~ 7 ~
Out of the night the EC 145 copter swept like an avenging angel, a mere 200 feet over the small hamlet of Arbor. Its rotor blades whipped through the rain and sleet as it sped at more than 160 knots towards its destination; the countryside was a dark blur under its fuselage. With Rautenberg’s longitude and latitude punched into the flight computer, Malachi and his crew were headed directly towards where the Relic was located. Whether they would find Father Gallo, Clay, and Maria there or not, was still to be determined.
Thirty minutes before, Monsignor Rautenberg had called to say he’d lost the signal at the coordinates he had previously given them. Within a few minutes he’d called back to say he’d regained it and it seemed the Relic was in the structure on the satellite photograph.
“Our DME says we’re about three minutes out,” the pilot shouted, over the howling of the outside wind competing for supremacy with the engine roar. Having already exceeded maximum limits for flight he was constantly fighting the controls as they neared the seaward side of the island and the wind increased in intensity. “We should see this building soon.”
Beside him, the police constable was working the remote control for the NIGHTSUN and the spotlight was cutting a swathe through the sheets of sleet, back and forth across the rocky and uneven, moss-covered ground. The chopper began to buck more; Frazer was surprised to spot the moon through a break in the clouds as its pale light glinted off the nose of his craft. Still, rolling dark clouds continued to spawn gale force winds and the sleet was turning to snow before his eyes.
Cardinal Malachi looked at Cruickshank who had an old Webley top-break .455 caliber Mark IV revolver in hand and was inserting cartridges. Fathers Oberon and Nathaniel stared at him in disbelief, their own sub machines guns strapped across their chests and their heavy caliber side-arms secured in belt holsters. They now had grenades clipped to a bandolier that each wore, as well as machetes in sheaths strapped to their backs. Each priest had a hand looped through a duffle bag containing other assorted toys.
“What the heck is that?” Father Nathaniel yelled to Cruickshank.
“It was my father’s,” Cruickshank responded loudly. “And, his father’s before him.”
“Does it work?” Father Oberon asked, mouthing the words to help the Chief Superintendent understand what he was saying.
“Work? I once downed a charging rhino in Africa with it,” Cruickshank yelled back, indignantly.
“Really?” Father Nathaniel exclaimed, somewhat in awe.
“No,” Cruickshank said, grinning at him. “Good God man, surely you know you can’t kill a rhino with a pistol. Unless you’re Jungle Jim or some other Hollywood blighter.” He’d seen their little wager when he was on the verge of filling his airsick bag; in typical British fashion he showed them they could be had too. “But you wouldn’t want to be on the business end of it.”
The two priests nodded with sheepish smiles. They turned their attention to the pilot.
“Will we rappel down from the chopper,” Father Nathaniel shouted, to the pilot, holding up a rope and tether for him to see.
“You can,” Frazer yelled back, with a quick glance. He adjusted his heading a few degrees and finished: “The rest of us will probably just land.”
Despite the tenseness they were all feeling, Malachi and Cruickshank couldn’t help smiling and the two priests collectively shook their heads and grinned at being skewered twice in as many minutes.
The humor and ability to joke and smile in the face of possible death was a typical bravado that warriors exhibited since time immemorial before going into battle – a deliberate defiance of their own mortality, but one chosen carefully not to break any superstitions or tread on personal fears or beliefs. Too many times men had been jinxed by predictions one way or the other, and so discussions of outcomes were usually scrupulously avoided by combat veterans.
“You will make it a priority to secure and use the Relic?” Malachi asked, of the two Crusaders.
“Of course,” Father Nathaniel said. Then he added is a firm voice: “At any cost.”
Malachi nodded. They knew their priorities well, having trained for almost every scenario and situation possible. This particular scenario he knew was listed as a D-4/BLD, Battle in a Large Building, in the training manual that had been developed and continually updated over hundreds of years. Their MO was simple: secure entry, find the target or associates of the target causing maximum destruction along the way, and hit the Beast with as much firepower as possible to weaken him and get close enough to drive a blessed stake into his heart. If they were unable to secure the Relic, they planned to return to their traditional stakes though they also carried a special “stake” that could be used from a distance.
