by Jacob Hammes
His mother had lost the will to fight by the time it was her turn. She simply cried, watching her husband twitch and mouth his love for her one last time. She whispered her own love in return, right before the knife cut through her neck.
Whatever it was inside of John felt nothing. He simply smiled and went back to work. It wasn’t personal, just necessary.
The rain had started only minutes ago and already the streets were slick and reflective. The cars in front of him threw up greasy moisture that the windshield wipers struggled to remove. The rain, its sound, its moisture—the thing inside him found it alluring. He did not need the windshield wipers. It was easy enough for something that used no eyes to drive with a windshield that was not properly cleaned. Besides, the way the wind pushed every big drop to the side made him feel something he had not felt since being in the states—utter joy.
It was as if each of the drops were there for only a second before being swept away to their death. They clung so tightly to their lives on the front of the vehicle, as if they could stop themselves from being swept away in the current. Each one, grabbing for others as it struggled so valiantly to remain on the windshield, would eventually be gone.
It was very reminiscent of what would quickly befall the world.
The Home Depot had everything John would need. He pulled off the main highway and into the huge parking lot after twenty minutes or so. The cars were already sitting in small puddles of water from the downpour that was barraging the entire southeast. It would be a daylong storm, perfectly befitting the beginning of the end of the world.
Chapter 27
“I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about,” Marcus said. He had been forced to call Lambert back from the phone connected to the seat in front of him. Apparently even cell phones had trouble working at thirty thousand feet. The flight was almost halfway over by the time that he was able to get in contact with the man again.
“The golden orb you’re after,” Lambert tried explaining, “is the center of a very ancient and extremely dangerous ritual. I have been researching it since we first spoke. I have a library on all of my art as well as any of their counterparts and this particular piece is of great importance.”
“If it’s so important, why was it sitting in a cave in Afghanistan?”
“The Nazi regime was in league with the Afghan nations during World War II as you may know. It was Hitler’s intent to keep as many of these powerful artifacts as possible hidden as a last resort to exterminate anyone standing in his way. It was his ace in the hole, the card he never got to play.”
“So we are supposed to believe that John is going to use some magic on the world to exterminate life?”
“Yes,” Lambert sounded exasperated. His fervor was unnerving, Marcus had to admit. “You don’t understand. There are deeper things here than what you may see. Understand, Marcus, that there are things we cannot see which live on a plane of existence that is not our own. Were this plane to be breached, the implications could be disastrous.”
“And you think that John’s goal is to open up a hole into another plane of existence?”
“I know so, Marcus. Heed my warnings, John is not himself anymore. He is but a shadow of his former self. What has taken his place is exponentially more dangerous than you could possibly imagine. Let me explain…”
“Please do,” Marcus cut him off.
“The king of Babylon was after power. He yearned to rule the world. What he created, what eventually drove him insane, was the answer to all of his prayers. He had obtained the God Element. It is the beginning of everything we know and it is all compressed into a singular mass. The mass is stored inside the orb, Marcus, inside the Jewel of Babylon.
“If John finishes this ritual, which will undoubtedly take days at a minimum and require the lives of his family, he could then start the destruction sequence of the orb. Luckily, your boss Gregory told me that you were already in touch with local authorities and were well on your way to protecting the family.”
“Well,” Marcus stuttered. “That is going to be a problem as John got to his parent’s house before us.”
There was a long pause on the phone.
“That is bad news, indeed,” Lambert went on. “Does he have any other surviving blood relatives?”
“Just his sister.”
“Then she must be protected at all costs, Mr. Constantine. Even if it requires your own life, you must protect her. It is for the sake of every living being in this world.”
“So, if this destruction sequence is allowed to take place, what type of repercussions are we looking at?”
“The big bang all over again.”
“What you’re saying is that the entire universe will be wiped clean?”
“Perhaps it will just be our planet or even the United States. It’s all dependent upon how the God Particle works. You see, two planes of existence cannot survive in the same space. One of them will be wiped away and since our universe already exists and the one that John is trying to create will begin with an explosion of energy the likes of which we have never seen, it is obvious that we will be destroyed. This is going to be like a nuclear explosion gone wrong.
“John is going to open the Jewel of Babylon and stab the particle with the Piercing Eye of God, the golden dagger. The sacrifice he has made of his family is so that he can open the orb with the help of whatever demon helped create such a weapon.”
“Well,” Marcus still had trouble believing the old man. Still, he could not deny that he had never seen a case like this. “Whatever the case, Mr. Fredrickson, we will be getting to Tiffany Flipske soon and she will be in our custody, safe from John and whatever he is up to.”
“I hope so, Marcus. For the sake of the world, I hope so. Godspeed on your journey.”
“Thanks,” Marcus replied before simply hanging up.
In the silence of the plane, looking back on all that they had been through, Marcus could not help believing what Lambert had said. The spirits in the cave, the crazy behavior of those that came into contact with pieces of the orb and John being coherent enough, even after being driven insane, to make his way across three continents to complete this ritual.
