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

by Jacob Hammes

  With Henry and Stephen in tow, Marcus was bullying his way past slower vehicles using the loud screeching sirens and flashing lights. Though they were not doing it quickly, they were gaining on their quarry. In the ten minutes since the chase had begun, only one mile had been shaved off the space between the pursuers and their prey.

  “John just made a turn off on I-285,” Brenda said over the cell-phone’s speakerphone. The radios were still not working properly and the cell reception was starting to go out. Marcus had to strain to hear what she was saying over the pounding rain and the newly forming static. “He’s headed north now.”

  “Where could he be going?” Marcus thought out loud.

  “Lord knows, but you’d better step on it, Marcus,” Brenda said. No matter how fast he drove, it did not seem like they were moving any faster. He felt like he was pushing his luck as he pressed the emergency vehicle to eighty-five miles an hour.

  Interstate 285 is a freeway that encircles Atlanta and connects every major freeway by doing so. By using the freeway, not only could John double back into the city but also use any of the other freeways to leave in a hurry. Were he to split up with his sister, or if his power was to stop projecting like it was, John could disappear very easily.

  Then, luck turned toward the side of good. John exited the freeway. Though it wasn’t what Marcus had expected, he enjoyed the fact that good news was coming his way. There was no possible way John could keep his lead on rural streets.

  “Guys, John just took Memorial Drive; he’s headed toward Stone Mountain Park,” Brenda announced. “Unless he’s planning on taking a few back roads for the fun of it, I think it’s safe to bet that he actually wants to go to the park.”

  “How far off are we?” Marcus asked.

  “You’re still a good five minutes behind him, but you’re still making up time.” Brenda answered. “Just drive safely and you should be there soon.”

  Her timing was right. Within minutes, the wailing cop car sent its blue and red beams of light through the raining darkness on Memorial Drive. They were making up time because of the sirens and because of Marcus’ ability to dodge puddles. It had not been an easy drive, but it seemed like the white knuckled ride might finally be coming to an end.

  Directions kept coming through to Marcus. He swept his dark hair out of his face as he looked for road signs. First a right, then a left, then two more rights. At least they were getting closer.

  Marcus shut the wailing sirens off as they turned onto Rockbridge Road. They were only two miles away and fortunately, if Brenda and her information were correct, John had stopped. Whatever plan the man had for his sister would be happening very close to where they were now.

  The feeling of being so close to John was stronger than that of caution and Marcus floored the cruiser again. Ripping through the residential streets, he wondered if the rain was actually keeping him from running children over.

  Moments later, he made the last turn for the night, a left on frontage road SR-21. The dirt road was obviously hardly ever used except by utility vehicles. Marcus paid no heed to the crummy road condition. Tree branches scraped along the sides and top of the cruiser. The mud made going slow but where it was deep Marcus just floored it. He didn’t care whether or not they were going to get the vehicle back out of the woods, just whether or not they could save Tiffany and possibly the world in the process.

  The rain soaked trees became thicker the deeper into the woods they went, bouncing over potholes and bumping against roots. The canopy of oaks and pines overhead cut every last trace of light from the sky and the headlights from the cop car sent eerie chutes of pale light over the trail. Marcus could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up and the cold pulse of adrenaline shoot through his veins.

  Ahead, the red tail lights of a vehicle were visible. Marcus knew he should have stopped where he was and gone the rest of the way on foot but this was far too important. Instead, he pulled directly up behind the red sports car and used the emergency flood lights to search the surrounding woods. He was already taking a big enough chance by pulling right up on the stolen vehicle. He didn’t want to walk into a trap.

  The trunk was open and so were both the passenger and driver’s doors. The car was still running and the tail pipe sent little plumes of steam into the cool air. Marcus could see footprints headed toward the park using a small trail. It seemed as if the two had made a quick getaway toward the heart of the tourist attraction

  Wherever they had gone, they had left in a hurry.

  Marcus and Cynthia exited the police cruiser simultaneously, their guns drawn and pointed out into the darkness. Henry and Stephen were only a car’s length behind and exited their vehicle in the same manner. They had worked together long enough to anticipate the each other’s movements.

  Everyone knew Marcus would be approaching the vehicle as cautiously as possible.

  “Do you see anything?” Marcus asked no one in particular as he waved a flashlight this way and that in the darkness.

  “Not a damn thing,” Stephen was first to answer. He nearly had to shout over the sound of pounding rain and far off thunder. “This place is creepy and I’m soaked to the bone, already!”

  The team formed up, Marcus in the lead, and tried to stay as close to the middle of the trail as possible. It was a miserable wet night and nearly impossible to see anything past the beams from their flashlights. Marcus thought for a moment about the cave that he had been trapped in just days ago. He and Bishop had been in the cave. They had gone through so many adventures, it was difficult to face the fact that he was gone.

  Now Marcus was trying his hardest to close this case one teammate light. He knew that given time he would grieve in his own way but for now he had to keep his emotions suppressed. Even Cynthia, who had been a wreck earlier, was back in the game. It was impossible for anyone to want this more than her. The sincere concern she felt for the team had yet to be rivaled.

