“I don’t know if there’s one absolute truth in this world,” Casca explained. “What I do know is there’s good and evil. Two cosmic forces coursing through our universe, in constant conflict. The light and the dark. All cultures have interpreted these forces in various way. Their poets dreamt up names, their artists gave it form, their priests designed rituals. The demons and monsters and mythologies of the popular imagination are man’s attempt to grasp the darkness, a power beyond our knowledge and understanding.”
The old Talon would’ve groaned at this point, but his recent experiences had changed his attitude. All this occult stuff was still giving him a headache but he couldn’t deny the nightmare he’d lived through.
“So this darkness or demon is taking over Zagan?” Talon asked.
“Based on what you’re describing, it appears that way. Zagan has become the vessel for a supernatural entity’s return to the material world.”
“Why does an ancient demon return as a cyborg?”
“The demon doesn’t choose his form, the adept does. Its final manifestation is filtered through Zagan’s mind and psychology. His dreams, his nightmares.”
“Why does Zagan want to be possessed by this entity?”
“Oh, he doesn’t.”
Talon knitted his brows. Casca was losing him.
“Zagan believes he’s controlling the darkness, when in fact it’s controlling him. It’s given him a taste of power so he’ll finish the program.”
“In other words, he’s being played.”
“Exactly. The darkness needs Zagan and his followers to fall. One final sacrifice is needed to complete the program and assure the demon’s manifestation in our reality.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Omicron is headed for a Jim Jones-style mass suicide?”
Casca nodded gravely. “The Apple attack proves that Zagan is losing his sense of self-preservation. It’s only a matter of time before the authorities put it all together and come after him. A final showdown approaches.”
“And once this final sacrifice completes the program…”
“The demon will permanently enter our world. And it gets worse.”
Talon groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“Becky managed to identify the code segment. It’s part of Omicron’s new operating system. Scheduled to automatically update at noon today, on all their devices.”
“What does that mean?”
“This program is designed to raise demons from the darkness. Occult ritual updated for a new millennium and transformed into a computer program. Once it’s out there, it can be replicated indefinitely. Anyone who comes in contact with the code will be able to raise and channel these entities, just as Zagan did. The program will be impossible to destroy, unless you track down each and every device and destroy them all.”
Talon cracked his knuckles and a bead of cold sweat pulsed down his face. Casca’s message was coming through loud and clear. If Zagan’s program went live, it could mean the end. For everyone.
“Let’s get to the fun part. How do we destroy this fucking program?”
“We hit the Omicron servers.”
Talon pondered this for a moment. “Which means I gotta go back in there.”
“It’s the only way to end this thing.”
Talon pointed at his brutalized chest. “I’m one of them now. Should make it easy to get past security. But what if Zagan pulls off another magic show?”
“I might be able to help you out on that front.” Casca removed a circular pendant from his drawer. Inside the circle was a five-pointed star.
“I think I got my own,” Talon said.
“This one is a little different,“ Casca said with a smile. “People see the pentagram as a representation of evil, but nothing could be farther from the truth. The five points represent the five senses, the five wounds of Christ, the five virtues of knighthood…”
“I get it. The pentagram can be a symbol of good. So how does it get such a bad rap?”
“In the 19th Century the interpretation changed,“ Casca explained. “With a single point facing upwards it was considered good, the spirit ruling over the element of matter.”
Casca turned the pentacle upside down and now it resembled Talon’s scar. “A reversed pentagram, with its two point upwards, became a symbol of evil because it overturns the proper order of things, putting matter above the spirit.”
“So what am I supposed to do with it?”
“The pendant dates back to the Sumerian period. It represents a powerful force of good. Wear it when you face Zagan and his power over your senses will diminish.”
Talon touched the pentagram amulet, not quite convinced. The metal was cool to the touch. No magical electricity here. Nevertheless, he pocketed the item. He would need all the help he could get.
“Anything else?”
“Let me show you something.” Casca rose from behind his desk and walked back into the library. Talon trailed him. The place didn’t seem all that eerie any more. Compared to some of the shit Talon had experienced back at Omicron, Casca’s library was downright cozy.
“By the way, sorry for being a dick earlier,” said Talon. “You were trying to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.”
“I must apologize too. My over-eagerness got the best of me. You weren’t ready for the truth.”
“I am now.” There was determination in Talon’s voice.
Casca stepped up to one of the display cases. Talon leaned closer. Contained inside the glass case was a dagger inscribed with strange occult symbols.
“Do you like horror films?”
“You mean when I’m not living in one? To be honest I prefer comedies.”
“No accounting for taste, eh?” Casca grinned. “I assume you’re not familiar with the seven blades of Megiddo, from the Omen series of films?”
Talon shook his head. “You assume correctly.”
“In the movies, seven sacred blades were created in Megiddo, the birthplace of Christianity, from the material of a comet. These magic blades were designed to kill Satan’s progeny. The Antichrist.”
“Lovely. Don’t tell me this is one of these blades.”
“Oh no, the blades are made up. Pulled from the imagination of some Hollywood screenwriter. But the idea was inspired by this particular item…” Casca pointed at the knife in the case. “The demon slayer.”