It was not an easy thing to brush off. Marcus had seen too many things that proved that what Lambert was saying was true. The only dilemma he found himself in now was whether or not to tell the rest of his crew.
That turned out to be an easy decision. They had heard parts of the conversation and were all looking expectantly back toward where he sat. All somber faces, all worried expressions, they were ready for whatever was next.
“Mister Lambert thinks that if we don’t stop John, the world will end.”
No one looked surprised.
“He said that if John finishes this little quest that he’s embarked on, it’s possible he could trigger some explosion that could wipe out a huge swath of the world, if not the universe. It has something to do with the God Particle.”
“I could have told you that,” Phillip said. Marcus answered with a withering glare. Phillip sheepishly diverted his eyes.
“We need to treat this like we would a man with an explosive device. That orb is becoming more fragile with every step that John completes. Tiffany Flipske is our number one priority now. If we don’t find her, more than the few people we have already lost will be dead, present company included. I’ve got a date with a pretty woman in a few days and that would definitely cramp my style, so let’s not let that happen.”
“I have a tee time set up for next week,” Henry said. “Even if this is just another Y2K scenario, I would rather not chance missing it. I’ve been waiting for weeks.”
Marcus couldn’t help but smile at the optimism his friend was expressing. He was feeling a little too doom-and-gloom anyway. Lambert had that effect on him. He seemed to know what Marcus felt inside and play on those fears.
“So,” Bishop got up and raised his glass of sparkling water. “Treat the case the same as w
e have been, by giving it our all. And if we do go down, at least we know that we will be going down with a big ass bang.”
Everyone joined in and raised their own glass, or bottle. The team was always on the same wavelength and all of them shared some feeling of importance in this mission, whether it was a mission that would save one more life or billions.
Phillip was last to lower his glass. He had nearly drained the entire thing and Marcus knew by the sour look he gave it was not just coke that he had been chugging. Good thing he was lenient, and there was still another hour left in the flight. Regardless, when Phillip caught sight of his boss gawking at the way he could slurp down an entire pint glass of rum and coke, he choked audibly.
Chapter 28
The plane landed an hour later with special permission at the Atlanta International Airport and taxied to yet another private sector. They had become so accustomed to the drills by now that they were starting to feel like businessmen with a jet as personal transportation. The black SUVs that met them were property of the Department of Defense and seated at least eight people each. The drivers were nondescript men with black suits and black sunglasses. They wore shoulder holstered weapons.
With lights flashing, the groups left the airport. The two vehicles drove in a single file line weaving in and out of traffic up I-75 and then onto I-85 before the vehicle with Marcus and his team peeled off onto the twenty. His team would be headed to Tiffany’s house in the Woodland Brook area while Henry would be leading his team to the decidedly nicer Four Seasons hotel. There, he and Stephen would break off and head into town in a waiting rental car.
“Be careful,” was all that Henry could muster before they went their separate ways and jumped into separate cars. Marcus returned it with a smile and a handshake. He knew the importance of that single phrase. Henry was worried. Whether they wanted to admit it, all the strange things that they had seen had them all a little worried.
Marcus was making good time headed to the house where they would be making a stakeout in hopes of netting either Tiffany or John. He had a strange feeling in his stomach that something was wrong. The more he thought about it, the farther out of his grasp the feeling moved. It must have been nerves, he decided at last. The stress of grabbing the important woman before John got to her was starting to edge on his nerves.
They found their way into the quiet neighborhood at about the same time that Henry and his team finished setting up communications in the presidential suite on the nineteenth floor of the Four Seasons. The crown molding and four poster bed were too gaudy for the agents. The room, however, held a stunning view of the city as well as an elegant mahogany finish. The décor was totally unnecessary.
“Communications are set,” Henry came over the handheld radio while Marcus was fighting the last bit of traffic. “We have monitors up between you and Washington.”
“Very good,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes at the fact that they had set an entire network of communications up before he had even made it across town. “We are about two minutes out. From the looks of this place, it should be pretty nice.”
“Let’s hope so,” Henry said.
“It had better be a nicer view than the one we had in China,” David said, slapping Bishop on the arm. Bishop either didn’t get the joke or he was concentrating too hard on the game he had been playing on his phone. He chuckled anyway, but it was obligatory and held no real feeling.
“I, for one, don’t give a damn what the place looks like,” Cynthia said with a cold voice. “I just want to catch this guy so we can move on, already. This case has been nothing but trouble. It’s like it’s cursed. I almost choked to death on carbon monoxide. How many people do you know who have choked to death on carbon monoxide?”
“None,” David answered. He couldn’t think of a single person that had even come close, save Cynthia. Her black hair was tied up in a tight bun, high up the back of her head. She looked very professional behind those spectacles.
