Phoenix Ascending, Part 4

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From: sullivangm@aol.com (SULLIVANGM)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.smoking
Subject: Story:  Phoenix Ascending, Part 4 of 4
Date: 29 Dec 1996 13:06:24 GMT
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[Note - contact address for this author now msulliva@asacomp.com]


Notice:  This story has been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity,
strong sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking.  If you find any of
this objectionable, try "Alt.Dr_Seuss.Fan-Fiction" instead.

Copyright 1996 by G. M. Sullivan.  All rights reserved.  This story may be
copied and distributed for the uncompensated amusement of others only. 

DEDICATION:  To Linda, with love.

Author's note:  This is a sequel to my previously posted story "Dying for
a Cigarette."  For a full understanding (if it's possible), I suggest you
read that story first.


"Phoenix Ascending"  Part Four of Four


Part Four:  Soaring Rhetoric


19.  10 January, Pierre Hotel, 10:27 PM

Like Flinn, Rachmani was also watching television coverage of the benefit.
 In 30 minutes the signal would be lost, and he would switch to CNN, al
least for a while.  He was booked on a flight to London leaving Kennedy
airport at 1:30 AM.

He smiled as he listened to Natalie's words.  Last night he had made love
to her.  Soon she would die by his hand.  The thought occasioned no
regret.  Yesterday had been a pleasure, today...was a greater pleasure.

He would honor her memory back in Tehran, in the manner of his people. 
Infidel or not, she had aided this Soldier of Islam in her own small way.

Rachmani was startled by a knock on his door.  "Police!  Open up!"

He dashed to the bathroom, groping under the sink for his gun.  It was
missing.  He cursed under his breath in Farsi as he heard the door being
kicked in.

Flinn entered the room, service revolver drawn.  He was turning to sweep
the room when Rachmani's right foot struck his gun arm.  Flinn managed to
hang onto his piece but was spun around and knocked down by the impact. 
Oh great, a Bruce Lee type, he thought.

Flinn tried to take aim at the terrorist, but another vicious kick caught
him in the ribs, rolling him over, making him grunt with agony.  Rachmani
was out the door and gone.

Flinn got to his feet painfully, considered pursuing, then changed his
mind.  He picked up the phone to alert the arriving police that the
terrorist was loose in the hotel.  This will be the cause of not a little
embarrassment, Flinn thought, especially if the bastard gets away.

As he completed the call, Flinn noticed the television was tuned to
coverage of Dorothy's benefit.  Now why...a bomb specialist, Mendoza had
said.  Flinn made another call and then he too was gone from the room.


20.  10 January, Javits Center, 10:41 PM

"Hello, everyone.  My name is Dorothy, and I'm here to tell you that soon
none of us will be in Kansas anymore.

"The millennium is coming.  It is less than a year away, now.  After it
comes, things will be different.  Don't ask me exactly how, yet.  When I
know, I will tell you.

"We are lost, now.  All of us.  We don't know why things happen. 
Everything happens for a reason, even the littlest things, but we don't
know why.  I don't know why.  There are so many things I don't know.  All
I can say for certain is that there are reasons for everything.

"I'm not quite sure why I was saved on Christmas Eve, just that I'm
supposed to talk to you about it.  If it was a miracle, then everything is
a miracle, because everything happens for a reason.

"There are some things I do know.  We are all ourselves miracles, every
one of us, even the ASK-man.  Understanding that is the first step. 
Accepting it and honoring it is the second.

Dorothy paused to light a cigarette.  Many in audience were smoking too,
now.  The security guards had been warned to expect this violation of city
ordinances, and to ignore it so long as no one objected too strenuously. 
No one had.

Dorothy took a long puff, savoring the reassuring smoke, and blew out a
long exhale.  The rest of  her smoke mixed with her next words.  "I know
it's easy to find reasons to hate each other.  The ASK-man hated me,
Natalie, some of you, and others for a silly thing like this."  She held
up her cigarette.  "I know there will be no room for hate, or for people
who hate, after the millennium comes."

