Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  This was the fear and pandemonium that Virgil entered upon. When the cadets saw him appear out of thin air, armed to the teeth with ancient weapons none of them had ever trained with, they had to rub their eyes. Trusting no one, however, two cadets turned their splicer rifles on him.

  “Hands up!” one shouted.

  Virgil raised his hands. “Calm down, soldier,” he said. “I’m here to help.”

  Cadet Theo ran up, his demon duster pointed at Virgil. A year behind Virgil at the Academy, Cadet Theo had bushy brown hair and boyish good looks, was shorter and lankier than Virgil, but he was a scrappy and dedicated cadet. It was clear to Virgil that the others were looking to Theo for leadership, just as Virgil suspected they might.

  “Virgil?” Theo said, puzzled. “I thought you were on Earth with the others.”

  “I was. But I’m back now.”

  “He’s a spy!” cried one of the panicky cadets. “He’s an Anteros traitor and is here to spy on us!”

  “Cool it, Crius,” Theo commanded the young cadet. He turned to Virgil. “His suspicion is valid, Virgil. What’s going on?”

  “I’m here to fight Anteros. You can join me, or you can kill me. But either way, Anteros is still going to come.”

  “Go on,” Theo said, lowering his gun.

  “You’re not alone,” Virgil said. “See up there in the clock tower?” He pointed. “We have two celestials manning a spleen gun.”

  “What’s a spleen gun?” Theo asked.

  “The most lethal weapon we have. And behind Anteros lines is Cadet Kohai. He came with me.”

  “Kohai?” snorted another cadet. “What good could that weenie possibly do us?”

  Virgil turned a cold, angry eye on the cadet, who shrank back in intimidation. A fully-realized angel now, Virgil radiated supernal power and confidence. The cadets couldn’t understand it, but they could sense it.

  “Kohai is more powerful than you could ever imagine, Cadet. Be glad you’re on his side and not the other, got it?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the cadet replied meekly.

  Virgil continued. “Three armies are headed our way, one from each direction. We have very little time to prepare. Anteros is not expecting much of a fight, and is going to march right down the main avenues.

  “Theo, you’re in charge. I want our best marksmen in the windows. Divide our fighters into three squads and choose a captain for each one. Post the squads along the avenues. I want blockades. Drag everything you can find to the entrances to the campus. Also, there is one Gatling gun and a couple of RPGs in the Academy armory. Set them up on the rooftops where they will be most effective.”

  Theo said, “The armory is locked tighter than a drum, I checked. If we try to blow the door we might blow the entire Academy.”

  “Not anymore,” Virgil said. “I just opened it.”

  “But how?”

  “Fire and ice.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind that now,” Virgil said. “Just find someone who knows how to use that gear and get ready.”

  “Done,” Theo said. “What about you?”

  “I’m going to attack them from behind.”

  “What?” Theo rejoined. “We’re surrounded. They’ll see you coming!”

  “No, they won’t,” Virgil said confidently.

  The cadets all turned to one another in bewilderment.

  “Be strong and of good courage,” Virgil charged. “Do not be afraid, nor be scared of them, for the Lord our God will go with you. He will not fail you, nor forsake you.”

  “Who?” asked a confused cadet.

  “Say what?” said another.

  “Make it through this day,” Virgil said, “and I promise you that what I know you shall know.” With that, Virgil went into hyper-spin, and vanished.

  “Where did he go?” exclaimed an astonished celestial.

  “How’d he do that?” wondered another.

  “Wow,” Theo said, running his hand through his fluffy hair. “What the hell did he have for breakfast?” He turned to the others. “Okay, you heard the man. Let’s get to it!”

  27

  Rats

  Cyrus shut down the phone, the last notes of Ride of the Valkyrie still in the air. He turned to Gideon and whispered sheepishly, “Oops. Sorry…”

  “Did you hear that music?” said one of the guards. Like the dispatched Dmitri Semenov before him, he spoke with a thick Russian accent.

