Judas (The Iscariot Warrior Series Book 1)

by Roy Bright

  They spin around as they hear a loud whooshing behind them. They see nothing. They both look up and again, see nothing.

  The first officer looks at his partner. “I’m outta here, man, this shit is just too creepy.”

  “I’m with you, dude, we found nothing, okay!”

  “Damn straight!”

  The cops leave the forest and head back to their vehicles.

  Abaddon flies away. The wounds he received from hitting the trees have knocked the fight out of him, for now. He curses to himself, This isn’t over, Iscariot. I will see you again very, very soon.

  Twenty-Eight

  He sits at the opposite side of a small table in a fifteen by fifteen interrogation room, eyeing Detectives Stillman and Dowd. The room temperature may be a cozy 21°C but the blandness and sparseness of the place makes it feel cold and unwelcoming. It wasn’t the worst place he had ever been kept prisoner in, not by a long shot; he had been in much, much worse.

  He has said almost nothing since being brought in, and Pete and Martin have rolled the good cop, bad cop routine around a few times to the point that even they were getting tired of it. The man in front of them had not asked for any legal assistance nor had he given a name or any explanation for the recent events, he had just sat there and every now and then asked what the time was; a question that had begun to irritate Martin a great deal. Pete was just about to give up when he asked something other than the time.

  “How and where, is Charlotte?”

  “What?” Pete says, startled at the broken silence.

  Martin pushes himself off from the wall he is leaning against, behind the prisoner.

  He lifts his hands up from under the desk and places them onto the table in front of him; the handcuffs that restrain him clunking as they land on its surface.

  “It’s a perfectly simple question, Detective. How and where, is Charlotte?”

  Martin scoffs and shakes his head moving over to his seated partner’s right hand side.

  “She’s okay, Mr…?” Pete says, drawing out the title in a hope that the man would finish his sentence. He does not. “She’s had a bite to eat, and is resting, waiting on child services getting here. She has told us jack squat though, pretty much the same as you.”

  Judas laughs.

  Pete can’t help but join in as this whole situation was so bizarre, and he is very frustrated at not being able to get any answers out of this man. Gary had told him to listen when he spoke. Well, he was listening, but the guy wasn’t talking.

  Judas taps the table with the edge of one of the handcuffs; it is very annoying. He then points at Pete, “You got any smokes, man?”

  “Is this guy fuckin’ serious?” Martin scoffs for a second time; his patience wearing thin.

  Martin had never been the best in interrogations, he was too much of a hot head, too quick-tempered, and that temper blinded him at times to some of the most obvious of clues. Pete on the other hand was his direct opposite. Cool, very calm and always collected in his thoughts.

  “There’s no smoking in here, Sir,” Pete responds smiling.

  Judas laughs. “It’s so damn hard to get a cigarette, these days.” He looks around the room then transfixes his gaze upon the two-way mirror to his left and stares at it for a few seconds. Nodding at it he asks, “So who’s behind the veil?”

  Pete laughs, “Well, this isn’t your first time in one of these now, is it?”

  Judas smirks. “What can I say? I watch a lot of cop shows.”

  Pete nods and looks over to the mirror. “Well, behind there, sir, is our precinct Captain, a Detective Cross, who you’ve met already and also a body language expert who must be bored out of his mind right now.”

  He smiles at the prisoner, who smiles back nodding and starts to survey the room once more, speaking whilst he does.

  “What about the woman, where is she?”

  “She’s with the girl, y’know a friendly face ‘n all that. They seem to have formed quite a bond. What’s with all the questions?”

  He ceases looking around the room and stares at Pete again. “What time is it, Detective?”

  Martin loses his patience and points at him. “Seriously, you fucking freak, you are getting on my nerves with all this, what time is it? What time is it?” he says, mimicking him like a child would, “I’m sick of it so stop asking, yeah?”

  Pete shakes his head and lowers his gaze.

  Judas looks at the cop whose face is now red from his little outburst and laughs. “Well… thanks for that… but… what time is it?”

  Pete smirks and holds his right hand up to Martin, who has begun to trek across the room towards the prisoner, screwing his face up and biting his bottom lip.

  “Okay, okay,” Pete interjects, “it’s just the time, no one has to ruin their career over it.” He shoots a look at Martin then looks towards the mirror.

  Martin calms down and backs away.

  Pete stares at the man for a second then looks at his watch. “The time is fifteen fifty-one, just gone.”

  Judas leans forward towards him, “Then he has less than seventeen hours, which means he will start to throw all he has at this.” He leans back.

  Pete looks confused. “Who has less than seventeen hours?”

  He pauses for a second, smiling, then leans forward again, “Well, I could tell you. I could tell you all the information that you are dying to hear, but fatso over there would probably get all excited and want to order twelve burgers or something to celebrate.”

  He laughs and Martin erupts.

  “You, fuckin’ piece of shit, you wanna talk to me like that do ya, you little bastard!” He lunges forward to grab hold of the man.

  This is what Judas has been stalling for. He has built up the tension in the room for the last forty minutes, pushing the bigger of the two men to breaking point by asking for the time over and over but in a soft manner that would appeal to the good cop’s senses, but irritate the bad one. He has waited for this very moment, for the big cop to lose control and forget his basic techniques; he has forced him into making a mistake.

