He shook his head and actually chuckled. He couldn’t believe it, Jake was dead and he was still showing off one last time.
“What was that gesture he made to you?” Bishop Santos asked, “What was the meaning of it?”
Mark reddened slightly it was a pretty rude gesture.
“Don’t think we don’t know the mundane meaning of it my son,” the Cardinal said. “We just want to know why he made it at you.”
“It was a joke of ours, a private one. Whenever we got stuck with a dirty job, one nobody else wanted to do, we'd flip each other off. It sorta means ‘It’s on you now and nobody is going to help you out!’ and without Jake around I guess it is.” Mark said.
There was a little more to it than that of course and now because of that simple flip off of Jake’s Mark had an eerie suspicion that things were only going to get worse. They had been the Churches top team for five years now, and they always got the toughest assignments.
“Sure he wasn’t trying to warn you?”
Mark glanced at him, “What do you mean your Eminence?”
“Just Father, please.”
“Well then Father, what do you mean?”
“Well, if it’s on you, maybe that might mean you’re next as well, couldn’t it my son?”
Mark paled at that. “I sure hope there isn’t one of those things out there with my name on it.”
Cardinal Richards nodded, “That sums it up for all of us as well. You’re flying out with me in the morning. I’ll drop you in Spain at your order’s headquarters, then I’m on to Rome to discuss this with the college.” He looked around at the two Bishops and then back at Mark, “Do you think you can go out to the scene and look around before then? There are no other investigators from the commission here, and before we cleanse the site we’d like to have one of you examine it.”
“Of course Father. If you can find me a driver and let me get my things I’ll leave immediately.” Mark replied. He definitely wanted to get another look at the place before anyone touched the evidence. Maybe he'd be able to figure out just what had happened.
“Excellent. Until later my son,” he blessed Mark then and they all left, except Giscard who helped him get his things and then drove him there personally.
The ‘crime’ scene was mostly untouched. Someone had of course cleaned up the mess on the streets, and the claw marks in the concrete had all been touched up to look like heavy equipment scars instead.
Mark carefully slipped past the yellow tape, and walked down the stairs slowly. It didn’t look so bad in the light of day, and someone had taken the time to wash the blood away. The door was still missing, though someone had thought to hang a piece of heavy black plastic over it to keep out prying eyes. A Gendarmerie stood outside and nodded to Giscard as they made their way inside.
Mark found a couple of detectives there, and immediately recognized Inspector Greaux, he’d done work with the commission in the past which was why Mark had asked for him.
“Inspector Detective Greaux,” Mark said coming up to him.
“Too bad we meet under these circumstances Mark, your partner Jake, he was a good Frenchman, we had always been proud to count him as one of ours.” Inspector Greaux replied shaking hands with both of them.
Mark nodded and looked around. “Where is the circle?”
“It is in the room beyond that doorway.”
“Any sign of the summoner?”
“Yes, we found some pieces; it was that young man who worked at that American food place.”
Mark walked over through the doorway, the door itself was nowhere to be seen, probably shredded like the other one had been. The room itself was small, fifteen feet by twelve. From the heavy wood of the walls Mark guessed it was once some sort of refrigerated room. The floor was stone, worn smooth by ages of use, and the ceiling wood, with a shattered light fixture on it. Also in the room were four heavy duty flashlights pointed towards the ceiling lighting it up. The walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in blood, and assorted pieces of flesh. A head without any eyes was in the exact center of the room, the exact center of the circle. Mark stuck out his hand and the Inspector handed him a heavy duty flashlight.
“Is that our friend?” Mark asked while shinning the light on the floor, looking for and finding the chalk lines of the circle.
“Yes, that would be him.”
Mark walked around the circle twice, first following the outside line, the wall. Next he followed the inside line, the crucible. Both were smudged, but the smudges were made when the devil had stepped out of it, probably did so out of habit just to make it harder to be called back in. Mark checked the warding points next, they were all fine, the room had been warded rather well, nothing that went on in here would have shown up outside, if anyone had been looking.
Finally Mark went and read the circle’s inscriptions, the summoner had used the Latin for 'door' instead of 'gate' in the inscription, Ostium instead of Porta. For a devil as powerful as that, that would have been all it would have taken. But a pocket demon would have been held. Mark scratched his head, and pulled out his compass. He looked at it and looked at the wards, then he looked at it again.
“Is that north?” Mark asked the Inspector pointing towards the doorway.
“Yes. Is that important?”
“The wards aren’t inline with the Cardinal Points.”
“Is that important?”
“It’s traditional. Anyone who studied the higher texts would have done it that way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Fairly.” Mark looked around the walls slowly, looking at the bloodstains.
“What are you looking for?”
“Not sure, not sure at all. You have pictures of everything, right?”
“Of course.”
Mark handed him his card, “Here’s my email, send me copies please.”
“I will do that Mark,” He took the card and put it in his pocket.
