THE JUDAS HIT

by W. D. Gagliani

  Chapter 100

  The catacombs beneath the Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi

  Vatican City, Rome

  They followed in Straker’s footsteps through dimly-lit grim tunnels lined with ranks of skulls and ribcages tucked into their open graves.

  Simon still couldn’t grasp what Caterina had revealed.

  Armed with a couple suppressed Sig Sauer pistols in twin shoulder holsters, a quiver full of Hibben throwing knives on his belt, and a half-dozen stun grenades, he looked more like one of the commando guardsmen than his usual dapper self. But his jumpsuit was Armani, if anyone cared.

  He shook his head in delayed disbelief.

  Cat had a sister.

  A sister who had gone bad…who had left home under suspicious circumstances when they were still children, and who had somehow managed to remain “dead” for decades. Chafing under parental rules and a path in the service of the Vatican spy agency laid out for her, Elena had simply disappeared one day, leaving behind an irreversibly insane guardsman. She had never been heard from again, although Caterina had begun to suspect she’d resurfaced when Simon’s plane had almost been brought down over the Atlantic. The attack had seemed somehow to become personal when Cat had opposed it with her own power.

  Suspicion had led Cat to request field time as Simon’s on-site handler so she could investigate, but the attack at the construction site had sealed her conclusions. It had to be Elena, for only she knew Caterina’s weaknesses and could exploit them. The wayward sister had allowed her own signature to peek through the attacks, perhaps confident that Cat would take the bait.

  And Cat had.

  When she had walked into Kessler’s charity ball with Simon, Cat had wondered if she would recognize her sister.

  And, she explained to Simon, despite the dark hair, the sex-bomb outfit, and the evil glee on her features when she’d almost killed Cat in the ballroom, Cat had recognized her. The woman she saw bore some resemblance to the girl she remembered, but otherwise Elena had clearly developed into a cruel, ambitious and amoral weapon for someone like Kessler to use.

  Simon wanted to wrap up Cat in a comforting embrace, but there was no time for that now.

  Martin, Simon, and Cat—with the Swiss commandos fanned out behind them—headed deeper into the part of the catacomb complex that most Romans did not know existed.

  Suddenly they were assaulted by the voices in their heads. They’d been a low rumble, like a distant train, but now they rose in pitch and frequency.

  “Put on the earplugs, now!” Martin ordered.

  “It won’t help completely,” Simon pointed out.

  “Better than nothing. If the demon grabs hold of any of us, it could all go bad quickly.” Martin grasped his book tightly. It wasn’t a bible—rather it was the combined notes of the entire Jesuit exorcism “corps,” as the warrior priests who fought demons in the trenches were known. If there was a way to defeat Astaroth and his followers it had to be in the book. Martin had memorized most of the counter-rituals.

  Simon nodded. “Let’s move on, then. We’re getting closer.”

  They ducked their heads to avoid being scraped by the bone ceiling. Nerves squeezing their throats closed, they girded for a fight—and an exorcism.

  Chapter 101

  The catacombs beneath the Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi

  Vatican City, Rome

  The ground shook beneath their feet.

  They’d taken their places around Stoyanova’s pentagram. Curtis thought it was a strange tableau, although he was fast becoming a believer. The voices in his head had risen to a fever pitch since they’d entered the creepy bone tunnels, and now he felt as if he were being split into dozens of people, all crazed and violent.

  The great Cornelious Kessler seemed to have disappeared, leaving behind a sort of golem of the software magnate. He walked around like a clay statue, all right, staring with a blank face and leaving all the work to the Russian witch. Who was loving it, it seemed. The way she shimmied around the boss, you’d think he had already taken control of the world.

  It occurred to Curtis that the demon Astaroth, or whatever it was, was already inhabiting Kessler—but just needed the ritual to make it stick.

  Could it be?

  Curtis was still excited but also suddenly afraid that messing with demons was a bad idea, no matter how much you craved power. Even though the jubilant voices in his head seemed to be all for it, the part of real Curtis left in there had started thinking of a way out.

