"Perhaps," Marcelle responded coolly. "And if this epidemic is realized, then we will have no lives left to defend. But if this plague is not forthcoming, and there is no way to know for certain, then we will have given Cain time to locate the child. And if Cain takes her blood he will defeat this virus to ultimately gain immortality." He waited. "Time is not on his side, Soloman. Nor is it on ours. Cain is afraid that he will not claim the child by Samhain. And I believe he also fears that the true scope of his knowledge will never return. So he desires immortality, and whatever he gains in this ritual, to mature and execute the full scope of his plans. We must use these things against him."
Soloman was grim as Marcelle stepped closer. "Cain can be defeated, Colonel. His strength is not without limit. I believe that one similar to Cain was defeated in the past." He paused. "Yes, I have seen evidence of it. He was defeated by fire and the sword of the greatest warrior ever to walk the face of the Earth. So if you are willing to match your strength and skill against him once more, you may yet destroy him."
Soloman paused as a moaning wind moved through the surrounding forest and he lifted his eyes with a spectral gaze, watching it sway skeletal trees. His strength and skill and will stood balanced against death in the descending dark and he rose against it, summoning his heart, his life, all he was for a final act. He bowed his head.
"Make arrangements for the church," he said and turned to see Amy through a window, smiling, all fear forgotten.
Such a beautiful place to be.
He watched over her a long time, felt the smile on his face. But when he looked again at the priest his aspect altered instantly, frightening even Marcelle. His voice was deathly cold.
"You just make sure I've got room to kill that thing."
***
Halcrouth Sanitorium was shrouded in a tenebrous, dreary, unnaturally still night as Dr. Felix Dubin drove through the guarded front gate, rising along wet cobblestones to approach the rear of the building. He parked and exited, absently noticing an ominous fog moving slowly, coldly across the finely manicured lawn.
Low clouds and mist made the sanatorium seem isolated and uneasy and alone in the world. And, despite being a man of science, Dr. Dubin felt an icy, disturbing sensation – a chill that closed over him with an aspect at once desolate and terrible.
Looking over his shoulder he unlocked the door and shut it fast against the night, staring with strange fear at the gathering darkness. He could not understand his racing heart, the horror that had come so quickly.
But after a moment, with the door locked, he took a deeper breath that didn't disintegrate within him. Slowly feeling more like a scientist than a superstitious old man he calmed himself measure by measure and walked down a shadowed hallway, attempting to ignore the fact that his hands were trembling.
Many patients were on his list tonight, all of them fortunate recipients of free plastic surgery from physicians who, out of compassion, had donated their time and skill to correct severe disfigurement.
Most of them were battered women who had been horribly scarred by abusive husbands, women that had lived for years in hopeless pain. And Dubin felt great pleasure in his most benevolent enterprise, knowing it was rare that such a project was successfully undertaken.
And further, most of them were indigent—sad products of broken homes and dysfunctional families that married too early or wrongly. Fortunately, though, many of the broken cheeks and eye sockets, the sunken chins and dislocated jaws, had been repairable.
Yes, correcting the cruel disfigurements had been the most satisfying project of Dubin's life, for it provided him with the extreme pleasure of donating his extraordinary skills to help those who truly needed help, those who truly appreciated it. It was so much more satisfying than the narcissistic enhancement of wealthy patients who already possessed beauty but only wanted more, never finding in the flesh what their souls alone could provide. Smiling, he forgot the night as he moved down the hall where— A wounded moan liquefied his heart, an instinctive fear that adrenalized his entire system at once, and he stared about himself, gazing numbly at dim shadows of carnage, unable to understand. It required a single, surreal moment for his mind to begin ...
He saw mutilated patients in bloody gowns, their twisted bodies sprawled along an expansive interior lobby. And for a moment he wondered if there had been a horrible accident before he knew somehow that it was something else, yes, something else that— But what could have ...?
He couldn't understand and searched to see his last patient moaning in blinding pain, still conscious and knowing all too clearly what had happened to her. He groaned at the sight, for he had meticulously worked for seventeen hours to repair that jaw, now brutally shattered once more. He staggered in shock as he turned to see another, and another.
