The Unification Chronicles: Between Heaven and Hell

by Jeff Kirvin

  "Colonel Cho, welcome,” she said in a deep contralto as she extended her hand, which Daniel promptly shook. “Please, sit down."

  Marie Motumbo was an unconventional but highly practical choice to lead the Demon Task Force. Herself a Colonel in the Nigerian Army, she'd had decades of practice running down fugitives and criminals. Shortly after the Revelation, Nigeria was nearly free of all known demons, quite a few of them dispatched by her personally. When the UN went looking for someone to head up the DTF, all fingers pointed to her.

  They both sat, and Marie leaned back in her chair to study Daniel. “I've been reading your progress reports,” she said in nearly unaccented English. “Your team has the highest success rate in the DTF, an accomplishment I attribute largely to you."

  "Thank you, but my team deserves as much credit as I do."

  "I'm sure they do. I didn't bring you here for a pat on the back, Colonel. Have you read the papers recently?"

  "Not much, ma'am. Just here and there."

  "Well look at this,” she said, tossing a newspaper in Daniel's lap. “The CEO of Chrysler stepped down last week amidst charges that he was either a demon himself or in league with them. He denied the charges, but the public pressure and plummeting stock prices forced him to resign. After the fact, it was revealed that the people making the original allegations had strong financial connections to Ford, but nobody seemed to care.

  "Things are getting ugly out there, Daniel. The paranoia in your country is rising to levels unseen since the Red Scare. In other parts of the world, my country, for example, hundreds of people are lynched on a daily basis for the mere speculation that they might be demons."

  "Spirit of Salem,” Daniel said. The phrase had become a popular graffiti epitaph in particularly intense areas. Even Daniel and his team had been accused of being “witch hunters” by the more liberal media, who were then generally accused of being in league with demons. It was a vicious cycle.

  "So you have been paying attention. While I think we can both agree that the removal of the demons is of paramount importance, we can't very well tear the world apart doing it. So you're being reassigned."

  Daniel sat bolt upright in his chair. “What?"

  "Calm down, Colonel. You and your team are doing so fine a job, I'm giving you a special mission. If we keep going the way we have been, it could be years before the demons are completely wiped out. We can't afford to get one here, one there anymore. So you're going straight to the source."

  "And that would be?"

  "Hell. You're going to Hell."

  Daniel was speechless.

  "We've heard rumors that the demons have a stronghold somewhere, that Satan and Beelzebub have taken refuge there. We believe that if you find this Hell, we can destroy it, Satan and Beelzebub, and thus cut the head from the snake. Your mission is to locate Hell, verify Satan's presence and if possible, destroy him. We'll do the rest. With any luck, this will be a crippling blow to the demons, and we can restore some semblance of order before the world tears itself apart."

  Marie Motumbo sat back in her chair and picked up her paperwork, signaling that the meeting was over. Daniel left quietly, deep in thought.

  "We're going where?” Paul asked.

  "Hell, Paul. Satan's stronghold, wherever that is,” Daniel replied.

  When Daniel arrived at the hotel and broke the news about their new assignment, he'd expected ... he really didn't know what he expected. Surprise, maybe, excitement. His team had other ideas.

  Mostly Paul. “What're we going to do, just walk up to Satan's door and say, ‘Here we are'?"

  "Something like that. Of course, we have to find the door first."

  "Hey, amigo,” Roberto yelled from behind his computer, “betcha when all those people in your life told you to go to Hell, you never thought you'd really go, did you?"

  "Bite me, ‘Berto."

  "Enough,” Daniel said, and they quieted.

  "Jack? Any ideas?"

  Jack hadn't said a word since Daniel notified them of the new mission, and to be honest, Daniel had no idea if he was in favor of it or not. He just knew he never wanted to face Jack across a poker table.

  "Yes, sir, I have a few. First thing I'd try is to capture and interrogate a demon. They'd have to know the location of Hell."

