Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  “Stasia.”

  It was Gabriel’s voice, moving across the mental chasm formed in Stasia’s mind, bringing her consciousness back but for the briefest of moments.

  “Remember what I told you, it is often darkest before the light. I won’t let them hurt you, Stasia – I promise.”

  Malthus tugged on Stasia’s hand. She paused, thought to pull away, and then remembered Malthus’s own promise to her.

  My pain will be no more.

  Stasia tightened her grip on Malthus’s hand and continued following him down the hallway, leaving Gabriel alone in the cell where he then silently cried out to God for guidance.

  I haven’t heard from you since the priest’s demise when you allowed me the privilege of avenging his death. Why do you remain so silent now? Am I to give up this life, an eternity of experience for but one woman? Why do you not guide me? Why do you allow me to flail about here, lost in my own unknowing?

  Whatever god Gabriel hoped to hear from remained silent. It was only his own voice which answered back to him.

  I won’t let them hurt you, Stasia – I promise.

  Gabriel looked down at his hands and marveled over them, recalling how many times they had lifted a glass of dark red wine, or held a burning cigarette between their fingers. Countless faces and moments rushed through his mind, mental collections gathered over several human lifetimes.

  This body has seen and done so much, and yet I know there is still much more that remains, if only I had more time.

  There was no time remaining for Gabriel though. He had made a promise to a woman he knew deserved that promise to be kept. Honor demanded no less. His choice was made. Gabriel’s hands closed into tightly bound fists as he imagined what Malthus and his Illuminati planned for Stasia, and he knew then what must be done.

  God is my strength, and in Him I am reborn.

  He would kill them.

  He would kill them all.

  33.

  For the first time in many months, Pindar Zavala was truly happy. Stasia Wellington’s clothing had been removed and each of her hands and feet bound to the cold marble altar upon which she lay. Human sacrifice was a privilege afforded an Illuminati Pindar, but one Zavala had not enjoyed for far too long.

  The New York Pindar looked up at the four armed operatives who silently stood in front of the altar. They would be allowed to view the sacrifice before being ordered to attack the T3 clubhouse and eliminate any of its remaining members. To his right was Malthus whose attention seemed focused entirely on Stasia’s wonderfully taught and well curved form.

  Directly behind Zavala was the massive upside down body of Christ on the cross. The Pindar knew some who entered the Illuminati church found the anti-Christian symbolism heavy handed, perhaps even juvenile, but he cared little about the opinions of others. Zavala continued to see himself as the great anti-authoritarian punk rocker, a man dedicated to tearing down the false walls of the establishment and allowing humankind’s true anarchist nature its much deserved freedom. The Pindar believed that to be the essence of his Satanist beliefs and the true source of his power.

  And what greater chaos is there than the power of life and death over a woman such as this!

  “You’ve done well, Malthus. She’s beautiful, and appears quite ready to give herself to our cause.”

  Malthus glanced at the Pindar with a grinning half nod.

  “Has Mr. Hess left already?”

  Zavala’s self-satisfied mood temporarily darkened at Malthus’s mention of Hess.

  “Yes, he had other business. Besides, he’s not one of us. He wouldn’t appreciate this sacrifice as we will.”

  The bony fingers of the Pindar’s right hand caressed Stasia’s inner thigh, resting there for a moment before resuming upward across her stomach, breasts, until finally stopping on her lips.

  “Such a beautiful creature. Such a worthy sacrifice.”

  Zavala’s hushed tone was heavy with lust as a small pinkish tongue flicked out from his mouth to quickly lick his thin, dry lips.

  The Pindar’s blade had been placed next to Stasia’s left shoulder. It gleamed under the dull light of the church interior, the weapon a gift from the Illuminati Elders themselves following the successful completion of the September 11th attacks. On its custom-made ivory handle was the Latin inscription Annuit Coeptis.

  It approves of the undertaking.

  Underneath the inscription were thirteen stars representing the thirteen elder families of the Illuminati.

  Zavala grasped the blade with his right hand and brought it slowly to his lips. His eyes closed while he took a deep breath and then exhaled a long, satisfied sigh.

  To hell with Hess and his condemnations of us! We are stronger than we have ever been! The world now shakes in fear under the onslaught of the war and disease we have wrought! People cry out to be protected, and it will be us who provides it to them – for a price. The Saudis will not rule over us! We will rule over them as we have always done!

  Lying below the Pindar, Stasia’s fully exposed body remained unmoving. The Pindar turned and looked up at the eyes of the Christ statue behind him, noting how similar they were to Stasia’s.

  Zavala experienced a flash of uncomfortable hesitation, thinking he saw some hint of movement in the eyes of Christ. The Pindar quickly dismissed it as an imagining of the light. He turned back around to face the altar and the waiting sacrifice that was Stasia Wellington.

