by Mark Romang
Maddix sighed. “This mission will be more dangerous than any we’ve ever gone on. Demon possession is likely unless you’re a strong believer. And I’m not sure where you stand on that, C-Dub. You used to say that you grew up in a Christian home. But have you totally surrendered your life to Jesus?”
“I’m definitely a God-fearing man, if that’s what you want to know. And I recited the sinner’s prayer when I was a kid. Once saved always saved, right Mad Dog? Besides, I think this little mission of yours won’t net any demons. What you’re attempting to do isn’t much different than Bigfoot hunters trying to find Sasquatch with all their high-tech gear. It’s a waste of time and money.”
Maddix sighed and walked over to the counter. He buried his head in his hands, hoping to smash the vivid images back into his mind from where they came. His every instinct told him he needed Webb to join the team. Webb was battle-tested and wired for combat. He could make up for the other team members’ shortcomings. Gabriel told him a fifth member would join them later. He wondered now if Webb was the fifth guy. “Then why do you want to go with me so bad?”
“Fast-roping into a slot canyon has got to be adrenaline inducing. And I’d kill to go back in time and relive our SEAL days. I miss the rush,” Webb confessed. “I assume you have a chopper and a pilot lined up.”
Maddix nodded wearily.
“Is he any good?”
“He flew in Desert Storm. I think he’ll do.”
Webb smiled. “So am I in?”
“Drop your price to fifty thousand and you are. But you have to follow my lead at all times. I’m calling the shots. No freelancing.”
Webb’s boyish smile faded into a frown. “Fifty-thousand dollars isn’t enough. I’ll be losing money on this deal, a lot of money.”
“Think of it as an investment, a gift to God. He blessed you with this business. You owe him.”
“And you owe me. I helped save your life in that cave. I laid on your femoral artery for almost an hour and a half. I nearly drowned in your blood.”
Maddix shrugged and headed for the door. “Fine, I’ll find somebody else.”
“You don’t have to go away in a huff, Mad Dog. I’ll do it. But I insist you show me this flaming sword.”
Chapter 12
Felicity, Utah—that evening
Inside the Best Western motel room a clandestine meeting took place. The four men inside the room were all relatively young. The oldest—the leader in charge who leaned against a dresser with his arms folded over his chest—just celebrated his 45th birthday.
Handsome and intelligent, each well-dressed man made a comfortable living practicing civil law. But there was an agenda lurking behind their chosen profession. Intense hatred for anything spiritual brought them to Felicity and this nondescript motel room.
They were atheists who belonged to the Skeptikos Alliance—a controversial and militant atheist group whose roots could be traced all the way back to the ancient Greek philosopher Pyrrho, who founded a school specializing in skepticism on the island of Elis in the 1st century BC.
But unlike the peace-loving Pyrrho, who embraced apathy and the idea that no opinion could ultimately be proven right or wrong, that beliefs are delusional and that nothing is in itself good or evil, the Skeptikos Alliance wanted to eliminate all forms and symbols of religion. And their methodology was simple: costly lawsuits against small towns with little or no money to fight back.
Funded by multi-billionaire investor Henrik Skymolt, the 51,000 plus members making up the worldwide Skeptikos Alliance have plenty of funding to finance their never-ending litigation. In the US especially, their victories piled up almost daily. Ten Commandments were being removed from courtrooms at an astonishing clip. Crosses were torn down on both private and public properties with little resistance. Little by little, town by town, America was being secularized.
Divided up into four-man squads, Skeptikos Alliance agents travel the country looking for overt displays of Christianity that might infringe on the separation of church and state. The YouTube video displaying the exorcism at Zion Baptist Church brought them to Felicity.
A short man with swarthy black hair had the floor. The other three men, sitting in either an armchair or on a bed, listened raptly. “I talked with the most esteemed special-effects coordinators in Hollywood about the YouTube video. Each one thinks the video is the real deal. They all said they could duplicate the video using wind tunnel turbofans, but that it would cost six figures or more to recreate, money Zion Baptist Church probably doesn’t have,” the man named Alexander Kritikos said.