Father Oberon was skilled in the use of this one: a custom, powder charged, shot-gun looking weapon containing a bolt fashioned from ironwood taken from a Caribbean tree called lignum vitae meaning somewhat ironically, the Wood of Life. Recognized as the hardest and heaviest wood in the world, it had a specific gravity of 1.37 and under most conditions would wear better than iron. Just in front of the bolt’s nock, the fletching was fashioned from aluminum, hinged and slanted forward so that it would open in flight and on impact become an effective barb preventing the arrow from passing through the heart. Secure in place, it would prevent Adramelech’s powers from healing the wound and seal his fate. At least, for a time. This bolt had been blessed by three successive popes and, according to everything they had learned, if it entered his heart, it should put the Beast down. Unfortunately, it was a one-shot deal.
“I see something,” the police observer shouted. The pilot slowed the helicopter until it hovered over the object held in the spotlight. It was an Austin Mini with its right front end in the ditch; snow was rapidly gathering on most of the automobile and the ground around it.
Cruickshank and Malachi had taken off their seat belts and crammed forward to see out the front window. Frazer obligingly tilted the copter forward, the NIGHTSUN illuminating the custom paint job on the automobile; a British Union Jack flag motif encompassed the entire vehicle.
“Father Gallo?” Cruickshank guessed.
“Who else would be out here at this hour?” Malachi asked.
“Hasn’t been there that long,” Cruickshank said, as the copter rotated above and around the Mini and Cockerill kept the NIGHTSUN illuminating the vehicle. The intense downdraft from their rotor blades whipped up twigs and grass and bits of ice and snow throwing them into the air and, at times, fully obscuring their view of the vehicle.
“How can you tell?” Malachi asked squinting at the vehicle through the sleet and debris.
“Snow on the roof and on the door...none on the bonnet. It’s melting too rapidly to stay. Means the engine is still warm.”
“Oh you Brits,” Malachi muttered at the detective who simply smiled. “Let’s go.”
The helicopter swung to the right, its nose came up and it quickly accelerated. It moved over the ground again at about 50 feet and at a more cautious speed. Within a few minutes the pilot muttered an epitaph and brought the craft to a jarring and complete stop in the air, slamming all the occupants against their seat belts. It hovered there for a moment as all stared out the front windscreen. No more than 100 meters in front of them, the NIGHTSUN swung up to reveal a charcoal grey, round, stone corner tower, with a row of square windows immediately under its rounded peaked roof. The windows spilled yellow light.
“Arthur, didn’t you see it?” Frazer asked, annoyance in his tone.
“No, I had the light pointed down,” Constable Cockerill replied. “I was looking at the ground.”
“We almost hit that bloody wall. You’re the observer – observe!”
“Sorry Myles...sorry,” Cockerill said contritely, though they both knew the pilot’s annoyance was more with himself since he was flying the craft.
“Righto...and so will I,” the pilot finished lamely by way of apology.
Constable Coc
kerill moved the light from the base of the tower and brought the beam slowly up the wall illuminating most of its 150-foot-plus height. They hovered in front of it like a mosquito eyeing a fencepost. “Shades of Frankenstein, it’s massive,” he said.
Frazer moved his controls and the helicopter rose straight up 200 feet and above the structure. He brought it over the wall and pivoted on its own axis as the NIGHTSUN revealed an inner courtyard surrounded by 100-foot walls with four corner towers half again as tall. A flanking tower stood on the side of the east wall, and there was a smaller lookout tower at the rear near the ocean cliffs. Yellow light spilled from windows in the rectangular courtyard and from some in the corner towers.
The castle was monstrous and the pilot immediately wondered two things: how his passengers intended to gain entrance, and if they were going to ask him to set his craft down in the courtyard. He hoped not as the shrieking wind was continuing to rock the copter. It was flowing over the ramparts likely creating a partial vacuum inside the courtyard. He was sure he’d encounter a nasty downdraft if he tried to land within the walls.
