INFERNO (New Perdition's Gate Omnibus Edition)

by James Somers

  Oliver took a sip from the glass of vodka he was holding. “Have you ever considered that question, Jacob?” he asked. Oliver continued without waiting for a reply. “I have pondered the answer to that question for millennia. What value is there in man? What is it that He considers worth suffering for them—dying for them? And all that while I and my brothers are cast out and consigned to eternal fire.”

  Jacob had no idea how to answer. He wasn’t even sure if Oliver thought he could answer.

  Oliver closed his eyes. His hand squeezed the glass until it shattered, spilling liquor onto the carpet. Oliver’s hand was bleeding from several glass cuts, but he didn’t seem to notice. He fixed his gaze on Jacob then. “He may find mankind worth the effort, but I don’t,” Oliver said, grinning. “I may not be able to attack Him directly, but I can crush what He loves.”

  Jacob felt a chill run up his spine. He was afraid this man he called Master might leap upon him suddenly and rip the beating heart from his chest. There was a ravenous gleam in his eyes.

  “I have no power to hurt the Holy One, but I and my brothers can destroy what he has made and died trying to save,” Oliver said.

  Jacob was speechless, his mouth dry. However, as Oliver continued to fix him with his stare, the fear melted away leaving only euphoria. His master was near and there could never be anything frightening about that. His vision for the world was glorious—a new dawn for mankind—wasn’t it? Jacob was having trouble focusing on anything except his master.

  Jacob started to smile. His wide eyes settled into melancholy. All was right with the world—at least as far as he could tell.

  REHABILATATION

  Wraith kicked the over-the-bed hospital table set before him. A newly custom made prosthetic leg spilled onto the floor, scattering the maintenance toolkit that had been brought with it. The doctors in the room with him, as well as the orthotic specialist, backed away uncertainly under his venomous stare. Wraith may have been bedridden for five months, but his hair trigger temper was still legendary.

  “Everybody out!” Wraith screamed. For a moment, no one in the room moved. Then he threw back the cover, exposing one good leg and the other missing below the knee. He edged forward on the bed as though he might leap at them if they didn’t obey his wishes. Courage failed the men. They backed away, out of the room, and closed the door, leaving Wraith to fend for himself.

  Wraith closed his eyes for a moment. He hoped that when he opened them his leg would be whole again. The missing appendage remained as he knew if would; missing. He sighed. His emotions tried to get the better of him for a moment, but he suppressed his rage.

  The building which had fallen during the aftershock in Jerusalem had nearly crushed his pelvis. It had been fortunate that more H9 robots had been on patrol as backup to his team. None of the other agents had survived. Only he had been alive to be rescued. Still, he had lost the leg. The bones from his knee to his toes had been crushed to powder. Only the pressure of the concrete block had kept him from bleeding to death while he lay there fuming after Jason Night’s rescue at the hands of his robot and Solomon Gauge.

  Night had clearly joined the Christian Underground movement. That meant he had likely converted to their faith at some point. Otherwise, a man like Gauge would have killed him personally rather than allow even a rogue Babylon agent to dwell among them.

  During his entire five months within the high security ward in Jerusalem’s finest hospital, neither Jacob Stein or Oliver Theed had come by to check on his progress. For all he knew, they didn’t even know if he was still alive. Yet, he knew it wasn’t actually the case. One of his physician’s had mentioned the progress reports they sent to the office of the High Representative.

  Wraith cast his eyes down at his ruined leg. Night had beaten him again. That thought stabbed at him. He might have nearly been killed in the collapse, but his rescuers had pulled him out of that crevice intact. If he lived, Night would go back to a normal life while he remained a cripple for the rest of his.

  The anger welled within him again. “No,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “The Wraith will not lay down and die so easily.”

  He looked away from his missing leg to the custom made prosthetic lying on the tiled floor. Wraith grabbed the crutch standing next to his bedrail and stabbed out with it. He dragged the prosthetic leg across the floor to his bed. Reaching down, he balanced himself so he wouldn’t fall out of the bed like some invalid and picked up the leg.

