Satanic Armageddon

by Guy N Smith

  Back in the marketplace Ali Amani lingered, a suicide bomber relishing the outcome of the small bomb secreted beneath his denim jacket, finger and thumb on the detonator. He was trembling in every limb with excitement. The blast would blow him to a better life.

  A trio of armed police were in evidence, the presence primarily to reassure the public of their safety. They did not anticipate any trouble. All the same they shouldered Heckler and Koch MP5 9mm submachine guns with 30-capacity magazines as well as holstered handguns. If the need to open fire in a crowded environment arose then it was safer to use the latter.

  Their eyes roved up and down the street. If danger threatened then they were primed to spot it before there was a disaster.

  Amani was waiting for the distant clock to clang its single note which would echo over the city. That was when he would break into a run, screaming abuse before he littered the street with dead and dying innocents. His only regret was that he would not be able to view the mangled corpses and hear the screams of the wounded. Or would he?

  Clang! The single note from the clock in the Close vibrated, seemed to echo a note of doom which hung in the hot atmosphere.

  Ali Amani broke into a run, sent a young mother sprawling headlong, overturning the pram she was pushing and catapulting a six month old baby onto the pavement. Shoving people to one side, screaming insanely he pulled the detonator on his bomb.

  ‘Die you fucking bastards!’

  A police officer standing in a nearby doorway acted with lightning speed devoid of panic. His handgun was drawn, instantly aligned on his target, a headshot. The report was deafening, then drowned by the screams of those around him.

  Amani was dead, killed in full flight, rearing upwards and then falling back, sprawling in the roadway, arms and legs splayed, the bomb bouncing and rolling, coming to a halt against the kerb.

  ‘Take cover!’ the officer yelled. ‘Get off the street!’

  People pushed and shoved their way into nearby shops. Panicking crowds stumbled down towards Dr Johnson's house and into the adjacent street opposite, screaming, dragging children with them.

  The officer surveyed the open space around the sprawled corpse. He had expected the nearby bomb to explode. It still might.

  Holstering his handgun, he made an urgent call on his radio. Two more uniformed police joined him.

  ‘It didn't go off!’ one of them remarked in faltering tones.

  ‘It still might. Clear the street. The explosive experts and an ambulance are on their way.’

  The cathedral clock was silent. In the distance was a babble of voices. Tourists further away were totally unaware of what had happened. The carnival procession was already beginning in the adjacent street.

  A major disaster had been averted.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Something has gone wrong!’ Zinovsky's near skeletal features reflected both puzzlement and rage. From the house they had heard the distant clock strike. Then, almost immediately after, the crisp report of what was undoubtedly a gunshot. People were screaming.

  ‘Well?’ He turned on the frightened Richardson. ‘No explosions. And Mayo and the girl have not returned. What has happened? Why has Amani's bomb not exploded?’

  Richardson was trembling violently. ‘I... I… can't explain. The cathedral bomb was all set to explode at one o'clock. Maybe Amani held back waiting for it.’

  ‘Then what was that shot? Why are people screaming when there has clearly been no death and destruction? Is this something to do with Mayo?’

  Zinovsky was shaking with rage. Those around him cowered.

  ‘Tonight, after dark, you and I will go up to the cathedral and find the bomb... if it is still there!’

  Richardson nodded.

  ‘In the meantime, we must wait.’

  From afar came the wailing of police and ambulance sirens. The screams had died away. Whatever happened in the city, the incident had been concluded.

  Forensic experts advanced on the bomb lying in the gutter. They risked death but it was their duty, somebody had to check the device and render it harmless.

  One of them bent down, opened the container. He flipped the trigger catch on it to its safety position, breathed a sigh of relief. Then he opened it, stared in shock surprise at its contents.

  ‘This stuff isn't explosive!’ He turned towards his companion. ‘As far as I can make out it's some kind of harmless shit! What the hell is all this about?’

