The Keys of Solomon (37 page)

Do Falco or DeLorenzo suspect I set them up for ambush in Casa Grande? If so, why would they still allow the plane to land in Metairie?
Malcolm decided he would have to exercise extreme caution when around either man. The sooner they were out of the picture the better, but the safe house was full of Watchers. It was imperative that Malcolm remain above suspicion in the deaths of Falco and Enrique.

Not only had the majority of the ill-fated Watcher party survived the ambush in Casa Grande, they had managed to inflict heavy casualties upon their attackers and extricate both of the Conner children. The girl was in poor condition, but the boy … something would have to be done about Sam Conner, and soon.

In the eyes of the Watcher Hierarchy, the Casa Grande extraction had been an unmitigated and expensive disaster. One hostage lost, two operators dead, and a third, Ronni Weiss, seriously injured. The Hierarchy could hardly be faulted for believing the mission to be a complete and utter failure. Only Malcolm and his coconspirators knew the truth—that the extraction had been much more of a success than anyone inside the organization realized.

Vastly outnumbered, the group had survived Casa Grande against all odds. It was inconceivable that anyone lived through the ordeal, especially Thomas Falco and his new pet, Sam Conner. Both had been specifically targeted during the fight, yet only Conner suffered any significant damage. Of course, the jury was still out on Conner's mental well-being. After all, the boy
had
watched his mother burn alive. Now, his sister was a different matter altogether. It was very likely Katherine Conner was now fucked up beyond repair. Literally.

Sam Conner and Falco were the real wildcards; they were volatile and unpredictable with an as yet undefined connection. The relationship between assassin and Offspring had taken an unexpected turn. From Elliott's sketchy account, the Conner boy had organized and directed the unlikely rescue of his sister. DeLorenzo and Falco had followed along meekly like some enthralled lapdogs. Was it possible? Had the boy really possessed the power necessary to enthrall? Malcolm couldn't bring himself to believe it, yet he had no other explanation for Falco's behavior. The man had never been especially compliant or subservient during a crisis, preferring to take charge and assume full responsibility for the outcome.

Bugger the bastard, no man is that lucky! He's got more lives than my sister's mangy fucking cat!

Not all of the operatives shared Falco's luck. Two experienced Swords had died during the operation. Brian King fell during the mad dash to Casa Grande, the unfortunate victim of a
wight
.

A bloody shame, that. The lad was pliable enough, and none too bright. I could have used him a while longer. Now I'll have to find another young, tender rabbit to run my errands.

The other loss was of much more significance to the organization. Alexis Dos Passos, the former Argentinean secret ser-vice agent, wasn't officially listed as killed in action. Not yet. She had disappeared early during the battle at the airfield and was presumed dead by Falco, though the others weren't so sure. While Alexis was a relative newcomer to the Watchers, she was a legacy case. A member of her family had served the Watchers without fail or exception since the late sixteenth century.

By all accounts, the young woman was a highly skilled warrior, courageous and resourceful during a crisis, and highly dedicated to the cause. Not exactly the type to run or abandon her comrades during the heat of battle. Then again, battle against the supernatural had broken many a seasoned warrior.

If by some chance Lexis still lived, she was no doubt praying for death with every breath by now. Given her vocation and the unforgiving nature of her captors, it was certainly more comforting for her peers to believe she died during the first few minutes of the fight.

Amanda Conner, the mother of Katherine and Sam Conner, was the third casualty. The entire party, including her children, watched as the disturbed woman slow-roasted in the Ford Escalade.
Too bad she didn't take that snot-nosed pair of aberrations with her!

Of the remaining members of the group, Elliott Glenn and Ronni Weiss had escaped with minor injuries. Malcolm smiled and sipped at the brandy.

It's fortunate that Elliott survived. His mistress has plans for him, but first, he has work to do on
my
behalf.

“I'm sorry to intrude, Sir Malcolm.”

Malcolm turned to find Bruce Purcell, an administrative aid, standing in the doorway. A single glance at the young Shield's face told the tale.

It's about goddamned time I received some good news!
Resisting the urge to shout out his joy, Malcolm played out his part.