  “I heard something,” said a burly and grave-looking man in blue suit and buzz top. “It came from there.” He pointed at the bookcase.

  “From where?” said the guard with the phone. He was rangy, red-haired, and freckled. He also wore a blue suit.

  “There. The bookcase,” said Buzz Top.

  “The fuck,” said the Russian, approaching the bookcase. He began clearing the shelves, carelessly sweeping books onto the floor. He came to the two-way mirror and rapped on it with the muzzle of his Beretta.

  Gideon looked the guard right in his bloodshot eyes. The Russian had a crooked nose, broken no doubt in one or more fights along the way. A thin, red scar ran diagonally across his left cheek. Terrific, Gideon thought, another Spetsnaz.

  He glanced at Cyrus who stood next to the opened safe and was waving him over.

  The guard with the phone speed-dialed Rosso again. “Nothing. Something stinks.” He pocketed the phone and raised his Belgian FN P-90 sub-machine gun.

  “I got an idea,” Spetsnaz said. He pointed his gun into the mirror.

  “A very bad one,” Gideon said, pressing to the glass the gas-driven, Ostblock ballistic knife he had taken off the other Spetsnaz earlier. He pushed the button. Bang!

  The Russian, a knife protruding from his forehead, flew backwards into the arms of Buzz Top, knocking the man to the floor. The guard with the phone dove behind Rosso’s desk as Buzz Top struggled to roll the big Russian off of him. Both men opened fire at the bookcase, spraying the entire length of the cabinet, ripping the shelves and books to shreds.

  They ceased their fusillade. No gunfire had been returned. The redhead with the phone called for backup.

  Buzz Top slithered along the floor through the wood chips, spent cartridges, and scraps of paper that used to be books. He pulled out a canister the size of a hand grenade, rose stealthily, and tossed it through the space left by the blown-out mirror.

  The two guards waited behind the desk, and after a couple of minutes of continued silence, they yelled as together they rammed Rosso’s desk into the bookcase like a battering ram. It took three slams of the desk before it smashed through into the hidden room. It was then when backup stormed into the office, six more guards, three in blue suits, three in military uniforms.

  The men, guns at the ready and gauze masks over their faces, bashed their way through the hole made into the bookcase, and into the dark, smoky room. One of the men noticed the lone, open window and rushed over. “They went out here!”

  Another security guard joined him and stuck his head out the window into the rain. It was a sheer drop down to a hard sidewalk.

  “How? There’s no ledge, no ladder, no rope, no nothin’.”

  Somebody said, “Uh-oh…”

  A man dressed in camouflage shone a flashlight through the dissipating smoke. The room had the eerie appearance of having been victimized by a disembodied, rampaging pickax. Bullet holes pocked the walls and chunks of plaster covered the floor like rubble.

  The security team turned to one another in dismay. Against the back wall, tied slumped in his office chair and riddled with bullets, sat their boss, Alexander Rosso, blood pooling beneath him.

  “Aw, shit. Now what?” said one of the men.

  “We catch the bastards who did this, that’s what,” Redhead said.

  “I think that would be us,” said Buzz Top.

  The leader squinted at his compatriot, intimating the man’s witlessness. He punched at his phone and called for an all-out manhunt.

  “…No,” he shouted int
o the phone, “we don’t know who or how many … No, we don’t know that either. Just get your asses out there and start hunting!”

  “Dudes,” said one of the soldiers. “Do you know the gazebo is on fire?”

  “Yeah, we know,” said Buzz Top.

  “A bunch of trees are burning too.”

  “Lightning. Shit happens,” said Redhead.

  “Today, it’s diarrhea, man,” rejoined one of the soldiers.

  Just then came a terrific explosion outside in the direction of the grassy common.

  “It must be them,” said Redhead. “Let’s go. Mick, you stay here. Make sure no one snoops around or steals anything.”

  “Yes, Sir,” answered the uniformed soldier.

