by Jeff Kirvin
"Yes, well, Sariel was caught unawares. He was always impetuous. Moloc and I are far more careful, and more than capable of dodging a shell we can see coming. Put down the weapon, old man, and we just might let you live."
"In a pig's eye,” Jeff spat. “I've seen what your kind is capable of."
"Well we can't let mere mortals get in the way of our mission, can we? It's for your own good, you know. You need us."
"Fuck you,” Daniel said as he leapt down the stairs and tackled Zagam, bringing his cast down hard on the demon's head.
Jeff whirled and pulled the trigger on Moloc just as the demon opened fire. Moloc didn't dodge after all, and burst apart in flames as Jeff sank to the floor, a bullet in his chest.
"Jeff!” Daniel screamed as Zagam collected himself and pistol-whipped Daniel in the temple.
Daniel didn't crumple quite the way Zagam expected. He rolled off the demon immediately, kicking the gun out of his hand and into the fire.
"Bad move, human. That was your only weapon."
"No,” Daniel said, pulling out the same detonator he'd used on Batarel. “This is."
Zagam looked down and noticed for the first time in all the commotion a pipe bomb in his waistband.
Daniel pressed the button as he dove behind the minibar. The explosion shook the walls and when Daniel got up it took a second to see the results through all the smoke.
Zagam wasn't dead. His legs and lower torso were completely gone, but nonetheless he was clawing his way up the remains of the stairs. Daniel caught him and rolled him over.
"That was for what you did to me, to my life.” He produced another bomb and armed it. “This is for my family, you son of a bitch."
Daniel shoved the bomb deep into the hot, slick mass of Zagam's exposed entrails. Without another word, Daniel took cover in the kitchen and pressed the button.
And Zagam was no more.
As the flames crawled slowly into the kitchen, Daniel rushed to Jeff's side. Silently he hoisted Jeff up onto his shoulder and rushed away from the flames, into the dining room. A sliding glass patio door opened out from there onto an elevated wooden deck, and Daniel was soon resting Jeff on that deck and examining the wound.
"Daniel?” Jeff croaked.
"Don't speak, Jeff. You need to conserve your strength."
"Bullshit,” the old man replied. “I'm dying and I know it. And I'm going to have my last words whether you like it or not."
Daniel already had a tear in his eye because he knew Jeff was right, but he smiled anyway.
"Thank you,” Jeff continued.
"For what?” Daniel heard the sounds of sirens in the distance, police or ambulances or firemen.
"I told you that first day, right before we got that cast on your arm, that I was looking for something to do with my life. I didn't do too well in the army, and the chance to be a good husband and father was taken away from me before I really got the hang of it, but I could help you and Susan do this. You're going to change the world, Daniel. And I wanted to thank you for letting me have a hand in it."
The sirens were getting closer. “We've got to get you to a hospital,” Daniel said.
"No, we don't. I'm finished. And it's okay, you know? With all the stuff we've seen, I don't know anymore if there's really a Saint Peter waiting for me at the Pearly Gates, but if there is, I can finally look him in the eye and say that Jeff Frankel meant something. That I made a difference, that I was important. I've waited my whole life to be able to say that."
Jeff paused for a moment, gathering the remains of his strength.
"It's time for you to go, Daniel."
Daniel started to cry in spite of himself. “I'm not leaving you like this."
"Yes, you are. I'm dying, quicker by the minute. Things will be different in a few days, once the story's hit, but for today we just killed a highly placed government employee and destroyed his home. My prints are all over that bazooka, but you can still be long gone by the time they find my dead body.
"Go, Daniel. Change the world. It's all right. Say goodbye and walk away."
Choking back his tears, Daniel leaned forward and hugged the dying old man that had been his friend, advisor and companion during the darkest time Daniel had ever known.
"Goodbye,” he whispered in Jeff's ear, then he rose, vaulted the railing on his good arm and ran down the alleyway behind the house.
