The Belial Library (The Belial Series)

by R. D. Brady

  Taking off at a run, they sprinted up the steep path. Although Jen’s legs were a good few inches longer than Laney’s, Laney soon outpaced her. Her smaller size made it easier for her to slip through the panicked crowd streaming down the trail.

  Screams and the ring of gunfire grew louder. Smoke wafted down the path, the smell of burning wood. She could see the glow ahead where the buildings burned. Her heart sank. Everything here was made of thatch and wood. The fire would spread easily; nothing would be left.

  Her thigh muscles strained, but she didn’t slow. Picturing the villagers she’d come to know and care for over the last three months, she increased her pace.

  Nearing the top, the crowd began to thin out. Soon, there was no one. Jen drew up beside her and they reached the top together.

  Laney quickly stepped into the trees and Jen followed. A girl’s scream erupted. Laney’s heart pounded even harder.

  “Elena,” Jen whispered, her voice even, but Laney heard the emotion nonetheless.

  “I know.”

  Silently, they made their way through the foliage. They circled the village, drawing closer to the noise.

  “Who do you think it is?” Jen whispered.

  Laney pushed a branch out of the way. “I’m guessing one of the cartels. A huge field was burned just over the border in Colombia two weeks ago. They’re probably looking for new fields.”

  “But why here?”

  Laney glanced over her shoulder, her eyes finding Jen’s in the fire’s glow. “When cartels’ take over, they don’t just grab the land. They also grab the people as workers. Elena’s village is perfect.”

  “And the children?”

  “The boys will be turned into workers. And the girls—” She paused, taking a breath. “The girls will be used for entertainment.”

  The main community hut came into view. Laney pulled Jen to the ground. Together, they stared at the destruction before them.

  Armed men gathered the villagers together. Others lay where they’d been felled, pools of blood surrounding their bodies. Huts burned, and families clung together, wailing at their loss. A few hours earlier, they’d walked through this same village and it had been a place of peace and family. Now it was the scene from a nightmare.

  Smoke wafted through the buildings and armed men walked in and out of the smoke like specters, dragging or shoving villagers. The violence, the weapons, it was a perfect example of a cartel taking over. And yet . . .

  “Something’s not right,” Laney mumbled, not being able to put her finger on exactly what was bothering her.

  Jen stared back at her, incredulous. “Something? Nothing here is right.”

  “I know. But there’s something else.” She stared at the men. They were all dressed in common clothes, loose cotton tops and dirty pants. The right costume for cartel men . . . Costumes? Why did she think costumes?

  She grabbed Jen’s arm. “Look at their boots.”

  The men were wearing the exact same black boots – military issue, if she wasn’t mistaken. These weren’t cartel members, although they were playing the part.

  A scream pulled her attention. A young girl was being dragged into one of the huts. The large man pulling her laughed as she struggled. Finally, he grabbed her around the waist and slung her over his shoulder.

  Laney felt like she’d been punched in the chest. “Elena.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Stealth forgotten, Laney and Jen stormed through the trees on the outskirts of the village. The hut Elena had been taken to backed onto the forest. They reached the tree line closest to the hut. Thirty feet of open space separated them and their target. Two mercenaries herded a family out of hiding from the hut next to it.

  Laney hefted her sidearm. She wouldn't be able to take them from here. They were too far away. She'd have to get closer. She could move along the tree line until she was right behind them, but that would take time.

  She turned to Jen. “I’ll take care of the guards and the family. You get our girl.”

  Jen rocked back on her heels. “On the count of three.”

  One of the gunmen roughly shoved a boy no older than seven. The father grabbed the gunman’s arm and the gunman back-fisted the poor man. He crashed to the ground. The two gunmen started kicking the man with their heavy boots, the family crying.

  The mother threw herself at one of the gunmen. He backhanded her away.

  Elena’s scream cut through the air.

  Anger and fear warred for control in Laney. She burst from the tree line, Jen at her side.

