Hellgate London: Goetia

by Mel Odom

  A preliminary search of the area had revealed no demons, but he still felt the people he’d brought there were exposed and vulnerable. More than that, he didn’t know what was happening back at the camp he’d established. The demons had systematically destroyed most of the ground-based satellite relays to the network out in space. Access to those satellites was difficult and uncertain at best.

  Losing those satellites had been one of the hardest things Simon had been forced to adjust to. All his life he’d grown up with technology that allowed him access to the world. Despite his Templar training, he’d taken that access for granted. Everything now felt too separate, too far apart, to make any sense.

  A shadow moved to Simon’s right. Even with the advanced vid capability available to the suit, Simon barely made out the figure.

  “Mr. Cross,” a man’s clipped voice greeted. “Welcome. We were told you might be joining us.”

  Simon remained on the deck. It would be easier to get back inside, and he could use the tank’s bulk for defense if he needed to.

  “Maybe you could join me down here,” the man said. His voice held a tinny quality that let Simon know it was being amplified.

  “I can hear just as well from here,” Simon countered.

  “I thought perhaps we could at least be civil about this.”

  “Hiding in the shadows isn’t my idea of civil.”

  The figure hesitated, then reached up to his head. The tight-fitting helm split at the back and he pulled it forward off his face.

  The man looked as if he was in his thirties. His black hair was cut short, a military high-and-tight style that had been around for decades. His face was thin and gaunt, and old scars that looked like wear marks webbed his left cheek and temple.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I don’t like being unprotected these days.”

  “Neither do I.” Simon stepped off the ATV and dropped to the ground with the same ease a man would have stepped from the lowest rung of a stepladder. He commanded the faceplate to iris open and immediately relished the cool sea air blowing in from the Straits of Dover. After the effects of the Burn, it had been a long time since he’d felt an honest chill. “I especially didn’t like the demon army we ran into not far from here.”

  The man grimaced. “Sorry about that, but we’re under orders not to break cover.”

  “Whose orders?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

  Secrecy seemed to be second nature to Leah and her cohorts. Simon understood that, though. The Templar existed in the same environment. He continued walking toward the man, but he was sure the man wasn’t alone. But that was all right; he wasn’t alone either.

  “I have Leah Creasey with me,” Simon stated.

  The man regarded Simon without expression. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  Simon couldn’t tell if the man was lying. Neither could . his armor’s AI, and it held programming to detect falsehoods in most people. Even before the technology had been invented, Templar had been trained in body language to detect lies.

  There was a rumor, among those who had believed in the Templar before the bloody battle on All Hallows’ Eve, that no one could successfully lie to a Templar. In times past, the Templar had encouraged such beliefs while they’d stalked demon artifacts through black markets in various countries involved in the Crusades.

  If the man before him had ever heard that, he didn’t show any sign of being impressed.

  “Fine,” Simon said in partial disgust. “Let’s get on with this, then, shall we? I’ve got things to tend to.”

  The man flashed a brief smile. “As you will.” He gestured in the darkness.

  Immediately two men dressed in the same kind of armor stepped forward. They ushered a third man forward between them. The two on either side of the third never said anything.

  But the third figure lurched forward.

  “A knight!” The voice was hoarse with disbelief. He came forward with his hands lifted.

  Without thinking, Simon drew his Spike Bolter and aimed it at the man. “Stay back,” he commanded.

  “Don’t shoot,” the first man admonished. “That’s Ma-comber. The man you’ve come all this way to see.” He reached forward and caught the man by the shoulder to halt his progress.

  Simon lowered the pistol but didn’t put it away. Even after four years, he didn’t completely trust Leah or her mystery group. The almost silent hum that had taken place behind him told him that Nathan or one of the other Templar had taken aim with the ATV’s arsenal.

  “Not exactly a friendly overture,” the man commented dryly.

  “It’s not exactly a friendly world any more,” Simon said. He focused on the man in the middle. “You’re Macomber?”

  “Dr. Archibald Xavier Macomber, yes.” The man might have nodded, but with the helmet it was hard to tell. “Who are you?”

  “Simon Cross.”

  “Ah. You’re Thomas Cross’s son. I see the resemblance now. Your eyes are the same. But you’re bigger.”

  The announcement surprised Simon. For the most part, he’d always known his father as a quiet, solitary man. At least, as quiet and solitary as a man could be living among the Templar. And Simon stood four inches taller than his father.

  “You knew my father?” Simon asked.

  “I did. Sadly, only for a short time. But he left a huge impression. Thomas is a very impressive man.”

  “Was,” Simon corrected automatically. Four years later, and that correction was still hard to make.

  Macomber hesitated. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I suppose we need to talk.”

  * * * *

  The crash of the waves below the cliff echoed through the forest around Simon as he hunkered down on the lee side of the ATV. The nameless man who had come forward sat with him. Both of them watched Dr. Archibald Xavier Macomber.

  The professor had taken his helmet off and it lay forward on his armored chest in a loose pool. Macomber was in his sixties and looked frail. Obviously the sanitarium he’d been locked away in had robbed him of a lot of his health.

