San Francisco Night

by Stephen Leather

  There were brass crucibles of smoldering herbs in between the candles and on the table next to the musical instruments was a large brass bowl containing herbs. Nightingale picked it up and went from crucible to crucible sprinkling herbs from his fingers. He kept his back to the other two figures wherever possible as he worked his way slowly around the crucibles, keeping anti-clockwise.

  A door opened in the wall to the left of the altar and another robed figure appeared. The figure went over to see what was happening at the table. “Good, good.” It was a woman. Nightingale took a quick look over his shoulder. The woman’s robe was different to the ones he and the Apostles were wearing. There was a pentagram on the chest but there was a line of other insignias below it. And her mask was shorter than the mask he was wearing and had two long horns curving upwards from the forehead. It could only be Abaddon. She turned and went back through the door.

  Nightingale continued to walk around adding herbs to the crucibles.

  The four Apostles finished whatever they were doing with the chains and walked past Nightingale to the wooden table by the door. One of them picked up a tambourine and began to shake it. The other held the lute and started to strum it and the remaining two picked up drums. They walked back to the circle and began walking around the circumference making as much noise as they could.

  The door from the corridor opened and Chen came in. At least Nightingale assumed it was Chen because in the robes and mask she looked exactly the same as the other Apostles. She closed the door behind her and looked around. Nightingale carried his bowl over to the table, put it down and handed her a rattle. He picked up a tambourine and motioned for her to join the others walking around the pentagram.

  On their third circuit of the pentagram another robed figure entered. And five minutes later another. The Apostle who had been cleaning the altar picked up a small drum and joined the procession around the pentagram. There were seven Apostles in the room now, plus Nightingale and Chen. Nightingale had lost track of time. He was finding it hard to breath as the air was now thick with fumes from the burning herbs and his eyes were watering.

  The door opened again and another robed figure entered the chapel. The figure picked up a lyre and began playing it, falling into step with the rest of the Apostles. This went on for another ten minutes or so, then the door by the altar opened and Abaddon appeared again. She walked over to the altar and raised her arms.

  The Apostles stopped playing their instruments. Abaddon drew a pentagram in the air with her left hand. “Praise be to Satan!” she shouted.

  “Praise be to Satan!” echoed the Apostles, who then began to chant “Satan, Satan, Satan” over and over.

  Nightingale did a quick count. There were eight Apostles standing around the circle, plus him and Chen. That made ten which meant that two were missing.

  The Apostles began to play their instruments as they chanted and Nightingale joined in, vigorously shaking his tambourine.

  After two minutes of ear-shattering noise, Abaddon turned away from the altar and threw her hands in the air. The Apostles went silent and fell to their knees.

  “My Apostles,” she said, with the reverential tone of a priest. “Finally the culmination of years of work, secrecy, dedication and faith. Tonight we will perform the Ritual of Bimoleth, free him from his exile and incarnate the demon himself in my body. Soon I shall be a creature of limitless power, and be assured, you will all be well rewarded for your efforts and loyalty.”

  Nightingale frowned behind this mask. So that was how the ritual worked. Abaddon’s body would serve as a vessel for the demon.

  “Concentrate, Apostles. this is a great work and we must make no mistakes.”

  She invoked the four crowned princes of Hell, then turned around three times and praised Satan again. “In Nomine Dei Nostri Satanas, Luciferi Excelsi. In the Name of Satan, Ruler of the Earth, The One True God, Almighty and Ineffable, Who hast created man to reflect in Thine own image and likeness, I beseech the Forces of Darkness to bestow their infernal power upon me,” she said. “I invite you to open the Gates of Hell so that Bimoleth can come forth to greet me as his sister and friend.”

  “Praise be to Satan, and Bimoleth, our savior!’ shouted the Apostles.

  “Peter, the scrying-glass,” said Abaddon.

