The Keys of Solomon (28 page)

Filled with the horrible truth, Gilbert turned away, unable to look at his former aide. Instead, he locked eyes with the face of Death. As it advanced, the creature seemed to once again bend time to its will. Gilbert watched helplessly as row upon row of nail-like teeth descended in slow motion. The gaping maw closed over his face. Nose, orbital sockets, and jaw bones all shattered beneath incredible force, and the bishop's screams were garbled deep within the ruins of a once-refined face. As the creature dragged him away in the direction of the basement, Gilbert silently begged God for a quick and merciful death. As the demon fed, Gilbert's last conscious thought was that God, perhaps, no longer listened.

And the Hunter still hunts.

*   *   *

Malcolm reviewed the latest stack of communiqués from Los Angeles, Boston, St. Louis, and Rome. The news, for the most part, was interesting.

According the latest report, Arturo Giannini went missing shortly after transferring the recovered grimoire to his contact. A search of Arturo's premises revealed signs of a horrific struggle, though details were omitted or blacked out in the official report. Both Watcher personnel and the Rome Gendarmes suspected foul play.

I just bet they do, the idiots,
thought Malcolm Reading. Arturo's firearm had been recovered at the scene. It still had a full magazine. Apparently, Giannini had succumbed without firing a shot. Watcher intelligence believed his attackers were after the grimoire Giannini had recovered from the apartment of the recently deceased Father Raoul Acuna. That book, Malcolm knew, was of particular interest to a great many people these days.

Though scribbled by the hand of a madman, the book was a remarkable depository of knowledge: It contained the names and locations of Legion collaborators and thralls, at least six of whom were Watchers. Reading's eyes watered as he mouthed the names, refusing to validate their existence by giving them voice. Other information denoted major cities, minor towns, and other more obscure locations in which Legion maintained centers of power.

It also contained a list of potential targets, men and women, both secular and nonsecular. It came as no surprise to Reading that dozens of Watchers were marked for death, including Nicholas Gilbert. Katherine and Samuel Conner also appeared on the list, well above Gilbert's. In fact, Sam's name was listed very near the top of the “must die” column, sandwiched between a Cardinal in France and an American presidential hopeful. Legion clearly considered Sam Conner a threat.

According to additional reports, several chapters within the grimoire were nearly indecipherable, with meandering lines of confusing text, referencing obscure names such as
Keil
,
Baraniel
,
Seraph
,
Atuesuel
, and
Raziel
. A separate column contained names more familiar to Malcolm.
Buer
, a third-order demon, but one who commanded fifty legions of lesser predatory evil spirits;
Nazzikim
, a demon lord who toppled entire governments with little more than cunning;
Shabriri
, a bestial greater demon, commanding forty-six legions of lesser entities, and capable of both ethereal and physical manifestation;
Furefor
, another demon lord who carried the ancient title of Slayer of Heralds; and finally, at the bottom of the column,
Vetis
, a legendary demon lord of immense power, also called Devourer of Souls in ancient texts and by modern-day worshipers. According to several prophecies, it would be Vetis who corrupts the Holy of Holies and frees the Seventy-two greater demons imprisoned by Solomon. Many modern scholars were in vocal disagreement regarding that prophecy, as according to all known related texts, demons were forbidden entrance to the sacred temple.

Despite numerous disturbing elements of the book, the final pages contained the most curious text of all—the reference to the End of Days in conjunction with the great theft of the Lesser Keys of Solomon buried beneath the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.

Thanks in part to the cache of scrolls and other artifacts recovered from the Temple Mount during the Crusades, the Watchers had long been aware of Legion's ultimate motive: to destroy mankind before the Creator could gather His people. However, having the desire to destroy humanity was one thing. It was quite another to actually possess the tools and opportunity to follow through. The Runner had delivered the Lesser Keys of Solomon into the hands of Legion. It was only a matter of time now.

Reading placed the stack of reports into a ballistic-proof briefcase and spun the combination tumblers. Taking his cell phone from his belt, he punched in a speed-dial code, the number for Brian King. No signal. He dialed a second number and a voice answered almost immediately.

