The Jewel of Babylon (The Unusual Operations Division Book 1)

by Jacob Hammes

  “You’re not right, man,” Daniel said trying to be strong, take another tactic.

  “I’m not right?”

  “No, but I can get you help. You’re sick and I can help you. Just put the gun down and surrender and I swear nothing will happen to you.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” John said, his hand had started shaking, too. The gun jiggled and made a faint metallic clacking as it did. “Maybe I am sick. But I know how to cure myself.”

  John paced to his left, away from the sink toward a wall that was full of pictures. It was one of the frames with multiple pictures centralized around one main portrait. In the middle was a 5”x8” color picture of a man in an army uniform. He looked serious; tough and mean like he was angry at the man taking the picture. The strong set jaw and eyes looked so familiar.

  Then the realization hit Daniel. It was the man holding the weapon. It was the Flipske’s dead son.

  “John?” Daniel tried.

  “No. Not anymore. John died, my friend.”

  “What have you done?”

  John stopped pacing. He looked disheartened, like he might break down. Daniel was making progress with him. If he could just talk the man down a little more, perhaps he could spare his own life after all. John reached into his pocket and searched around for something inside.

  “Just take this from me, please,” he held out a single clear stone the size of an earring. It was flecked with gold and glistened in the bright, once cheery kitchen. The stone bounced around in his shaking palm.

  “I’ll turn myself in. I’ll kneel here and let you do as you wish. Just take the stone and keep it as evidence. This is why I killed my parents.”

  Then the shaking stopped and John was laughing hysterically. His head cocked back, he bellowed like someone at a comedy show.

  “I don’t know what type of game this is, you sonofabitch,” Daniel said, still backing away from the blood, around the side of the counter and slowly making his way toward the gun. One way or another, he was getting out of this alive.

  “Take the stone,” it was different this time, that voice. It sounded like someone else was in there talking for him. This voice, this different sound, was demanding, violent. It froze Daniel in place and made him look up into the eyes of his would be killer. They were dark brown like nothing he had ever seen. He wondered if it could have been the shadows. Regardless, seeing those eyes made him know that he would never reach his gun, he’d never escape.

  Daniel reached out a shaking hand, palm facing the roof.

  “I’m happy you chose this,” John said. “Had you denied me, you’d be dead.”

  Daniel was not certain that he would be alive much longer either way.

  Chapter 26

  “How did he kill his parents?” Marcus asked.

  “Slit their throats in the kitchen and let them bleed to death on the floor,” Henry said. “Apparently the cop got there about five minutes too late. John had already killed them and gotten away.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened that way. We should have figured this out earlier.” Henry sounded extremely resentful of the man who had eluded them at every turn.

  “There is nothing we could have done, Henry,” Marcus was trying his best to sound reassuring but he felt the same way. They should have been there sooner. If they had only received the information about the cursed dagger earlier they could have gone down to Atlanta as a team and captured John, putting an end to this whole fiasco.

  Too many people had died because of some old piece of trash from the Neo-Babylonian era that didn’t even belong in a museum. Its mere presence could drive someone mad.

  Marcus had plans to contact that old geezer Lambert Fredrickson once this case was finished in order to collect all of his old, dangerous art. If there was another piece like the Jewel of Babylon, he wanted to get his hands on it before someone else did.

  “Luckily we have a lead, though,” Henry continued. They were walking down the corridor to the main briefing room on the seventh floor below ground level of their headquarters. It was the briefing room where the Department of Defense held all of their most official business. The décor here was much different than that found in their usual suite. Dark mahogany and rich marble lined the walls and a dull, muted light kept the floor feeling like a library.

  “John has one sister, a Tiffany Marie Flipske. She lives just east of Atlanta and, thank God, she is currently on vacation. She decided to take a trip to Hawaii to cool herself off after her brother’s death.”

  “I wonder where she is going to want to vacation now,” Marcus was cynical at this point. Nowhere along the line of his career had he let so many people die. The pressure of trying to get this guy before someone else was put down was starting to make his head throb.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to go over it with the DOD here in a few minutes but here’s a brief rundown. Surround her house with cops until we get there so we can take the guy down and get the Relic into protective custody before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “Sounds nice,” Marcus said. “We are going to be put back on the case after all.”

  “It’s like Gregory said, we were never actually off the case—we just had some downtime.”

  “When do we fly out?” Marcus was not looking forward to yet another ride in an expensive military jet. He preferred keeping his feet on the ground for as long as he could.

  “Two hours,” Henry said. It was bad news. Julie would be pissed. They were supposed to have dinner at a nice restaurant downtown.

  “Judging by John’s history, we are going to have a little stakeout on our hands. He’s slick and I doubt he will be trying to waltz into a house surrounded with policemen.” Henry actually enjoyed this type of thing.

  “So the plan is to just sit around her house and wait for John to show up?” Marcus doubted the Department of Defense would be letting John’s sister wait in the house for her madman brother to show up. It wasn’t any healthier for the woman to wait around to trap her brother than it was to put her in his hands directly.

