The Keys of Solomon (31 page)

“So, what's your point?” said the woman.

“Damn, you're dumber than a sack full of hammers. My point is we must have shot up half a case of ammo during that clusterfuck, outside. Did you see any dead bogeymen? Did we kill even one of the bastards? No. Now, if we can't knock down a single goddamn demon after shooting up a couple hundred rounds, explain to me how in the hell we're going to survive out there. And if you think I'm going to waste even one shot to save that fucking kid, you're crazy as hell.”

Falco looked over his shoulder and said, “You look like shit, Elliott. Maybe you should conserve your energy and shut the fuck up.”

“Screw you, Falco,” muttered Elliott.

Enrique kicked a broken chair across the floor. “Knock it off, both of you. We've got to work together if we're going to salvage the mission and get out of this alive. Did anyone see what happened to Lexis?”

“I lost sight of her right after that station wagon plowed into your rental car,” said Falco.

Enrique shook his head. “We'll have to get a team in here to search for her as soon as the mission is complete.”

“Mission?” said Elliott. “What mission? This operation is over! Tell him, Weiss. Tell us all how you and Lexis fucked up this gig.”

“I said knock it off, Elliott.” Enrique turned to the woman. “I know you through your personnel dossier. I'm Enrique DeLorenzo.” Nodding toward Thomas, he said, “This is Thomas Falco. As the senior operator in this group, he'll take tactical command. I suggest you follow his orders if you want to live to see tomorrow. That goes for you, too, Elliott.”

Nodding in Sam's direction, Enrique finished the introductions. “That young man sitting over there in the corner is Sam Conner. I think you both know of Sam.”

Sam noticed the woman give Falco a quick, thorough appraisal, one peer to another, and gave him a brusque “you'll do” nod. Yet, when she turned to him, her eyes locked with his, and she stared as if searching for … something. After a couple of uncomfortable seconds, she gave him a slight nod, and turned back to Enrique. Sam wasn't sure if she'd found her answer or not.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. DeLorenzo. My name is Ronni Weiss. I'm attached to the Bravo group. I've heard much about you, and about Mr. Falco. We owe you one. Things were about to get ugly when you showed up.” Across the room, Elliott smirked, but Ronni ignored him and continued.

“We were followed almost from the time we left Sun City, so I probably should have known they'd have a welcome committee waiting on us.”

“Followed in? Why didn't you follow the contingency plan and make for Tucson?”

“Yeah, smart-ass,” said Elliott. “Tell us all why you ignored protocol and drove us into this goddamn ambush.”

Ronni turned to Elliott and gave him a cold, crooked smile. “If you address me one more time in any fashion or by any name or title other than ‘Weiss,' I'll put a bullet in you.” Elliott started to object but dropped it when Ronni turned her attention back to Enrique.

“When we discovered we were being followed, Lexis notified Malcolm. He instructed us to make for the Casa Grande airfield.”

“Malcolm knows better than that!” said Enrique. “The contingency plan would have taken longer, but at least we had people on the ground in Tucson.”

“Maybe so, but those were the orders. Frankly, at the time I agreed with them. I didn't want an open gun battle on an interstate. You know how cops are about shootings. Everyone in their right mind runs a hundred miles an hour away from gunshots, and cops run twice as fast toward them. We really didn't need to meet any police while we had our guests, so taking the Casa Grande exit seemed like a sound calculated risk.

“Right after we talked to Malcolm, we were jumped as we came off the Casa Grande exit ramp. Never saw anything like it. It jumped on top of the car and smashed the windshield and side glass. That's … that's when we lost Brian King. If it hadn't been for Elliott, it probably would have gotten us all, and you've no idea how it pains me to admit that. We were attacked a second time when we reached the airfield access road. Lexis managed to kill that one.”

“Any idea where she might have gone during the fight?” said Falco. “I saw her behind the SUV when we first pulled into the lot, but lost sight of her a few seconds later.”

Ronni shrugged. “No idea. One minute she was there, and the next…”

Sam had heard enough. “Maybe she's dead. Too bad the demons didn't kill you all. None of you deserve to live.” He was surprised to hear himself speaking in a calm, clear manner. He felt neither calm nor clear. He felt like crying. Or screaming. Or curling up into a ball on the floor and dying. He felt like cursing God for allowing any of this to happen in the first place. His entire family was gone now. Because of these people, he would live the rest of his life alone. He felt like killing them all.

