Occult Assassin: Damnation Code (Book 1)

by William Massa

  Serrone followed him to a nearby computer workstation. The Omicron desktop was on and logged into Facebook. It showed an instant message: “3 PM. Apple Store on Freemont. Hope to see you there.”

  Serrone realized that the message had come from a Facebook user named Jenna, a smiling twenty-something. Like the dead coders with the bloody Halloween masks, she worked in Silicon Valley. Had one of the victims been cheating on his girlfriend with this woman? Or could there be more to the meeting? Did the cult gather at Apple Stores to spread its wacky gospel and recruit new members?

  “What do you make of it? Think it’s related to this cult, or was roboboy breaking hearts online?”

  “I don’t know,” Serrone replied. “It can’t hurt to crash the party and see who shows up.”

  Had they finally caught a break in the case?

  Serrone sure hoped so.

  ***

  Talon’s wish for a night unencumbered by nightmares was not to be. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was back in the barren mountains of Afghanistan. In the dream the Taliban fighters closing in on his position wore the skull-faces of robots and no matter how many rounds he pumped into the mechanical hordes, they just kept coming. Bullets tore into steel bodies, ripping out chunks of flesh wrapped in sizzling circuitry. The battlefield choked with the endoskeletons of the undying horde. For every inhuman fighter that succumbed to his firepower, another took its place.

  The cybernetic terrorist army inexorably overran Talon’s position and closed in for the kill. As a robotic hand snapped out at him, mechanical fingers closing around his throat, he was jolted from the apocalyptic nightmare.

  Heart pounding, skin sheathed in sweat, the salt of his perspiration stinging his lips, he rose and checked the time. It was past ten o’clock. Despite the night terrors, he’d managed to get a few hours of sleep.

  A new day awaited. A new battle.

  For a second Talon wanted to ring Casca. Could he go it alone? Why had he turned his back on the billionaire? The answer was simple. Casca’s beliefs in the supernatural made him question their partnership. An alliance had to be built on mutual trust; could he trust a man who thought demons and magic were real?

  Talon showered and got dressed. He happened to glance at the dead cultist’s cell phone and homed in on the latest message. The sender was a girl named Jenna. She had sent the text about an hour after Talon put a bullet in its recipient’s brain. “3 PM. Apple Store on Freemont. Hope to see you there.”

  Who was Jenna? Another member of the cult, or was this an unrelated gathering? It could be a trap, but it wasn’t like this meeting was taking place in some deserted back alley. You couldn’t find a more public place than an Apple Store if you tried. He was going to scout the Omicron campus regardless, and the Freemont Apple Store was only about ten minutes away.

  He left the studio and spotted Erik washing his battered Mustang in the driveway. Talon took the man’s willingness to take pride in his ride as a positive sign. Hopefully Erik was getting his act together.

  “How goes the hunting?” Erik asked.

  “It’s started.”

  “Feel free to share.”

  Talon brought his buddy up to speed. He made it a point to leave out the occult program or the details surrounding Casca’s past. When he got to the business of the Tarot card, Erik shook his head but couldn’t wipe the wild grin off his face. “I bet they’re starting to hate on you.”

  “About time.”

  Talon turned toward the Ducati and Erik touched his arm.

  “Whatever you’re up to, be careful.”

  “Ten years of playing in the terrorist sandbox, and I’m still here.”

  He winked at Erik with a cocky grin and cranked up the bike.

  About an hour later he reached the Omicron campus. He parked his wheels and proceeded on foot. Circling the campus, he counted about 12 buildings interspersed with green spaces. He passed a running track, a gym and a vast cafeteria. The only area open to the public was the company store.

  As he sauntered past the main building, he inspected the security guards posted in the lobby. He counted four men fronting the main desk. Getting to Zagan would be a challenge, but not impossible. He’d find a way. After another hour of navigating the campus, Talon wrapped up his reconnaissance and headed for the his next stop.