"Once we see we are all miracles, then we will no longer hate each other
for silly reasons, or any reason.  We will understand, and we will love.

Dorothy paused, drawing on her cigarette, blowing soft, white clouds
thoughtfully.

"There is only one other thing I know, and I need to tell it to you now. 
Look to the sky for a sign."


21.  10 January, East 61st Street, 10:45 PM

The Pierre was an old hotel and had an external fire escape on its eastern
wall.  Rachmani, calling on long years of training and experience in
covert activities, managed to gain access to it without being seen.  At
least no one was shooting at him yet.

He could see many police filing into the narrow alley below, watching
every exit from the hotel.  These did not overly concern him.  The man on
the opposite rooftop was another matter.

That one carried an assault rifle and likely had night-vision gear as
well.  Rachmani held still and squeezed all the cover he could get out of
the iron railing in front of him.  It was almost certainly a SWAT officer,
far better trained and equipped than the other police.  Rachmani would
need to take him out.

The officer was pacing the near edge of the roof, scanning the hotel as he
walked.  Rachmani estimated  that the rooftop was a meter or two below him
and something more than two meters east.  Doable.  Carefully, he climbed
the railing and perched on the outside of the fire escape.  He found his
lighter and waited until the sentry had just passed by, his back turned to
Rachmani.

The plastic clattered on the graveled roof behind the Swat officer.  As he
turned to find the noise's source, Rachmani launched himself across the
alley.

Rachmani hit the sentry's back waist-high, the impact carrying them both
down.  Cushioning the fall of the HK-91 with his right foot, Rachmani
quickly locked his arm around the officer's neck and pulled  his head
sharply back and upwards.  Not so easy as Americans think, Rachmani
thought, to break a man's neck this way.  He worked his knee up into the
small of the officer's back and wrenched the head again, once, twice.  The
officer went limp.

Ignoring the fallen rifle, Rachmani took the officer's sidearm.  Crouching
low, he crossed the roof, again thanking the American's stupidity in not
having a second sentry here.  In quick succession, Rachmani crossed three
more roofs accessible with short jumps.  Finally, he found a building with
an unlocked rooftop entrance.

This part is over, he thought.  He would have no difficulty slipping from
this building and losing himself in the streets for a time.  They would be
watching for him at the airports.  He would need to find another route out
of this cursed city.


22.  10 January, Javits Center, 10:49 PM

As Dorothy finished speaking,  her eyes took on a faraway look and her
expression became beatific.  She continued to smoke, blowing soft clouds
over the audience like a benediction.  Not really sure what to make of her
remarks, the crowd nonetheless responded enthusiastically, cheering and
whistling.

Dorothy took no notice when uniformed police began entering in large
numbers at the back of the hall.  She didn't see Flinn race up the center
aisle to the foot of the stage and grab Natalie in a quick embrace.  She
paid not attention when Natalie returned the hug with enthusiasm.

"Natalie, we think there may be a bomb in here," Flinn said, out of
breath.  "We need to warn the people to leave, now!"

Natalie disengaged from Flinn and climbed to the stage.  She approached
Dorothy who still stood at the podium in a trance-like state.  Leaning
around her, Natalie spoke into the microphone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have just been told the Center has received a
bomb threat.  There is no need to panic, it's probably a false alarm. 
However, we need you all to move to the exits in a quick but orderly
fashion.  The police are here to help you."  Indeed, the uniformed
officers were arraying themselves at each exit, hoping to prevent a
panicky crush.  It would take some time to clear the hall of 40,000
people.

Flinn desperately searched the stage area.  Finally, he noticed the black
box 25 feet above the floor, stuck to the bottom of the platform.  He
waved to several bomb-squad officers who were just arriving, thinking that
there couldn't be much time left.  The show had been ending now, anyway.

People began responding to Natalie's announcement, rising and filing
toward the exits.  There was no panic, but no great urgency to their
movements, either.  New Yorkers were used to this sort of thing; rarely
was there an actual bomb.  Natalie herself wondered how sure Flinn was
about all this.  Who would want to...