Jeff watched Daniel run to safety, then relaxed, closed his eyes, and died.
While Daniel and Jeff were still fighting their way out of Zagam's house, Harold Preston met Susan in the lobby of the Post building, accompanied by two security guards.
"Susan, what the Hell's going on here?” he demanded. “Where have you been all this time? Why did you demand a security escort? Did you know Steve's been accusing you of raiding his files? Since when have you had blonde hair?"
Susan, looking much older than he remembered, merely smiled and produced and optical disk from her purse. “All here, chief. The biggest story the Post has ever printed."
Harold took the disk and looked at Susan. It wasn't the smug posturing that he was used to seeing from Susan that he saw now. It was the calm self-assurance of a seasoned reporter.
"Let's take this upstairs,” he said.
Revelation
Susan and Harold went up to his office with two armed guards, one on either side, a scene not lost on Steve Dunbar. One guard stayed in front of the office door after they went in, the other walked away. Steve finished typing the sentence he was on, then got up and walked over to Harold's office door.
"John,” he said to the guard, a burly man he occasionally had a beer with, “what's going on? Is Suzie in trouble?"
The guard looked nervously up and down the newsroom, then said, “She's got some big story brewing. I'm not supposed to tell you."
Steve was taken aback. “Me? Specifically? Come on, man, what the hell did I do to deserve this?"
"For crying out loud, would you keep your voice down? I don't know any more. She had a big story on computer disk, real hush-hush, and she didn't want you, specifically, to be in on it. Now go away before you get me in trouble."
Steve went back to his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed a number from memory.
"You have reached the residence of Richard Birchmere. I'm not in right now—"
Damn, Steve thought. The voicemail picked up right away, meaning the line was in use. He didn't have time to wait until he could get through. He had to act on his own. He had a pretty good idea what was going on, given the rumors he'd heard as of late.
Steve got up and walked calmly over to the door. “Sorry to do this, John,” he said, “but you're in my way."
Without further comment, Steve lifted the security guard, a man that outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds, and flung him effortlessly down the hall. He then twisted open the locked door and stepped into Harold's office. “Knock, knock."
Susan was already up and standing near the window, hands behind her back. Harold sat off to the side, behind his desk, and though he looked surprised, it wasn't the shock and fear Steve had seen so often before, but the surprise in confirmation of something he hadn't really believed.
"Suzie Q, what are you up to?” Steve sneered.
"Your downfall, Steve. Or should I call you Nybras?"
At the mention of his true name, the smile fell off the demon's face. So the rumors were true; Susan had been working with Cho, and they had really discovered proof of the demons’ existence.
"Poor, misguided Susan,” he said. “You don't really think I'm going to let you do this, do you?"
"You don't really think I'd come this far, knowing what you really are, without protection, do you?” she answered.
Nybras stepped forward. “What do you have behind your back, there? A secret weapon? Come now, Susan, I expected better of you. What is it? Silver? Holy water? Not that it matters. Time to die."
"Come and get me, you sick bastard."
N
ybras took another step forward, then his caution got the better of him. These upstart humans had killed Batarel, or so he'd heard. What did Susan have up her sleeve? As Harold nervously backed his chair to the wall, Nybras decided it didn't matter. No mere human was going to get in his way. He lunged at Susan.
Remembering what Daniel taught her, Susan stepped into his lunge and got her center of gravity underneath him. In one swift motion, before Nybras really knew what was going on, she flipped him towards the window.
The glass shattered as Nybras hurtled through the pane, but he caught the edge on the way out and did not fall, instead hanging from the sill by his fingertips.
"Clever, mortal,” he hissed through the already disappearing blood and pain, “but I fear only a momentary stay of execution."
Susan stood at the window and smiled down at the demon. “You know, ‘Steve', I never really liked you. In fact, I always kinda wanted to do this in college."
In one hand, she held Jeff's last Korean-era grenade. With the other hand, she pulled the pin. “So long, ‘Steve',” she said as she stuffed the grenade down his shirt.