  “This blood is sustenance for the new age of enlightenment! Let it quench the thirst of the great king Lucifer and his brothers Mammon, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor, the ageless architects of the true heaven! With the power granted to me as Pindar of the Illuminati, I bring death so that others might have life.”

  Zavala’s blade descended slowly toward Stasia’s neck. Malthus watched the descent with barely contained anticipation for the moment when the weapon’s sharpened edge began to tear apart the flawless surface of the T3 operative’s skin.

  A frighteningly deep baritone blast boomed upward from beneath the church floor, followed by another and then another, growing louder and more ominous each time. The great noise shook the structure’s foundations, causing remnants of the ancient ceiling to break apart like bits of soft snow fluttering down upon those who stood around the altar.

  The Pindar looked up, more confused than panicked.

  “What is this?”

  There was no confusion to be found in Malthus. He knew the source of the terrible cacophony.

  Gabriel’s horn.

  The sound brought Stasia back to full consciousness. Only then did she realize how close to death she was, and in that realization she began to struggle against the bonds that held her.

  Those who had been working in the Illuminati operations center bolted into the church’s main room and then scrambled in a mad, frightened horde toward the exit as another blast of sound roared around them.

  As the last of those workers fled, the church went silent once again.

  “Let me go you sick sons-of-bitches!”

  Stasia screamed her demand, realizing she was unable to free herself from the altar that was meant to be her place of execution.

  Pindar Zavala smiled while shaking his head, the sacrifice-lust quickly returning to him.

  “Hold her still!”

  The four armed Illuminati guards moved quickly to force Stasia’s body down against the marble altar. They were too strong and Zavala’s blade too sharp.

  Gabriel had lied. He could not protect her.

  Stasia forced her body to relax, not wanting to give the Illuminati the added pleasure of seeing her beg and struggle for life.

  If this is my death, so be it.

  Stasia pretended the falling particles of the church ceiling were in fact snow, allowing her mind to recall happier times as a child in winter. All those years ago she spent hours watching those snow flakes making their slow descent like a playful twirling ballet performance that would then gather its
elf into a sparkling white playground around her.

  The already low soft glow of the church lights suddenly dimmed even further.

  Remember what I told you, it is often darkest before the light. I won’t let them hurt you, Stasia – I promise.

  Stasia’s eyes widened. She was uncertain if she had heard the words in her mind, or somehow directly above her.

  Then she saw, and grateful tears broke across her cheeks.

  The promise had been made.

  The light had arrived.

  34.

  Frank, Teague, and Alberto watched in confusion from across the street as several people began pouring out of the Illuminati church, their eyes wide with terror over whatever was happening inside.

  “Did you hear that noise? Like a giant trumpet blast.”

  Teague looked down at Alberto who sat in his wheelchair with the sniper rifle resting across his lap.

  “I don’t know what it was, mate, but that was no trumpet.”

  Bennington winced at the growing pain throughout the left side of his body, having formed a silent realization he was likely suffering a heart attack. He was determined not to let the others know though, his first priority being their attempt to save Stasia.

  “Stasia’s still in there. Let’s go.”

  Alberto stared up at Frank for a moment, noting how pale the older man had become over the last few minutes.

  “You ok, Bennington? You don’t look so good.”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he held the handgun Stasia had given him earlier in front of him while tilting his head toward the church.

  “I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

  At the same moment Frank Bennington spoke those words, Stasia Wellington was looking into the eyes of Gabriel. The angel hung crucified upside down above her, having replaced the form of Christ on the cross.

  “LOOK TO ME, PINDAR.”

  Gabriel’s whispered command filled the expanse of the church interior, echoing against its walls. Zavala turned and saw Gabriel’s form looming above him, the angel’s dark withering stare bringing the Pindar to his knees. Zavala pleaded for Gabriel’s forgiveness, his eyes wet with tears and his hands trembling as he slowly backed away from the altar.

  “Please, I didn’t know you were actually him. I didn’t think it was possible. If I had known…”

  The angel ripped his hands free from the nails that bound them to the massive wooden cross. Blood flowed from the wounds, splattering crimson upon the altar’s marble foundation. Then his feet pulled free as well, allowing his legs to drop behind him as he fell gracefully to the ground.

  Gabriel’s head rose slowly, his eyes flashing dark fire as he looked upon the cowering form of Pindar Zavala and the four armed Illuminati operatives who stood frozen in the great shadow of the angel’s presence.

  Zavala found what little remained of his own courage, ordering his men to fire upon Gabriel.

  “Shoot him!”

  It was the desperate, high pitched squeal of a spoiled child.

  Gabriel’s right arm pointed back at the four Illuminati operatives as he addressed them, each of his words a deep rumble like approaching thunder across the vast expanse of an open plain.

  “YOU WILL BE SPARED IF YOU GO - NOW.”

  The men ran.

  Zavala’s thin face collapsed into itself, his mouth blubbering for a mercy he knew would not come.

