The Jewel of Babylon (The Unusual Operations Division Book 1)

by Jacob Hammes

  The reason Marcus felt such interest in the story was because of the science of names. Though all supernatural beliefs are connected in some way, the strength in names and numbers had always been almost universal. Though hundreds of accounts exist of men summoning demons and still others exist of priests or shamans banishing demons in exorcism or other likewise rituals, there is always something in common—the name of the creature must be divined before it can be controlled. Priests command the name of the demon they are exorcising, the name of Lucifer had always been used liberally in the Catholic Church so as to invoke a sense of control. There are more than a few examples that Marcus had stumbled upon during his research.

  One difference existed here, though. The name of the demon was never invoked. It merely stood there, watching the man until he closed the spell through yet another hours-long ritual. It sent chills up his spine to remember the horror that the man had related to his reader. He had no control over the demon because he could not figure out what to call the thing.

  All in the name of knowledge, the man was seeking the name of the demon so that he could control it. He thought that by knowing the name of the entity, he could make it do his bidding. Unfortunately, he lacked a certain inner strength and the ritual was never again attempted. It was put down in a book and the man and his experience was forgotten. That is, until Marcus stumbled upon it some years later.

  Marcus knew the importance of names and numbers for he had lived his life by a certain set of rules. He was always careful of those thirsty for spiritual power and skeptical of those claiming to be able to cast demons from another man. There were stronger forces than he at work and Marcus did not want an unwelcomed visitor stalking around his house for the remainder of his life.

  That was partially why he was here, now, in the center of a pure white sandy circle. Not only could he open himself up and let down his spiritual guard inside the purity of the circle, he could fully relax while keeping those that already followed him at bay. Being in such close contact to whatever was there inside that cave made him feel dirty. This was like a bath to cleanse his spirit.

  Marcus also wasn’t under the influence of a week’s worth of fasting and what he figured was a broad array of hallucinogens like the man in his book. No wonder the guy had seen so many things, as it had been documented that the man had seen a demon, it was also documented that he (along with every other so-called sorcerer) was a hardcore drug user.

  He smiled and settled in for some alone time in his calm space in the sand. It was time to meditate.

  Chapter 21

  The flight had been okay for John, even in his uncomfortable disguise. He had slept through most of it and was grateful. He figured the damned thing inside of him was starting to realize that John could not go on much longer without the sleep that he required and figured that if he was left to rest he would be more useful. If anything other than sleep had passed his mind, John did not let on. He passed out like someone that had just finished hiking through the desert.

  The flight had taken him into Seattle where he and the rest of the hundred or so passengers were subjected to a customs search and a six hour layover. Since the shoe-bomber, crotch-bomber, and any other number of would-be exploding ordinance carrying fools had been foiled, the customs search was pretty menial. The man behind the desk was decidedly Middle Eastern and merely glanced at John and his identification before waving him through.

  Must have been luck of the draw, John thought. The man behind him was flagged for a random search and his baggage was immediately and unceremoniously spilled out on one of the nearby search tables. Had they discovered John was carrying a disassembled firearm, he might have been in for a bit of explaining.

  He doubted the thing inside him had any patience left for explanations.

  Now that John was on solid ground, his passenger started dictating his actions once more. His vision started looking like it was being filtered through a piece of sea glass. John needed to eat and whatever was in control could feel it. It guided him toward the nearest steak house and sat him down in the seat closest to the exit.

  Within a minute, a pretty young lady was sitting a napkin down in front of him and pulling a tablet from her dark apron. Her blond hair reminded him of someone he had once known.

  “Hi,” she said in a peppy voice. “I’m Kristin, and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you to drink?”

  “Hot water,” John was surprised at the gruff, gravelly sound his voice made. “Just water with no ice. Make it warm if you can.”

  Kristin looked puzzled but tried her best to mask it. She had seen her fair share of strange orders in her short time as a server. This was not the worst of them, but puzzled her nonetheless.

  “Alright,” she responded. “Do you need a few minutes to look over the menu?”

  “No, I’ll have a steak: the biggest steak you have. I want it cooked rare as you can get it. I’ll take that and a hamburger, also rare.”

  “A steak and a hamburger, both rare? Sounds like you have a big appetite. What sort of sides do you want, honey?”

  “No sides, just the steak and the burger.”

  “Well, both of those meals come with sides…”

  “I don’t want the fucking sides!” John nearly yelled. Kristin looked taken aback, obviously shaken. She had grabbed the pen like it was a dagger and started audibly at John’s sudden outburst. The one other table eating in the restaurant had looked up from their meals as well.

  “I’m sorry,” whatever was controlling John tried. “I haven’t eaten in three days and I need food. Forgive my outburst.”

  “Three days?” Kristin bought it. Her defensive posture dropped into something like sympathy. He did look sickly, after all and he was shaking like a leaf. “It’s okay, hun. I’ll just get your order in and bring you your warm water. If you need anything else just ask, but please don’t yell again.”

