Cain (31 page)

Deep down,
Soloman still didn't like it. But it had been the best he could come up with on the spur of the moment. He shook his head, whispering, "This is a wild plan, Ben."

"You're telling me?" the general answered. "We don't even know if Cain's gonna come for this thing! He could be in China by now!"

Soloman stood a moment. "No," he said quietly. "He'll come. I can feel it." A pause. "And if he finds this, he'll come for Amy. Or me. He has to have his vengeance."

Despite his misgivings,
Soloman knew it was worth the risk. But the bottom line was the cold, hard truth that they had no choice. If they didn't kill Cain now, then Cain was only days away from killing the world. And even if Maggie's calculations were wrong and the virus didn't mutate, then Cain would methodically hunt Amy until he found her. Then he would take her blood to make himself virtually without limitation, a physical god.

"Is that good enough, Sol?"

"It's all we can do." Soloman checked his watch. "Ten minutes until closing. Go ahead, Ben. Usher everybody out without causing any commotion. Make sure there’s no one in the museum when the doors shut. Then hole up across the street with the FBI guys"

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna wait for Cain." Soloman's eyes narrowed as he searched the surrounding floor. "I'm gonna hide somewhere inside this place and make sure he takes the bait."

Nervously Ben licked his lips. "Look, Sol, I don't mean to tell you
your business because generals are mostly just politicians, but if that monster senses that you're close to him, you're as good as dead. These FBI guys can't back you up if it hits the fan and goes tactical. Even the Delta guys got wiped out."

Ignoring him,
Soloman concentrated on the room. And finally Ben added, "All right, Sol. Do what you have to do. But listen, buddy, be very, very careful. This guy is Death Walking."

Soloman
clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Ben. Cain's too smart not to find this."

"And you're sure he'll come for the kid?"

"Yeah." Soloman frowned. "But what he's gonna find is me."

***

Midnight.

Soloman
had taken so many amphetamines to stay awake that he had trouble drawing breath. His heart seemed strained and his lungs ached with a strange painfulness that he couldn't correct no matter how delicately he inhaled.

He was pushing the edge, he knew. This kind of overdose to stay awake could kill. And although he'd done this in the past, he no longer had the advantage of youth and sensed that he'd used up that part of himself that had kept him above th
is line in the old days.

He had taken so many pills—three times more than usual—because he couldn't risk missing Cain's silent approach. He realized that the giant, as massive as he was, could
also move like a shadow and hear the slightest sound. So Soloman had to remain vividly alert despite the dangers of the drugs.

He released half a breath.

He was so tired with a bone-deep fatigue that went beyond the physical. And as he leaned his head back against the wall of the closet he felt a wild panic about whether Cain would sense his presence beyond the small metal grate. But it was a risk he had to take; he was only grateful that he had brought the stimulants to keep himself on his feet.

Yeah
,
something to keep an old man awake
...

Time passed slowly on the artificial adrenaline rush and
Soloman wondered how life had brought him to this strange and bizarre place. Distantly, knowing he'd taken too much and endured too much, he saw Lisa so cold, so horribly dead in his arms even as he remembered her love and laughter, her moods and her smiles.

He bowed his head, closing his eyes.

"My only child ..."

With a grim frown he resisted the pain that devoured his soul.

"
Love of my life
..."

Then he remembered the job, the long hours away from home hunting rogue agents, dissecting intelligence reports to find the truth in a world of lies. It was a job he'd chosen because it had been his greatest skill, the one thing he could do better than anyone else. But it hadn't been worth the price he'd paid. No, nothing was worth that.

Nothing was worth life itself.

Then it came. The rush.

He was instantly alert, unmoving, un-breathing, watching and waiting and desperately calculating the distance of a sound he wasn't sure he had even heard. The amphetamine shakes vanished, vanquished by a control he didn't understand, hands suddenly and utterly still and slick with sweat.

Ready.

In his right hand he held the cut-down M-79, a forty-millimeter buckshot round chambered. The Desert Eagle was in a low-ride holster attached to his thigh, four extra clips on his waist. And in his left hand he held a portable A-unit to communicate with Ben and the FBI team who were concealed in a building across the street.

