INFERNO (New Perdition's Gate Omnibus Edition)

by James Somers

  “Why, what’s going to happen in New Rome?”

  “It’s going to be utterly destroyed,” said Solomon. “The seventeenth and eighteenth chapters of Revelation, point to the total destruction of that wicked city. It happens sometime during the last three and a half years.”

  Now Jason grew fearful—a feeling he had rarely experienced. Alfred walked in from the other garage bay, and greeted his master. “Ah, sir, I’m glad to see you and Chloe are safe. We worried, when we saw the events taking place down at the Western Wall, and the ceremony at the Temple dedication service.”

  “I’m fine, Alfred.”

  “Then I suppose we will be leaving Jerusalem, as well?”

  “Yes, but I’m not quite sure where we’ll go.”

  Some of the trucks started up as the last of the supplies and equipment were loaded. Solomon finished up, and closed the tailgate on their truck. “It’s time to go, Chloe.” He turned to Jason, as Max walked around to the driver’s side and got in. “Well, Jason, you could come with us, you know?”

  Jason remained silent, unsure what to say.

  Solomon had seen this hundreds of times. He took a chance. “Jason, do you want to be saved?”

  Jason felt a lump in his throat the size of a grapefruit. He didn’t know what to say, so he only nodded.

  Chloe erupted. “That’s wonderful!”

  Solomon slapped him on the back reassuringly. Jason swallowed. “But what do I have to do to be saved?”

  “My boy, that’s the greatest question anyone can ask. And the apostle Paul gives us the answer. You must turn from your sins, and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, to be saved. If you’re willing, then let’s have prayer. You can talk to the Lord yourself, and ask him.”

  Jason nodded again nervously. Then he, Solomon, and Chloe knelt down on the cold concrete floor of the abandoned underground garage. Jason did something he had never done before. He believed.

  “Come in, come in.” Oliver greeted Wraith enthusiastically as he stepped out from behind his desk. “It’s good to see you again, John.

  Wraith closed the door behind him, as he walked into the new study of his father, Oliver Theed. Since the assassination and the supposed resurrection, the man had acted nothing like his father. Wraith had been suspicious of his new demeanor and all of the pleasantries. His father had never been friendly toward him, not in any memory he had of the man.

  Wraith closed the door behind him. “I see you’ve made yourself at home here.”

  “Oh yes, the High Priest was kind enough to offer his own living quarters here at the Temple for me.”

  Wraith cocked an eyebrow with amusement. “Sure he did.”

  “Sit down, John, we’ve so much to discuss.”

  Wraith sat in an antique chair in front of the exquisite antique desk. Oliver leaned against the front of the desk. The High Priest’s office and residence were located off the main Temple area in a special complex, meant to house the priests and servants of the Temple. Everything had been lavishly decorated with the technology tastefully hidden.

  “What exactly do we have to discuss?” Wraith wondered if he might be about to receive another of his father’s demeaning lectures concerning his failure to eliminate Jason Night and Solomon Gauge.

  “Why, your future of course. You’re well trained, and have always been very loyal, so now I think it is time to put your talents to better use.” Oliver flattered with his smile.

  “And what does that mean, exactly?”

  “A promotion, my dear boy, it means a promotion.”

  Now, Wraith became extremely suspicious. He decided to test the waters. “You’ve pulled off an interesting coup here in Jerusalem.”

  “Only the beginning, John.”

  “How long do you think you can hold out?”

  “As I said, this is only the beginning of what I intend to accomplish.” Oliver grew more intense as he spoke. “I’ve succeeded at supplanting my authority in place of Jerusalem’s government, soon the world. You can be a part of that, John.”

  “And why would you do this for me—give me this great promotion?”

  “You’re a man of many talents, John, as I’ve said already. But then of course, you are my son.” Oliver smiled.

  “Who are you really and what’s going on here?”

  “I’m your father, John. What’s the problem?”