  “I’m very sorry.” He could feel the thing sneering in obvious triumph. It was sickening how well the thing could manipulate people. He wanted it to stop but nothing he could do could change his actions. It was like his brain was on autopilot. Most of the time, John wasn’t even aware of his surroundings, it was like he was in a coma. He would periodically wake up, be conscious and lucid, and moments later he would be put back under.

  John didn’t know why he was being kept lucid right now, like he was watching his life pass through a television screen.

  The water came quickly and John chugged one glass after another. Each time the waitress or a passing bus boy would fill it he would drink without stop until the glass was empty once more. He repeated the process six times before the steak and hamburger arrived.

  As John cut into the slab of meat, he could see the blood-red colors leaking out onto the white plate. It truly looked inviting and John found that he was salivating in anticipation of the first bite. He could smell the amazing aroma of the herbs and spices that were rubbed across its seared exterior. It looked intoxicating—it was intoxicating.

  The first bite was just inches from his mouth when whatever had him as a puppet took over once more. He could no more discern himself from the person next to him—he was anonymous in his own body. Like a light had gone out, John was no longer himself. The shell that remained was an autonomous being.

  Curse the luck.

  John no more heard or felt himself moving through the motions than does a man who sleepwalks. He merely acted like he was in a dream. He chewed his food and swallowed. It was nothing enjoyable or exciting, it simply was.

  He did not feel himself get up and leave a tip of only two pennies. John did not see himself leave the restaurant and visit the nearest restroom. The paint that washed from his face went unnoticed and John was no longer acting as if he were some Middle Easterner. In the states, simply being John would attract much less attention than being some other man.

  Besides, he already had his tickets and no one needed identification to simply board the plane, just to pass
through customs and security checks. Even if he did need it the man or woman at the machine would simply scan the barcode across a machine or look halfheartedly at the name before giving the thing back.

  John knew this because he had been trained to know it. When dealing with security, it was as easy as acting like you were supposed to be there to get you places you should not be. Confidence was everything and John had plenty of that.

  Just a few more hours and he would be home free on his way to Atlanta, Georgia. His mother and father would be delighted to see him, though John would be more so. He had great plans laid out and nothing would stand in their way.

  Like the automaton he had become, John walked stiffly down the aisles of seats to one of the ones near a window. From it he could see the jet as it idled there, ready to take him home.

  “Soon,” he said aloud. “I’ll be home soon.”

  Chapter 22

  Marcus woke with a start. His blankets had wrapped around him like a cocoon. He struggled fiercely for a moment to break free before throwing the blankets from the bed in a fit. Sweat was pouring down his forehead and dripping from his nose. It did not help that he had been having terrible dreams all night long. Marcus could only guess that the dreams were the reason he felt like he had been working the mid shift rather than sleeping.

  What had that dream been? He could only remember bits and pieces. There was a cave, some light shining from somewhere in the darkness, and the silhouette of a man.

  He shook his head. Whatever it was, it had been forgotten too quickly. Bad dreams had a way of sticking in Marcus’ head for most of the day, but this one was gone in seconds. He was glad of it—let the bad thoughts go and stay gone.

  “Must have been a crummy night,” he said to himself as he groggily stood, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Only the first traces of light had started pouring through the wood slats that he used as window blinds. For some reason, they reminded him of home.

  The cold floor felt good against his bare feet and Marcus tried desperately to wipe the fog from his eyes. He needed another shower, that was certain. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sweat in bed.

  Before he could go very far, his cell phone rang. Marcus looked at it for a brief moment before even contemplating whether or not he should pick it up. In the end, whether or not he wanted to, he could not hold out. Something about the intrigue of letting the phone ring too long made Marcus antsy.

  He could never let someone go straight to voicemail.

  “Agent Marcus,” he answered without looking at the caller ID.

  “You’re ignoring me?” a sultry voice answered.

  “If I were ignoring you I wouldn’t have answered, my love.”

  It was Julie.

  “So not picking up for the last three days is excusable?”

  “Yes, actually. My cellular plan doesn’t cover calls made outside the United States.”

  “You were abroad?”

  “You could say that.” Marcus was looking at the shower, wondering how much sweet talk it would take to get there without hurting Julie’s feelings.

  “I could say a lot of things. One thing I would like to say is that if you don’t want to talk to me, Marcus, you can just tell me. I’m a big girl and I can handle it. Second, were you truly outside the country, a text would suffice to say that you cannot call like you promised three days ago.”

  “That’s true,” Marcus agreed. He did feel bad but like he had told her before, his work was somewhat special. “We have been working a new case and it’s pretty bad. It’s been taking up all of my attention. We have been to hell and back. Though it’s not much of an excuse, it’s all I can give you. I’m sorry, Julie. Can I make it up to you with dinner tonight? We can go wherever you like, I promise.”

  “It’s going to take a lot more than dinner to make me happy, mister.”

  “Dinner at my place, then.”

  Julie caught the suggestion. Though she should have been taken aback by the straight forwardness of Marcus, she was flattered. He always knew how to make her happy.