  One of the mercenaries turned, his gun raised. Laney didn't even break her stride. Two shots, dead center. The other gunman dove away from his comrade.

  In Spanish, Laney yelled to the family. “Run to the trees! Run!”

  The family scurried out of sight as she continued to take shots at the spot where the other mercenary had found cover. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jen’s long-legged stride eating up the distance before she disappeared into the doorway.

  The second mercenary returned fire. Diving behind an empty oil drum, she waited for the pause between shots and leapt up. The man aimed for her, but she was faster. Her bullet burrowed through his forehead.

  She stepped from behind the drum, her gun extended in front of her. A fist slammed down on her arm.

  Pain charged through her arm and she dropped it. Shoved forward, she slammed into the drum and rolled over it, landing on the ground. Her uncle’s voice rang through her head. Always check your six.

  A mountain of a man stalked towards her. His hair was dark, his skin pock-marked. A wicked serrated knife in his hand led his way.

  He loomed over her and spoke without any trace of a South American accent. In fact, he sounded like he was from Jersey. “Bitch with a gun. Let’s see how you do without it.”

  Laney’s boot slammed into side of the man’s knee. He stumbled and lurched to his right to compensate. She rolled onto her right hip, kicked at his other leg. Her next kick got him in the face. He crashed to the ground.

  Bringing up her left boot, she drove her heel into his chin and then changing her angle, brought it down into the middle of his face. Blood exploded from his nose.

  She brought her heel down again and again and again, onto his neck, his chest and finally his groin. Rolling to her feet, she snatched his knife from where it had fallen. He lay curled in the fetal position, moaning.

  She leaned down. “This bitch does just fine without a gun.”

  Pushing herself back from the body, she tucked his knife into her belt and grabbed her Glock. She ran for the hut, reaching it just as Jen stepped out, Elena cradled protectively in her arms.

  Laney glanced back through the doorway. The man who’d grabbed Elena was lying spread eagle, a knife protruding from his chest.

  “Good?”

  Jen nodded. “Good. The family?”

  “Escaped into the woods.” Laney reached out to stroke Elena’s hair.

  Elena looked up at her, her eyes as big as saucers. “Nana?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart,” Laney said. “But we’ll find her.”

  Elena nodded before closing her eyes. Laney met Jen’s eyes. They hadn’t been able to tell if one of the bodies in front of the community hut had been Nana. Laney prayed it hadn’t been.

  “We need to move. We’re lucky my gun exchange didn’t draw them,” Laney said.

  Jen started towards the trees. “They probably just thought it was their own men having fun.”

  Laney nodded, knowing she was probably right. She trailed behind Jen as they headed for the tree line, her eyes darting between the trees ahead and the village behind. She slipped into the trees behind Jen, knowing Jen was avoiding the main path. They would take a back trail that led from the village to the church.

  Laney quickly overtook Jen and Elena once on the path. She'd lead the way in case any of the mercenaries had made their way into the forest.

  Laney was hyper-aware now. Every snap of
a twig had her imagining gunmen hidden in the trees. Who was targeting these villagers? The village was poor. They had nothing of value. Except . . . She stumbled, not noticing a root sticking out of the ground.

  "Laney?" Jen asked, her voice concerned.

  "I'm fine. Just tripped." She kept her voice calm.

  The Shuar’s connection to the source of the Crespi Collection was well known. In fact, it had been known for decades. Uncovering that source would be an absolutely priceless find. Was that why they’d been attacked? But why now?

  A twig snapped to her right. Laney whirled around, dropping to her knee and lining up the poor Andean fox. She let out a breath, getting back to her feet as the poor thing scampered away. She glanced back at Jen. "Just a fox."

  Jen nodded, clutching Elena to her.

  Laney continued on the path. The violence of this group was coordinated. It was big. That took money, lots of it.

  A cold chill stole through her. And if they were after the source of Crespi's collection, the violence wasn’t going to stop at the village.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hugo paced in front of the villagers who’d been unable to escape. Their muffled cries were the only sounds now. The forest surrounding them had gone silent, as had the gunfire.