Soloman
knew that if it came down to a man-to-man fight, Cain would win because conventional weaponry, as Maggie had predicted, had little effect. Only a concentrated holocaust could take Cain down, and only then when it contained the brute force necessary to separate him limb from limb before that spectacular healing factor could repair the damage.

Shadow
. . .

Silence?

Shadow
. . .

M
OVEMENT
!

Soloman
tilted his head aside from the grate, knowing Cain's heat-sensing abilities could easily detect his presence behind the steel mesh. He waited long and longer, maddeningly endless seconds before easing an eye back to the mesh to see a gigantic, black-cloaked shape standing silently before the empty display case.

Cain
!

Silent as night, he'd come.

Watching the giant s back, Soloman saw that he appeared slightly ravaged from the earlier confrontation. Although he had obviously regained titanic proportions, evident through the long cloak descending from his mammoth shoulders, he also seemed somehow less formidable as if the price paid for the fight at the museum had diminished an irreplaceable measure of strength.

Soloman couldn't catch his breath as the giant lifted his fist to the side, clenching with unreal strength, trembling in rage. Then he saw Cain mechanically turn his head, searching until he saw the door marked "Shipping Department." Without pause Cain approached the door and shredded the lock without effort, opening the steel panel.

Soloman
waited a long time, sweating profusely, overcome with heat. Carefully he blew drops of perspiration from his lips and nose, knowing that if Cain somehow sensed his presence in the closet, the giant would simply open the door and kill him wholesale, weapons or not.

Then he heard the shipping door open again and glimpsed a shadow. His finger tightened on the trigger as he leaned back, preparing. It was only a fragment he saw as Cain passed the steel mesh, smiling fain
tly, and Soloman knew he had completed the deception. The fiend had found
The Grimorium Verum
and the letter and would be coming for Amy. Soloman lightly released a withheld breath and then Cain's shadow ceased moving.

Mistake
!

Leaning back,
Soloman was instantly drenched with sweat.

That's impossible
!

He's more than forty feet away
!

Cain's imperial head bent, and even though the mammoth back was to him,
Soloman could sense the hostile countenance scowling in concentration. Then Cain angled his head slightly, half the face suddenly visible, a gleam of a smile that somehow indicated Cain had been acutely searching for a hidden presence. But still he didn't look directly at the closet, as if debating the exact location of the whispered sound.

Soloman
silently blinked sweat from his eyes. Clearly, Cain was becoming more certain and Soloman could see a malignant eye narrowing, triumph evident in the devilish glare.

He was out of time.

Soloman quick-clicked the hammers of both weapons, backing against the wall. He knew that he had to do something fast or die and so he shoved the sem-iauto in his belt, instantly withdrawing the A-unit.

He silenced the volume of the radio as Cain slowly advanced
upon the door, and keyed the mike three times, and three more times. Then, sliding aside, he slipped behind a large stone statue of Buddha, crouching with the M-79 held close. He withdrew the Desert Eagle, holding both weapons close to his chest, ready to open fire.

He knew Ben and the rest of the FBI team were out front waiting for a message
and when they received it, they would be calling back fast and frantic. But if he didn't reply they would make an explosive entry, expecting him to be under attack.

Light vanished before the steel mesh.

Cain stood five feet away.

Darkness congealed as a living thing.

Only hard-gained combat skill gave Soloman enough control to withhold firing directly through the door. And he trembled as he held back, ready to spin and shoot straight into Cain's face as the panel opened. It would be his last move, he knew, because he didn't have enough ordnance to put Cain down for good. Still, Soloman planned to do some very serious damage before he died, just for spite.

The doorknob twisted, the lock shredded before absolutely irresistible strength. Then a blinding white edge of light lit the wall opposite Soloman as the portal slowly opened.

Soloman's fingers took all slack from the triggers. Sweat dripped from his face and he melted to the wall as the door opened wider, revealing an image that would have horrified Hell itself.