"No!” Nybras shouted, and in his panic to remove the grenade, he let go of the ledge. He exploded halfway down, showering the cars below with gore.
"I can't believe that worked,” Harold said.
"That's probably the last time it will,” Susan answered, turning away from the window. “We've been able to kill them so easily only because they're arrogant and not used to being threatened. Soon they'll stop underestimating us and taking them down will become orders of magnitude harder."
With a shrug of her shoulders, Susan put that thought behind her. “In the meantime,” she said, “we've got a story to put out."
Less than a week later, Susan's story, along with all the corroborating evidence, was released to an unsuspecting public. The Post released a special edition devoted entirely to what they dubbed “the story of the millennium,” and nearly every major news service on the planet picked it up soon after.
Like most major revelations, the news caused neither immediate nor dramatic reaction. It took a while for the full effect to sink in. The United Nations called a special session to determine what to do about “the demon problem".
For her part, Susan won the Pulitzer Prize, fulfilling a dream she'd had since childhood. She became a hot property in the news industry, and suddenly had more to do as a respected journalist than she knew what to do with.
And life went on.
Once Susan's story cleared his name, Daniel returned to his old job and his old apartment. He was happy for Susan's success (even though the only time she'd had to speak to him was at Jeff's funeral), but he was happy mostly just to get his old, boring life back.
And that's when they found him.
Daniel had just got off what was only his second day back on the job, and he was discovering that he wasn't that happy after all. The cliché was right; you really couldn't go home again. He'd gone out on only two calls in as many days. The rest of his time was spent answering questions about his ordeal. It didn't seem to matter to anyone that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Daniel was deep in thought over this topic when he opened the door to his apartment. Inside were three men in conservative dark suits.
"Daniel Cho?” the lead one asked.
Daniel should have been outraged, but he felt only resigned fatigue. Once you've fought demons and won, he mused, government spooks can't intimidate you. “Yes. Can I help you gentlemen with something?"
"My name is Paul Simonson, Mister Cho. I represent a new organization that needs your help."
Daniel walked over the sink and got a glass of water. “Is that a fact.” It wasn't a question.
"Yes, sir. As I'm sure you're aware, the United Nations has finally come to a resolution on the demon issue."
Daniel plopped down on the couch. “I hadn't heard."
"Sir, we represent the UN Demon Task Force. The DTF's charter is to seek out and destroy the demons that you, Mister Frankel and Miss Richardson uncovered."
"Sorry, boys, but I'm out of the demon hunting business."
Simonson nodded to his companions. They promptly got up and left the apartment.
"Mister Cho, I can understand your feelings. If I'd been through what you just went through, I'd have had my fill of it too. But this is bigger than you or me. We need your experience. The demons have been preying on mankind for millennia. They're the greatest threat our species has ever faced. And if we're going to wipe them out, we need someone who knows them, how they think. We need you."
"Why don't you call the angels? Uriel was very helpful."
Simonson looked at his shoes. “We haven't been able to reach them. Please, sir. Mankind needs you."
Daniel had finally had enough. “Don't you people get it? Those damn things ruined my life, almost killed me, they killed my family and one of the best friends I ever knew. I'm through with them. Hell, it's because of me, Jeff and Susan that you even know about them. I've done my part. You can do the rest without me."
Simonson stood in silence for a long moment. “Very well, if that's your final word, that's what I'll relay to my superiors. On a personal note, I must say I'm very disappointed. You're quite a hero to millions of people, myself included. We really could have used your help in this. We're trying to change the world.” He turned to leave.
Change the world. Jeff's dying words came rushing back to Daniel. What the hell was he doing?
"Simonson."
The agent stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
"I'm in,” Daniel said.
Thus began the effort to exterminate the demons, an effort dubbed by the media as the Demonic Crusade.
And Jeff was right.
The world would never be quite the same again.
