“Who the fuck are you?” His voice could barely keep his mounting panic at bay. The knife in his hand seemed like a sick joke. And as mortal fear threatened to get the better of him, he was struck by sudden inspiration. This killer was here to save the boy. And that meant Colton might have a potential hostage.
With two quick steps he was upon the sacrifice, nine inches of steel pointed at Jeff’s carotid artery. There was another muffled pop and the sensation of his hand being whipped back by an invisible force, followed by the knife clattering against the floor. Colton’s eyes went wide as he stared at the rapidly hemorrhaging hole in the palm of his hand.
Clutching his gushing wound, Colton’s eyes locked on the outline of the shooter. The figure stepped into the faint circle of light cast by the black candle. A tall, muscular man garbed in form-fitting combat black stood revealed. A balaclava obscured his features and he was wearing a pair of night-vision goggles that gave him an insect-like, otherworldly appearance. One gloved hand kept the silenced Glock level while the other removed his night-vision goggles. Colton wished he hadn’t. There was a merciless edge to the man’s cold-blooded gaze.
“Killing me won’t defeat the darkness,” Colton stammered, trying to be brave.
“It’s a start.”
And with these words, there was a muffled cough and Colton’s world turned as black as his soul.
***
The bullet hit Colton in the head, exactly where Talon had aimed. Blood, bone and brains showered the floor and the body joined the other dead cultists on the wine cellar floor.
Talon stepped over to Jeff, who eyed his savior with a shell-shocked, terrified expression. The dark-clad assassin cut as disturbing a sight as the dead cult members. Talon scooped up the blade Colton dropped a moment earlier. Jeff pulled away from him, mistaking his intention.
“Don’t worry, kid, I’m here to help.”
His voice managed to calm Colton’s captive for a second. Talon leaned closer and cut the restraints. As Jeff massaged his numb limbs back to life, Talon snatched a cell phone from one of the dead cultists and dialed 911. As soon as the operator picked up, he informed her about the murders and offered up Colton’s home address.
Talon killed the call just as the operator asked him to identify himself. Time to get moving. His work here was done. Jeff was safe and this murderous pack of freaks would never take another life again.
Talon turned away from Jeff. “Thank you…” the young man said in a hollow voice, but Talon was already out the door. He reached the upstairs living room, walked past the lifeless bodyguards who were still clutching their firearms in death and stepped through the home’s rear exit. He couldn’t help but notice the luxuries that filled the opulent home. Priceless sculptures, original artwork, expensive furniture. Wasteful material possessions bought with the blood of others.
Talon passed the swimming pool in the back, where moonlight shimmered on the water’s calm surface. How many dreams had been shattered to maintain the sick movie producer’s lavish lifestyle? Talon could feel anger rising inside of him, and he forced himself not to dwell on it. Justice had caught up with the producer and soon the world would know the terrible truth. Colton got what was coming to him.
Talon merged with the night as he made his way down the wooded hillside, using the trees and scrub as cover. With his black clothing he was as good as invisible to the naked eye. He arrived at the bottom of the incline, where a rental car registered under a fake name was waiting for him. Moments later, Talon was navigating the steep mountain roads on his way back to the glittering lights of Hollywood.
As he shot down the hill, Talon’s thoughts turned to the young man’s life he just saved. He should feel a degree of satisfaction, shouldn’t he? An innocent was spared a terrible fate, but the operation had failed to calm the churning rage at the center of Talon’s being. Nothing seemed to appease his anger nowadays. Was he approaching burnout?
Following the events in San Francisco, Talon had been hunting cultists non-stop, while internalizing every occult book Casca sent his way. He now knew more about Satanic rituals than he did about American politics or which team was favored to win the Super Bowl. Talon had sacrificed any semblance of a personal life for this new mission. He wondered if the growing sense of isolation was wearing him down. Perhaps he missed the unit, the brotherhood of his military service and the sense of camaraderie created when one spent every waking hour with the same group of people.
By now most of his friends knew what had happened to Michelle. Not a day went by where he didn’t receive an email or a text from one of his military buddies. The heartfelt emotion of their messages was appreciated, but it didn’t extinguish the dark fire burning inside him. Talon sensed that he should try to reach out to his brothers but every time he picked up the phone, he found a good reason to talk himself out of it. What was there to chat about? “Oh, life is good, I’m moving on, killed a bunch of civilian demon worshippers today — how are things back at Fort Bragg?” A great divide separated the man he once was from the man he’d become.
Talon’s cell chirped and he scanned the incoming text message. It was from none other than Simon Casca. The billionaire was in Los Angeles and wanted to meet him the next day for breakfast. Casca’s presence could mean only one thing — the services of the occult assassin would soon be needed once again.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS NINE o’clock on a Monday morning and while most Angelinos were still fighting traffic on their way to work, Casca was welcoming the new day with a Mimosa at the intimate Chateau Marmont restaurant. Designed to evoke a French chateau, the legendary Sunset Blvd hotel was located a 5-minute walk from the Laugh Factory and about three miles from the high-end shops on Rodeo Drive. Sitting next to him at the bar were two women who wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar. He’d run into Autumn, the tall, tanned blonde, while hitting the Hollywood clubs the night before. It hadn’t taken too much effort to persuade her to spend the night at his luxury suite. Being a good-looking billionaire who could crank up the charm did wonders for one’s social life. The mention of Talon had motivated her to invite her best friend Lynn, a fellow out-of-work actress/model, to join them at the hotel bar for a quick breakfast cocktail.