  Behind them the body of Ali Amani was being loaded into the ambulance. It would be taken away for a detailed analysis of the cause of death and identification. There could well be clues on the body and clothing which might lead them to the perpetrators of this crime. Likewise, it could be just a stupid hoax by one who merely sought to create terror. The truth would come out in the near future.

  Another police car arrived. A detective superintendent from the local force addressed the officers. ‘Clear the street and close the road,’ he ordered. ‘Shut all the shops. A thorough search and investigation must commence at once.’

  The harmless 'bomb' had not succeeded in ruining the carnival and spoiling the enjoyment of a host of visitors in this ancient city.

  Midnight was long past before Zinovsky and Richardson set out towards the cathedral. People were still about which on this occasion was an advantage. It was easy to mingle with late night drinkers without arousing suspicion.

  Richardson was terrified of what they might find or not find. Mayo was clearly a traitor to their cause who had slunk into their midst. He had fooled Zinovsky from the outset which was unbelievable. Even Satan's disciple had not suspected him of being a traitor.

  Underlying Richardson's terror of his companion was the worrying thought that the man in the black fedora might be planning further moves against them. Was he a police officer, an undercover agent?

  ‘Here we are,’ Richardson announced in a whisper as they slunk back into the shadows by the cathedral entrance. There was nobody about because there had been no indication of the hidden danger. The huge ornate doors were securely locked and in the wan moonlight the row of carved gargoyles above seemed to leer down on the two intruders into their domain. He could not repress a shiver which ran up his spine. He was shaking in every limb. ‘It's in that heap of broken paving stones.’

  ‘Get it out!’ A hissed command. ‘We will take it back to examine it. We cannot chance being discovered here.’

  Richardson struggled to lift the heavy rubble. His hands were scratched and bleeding by the time he had uncovered the bomb. A sigh of relief that it was still there escaped his lips. With shaking fingers, he flicked the upper trigger into a safety position.

  He was aware of Zinovsky's eyes boring into him, they appeared to glow in the enshrouding shadows; it was probably his imagination. He lowered it into the bag in which they carried it here. Then began the trek back, Richardson breathing heavily under the weight of his cumbersome cargo.

  Back at the house there was no sign of the others, they were sleeping off the latest traumatic experience and they certainly did not want to be around when the feared Zinovsky returned.

  Zinovsky led the way through to the small armoury. ‘Open up!’ A clipped order.

  Richardson's fingers shook as he fitted the key in the lock. His fear was that if the other was made aware that he had given Mayo the spare key then it would evoke an outburst. Right now, there was no need to confess to it.

  Once inside with the bomb placed upon a packing case Zinovsky's near skeletal hand opened it up, exposed the contents.

  ‘This isn't any kind of explosive!’ He snarled as he ran the flaky contents through his fingers. ‘This bomb’s a dud!’

  ‘I... I… wouldn't know.’

  That was when Zinovsky's gaze dropped to the floor, stared at a scattering of the contents close to the doorway. A gasp of surprise merged into fury.

  ‘Look, it's over there by the door. But it didn't come from when we opened this. It was filled before and by someb
ody who swapped the charge for this stuff and spilled some as he left. You've replaced the charge with some harmless substance, Richardson!’

  ‘No, no, I swear it was not me!’ He was panicking, heaved at the stench from his companion's foul breath as Zinovsky's rising rage reached a peak.

  ‘Who else, then, could have done it?’

  ‘It... it must've been Mayo.’

  ‘Impossible, the door was locked.’

  ‘I... I gave him the spare key. Just in case something happened to me.’

  ‘You... you what!’ Zinovsky’s response was a piercing screech as his fury erupted. An outstretched ice-cold hand closed around Richardson's neck, slammed his head back against the wall. Those deep sunken eyes glowed red, the stretched mouth became a bestial snarl, spittle dribbling down his chin.

  ‘So, Mayo sneaked in here, swapped the explosive for some harmless substance, probably in that of the suicide bomb, too. He's been working against us from the day he arrived on the scene and now he's fled, taking that girl with him. But he has not escaped, that I vow. Do you know where her folks live, where she came from to join us?’