  It was about five minutes before three when he closed in on the Apple store and spotted a familiar face: Detective Jessica Serrone. Immediately he turned away, shielding his features before she could spot him.

  Taking a few steps back, Talon planted himself next to a tree and kept his head low. Behind the store’s glass wall, a male detective trailed Serrone. They knew about the text message, Talon realized, but didn’t quite know what they should be on the lookout for.

  That makes two of us, Talon thought.

  Inside the store the iPads, iPhones and various other Apple products were fully on display in the high-ceilinged, brightly lit venue. The multiplicity of screens flashed and flickered with the promise of progress. Blue-shirted salespeople offered helpful advice and scanned credit cards with the their smartphone apps. From his position Talon couldn’t quite make out the Genius Bar and the classroom area. His gut told him that any meeting would be taking place in the back of the store.

  Nothing was setting off any of his alarm bells. Yet. What had he expected? Watching Serrone as she navigated the crowds, he recognized a similar disappointment on her face. The text message lead had turned into a bust.

  Talon tilted his head to his motorcycle… and that’s when the world descended into madness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DETECTIVE SERRONE NAVIGATED through the bustling Apple Store, Grell at her side. Her eyes were roving but she didn’t know what to expect or look for. According to the text, the dead cultist was supposed to meet someone at the store at three o’clock, but the how and why remained a mystery. Jessica marveled at the latest iPhone model and realized she was way past due for an upgrade. Her four-year-old phone had officially attained fossil status.

  Grell nodded sagely, as if he could read her mind. “You need to get a new phone, kid.” Grell was a self-proclaimed gadget freak and wouldn’t be caught dead with outdated tech.

  “My phone works fine,” Jessica said.

  “Your phone is disturbing to me and all these good people working here.”

  “I can send texts and make phone calls. Do I need anything else?”

  “You’re an old soul,” Grell concluded.

  Maybe I’m a single mom raising her seven-year-old daughter on a cop salary, Serrone thought, but kept her mouth shut. Grell meant well.

  Serrone approached the Genius Bar as it turned three. Friendly, smart men and women in blue shirts manned the long table, offering help to the never-ending parade of customers. Serrone’s gaze lingered on the logo of the three electrons orbiting an atom – strange that she’d never paid attention to it before.

  To her left was a small space reserved for teaching a variety of workshops. It was deserted except for the elderly gentleman catching his breath in one of the empty chairs.

  Jessica battled her sense of disappointment and chewed her lower lip, a bad tick she’d developed since the death of her husband. Had she truly expected to stumble upon a secret cult meeting in a bustling retail store? She cursed herself for having wasted their precious time with this nonsense. Judging from the sour expression on her partner’s face, he must’ve come to the same dour conclusion.

  “Everything seems pretty normal.”

  “No shit.”

  Jessica circled the store one more time, her eyes taking in each patron, analyzing every detail about them. There was a young female college student with curious eyes and way too many piercings; a middle-aged African-American male with dreads; a stylishly decked-out gay couple in their late twenties. The faces after a while became a blur, a cross-section of America. Most of them were well-dressed, enthusiastic, filled with excitement and curiosity about the abundance of
technological marvels surrounding them.

  Serrone was about to call it a day when her face stared back at her from one of the iMacs. Someone had switched on the computer’s webcam. Her gaze roamed the store and spotted a customer switching on webcams, one after another.

  Strange.

  She turned, eyes scoping. Everywhere the scene repeated itself. She counted about thirteen people making the rounds, moving from desktop to desktop, laptop to laptop, iPad to iPad, iPhone to iPhone in an eerie quest to activate the cameras on all the devices. The maneuver seemed weirdly synchronized and choreographed, almost as if the customers involved were communing with one another on a telepathic level.

  What’s going on here?

  Serrone’s stomach tightened with a dawning realization. All these people must’ve received the same text message. The insight triggered two words.

  Flash mob.

