Cain (37 page)

With a guttural roar he threw up taloned hands. "
The Earth was given to man but man gave it to me
! All this was legally mine and you knew it! And then you deceived me! You lied to me! And you had the pride to call
me
a liar?" His eyes narrowed as if he beheld something savagely pleasing. "But I made you suffer for it! I made you suffer as no man has ever suffered nor ever shall! Until I make you suffer for it again!"

Amy heard a car outside the building. Reflected light coming through the windows of the second-floor window caused him to lower his head. Stunned, Amy watched with wide eyes, with hope, but the giant rose slowly to his feet, undisturbed. He edged to the window and glanced down, gazing a long time until he turned to her.

"It seems the police have discovered our means of transportation." He laughed and stretched his huge arms, releasing a deep breath. "They are entering the building to investigate, which is a fortuitous event, indeed. For I hunger."

Gazing down, he smiled.

Moved toward the stairs.

***

Soloman was amazed with the skill that Marcelle met their needs. The priest stopped once to make a quick phone call and then they were driving again, Soloman alert for marked or unmarked cars.

Cautiously Marcelle directed them to a small church off Pennsylvania Avenue, less than a hundred yards from Shore Drive, a heavily traveled interstate.
Soloman stopped behind the building and exited the LTD and in the cold ocean breeze he could smell the salt water of Jamaica Bay. He caught sight of a 747 landing at Kennedy Airport, less than thirty minutes away. From years in the intelligence field he knew it was a good location for a safe-house.

Marcelle was speaking quickly as
Soloman lifted Maggie from the back seat.

"Aveling has arranged for a speedboat to wait for us in the bay," the priest said. "If need arises, we will use it to escape the city and gain another place in New Jersey, which he has also prepared. And we have a private jet waiting at the airport to take us anywhere in the world within a half
-hour's notice."

Sligh
tly stunned as he carried Maggie into the rear entrance of the church, Soloman asked, "Do you people do this often, Marcelle? I haven't seen any intelligence agency in the world that has this kind of coordination without a ton of paperwork and computer gurus."

Closing the door hard behind them, Marce
lle laughed.

"The Church is not the world, Colonel."

***

Aveling was seated in a crimson chair, staring inten
tly into the vault of the Secret Archives. His face held no expression, his hands no tension as they rested on the mahogany arms. But his eyes, focused on the cavernous chamber as if to discern truth by sheer will, glinted angrily.

The Librarian Superior stood to the side, waiting.

Moving quickly, Father Barth came down the steps, a note in his hand. He walked up to Aveling and waited until the Jesuit said, "Yes?"

Barth handed him the note, which he read slowly, frowning before he nodded. "Good," he said. "Now, arrange in Rome for the transfer of unlimited funds."

"A wise decision, Aveling. But, again, do we not worry about the consequences?"

"The consequences can worry of themselves," Aveling answered
gravely, folding hands meditatively before his face. "Marcelle has thrown himself into the void, so now there can be no trembling of hands or knees. I will stand behind my son because I believe his cause is just, because his enemy is great, and because we must all choose where we will die. And, last, because no man who sets his hand to the plow and looks back is worthy of the Kingdom of God."

A
long pause.

"Go," Aveling said, bowing his head. "Do what must be done."

***

Soloman
was stoic, staring out a window. He knew that Marcelle had approached him but didn't turn. His mind had locked on something dark and disturbing. "Tell me something, Marcelle," he began. "Do you really think you're right about Cain?"

Gloom, silence.

"Yes, Colonel, I believe that I am right. As incredible as it sounds, I believe that Cain is a dead man inhabited by Satan. The body is dead and the soul has fled, but because of this bizarre experiment it walks among us as undead. Now, Satan has somehow seized the soulless void of this superhuman body, so we do not battle mere flesh. We battle a principality. We battle an elemental force of the universe."

"You spoke of that before,"
Soloman said. "And I wasn't certain if I believed." He paused. "But now I do."

Marcelle said nothing.

"Is he on a chain, Marcelle?"