  His face was a pale oval in the darkness. A silvery beard hung in ragged tatters from his jaw, mirrored by the long mop of hair that brushed his shoulders.

  “Why did you want to see us?” Simon asked.

  Macomber looked as though the question surprised him. “I wanted to see your father.”

  “What business did you have with his father?” the quiet man asked.

  Simon hadn’t made up his mind yet how he was going to deal with the man’s presence. Although he wanted to get Macomber off to himself, he wasn’t yet ready to challenge the quiet man for custody of the professor.

  Besides that, since the ATVs’ and his armor’s sensors couldn’t detect the men surrounding the meeting place, Simon wasn’t sure how costly such a maneuver might prove to be.

  “His father knew about the demons, of course,” Macomber said. “Before the rest of the world learned about them.”

  “How did he know they were coming?” the quiet man asked.

  Suspicion only cast a light stain on the man’s question, but Simon was certain distrust ran bone-deep in the man.

  “Because of the manuscripts, of course.” Macomber sounded old and tired, but also a little like an innocent child.

  Simon wondered if the man’s mind was still healthy. He’d seen what shock treatments, ice-water baths, and radical medications could do to people’s minds.

  “What manuscripts?” the quiet man persisted.

  “The ones I’d located in France.” Macomber blinked. “I need to rest. Really I do. These past few days have been hard on me.”

  “In a little while, Professor,” the quiet man said. “Tell us about the manuscripts.”

  “They were part of an estate sale outside Paris,” Ma-comber explained. “I sometimes help out with such things. By that time I was living with my wife, J
eanne. Does anyone know what happened to her?”

  “We’ll try to find out,” the quiet man said. “Why were the manuscripts important?”

  “The manuscripts aren’t gone,” Macomber said. “They still exist. And they’re still important. They may be the only way any of us are ever safe again.”

  “How can they make us safe?”

  Macomber looked at Simon. “Why aren’t you asking any questions?”

  “Because he’s asking the same questions I would,” Simon said. “How can the manuscripts help us?”

  “Because they’re books of magic, of course.” Macomber looked put out, as if everyone should know that. “There are a lot of books out there that claim to be magic, but as you know there aren’t that many.”

  Simon remembered the book he’d helped locate four years ago that had opened up and eaten a Templar standing next to him. Maybe you don’t know all the books that are out in the world, Professor.

  Eighteen

  “What made this book so special?” Simon asked the old man. The professor still hadn’t acknowledged him with a look. He only stared out into the night sky. “Professor?”

  Macomber didn’t answer. His eyes stared off into the darkness.

  “Professor,” Simon said gently.

  Unmoved, Macomber sat like a statue.

  Simon looked at the quiet man.

  “He has episodes,” the quiet man said. “After we found out about him—about the work he did in the field of demonology and linguistics—we tracked him down.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Living in one of the universities.”

  “How did he get out of the sanitarium?”

  “Evidently when the generators went, there was a fire. The built-in safety measures opened all the cell doors. Most of the patients remained within the building or within the surrounding neighborhood.” The quiet man was even quieter for a short time. Sadness touched his eyes. “Even before the Hellgates opened and the demons arrived, that sanitarium was a bad place to be. The thing that kept most of the residents there was the food. That appeared to be plentiful.”

  “How did you find him?” Simon asked.

  “There was an investigation into your father’s past. Someone found out that your father had visited Macomber in the sanitarium. They sent us to find Macomber.”

  “What did they know about my father?” Simon felt awkward asking the question, as if a stranger would know more about his father that he did.

  “Your father’s body was found and identified at St. Paul’s Cathedral only a few days after of the attack during All Hallows’ Eve.”

  The news hurt Simon. He hadn’t known his father’s body had been recovered. By rights, if he was able, he was supposed to lay his father’s bones to rest in the family crypt in the Templar Underground.

  “Where’s my father?” he asked.

  The quiet man paused before answering. “He’s in a medical examiner’s vault. If it’s still there.”

  “I need to know where.”

  “I’ll see if I can find out where it is.”

  Simon nodded, unable to speak. He only hoped his father hadn’t been raised as zombie by one of the demons. He turned his attention to Macomber. Gently, Simon laid his armored hand on the old man’s shoulder.

  “Professor,” Simon said.

  The old man started at Simon’s touch. Macomber put his hands up to defend himself. “Don’t hit me! Please don’t hit me again!”

  He’s not here, Simon realized. He’s there, still stuck in the past. He kept his hand firmly on the old man shoulder and called his name again.

  “Professor Macomber. I need to speak with you about Thomas Cross and the book.”

  The old man’s eyes focused on Simon. “Ah, there you are, Thomas. I’ve been wondering where you’d gotten off to.”

  Simon didn’t bother to correct the man and hoped that the mistaken identity worked out. “Tell me about the book, Professor.”

  Macomber smiled. “It’s a wonderful book, Thomas. I think you’re going to be pleased.”

  “Why am I going to be pleased?” Simon asked.

  “Because the book has their names! It’s like we’ve always agreed. If we know their names—the names of the demons—we’ll have power over them. We won’t have to fear them, Thomas. Even if they come to this world, we can save ourselves from them.”

