“Any ground between you and Cain is the last place anybody wants to be standing,” she said, gazing at him for a long while before she leaned forward. “Sol, can I ask you something?”
“Go for it.”
“Why do you think you’re still alive?” Somehow, the question disturbed her. “I mean, Malo was a good soldier – the best. All of them were. But you’re the last one.”
He shrugged. “There’s no explaining it. Luck. Fate. Whatever. I’ve been six feet away from a land mine that exploded and killed everyone around me, and I wasn’t even scratched. Really, I should’ve died, then. I should’ve died a lot of times. But I’ll die when it’s my time. Just like Malo died when it was his time. That’s all there is to it.”
“Are you afraid?”
He grunted. “Always.”
“Were you afraid when you lived in the desert?”
Soloman looked up. He hadn’t told her about that part of his life, was surprised that she knew.
She smiled faintly. “Ben told me about it on the night you went to the cathedral. He’d had a little too much of the sauce, I think. Got real talkative.” She stared. “He said he couldn’t figure what you were doing out there. Waiting to die. Trying to die. Something like that.”
There was silence, and Soloman knew he had to answer. With a frown he looked down and removed the string from the pan, laying it carefully on the table. He didn’t look up as he spoke.
“When I lost Marilyn and Lisa, I didn’t care about living. That’s probably the only reason I was able to pull off what I did. I had no fear – not of anything. So I hunted down the men that killed them and … killed them all. It was the only time I had ever set out to actually kill anyone. But it didn’t help, in the end. I couldn’t kill enough. I could never kill enough. So I went to the desert.” He tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know. I was more comfortable with death, I guess, than life. The best part of my life was dead, and I suppose I wanted to die with them. But I wasn’t going to give in to it. It had to work for me. Had to earn it. It’s . . . hard to explain.”
There was affection in her green eyes, along with compassion. But there was something else, as if she realized a bitter irony.
“You were alive, Sol, and you wanted to die,” she said. “And now you’re fighting a dead man that wants to live.”
Soloman stared, absorbing the thought.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
She glanced at the grenades, the massive shotgun, the handgun with magazines and ammunition laid in a dangerous glossy black display.
“I pray that you can stop him, Sol.” She closed her eyes. “You’re the last one.”
Soloman frowned. “I’ll finish it, Maggie. I promise. I’ll finish it, and then you and Amy can be together. And ... and maybe I could tag along ... if you don’t mind the company.”
Her eyes were both sad and joyful.
“No, Sol.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t mind.”
***
The sun was still high when the Lear landed at the international airport in Birmingham.
It was an English industrial metropolis, proud and expansive. And although it was far from dusk, early darkness obscured the distant factories and hotels that lined the horizon. In the west, a great column of smoke stretched into the sky like a funeral pyre.
The jet door opened, and eight men wearing obviously expensive casual clothing deplaned. Then another man deplaned, a broad-shouldered giant who held himself with an imperious, lordly manner as he turned his head. Preternatural quickness flickered in the black eyes as he appeared to see all that was, and more.
Of imposing stature, he held himself with a vaguely threatening aura of concentrated physical power. And over a wide, low brow that hinted of phenomenal intellect and will, a long black mane of hair fell slightly past his shoulders. Dressed entirely in black, his long dark cloak lifted to a deep-born north wind which had risen abruptly, overcoming the roar of dying engines. His pants were loose and luxurious, and laced boots of thick leather sheathed his legs to the knees. He wore black gloves over hands that appeared large and capable.
Hesitating at the kingly image, airport police turned after a moment, politely requesting papers, and one of the men presented all that was necessary: a flight plan, visas, passports, and detailed manifests of cargo. Obviously, from the professional manner in which everything was inventoried and available for quick verification, the expedition was well organized. There were no untoward developments, and in an hour they had cleared customs.
The only curious attachment was a six-year-old girl with sunlight hair, sleeping soundly inside the jet. Her papers were also in order, and at the faintly intimidating request of the father, the leader, police declined to awaken her. His daughter was very tired, he said with no discernible accent, and needed to rest. Holding the dark and ultimately dominating gaze for a moment, officers exchanged hesitant glances, finally acquiescing.
It was finished.
Customs officials allowed two vans, which had been waiting for the jet’s arrival, to approach. And while the men loaded cargo and luggage into the secondary vehicle, the giant carried the child, still sleeping soundly, to the back of the first vehicle where he laid her gently on a cot. He turned to nod dismissively to the police who watched with curious interest, amazed that a child could sleep so soundly.
Then the van left the tarmac and drove toward the mysterious north, a land where misty forests and ancient castles stood poised on the edge of ice-mountains that rose hauntingly above the sea.
***
Father Barth, sweating and breathing heavily, held a hand over his chest. He was perilously exhausted, his vision blurring with each document he lifted so tiredly from the shelf.
He cast a glance at the Librarian Superior to see his face drawn and haggard, as if he could not continue. Then Barth looked at the ancient Aveling to see the pale visage sternly set. Obviously the older priest was similarly exhausted but revealed no sign of relenting.
Only a handful of the documents remained. Then Aveling motioned generously for Barth to sit while he finished the task.