“You let my mother burn to death. You let a monster take my sister. Modern-day Templars. What a fucking joke! Inept bunch of cold-blooded killers, that's what you are, and I hold you all responsible. You'll pay for what you did to my family. Count on it.”

Elliott laughed and started up from the floor. “Mouthy for a punk half-breed, aren't you? If I were you, I'd be careful not to let my alligator mouth overload my hummingbird ass, demon boy.”

“And if I were you, I'd be praying he doesn't roast your ignorant ass.”

All eyes, including Sam's, turned to Falco as the big man stepped away from the window and took up position in the center of the floor.

Elliott looked at Sam and his lip curled in a sneer. “You're getting soft, Falco. If you had done your goddamned job, the fucking kid would be dead, and we wouldn't be having this conversation!” It was obvious to everyone in the room that while Elliott's words were directed to Falco, they were aimed at Sam.

Falco replied in a calm, cold tone. “Go on, loudmouth, keep pressing your luck. I've seen what the boy can do. In fact, he saved my life. Better yet, just leave him out of this. If you've got any more remarks for the kid, you can just bring them straight to me. You might not like the outcome, but at least you'll probably still be alive when we're done. Probably.”

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees and the only sound was that of the fire raging outside. Elliott glared at Falco for a few seconds, before averting his gaze. He made a show of rechecking his handgun while Enrique and Ronni turned uneasy attention back on the doors and windows.

Sam didn't look at Falco. The man's little speech didn't let him off the hook. After all, Falco had been sent to gun down the Conner family in cold blood. Thanks to Elliott and Ronni Weiss, at least a third of the mission was now complete. His mother was dead, burned alive only a few short yards from where he now sat. Only thoughts of Kat prevented Sam from experiencing a complete emotional meltdown. Sam knew that with every passing second, Kat's chances for survival diminished exponentially, and he would need these people in order to save her. But then what? The Watchers had their own plans for Katherine Conner. He leaned back against the wall of the tin building and held his face in his hands.

After an awkward silence, the woman in black continued with her report to Enrique.

“We … I mean, I decided to cut across the desert, figuring the two tail cars couldn't keep up with the Escalade off-road. Only one of them followed us, an old beat-up Lincoln Continental. The second car, that station wagon, stayed with the highway. That's why it came in late.”

The mention of a Lincoln immediately caught Sam's attention.
Lincoln? Couldn't be
that
Lincoln! No way. Could it?

“Are you sure it was a Lincoln? What color was it?”

Ronni looked at Sam, then back to Enrique. “I—I'm not—”

“It's a simple question, Ms. Weiss. Think,” said Sam. “Was it a white Lincoln? A late-seventies model with a bullet-nose aerial on the rear truck deck?”

“It stayed behind us and I was driving,” said Ronni. “I never got a good look at the car. But, yeah, I remember Lexis saying it was an older car, white, mid to late seventies. Why do you ask? Do you know the car or the driver?”

“Yeah, kid, let's have it,” said Elliott. “Someone you know? A friend of yours maybe?”

Sam shook his head. “I can't believe this is happening. I just can't…”

Falco walked over to the corner of the room and knelt beside Sam. He laid a light, tentative hand on the boy's shoulder, as if he fully expected to draw back a bloody nub.

“What's the deal with the Lincoln, Sam?” he asked softly. “Look, if you can tell us anything that might help, anything at all, this would be a damn good time to come out with it.”

“Oh, we go way back.” Sam leaned back against the tin. This was the final straw. He was already nearly helpless against the monsters that waited beyond the walls or the monster that had taken Kat. Without Joriel, he had no chance against the driver of the Lincoln. He had always thought of the white Lincoln as Death riding a pale horse, a force too terrible, too destructive to ever defeat. The white Lincoln was a predator. Perhaps it was something less than the angels, though Sam wasn't even sure of that. He
was
sure the driver of the white Lincoln was something far different from any mere demon. It might be possible to outrun him, at least for a short time, but defeating the monster in the machine was beyond Sam's power.

