by Mark Romang
Chapter 13
Tahora Saddle—that moment
Drakon stood on a grassy knoll high above the Wickam Sheep Station and monitored all activity going on in the valley. His black eyes, darker than coal, scanned back and forth. With eyesight fifty times more powerful than an eagle’s, nothing escaped his keen glare.
He could see his prey tagging along behind his mother as she hung wet clothes on a line. From 1000 yards away, the braided texture of the clothesline appeared in high definition, as did the freckles on Spencer Thorn’s nose.
Drakon smiled as he read the child’s thoughts. The boy was pretending to fight demons like his father. An imaginary sword flamed in his small hands. Foolish child, you don’t realize the danger you’re in.
He could take the child’s life in seconds, and in a way that appeared natural. The situation was nearly perfect. Spencer’s father sat in the grass, his back against an ATV tire, dozing in the sun, far away from his precious family.
Drakon could squeeze the child’s heart until it stopped beating. And it would take an ambulance forty minutes or more to arrive at the sheep station. By then the boy would be dead.
Only one thing stopped him from performing the murderous deed. Actually there were two things stopping him. Two powerful angels flanked the door to Adam and Emily Thorn’s cottage. Drakon recognized the type and rank of the angels. They were Protectors, archangels with the same ranking as Michael and Gabriel. Protectors were greatly respected in Heaven and among all demons everywhere. They were fierce fighters, bodyguards without equal. They mostly perform sentinel duty near the heavenly gates. The fact that they were on planet earth standing watch over the Thorn family proved how high the stakes were.
The boy held the key to everything. His decision whether or not to become a Jesus follower would affect not only the visible world but the unseen one as well. If Spencer Thorn confessed his sins to God and accepted Jesus’ forgiveness, all the prophecies in the book of Revelation would start to unfold.
This is precisely why Lucifer wanted him to slay the child. But now he couldn’t perform the murder on his own, not with the Protectors guarding the child’s life. The Protectors were too powerful. He would need reinforcements. With no time to waste, Drakon left the grassy knoll to find Lucifer.
****
Dressed head to foot in camouflage, Coleton Webb lay perfectly still in high grass and watched Nikko Castellanos walk away from his rental car, a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. Webb’s vision oscillated between blurriness and clarity. Nausea squeezed his stomach. He’d become a physical mess in a short time. Alcohol withdrawals ravaged his body and mind.
From his hidden position, Webb watched Castellanos disappear down the hillside. Acting on impulse or some other inner prompting, Webb pulled out his satellite phone. He punched in a number, knowing it was unlikely he’d get to talk to Henrik Skymolt. “Skymolt International Properties, how may I help you?” a female voice said in Scandinavian-accented English.
“I need to talk to Henrik. Tell him it’s an emergency. One of his Skeptikos Alliance agents is about to commit murder in New Zealand. Tell him I know all about Nikko Castellanos, and I’m prepared to go to the authorities.”
“Who is calling?”
Webb squeezed the handset. “It doesn’t matter. Tell Henrik I’m a friend of Andrew Maddix.”
“But sir, Henrik is in a meeting. He doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“I don’t care,” Webb hissed. “Tell him everything I just told you. He’ll want to talk.”
“Okay, sir, just hold tight for a few seconds.”
Webb heard rapid footsteps on the other end, and then a door being opened. He lingered impatiently. Every second waiting to talk to Skymolt allowed Castellanos time to settle in and fire off a kill shot.
“Hello, Henrik Skymolt speaking.”
“Call off your man, or I’m coming for you.”
“Who is this? What are you talking about?”
“You put a bounty on Andrew Maddix and Sara Kendall. You hired a hit man named Nikko Castellanos to murder them.”
“I will not talk to a lunatic,” Skymolt replied calmly.
“I’m not crazy. I was there at the Karlaplan two mornings ago. You and Castellanos sat on a park bench and discussed the transaction. I have proof.”
“You’re bluffing,” Skymolt suggested coolly.