  Wraith pulled his body around so that his knee stump was hanging off of the edge of the bed. He fished a brown stockinet from the prosthetic cup and began rolling it up from the scarred flesh surrounding what was left of his knee. The prosthetic leg followed. He strapped it into place as it was meant to be worn.

  It was lighter than he might have thought, considering the electronics involved in its function. A conductor had been implanted within his leg where it attached to the salvageable nerves that innervated his muscles. He wasn’t quite sure if it was functioning properly yet, but he gave it a try anyway.

  Wraith slid his weight down off of the edge of the bed until he was putting pressure on the new limb. He felt his knee stump inch deeper into the cup so that a natural suction came into effect. There was a slight tingling sensation as the conductor pads sewn into the underlying subcutaneous layer of his skin made contact with the matching pads in the prosthetic.

  The limb trembled uncertainly for a moment as though it were deciding what manner of support to provide. Wraith stood up on the leg, maintaining most of his support on the bedrail and his good right leg. For a moment everything seemed fine. Then the leg gave out on him, and Wraith nearly tumbled into the floor. The crutch fell away, bouncing awkwardly off of the nightstand to smack the floor.

  One of the doctors opened the door a little to peek inside. Wraith had already known they were standing just outside. He tried to recover himself with difficulty. “Well, don’t just stand there!” he bellowed. “Come show me how this thing works!”

  Hesitantly, though with a slight grin, the physician and his assistants hurried back into the room. They helped him back into the bed before gathering up the supplies and tools with which to calibrate the prosthetic. Wraith sighed and watched with interest. He wouldn’t let this beat him. Night may have survived intact, but Wraith wasn’t out of the game yet.

  DREAMSCAPE

  Lightning streaked the sky blue and purple with electric fingers raking the belly of the ominous clouds passing overhead. Thunder marched in answer seconds behind each flash. Jason felt alone, but he knew there must be eyes watching him. A furious wind whipped at him in gusts that threatened to knock him off of his feet at any moment.

  It was twilight in the city, though he wasn’t sure which city. He remembered running through the ruined streets of Jerusalem only moments ago. However, this city wasn’t ruined at all. It was a metropolis unlike Israel’s ancient capital.

  Skyscrapers stood tall as far as the eye could see—glass and steel that couldn’t be more than a few years old. Yet, there was an ancient feel to this place as well. It had seen much history—war, violence and treachery. There was power here, millennia old and festering like decay. Fountains sent geysers into the air and received them into their vast pools. Ancient deities cast in marble watched uncaringly.

  As Jason walked the streets alone, he heard no one. The lightning flashed threateningly every few seconds. He saw things illuminated in the dark, only to find them missing when the light attempted to reveal them a second time. He did not know what he had seen, but they were not human.

  He passed one of the fountains and thought to cup the cool water in his hands to cool his parched tongue. He dipped and brought blood from the pool as the lightning flashed again. He slung it away quickly, but did not cry out. The idols bearing images from Mount Olympus laughed at him. Their eyes burned like coals within the marble.

  Jason turned away, casting his gaze wearily in every direction hoping to find nothing more than the
wind with him in the streets. He heard static on the breeze and with it the voice of Mad Hatter. Even though the voice was barely audible he knew, for whatever reason, that it was his friend from his old team. He heard the man cry out for help several times before the static overcame him.

  Jason turned and turned again trying to discern the direction it was coming from. An incessant beeping filtered through the static. At first he ignored the noise. Then a pattern emerged. Could it be?

  Jason listened intently as the beeping became clearer. Yes. He knew the pattern now. It was very old—a code system that he and hatter had toyed with while working together. It had been merely a joke at the time, but now he could read S.O.S. in the signal.

  Hatter was in trouble and trying to reach him somehow. But where was he? What city?

  The lightning illuminated a vast structure towering over him. “The Coliseum,” he said. “I’m in New Rome.”