Normally Casca reserved his drinking for later in the day but these two alluring party girls were on a different social schedule.
Simon Casca represented a study in contrasts, a fact that was not lost on him. He was part reckless playboy and part intellectual bookworm who spent his days deciphering ancient tomes on the occult. His wealth allowed him to indulge in a hedonistic lifestyle that he knew his late father would disapprove of. Women, alcohol and fast cars provided a brief distraction from the trauma of his past and the terrors he knew lurked in the shadows all around them. A temporary escape from the demons that haunted him. It didn’t matter how many beauties he bedded, drinks he knocked back or expensive sports cars he added to his growing fleet; the nightmares always returned.
During those moments late at night when sleep wouldn’t come, his mind would turn to that fateful day 12 years ago when the darkness first entered his life. Casca would see the bald, heavily tattooed cultist who’d shattered the perfect, idyllic existence of his privileged youth. He would see the man drive the blade into his terrified sister’s chest while uttering guttural words in an ancient and terrible tongue. And as the life ran out of his sister’s heaving form in a river of red, the dark apparition watched from afar — an entity not of this world or time, but eternally haunting the borderlands of his awareness.
No amount of booze or sexual escapades could ever fully erase the horror of the memory.
Lately, though, Casca was growing increasingly impatient with his own decadent lifestyle. He still appreciated the momentary reprieve that earthly pleasures could provide, but he found himself devoting more and more of his spare time to his esoteric interests. Demonology, ancient religions, FBI reports on recent cult activity
and occult crime; delving into these fields dominated his waking hours. Maybe if he could come to know the unknowable and master the forbidden knowledge beyond the grasp of most men, then his nightmares might stop.
So far, it had worked at lot better than his mad pursuit of earthly pleasures. The more he learned about the dark forces, the less sway they held over him.
Casca smiled at the two beauties even though his mind was still somewhere else. They were talking up a storm, trying valiantly to hold his full interest, but spicy Hollywood gossip couldn’t compete with the mysteries of the paranormal. Seducing Autumn the other night had been more of a reflex action than real desire. It was becoming increasingly clear that the last few months had irrevocably changed him. The mask of the playboy was crumbling.
Ever since joining forces with Talon in San Francisco, Casca had been reading a lot about soldiers and getting to know many veterans in his quest to get a better feel for the Delta operator. Talking to these warriors made him wonder why so many of them were willing to repeatedly put themselves in harm’s way. The answer he kept hearing was that they missed the sense of mission and purpose their service provided. After the drama of war, returning to civilian life seemed meaningless and empty, dominated by mundane goals and distractions that paled in comparison to the life-and-death decisions that defined the battlefield.
Casca was beginning to understand how veterans must feel. Declaring war against the forces of darkness had given him new purpose and direction. The last three months were the most thrilling and terrifying of his life. After defeating Zagan, Casca had turned to other reports of occult crimes. So far, none of the cases had involved real black magic and the cultists were easily dispatched. The perverted Hollywood cult was just the latest in a long string of similar cases. Innocent lives were saved and monsters in human disguise would never harm another innocent soul again. But the real danger of the darkness remained. It was only a matter of time before one of these sick practitioners of the dark arts would succeed where the other dabblers had failed and tap into a vast power that bullets alone wouldn’t be able to stop.
Both Autumn and her friend Lynn reacted to something, eyes widening. Looks like the guest of honor is here, Casca thought as he scanned his Apple watch. Two o’clock, on the dot. Talon wasn’t the tardy type.
“He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?” Casca asked his female companions with a sly grin. The girls giggled. Casca turned and flashed his new partner a broad smile. He’d hoped that Talon might show some interest in Autumn’s friend, but the military man’s face remained indifferent as he shot the two intrigued beauties a blank look. Casca didn’t expect Talon to fall in love; his wounds were still too fresh, but he was still a man and a man had needs. The momentary comfort found within the arms of a beautiful woman was the least he could offer this dedicated warrior.
Casca worried about Talon’s mental well-being. He’d become a man possessed, embarking on one mission after another with no time for a break or chance to reconnect with his own humanity. He’d talked to enough veterans who suffered from PTSD to recognize the symptoms. Talon had managed to remain unscathed by ten years of conventional warfare, but this new conflict had marked him. And who could blame him? Losing his fiancée, discovering that dark forces operated in the shadows of the world, surviving a possession; the cumulative effect of these horrors inevitably took their toll.
Casca couldn’t have chosen a better soldier in his war against the darkness. The man was a born warrior, but Casca worried that Talon’s obsession might destroy him if he wasn’t careful.
Without even blinking Casca handed the women a wad of cash. “You ladies have a good time now.” The promise of an unexpected shopping spree lifted the head-turners’ spirits and they sashayed off, drawing admiring glances from every male they passed.
