by Sean Deville
It was anyone thought to represent the danger of the other.
***
Lucien knew it would have been wiser for him to stay indoors, but the pull of the street could only be ignored for so long. The more demons Lucien killed, the more committed to his task he seemed to get. He had rid the world of great numbers of the spawn, and yet there were so many more that needed to feel the blade of his knife.
After dropping Simon off with Father Creed, he had deliberately retreated to his hideout to meditate. Every Inquisitor felt the addiction calling to them, the thrill of killing demons so enticing. It would be so easy to get swallowed up in a killing frenzy, engrossed and enchanted by the hunt. Some succumbed, craving the kill more than they craved the acceptance of their god.
Inquisitors who fell down that path became careless and responsible for their own demise.
You had to take time out to show you could still resist the call of the street. When you hunted demons, it had to be calculated, methodical. As soon as you let emotion win, you were done. They had all been taught this and warned of the dangers of the intoxicating nature of the job they did, so to resist it was part of who they were supposed to be.
Still, Lucien was enjoying his mission perhaps a little too much. When you had no other earthly pleasures to distract you, it was understandable why the order of Tyron only allowed those who were the strongest mentally to carry the rank of Inquisitor.
The pull of the hunt became too strong this time though. Lucien was there now, Waterloo station quieter than normal but still a viable hunting ground. When there was no intelligence to work from, the next best way to find Satan’s minions was to go to where the people were. Demons often hunted for the vulnerable and the meek, selecting those who would be less able to defend themselves. It was rare that demons slaughtered able-bodied males, preferring children and women. There were always exceptions to the rule, but generally they used males as hosts due to the obvious physical advantages.
Of course, some demons were forced to take whatever hosts they could claim, so desperate for their earthly fix had they all become. Most of the demons Lucien had experienced were from the lower ranks and thus did not display the psychic powers possessed of those who called themselves Kings, Princes and Dukes. That was partly why the Inquisition had been able to hold the line for centuries past.
Until now, demon royalty rarely ventured to Earth.
A train station like Waterloo was easy to monitor, its open concourse and numerous choke points giving ample opportunities for a single Inquisitor to stand and observe. Lucien did that now, standing on an upper mezzanine level, watching down over the hapless commuters. Around him the random guests of a chain pub went about their business. He kept the bulk of his face hidden behind the surgical mask, his mirrored sunglasses hiding his searching eyes. A decade ago, to see someone wearing a mask would have aroused suspicion, but with the ever-present risk of global pandemics, many of the travellers were suitably attired.
There was nothing abnormal in how he looked. It helped even more that he was of Asian heritage, the use of masks more prevalent in that particular population.
He was not deemed unusual by the few who paid any attention to him. Most people were so entranced by their own lives, they didn’t see him. Likewise, he felt assured that the dozens of security cameras would never record his image, his biometrics triggering the computer virus that scrubbed his image from all recordings.
His location was also specifically chosen to put him in a dead zone where there was presently no camera coverage. He knew this station well, knew how to reduce his chances of detection as much as possible. Despite his face being covered, the very way he walked would keep him safe from being recorded. Many people realise that the cameras of the state can track you by the way you walk and stand, your gait a tell-tale giveaway to the electronic eyes. Complex algorithms could detect an individual even from something as simple as a visible tattoo. Lucien was safe from that.
Or so he thought.
Here he was, fulfilling his purpose, and yet he was troubled. Somehow, Lilith’s identity had been uncovered. She was not the kind of person to have made a mistake, so there was another reason for her abduction. No doubt the demon Baal had somehow been involved.
Maybe he should visit her. Father Creed had contacted him to let him know she would be out of action for several days, her recuperation keeping her off the streets. This would likely give their superiors the time they needed to make a decision on her future.
He didn’t know how he felt about that. Despite having little contact with her over the past few years, Lilith was the closest thing to a friend he had. There was a bond there, stronger than he had with the other Inquisitors. Lucien liked the thought of her being in the same city.
Maybe it was because she was the only person he had ever been intimate with. Or maybe it was because her skills made her his true equal. Either way, he’d been thinking too much about her recently. If she was reassigned, maybe that would be for the best. He didn’t want to become distracted from his mission. Just thinking about her whilst he was on the hunt was proof that there was a growing issue.
It didn’t stop him spotting the threat, though.
On the passenger concourse below, a man caught his attention. It was the way he walked. An attempt to be casual whilst also displaying hyper-vigilance. The stranger was searching, looking for a face in the crowd. There was a way such people moved, usually because they were trained by the same people and the same agency.
Lucien scanned around, and spotted a second hunter. As he did not believe in coincidence, he accepted the paranoid thoughts that formed. These were professionals, highly trained and definitely armed. He could tell by the way they moved, the slight sway of one arm as a hand was almost unconsciously used to check on the concealed weapon.