“Good morning, Bruce. What can I do for you?”

“Sir, I have Brussels on line two. Cardinal Dresselhaus.”

Dresselhaus! No mere messenger but a member of the Hierarchy. I do love it so when a plan comes together!

“Oh? Very well, let's not keep the good Cardinal waiting.”

Malcolm followed Purcell through the double doors and into the living room of the suite, where he took the call.

“Reading here.”

After a slight delay, a heavily accented voice speaking perfect English answered, “Malcolm, this is Jon. Have you seen any of the news programs this morning?”

It was all Malcolm could do to contain his glee. “And a good morning to you, too, Jon. As for the news, no, I haven't had a chance to check phone messages this morning.”
I don't need to check the messages, you fool! I know damn well why you're calling.
“Forgive me for saying so, but you sound terrible, old man! Is something wrong?”

Again, a short pause, then, “First, tell me, how are our new guests? Have you had any trouble with the Conner children?”

“None that I'm aware of, Jon. Our medical staff have done all they can for the girl but her injuries are severe. In addition to her physical injuries, Dr. Haskins says she's suffering from shock and severe emotional trauma. He's doubtful she'll live out the week, and frankly, I say good riddance. The boy's wounds are less severe. He's under guard along with the others. We've got quite a collection of these abominations, you know. Nine of the bloody bastards housed in the security wing. I trust you've read my recommendation?”

“I have, Mal. However, the Hierarchy prefers to postpone any decision regarding the Offspring until we've had an opportunity to thoroughly analyze reports from the survivors of the Arizona strike team. Speaking of which, I realize we lost some very good people during that operation. You have both our condolences and our gratitude. As for your guests, keep them comfortable and isolated. I'll be in touch with additional instructions soon.

“Now, to other matters. I'd rather tell you in person, Malcolm, but it can't be helped. It's about Nicholas Gilbert. I'm afraid … Nicholas is dead.”

Malcolm stifled a chuckle and waited, counting silently to three before answering.

“Malcolm, are you still on the line?”

“I'm here, Jon, and I should say this is a damn poor joke, old man. Bad form. Very bad.”

“I wish it was a joke, Mal. Or a bad dream. Members of the Diocese staff found him inside the vestibule around seven
A.M.
, Pacific time. I don't have all the details, but apparently he'd been horribly mauled. The local authorities suspect it's the work of some deranged drug addict, but our man insists the sheer brutality of the murder points to the Enemy. You, of course, understand the implication; that Legion has found a way to breach consecrated ground. It's unthinkable, Malcolm, but there you have it. We are now under siege in God's own temples.

“According to our contact inside the LA Coroner's Office, the authorities made a positive identification less than an hour ago. I know you and Nicholas were very close. Again, you have my deepest condolences.”

Malcolm covered his face with an open hand to hide a wide smile. “A moment, Jon.”

“Of course, Malcolm. I can call back in a while if you need time.…”

“No, no. I just need a moment.” Turning to the waiting Purcell, Malcolm said, “Bruce, inform all personnel on the premises that we will assemble in the conference room in one hour. No exceptions, no excuses.” Purcell nodded once and left the room.

“I apologize for the interruption, Jon. As you no doubt heard, I've called a staff meeting in order to apprise everyone of the situation. Unless you feel we should wait, of course…”

“There's no need to postpone the news, Malcolm. The End of Days are upon us, and I ask that you speak candidly with those in your charge. You've lost a great friend this day, and the organization has lost a true champion. The Hierarchy would prefer to postpone filling Nicholas's position until we'd had a chance to influence the Vatican's appointment to the Los Angeles Diocese, but I'm afraid we won't have that luxury.”

Malcolm nearly laughed aloud at the obvious statement. The Watchers were highly efficient at grooming and placing hand-selected candidates in prominent positions within the Church, with the Vatican none the wiser. But such political maneuvering required time, finesse, and no meager amount of good fortune. Neither time nor fortune was in great abundance these days. All the better for Malcolm.