  “My father has never acted this way toward me. And I don’t buy this whole resurrection scam either, so who are you, really?”

  Oliver stood erect in front of the desk. His face became expressionless—stone. “I am your god.”

  “I don’t serve any god.” Wraith sneered defiantly, as he rose to his feet—face to face with Oliver.

  “No, but you will. Let me explain something to you, John.” Oliver began to pace slowly around the desk. “I may not be the man you called father, but I am a god, nonetheless, and I am offering you your heart’s desire.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Oliver whirled back upon him—fire in his eyes. “Power! That’s what I’m offering!”

  Oliver’s presence captivated him. He exuded authority like no man Wraith had ever come into contact with. “What kind of power?”

  Oliver smiled again—the fish had been hooked. “I have need of someone with your particular skills to take Babylon out of the shadows into the open, enforcing my will. I want to place you in control of the entire operation, John. It would be yours to do with as you see fit, so long as you serve my interests.” Oliver paused for effect.

  Wraith smiled. “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “You see, John, there are those who would try to stand in my way, as I seek to bring true peace to the world. They need to be…”

  “Eliminated?”

  Oliver smiled. “For this operation, I need someone who can sniff these people out. Some are religionists, others politicians. But no matter what they are, they stand against me and that I cannot tolerate.”

  “How will I know who these people are?”

  Oliver paced again. “It won’t be that difficult. You see, we have developed an implant in order to establish who are loyal to our new unity, and to exclude those who are not.”

  Oliver pulled a device from one of the desk drawers. It looked like a small ruby red coin attached to the end of a plastic pistol.

  “What does that thing do?”

  “The implant has many functions, but the most important is economic.” Oliver admired the implant.

  “So?”

  “Very soon, John, only those possessing my Mark will be able to buy or sell food, water, or anything else.”

  “I see.”

  “It will be part of your job to see that everyone takes the Mark as a sign of their loyalty to me, and our unified world community.” Oliver laid the device on the desk. “Don’t worry, Mr. Stein will administrate the whole program. You’ll simply enforce it on the ground.”

  “And what if someone doesn’t want to receive your Mark?” asked Wraith, studying the object on the desk.

  Oliver’s expression grew menacing. “Then they will be executed on the spot so that others may learn to fear, and not make the same mistake.”

  Wraith found himself admiring his father for the first time in his life—only, this wasn’t his father anymore. “And what do I have to do to get all of this power?”

  Oliver smiled again and retrieved the implant from the desk beside him. “Receive my Mark…and renounce the God of the Christians.”

  Wraith laughed. “I don’t believe in God. I don’t even believe you’re a god.”

  Oliver smiled wickedly at the young man’s defiance. “All the better, my boy, all the better.”

  EPILOGUE

  September 15, 2095

  The dispatch had been sent even before the High Representative had made his proclamation in Jerusalem. Now, the vast armies of the New Eden alliance were on the move. From every corner of the globe her allies sent their young fighting men and wome
n in answer to the call. They headed for the Middle East; Israel in particular, but this was not a time of mourning for them, or their families left behind.

  Now that god himself had come to dwell among men, they were happy to go. A new age had come upon mankind. They were eager to be a part of the rule of a god-man upon the Earth. At last, the promise of world wide peace would be fulfilled, and they would be the enforcers of that peace, no matter what it cost them.

  There had never come such a man as Oliver Theed—benevolent, kind, all powerful. He promised to take the human race beyond all boundaries. “You will become what I intended you to be from all of eternity. You will become as gods!”

  The price for this great evolution of mankind was simple—allegiance. Unfortunately, some would be reluctant. The haters would try to destroy the new unity. These soldiers would see that they didn’t get the chance. The rule of god would be enforced upon the world, under penalty of death.

  Already many had fled the city and areas around Jerusalem. They fled for their lives, running to the mountains and any place they could find. For those who understood the true nature of mankind’s Babelistic unification and the man who claimed to be a god, the scriptures charted their course for them.