  As Martin lunges at him, he brings his feet up together and pushes them against the bolted down table moving his chair backwards whilst at the same time grabbing the furious detective’s tie with both hands and bringing him down onto the table with a thud that winds him. He then reaches into the cop’s jacket and retrieves his firearm from his holster and holds it to the hapless detective’s head.

  This incident has happened so fast that Pete is still scrambling to unclip his weapon from its holster as he stands up.

  There is a large commotion from behind the mirror as a door bursts opens and slams into a wall.

  The door to the interrogation room flies open and Captain Banks storms in, his weapon drawn, aimed at the man holding one of his detectives hostage.

  Gary races in behind him. “Judas, no! Let him go, this won’t help matters.”

  He looks at Gary then kicks his chair backwards, sending it crashing to the floor whilst at the same time, standing, dragging Martin over the desk and to his feet, holding him in front as a human shield.

  Everyone in the room is shouting, telling him to drop his weapon, to let the man go.

  Judas bellows, bringing the room to silence. “Okay, okay, listen in, you lot. I have a dramatic point to make and then a very, and I mean very, brief story to tell, so everyone better be ready to hoist in what I am about to do and say, okay?”

  Gary looks at him. He understands what he is about to do; realizes that this has been his plan all along.

  Pete holds out his left hand whilst lowering his weapon. “Look let’s just all calm down here, nobody has to get hurt, okay?”

  Judas looks at him and smiles. “I’m sorry, Detective, that’s where you’re wrong. I must get hurt!”

  With that, he raises the gun to his own forehead and pulls the trigger.

  Everyone in the room jumps and Pete screams, “No!”

  The wall behi
nd his spatters as the high velocity exit point of the round brings the inside of his head with it. His eyes roll into the back of his head and his body jerks backwards with the force, hitting the wall. He lets go of Martin and slumps downwards.

  Martin scrambles away towards the rest of the cops, his breathing heavy with shock.

  All four men and a couple of uniformed officers that are stood at the door stare in utter disbelief as the man in front of them stops falling and brings himself to a standing position. His eyes roll forwards and the entry hole closes. Blood that was around the entry point now turns to little speckles of dust and they begin to fall off his face, as do all of the bits that had hit the wall. Blood, brains and skull turn to dust and granulate to the floor.

  Judas rises. Looking at the stunned police officers, he sighs and offers the faintest of smiles. “Even after six hundred years I still hate getting shot. Don’t mind anything else much, with the exception of fire of course, but getting shot? Well, that just does my head in, no pun intended.” He smirks.

  Pete, amongst others, is in shock. He lowers his weapon for a second time. “What the actual fuck, man?”

  Judas nods indicating his acknowledgement that they need an explanation. “Gentlemen, my name is Judas Iscariot. I have been alive for over two thousand years and as you can see, I cannot die. You are probably well aware of my little… misdemeanor, with Jesus Christ, and because of that, I am cursed to walk the earth for eternity in punishment. Now, to cut a very long story short, you as a human race are in immense danger and that little girl you have back there is the key to your survival. The Devil has less than seventeen hours to capture and eventually kill that child so he can take over as ruler of this planet and quite frankly, fuck each and every one of you in the ass. Questions?”

  Twenty-Nine

  Paul walks into the West Babylon First Precinct in a hurry. About ninety minutes ago, he had received the call that they had found Gary, the woman and the child and that there was also a suspect in custody. On receiving the news, he had punched the air, relieved that the little girl and woman had been found safe and well, and that his friend was in the same condition. He didn’t relish the thought of having to go through the awful process of informing next of kin, not that Gary had many. It would have devastated his ex-wife Emily. Even though she and Gary had been separated for years, Paul knew that she had never stopped loving him, she just couldn’t cope with the job and when they lost Jacob, he had spiraled out of control, distancing himself from her until, in the end, she was unable to reach him at all. But now that he knows his old partner is safe, he could relax a little.

  His first order of business however, was to get to the bottom of this mess and try to find the priest’s killer. That should present them with all the answers they needed.

  He strides over to the desk sergeant and performs a quick drum roll with his hands on the desk. “Hey, John, where they at?”

  “Interrogation Room Two, Paul,” Sergeant John Walker says, greeting his colleague with a smile. “Pete and Martin been in there with him for about half an hour now.”

  “Cool. Where’s Gary?”

  “He’s in Room Two Observation with the Captain.”

  “Okay thanks, man.” He holds up a hand to the desk sergeant and the desk sergeant acknowledges, nodding. “Don’t mention it. Let’s just get some answers, for Dan, yeah?”

  “You know we will, man, you know we will,” he says, holding his hand up once more as he walks into the department main floor and into the heart of the incident room.

  The precinct is jumping with activity, more so than earlier, the effects of the day having created a massive buzz around the office with people coordinating the operation to clean up and investigate the helicopter crash, but also eager to find out all there is to know regarding the mysterious man they have in Interrogation. Phones ring throughout the office in a cacophony of electronic sounds and tones and the incident room wall has filled up even more with material pertinent to the crimes under investigation.

