“You can’t! My life’s work…”
“Every coffin you collected will go up in flames. “
Giallo swallowed hard. Experience told him the assassin was the type of man who kept his promises. So his next words caught Giallo by surprise.
“And when this place is nothing but ashes, I’m going give you what you want.”
Chapter 7
THE WAREHOUSE BURNED, painting the air red. The fire’s merciless heat singed Giallo’s features as his prized collection went up in thick, oily clouds of black smoke. Tears streamed down his face, fury boiling inside of him as he bore witness to the inferno. If he were younger, he would’ve made a go at the black-clad assassin. The man had destroyed everything.
They both stood outside the warehouse, and the assassin’s gloved hand kept the Glock fixed on his head in case he should get any foolish ideas. The bastard wanted him to witness the destruction of his collection. What did he think he was doing? Punishing him for past crimes? What sort of mercenary was he dealing with here?
Nevertheless, one piece had survived Giallo’s collection: Zamora’s coffin.
The assassin had made sure to remove the casket from the warehouse before setting the charges that triggered the raging blaze. The fact that the coffin had been spared gave him hope. There was still a chance he might be able to start over again. If reborn through the coffin’s magic, he could enjoy all his wealth inside a fresh, young body. He could begin building a new collection. The assassin’s words cycled through his mind.
“And when this place is nothing but ashes, I’m going give you what you want the most.”
Was he implying he could be bought for a price? That Zamora’s coffin could be his for a price?
Controlling his anger, Giallo said, “Whatever your employer is paying you, I can offer you more. Much more. Name your price.”
The occult assassin’s swift answer left little room for negotiation. Giallo felt the handle of the pistol bite into his head…and the world turned black.
When he woke up, stars sparkled overhead, and for a moment he felt disoriented.
He tried to move but found himself confined, his hands cuffed. Craning his neck, he saw piles of dirt on either side of him. Instant realization hit him. He was looking up at the brilliant night sky from inside a wooden box. Not any box. Zamora’s coffin, which now rested in a shallow grave.
Above him, a shape stepped up to the grave. The assassin loomed like an angel of death. He removed his balaclava, revealing rugged, handsome features. Giallo choked back a wave of terror. The assassin didn’t seem worried he’d ever get to pick him out of a police line-up. This was the end of the road.
“What are you doing?’ Giallo croaked, his heart hammering away.
“You wanted to be buried in Zamora’s coffin. I’m making your wish come true.”
The assassin picked up the lid of the coffin.
Giallo’s bit his lips with terror, grasping the fiend’s plan. The American was going to bury him alive. He would indeed escape death, but he would remain trapped in the box in the same way Zamora’s spirit had. Even if he should be lucky enough to have someone stumble upon his makeshift grave someday in the future, they would have no idea how to release him and bring him back from the dead.
“Please… you can’t do this,” Giallo said.
“How many of the people in your collection begged for their lives? How many did you spare?”
The question hung accusingly in the air.
Giallo’s mind went blank as the heavy lid closed over the coffin, entombing him in blackness. He was suddenly six years old again and at the mercy of his father’s madness. But this time there would no reprieve. Light would not make way for the darkness. His interment would be permanent.
The sound of dirt piling up on top of the coffin wasn’t loud enough to drown out the coffin collector’s horrified screams.
THE END
5: Soul Jacker
Book 5
The Mission
After a decade spent fighting the enemy abroad and keeping his country safe, Delta Force Operator Mark Talon is ready to settle down with the love of his life. But Talon’s world crumbles when his fiancée becomes the victim of a murderous cult.
In the wake of his terrible loss, Talon dedicates himself to a new mission – hunting down twisted occultists around the globe and stopping them before they can unleash the forces of darkness upon an unsuspecting world.
In Soul Jacker, Talon must head to the ghettos of Paris and face the curse of the Jinn.