  After they had taken their places and Stoyanova began chanting the strange ritual words she had practiced for weeks, the ground started shaking under their feet, rumbling that sounded like thunder reaching for them down the tunnels and echoing all around.

  As her voice rose in volume, her words began to sound twisted, deformed.

  There was more rumbling in the catacombs, like water running or a train. Countless bones rattled, providing a demonic rhythm to the proceedings.

  Dust and bone shards started shaking loose from walls and the low cupola ceilings, covering them all with a gruesome snowfall of long-dead decomposed Christians. Curtis worried the whole tunnel complex would collapse on them.

  The woman Bella, cuffed with zip-ties, writhed in the center of the pentagram. Someone had torn her shirt, exposing her breasts so she resembled an early Frank Frazetta painting.

  Under his black robe, Curtis played with his Glock. Then he lost control just like that, feeling as if a hand had reached inside his bowels and now maneuvered him like a hollow puppet. He felt an erection stiffer than any in his life—he feared his groin would burst. Others were reacting the same way, the men at least. But the women, they were acting as if…

  As if animal lust had suddenly broken out and was running rampant.

  Kessler’s “knights” were tearing each others’ robes off and copulating wildly, men and women, in every possible configuration. Kessler had two women on him, and the others were making do, given they were mostly male. His soldiers had dropped their weapons and were joining in, their dark world gone mad with unearthly lust and obscenity created by the entity who had been bound here for so long, now on the verge of freedom…

  And Curtis knew—he knew—that now the demon Astaroth truly was among them, flitting back and forth from each of the five statues, waiting for the portal to open. He could almost see it, a jagged ugly shape filled with tangible, terrible hunger.

  Stoyanova’s ritual chant continued, her voice changing as if a knob were being twisted. From female to male, then a chorus of males, then a mass of souls tortured in hell itself, a sound reminiscent of fingernails on a chalkboard but magnified exponentially. Stoyanova ignored even the naked Jill Harris hovering over her, to keep the chant going.

  Curtis tracked the hungry demon as it sought its portal. Then it came to a stop over Bella’s prone form. It started to envelop her, invisible hands caressing her flesh and turning her over as if she were a laboratory animal about to be dissected.

  Bella screamed.

  Stoyanova chanted louder, faster…

  The ground tilted and chunks of crania and skeletal remains rained down.

  Then the typewriter stutter of a submachine gun ripped through the enclosed space.

  Chapter 102

  The catacombs beneath the Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi

  Vatican City, Rome

  Simon accosted one of the mercenaries on the fringe of the bizarre group. A Hibben thrower is just as good for slitting throats. He held the guy’s mouth shut as he bled out, then lowered the body to the bone-dusty floor.

  No one noticed. There was too much going on—a woman chanting, screams of ecstasy from the excitedly rutting participants, rumbling belowground, and the voices that were infiltrating his head. The demon ritual was happening now, and it was working.

  Astaroth was about to be freed from the prison in which he’d been sealed for centuries.

  Straker’s big frame was laid
out, maybe alive or maybe dead, just in front of Simon. Seeing the tough soldier reduced to helplessness was a shock. But where was Bella?

  Simon waved off the rest of his group. He was the near-immortal, and Cat and Martin were irreplaceable. He sidled up to another distracted merc, grabbed him by the head with one hand around the skull and the other under the flabby neck, and twisted hard until he felt the spine snap. He slid the body down, grabbing the extra MP5. Exploiting the tunnel’s dimness, he maneuvered closer to the outer ring of the roiling group of maniacs.

  From there he saw Bella lying half-naked in the center of the pentagram drawn on the tunnel floor. And the five gold statues marking the star’s points.

  Defeaning demonic voices rose in his ears despite the plugs.

  Simon signaled his squad: Move up.

  He crawled to where Straker was stretched out, ascertained the big soldier was still alive, and cut the zip-ties with the blood-stained Hibben. Their eyes met, and the soldier nodded. Simon gave him one of his SIGs.