Talon eyed the knife more closely. The craftsmanship was impeccable. Its polished steel glittered in the library’s recessed lights. Symbols were inscribed on the blade and the handle was fashioned from the bone of some animal.
“The demon slayer goes as far back as Babylonian times.”
“How much did this toothpick set you back?”
“Let’s say it made for a nice tax write-off, and leave it at that.”
“Does it work?” Talon asked.
“It works.”
Talon studied Casca, but the billionaire didn’t add anything else. Talon sensed that there was a story here but it wouldn’t be told today.
Casca opened the display case and handed Talon the knife. Demon Slayer. The weight of the ancient blade felt weird at first but seemed to adjust to his hand and grip, almost as if it was becoming an extension of his being.
He slashed the air a few times, testing how it felt in his hand. Could eight inches of pre-Christian steel stop a monster like Zagan? Talon wasn’t quite convinced. But he had come to trust Casca.
“Between the demon slayer and the amulet you have a fighting chance at stopping Zagan.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.”
Talon was about to get his rematch with Zagan.
This time around, only one of them would be left standing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TALON STRODE INTO the Omicron lobby around eleven o’clock. The demon-slayer blade was securely sheathed under his jeans, amulet stashed in the pocket of his worn leather jacket.
Talon fixed his attention on the guard
s fronting the reception desk. Two of the men were approaching fast, expressions serious and focused.
Instead of presenting a security badge he opened his jacket, revealing the dried, crusted blood of the pentagram scar. His express ticket to hell.
The guards relaxed. These weren’t polished GQ types, as he had first thought from a distance. They had cleaned up pretty well, but there was a toughness and an edge to these men. Former bikers or vets. Rough types with hard faces, ropy muscles and cold eyes. The suits and ties couldn’t hide all their tats and scars.
Was the security staff under the spell of the occult algorithm, or true believers of the darkness? Talon wasn’t a gambling man, but he’d bet on the second explanation with them.
One glance at his pentagram and the guards backed off.
“I’m here to see my master,“ Talon said, doing his best to stay in character without overplaying his hand. One of the guards sidled up to him and indicated that Talon should follow him. He fell in step with the guard as they headed toward a bank of elevators.
Thanks to his last, rather memorable visit, the glass palace had lost much of its luster. He’d seen the true face of Omicron — the evil that lurked behind the polished surface.
Becky had informed them that Omicron’s server maze was located on the lower level. Access was granted to the top coders and security staff. The guard walking Talon to the elevators was his way in.
As soon as they stepped into the lift and the door zoomed shut, Talon grabbed the man’s neck and smashed his head against the elevator’s control panel — full force. Ignoring the cams, he pulled the slumping guard’s head back by his hair and pressed the demon-slayer blade against his carotid artery. Talon didn’t know if the knife actually possessed the power to slay monsters, but it sure as hell would have no trouble opening up a man’s throat.
“Slight change in plans. Last time I asked for the tour, they skipped the basement.”
“Fuck you…” The guard’s words were cut off as his forehead connected with the elevator wall again. Talon tore the security badge from the guard’s breast-pocket and inserted it into a slot. A panel slid open, revealing a biometric touch screen. He pushed the groggy guard in front of the screen. A beam of light zipped over the monitor, scanning the guard’s eyeball. A second later, a touch-screen flashed into view. Talon selected the basement and the elevator hummed to life.
“Your friend begged for his life, ya’ know,” the guard mumbled under his breath.
Talon grew still as he tilted his head at this. Blood trickled down the guard’s broken nose as his mouth creased into a dirty smile. “He squealed like a pig—“
The words died on his lips as Talon drove the blade through his ribcage, straight into his heart. The guard spat at him with his dying breath before staggering away.
A red circle was widening where the knife had entered. He slid down the wall, trailing a smear of blood, and crumpled on the elevator floor in a widening pool of gore.
Fuck! Talon cursed himself. He’d originally planned to keep the guard alive, at least until he was inside the server farm. Studying the dead guard, Talon did recognize him as one of Erik’s killers. Wherever Erik might be, Talon knew he was grinning like a schoolboy.
This one’s for you, old friend.
The elevator stopped and the doors parted. Talon stepped into a narrow hallway and navigated through another doorway that required the guard’s security badge.
Two IT engineers faced a bank of monitors inside the a glass-enclosed control deck overlooking an endless maze of servers. They gazed up at Talon with surprise. One of the IT guys reacted immediately and sprang to his feet, knife up. Talon grabbed a nearby coffee pot and hurled its boiling contents into the IT guy’s face. The IT guy screamed and backed away.
The second engineer whipped out a blade, his binary tattoo exposed as he rushed Talon. The Delta operator stepped aside and yanked the engineer’s arm back until it snapped. The knife went flying.
Three punches later and the engineer had joined his buddy on the ground.
A second door whirred open. Talon advanced into the server maze. A knight entering the lair of the dragon.
The server farm stretched out before him, a cold, sterile maze of pulsing technology. Talon’s footsteps echoed eerily as he penetrated the otherworldly computer labyrinth. The marble black servers that dotted the white, cavernous space made Talon think of electronic coffins in a mausoleum. Glittering futuristic graves containing the remains of some computer race of the distant future.
