The Unification Chronicles: Between Heaven and Hell

by Jeff Kirvin

  Stout but hearty Captain Roberto Ortiz sat on the couch with his notebook computer, happily typing. Roberto grew up as the only hacker/computer nerd in his small village outside of Mexico City. His friends never really understood his fascination with his homebuilt computer, but through it, Roberto could see a whole new world, one that his parents and friends would never know. By the time he was 21, Roberto graduated from MIT with honors. A year later he had his Masters and a year after that his PhD. He joined the DTF as one of the world's leading authorities in communications and encryption technology.

  Compact and redheaded Captain Lucy O'Malley lounged on the couch next to Roberto. Rumored to have been former IRA, Lucy knew just about all there was to know about explosives. Her older brother was killed during “The Troubles” in an altercation started by a man later revealed by Zagam's files to be a demon. She took great delight in destroying the demons, but lived for the day she could destroy Asbeel, the individual demon that she blamed for the death of her brother.

  Tall, young and handsome Lieutenant Heinrich von Braun stood in a corner, trying not to stare at Lucy and failing miserably. Heinrich was a natural when it came to weapons technology, but a raw novice at practically everything else. A natural marksman bordering on savant, he won German national shooting titles by the age of eight. He understood weapons almost instinctively, and had been known to field strip a weapon he'd never seen, perfectly, after examining it for only a few seconds. Heinrich was also extremely devoted to the Christian faith. When the story of the demons broke, Heinrich saw it as his calling to use his Divine Gift. He joined the DTF immediately.

  Roberto glanced up from computer. “Hey, boss,” he called in a very slight Spanish accent. “What took you so long? You think maybe these demons are going to live forever or something?” No one laughed at Roberto's attempt to lighten the mood. They all knew where Daniel had been, and why he'd gone.

  "Damn plane had to obey the laws of physics, ‘Berto.” Daniel turned to Jack. “Where is he?"

  Jack unrolled a map on a table. “Right here in L.A."

  Daniel wasn't surprised. Most of the demons they'd destroyed had been located in densely populated urban areas, trying to hide in the surging mass of humanity. They knew that demons looked identical to humans, and tried to take advantage of the trait humans had of not noticing much that didn't directly affect their lives.

  "And it's a match?” Daniel asked. Since the vast majority of demons had run to ground, it became imperative for the DTF to verify each demon spotting. If the DTF mobilized on each alleged sighting, they'd spend all their time on wild goose chases. The best forensic and behavioral scientists in the world had drawn up a set of profiles that the real demons were likely to meet. Only those that met those requirements were investigated.

  "Highly probable, sir. The description matches Belphegor, and the suspect fits the profile. Confidence is high."

  "All right, then,” Daniel said loudly, addressing the entire team.

  "Let's move out."

  Demonbusters

  The apartment they tracked the demon to was one of those rundown places where even the nosy neighbors don't ask too many questions. A perfect place to hide, Daniel thought. He stood outside his team's van in his combat uniform, an armored outfit similar to police riot gear. “Paul,” he said into his headset mike, “how we doing?"

  Paul sat somewhere on a rooftop facing the target. Once they got on site, the team never saw him, but his observations had often proved invaluable. “Doing fine, boss. Confirm that the target is home."

  "'Berto?” Daniel said.

  Roberto responded from inside the van, where he was surrounded by communications gear. “Negative activity. Phone line's quiet and there's no outgoing cable or radio transmissions. If he knows we're coming, he's not telling anybody about it."

  Daniel exchanged a look with the tactical component of his team, Jack, Lucy and Heinrich, attired as he was. They were just finishing the adjustment of their various weapons and equipment. “We have a go,” he said.

  "Roger that,” Jack said, and with a wave, led them all into the building, Daniel bringing up the rear. Once inside, they crept quietly up the stairs to the second landing, then down the hall to room 203, the location of the suspected demon. Jack glanced back at Daniel, who gave him a nod. With Heinrich directly behind him and aiming his high powered rifle over Jack's shoulder, Jack kicked the door open.

  "DTF!” he yelled as he rolled into the shabby apartment. The apartment's sole occupant, a man in his mid-thirties, sprang up from the couch, where he'd been watching television.

  "Please,” he said, raising his hands, “don't—"

  Heinrich shot him once in the chest. The target fell to the floor, bleeding.

  Daniel and Lucy entered the room after Jack had verified that there was no one else present. Daniel walked over to the target, who to his credit did not try to get up. As Daniel investigated the chest wound, he could see that it was already healing, a dead giveaway that the target was an immortal. “Confirm,” he said.

  "Let's do it, then,” Jack answered, and Heinrich stepped up to the target, now confirmed as Belphegor. With a look of great satisfaction, he shot the demon point blank in the head, incapacitating it. He then slung his rifle and hoisted the demon over his shoulder.

  Daniel had been looking around the room, searching for clues to any other demons’ whereabouts. He found nothing of interest, only momentos and relics that had most likely been collected over the course of the demon's life, probably plundered from unsuspecting humans. It occurred to Daniel that quite a few of the individual artifacts in the apartment were worth more than the entire building that housed them. “Let's get someone up here to catalog this stuff,” he said.

