The Third Seal

by Sean Deville

  Most troubling was the third incident. North Korea had inexplicably unleashed a sustained and devastating artillery barrage against South Korean forces defending the demilitarised zone. Hundreds were dead, and McKenzie knew there was only one way that peninsula was heading. America risked being dragged into another Korean war. If that artillery had been aimed at Seoul, the death toll would have been in the hundreds of thousands. With a pending war against Iran, American forces were starting to be spread too thin for McKenzie’s liking.

  The President would be preoccupied with all that was happening, not something McKenzie envied him for. But would he be amenable to what McKenzie was here to tell him?

  “General, the President will see you now,” the receptionist stated. He opened his eyes and rose from the chair he had seated himself in.

  “Thank you, Claire. Is he in a good mood?”

  “I couldn’t possibly comment,” Claire replied with a wink. She’d been working here for nearly twenty years and McKenzie wondered what career ending secrets were locked away in her head. Throughout government, political servants like her acted as gatekeepers to powerful men and women who were often not as competent as the people serving them. McKenzie had realised, long ago, that the elected officials that ran this country were one of its biggest threats.

  When the General stepped through the Oval Office door, he was pleased to see the President was alone. The best way to have any chance of reasoning with him was in a one-to-one conversation. Normally this President surrounded himself with yes men, people who bowed down to his every thought without offering any real counter opinion. The exception seemed to be those who made up the Joint Chiefs of Staff. For some reason, the President felt that the best military minds the country could produce were to be respected and at least listened to. Unfortunately, the President’s volatile nature often meant that even those in the military who preferred not to play politics felt obliged to stifle a comment or suggestion if there was any chance it would be shot down by the President.

  For everyone else in this administration, it was better to keep your mouth shut rather than contradict the status quo and risk being replaced. It had taken people a while to realise that there was often no reasoning with this President if his mind was made up.

  Ego…it risked being the death of a once great nation.

  McKenzie, however, had quickly learnt that the way to Presidential acceptance was to propose it in such a way that the President himself could take the credit for the idea. It would be interesting to see if that tactic could be successfully utilised here.

  “General, how are the preparations?” The preparations the President was referring to were the plans to flatten Iran and make it a desolate wasteland should the Iranian people not rise up against their oppressive leadership.

  “I’m reassured we will be able to meet our objectives.” So long as you don’t take us into a land war, thought McKenzie. That would be a disaster.

  “Can you believe that maniac Yamani? Killing all those reporters in cold blood like that.” There was a glint of mischief in the President’s eyes. “It’s enough to give someone ideas.”

  “He definitely seems unbalanced.” And now probably dead. McKenzie wasn’t foolish enough to believe that speech had been sanctioned by the Iranian leaders.

  “But that’s not why you’re here, is it General?”

  “No, Mr President. I have disturbing news that I thought best to give you in person.” If I was to put it in a memo, likely you wouldn’t even read it.

  McKenzie did not want to do this, but what choice did he have? If they were to battle the Antichrist, the man who held this office needed to be on board. There was a war coming, a war for the very existence of mankind. “I had a very interesting phone call the other day.” McKenzie didn’t sit, preferring to stand ramrod straight. He’d always thought that people spent too much time sitting, wasting their lives watching mindless drivel on overpriced television sets. That was no way to live a life.

  “I heard about your little clandestine meeting,” the President advised. It was well known that the present President was borderline paranoid. Because of that, he liked to keep a watchful eye on all those in his administration. He wasn’t the first President to be like this, but this President was perhaps taking it to new heights, an army of loyal informants stalking the great halls of government. That was the thing with the present incumbent of the Oval Office. There were people who despised him, but there were just as many who absolutely idolised him. “Who did you talk to?”

  “His Eminence the Pope.”

  “The Pope?”

  “The very same.”

  “Why would you be talking to the Pope?”

  “His eminence wanted to advise this administration of what he considered a very real threat to our nation.”

  “What would the Pope know about that?” The President seemed genuinely bewildered, although you never could tell. The mainstream media made great play out of some of the idiotic things he often said, but McKenzie knew that was deliberate disinformation and theatre put on by this President. And the MSM fell for it every time. The man sitting behind that desk was no idiot, despite what people thought. He was a very calculating and cunning individual who knew how to use the media for his own ends.

  You underestimated him at your peril.

  “Are you aware that the Vatican has one of the most effective intelligence gathering operations on the planet?”

  “I might have read something about that,” the President responded. So, no then.

  “They have intelligence that they deemed it necessary for us to know.” McKenzie knew he had to be careful here. Despite the copious number of photo opportunities to try and convince a gullible public that he was a devout religious man, McKenzie believed that this sitting President was as close to an atheist as you could get.

  “But why tell you? Why not pass it onto the FBI or the CIA? Hell, I’m always up to have a chat with his Holiness.” I’m sure the Pope will be delighted to hear that, McKenzie thought.

