The Keys of Solomon (7 page)

“You feel it too?” he asked.

Will looked up from his iPod and said, “Feel what, Thomas?”

Falco shook his head. “Don't start that with me, Will.”

Will grinned. “Okay, you got me, mate. Truth is, bugger old Fat Freddie if I know what's up. It's just … I've a feeling this is going to be a right assed-up affair.”

“So what's the problem? Did we miss something during pre-ops planning?” asked Falco.

“Not that I can think of, Thomas. I just know I'll be bloody well happy to see this job over and done. What about you? Bad mojo?”

Falco nodded. “Yeah, you could say that.” He looked at his watch again and sighed. “We've got a window of about an hour forty. What say we get on with it?”

Will grinned. “I thought you'd never ask. Get on your bike, mate. If you're waiting for me, you're already late!”

The two men dressed in silence, each wearing a pair of dark gray utility coveralls over jeans and Polo pullover shirts. As soon as the mission was completed, they would doff the coveralls and stow them in a trash bin, then walk away from the campus wearing casual attire. As Falco knelt to tie his boots, Will turned on the television. Using the remote, he flashed through the channels, and Falco knew his partner was searching for the Country Music Videos station.
A Dixie Chicks freak. Go figure.

Falco shook his head but said nothing. He really didn't mind what Will watched or listened to as long as the man didn't watch the evening news. Especially today. A homicide involving a prominent St. Louis bishop would be a huge story, and Falco had no desire to listen to a quorum of talking-heads-for-hire discuss asinine conspiracy theories. And why should he? Falco already new the facts better than any living man.

Through the window sheers, he could see dusk descending over the city. He shouldered a light nylon pack, then picked up the case containing the rifle and Starlight scope. Will stood near the door, holding his own gear.

“Ready, mate?”

Falco nodded despite the growing knot in his stomach. “Yeah. Let's do this.”

CHAPTER 4

Phoenix, Arizona

At 5:30
P.M.
Sam rolled out of bed and trudged over to the sink. The biology lab would start in less than an hour, and while he had no real desire to attend, Sam knew his grade point average wouldn't thank him for cutting the class. Still, it was hard to focus on anything except the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. As much as he loved Mark, he almost wished his friend hadn't called earlier. Hearing Mark speak of “dreams” had been unsettling, and Sam's former feelings of trepidation now took on an ugly form and substance.
God, if you're really listening, make this go away. I can't deal with it again. Please.

He splashed water on his face and the back of his neck, toweled off, and donned a fresh T-shirt. Glancing at his watch, he hurriedly stuffed a worn leather satchel with a thick spiral notebook, mechanical pencils, and a spare lime-green highlighter. As an afterthought, he added a pack of cigarettes and a spare lighter. Walking toward the door, he checked his watch once more.
Dressed in three minutes. A new record!

Now that he was ready to leave, it again crossed his mind to ditch the class.
What's the use of going? Something really bad is going to happen. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Soon. I can feel it. And when it does, one more stinking “D” on my transcript won't make any difference.

He stood in the center of the room for several minutes, his anxiety growing by the second.
So, God, what about it? Any help for a skinny red-haired kid? No, I didn't think so. Or maybe you still only help those who help themselves. Is that it?
Sam shouldered his satchel and walked outside.

He hurried across the lawn to the parking lot, where he threw his satchel into the back seat of a lime-green Honda Civic, then paused to watch the gathering storm. Thunderstorms were uncommon during the fall in central Arizona, but here it was, bigger than life—a dark, ominous squall line running north to south, stretching nearly as far as the eye could see. The line was still some miles in the distance, but Sam thought he smelled rain in the air. He ducked inside the Honda and set off for the Science building, while worry gnawed at his guts like a pack of starving rats.

*   *   *

A tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in filthy jeans and a stained denim jacket stood beneath the sprawling limbs of a massive century plant and watched the Honda disappear down the street. Little Stevie wasn't overly concerned that he had narrowly missed the little boy-bitch by a few seconds. Stevie had been chasing the troublesome Offspring for several weeks, studying his schedules, habits, and routes. With Little Stevie's heightened psychic senses, a gift from his master, the fallen angel Axthiel, he would have no trouble following the boy across campus … or the country, for that matter. And this time, once he had the boy cornered, the unholy pact with Legion would be fulfilled, and Sam Conner would be little more than a grieving mother's memory.