  “No, we’re going to spring a trap.” Henry gave Marcus a hefty pat on the back. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

  “Tiffany,” the voice came over the receiver of her telephone like a ghost from the past. It was her brother, John, for sure. She instantly started crying. She could hardly hear over the beat of her own heart. Piercing green eyes let tear after tear fall down her porcelain cheeks. Tiffany could hardly hold the phone, she shook so badly.

  Tiffany had hardly heard her phone ring as she exited the skyway from the plane into the terminal. The shock of cold air hit her like an unwelcome guest. Hawaii had much more favorable weather this time of year. If only she could have stayed longer. Instead, the incessant buzzing of a cell phone in her pocket and the ghost of a man she loved were there to greet her.

  The terminal seemed alien, too. Beyond the gate was a mass of rushing people. None of them knew what had just transpired on a phone in their very midst. A dead man was talking to her. A dead man that had once been her brother. She could hardly believe her own ears and she knew no one else would believe her.

  “It really is you,” she said. The woman had beautiful features. A strong jaw, an elegant neck and shoulders hidden by long brown hair and long legs were all in her genes. She was obviously John’s sister. They were both strong, both tall. They both had that same sense of edginess, too. Both of them were always on the verge of a fight-or-flight driven battle.

  Her thin lips quivered.

  “Yes,” John said. She had not even been off the plane for thirty seconds when her phone rang and John was on the other end. Now she was standing dumbstruck in the middle of the terminal.

  “I thought you were dead,” she cried aloud. “We buried you, John.”

  “Look, sis,” John seemed like he was trying to keep his voice from shaking, too. “One of my missions went south and now the government is after me. They already go
t to mom and dad.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tiffany was confused. She had just learned her brother was actually alive and now something had happened to her mother and father. She didn’t doubt the government would try to cover up one of its own screw ups by shoving her brother and her parents into some black bag. Since her brother died, she hated anyone and everyone working for them.

  “There’s a government cover-up going on and we are part of it, sis. They killed mom and dad and made it look like I did it. You and I are all that’s left and they are going to try and kill us both.”

  “John what are you saying? Mom and dad are dead?” Her knees grew weak and she sank down onto the carpeted floor of the airport terminal. Her head spun wildly. “Jesus Christ, John, what is going on?”

  “I can’t explain it, Tiff. Just listen to me, okay?”

  “I can’t hear this.” She was shaking violently, holding the phone with one hand and cupping her mouth with the other. People were starting to look at her as they passed by and a security guard was looking her way.

  “You need to get to Atlanta. I will meet you there tomorrow night. Do not answer your phone and do not answer your door. Just get to a hotel and stay quiet until tomorrow. I will find you.”

  “John, please tell me what is going on.”

  “I can’t, baby sister. Please just listen to me. I love you and I swear you won’t get hurt. Just do as I say.”

  “Okay,” she said, sobbing loudly. “Oh God, okay. I can go to a hotel. I love you, John.”

  “I love you too, sis.”

  The phone went dead and Tiffany was sitting on the floor of a major airport in her jean pants and a button up shirt, her purse lying on the ground beside her and her feet curled up beneath her crying like someone that had just lost everything important to them.

  The meeting with the Department of Defense was fairly cut and dry. The DOD goons wanted a team of highly trained personnel to get down to Atlanta to try and intercept Tiffany Flipske before she got into any trouble with her psychotic brother. At the very least the ten man squad of Atlanta’s finest, hell bent on finding the man that was responsible for the slaughter of two innocent people of the community, could keep her safe. Even John would have a hard time getting past that much security.

  Marcus was headed back down to the armory and then to his locker in preparation for the trip to Atlanta with the rest of his crew. Brenda would be coming along as well. She and Phillip could conduct any and all of the team’s communications needs from a suite in the Four Seasons, compliments of the United States Government. Once again, she would be benefitting from the fact that one of the bones in her ankle had been fractured. Marcus took solace in her injury. At least she really was hurt and wasn’t just milking it.

  Unlike before, his team showed up bright eyed and bushy tailed only minutes after the call went out. They were anxious, if not flat out excited, to get the guy that had been causing them so many problems. Each of them had their own fantasy about what they would do to the man if they could catch him. Each of them wanted nothing more than for those fantasies to come true.

  Henry was the only one that had any semblance of a rational fantasy. Within minutes, they were at the airport via government black-vehicle transportation.

  “We will be using both tranquilizer and stun guns,” he addressed the team as they found their place on the much smaller, much quicker company Learjet. No in-flight movie needed this go round. The jet would get them to Atlanta in three hours tops and was counting the tedious ground movement. “I still believe that John is being severely affected by the powerful Relics in his possession. Even if he is not, he will be brought to justice.”

  “No doubt,” Marcus answered for the disappointed team. “But if this comes down to a life or death situation, we will all be carrying our side arms. Don’t hesitate to use them. I am not losing one of you.”