“Carter here.”

Malcolm smiled. Edward Carter was a solid operator, if a tad not too bright. The perfect man to assist with the next phase of Malcolm's plan.

“Carter, this is Malcolm Reading. I want support out of here by tomorrow morning with the equipment vans, headed back to the Watcher safe house in New Orleans.”

“Expecting trouble, sir?”

“Son, is that supposed to be a rhetorical question or just a plain, old-fashioned dumb-ass question?”

“Uh, n-no, I mean, neither … sir.”

“Good. Now, after making the travel assignments, book commercial airline reservations for me and the remaining team members. First available flight for New Orleans, tonight.”

“I-It's late, sir. There may not be another flight leaving Phoenix tonight.”

Reading paused to relight his pipe, then said, “Carter, I don't care if you have to shit a Boeing 767; I better be on a plane, tonight!

Malcolm disconnected the call and resumed packing. He intended to be well away from Arizona by the next morning.

CHAPTER 18

Asarco Airfield, south of Casa Grande, Arizona

As Ronni approached the entrance to the private airfield, she hit the brakes and surveyed the damage in silence. The gate, a heavy-duty apparatus of welded tubular steel and mesh had been all but destroyed. The damage wasn't consistent with that inflicted by vehicular impact. This wasn't damage at all. It was carnage, the kind left in the wake of level-three tornadoes. The massive iron posts that had anchored the gate had been ripped from their concrete foundations and tossed about like twisted pixie sticks. The gate itself resembled a mesh washcloth, wrung dry and laid out upon the ground to dry. The creature that still adorned the wrecked hood of the Escalade was formidable in myriad ways, but Ronni knew even that monstrosity couldn't have dealt out this kind of damage.
What, then? What waited for them inside the airfield?

“We can't sit here,” said Lexis. “Too exposed.”

Ronni nodded and took her foot off the brake. As the Escalade started forward at a slow idle, Elliott said, “Wait!”

Before Ronni could bring the SUV to a full stop, Elliott opened the passenger door and jumped out. He ran around to the front of the vehicle. Favoring his injured shoulder, he took hold of the dead creature's foot and dragged it from the hood. It landed on the road with a heavy
thud
. Elliott removed his fatigue jacket and spent a few seconds cleaning his hands. Afterward, he dropped the ruined jacket on top of the creature and climbed back into the vehicle.

“I don't know about you two, but I was getting sick of looking at that motherfucker. What
was
that thing, anyway?”

“I'm not positive,” said Lexis, “but it fits the general description of a
demi-wight
, a minor demon associated with service to the demon lord Dagon, first catalogued in the fifteenth century by Sir Edmund Buhler, I believe. There have been increased sightings since 2002 and the corruption of the Abbotsville Veil, but they're still considered rare.
Demi-wights
have supernatural strength, speed, and agility, but no other discernable powers. They are low maintenance and very dangerous with limited intelligence, but excellent tactical skills.”

“Well, aren't you just a fucking encyclopedia. And how is that bit of information supposed to help us deal with them?”

“Heh. In your case, I doubt that it will. However, if you'd bother to study the Order's codex, you probably would have recognized it. Most all of the minor demons are listed. You also would have known that
demi-wights
can be killed by small-arms fire.”

“Fuck you, Lexis.”

“Is your dick as short as your vocabulary?”

“Cunt!”

Lexis cracked a rare smile. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“Knock it off, goddamnit!” yelled Ronni. “We don't have time for this!” The words came out louder than she intended, but the situation was desperate. Two demons had already attacked the party within the last half hour, leaving one Watcher dead and another wounded. From the look of the airfield gate, it was likely more waited just ahead. Then there was the small matter of the two vehicles that had followed them from Sun City. The station wagon had decided against following them off-road, but the Lincoln stayed on their ass until finally falling behind less than two miles from the airfield access road. It was probable either—or both—would catch up with them before the party could board the plane.

