The Belial Stone (The Belial Series)

by Brady, R. D.

  Small windows rimmed the fuselage. Getting to his feet on shaky legs, he weaved his way through the mass of prone bodies until he reached one. My first time in a plane, he thought in disbelief.

  Panic began to overwhelm the confusion in Tom’s mind. It’ll be okay. You’ll figure this out. The words sounded good, but they weren’t doing much to reduce the fear bubbling in his chest.

  He stared out the window as if the answers to his current situation were somehow hidden behind the clouds. He remembered heading for the bus after leaving his P.O.’s office. He’d been worried he was going to be late for choir practice, and he’d really wanted to see Cleo. He’d picked up his pace so he wouldn’t miss the bus. And then what?

  He struggled to recall. I walked down Jordan Street, cut down the alley behind the Civic Center, and then… His head jolted upright. And then some guy stepped from behind a dumpster wielding a knife.

  He’d turned to run, only to find another man behind him. He’d felt a sharp pain and then everything went black.

  He couldn’t remember much after that, but he knew he’d been conscious on and off. He’d been in a warehouse. He recalled being allowed to use the bathroom and then being stuck with a needle and forced back into the black. He recalled two other moments of brief lucidity as well. One was in a truck, and the other must have been at the airfield. He’d heard planes both times. He struggled to make sense of it. He could have been out for days. What the hell was going on?

  An hour later, Tom was no closer to answering that question. He watched the clouds give way to a landscape of ice-capped mountaintops and green fields, followed by a plateau of flat barren land. He only saw one small town and a handful of houses. Wherever they were, there sure weren’t a lot of people.

  Tom felt the plane jolt. The pilot must have lowered the landing gear. He strained to see farther out the window. He saw the same barren land broken up by fields of green. What he didn’t see, though, was anything even remotely resembling an airport. As far as he could tell, they were landing in the middle of nowhere.

  As the descent became steep, he began to slide towards the front of the plane. On the other side of the plane, he saw a man turn around and grab a strap attached to the side of the plane that was used to secure cargo. Tom followed his example, as did the handful of men who had taken up positions at the other windows.

  His shoulders ached, but he knew he got off lucky compared to the men in the middle of the hold. With nothing to hold onto, they crashed into one another as the plane bumped and bucked to a landing.

  Almost as soon as the engine stopped, the giant cargo door at the back of the plane began to open. Tom stared at it with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He braced himself, knowing whatever came through those doors was not going to be friendly.

  He wasn’t wrong. When the door was fully open, four commandos in dark grey uniforms holding AK-47s rushed into the hold. “Get out! Get out!”

  Tom was caught up in the mass of bodies as they were herded out of the plane. A few men moved too slow and were prodded none too gently with the nose of a machine gun.

  Part of his mind yelled that they should turn around and fight. They outnumbered these guys. They could take them. But the rest of his mind just told his feet to move faster.

  Once outside, Tom scrambled up a ramp into the back of a truck. He had barely turned around when the tailgate of the truck slammed shut and it pulled away. His face crashed into the wooden beams that lined the truck bed. Blood from his nose trickled down to his lip. He pressed chest-out against the beams to keep from being flung to the ground and trampled on.

  Panting, he pushed his way back into a standing position. He struggled to control his breathing, but his racing heart was making that all but impossible.

  Around him were the endless fields he’d seen from the sky, rimmed by an incredible mountain range in the far distance. If it weren’t all so surreal, he would have thought it was beautiful.

  He craned his neck, trying to find any sort of landmark. For the longest time there was nothing. Just more land. But then, in the foreground, he began to make out the outline of a structure.

  “What the hell is that?” someone asked.

  No one answered. Disbelief flowed through him. It was a walled enclosure, lined with barbed wire, and boasting two guard towers. It looked like a prison.

  No, he thought. I did my time. I’ve been doing everything right. This can’t be happening.

  As they drew nearer, he noticed there were no paved roads, just a single dirt road leading to the entryway. And the wall wasn’t made of cinderblocks. It was wood, and huge. He couldn’t actually see the end of the wall when they pulled up in front of the entrance, which looked like an enormous castle gate. Whatever this thing was, it was not a prison.

  Tom caught sight of a smaller structure outside the walled enclosure.

  “Oh, this is not good,” he mumbled.

  The cage was made of chain link with barbed wire running through it. The top was also covered in barbed wire. A small tarp had been thrown over it to serve as a roof, although it covered little more than half of it. About a hundred men slept inside the cage, crammed together on bedrolls, spread across the ground.

  Two armed guards in the same grey uniforms as the commandos played cards at a makeshift table in front of the only entrance to the cage. They glanced up for a moment when the truck pulled in and, uninterested, went back to their game.

  A bear of a man decked out in head-to-toe grey camouflage strode from the entrance of the enclosure to the truck. The commandos from the plane fell in step behind him. Obviously, this was the guy in charge.

  The man reached the truck and, without warning, shot off a volley of automatic gun fire above their heads. Tom dove for the ground, his head crashing into the man next to him, who’d had the same impulse.

  “Out,” the man bellowed.