  “That being said, we need to be careful and remain on our guard.” The pilot was shutting and locking the hatch on the side of the plane as Henry continued over Marcus. They would be lifting off any minute now. “We have never worked a case like this and none of us know how John will react once taken into custody. Buddy teams are in effect once on the ground.”

  The buddy system—no one went anywhere alone.

  “That brings me to my next point. We are going to be sending Marcus, Bishop, David, and Cynthia to the sister’s house while Brenda and Phillip remain in the hotel coordinating communications. Stephen and I will be in a car downtown as a quick response team. Tiffany Flipske has not been seen since she exited the aircraft in the Atlanta airport. She is not answering any phone calls and she hasn’t been home. We don’t know what she’s up to but Phillip and I are going to have to do a little digging into the situation. You four at the house had better make sure to stay on your guard.”

  “And if we get a chance to get him,” Stephen quipped from his own team, “I’ve got a big hug waiting for him in these arms that’s sure to take his breath away.”

  “If he does show up anywhere, and I’m hoping he will, we will all be carefully waiting for him,” Henry went on. “He is armed and dangerous, but a few shots with the tranquilizer gun will put him down for the count.”

  The pilot came over the intercom in one of those classic pilot voices and told everyone to take their seats and buckle up. They would be lifting off momentarily. Marcus did a quick mental check, even though it wouldn’t do much good now. The team was dressed quite formally, like a bunch of federal agents. Marcus had a black suit, white undershirt, and a red tie. His long hair hung around his face and made the suit look sort of silly. Usually federal agents had short hair.

  Each of them was dressed similarly. The only difference was that the women did not wear ties. The eight hundred dollar shoes they wore bore testament to the fact that the operation and the Division itself were funded well by a government that did not want the media to stick its nose where it did not belong. Had Marcus had to front the bill on this suit, he would be working overtime for a year.

  His phone rang. The joy of riding on a private aircraft was that it didn’t matter if someone kept a phone on. The caller I.D. read as an unknown caller.

  “This is Agent Marcus,” he answered, trying to remember to call Julie when he was done with whoever this was.

  “Agent Marcus,” a familiar voice came over the line. It was an older sounding gentleman; he could not quite place a face to the voice. “This is Mr. Fredrickson, Lambert Fredrickson.”

  “Ah, yes,” Marcus really wished he could have guessed that. “What can I do for you? As a matter of fact, how did you get this number?”

  “I have my ways, Agent Constantine, but that is not important. I heard that you are going to try and apprehend the man who stole my dagger, yes?”

  “Not to mention, the very same man that killed your employee.”

  “Yes, that is unfortunate,” he sounded less than concerned. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to lament the loss of one of my employees at this time, Mr. Constantine. I have called to talk to you about these items in John’s possession.”

  “What would you like to discuss?” Marcus said, rising from his seat in the jet and making his way back farther, away from the rest of the team.

  “Well,” Lambert started. “Do not think me crazy, dear boy, as I have been doing this since long before you were born. I need to talk to you about the energy of these two items and what should manifest if John is allowed to carry out the ritual that he is embarking upon.”

  “I’m listening,” Marcus had a soft spot for this sort of thing. He had been working toward a case where something mysterious and inexplicable might happen since he joined. He did not expect what Lambert would say next, though. It sent chills up his spine.

  “If John succeeds, Mr. Constantine, it could spell disaster for Atlanta, the state of Georgia, the United States, or even the world.”

  John had driven his parent’s car out past the city limits of Atlanta before the
police reinforcements had shown up at the house. The police officer he had spared did a splendid job stalling the rest of the responding officers. The unassuming red Ford Taurus did the rest. In a city with so many people, it was easy to avoid detection and blend in. What was not easy, however, was avoiding a slew of cops in an uptight city once the word went out that a murder suspect would be driving away in a stolen car.

  He needed a few supplies before finishing up with his plans and the part of John that knew where to get them was slowly fading away. The passenger that had decided to hitch a ride inside of his body was slowly snuffing him out. It gave John the opportunity for lucidity less and less. The last time the darkness had been lifted from his eyes and he was allowed from his internal prison was back on the curb outside his parents’ house. He still knew that he was alive, he just felt nothing and saw nothing. It was as if he were living, but dead at the same time. John felt like a zombie or something.

  Whatever it was that had burrowed inside still needed him alive—it couldn’t do the job without him. Though it did not share knowledge with him, he could not help but share everything he knew. It was as if the thing inside were looking into his soul like a library, using him for its nefarious purpose.

  Thankfully, he had no knowledge of what he had done to his parents nor of what he expected doing to his sister. The thing inside had not even taken the time to wipe the blood from the blade it had used to slit almost clear through his parents’ necks. The screams they had made would have killed John on the spot. If he had known how he took his father in front of his crying mother...

  His mother, screaming as loudly as he had ever heard anyone scream, was begging her son to stop as he cut in repetitious back and forth movements through his father’s throat. The blood had started at first as a trickle, spreading down the front of his shirt as he tried so hard to break the bonds around his wrists, holding them tightly to his ankles. It would have destroyed John where he stood to hear that, to know that he had hurt the thing that was most important to him—family.