  ‘Yes, yes. It's a house in Wales, in the mountains close to Aberystwyth. It's called…’ he paused, ‘Cwmystwyth.’

  ‘Then we go there, right away, in your car, Richardson. And when we find them, they wilI die, slowly and painfully. Have you ever carried out a satanic crucifixion?’

  ‘No… never!’ The other was close to fainting.

  ‘Then this will be your initiation to one. And I personally will hack off the tenderest parts of their bodies whilst they still live. Their screams will be music in our ears! My faithful companion will oversee it, but you will carry out the mutilations!’

  Chapter Twelve

  The bank holiday dawned, warm and sunny. After Gemma and her parents had departed for the temporary residence Mayo sat outside the front of the house in a deck chair and attempted to relax. Nothing would be happening until later in the day, probably not until tomorrow when Zinovsky had discovered that his bombs had been tampered with. That was when all hell would be let loose. For sure he would come here seeking a terrible revenge.

  He closed his eyes, attempted to relax. That was when memories of his past life intruded his thoughts. They always did, he would never ever dispel them for good.

  He was no stranger to the city of Lichfield; he had been a special agent many years ago on the trail of an international assassin. He had concluded his mission satisfactorily and that was when he had met Penny, fallen in love and they had moved in and lived together. Marriage was a strong possibility but one Sunday morning she had complained of a violent headache which he had presumed was a migraine. She had retired to bed but when he had checked on her a few hours later she was dead. It had not been a migraine as he had presumed, instead a fatal cerebral attack.

  The memory still brought tears to his eyes along with a sense of guilt. If only...

  Now he had Gwenda and they were very much in love. All the same his past haunted him.

  His thoughts turned again to those days in 1988 when he was working for an organisation dubbed Operation Werewolf, an anti-terrorist force which was under the control of Charlie Wells, a young man then in his first role on that scene.

  Wells had sympathized with Mayo after the latter's loss and ordered him to take a break for a week or two. ‘Go where you choose, try to relax,’ he had said. ‘Come back when you're ready. There's no rush.’

  Mayo’s wanderings had taken him to Knighton, a small town on the Shropshire / Welsh border. His intention had been to relax but it had not turned out like that.

  The inhabitants were living in a state of fear. There were rumoured to be vampires in the locality, an ancient legend becoming reality.

  Mayo's investigations had revealed a small terrorist organisation which he had eventually destroyed.

  Now fate had decreed that he was up against the largest terrorist force in the world, under the leadership of Zinovsky who was in cahoots with Hamza bin Laden. There were others, a hate preacher named Zahran Hashim had been named as the alleged mastermind behind other massacres. He had been calling for Islamic superiority and the destruction worldwide of democracy.

  Right now though, Zinovsky was Mayo's main target. Destroy him and it would be a major setback for the terrorists.

  Mayo dozed, plagued by memories of the past and fear for the future of Britain and Europe. Already there had been major massacres.

  A few hours later he tuned into the news on his radio. He tensed as he heard a brief report of that which had occurred in Lichfield earlier.

  ‘This afternoon a suicide bomber was shot dead by police in Market Street, Lichfield. Mercifully the bomb was not detonated and has been taken away for investigations along with the body. The street remains closed. However, the carnival was able to continue in other parts of the city. We hope to have a full report of the incident at a later stage.’

  Mayo smiled to himself, heaved a sigh of relief. His ruse had worked so far. No details were given of the smaller bomber, they would probably be announced on the following day. The cathedral bomb was clearly still in that pile of broken concrete slabs. Zinovsky would attempt to retrieve it and discover the problem but he would not be able to do that until well after dark when the crowds were gone. Then he would be headed for Cwmystwyth, the destination supplied by Richardson.

  All of which had Mayo several hours in which to prepare for the terrorist leader's arrival.