  To have taken one of them away was to have taken a brother from her. Now, even Phillip was missing. They all had a feeling that because of the trunk and his prolonged absence they would very shortly find out what had befallen their second lost teammate. None of them except for a questioning and very concerned Brenda had to say anything out loud. She was quiet, too, and only spoke through their earphones to give them updates on where they could find John.

  Through the darkness, piercing even the sound of the heavily falling rain, a woman screamed. Her pained cry made everyone raise their weapons against whatever might be out there. Beyond the flashlight beams, there was nothing but darkness. The empty void left them all wondering if John had become the boogey man.

  Marcus was the first to act. His pistol came to level on something he presumed was an attacker. What he saw instead was a woman, drenched to the bone, walking out of the trees. Her pretty face and blonde hair was covered in dirt and mascara ran in smears down her cheeks. Her high heels had long since been swallowed by some puddle and upon seeing Marcus she stopped and fell to her knees.

  In one hand was a wadded up jacket. Why she had not been wearing it, no one bothered to question.

  “Tiffany?” Marcus yelled. He was happy that somehow, someway, they had found her.

  “Please, God,” she cried. “Help me.”

  Marcus ran forward and knelt beside the woman. She did not look hurt, just dirty and tired.

  “It’s okay,” Marcus tried to calm her. “We’re with the United States Government and we are here to help you.”

  “Help me,” she said again. Marcus speculated whether she was hypothermic from the cold rain or whether she had been hit upside the head. She was acting strange, even for a woman that had been through so much.

  “We are here to help,” Marcus said again. “We need to get you out of the rain. Why don’t you put your jacket on and we can get back to the cars, okay?”

  For a moment, Marcus could do nothing but comfort the woman. She was distraught and did not seem to want to move. T
hough Marcus had patience for the grieving, he could not afford the extra time just sitting in the middle of a trail like he was. They were wide open to any attack the Special Forces soldier could lay on them.

  “Where is your brother?” Marcus asked. “How did you get away from him?”

  Tiffany did not respond.

  “We need to get you out of here, Tiffany,” he used her name, hoping to jar some sense into her. “Your brother is going to kill you if we don’t get you into protective custody right now, tonight.”

  Lightning flashed overhead and thunder immediately boomed through the trees, shaking more water from the forest canopy as it did. It left Marcus blinded for only a second. The second was long enough for Tiffany to throw her jacket down and shove a big .45 caliber pistol in Marcus’ face. Before the thunder had even passed, Tiffany started scooting backwards on her butt while keeping the pistol leveled on Marcus.

  He stood motionless for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. She was obviously not under the control of any of the Relics, or he would be dead by now. What did she think that she could gain from this? She was helping a man that was trying to kill her.

  “Tiffany,” he said, looking behind him. Before he could mutter another word, he stared in shock at his teammates. Their weapons were laying in the mud and dirty water splashed up into the flashlight beams that were casting barely any light now. The small amount that did filter through showed all of them lying face down. He thought that he could make out Brenda’s troubled voice screaming over the speakerphone somewhere, too.

  A pain ripped through Marcus’ arm, just below the elbow, and a boom ripped through the night. It was the familiar sound of a pistol discharging. Judging by the location of where he had been shot and the muzzle flash, he knew immediately that Tiffany had just tried to kill him.

  He dropped his flashlight down into the mud along with the others and made to run off into the woods. They had walked right into the very trap that they had been trying to avoid.

  “Stop,” Tiffany yelled. “You think you can kill my family and fake my brother’s death and just get away with it? You think that you can just do whatever you want since you work for the government? You have taken everything from me, you son of a bitch!”

  She fired the weapon again and this time the round went wide. The lead projectile made contact with a tree, sending splinters off into the air. Marcus wondered if it was the cold air that made her shake that had just saved his life.

  “We didn’t do any of that,” Marcus said, hoping he wouldn’t be shot as he ducked behind a tree for cover. “You have to believe me, we are here to help you. What you’re doing right now is signing your own death sentence.”

  “Shut your mouth,” she said and squeezed off another round. This one went just by his head, bouncing off into the trees, breaking twigs as it went. “I don’t want to hear you talk.”

  He knew that she was trying to kill him but he was still determined to talk her down. It was his only hope to keep Tiffany from being slaughtered like her parents and if it meant giving up his life, he would do it.

  “If I wanted to kill you, Tiffany, I could have done it by now,” Marcus said. “You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with that pistol. What makes you think I couldn’t put two in your chest before you hit me once?”

  “You did a good job, sis,” a deep voice said behind him. Marcus quickly wheeled around, knowing who he would be confronting.

  What he was met with, however, was a branch the size of a two-by-four cracking him squarely across the forehead. For a moment, before the darkness of the night and unconsciousness both took him he wondered whether or not he had been shot. It definitely felt like he had.

  Chapter 35

  Crying. Darkness and crying were all that Marcus could sense at first. A woman’s whimpering, just in front of him, somewhere in the darkness. Then came something new—blinding pain. Warm liquid was leaking down his face, dripping off his chin. He tried to wipe it away and see what it was, but then there was more pain. His wrists were bound securely behind the pole that kept him in place. His entire body was aching but his wrists and forehead hurt the worst.