Little Stevie closed his bloodshot eyes and tested the air with the tip of his black, swollen tongue. His master had passed to him both curse and gift, and now Stevie used both to his advantage. A moment later, his eyes opened wide in surprise, and a slow malicious grin spread across his face, revealing rows of broken and rotting teeth. It appeared Sam Conner wasn't the only Offspring within Stevie's grasp. Two boy-bitches for the price of one. Mumbling a thanks for his good fortune, Stevie loped off at a ground-eating pace in the direction of the Biology building.

*   *   *

From two blocks away, atop the four-story physical plant, Will Caseman, acting as spotter for Falco, monitored the parking lot adjacent to the campus Biology building through a slender spotter's scope. He tensed as the target vehicle came into view and pulled into an outlined parking space. Through the eight-power monocular, he watched the target exit the car and rummage through a leather satchel.

“The target is alone, Thomas, standing on the driver's side of that fugly green Honda. Five collaterals standing near the front door of the building, twenty meters left. We need to take him at the car. You've got the green light.”

As Sam paused beside his car to examine the contents of his satchel, Falco settled the scope's reticles over the boy's head. Falco took a shallow breath and exhaled half, and held. His finger tightened on the double position trigger until he heard the first faint
click
. Two more pounds of finger pressure and Sam Conner would be another casualty in the eternal war between good and evil. Will's words echoed in Falco's head:
Green light. Take him!

Without warning, Will disappeared from Falco's side, lifted up as if by a strong wind. From somewhere to Falco's left, he heard a terrible crash and the cry of a wounded man. Instinct took over and Falco dropped the rifle onto the makeshift sandbags and reached for his sidearm. His hand never reached the Pachmayr grips.

A heavy boot slammed into Falco's ribs, lifting him several inches from the rooftop. Through a pain-induced haze, Falco saw a second boot flashing toward him and managed to roll to his right and absorb some of the shock. The blow only grazed his forehead. When he finally came to a stop, he drew the Glock and swung the front sight onto his attacker, a huge man with hooded, serpentine eyes. The man was laughing, obviously enjoying the moment. Falco chanced a quick glance to his right and saw Will Caseman lying in a widening pool of blood. The dying man tried to suck air into a badly injured chest as crimson froth spilled from both corners of his mouth. One of his eyes lay against his cheek, dangling by a thin thread of sinew.
Dear God, what the hell did he do to Will?

From the corner of his eye, Falco saw the tall, freakish attacker take a step forward. He fought off a wave of intense nausea, tightened his finger on the trigger, and shouted, “Stop! Don't take another step!” Falco had no personal reservations about shooting this freak, but the deafening roar of the ten-millimeter handgun would draw attention from campus police, and neither he nor Will were now in any condition to slip away quietly. Being apprehended and questioned by civilian authorities was not an option.

Little Stevie stopped as ordered, but he seemed more amused than concerned. Falco hit the collar mike on his coveralls, sending a signal that would initiate an emergency extraction sequence by a waiting support team. Little Stevie laughed.

“Save your energy, cowboy. Ain't no cavalry comin' to save your pitiful ass. In fact, the boys you left behind in that van had some troubles of their own.” Stevie howled at his own joke.

Falco glanced over at Will again. Mercifully, the Brit was dead.

“Who are you?” he asked the smirking giant. Stevie's grin turned quickly into a twisted scowl as he advanced, seemingly oblivious to the powerful handgun pointed at the center of his chest.

“Who am I? Who am I? Motherfucker, I'm a god!” Stevie raised his hands toward the sky and yelled, “I'm Death on a pale horse! I'm Disease, Pestilence, and fucking Famine all rolled into one, bro.” He smiled wickedly and added, “But my friends call me Little Stevie.” Moving with startling speed, Little Stevie grasped Falco by the front of his coveralls and effortlessly jerked the man to his feet.

Falco squeezed the trigger.

