“I still love that fucker, and he’s so close to your Angel that it’s a frigging torture.”
“A tortured scourger. Who would have known?”
“Stop being a pest and move your kont. I can get us a plane in thirty minutes.”
Kovak never used words in his mother language, unless it was kont, and it was so fucking close to cunt that it made Malachi’s teeth grind.
“After you, mom.”
“Asshole.”
“You wish.”
“Shut up.”
Four days after his request, Angel sat on a private jet on his way to the heart of the Saskatchewan territory, to a city with the suggestive name of Prince Albert, decked in a fur-lined jacked and with so many thermal things on him he felt ready to conquest the effing Himalaya (not the Great White North).
Chico sat in front of him, sour as Heck. “You know when was the last time an embodiment walked into the Brotherhood headquarters?”
“Do I really need that detail?”
“Don’t get sassy with me. 1969, exactly the last time someone tried to open one of the gates.”
“And I suppose the suffering embodiment, just like me, wanted to understand what the fuck was going on, right?”
“I don’t underestimate you. You’re plotting something, and I don’t like it.”
“Well the person in charge granted me an audience. You don’t have to worry about anything. The worse that could happen is that he or she says ‘no.’”
“The question is if you will stop once they say no.”
Angel smiled at his boss. “Let’s find out what they would say first.”
The long black limo sailed for about forty-five minutes, until it submerged into a secluded forest area where a mansion (built like a southern plantation and absolutely out of place in such a cold weather) awaited them with dismal stoicism.
Contrary to what Angel expected (a liveried butler, thank you very much), a handsome and youthful man in a black turtleneck and fashion forward leather jacket received them at the entrance, shaking both their hands with an excitement even more out of place than the architectural style of the house. The armed men, strategically posted, didn’t escape Angel’s furtive browsing, though.
Less of a museum and more of a frat house, the impressive mansion was teeming with energetic and really young-looking people of all ethnicities. Chico seemed the oldest person around, and Angel wasn’t sure if Chico was even forty.
Angel was confused for a moment, but as they approached a pair of immense and ornate wooden doors (uncannily similar to the ones he’d visualized to open the gate), he felt more and more at home. After all, he wanted to be a scholar, and this appeared the place to fulfill such dreams.
Their guide opened the humongous doors without knocking, and they found themselves in what could be the modern offices of any big corporation on Earth. A giddy receptionist with bubblegum pink hair greeted them and announced them to the person in charge, pressing a button; her long purple nail like a plum about to burst.
Another surprise stood waiting for them in the middle of the cheerfully illuminated space. This boy couldn’t be older than fifteen and every-day-looking to the extreme. Although well-dressed, his only distinctive feature was his violet eyes with a strange metallic shine to them. He welcomed Chico first, “Francisco, so glad to see you.” Then child-boss poured all his attention into Angel. “The embodiment of beautiful Antinous. Quite handsome himself.”
There was nothing sexual in the way the boy studied Angel, but Angel felt fire on his face, like a frigging school girl after receiving her first Valentine’s card.
“My name is Tahl Scherver, and I welcome you to this humble house.” He looked at the handsome guide but questioned them. “Can I offer you anything?”
Chico and Angel said “Just water,” at the same time, and chuckled.
Tahl nodded to the not-butler behind them and pointed at the seating artfully arranged around a smoky glass coffee table. “Please, sit.”
“I think it’s best to cut to the chase.” Angel smiled.
“By all means.”
“Instead of dedicating extensive resources to protect the embodiments and the gates, why not take a more drastic approach and destroy the darn entries?”
His expression didn’t change a tad; Tahl simply studied him with the same meticulous scrutiny, as if he was observing an ancient carving. Chico blurted his opinion first. “That’s nuts. Two of the three gates are UNESCO protected and extremely popular touristic sites. What excuse can you conjure for such an atrocity?”
“Radical groups abound. We take out the people working at night and blow the problem to high heavens. None would be the wiser.”
“Angel, you’re talking about places that were constructed several millennia ago; mankind’s heritage, not a random convenience store.” Tahl didn’t even blink.
“I know. I’m an archaeologist for Pete’s sake, but that will put an end to those morons looking to access their power. Far worse things have been done in the name of peace through the ages.”
“He has a point there,” Chico interjected, “and now we have a third party we still don’t know anything about. It’s not just us against Juggernaut anymore, apparently.”
“You need to choose a side, Francisco.”
Tahl’s comment was colored with amusement, showing for once a natural sign of his age, and (incredibly) Chico blushed.
“Do you have a council or something where you can bring this idea to?”
“We do, and we’ll certainly need to take a vote on this. It’d take a while to convene a meeting, since the council is spread around the world.”
Their guide entered with bottles of water. Angel opened his and took a sip just to discover Tahl’s unnerving concentration focused on him again. He shook it off.
“You’re welcome to stay here and campaign as the members of the council arrive.”
“It’d be an honor, Tahl. Thank you very much.”
Bubblegum entered the room—not as bubbly as she was at her desk and seriously pale. Nobody seemed to knock in this place. She murmured something in Tahl’s ear (a hand covering her mouth) and left the room in the same serene manner, at odds with her sunny PVC dress, stripped socks, and psychedelic hair.