  “I’ll see you at eight,” she said. “And if you ever leave me in the middle of the night again, Marcus, you’ll be coming home to no messages at all.”

  “Next time, I won’t make you leave,” Marcus said, and hung up.

  “Now about that shower.”

  The drive into work was beautiful and Marcus was thankful that it was finally light out while he was traveling. The snow had barely stuck to anything but the rooftops and street lights, making the downtown area a little more cheery than it usually was. With the amount of morning traffic already clogging the downtown streets, Marcus wondered whether or not it would be beneficial to get two or three feet. At least with that much snow, people would be less inclined to leave their house.

  Unlike Sunday, when he had been called in the middle of the night to start this fiasco, the cubicles on the Unusual Operations Divisions floor were full. Files were being passed and phones were being answered by junior detectives and full-fledged FBI-style agents alike. The world was busy and the UOD was always trying to keep its head above water.

  He wondered how many of those phone calls were being made in reference to their latest case and the damage that had been done.

  Gregory sat at his place in the UOD briefing room, staring down into one of the computer screens that were inset in the mahogany table. He had a hands-free device in his ear and was chirping away emphatically. The man could go without sleep for years, Marcus was sure of it.

  To his surprise, Brenda was seated next to him. Besides the crutches and the new pink cast, Marcus could not tell that she had even been hurt. Beside her, the ever present Stephen looked half dead. Apparently lack of sleep was not as kind to him.

  Upon seeing Marcus, Gregory set the phone back in its cradle ending whatever call he had been on. Apparently he had been waiting for his premier agent to show his face, early as usual. He looked at Marcus expectantly.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Gregory said. “While you’ve been asleep, we’ve been busy!”

  “I couldn’t imagine what sorts of busy you’ve been,” Marcus said. “It’s only been a few hours since we arrived and you promised to keep the paperwork for me.”

  “Well,” Brenda said. “The missing Chinese cops have been found.”

  “Oh,” Marcus said, waiting for the punch line.

  “They were murdered and stuffed into their own patrol car,” Gregory said. “Someone dressed as a Middle Easterner managed to incapacitate both guards without so much as a security camera seeing what had happened. Fortunately for us the man, presumably John in disguise, drove beneath a security camera while he was stashing the vehicle. We were able to pull a clear enough picture of him to see that he was dark skinned and wearing traditional Arab garb.”

  “Why do you think it’s John?” Marcus said. “It could have been anyone.”

  “The murders correspond with the last ping we got from the satellite.”

  “The right place at the right time?”

  “Fortunately, yes.” Gregory continued, “The local government is blaming the entire ordeal on John. That means that, though we know he may have left the country there is enough time between the deaths of the two security guards at the airport and the police officer at the restaurant that he could be blamed for both. The UOD, more importantly your team, is free and clear. They don’t suspect that we had anything to do with any of the mishaps of the day.”

  “So where does that leave us with John?” Marcus asked. “We know that if he was using a disguise, he was obviously using a fake ID. Can we get a list of all the Middle Easterners travelling through the airport that morning?” Marcus was trying to figure out just how far he could chase John before Gregory cut them off.

  “Already on it,” Gregory said. “Unfortunately the list is pretty long. There were seventy four people with Arabic-sounding names using the airport that day. The problem is that we do not know when John left or even if he did. Th
at means it’s pretty hard to narrow down where he might be going. Not to mention John is probably using an ID that belongs to someone who actually exists. He could be anywhere.”

  “Another dead end,” Marcus lamented.

  “We are compiling information for every destination for everyone on that list,” Brenda added. “Hopefully we will be able to make a correlation between where he is going and why he would be going there. If we can at least get a city, maybe we can warn the local government to be on the lookout.”

  “What about Mr. Lambert?” Marcus asked. “Have we tried getting in contact with him yet? If we do, maybe we can figure out what John’s after.”

  “Left three messages with his assistant already,” Gregory said. “The man owns an art trading company called Lambert Inc.”

  “That’s pretty straight forward.”

  “We looked into the business and his background. The business is based in Italy and he does around forty million dollars a year in trades. Lambert, however, is an American citizen and is out of the country for eight to nine months a year on work visas.”

  “Well travelled,” Marcus said.

  “Yep,” Brenda agreed. “Apparently he’s sort of an Indiana Jones type. He’s just older, is all. He has been to every third world country on the map in the last twenty years and does most of his flying privately. Private jets, private Skylarks, helicopters, you name it and he has one.”

  “Sounds like he can do it with that income,” Marcus agreed. “Even fifty percent of what he trades every year and I would be doing the same.”

  “Yes and he has no reason to hide, either,” Gregory added. “Every single acquisition he’s ever made has been legitimate and documented. The man is truly just an art collector that has knowledge, somehow, of the existence of Relics. Even that dagger was purchased legitimately.

  “Regardless of how his professional life is handled, we’ve been assured that once he’s contacted he will call us immediately. The woman answering the phones for him seemed very distraught, what with being involved in anything even remotely related to a murder. She was also alarmed to hear that the shop they run in Xian had been attacked.”