*   *   *

Sam stepped out of the car and casually feigned a search of his satchel. Yet, there was nothing feigned about the pounding of his heart or his skyrocketing blood pressure. Every molecule in his body urged him to run from this place. Just get in the car and go. Don't look back. Not now, not ever. They had finally come for him.

But Sam had the benefit of hard-earned experience and he knew better than to blindly flee from the Enemy. First he needed to know what he was running from. He had felt the presence of the Enemy on his mental radar screen long before the Biology building came into sight. As he drew nearer the building, his internal alarms screamed out mixed signals indicating the enemy was both in front and behind him. It was an odd signal, yet no more so than the signature of this latest threat. It just didn't feel right. Not like the vibes he got from Drammach, the greater demon he had killed beneath the mountain in Abbotsville. In fact, in some way, the vibe was more like that of Axthiel, the murderous fallen angel who had all but murdered Michael Collier, then sacrificed himself to prevent an even greater evil from entering the plane of man.

Going into the lab suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. Sam had started to climb back into the Honda when his knees buckled. He fell against the side of the car holding his head between his trembling hands. It had been a long time since he last experienced the startling sensation of a reach, but it wasn't something he was likely to forget. Another Offspring was nearby and in serious trouble.

God, please don't make me do this! I'm begging you. I—I can't go through this again.

Sam received an answer to his unspoken plea, though it wasn't the answer he had hoped for. A second
reach
filled with agony and desperation nearly blinded him.

“No, goddamn it! This isn't my fight, not anymore. Uriel said my part was done!”

Peace be still, little brother.

Stunned, he looked about the parking lot and over both shoulders for the source before accepting that the Voice had come from inside his head.

“Joriel? My God! Is—is that really you?”

Yes, my Lucky Sam, but there's no time to explain. The tall building to the south. Physical Plant. Take the stairs to the roof. Hurry.

“Oh, no! You don't just show up after two years and—”

Go! Now!

Sam had grown up with the Voice. She had been his constant companion from birth, and served as both his best friend, guardian, and mentor. He had little trouble recognizing the sense of urgency in her tone. It was the same tone she had used when urging him toward Abbotsville. Reluctantly, Sam broke into a run.

At the end of the second block, he turned left and slowed to a trot. The university's primary maintenance building was dead ahead. The parking lot adjacent to the building was empty except for a pair of panel trucks. Both vehicles bore the distinctive Arizona State mascot, Sparky the Sun Devil, on the sides. Farther down the block, a white van was parked along the curb. Just looking at the van made him violently ill.

The front door of the maintenance building was open and Sam cautiously stepped inside. The building was dark except for a lighted
EXIT
sign at the foot of the stairs.

The roof, Sam. Hurry!

Sam took the narrow steps two at a time. As he reached the second floor, he flashed on the night he had first met Mark Pierce and Janet Davis. He had raced along a darkened stairway that night too, arriving just in time to save the pair from the Enemy.

By the time he reached the third story, the muscles in his legs were cramping up. Again his mind flashed back to another desperate sprint in Amarillo, Texas. He couldn't help himself.
Déjà vu all over again, huh, Joriel?
He heard the faint rustling of wind chimes in reply.

At the top of the stairway, Sam paused for a moment to catch his breath. The stairway ended on the fourth floor, a vast, single room illuminated by a pair of dim fluorescent lights. Drafting tables and desks were scattered throughout the room and engineering maps covered large expanses of beige-colored walls. Sam trotted into the center of the room and looked about for some way onto the roof. After a few seconds he decided if such a route existed, it was well camouflaged.

Back wall. Drop-down stairs.

Sam acknowledged the Voice in his head with a loud sigh of relief and ran to the rear of the building where he found a stout cord dangling from the ceiling. He gave the cord a sharp tug, then leaped to one side, barely dodging the descending staircase. The opening in the ceiling was pitch-black and reminiscent of yet another time and place; the “rabbit hole” in Abbotsville. The rabbit hole had led from an old pump house to a subterranean mineshaft and a deadly face-to-face encounter with the greater demon, Drammach. That was one memory Sam refused to dwell on. At the top of the rickety stairs, Sam found himself in a small utility room. An exterior door had been left slightly ajar. Through the crack, Sam could see the dingy yellow glow of the rooftop security lights. He opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through, and stepped out into the night air.