As darkness incarnate, the shadow burned into the wall and Cain's cloak lifted as if caressing, or commanding, the night. The beast took a single cautious stride, standing motionless in the opening, bending his head, searching. In surreal silence he moved slowly toward the Buddha.

"Don't try to escape!"

Cain spun, a curse erupting at the rush of men.

Instantly he was running for the door and Soloman rose quickly to see him flash across the museum, caught the sounds of the FBI Special Response team taking frantic positions.

Soloman
slammed the door back, pursuing hard as Cain approached a high night-light framed by the moon in a sloping roof. And then as Cain reached it he roared, leaping incredibly high and hard, hurling himself through the barrier and into the sky beyond.

A shower of shattered glass was blasted white against moonlight,
spreading like ice, and then Cain's monstrous image descended, the black cloak lifting to ride the wind before he was gone.

Escaping
into darkness.

"Damn,"
Soloman whispered, leaning against a wall, drenched in sweat. "That was
too close
..."

Staggering from nervous fatigue, he fell to his knees, breathing heavily. Then with a tired sigh he lowered his weapons and from within some dark center of himself, beyond anything he had ever truly understood, he wondered if he could ever kill this thing.

* * *

CHAPTER 17

A
rchette's heart raced.

"He has come to me!" he said.

Erupting at the words, Lazarus visibly shuddered with excitement before the saturnine face solidified in unbelievable control that locked down all emotion. Still, though, his fists clenched in the effort, pressing into the oak table as he bowed his shaved head.

"At last," he whispered. "At last
..."

"What do I do?" Archette asked, swaying.

"Do whatever it is that he requires," Lazarus answered coldly. "We will not contest his designs.” A pause. “Yes, give him anything –
everything
! And did he – by chance – mention me?"

Archette paused, opening his mouth. "He ... he said that he needed Kano, Lazarus. I believe that he was too preoccupied with efforts to give such deserved, glorious credit to those who—"

"Hold!" Lazarus said in a suddenly frightening tone. "You have not ascended enough to presume!" There was silence. "Go! Take care of his needs! Does Kano know that He approaches?"

"I have
n’t been able to contact him," Archette responded finally. "I have been ensuring the failure of Soloman and his team! I have a meeting within the hour with the Trinity Council! My leaks about the massacre at the sanatorium and the experiment have destroyed Bull’s authority and I am now in charge. But I know that is not important. I will find him! I will find him tonight!"

"Then go!" Lazarus did not sit. "For He is among us and we shall not disappoint! I myself will organize The Circle to protect him should it please his design
s!"

Archette stood, open-mouthed.

"Go!" Lazarus's eyes blazed.

"The Lord has come!"

***

Malo was the image of death as he leaned against a rampart, staring into the swamp. He held a bolt-action .300-caliber H and H magnum, the stock set on his hip. A large caliber semi-auto was holstered against his thigh beneath a large bowie knife, and his face was painted black over the bushy black beard. His eyes were cold. He appeared patient and focused.

Soloman
came up slowly. All of them were quiet together in the fear of something no one would admit. He spoke in a whisper though there was no reason to whisper: "Anything?"

"No," the big lieutenant responded without expression, not taking his
eyes from the land before him. He frowned as he shook his head. "But he's out there. I can smell him."

Raising naval binoculars,
Soloman studied the swamp. He swept the glass slowly, searching for shadow or movement, but found nothing in the overgrown mossy silence. Finally he set the binoculars on the rampart and leaned forward, frustrated. "He's got to be out there," he said quietly. "Something's not right with this."

Malo grunted, “
Like?”

"Like the fact that
he’s running out of time." Soloman continued to search the swamp. "He's only got four more days until Samhain so he should have made a move by now." He paused. "This isn't right."

It had been seventeen hours since Cai
n had taken the copy of
The Grimorium Verum
from the museum, vanishing into the night. And no genuine search had been initiated because Soloman didn't want another confrontation in the city, realizing it would only end in a bloodbath although, for purposes of deception, Soloman had allowed the FBI a brief stampede, knowing Cain would be suspicious if no one came after him. But Soloman only played the game long enough to make Cain believe they were chasing him.

