Thornfalcon (The ARC Legacy Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  She jumped to her feet beside him. His wrists were bound in cuffs of an alloy that wasn't metal, though it was as cold.

  “Can't you break them? Io, you're strong. Ridiculously so. Just snap the cuffs.”

  Io flexed his arms. “I can't.”

  Samantha tugged at the cuffs. “Why not?”

  “Because they aren't meant for mortal man,” a deep voice said from the hallway.

  Samantha looked up. The tallest man she had ever seen filled the room nearly to the ceiling. Dressed mostly in black, he was bald, what light there was gleaming off his scalp. She felt his face glowering at her in the darkness. This was trouble, plain and simple.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The man stepped into the room, filling it with menace. He held up what she presumed to be a gun. “I'm the guy with his finger on the trigger,” he said in a clipped and precise South African accent. “You want your fallen angel here to live? Then you'll do as I say and come with us. Now.”

  They knew who Io was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  How was Io so unaware of the danger they faced? He sat across from her in the back of a van as it swerved round corners, perfectly balanced, not moving a muscle as she was thrown all over the place. Separated from the driver by a sealed interior, she had no idea where they were going, nor why.

  Nina, contact Mom. We've been kidnapped. Nina?

  There was no reply from her sister.

  “Why did you let them cuff you, Io?”

  Her accusation melted off him. It appeared that he didn't recognise the risk without an existing physical confrontation with which to react.

  “He had a weapon to your head. I had no choice. Even I cannot move that fast.”

  Caught short, Samantha found no initial reply. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

  “You didn't wake because no words were spoken. I could see the intent in the man above you. He wanted nothing more than chaos and death. He ordered me to move, taunting. I knew if I did he would strike you a fatal blow. I held back and here we are.”

  Their conversation was caught short as the van came to an abrupt halt, both of them slamming forward. Pain lanced across Samantha's back as she hit the metal divide.

  Almost immediately the van's back doors opened, revealing the concrete interior of a warehouse. Puddles appeared between the rubbish filled floor, an accumulation from years of disuse. The walls were patchy and decayed with concrete cancer; rusted steel cables laid bare to the humid environment. A rattle shook the building, as flocks of birds took flight, escaping through the one open window. The remaining windows were black with the night beyond.

  “Out,” ordered the bald man, his eyes piercing in the light. He looked at them with barely contained fury, as if it were their fault he had been robbed of sport that night.

  Samantha stayed where she was. In moments two stocky Papuans dressed in jeans and polo shirts jumped up into the van, one grabbing her, the other Io. Without anything resembling care they were thrown out onto the floor, Samantha barely retaining her balance, while Io hit face first. He grunted as he lay there.

  “Hey, what's wrong with you?” Samantha yelled.

  The two Papuans shared a smirk and climbed back into the van, turning the ignition in a cloud of stinking diesel smoke. In seconds they were gone; a corrugated steel door dropped shut behind them.

  “They don't understand your words, ya little bint. It's me you want to worry about. This is my domain. Here I am God.”

  “I doubt that,” Io muttered, earning him a kick to the ribs.

  “Got you pegged back pretty tight, haven't we, little man?” the bald man taunted. “I'd say those cuffs were meant to hold you. Special metal. We know who you are, mate. Even if you don't.”

  “Christopher!” an eerily familiar voice shouted from a shadowed doorway, “let's not give the game away just yet.”

  Samantha faced the doorway. Her stomach tightened as the owner of the voice stepped into view. A grey scraggly beard with white touches at the corners. Long, dishevelled hair reached down past his shoulders. His condition meant nothing; it was the eyes that held her. The whites were large, and so luminous they appeared to glow from a fire within. The darkness contained in those orbs was endless. If there was a soul it was well hidden.

  “Porter Rockwell,” she said, finding the words difficult to utter. He had a presence on the screen, but in person it was nearly unbearable. Yet, his gaze was magnetic. She couldn't look away.