  Gideon and Cyrus, small flashlights in their mouths, made their way down the rusty ladder from Rosso’s hidden room through the walls of the old mansion. Having descended a floor, they left the ladder and squeezed their way through a narrow, dank corridor. A mischief of rats squealed and scurried before them.

  “You know where we’re going?” Gideon asked.

  “Sorta,” Cyrus answered. “This is the oldest wing of the mansion. It dates back to the original hotel built in 1890. These corridors were used to hold steam pipes for heating and a bit later, early electrical wiring. See…” Cyrus shined his flashlight on two rusty pipes that ran along the side corners of the floor, and then up at the corners of the roof, which was just inches above their head. “The wiring was removed during the first renovation in 1928, but the pipes stayed, as it was too much of a hassle to take them out.”

  “Riveting, Cyrus. But can you hold the history lesson and give me the plan? Where the hell is this taking us?”

  “That depends,” Cyrus said, coming to a halt at the end of the corridor. “Left should take us above one of the VIP rooms, and right to above what was originally a barn, but is today one of three garages.”

  “Which way will get us out of this mess?”

  “Neither, most likely. But the garage might get us a vehicle.”

  “What good would that do us? The whole compound is in lockdown by now, and the cops and FBI, and who knows who else, will be swarming this place in no time.”

  “I said vehicles. One is a helicopter. I noticed it when I moved the catering van. It is probably being serviced.”

  “Which means it doesn’t fly,” Gideon said.

  “We don’t know that. It could be anything.”

  “So, you’re saying turn right, right?”

  “I think it’s our best shot.”

  “What about Malkah? How do we get her out of here?”

  “We don’t,” Cyrus said. “It’s up to her to play dumb and as surprised and scared as everyone else. They probably don’t know she’s involved in this.”

  “Probably?”

  “Not immediately, anyway. Once investigators put the pieces together, someone will no doubt come knocking. If she listens to our advice—”

  “A big if, as we’ve already seen.”

  “Yes, well, if she does, she knows to keep low and as inconspicuous as possible. In any case, there’s nothing we can do from here. Come on…”

  Cyrus took the right and they began down the narrow passageway. Then he stopped and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

  “Shine your light on this,” he said.

  Gideon did as asked. “Who you calling?”

  “Mr. Piper.”

  “Who?”

  Cyrus pushed a series of numbers and then cupped his ear as if waiting to hear something. Seconds later a massive explosion rattled the building.

  “Was that you?” Gideon said.

  “We need a distraction. I just blew up the catering van with a pipe bomb.”

  “Where did you get a bomb?”

  “I made it.”

  “You made—?” Gideon shook his head. “Of course, you did.” Then he remembered something. Concerned, he said, “My van or yours?”

  “Mine.”

  “So that’s why you drove off? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you?”

  “I hate surprises,” Gideon said. “And did you always know about the safe?”

  “No, but when I got a look at it and rifled through Rosso’s documents and his own set of drawings I put two and two together.”

  “And came up with a fake safe and trap door?” Gideon said.

  “I’ve known a few—”

  “Safecrackers in your day. Right. Got that, but come on, how’d you figure it out?”

  “While you were interrogating Rosso, I came across the original blueprints, and they indicated the passageways, and that there was an entry point from that very room. I looked around and saw none. My eyes fell on the safe and I didn’t recognize the maker. I happen to know every safe built over the last two-hundred years—”

  “You what? Oh, never mind. And you determined that it was phony, right?”

  “Yeah. The lock was old and basic, a piece of cake. Inside was the trap door.”

  “Just in time, I might add.”

  “‘Chance favors the prepared mind,’ Louis Pasteur said,” Cyrus rejoined.

  “Well, damn good job, Louis. We’d be Swiss cheese if you hadn’t figured that all out. You’re a genius.”

  “Not so much,” Cyrus said humbly. “If you hadn’t had the wits to throw open the window before we left, they’d have figured out what happened by now.”

  “I was in a similar situation once, that’s all,” Gideon said. “How much farther?”

