Angelopolis A Novel Page 0,67

to cover,” Bruno said, marveling at her ability to manage such a large operation.

“I’ve heard about the methods you have in Paris. They are nothing like the way we do things here. Eno was special. I can’t afford to expend that kind of effort on all the creatures. Most of the time my concern is getting them to the prison. Once they’re there, I’m out of the picture. I can’t imagine spending time in the panopticon itself.”

“Panopticon?”

“The prison is modeled on Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon,” Yana said. “It has the classic circular structure of the original, which allows the guards to monitor each angelic creature. That said, the prison has, out of necessity, been adapted to meet our particular needs.”

Bruno tried to imagine such a place, its purpose and size. He felt a sense of professional jealousy rising at the thought of the number of angels that were kept there. “Can you get me inside?”

“We certainly can’t just show up,” Yana said. “This prison is the biggest, and most strongly guarded, angelological holding area ever built. It is also located in Chelyabinsk, a nuclear waste area that has the distinction of being the most polluted patch of land on the planet. Russian angelologists and the military are on every inch of the grounds. Although I’m on the payroll, and have limited access to the prison, my clearance has been invalid since the beginning of perestroika. To access the interior circles of the prison, you’d have to get help from someone else.”

Bruno studied her, trying to gauge whether her ignorance was genuine. “Merlin Godwin is at this prison?” he asked. It was a long shot, he knew, but since Godwin was the one person from Angela’s film who remained unaccounted for, he needed to give it a try.

“Of course,” Yana said. “He’s been the director of the Siberia Project for more than twenty years.”

Bruno considered his options: He could keep everything that he’d seen in Angela Valko’s film and everything he’d learned in the Hermitage a secret. Or he could trust Yana and ask for her help. “Have you heard of something called the Angelopolis?”

Yana’s face froze and drained of color. “Where did you hear that word?”

“It’s something more than just a legend, I see,” Bruno said, his curiosity rising.

“Quite a bit more than that,” she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself before speaking. “The Angelopolis is a mystery for all of us who haven’t been given security clearance to the interior realms of the prison. It is the subject of much gossip—that the prison is the site of a massive experiment, that it is a sort of sci-fi genetics laboratory, that Godwin is cloning lower angelic life-forms to be used as servants for the Nephilim. There is no way to know for certain what is going on inside. As I said, security around the perimeter is intense, and that’s putting it lightly. I’ve been working here for two decades, and I’ve never even made it past the first checkpoint.” Yana lit another cigarette as she considered her thoughts. “What do you know about it?”

“Not much,” Bruno admitted. “I know that Dr. Merlin Godwin was working with the Grigoris at some point, and may still be, but that’s about as far as it goes.”

“Have you looked up his profile?” Yana asked

“No, unfortunately, I haven’t,” Bruno replied.

Yana rolled her eyes, as if to say that there was no point in going any further without doing what every angel hunter knew to be the first step.

“Honestly,” Bruno said, feeling his skin burn. “I haven’t had the chance.”

Yana pulled a laptop from her backpack and opened it on the floor in the corridor.

“Our network isn’t as high-tech as the one you have, I’m sure, but I have access to it. If there’s anything here about Godwin, we’ll know.”

Bruno watched as Yana logged into the Russian society’s network and began searching through an angelological database that seemed to spit out everything from enemy profiles to security events to society personnel.

Yana played around for a few minutes. Then, after a flurry of typing, a profile for Merlin Branwell Godwin appeared on the screen, as clear and concise as Eno’s profile had been on his smartphone. “Here we go.”

“Found something?”

“Read it for yourself,” she said, holding out the laptop for him. “You can choose to read it in French, English, or Russian, take your pick.”

Bruno clicked on the profile and read the report in English. Born in Newcastle in 1950, Godwin had taken a degree in