by Sean Deville
Mohammed had flown from Rome to Montreal on a Turkish passport with the required visa, all set up weeks before by people he had never met. Flying direct into the United States would have been problematic as there was too much risk of suspicion from their border security. It was also important there was no record of Mohammed’s entry, which is why he had slipped across the Canadian, US border in the dead of night.
Part of him regretted the atrocity he had committed in Rome, but the feeling of nausea that would occasionally hit him if his thoughts were allowed to settle was a small price to pay for his part in the holy jihad his country was now engaged in.
He had crossed over to the United States alone, not knowing two other Iranian agents of the VAJA were also making the crossing. The VAJA was Iran’s secret intelligence agency, his two fellow soldiers in this battle more recent additions to the cause. They had used the Canadian-Vermont border, Mohammed coming by boat across Lake Champlain. Only two of them had made it, one of his fellow agents being held by Homeland Security.
It didn’t matter. Neither of the other agents knew why they were really here, sent as decoys to make Mohammed’s entry easier.
Now he was in New York, Mohammed was to connect with the local sleeper network, men like him, put in place years ago and seemingly forgotten about. They had been activated and Mohammed wondered if they would show the same nervousness that he himself had felt when he had first seen the pink sprayed on the fateful tree. Despite his own reticence, Mohammed had proven his worth by going through with the attack on the Vatican and was here as an example to those who might falter. He was also here because the FBI had recently been successful in uncovering one of Iran’s biggest operations on the East coast.
Whatever his ultimate mission, it would be monumental.
Actually, it would be more than that. During the fall of the Soviet Union, there was a period of chaos when whole swathes of the former Soviet military had suddenly found they were no longer being paid. That left immense warehouses full of weapons, guarded by men and women who suddenly couldn’t put food in the mouths of their children. In such situations, it was only natural more commercially minded interests would step in and make the most of the opportunity. The Iranians would have been fools not to make the most of that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
With all its safeguards and all its security, the USA had so far admitted to losing eleven nuclear weapons. Imagine, just imagine, how many of the Russian equivalent were sold or simply stolen from facilities which had been left either abandoned or at the mercy of greed and desperation. Iran purchased three high-yield nuclear warheads, which to this day were stored in secret facilities and yet to be deployed. But they also bought half a dozen suitcase nukes, smaller versions of the atomic devices, meant to be infiltrated into the cities of Russia’s enemies.
Three of those had been smuggled into the United States nearly fifteen years ago. There they sat, gathering dust, undetected by the Americans.
Although he didn’t know it yet, this was why Mohammed was here.
16.
Slough, UK
Lucien didn’t wait around at the school. With his reconnaissance there complete, he had returned to the safe house he was presently using. There he meditated, casting out the troubles that were threatening to infest his mind. Demons rarely worked together. How many times had he been told such during his training?
So why was he witnessing such activities more of late?
It took three hours for the identity of the school teacher to be delivered to him. This information included the address the teacher was heavily mortgaged to. With no other mission directly demanding his attention, he left his bolt hole and made his way there to continue his investigations.
The back door to the semi-detached house had been easily breached, the alarm disabled. It was amazing how people felt secure in this modern age. They relied on locks and security devices that could be so readily bypassed. Lucien had learnt to pick locks when he was twelve, and he knew it was a skill most people could learn with persistence. The speed with which Lucien could breach the average home was helped by the tools available to him. The specially designed lock pick gun allowed him entry through most locks without leaving a trace of intrusion.
A locked door did not keep out the Inquisition.
Inside, the building felt stale and cold. There were no sounds to indicate any human occupant, the air free of the stench that came with owning a canine protector. Lucien knew instantly he was free to wander from room to room, but he kept his face covered in case of covert surveillance. He saw no evidence of this, but there was no reason not to take all necessary precautions. Whilst demons were usually easy to predict, there had been some in the past Lucien had underestimated to his own detriment. He was determined not to let that happen again. He had enough scars.
Lucien knew he wouldn’t find the boy Simon here, but if he was lucky, he might discover a clue as to the kidnapped child’s whereabouts.
The kitchen and living room yielded nothing except to display the loneliness of the woman who lived here. The fridge was filled with foods that would give palpitations to a cardiologist, the demon craving sensation and not caring what effects the gluttony would have on the host body. The ride was temporary, so why not make the most of it?
If there had been any pictures or memorabilia, they were gone now. When they claimed a human as their own, demons invariably claimed the living space as well. No guests would be invited into this house, the spawn creating a nest to savour in its depravity.
The stairs creaked as Lucien ventured upstairs. There was no evidence of a man living here, and Lucien wasn’t surprised. The information he had on the teacher stated she was separated from her husband pending a divorce, which was still being argued by expensive lawyers. The husband had been unfaithful, putting him in an unenviable position when things finally came before a judge. Not a wise thing to do in a society that tended to favour women in such affairs.
This had always been humanity’s greatest flaw, an inability to control its basest urges.