  "Good idea,” Daniel said. “We can start looking for—"

  "This is ridiculous!” Paul exclaimed. “What we're doing now is fine, we don't need to traipsing off on some wild goose chase like a bunch of—"

  Before Paul could get out another word, Jack was up and in his face. “Do we have a problem, Major?"

  Paul could see there was only one right answer to the question. “No, I suppose we don't."

  "Good,” Jack said, straightening Paul's uniform, “because the Colonel has a new mission for us, and that's what we're going to do. Are we clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Daniel made a mental note to thank Jack later. The last thing he needed to worry about was dissension in the ranks.

  "Well,” Daniel said, “if there are no further questions, let's get to work."

  He Who Would Be King

  Texan Senator Timothy Phillips sat in his San Antonio hotel room and waited for John to call him. Phillips was back in his home state to give a keynote speech to a group of area businessmen. He made many such public appearances, as they gave him the means to spread the word about his cause.

  Which was, of course, himself.

  Tim Phillips was a survivor. The last of six children to a Dallas city worker who never made much above minimum wage, Phillips had to struggle for everything he ever had. Starting from buying his own school supplies in junior high with the money he made mowing lawns, he eventually managed to put himself through not only college, but law school as well. He worked the most menial part-time jobs imaginable, but he got his degree, passed the bar, and got a job in the Dallas District Attorney's office. After years of laboring as an assistant D.A., Phillips finally made District Attorney. He amassed a stunning record of convictions, and he had the position of power and authority that he'd always been denied as a child.

  But it wasn't enough. After more than fifteen years as a prosecuting attorney, Phillips ran for public office, a seat in the Texas state legislature. Tall, imposing, charismatic and with an impeccable service record, he won by a landslide, and ran for the U.S. Senate four years later, an election that he again won easily. Phillips became a force for change on Capitol Hill, his booming voice often heard on the Senate floor vociferously arguing for the rights of the common working man. His public life was untouchable.

  His private life was a different matter. Phillips was, simply put, a megalomaniac. At the age of fifty-three, he was still single because he had never felt it was worth the distraction from his advancement to settle down and start a family. His insatiable lust for power insured that although he was a U.S. Senator, one of one hundred men that made the laws for the most powerful nation of Earth, he still wasn't happy. He wanted more.

  When the news about the demons broke, Phillips knew he finally had his opening. As a lawyer and student of history, he knew quite well the kind of power the Red Scare had bestowed upon Joe McCarthy and J. Edgar Hoover. He saw in the Demonic Crusade the potential to give himself similar power, by giving people something universal to be afraid of, something he could blame on his rivals.

  There came a knock on his door. John Williams, a young, slightly built black man and Phillips’ aide, poked his head in the door. “Senator, they're ready for you."

  "Thanks, John,” Phillips said as he rose from the hotel room couch and walked out the door, following his aide down the hall and into the conference room of the hotel. John Williams had been his aide since his first term in the Senate, and he was one of the few people Phillips trusted. The young man had made many sacrifices for his boss, something Phillips appreciated, even if he never said it.

  Phillips took his place behind the podium and stared out at the sea of faces. Mo
st of these San Antonio high rollers had contributed heavily to his last campaign, and he knew what they expected him to say.

  "Gentlemen, I wish I could stand before you today and tell you how well we're doing. I wish I could tell you that we live in the greatest country in the world, and that we're the luckiest generation ever to walk the planet.

  "I wish I could tell you these things, but I can't. It just wouldn't be right. The truth is, gentlemen, that we have a problem.

  "The greatest threat to ever face mankind is walking our streets, and we aren't doing anything about it. The UN's so called Demon Task Force is an undersized, ill-equipped joke, and the liberals on Capitol Hill are making sure the regular police and army have their hands tied.

  "They could be anywhere, even now. Your neighbor, your dry cleaner, a derelict on a street corner. The demons have had six months to blend back into human society. That ain't a tough task for an immortal monster that's been hiding among us for millennia. Anyone you meet could be a demon, and not only would you not know it, but even if you did you couldn't do a damn thing about it.

