the small gathering of black men in front of a man who stood on a ladder. He hesitated, as this wasn’t the usual area he traveled through. He’d wandered off his normal track while trying to keep his mind off the encounter with Babalon. Should he take Her up on the plea to help Tesla? Or try to find another way to reach Her? Crowley was in deep thought when he spied the gathering ahead of him. He stopped to observe.

  In front of him was a row of shops that catered to the American blacks. He didn’t know many of them. Crowley tended to stay away from people he didn’t know unless they were interested in discussing his concept of Thelema, or Will, as he liked to call it.

  The small dark man on the stepladder was animated. He stood and preached to the crowd in front of him with the fury of twelve suns. His voice boomed across the street. Crowley decided to walk closer and hear what he had to say.

  As Crowley walked closer, he noticed none of the men gathered around the ladder looked askew at him. Their attention was focused on the man who spoke and sermonized to the growing crowd.

  It wasn’t hard to understand why. The man might have an island accent, but he was on fire. He spoke on the need for education, enlighten and self-determination. This was no rabid street preacher, but someone on a mission.

  “Education!” the man thundered out to the crowd. “It’s the most important thing in the world, but how many of you were able to attend schools that had decent books? How many of you had to use books passed down from the better schools when they received new ones! How will the black man ever rise above to his true destiny unless he has the tools to do it himself?” He spoke in a voice that displayed his Jamaican origins, but the accent was clipped and under control.

  He was impressed by the small man on the stepladder. As Crowley watched him preach to the crowd, he noticed people walk into the shop in front of the speaker. More people than any of the other stores. It hit Crowley this was a way for the stores to attract business. Come hear the speaker and go pick up what you needed later. Clever, these Americans. Always on the search for another way to make money.

  Crowley was enthralled by the way the small man seemed to grow in stature as he harangued the crowd. Every time someone shouted a question, the speaker was ready with an answer. Crowley didn’t mind speaking in public, but his man took it several levels above anything he’d ever attempted. The small man could turn any question around and make it seem like a confirmation of what he spoke about.

  The speaker wore a bowler hat and a warm coat. He had on a pair of leather gloves. It was plain to see he didn’t like the cold weather, but came prepared to handle it.

  After another fifteen minutes of speaking, the man stepped down from the ladder and engaged the crowd directly. Some argued with him, some agreed, but all were affected by what he had to say. Crowley noticed a group of supporters who took the ladder away and handed it to one of the storeowners. He looked down the street and saw another speaker on another ladder preaching to another crowd. This one had a bible in his hand and waved it in the air to make a point. He didn’t have quite as large a crowd as the man who’d just finished speaking.

  Crowley decided to go talk to him. What could go wrong? Perhaps he could interest the man in Thelema. The speaker was someone who appeared to know his True Will.

  “Good day, sir,” Crowley spoke to him and extended his hand to the speaker. “A most interesting lecture you gave. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

  “Marcus Garvey,” the speaker answered as he clasped Crowley’s hand. “I detect a British accent in your speech. Have you been here for a long time?” A few of the man with Garvey stepped back. This was someone their leader might wish to meet.

  “Aleister Crowley,” he responded. “No, I’ve only been in New York City a few weeks. This time. I’ve lived in America for the past few years, but was off traveling until this month. Have you been here long yourself?”

  “A few years too. I’ve spent most of my time in New York. Many of my countrymen live here.”

  Crowley fished through his pockets again and found a spare introduction card. At least this one didn’t have a formal address on it. It would do for now. He handed it to Garvey.

  Garvey gave him one of his in return.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Crowley,” Garvey told him. “I have another speaking engagement at the church
up the street. If you want to talk further, you’ll find my current address on the card. Good-day.” Garvey and the two young men with him turned and walked down the street.

  Crowley looked the card over and noted the fine printing that had gone into it. Either Mr. Garvey was a man of some means, or he knew the best printers in town. He pocketed it. Crowley made mental note to later ask about Garvey to several native New Yorkers he knew.

  He noticed a newsstand and walked over to it. It was a small wooden box affair where the latest newspapers were on display with a variety of candies and cigarettes. Crowley looked over the number of publications and tried to figure out which one was the most prominent. The vendor was an older, bored man in his sixties who had a copy of a racing forum spread out in front of him. If anyone had a clue which publication was the best, it would be the man who sold them.

  “So which one should I buy?” Crowley asked him.

  “What?” the old man asked him, one hand cupped over his ear. Apparently, a bit deaf. “I’m sorry, can’t hear a thing today.”

  “Which paper should I buy?” Crowley asked him in a loud voice. “I thought you would know. You sell them.”

  “Which is my favorite?” the man asked. “Is that what you want to know?”

  Crowley nodded. “I read the Evening Journal myself,” the newsstand owner replied. “Always liked what Mr. Hearst had to say.” He pointed out the paper in question.

  Crowley handed the man a few coins and picked up the Evening Journal. He unfolded and looked it over.

  It appeared to have more flash than the ones he was familiar with. The newspapers he read back home where full of solid lines of text and the occasional drawing. This one had a headline that blared and promised more inside. He stood and turned each page. Crowley tried to figure out what made it so popular. It was full of advertisements and displays. Obviously, a person didn’t have to have a lot of education to get some use from this newspaper.