  "Yes, sir,” Jack answered, and without another word, they went back outside, demon in tow.

  By the time Belphegor had recovered enough from the head wound to be aware of his surroundings, he found himself in a field, the skyline of Los Angeles vaguely visible in the distance. He was tightly bound at the wrists and ankles, and in his weakened state, he could not snap the bonds.

  He looked down at his body, and directly underneath his completely healed chest was strapped a package with a digital timer. He'd heard enough stories from his brothers about the DTF to know what the package was. He began scrambling frantically, trying to dislodge the bomb.

  By the time the counter ticked down to ten seconds, he knew it was futile. He tried to remember all the things he'd seen in forty thousand years, the people he'd known, the historic events in which he'd participated. It's been a good life, he thought as the counter approached zero. But I don't want to di—

  His last thought was interrupted by the fiery explosion that ended his millennia of life. His burning body parts scattered hundreds of yards across the field, joining the charred remnants of several other demons that had once made Los Angeles their home.

  When the last of the smoke dissipated and the flames had burned themselves out, the DTF van that had been parked at the edge of the field drove away.

  Reunited at the L.A. DTF headquarters, the team allowed themselves a little celebration.

  "Uno down, God knows how many to go,” Roberto said.

  "Easy there, ‘Berto,” Daniel cautioned. “We know there's a finite number of them, so each one down is a victory in my book."

  "Is it just me,” Heinrich asked, his high voice contrasting with his heavy and guttural German accent, “or is this getting easier as we go?"

  "You bet it is,” Jack answered, reclining on the couch, “but only because we're getting better at it. We've had time to develop a standard operating procedure, and we follow it. Professionals always make the job look easy.” The team toasted themselves on that comment, before Jack added, “But just remember that the second you get too cocky and stop acting like a professional, the enemy will eat you alive."

  That sobered them. Not all DTF teams were as successful as they had been, and a few had been lost, the e
ntire teams, to the demons they pursued.

  As Heinrich took a seat next to Lucy and complimented her on the bomb that destroyed Belphegor, Roberto waved at Daniel. “Hey boss, come here."

  Daniel walked over and stood over Roberto's shoulder. “What you got, ‘Berto?"

  Roberto showed Daniel his notebook. “Email coming in, addressed to you."

  Daniel took the computer from Roberto and opened the message. It was from DTF Central Headquarters, inside the United Nations building in New York. The message was short and to the point.

  "Pack your bags, people,” he said. “The boss wants to see us."

  Susan's New Life

  Susan Richardson was having a little difficulty adjusting to her new life. After years of studying print journalism, Susan was “discovered” by the television networks and deemed too telegenic not to be on camera. She'd been wooed by all the broadcast and cable networks, but she finally settled on the fledgling World News Network, a cable all-news outfit located in Washington, D.C. that lured her away from the bigger, more established networks with a promise of complete autonomy. The opportunity to pick her own stories and report them without even the possibility of editorial changes was simply too good to pass up.

  A few months later, Susan practically owned WNN. Her face and reputation had single-handedly put the tiny network on every major cable provider in the world, and Susan had become one of the most recognized and trusted voices in news. People tuned in to hear what she had to say. Which was beginning to annoy the hell out of her.

  Not that she didn't appreciate the following. Every time she heard herself compared favorably to great newsmen like Walter Cronkite, she got all tingly inside. It was, after all, her life's dream. No, the problem was the pressure. She'd already broken the “story of the millennium"; there simply wasn't anywhere to go from there. She did her best, but corrupt politicians and airline disasters paled somewhat in comparison to evil, immortal monsters preying on mankind for centuries.

  Her life wasn't full of slow news days, however. As she proofed her copy one last time before air, Susan noticed that things were picking up right in her own back yard.

  "Good news, Susan?” asked Bob Pack, her co-anchor.

  Susan glanced up and smiled. “You mean for the world or the ratings?"

  She still really hated that one thing about televised news. She often felt like a ghoul seeking out the most depressing, tension-filled stories. The same thing applied in print journalism, but television was much more merciless. One of her journalism professors had once told her that no one bought a newspaper to read about “happy bunny people.” But where a newspaper reader might simply glance down to the next story, a television viewer would change the channel and probably not return. She didn't have the luxury in television of telling people good news. It was as simple as that.

  Keith, the stage manager, waved to get their attention. “We're on in five,” he said, “four, three, two, one."

  "Good evening, and welcome to WNN,” Susan said as she smiled warmly into the camera. “I'm Susan Richardson.

  "Our top story tonight, tempers flare on Capitol Hill as Congress narrowly votes down the Demonic Emergency Act, a temporary repeal of the fifth amendment proposed by Texas Senator Timothy Phillips. Phillips had this to say."

  The camera cut to tape of a tall, heavyset man in his fifties. His mahogany hair was receding and graying, and a prominent brow, bulbous nose and heavy jowls dominated his leathery face. “Now don't get me wrong,” he said in a deep voice with a strong southern accent, “the DTF is a fine idea, but it's not enough. One, they're too small, and two, all they have to go on is a six month old computer database that was sketchy at best even when it was current.

