by Vince Milam
Cole picked up on movement at the edge of the olive trees. A man moved among the tree trunks, giving quick glimpses of his gray tunic and pants and long gray hair tied in a ponytail.
“There!” he called as he pointed out the window. “There, Francois! Do you see him?”
Francois squinted into the faint light. Several seconds later he said, “Oui. I do see.”
“That’s him!” said Cole in a hushed and frantic tone. “That’s him! The man from Rockport!”
Francois remained silent, intent on catching glimpses of the figure.
A softly righteous voice came from behind both men. “Oui. I know who he is.”
They turned to Sister Rahel, their faces inches from hers.
“You’ve seen him before?” asked Cole.
“No. But I know who he is. It is Michael.”
They lost sight of him among the trees as he moved west.
Chapter 38
Cole removed the cypress crossbar from the main door, observed the splintered wood where the attackers had fired multiple rounds to no avail, and walked outside. Francois followed. They picked their way through the bodies, Cole still carrying the M-15. He stopped to inspect the bodies he hadn’t shot—those with their necks broken or heads crushed. Francois did not join this activity. Sister Rahel retrieved the other nuns from the chapel and stopped short at the door. She turned and marched into the kitchen, found the convent’s phone, and began calling, her voice in French carrying to the two men.
“Who’s she talking to?” asked Cole.
“She shall ask several local villages to come remove the bodies. She stipulates that she will pay well to the ones arriving first.”
Clearly the bodies would not remain on her hallowed grounds.
Cole and Francois walked away from the convent and sat on ancient stone steps at the edge of the olive trees. The sun had begun to heat the day. The birds called and made a racket from the grove of trees, bringing a small sense of normality. The smell of pooled blood wafted by, even at this distance.
Francois lit a cigarette and said, “We must find the Mademoiselle.”
Cole exhaled loudly, the adrenaline rush from the battle only now abating. “Yeah. I know. I have an idea where to begin.” He swept his arm in the general direction of the strewn bodies and fought back a sudden urge to retch. “More of those crazy bastards are likely wherever we look.”
“Oui. This is so.”
“Let’s get the vehicle and drive. Begin at the village where she disappeared. Run concentric circles, stopping at every village and hut we find. Many of them speak French, so you can question them. Along the way, I’ll buy more ammunition.”
Neither man moved, taking this time to regroup before they leapt into the next endeavor. The first of the dilapidated pickups struggled up the hill to the convent. They watched the driver go and talk with Sister Rahel while the driver’s workers loaded bodies into the back of the truck. They would have a busy day.
“Howdy, boys.”
Both men jerked around to see Nadine a few steps away, walking toward them, covered with dirt and a portion of her hair matted with dried blood. Her face had scratches and contusions and she walked with a slight limp. Cole’s mouth dropped open.
She put a hand on each of their heads for just a moment and swung a leg over Cole and planted herself on his lap. She held his head with both hands and kissed him hard.
Too shocked to respond, Cole sat with eyes wide open and hands on her wrists. He began to chuckle during the kiss, and rolled into full laughter. She pulled back and joined in. The sound of her laughter caused the body workers to stop and stare. Francois squirmed as he sat, beside himself.
“So, bucko, how was your evening?” she asked Cole.
“Semi-tough. How ’bout yours?”
“About the same.”
They both roared, hugged, and kissed. Then both were knocked onto their sides and off the stone steps and on to the soft earth as Francois crushed them with his weight. He lay on top and held each of their heads in a hand while he delivered kiss after kiss to both. Loud, smacking kisses. He gave kisses to their cheeks, kisses to their heads, and kisses to their mouths. Cole and Nadine continued to howl with laughter.