“Right, let’s get down there and get to work,” Malachi said, brusquely. “Land this thing somewhere in front of the castle.” Though he tried to sound confident, the longer he looked at the fortress, the more trepidation Malachi felt. He wished they had been more circumspect in their approach, but what was done was done. There would be no element of surprise unless they were extremely lucky. Monsignor Rautenberg had pinpointed the Relic as being within the structure. He wondered how Father Gallo had managed to get in there. Was there another entrance? If so, where was it?
The EC 145 spun about, accelerated away from the castle for a few moments and then swung in a tight 180 degree arc. The NIGHTSUN illuminated a fairly level patch of dead grass below and they curved down and hovered ten feet above the ground. They were about 120 feet out in front of the drawbridge.
“How the deuce are we ever going to get in there?” Cruickshank asked, looking up at the immensity of the stronghold from a bygone age. “I don’t imagine he has a doorbell.” No-one laughed, no-one commented.
As though to answer Cruickshank’s question, a huge cloud of black-tinged, yellow fire suddenly mushroomed from the entrance doors at the end of the drawbridge. A blast of hot air hit the helicopter at about the same time a deafening crack sounded and the chopper reeled backwards.
Frazer slammed the throttle to max and the engine whined as they tried to escape by gaining altitude. Instead, they spun out of control. “I have it...I have it...no...brace, brace!” he yelled in frustration. The laws of aerodynamics now assumed control and the pilot became nothing more than a passenger as cockpit alarms screamed in protest and the chopper began to spin on its own axis. With a stomach clenching motion the helicopter abruptly ceased flying and pan-caked into the hard earth.
The tail hit first and immediately bent sideways with the anti-torque tail rotor chewing into the rocks, dirt and grass. Within a split second the rest of the chopper dropped the remaining few feet to earth. Tilting sideway as it impacted, the main rotor blades wind-milled into the ground. Their composite materials bent, splintered and shattered sending a hail of dirt and plastic-like debris exploding into the air. Within a few seconds it dropped back to the earth, rattling like buckshot against the skin of the helicopter.
Silence!
Inside the cockpit Frazer coughed as the first hint of burning electrics wafted into his nostrils. He called out: “Everyone okay? Everyone out!”
The only response was the wind howling anew outside and the distant roar of crackling flames from the burning drawbridge in front of the fortress.
~ 8 ~
At the base of the stone stairs was a growing chorus of chattering and clicking sounds much like a nest of angry hornets. Clay looked from Rosalita’s body down to the lower level and his heart sank. Primal fear overwhelmed him as hundreds of reddish orange creatures with large heads and protuberances from their temples gathered at the base of the stairs. Their watery eyes were larger than humans but their bodies were small and misshapen – barely three feet high. Many carried small, hand-held scythes in claw-like appendages as they scuttled rather than walked and jockeyed for position below; some gestured angrily upward at Clay. Though they milled about, a teaming mass of nightmarish freaks, something seemed to be holding them back from climbing the staircase.
Gallo stood back, also looking down at them, revulsion on his face. Quickly, however, it was replaced by a business-like look, that of a man with places to go and things to do. Remarkably his movements and gestures seemed to be in keeping with a young man rather than one of his actual age. Clay quickly moved to Maria and pulled her to him while he covered Gallo with the revolver. Gallo looked at him and picked up the aluminum case.
“Still think I can’t hurt you?” Clay asked, a certain satisfaction in his voice.
“Obviously she had outlived her usefulness but I have the healing,” Gallo replied. He began to move towards them holding out his free hand.
“Don’t...” Maria cried, pulling Clay backward.
With no other recourse, Clay fired at Gallo but shot to wound him. His aim was true and the aluminum case dropped to the floor. Maria made a small cry and turned away as blood flowed freely from the priest’s ruined hand. Then both watched in shock as the hand reformed itself in seconds and Gallo used it to brush flecks of blood and bone off his cassock.