Chapter One
A quaint medieval chapel topped the Northern Italian mountain, the breathtaking vista offering no indication of the evil forces converging on its summit. The first sign that something might be amiss came when a silver helicopter popped up from behind a jagged rock formation, a shadow against the sun, and zeroed in on the stone structure.
Alerted by the deafening rotor wash, Roberto Abatte, high priest of the Order of the Flayed Prince, emerged from the chapel. Shielding his eyes from the blinding sunlight, he peered up at the approaching craft. As expected, Laura Santerre, heir to her late father’s fashion empire, was both the last to arrive and the flashiest entrance of them all. Most of the other acolytes had braved the series of winding roads that snaked up the steep mountain, their luxury cars now parked around the chapel. Big security men in expensive suits fronted the fleet of BMWs, Ferrarris and Maseratis. They eyed the approaching craft with wary suspicion.
As the helicopter touched down, the guards raised their hands to shield themselves from the buffeting gusts of wind. Roberto faced the incoming craft in stoic silence. At this altitude the icy air packed a punch, but his self-discipline prevented him from showing any discomfort. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of displaying weakness in front of his flock.
Laura climbed out of the helicopter and strode toward him, flanked by two guards of her own. She was dressed in a formfitting black dress that accentuated her ample curves and formed a perfect contrast to her alabaster skin and blood-red lipstick.
Laura didn’t bother to hide her sexual interest as their eyes met. Another spoiled brat, Roberto thought, to whom the cult and its rituals were just a way to stave off boredom and convince herself that she mattered. Her file painted the picture of a young woman who tried on identities the way other people changed clothes. Over the years she’d experimented with drugs, sexuality, religion, and a string of failed business ventures. Her curiosity rarely led to a lasting commitment—but she would soon discover the Order wasn’t a role she would be able to discard so easily.
“I hope I’m not too late,” Laura said. Roberto shook his head and indicated with a wave of his hand that she should follow him into the stone chapel. Her high heels echoed against the marble floor as they entered the place of worship. Six pairs of curious eyes tracked the new arrival. The congregants’ eagerness to commence the initiation rite was all too palpable.
Laura grew still, unable to mask her surprise as she took in the Christian symbols of worship surrounding her. Having expected this reaction, Robert explained, “If the Inquisition taught us anything, it’s the art of hiding in plain sight. Look more closely and you will see what I mean.”
A smile curled Laura’s lips as she spotted the subtle signs. Upon first glance, the stained glass windows depicted classic images from the Bible, but closer inspection revealed the symbols of black magic embedded in the imagery: a triangle with the all-seeing eye looming over a saint, a pentagram among a firmament of stars, a savior crucified on an inverted cross. The telltale indicators of the left-hand path would jump out at any person who knew what to look for.
Roberto tilted his head toward the congregants, and Laura joined their ranks. He advanced toward the altar, on which a thick, leather-bound book rested. Taking up position before the tome, he regarded his gathered flock. There was a famous soccer star and his actress wife, the owner of a fleet of luxury cars, even a countess. Wealth had bought them power and prestige b
ut couldn’t satisfy all their needs. These men and women recognized the limits of material rewards and yearned to be part of something far grander and more meaningful.
Roberto planned to fill that emptiness today.
His eyes fell on the leather-bound tome. The ancient volume radiated an eerie energy. It was more than mere parchment bound by animal hide. The Grimoire Incatrix had been translated from the original Arabic into Latin during the 13th century, and the incantations contained within its weathered pages formed a direct line of communication with a force not of this Earth. When spoken at the right pitch and at the correct time of year, the words could open doorways to other worlds.
A solar eclipse was mere minutes away, and a dark baptism awaited the well-heeled power brokers in the chapel, an initiation rite that would bind them to the Order—and to the darkness. Once the moon finished swallowing the sun, the black magic within the book would manifest itself in the unholy chapel.
“Today marks a new chapter for all of you,” Roberto declared, fanatical conviction fueling his words. “Soon your old selves will be nothing but a memory. Rebirth awaits. Are you ready to take the final step and prove your devotion to the darkness?”