It was the first time that David had noticed her as anything other than a colleague. He turned away as quick as he could. No one noticed him turn slightly red.
“Stephen and I are going to be headed out,” Henry said over the radio. “Good luck over there. If we see anything, we will give you a ring!”
“Have fun,” Marcus answered as they pulled up through the front of the neighborhood. Green grass lawns and big trees decorated the older Atlanta subdivision, giving it a stately feel. The area was obviously full of the more well-to-do as all of the houses were two and three story colonial style homes. Tiffany lived about ten houses in. Out front was a parked patrol car.
Her house was by far the nicest. Judging by its two stories, a perfectly trimmed lawn and a beautifully decorated pool area, being a surgeon was a profitable venture. The police officer stood up from where he had been sitting on the porch when he caught sight of the approaching black SUV. The porch had been littered with all sorts of comfort items and he had found his favorite, a reclining swing chair with large white pads.
Within moments, his uniform turned a darker shade of black. The rain was relentless and had only gotten worse.
“How d’ya do?” The officer asked over the sound of the torrential downpour. He was a plump man with a large mustache. The driver of the SUV showed him a badge, presumably something to do with the Department of Defense.
“Have you seen any suspicious activity since you’ve been here?” he asked the deputy.
“Nothing yet, sir.” The police officer was as respectful as he could be.
“As a matter of national security, we are going to be taking over here,” the driver folded his identification lanyard and put it back beneath his coat. “We would appreciate you sticking around and patrolling out front, if that’s okay.”
“Absolutely,” the police officer replied. “I was informed that the Feds would be taking over. I’m also supposed to be here for another four hours, anyway, before my relief arrives.”
“Thank you.” The driver gestured to the driveway and pulled in without another word.
If the Department of Defense was worried about stealth, they did not bring the right guys for the job. The driver walked up to the front door and opened it without knocking. In order to assure Tiffany’s safety, the Atlanta PD had busted the lock off the door and entered with guns drawn. They found the house to be empty, which came as both a relief and yet another worry.
“If you need me I’ll be in the car,” the agent said before withdrawing to the vehicle. He doubted the man would be uncomfortable in the SUV. It had a DVD player, portable Wi-Fi, and lord knew what else hidden beneath its dash. He seemed more anxious to get back to the driver’s seat than he had been to get to the bathroom.
The inside of the house was decorated just as nicely as the outside and David found his spot on the nearest couch. A staircase with glass banisters wrapped away from the entrance to a second floor balcony that looked out over large paned windows. Marcus made his way through the entryway to the kitchen where there was a bar that backed up against the stairwell. He could see a nice backyard through the glass doors that led to a back porch.
Near the kitchen was the living room. A sectional couch faced a massive sixty inch television that hung above a fireplace that had undoubtedly never been used. The floors were all granite tile and expensive carpets and where the paint was not showing on the walls they were decorated in anything from authentic decorative merchandise from every vacation she had ever been on to pictures of her family. The fifteen foot ceilings were just another addition to make the place look, as it did, absolutely amazing.
“Not a bad place to have a stakeout,” he said to himself. “I wonder what kind of food she has.”
There was a flashing light coming from the answering machine on the countertop and next to it a digital readout of how many messages were waiting. There were fourteen.
Marcus pushed play and siphoned through them, hoping to get a reading on where the woman was. By the tenth message, he
was ready to give up. They had all been people wishing to console Tiffany on her loss or automated messages trying to sell something. Number twelve was when the messages started getting good.
It was the Atlanta Police Department telling Tiffany that she needed to call them immediately upon receiving the message. Number thirteen was silence, silence and breathing. Marcus could hear someone in the background but no one was talking. It just sounded like a raspy-mouth breather leaving a prank call.
Number fourteen was pay dirt. An unfamiliar voice called Tiffany his sister and asked her to pick up if she was home. It was John. The message was quick and to the point—if you get this leave your cell phone on and get out of the house, I’ll contact you soon. It was surprising to Marcus that John would allow himself the risk of calling his sister. Perhaps he thought that he had gotten away with all of his murders thus far. It wasn’t that far-fetched since they hadn’t made contact with him yet.
“Hey, Phil,” Marcus said into his radio.
“What’s going on boss,” Phillip answered.
“Do you think you can put a trace on Tiffany’s cell phone?”
“Yeah,” Phillip answered. “I’ve already been doing so. It would be nice if she had a smart phone because I could just tap into her data stream and see where she is through her GPS, but unfortunately she’s old school with an old flip phone. Last phone call she received was from a payphone in downtown Atlanta somewhere. It was probably from John but there’s no chance we could find him on that lead.
“Unfortunately our best bet is to wait until she gets another phone call. Even then it might be hard to trace. It’s a big city and if she’s on the move we are going to have trouble.”
“How about financial records?” Marcus asked. “Can you get me a list of everything she’s been buying today?”
“It’ll take a while boss, but yes I can.”