  He lit a cigarette, watched the evening sky darken. The full moon was waning but there would be moonlight later, enough to reveal details of his surroundings.

  It would be foolish to remain indoors; they could well firebomb the building, drive him out to the hail of gunfire. No, they would seek to capture him alive, submit him to a similar fate to that of Williamson, another counter-terrorist command undercover agent.

  He needed to move his car elsewhere. In addition to revealing his presence here they could well damage it. There was a farm a short distance down the road just outside the scattered village with some barns.

  He drove down, found the farmer, an exceedingly friendly man, in the yard.

  ‘That's fine by me, mister. There's plenty of room in the barn, leave it there.’

  Mayo explained that he was staying in the Jones's residence for a few days whilst they were away on a short holiday.

  Step one completed, he gathered up a couple of blankets from the bedroom. Tonight, he would have to maintain a vigil outdoors, the steeply sloping woodland provided an ideal vantage place.

  Dusk was creeping up the narrow valley as he stepped outside, locked the door behind him. It was then that a movement up on the edge of the wood attracted his attention. Something rustled the ferns. A sheep from those grazing further along? No, it was too big, much darker in colour. Momentarily it was hidden from his view. What the hell was it?

  Bracken moved and seconds later the animal appeared in full view. Now there was no mistaking it's breed; it was a fully grown wild boar!

  Mayo stared in disbelief. Then he recalled a recent report that these creatures had infiltrated Wales. Recently, a sow and several young piglets had also appeared on Cannock Chase just a few miles from Lichfield. These had been rounded up and transferred to a farm.

  The UK population of boar was increasing at an alarming rate. Numbers were such in the Forest of Dean that in spite of culls by the forestry commission they were spreading out into the countryside, moving to fresh habitats. Along with this there had been illegal releases from breeding farms by animal rights activists.

  Wild boar were re-inhabiting the UK after having been eliminated around three centuries ago. Secretive, elusive animals they mostly emerged from their chosen woodlands after dark to feed and decimate farm crops and grazing land. They would never be eradicated.

  Ramblers were advised to be wary. Mostly, boar slunk into cover at the approach of humans but a sow with young could launch an attack, especially if walkers had d
ogs with them.

  Up on the hillside, beyond the cottage, that animal had emerged into the open, only just visible in the gathering dusk. Its very stance was one of defiance, staring down at Mayo, watching his every move. Incredibly It had sensed his presence here.

  He wished that he had a powerful rifle to hand. His handgun would be worse than useless if he tried to shoot the boar; a wounding which would only serve to infuriate it.

  ‘Damnation!’ He spoke his frustration aloud. ‘I daren't stay indoors tonight as there's every chance Zinovsky and his gang will turn up and firebomb the place and now there's a bloody wild boar out there!’

  It was still up there, motionless, defiantly watching the cottage in the gathering gloom. There was something about its very posture, its head thrust forward in an aggressive manner which was somewhat disconcerting, like it had singled Mayo out, contemplating a charge if the opportunity arose.

  Mayo moved back indoors. Maybe it would become bored and depart. All the same its presence was somewhat disconcerting. Like some supernatural power had sent it here.

  After all, Zinovsky was reputed to be a disciple of Satan…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Richardson was trembling as he slid into the driving seat of Zinovsky's car, a black Ford Kuga Titanium X. They were joined by the latter's henchman, still wearing his dark cloak and balaclava. He did not speak a word.

  Richardson wondered why this guy was not behind the wheel, instead sitting bolt upright on the rear seat. Both his companions made him fearful, ruthless men who would not hesitate to commit murder in the most bizarre and disgusting way.

  Now Richardson regretted his role in this entire setup. Christ, why on earth had he confessed to giving Mayo a spare key to the armoury? He could have shrugged it off, suggested that the man in black must have picked the lock. Yet he had learnt that lying to their leader was a waste of time, those sunken orbs bored into you, virtually burning the truth out of you. One dared not lie to him, he was truly a disciple of Satan.