by Neal Martin
Black nodded.
Edger didn't think he would be able to sneak up on the guard without being spotted long before he made it to the gate, so he made the decision to shoot the guard from a distance.
Raising his rifle again, Edger scoped the guard, waiting for the man to remain still long enough so he could take the shot.
The guard continued pacing for another few moments, then stopped to lean on the gate as he looked down the dirt track.
The guard's face loomed large in Edger's scope. A young guy in his early twenties. Blond hair. Blue eyes.
Taking a breath, Edger let it out before squeezing the trigger.
The guard flew back as the bullet hit him square in the forehead.
Edger lowered the rifle and looked around at Black again. "Let's go," he whispered.
The two men moved quickly up the dirt track, still staying low and tight to the hedgerow.
When he got to the metal gate, Edger looked around, peering through the trees in search of more guards. He couldn't see anyone. Quickly, he climbed over the gate, Black following behind him. Black's breathing sounded laboured, almost wheezy. Edger didn't ask the dying ex-cop if he was alright or not. Too late anyway if he wasn't. Edger was stopping for no one.
The dead guard lay on the forest floor, blood oozing from the hole in his forehead. Edger paid the dead man little attention as he sighted down the track that cut through the forest towards the house. No more guards that he could see, but they would nonetheless avoid the main track and go through the forest instead, using the trees as cover.
There was about three quarters of a mile of forest ahead of them before they could get near the Mason house itself.
"Stay alert," Edger told Black, as they began to move into the forest. The air Edger breathed was cold and fresh as it got sucked into his lungs, making him feel alive as he negotiated his way through the trees and thick undergrowth. Despite the situation he was walking into, there was no denying he missed being a soldier. Every muscle, every nerve ending, was primed for action.
Black followed close behind, his wheezing getting worse. At a certain point, Edger turned around to see the other man leaning against a tree while he tried to muffle a cough. The last thing he needed was for Black to have a coughing fit in the quietness of the forest. The noise would surely alert any nearby guards to their presence. When Black spat blood, Edger thought about telling him to go back to the car. But he needed Black. He couldn't go it alone, although he would if he had to.
They carried on trekking through the forest, stopping occasionally to make sure there was no one else in there with them. It seemed that Mason had focused most of his security around the house itself, as Edger had expected him to do.
When they eventually drew near the edge of the trees, the back of the Mason house loomed into view, large and white under the pale moonlight. Security lights lit the grounds around the house, throwing white light at least twenty feet around the structure. From his position next to a tall pine, Edger could see three guards patrolling around the back of the house, all of them armed with Scorpion machine pistols.
"What do we do?" Black asked in a hushed voice, choking slightly as he spoke.
Edger noticed the flecks of blood on the dying man's cracked lips. "We take them out from here."
Lying on his belly, Edger combat crawled along the forest floor until he had a good enough view of the guards patrolling the back of the house, but not so close that they would be able to see him.
Black crawled into position beside him. "I'll take the one on the left," he whispered.
Both men put the stock of their rifles into their shoulders and sighted down towards the guards.
Edger scoped the guard to his right, who was walking slowly back and forth by the corner of the house, sometimes looking down the side of the house as well.
When Edger had the guard in his sights, he pulled the trigger and shot him in the chest, the guard being flung back against the house by the force of the bullet, his blood staining the white render as he slid down dead to the ground.
Just as Black fired his own shot, Edger swung his sights onto the next guard, who was busy staring in shock at his dead comrade. Edger fired two shots and sent the guard reeling back against the house.
When he took his eye of the scope, Edger expected to see all three guards dead. A burst of automatic gunfire a split second later told him that wasn't the case.
Black had missed his shot.
Fuck.
9mm bullets slammed into the trees around them as the guard fired blindly into the forest, sweeping his Scorpion machine pistol from side to side.
Edger cursed and took aim with his rifle again, just as another burst of gunfire sounded. Bullets peppered the tree he was lying beside, and bits of bark and pine needles showered over his head.
The guard was running for the back door of the house, while firing his pistol at the same time. Edger followed the guard through the sights of the rifle and then squeezed off three shots in quick succession. The first two shots missed their target, but the third shot caught the guard in the side and sent him crashing to the ground, his pistol sliding out of his hand and across the concrete.
Edger lowered his rifle and threw Black a look. No one would have heard the suppressed shots from the rifles, but sure as shit someone heard the guard's machine pistol going off.
"The fucker moved just as I fired," Black said.
"They know we're here now," Edger said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice as he got to his feet, but stayed crouched. "We need to get inside the house before the rest of the guards come."
Edger moved quickly forward to the very edge of the trees, where the forest floor met a grassy slope that led down to the concrete back yard of the house. He was about to step out of the cover of the trees when a spray of bullets tore up the earth at his feet. "Shit!"
More guards appeared from around the left side of the house, fanning out and shooting in Edger's direction.
"There fucking everywhere!" Black shouted as he fired a volley of shots from behind Edger.
They both ran for the trees.