Lucien casually looked around the mezzanine area. About twenty metres away to his right he caught someone glance at him. As innocent as the look was, Lucien wasn’t fooled. Somehow, these hunters were after him and they knew he was here. But how? They shouldn’t have been aware of his existence.
Lilith had been uncovered and she was the best of them.
Down below, three armed police officers wandered through the crowd. They paid no attention to the man Lucien had first seen, their very presence telling him everything he needed to know. Whoever they were, these stalkers weren’t regular police. The armed officers would have kept away from the scene otherwise.
So, what did that mean? MI5? Although MI6 supposedly didn’t operate on UK soil, he knew that statement reeked of bullshit. Already the two men below were heading to the steps, drawn here by communication from the third man. There would be more. Lucien had no doubt about that.
What Lucien didn’t know was that the virus that was supposed to be blocking his image from all government linked camera servers was being used as a beacon to locate him.
In Thames House and in GCHQ, several computer screens were waiting for his image to re-appear. On leaving his accommodation, he had managed to avoid a host of cameras, but had been captured by three on Waterloo Road. Entry to the station was impossible without also appearing on camera. Once inside the station, the cameras covered most of the area, except for defined dead spots like the one Lucien stood in.
Rashid, the man who had discovered the existence of the Inquisitor-deleting virus, had written code into the surveillance network. Every time that computer virus was activated, Rashid’s code also became active. Lucien’s image was still deleted from all recordings, but his live image was emblazoned by a large red rectangle.
If the computer spotted him, so would the people watching the innocent people of London.
Although he didn’t know it, Lucien was now more vulnerable to detection than the average civilian. The reason he wasn’t face down on the ground with his hands in handcuffs was that the Metropolitan Police weren’t involved in this particular operation. Sir Paul, the head of MI5, still embarrassed by the escape of Lilith,
was keeping this operation in-house. With no present Home Secretary to answer to, he knew he had a brief window of opportunity to hunt for the woman who had escaped.
It was assumed she would head back to London, but those watching had detected someone who clearly wasn’t female. The hunt for the religious assassins had suddenly expanded to include more than one individual. When Lucien’s biometrics had first been pinged, drawing the attention of the watchers in Thames House and GCHQ, there had been surprise that the computers had detected a male.
Sir Paul had originally silently scoffed at the notion put forward by the disgraced Home Secretary. The idea of a secret order of Catholic assassins had seemed ludicrous. But with Lilith’s escape and the destruction of the Ballard’s Hole interrogation facility, Sir Paul couldn’t deny there might be something to what the soon-to-be imprisoned politician had suggested.
And here was the possible proof of it. Of course, the surveillance system wasn’t foolproof, and it could well be a glitch in the programming. Rashid would have balked at anyone suggesting that, but there was a hesitancy on the part of MI5 as to how to proceed.
Lucien wasn’t aware of any of this, which put him at a marked disadvantage. But he knew people were coming for him, slowly circling as they tightened their net. What they didn’t realise was that Lucien lived by a very specific code.
Never enter a building you don’t know how to get out of.
Lucien backed away from the edge of the mezzanine level. Those hunting him were clearly being cautious, not sure of his identity or his capabilities. The British public didn’t like shootouts in their public spaces, so the chances of him being engaged here were slim. More likely they would try and herd him, taking Lucien down somewhere quieter. The lack of police involvement would also be a barrier to the hunters.
All this gave Lucien options. He needed to escape, even if it was only to send a warning to his Order. From his pocket he pulled a burner phone and dialled three numbers.
“999, what’s your emergency,” the voice asked across the phone.
“For the glory of Allah, I have left a bomb in Waterloo Station. It will detonate in five minutes and will rain fire down upon you.” He spoke in a well-practiced Persian accent. All part of the miniature role he played. Those on the other end of the phone would be more likely to believe his ruse that way. Disconnecting the phone, he ripped it in half and discarded it on a nearby table.
The men watching him would be confused and concerned by his actions. Lucien gave the closest one a little wave. For nearly thirty seconds, they seemed to be at an impasse, the other hunters coming closer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is a security alert,” the station tannoy suddenly announced. “We would ask that you calmly evacuate the station at this time.” The words floated down like liquid fire from the skies. Most of the people seated outside the pub exploded from their seats, gathering their belongings and any hapless children. At the same time, people down below started to descend into panic, the request for calm ignored.
Londoners are not unfamiliar with bomb scares, but with the recent terrorist attacks, people’s nerves were on a heightened edge. The two agents walking up the steps were suddenly met with a wave of fleeing commuters, pushing them back down to the ground floor. That left a lone hunter close, and Lucien could see the hesitancy.
Lucien pushed through the panic and headed straight into the pub. There would be cameras in there, but they wouldn’t be linked to the overall surveillance network. To some it would seem that this was a dead end, but Lucien had a counter for that.
Some of the staff were still present, watching in disbelief as their customers fled. Some individuals were more desperate than others, very few people opting to help the less able, another example of how humanity was failing as a species.