Once through the gate, Ronni coasted along the road, watchful for signs of the Enemy and the plane that would fly them to safety. Neither Elliott nor Lexis spoke, and the Conner child had ceased with those annoying sobs. Not that Ronni could really blame her. This entire ordeal had to be a nightmare for any kid raised in middle-class America.

At least the mother remained quiet. Not a sound from her since the extraction in Sun City. Odd, now that Ronni thought back on it. Not once did the woman ask who, what, or why. She didn't express any concern for her daughter, not in the way most mothers would, nor did she ever ask about her son. She simply complied with a deadpan expression, staring blankly through those soulless, soft brown eyes.
Maybe she already knew
, thought Ronni.
Maybe she knew and surrendered without a fight. Maybe she doesn't care anymore.

A mile south of the wrecked chain-link gate, a pair of tall security lights illuminated the grounds around a long Quonset-style metal building. A short distance to the west of the building, a single-propeller Cessna rested on flat tires overgrown by desert brambles near a mobile fuel tanker.
Good God. What holds that plane together? It looks like a rusted-out beer can with wings.

Ronni nosed the Escalade into a parking slot near the building and shut off the engine. After enduring the near wreck along the interstate, the bone-jarring dash over broken desert terrain, and running gun battles with demons, the sudden quiet was physically and emotionally painful. No sound. Even the chilly desert wind had subsided to a hoarse whisper, then died completely. Gathering clouds blotted out much of the light from the half moon and the darkness, much like the quiet, seemed to possess substance and mass.

Ronni checked her watch:
8:52
P.M.
Where's the damn plane?
She checked the magazine in her Glock and made sure a round was chambered and ready to fire. Reaching under the seat, she pulled a flashlight from its charger.

“Lexis, call Reading and let him know we're at the field. And—and tell him about Brian. I'm going to have a look around. Keep a watch over our guests while I check out the building and lean on the horn if anything comes up.”

“No good, Ronni. I tried and we can't get a signal out here. I think the clouds are screwing with the satellite.”

“Shit! Okay, but keep trying, okay? We need to let someone know we made it this far.”

Looking over at Elliott, she added, “You can stay here or come with me. Choice is yours.”

“You keep forgetting who's in charge of this mission, Weiss,” said Elliott. “We're not splitting up, so sit your ass down.”

Ronni shook her head and smiled. “We're not out of the woods yet, Elliott, and I don't like surprises. Stay here if you like, but I'm checking out the place before the plane arrives.”

Exasperated, Elliott said, “Look, Weiss, this isn't the Gaza Strip, and you're not Rambo. Just be a good little girl and pull the rig over into those shadows on the back side of the building. We'll just sit here and wait on the damn plane, together.”

Ronni shoved the flashlight into a trouser cargo pocket and opened the door. As she stepped out of the Escalade, she said, “You know, you had me right up until the moment you mentioned Gaza and Rambo. Now, if you had said Ariel Sharon…” Looking into the back seat, Ronni added, “Kid, I don't suppose I need to tell you to keep quiet. No heroics. Do you understand me?”

Kat nodded and scooted closer to her mother. Ronni thought Amanda Conner seemed more dead than alive.

Ronni pushed the door shut before Elliott could reply. As she started for the building, the front door swung open. Reflex and training took over, and in a fraction of a second, the laser-guided red dot from her Glock, one of three, was planted on the chest of a short, slim young man wearing a goofy grin who was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a small, plastic flashlight in the other. He wore a much too large powder blue jacket bearing the Asarco Mining Corporation logo on a dirty breast pocket. The name
DUKE
was stitched across the opposite pocket. Ronni nearly laughed out loud. The guy couldn't weigh any more than John Wayne's left leg.

Like the kid in that movie,
Rudy.
Five feet nothing, and weighs a hundred and nothing
.

“Hey, hey! No need to get all gun happy,” the man in the overalls called out with his hands raised in the air. “We don't keep any money around here. Just debit vouchers. Only drugs I got are some BC powders and a quart of Colt Malt Liquor in the frig inside.” He gave Ronni a quick once over, noting the black fatigues, combat boots, and other assorted gear, before turning his attention to the others in the damaged SUV.