by Sean Deville
The men dragging her had let her fall to the floor, the sudden change in circumstances alarming them.
“Control, report,” Bob said into the portable radio he carried. All he got back was static.
“What’s going on?” Veronica asked. Neither of the men answered her, Fred stripping the balaclava off as he moved towards the door to the cell.
“Control, answer me, damn it.”
“What’s going on?” Veronica demanded again, louder this time.
“Radio’s down. Try your phone.” Fred ripped a mobile phone out of his chest pocket.
“No signal.” There was an alarmed tone to Fred’s voice.
“Are we being attacked?” Veronica babbled. She grabbed Bob’s arm but he shook her off.
“Keep quiet and let us think,” Bob insisted. The dim lights flickered again. Neither of the men believed they were dealing with a coincidence, even though they were far from the best agents MI5 had. They were specifically tasked with this mission because of their psychological profile, which allowed them to do things other people would find abhorrent. Through the open door, Lilith heard the sound of running feet. A man appeared at the door.
“We are under attack,” the man said. “You two with me.” Fred was already close to the door, the stranger disappearing as fast as he had appeared.
“Wait, you can’t leave me,” Veronica demanded. Bob grabbed her arm dismissively.
“Lock yourself in the observation room,” he said. “Leave her here for now,” he added, pointing at Lilith.
Lilith pulled herself onto her hands and knees, her arms and legs free for the first time in twenty-four hours. She wanted to lie down and stretch out, to work the knots and the spasms out of her system, but that would come later. The muscles that she would need were weak, the tendons and joints suffering from the continuous strain they had endured. She played on this now, making herself seem feebler than she was. With her captors preoccupied, Lilith assessed the situation. She couldn’t take all three of them, not as she was.
Fred left the room, Bob starting to follow. Veronica hesitated, which was all Lilith needed. They had forgotten how dangerous their prisoner was. Or worse, they never knew the true scope of the killer they were dealing with. Thank you, Lilith whispered to herself.
“I need protecting.” Veronica thought she was important. She was about to learn she wasn’t worth shit in a situation like this. Lilith heard it, the uncertainty that had crept into her voice, the fear that was growing. A weakness that could be exploited, evidenced by a slight droop of her shoulders to indicate how uncertain she was. Veronica had no strength when the control she demanded was removed. The predator had now become the prey.
“For Christ’s sake, stop pissing about and move,” Bob ordered. Veronica liked to think she was in charge, but that wasn’t the case with the dynamics now shifted.
“I will not be spoken to like this,” Veronica screamed. She had stopped dead in her tracks, a childlike tantrum building.
Upstairs there was the sound of a muted explosion.
Bob looked up at the ceiling, and Lilith made her move. Veronica, sensing danger, turned too late, surprised by the speed of someone who had suffered such recent abuse. Bob saw their prisoner launch from the floor, but too late to shout a warning. Lilith grabbed hold of Veronica’s upper legs, wrapping her arms around them, still playing the victim.
A second explosion.
“Don’t hurt me anymore, please,” Lilith seemed to beg, but it was an act.
“Get your hands off me,” Veronica squealed. She found Lilith’s touch repulsive, almost painful. Lilith used Veronica to pull herself off the floor with sweat stained hands, weak blows suddenly raining down on her head and shoulders. Veronica might well have been an accomplished torturer, but she would be hopeless in a street fight.
Lilith had already assessed that from the first moments they had met. It was in the way she moved, the high heeled shoes she chose to wear, the smoothness of the skin over the knuckles. All those little clues had been woven together for this moment. Veronica was a sadist who loved to inflect pain whilst living a luxurious and pampered life. She was only a danger to those who could not fight back.
“Get off her,” Bob roared, coming back towards the pair, torn between helping Veronica and defending the building. Fred was long gone, nowhere to be seen, probably out of shouting distance.
Lilith’s hands pawed at Veronica’s clothes, slipping the knife free, palming it without anyone seeing. She was still weak, and the weapon would be her only way out of this. In her prime Lilith knew she would have a good chance to take Bob down. With her present physical state, she needed everything the Lord could give her.
Bob grabbed Lilith harshly by the hair and began to pull her away. Her slick hand closed over his. He realised his mistake too late, only to feel the punch in his inner thigh, then agony as the second strike of the knife came up into his testicles, opening one of them up. Some men might have been able to carry on after such an injury, but with blood already pouring from his femoral artery, Bob fell to the floor screaming. He let the pain claim him, surrendering to it.
Lilith suddenly wondered how long Bob would have been able to withstand Veronica’s charms. She knew he was done, but as he slumped to the ground, she crawled on top of him and slid the knife into the side of his neck, opening up the wound as she thrust her arm out, slicing him fully open.