  Paul glances over at the wall as he passes through.

  One of the uniform officers calls out to him, “Room Two, Sergeant.”

  He nods at him, “Yeah, I got it, thanks, Tom.” He heads through the rear door of the incident room and carries on down the corridor to Interrogation that lies just before the holding cells. He passes the door to Interrogation Room Two and opens the next one along, attracting the attention of the room’s occupants as he walks in. He acknowledges each person’s presence, the only difference being Gary, with whom he shares a smile and a shake of the hand.

  There would be time later for pleasantries and questions about what was going on but for now, everyone wanted to observe the two detectives questioning the suspect.

  The whole room feels alive with energy, a force of mystery created by a huge melting pot of unanswered questions and downright inexplicable events. No one speaks. Everyone in the room watches with intent as long periods of silence are broken by Detective Stillman asking questions and then moments later, the suspect responding by asking what the time was.

  Paul notices that Martin has become agitated. He laughs and whispers to the other occupants in the room, “Hasn’t taken Martin long to lose it.”

  Everyone sniggers.

  Captain Banks pulls them back into line, but can’t resist poking a bit of fun at the situation himself. “Okay, boys, everyone keep their professionalism here, please. You wouldn’t want Detective Dowd to hear us and come thumping on the window now, would you?”

  This time there is definite laughter in the room.

  Paul leans over to Gary and whispers, “You okay, man?”

  “Yeah man, I’m okay,” he says, without diverting his attention from the interrogation,

  “What the hell is going on, Gary?”

  He stares at him for a moment before answering. “It’s really, really complicated, Paul. I’m hoping my guy in there is gonna clear all this up. It’s gonna take some believing but it’s vitally important everyone looks at this with an open mind.”

  “Your guy? What the hell does that mean your guy?”

  He sighs, holding up his left hand in an attempt to appease Paul. “Look, I’ll explain all in a short while. Let’s just see if he comes clean with everything.”

  Paul was about to challenge him a little more on the subject, not satisfied with his answer, when there is a reserved knock at the door and a uniformed officer walks in. “Sergeant Keenan, there is an Agent Jones of the FBI at the front desk to see you.”

  He winces and sighs; he could really do without this right now. He looks at Gary who acknowledges that he must go.

  Paul turns to the young officer. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” The young man closes the door.

  Captain Banks turns to his detective. “What the hell do the Feds want, Paul? This is done and dusted, we have most of this wrapped up.”

  “I know, Sir, I’m really not sure. He rang me this morning to say he had evidence he wanted to share with me regarding this case. I’ll go down now and cut him loose.”

  Captain Banks nods and turns his attention back to the room as Martin has another mini-meltdown at the suspect. He smirks; this guy is really getting under Martin’s skin.

  Paul turns to Gary. “I’ll catchya in a bit, buddy, we’ll talk, yeah?”

  He nods. “Yeah, man, we’ll talk. Just shoo the Fed away and come back.”

  Paul smiles and walks out of the door. He retraces his steps back to the front desk and asks Sergeant Walker, “Where is he, John?”

  A voice calls out, “I am right here, Detective Keenan.”

  Paul turns to his left and looks around the partition that separates the waiting room from the front desk to see a tall and thin man with black slicked-back hair, wearing a plain black suit with a black tie. Jesus! It’s the Men in Black, Paul smirks to himself.

  The Agent strides over to him, past the desk, annoying Sergeant Walker, as he has
bypassed protocol and guest etiquette. He holds out his hand to shake Paul’s. “Agent Jones, Detective,” he smiles.

  Paul pauses for a second and then shakes his hand. “You said you had some information for me, Agent Jones?”

  “Oh I do, Detective, I do.”

  He focuses on his accent. It isn’t local, more drawl, Deep South maybe but not as strong as he has heard on some colleagues he once spent time with in Louisiana. He dismisses it as unimportant. Agents in the FBI come from all over, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting rid of this guy as fast as possible. “Well, could you give me that information now? We have a suspect in custody and are questioning him as we speak so I would really like to get back to that.” He smiles, not a real smile of encouragement, more a formality in the politeness of the conversation.

  “So I hear, Detective, so I hear. In fact, it is because of that suspect that I wanted to talk with you. You see, I would very much like to speak with that man, if I may?”

  Since his first days of walking the beat with Gary, Paul had always had a great sense of picking up on the strange and unusual in anything, stuff that most cops would miss. It was a gift that he shared with his partner, borne, in evidence out of the fact that they had spent almost all of their lives together. He had called it his ‘Keeny-sense’, mimicking that of his favorite comic book hero from his childhood. Whenever they were on the job and things were about to turn sour, Paul’s Keeny-Sense would kick in and, on almost every occasion, prove to be correct and his Keeny-Sense had just gone into overdrive with this Agent. He didn’t like him, not one bit. This man seemed, wrong to him.

  “I’m sorry Agent… Jones, was it?”

  The Agent smiles and nods.

  “I thought you said you had information to share with me, not speak with a suspect whose identity we had no idea of until about two hours ago when we secured him. What part of the agency did you say you were from, Agent Jones?”