Now
the
real
game had begun.

The Loach was fueled, ready to fly Amy and Maggie away as soon as they saw Cain coming. And every approach to the basilica was monitored. But still, something didn't feel right. It was as if the wind were carrying a threat that
Soloman hadn't calculated as he nervously asked Malo, "You think we've covered everything?"

"As good as it can be covered," the big lieutenant responded, chomping down suddenly on the nub of a cigar. "He's gonna have to work
hard to get through that perimeter. And, really, I don't think he can. We've been reading heat signals all day from mice to beavers and we've followed all of 'em with checks to make sure it wasn't him. So we're tight." He stared, disturbed despite his words. "We should be covered like a blanket but I don’t feel like it."

Soloman
frowned at the moor. There was something there, he knew – something he'd missed. He didn't know what it was and the more he searched for it the more frustrated he became. He shook his head and turned away, speaking as he walked.

"If you see him, kill him."

Malo tightened on the rifle.

"Count on it."

***

A subterranean silence hung heavy inside the basilica, everyone seated and somber as
Soloman came past the cryptic stone carvings and into the cathedral itself, struck by the surreal atmosphere. It was as if everyone were waiting to die, frightfully counting seconds.

Attempting to break the unnerving mood he lifted a cold sandwich from a plate, took a bite. Then in a masquerade of bravado he laid his rifle against the banister, taking a cup of coffee. He knew that everyone was watching him with
the keenest interest.

With peripheral vision he saw Amy sitting far from the rest, her forearms wrapped around her shins. There was something infinitely sad in her composure, as if she had something she longed to give but no one could take. Mother Superior Mary Francis noticed his gaze as she settled another pot of coffee on an altar table.

"Her feelings run deep," she said to Soloman. "But she will not speak of them."

Soloman
studied the small, solitary figure, so sad and alone.

"Her mother tried to talk to her," the Mother Superior added. "Father Marcelle also tried. But she waits."

"For what?" Soloman asked softly.

"Why don't you go to her," the old woman answered, "and ask?"

Deciding before he realized he had made a decision, Soloman took his rifle and moved casually across the room, smiling comfortably as he neared, finally sitting. He didn't say anything for a long time, trying to comfort her with his presence alone as the minutes passed. When she finally spoke, her small, quiet voice almost startled him.

"I had a dream," she said.

Soloman sensed her fear but didn't comment. In her own time, he knew, and in her own way, she would tell him. She didn't turn to him as she continued.

"It was a dog," she said, eyes widening as if she could see it. "It was big, and black, and it was on a chain. It was chasing me through the woods in the dark." She paused. "I ran as fast as I could but then I was too scared to run anymore and
then it caught me. I was trying to hide in the bushes but it found me, and it was growling and coming to me. It stepped into the bushes to get me and then ... then
you
were there." She looked up. "You were trying to save me, and you fought it. But the dog was stronger than you, and it hurt you. Then you grabbed it by its chain and killed it."

Soloman
felt a faint chill, watching the small face that looked so much older than it had seemed only two days ago.

"Then you picked me up and carried me home," she said simply.
"Do you ever dream?"

Slowly
Soloman nodded. "Yeah," he responded; he would not hide himself from such genuine affection. He had been hiding too long. "Yeah, I dream. A lot."

"What do you dream about?"

"About ... I guess ... I dream about my little girl."

|
"Does she talk to you?"

"Yeah,"
Soloman answered, not looking down again. "Sometimes she talks to me. But I always talk first. She comes to me. And she wants to be with me. But I'm too busy. I'm always trying to make a living, and things are really hard. And sometimes it's like I'm on the edge of a cliff and I've only got a few more feet to go. But that's the hardest part of the climb. There's nothing to hold onto. And the only thing that's going to get me over the edge is my determination, my courage, my skill, or strength, or whatever." He hesitated, as if he could see it. "I look down, and it's so far to fall if I fail, and I'm just hanging there, trying to get the courage to make the last move. But I'm scared." His face twisted. "And all she wants is to be with me – such a simple thing. But I don't have time for her."