  His head throbbing, Tom scrambled out of the truck with the rest of the men. Most fell a few times, their bound hands leaving them off-balance. They lined up in front of the camouflaged man in a sloppy version of military formation.

  He glared at them. Tom straightened his posture in response, noticing most of the other men with him doing the same.

  “I am Commander Gregory. I am in charge of this facility. You have been deemed unfit for society due to your own actions. You now work for us. Food, shelter, sleep are all at my discretion. If you work, you will be treated well. If you do not, you will not be treated well. Any questions?”

  A hugely muscled man standing two down from Tom stepped forward. “Yeah. How the hell are you going to make me?”

  Tom watched the commander inspect the man like a bug under a microscope. He cringed. Oh, you idiot. Shut up and get back in line.

  The commander walked over to the man and stood directly in front of him. His face was calm, but violence radiated from him.

  The man met Gregory’s look with a belligerent glare. Tom knew what was coming and tensed.

  Without changing his expression, Gregory kicked the man in the groin. The man crashed onto his knees with a moan. Gregory pulled out his sidearm and shot the man in the side of the head. The man crumbled to the ground, not moving.

  Gregory returned his sidearm to its holster, and turned back to the group with a smile. “Any other questions?”

  CHAPTER 8

  Dewitt, NY

  Drew's dead.

  The words crashed through Laney’s mind over and over again. He was gone. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, a sharp sting in her eyes. She was cried out. There were simply no tears left.

  She dragged herself from the bed and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Rumpled sweats, bed hair, red-streaked eyes, paler than normal face. “Yup, looking good,” she mumbled.

  Stopping by her office, she grabbed her laptop and her keys from the floor where she’d dropped them the night before. In the kitchen, she hung the keys by the back door, placed her laptop on the island, and poured herself a cup of
coffee.

  She paced and then stared out the kitchen window, watching the sun peek over the horizon, careful to keep her mind blank, not ready to face anything yet. But the insidious thoughts found their way in. How could Drew be dead? He wouldn't have killed himself. She knew that. But what then had happened?

  Giving herself a mental shake, she muttered, “Pull it together.”

  She dumped the now-cold coffee in the sink and poured a new cup. She pulled out a bowl for cereal and then put it back. Not hungry.

  She looked around for something to do. She’d tidied up the kitchen last night in her burst of frenzied cleaning, so that was out. The papers were still standing there, waiting to be graded, but she wasn’t up for the task right now. Her eyes fell on her laptop. It couldn’t be put off any longer.

  She flipped open the computer, which she’d left on last night. It had gone into hibernation. Tapping on the space bar, the password screen appeared. Hip perched against the counter, she typed in her password and began the familiar steps of getting into her email account.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened Drew’s attachment. She didn’t read it, just hit the print command for the wireless printer upstairs. Once complete, she shut the computer down. She leaned against the counter, her mug nestled between her hands. Grief fell over her like a shroud.

  “Drew,” she whispered. Her body weakened at the mental image of him lifeless and hanging.

  “No,” she ordered herself as her legs began to shake. She pushed off the counter. He’d asked her for one last thing. And, damn it, she was going to do it.

  She walked up the stairs and pulled the papers from the output tray in the office. She curled up on the overstuffed chair she and Drew had found at a garage sale a few years back. Shoving away the anguish the memory evoked, she concentrated on his words:

  Gobekli Tepe. The name conjures up one of the greatest archaeological mysteries of the late twentieth century. Sonar readings of the Turkish site have revealed a series of concentric circles arranged much like Stonehenge, but measuring out at an astounding 18,000 square meters.

  The fifteen-ton limestone megaliths unearthed so far reveal incredible masonry. Animal reliefs extend from the structures and pictographs were painstakingly carved upon the hard rock. While there are many disagreements about Gobekli Tepe, there is one area upon which all agree: whatever hands created this site were truly talented.

  And that is where the problem lies. The beginning of civilization is attributed to the emergence of the developments around the Fertile Crescent, in the area currently known as the Middle East and Eastern Europe, somewhere between 3000 and 2000 BC.

  Carbon dating of Gobekli Tepe, however, indicates that the site is over 11,000 years old – almost double the age of the ruins at the Fertile Crescent. That makes Gobekli Tepe an impossibility. Mankind should not have been capable of such an incredible feat. And yet, there Gobekli Tepe stands, mocking us, daring us to write off the incredible skill necessary for its creation.

  The only possible explanation for its existence is that we have misidentified the beginning of civilization. Civilization, in terms of scientific advancement and accomplishments, must have begun much farther down the timeline. If that is indeed the case, it opens the door to the possibility of more ancient, unknown, but technologically advanced civilizations. It opens the door to the possibility of Atlantis.

  Atlantis has often been relegated-

  Her eyes lifted from the paper and she frowned. It sounded like something scratching at the back door. She glanced at the clock. Could be her uncle if he got someone else to cover Mass.

  She paused, straining to hear. Only silence now. She waited, but the house remained quiet.

  She shook her head. Probably just the neighbor’s cat. She’d made the mistake of feeding it once and now it showed up at odd hours looking for a little tidbit. She dropped part of the paper and reached down to pick it up. It was the beginning of the reference section. One name leapt out at her: Edgar Cayce.