  It took a second to realize that Marcus had his eyes closed and that he was kneeling with his back propped against something. He stayed as still as possible, trying to get his bearings before he risked giving away the fact that he was awake. He could hardly remember anything from before he was slammed across the forehead and doubted very much that he hadn’t suffered a concussion. He needed the time to think of a way to get out of whatever predicament he had found himself in. The more time his captor thought he was asleep, the more time he would have to think.

  He could hear better now. Before him, Tiffany was whimpering helplessly. She muttered quiet words like ‘please’ and ‘don’t’, but Marcus knew that there would be no sympathy from John. Marcus also heard the crackling of a fire. He could feel its warmth to his left. Wherever he was, he was out of the elements and for that he was grateful. Unfortunately, if he did not act soon this would be the last fire he would ever see.

  Behind him, he could hear muttering. Someone sounded familiar back there, back behind the pole that was holding him up. He wanted to turn around and see the rest of his team standing there, waiting for him to wake up. It took every last bit of strength he had inside not to look back. He still had the element of surprise.

  “The body changes when it wakes up,” a deep, booming voice came from in front of Marcus. He could only guess from the resonance of his voice that they were in a vacant cinderblock building or some sort of cave. He dared not open his eyes to see which one.

  “When you fall asleep,” the man continued, shuffling his feet back and forth in front of Marcus. “Your heart rate slows, your breathing becomes deeper and more regular and the thought process changes. Your body twitches sporadically sometimes to make sure that it is not dying if you are a deep enough sleeper. Good thing for me, Marcus Claudius Constantine, you are a deep, deep sleeper.

  “Even if you weren’t, I could hear your heartbeat from a mile away. It practically fills the cave with its beating. It’s almost as loud as your raspy mouth breathing.”

  Marcus smiled. There was no point faking it now. Either he opened his eyes to face his fate or risk a boot to the face. One at a time, he pried his blood caked eyes apart. Immediately he wished he hadn’t.

  All around him were lines of salt, interweaving through each other to make an elaborate design which encircled himself, Tiffany, and John. Before him, in the middle of the circular design, was a naked Tiffany, bound spread and pulled as tight as her joints would allow. Goosebumps prickled her naked body and a thin sheen of sweat reflected a small fire as she writhed helplessly against the makeshift shackles that had been pounded into the stone ground. Marcus understood why she wasn’t screaming now. She was spread so tightly she could hardly breathe.

  John stalked back and forth between the two. His huge muscular body, full of scars and Special Forces tattoos, was also just partially clothed. An open wound glistened in his abdomen, but from it not a drop of blood had leaked. The only thing he wore was a ripped pair of cargo pants. He had discarded his boots and socks, shirt and whatever else he had been wearing to complete the ceremony at hand. From the looks of it, he had been working for some time now.

  A quick look around told Marcus that he had been right about the place. They were being held in some sort of old abandoned mine shaft with smooth floors and a smooth, round, interior. Behind John and Tiffany was the entrance to the cave, just twenty or thirty feet off. Cold water leaked in small rivulets but was quickly taken away by some crack or another. Lightning was flashing outside brighter than ever. With each flash came the deafening clap of thunder echoing through the cave like gunshots.

  Behind the pole that was holding Marcus in place was the rest of his team. Their heads lolled back and forth groggily or didn’t move at all. Each of them was still under the effect of a sedative or a club to the head. E
ven Phillip was there. He was the one Marcus had been hearing. He must have been given the sedative earlier than everyone else. He was trying in vain to free his wrists from something that was holding them to the wall behind his back. All of them sat the same way against the same wall. Their legs lay out before them either crossed or straight, their chins were on their chest and their hands were tied behind their backs.

  They were all trapped.

  John stepped out of a break in the circle of salt. The ritual, Marcus deduced, had not yet been completed. If it had been finished, John would have completed the circle. It was witchcraft 101. He stalked through the cave toward the sleeping members of the team and knelt by each one in turn. With a word in their ear and his hand pressed against their face, they awoke with a start.

  “Incredible,” Marcus thought. “He can’t be strong enough to affect another person’s brainwaves, can he?” If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he would have never believed the man could wake someone out of a drug induced coma.

  Instantly, the team started kicking and writhing against their bonds. John paid them no mind. Instead, he walked to his bag and pulled a pistol from inside.

  Everyone became very still as John walked back to the line of bound captives. They knew that struggling would do nothing against the zip-ties holding them in place. From the look on John’s face, no one felt like testing his patience. He had murder in his eyes.

  To everyone’s horror, John raised the pistol and fired one painfully loud shot. All anyone could do was watch with wide eyes as Stephen took the bullet to the stomach. In the stunned silence that followed the thunderous boom came the soft whimper of a man that knew he had possibly just been dealt a killing blow. His knees curled into his abdomen and his head tried hard to curl into his chest.

  Instantly, Marcus was up on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “You son of a bitch if you’re going to shoot someone, shoot me!” he screamed. Everyone shouted their protests but John seemed most interested in Marcus. It was as if the groaning, slouching Stephen and the rest of the team no longer existed.