  “In the flesh. And you are young Samantha Scott, the girl who can raise demons. Daughter of Eva and Sa—, uh, Madden.”

  He stepped close and leaned forward. In a country full of heat and humidity there was no warmth from his skin. He made Samantha's flesh crawl.

  “I was there, you know. When your father did the dirty little deed and you came into being. I was in the very next room.” He looked at her, wiggling his eyebrows a couple of times.

  “What do you want,” she spat, “a medal?”

  Rockwell smiled and stood back, raising his hands to either side of him in a grandiose gesture. “What do I want? I want the world. The whole world. I want Heaven and I want Hell all wrapped up in a nice little package. And I want you to get it for me. Take your cell out of your bag and call dearest Eva.”

  “I will not.”

  Rockwell turned to his colleague. “Christopher?”

  The bald South African walked over to a table groaning under the weight of countless guns. He picked up the gun Charlotte Benson had given her and held it to Io's head. “If ya think the cuffs'll hold him, what do ya think this'll do? Made of the same stuff, I'll bet.”

  “Mr Lanier's moral compass doesn't exactly point North. If you want your angel-in-waiting to carry on breathing I suggest you do as I ask. You might want to consider the health of your friend from the plane. She's not in hospital and if the people she is with do not hear from me within the next thirty minutes, she won't need one.”

  Samantha's breath caught. She prayed Rockwell hadn't noticed her concern. “She's no friend of mine,” Samantha shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. Inside, she began to panic, images and scenarios playing out in a simultaneous cacophony, all ending badly. There was no way to win this. Rockwell was holding all the aces. Samantha opened her bag and withdrew her cell. A quick series of numbers and the phone began to ring.

  “Put it on speaker,” Rockwell instructed.

  “Samantha?” Eva's voice was filled with anxiety. “Sammy? Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine, mom,” she said in a tone so neutral that she knew her mum would be on instant alert. “I'm not alone.”

  “Are you still with your travelling companion?”

  “Not exactly,” Rockwell said, taking the phone from her. “She's made some new friends.” Rockwell gazed at Samantha as he added, “Some very good friends.”

  “Porter.” There was a pause.

  “I don't expect you to start with the 'why' and 'how' questions, Director. You're far too clever for that and I'm already three steps ahead of you. I propose, instead, a trade.”

  “If you harm her.”

  Rockwell grinned, and this time the smile held genuine glee; his eyes were wide and mad. “Them, Eva. If I harm them. Even if I were on my own, as a former Shikari, you know what I'm capable of. And I have resources to rival yours as you'll find out in oh, let's say five days' time. Your world is going to burn, Eva. I have one of your daughters. Soon I will have both of them. I'm willing to give them to you.”

  They were on to Nina. All other thoughts vanished from Samantha's mind. Had their contact cost her sister? Is that why she hadn't replied? Was she in danger? Samantha remained still, rolling her eyes, as if the whole situation bored her.

  Rockwell smirked. Her act was succeeding.

  Her mother continued. “You seem to be holding all the cards, Porter. What can I possibly have that you want so much?”

  “Metatron's ashes. I want you to give me the remains of the angel that fell defen
ding you from the demon Belphegor, emissary of Crustallos. Give me what you gathered, and I will return your children to you, more or less intact. Refuse, and the only way you see them again will be the same way you see that fallen angel. A fading memory, and a pot of ash.”

  At the mention of Metatron, Io perked up. There was more than an empty gaze there now. A flicker of recognition. He glanced at her and shook his head, not much more than a frown and a shiver.

  “Why would you want that?”

  “It doesn't really concern you. Suffice it to say your fallen angel here is broken.”

  “My what?”

  Rockwell reached out and turned Samantha's face toward him with forefinger and thumb. “You see, Sammy? This is what ARC does to people. It turns the honest into liars and takes the faith away from the believers. Eva, why don't you tell your daughter exactly what that satellite was intended to do?”

  “Porter, don't.” Eva's tone was grave.