  "Based on the number of demons exterminated in the last six months, a number inflated by the demons that refused to go into hiding before they were destroyed, the best estimate for the DTF to wipe out this scourge is eight years.

  "Eight years. More than enough time for most of these demons to disappear completely, to establish new identities, to continue their eternal assault on mankind. We can't afford to wait while the opportunity to end this slips through our fingers.

  "I'm sure y'all are aware of the Demonic Emergency Act, a bill I proposed that would help us end this, a bill that was just voted down. The bill would have allowed local law enforcement to engage in demon hunting, and it would have revoked a demon's right to due process, preventing the godless monsters from clogging up our court system. We need legislation like this to rid ourselves of this threat, but it's going to take a grass-roots movement to get it passed. You know I've always been a defender of the common man. Now it's time for the common man to defend the world.

  "I need each and every one of you to take up arms with me. I need you to champion the life and liberty of every human being. Together, we can end the demonic threat once and for all!"

  The room erupted into standing applause. Phillips smiled and waved, gave the thumbs up and walked out of the room. He headed for the hotel lobby, where he knew John would have his bags packed and waiting. The money pouring out of the pockets of those businessmen, even though Phillips had been careful not to ask for it directly, would go a long way towards lobbying his cause on the Hill.

  Phillips believed maybe half of what he'd just told that room of fat-cat businessmen. He did believe that the demons were the greatest threat mankind had ever known, and he did believe that the DTF and U.S. government were ill-equipped to deal with them. The rest was mostly rhetoric designed to whip the audience into a paranoid, yet patriotic, frenzy. In cases like tonight, it was designed to get people either scared or enthused enough to spend a lot of money. It usually worked.

  Phillips was a man with a plan. If he could raise the level of paranoia and distrust in the country high enough, he could have any public official that got in his way impeached for merely the hint of demonic ties. If he played his cards right, he might even get the president himself booted out of office, and Phillips, as a man obviously beyond demonic influence, would be the obvious people's choice to take the job.

  Yeah, he thought as he got into the limousine John had waiting for him, he had it all figured out, and everything was going according to schedule.

  Lying back in the plush seat of the car, alone with his dreams (John didn't really count), the soon to be most powerful man in the world disappeared into the traffic of San Antonio.

  The Inquisition

  ONE MONTH LATER.

  The Interrogation Chamber was a specially constructed room inside an old warehouse Daniel's team had modified for their mission. Constructed of titanium reinforced steel, the room was just large enough to accommodate a small group of interrogators and one subject strapped to an angled table. The room was a vault, designed with demonic strength in mind. It was just outside this room that Daniel stood, waiting.

  He'd just received word from Jack that they finally had a captive. After four long weeks of searching, the team had finally located another demon, reportedly named Uzziel. Jack had informed Daniel that the capture had been made cleanly, and that they were bringing the subject in.

  The door to the warehouse flew open and the DTF van drove in. Daniel walked over and helped open the rear door to the van, then helped Jack and Heinrich wheel the gurney with the rapidly healing demon into the Interrogation Chamber. They soon had the demon secured to the table, and by the time Uzziel was fully conscious, they were ready to begin.

  Daniel did most of the talking. “You are the demon named Uzziel."

  "Bite me, mortal."

  "I'll take that as a yes.” Daniel picked up a clipboard and began taking notes as he talked.

  "Do you know where you are?"

  "Disneyland."

  "Really."

  "Does it matter?"

  "Come now, you aren't the slightest bit worried about your situation?” Daniel asked.

  Uzziel stared back defiantly. “Oh, don't get me wrong. You and your little band of witch-hunters have quite a reputation among my people. We all know what you're capable of.

  "But I served as a lieutenant to Gabriel's personal guard before the Fall. I've served under Beelzebub ever since. Once you've had to answer to them, you mortals are strictly small time."

