The Belial Stone (The Belial Series)

by Brady, R. D.

  Laney thought of the file Drew had sent her. “Wiped?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, there were no data files, no programs except the basics that came with the model. In fact, they said that if they didn’t know any better, they would have thought it was brand new. But the friend ID’d it. They figured Drew wiped it before… well, just before.”

  Laney’s brain struggled to make sense of what Rocky was telling her. “How did they find that out? Why did they check the computer?”

  “They were looking for a suicide note. Apparently he’d printed one, but they didn’t see it right away. It fell behind a dresser. So they checked the laptop for one, and realized it had been wiped. If they’d found that note, they probably wouldn’t have checked the laptop at all.”

  “It wasn’t a suicide, Rocky. And Drew would never wipe out all his work. Somebody did this to him.”

  “I know you’re upset, honey. But all the evidence points to a suicide. You need to accept that and let yourself grieve. Why don’t I come over? We can talk.”

  “No,” Laney barked and then closed her eyes, softening her tone. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just a lot to take in. I think I just need to be alone right now.”

  Rocky was silent for a moment. “Okay. But if you need anything, you call me, all right?”

  “All right. And thanks, Rocky.”

  She closed the phone and stared out the kitchen window. The backyard was bathed in shadows. She pulled the blinds shut, the sight making her feel more alone.

  She ran her hands through her hair. This wasn’t right. Why would Drew wipe his hard drive? She shook her head. He wouldn’t. Drew was proud of his work. He would never just let it disappear.

  Unless he was desperate, a small part of her brain whispered. But she shut the voice down. No. Until she knew otherwise, she was going to trust her feelings. She and Drew had been friends for almost ten years. She knew him. If he were ever despairing, he would reach out for help. He would ask her.

  A chill went through her and her head jerked up. The file. He said he was sending her a file. What if he’d asked for help and she hadn't known?

  She flew up the stairs and into her office, guilt and fear dogging her steps. She flipped open her laptop and hit the power button.

  After an agonizing wait, she entered her password and made her way to her email program. Scrolling through the unsolicited ads and emails from students and colleagues, she found the email from Drew, entitled: For Your Eyes Only :). She smiled at the emoticon.

  She moved the mouse over to it and, taking a deep breath, double-clicked. A dialogue box opened:

  Hey, Laney. Thanks for letting me vent earlier. I think I just needed someone to listen. I’ve attached the file. Can you read it and get back to me with any comments? You are a lifesaver!

  And I was thinking, I’ve got some free time coming up in a few weeks. Mind if I come up for a visit? It'd be great to see you and your uncle. It’s been way too long.

  Love ya lots,

  Drew

  She stared at the screen, trying to find some hidden meaning in Drew’s words. But there were none. It was just what it appeared to be: a message asking for help with a paper and about getting together in the future. Nothing sinister, nothing despairing. Just normal.

  Tears once again threatened, but this time they were tinged with relief. He hadn’t killed himself. She knew he hadn’t. So what had happened?

  She glanced at the attached file link. She moved the mouse to click on it and paused. Not quite yet.

  She ran down the stairs and found her keys. Sprinting back to the office, she inserted the flash drive attached to her key ring and copied the file.

  “Probably just being paranoid,” she muttered.

  She stared at the screen before forcing herself to click on the file. A Word document opened up, entitled: The Belial Stone. She smiled. Drew always did like making waves with his titles.

  And the term Belial would certainly do that. Depending upon the source you were reading, Belial denoted either wickedness or even the Devil himself. The term appeared in the Bible multiple times as well as in a number of the Gnostic Gospels.

  She remembered the project she and Drew had developed. It incorporated the final apocalyptic battle between the Sons of Belial and the Children of the Light depicted in the Hebrew War Scroll. But she’d never heard of the term Belial associated with a stone before.

  She started reading through the first few sentences and couldn’t make it further. His writing style was almost as familiar to her as her own. She stifled a sob. She wasn’t ready to read this. She closed down the file and ejected the flash drive.

