There was the big man himself, just as he had been described by the voices, his hair like a lion’s mane and his eyes electric and full of fire. He smiled wanly at Spada and bowed. There were at least three beautiful women behind him, although one had a gun to her head. There was a small group of men and women in black robes following, and then another group of what could only be mercenaries. Right next to the lion-haired one was a solid man with scars and a friendly smile.
Spada stepped aside. “Benvenuti!” Welcome!
Still smiling, Pieter Curtis shot him in the head. The group trooped past the twitching body.
“Shouldn’t have given it all away, old chap,” Curtis muttered as he pulled Spada’s body into the tunnel. Then he closed the doors, following the instructions Spada had emailed him. He’d have to open the hidden gate again when Straker arrived with his statue, but he looked forward to it. He wanted a modicum of revenge. A lot of good men had died at the hands of that bastard.
Curtis wasn’t sure how the night would play out, but he had primed his best men to follow his lead—and his signals. If the need arose, he would execute the witchy bitch and her lezzie scientist friend, shoot half the other “knights” of Kessler’s round table, and put a gun to Kessler’s head until the ritual was complete and Astaroth was bound to him. Assuming the whole thing wasn’t just a rich asshole’s boondoggle. He’d made the decision after seeing a change in Kessler’s personality once he had the three statues. Curtis still wasn’t convinced the ritual would actually work—would it really yield a captive demon who could swallow entire continents if you ordered it? If so, Curtis had some ideas as to which continents should go first.
Meanwhile, he was playing the role of number one henchman as well as he could. It was the role of a lifetime, and it could mean his life if he didn’t play it to the hilt.
Murdered guardsmen were splayed out all around, which gave the catacombs an even eerier atmosphere. Kessler was already taking over—ordering a conference table cleared of clutter so his minions could place the three statues they carried. At the late Captain’s cubicle, Kessler gave a delighted bark of a laugh. Gold glinted under the rotted cloth of a half-unwrapped bundle.
“Look, Pieter, our little captain did the job just as we expected. The demon has also, to the extent it can. Now it’s our turn to grant him the freedom he craves.”
“Sir, where should we set up for the—the main event?”
“Right over there, where the three tunnels meet. Get a follower to pace out the distance, and Stoyanova will draw the pentagram. Won’t you, my dear?”
The dark-haired adept smiled and nodded. But Curtis noticed that her smile was meant for Jill Harris, not her master. Kessler was too busy being a megalomaniac to notice, but Curtis knew what was going on. He smiled crookedly at Stoyanova, nodding with a trace of mockery. She stared coldly into his eyes.
Have to watch that one around sharp objects.
Soon the adept had used colored chalk and a strange mix of powders from a satchel of well-used containers to draw a huge pentagram on the catacomb floor. For the first time, Curtis felt a shiver working down his spine. Strange, but now he thought he could hear voices too, whispering in the distance. At first he feared they’d been infiltrated. But there was no one else alive down there.
Except for demons?
Kessler walked around giving orders as if he were hearing them from Astaroth himself.
Jill Harris followed Stoyanova around like a puppy, giving her longing looks. That’s right, he thought, let Kessler see that! Even a whiff of treason and Stoyanova’s goose was cooked with the boss without Curtis having to stick out his neck. Nice bunch of animal butchery metaphors, Curtis. He was tempted to chortle madly. The situation, the place, the company? It was all so surreal.
One of his men now held the pistol to Bella’s head, and she was kept off to the side, her eyes afraid but strangely unbent. That was some woman, Curtis thought. Too bad she was with Straker. He was certain he could have made a go of things with her. Treasure hunter, athlete, apparently unflappable in the face of danger and even the occult.
Then Kessler spoke out in his oratorical tone.
“We are almost ready. Start taking your places.” He pointed at the adept. “Please direct the placement of the statues…”
Curtis weighed in. “What about Straker?”
Bella’s head turned when she heard the name.
“The statue should be here soon. You stationed your men and they have their orders, so he is probably dead by now.”
“No!” Bella blurted out. “No, you can’t—he isn’t—”
“Silence her, please.”
One of the men slapped her face hard, then gagged her with a cloth. She sagged against a wall of bones, tears coursing down her cheeks.
Kessler continued, “We have no need for her now, but I think an extra sacrifice to Astaroth might be appreciated. She’s no virgin, but she’ll do just as well as a goat tied up and awaiting a hungry predator.”
Meanwhile Stoyanova had been busy. She directed three mercenaries to carry a statue each and place them just so at three points of the pentagram. The three statues seemed to glow with their vile depictions.
Suddenly a mild earthquake rocked the catacombs and bone dust seeped down on them from above.
Stoyanova laughed with delight. “See, the power is gathering!”
Everyone looked around and up. Meanwhile the adept ordered the fourth statue—the one their tame captain had located, thanks in part to the demon’s own instructions—to its place in the large circle.
The floor shook again and more bones came raining down. The lights flickered. Some of the corpses twitched, as if about to rise.
There was only one spot left, one statue still missing.
They waited, breathless, hearing voices all around them in a sudden cacophony of whisperings.