“I was the man operating the toy speedboat. The boat really isn’t a toy. It has a tiny camera mounted on both the port and starboard sides. It also has a parabolic microphone to record sound. I have both visual and audio proof of your conversation. Call off the hit or I will go to the authorities with the evidence. You’ll rot in prison like a common thug.”
“You don’t know who you’re talking to,” Skymolt said.
“I think I made myself clear. I don’t speak in riddles,” Webb countered, gripping the satellite phone tighter as nausea assaulted his stomach.
“No, you really don’t know who you are talking to. If you did you wouldn’t talk to me so brazenly.”
Webb heard the line click dead. He rose unsteadily to his feet. His head swam as he made his way over to Castellanos’s Subaru. He prayed the assassin left the keys in the ignition. He also prayed he wasn’t making a mistake by not going over the hill and taking on Castellanos.
Webb reached the burgundy-painted Subaru. He peered inside. Castellanos obviously wanted a fast getaway. Keys dangled from the ignition. Webb hopped inside the car and started it. He put the car in gear and drove it up to the edge of the hilltop. Keeping his foot on the brake, Webb opened the door wide. He stomped on the gas pedal and jumped out the open door, landing hard on his knees and left shoulder. The Subaru rolled over the edge and crashed through a rickety barbed-wire fence. And then it careened down the treeless hill, picking up speed at a rapid clip. Webb grinned weakly. Explain that to the rental car agency, Nikko.
Chapter 14
Sitting in the grass, his back against an ATV tire, Adam Thorn napped under a warm autumn sun. With no natural predators in New Zealand, the sheep were safe to graze without him watching their every move.
Though he slept, Thorn found little rest. A vision or dream held his subconscious in a transfixed state. He saw a bearded man, who looked to be about thirty, his head bowed in a prayerful position, hands folded and pressed against his forehead. The man’s lips moved rapidly and without letup. Thorn strained to hear, but the man spoke too softly.
Thorn wondered who the man was and who or what he prayed for. The man petitioned God with great focus and intensity, so much so that Thorn witnessed an aura of holiness drift off the man and float like a cloud over to him. The sensation felt as refreshing as an evening breeze. Peace like Thorn had never experienced before settled over him. It was the type of peace one could only feel as a small child, when held safe in a parent’s tender embrace.
But then he heard Billy barking and snapped awake. Thorn looked around him, located Billy and watched him for a few moments. The dog wagged its tail as it barked. Thorn looked in the direction the dog barked, into the bright sun, but saw nothing.
Thorn shielded his eyes against the afternoon sun. And out of the blinding sunbeams stepped a tall man standing well over seven-feet tall. Thorn immediately knew the man’s identity. He’d last spoken to him five years ago in Colorado, and also recognized the man wasn’t a man at all, but an angel. “Gabriel?”
“You must leave here, Adam. This meadow isn’t safe. Danger pursues you. A man stalks you, as do demons. And soon men with dogs will track you.”
Angels can appear as humans if they choose to do so. Thorn was thankful Gabriel didn’t appear in his full glory now. But even cloaked in human flesh and dressed in nondescript clothing, Gabriel emanated jaw-dropping power. Intimidation tied Thorn’s tongue in knots. “Where do I go?” he finally managed to stutter.
“You must flee to the cave, you and your family. You will find refuge there. But you must go now.”
Thorn tur
ned his head and looked down into the valley, so inviting and picturesque. His dark eyes flashed over the small cottage he shared with his family. “What about the sheep?” he mumbled.
“Forget the Sheep. They’ll be fine. Spencer is the only lamb you must protect.”
Thorn started to climb onto the ATV. “I’ll go get them right now.”
Gabriel placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him fast. Thorn felt his legs go weak at the angel’s touch. “There isn’t time, Adam. Use the signal mirror,” Gabriel urged.
Thorn grabbed his rucksack off the storage rack near the ATV’s handlebars. He squatted down and rummaged through the rucksack until he found his Vector 1 signal mirror. He didn’t know why Gabriel couldn’t just fly down to the house and give Emily the message. That would sure speed things up.