  One of the Apostles stood up and carried what looked like a large mirror from the side of the temple inside the magik circle, placing it next to the marble table. Nightingale recognized it as a dark mirror, the back would be unsilvered, but painted with human blood. Historically sorcerers would have used it to try to see the Unknown. Nightingale had once looked into one and nearly lost his soul. Peter adjusted the mirror so that it was facing the chain that lay across the table.

  “James, the Powder Of Coranzon,” shouted Abaddon.

  Another robed figure took a gold flask and sprinkled a dark power from it onto the flaming crucibles in the magik circle. Instantly the flames roared up, shedding a blue light on the room and giving off a fetid stench.

  Abaddon walked into the circle and stood facing the mirror. “The ritual is prepared, Oh Bimoleth,” she said, raising her hands above her head. “We beseech you to accept this sacrifice, and to use the souls of the two innocents as your passage to this world. Praise be thy name!”

  “Praise be thy name!” repeated the Apostles.

  Something moved deep within the mirror. Something large and shapeless.”

  “Praise be thy name!” shouted Abaddon again. “Thy domain is ready!”

  The door by the altar opened and the remaining two Apostles appeared, robed and masked. They were leading the two children, Brett Michaels and Sharonda Parker. The children were naked except for black collars around their necks that were similar to the one that Proserpine had been wearing when Nightingale saw her on the beach. The children were shaking with fear but any fight had long gone out of them and they shuffled forward meekly towards the magik circle.

  “The sacrifices are prepared, Oh Bimoleth,” said Abaddon. “Thy will be done.”

  The two children were led to the table. The Apostles who had led then into the chapel lifted them up and began to fasten the chains around their arms and legs.

  “Judas, the dagger,” said Abaddon.

  Nightingale stiffened. Judas? Claudia Wolfe was Judas and Chen had taken her place.

  “Judas, the dagger!” repeated Abaddon.

  The Apostles began to look around, muttering.

  “Judas, make yourself known!” shouted Abaddon.

  Everyone was looking around, clearly wondering what had happened to Judas.

  Abaddon hurried out of the circle and picked up a sword off the altar. It had a hilt in the shape of a snake’s head and the long blade was twisted, almost like a corkscrew. She raised the sword above her head and surveyed the Apostles. “Step forward, Judas, and reveal yourself.”

  Chen tossed away her mask and then pulled her gun out from under her robe. “Let the kids go!” shouted Chen. “Let them go now!”

  There were gasps from the Apostles.

  Abaddon turned to face Chen. “So we have a traitor in our midst!” she shouted.

  “Put down the knife,” said Chen. “And put your hands in the air.”

  “Or what? You’ll shoot me? Do you think bullets can hurt me, Amy? Can you not feel my power, do you think for one minute that your gun can hurt me?’

  Abaddon took a step towards Chen. She still had the sword in her hands.

  Chen was blinking as if she was having trouble focusing. “I’ll shoot you!” she shouted, but Nightingale could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.

  So could Abaddon. She reached up with her left hand and slowly took off her mask as she kept the sword pointed at Chen’s face. Nightingale recognized her immediately – Margaret Romanos. The woman who ran Pagan World.

  “Keep looking into my eyes, Amy,” said Romanos. “Don’t look away. And don’t be afraid, everything is going to be fine. You’re among friends here,
Amy. No one wants to hurt you. We’re here to help you.” She slowly lowered the sword, keeping all of her attention focused on Chen.

  “We’re your friends,” chanted the rest of the Apostles, shuffling slowly towards her.

  Nightingale could see that Chen was having trouble focusing. She was blinking rapidly and the barrel of the gun had started to drop so that it was pointing at the floor.

  “Give me the gun, Amy,” said Romanos. “You’re among friends. We’re here to help you.” She had both hands gripping the hilt of the sword.

  Even though the woman’s words were aimed at Chen, Nightingale found himself being pulled in. He felt relaxed, at peace with himself and the world. His arms fell to his side and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He just wanted to sleep.

  “That’s a good girl, Amy,” said Romanos, holding out her hand. “Give me the gun.”