  Cyrus shined his torch ahead. “Almost there, I think.”

  “Good, because these rats are creeping me out.” He snap-kicked a fat rat out of his way and turned his flashlight on another. “Good God, look at that one. It’s the size of a freaking buffalo!”

  “Malkah!” Ellen cried, running up to her cousin. “Thank God I found you!”

  “What’s going on?” Malkah asked, scores of frightened and screaming guests pouring past her into the lobby. “You’re all soaked and muddy. What happened?”

  “I-I don’t know,” Ellen whimpered. “Soldiers and guards are running everywhere, and there are fires outside. From lightning! There were gunshots!”

  “But why are you all muddy?”

  “It was horrible, Malkah. Chance and I were outside sitting in the gazebo. He was practicing his speech when suddenly the sky lit up with a giant web of lightning and it began to pour. We weren’t sure what to do. A bolt hit a tree. Then another one. We were afraid that if we made a run for it across the open ground we’d be struck! But the gazebo didn’t seem any safer. It was so frightening!”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told Chance that we should crawl under the gazebo, but he didn’t want to dirty his suit. Then another tree was hit, much closer. I could feel the electricity! We jumped from the gazebo and crawled underneath. A few minutes later there was a terrible crack, and then the entire gazebo went up like a torch!”

  “Oh my God,” Malkah said. “Where is he? Don’t tell me…”

  “He’s okay. His hair is singed and his suit is in tatters, but he’s okay. A medic is treating him for shock. They insisted I come here and that Chance would be with me shortly. What is going on? Someone said terrorists!”

  A uniformed guard walked up and ordered the women to proceed into the lobby, telling them that it was well-protected and that everyone would be safe in there.

  “Did you see anything else?” Malkah asked Ellen as they obeyed the guard’s instructions.

  “Just a lot of men, guards and guys in uniform, soldiers, I think, running towards the west wing of the estate.”

  “Isn’t that where Mr. Rosso stays?”

  “I don’t know,” Ellen said. “I just hope he’s okay. What would we do without him? The man is an absolute saint! Everyone here is depending on him.”

  “No doubt,” Malkah said wryly. “He funds them all.”

  “His charity and social conscience knows no bounds,” E
llen swooned.

  “None,” Malkah agreed.

  “He’d do anything to help his fellow man,” Ellen added like a true believer.

  “Anything is right.”

  Ellen smiled. “‘Mac, I never thought I’d see the day we actually agree on something!” She gave Malkah a hug and then stepped back. “Oh, sorry about that,” she brushed at some mud she left on Malkah’s French maid getup. “Was this your idea?” She said, gesturing to Malkah’s uniform.

  “What do you think, Ellen? Of course not. They made me wear it.”

  “Well, I must admit you do look adorable. Good for the tips, eh?”

  Malkah reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a fistful of globals. “Apparently so.”

  “Wow,” Ellen said. “I’d jump into one of those little ensembles for that!”

  Malkah grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Just then they heard the distant sound of more gunfire, followed by an explosion.

  Ellen gasped and hugged Malkah again. “I can’t believe this is happening! Terrorists here? It makes no sense. Mr. Rosso is such a good man, and we’re all on their side.”

  “Excuse me?” Malkah said. “Whose side? The terrorists?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “We understand their grievances, that’s all. I’m not saying I agree with all their methods…”

  “Yeah, well, speak for yourself, Ellen. Anyway, don’t worry. I am certain it’s not a terrorist attack.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I just am.”

  “How can you be this cool? Look, everyone else is freaking out.”

  Malkah shrugged. “I’m not cool. Everyone else is just a bunch of hand-flapping sissies. I wish I had my gun…”

  “What?” Ellen said, appalled. “You have a gun?”

  “Gideon gave me one for my birthday.”

  “That’s awful! That’s illegal! What kind of man would do such a horrible thing?”

  “A caring one. Besides, why should terrorists and bad guys have guns and not me?”