by Sean Deville
“This is bullshit,” the German blustered.
“Do you not believe the words of our esteemed members?” Horn exaggerated the surprise he snuck into his voice. Vine stepped back from the table.
“What I believe is that this is a feeble attempt by a boy to try and usurp power from us.”
“Call me a boy again,” Horn demanded. He had been looking forward to this because he felt he knew how this moment was destined to play out. The only thing he found surprising was how few of the others were protesting.
“I will do more than that, boy,” the German insisted, rising to his feet.
“Then perhaps a demonstration. I thank you,” Horn said, “for volunteering to show the truth to these fine gentlemen.” The German didn’t seem to notice. His bluster had consumed him and he began to march around the table, only to suddenly stop in his tracks. No matter how hard he tried, his feet stubbornly refused to move. Looking around, he saw that everyone was staring at him, the three proclaimed demons finding obvious mirth in his predicament.
“What is this?” the German demanded.
“I told you. It is a demonstration. There are doubting minds in the room who need to see the truth of what I say.” The German’s knees suddenly buckled, sending him to the ground. He cried out in agony, for his knees had folded the wrong way, snapping the joints and completely ruining them. Some at the table rose to witness the carnage, others looked at the three standing men with growing realisation.
“Can’t you do something about the noise?” Horn asked Beleth.
“Of course,” Beleth said. Those on the German’s side of the table were witness to the unbelievable. The German’s lips began to fuse together, muffling the harrowing cries so they became trapped in his throat. This place, this island was like a well Beleth and his ilk could tap into. The telekinetic powers they possessed were greatly enhanced.
“What these three tell you is true. The demons are here, and they have been amongst you for centuries. Some of you know this already having shown your true dedication.” Horn directed his attention at two men in particular, who acknowledged the honour given to them.
“But this is not the truth we wish to reveal today,” Beleth interjected. “As shocking as our identity might be to some of you, there is a greater one amongst us.” Vine and Balam moved then, walking around the table to stand next to Beleth. “The one we have all been waiting for has finally come.”
“You mean…?” a voice from the seated men asked.
“Yes,” Beleth replied. “The Antichrist, the Little Horn, the son of perdition is here.”
“Do any of you need further proof?” Horn insisted. Although nobody answered, he still detected doubt amongst those present. “Very well.”
“How can we serve you best?” one of the seated men asked. This was one of the two to whom Horn had given recognition.
“By accepting what is about to come.” The door to the conference room opened then, two men entering. Each carried folders, and carefully they laid out those folders in front of around half the men seated. A folder was also placed at the empty space that had been vacated by the still writhing German. The two new arrivals stepped back into the corner of the room, disappearing into the gloom.
“Please open the folders,” Horn ordered. “You have two choices today. You can sign the papers enclosed, or you can join your German friend in the fate he is about to suffer.”
“But this…this is a legal transfer of all my assets,” a shocked voice protested.
“Yes, it is. Your businesses, your estates and your empires have been collated and assessed. You have been deemed unworthy by the one you serve, so your wealth will be transferred to those who will go forward as the power of the new world.”
“This is outrageous,” another voice insisted. Horn couldn’t help but note that two of the men present were already signing the papers. The folders were thick, little red tabs sticking out to indicate the relevant pages.
“Beleth,” Horn instructed. Beleth cracked his neck noisily, preparing himself for the next miracle. With the power of the demon’s mind, the German began to lift into the air. That was where all doubt vanished, another of those abandoned signing the documents in exaggerated haste.
“Those who sign will still have a place in the new world,” Vine noted. “We will not take everything. Each of you will be left with a billion dollars each, and will be allowed to spend your days in luxury, free from the Revelation that is soon to befall the planet. You are not the sheep and so you will be protected. For a time at least.” The German was floating over the table now, his body moving horizontally as the arms and legs spread themselves wide. The limbs moved, every joint dislocated as the bones were pulled tight. Tendons snapped, muscles tore, even the fingers and toes being rendered useless.
“Or you can die now and meet our master in person,” Balam warned.
“You can’t do this,” a billionaire with a French accent begged.
“I already have,” Horn advised. “Or would you go against the will of my father?”
“You?” the Frenchman shrieked. “You are the Antichrist?”
“The very same.” Drops of blood began to fall from the German’s eyes now, his verbal anguish reduced to a defeated moan. The eyeballs slowly began to protrude, popping out of their sockets in turn. They dangled uselessly on their optic nerves, Horn delivering the promise he had made. As the floating body moved to the head of the table, Horn reaching forward to flick one of the eyeballs.
That was enough for the rest of the unworthy men to sign their papers. The German’s business and assets would have to be taken the hard way. Much of what they signed away would be given to the nine who were deemed the most loyal, only the most selective and useful companies being passed along to Giles Horn.
This was where he cemented his power. This was where he became the sole owner of the largest international corporation the world had ever seen. Spreading across the globe, it was the spider and the web he would use to rule the planet when the time was right.