Veronica made for the door, her shoes worn for the image they portrayed rather than practicality. The thrown knife took her deep in the upper back, Veronica stumbling and falling forward into the corridor. Despite throwing her hands out, the woman fell hard. Surprisingly she continued to crawl. Lilith came after her, stumbling slightly as she fought her own immediate failings. Then, as she landed on Veronica’s back, a howl of despair filled the corridor. No sound escaped Lilith’s lips.
Lilith ripped the knife free, a hand pushing Veronica’s face down into the ground, the knife coming down again, strategic strikes that caused maximum pain and damage.
“Please,” Veronica managed to say before the shock of the assault took her. There would be no mercy here. From above, Lilith heard the battle and the shouts of brave men being slaughtered. She assumed they were brave, not that bravery amounted to much.
Lilith finished her enemy off the same way she had Bob. She felt no satisfaction from her victory. These were lost souls that were now hurtling for the place they would never enjoy. Hell would be an ironic place for someone like Veronica to end up in. The tormentor tortured for the rest of eternity. Whilst nobody knew what fate those sent there faced, it was generally considered that you were repaid for what you unleashed upon the world.
Lilith stood on shaking limbs, exhaustion threatening to claim her. She wouldn’t let it for she was far from done yet. A modicum of shame broke through. For a time there, a part of her had considered giving up; had considered defiling the oath she had made. She would owe some penance for that, and if she got out of this situation alive, she would pay it gladly.
Stepping back into her cell she walked over to the surgical table, where she armed herself with something more formidable. Before finally leaving her prison, she ripped off the security access card that was pinned to Bob’s chest.
Lilith didn’t care that she was naked, she would fight on regardless.
***
Vadik’s chest ached from where the two bullets had been stopped by his Kevlar armour. That would leave a bruise, but he carried on regardless, the man who had fired those shots lying dead behind him. Two dead outside, three dead so far inside.
“Communication room found,” Kosta shouted in English from the floor above. Everyone knew the language. That meant Kosta would have already set the charges. Even though cutting the power had nullified the external cameras, the internal ones were still active. Best to leave no clues as to the identities of the assailants. Their guns were all fitted with standard NATO rounds, the boots they wore available in any Western country. There
could be no proof that this crime was committed on the orders of Russia. Kosta had placed a generous brick of C4 on the main computer server, just to be sure.
Vadik always went first into the fray. Having him on point was to your ultimate advantage. He seemed to have a sense of where danger lurked. In his earlier years, before his run in with the Syrians, he had developed a reputation that made him both feared and respected. He seemed to see things that other men missed, could reportedly smell where the enemy were.
Now he raised a fist telling Dmitri to stop. He stood short of a door, and he pulled another grenade from his vest. The pin released, he flung the device into the room, ducking down and back in case bullets came in response. The internal walls of the farmhouse were all brick and stone, but only a fool took such chances.
The explosion muffled the scream that it induced, and he cleared the room, putting three bullets into the man with the balaclava half pulled off his face.
“Kitchen clear,” Dmitri said behind him. At the end of a short corridor, Kosta appeared. He had cleared the upstairs, finding the dead man that Anastasia had killed.
“Find the lower level,” Dmitri ordered. The interior of the farm house had surprised him. He’d expected old country rustic charm, only to find concrete floors and smooth white walls. Someone had spent a lot of money on this place while leaving the exterior dilapidated.
Vadik was already making his way through the kitchen. A hand gesture from him told the team he had found the way down.
“Kosta, you go with Vadik,” Dmitri ordered. Kosta nodded, sliding past the Major, following Vadik down a flight of steps into the brightness below.
***
Lilith left the cell, her bare feet leaving bloody footprints from the pool of fluid that had flowed out of Veronica’s body. She was free of containment, but she still had to get out of the complex. There was no indication of how big it was, or what country she was in. To her left was an empty room, the one behind the viewing mirror. She paused in the door briefly, scanning the interior. There was nothing in there of use. A further explosion rocked the ceiling above followed by more gunfire.
After a pause, voices from the top of a flight of stairs met her and her fingers gripped the two knives she had found. They were the ones with the best weight and the best feel in the palm of her hands. If you were going to use a weapon, it had to feel comfortable. They weren’t as long as she would have liked, and would do little for her if she came up against a competent opponent armed with a firearm, but she was already doing better than she could have hoped for. At least now, if her captors came for her, she would give them no choice but to shoot her.
Finally, she would ascend to the waiting arms of Christ.
What surprised her, apart from the rescue, was how few people she was now encountering. The image she had of this place was that of a deep dungeon below a government building, but it quickly became apparent that the cell and the viewing room were all that were down here.
People were coming down the steps, and Lilith stopped in her tracks ready to face them. Okay, this was where she would make her stand.
The first man who came down was wearing a mask, the gun he held aimed directly at Lilith’s head. He stepped forward, motioning for her to drop the knives. A second man appeared, also masked.
“If you want me, you will have to shoot me.” Lilith would not let herself be restrained again.