Natalie saw Flinn below, waving to her, pointing under the stage.  A
bomb-squad officer raced up and disappeared beneath the platform as she
watched.  It was real, all right.

Natalie remembered a switch she had seen earlier.  One that would move
partitions...she ran down the stage-left risers, crossed to the wall, and
pulled the switch.

Unseen motors grumbled into life, making the floor vibrate.  The thick
partition began to emerge from its niche, slowly, grudgingly.  On the
opposite side of the room, Natalie saw the mating partition begin to move
also.  They would meet directly in front of the stage, but it would take a
couple of minutes.

Natalie got the backstage people moving, warning them of the closing
doors.  Dorothy's parents had taken the child by the arms and were leading
her down from the stage.  She still seemed unaware of the events around
her.

Natalie reached Flinn just as the bomb-squad officer was returning from
his inspection. The bomb was still in place under the stage.

"It's no go, Flinn," the officer said.  "She's primed and ready to blow at
any moment.  There's no time to try for disassembly, and if I detach it,
it detonates.  The best thing is just to keep these people moving, and
pray!"  The other police we now urging the crowd to hurry, but as yet only
a few had gotten clear of the hall.

The backstage area was now vacated and the partitions were about to meet
and lock.  At that moment Dorothy came to life, jerked free of her
parents, and darted through the narrowing gap.

Natalie was closest to the moving walls.  She just managed to squeeze
through after Dorothy.  The partitions met with a final, grinding thud,
isolating the stage and its bomb from the rest of the hall.

"Natalie!" Flinn screamed.  Dorothy's parents were also screaming,
pounding at the unyielding barrier.

"We're wasting time!" said the officer.  "They should be able to get out
on the Twelfth Avenue side from back there.  We need to get moving!"

They weren't half-way to the nearest exit when the bomb detonated.

Flinn had the sense that some enormous presence had suddenly come into the
air around him.  His ears hurt.  Rows of unoccupied chairs slid toward the
rear of the hall, disturbed by an unseen hand.  

He turned back toward the partitions in time to see them swell outward,
fabric, metal, and wood stretching into a domed shape like a soap bubble
rising to the surface of a bath.  In the center of the bubble the
partition seam parted to reveal a fiery hell behind.  Flaming debris shot
through the gap with incredible velocity, shredding the bubble's center. 
The bulk of it passed well above the seats in perfectly level flight,
crashing against the far wall and raining down on the exiting crowd. Those
not trapped beneath reared back while the police moved to clear the
debris, the injured, and the dead.

However, the main bulk of the partitions, now smoldering and distorted
beyond recognition, had held.  Fires were evident beyond, but not the
raging inferno Flinn had feared.  Natalie had saved them.  Most of these
people would live.  Most of them.

Flinn moved toward the exit, hope all but extinguished.


23.  10 January, Javits Center, 10:58 PM

The partitions shut thunderously behind Natalie, muffling the sounds from
the crowded hall.  Only she and Dorothy were back here.  Back here with
the bomb.

Natalie looked around desperately.  If she could collect the girl, there
might still be time to escape through a rear exit.  However, Dorothy was
nowhere in sight.

Natalie looked up to the stage, her eyes widening in disbelief.  Dorothy
was climbing the framework behind the platform, using a ladder mounted to
one side of the huge "smoking permitted" backdrop.  It was as if she was
looking to escape through the glass ceiling many stories above.  It was
pure insanity.  Flinn had been right all along.

Heedless of these thoughts, Natalie raced up the steps onto the stage and
began to climb after Dorothy.  You never know, she thought, my luck might
hold.  Yeah, right...

As Natalie climbed, Dorothy reached the top and walked across unrailed
wooden boards toward the center of the framework.  She looked straight
ahead, chin held high, oblivious to the fatal drop on either side, as if
she was moving forward to accept some sort of diploma.  Natalie thought,
"Sure, she's about to graduate from life, and me with her!"  She hastened
her climbing, calling out to Dorothy.

Ignoring her, Dorothy stopped at the very center and turned to face the
partitions.  Her expression was blank.  Natalie, badly out of breath,
ignoring the dangers of their position as much as Dorothy had, ran forward
to grab her.