"A chain, yes," the priest replied. "A long chain, to be sure. But the Almighty does, indeed, keep him on a chain. If he did not, then Cain would have destroyed this world long ago. And he knows his time is short, but he has deceived himself into believing that he can overcome."

"A dog on a leash," Soloman said. "That's what Amy said. A dog on a leash." He grimaced. "So much power, but there's no nobility, nothing to glorify. It's like strength without purpose. Vengeance without justice."

"Yes, but he remains strong." Marcelle was grim. "For he was once the greatest of all created beings, and he retains a measure of that cosmic might. Nor can any man understand him
because no man can understand the essence of a spiritual being. Spiritual beings are not the fruit of reason, Colonel. Nor can any man understand pure evil because at the core of even the most immoral man lies the faintest measure of good."

A mutual silence.

"He's insane," Soloman said.

Marcelle considered. "Yes," he said, "his defeat is assured and yet he denies. He is deceived by his own ferocity and he inhabits his own dimension of madness."

"Madness to name this," Soloman whispered. “How inadequate.”

* * *

CHAPTER 21

“It ain't gonna end like this," Ben muttered, fists clenching.

He found his car in the parking lot of Langley and unlocked it, lamenting the long drive back to the base with the traffic and the tolls. He wasn't in a mood for the mundane.

After dealing with Archette he vaguely expected the whole thing to blow sky high when he started the engine but the experience was uneventful. Then he hastily cleared the guarded exit and drove east on Highway 172, sensing rather than smelling the water of Chesapeake Bay.

He felt himself frowning as he debated a dozen options. But everything seemed futile, an exercise for nothing. And he knew better than to commit to an attack before he had measured the strength of the resistance; futile attacks cost more lives than futile causes. But, really, there was nothing left to do except sit and watch, he thought, as he saw the flat green fields of Langley Air Force Base approaching.

As he cleared the gate, angrily anticipating the thirty-minute flight to Washington, the phone rang and he let them know by his tone that this was not a good time. But as he listened, his brow hardened in concentration.

"Who is this?" he growled.

He listened until the conversation ended abruptly, as if in defense against a tap. Then, stone-faced, he parked the car in a no-parking zone and moved with his briefcase across the lobby, shouldering a dozen non-coms aside to command the desk sergeant’s immediate attention.

Ben returned the salute.

"Get me a chopper right now," he said sternly, using the full frightening weight of his authority. He didn't like to brutally throw his influence or power over his boys, but he was inspired.

"What's the flight plan, sir?" the sergeant asked, galvanized, and Ben looked up from his wallet, knowing he couldn't use military resources for the rest of it.

His eyes glinted.

"Long Island," he said.

***

Maggie was sitting on the bed smoking a cigarette when
Soloman entered the small, undecorated room. Thin blue wisps spiraled up from a faintly trembling hand but her face was emotionless. Approaching her slowly, Soloman watched her eyes. They never turned to him.

When he was beside her he drew up a chair and glanced out the window, noticing the darkness approaching far too fast. It disturbed him deeply because it meant they had only three more nights until Samhain and the ritualistic sacrifice of Amy, if she were still alive.

Leaning back as Maggie released a slow breath, Soloman waited for her to speak. They hadn't talked at all after the battle in the basilica; it had been too chaotic. And everyone had been temporarily deafened by the explosions and gunfire. But now, Soloman knew, they had to communicate because he had seen Maggie replace the syringe in the coolant, securing it inside her purse.

In the dying light of a dismal day he stared at a slender wood crucifix hung on the wall, one of the few emblems in this hidden section of the basilica. Then Maggie flicked ashes into a small bowl and slowly massaged her forehead with the heel of her hand. Her voice was dry as she said, "I could use a glass of water, please."

"Sure," Soloman said as he moved from the room, coming back to find her smoking another cigarette. Gently, silently, he set the glass on a small table beside the bed, trying to sound encouraging.

"I didn't know you smoked."

A corner of her mouth quirked in a humorless smile. "Gave 'em up." She didn't look at him. "Bummed a pack off Marcelle."