Their answer was a resounding yes.
He leaned over the Grimoire, flipped open the book…and froze. His stomach churned as the world tilted. The book before him was not filled with ancient secrets. It was a hollowed out replica containing a digital timer and a tangle of wires embedded in a clump of white putty. Before he could scream, the timer hit zero and charges ignited the plastic explosives. A heartbeat later, the entire congregation of devil worshippers got their chance to experience hell on Earth.
The stained-glass windows of the chapel blew out with devastating force, the explosion shattering the idyllic mountain setting. The stunned guards outside froze, the blast shaking bones and rattling teeth while apocalyptic columns of searing flame painted their faces scarlet. An instant later, their hands reached for their firearms as they rushed toward the raging inferno.
They hadn’t gotten far when a series of muffled pops erupted and three of the men went down before they knew what hit them. Another volley of lead forced the remaining guards to seek shelter between the parked cars. Eyes darting, they tried to spot the new assailant. They were still combing the mountaintop battlefield when the chapel door flung open and one of the cultists burst from the structure. Fire licked the man’s form. Two bullets struck down the living torch—a mercy killing, courtesy of the same mysterious assailant.
The guards spun around and spotted a shadowy figure disappearing behind a nearby Mercedes. A moment later the sound of the engine bashed the air and the vehicle screamed past them, hurtling down the narrow mountain road. Shouts were exchanged and the men rushed to their cars and motorcycles.
The chase was on.
Behind the wheel of the fleeing Mercedes, Mark Talon allowed himself to steal a glance at his rear-view mirror. The eyes staring back at him flickered with single-minded determination. Six months earlier the former Delta Operator had lost his fiancée at the hands of a murderous cult. In the wake of the tragedy, he’d turned his back on his military career and signed up for a new mission - hunting down evil occultists across the globe and stopping them before they could unleash the forces of darkness upon the world.
The roar of a black Ducati motorcycle bashed the air as it popped up in the mirror next to his face, a BMW hot on its tail.
Talon punched the Mercedes’ accelerator, his attention split between the high-speed chase and the object that had brought him to the remote chapel: The Grimoire Incatrix.
According to Simon Casca, the Silicon Valley billionaire turned occult expert who sponsored his missions, it was one of the most dangerous tomes of black magic in the world. Five long weeks of recon had led them to Northern Italy. The billionaire’s intel had steered him toward Roberto and his connection with an organization known as the Order of the Flayed Prince.
How the hell do these cultists think up these names?
After tailing the man for a few days, Talon had discovered that Roberto kept the book locked up in the Cassa Depositi e Prestiti and only retrieved it from the Italian banking institution for special occasions. So he’d waited, remaining in the shadows, biding his time.
Until today.
Once he had discovered the location of the initiation ceremony, he’d made his move. Approaching the chapel from the mountain-side, he ‘d reached the peak thirty minutes before Roberto did. Hiding in the chapel’s vestibule, he’d switched out the books and waited for the new members of the circle to arrive. He had felt zero mercy when the bomb went off. Each one of the initiates had spilled blood as part of their dark rites. Seven innocent lives had been snuffed out so that the decadent fools could gain access into one more elite club.
The dead could not be brought back, but Talon would make certain these fanatics would never hurt anyone else again. He knew from experience that the world was a better place without certain people in it.
The screaming engines of the advancing BMW and Ducati reminded Talon that one more battle lay ahead. The explosion in the chapel had cut off the head of the snake, but he still had to deal with the spasms of its dying body.
Talon twisted the steering wheel, the tires tattooing black marks on the winding road as he carved a hairpin turn. One wrong move would send the car hurtling down the steep mountainside to a fiery end. Right hand on the wheel, he used the left to bring up his Glock. With the press of a button, the window whirred open and then he was returning fire, the recoil sending tremors up his arm. The mountain landscape streaked past him in a mad blur. In the fading light, it was difficult to aim. The sun’s light was growing dimmer, and darkness was falling like a shroud across the land.