“I see you’ve been enjoying L.A.,” said Talon.
“So have you.” Casca pointed at the TV news reports about the dead producer that seemed to fill every screen behind the bar.
Talon’s expression darkened as he took a seat at the bar. “This isn’t a game. Sometimes I’m not sure you’re aware of that.”
“I’m not trying to make light of what you do. I thought you might appreciate a break from the grind, that’s all. Last time I checked, even soldiers took R&R days.”
The muscles in Talon’s jaw worked furiously before relaxing. “Sorry. You could be right.”
“Can I order you a beer, at least?”
“Sure. I’ll take a Heineken.”
Casca smiled and nodded at the bartender. Less than a minute later, Talon was taking a swig from his beer.
“I know how much this war means to you. Just remember this isn’t a sprint, but a marathon, Sergeant.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“How have you been sleeping?”
Talon took a deeper swig of his drink and said, “What do you want me to tell you? That every time I close my eyes I don’t see her dead face? That I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and expect to find her next to me?”
“I’m sorry…”
“Get one thing straight, Mr. Casca. I don’t need a therapist to hold my hand and talk about the shit that keeps me up at night, and I don’t need a cheap lay…”
“How about a friend?”
Talon held Casca’s gaze for a beat before he said, his voice pitched low, “All I need is for you to tell me where these sick fucks are and provide me with the firepower to wipe them from the face of the Earth.”
Talon’s voice trembled with a dark edge; he was a man consumed by demons. Time hadn’t healed his wounds but instead seemed only to have deepened them. Casca wanted to help the soldier, but Talon would have to want to help himself first.
In a tone that was all business, Talon asked, “So what you got for me?”
“In the last week, three priests were murdered across the country. One in Miami, another in New York City. The latest assault happened during Sunday Mass at a church near Tucson and resulted in the indiscriminate slaughter of an entire congregation. Twenty-seven dead, machine-gunned by their attackers.”
Casca paused, the enormity of the massacre sinking in. The dark flicker in Talon’s eyes indicated that he shared his outrage. “The FBI is investigating as we speak and my source in the Bureau informed me that certain details of the crimes suggest an occult connection.”
“What sort of details?”
“The killers left what appear to be demonic sigils at the crime scene.”
“Just remember, I’m kinda new to all this stuff. What’s a demonic sigil again?”
“The term sigil comes from the Latin sigillum, meaning seal. They are symbols representing both angels and demons. They’re used in occult rituals designed to conjure forth such entities.”
“So this cult is trying to summon a demon with these crimes?”
Casca picked up the skepticism in Talon’s voice. Despite his experiences with Zagan, the soldier was still adjusting to this new world he’d stumbled into. Talon was a realist and bristled at the more outlandish, metaphysical parts of this new conflict.
“Possibly. Identifying the sigils will give us a better idea what we’re up against here.”
Another thought occurred to Talon. “Isn’t such a public attack out of character for a cult? I thought they preferred to do their killing in secret.”
“You’re right. They’re operating more like a terrorist group than a traditional Satanic cult. And they don’t seem to care that they have the Feds breathing down their necks.”
“Sounds like they’re looking for some sort of showdown with the authorities,” Talon said. “Any theories as to why these priests were targeted?”
“Good that you ask. It took some time and digging, but I found a link. These priests all received specialized training in Rome at a conference held at the Pontifical Regina Apostolorum University.”
A smile touched Casca’s lips. He was pretty satisfied with his own bit of detec
tive work on this one.
“What type of training?” Talon asked.
“Training in how to perform exorcisms.”
Talon digested this for beat, rolled his eyes, and said, “Let me get this straight – the cult is targeting exorcists?”
Casca nodded. He’d wondered what the cult could gain from such a strategy, and he had yet to come up with an answer. Learning more about the sigils left behind in the Arizona church would hopefully shed light on the matter. “The last priest, a Father Cabrera, was spared,” Casca said. “He’s in stable condition at a local hospital.”
“Sounds like someone has a guardian angel watching over them.”
“I want you to head out to Arizona, take a look at the church and maybe have a little chat with Cabrera, see if he has anything to say. Your flight leaves in three hours from LAX and I have a car waiting for you outside. My assistant will email you all the other details. Everything you need will be in Tucson once you arrive.”
In other words, he had already booked a room at the Holiday Inn near Tucson International Airport where a suitcase filled with a small arsenal and kit would be waiting for Talon.
Talon drained his beer and rose from his chair. “I guess it’s good that I pack light. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“One more thing…”
Talon paused.
“If you ever need to talk — I mean, not just about a mission...”
“I know how to reach you,” Talon finished. The Delta operator winked and his hard expression softened, offering Casca a glimpse of the man he’d been before the horrific events in San Francisco. “I’ll let you know once I get to Arizona.” With these words, Talon walked out of the lobby.
Staring after him, Casca wondered what sort of evil awaited Talon in Arizona. He clenched and unclenched his hands, unable to shake a rising sense of foreboding.
Apocalypse Soldier Page 2