It was as if the audience awaited the play’s lead actor. Would he arrive, bearing the statue, or would Curtis’s men bring his body and the idol?
Curtis didn’t care anymore. He wanted this ordeal over.
Chapter 97
The catacombs beneath the Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi
Vatican City, Rome
Straker had expected Kessler to not play fair. Although he’d been relieved of his weapon, he had taken less than a minute to kill the four armed thugs who had been lying in wait inside the small French jet. He’d wrenched the weapon from one’s hands and turned it on the others. They’d been smart, using air marshal low-velocity ammo that would splatter on impact inside the target with much less chance of damaging a plane’s fuselage. But still not smart enough…
One had survived and Straker felt no pangs of conscience while using a steak knife from the galley on that one until he’d given up the information Straker sought.
Then he had made a deal with the two pilots. Fly the plane and live. They’d seen what Straker had done to the other four and understood he wasn’t lying when he said he had nothing much to lose. They’d eyed his statue nervously—perhaps not thrilled to be in its grotesque presence. Straker had sat in the cockpit, a loaded pistol ready to take them all down. The flight had been uneventful, and he had been true to his word.
Now Straker stepped out of the sleek car that had been waiting for him outside the airport proper. He’s surprised the driver, who’d been expecting Kessler’s thugs.
He entered catacombs unknown by anyone outside the Vatican’s inner circle. These weren’t the suburban tunnel complexes visited by tourists and historians, but extended below secret portions of Vatican City proper. Included was a network of medieval tunnels intended as escape routes in case of siege or invasion, their entrances variously disguised over the centuries.
There’s never a Vatican agent around when you need one, Straker thought as he carefully entered a tunnel located in an abandoned building’s basement.
His instructions had led him here, spelling out what he had to do. He was well aware he was
probably walking into a trap—hell, he should already have been dead. But here he was. Armed with a pair of pistols and the statue, he had no plan other than to do his level best to rescue Bella and kill as many of the thugs around her as possible. He didn’t worry about odds. He never had before.
He only thought of her. Well, and also revenge.
The map he held had been drawn by the surviving thug with the only hand that still had all its fingers, so it was understandably shaky. But it was enough. Straker knew that Kessler and his party of weirdos and mercenaries—and that magick adept he’d heard so much about—would have traversed the same path, Bella in tow, heading for the secret tunnels that supposedly housed the chained-up demons.
Straker was a realist. His enemies were Kessler and Curtis, and their hired thugs. The supernatural aspect meant nothing to him. He’d seen things, like Walton, and he had an open mind and all that, but it was irrelevant. If Kessler believed his own press, that was enough. You dealt with the real problems and let the weird stuff take care of itself, despite what the Vatican agents had told him.
He continued through a further series of disguised entrances, spotting how the dust underfoot had been recently disturbed by a large party. Two planes’ worth of folks ready to engage in this Astaroth ritual Simon Pound and his lovely companion Cat were so set on disrupting?
Apparently the only thing keeping Kessler from going ahead was Straker’s statue. The other missing one had been found, or…whatever. Straker didn’t care.
He needed the flashlight for the majority of his slog. The strange surroundings didn’t faze him much—he’d seen and experienced worse. When he found his first posted sentry, it took him less than sixty seconds to creep up stealthily and slit the man’s throat. That fresh body joined the others in their loculi, the eternal niches. Straker moved on. Soon he heard voices.
No doubt he was hearing loud human voices, but there was also what sounded like multitudes of whispers. They reached out to massage his brain, tickling the skin of his neck and making his hair stand up. He gripped the statue and his pistol more surely and pressed on, now convinced that something supernatural was happening.
When the ground seemed to rumble, and white dust rained all around him in a curtain of bone matter, he thought he might go mad down here in the dark if his flashlight failed him. He would haunt these tunnels like a raving lunatic human ghost for the rest of his natural life, never finding his way out of the maze and killing anyone he might come into contact with.
The image was disturbing, and suddenly he felt both claustrophobic and paranoid.
He shook off the thoughts.
There.
That was Bella’s voice. Screaming.
He hefted the damned statue and set off at a blind run.
Chapter 98
The catacombs beneath the Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi
Vatican City, Rome
“Looks like this is where he went in.” Simon pointed to the steps leading down the disguised cellar entrance. Behind him, Cat and Father Martin, director of the VSS, crowded in.
“This is one tunnel I’m not even aware of,” Martin said. He squinted up at the dot above them. The drone’s electric buzz as it hovered was lost in the regular sounds of the Vatican City evening. “Ferro’s texts that he’s sure this is where Straker went in, about a half hour ago. The drone grabbed a clear image of him. He had the statue.”
Simon’s recon of Kessler hangar had turned up the dead thugs. Of the pilots there was no trace—perhaps Straker had spared them.
Martin had met them at the Kessler hangar with a select squad of guardsmen in black commando gear and partial body armor. Martin wore a simple jumpsuit with violet collar tabs, but instead of a weapon he carried a book.
“Looks as though M is itching for the field, Moneypenny,” Simon muttered. “Why the party, M?”