The solar eclipse was beginning.
Right on schedule…
Talon had come prepared. He lowered the Glock for a beat and snatched a pair of night-vision goggles from his satchel. The glasses transformed the road ahead into a spectral green landscape. As the orb of the moon slid over the sun, tires screeched behind him, his pursuers struggling to adjust to the sudden darkness.
Once again Talon’s eyes darted toward the rear-view mirror, but this time his blood turned to ice. A dark, faceless entity peered back at him—a figure carved from shadow. Struggling to keep his terror in check, Talon spun around and found the backseat empty.
His gaze traveled to the Grimoire, and Casca’s warning came to mind. The tome would do anything in its power to remain with its rightful owner. This wasn’t just a book but a direct line to another plane of existence, with the ability to sway the minds of those who didn’t keep their guard up. The terrible vision in the backseat of the car was probably just the beginning. As soon as the fatalistic thought crossed his mind, the book launched its next attack. The windshield fogged up and an oily mist filled the car. It coated the windows and turned the world black. Damn it! He was flying blind now. If he missed the upcoming turn, the Mercedes would go over the side of the road…
There was no hesitation as his gloved fist shot out at the windshield. Glass shattered and the ghostly green vision of the mountain landscape jumped back into view. Not a moment too soon as the guardrail rushed up at him. Talon understood he was mere seconds away from shrieking down the mountain in a steel coffin. He jerked the wheel, inwardly cursing the infernal book as he barely navigated the sharp turn. Rubber burned.
The car grew icy cold, but Talon wasn’t impressed. The Grimoire might be pulling out all the stops, but cheap parlor tricks wouldn’t be enough to defeat him. He turned away from the book of black magic and focused on the motorcycle closing in from behind.
With a snarl, he floored the brakes. The biker was going too fast to correct his course and slammed into the back of Talon’s Mercedes. The impact sent the rider over the handlebars, and the man crashed full-force into the rear windshield. A beat later, his lifeless form lay prostate in the backseat amid a shower of broken glass, his helmeted head lo
lling. Talon punched the gas, leaving the twisted, smoking remains of the shattered motorcycle behind.
Talon’s attention switched to the roadway ahead. The BMW was gaining on him.
Alright, come and get me!
The BMW pulled abreast of the Mercedes on the left side, and Talon clenched his jaw as he whipped the wheel. Metal collided with metal, the BMW protesting under the violent assault. Talon repeated the move once, twice, his face distorted with killer instinct. The third impact sent the BMW through the railing. The driver’s terrified scream echoed as the car plummeted down the rocky hillside.
Talon had only a moment to celebrate his victory. A helicopter was moving in fast, headed straight toward him. A man leaned out of the craft, machine pistol leveled at the Mercedes. Bullets stitched the road before perforating the hood, turning much of the Mercedes into Swiss cheese. It was only a matter of time before Talon lost control of the vehicle—or a lucky bullet hit the gas tank. The Glock was no match for the sustained firepower of his airborne attackers. What to do?
Talon glanced at the dead motorcyclist, and a plan sparked behind his eyes. Instead of slowing the Mercedes, whose engine was now belching smoke, he sped up and reached behind his seat to remove the corpse’s helmet. Swiftly, Talon donned the helmet.
Thirty feet in front of him, the chopper hovered beyond the road’s flimsy guard railing like some mechanical beast of prey. One last task remained before Talon could make his move. He grabbed the Grimoire and slipped it under his leather jacket. A burning sensation assaulted his chest, almost as if the book had sprouted claws and was ripping its way through skin and bone to get at his pounding heart. How he wished he could leave the infernal tome behind, but Casca would never forgive him. Besides, if the billionaire was right, even an explosion wouldn’t destroy the magical book.
Occult Assassin: The Complete Series (Books 1-6) Page 45