  Nightingale shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. For a second the fog that was clogging his mind cleared and he cursed. He pulled off his mask with his left hand as he groped in his pocket for the Beretta with his right. The robe made pulling out the gun difficult but after struggling for a few seconds he managed it. Abaddon was staring at Chen and she began to raise the sword. “That’s a good girl. Amy, you keep on looking at me.”

  Nightingale flicked off the safety and fired at Romanos. He fired one-handed and the shot went wide, taking a chunk out of one of the wood panels behind the altar.

  The sound of the shot was deafening in the confined space and it jolted Chen out of her trance. She fired her gun twice and both shots smacked into Romanos’s chest. She stared at Chen, her eyes wide in surprise, then she staggered back and collapsed against the altar.

  A robed figure picked up another knife off the altar and charged towards Chen. Chen turned and fired two more shots, both in the chest. The figure pitched forward and hit the ground, shuddered once and went still.

  “They can’t shoot us all,” said one of the figures. A man. Nightingale took two steps towards him and shot him in the chest at point-blank range. The man collapsed without a word.

  “Yes, I can,” said Nightingale. “Just in case anyone is wondering, I’m holding a Beretta Storm. It has a clip that holds thirteen rounds. So I have one bullet for each of you, which is convenient. But my very attractive colleague there has an SFPD police-issue Glock 22 which I believe holds 15 rounds in the magazine. So between us we have more than enough bullets. And knowing as I do what you were planning to do to those kids, I’m more than happy to shoot each and every one of you here and now.” He took a deep breath, then bellowed at them “Now all of you now, down on your knees!”

  The robed figures stayed where they were. They were either too shocked or scared to move. Or maybe his speech hadn’t impressed them and they thought he was bluffing.

  Nightingale pointed the gun at the left leg of the figure closest to him and pulled the trigger. The round smacked home just above the knee and the figure screamed. It was a woman. She collapsed on her back, blood spurting from the wound. The robe rode up around her waist revealing that she was naked underneath.

  “More than happy to shoot anyone who doesn’t want to kneel!” shouted Nightingale. “Now, turn and face the wall there and kneel. I’ll count to three. One…”

  The figures turned and knelt.

  “Now put your hands behind your necks. Quickly.”

  The eight figures obeyed.

  Nightingale looked over at Chen. “Keep them covered, Amy.” He hurried over to the table and undid the chains binding the two children. He helped them sit up and lifted them down. He took off his robe and slipped it around them. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said. “Just sit down and wait, I’ve got some things I have to do, okay?”

  The two children nodded solemnly and sat down with their backs to the marble table. Nightingale walked along the line of figures, pulling off their masks and throwing them on the floor. Speckman was there. And he recognized King and Brook. He went over to the figure he’d shot and pulled off her mask. It was Lucille Carr, her face contorted with pain.

  Nightingale walked over to stand next to Chen. “Now, ladies and gentlemen. I want you to take your left foot and cross it over your right ankle. You’ll find it awkward but you can all do it.”

  Nightingale watched as the Apostles did as they were told. “They’ll find it hard to catch you unawares in that position,” Nightingale told Chen. “If you see anyone move, shoot them.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “And you need to call the cavalry.”

  Chen nodded and fished her cellphone out of her pocket with her left hand. She began to dial 911 but stopped on the third digit. “Then what?” she asked him.

  “Then you’re the hero of the hour.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll be long gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “In the short term, over the cliff. I’ll call Dragan and have him pick me up. Then Wainwright can get me the hell out of Dodge.”

  “So that’s it? You’re going?”

  “Amy, I don’t have any choice. You’re a cop, you have a reason for being here. I’m not and if I stay it’ll get…”

  “Complicated?”

  He grinned. “See, you do understand. You’ll be fine. Just keep them covered until the cops get here. Anyone messes around, just put a bullet in them. Every one of them is a killer and they would happily have murdered those kids.”

  She looked at Lucille Carr, still writhing on the ground. Then at the body of Abaddon, slumped against the temple. “Jack, how the hell do I explain this?”