Thorn stood and held up the two inch by three inch signal mirror, panning it until he caught a reflection off his other hand. And then he brought the mirror up to his face and looked through the sight hole on the mirror’s back. Inside the sight hole was a bright light spot. He aimed the bright light spot onto the cottage.
Thorn had no doubts as to whether his signal could be seen. The signal could easily be viewed up to twenty miles away if someone like Emily knew to be watching for it. Thorn gently moved the mirror a tic up and down, flashing the signal off the house. He watched the cottage intently. Come on, Emily. I need you to see this. Thorn jerked when he heard a rifle report echo through the hills. A ram only a few feet away slumped to the ground a split-second later. Blood erupted from the downed sheep, turning its white wool crimson.
Thorn dropped to the ground and crawled around to the other side of the ATV. He hunkered down and took cover behind a wheel, making sure his torso and head didn’t extend past the steel rim. In the movies a person takes cover behind a car door and survives a fusillade of bullets. In real life the bullets would easily penetrate the thin metal covering a car door. Thorn knew his best cover was behind the thick steel wheel. If his legs or feet extended beyond the ATV wheel and got hit, so be it. At least his vital organs were protected.
Thorn heard another shot ring out, and then a muffled thump. The ATV rocked gently in place. A hissing sound filled Thorn’s ears. One of the tires on the other side of the ATV had been struck and started deflating. This isn’t a hunter firing errant shots. Someone is definitely shooting at me.
Nine years ago Thorn had been an elite soldier, a Navy SEAL. He knew things average people didn’t, could easily do things normal civilians would struggle with, could endure suffering and hardships that would break the toughest public citizen.
And now the intense training drummed into him through sheer repetition and countless hours of study took over his brain. Assess your situation. Determine where the shooter is. Determine whether you are in a fight or flight situation. Find your cover. Find your escape route.
Thorn looked around as much as he could without exposing his head. He figured the shooter was firing from the north, from just off the highway. By the sound of the report, the shooter fired a big game rifle, probably a bolt action with a 7.62 mm NATO round.
As his brain performed a mental checklist, Thorn realized Gabriel was no longer with him. The archangel had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Thorn wanted to ask him about the Eden sword, what the etching on its blade meant, but he forgot. Now the mystery would continue to baffle him.
A strobe of light flashed in his periphery. Thorn turned his head a few degrees and looked down into the valley. A signal mirror flashed from down by the cottage. Emily was signaling back. She’d gotten his message, and knew what to do. She’d be stuffing a backpack with a day or two of survival rations and gear, and taking Spencer to the cave. They had mentally rehearsed this day many times, made preparations to go underground for when the world closed in around them.
Thorn continued his assessment. It appeared only one shooter had fired at him. The chance the shooter was a cop acting on his own was pretty small. There would be more than one cop. The hills would be crawling with them. Police choppers would patrol the skies. So who could it be? Was it someone he knew, or just a random act committed by a deranged hunter? Thorn assumed there was a reward for his capture and arrest, possibly a substantial one. The reward could attract a bounty hunter.
Thorn studied the open terrain. Fight or flight? You have to decide, he told himself. Another shot rang out. A bullet pinged against the gas tank on the ATV, gouging a small hole in the tank. Gasoline spilled out into the grass. The shooter was finding his range little by little.
Since his only weapon was the Eden sword—a close-quarters weapon—Thorn didn’t have much choice but to cut and run. He had to get off the X—SEAL vernacular for the kill zone. But finding cover on the open hillsides would be difficult. Trees had been clear cut on the hillsides long ago for agricultural purposes. Only a few pockets of rimu and totara trees and bush dotted the hills here and there. The nearest stand was about fifty to sixty yards below him. A tall beech tree soared up from a brushy thicket. The thicket was only a few yards wide but stretched for perhaps two-hundred feet. I’ll head for the thicket, he told himself.