  They fled at the behest of the Savior’s warning, given over two thousand years before. Beyond the borders of Israel, within former Jordanian territory, Petra waited. An oasis of red rock, jutting out of the earth, would be their refuge.

  In cars and trucks, they came. Even on foot, they crossed the dry desert to get to the stronghold. Now is the time of His vengeance upon this sinful world, they said. Knowing dark days lay ahead of them, and for those left in the cities persecution and death, they remained faithful to the Lord.

  Inside a massive palatial complex in Moscow, beautifully adorned with its many Kremlin towers, and high Kremlin walls, stood a more modern imposing building of glass and concrete architecture. The State Kremlin Palace also served as the residence of the current Russian President, Nicolae Drevin. Mr. Drevin’s chief of staff walked through the corridors leading him to the President’s office.

  When he reached the door, the man burst into the room unannounced. A meeting had been in progress with an ambassador from one of the Empire’s many provinces.

  “Mr. President, I apologize for the intrusion, but we have made confirmation.”

  Drevin stood from his desk chair, alarmed by the news. He had feared something like this might happen. “When?”

  “Five days ago, sir, we’ve only just been able to decode the transmission communicating Theed’s orders. Even before he made his incredible claim of godhood, he had issued the order to move the Alliance’s armies into the Middle East.”

  Drevin drew a deep breath. “I knew he would do this eventually. It’s an invasion.”

  “What will you do, Nicolae?” the provincial ambassador asked.

  “Well, I can assure you, the Russian Empire and her allies will not simply stand by and allow this aggression to go unchallenged!” Drevin shook his fist in the air. “There is tremendous wealth in Israel. The potash in the Dead Sea alone is worth billions to us. We will swoop in from the north and crush Oliver Theed and his New Eden Alliance armies. We will scatter his bones upon the mountains, and make a spoil of Israel for ourselves!”

  On a sunny, hot September day, carrion birds circled overhead, desire welling up in their bellies for a piece of the delicious meat waiting below on the ancient stones near the massive white wall. The limestone blocks of the two thousand-year-old retaining wall loomed over the dead prophets—their only headstones.

  Every now and then, a bird, or two, attempted to light upon the bodies of the two prophets. The bodies had been allowed to remain in the square before the old retaining wall, after Oliver Theed had brutally gunned the two men down in cold blood.

  The square had been guarded since that time, three and a half days ago by soldiers of the now disbanded IDF which had fallen in line with Theed’s takeover in Jerusalem. Their orders had been to keep the fowls away, to keep the square clear while leaving the bodies to the elements.

  Cameras trained upon the square in order to allow anyone in the world access to the images of the dead prophets—men who had plagued the world for over three years with drought, famine and pestilence, by their very words. Theed’s fans watched his victory again, and again as Oliver gunned the men down on streaming video.

  Since that day, it had been a world wide holiday. Even the few nations that were not part of the Alliance celebrated the demise of the two prophets, for they had been afflicted by the plagues as well. Gifts were sent and parties attended. People reveled in the streets, night and day, toasting the occasion of their defeat and Theed’s triumphal entry into the Temple, proclaiming himself to be a god.

  As the bodies lay in the heat of midday, dark billowy clouds gathered in the sky overhead. The wind picked up, somewhat, and the soldiers guarding the square wondered if they might have to seek cover from a thunderstorm. The birds of prey moved away, reluctantly, leaving the bodies unmolested. The blood of the two men remained upon the ancient limestone blocks above them. Spent shell casings still littered the ground.

  Dark, three-day-old blood stained the prophets’ bullet-ridden garments. The skin had just begun to darken from the ghastly pale hue cast by death’s embrace. Then, on the gnarled hand of one of the dead men, fingers twitched.