Accepting, Barth collapsed while Aveling moved quickly, finding and sorting and discarding with a skill keenly honed by a night of frantic filing. And then they were done, the vault cleared with every paper meticulously inventoried and cross-checked.
Aveling let the last document fall dead to the floor, stumbling slightly as he exited. He reached the table and motioned for the Librarian Superior to move aside. Then the Jesuit Superior General sat where the lists had been so hurriedly but carefully compiled. His eyes roamed, concentrated. He went from one book to the next, finding and referencing.
After ten minutes, he stood. His gray eyes narrowed in a primitive pleasure rarely observed in so august a face. “At last,” he said quietly as he stared down. “At last ... we have found this fell creature.”
Barth stood, swayed by the impact of the news. He leaned against the vault wall. “Are you certain, Aveling? Do you know where Cain has taken the child? There is no time to be deceived!”
“Yes,” came the exhausted reply. “I know exactly where he has fled. It is as I surmised. He has taken her to the ancient land of the Druids. To the land of Samhain.”
“What is this place?”
“The Castle of Calistro. It was claimed by the Church in the fourteenth century after the renegade Cathars and Druids ran amok with human sacrifice. It is located in the Northumberland region of England.” Aveling released a deep breath. “It is a forbidding fortress that towers on the eastern sea cliffs of Lifanis, a cold and desolate place. Though the Castle itself is Roman in design, no one is certain who constructed it. It is a place I know only by bureaucratic privilege as Superior General, and there is much I cannot tell. Though, vowing you to restraint, I can say it is a place rumored to contain mysterious forces. The single road leading to th
e cliffs of Lifanis has been barricaded for many years. Nor do we allow tourism within its walls.”
“Forces? What manner of forces?”
“Perhaps scientific, perhaps magnetic or even geological.” Aveling shook his head tiredly. “Perhaps even divine forces, though I had thought myself to have given up belief in such things. Suffice it to say that we do not understand them. But Cain ... He will understand.”
“Then this deed that he has stolen—”
“Grants him legal possession.” Aveling was gloomy. “Whoever possesses the deed, signed by Edward I, will have little problem settling affairs with English authorities. There will certainly be suspicious questions, but nothing that Cain, with his great wisdom, cannot deflect.”
“Do you believe he intends to make this castle his home?”
“Even birds of the air need nests,” Aveling replied. “Cain is the same. And if our perceptions are correct, then he will want a place old with blood and shadow and cold. He will not want a place devoid of what he knows so well.” A pause. “Yes, I believe that Cain intends to make this his home while he consummates his plan.”
“And the child?”
Silent, Aveling frowned.
“If those who fight for us cannot rescue her, then she will surely die,” he replied finally. “Cain must have her blood to correct this curious scientific malady in his system. But even if he did not need her blood, he will kill her. He is a creature of mindless annihilation, of senseless evil without meaning or even true design. It would be destruction for the sake of destruction, the heart of evil. So yes, old friend, he will murder the child.”
Barth rose. “And now? Now what is our course? Can we not call in the English authorities to intervene? Surely Marcelle and Soloman are outmatched, alone against this fiend.”
“Yes, but alone they must remain. For no one would stand beside them if they knew the meaning of their struggle.”
Barth said, “They will need a miracle.”
“We have no time for miracles, divine or otherwise” Aveling answered. “Now I must call Marcelle and tell him that the final conflict is upon them. I must tell him to pursue Cain to the Castle of Calistro where, by the grace of God, they may yet destroy him.”
Aveling’s face fell. “Before he destroys us all.”
CHAPTER 23
Amy awoke to a cavernous silence, a stillness of air. She didn’t think of anything at all as she rose on one hand, staring at faint distant angles of light framed by gloom. It seemed that she was somewhere different; she couldn’t be sure. But as she gazed she began to perceive distinct lines within the somberness, lines that joined, level upon level, rising ...
Stones ...
Stones joined close about her, and she realized that she was in some kind of building, distant light shifting through an entrance to ... to this room. She shook her head and sat groggily on the bed, raising hands to her head. She had a headache, a sharp pain in her temples that reminded her somehow of ... the man.
And she remembered.
He had come to her, had made her drink something pasty and bitter that made her gag. And then she knew no more, only the nightmare continuing, always continuing. But she had known so much of it in the past two days, it seemed like all there had ever been.
She thought of her mother – and Soloman who had promised to always, always protect her. Then she remembered the pain on his face as the man had moved her down the stairs, saw Soloman reaching out, and for a faint, fading second she had known hope.
She prayed that Soloman and her mother would be coming for her, that they would find her, even as something else said that no one would ever find her, and that she would die here. Then she was afraid again with a night known too long.
Bowing her head, she desperately clutched the rosary beads and the crucifix of Mother Superior Mary Francis—to give you comfort—still wrapped closely about her neck, her hand tight with a last hope.
Tears fell, but she made no sound at all.
***
Soloman snatched the curtain of the Lear cockpit.
“Can’t this thing fly any faster?” he snarled.