Natalie lost her footing as she took hold of Dorothy.  They fell together
toward the stage 80 feet below.

At least, they started to fall.  Natalie's stomach had just begun to
register her dilemma when she felt herself and her burden cupped by an
invisible hand and thrust upward.  

Time took on a slow, dreamlike state, allowing her to observe what was
happening as if detached from herself.  The bomb's gone off, she thought. 
Now we are being hurled to our deaths.

Their upward movement hastened, accelerating even faster than a fall. 
Natalie could see pieces of the scaffolding and the odd amplifier or two
rising with them in perfect synchrony.  She could feel heat rising too, as
her hair singed and clothing began to smolder.  For now, she did not
register any pain or fear.  She kept a tight grip on Dorothy. 

Still above them but much closer now, the glass ceiling shivered into a
billion sparkling fragments, each taking on its own trajectory, arcing
upward and outward.  It's beautiful, thought Natalie.  Like fireworks. 
Clasped tightly together, they raced upward into the cold night air above
New York.

She felt herself being nicked and cut as they passed through the layer of
coruscating glass fragments.  She pulled Dorothy in even more tightly,
hoping to shield her from the worst of the damage.  The girl had remained
silent throughout and didn't speak now, but she hugged Natalie back. 
Natalie caught a glimpse of the shattered glass ceiling below them.

They sailed through space more slowly now, their trajectory curving as
gravity finally began to win the struggle.  They soared over the
landscaped Javits grounds, over Twelfth Avenue 400 feet below, velocity
slowing constantly, beginning their long descent.  Show's over, Natalie
thought, but that final ride was a doozy!

Their momentum carried them over some long, concrete piers and finally
over the Hudson River, eclipsed in darkness below.  It really didn't
matter, she knew.  Falling onto water from this height would be no better
than landing on concrete.  Unless...

Time slowed still further as Natalie's heart began to race.  She tried to
remember all the times Marcia had spoken of skydiving, while Nattie or
Natalie sat bored and not really listening.  Marcia had said you could
actually change the attitude of your body while in free-fall, by somehow
transferring momentum from one body part to another.

They were falling straight down toward the water now, accelerating again,
almost feet first.  Smaller debris accompanied their fall, shadowed
fragments to either side.  

"Almost" would not be good enough, Natalie knew.  At terminal velocity,
the slightest angle from true vertical would be enough to snap their
spines.

Having no idea what she was doing, Natalie began kicking her legs and
swinging Dorothy's weight back and forth.  If she could just straighten
them out a little, it might work.  Frigid wind whistled past them, ever
faster.  They could...

Natalie and Dorothy struck the oily surface of the Hudson at better than
140 miles per hour.


24.  10 January, Twelfth Avenue, 11:04 PM

Flinn gasped for breath as he ran around the Javits Center to the
waterfront side.  As he neared Twelfth Avenue, he saw a large piece of
debris splash into the Hudson, raising a tall, white pillar of foam.

Some uniforms seemed to be taking a lot of interest in the event.  They
were pointing, shouting,  and running out onto the closest pier.  Seeing
no sign of Natalie in the sparser crowds on this side of the building,
Flinn ran out onto the pier after the uniforms.  By their actions, they
seemed to think someone needed rescuing.


25.  10 January, Hudson River, 11:05 PM

The impact was stunning.  Darkness closed around the edges of Natalie's
vision as she and Dorothy plunged deep beneath the surface of the river.

Natalie could feel the cold stealing her precious heat away.  Even if she
avoided drowning, fatal hypothermia would follow in minutes.  She had to
stay awake, had to get them out of the water!

Natalie began to kick weakly as their descent slowed.  Amazingly, Dorothy
was also kicking.  Natalie doubled her efforts, dug deeply into herself,
and doubled them again.  They were rising!  Her lungs burned, her limbs
losing all sensation, becoming lead weights.  She had to keep trying!  She
drew on her anger for strength.  Ahvi had done this, she knew.  She would
live to kill that bastard, if Flinn hadn't already.