  “What’s the name of the book?”

  “Don’t play me for the fool, Thomas. You know exactly what book I’m talking about. It’s Goetia.” Macomber set heavily on the ground. “I’m tired now, Thomas. I want to go home. Do you know why Jeanne has not been here yet to pick me up? When they put me in this awful place, she told me she would be back for me as soon as she could.” The old man snuggled against the ATV tire and pulled his arms around himself. “Would you watch over me, Thomas? Would you wake me when Jeanne arrives? I don’t want to miss her.”

  Without another word, Macomber closed his eyes and slept.

  Simon reached for the professor, but the quiet man stayed his hand.

  “It won’t be any good to try to wake him at this point,” the quiet man said. “When he gets like this, he goes to sleep for a few hours. Even if you succeed in waking him up, all you would probably get is gibberish.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I think they Swiss-cheesed his mind in the sanitarium with all the drugs and treatments. My personal opinion is that he wasn’t very strong when he went in. A lot of what he’s said while he’s been in my custody has been insane stuff.” The hint of a smile pulled up the quiet man’s lips. “At least, if demons weren’t even now running rampant throughout London, I would’ve thought him insane.”

  “I want to take him with me.” Simon watched for any signs of resistance or baiting. He had to figure that whoever Leah was with would just as likely prefer Simon took the old man. After all, the old man could provide a trail as well. He might even be faking his senility.

  “He’s yours,” a quiet man said. “And I’m glad of it. He’s a hard man to be around. Especially with all the talk of demons.” He studied Simon. “Do you know what book it is he’s talking about? Goetia?”

  “I do,” Simon said. “Have you ever heard of King Solomon?”

  “Of course. H. Rider Haggard’s pulp novel about Allan Quatermain. King Solomon’s Mines.”

  “The historical figure,” Simon said.

  “No.”

  “Solomon was the son of David.”

  “The David of David and Goliath?” the quiet man asked.

  “That’s the one,” Simon said. “He was reputed to be the wisest man ever born. During his reign, he wrote the book of Goetia. In it, he penned the names of all the demons.”

  “But that had to be a couple thousand years ago,” the quiet man protested incredulously.

  “Longer ago than that,” Simon said. “He was supposed to have a magical seal—a ring—that gave him power over the demons.” He decided not to get into the tale of Asmodeus, the demon that had temporarily tricked Solomon out of the ring.

  “A ring?” the quiet man asked doubtfully.

  “It’s a story,” Simon said. “But many stories have some basis in facts.”

  “Do you really believe there’s a ring that can bind the demons?” the quiet man asked.

  “I don’t know,” Simon said. “There was a time when I didn’t believe in demons so much.”

  “I thought you people always believed in them.”

  “No,” Simon answered, but he didn’t bother to explain his personal journey to the truth. “Solomon also wrote a book called Goetia, also known as The Lesser Key of Solomon. The book is supposed to be a compendium of demons’ names. Scholars think he called forth seventy-two demons and imprisoned them in a bronze urn of some kind.”

  “Do you think that’s true?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The quiet man frowned. “I thought you people knew everything there was to know about the demons.�
�

  “No,” Simon replied. “We just know more than you do at this point.” Before it was over with, he was certain they would know everything together. Or we’ll all be dead. “The question remains, do I get custody of Macomber? Or was this just an interview you arranged?”

  The quiet man looked at the professor sleeping against the oversized tire. The old man looked completely innocuous.

  “For the time being, yes, you get him.”

  Simon squelched his immediate impulse to tell the quiet man that he had asked only out of politeness, not out of necessity. After all, no matter how many men were hidden in the forest, the Templar still had three armored ATVs present.

  “I’d suggest keeping him sedated,” the quiet man went on. “He travels better that way.”

  “Giving him more drugs isn’t going to help his frame of mind,” Simon objected.

  “Agreed, but it might just keep you alive. He’s been fairly lucid tonight. That isn’t always the case. While we were traveling with him, he became extremely agitated and attacked two of my men. We were on a ship and there wasn’t anyone to hear. You’re traveling overland through dangerous country, and demons’ hearing is acute.” The quiet man shrugged. “It’s just something for you to consider. I’m not telling you how to do your job.”

  Simon nodded.

  “I hear you people have some pretty well-equipped medical facilities,” the quiet man said. He touched a section of his armor over his heart. A hidden pocket opened up and he took out a small data chip. “A gift. To show goodwill on our part.”

  Simon took the chip but didn’t point out that he wasn’t overly interested in slotting the chip into any hardware the Templar possessed.

  “I know you’ll have your suspicions about this,” the quiet man said. “And I don’t blame you. What you got there are Macomber’s complete medical records. Maybe it will help you get him straightened away.” He smiled sadly. “Before all this mess happened, I had an uncle who had Alzheimer’s. I knew him before and after the onset. I hate to see somebody in Macomber’s shape.”

  “Thanks.” Simon closed his hand over the chip. “We left a lot of demons back there. Are you and your men going to be okay getting back to London?”