“This may have started as a caper to kill you, Simon, to get you out of the way before you could be used against them. But now they’re poised to perform the ritual and it’s too late to expect a bullet in the head will stop Kessler’s plans. His adept will want to complete the ritual even if he dies. In fact, I believe now she may have become more dangerous than he is.”
Simon turned to Cat. “Does this make sense to you? Because I’m lost.”
“I’m afraid so, Simon.” Cat hung her head a little. She’d been quiet throughout the flight, and even as good as the brunello and the rest of the spread had been, she had remained pensive and distracted. Even the steward’s obvious assets had eventually soured for her.
“Explain, please.” Simon felt a bit at sea.
Not typical for him, not at all.
Cat glanced at the director, who nodded.
“I wasn’t sure before, but I am now.” Her eyes suddenly filled with unshed tears.
“Sure of what?” Simon said. “Will someone please enlighten me?”
“The adept Kessler’s been using against us. She calls herself Stoyanova now. But it’s not her real name. It is Elena, and…she is my sister.”
Chapter 99
The catacombs beneath the Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi
Vatican City, Rome
Straker staggered around a jagged corner, where sharp bones reached out for him. The statue cradled awkwardly in a one-armed embrace, he gripped MP5 in his free hand.
But he’d run too far. The cacophony—the rumbling, the voices, the whispering, and now the screaming—had masked his proximity to the target.
As soon as he rounded the corner, a half-dozen of them swooped down on him.
He had no time to bring the submachine gun to bear and it was ripped from his grasp. He was savagely beaten to the ground, and then the booted feet started kicking. Though he folded up to protect his body, there were too many kicks to deflect.
So much for saving the day.
He’d been too exhausted after the long flight, and too depleted after all the battles. He was running out of luck and fight now, when Bella needed him most.
The statue rolled from his grip and then they really went to town on his torso. He felt a couple ribs go, and when they started in on his kidneys he thought he would go mad with the escalating pain. Gathering himself for one last effort, he stiffened his screaming muscles in preparation.
“Stop!”
When Straker dared open his eyes, he was barely able to make out who had just spoken the order. It had to be Kessler, a regal figure with long, wavy hair and a face that seemed carved onto a monument. His eyes were wild, though, altogether unhinged.
“This is our guest, returning the statue to its proper place. Bring him. Gently, now. Hasn’t he suffered enough?”
Straker was too hurt to swear at the condescending bastard. Arms grabbed him and he was pulled up roughly on his feet. Immediately the pain doubled him over. Not much gas left.
“You have your statue,” he said, groaning. “Now give me Bella and we’ll be on our way. That was the deal you offered.”
“Not bloody likely. You’ve killed way too many of my men.” It was a solid soldier-type speaking, clearly in charge of the mercenaries—Pieter Curtis?
“Should have trained them better then,” Straker blurted out.
Curtis stepped up and punched him low in the stomach, doubling him over again.
“I don’t like a sense of humor in a soldier,” he said. “Dulls the skills.”
“Let’s see,” Straker began, but another fist in the stomach interrupted his challenge.
Curtis drew his pistol and touched Straker’s forehead with the muzzle. “Thanks for bringing our toy. Now good-bye.”
“Noooo! Dev!” Bella had managed to spit out her gag and to flip over despite being handcuffed.
“Gag her, damn you!” Curtis spit. One of his men muffled her again with the cloth strip.
Straker closed his eyes, waiting for the shot. The gun muzzle hadn’t moved. Would he hear the shot before his brain was destroyed by the slug and his limbs collapsed li
ke a rag doll’s?
Curtis melodramatically thumb-cocked the hammer. His finger tightened on the trigger.
“Wait, Pieter.”
Kessler.
“Damn it, Cornelious.” Curtis stopped to breathe and calm down. “Boss, this guy’s been nothing but a thorn in our side. Let me end it so we can move on to your—to the business at hand. Sir.”
But Kessler wasn’t having it. “He brought our missing statue, Pieter. I want him to see it fulfill its destiny. I want him to see it help us unbind Astaroth—can’t you hear his eager voices all around us?—and I also want him to see what the demon will do with our sacrificial offering…” He pointed at Bella, who struggled fruitlessly.
Curtis heard the voices. In fact they were threatening to drive him mad.
“All right,” he acquiesced. “But drag him over there and zip-tie his hands and feet.” To his men: “If he so much as moves an inch, shoot him in the head.” He said to Straker: “Give them a reason, mate.”
Kessler was on to other business. “Stoyanova, here is your fifth statue. Just as you predicted. My dear, we are almost ready for the birthing of this new world of ours. Everyone, take your places. Let us get ready. Proceed with the ritual.”
Straker wanted to laugh but he was in too much pain. Kessler was as mad as the proverbial hatter. Wasn’t he?
Thugs carried out Curtis’s orders, kicking him a couple more times in the process. Then they turned away, eager to join in the ceremony.
Straker felt the fight seep out of his broken body. The zip-ties bit painfully into his wrists. He was done. Bella was going to die. And it was all his fault.
THE JUDAS HIT Page 29