  “Please, I didn’t know. I didn’t know!”

  Gabriel crossed the short distance between himself and the Pindar and placed each of his hands on either side of Zavala’s head.

  “THIS PLACE IS AN ABOMINATION OF YOUR OWN DOING, ALVARO ZAVALA. IT IS A CORRUPTION WHICH WILL NO LONGER BE ALLOWED.”

  The Pindar grasped Gabriel’s wrists in an attempt to free himself but found them impossibly strong, like bars of heavy iron. The angel drew his face close to Zavala’s and stared into the Pindar’s eyes, giving the human a glimpse of the eternal horror that was to be his inheritance.

  Alvaro Zavala unleashed a wailing scream, his mind breaking apart at the merest hint of the damnation awaiting him. The Pindar’s head was then ripped from his body and thrown at the feet of a snarling Malthus.

  “I don’t fear you, errand boy. You have no authority over me!”

  Gabriel smiled.

  A pair of great shining wings suddenly emerged within a powerful rush of wind that pummeled Malthus, causing him to strain to remain standing. Each wing emanated the powerful clear light of a thousand burning candles cleansing the church of any remaining darkness.

  When that light struck Malthus his rage issued forth in a loud, reptilian hiss as his true form revealed itself. The Illuminati operative’s eyes bulged as his mouth stretched far beyond human dimensions revealing rows of snake-like jagged teeth housed within a foundation of swollen, puss filled bleeding gums.

  Malthus’s hands curled into long dark-taloned claws, his former flesh replaced by the mottled grey skin of something beyond the earthly realm.

  Gabriel’s slowly fluttering wings continued to push the air around him in a loud whoosh, the noise similar to that of a steam powered locomotive just beginning its journey forward. Stasia found herself comforted by the air’s heavy and deliberate movement as it journeyed over her body. It gave her a sense of security, a reminder that she was now truly under Gabriel’s protection.

  With a piercing shriek from Malthus, both angel and demon launched themselves toward one another. Gabriel’s right hand clamped itself around the demon’s neck, keeping Malthus’s repeatedly snapping jaws away from him.

  I’ve grown strong, Gabriel.

  The demon’s growl-whine voice slithered across Gabriel’s divine consciousness, leaving a malignant trail of pestilence in its wake. The angel’s confidence wavered for just a half moment as his grip upon Malthus weakened.

  The demon’s mouth shot forward and then bit down deeply into Gabriel’s left shoulder. Malthus whined hungrily as it tasted the blood of an angel that poured into his gaping mouth.

  Gabriel cried out, the sound shattering several of the church’s ornate, stained glass windows. The demon’s jaws clamped down with even greater force, believing it to be winning the great conflict with God’s messenger.

  That belief dissipated as quickly as the glass of the church windows. Malthus didn’t taste fear or weakness in Gabriel’s blood, but rather unyielding righteous power, power far beyond anything the demon had experienced before. It was at that moment Malthus realized his existence would be no more, a thought so foreign and frightening to one who had never known such a thing to be possible. The demon had always been, and thus assumed it would always be. Death was an affliction of the human monkeys, not for a being that had existed since time itself was child of the universe.

  “YOU ARE BUT THE SERPENT, AND I AM GOD’S ROCK UPON YOUR HEAD! YOU WILL BE NO MORE, AS IF YOU NEVER WERE.”

  Gabriel ripped Malthus from him, no longer feeling the pain of the torn flesh of his shoulder. The demon lashed out violently in the angel’s grasp, trying desperately to break itself free, its eyes looking to escape through the church’s partially open front door.

  Malthus wailed for help from its hellish kin, but none dared to answer that plea in the angel’s presence. Gabriel lifted the demon’s form over his head and held it there as he gathered his eternal strength, focusing the powers of heaven required to deliver justice to a member of the fallen horde.

  With a thunder-clap rush of wind from his closing wings, the angel dashed Malthus’s body onto the church floor. So great was the impact a massive crack formed underneath the altar as the entire Illuminati structure groaned its discontent.

  The demon was lifted up and thrown down again and again until finally Gabriel loomed over a barely moving Malthus and pointed down at the demon, casting his final judgment.

  “I AM GOD’S ROCK UPON YOUR HEAD!”

  Gabriel’s right foot hovered above the demon’s face before making a sudden and powerful descent down
ward, crushing reptilian-like bone and cartilage. The right side of Malthus’s jaw collapsed from the impact, tearing apart so that the upper portion of his face pointed in the opposite direction of the lower half.

  The angel’s foot rose and fell again until little was left of the thing known as Malthus. The demon’s head was nothing more than a fragmented pulp attached to a quivering body of broken flesh and crushed bone.

  Gabriel stepped away from the shuddering, gelatinous mass as his celestial wings spread out their full length to either side of him.

  “ALL WHO WERE CAST OUT SHALL BE BURNED BY RIGHTEOUS FIRE!”