Talon didn’t know which of the black monoliths housed Zagan’s demonic program, but it didn’t matter. He would blow the whole basement sky-high. Moving with speed, all too aware that the clock was ticking, he set his C-4 charges and armed them. One after another, the lights on the explosives glimmered red while the remote detonator remained secure in his jacket pocket.
The plan was to set off the C-4 and get the hell out of here. But if his enemy left him no choice, Talon was prepared to die in this basement. Whatever ancient entity Zagan had brought back to life couldn’t be allowed to return to the 21st Century and multiply. The world had enough problems without having to worry about a demonic invasion.
Talon had set about eight charges when the hairs on his neck and arms stood up. Something had changed inside the server maze. He shivered and realized the temperature had dropped by ten degrees or more. He peered down the spooky, abandoned hallway. The computers shined with an unnatural life and the ventilation system hummed forebodingly.
He was about to shift his attention back to the task at hand when reality tilted once more. Something unnatural was unfolding at the end of the server passageway. For a second the air rippled and thin tendrils of condensation snaked around the monolithic computers. A fog was forming, and spreading rapidly.
The old Talon would have stared with incomprehension at the surreal spectacle. The new Talon had been waiting for Zagan to make his move.
Talon’s fingers closed around the pentacle and draped it over his neck.
“This had better work.”
Ahead of him, the ghostly fog swirled and parted, revealing a new arrival on the scene.
Zagan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SERRONE ENTERED THE police morgue, her head pounding. She’d snacked on Ibuprofen for breakfast and washed the pills down with about a gallon of coffee, but still she was running on fumes.
Her stomach lurched as she eyed the bodies laid out on a series of slabs. A morgue attendant and three pathologists worked the tables, engaged in the thankless task of separating the cultists from the massacre victims. The killers were civilians too. All races, ages and religions were represented and connected by one identifying mark — the binary tattoo etched on their forearms.
A clear pattern was emerging among the attackers. The majority of cultists worked at Omicron. This couldn’t be a coincidence. There had to be a link to the tech company.
Making things worse, the whole case had gone nuclear. It was world news now and only a matter of time before the FBI and Homeland Security joined the party. Serrone was almost hoping they’d pull her off the investigation and assign some hotshot Fed to head the case. What she’d seen at the Apple Store wasn’t like anything she’d ever experienced or wanted to experience again. At least her partner, Grell, was now in stable condition.
While the brass figured out what the next official move should be, Serrone was going to check out their sole true lead. Omicron. She was going to visit the company’s headquarters in Silicon Valley and begin asking the hard questions.
With any luck, those questions would make the right people uncomfortable and someone would start talking. No way all these employees belonged to a cult without someone else at the company being aware of the situation.
She nodded at Detective Dawson to join her. The man was in his early forties, a good cop but a bit too by-the-book for Serrone’s taste. A close friend of Grell’s, he was itching to get to the bottom of these murd
ers. That made him a perfect ally.
As they drove to Omicron, Serrone called her house and managed to get her daughter on the phone. Seven-year-old Casey was getting ready for school. Serrone’s mother had been nice enough to watch Casey last night when it became clear she would be pulling overtime.
“Hi Mom, is everything okay?”
It was great to hear her daughter’s voice. The kid seemed to have the wisdom of someone five times her age. “Honey, mommy is fine. I just need to wrap up something at work. By the time you’re home from school I’ll be back, I promise. We’ll grab dinner tonight, your pick.”
Casey paused on the other end, almost as if she doubted the veracity of her mother’s words. It broke Serrone’s heart. Sometimes she hated being a cop.
As she hung up the phone, Serrone fought back a wave of anxiety. How could she do this to her daughter? The poor kid had already lost her dad. Why did she have to be cursed with a mother who carried a gun to work?
She bit her lip and took another sip of coffee, welcoming the bitter taste on her tongue. She eyed the officers in the car and realized that she missed Grell’s entertaining banter. He could be an opinionated ass, but he made her laugh. They were a good team.
Unfortunately, despite his good intentions Dawson was blessed with the personality of a valium.
About forty minutes later, they pulled up to Omicron and got out of the vehicle. Sunlight sparkled on the company’s logo, above the main entrance. Plenty of people in Serrone’s circle swore by Omicron’s technology. Omicron is even better than Apple! Whatever. In her mind Omicron was just another Silicon Valley tech conglomerate making stuff that encouraged people to stare at their devices instead of paying attention to each other.
After some back and forth with Omicron’s overeager security staff, they were finally escorted to the offices of Travis Hockney, Senior Vice President of Public Relations. Serrone planned to ask him if the leadership at Omicron was aware of a cult recruiting their workers? Had Hockney seen any employees sporting the binary tattoo?
As they crossed the vast atrium of the high-tech palace, Serrone marveled at the building’s breathtaking architectural design. The bright and airy environment struck her as the ideal workplace, a far cry from her cramped gray quarters at the police department.
Occult Assassin: Damnation Code (Book 1) Page 12