“Then how did he do it? And why did he film it? What exactly does Andrew Maddix have to gain by posting the exorcism on YouTube?” asked the leader, Aeton Lasko.
The other three attorneys shrugged their shoulders.
Lasko rolled his eyes. “That’s it? All you can give me is sheepish looks and shrugged shoulders?”
“We did follow Maddix to Provo this morning. We might have a lead,” the man sitting on the bed said, holding up a digital camera with a powerful zoom lens attached. “Maddix entered a gun shop named Webb’s Firearms. He was inside for about twenty minutes. He then came back out to his Jeep and returned to the back of the store carrying what looks like a sword. A very old and large sword,” Nikko Castellanos said. The Greek-American stood up from the bed and handed Lasko the camera. “The photos showing Maddix entering the gun shop with the sword are keyed up.”
Lasko perused the photos, shaking his head as he viewed them. “This Maddix fellow is an oddity. Former SEAL, now a pastor who frequents gun shops with antique swords in tow. He’s impossible to stereotype.”
“There’s more, Aeton. We did some checking. Coleton Webb, who owns the gun store, is also a former SEAL who served with Maddix.”
Lasko looked at Castellanos and shrugged. “Maddix is showing his old buddy a sword. Big deal, we’re going to need more than that.”
“Where do we go from here then?” Agent Kritikos asked.
“Keep following Maddix. Just don’t get too close. He’s not your run-of-the-mill pastor. He’ll spot you if you’re not careful. Monitor everything he does around the clock. Bug his apartment. Figure out a way to bug his church office phones too. Look into Webb. See what he’s all about. Maddix has a past. He wasn’t always a Bible thumper. He has skeletons in his closet just like you and me.”
“What if we can’t find any?”
Lasko gave the SA agent a cold stare. “Then we make up some. Talk with our friends at the IRS and have Maddix audited. Mingle with the locals in Felicity, plant some nasty rumors. Suggest he’s addicted to porn and likes children a little too much. Discredit the man and the locals will drum him out of town, and we’ll have one less preacher convicting weak-minded people that there is a God.”
****
Just inside the motel room, a supernatural being leaned against the door. The demon had stood in the motel room for the duration of the meeting, listening closely to every word spoken.
When Lasko finished giving his instructions to the other Skeptikos Alliance agents, a treacherous grin slid across Selachian’s charred face. Lucifer will be overjoyed to hear these latest developments, he thought.
Selachian tickled the imps sleeping on his powerful shoulders. Perhaps he could even regain his favored standing with Lucifer, and prove to his master once and for all that he was still dependable, that he alone possessed the cunning and strength to battle Michael and his angelic horde.
Maybe there was still a chance. Maddix was the key though. Everything hinged on Maddix.
Chapter 13
Felicity outskirts—the next evening
The sun descended ever closer to the horizon as Maddix hoisted the portable M2 flamethrower onto his back and faced his students. Sara Kendall looked at him warily, the setting sun casting her face and hair in cerise light. Already the cool nighttime air was settling in and chasing off the scorching desert heat.
They were standing in a desola
te valley, two miles from the nearest home. Wind-worn sandstone cliffs encircled them. A small herd of Longhorn cattle bedded down for the night a few hundred yards off. Coyotes yipped in the distance.
Next to Sara, the wide-eyed Cody Hosmer couldn’t stop grinning. Kyle Miller leaned against his helicopter forty yards away. And Coleton Webb pretended to be bored as he stood next to Maddix.
“Okay, guys,” Maddix began, speaking to Sara and Cody. “You have three tanks on a backpack frame: two fuel tanks on the ends and a middle tank that contains compressed gas or nitrogen. The compressed gas serves as a propellant and drives the fuel through this hose into a reservoir in the flame gun.” Maddix pointed to the first trigger on the flame gun. “This is the fuel release trigger. It opens a valve and releases the fuel into the nozzle. When you squeeze this second trigger—the ignition trigger—the fuel flows past the ignition system and ignites.”
Maddix looked at Sara and then Cody. They were the only ones in the group who had never fired a flamethrower. “The M2 shoots a flame accurately up to 33 meters. It has a burn range around seven to ten seconds. You guys need to conserve your fuel. So just use one second bursts whenever possible.”