  As soon as the idea occurred to her, the first of the suspicious customers whipped out a six-inch blade and drove it into a blue-shirted sales person.

  ***

  Talon’s pulse quickened as the knife plunged into the unsuspecting man’s back and his blue shirt turned red. Shock gave way to pain and the man’s lips distorted into a scream. The knife went in again and again. This was the beginning of the horror. More customers pulled out blades and stabbed the people closest to them. Knives flashed and found soft flesh.

  At the center of the savagery stood Serrone and her partner. They drew their firearms and a second later, a bullet bounced off the Apple Store’s storefront window, spiderwebbing its bulletproof surface.

  The rising tide of violence galvanized Talon into action. He donned his balaclava mask and pulled the Glock from his shoulder holster. An instant later, he powered through the store’s front entrance. To his right blood geysered from a knife wound and hit the 15-inch MacBook Pro. As he advanced, his image mirrored him on the various computer screens like a digital shadow.

  A chill jolted down Talon’s spine. The webcams were on and streaming the bloodbath online. Were coders less than two miles away working on their twisted occult program?

  Rage boiled up as he leveled his Glock and stopped one knife-wielding assailant with a clean shot to the shoulder. Blood sprayed. The impact made the attacker drop the red-stained blade, but he barely responded to the wound.

  There was no time to ponder this eerie phenomenon as another cultist rushed him, a big man who carried as much muscle as flab. The man moved fast for someone lugging his bulk. Sharp steel slashed the air, coming up fast. Talon snatched a nearby laptop and blocked the incoming blade. The impact rattled the keyboard, traveling up his arms. Once, twice, before he whipped the laptop right across the attacker’s face. The man’s head snapped back as Talon brought the computer full-force down on his head. The fat man crumpled like a downed mastodon.

  Talon spun around. There were so many attackers, so much blood, that it became hard to distinguish friend from foe. For a second he felt like he’d stepped into a zombie flick.

  The freakiest part for Talon was the utter lack of emotion driving the cruelty. The faces of the knife-wielding killers remained expressionless. However, their eyes shone with a merciless fanaticism. An army possessed.

  Talon targeted knees and arms, disabling the mad horde as best he could. Something about the inhuman fanaticism fueling the attacks made him hold back and not use lethal force. He couldn’t shake the feeling that these people weren’t in control of their actions. For a moment he almost wished there was some sort of supernatural explanation for this madness.

  A bestial shriek cut through the Apple Store as another man tried to tackle Talon. He felled the fanatic before the tip of his knife could run him through.

  The Apple Store had become a warzone, recalling the crazed aftermath of a suicide bombing. The smoke of gunfire clouded the air and the screams took over. The wounded and dying were everywhere – employees, cultists and customers.

  He spotted Serrone. For a beat their eyes met across the devastation inside the Apple Store. Her gaze reflected terror and shock. Her partner’s body lay slumped to her side, hemorrhaging red.

  Talon grew still as a fanatic rose behind Serrone. He clutched the hilt of his blood-caked blade with both hands, about to plunge it deep into her back.

  Talon squeezed the trigger and half the fanatic‘s face erupted in a bloody cloud. Brain splattered a 5k Retina display as the impact spun the man around in a grotesque pirouette. He collapsed in a lifeless heap.

  Serrone lowered her weapon, knowing the masked man’s quick action had saved her life and turned toward her downed partner. Grell gasped and exhaled blood. Sirens keened in the near distance and a crowd was gathering at the front entrance. Any moment now cops would pour through those doors and another kind of hell would erupt.

  Talon needed to get out of here. Now.

  As he scanned for a rear exit, he spotted one of the knife-wielding attackers melting into the background. This man was making his getaway. He traded a final glance with Serrone before rushing past her, sprinting after the last fanatic.

  The man vanished through the back door and Talon stayed right on his ass. Seconds later, they were out in the store’s back parking lot, the sun baking down on them.

  His quarry slowed his gait and dropped the bloody knife between two parked cars. The man was doing his best to blend in with the gathering crowd of curious onlookers.