“Gentlemen, Juggernaut’s aircrafts with bombs are approaching our perimeter. Please follow me.” Tahl stood up, and the handsome not-butler was beside him instantly.
As the little boy pulled the doors open, Angel expected to find pandemonium, but (once again) contradiction bitch-slapped him. People were not running and screaming. Red lights flashed rhythmically, and a soothing female voice announced over and over, in a toothpaste commercial fashion, “Not an exercise. Not an exercise.”
Angel didn’t know if he had become jaded whether because of the abduction, or learning that the man he loved was an agent of the bad guys or what, but he wasn’t nervous—not even a little tense. The impending doom was another step on his never-ending path of severely fucked up situations.
They followed the orderly throng along dungeon-like, downward stairs to end up in a place that reminded him of a giant locker room. Tahl grabbed his arm (at least a head shorter than him) and smiled. “This shelter can withstand a nuke, and their bombs are regular ones. We’ll be fine.”
A loud bang signaled the closing of the enormous doors Angel had only seen the likes of in sci-fi movies. He nodded at the child-looking leader. “Thanks.”
“I need to make some rounds.” Tahl left him, the handsome not-butler a shadow behind him.
By the time the bombing started, and the almost hundred and fifty youngsters gasped, huddling and embracing each other, Tahl was neatly seated cross-legged at Angel’s right, patting his hand.
The ground trembled and rocked and heaved. Angel felt as if he were trapped in a safe box somebody had flung over a long flight of stairs.
Tahl squeezed Angel’s hand, his palm sweating. “Perhaps your idea has its merits.”
&nb
sp; CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I told you. If you wanna be part of this operation, you need to train with the mercenaries for at least a month. They’d not accept you in their ranks with less than that. It doesn’t matter how good of a marksman you are.”
“Fuck.”
“Easy, tiger. It’s not like the gates are going anywhere.”
After the bombing of Prince Albert (Angel could not say the city’s name without giggling), many members of the council were asking for blood. They wanted revenge, and they wanted Juggernaut’s headquarters torn to pieces. Angel used this fervor to his advantage and informed whoever was willing to hear that he’d intended to use Juggernaut’s own army to destroy the villains’ lair while he controlled the Mnajdra gate.
This, in turn, swayed the tide in his favor, encouraging the council members to destroy the gates since Juggernaut’s sole purpose was to use the spiritual armies to create mayhem and profit. Which was not the case of the Brotherhood because they had many other endeavors (both esoteric and mundane), and they would easily continue strong, even after the disappearance of the darn entries.
With that battle won, now Angel only needed to convince Hugo to pressure Snyder to let him join the upcoming incursion without a long month of nonsense.
He was eager, and he was ready.
“Since when do frigging mercenaries have scruples?”
“Nothing of the sort. They don’t wanna be responsible for an untrained child. Most of these men had years of exhausting combat training and hand-to-hand expertise before joining Snyder. You can’t just barge in and become one of them.”
“And when did I say I wanted to be a mercenary? I just want to blow the fucking gates.”
“And they’re the ones handling the operation. Thus, you need to go with them. End of discussion. Take it or forget about it.”
Angel growled, “You know I’m a boxing champion.”
“They don’t care if you can walk on water. The ability to sashay over waves might come in handy after they accept you, not before.”
“What if I give Snyder a nice blowjob?” He knew he was treading in slimy territory. Snyder and Hugo were an item.
“Doll, Snyder has boys like you for breakfast, and then passes them round to his troops. Do you really want that little hole of yours abused by a hundred men, one after the other?”
Well, that didn’t sound pleasant at all, but he was stubborn. “It would help me forget.”
“Your love isn’t in your ass. No amount of cock could erase what is in your heart. You ought to change Love for Hate. Hate him until Love is just a faded memory, one cuss at a time.”
“So every time I shoot and punch and kick, I see him?”
“And yell motherfucker, assmouth, nitwit, and every name in the book.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“One last thing. No BJ’s, no gangbangs, no orgies, not even masturbation. Withholding satisfaction of your sexual needs would only make you angrier, and that’s exactly the way to go.”
“Wow, rough. Since I discovered it, I’ve never been even a week without enjoying Mario Palma and the Digit brothers. Uff, I’m gonna hate Malachi Neun by the end of that month so much, it’s not even funny.”
Hugo patted him on the head. “I’m gonna make arrangements for your departure.”
“Thank you.”
“The sooner you squash that Love, the better you’ll be. And you need to do something with those dark roots, you look skanky.”
Angel had already planned on shaving his head, so the four fingers of roots would be gone later that day. “Hugo?”
The man who had guarded him silently most of his life turned and looked at him with devoted eyes. “Yes?”
“Did you ever love?”
“I made that mistake once.”
“Uh-huh, nobody climbs the rope higher, aims better, or finishes a set faster. Our only problem with him seems to be, he can’t do a single one of those things quietly.”
Hugo chuckled.
“It’s not funny. Besides, there’s an ongoing wager to see who’s gonna pop his mercenary cherry.”