  “May I be blunt?”

  “Always. You know me, General. I like people to tell me how it is.” Of course you do, sir!

  “We weren’t the only people the Pope contacted. From what I’ve been told, his Eminence has been in conversation with a host of world leaders…including the Russians.”

  “Those bastards? So, what did he tell you?”

  “It’s important you realise I’m merely relaying the essence of the conversation. Their intelligence agents have identified the existence of a powerful and well led international cabal that is at work.”

  “To what end?” The President leaned forward across his desk, his face sparkling with intrigue. “You’re making it sound like we’re in a Tom Clancy novel.” Like you’ve ever read one, McKenzie mused.

  “The annihilation of the human race.” There, he’d said it. Now he had to wait for the reaction.

  “Come again.”

  “This cabal, as it was told to me, believes they are led by the Antichrist and are in league with Satan.”

  “You’re shitting me?” McKenzie wondered if that was the first time those words had been said in this room. Probably not. None of the Presidents he’d ever met had been shy about using bad language. In private of course, never in the public gaze.

  “No, Mr President. And whilst it would be difficult for me to believe the actual Antichrist exists, I do believe in this cabal and the danger it poses.”

  “You know I don’t have time for this shit, right? I have the South Korean President screaming for vengeance and every state governor demanding I ensure their state capitals are free of errant Iranian nukes.” And there it was, the reaction he was dreading. McKenzie had tried to present the information as gently as possible. He’d even put a bow on it by not stating the fact that he actually believed the Antichrist had risen.

  The most powerful man in the land had rejected it outright, and was close to laughing him out of the Oval Office. One more chance
.

  “We both know that the chances of the Antichrist existing are slim, but I fear you are missing the bigger picture.”

  “It seems pretty obvious to me, General.” The President was bristling. He was renowned for acting this way when someone pointed out he might be wrong. “Your Pope is a goddamn loon.” McKenzie didn’t rise to the bait being offered.

  “What I mean is there are over thirty million fundamentalist Christians in this country, who, if I may remind you sir, helped you get elected. Who’s to say one of these fine folks hasn’t been given the same information as me?”

  “Jesus, that’s all I need.” The President was well aware he couldn’t win a second term without the religious vote.

  “The most likely scenario is that this cabal exists and is a direct threat to our interests. My suggestion is that we set the FBI and CIA to coordinate on finding if it actually exists.”

  “We can do that.”

  “The Pope did send me some compelling evidence that would be a good starting point. At the very least, should some of your more religious political donors raise this issue with you…”

  “Then I can say I’ve opened an investigation.”

  “That’s a good idea, Mr President.” Had he convinced this idiot?

  “Okay. You don’t believe this nonsense, do you?”

  “The Antichrist? Of course not, Mr President.”

  “Good to know. Let me sleep on it, and I’ll get some people on it.” McKenzie’s heart sank. Let me sleep on it. He knew what that meant. The General hadn’t convinced the President of a damned thing.

  “Thank you, Mr President.” There it was. If they were to find Satan’s bastard, it would have to be by other means. So be it, there was so much that went on behind the scenes that Presidents were never made aware of. This would be no different.

  What McKenzie never could have predicted was what came next after he left the room. The President sat with a pensive look on his face, as if he was in two minds about his next step. He quickly decided, opening the drawer in front of him and pulling out a cheap burner phone. Extracting it from its faraday pouch, he turned it on and sent a simple text. The President didn’t wait for a reply, instead turning the phone back off before replacing it in the drawer. The text contained four words.

  We need to talk.

  The man who later read it had contributed significantly to the President’s election campaign as well as being in possession of evidence that would see the President impeached and possibly jailed. Giles Horn knew how to keep the country’s leader in line.

  35.

  Slough, UK

  Lilith had no desire to hang around in Vicky’s house longer than she needed to, for she had other things to do. She agreed to wait a few hours to ensure the demon did not resurface, but Lilith felt herself distracted by a burning desire for solitude and self-reflection. By midday, she knew it was time to take her leave.

  James agreed to take her back to Father Creed’s church, although reluctantly. Despite the woman saving her daughter, James acted as if he was uncomfortable having Lilith anywhere near his family. Strangely, she could understand how he felt.

  Back at the church, she requested a quiet room and access to the satellite phone. Creed seemed pensive, as if he suddenly had something to hide.

  “The branding worked?” Creed seemed to have not heard her request.

  “It would appear so. The phone?”

  “I am so thrilled.” Yes, Lilith thought, this man really wasn’t Inquisitor material.

  “Father, the phone.”

  “You should learn to celebrate your victories,” Creed offered. He relented though, handing the phone over, the only quick way to contact anyone in their Order. Relayed by the Vatican’s secure satellite network, nobody would be able to intercept or interfere with the calls she needed to make. Creed left her alone in his office, leaving the door ajar.