For the agents of the state to have been able to find him here meant Lucien had been compromised. It was obvious that the normal anonymity that Inquisitors were blessed with no longer applied. If his escape plan worked, and there was no guarantee of that, he would still have his work cut out to reach a place of safety.
Did he dare go back to his residence? No, that was out of the question. Whilst there were other properties he could choose, there was only one real place for him to go.
Moving to the back of the pub, he headed for the lavatories which also led to the kitchens.
“Hey, you can’t go back there,” one of the bar staff said in challenge.
“Good job I’m leaving then,” Lucien responded, before walking into the relatively confined space of the venue’s kitchen. The air was filled with the smell of grease and grilled food. The man who had challenged him didn’t follow through by trying to intercept him. How long would it be before an agent was in hot pursuit? Would one come alone or would he wait for backup?
Only a fool would try and take Lucien on their own. Even though they would have no idea of Lucien’s training or the will with which he was prepared to fight and die for his cause, a properly trained agent would not risk himself like that.
The rear of the kitchen led to a short corridor with a side door to a staff comfort room. It also led to a back door that Lucien knew would give access to a staircase to the ground floor. This knowledge had been acquired by accessing the original blueprints of the station’s reconstruction. There was always a chance that he would be met by a locked door or a heroic member of the general public, but those could all be bypassed. The present overriding threat were the men who would be following.
“A man came in here. Tall, wearing sunglasses,” he heard someone ask loudly. If the kitchen had been in operation that question would have faded into the background. No doubt someone was pointing towards Lucien’s present location, so he forged towards the back door, the fire door bar permitting him entry. Places like this invariably had locks to stop you getting in. Fire regulations meant that one’s flight from such an establishment was often unhindered.
Descending the staircase, he took the steps two at a time. He was through another door and moving down a service corridor before there was any sound of pursuit. At least three behind him now, with untold numbers as backup.
A door ahead and to his left opened, a man stepping through. Lucien didn’t think, instead he reacted. This individual was shorter than him, dressed in normal street clothes, and Lucien closed the distance before the man could reach under his coat. A vicious punch to the solar plexus winded the guy, Lucien grabbing the reaching arm, pulling it up, a pistol locked in the man’s fingers. Lucien wrenched the arm up, traumatising the shoulder socket before sending an elbow into the victim’s eye.
Police and the general public didn’t walk around with concealed guns.
Disarming him, Lucien let the man fall to the floor. He’d live, but he would need surgery for the shattered eye socket and rehabilitation for the cartilage he had ruptured in the arm. The gun he made safe, ripping the magazine free before hurling the gun down the corridor. Lucien had no remorse for his actions, and those who would later view the footage captured by the corridor camera would marvel at how Lucien had been stripped from the image. The camera here would be linked to the overall station surveillance system which meant it would be linked to the government system.
In front of him a double green door beckoned, and he pushed through into the outside world. Instantly he was met by the seething throng of those evacuating the main body of the station. Police were starting to emerge, urging people to calmly make their way to a safe distance. The police were not a threat to him yet. No doubt those chasing him would try and continue to apprehend him for their own dubious reasons.
There were cameras everywhere though, so he had little in the way of reprieve. The crowd would hold back the pursuers, but Lucien feared they would be able to track his every movement. At least on the streets they would. A motorbike, his transport of choice, wouldn’t help him here. For as soon as he mounted it, the registration plate would become another means to track him.
There were too many su
rrounding people for him to run, so he wormed his way through them. His eyes constantly scanned the crowd, looking for faces that were searching rather than panicked. Whilst many of those around him were an example of unbridled anxiety, Lucien was reassured by how many resigned and bored people he encountered.
Just another day in London. Such resignation represented a certain sector of the population who weren’t easily traumatised by the actions of the insane. These were often the ones who intervened, the heroes who would not stand by whilst their city was attacked. There was no need for their heroics, of course, the bomb scare in this instance a cunning ruse to help an Inquisitor escape the clutches of his would-be captors.
24.
Inquisitor training camp, 13 years ago
Lilith was always intrigued by the world outside the confines of the wire and the watchtowers. Whenever they were allowed out, she soaked up everything she could. How normal people interacted, the smell of the air, the danger that lurked in the back alleys and the wilderness. In the cities, humanity was as big a threat as the elements and the beast of nature that lived out in the forests surrounding the camp.
There were two students allowed out today. Lucien was with her, waiting on Father to give his instructions. They were all seated outside a café bar that bordered the city’s main square, the two teenagers drinking water rather than the rich, sugar-laden delights on offer. Father drank tea, an innocuous brew to help him blend in.
“Tell me what you see,” Father asked. Lucien and Lilith briefly looked at each other. Another test. Every time they learnt something they were tested, and the testing would continue until they had satisfied their teachers.
“The waiter who served us has an addiction, probably cocaine.” Lilith had seen the tell-tale signs, and from her lower position had witnessed the degeneration of the man’s nasal septum.
“An expensive habit for a waiter,” Father noted.