  “What do you remember of your father, Sammy?”

  Intrigued by whatever Rockwell had over her mother, she answered. “Nothing. I never knew him.”

  “That's not strictly true, now is it? You've seen him many times during your summoning. Eva, you are aware, no doubt, that your daughter is capable of bringing forth an image of the Devil, the man you know as Madden?”

  There was a frosty silence on the other end of the line.

  Samantha's stomach tightened. Her mother had never known. Only Nina, who had sworn to never spill that secret. She cut her question short. He knew, and there was no point denying it.

  Rockwell winked. “Demon,” he added as if that one word was all the explanation required. “You see how this works, Madame Director? You could say, arrange the transport and anonymous deposit of Metatron's ashes and we leave your dirty secret where it is. Except of course that dear Samantha here knows that there's something she is unaware of, but is so close to—”

  “Tell her what you like, Porter. You're not getting Metatron.”

  There was a sense of betrayal in those words. Samantha heard the deep hurt in her mother's voice.

  “As cold as ice. Well Samantha, it appears that the satellite sent aloft for the grand energy scheme was not an exploration satellite at all. Your mother was trying to reach your father. These last twenty years that's all she's been working toward. That satellite was designed to open a portal to Hell. How delicious that despite all her efforts, you've been able to talk to him at will? Obsessive doesn't begin to cover it.”

  “After everything that happened, you would risk the Earth?” Despite her façade, Samantha couldn't believe what she was hearing. “That makes a mockery of his sacrifice.”

  “You're one to talk about a mockery,” Eva retorted. “You can bring Madden here and you never told me?”

  Rockwell grinned. “And so the seeds of sedition are sewn from your very own family. When the rest of your organisation learns of this, things will get interesting. As it stands, it didn't take much of a tweak to turn the technology to Aeon Falls' use. Mr. Myhill was more than willing. So that you know, Eva, that satellite wasn't pointing at Hell, but at Heaven. We went angel fishing but what we got was a dud.”

  “Tell that to the population of Dubrovnik,” Samantha growled. “You're responsible for countless deaths.”

  “Collateral damage. You want to blame someone? Try the person that created the weapon in the first place. The weapon, I may add, that's still up there. It's only a matter of time until we regain control.”

  Samantha wondered why Porter Rockwell wanted the ashes of an angel when he had one at hand—unless he wasn't holding all the cards. “Mom, don't give him anything. We will find a way to—”

  Samantha found herself suddenly in mid-air, crashing to the ground several metres away from where she had been standing, the side of her face completely numb.

  Io strained at his cuffs but was unable to break loose, the rage on his face scary to behold. “When I get free.”

  Ignoring him, Rockwell went on, “Nice act, Sammy. Almost convincing. Eva, you have five days to deliver Metatron's remains, or both of your daughters will be standing atop a nuclear reactor when it malfunctions.”

  “It won't take that long,” Eva replied before the line went dead.

  Rockwell considered the cell for a moment as he turned it over and over. “Get her a seat,” he said to the big South African Lanier and winked at Samantha. “Waste not, eh?”

  Lanier brought a heavy wooden chair into the centre of the warehouse and pushed her down on it. Rockwell pulled out a rope, bound her hands together at the wrist and then yanked her backward to secure her on a rib underneath the chair. Her shoulders screamed in protest.

  Whistling a happy tune, the demon who had, while mortal, been tasked with her mothers' safety, left them in the warehouse under the watch of Lanier.

  Samantha, moments later, heard the noise of a car leaving in a rush, tires screaming and the engine over revved, as if driven by someone who had been behind the wheel for a very long time.

  “What did he mean by that?” Io asked as Lanier waved the alloy gun in Io's direction.

  Samantha stared in turn at their captor as Lanier ogled her. The way her arms were tied back accentuated the curves of her body. She recognised the look on his face. Covetousness. Underneath the shaven head and beady eyes, Christopher Lanier was no different than Lucas. “He means that one way or another, the fun isn't over yet.”