  "I see,” Daniel said. “I'll cut right to the point. We need to know the location of Hell, and we believe that you, as a demon, know where it is. So you're going to tell us."

  Uzziel spat at Daniel. “Fuck you, human."

  Daniel seemed completely nonplused. “Heinrich, you may begin."

  Humming a happy and familiar little Christian hymn, Heinrich set to work. The first thing he did was to grab a large, sharp knife and peel the skin from Uzziel's arm like he was peeling a potato, then pour copious amounts of salt on the wound.

  "This the best you can do, mortal?” Uzziel hissed through clenched teeth. “Were our positions reversed, I'd be tempted to do something really nasty."

  "We're just warming up,” Daniel said with a smile. “Now tell me, where is Hell?"

  "In your father's basement, under the ashes."

  The smile disappeared from Daniel's face, and he became very still.

  "Sir, are you all right?” Jack asked.

  "Fine,” Daniel answered, shaking it off. “Heinrich."

  Heinrich opened a small metal box and pulled out a metal rod. At the touch of a button, the tip of the rod began to glow red. Heinrich moved the rod slowly towards the demon's face, then plunged it carefully into each eye until they burst, oozing fluid down Uzziel's cheeks.

  The demon clenched his teeth and tensed every muscle in his body, but did not make a sound.

  "Where is Hell?” Daniel asked more forcibly.

  "Up your ass,” Uzziel croaked, though his wounds were already beginning to heal up.

  Daniel nodded again to Heinrich, who in turn sawed off the demon's left hand. Uzziel screamed, but said nothing coherent. Crimson blood flowed freely from the wound for a few seconds, then tapered off.

  Daniel took a step closer. “Where is Hell?” he screamed into the demon's face. He received no answer.

  "Do it,” he said to Heinrich. The young German picked up a long, sharp knife and made an incision down the length of Uzziel's torso. He then grabbed a metal hook and began pulling out the demon's intestines.

  "Even for someone as old as you,” Daniel said, “you can't have faced much worse than this. It can't be comfortable. All you have to do to make it stop is tell us what we want to know."

  "And then you kill me,” Uzziel whispered, his breathing ragged and faint. “Fuck you, Cho. I'm not playing your game."

 
"Heinrich, the torch."

  The young German put down his hook and ignited a small blowtorch. After spreading open the hole in Uzziel's torso, he began scorching random organs.

  "Where is Hell?” Daniel demanded.

  "You know,” Uzziel observed, speaking each word with great difficulty and concentration, “it just occurred to me how much you look like your mother. You should have heard how she begged just before I snapped her neck."

  Before either Heinrich or Jack could react, Daniel had one of the knives in his hand and was straddling Uzziel. “Where is it, you son of a bitch?” he screamed as he began wildly hacking away at the demon. “Where's Hell, motherfucker?"

  Daniel went into a frenzy, mercilessly slashing and stabbing with the knife, the demon's blood splashing the metal walls five feet away. “Tell me!” Daniel thundered. “Tell me, you fucking monster! You sadistic son of a bitch, tell me what I need to know!"

  Daniel gradually became aware of someone calling his name. He turned and saw Jack standing behind him, pleading for Daniel to step away. As Daniel pulled himself back from the pile of torn and severed flesh that was quick resolving itself back into a demon, he noticed that he was covered in blood, and that Heinrich and Jack weren't much cleaner. Daniel was ashamed of himself. He wasn't much of a leader if he let himself lose control like that.

  Daniel and Jack stepped away, not out of the demon's earshot, but comfortably away from most of the blood.

  "It's no use,” Daniel said. “He's not going to tell us anything useful.

  "Destroy him."

  "Sir, do you want me to take him out in the van and...” Jack mimed pushing down the plunger on an old fashioned dynamite detonator.

  "No, we don't have time for that,” Daniel said. “Just drop him in the shredder and make sure you burn the pieces.” The warehouse came equipped with an old waste shredder, essentially a large metal hopper feeding into motorized spinning blades.