"Yeah,"
Soloman said faintly. "Marcelle likes his cigarettes." He shook his head. "Sometimes he'll have one burning in an ashtray and one burning in his hand at the same time."

"It's his nerves. He doesn't show it any other way, but what he's doing in this affects him pretty badly." She was silent. "Everybody needs something."

Nothing was said for a long time, but from the set of her eyes Soloman knew that small talk was over. After taking a sip of water she looked directly at him, as if she expected him to start it. He returned the stare and tried to be encouraging without sounding patronizing.

"I think she's still alive, Maggie."

"Oh?" She took a long drag. "Why?"

"Because Cain wanted to take her alive. He went to a lot of trouble to take her alive. If he was going to just kill her he could have done it in the attic before I got to him. But he didn't. And that's because he wants to keep her until Samhain. We've still got three days."

Something in her eyes was vaguely hostile, and she held it a long time. Then she lowered her face as she spoke, staring at the falling night. "I was going to use the virus."

"I know."

"I haven't checked my purse." Her lips tightened. "I don't know whether to trust you or not."

"I
put it back in your purse, Maggie."

She looked at him when he spoke those
words, and Soloman smiled faintly. "You did the same thing I would have done," he continued. "I wouldn't have let Cain walk out of there with my child if I had the power to stop him – no matter what I had to do. If anything, I’m sorry you
didn’t
get a good chance to hit him with it."

Silence.

A tear fell. "I could have killed us all, Soloman." She rubbed it from her cheek. "Including Amy."

"You did the right thing, Maggie."
Soloman's eyes softened. He hadn't seen a woman cry in so long. He was vaguely shocked that he was so touched. "But nobody was hurt. And I'm convinced Amy is still alive. I'm telling you that we have three more days.”

"And how are we going to find him, Sol?" It was a heartfelt question.
"We couldn't find him before. We had to make him come to us. Now we've lost him again and he could be anywhere, just ... anywhere ..."

"We'll find him
." Soloman tried to communicate his confidence. "Trust me, we'll find him. We've got one more stone to turn over, but it might give us something to go on. It has to."

Then, reluctan
tly, he told her the full extent of their situation; they were cut off from military support, they were being hunted by every intelligence agency in the world but they had the full support of the Vatican which would do anything necessary to locate and destroy Cain.

She heard it all and pondered it a long time, the cigarette burning, suddenly forgotten, in her hand.
Soloman couldn't truly tell how badly she'd received the news. Her face had paled but she was also cold, almost scientific.

He looked up as Mother Superior Mary Francis, gray and stooped, entered the room with fresh bandages. Without asking permission the old nun began unwrapping the bandage on Maggie's left forearm
and Soloman noticed that she seemed remarkably adept at the task.

With a frown Maggie ground out the cigarette with her right hand as the nun worked, speaking in a raspy voice. "Every child needs a mother. And soon your child shall have hers once more."

The words, spoken with such quiet conviction, made a sudden tear appear on Maggie's face.

"Yes, I know," Sister Mary Francis added without looking up. "But suffering does not last forever. Not for you. And not for your child."

Maggie stared. "Do you really think she's alive?"

"She is alive."

"But how can you know?"

"Because I know God will not let the Devil triumph
in this." Mary Francis deftly finished the fresh bandage, moving with surprising gentleness. "This is not his world, and soon God will deliver his doom."

"But he's already killed so many peo—"

"The sword devours one side as well as the other," the Mother Superior interrupted sternly. "But Amy's life would give him his ultimate victory, and that shall not be. God will not allow it. Soon your child will have her mother's arms to comfort her once more."

With a grimace Maggie leaned her head into the old nun's shoulder and without hesitation Mary Francis reached up, settling a firm hand on the auburn hair, bringing them together. And at Maggie's first racking cry
Soloman silently rose and walked from the room.

But as he moved toward the door he also moved toward something inside him that was heated by the painful cries, and his face changed by degrees to stone. And as he cleared the portal he knew only one thing with absolute certainty.

He would pursue this thing to the ends of the Earth.

And he
would
kill it.

***

"It has arrived, Eminence."