What remained of her cheek hung crooked on her face. Her eyes, so beautifully rebuilt to her tear-stained pleasure, were savagely gouged, leaving only bloody sockets. And then another was vividly before him, and another, piece by piece taken but still alive with the moaning horror of what had been stolen, cursed that for a few brief moments they had been as beautiful as the rest.
Appalled, moaning, Dubin gazed at the horror, barely noticing the dead security guards, the unmoving forms of nightshirt personnel. Then he shouted at a death-cold laugh and whirled to see a monstrous, manlike thing standing in shadow.
The gigantic shape did not move and seemed somehow disfigured. The head was bald, red in the faint light, and peeling. Its hands were like long black talons, curling with horrible pleasure.
"I have improved on your work, Doctor," it laughed.
"What ... What have you done!" Dubin shouted, and this awakened screaming in the room from those who now realized he had come. They cried desperately to him as he tried to ignore the tragic chorus, knowing that the shape had caused this horror.
"You ruined what I created." The thing smiled, shaking its bald head. "Did you not respect my artistry? Did you not appreciate the beauty of my hands? Howarrogant of you."
"Madman!" Dubin shouted, instinctively backing. "You . . . you would do this? What kind of beast are you that you would do this!"
"Oh, Doctor, I am only ... a pilgrim."
It stepped from the wall and Dubin saw a fire-scarred, cadaverous face with skin falling in blackened folds. Then another laugh rumbled forth and Dubin, struck with fear, backed away in utter shock that a man so severely injured could still be alive.
"Do not fear for me, Doctor," the man whispered. "By morning, if I continue to feast upon this delicious sustenance that you have provided, I will be whole again. These …" He gestured vaguely to his face and chest, “ … are only a nuisance. So in the morning, yes, I shall leave your silent sanatorium to rest in peace." He smiled. "With you."
Dubin screamed as he spun and ran with such speed that he startled even himself, sailing fast and low as he leaped frantically over broken bodies, fleeing toward the wide double doors of the lobby.
Wildly he glanced back and glimpsed his own shadow racing along the wall, horrified to madness as he saw the gigantic shadow already upon him in a roar of laughter, an arm raised high and descending toward his head to— ***
"We're gonna trap Cain in a killing zone and cut him to pieces." Soloman frowned, glaring viciously at a map. "Nothing that ever lived could survive this. Nothing."
Malo nodded with murderous pleasure. Clearly, the thought of trapping Cain in a swamp where two AH-64 Apache gunships could open up on him with mini-cannons, blasting him limb from limb in a merciless holocaust of depleted uranium shells touched his heart.
They were in the soundproof interrogation room of the safe-house, having excused themselves from Maggie and Amy under the pretense of delayed after-incident paperwork.
"It looks like a good plan," Malo replied, stroking his black beard. "But how do you know he'll come? This thing is smart. He might suspect a trap. And it ain't gonna be easy to conceal a couple of gunships at a church." He grunted, leaning b
ack. "In fact, it's going to be impossible. We're gonna have to deck 'em in nearby fields and activate 'em when it hits the fan. And when they tilt, they'd better come in hot or they won't find anything at that basilica but a bunch of dead bodies."
"That's a complication," Soloman muttered. He had come fully into a fighting mode, committed and merciless, everything else forgotten. "All right, to compensate we're going to need cloaked surveillance." He looked up sharply. "And I mean cloaked, Malo – underground sniper bunkers close to the church or every man concealed behind stone with angled vision equipment. And I don't want anybody to even be near an entrance. I don't want Cain to catch any heat signatures."
Still stroking his beard, Malo nodded.
"Another thing," Soloman continued. "I don't want snipers on regular issue Remingtons. I want 'em on Weatherby H and H .300 Magnums. I want 'em on elephant guns." He frowned. "A four-hundred-grain round going four thousand feet per second oughta’ take a little steam out of his stride."