When that time came, nearly eight billion people wouldn’t stand a chance.
43.
Vatican City, Italy
The Pope had woken up feeling unwell. It was unusual for him because he had always had a cast iron constitution. Most of his childhood and adolescence had been spent in a state of confusion as to why everyone around him kept getting sick.
So this was what the flu felt like? He reassured himself that he would weather it, another challenge sent by God. The people who attended to him were visibly flustered by the illness, insisting he see his personal physician.
“I’m fine,” the Pope protested several times, but he quickly became worn down by the relentlessness of the concern others had for his wellbeing. “At least let me make my scheduled phone call first.” There was one more call he had to make, perhaps the most important call of his entire life. He hadn’t been able to do it yesterday, because this was to be a conference call with three other people. Those people had to gather, to be in a place where secrecy was assured.
When Cardinal Esposito had provided the list of names, the Pope had been surprised to find the American President absent from that list. That was not so much a reflection of the present incumbent of that office, but of the office itself. The Pope understood the reasoning. To persuade the Americans would require talking to someone in power who was likely to believe. Whilst there were good people in the various civilian branches of the government, much of it was represented by corruption and vested interests. The President himself was battling political enemies on multiple fronts and was, according to Esposito, unlikely to believe a word the Pope said to him.
Every country had a different political structure. Some allowed for a direct approach to the person at the head of that government. Others, like America, needed a subtler, more indirect approach.
The men he would speak to needed to be believers in the faith. More than that, they needed to be in positions of supreme authority
. One man in particular would be vital.
Wearily, the Pope sat down at the desk where he would make the call, a cough ripping from his lungs. He hoped he wouldn’t cough too much for it would be so distracting for those on the other end. He was Christ’s representative on this planet and it wouldn’t do for him to sound like he was at death’s door.
***
Three men had gathered in a small conference room in the Pentagon. There was a certain degree of confusion as to why they were here together. All they knew was that his Holiness the Pope wished to speak to them on the gravest of matters. The request had come through secure channels, few people outside their immediate sphere of influence knowing what the meeting was about.
Such a gathering could never be kept fully secret though.
The room had been chosen because it could be used for secure communication. A sensitive compartmented information facility (SCIF), outfitted to prevent intrusion or surveillance efforts, protected against eavesdropping from those standing directly outside. The Pentagon itself was effectively one huge SCIF, but this room was protection within protection. All communication in and out was also secured.
Three men were in the room, all largely unknown to the American public. That was the way they liked it, rising towards the top of the military tree without being in the public gaze. There were some generals and admirals who revelled in such, but not these men. They were here to serve their country, but they also valued a modicum of privacy.
The first and most senior man was the current Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Chuck McKenzie. He was a four-star general with a history of running some of the more classified projects the US Air Force had engaged in. A devout Catholic, fundamentalist in nature, he had almost ruined his career twelve years’ prior by giving a rare interview to a national newspaper. At the time he had been in charge of the Air Force’s science and technology strategy, so it was inevitable the interview would veer into the realm of captured alien technology. McKenzie had no time for that, stating point blank that aliens did not exist, and if they did, they wouldn’t waste their time coming to Earth.
“Then how do you explain the numerous sightings that have been seen over the previous decades?”
“It is my belief that these are not aliens. If they are anything, they are more likely to be a manifestation of Satanic influences.” It was obvious in hindsight how foolish the statement had been, but the general was fortunate the story became lost in a surge of more news worthy intrigue. He’d also managed to deflect undue criticism by stating it was a joke to reflect the ridiculousness of the question. That was an adequate explanation for most people, but not for those who were fully acquainted with his beliefs.
The second man present was also a four-star, General Patrick Martin, the commanding general USARPAC, the United States Army in the Pacific. Martin was a career soldier who had worked his way up from the ranks after being tapped for officer training early on in his army career. As a well-respected veteran of several campaigns, he was often known to joke about which he loved more, his God or his country.
The third man was a four-star Admiral, Charles Hart, the Chief of Naval Operations. As head of the US Navy he was, like McKenzie, also a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was known for the uncompromising discipline he demanded from himself and his subordinates.
“Good day gentlemen.” The voice of the Pope came through clearly over the rooms conference speaker.
“It is an honour for you to speak to us your Holiness. We must admit we are curious as to why you asked for this meeting.” McKenzie sat ramrod straight as he spoke, as if the Pope was here in the room with them.
“When you have heard what I have to say, you will realise that the honour is mine. Such men of integrity and honour as yourselves are rare in this day and age.” The three military men exchanged glances. It wasn’t every day you got praised by the Pope.
“That’s kind of you to say your Holiness,” General Martin said.
“I must warn you though, some of what I am about to tell you may seem unbelievable. I am here to tell you things that have been hidden from the world for centuries.”
“I’m sure we can keep an open mind,” McKenzie replied.
“For hundreds of years the Catholic Church has been engaged in a war against the forces of darkness. Well technically it has been more of a guerrilla action, fought in the shadows. Who amongst you believes in the power of Satan?” McKenzie looked around, the other two men nodding.
