“It’s his nerves. He doesn’t show it any other way, but what he’s doing in this affects him pretty badly.” She was silent. “Everybody needs something.”
Nothing was said for a long time, but from the set of her eyes Soloman knew that small talk was over. After taking a sip of water she looked directly at him, as if she expected him to start it. He returned the stare and tried to be encouraging without sounding patronizing.
“I think she’s still alive, Maggie.”
“Oh?” She took a long drag. “Why?”
“Because Cain wanted to take her alive. He went to a lot of trouble to take her alive. If he was going to just kill her, he could have done it in the attic before I got to him. But he didn’t. And that’s because he wants to keep her until Samhain. We’ve still got three days.”
Something in her eyes was vaguely hostile, and she held it a long time. Then she lowered her face as she spoke, staring at the falling night. “I was going to use the virus.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t checked my purse.” Her lips tightened. “I don’t know whether to trust you or not.”
“I put it back in your purse, Maggie.”
She looked at him when he spoke those words, and Soloman smiled faintly. “You did the same thing I would have done,” he continued. “I wouldn’t have let Cain walk out of there with my child if I had the power to stop him – no matter what I had to do. If anything, I’m sorry you didn’t get a good chance to hit him with it.”
Silence.
A tear fell. “I could have killed us all, Soloman.” She rubbed it from her cheek. “Including Amy.”
“You did the right thing, Maggie.” Soloman’s eyes softened. He hadn’t seen a woman cry in so long. He was vaguely shocked that he was so touched. “But nobody was hurt. And I’m convinced Amy is still alive. I’m telling you that we have three more days.”
“And how are we going to find him, Sol?” It was a heartfelt question. “We couldn’t find him before. We had to make him come to us. Now we’ve lost him again and he could be anywhere, just ... anywhere ...”
“We’ll find him.” Soloman tried to communicate his confidence. “Trust me, we’ll find him. We’ve got one more stone to turn over, but it might give us something to go on. It has to.”
Then, reluctantly, he told her the full extent of their situation; they were cut off from military support, they were being hunted by every intelligence agency in the world, but they had the full support of the Vatican which would do anything necessary to locate and destroy Cain.
She heard it all and pondered it a long time, the cigarette burning, suddenly forgotten, in her hand. Soloman couldn’t truly tell how badly she’d received the news. Her face had paled, but she was also cold, almost scientific.
He looked up as Mother Superior Mary Francis, gray and stooped, entered the room with fresh bandages. Without asking permission the old nun began unwrapping the bandage on Maggie’s left forearm, and Soloman noticed that she seemed remarkably adept at the task.
With a frown Maggie ground out the cigarette with her right hand as the nun worked, speaking in a raspy voice. “Every child needs a mother. And soon your child shall have hers once more.”
The words, spoken with such quiet conviction, made a sudden tear appear on Maggie’s face.
“Yes, I know,” Sister Mary Francis added without looking up. “But suffering does not last forever. Not for you. And not for your child.”
Maggie stared. “Do you really think she’s alive?”
“She is alive.”
“But how can you know?”
“Because I know God will not let the Devil triumph in this.” Mary Francis deftly finished the fresh bandage, moving with surprising gentleness. “This is not his world, and soon God will deliver his doom.”
“But he’s already killed so many peo—”
“The sword devours one side as well as the other,” the Mother Superior interrupted sternly. “But Amy’s life would give him his ultimate victory, and that shall not be. God will not allow it. Soon your child will have her mother’s arms to comfort her once more.”
With a grimace Maggie leaned her head into the old nun’s shoulder, and without hesitation Mary Francis reached up, settling a firm hand on the auburn hair, bringing them together. And at Maggie’s first racking cry Soloman silently rose and walked from the room.
But as he moved toward the door, he also moved toward something inside him that was heated by the painful cries, and his face changed by degrees to stone. And as he cleared the portal, he knew only one thing with absolute certainty.
He would pursue this thing to the ends of the Earth.
And he would kill it.
***
“It has arrived, Eminence.”
Aveling did not stir as the young priest crossed the room to his crimson chair, which rested in front of the Archives. Then an instant later the man laid a large, wood-bound book on the old priest’s lap, afterwards stepping far to the side, waiting in silence.
With a frown Aveling turned his face down.
The Grimorium Verum.
It was the last surviving copy, acquisitioned from the Secret Archives of the Vatican to be flown by Concorde and a commandeered Lear, no expense spared. It was an evil work, Aveling knew all too well, but within its pages might lie the secret behind the words Cain spoke in the tunnel.
He ran a pale hand over the cover, studying the eerie, hideous, and mesmerizing image of a pornographic, Signorelli-type Hell drawn with typical Jesuit overcrowding.
Demons leaped and danced, some crushing underfoot naked women who had snakes crawling into their wombs. Men were bent and tortured with other demons crawling up their backs, purple faces distorted in a rictus of evil pleasure. Above the deeply penetrating scene, fierce angels royally dressed in medieval armor held burning swords to guard a majestic, sky-swept gateway.