What’s this thing?” Sara asked pointing to a knob down at the bottom of one of the fuel tanks.
“Good question. That knob is fuel on/off valve.” Maddix turned the knob. “I just turned the knob to the on position and the gun is ready to fire. You also have two safety catches, one on the top of the nozzle for the igniter trigger, and one below for the fuel release trigger,” he explained, pointing them out.
Maddix looked at Webb. “Did I miss anything?”
“No, I think you covered it, Mad Dog.”
“Okay, I’m going to demonstrate.” Maddix pointed the nozzle away from his audience. He looked at Webb again. “These have been restored and hydrostatically tested, right?
Webb nodded. “I bought them from a seller in Colorado who restores them before putting them on the market. They’re good to go. I fired each one already.”
Maddix grinned. “Ok then, fire in the hole,” he said and squeezed the igniter trigger. A huge flame shot from the M2’s nozzle, spewing out nearly sixty feet.
“That’s so wicked cool!” Cody exclaimed. “Can I fire it?”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re here?” Maddix said. “He closed shut the fuel on/off valve and took off the backpack. He helped Cody slip his arms into the backpack and pointed him in a safe direction. “Okay, Cody, fire a one-second burst.”
Cody reopened the fuel on/off valve. And grinning like a kid on Christmas morning squeezed both the fuel release trigger and the fuel igniter trigger, sending a 1200 degree flame hurtling into the dusky sky. “That’s what I’m talking about!” Cody whooped. “Nothing is cooler than fire.”
“Okay, Cody. That’s enough. You got a taste of it,” Maddix said quickly as he took over the M2.
Always looking for an opportunity to impress a lady, Coleton Webb gallantly helped Sara Kendall try on a M9A1 flamethrower. The M9A1 replaced the M2 and was used in the Vietnam War. It was also much lighter than the M2.
Sara made sure she had a clean field of fire. She then disengaged the safety catches and squeezed both triggers. A searing flame erupted from the M9s nozzle with a whooshing sound. “I have to admit; these are a lot of fun,” she said between giggles.
“Good job, Sara. You’re a natural,” Maddix said. He looked at one of the other flamethrowers sitting on the ground. “Is that a Zippo flamethrower?” he asked Webb. The M1’s ignition system was poorly designed and notorious for failing. Soldiers resorted to carrying around cigarette lighters to ignite the fuel.
Webb nodded. “I’m afraid so. I wanted to get all M9s or M2s. But I didn’t have enough time to scour the country for dealers,” Webb explained. “I’ll use the M1. Sara can use the M9. It’s only 29 pounds when filled,” he added.
“Hey, I’m used to carrying around seventy-pound backpacks. I can handle the heavier ones,” Sara said firmly.
Webb smiled. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you, Sara. I was just trying to be a gentleman.”
Maddix examined the darkening sky. They still had more training to do. “Come on, guys, help me get these flamethrowers back into the helicopter. We have just enough twilight to conduct a fast roping session.”
****
Six miles to the west in Perdition Canyon, Toragor and Selachian continued to monitor the recovering demons. The two demons walked leisurely through the icy water running through the bottom of the slot canyon, yet their footsteps caused no visible ripples or splashes to occur.
“They seem to be getting stronger,” Selachian said. “Your treatments must be working.”
“I would agree with your assessment. Four of them are ready now,” Toragor replied.
“When will the rest be ready?”
“They should be whole sometime tomorrow. They’re at around eighty percent now, and almost ready to come out of their regenerating cocoons.”
Selachian watched a pair of warrior demons conversing a little ways off. “Good. They’ll be ready to join the reinforcements by then.”
“Where are you getting these reinforcements?”
“They’re all from Washington, D.C. Believe me; they were more than willing to leave the front lines. This will be child’s play for them.”
Toragor looked at Selachian and sighed. “If the Angel of the Lord is fighting for Maddix, we’re all doomed. Remember when he slaughtered 185, 000 Assyrians near Jerusalem?”