  The sound around them rose in a crescendo that rippled through the tunnels. The cultists’ screams of ecstasy, the demon’s voices, the chanting voice of Cat’s sister. Their ears popped.

  The ritual was nearly complete.

  And then Bella screamed.

  Simon planted his feet and let loose a long burst from the MP5 that took out half the mercenaries whose backs were turned or were otherwise occupied.

  Hell, this was war. No qualms.

  Straker also aimed and fired repeatedly, striking cultists with head-shots as they scattered to find cover. Five rounds, five dead. He looked for a sixth.

  “Get Bella!” Simon laid down covering fire as the remaining mercenaries turned to put up a stand.

  Straker dashed into the pentagram, reached through the demon’s form swirling over Bella and scooped her into his arms. He headed toward the tunnel mouth behind them, helped her to her feet, and draped her torn shirt on her shoulders. He turned and faced Simon. Their eyes met for a long moment and something passed between them. Simon nodded, then covered them with his submachine gun until they were out of sight. Meanwhile, guardsmen had fanned out and were returning fire on the mercenaries.

  Simon positioned himself in front of Cat as they had planned. Then he headed for the center of the pentagram.

  The gunfire was hideously loud and added to the cacophony of screams and thousands of voices as Astaroth teetered on the edge of two worlds. Bone shrapnel flew like miniature javelins as slugs raked the walls.

  In the pentagram’s center stood Cat’s sister Elena, who continued her stubborn chanting. Nearby, Kessler produced a small semi-auto pistol and fired at the VSS assault team.

  “Go to it, Cat! Martin!” Simon muttered as he shot a knife-wielding cultist.

  Cat was trying to formulate a spell against her sister. Fascinated, Simon noted how they were like reverse mirror images of each other. Cat advanced on Stoyanova and the dark-haired adept’s voice faltered. Running a ritual and a spell simultaneously was extremely fatiguing

  The demon’s form started to lose its definition, and when Cat kicked the closest statue out of position at one tip of the pentagram, it screamed as if in terrible pain.

  “Do that again!” Simon fired at a couple mercenaries, keeping their heads low. Without pausing her own chanting, Cat crossed to another star point, knocking another statue askew.

  “No!” Stoyanova screamed, trying to force the gold idol back onto its mark.

  And then the two sisters clashed physically, tearing at each other’s face.

  Suddenly Cat clutched her chest and tipped over. Stoyanova’s face broke into an ugly grimace of a smile and she began a new chant. Directed right at Cat.

  Simon tried to take a shot at the witch-like adept, but she crouched behind her dying sister. His MP5’s breech locked open—empty.

  By now Father Martin had entered the pentagram, reading his own exorcism rite aloud in both Latin and English, trying to compel the half-freed Astaroth entity back to its magick cell.

  Simon pulled his second SIG, intending to draw a bead on Stoyanova. But Kessler was now shooting at him with his pop-gun, and Simon had to return fire. Lights were being shot out and the tunnel area was sinking into darkness.

  A body lunged at Simon from out of the shadows and grabbed his arm. The VSS agent fought to wrestle his pistol hand loose, but the gun was not what his attacker had in mind.

  Too late, Simon realized that Pieter Curtis was hacking at his leather bracelet—and not his Rolex.

  They struggled face to face, the old soldier using his physical strength to knock Simon off his feet long enough to twist the arm, a commando knife in his hand slicing brutally into the agent’s flesh and bone.

  Simon screamed in pain and frustration.

  He watched in horror as the leather band—and his precious, life-prolonging silver flake—dropped into the dark shadows of the catacomb floor.

  And immediately he felt his body begin to age.

  Rapidly.

  He knew then that his Final Death was imminent.

  Chapter 103

  The catacombs beneath the Edificio Nuovo, Comitato per Interventi

  Vatican City, Rome

  Cat knew she was dying. Blood ran down her cheeks from the scratches Elena’s long nails had carved into her skin. But it was the invisible hand clutching her heart and cutting off blood flow that was killing her.

  Her estranged sister was very powerful, Cat realized. In a few seconds at most Elena would get a second virtual hand in there, and then it would be over.