Aveling realized that it was not the original cover for the millenniums-old book. Nor was this the original book itself, though it was written in old Hebrew. No, he was certain, the original cover had glorified the power and place cursed by this one.
Feeling his heart quicken in fear, Aveling slowly opened it and beheld images made by those original masters of sorcery that had penned the manuscript. He saw winged demons flying naked against a blood-red moon, a truly magnificent city—Pandemonium, the capital of Hell—built on a mountain of iron. Then there was the image of a titanic winged figure seated upon a lordly throne of granite, his great, six-fingered left hand extended over worshipping figures, each of formidable strength. The imperial face was the face of infinite pride, infinite will, endless strength.
Prince of the Air. . .
Aveling’s hand trembled as he turned the page, and another.
And another.
***
It was sunset when Soloman found Marcelle talking on the phone in a secret antechamber located behind a confessional. Nothing could be heard on the other side of the thick stone wall.
Soloman had already determined that they were secured in some secret part of the church, a place of hidden entrances and narrow corridors built into the edifice so long ago.
It was a place of unseen wars and unseen dominions, and Soloman wondered how many times it had been used in two centuries. But he felt confident they wouldn’t be discovered, for even the parishioners, he suspected, were unaware of this isolated domain.
Waiting patiently until Marcelle hung up, Soloman noticed that the priest seemed agitated. Not looking at Soloman as he took a short step, strolling as he always strolled while thinking, Marcelle lit a cigarette. Clearly he was pondering something of consequence.
“So what else is there, Marcelle?”
A troubled wave. “Two police officers were killed this morning at a condemned building in Elizabeth, not far from here. According to the
media, who are still zealously pursuing the carnage at the sanatorium in Los Angeles, their blood was drained.”
Soloman rose, pointing at the wall. “This is Cain, Marcelle!”
“Yes! Of course! But what advantage does it give us?”
Turning away, Soloman considered it a long time. “Cain had to hide, so he could heal. And if he had to kill those two cops for blood, then he hasn’t killed Amy yet. We can conclude that much.” He leaned heavily on a desk. “You said that Cain needed both Amy and The Grimorium Verum for a sacrifice. Now he has them. So what is he doing? Where is he going? The answer lies somewhere in that vault.”
Marcelle looked down and sighed. “Yes, we are certain of that. But there were so many documents.” He shook his head in dismay. “Inventory is so—”
The phone rang.
Marcelle answered. “Aveling! Yes, it is I … Yes, we are fine.” He listened, amazed. “Are you certain of this? Yes! This is excellent, Eminence! And you know more? What? Are you certain? Very good, Father ... Yes, of course we will be here.”
He hung up.
Soloman scowled. “What?”
The priest was electrified. “Aveling believes that he may solve the mystery before tonight.” He paced as he spoke his next words. “He has read the last surviving copy of the Grimorium Verum, and he has found the spell that Cain intends to invoke. Now he knows the exact type of place that Cain needs in order to complete the conjuration. There are approximately one hundred documents in the Archives granting deeds to land with like qualities. But this will speed up the process immensely.”
“So what kind of land does Cain need?”
He made a vague gesture. “It must be underground and near the sea for the power of salt water, which represents Hell. It must be made from hand-hewn granite to keep the conjurer close to the center of the Earth, and there must be fresh water flowing beneath it, representing the human soul. It must also be built on ground strong with copper, for magnetic effect. So, yes! This narrows the list considerably!”
“Look, Marcelle.” Soloman was growing angry. “We have to move faster on this! We have to intercept Cain before he gets to this place or we’ll be fighting him on the ground, and maybe even on the night, that he’s strongest.”
“It will be a fiendish thing,” the priest replied, scowling. “But we are finally closing in on this mystery, I believe.”
“Yeah? How close?”
Marcelle stopped pacing and stared.
“Close enough to kill or be killed, Colonel.”
***
Maggie appeared far more focused as Soloman re-entered the room. The bandage on her arm was white; the bleeding had finally stopped. She looked up with a forgiving, or a forgiven, smile and Soloman returned the same.
He felt his heart reach out and was surprised that he was so glad to see her again after just an hour. He knew what was happening, and he couldn’t stop it, but then he didn’t feel any inclination to stop it, anymore. He was going to give himself to this – if Maggie would have him.
But, for now, there was business.
“We’ve got something,” he said, reflexively grasping her hands as she reached out. “I think we’ve got an idea where he’s going. We might even be able to intercept him before he gets there, if we’re lucky.”
“Where, Sol? Where’s he going?”
“We ... We don’t know yet,” he replied, seeing the immediate rise of pain in her eyes. “Not exactly, Maggie. But we’re closer. A lot closer. We might even have an answer tonight.”
Soloman didn’t really know how it happened, but he knew from experience that it usually happened like that. One moment they were close and excited, and next they were locked in an embrace as passionate as anything he had ever known.
He felt emotion explode in his heart, spiraling through his arms as they tightened around her figure. Kisses were exchanged in an explosive surrendering of flesh before they separated slightly and stared into each other’s eyes.
“Soloman.” She grasped his hand resting firmly on her neck. “Please get Amy back for me ...”