After a seemingly endless time, their heads broke the surface and Natalie
gasped in the blessed New York air.  They were close to the end of a pier.
 A rope floated nearby.  She saw Flinn.  She grabbed at the rope with numb
fingers, but couldn't force them to close on it.


26.  10 January, West Side Piers, 11:08 PM

When Flinn saw Natalie's and Dorothy's heads break the surface, he dived
immediately into the frigid water.  The shock of it took his breath away,
but he struggled out to where they floated together.  He grabbed both,
took the rope, and the uniforms hauled them all in.

Medics waited on the pier with thick blankets and first-aid gear.  Natalie
was conscious, if barely, her hair and clothes burned, her skin blemished
with a myriad of shallow cuts.  Dorothy looked no better, but of more
concern was the fact that she wasn't breathing.

An EMT wrapped Natalie and Dorothy in the blankets while two more began
CPR on the child.  Dorothy's parents hovered anxiously nearby.  For a long
minute nothing changed, but then she coughed, spitting up water, and began
breathing on her own once more, though still unconscious.  At this sight,
a ragged cheer came from the group of onlookers.

Flinn, not proud, grabbed a dry blanket for himself.  He crouched beside
the enwrapped Natalie, mumbling apologies and receiving them in turn from
the barely-awake young woman.

"How touching," said Mendoza, who appeared at Flinn's elbow.  "Save the
dying confessions for another time, kids.  It looks like everyone here is
a survivor.  We should get these two over to St. Vincent's right away,
though."

Flinn kissed Natalie, then straightened up.

"I've got bad news, Jake.  'Ben-Mordechai' slipped our net.  One SWAT
officer went down."

Flinn said nothing.  He bore a lot of responsibility for that result, and
would have to answer for it eventually.  Just not tonight, he hoped.

Reading his mind, Mendoza said, "under the circumstances, I think we can
delay the reports for 24 hours.  You helped save a lot of people tonight,
Jake."

"Me?" Flinn said.  "It was her, mostly."  Natalie was trying to speak.  He
bent down to hear.

"Jake honey?  Do you have a cigarette on you?"

A short distance away, Persephone Jones stood with a group of other media
people.  She took a last drag on her Chesterfield and flipped it into the
black water.  She exhaled a great cloud of smoke and a little cloud of
water vapor into the night air.

Watching the people on the pier, she knew that tonight was not the night
for her big scoop.  She would have to settle for being the Post
reporter-on-site for yet another huge story.  Dorothy had been saved
again, and even more miraculously this time.  God only knew where it would
all lead.

Miracle or not, she was determined that her day would come.  She could
afford to be patient.  This story wasn't going away any time soon.   


27.  Utica, New York, 11 January, New York State Thruway, 2:33 AM

Rachmani sat beside the long-distance trucker as the rig sped west at 78
miles per hour.

He had been fortunate to catch this ride on Third Avenue after eluding the
police.  The trucker was headed for Buffalo, and it would be easy to cross
into Canada from there.  He always carried at least three passports on his
person at all times, and tonight had been no exception.

Allah had punished him for his carelessness and arrogance.  Listening to
the trucker's radio, he had learned that the death toll at the Javits
Center would certainly be no more than his last job in Tel Aviv.  Worse,
the child Dorothy still lived, and was now at the center of a new
"miracle" far more impressive than the last.  Curse that ST-7!

He had also learned the name of the policeman who had interrupted his
television viewing.

He had wasted precious materials, including that cursed explosive the
regime had purchased at great cost from its most hated enemies.  One of
his more useful "identities" was now lost to him.  He would have much to
answer for back in Tehran.

If, that is, he returned.  He needed to a reach a safe haven off this
Infidel continent, but perhaps he could delay his planned trip to Iran. 
He had many sources of weapons and equipment besides his masters, and an
account at Credit Suisse of which they knew nothing.  He could find a way
to return as a Hero of Islam once again, given a little time.

He would settle his scores.  The girl Dorothy would pay.  The woman
Natalie would pay.  That policeman, Flinn, would pay.  They would all pay
for his humiliation.

The End 

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