  Laney pictured Drew when they’d met freshman year of college. He’d been hopelessly lost in the library, and she’d been equally confused. Together, they’d found the books they needed. Realizing they were both majoring in anthropology, they spent most of their time together from that point on. They’d been each other’s shoulder when their love lives had careened off the rails and the person they could always count on for a laugh. He was the brother she’d never had. And now he was gone.

  She couldn’t stifle the sob that escaped her lips this time. And she didn’t try to stop those that followed. She slid off the chair and onto the floor, giving in to the tears. The grief enveloped her.

  At the edges of her mind, however, a single question whispered: If Drew hadn’t killed himself, then who had?

  CHAPTER 5

  New York City, NY

  The sounds of Pavarotti breathed through the penthouse, his soulful tenor seeming to reach for the dome of the cathedral ceilings. Gideon stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park, his eyes closed, embracing the emotion of the music. As the last strains of the aria died away, he opened his eyes and watched the traffic crawl through the Manhattan streets below.

  He drained his wineglass and walked to the dark granite island, taking a seat at one of the high-backed leather chairs. He refilled the glass from the bottle of cabernet he’d left to breathe.

  Swirling the dark liquid in his glass, he powered up the laptop in front of him. “So, Mr. Masters, let’s see what you’ve figured out.”

  He pulled up the most recent documents. The title of the first one leapt off the screen at him. He quickly scanned the document.

  “My, my, aren’t you a clever boy,” he murmured. His anger began to simmer as he realized how Priddle’s trust of Drew Masters could have ruined everything. If this had gotten out…

  He glanced through the remainder of the files, shaking his head at how truly dangerous Priddle’s actions had been. That fool. He punched a number into his phone.

  “Dr. Arthur Priddle.”

  “Dr. Priddle,” Gideon drawled, his voice laced with quiet rage. “You have not been following our agreement.”

  Priddle’s words stumbled over each other in a rush. “Mr. Gideon, I have. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

  “Really? Why, then, am I sitting here reading a paper entitled ‘The Belial Stone’ written by a Dr. Drew Masters?”

  “Sir,” Priddle said, his voice taking on an unpleasant whining quality, “I had to bring on some more help. There’s just so much to do with the site and with my classes. But he was sworn to secrecy. He was never supposed to talk about any of our work.”

  “Well, apparently he didn’t keep up his end of the bargain, either. That, however, will no longer be a problem. It seems Dr. Masters gave into a moment of despair. He’s dead.”

  “What?” Priddle screeched.

  Gideon held the phone away from his ear with a look of disgust. When the squealing died down, he said, “Perhaps you should keep the stakes in mind before you make any more unwise decisions, as well as the prize.”

  “Uh, yes, yes, sir. Of course. It won't happen again.”

  “I’ll make sure of it. You’re leaving for the site tonight. I’ll have a car at your residence in two hours.”

  “Uh, sir, I’ll need a few days to wrap things up with
the University.”

  Gideon’s words lashed out. “Tonight. I don’t care what you tell the University. You will be on a plane in three hours’ time. Do not forget who you are dealing with.” Gideon disconnected the call.

  He didn’t worry about whether the professor would follow his orders. He knew he would. He’d tapped into two of the professor’s most motivating emotions: fear and greed.

  He idly brought up the laptop’s browser and glanced at the last few sites Drew had visited. None were problematic, except, maybe…

  He opened the email page and spent a few minutes hacking into the program. He glanced at the emails Drew had sent over the last day. Most were innocuous: notes to students about class, one to his mother, a few bills he’d paid online.

  The last email, though, was to a Delaney McPhearson. It had an attachment. He opened it and then cursed softly. Damn it, more fires to put out.

  He looked up as the door opened from the bedroom across the living room. An Asian man, dressed in a tight black t-shirt and a long leather coat, crossed the room.

  “I’m heading out. Are you sure you don't want to join me?” Paul Cook raised an eyebrow as he caught Gideon’s eye. “Problem?”