As archbishop, Nicholas had wielded tremendous religious, social, and political influence. However, his real power resided in the covert role of Lord Protector, the highest ranking Sword in the Americas and the Watcher's bulwark against the advance of Legion in the Western hemisphere. Malcolm couldn't match Gilbert's influence or status inside the Church. In fact, except for a few close acquaintances, he had no influence at all.

However, he had something neither Gilbert nor any other member of the Watchers could claim. First of all, Malcolm was a noted demon hunter with more than twenty kills to his credit, a record matched only by an elite few. And most of his victories occurred “back in the day,” before the Veil was damaged, thus spanning the ethereal gap between Sitra Akhra and the world of men.

Malcolm was also a legacy case, his ancestry dating back to the thirteenth-century house of a notable Templar, James of Plany. The Watchers placed great stock in family legacies, tradition, and longevity of service to the Order. Few could match Malcolm's heritage, and that heritage placed him in esteemed company within the organization.

As the sole heir to the Reading-Redwall South India Trading conglomerate, Malcolm was also wealthy, and wealth bought contacts, information, and valuable resources. Wealth, lineage, courage, and audacity; Malcolm Reading was the total package, which made him a valuable ally or formidable opponent. Of course, the same could be said of others within the organization. However, Malcolm held a trump card. He possessed one advantage none of the others could claim, the most important advantage of all.

“Mal, it would be better for all if the Church waits until an appropriate period of mourning passes to appoint Gilbert's replacement, but these aren't ordinary times, and we're certain the Vatican will move before we have an opportunity to influence the appointment.”

“I understand, Jon. Do you have any further instructions before I go?”

“Only one last item, Malcolm. The Hierarchy has already decided on Gilbert's replacement as Lord Protector.”

It's about damned time! I didn't think the meandering old bastard would ever get around to it.

“Time is critical. I would ask that you make the announcement to all satellites in the Americas. You can start with your staff meeting. Enrique DeLorenzo will assume the mantle.”

The blood drained from Malcolm's cheeks. “What … did you say?”

“I said the Hierarchy has selected Rikki DeLorenzo as Gilbert's successor. He's perhaps a bit young and lacking Gilbert's raw grit, but the boy has proven extremely capable under some very trying conditions. In fact, it was my pleasure to place his name in nomination before the council.”

The supernatural entity who shared Malcolm Reading's mind and soul raged silently.
This is most disturbing, Malcolm. How could you allow this to happen? The End of Days has come and yet, you fail me at the most critical juncture.

A few simple requests, that is all I asked. That you find the means to gain control of the office of Lord Protector, yet the Church even now names another. That you ensure the death of the Offspring, Sam Conner, and instead he finds a champion among your former brethren! I cannot kill the boy myself without drawing a … crowd. At this time, it's imperative that I maintain a low profile, thus I relied on you. A poor choice, it would seem. Ah, dear Malcolm, you do know the penalty for failure.

The still-lucid portion of Malcolm's mind cringed. Yes, he knew the punishment for servants who failed the master.
Give me another opportunity to serve, Lord! I won't fail a second time!

Hmmm … perhaps there is a way for you to redeem your pitiful life. If, for any reason, this gambit should fail, there may still be a use for you. Therefore, you will flee forthwith to my haven in the Sudan and wait there for my instructions. Do you understand?

Malcolm nodded meekly.

Excellent. And now I must pay another visit to our faithful lapdog, Elliott.

CHAPTER 23

The Watcher safe house, Metairie, Louisiana

Elliott Glenn didn't feel the empty bottle slide from his hand or hear when it landed on the plush carpet beside the bed in his apartment inside the Watcher compound. He slept the shallow, troubled sleep of the afflicted. Not that there was anything wrong with Elliott's body. But his mind and soul were corrupt, fouled by the touch of Legion. To be sure, Elliott was no victim. He leaned willingly to the darker side of human nature. He embraced his lack of faith in a higher cause like a badge of honor. He was an antihero in some grand motion picture epic, railing against a false morality. He had decided early on that the only higher cause worth serving was his own. He had trusted others in the past, and the result was pain and heartbreak. Such scars were slow to heal. Some never did.