Aveling did not stir as the young priest crossed the room to his crimson chair, which rested in front of the Archives. Then an instant later the man laid a large, wood-bound book on the old priest's lap, afterwards stepping far to the side, waiting in silence.

With a frown Aveling turned his face down.

The Grimorium Verum
.

It was the last surviving copy, acquisitioned from the Secret Archives of the Vatican to be flown by Concorde and a commandeered Lear, no expense spared. It was an evil work, Aveling knew all too well, but within it
s pages might lie the secret behind the words Cain spoke in the tunnel.

He ran a pale hand over the cover, studying the eerie, hideous, and mesmerizing image of a pornographic, Signorelli-type He
ll drawn with typical Jesuit overcrowding.

Demons leaped and danced, some crushing underfoot naked women
who had snakes crawling into their wombs. Men were bent and tortured with other demons crawling up their backs, purple faces distorted in a rictus of evil pleasure. Above the deeply penetrating scene, fierce angels royally dressed in medieval armor held burning swords to guard a majestic, sky-swept gateway.

Aveling realized that it was not the original cover for the millenniums-old book. Nor was this the original book itself, though it was written in
old Hebrew. No, he was certain, the original cover had glorified the power and place cursed by this one.

F
eeling his heart quicken in fear, Aveling slowly opened it and beheld images made by those original masters of sorcery that had penned the manuscript. He saw winged demons flying naked against a blood-red moon, a truly magnificent city—Pandemonium, the capital of Hell—built on a mountain of iron. Then there was the image of a titanic winged figure seated upon a lordly throne of granite, his great, six-fingered left hand extended over worshipping figures, each of formidable strength. The imperial face was the face of infinite pride, infinite will, endless strength.

Prince of the Air
. . .

Aveling
’s hand trembled as he turned the page, and another.

And another.

***

It was sunset when
Soloman found Marcelle talking on the phone in a secret antechamber located behind a confessional. Nothing could be heard on the other side of the thick stone wall.

Soloman
had already determined that they were secured in some secret part of the church, a place of hidden entrances and narrow corridors built into the edifice so long ago.

It was a place of unseen wars and unseen dominions, and
Soloman wondered how many times it had been used in two centuries. But he felt confident they wouldn't be discovered, for even the parishioners, he suspected, were unaware of this isolated domain.

Waiting patiently until Marcelle hung up,
Soloman noticed that the priest seemed agitated. Not looking at Soloman as he took a short step, strolling as he always strolled while thinking, Marcelle lit a cigarette. Clearly he was pondering something of consequence.

"So what else is there, Marcelle?"

A troubled wave. "Two police officers were killed this morning at a condemned building in Elizabeth, not far from here. According to the media, who are still zealously pursuing the carnage at the sanatorium in Los Angeles, their blood was drained."

Soloman
rose, pointing at the wall. "This is Cain, Marcelle!"

"Yes! Of course! But what advantage does it give us?"

Turning away, Soloman considered it a long time. "Cain had to hide so he could heal. And if he had to kill those two cops for blood, then he hasn't killed Amy yet. We can conclude that much." He leaned heavily on a desk. "You said that Cain needed both Amy and
The Grimorium Verum
for a sacrifice. Now he has them. So what is he doing? Where is he going? The answer lies somewhere in that vault."

Marcelle looked down and sighed. "Yes, we are certain of that. But there were so many documents." He shook his head in dismay. "Inventory is so—"

The phone rang.

Marcelle answered. "Aveling
! Yes, it is I … Yes, we are fine." He listened, amazed. "Are you certain of this? Yes! This is excellent, Eminence! And you know more? What? Are you certain? Very good, Father ... Yes, of course we will be here."

He hung up.

Soloman scowled. "
What
?"

The priest was electrified. "Aveling believes that he may solve the mystery before tonight." He paced as he spoke his next words. "He has read the last surviving copy of the
Grimorium Verum
and he has found the spell that Cain intends to invoke. Now he knows the exact type of place that Cain needs in order to complete the conjuration. There are approximately one hundred documents in the Archives granting deeds to land with like qualities. But this will speed up the process immensely."