  “Yes. It seems, brother, we have another fire to put out. I need you to track down a woman named Delaney McPhearson.” Gideon switched to a search engine and typed in her name. “She’s a professor of criminology at the University of Syracuse. She lives just outside of the city, in a town called Dewitt.”

  Paul crossed to the island and poured himself a glass of wine. Leaning against the island, he took a sip. “Okay. Any reason you can’t handle it?”

  Gideon grimaced. “I have to head to D.C. to deal with the Senator. He's getting antsy.”

  “Ah, and you need to play lap dog.”

  Gideon glared at him.

  Paul chuckled and raised his hands. “Just kidding. I know we need to keep the Senator happy. His happiness ensures our success. So, this professor, what do I do when I find her?”

  Gideon’s voice was steel. “Eliminate her.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Albany, NY

  “Where is he?” Jake Rogan slammed K-Dogg into the alley’s brick wall. Pieces of mortar chipped off the already crumbling bricks.

  Dressed in torn, baggy jeans, a wife-beater and some chains, K-Dogg was reputed to be one of the toughest members of the G7s. He wore torn, baggy jeans, a wife-beater and some chains, and although they were about the same height, he easily outweighed Jake by about forty pounds of muscle.

  Jake wasn’t worried. A former Navy SEAL, he’d faced a lot tougher individuals than a gangbanger with control issues. In the mood he was in, he’d take on the whole gang to get the answers he needed.

  “Man, I told you. I don’t know,” K-Dogg replied. Jake knew he was trying to sound angry, but the tremor in his voice made that impossible.

  Jake wanted to smash his face into pulp. He was the one who’d pulled his foster brother into the G7s. He glared at K-Dogg, pressing his forearm harder against his neck. “I am not asking again.” He enunciated each word. “Where. Is. He?”

  K-Dogg grabbed at Jake’s arm, but couldn't budge it. “Damn it, man. I don’t know! We ain’t seen Tom since he got out.”

  Jake studied K-Dogg’s face, trying to gage his sincerity. With a growl, he shoved him towards the back of the alley. “So tell me, how come you haven’t talked to him? He’s one of you.”

  K-Dogg looked over Jake’s shoulder.

  “Don’t even think it,” Jake warned.

  K-Dogg put up his hands. “Wasn’t thinking nothing.”

  “Tom?” Jake prompted.

  “Yeah, Tom. He’s still one of us. G7 for life, man.” K-Dogg raised both hands, seven fingers pointed down, the gang’s sign.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re real bad asses. Now, how come you haven’t seen Tom if he’s G7?”

  K-Dogg looked away and shrugged. “No reason. We just went our separate ways.”

  Jake was done dancing around. He grabbed K-Dogg by the arm, twisted it and then shoved him against the wall, one hand shoving his head into the brick.

  “Shit, man. Let me go,” K-Dogg screamed.

  “No more bullshit.” He twisted K-Dogg’s arm. He knew with a little more pressure, he could break it. “I'm gonna stop being so nice if I don't get some answers.”

  “Fine, man, fine. Just let me go.”

  Jake pushed him away again. “Now, why haven’t you guys been in touch with Tom?”

  K-Dogg grumbled underneath his breath. Jake took a threatening step towards him. K-Dogg backed away. “No need to get physical, man. I'm talking.” He rubbed his arm. “Tom got out a couple weeks ago. We made some overtures. He told us he didn't want to be in the gang no more. So we let him go.”

  Jake laughed without mirth. “Right. You just let him go. What happened to blood in, blood out?”

  “Ain’t gotta be that way with Tom. He done us solid. We're good.”

  Disgust dripped from Jake’s words. “The grocery job.”

  Tom had gone away for five years as an accessory to attempted murder. According to court documents, Tom had admitted to knowing about the plan to rob the mom-and-pop shop. He hadn’t known about the weapons. Tom was the lookout. When he’d been arrested, he’d refused to turn on any of the others. He’d only been seventeen years old.

  “Tom could have hung you guys for that. He did five years and didn’t say a word. As thanks, not one of you went to visit him.”