Maria seized the moment, fearlessly stepped forward and snatched up the aluminum case with one hand and her nearby Crucifix with the other. Immediately she could sense warmth and calm radiating from the Relic inside; it also gave her strength.
Gallo looked at her with an amused smile. “Fine, you carry it. You can’t open it anyway. Now, if you don’t mind, he’s waiting.” He turned to walk away and then said without looking back: “Don’t bother trying to escape; there’s no way out. And if you go back down there, those little monsters will dice and slice you into party-sized snacks and suck up the pieces. If you’re lucky. Now come, or it will be the worse for you.”
He strode off and Clay and Maria looked at each other.
“I love you Clay...with all my heart,” she said, looking deep into his eyes. “Remember that, no matter what happens. Come, it’s time; don’t be afraid – God will protect us for now.”
Carrying the Relic case in one hand, Maria led him down the hall after Gallo. On their way, they passed a long corridor. Halfway down its length Clay saw an opening to a large foyer. He wondered if the two oak doors with the iron stays he had seen from outside were down that corridor. If so, the doors led to the drawbridge, a possible escape route.
They soon entered the Great Room behind Gallo where they could see a single, solitary figure seated on a couch in front of an impressively large open-hearth fireplace.
Adramelech stared into the fire where tiny renditions of human figures writhed and threw themselves left and right trying to escape the hot coals. Gallo said nothing but merely watched as though waiting to be noticed; they could see him trembling. Clay looked down the long room and noted the assortment of weapons on the walls, the lined up suits of armor, and the huge stained glass window at the end. Maria took an involuntary step backwards, almost overcome by a contagion of evil emanating from the figure.
“Lord and Master...” Gallo finally began, in a halting voice.
Adramelech eased to his feet without surprise and spun towards them. “Speak,” the Arch Demon ordered in a baritone that seemed just a little off key, a curious harmonic of double notes sounding as though they had been run through a series of electronic reverberation with nanosecond delays.
Clay and Maria stared in awe at the man who seemed to tower above them although standing almost twenty feet away. His features were perfect and Maria couldn’t help thinking he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. His coal-black hair was swept straight back from his wide forehead set over a strong, perfectly proportioned nose, and midnight blue eyes. His broad shoulde
rs were covered in a black cape lined with purple and his entire being was clad in a tight-fitting black body suit of some substance that showed a well-muscled form. He ignored them and kept his gaze on Gallo.
“Y-Yes...” Gallo said. “I have the-the soldier and the girl....and the Relic.”
“And, you also bring me barbarians at my gate?”
“I-I don’t understand,” Gallo protested, fearfully.
“Of course you don’t,” he answered. “Your limited intellect barely allows you to see beyond your own nose.” His gaze shifted towards Clay and Maria. He smiled this time, his eyes twinkling with good humor. “Well, well...what have we here?” His voice had now become clear, strong and deep; in fact, it seemed to have a largeness and richness that reached out to caress and nurture them. “It’s been a long time, Lieutenant Montague; Panama wasn’t it?” He didn’t move from where he stood but merely cocked his head in a questioning manner. “Though we almost met in Vermont.”
Clay stood there with the Ruger in his hand feeling somewhat foolish. He didn’t know whether to point it or holster it. Adramelech made the choice for him.
“That’s a dangerous weapon, my friend,” he purred, as he beckoned them to advance. “Why don’t you put it away until you need it? It can’t hurt me but your pretty companion could wind up begging you to blow her brains out. And you might do it, if it amused me.”
Obediently Clay pulled the anorak back and holstered the revolver. He could feel Maria trembling beside him. She was shaking so hard he thought her teeth were going to chatter aloud. Desperately he wished she’d get hold of herself and not embarrass them both in front of this amazing gentleman. After all, charm and charisma fairly oozed from him and he seemed so delighted to see them. The least they could do was guard their manners and afford him a hearing. Indeed, how could anyone blessed with such a perfect countenance be as bad as they had made him out to be?
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