  "Let's not kid ourselves, people. These godless monsters were successfully blending into the human population centuries before this country was even founded. They know how to disappear. Hell, your best friend could be a demon and you'd probably have no idea until it was too late.

  "That's why we need new laws in this country. The liberal lawmakers that came before me saw to it that the hands of the law enforcement agencies are so tied with red tape and due process that by the time we think we know about a demon, he's had time to disappear again. These inhuman monsters are a clear threat to the public's well-being, but we're not allowed to do a blessed thing about it."

  The camera cut back to Susan. “While many think the legal changes proposed by Senator Phillips are too extreme and in clear violation of the Constitution, most of the people questioned in a poll earlier today agree that the demons are a significant threat that the government is not properly prepared to deal with.

  "In other news...” Susan went on with her nightly telecast, bantering lightly with Bob as they went down the list of the day's stories. However, as soon as Keith yelled, “And we're clear,” the practiced smile fell from her face.

  During the newscast, one of the production assistants had slipped her a note. It was from Sal Peterson, her favorite journalism professor from college. Peterson had shaped much of her journalistic style, and she felt she owed much of her success to his instruction. Although she still sent him Christmas cards, she hadn't actually spoken to him in years. There wasn't much informational content to the message. Just his name, phone number and the word “Urgent!” underlined. What could he want?

  Susan excused herself from the set and made her way back to her private office. After shutting the door, she sat down behind her desk and dialed the number on the note. Peterson picked up after the second ring.

  "Hello?” The tension was almost louder than his actual voice.

  "Sal? It's Susan. I'm returning your call."

  "Susan, thank God it's you,” he said. She heard the relief in his voice. “Have you heard the news?"

  "Which news?"

  "I'm under indictment. They say I'm some kind of demon sympathizer, in league with them. They've suspended me from the university pending the investigation, and I've started getting threatening phone calls."

  "My God, Sal, what happened?"

  "There was a demonstration last week at the university. A bunch of kids were protesting the DTF, on the basis that their policies show a complete disregard for our laws of due process. It's something I've been worried about, that one of these alleged demons that they shoot first and ask questions later will turn out to be human, so I joined in. They got me on stage and I gave a little speech about the Bill of Rights. The next morning I'm in the dean's office being asked to leave until this can all be worked out."

  "My God, Sal, that's terrible."

  "Tell me about it. Look, Susan, I just wanted you to know. I didn't call for you to bail me out or anything. I think I can handle this myself. I just want you to look into this, see if it's happening to other people, you know? If it is as widespread as I think, get the word out. People listen to you, and you're probably one of the few people that could speak out against this insanity without being called a demon yourself."

  It was true. Susan's past accomplishments put her pretty much beyond suspicion, or so she hoped.

  "I've got to go,” Sal continued. “My wife just walked in the door, and she looks pretty upset. Look into what I told you, okay, Susan?"

  "Sure, Sal."

  He hung up.

  Bewildered, Susan gingerly put the phone back in its cradle. She had, of course, heard about this sort of thing happening, but this was the first time it had happened to someone she knew.

  Susan turned out the lights in her office and walked out the door. Stagehands and cameramen waved at her as she made her way to the exit, and she smiled politely and waved back. Her new apartment (much larger than her old one) was walking distance from the studio, and she was soon outside in the chill winter air of Washington D.C.

  As she looked around, she noticed that the city had grown quiet. For as long as she could remember, Washington had been a place of bustling excitement. People worked as many different schedules as one could imagine, and the streets of the
nation's capitol were always full of someone going somewhere.

  But not tonight. As Susan walked the five blocks from the tiny studio to her apartment, she saw maybe three people. The more she thought about it, she realized that she'd seen fewer and fewer people out at night over the last six months. People were afraid. Day or night, Susan didn't think it mattered to the demons, but people were clearly unwilling to venture out as much as they used to in Washington, something that struck Susan as almost funny. Before the Revelation, Washington had been one of the country's most violent cities. What had really changed?

  When Susan got into her apartment, she slid the deadbolt shut (couldn't be too careful, after all), turned on her computer and got on the internet. She had some research to do.

  The Hunt Begins

  Daniel stepped off the elevator on the twenty-third floor of the United Nations building in New York City. The entire floor was dedicated to the DTF. His team was still in the hotel, as Daniel's orders had been to come alone. In his high collared, cobalt blue dress uniform, Daniel walked up the corridor to the office of Marie Motumbo, the leader of the Demon Task Force. He opened the door and stepped inside.

  The outer office was spacious and tastefully decorated. As always, Doris Klein, Marie's secretary, sat primly behind her desk. Daniel couldn't be sure that she had legs. “Daniel,” Doris said warmly. “Marie's expecting you. Go right in."

  Daniel continued into the inner office, the citadel from which Marie Motumbo coordinated the global fight against the demons. The room was decorated colorfully yet tastefully with art from her homeland of Nigeria. Daniel's eyes focused, as always, on the ceremonial spears and shield mounted on the wall. They told volumes about their owner's warrior spirit. Marie sat behind a massive oak desk, pouring over some paperwork. She stood when she saw Daniel, rising to her full six foot five inch height.