***
After they recovered and wiped away the tears of joy, they retired to the convent where the sisters served a simple breakfast in the kitchen. All the nuns latched on to Nadine, hugged her, and wiped her face and arms with wet cloths. They cleaned and treated her scalp wound. Cole received the same treatment. Everyone averted their eyes from the scene through the kitchen door of local village men performing cleanup activities. Sister Rahel asked Francois if the porridge provided sufficient sustenance or if he would prefer to venture into town to eat. Francois responded by leaning back and lighting a smoke.
Nadine told of her kidnapping in broad terms. She skipped the attempted rape and explained the explosion as something Check had mysteriously managed to pull off. Cole gave her a lifted brow at her obfuscation of what had clearly been a drone missile, but here and now wasn’t the time to get into that and besides, it felt so damn good to be alive and with her friends. Holy mackerel, she thought. By the looks of things, Cole must have opened up an entire drum of whup ass last night.
As she talked, she remembered she needed to call Wilczek, so she borrowed Cole’s cell phone. He answered after two rings.
“Check. It’s me. I’m alright.”
“Thank God. Where are you?”
They talked with short, tight sentences. She explained she thought it best to lay low until dawn and walk the few miles back to the convent.
“One hell of a firefight at the convent last night,” said Wilczek. “I couldn’t help. Close quarters. The cowboy and priest all right?”
She assured him they remained in good shape. Wilczek demanded she head for the Turkish border. She told him the team had not made a decision on next steps but would keep him informed.
“You’re being a dumbass,” said Wilczek.
“Yeah. I know.”
Wilczek insisted she communicate once their plans became finalized. He promised to help in any way he could and signed off with a gruff, “Call me.”
Nadine asked about the firefight at the convent. Francois and Sister Rahel explained as best they could. Cole declined to elaborate. She made a mental note of his reticence with a commitment to talk through it with him later, for both their sakes. Killing was a bad, bad deal in anyone’s book. While she internalized her actions of calling in the Hellfire missile as some remote life-saving action—like the cavalry showing up—the bodies strewn around the monastery somehow felt more personal. Maybe it’s always been that way, she thought. This face-to-face killing, in her eyes, should not remain a private matter for Cole to reconcile on his own. And, just maybe, her remote killing shouldn’t either.
The night’s violent tale ended with the sighting of the gray-haired man Cole had seen in Rockport. Sister Rahel again declared her knowledge of this person. The other sisters crossed themselves. Francois smoked and watched her and Cole, grinning like the Cheshire cat. That irked her a little, but nothing could overcome the joy of being alive and surrounded by love.
“So what do you think?” she asked Cole. “What does it mean?”
Cole apparently knew the answer, but slowly turned his coffee cup on the wooden table with a checked-out stare.
“Cole?” she asked again.
“He’s heading toward Moloch,” said Cole. “Due west, wasn’t it? Just a few miles?”
“Oui!” said Francois as he slammed a hand on the table. “Why could I not see this! We must depart!” He stood, hands on hips, waiting for them to leap up as well.
Cole never took his eyes off the coffee cup. He likely felt torn, what with mounds of dead bodies not fifty feet away from where they sat and now urged by Francois to immediately agree to put them—and especially her—back into harm’s way.
“Cole,” she said, gripping his arm. “I’m fine. This
is a weird and different space right now, I know. I just missed getting my butt blown up and you’ve been fighting and killing all night. And right now, outside that door, people are tossing dead bodies into pickup trucks. So, yeah, it’s all pretty much otherworldly. It blows me away, too. But that’s not the point.” She turned to address Francois as well. “The point is we’re still alive and we’re here and, well, let’s finish this thing.”
The coffee cup stopped its slow turn. He placed a hand on hers and squeezed, nodded to Francois, stood and said, “Okay. Let’s go get the sumbitch.”
Chapter 39
They loaded the Land Cruiser, prepared to depart. Other than several new bullet holes, the vehicle proved operational. Hugs and private prayers passed between everyone. Nadine felt intense sadness at their departure. Sister Rahel told Cole he did not need his weapon, for a much more powerful force accompanied them.