  K-Dogg sneered. “Yeah? What about you, ‘big brother’? Ain’t seen or heard you since you bolted, what, eleven years ago? You go see him much?”

  This time Jake looked away. K-Dogg was right. It wasn’t like he’d been any better. He’d lived next door to Tom and his grandmother, Ceilia Jeffries, since Tom was a baby. Tom’s grandmother took him in when his mother had been murdered. Jake had only been fourteen. Tom had been six.

  When he’d left four years later, he’d promised Tom he’d keep in touch. And they had for a few years. Then Jake had started getting more overseas missions with the SEALS. The letters got fewer and fewer, before they stopped altogether. And Tom had found a place with the G7s.

  “So if something happened to Tom - and I ain’t saying something has - it ain’t got nothing to do with us. You need to go look at that new family of his, over at the church. But you know what, man? He probably just skipped. Won’t be the first time.”

  Jake turned his back on K-Dogg and headed for the street.

  “What? That’s it? Ain’t gonna say thank you?” K-Dogg called after him, but made no move to follow.

  Jake ignored the taunt and turned left on Main Street. He tugged up the collar of his fleece. It was getting cooler. He noted how much more rundown the neighborhood looked. Or maybe, through his more weary eyes, everything just looked less rosy.

  Jake had already spoken with Tom’s parole officer and the police, but they’d both been less than useless. K-Dogg had been his next stop. He’d hoped Tom had gotten back with his old crew. That would have been easy.

  But nothing about this was easy. Definitely not the ‘what ifs’ that weighed him down: What if he had stayed in touch with Tom? What if he’d gone to see him as soon as he was released? What if he’d come home as soon as he’d heard about Mrs. Jeffries’ death? What if he’d been the big brother he should have been? What if? What if? What if?

  He shook his head. It was too late for ‘what ifs’ now. He’d raced to Albany right after Tom’s pastor tracked him down. His boss at the Chandler Group put the company plane and resources at his disposal. But even with the resources of a global think tank at his fingertips, he still couldn’t find a single trace of Tom. It was like he had completely disappeared.

  A shudder ran through him. “Damn it, Tom. Where are you?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Airborne over the United States

  Tom Jeffries woke up slowly. Pain twisted through his stomach and his tongue felt like sandpaper. He lay on his
side on a vibrating metal floor. It was loud. Really loud. Something soft collided with him, and his eyes flew open.

  A man stared back, his face contorted with confusion and fear. Tom recoiled. With his hands bound, though, he only managed to put a few inches between them. His eyes darted around what appeared to be the hold of an old military plane. At least, that’s what he thought it looked like based on what he’d seen in the movies. He’d never actually been on a plane before.

  Forty other men lay similarly bound around him. Some were still lying down, unconscious, while others had managed to sit up. Everybody was in rough shape. Stubble, rumpled clothes. Tom took in a breath and almost gagged. Damn.

  He rolled onto his back to release the pressure on his left arm, which had fallen asleep. A sharp pain shot through his shoulders as he rolled onto his bound hands. He quickly flopped back onto his side and sucked in a deep breath as a wave of dizziness washed through him.

  He managed to wiggle his way into a sitting position. His stomach gave another painful lurch. God, he was hungry. He glanced to his left and met the eyes of the man who’d rolled into him. He’d also managed to work his way to a sitting position.

  Tom swallowed a few times, trying to get some moisture into his mouth before he spoke. “Where are we?” He was shocked by how weak his voice sounded.

  The man shrugged nervously, his eyes wide. “No idea. Last thing I remember, I was on my way to visit my parole officer. Two guys jumped me and threw me into a van. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here.”

  Tom struggled to think through the molasses of his thoughts. “I was leaving my P.O. and hurrying to catch my bus. And then this.”

  He looked at the rest of the men that littered the cargo hold. They were different races and ages, but most were dressed like him: old jeans, t-shirt, a light jacket or sweater.

  And they had one other thing in common: they’d all been in prison. He was sure of that. Some had tats that gave them away. Others just had that attitude. Once a guy had done time, there was something stamped on him that he could never shake.