  I N F E R N O

  PART TWO

  PROLOGUE

  December 12th 2085

  What had he done? Jacob surveyed his handiwork—endless rows stretching into the distance of the underground German facility. Artificial sunlight bathed the muscular nude frames of his children—grown to maturity by specialized hormonal stimulation. The specified number—two hundred million housed in one thousand bunker labs here and abroad—lay slumbering day in and day out, waiting for the appointed time when the Master would make use of them in his grand scheme.

  Jacob ran his fingers along the fiberglass bubble, tracing the outline—one of his creations. How had he managed such a feat? Not without the Master’s hand upon me, he thought. He recalled the night when he had first been summoned nearly ten years ago.

  The digital clock had read 2:00am. His name had been called—Jacob was sure of it—loud enough to wake him from sleep. He sat up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and drool from his chin. Jacob’s wife, Elizabeth, slept soundly in the bed next to him.

  Jacob.

  The voice, deep and resonating throughout the entire house, seemed to emanate from the hallway leading to his bedroom. A low light, building in intensity, filtered through the space between Jacob’s bedroom door and its frame. Jacob started to reach for the revolver he kept in a shaving kit beneath his side of the bed. The door burst open, slamming so hard into the wall that it remained stuck in the fractured drywall.

  A fire burned in the doorway from floor to ceiling, yet the house was not consumed. Jacob would have screamed for his wife to wake up, wondered why the smoke alarm wasn’t blaring at them, bolted through the adjoining bathroom to his children’s room to wake his sleeping twin daughters, but he remained transfixed upon the flames. The form of a man was walking toward him from within the inferno.

  Jacob’s body seemed to be held in an invisible grip. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore. “Hello, Jacob,” the voice said. Jacob knew it was the voice of the man standing within the flames before him, though it seemed to originate from everywhere at once. Jacob tried to respond to the dark figure, his eyes smoldering coals that were even brighter than the fire burning around him, but he could not utter a sound.

  The odor of sulfur hung heavy in the room, rolling off of the shadowy man as he spoke. “I am your master, Jacob. You have been chosen to stand by my side as I bring peace to all the Earth. I will equip you to carry out my will in the days ahead.”

  Jacob’s breath came to him for the first time since he’d seen the man. “What is your will, My Lord?”

  “I wi
ll reveal my will to you at the appointed time,” the figure said. “Rise. Come to me, my child. Embrace the destiny I have prepared for you.”

  Jacob’s body began to move. He felt as though he were in a trance, unable to keep himself from obeying the figure’s voice. He rose to his feet, walking across the plush carpet toward the raging inferno boiling in the doorway and the hall beyond.

  The shadowy figure reached out his flame-covered hands to grasp Jacob’s head. The fire did not burn him. He couldn’t even feel the heat. The blackened hands gripped his face, the eyes bore straight into his mind. A flood of knowledge flowed into him, as though a dam had withheld the full capacity of Jacob’s brain and now it had been broken down.

  His fists clenched, body taught under sustained tetanus, like electricity charging his entire thin frame. He felt terror, joy and every emotion between in a moment’s time. When the Master released him, the dark figure had gone. Only the flames remained.

  Jacob barely noticed as the fire began to spread across the ceiling of his bedroom. He felt elated and drained—joyous at the embrace of Lucifer—his long time loyalty finally rewarded. Yet, a question nagged at the back of his mind.

  He gathered his breath, hoping to maintain contact a moment longer. “How do I know this isn’t a dream?” Jacob managed.

  “Offer me what is dearest to your heart and this honor will be yours forever,” the voice intoned. “Else I will bestow it upon another!”

  “No, please,” Jacob begged. The flames licked the walnut bedposts where his wife slept. Neither his voice, nor the Master’s had disturbed her sleep. “I’ll give you anything you desire, only don’t take away your gift from me!”

  “Very well,” the Master said. “It is done.”

  The flames leaped upon Jacob’s bed, as though a bucket of gasoline had been tossed into the room, igniting midair, then engulfed Elizabeth. His slumbering wife woke screaming, thrashing among the covers, the flames clinging to her body like napalm.