  He heard the roar of lions on the hunt. Jason turned to run, but he stumbled and fell. As he got to his knees, he gripped sand that slid through his fingers. He stood and found himself within the Coliseum itself, somehow. A lion roared again. He turned in time to see the beast leap at him. But it passed through him—an apparition only.

  The spectral lion stalked a ghostly family of people huddled together in the middle of the arena. More lions closed in with the first. A man stood to resist them while his wife and child cowered behind him. The man made a final cry, “We will not renounce our Lord Jesus!”

  He was overtaken by the first lion—torn limb from limb while his family screamed for him. But they were spared his fate only mere seconds before the remaining lions closed the gap and took them both. Around him, among the terraced seating of the Coliseum, Jason saw a bloodthirsty crowd cheering the beasts on in their slaughter.

  He began to weep for the family, but the apparitions vanished like smoke on the wind. The crowd also faded and the Coliseum with them. From the gathering darkness all around, Jason saw points of red light approaching.

  As the pairs of crimson light drew nearer, he realized they were the eyes of riders upon horses. Only the horses weren’t real horses at all. These monstrosities had mouths like lions breathing out fire and sulfurous smoke. Their tales were writhing serpents like striking vipers.

  People were everywhere now, running through the streets, screaming in pain, searching for loved ones in the midst of utter chaos. The riders were everywhere as well, tormenting their victims with the cruel strikes from their beasts’ tails. They bathed the living in fire as the rotten-egg-smell of sulfur filled the streets.

  Jason looked for weapons on his person, but he had nothing to fight with. Even his uniform was missing. He turned to run as fear overcame him. He slammed into the side of one of the beasts. Jason fell to the ground looking up at one of the terrible riders. The armored man drew a long sword from a scabbard mounted on his saddle.

  Jason tried to get up and run, but the blade swung down at him. He felt the sting of steel as the sword flashed beneath his chin to this neck. Jason tried to scream as his lifeblood erupted in a jet.

  Jason shuddered. Suddenly he was sitting bolt upright in bed with his arms thrust out defensively. Someone, a woman, screamed out near him. He heard something clatter to the floor. He held someone’s wrist in his right hand. His grip was strained and quivering. In the person’s hand, he saw a bloodstained straight razor.

  As he turned, Jason found Chloe at the end of the arm, staring into his eyes in utter astonishment.

  “Jason, you’re awake!” she managed.

  He felt the skin of his neck. It felt cool like mint had been rubbed there. His left hand came away covered in blood and shaving cream.

  “I was shaving you, Jason,” Chloe said. She was smiling uncertainly now. Jason realized he still had an iron grip on her wrist.

  “What happened?” Jason asked. “Where am I?”

  “You were trapped beneath a collapsed building in Jerusalem. We found you and got you out. You’ve been in a coma ever since.”

  Jason looked around the room—like a hospital, but far less extravagant. More likely he was in some sort of triage set up by Solomon for his wounded. He turned back to Chloe as he released his death grip on her wrist. “How long?” he asked. “How long have I been out?”

  Chloe bit her lip then answered. “A year.”

  INTERROGATION

  Wraith watched with grim satisfaction, through the one way mirrored glass, as one of his soldiers struck Agent Mad Hatter across the face yet again. Bloody saliva slapped the concrete floor of the interrogation room on the agent’s right side. Already, the man was thin, nearly starved, having survived his incarceration on barely enough food. His face was a mask of bruises and lacerations, and still they had asked him no questions at all.

  Another soldier, aiding the first, picked up a gauze sponge from a bowl of rubbing alcohol. It dripped its excess contents across the floor as the man wiped it roughly across Hatter’s damaged face. The effect was immediate. Hatter screamed in pain as each laceration burned furiously.

  “We mustn’t have you getting an infection,” Wraith said.

  Hatter gritted his teeth, peeking through his right eye which had not swollen all the way shut just yet. He found Wraith standing just inside the door now. “I should have known you were behind this,” Hatter said. “You always were a sadist.”