He nodded hard. “I’m going to get her back.”
“And then?”
His face went cold.
“Then I’m gonna kill him.”
***
Moving quickly, hurling ancient documents that held inestimable value haphazardly to the cement floor, Aveling and Father Barth flew through the vault of the Secret Archives.
“This hidden place must be of copper and granite? And old, yes?” Barth hesitated with a document in his hand.
“It must be ancient!” Aveling moved with eyes that darted from shelf to shelf. “And yes! It must be of granite! It must be located by the sea. It will not be in this country.” He paused at a document, tossed it. “I feel it will be in northern England, though there is no way to know for certain. But that is the ancient land of Druidic power, and this spell is somehow linked to Samhain, so there must be a connection.”
“Perhaps somewhere in Flamborough or Hunstanton?”
“No!” Aveling’s emotions suddenly flared. “Those coasts are recent additions to the country and devoid of metal! They are products of glacial waste. No, this place will be older and stronger. It could possibly be upon an isolated coast of Northumberland.”
“Of course!” responded Barth, caught up.
Moving fast, their concentration and keenness of mind making lies of their years, they went through the documents like lightning as the Librarian Superior checked off each deed thrown, barely able to search the list and find it before he was fiercely hurled another.
***
“I need weapons, Marcelle.”
Soloman’s tone indicated that he was not in any mood for complications. He wanted weapons, he wanted them now, and he wasn’t taking any crap about the difficulties of obtaining them.
Concentrating, Marcelle looked about, as if he had never confronted the problem. He studied it a long time before he whispered, “It ... ah, we’ve never had to obtain weapons, Soloman. That could present difficult problems that, uh ... Perhaps I could—”
“Your people don’t have access to weapons?” Soloman was incredulous. “You’ve got jets and boats and all the money in the world, and you don’t have any access to weapons?”
“Weapons, ah, are not our specialty,” Marcelle said frankly, gazing away. “But I am certain that I can get you some weapons if we can only ... find a way to—”
“Damn, Marcelle! I don’t have time for this!”
Soloman picked up the phone and dialed the Armory at Fort Bragg, asking for Chatwell. He gave them an on-the-spot yarn about being an AD with the FBI, about wanting recommendations for new 9mm semiautos. Then there was a suspiciously long pause, a faint click, and Chatwell came on.
“This is Sergeant Chatwell.”
Soloman suspected that the line wasn’t secure.
“Chatwell, it’s Colonel Soloman.”
An unemotional pause. “Yes, sir?”
Soloman hadn’t been completely certain until he heard the voice: “Look, Chatwell, I know now that you’re under base arrest because they figured I’d be pulling something like this, so this isn’t for you. It’s for them!” He released some long-withheld anger, counting seconds against a trace. “You can’t stop me! You couldn’t stop me before, and you can’t stop me now!”
He hung up, turned to Marcelle. “Well ...” He paused a moment. “Looks like I’ll have to do it myself.”
“We don’t have much time, Soloman.”
Soloman moved for the door.
“I’m in a killing mode, Marcelle. I don’t need much time.”
***
Archette expected a more laudatory reception at the Long Island manor, for Soloman had been effectively eliminated; Cain had been flown to England with the child, and The Circle had accom
panied him for protection. He did not understand the frown on Lazarus’s face.
Staring down at the ancient table, concentrating, the white-haired man had not moved. His fingers rested on a Rune card that had been there when Archette entered. It lay face up amidst burning black candles, and Lazarus had not taken his eyes from it, nor from three others laid in a tight square.
“Lazarus?” Archette ventured, made extremely cautious by the poised concentration. “Did you hear my words?”
“I understand your words, and I understand more,” Lazarus murmured, pausing. “Tell me, Archette. You said that Colonel Soloman has been eliminated. That is good. I commend you for your faithfulness. But tell me, what of this priest?”
“The priest?”
“Yes. This Jesuit priest. Has he also been eliminated?”
“I don’t understand, Lazarus. The priest was merely an adviser to Soloman. Soloman alone had the resources for interfering with our dreams. The priest ... he is only a priest.”
Lazarus shook his head as if the statement did not merit his attention. His mouth tightened as he cryptically turned a card on the table for Archette to see. “Do you understand this card?” he asked quietly.
Archette stepped forward, staring down. He saw four cards laid face up, each pointing in a different direction; north, south, east, and west. They were Disruption, Warrior, Flow, and Movement. Archette did not know how to interpret them, and managed, “Perhaps you should explain, Lazarus. I do not read the Runes.”
“Neither does our Lord,” Lazarus said. “Runes have no more association with his power than Tarot reading or the interpretation of stars. But sometimes ... they reveal truth.”
“What do you mean?” Archette asked.
“This”—Lazarus lowered his face toward Disruption—”reveals the release of elemental and chaotic forces on the Earth. It signifies the archetypal mind strong beyond measure. Then, there is Warrior. It is a spiritual symbol. It falls to the opposite of Disruption.” He frowned. “Then there is Flow, which signifies that a great change is about to occur. And to the North, standing upright, there is ... Movement.”
“I am not familiar with this card.”
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