Selachian shrugged his wings. “He hasn’t made an appearance in over two-thousand years. Maybe our luck will continue to hold.”
Toragor stopped when he came to a small grotto in the canyon wall. He placed a deformed hand onto the silken cocoon covering the cave entrance. By just touching the protective casing he could determine the health status of the demon inside “You better hope he doesn’t show. Lucifer is itching to replace you with Drakon.”
“That would be a terrible mistake. Drakon is too impulsive to be the top general. His only battlefield strategy is overwhelming force. You have to use cunning sometimes. Lucifer knows this better than anyone.”
Chapter 14
As soon as they climbed aboard the MD500 helicopter, Maddix instructed them put on their helmets and night-vision goggles and test their radios. One by one they all talked into the mike attached to their helmet. And when he was sure their communication gear worked correctly, he signaled Miller to begin the flight.
Maddix was amazed with the equipment Webb had wrangled up in such a short time. The Tyler Technologies bolt-on fast roping unit was top notch. Miller had balked at first when asked to convert his tourist helicopter into a special operations chopper. But when he saw how easily the externally mounted platform and fast roping unit bolted on to his helicopter without requiring major cosmetic changes, he softened up.
Maddix grabbed a section of the fast rope. “Okay, listen up, Sara, Cody. This is how you position your hands,” he said, positioning his left hand slightly above his right. “Make sure you have your gloves on. You’ll tear the hide right off your hands if you don’t.”
Cody and Sara both held up their hands clad in Wiley Nomex gloves. Maddix nodded. “Now, the rope should dangle against the inside edges of your shoes like this,” he said, showing them just how he’d been taught during his SEAL platoon training. “Besides gravity, the rotor downwash will actually push you down the rope. If you feel you’re going too fast, just apply more pressure to the rope with your feet and knees. The same technique applies if your hands are burning.”
They looked at him from behind their night-vision goggles. The goggles made them look like giant hornets or wasps. He knew they were nervous. He’d been nervous the first time he’d slid down a rope from a hovering helicopter. “If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them?” He watched Cody and Sara shake their heads.
“Relax, fast-roping is easy. Just slide down the rope like a fireman sliding down a
pole at the firehouse. There’s nothing to it, right C-Dub?”
“Roger that, Mad Dog. Fast-roping is easy as pie.”
“As we get closer to the drop zone I’ll give you a two-minute warning. I’ll hold up two fingers for everyone to see. You also need to hold up two fingers. I need to know that you understand the situation. I’ll also give you a one minute warning the same way. All ropers need to check their gear at this time. Once we reach the drop zone and are at the correct hover altitude, Kyle will give me a signal. I’ll then say unbuckle and take position. Sara will go first. I’ll physically help each of you to the rope to prevent anyone from falling out the chopper. You’ll grab the rope, step out onto the platform and drop. Understood?”
They all nodded their helmeted heads. Maddix kept his eyes trained on Miller. Excitement coursed through his veins. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. He could feel the once-familiar adrenaline rush he used to experience before every SEAL mission surge through his limbs. His muscles twitched with readiness. Sweat trickled down his back. Now he knew why Webb insisted on coming. Insertion into hostile territory made a soldier’s heart beat like an Indian war drum. In this case, the whump-whump-whumping sound made by the spinning rotors of Kyle Miller’s helicopter mimicked the war drums.
Kyle Miller held up two fingers. “Two minutes, Ropers,” Maddix said as he held up two fingers from his right hand. Webb, Sara, and Cody repeated the signal back to him. Maddix monitored his watch, counting the seconds down to drop time.
As much as he liked to think of himself as a peace-loving Baptist minister, there was no denying his true calling. He would always be a warrior as long as breath filled his lungs. Fighting came natural. It made up his DNA strand.
And now, inexplicably, he was being drawn back into the murky world he once operated in; a world of black ops where everything can go wrong in an instant. Maddix looked again at his watch. “One minute. Check your gear, Ropers,” he said. They were going out with flamethrowers on, just like tomorrow night, and they needed to have their flame gun’s nozzle pointing down so as not to snag anything. Maddix wanted this rehearsal to be as close to the real thing as possible.