  The village had been relatively easy to subdue. He glanced at the bodies that littered the ground. Only about fifteen had been killed. An acceptable number and none of them had been their target.

  He watched as his 'second in command' walked towards him, casting a dismissive eye on the bodies around him. His love handles strained against the new camos he'd put on and an M16 hung carelessly across his chest. One of his men had found him struggling up the steep path to the village.

  “So where is she?” Warren stared at the scar that ran from the edge of Hugo’s eyebrow to the edge of his mouth.

  Most men, he’d beat to a pulp for even glancing at it too long. With this brat, he had to bite his tongue. “We haven't found her yet.”

  Hugo turned away from him. The kid was a joke. He didn't know which end of a gun to shoot from. He’d been ordered to bring him along, to show him the ropes. The rest of his men had all been tested in battle. Junior here had the cockiness of someone who’d never been in a fight, but always thought he would win.

  He’d even failed to complete his one job: get the two American archaeologists away from here. Hugo growled. He didn’t need Americans caught in the crossfire. That would bring way too much attention.

  He turned as Warren kicked the person nearest to him, a twenty-something woman holding her child. The woman cried out. The villagers leaned forward, their faces mutinous. A One of Hugo’s men stepped forward, warning them back.

  Warren was oblivious to the reaction. “Let’s just ask one of these ones where she went. I’m sure I could persuade them to answer.”

  Hugo latched onto Warren’s arm, squeezing hard.

  Warren’s face paled.

  Hugo spoke quietly, but with authority. “I don’t care who your granddaddy is. This is my op. You will observe, but you will not touch a single person unless I tell you to.” He reached down and flipped the safety on Warren's M16. “And keep the damn safety on before you blow your foot off.” He flung him away.

  Warren's cheeks glowed red. He opened his mouth to speak.

  Hugo stared him down.

  Common sense prevailed. Warren shut his mouth and took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. What can I do?”

  “Now you’re getting it.” He nodded to the tent where his lieutenant had disappeared with the girl. “Check on Sanford. It’s too quiet in there.”

  Warren nodded and headed off. Hugo shook his head, watching him go. His grandfather was a man to be reckoned with. But the apple had obviously fallen very far from the tree. If Warren were his progeny, Hugo would have shot him when he was a child and saved himself the embarrassment.

  Turning his back on Warren, he looked over the crowd of villagers. They all looked at the ground. He pointed at them. “Eenie, meenie, minee, mo, who will tell me what they know?”

  “Hugo!”

  He growled at the interruption. For God's sake, the kid was worse than a two-year old. He looked over his shoulder. Warren ran towards him, his face blotchy from the exertion. “What is it?”

  “It’s Sanford,” Warren panted out. “He’s dead.”

  Hugo went still, his fist clenched. “What did you say?”

  “Sanford. There’s a knife sticking out of his chest."

  Hugo's eyes narrowed to slits as he looked back at the villagers. Sanford had been his lieutenant for over five years. He wasn’t easy to take down. He reached down and yanked up a girl around the age of six. He held a gun to her head while he stared at the group. “Where would they have taken her?”

  “No, don’t hurt her,” her mother pleaded.

  “This is the last time I’ll ask. Where would they have taken her?” He pressed the gun harder into the little girl’s temple and she cried out. “3, 2 –”

  “The church.” A man called out. “They would have taken her to the church.”

  Hugo pushed the girl back towards her mother. She collapsed in her mother’s arms sobbing. Hugo watched them for a moment. Pitiful. He raised his gun and shot the man who had spoken. He turned and walked away.

  Warren had to run to keep up with him. “Why’d you shoot him? He told you what you wanted.”

  “But I had to ask twice.” He glanced over at Warren. “Take a group to the church while I finish here. If you find the target, hold her. I’ll question her when I get there.”