“Yeah, I know the car. I don't know the driver, but I know the car. It followed me every step of the way from Arizona to Tennessee. Somehow it knew where I was going, and the route I would take. It anticipated every move I made. Tried to run me down a couple of times, but I finally shook him in Knoxville. Or maybe he just let me go. I really don't know. Anyway, I haven't seen it since leaving Tennessee. I barely managed to stay alive with Joriel's help. Without her, I'm dead. It's finally going to get me. At least I won't be alone anymore.

“What's a Joriel?” asked Elliott.

Oh, stop that sniveling, cousin.

Startled, Sam looked at Falco. “What did you say?”

Falco shook his head. “You're not going to die on my watch, kid. I promise you that. Are you sure you can't tell us anything else about the Lincoln? Don't dismiss anything as too trivial.”

My, my, cousin. The big fellow is persistent, isn't he? Perhaps wound a bit tight about the axle, that one is, but you can trust him. At least as far as you can trust any of your kin. Poor fellow carries the Blood, you know. Of course you do. It's he who has no idea. Think of the marvelous irony, cousin! Oh, the stories I can tell you about our Mr. Falco! But enough of him. Let's you and I have a little chat.

Sam had spent the better part of twenty years with a voice in his head. Rather, sometimes it was a voice. On many occasions, it was the sound of wind chimes, sometimes gentle and many times not. Still, in whatever form it chose, it was the unmistakable sound of Joriel, his guardian angel. But this voice was entirely unlike that of Joriel. Obviously male. Youthful sounding, almost glib, but with a quality that spoke of maturity. Cultured, and with a distinctive accent. British? Welsh? Maybe Scottish without the rolled
R
's. Most of all, it was the clarity of mind-speak that took Sam by surprise. It was as if someone spoke directly in his ear, rather than in his head. The words carried an unmistakable stench of demons.

You're no cousin of mine, pal. Who are you and what do you want?

The immediate response was the sound of strong, gusting winds over a crashing waterfall. Not harsh exactly, but far different from the delicate tinkle of wind chimes favored by Joriel.

Now, is that any way to speak to a relative, however distant? It may interest you to know that I've created quite a stir by taking an interest in you and your sister. On the other hand, my own kind have no idea regarding my true intentions. I've been told it's unhealthy to carry too many secrets. Drains the spirit and muddles the mind. Yes, I think perhaps it's time to share them with someone. Interested?

Sam looked around the room. Elliott was still sulking against the far wall, while Enrique, Falco, and Ronni discussed strategy and tactics. The words were so clear and distinct, Sam was amazed that no one in the tiny office heard them.

You're one of the bad guys. Why in the hell would I want to talk to you? You've tried to kill me, for Christ's sake. Unless maybe you're offering to bring back my sister. Me for her. Do we have a deal?

Laughter, loud and genuine.
My dear Sam, you are priceless! First, let us straighten out a few misconceptions. Yes, I suppose I'm technically your enemy, that's true. But I'm not
the
Enemy. Besides, our differences are more the result of birth. After all, one cannot choose one's parents.

Parentage aside, I mean you and your sister no harm. Not now nor in the foreseeable future. We won't discuss the past. What's done is done, and we'll both be better off if you don't hold a grudge. Let bygones be bygones, that's my motto.

Sam fumed at the man's audacity.
Okay. I'll let it slide … when pigs fly out my ass!

The ghost ignored the comment.
As for Katherine, I don't have her, Sam, and if I did, I'd return her to you, no strings attached. I want you together and unharmed. In fact, I've known you much longer than these so-called servants of God you keep company with, and I've done you and your family far less harm. Care to debate that last point?

Look, I don't know who or what you are,
replied Sam.
For all I know, you're the fucking devil incarnate and you're responsible for this whole goddamn mess.

More laughter.
Me? The cause of all this? You flatter me, cousin! You may be reasonably sure of four things in this life: First, the Devil is real, and second, I'm not him. Third, you may also believe me when I say that cretin, the Devil as you call him, is largely responsible for this current impending catastrophe. And it is a catastrophe, Sam, of a magnitude beyond your comprehension.