  As she gasped out her counterspell, Cat turned to see Simon being attacked by Curtis, his bracelet sliced off and sent flying into the shadows.

  Noooooooo!

  More than almost anyone else, Caterina knew how long Simon had once the silver flake from his one great mistake was removed from its prescribed proximity to his body.

  Even now his cells would start dying and soon he would black out, no longer able to breathe.

  If Curtis pierced an artery, then it would be a race as to whether he bled out before aging to death.

  Caterina felt a surge of reinvigorating power surge through her veins—and her brain.

  She couldn’t allow Simon to die, not now, after two thousand years.

  She redoubled her efforts, putting together her counterspell by near-eidetic memory using every resource her mother had taught her as she grew up after Elena had run away.

  And Elena stumbled back, forced to reduce her efforts to counteract Cat’s counterattack. Energy flowed like invisible fireballs back and forth, as each relied on her power and the spells they both had learned.

  But Cat had learned more. By refusing to follow Elena, she had benefited from her mother’s tutelage. And now that advantage came in handy.

  She hurled another invisible attack at her sister, watching her stumble farther back and clutch at her own chest now. Elena staggered as the energy grasped and throttled her like a child’s cloth toy. Her veins seemed to bulge. Her skin started to char, as if the fireballs were real.

  And as Cat continued throttling with one virtual hand, she was able to cast her other hand about to find the lost leather band.

  Simon rolled on the dusty ground, unable to throw off his killer. His hair was beginning to gray.

  Cat released Elena’s heart and used that virtual hand to cast Curtis off Simon as if she’d clubbed him.

  Simon tried to gather his breath, but it was clear he was panicking now.

  Elena was on her knees, gasping, freed—but with her power greatly diminished.

  Cat stumbled to her feet, still smacking Curtis about the head, but focusing her energy on the all-important band.

  “Found it!” she screamed, and her invisible fingers snatched it up and lobbed it to Simon. He caught it and hurriedly shoved it under his jumpsuit. As soon as it touched his skin, a familiar sensation rippled through his veins. He was able to retrieve his SIG.

  He winked a
t her, then shot another Kessler mercenary before he could take out Martin, who was still reciting his custom exorcism rites.

  The whole thing had taken barely seconds, Cat realized.

  Astaroth was diminishing in size and strength, his multiple voices fading though their tone took on a pathetic rage.

  Simon went after Curtis, but he’d disappeared in a narrow tunnel and remaining mercenaries were now laying down a withering covering fire. Cat wanted to finish off Elena, but the adept had slipped away and was helping her master, Kessler, down the same tunnel. Cat turned her attention to Martin, who was battling the demon, but it was clear the VSS director did not need much help. The rite he had created was working.

  But Astaroth was crafty. The demon started raising corpses from all around them.

  Bodies twitched and jiggled to their knees and to their feet, a zombie army coming to the aid of their general.

  Cat screamed as one dead body reached out for her. Simon shot it in the head.

  She threw what was left of her own energy into suppressing the demonic monster’s dwindling power. Both virtual hands free now, she hurled fireball spells at his ugly visage until the double-prong assault finally seemed to bind him.

  Cat watched as Martin’s last few words and phrases vanquished the demon, hopefully for all time. The voices screamed in jagged unison, and then they were stilled.

  Dust settled. Guardsmen shot down some of the surviving mercenaries and captured a few who’d lost their enthusiasm.

  Cat turned and saw Elena’s face across the pentagram. There was hate and rage and—was it some kind of defiance?—in the once-lovely features.

  And then she was gone, stumbling down the tunnel after Kessler.

  Cat was too depleted to give chase.

  Simon helped her to her feet, and she sagged against him. Martin joined them, his eyes wild with the recent fury.

  “I think we got the demon,” said the priest. He seemed to have aged two decades since entering the catacombs. He pointed at the tunnel down which Kessler and gang had escaped. “Let them go. We can find them again. We’ve bound Astaroth. We have the statues now, we don’t need to worry.”