  Talon followed his example, having removed his mask seconds before stepping into the lot. He moved briskly, eyes on point, never losing track of the target navigating his way through the throng.

  The cultist advanced toward a white Tesla. Talon waited for him to slip into the driver’s seat before he opened the passenger door and got inside. The bore of Talon’s Glock dug into the man’s chest.

  “Drive.”

  The man slowly complied. Not every Jihadist was a suicide bomber and the same held true for these cultists - this fanatic came with a will to live. A plan was forming in Talon’s mind. And this guy would help him carry it out.

  Talon had been looking for a way into Omicron.

  He’d found it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE CULTIST KEPT his eyes on traffic, all too aware of the gun pressed against his ribcage. One wrong move and he was history. Ten minutes had passed since the vicious attack on the Apple Store. Odds were good that the coders might still be inside the auditorium, drawing inspiration from their twisted muse. A perfect opportunity to drop by and share some quality time.

  Talon palmed the cultist’s Omicron identification badge. His name was Richard Webb. “So tell me, Richard, what goes through a crazy person’s head? Are you like, ‘man I’m a psychotic fruit loop, today is a beautiful day to go stab some innocent people?’”

  “We mock that which we don’t understand.”

  “A true believer, huh? I wonder what your leader will have to say when he finds out you didn’t have the guts to off yourself like the others.”

  “We all serve in our own way.”

  A nervous shiver rippled through Richard’s features and Talon smiled. The enemy hiding behind the robot masks was all too human.

  “Turn right.”

  Richard did as he was told and the Omicron campus jumped into view. They drove into the parking structure and Talon commanded Richard to swipe his badge. The security gate rose, offering them full access.

  Richard parked the car as instructed. Talon grabbed the cultist by the collar and kept the gun trained on him as they both got out of the Tesla on the passenger side. There was a bank of elevators about forty feet away. An empty chair flanked the steel lift, but there was no sign of a guard. “How many guards are in the lobby?”

  “About four.”

  Not an ideal scenario, but it could’ve been worse.

  Talon didn’t know who belonged to this cult and who didn’t. He wasn’t eager to kill any innocent bystanders.

  “Walk next to me. Pretend we’re having a wonderful conversation.
If you do anything fishy, I’ll shoot you. If you call for help, I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Got it?”

  Richard nodded and swiped the card. The elevator doors split open. Seconds later, the lift ascended.

  Talon studied his hostage and wondered what could have pushed him into this madness. The dark power of any cult comes from its message, Casca had said. But what was the message here? How could such fanaticism find fertile soil in the homeland?

  The elevator door zoomed open. They stepped out onto the ground level. A cathedral of glittering glass and brushed steel awaited them. Exotic plants abounded, creating the illusion of walking through a giant greenhouse. Could this tranquil environment truly harbor a killer cult?

  It boggled Talon’s mind.

  Ahead of them, Talon took note of the guards. Four men wearing suits and ear-mics manned the security desk. This would be the tricky part.

  Richard flashed them a quick smile and the guards didn’t pay any more attention to them. He was just another worker returning from a long lunch.

  Richard was playing ball. Smart man. Seeing his buddy’s brain splattered on an iMac like a Jackson Pollock painting had left a lasting impression.

  They crossed the atrium-sized space of the main lobby. Talon caught glimpses of the upstairs offices, the glass walls putting them on display as if they were all inside a big aquarium. For a beat he wondered if the cult membership came with Omicron shares and a medical plan. Talon smiled grimly. Nice to know his dark sense of humor was intact. It had helped him through some tough patches over the years.

  Talon spotted more powerfully built guards fronting the auditorium’s main entrance. Remembering that Becky mentioned a back door leading to the assembly hall’s balcony, he ordered Richard to show him the way. They closed in on a glass elevator that was tinted blue. A minute later they got out on the second floor and headed for a door located at the end of the hallway.