In the main bedroom, the lack of male clothes in the main closet reinforced Mrs Robinson’s single status. The room smelt dank, the bed stripped of its sheets which were piled up in one corner of the room. That would be where the demon slept, the nocturnal realm forced onto it by the limitations of the human host it had accepted.
Lucien wondered if the teacher had been specifically chosen because of the position she held at the school. This thought went against his training, all but the highest of demons possessing by chance more than by calculated desire. Who better though, than a primary school teacher to select the most vulnerable of children?
Lucien changed his plan of attack in that moment. Originally, he had intended to stay here and wait for the demon to return, slaying it swiftly. Whilst the whereabouts of the missing boy would have been a bonus, saving the child was not a priority. But what if this demon wasn’t working alone?
Standing in the place where the teacher slept, he could smell the essence of the beast he now hunted. It not only owned the teacher but the space that had been safety to her. He doubted he would find further proof of demonic intent here. Not unless…
The second bedroom had been converted into a simple study, a desktop computer sitting invitingly on the room’s single desk. Lucien sat down at it, the room carrying the same odour that told him the demon had been in here, and often. The computer was old and took a while to boot up, and when it finally decided it was ready to come to life, Lucien had no more difficulty breaking through its password access than he’d had getting through the building’s back door. The USB stick he’d inserted during boot-up dealt with that for him.
Demons were not renowned for their understanding of internet security. Their knowledge of the world came from the minds they implanted themselves into. Mrs Robinson didn’t strike him as someone who had many secrets to hide, and the computer didn’t provide any great revelations. A search of the internet history told a story
of a creature who was intent on learning about the world it found itself in, hundreds of webpages visited over the last few days, many of them news sites. Then there was the porn. The demon seemed to crave it.
Whatever name this demon went by, it was curious about the world of humanity. More evidence this visitor from Hell was at the top of the less-than-noble tree. Lucien’s investigation here could have been described as a wasted effort, but when you were hunting down demons, a lack of thoroughness could be your downfall.
The phone in his pocket buzzed and he took it out to read the message.
Phone data on subject delivered.
Good. Lucien now had the GPS data on Mrs Robinson’s phone. Assuming the demon hadn’t taken to using a burner phone, this information might give him some insight into where Mrs Robinson had been the last few days.
As so often happened with the best Inquisitors, Lucien found intuition speaking to him. This wasn’t a single demon he was dealing with here. There was more going on than he had first thought.
Demon scum.
There had been two children other than Simon taken from around the location of the primary school in the past two weeks. It was not unusual for a single demon to take that many, but in today’s hyper-vigilant world, it was difficult to get away with it successfully so often. In a world of seven billion people, the number of demons in this country at any one time usually numbered less than a couple of dozen, and Lucien hunted them down relentlessly. He had once asked the Librarian why certain parts of the world seemed to be particular hotspots for them, and the answer he got was the one he had expected. The demons come through where the barrier is weakest.
Lilith had been right. The balance of power between dark and light had definitely changed.
***
Emily had calmed down, the darkness around her mother now thankfully dissipated. Her mum was normal again, the anguish in her eyes terrifying to Emily.
“I’m sorry, mummy,” Emily cried, hugging into Vicky with a desperation that was harrowing to those who witnessed it. She caught a glimpse of her grandfather. Emily had never seen him look so lost.
“What’s going on with you, peanut?”
“I saw it around you.” Emily shivered, the thought of the evil taking her mum tormenting her. She was too young to understand what was happening, but whatever it was, she knew it was bad.
“What did you see?”
“The darkness. The same as I see around my teacher.”
“Is it there now?” Vicky asked. Emily had no idea of the thoughts about Damien and the nightmares careening through her mother’s mind.
“No,” Emily said, sinking further into her mother’s loving embrace. At the side of them, James stood with a concerned look on his face. He clearly had no idea how to handle this situation. A physical illness of a child he could deal with, but mental illness was a terrifying prospect to a man like him. He’d been spared such anguish for most of his life, and he had few skills to start dealing with it now.
“Let me get us all something to drink,” James said. Better to give them some time alone.
“What’s happening, mummy?” Emily was frightened, more frightened than she could remember. She was seeing things other people couldn’t see. Her mother wasn’t evil; there was no way that could be true. For such a young mind, Emily came to a staggering conclusion. “Am I sick?”
“I don’t know, honey,” Vicky said. “But if you are, we’ll get you better again.”
“I don’t want to see these things.”
“Tell me more about what you see.” They were seated together on the sofa and Vicky swept an errant lock of hair back into place on her daughter’s head.
“It’s like a cloud. When Mrs Robinson is close, I can taste it. And it smells bad.”
“What does it smell of?”
“Rotten eggs.” Emily had only smelt actual rotting eggs once before, but the sulphur stench would never be forgotten. She missed the brief alarm shivering down Vicky’s body as the experience from the early dream hours was hard to forget.
“How would you like to sleep over here with Grandad tonight?” Vicky asked.
“Where are you sleeping?”