So much for staying covert.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
The Ritual Room was on the bottom floor of the Mason house, built between the main living room and the kitchen. It was a large, square room, about thirty feet on each side. Windowless, although it had air vents. The entire room was painted a mat black, and the only source of light was from the hundreds of candles placed on the floor around the walls and in a number of alcoves set into the walls themselves. Painted in the centre of the floor, in red, was a massive pentagram, around which was also painted a number of occult symbols.
Around the outside of the pentagram stood nearly two dozen figures, all wearing long black cloaks with hoods over their heads. These were the Red Falcon members. Powerful, influential figures in Northern Irish society, as well as a few from the Republic. They had gathered for the biannual Blood Sacrifice Ritual, a ritual that every Red Falcon member believed helped them increase their power and overall influence in the world. The sacrifices were always made to a demon called Beltock, a powerful demon that would bestow power on anyone who offered him the right sacrifice. The right sacrifice always being the blood and soul of an innocent child, no older than twelve. Nothing less would do.
The efficacy of these bloody occult rituals and infernal beliefs was never questioned by the Red Falcon members. Every member believed it all absolutely.
Except Mason.
Mason stood in the centre of the pentagram, wearing his father's black SS uniform, looking around at the men and the few women who stood staring back at him like he was some sort of god himself. To the members, Mason was their leader, the one who showed them the way, helped them gain the power they craved so badly, and helped them indulge their sadistic pleasures whenever they felt the need.
Mason didn't see himself as a leader of any kind. He saw himself as more of a puppeteer, expertly pulling on the
strings of each Red Falcon member in order to get them to do exactly what he wanted. Each member in the room was handpicked by him because of what they could do for him in terms of furthering his research and affording him the protection he needed to carry it out. Of course they didn't know that. Every member thought they were special to be asked to join the Red Falcon Country Club. They thought they were being let in on some great secret that made them superior to everyone else around them. They all saw themselves as the "chosen few".
Mason had to admit that he did get a certain kick out of the whole cult thing. He enjoyed hoodwinking such powerful people, playing on their taboo desires and filling their normally intelligent heads full of nonsense. The Blood Sacrifice Rituals were pure show, nothing more. It was all a pantomime. There was no demon called Beltock who gave out power to the chosen few. There was only Mason and his Machiavellian manipulations.
The name Red Falcon had come from a secret Nazi project that his father had been involved in along with Heinrich Himmler, a project designed to investigate, and ultimately make use of, occult power, which Hitler himself had been very interested in. Not long into the project, Mason's father had realised that so-called occult practises were basically nonsense at worst, and at best, a way to control gullible people. Mason's father took himself out of the project, but Himmler kept going, believing that it was all true, going to great lengths to find apparently magical objects that would help the Nazi's defeat their enemies. Despite the many artifacts procured by Himmler and his team, they still managed to lose the war, proving that their occult beliefs were nothing more than wishful thinking.
As a control mechanism however, the occult could still be useful. Which was why Mason created the Red Falcon Country Club. As he looked around at all the faces now, each one so smug in their certain knowledge that they were special and beyond any kind of reproach, Mason could hardly believe how ignorant these supposedly intelligent and powerful people could be.
The members' belief in Mason as some kind of demi-god was now even more entrenched by the fact that Mason had managed to effectively make himself immortal. Whether he actually was immortal now remained to be seen of course, but as far as his followers were concerned, he was just as immortal as any god was. The great Beltock had helped him, he told the members, and they all replied in unison, "Hail Beltock!"
As far as they were concerned, Mason was the Great Alchemist, the one who finally turned lead into gold. He had found the Holy Grail, and they all desperately wanted to sup from that cup.
But none of them ever would, because very soon, they would all be dead.
The pantomime was over.
Murmurs ran through the gathering of hooded members. The sound of gunfire coming from outside the house had unsettled many of them.
"Not to worry," Mason told them. "We're just experiencing a minor security breach. My guards are handling it."
Mason had already pulled Deputy Chief Constable Smalls to one side and told the cop to make sure none of the local police responded to the noise coming from the estate. As far as the local PSNI were concerned, the gunfire wasn't gunfire but firecrackers being thrown to celebrate a birthday party.
It was hard for Mason not to feel unsettled by the breach himself though, which by now he had learned was down to that man Edger, the man Mason had ordered Rankin to kill. Having failed, Rankin had left Edger to carry on with his misguided revenge trip. Hopefully, the guards would take care of it. If not, Mason would take care of Edger himself, one way or the other.
"Brothers and sisters, hallowed members of the Red Falcon Club," Mason said to the crowd surrounding him, his arms raised as if to bestow glory on them all. "You may have noticed that there is no sacrifice tethered within the circle as there normally would be. That's because tonight, there will be an even bigger sacrifice."
Murmurs of excitement rippled through the room.
Like lambs to the slaughter.
Mason looked at his watch. Almost time.
He walked to the back of the room and lifted the gas mask of the floor that he had placed there earlier in the evening.