“I think it’s safe to say we all do.” McKenzie had always had trouble trusting an officer who didn’t have firm religious beliefs. Whilst there were atheists serving under him, he found himself judgmental when in their presence.
“Gentlemen, the secret I am forced to reveal is that demons are real.” There was silence in the room as the three men took that in. The Pope had told them something they had all suspected, McKenzie in particular. “The Church has been fighting a war of suppression with them, but we fear we might be losing that war. Even worse, the demonic activities we are detecting are increasing in scope.”
“Are you saying what I fear you are saying?” McKenzie asked.
“Yes. It is now our judgment that we are heading towards the End Times.”
“Shit,” Hart uttered, and then remembered who was listening. “Sorry Holy Father.”
“No need to apologise. What do you think I said when I first learnt of this?” This lightened the air somewhat.
“I’m assuming you need something from us?” McKenzie asked.
“You are some of the most powerful men in the United States. You have people you can trust, men who will follow you without question. You need to be ready and gather your allies.”
“Ready for what, exactly?” Martin asked.
“The Seals of Revelation are breaking. If I am correct, it means the Antichrist is already walking the land. Despite the prophesy I feel we may still be able to stop what is coming. The great war to come will be global, and that can only occur if the United States is involved.”
“The Russians…” Martin began.
“What if I told you the Russians were allies in this fight?”
“How can that be?” McKenzie insisted. He had grown up through the cold war, and still considered the Russians a primary threat, second only to China.
“They too have been combatting the demon threat. I suspect there will be factions in your own command structure who know of this. The fact you weren’t aware shows you why I have chosen to be so clandestine in my approach.”
“I’m familiar with some failed and ridiculed research done by the CIA and the Army back in the seventies and eighties, but if there is anything happening now, its black budget, off my radar.” Martin wasn’t stupid. The US military and its associated intelligence agencies were like Russian dolls, compartmentalised and highly secretive. There were things that only certain people knew of, projects so clandestine there would be no official record. You only had to look at the trillions that had disappeared from the Pentagon budget over the years to know that.
“All I ask is you do your best to prepare. And if the Antichrist is out there, then we need to find him.” That was the one overriding hope the Pope had. If they could deal with the threat the Antichrist posed, then maybe the coming apocalypse could be prevented. For a time at least.
When the conference call finally ended, the Pope relented to the cough that had been demanding its presence be respected. Coughing into his handkerchief, he was surprised by the blood he saw there. Blood was never a good sign, especially for someone of his age. Maybe it was time for him to see that doctor after all.
44.
Watford, UK
Lilith had been able to walk out of the farm house under her own steam, but had stumbled halfway down the driveway. The air around them had been free of the sound of sirens or any evidence the power of the country’s intelligence community was about to fall on top of them. Dmitri had thus looked satisfied he had accomplished another succ
essful mission.
Now seated on one of the benches in the back of the panel truck, Anastasia attended to her. Lilith wasn’t dressed yet, boots that were the wrong size and an all in one coverall to protect her non-existent modesty ready to be worn once her injuries were assessed. The Inquisitor allowed the female stranger’s hands on her without complaint, Anastasia adept at death or healing. Lilith cared not that there were men present to see her nakedness. They were professionals, sent to rescue not leer. Her flesh was of no interest to them. And even if it was, what did it matter to her?
One of the two men in the back with her, Fedor, wasn’t looking at Lilith. Instead he was tapping away furiously on the laptop resting on his knees. He cursed under his breath in Russian.
“How does it feel to breathe?” asked Anastasia.
“Painful on the left side. I’ve probably cracked a rib or two.”
“You are going to have some nasty bruises,” Anastasia noted, prodding her patient’s abdomen. “No wonder we had to help you out of there.”
“The one who carried me?”
“Vadik is his name.”
“He doesn’t speak?” When she had fallen, the silent Russian had simply scooped her up and gently bent her over his shoulder. Vadik was in the front of the truck with Kosta and ignored the conversation.
“No. The torturers who he fell victim to weren’t as clinical.”
Lilith nodded. She still didn’t know who these people were, but her gut told her to trust them. Her instincts in such matters were usually right.
“Does she require medical intervention?” Dmitri asked.
“Unlikely. Most of what was done to her will heal.”
“A hospital is out of the question,” Lilith added. She felt dizzy, a combination of low blood sugar and dehydration. She wouldn’t let the sensation own her.
“Don’t worry, there is no chance of that,” Dmitri added.
“What are Russians doing rescuing someone as insignificant as me from a British Intelligence safe house?” She hadn’t expected such a rescue, certainly not from her Order. There weren’t enough of her fellow soldiers to mount such a mission. Despite herself, Lilith’s mind dabbled with guilt. The Cardinal had risked so much to get her out of there. Such an action was unprecedented and was no doubt due to the demon that now rested inside the Home Secretary.