  “Trust me, they’ll be so glad that you got the kids back safe and sound, no one’s going to be asking too many questions.”

  She nodded at the gun in his hand. “Two guns?”

  “Good point.” Nightingale went over to the man figure that Chen had shot and pulled off his mask. It was a middle-aged man in his fifties, gray haired and his cheeks flecked with broken veins.

  “Oh my God,” gasped Chen.

  “You know him?”

  “He’s a Commander at the Golden Gate Division.”

  “It explains the cops at your apartment,” said Nightingale. He checked for a pulse in the man’s neck, then when he was satisfied that he was dead he took the Beretta, wiped it clean on his raincoat and then pressed it into the dead man’s palm.

  He looked over at the mirror. Something was there. Something big and covered and scales, something inhuman. As Nightingale stared at the mirror, whatever it was on the other side of the glass moved closer. A hideous maw opened and the glass rattled as it roared in anger and frustration. Nightingale took aim at the mirror and forced the corpse to pull the trigger. The gun exploded and the mirror shattered into a thousand shards.

  He straightened up and pointed over at Romanos as he spoke to Chen. “You got in here just as they were bringing in the kids. You identified yourself as a police office and when they didn’t stop you shot her.” He pointed at the dead man on the floor. “This guy pulled the Berretta out and started firing. It’s not the most accurate of guns and in all the confusion his shots went wide. You shot him and he went down. You lined them all up and called it in.”

  Chen nodded slowly. “You’re good at this,” she said.

  “All they’ll care about is the kids,” said Nightingale. “Now make the call.”

  As Chen finished dialing 911, Nightingale went over to the children and knelt down so that his head was level with theirs. They were hugging each other, obviously scared stiff. He smiled. “Kids, it’s going to be all right. The police will come and then you can go back to your parents. Can you wait right here until the police come?”

  The two children nodded solemnly.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, just stay right here. See that lady over there? The pretty lady with the gun?”

  They both nodded, eyes wide.

  “Well her name is Amy and she’s a policewoman. A detective. And she’s calling he
r friends and they’re going to rescue you.”

  “Why did they want to hurt us?” asked Brett.

  “They’re bad people, but they can’t hurt you any more, I promise.”

  “Are you an angel?” asked Sharonda, her lower lip trembling. “I prayed for an angel to come and save us.”

  Nightingale smiled. “No honey, I’m not an angel. But sometimes I help them out when they’re short-handed.” He stood up and ruffled her hair, then fist-bumped Brett. “It won’t be long, I promise. Then you’ll be back with your parents.”

  He took a last look at Chen, decided there was nothing else he could say, so he gave her a small wave and headed through the door.

  CHAPTER 94

  The Gulfstream leapt off the runway, its engines roaring, the acceleration so powerful that it felt as if Nightingale had been kicked in the back. It was ten o’clock in the morning. Dragan had taken Nightingale to a cheap motel and delivered him to the airport just as Wainwright’s plane came into land. The plane hadn’t even waited to turn off its engines or refuel. The door had folded down, Nightingale had got into the plane, and within minutes they had been taking off. Nightingale looked through the large window to his left. He caught a glimpse of Dragan standing by the side of his SUV, his eyes hidden behind impenetrable sunglasses, his arms folded across his massive chest. “Dragan’s a good guy,” said Nightingale.

  “One of the best,” said Wainwright. He was holding a crystal tumbler of malt whiskey. Nightingale was nursing a coffee. They were both strapped into huge white leather seats. The San Francisco Chronicle was on the table between them. There were three names on the byline of the main story. Nightingale raised his mug and silently toasted Karl Woods. It should have been his story, but the Apostles had put paid to that.

  There were two large photographs of Brett Michaels and Sharonda Parker, reunited with their families. “POLICE RESCUE KIDNAPPED KIDS” was the headline.

  Below them was a photograph of The Elms mansion, taken from a helicopter by the look of it. that showed more than a dozen police and emergency vehicles parked by the main building.