After looking around some more, all Mark could find were some burn marks on the wall, nothing of any meaning. Mark turned back to the floor and looked at all the dried blood. Any foot prints of course had been obliterated by the devil thrashing the summoner.
He left the room then, the Inspector followed and nodded to his partner who went outside leaving the two of them alone.
“The priests who have been here, they are not happy with what has happened, no?” He made it sound more like a statement than a question.
“No. Something isn’t right. He should never have been able to summon what he got.”
“Perhaps he just got lucky? Right?”
“There are six planes of difference from what I bet he wanted, and what he actually got,” Mark said.
“Maybe he mispronounced the name, and got the big brother instead? Yes?”
“Maybe,” Mark said and Detective Greaux’s partner returned at that point with a bunch of priests who started breaking out the holy water, incense braziers, oils, and all the rest of their gear.
“They were waiting until you were done before they cleansed the room.”
“So that guy’s been trapped in hell all this time?” Mark motioned at the remains in the next room and shuddered crossing myself.
“Don’t worry about it,” one of the priests said crossing himself as well, “I doubt our work here will be causing his soul to leave it.”
Mark nodded at the comment. Summoning devils usually earned you a trip there automatically. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t at that...”
2
Mark leaned back in the seat on the jet and tried to relax. The Cardinal had questioned him for two additional hours that morning before they left for Spain on what Mark had seen; both that evening, and when Mark had gone back the next day. Cardinal Richards then let Mark ask some questions about what he thought on what had happened there. Apparently the Cardinal remembered the stories from the War himself, though he had been only a child back then.
They were in one of the Church’s privat
e jets, Rome maintained quite the fleet of small aircraft, some things just needed to be transported out of sight of the general public, and as they were diplomatic couriers they did not have to deal with customs. Thankfully this also meant that they could land on a smaller airstrip closer to Mark’s destination. Cardinal Richards told him that he was also picking someone up, which was why he had decided to give him a lift, and then would be on his way to Rome.
Mark didn’t envy him much, the Cardinals weren’t going to like finding out their plans had been upset, there would be a lot of hard work for all of them as they tried to figure out just what had gone wrong. Mark’s job was just to win the battles, their job was to win the war, a set back like this could endanger what up until now everyone had thought was a sure victory.
Sighing he closed his eyes and reclined the seat. Most people should have died from that devil’s attack, but fortunately he wasn’t most people. However it had still pushed his body to its limits.
% % % % %
“What the hell do you think you’re doing kid?”
“Huh? Cleaning my rifle Sir.”
“It’s Brian and quit ‘sir'ing’ me. You’re not in the army, hell according to your records you haven’t been in the army in a decade.”
“Sorry Si... Brian, guess it’s just a reflex. Everyone is so formal here.”
“Yeah well, that’s the church for you, but we’re not them, got that?”
“Uhh, Yes.”
“Good, now why the hell are you cleaning that rifle?”
“I wanted to be sure it worked tonight,” Mark said innocently.
“As you’re not taking it, isn’t that a moot point?”
“What?” Mark looked shocked.
“Guns are noisy. Also we’re not looking to kill anybody.”
“But, the Father said there is a devil...”
Brian cut him off, “The father, Lord keep him, doesn’t know shit about devils son. Or Demons, or any of the S.N.’s. Now put that away and come over here.”
Mark looked at him hesitantly, but Father Gregory had told him that Brian was an expert and had been doing this for almost sixty years now. And that he should trust him.
So he put the rifle away and came back and sat down across from Brian.
“Okay, see this bag?”
Mark nodded.
“This is your arsenal. We have holy water, we have a cross, we have a bible. Chalk, knife, some incense, a couple of ointments; remember that all of this is blessed by some of the most devout here in the Church, and of course: an artifact.”
“That’s it?” Mark said looking shocked.
“Son, most of the devils aren’t bothered by bullets. Especially not the big ones. And for the little ones you don’t need it. Holy water is our side arm, the cross our rifle, these other things,” Brian gestured to the assorted oils, incense, chalk and other odds and ends, “are hand grenades.”
“What about that?” Mark asked pointing to a rather old looking holy symbol that had a cross incorporated into its design.
“This is the Ma-deuce,” Brian said smiling, “Oh wait, you probably don’t know what that is, think of it as a...”
“I know what a Ma-deuce is,” Mark interrupted.
“Good, cause to a devil, this is their worst nightmare.”
“So why all the other things?” Mark asked gesturing to the table.
“Ever try to shoot a mouse with a machine gun?”
“Waste of bullets.”
“Exactly, and the same principle applies. Waste your ammo and you may run dry.”
“So what about tonight then Si... Brian?”
“Tonight we’re going after a summoner who apparently has been raising small little devils. They’re more annoying than harmful, though they do have a nasty bite. We’re going to take him in, alive of course, destroy his equipment, seize his books, and dismiss anything he might have summoned.”
“What if he has a gun?” Mark asked worried.