“I know, Sister,” Cole said. “And Francois is capable of channeling that power. I just want this firearm along to make sure.”
Sister Rahel snapped her head toward Francois and back to Cole. “I am not speaking of Father Domaine. You have an archangel with you! Fear nothing.”
Nadine navigated using the small GPS Wilczek had given her. Without doubt, it held sidebar transceiver capabilities she wasn’t supposed to be aware of, which was ridiculous because right now, since they were in motion, Check would be popping a warm Diet DP and following their progress. Surely he didn’t think her that dense.
The track they followed had no other traffic. They passed several herdsmen tending their goats. No one waved. War had taken a respite, the only sound coming from the tires on gravel and rock. They traveled slowly. She gave course corrections as they moved from one crude track to another. After several miles, Cole’s cell phone rang. He didn’t bother to answer and handed the phone to her, saying, “It’s probably Check.”
“You’re going to a Dead City. The one with the ruins of the St. Ageranus church,” said Wilczek when she answered.
“Hi, Check. It’s okay,” she said. “And can’t a girl get a little privacy? I’m stunned you would know such a thing.”
“Yeah, I bet. That particular Dead City lies two miles ahead of you,” said Wilczek. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We think Moloch’s there,” said Nadine.
“Fine. Stop and let me level the place. You skirt by it and head to the highlands. Turkey is twenty miles west by northwest. I’m downloading alternative routes into your GPS now.”
She held up a hand, signaling Cole to stop. He rolled another thirty feet, halted, and kept the engine running.
“I love you, Check,” said Nadine. “I mean it. You saved my life. You cared. But this can’t play out like that.”
“The hell it can’t! You can achieve your objective by letting me handle this! Mission accomplished and get your butt to Turkey.”
Nadine looked first at Cole and then in the side mirror at Francois in the backseat. “I’m sorry, Check. I really, truly am.”
“It’s the damn cowboy, isn’t it?” asked Wilczek. “Some lone ranger crap where he has to personally take this guy out. Put him on the line!”
“I’m not going to do that. Please listen,” said Nadine. “This has to be done at close quarters. For a variety of reasons, none of which I can explain right now. It’s all of us, Check. We all need this.”
A long pause ensued. “I thought the three of you would have run out of them by now,” he said.
“Run out of what?” asked Nadine.
“Dumbass pills. You must have had one hell of a stash when you flew into Turkey. I’m talking about a seemingly inexhaustible supply.”
She smiled. “I do love you. Now, leave us alone for just a bit longer. Please.”
Wilczek hung up without a reply. Nadine made a chopping motion with her hand toward the road ahead and said, “Allez!”
Francois squeezed her shoulder from the backseat.
They drove for another mile and a half. Cole stopped the vehicle and turned off the engine. “Let’s approach on foot. I don’t want him to hear us coming.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he already knows we’re coming,” said Nadine, remembering the three extra cups of coffee in Cardiff.
Francois left the Land Cruiser, smelled the air, and stood resolute. He adjusted the snakeskin belt over a juniper-green tunic. She and Cole waited. Francois reached back into the vehicle and produced a robin-blue kaffiyeh, the traditional Arab scarf worn as a headdress. He draped it around his neck, flung one of the tag ends over a shoulder, and began that bowling-ball-lean-forward walk. She realized that this situation probably was his bailiwick, and you absolutely had to admire the guy, fearless with his own funky style. They kept silent and followed the priest.
Cole chambered a bullet into the M-15. I get it, Cole, she thought. But the smart money has to lie with Francois. They were back in a spiritual realm and Cole needed to understand that, although a little firepower gave her some comfort.
A light breeze stirred the dust-like sand. Their feet crunched on shards of ancient rock. Ahead they saw remnants of walls, low and crumbling. Crows hopped along the tops of the walls and pecked at objects they could not discern. They walked another hundred paces before Cole moved into the front and ducked behind one of the walls. He signaled them to follow.