BOOK II: CRUSADE
New Beginning
SAN FRANCISCO. SIX MONTHS LATER.
Colonel Daniel Cho stood in the cold bay wind at the foot of his mother's grave. He was dressed in jeans and a conservative blazer, his hair had grown back, and for once he didn't have a cast or a brace on his arm or fingers. Physically, he was whole again.
Emotionally was another matter.
This was the first opportunity he'd had to visit his family's graves since their deaths. During his training with the DTF, he been able to repress his feelings, to concentrate on the work, learning to destroy the monsters that had taken so much from him. But now that he was home, now that he could see the physical reminder of that loss, it all came rushing back.
A lone tear streamed down from his right eye. “Mom...” he whispered. He knew he would never forgive the bastards for what they did to him, to his family, to Jeff Frankel. His hatred of them seemed to double every day. Because of them, he could never again tell his mom how much he loved her, never again share a beer with his dad, never tease his sisters, never show Jeff how much the world changed, just as the old guy predicted.
In the last six months, he had indeed seen the world change. Most of the demons, the vast majority, went underground when the story hit. Those that didn't and stood their ground were wiped out quickly. The leaders, Beelzebub and Satan himself, were still unaccounted for and presumed to be plotting some kind of retaliatory action. No one knew where they'd gone.
The angels were still incommunicado, and no one knew where they were, either. Mankind was left to deal with the demonic threat alone.
That was just fine with Daniel. He remembered vividly Jeff's tale of botched vengeance, but the bastards had taken Jeff, too, and Daniel needed to be involved in their destruction personally.
Enter the DTF. They were a good group of people, and they had accepted Daniel with open arms as one of their field leaders. After a crash course in combat strategy against demons, a course he helped develop, Daniel was awarded the rank of Colonel and given his own squad, five people that he'd learned to trust with his life.
Daniel looked down at the headstone of his little sister, Samantha, dead a
t 21. As good as things were getting, they didn't change the past. The demons, the monsters that had inflicted so much pain on Daniel and countless others throughout the course of human history, were still out there. Daniel couldn't rest until the very last one of them was destroyed.
The ring of his cellular phone cut the still silence of the cemetery.
"Cho."
"Colonel,” came the voice on the other end. Harris, his second. “We've got a lead on another one. Belphegor."
"I'm on my way,” Daniel answered, then disconnected.
With a final glance at the four headstones reading “Cho", Daniel left the cemetery.
The Demon Task Force's Los Angeles headquarters was an abandoned and converted police station. It was a large, three-story brick building, at least 1940's construction and looking older. When Daniel had left it earlier, it had borne no markings to identify its occupants. He noticed with a wry grin how that had changed. Over the large double doors at the front of the building, someone had hung a four-foot long paper banner with the DTF logo and initials.
That oughtta clear up any uncertainty, Daniel remarked to himself as he climbed the short stairs and entered the building.
The interior of the building was, if anything, shabbier than the outside. The building had been abandoned for years before the DTF commandeered it, the local cops having moved out to more modern facilities. Everything was brick and faded linoleum, steel desks and chairs that were probably never comfortable. Daniel walked through the lobby and into the precinct room, where his team had set up shop.
Lieutenant Colonel Jack Harris sat alone at a table studying case files, his long, lean body hunched over and running his fingers through his graying brown hair. Jack was Daniel's second in command. A former SWAT team leader in Chicago, and a Navy SEAL before that, Jack was known as a tactical genius, specializing in fugitive extraction. He had a knack for finding and flushing out the bad guys with a minimum of civilian danger and collateral damage.
Major Paul Simonson paced by the window. A blue-eyed blond farmboy from Minnesota, Paul was a FBI agent at heart years before he actually made it to the academy. He grew up fascinated by tales of G-men, and knew that being a federal cop was the life for him. When the revelation about the existence of demons broke, Paul found the greatest challenge an agent could face—a group of powerful, immortal fugitives from justice. He leapt at the chance to join the DTF, and never looked back.