"And if we don't see him coming?" Malo leaned back. "What if he steals an armored truck and just drives it through the front door? It's been done before, you know. And if that happens, Colonel, we're going to be fighting face-to-face with that thing." His face revealed a reluctant fear. "That's likely to be a situation, sir, unless we just blow the whole building with a ton of C-4 and take him out with us."
"That's always an option," Soloman said without hesitation, glancing up as he sat. "But we'll have to get Amy and Maggie airborne before we bring it down."
"How are we gonna work that?"
Soloman took his time to reply. "Like this. We'll have a Loach heated up in the front courtyard. Marcelle has drawn a blueprint." He tossed it over. "It's a good idea because Cain will expect to see a chopper. He'll probably be suspicious if he doesn't. Then, once we paint him with lasers, I want that kid airborne. Immediately." His face reflected intense concentration. "This is what I want you to do. Take one of the slicks to LAX and get airborne in the Nightcat. Have a dozen topographical maps of this quadrant tele-typed to you in flight. And make sure you classify it by the Trinity Mandate. Use the code. You'll reach Bragg by 0300 and I'll cut orders to acquisition everything you'll need. You'll have flight command with nav-scan coordinates pre-programmed into a Jet Ranger. It has a top speed of 210, so you should get to the church inside an hour." Then, when you're on the ground, set up concealed heat sensors, motion detectors, everything you've got. Two hundred yards out or better. I don't want a mouse to be able to get through. But don't set up claymores. This is an isolated civilian forest, but it's not uninhabited. And I don't want some kid wandering by to get his head blown off. Then design a field of fire. Assign each man a zone, crossing them in pipelines. After that, conceal the AH-64s. Hawken will authorize full arsenals. And last, wire the columns of the church with enough C-4 to make it distant history. Take five of the men, leave two with me. I'll meet you there at 1500 tomorrow with Amy, Maggie, the old nun and the priest."
Malo nodded. "Like I said, it sounds like a good plan, Colonel. And no disrespect intended, sir, but this is going to be a ton of work. Why do you have to stay here? We got trouble?"
"Yeah," Soloman muttered. "A little, I think. Ben was called to an emergency meeting of the 'curs.' And I've got to stay here until he gets back. Then I'm gonna fly us to LAX and we'll catch a rented Lear to Bragg where I've acquisitioned a fully-armed Loach. It'll have a mini-gun and two air-to-ground ARMs. I'll drop Amy and Ben and Maggie off at the church at 1500 hours and get to the New York Museum of Natural History by tomorrow night to set up a trap for Cain. I've got to leave something with that second manuscript that will lead him to us. After I do that, I'll boogie back and we'll lay up for him."
A grimace revealed what Malo thought. "You're going up against him alone, Colonel? I don't think that's a good tactic, sir. No disrespect intended, but the last time you went up against this guy he almost tore off your head and shut down your—"
"I don't plan on a fight," Soloman interrupted. "I'm just going to set up a trap that will lead him to us." He paused. "Listen, Malo. We probably don't have much time. If my political instincts are correct, Ben is taking a serious beating right now. There's too much collateral damage, which in this case means too much media attention. I know they're getting pieces of it, probably from the police, who know everything anyway. If I'm right, we're gonna have one more shot at this guy before they reassign us and we're history."
"One more shot is all we should need, sir."
Soloman took a moment to study the grim image of the Delta sergeant. "You be careful, Malo," he said. "This is going to get hot. And I don't want to see any more of my men killed."
Malo glanced away, as if he could all too clearly envision the possibility. He said nothing as Soloman, frowning, abruptly rolled the maps, a subtle move that brought them back to familiar territory.
"Take all the C-4 Bragg has in stock," Soloman said as he handed over the scrolls. "And tell those Apache cowboys that I want them firing as soon as they get a visual."
"Yes, sir."
The Delta commando walked away.
"Hey, Malo." The big man turned, waited. "You think we've got everything covered?"
"As covered as it can get, Colonel." Malo's voice was solemn. "But this thing ain't human. It can't even spell human. And it's like an amateur; there's no way to anticipate a line of attack."
A moment.
"What do you think about our chances?"