  “Drew, what were you up to?” she murmured.

  Theories on the existence of Atlantis had been around almost since the dawn of mankind. But within archaeology, the topic was taboo. No reputable academic would give credence to the possibility of its existence, not, at least, if he or she wanted to get published anywhere.

  And using Edgar Cayce as a source was not going to gain you any points, either. Cayce was a psychic from the early twentieth century. He was widely regarded as incredibly accurate in his psychic medical diagnosis. Research conducted in the 1970s put his accuracy at an astounding eighty-six percent. But it was his past-life readings on Atlantis that raised the most eyebrows.

  A second citation caught her attention. “The Book of Enoch.” She struggled to recall what little she could about the apocryphal text. Enoch, Noah’s great-grandfather, allegedly wrote it after a visit to heaven.

  Her stomach growled, interrupting her thoughts. She realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Picking up her mug, she drained the last bits of coffee. She might not want any food, but if she was going to get through the day, she’d need the fuel.

  She headed downstairs, her mind filled with Drew’s ideas. Lost in her thoughts, she rounded the bottom of the stairs, eyes cast on the ground, her mind millennia away.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  Her head jerked up and she stumbled to a stop. An Asian man stood staring at her, a small smile on his face. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The man stood in the middle of the kitchen, not trying to hide, not trying to get away. His smile deepened, which only served to increase her fear.

  “So nice to meet you, Dr. McPhearson.”

  Laney paused. He knew her name. Not a burglary, then. He was about her age, she thought, and maybe Chinese. Idly, she noted he was impeccably dressed in dark slacks and a pristine white shirt. She wasn’t a fashionista, but she recognized expensive when she saw it.

  His build was lean and muscular, but he was only a few inches taller than she was. He stood with his weight rested on his back foot. She knew that stance. It allowed balance and quick movement. It told her not to underestimate him. She’d seen some incredible martial artists almost a foot shorter than this man who could kill with the smallest movement. She had a feeling this man was just as lethal.

  She started to back out of the kitchen, her hands up in front of her. “Who are you? What do you want?’

  He pulled a knife from a sheath on his belt. “Forgive me for not introducing myself. How rude. I'm Paul. And I want you, of course.” He lunged across the room.

  Laney sprinted out of the kitchen, just evading his outstretched hand. She struggled with the locks at the front door and then dove for the floor as the man plunged his knife into the door where she’d been standing. He’d stabbed so hard, it was embedded up to the hilt. Rolling out of the way, she had just gained her feet when he yanked her up by the hair.

  Without a thought, she launched her fist back, angling her body to land the hammer punch in his groin. He grunted and released her. Pulling the coat rack down as she passed, she ran for the kitchen.

  Her heart rate spiked as his footsteps pounded behind her. That groin shot should have given her enough time to get to the back door at least. How was he still coming?

  Waiting until the last possible moment, she whirled and slammed her left foot into his stomach. As he doubled over, she launched a sidekick to his face, followed by a round kick to his knee. The man put his hands up to cover his face as she aimed a series of straight punches that would have decimated a lesser man. He blocked them with ease.

  “Now, this is a nice surprise.” He grinned, catching her fist. “Someone who can fight.”

  He flung her fist back, followed by a right jab to the face.

  She parried the punch, ready to respond, but then a flurry of punches followed. She had no time to respond, only to block. The speed and power of his movements was incredible. She blocked a hook to the
ribs only to miss the jab to her face. She spun around with the force of the punch. Her stomach jammed painfully into the island.

  He wrenched her back by the shoulder, but not before her hand closed around one of the knives in the block sitting on the island.

  Turning her around, he dragged her towards him. “This has been fun, Professor. But I think it’s time to end this dance.”

  “I agree,” Laney spit out. She plunged the knife into his stomach and twisted it.

  He howled in pain. Laney collapsed to the ground and began to crawl for the back door.

  “You bitch.” He threw himself on top of her. Pain exploded in her cheekbone and ribs as they collided with the floor. He rolled her over, keeping her pinned, the knife now at her throat.

  She screamed, bringing her knee up into his groin.

  With a groan, he loosened his grip. Twisting his wrist, she stripped the knife from his hand. It skittered across the floor, out of reach.

  Keeping his wrist bent, she got a knee in between them, punching him in the face over and over again. Working her other leg up, she kicked him in the chest. She slid back along the floor, giving her just enough distance between them to kick him in the face. Using both feet, she slammed them into his face, launching him on to his back.

  She rolled to her feet and sprinted for the hall closet, ignoring the ache in her ribs and cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Paul as he struggled to his feet, trying to catch his breath.

  Flinging open the closet door, she frantically pawed at the top shelf.

  “Come on, come on,” she begged.

  Her hand closed around the metal shaft of the double-barreled shotgun her uncle insisted she keep in the house. She yanked it down and whirled around, her finger on the trigger, as Paul rounded the corner.

  He halted, his eyes on the gun. “My, my, my. You really are full of surprises. Well, here’s a little surprise for you: That won't stop me.”