“He won’t. Guns are illegal here and carry a pretty stiff penalty. Plus these guys all think that their little summoned monsters are more than powerful enough to stop anyone who would bother them. Remember, they don't know that we even exist, on top of that they’re all pretty delusional, and summoning creatures from hell renders most of them half crazy.”
“What about a taser?”
“Pumping energy into a devil or a demon is never a good idea kid. Not unless you know all about it. Besides, this is a milk run, so don’t worry none. Just remember the prayers Father Gregory taught you, and keep them on your lips.
“Everything will be fine...”
% % % % %
Mark woke when they landed outside Barcelona, the dream still fresh in his mind. That had been his first time in the field, and to be honest, he enjoyed it. The 'pocket' devils that the guy had raised were no threat really, and the guy himself had been an easy pushover. Over the next year and a half until Brian had retired, Brian had taught him a lot. Brian was pushing eighty at that point; he’d been recruited during World War Two and had seen things he was sure no one would ever see again.
He had died last year of a heart attack and now Mark missed his advice, Brian had always been good at cutting through the noise and seeing directly to the heart of the matter.
Mark stretched as he got out of his seat, feeling stiff and sore all over. Walking off the jet someone he didn’t know met the plane and showed him to a car. He rode in the back as they drove to Manresa and tried to enjoy the sights. He hadn’t been back here in a few years, Jake and he had been that busy. But it didn’t seem that things had changed all that much. Some places just didn’t seem to change no matter how long you were away.
The Abbey of course hadn’t changed at all, the driver pulled around back to avoid the tourists, the Shrine of Our Lady of Montserrat was always popular with the faithful and it had a rather long and interesting history. Mark could hear the choir singing Salve Regina as he got out of the car; it was truly a beautiful place, rather calm and peaceful. Few people knew of the caves dug into the mountain from beneath the monastery, dug several hundred years ago after Napoleon had come through. Fewer still probably knew about the offices and computers and vaults now back there as well. The order had moved here during the Spanish Inquisition, and stayed ever since. Thankfully none of the inquisitors had been members of the order, the Church still considered that to be a large stain on its past.
He took a little time to visit the chapel in the garden, and also to pay his respects to Saint Ignatius, who had started here. A lot of those who worked for the commission felt an attachment to him; he was the unofficial patron of those who actually worked out in the field. He knew that these things might seem silly to most people, especially these days when so few really believed anymore, and fewer still with all their heart. There were so many skeptics nowadays who would go to great extents to try and prove that none of this was real, that it was all just a fantasy.
But he knew better, he dealt with this for a living after all. He’d seen all sorts of things in his ten years working for the Church, some even before that; he knew the truth. He just had never realized that this particular fight was still going on as strong as it ever had. Sure there were still a few holdouts, some devils they couldn’t get near, and that wasn’t even taking into account the myriad of monsters and other super naturals, but since the sixties the numbers of the really powerful devils and demons had been dwindling, only a handful were left.
Eventually one of the Monks caught up with him and escorted Mark into Monsignor Flores’ office. Father Flores currently ran the Hammer Commission, his family had been involved with the Commission for centuries now and many of the Flores family were very deeply involved in the activities and workings of the Commission. So it was not uncommon that if a Flores took the vows of the priesthood, that they should end up here. Some thought of it as nepotism, others viewed it as tradition. Considering that two of the greatest leaders in the Commission had been born of the Flores
family and several others had served in the field with distinction, he was all for carrying on the tradition. Not that anyone ever asked for his opinion, Mark was the first generation of his family born into the church; his own father had been a protestant.
“Father,” Mark said shaking hands with Father Flores as the Monk withdrew from the office leaving them alone.
“Mark,” Father Flores smiled steering him to a seat and then taking one on the other side of the small table on which someone had set out some tea. “I am very sorry about your partner, Jake was a good man and we shall all miss him.”
“Thank you Father,” Mark replied and took the tea Father Flores offered. Mark sipped and did his best to try and relax. His relationship with Flores had always been a little strained at its best, from the moment they'd first met Mark hadn't liked him much. Flores reminded Mark of the rich privileged kids he'd gone to school with back in NY, the ones who had everything handed to them and thought that made them better than you. Then there was the way Flores always seemed to act around him. Mark suspected that Flores had suspicions about his background; especially the parts Father Gregory had told Flores were secret.
“There will be memorial services this evening just before sunset. I have asked the Choir to perform and everyone to attend. Would you like to say a few words?”
Mark sipped his tea and thought about that. He didn’t care much for public speaking, Jake had always been the one to stand up and speak, Mark tended to just answer questions or fill in any details Jake may have missed, which wasn’t many. But this was for Jake and while Flores would understand if Mark didn’t, others might not.
“I’ll try,” Mark said.
Father Flores nodded, “I understand. Now I read your report, but I was wondering if you could go over it again?”
Mark sighed and nodded and spent the next hour carefully recounting everything that had happened; what he saw, what he knew, what Jake had told him beforehand.
“I never was told where the tip came from Father,” Mark finished up finally.
The Hammer Commission Page 2