  “It is for you,” Lanier purred, pulling a cloth hood over her head. Hands trailed down her body, squeezing her breasts and lingering between her legs. With no other recourse, she lashed out with a foot, striking a soft area somewhere in his middle.

  Lanier grunted. A moment later something hard hit her in the face, knocking her over onto her shoulder. Pain erupted down her arm and she tasted the iron tang of blood in her mouth. “You'll regret that, missy.”

  It was a small victory, but it showed defiance. Shortly she felt her legs being tied at the ankle to the legs of the seat. Lanier moved to Io, presumably to hood and bind him too before footsteps led away from them. A door slammed, echoing around the warehouse.

  They were alone.

  “Samantha, did he hurt you?” Io's voice was full of concern.

  “No more than any coward would hurt a tied-up woman.” She forced herself to calmness, taking deep, slow breaths. The hood was rancid, yellow stains riddled the otherwise white material. She tried to ignore the acrid stench, breathing through her mouth and concentrating on her throbbing cheek. “Can you see anything?”

  “They covered my head the same way they did yours. It's not very pleasant.”

  “What was all that when they mentioned Metatron, Io? I saw your face.”

  “That's not a conversation to have here. If we get out then we can talk.” His voice trailed off. It was a big if.

  “Did you see all those guns?” she asked, feeling the need to talk about something. Anything. “It looks as though they're ready to wage war.”

  “Or defend a prize.”

  The heat of a Papuan night only got worse as morning crept in. Samantha could tell as the colour of her hood changed, along with outside noises. The infrequent rattles began to gain a pattern over time. “At least we know where we are,” she said. “If I'm not mistaken those rattles are the result of planes taking off. We're at the airport.”

  “How does that help?” Io asked.

  “I have a plan,” she replied, not willing to say aloud that she could fly a small aircraft, if she could find one. Anybody could be watching in silence.

  “You realise that this also means they could move us out of here at any moment. If you want anybody to find us, now is our best chance of being located.”

  The sound of feet running stopped any further conversation. Three or four people burst into the warehouse, heading in the direction of the weapons.

  “Get out front,” Lanier ordered. “In the office. Cover positions. Let 'em see you before you take 'em down.” He moved
close to Samantha. She could sense his nearness, the warmth of his breath stirred in the heat of the room. “When we've dealt with this lot, nobody'll come for you. Then, I'm gonna have me some fun.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gunfire sounded from somewhere close by, glass smashing to fragments under a hail of bullets. Had Lanier forced the others out to where they would be seen? This wasn't a standoff. It was murder.

  Samantha pulled at the ropes that bound her. This only tightened them, cutting through her skin. Warm fluid oozed down her fingers.

  “You thought this might happen,” Io said.

  “Not exactly. I knew by phoning mom ARC would be able to track us. Rockwell knew we were coming to Port Moresby and had people in place. But, how did he know? She said we could trust the driver, Genesis Koto. Did she know anything about the pilot? Does she know what condition Charlotte is in? What if this is all a set up, too?”

  “A set up for what?” When the gunfire became intermittent, she could hear Io straining against his bonds. “It's no good,” he gasped. “Whatever these are, they aren't coming loose.”

  A distant door creaked.

  “Hello?” Samantha called but there was no answer. Footsteps, as gentle as a breath of wind on eyelashes, gave away the fact that somebody was in the warehouse with them.

  “Don't move,” a voice whispered nearby, only loud enough for Samantha to hear. “They're close and we don't have much time.”

  A click was followed by movement. “You.” Io said in a low voice. “I'm glad there's more to you than I suspected.”

  “Hurry,” the voice replied, “they might come back at any moment.”

  Urgent hands attacked the ropes binding Samantha to her chair. Her shoulders throbbed with pain and she let out a small groan.

  “Sorry,” the voice said.

  Samantha immediately recognized the voice. “Thank God you're here.”

  “I've got to pull this rope tight in order to gain some slack. Just give me a sec.”