Still hunkered behind the ATV wheel, Thorn grabbed his rucksack lying on the ground and looped his arms through the arm holes. He then reached up and loosened the rope securing the Eden sword—still in its scabbard, and lifted the sword from the storage rack mounted on the ATV’s back fenders. He unbuckled his leather belt and looped it through the scabbard, and then retightened the belt.
Thorn took a couple of deep breaths, readying himself for a madcap retreat to the thicket. But then something weird happened, one of the most bizarre things he’d ever witnessed in a combat situation. A driverless car hurtled down the hillside, one of its doors whipping open and shut. Thorn recognized his opportunity. He hoped the runaway car would distract the shooter long enough for him to enter the thicket.
Thorn burst out from behind the ATV and sprinted with his head tucked down. He was nearly to the thicket when another shot rang out. Thorn tumbled, hitting the ground hard.
Chapter 15
Lying on his stomach, Nikko Castellanos slid the bolt shut on his Remington 700 SPS .308 rifle and adjusted his aim. His first shot missed badly, striking and killing a sheep instead of Adam Thorn. His next two shots came closer but only ruptured a tire and a gas tank on the ATV Thorn hid behind.
Castellanos accounted the missed shots to nerves. He was rusty with a sniper rifle, having not fired one in a couple of years. But his confidence remained high. As sure as the sun rose in the east and set in the west, he would kill Adam Thorn.
Castellanos viewed the ATV through a Sightron SIII riflescope. He actually owned a Remington 700, was familiar with the legendary rifle’s strengths and weaknesses. But this rifle was brand new out of the box. Henrik Skymolt supplied him with it. Castellanos didn’t know if the rifle had ever been sighted in. He assumed it hadn’t. So he would have to make adjustments on the fly. He also had to deal with the wind. The wind gusted across the treeless hills without letup and would affect bullet trajectory.
Castellanos moved his rifle slightly to the left. One-hundred and fifty yards separated him from his target. With the aid of the powerful riflescope he thought he could see the sole of a shoe sticking out just behind one of the ATV’s front tires. The Sightron’s mil-dot reticle settled in on the shoe. Castellanos knew if he could only hit Thorn’s foot, the man would recoil in pain and expose his torso. Another bonus of hitting his target’s foot was that he would essentially immobilize him. But that all hinged upon hitting the correct foot. Thorn only had one lower leg—his left leg. Castellanos couldn’t tell if the visible shoe was attached to a real leg or a prosthetic.
There’s only one way to find out, he thought. He was about to fire the Remington when his satellite phone rang. Castellanos laid the rifle down and grabbed a backpack next to him. He hurriedly pulled the ringing phone from the bag. The phone could give away his position.
“Hello?”
he said in a low voice.
“Nikko, we have a problem,” Henrik Skymolt said from the other end.
“What’s the problem?”
“Our conversation at the Karlaplan was recorded. The man with the toy speedboat just called me. He knows what you’re attempting to do, and he’s attempting to blackmail me if I don’t call you off.”
“Do you wish me to proceed? I have the target in my sights as we speak.”
“Go ahead with the mission. I just wanted you to know someone may be following you.”
“I will be careful. Thanks for the heads-up. I must go now. Goodbye, Henrik.” Castellanos set the phone down in the grass and picked up his rifle. Once more he settled in behind the scope, aiming the Remington at the exposed shoe sole. He was about to fire when he heard something behind him. Castellanos turned his head and gasped.
A driverless car sped down the hill—his rental car! The Subaru plunged down the hill, the driver’s side door banging open and shut. Slack-jawed, Castellanos watched the car teeter over onto two wheels, and then roll over and flip several times, finally clattering to a stop in a ravine far below. Steam and dust billowed up over the wrecked car.
Castellanos turned and studied the area around the highway near where he parked the car. He was sure he’d put the car in park when he left it. But then he remembered he’d left the keys in it. Maybe the person Skymolt warned him about performed the sabotage. Whatever, he now had no transportation out of the Tahora Saddle except for his legs. A daunting hike through remote wilderness awaited him unless he could hitch a ride from another traveler on the highway.