  Warren ran off towards the trucks with a nod, practically skipping in his excitement. He’d lost Sanford and now he was saddled with this man-child. Hugo beckoned his second lieutenant over. He came on a run, halting in front of him. “Yes, sir.”

  Hugo smiled. Now this was how a soldier should respond. “It’s time to clean up the village.”

  His second looked at him, unblinking. “Yes, sir. What type of cleanup will this be?”

  “Complete. No witnesses.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Henry Chandler, CEO of the Chandler Group, flipped through the reports on his desk. The project in Milan was on schedule and should be wrapped up shortly. Their consultation with the scientists at the Hadron collider had gone well and it looked as if a new contract would be signed soon. Pushing the files to the right side of his desk, he pulled over a white file with a single word on it: Montana.

  Leaning back in his chair, the file in his lap, he carefully flipped his purple-striped tie over his shoulder. He had a meeting with a potential client this afternoon, hence the more formal look of black slacks and crisp white shirt. He preferred jeans and a t-shirt, but he knew as the head of the Chandler Group, he needed to present a certain image.

  He flipped past the opening summary and stopped on page two, assessing the latest progress on the dig. Father Patrick seemed to have the project well in hand. He'd put out a press release with some initial findings and gotten the expected pushback. He smiled thinking of his conversation with Patrick this morning. The priest was definitely enjoying being in the thick of things.

  He scanned the rest of the report. Nothing about the superhumans. There’d been precious little information about them on any of the monoliths in Montana. They knew they were fallen angels, that they’d ushered in a world of violence and strife. But they had learned nothing more about them from the ancient site.

  And nothing more about you, either, a thought whispered from the back of his mind. The thoughts had been harder to shut out since Montana. He’d known what he could do since he was a teenager. But he never knew why. Was he one of them?

  His parents had known. ‘Don’t let anyone know what he is.’ Had that been fear in his father’s voice? He curled his fist, though he was careful not to slam it on his desk. He knew if he did, the desk would be damaged, if not destroyed.

  Careful, always having to be so damn careful, so no one kn
ew what he could do. Why had his parents never told him? Why leave him full of questions?

  His Dad was gone, so there were no answers to be had from him. But his Mom . . . He sighed. Getting answers from her was even more complicated than getting answers from his father.

  He glanced up as the door opened. A broad-shouldered man in his mid-thirties with a shock of dark brown hair walked in.

  Henry shook off his thoughts, tucking them away yet again. He smiled and walked around the desk. “Jake. I thought you weren’t getting in until tonight.”

  Jake shook Henry’s hand and grinned up at him. Although Jake was six-foot-four, Henry towered over him. Standing at seven-foot-two, he towered over most people.

  "Wrapped things up early,” Jake replied, heading for Henry’s bar. He picked up the decanter of Scotch and tilted it towards Henry.

  “No, I’m good, but help yourself.” Henry sat in one of leather chairs in front of his desk, surreptitiously watching Jake. Jake had never been a drinker. An occasional beer, sure, but never Scotch. And he looked like he’d lost weight. His jeans were baggier and his navy t-shirt hung a little looser.

  “You okay?”

  Jake took a seat across from him, his glass on the coffee table in between. “Yeah. Good. Israel wrapped up pretty easily."

  Henry nodded, but didn't say anything, taking stock of his head of security. Work was fine. His health was fine. Which only left one thing that wasn’t fine.

  “Have you talked to her?” Henry asked, deciding to forego small talk.

  Jake swirled the amber liquid in his glass with a sigh. “No. Not for about two months.”

  Henry sighed. He’d really been hoping these two could patch things up. If any two people deserved a little happiness, it was Laney and Jake. “Just give her some time. It’s hard to downgrade from putting your lives in each other’s hands to asking if she’s got plans for Friday night. You both went through a lot.”

  Laney had been the target of a supernatural stalker. She’d borne up well and she and Jake had forged a bond through the ordeal. But reality had been tough for both of them, especially Laney. She’d lost one of her best friends to that insanity.