“Here,” Vicky said. “It can be like an adventure.” Vicky also had a favour to ask of her father. She needed someone in the same room as her whilst she slept. Right now, she didn’t doubt it was all in her imagination, but she still liked the idea of someone standing watch over her.
“Okay, but only if I can have extra ice cream with tea.”
“Are you blackmailing me, young lady?”
“Yes,” Emily admitted, and finally she smiled.
“Well just this once. I saw your headmistress today, by the way.”
“Is she going to make me go back to school?” Please don’t let her, Emily wanted to add.
“We have agreed you can have the rest of the week off. I’m going to need you to talk to a friend of mine as well. A man.” Vicky might have been a psychologist, but she knew it would be a mistake to try and treat any mental health problem in her own child. Vicky’s mentor had agreed to examine Emily as a personal favour.
“Is he going to make me better?”
“Emily, we don’t know if there is anything wrong with you.”
“But I see things,” Emily whispered.
“Let’s just wait and see what my friend says, okay?”
“Okay,” Emily said, although she was evidently still concerned. So was Vicky. There were a whole host of mental disorders that might be causing this. She didn’t want this for her daughter.
“Could you do something for me?” Vicky asked. “Could you draw what you see around your teacher?”
“Why?”
“Just an idea I have.” Whilst Vicky was under the impression her own nocturnal struggles might have been a sympathetic response to the plight of her daughter’s mental health, there was a fear building that it might be something more.
***
Lucien had left the property the way he found it. Walking away from it, he kept his face covered with the surgical mask, his eyes scanning for the possibility of surveillance. The street was quiet, only one other pedestrian present that he could see. It was peaceful, almost idyllic. To know that a demon was hiding out in these streets would have chilled people to their core.
He was surprised when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Normally he was only ever contacted by his handler at set times, the schedule partly convenience, but also partly a way to check the Inquisitors hadn’t been compromised.
“I’m listening,” Lucien said into his phone.
“We have a problem,” the man on the other end said. Lucien knew him only as John, the same handler that dealt with Lilith. Presently they were the only Inquisitors in the south of England. They were constantly being moved around, redeployed to where computer algorithms stated were the biggest threats. There never had been and there never would be enough Inquisitors for the job asked.
“Why else would you be calling?”
“Lilith has been taken.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” It was rare for an Inquisitor to fall into the hands of the enemy. Rarely were the demons so organised. It was more likely for an Inquisitor to come to the attention of a country’s various law enforcement organisations.
“Her safe house was razed. She sent off a distress code before she fled, but she has failed to check in. We have her last location, and it’s nowhere she should be.”
“Who has her?”
“It was the police who raided her address,” John advised, “although it wasn’t the police who took her. As of yet, we are unable to ascertain those responsible.”
“We all knew the risks.” Lucien reached his motorbike. Most Inquisitors chose this as their preferred mode of transport. Swift, manoeuvrable through traffic and able to go across terrain that was prohibitive to most cars.
“There is a suspicion the demon within the Home Secretary might be involved. Our analysis sh
ows you might also be at risk. We are considering redeploying you.”
“No,” Lucien said forcefully. “I have a job to do first.”
“You found something in your investigation?”
“Yes. One of the teachers at the school I was sent to is definitely possessed. It might be one but I suspect there are more. I will need to deal with that before I leave.”
“It may not be safe for you there, Lucien.” John sounded anxious. What wasn’t Lucien being told?
“Then I will be with Christ. There’s something else, isn’t there?” The voice on the other end paused. “Usually it is best to just tell a person the bad news.”
“The Order had lost five Inquisitors in the last week.” That was a heavy blow.
“So many? Will Lilith be the sixth?” At no time did Lucien offer to go to Lilith’s aid. This was not the Inquisitor way, not when he had demons that he needed to kill.
“We hope not,” John said. “The present situation is unprecedented, so the Order has turned to our allies. Lucien…” John paused again. “I owe you an apology, both you and Lilith. I was dismissive of your claims of an increase in demonic cooperation. It turns out you were right.”
Lucien took no enjoyment in the words. “I will report in once I know more about what I’m facing,” he said before closing down the call. He couldn’t let himself worry about Lilith, not right now. The only thing that mattered was the mission.
17.
Watford, UK
Lilith’s skin was coated with sweat. Veronica was still dressed in her business attire, so Lilith could be confident the real fun had yet to begin. The torturer was standing by the side of her as if to admire her handiwork. Lilith was now well acquainted with what the box with the wires was for.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Veronica asked. Lilith was certainly getting no pleasure out of this, although there was a certain satisfaction building that she was easily withstanding what was being thrown at her.
“Oh, immensely.” Although her torturer hid it well, Lilith could tell she was surprised by the resistance to the interrogation so far. And yet Lilith also knew this was only the warm up act. So far, the pain inflicted by Veronica was no worse than what Lilith did to herself on a daily basis. The one thing Lilith had already decided on was that, no matter what was done to her, she would never scream. The last time such a sound had escaped her was as a child when a man had slowly murdered her mother in front of her eyes.