The pilot of the Lear turned his head. “We’re already going five-fifty, Colonel!” He was clearly exasperated. “That’ll put you in England in two more hours, and it’s the best I can do! This isn’t an F-16, you know. We can’t go Mach 2! We can’t even go supersonic!”
Without replying Soloman jerked back the curtain and moved angrily down the aisle to see Maggie holding a fist to her teeth, staring worried and silent out a window. He passed her without words and crouched at the back for an equipment check. And again he was satisfied.
Yeah, he’d brought everything.
The .50-caliber Grizzly semiauto was in the sack with ten fully loaded clips for a total of seventy rounds, each capable of shattering the engine block of a car. The armor-piercing rounds would penetrate a quarter-inch steel panel, he knew, and just might penetrate Cain’s internal armor plating.
The Benelli, termed the M3, was a shotgun specially designed for the military. It fired either slugs or buckshot and operated on semiauto or pump. It carried seven rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. And Soloman had loaded it with double-ought buck, each shell containing 9-mm shot. They couldn’t penetrate Cain’s armor, but they’d devastate flesh to put that infamous healing ability into overdrive.
Last, Soloman checked the grenades, twenty of them, and a water-proof daypack filled with almost twenty pounds of dynamite and homemade napalm concocted from gasoline and non-detergent cleanser.
The dynamite was wrapped around a waterproof bag holding the napalm, and he would use the dynamite as a catalyst. A twenty-second fuse was located in the top, and once it was lit he’d have to get clear fast because the explosion would create a holocaust of mushrooming flame over one hundred fifty feet across. But if he had to, he had already decided, he’d put the pack on his back and throw himself on top of Cain for a final embrace. Either way, he had determined, Cain was going down.
There are worse ways to die.
He sensed Marcelle beside him and looked up to see Sister Mary Francis sitting beside Maggie, seemingly in prayer. With a quick movement he closed the duffle and rose. “Are you sure we’re not going to have any trouble getting my weapons through customs, Marcelle?”
“Yes,” the priest replied confidently. “Aveling has made arrangements with certain members of MI5 – old friends of his, it seems. They have pledged to keep your arrival a secret for a short time and will escort us through customs without preliminaries.”
With a grunt Soloman looked over the plane. “It’s going to long odds, Marcelle, this team against Cain.” He paused. “Maybe you and the rest should let me go in alone, take him down myself.”
“Everyone needs an ally, Soloman.”
The warrior in Soloman, never far from the scholar, rose to the surface. He had felt it taking more and more control since Amy had been taken. Realized his attitude altering more and more as they got closer to the confrontation. His killing instincts were fresh and alive, flowing from his heart hot with quick strength, a hair-trigger alertness.
“Well, not everyone has to go up against this,” he replied. “And it’s not going to be a dancing contest. It’s going to be a throw-down without mercy from beginning to end, and once it starts there’s not gonna be any place in that castle that’s safe.”
Marcelle smiled faintly. “But we do not fight alone, Soloman. We do have God on our side.”
“You’re a brave man, Marcelle. But don’t get too brave. There’s no future in it.”
Marcelle truly enjoyed it. “What we face, Soloman, may require all of your skills and mine combined.”
“What skills can you offer?”
“Counsel. There are unknowns that we must consider. Plus, I doubt that Cain remains alone. If he is half as cunning as I
believe him to be, then he has recruited followers from intergenerational cults that are secretly dedicated to worshipping him. They are the most dangerous force in Satanism. I told you earlier that I did not think we were dealing with Satanism. That is because we were dealing with Cain, who is Satan himself. But I believe the game has changed, somewhat. The circle has enlarged.”
Soloman looked away. “The big conspiracy theory, Marcelle? That Satanists are responsible for Hitler, Watergate, pornography, abortion, the Pentagon, and Iran-gate?”
Marcelle enjoyed the moment of humor. “No.” He smiled. “That is a fallacy of the paranoid and simpleminded. It is a delusion, for such an act would be impossible to sustain. However, the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit publicly admits that there are, indeed, multigeneration families that are secretly dedicated to Satanism. These families are highly protective and leave no clues of crimes. They would be a formidable ally for Cain.”
“So,” Soloman pondered, “who would Cain recruit? That is, if he’s really who you think he is.” He still had trouble saying it out loud.
Taking a breath, the priest said, “If Cain is who we suspect him to be, he will have recruited vassals from almost anywhere. There are many who truly practice Satanism and are equipped to assist him with money and resources.”
“Is that really possible?”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “It is possible.”
“Well, I’m not worried about Cain’s goons.” Soloman suddenly checked the Grizzly, breaking out. “I’m in a hot damn mood to kill somebody, so it might just as well be them. What I’m saying is that I don’t want to see Maggie or you or Mary Francis get hurt by the flak. ‘Cause once this thing starts I’m not going to be able to fight Cain and protect all of you at the same time. To finish Cain, I’ll have to go all out. Which means there’s gonna be a firestorm. And these grenades and bullets aren’t particular about who they find.”
“I am in this to the end,” Marcelle said gently, but firmly. “As is Mother Superior Mary Francis. Nor, I think, will Maggie let you go into the castle alone. She has great affection for you.”
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