“I’ll scoot closer and have a look,” Cole said. “Y’all stay here.”
“No!” said Francois in an urgent whisper. “I am fully aware of your intentions. You waste your time and endanger us! We shall move closer and I shall address him!”
Nadine knelt with them.
One of the objects on the tumbled walls they hadn’t been able to see a minute ago now became obvious. It wasn’t hard for her to visualize their own heads occupying the same spot.
“He did it in my town!” said Cole, also with a heightened whisper. “Murdered my people!”
“This is not apropos!” said Francois. “He has killed for centuries, you may be assured! This does not pertain to your town, your people. You truly hold such a mentality?”
“What about Martha? What mentality should I have about her? Ignore it?”
Their voices became louder. “Shut up!” said Nadine. “Both of you! Or else just shoot off flares and ring bells so he’ll know where we are!”
They sat in silence. Cole and Francois glared at each other. She knelt on one knee facing them. “Hold hands,” she said.
The two men breathed heavily, filled with frustration. Nadine extended a hand toward each of them. No one moved.
After a long pause, they extended hands toward her. She grabbed both. “Now each other. Complete the circle. I mean it.”
Francois extended his other hand to Cole. Cole leaned the M-15 against the wall and clasped hands with his friend.
“Alright,” said Nadine, softly. “This is the end game. We can’t go into this pissed off at each other. Think about where we’ve come from and how something, somewhere, for sure looked out for us, and how the power we generate through mutual love and respect can only help. Please, for God’s sake, stop acting like teenagers and focus.”
Francois followed with a Latin prayer, and repeated it in English. “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in the battle, be our safeguard and protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”
Cole stared into the priest’s eyes and added, “Nadine’s right. Let’s go kick some ass, Francois.”
They squeezed each other’s hands, let go, and shared a look of grim commitment. Cole gripped his weapon and checked the safety. Francois watched and rolled his eyes.
A scream of unworldly proportions washed over them—a scream which filled the sky with anguish and rage and dread and hatred. It permeated the air and scattered the crows and caused the earth benea
th them to quake. Adrenaline coursed and the hair on Nadine’s neck and arms stood at attention and goose bumps covered her skin. They all gripped the ground in reflex, dug fingers into the dusty soil and looked wildly at each other.
Next a starburst blast of crystalline white intensity bleached the whole area of any color. It echoed across the foothills and rumbled down the ravines. It tumbled several of the stones on the wall down onto the three. They became temporarily blinded by the flaring light and reached for each other, panic-stricken. They clasped bodies as their breath came with desperate gasps. Then all around them fell quiet.
Cole unraveled from the pile-on first. “Check and his damn drones,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “He could have killed us!”
Nadine rolled away from Francois and blinked wide-eyed. “No. I have close personal experience with those,” she said. “No. This was a clean blast. Pure.”
Francois slumped against the wall, wiped his eyes with the kaffiyeh, kicked a stone off his foot, and stood. A returning breeze moved a lock of long hair across his forehead. He stared toward the source of the blast.
“It is over,” he said. “The demon has been sent to the pits of Hell.”
He held on to the stone wall for support and moved around it, stopped, and fell to his knees.
“How do you know?” asked Nadine. Francois did not answer and continued to stare into the distance.
Cole stood, halted to steady himself on the wall and extended a hand to help her stand. They walked the few steps to Francois and looked to where he focused. The ancient remains of the Church of Saint Ageranus no longer displayed the dirt and grime and blood and campfire soot of centuries. The remains now shone, pure and white. In the center of the ruins stood the gray-haired stranger. His long hair no longer tied back, it lay across his back as the breeze sent several strands floating over him. His shoulders slumped and his head hung with exhaustion. He stood still as a statue, frozen.
Cole lowered a hand to Francois’s shoulder and dropped to one knee. Nadine placed her hand on Francois’s other shoulder and dropped to a squat, hugging her knees with her other arm. All was real and time did not move.