“What?”
“Well, you know. After forty-five days with us, someone should have claimed that fine body already. Even the amazons are on the wager, as much as everybody is aware of his preferences. Such a tasty, unclaimed morsel is driving my soldiers nuts.”
“He’s no virgin.”
“That’s not the point. I’ve broken fights of guys vying for his attention. The last one was over who’d pay for his beer. It was such a monumental brawl—none of my men will be able to set foot on that fucking bar for at least a century.”
“He needs to forget a man. Would you do me a favor?”
“Whatever you ask, baby.”
Snyder’s adoration was starting to suffocated Hugo. He also needed to forget a man. It was always easier to give advice than to actually follow it, and not all the rage in the world would have been enough to make him let go completely. That dull ache still reverberated on nights when the moon was a sliver. His time to move to new pastures had come. “Tell your men you did it, so they back the Hell off.”
“You want me to have sex with Angel?”
“That would be his decision, not mine. Right now, he needs to be angry ‘til his love fades away. I’ll tell him to go along with it, so your boys can pursue other ways of entertainment.”
The big blond moved from his sideways position on the tangled sheets to loom over Hugo. “Is this a good-bye?”
“I thought we had a tacit understanding we were just fuck buddies, not lovers.”
“You’re right.” Snyder plopped on his back to take his face away from Hugo’s sight. “My mistake.” The voice wasn’t completely Snyder's.
“Just don’t force Angel.”
“I’ll never… I’ll lie to my men, but I have no intention of claiming the boy.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not doing this for you. He’s a good asset. I hope he stays with us.”
“He probably will.”
And Hugo would lose his charge, his little brother, his almost son. He scooted until he was seated at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees and palms on his face. In two days, Snyder and a group that included Angel would set up camp on the Cantabrian Mountains, preparing the destruction of the gate located at Picos de Europa National Park.
Softly, Hugo padded to the open window. The night breeze blew the curtains, and he stood there naked, watching the half-mast crescent moon. He sensed Snyder moving behind him, most assuredly to escape the room without awkward farewells.
A thick finger traced a line from his nape to his coccyx. Warm breath tickled his ear. “One last, for the road?”
Why the fuck not?
Another stab to Angel’s wounded heart came in the form of an unsuspected revelation. The destruction of the gate within the Cantabrian Mountains was staged in two parts. Rig the area with explosives to simulate an earthquake, and then crash an airplane to finish the job.
The first part rattled Angel gravely.
Even if he already knew Malachi had been an agent of Juggernaut, the idea that the earthquake providing their escape in Merbha could have been a fake was demolishing. What about Martan saying that guard, Glock, had died during their escape? Was that a lie too?
Too many deceptions and no way to confront them. Nevertheless, Angel couldn’t deny the way Malachi’s every word had affected him from the very beginning. Nothing in the way the astronomer had touched or kissed or made love to him—felt untrue.
Angel was not able to find a single trace of dishonesty in any action, and how could he forget Malachi lying unconscious on Mnajdra?
Every new knowledge fueled the fire of his anger, and yet, there was a tiny bit of hope (huddled and with fiddling fingers) in an unlit recess of his heart, telling him an explanation must exist. Angel kept muzzling the unwanted little voice shouting that the only possible explanation would be along the same lines of unicorn
s and chimeras (sure he’d opened a door to try to unleash a spiritual army, but what the fuck?).
“Are you ready?”
Snyder brought him out of his reverie. They were ready to move and disable the gate in the middle of the city of Perugia. It was in a forested area so close to the center of the city, it seemed a miracle to Angel that nobody had used it. Well, first anyone needed to know it was there, then how to use it, so it was a moot point.
His backpack was full of incendiary devices; he picked it up and shouldered it. “Yeah, I am.”
Dressed like your average tourist, if questioned by any local they were simply looking for a hostel and got lost. The four men left the white, three-story apartment building and chatted mutedly to avoid waking the sleeping people at midnight. There was no moon, and the clouds blocked the stars (blessed be the Goddess for street lamps).
They passed a completely out of place tunnel, not just because it didn’t make any sense to have a tunnel in that part of the city, but for its absolutely not European name: Galleria Kennedy. They zigzagged through paved and stone streets, the low buildings with their earthy tones more like monoliths than places of residence.
The third man on their little expedition (McLaren with his two different colored eyes) made them turn left between two houses; a group of pines disguised a road, where a car with bright headlights and a riff of dance music with Italian vocals flew by. They crossed the cement lane to another cluster of evergreens. Not an entire mile ahead, an abandoned, roofless carcass of a warehouse awaited them.
Snyder had told Angel the Brotherhood owned the property, so nobody would think of building something else there, and they were letting the place decay at its own pace. Several tracking monitors (attached to the trees) surveyed the area, but no humans protected it to avoid suspicion. The gate was in the basement, guarded only by a bolted trap door.
As they reached the weathered walls near the entrance, Angel’s hackles raised. He used his flashlight to check the loose earth and dried needles. “Stop. This looks walked on. Someone’s been here recently.”
Séptima Luna Page 11