"What do I think?" The Delta sergeant returned the question, pausing. "I think we're in for a hell of a fight, sir."
***
"You're crazy!" Maggie shouted, glaring at Soloman. "You think I'm going to let them use my daughter as bait!"
Soloman raised his hands for calm. He was glad he'd waited for Amy to go to bed before he brought the plan to Maggie; the child couldn't hear a sound in the steel-reinforced bedroom.
Maggie paced violently, a hand held to her forehead as if she absolutely could not believe that he had presented the idea.
"Maggie," he began, "listen to me for a—"
"No!" She pressed a finger against his chest. "No! You listen to me! I agreed to work with you to find and kill this thing! And I've done my job! But my daughter isn't part of it! And I'm not going to let her be used as some sort of ... of alligator bait thrown into a swamp with a rope around her waist just so Cain can be lured out of hiding!"
Soloman shook his head as she stepped closer, speaking more deliberately. "Just tell me something, Sol," she continued. "How close did Cain come to beating you last time?" She raised two fingers and held them slightly apart. "He came this close, Sol – this close. You only beat him because Malo arrived with the team. If you hadn't been lucky, Cain would have torn you to shreds."
"Maggie, I—"
"What?" She stared. "What were you going to say? That this is the only way to lure Cain out of hiding?" Stoic, Soloman said nothing. "Well, I don't think so!" she continued. "There's got to be a better way than using a six-year-old child to—"
It was enough.
"Maggie!" Soloman grabbed her by the shoulders. "Listen to me! Cain is going to find Amy! He will find her because we can't protect her forever! Do you want her to live in a prison the rest of her life? No! You don't! You want Cain dead and she's the only thing that will bring him out! Listen to me! I can kill him but you've got to go with my plan! You have to go with my plan if you want me to kill him!"
Her face went ice-cold.
Soloman was grim.
After a moment she shook her head, speaking softly. "If you get my daughter killed, Sol, I'll die. I'll ... just die. She's all I've got in this life." She began crying. "She's all I've got ..."
He stared down. "The only way Cain is getting to Amy is over both our dead bodies."
A long silence, a stare, joined them. Then she relaxed slightly, settling her face into Soloman's chest as he wrapped his arms around her. Gently, she placed a hand on his chest, breathing deeply, settling. And Solom
an held her, waiting. When she finally spoke, he could barely hear it.
"I know I created this thing, Sol. I know ... that the guilt is mine. But she's all I've got. She's all I'll ever have."
"There's no guilt, Maggie." Soloman swayed gently. "You did what they told you to do. It's not your fault."
"It wasn't right," she whispered.
"Just trust me," Soloman leaned over her. "I'm not going to let him get to her. I promise." He waited as the intimate closeness and silence and affection communicated what words never could.
Her breath was warm on his chest.
Peace settled.
"You'll die for this?" she asked.
Gently, he lifted her face.
"I'll die for you," he whispered. "And I'll die for Amy."
*
CHAPTER 15
Maggie came into the room where Soloman was studying a blueprint of the basilica, waiting for Ben's return. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and smiled. She had obviously recovered from their earlier confrontation.
"What?" said Soloman, feeling like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. But Maggie only continued to gaze in smiling silence as he repeated it: "What?"
"Amy wants you to put her to bed." She laughed, jade-green eyes gleaming. She was clearly enjoying it. "You want me to tell her that you're too busy?"
Blinking, Soloman looked at the maps but didn't see anything. He was a little amazed at how things were changing and, though he could have controlled the feeling, he was also somehow drawn to it. "No," he said. "I'll do it. But it's been a long time." He tried to remember. "Does she say prayers? What's the routine?"
Maggie laughed again. "She just wants you to put her to bed, Sol. It's not that complicated. Just go and tuck her in."
"Yeah," Soloman said, rising from the table. He walked past Maggie, sensing only the glowing face, the smiling eyes. Then he was at the room where Amy lay in bed, quilts already tucked tight. Uncomfortable, he stood for a moment in the doorway, staring until she silently raised her hand, motioning him to come forward.
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