  Lilith was somewhat surprised that the phone wasn’t in Father Creed’s safe. Had he been using it?

  Holding the device in her hand, Lilith suddenly found she was looking forward to making the call. It would be good to hear her teacher’s voice again. She sat down on the sofa and let herself sink into it.

  “Good morning. Despite the hour the library is about to close,” were the first words she heard.

  “But I have an overdue book.” Lilith once again said the code.

  “Calling me so soon, little one. To what do I owe this rare honour?”

  “I have a question and a concern.”

  “Then you have come to the right place.” She could feel him smiling at the other end of the phone. “I assume you heard that the Cardinal took your worries to heart?”

  “Yes,” Lilith said, although that was hardly good news. It meant the war was finally coming to an end, and Lilith had a pretty good idea what that all meant. None of it would be good for human kind.

  “So, tell me your troubles.”

  “I have dispatched another demon.”

  “Praise the Lord,” the Librarian regaled.

  “I dealt with it before it was able to finish its possession.” There was a pause. “Librarian, are you still there?”

  “It’s been a while since an Inquisitor said those words to me.”

  “So, it’s been done before?”

  “Yes, but the last time was twenty-seven years ago. An Inquisitor called Michael chose to kill a host before it was taken.” The Librarian sighed. “The Order frowns on such things, you know that.” The Order with its rules that hampered Lilith in her fight.

  “The host is still alive,” Lilith advised.

  “Oh.” The Librarian’s voice brightened. “Did you learn the demon’s name?”

  “No. But it was a powerful one, with telekinetic abilities even before it was able to claim it’s victim.”

  “A rarity indeed. With some notable exceptions, I’ve only ever read about that happening from the ancient times. As far as I know, no modern-day Inquisitor has managed or witnessed such. The powerful demons so rarely venture up here.” Lilith could hear the Librarian’s mind churning. “But how did you stop the possession?”

  “I branded the host with their willing consent.”

  “Lilith,” the Librarian admonished. “You know our laws better than anyone.”

  “Father Creed was in agreement.” After much persuasion, Lilith failed to add.

  “Creed is an old fool who cares too much for his flock.”

  “He’s certainly not made of the same metal as an Inquisitor. But actually, I rather like him.”

  “By the stars, she’s getting sentimental.” The Librarian gave a little chuckle.

  “My concern is regarding a child.”

  “Linked to the host of this demon?”

  “Yes,” said Lilith. “The host is the child’s mother. Librarian, the child can see the corruption of the demons. That was how the mother first learnt that she was facing possession.”

  “Age?” Lilith suddenly realised she’d never asked.

  “Around eight years old, I think. There’s something else.”

  “Of course, there is. There’s always something else when you are involved.”

  “My brother-in-arms Lucien dealt with a demon nest the other day. One of the possessed he killed was this child’s schoolteacher.” Creed had told her about Simon.

  “And you think there is a connection?”

  “Yes,” Lilith confirmed. “The child didn’t hide what she saw in the schoolteacher very well which probably drew this other demon to take her mother. You know how demons love to talk.”

  “The old demon psychic telephone.” That’s what the Librarian liked to call it in his lessons. Demons always left a part of themselves behind in the Pit, like an anchor to stop them getting lost in the world of man. It was theorised they could use that to transfer messages.

  “I think the child is important, but I don’t know why.”

  “What are you basing that on, Lilith?”

  Lilith
remembered her many lessons well. “My intuition. For the child to be able to see the demonic spawn so young and so easily…well I’ve never heard of that.”

  “I have,” the Librarian advised, “several times.”

  “Really?” Why was she surprised? There was nobody who knew more about demonology than the Librarian.

  “There’s Saint Erminold and Saint Anastasius the Confessor. Both could see the spawn from an early age and were plagued by their visions. And of course, there’s our old friend Jesus Christ.” Sometimes she found it hard to tell if the Librarian was playing with her. It had always been in his nature.

  “I’m going to send you a written report,” Lilith advised. “I would like you to review what I write and forward it to the Cardinal.”

  “Lilith, you know I’m not officially part of the Inquisition anymore.”

  “I know. But I want your eyes over what I’m about to put down. I want your insight.”

  “Your intuition is telling you something else, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I think I’m supposed to protect this child.”

  “And such a duty would require the permission of Cardinal Esposito.” For an Inquisitor to take on such a duty would leave a significant hole in the Inquisition’s defences.

  “Yes. Can you do that for me?”

  “Of course, Lilith. But I can’t promise they will listen to this old man.”

  “The Cardinal will listen.” He has to. Everything in my being tells me so.

  “There is also the matter of the Cardinal being ill.”

  “What?” Nobody had told her, but then she was in limbo after all.

  “The Vatican was attacked. Anthrax from what I’ve heard. The Pope himself also ails.”

  “The end approaches,” Lilith whispered.