The cult members stood staring at him, puzzled looks on their faces underneath their hoods.
"It is time to make the final sacrifice," Mason said. "It is time for you all to meet Beltock in person."
A few of the members expressed their disconcertedness by asking what was going on. He even saw one or two of the more clued in members go to the doors and try to open them. The doors were locked however.
Mason smiled, as he tasted the fear in the room. The reality of what was happening was beginning to sink in amongst the members, who in Mason's eyes, were merely sheep about to be slaughtered.
As the gas began to pour through the four air vents in the room, Mason put his gas mask on, and watched the looks of horror on the faces before him as the gas settled over them and infiltrated their lungs. The gas was a variation of Zyklon B, the gas used to kill millions of people in the concentration camps. Mason made the compound himself, ordering one of his programmed assistants to release it at a precise time.
Before him, every person in the room was grasping at their throats as the gas made its way into their respiratory systems, essentially cutting off their oxygen supply. As Mason watched, most of the people in the room fell to their knees as the gas proceeded to choke them to death, and he imagined this was what it must have been like for his father back in the day, as he watched the Jews and other inhumans get gassed into eradication.
One of the Red Falcon members crawled towards Mason. His name was Brian McGinty, the Lord Mayor of Belfast. A particularly repulsive man in Mason's eyes. McGinty's face was a bright pink colour. As he clawed at Mason's jack boots, he began to foam at the mouth, his head reminding Mason of some kind of leaking beetroot. Mason kicked the man away so that he rolled over onto his back, the foam from his mouth spilling out onto the floor as blood leaked from his ears.
Mason began to move through the room at that point, his hands clasped behind his back as he stepped around the convulsing bodies like a gardener inspecting his flower beds, only these flowers were choking and screaming in the throes of death. Many of the dying were banging their bright pink heads against the hard floor, as if trying to end their suffering by breaking their skulls open. In some cases, it seemed to be working as the head-bangers collapsed unconscious, their faces resting in a pool of their own blood.
It was oddly satisfying to watch them all writhe around the floor like a bunch of dying insects that had just been hit with a dose of insecticide. To Mason, that's what the people in the room were anyway. No more than insects. And him, a giant bird of prey, stepping on their remains.
Within a few minutes, every person in the room was dead. Nearly two dozen people who thought immortality awaited them, wiped out in the blink of an eye, their skin now covered in red and green spots thanks to the gas, adding to the ghoulish effect on their corpses.
Mason took a final look around the room, at the piles of bodies, then he turned on his jack boots and walked out of the gas chamber like Mephistopheles emerging from the pits of hell.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Bullets whizzed past his head and slammed into nearby trees with a thwacking sound. Crouched down, using a thick pine tree as cover, Edger waited until he could see the guards coming up the slope towards the edge of the forest. The first guard that appeared, Edger fired at him, hitting him with two shots that sent the guard tumbling back down the slope.
Then more guards appeared at the crest of the slope. One had a shotgun that he fired in Edger's direction, the hundreds of steel balls travelling at lethal speed, slamming into the tree that Edger was using as cover, exploding bits of bark all around him.
A second later, Black, who was crouched behind a tree ten yards to Edger's left, fired a number of shots from his rifle. Edger saw the guard with the shotgun go down as bullets peppered his chest.
Edger aimed at another guard, shot him in the stomach, the guard staggering back as
he continued to fire his machine pistol into the trees. Another shot from Edger's rifle to the guard's head took him down. Then Edger took down another guard with his last two rounds, before ducking behind the tree and quickly changing the magazine. When he next looked, there were three more guards on the grassy slope, all firing Scorpion machine pistols towards his and Black's positions.
9mm bullets were cutting through the trees all around Edger, breaking branches, exploding bark, blowing up the soft earth around him as they narrowly missed their target.
Fuck this. We're sitting ducks here.
They needed to make it to the house.
Breaking cover for a second, Edger fired three rounds at the closest guard, all but one of the rounds impacting the guard's body.
That's when he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the massive black shadow charging through the trees at him from the right. Edger swung his rifle in the direction of the charging guard, but before he could get a shot off, the guard was on top of him, kicking Edger hard in the chest, the impact sending Edger crashing back to the ground, his rifle landing at his feet as he lost his grip on it.
Then the guard was on top of him, pinning Edger to the ground. The guard was so big and heavy it was like a rhinoceros had come charging through the trees and sat on Edger. Only this rhinoceros held possibly the biggest god damned knife Edger had ever seen. The guard held the massive blade with both hands as he raised it over his head, the hard steel shining ominously in the moonlight, reflecting back into the eyes of the guard, and for a second, Edger saw the pure, unbridled aggression in those wide eyes, but also something else that was difficult to explain, like a deadness behind them, possibly reflecting an unthinking personality, like the guard was just a drone sent out to do a job without thought or question, and it hit Edger in that moment that all the guards were probably as brainwashed as Declan once was, programmed by Mason to do his bidding, with no regard for their own lives.