Amy blinked, solemn.

"And she knows that I don't have time for her," Soloman added finally. "I can see the hurt in her eyes. But then she just smiles and says that she was only joking – or something like that. She says she's got important things to do and runs off to play." He wiped a corner of his eye. "I turn my back on her and she just smiles like she forgives me – like it's all right. And she doesn't want much, really. She just wants us to be together. But I’m in this terrible situation and I don't know how to get out of it."

Amy said nothing, and they were silent together. Then she reached over and laid a hand on his, not looking up.

"She knew," she said quietly. "She knew."

Grimacing,
Soloman gazed over the basilica, finally releasing a deep sigh. Then he looked down again and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. "You're a good kid," he said with a curt nod. "You're gonna be just fine."

"Are you proud of me?" she asked.

He took a second.

"Yeah," he smiled. "Like you were my own."

***

Soloman checked with Malo every fifteen minutes as night finally submerged the basilica in darkness. He paced the floor, narrowly containing his agitation that something was terribly wrong and noticed that Amy, too, was becoming increasingly restless.

She fidgeted with this and that, refused to build Jacob's Ladder with Mother Superior Mary Francis, and refused to eat. And as the child grew more and more nervous it fanned the flames of
Soloman's intuition. It was as if they shared some kind of secret knowledge of an unseen threat.

Shaking his head in frustration,
Soloman radioed Malo again and again and the Delta lieutenant reported over and over that the scanners were stone-cold. But Soloman didn't like it at all. There was something wrong, here. The adrenaline in his blood would not abate. He couldn’t relax. His eyes were sharp and focused but there was no enemy in sight.

F
nally Soloman walked to the front for another cup of coffee, still unable to place what it was. He noticed Amy coming up beside him, her face pale, almost white. She said nothing.

Soloman
hesitated, sensing. "What is it, Amy?"

A silent stare: Fear.

Soloman lowered the coffee. "What is it, Amy?"

"I think he's here," she said in a voice of someone who counts herself already dead.

Eyes narrowing in concentration, Soloman lifted his rifle. He glanced around the basilica before kneeling in front of her, trying to sense what she sensed. "Why do you say that, darlin'?"

"I know him,
Soloman." Her conviction was complete. "I think he’s already here.”

Soloman
straightened and ordered another perimeter check and every man responded that they detected nothing. There were no activations of motion detectors, and every heat sensors was negative. Then Soloman raised Malo and ordered a visual perimeter that also came back negative. But Soloman wasn't satisfied. Fiercely he glared at the door and knew that, somehow, Amy was dead right.

Cain was already here.

Soloman didn't know how and didn't care; the alarming sensation that they were already in undeclared mortal combat made the decision for him. He keyed the A-unit: "Malo! Get down here! You're flying Amy out of this place right now! Execute! Execute! Execute!"

"But Colonel, I—"

"
Get down here
!" Soloman shouted. "Cain's already here!" He hustled Amy and Maggie toward the front door. "Both of you are leaving! Malo's gonna fly you to another safe-house!"

They reached the door as Malo came down the stone steps, moving
quickly. He glared at Soloman as if he'd lost his mind. "How could he already be here?" he asked angrily. "He'd have to fly in to break that perimeter!"

"I don't know,"
Soloman answered as he pulled back the bolts on the door. "But I think she's right. I think Cain is already here. I don't know how and I don't care. But he's already inside this place."

Malo moved out the door, swinging the rifle, searching. He came into
the courtyard where the Loach rested and without hesitation he climbed into the seat, starting the rotors. In seconds the roar of the turbos dominated the night air, thundering over stone.

"Go!"
Soloman pushed Amy and Maggie, searching high for any threatening image outlined against black ramparts. He still saw no threat but his fear escalated second by second to an adrenaline rush. Whatever had ignited his instinct of danger was as confusing as the question of how Cain could have crossed that zone of destruction without tripping any—