“There will be no need for that,” the second man said. Vadik, the first man, lowered his weapon. “Cardinal Esposito sends his regards.”
42.
Scotland, UK, 3 years ago
The rituals were over. Now came the important stuff.
For three days, Horn had attended meetings where rich but foolish men negotiated their place in what they saw as the coming world. The problem was some of them viewed this purely as a business opportunity rather than a new way of being. It was a real possibility only about sixty per cent of those present actually believed in the true authority of Satan.
That was about to change.
Throughout the previous days, Horn had said little. He spent his time watching his fellow billionaires, getting the measure of them. It was important for him to know who was weak and who had potential, and such knowledge only came through research and observation.
On paper, some of them were richer than Horn, but none had manipulated and shaped their businesses to the degree Horn had. Horn knew everything about them, Kane’s associates having delved deep into their financial and personal histories. Most of those present had skeletons in their closets, crimes and fetishes that their money protected them from. With enough wealth you could bribe judges and politicians, pay off whole police departments and control the future of countries and regions. Rich men could pay for powerful men to protect them. This wouldn’t be enough to save some of those here.
Now was Horn’s time to speak, and his words would rip apart the world of those present.
The conference table was large, twenty-six seats around its oval structure. At the head sat Horn, with Beleth to his right. Each of the men here would give a presentation during their time on the island, and now it was Horn’s turn. This would not be the first time he had spoken at this yearly gathering, but it would be the first time that he would reveal who he truly was.
Those present were in for a bit of a show and it was a moment where they would learn who the true believers were.
Many of those present didn’t know why this particular island was chosen. Rumour had it the original founder of the Order had fallen in love with the place long ago, but that was challenging to believe. The weather could be harsh, and although the tree-laden gully where the rituals and lodge were held was lush, most of the island was rocky and difficult to farm. It was far from a paradise.
The island was chosen because the Order’s founder had discovered that this place had a reputation, a history that would only be of interest to someone who worshipped the true Lord of Earth. There were places on this planet where the barrier between reality and Hell was thin. And whilst the fraying of the barrier was spreading, this island had always been a place where Hell could be felt if you knew how to look.
The first time Horn had been here, he had met with Beleth before meeting the other attendees. During their conversation that day, Beleth had told Horn he felt at peace on the island because, if he concentrated hard enough, Beleth could feel the pulse of home.
Horn stood. He would need no PowerPoint presentations for this speech. His voice would dominate the room, and those present would be wise to listen. Their lives would depend on how they responded to the news they were about to be given.
“Gentlemen, you’ve all done pretty well for yourselves.” The light was dim, a shroud of cigar smoke clinging to the ceiling. There were no smoking restrictions here. “You serve our master well.” There was a murmur of approval.
“You’ve not done so bad yourself,” one of the billionaires joked from the back of the room. There were some in the room who still considered Horn the new boy, an underling who hadn’t yet proven himself, despite the wealth he had accumulated. This too was about to change.
“Indeed. The company I inherited from my father was ailing and now it is a global giant.” Horn turned his steely eyes to the man who had spoken. “And if you interrupt me again, I will gouge out your eyes.”
“I would like to see you try,” the man said. The billionaire in question was German, a man who had profited greatly from the reunification of East and West Germany. In his country he was a gangster among other things, a person who had once been high up in the East German Stasi. There were nicer people to meet on a cold winter’s morning.
“So would I,” Beleth whispered under his breath.
“You have all benefited from our master’s guidance and benevolence, but now it is time for you all to bow down to a new master.” There was confusion in the room at this. “We have all been waiting for the time of the Great Reckoning to arrive. That time is now at hand.”
“Then you are blind to the truth. Let me show you the new reality whilst you can still see.” The German was about to say something more, the red creeping into his cheeks. But the man next to him stood, as did one across the table. Beleth also stood. The rest of the table looked around confused.
Horn nodded to Beleth.
“You know me as Rupert Daniels, an inheritor of vast wealth and the Chairman of our esteemed Order. But that is not my name, it was one given to the vessel I now wear. My true name is Beleth, Great King of Hell.”
“What the fuck is this shit?” another of the billionaires demanded. Horn looked around at those present, saw doubt in some and enlightenment in others. All he saw in the German was arrogance.
“You know me as Wayman Chan, the treasurer of this esteemed Order. But that is not my name, it was one given to the vessel I now wear.” The man who stood next to the German let his voice carry across the room. “My true name is Vine, Great King of Hell.”
“You know me as Rhett Jansen, Secretary of this esteemed Order,” the third man said. “But that is not my name, it was given to the vessel I now wear. My true name is Balam, Great King of Hell.”
“These three have been amongst you for years, watching you, observing which of you are worthy of the honour our master wishes to bestow. Some of you have been found worthy. Others not so much.” Horn saw fear now in some of the eyes that observed him. Whilst there was also disbelief, there was mainly acceptance. This was good. This was what he wanted to see.