  The soldier standing near with the alcohol sponge doused it in the bowl again then slathered it across Hatter’s face again. “Show your betters some respect!” the soldier said.

  Hatter bore the pain as long as he could before screaming through clenched teeth. He shook his head furiously to sate the pain to little effect. His scream turned to one of rage rather than pain. He cursed Wraith then spit a mouthful of blood at the man’s feet.

  Wraith stepped closer and backhanded his former partner. Hatter seized his opportunity. He had been laboriously picking the manacle lock with a minute sliver of metal he had picked up when breaking into the facility’s communication room the night before.

  Hatter had hidden himself over the door of his cell until his guard rushed in to see if he was hiding under his cot. Wrong choice. Hatter had dropped down instantly like a spider and snapped the man’s neck. He locked the body in his own cell, left beneath his blankets as if sleeping.

  With a change in uniform and a code key in his possession, Hatter had made his way to the communication room, finding two young techs on duty. He didn’t even break a sweat dispatching them. After sending his message and coordinates, Hatter had disabled the satellite uplink and the memory storage system. But they had already intercepted the transmission. Armed guards had been waiting for him as he emerged from the communication room, but not before he had rifled through the desk drawers and found a sturdy sliver of metal just in case.

  Now, the manacles were unlocked, barely hanging on his wrists. Hatter grabbed a soiled scalpel from the metal cart of instruments the soldiers had been using to torture him with all morning. He lunged forward from his chair and slammed the surgical blade deep into Wraith’s leg. If he could incapacitate Wraith then the other soldiers could be easily dealt with after. But the man didn’t flinch at the wound, giving Hatter pause. That fraction of a second was enough time for the soldiers to shock him with a handheld tazer.

  Hatter went rigid then slumped back into the chair exhausted. Wraith stood over him, smiling down with the scalpel blade still planted firmly in his thigh. “Thank you, Hatter, old friend,” he said. “That was highly entertaining.”

  Wraith bent down, grabbing the scalpel handle. He pulled the blade out of his leg with a pop. Hatter, bewildered, examined the surgical blade. There was no blood upon it. “What the—?”

  “I’ve made a few modifications since we served together,” Wraith said. He lifted his trouser leg, revealing the prosthetic limb hidden underneath. Wraith gave the carbon fiber leg an appreciative pat then dropped the trouser leg down over it again.

  Wraith stepped forwar
d and drove his good leg into Hatter’s chest. The agent sprawled backward out of the chair onto the floor unconscious. Wraith looked at the soldiers who had been conducting the supposed interrogation. “You have a report? What did he send?”

  One of the soldiers spoke up, standing at attention. “Sir, the prisoner sent a old styled Morse Code message via satellite. S.O.S., sir.”

  “To whom did he send it?” Wraith asked.

  “We’re not sure, but the receiver site is mobile and its transponder uplink code looks very similar to that of Counterpart models—maybe H7 to H9. We were not able to stop the message before it was received, sir.”

  The soldier looked as though he expected the worse from his commander. Wraith grinned instead. “It sounds like we’ll have company then.”

  S.O.S.

  Alfred stood outside the room as Chloe and Solomon briefed Jason on what had happened to him in Jerusalem and how their group had moved from Al Khazneh since that time. “It just got too hot for the Underground having me there,” Solomon said. “So we left some false trails for them to follow and moved our smaller operation here in Venice.”

  “Italy?” Jason seemed puzzled. “But I thought Venice had been abandoned after part of it fell into the sea twenty years ago.”

  “It did. And it has remained abandoned,” Solomon confirmed. “What better place for a covert operation to set up? Don’t worry. There are still some places in the city that have remained unaffected by the disaster of seventy four.”

  “So we’re near New Rome now,” Jason muttered to himself.

  Chloe gave her father a sidelong glance. “Yes, it’s a great way to monitor what’s going on there,” she said to Jason. “We’ve heard rumors that the Coliseum has been rebuilt. They say Theed has instituted the Circus Maximus again.”