by Mark Romang
He smiled as the last pin clicked into place. Castellanos turned the knob and entered the dark apartment, easing the door shut behind him. He flipped on a penlight and directed the small beam onto the floor and looked around for tripping hazards.
The building was historically old; the apartment nothing more than a large loft. The floor creaked and popped underneath his tiptoeing feet. The only other door in the room Castellanos found led to a bathroom. The former CIA operative backtracked the way he came, looking for a personal computer. He spotted a computer desk in a corner but no computer. He checked the kitchen counter, and then the bed. He finally found a laptop on the coffee table. He had walked right by it when he first entered the room.
Castellanos picked up the laptop and settled onto the sofa. He opened up the laptop and pushed its power button. He then pulled a flash drive out of his pants pocket and plugged it into a USB port on the side of the laptop. Castellanos shuddered as he thought about what was on the flash drive. The images were repulsive. They were heinous enough to make him want to hunt down the vermin who took the pictures and put a bullet into their head. Or better yet, genitalia. It made him wonder how Lasko had gotten hold of the images. His respect for the man continued to slide downward, picking up speed with each passing day.
As he expected, Maddix had the computer locked. Castellanos would have to figure out Maddix’s password to accomplish his mission. Once again he plunged his hand into his black cargo pants and pulled out a small notepad. On the notepad were password possibilities he’d already come up with. He knew Maddix wasn’t dumb enough to use his birthdate or address as his password, but he tried them anyway out of obligation. And like he expected they failed to get him to the home screen.
Next, Castellanos tried the names of military operations Maddix participated in while in the SEALS, including the classified ones that Lasko somehow acquired through his vast network of contacts.
No Luck.
Castellanos looked at his watch. His intrusion just reached the twelve minute mark. He needed to hurry up. There was no way he wanted to confront Maddix in his own home. Castellanos had killed many men over the course of his career in the Special Forces and in the CIA paramilitary division, using knives, guns, explosives, and even his bare hands. He even once killed a person by biting through his carotid artery.
But in each instance his victims were clearly overmatched. This wouldn’t be the case with Maddix.
Try a call sign or nickname, his inner voice prompted. Castellanos hurriedly typed in Mad Dog and hit the enter key. Same result. He tried again using all lower case letters, and then again in all caps. He even tried Maddix’s parent names. But he still couldn’t achieve success.
The sound of slamming car doors startled him. His senses told him to flee. And Castellanos always trusted his instincts. He turned off the laptop, pulled out the flash drive, and set the computer back down on the coffee table in the same position he found it.
He jumped up from the sofa and padded silently toward the door. His heart pounded like kettle drums. He pulled out his Sig Sauer from a holster under his jacket. He screwed a silencer into the end of it and positioned himself to the side of the door, making sure that if it opened the door would swing out in front of him. He waited there, holding his breath, fighting to keep his surging adrenaline at a level where he could still operate effectively.
Five minutes crept by. And he heard no approaching footsteps up the stairs. Castellanos eased open the door and stepped out. He scanned the street below, listened for anything that could ambush him. A car parked in the street made pinging noises as it cooled. It hadn’t been there when he arrived. But it wasn’t Maddix’s Jeep, and that’s all that mattered.
Castellanos unscrewed the silencer from his side arm and holstered the gun. He walked slowly and calmly down the steps. If he hurried someone might witness his frantic movement and deduce he didn’t belong there. Reaching the sidewalk, he walked in a southerly direction, slowly, as if he were enjoying an evening stroll. A cool evening breeze mussed his black wavy hair.
It always bothered him when he failed to fulfill a mission. Fortunately, it happened rarely. Ninety-seven percent of the time he succeeded. Tonight he felt neutral, numb in a way. Check that, he felt soiled. He’d framed people before, but never had he tried to make them out to be a pedophile. This was new territory, a dark, soul-bending place he never wanted to return to. There was something despicable about what he just attempted to do. Even he had standards.
Castellanos angrily snapped the flash drive in half and tossed it down a sewer drain. He then pulled out his cellphone and called Aeton Lasko.
“Hello,” Lasko answered.
“I’m out,” Castellanos said after the third ring.
“Did you deliver the package?”
“No, the password prevented delivery,” Lasko confessed. He watched a young couple on the opposing sidewalk kiss passionately.
“I’m not used to you failing.”
“I’m sorry. It happens. I’m not a machine. Have your contact email the images. You have the recipient’s address. It’s the best you can do now.”
“Do you still have the package with you?” Lasko asked.
“No, I destroyed it. It’s better this way. Trust me; you don’t want to get caught with it.”
“You’re probably right, my friend.”
“Can you come pick me up? I’m near a 7-Eleven at the north end of town.”
“We don’t have time. They’ve headed out to the Hurricane airport. Just go back to the motel and get some rest. We’ll meet up later. By the way, you’re supposed to call Henrik.”
“What does Skymolt want?”
“He didn’t say. My guess is he has a job for you. I have to hang up now, Nikko. Goodbye.”
Castellanos sighed and placed his phone back into his pocket. He entered the 7-Eleven, purchased a fountain drink and a package of jerky and began his long walk back to the Best Western. He would wait until he got back to the motel to call Skymolt. The man was an ogre, a filthy rich one, but a monster just the same. If it were not for his vast wealth and his propensity to dispense it so readily, Castellanos would have nothing to do with the man.
I can walk away from Skymolt and his Skeptikos Alliance at any time, he reminded himself. But deep in his heart he wondered if he actually could sever the tie. One more payday and I’ll leave, he promised himself. I’ll take my money and disappear.
Chapter 26
Perdition Canyon
Rotor wash from the departing MD-500 buffeted Maddix. He stood stooped over like an old man caught in a windstorm; his shoulders hunkered against the hurricane-force downdraft. He tilted his head downward, shining his headlamp onto his gloved hands. Inside the flame-resistant gloves his hands trembled. Fear squeezed at his head.
Maddix took a juddering breath and clipped his anchored climbing rope onto the belay/rappel loop of his harness. He walked over to the edge and looked down into the belly of the Earth. He could only see a few feet down into the slender opening, but could see nothing but darkness, the kind of deep impenetrable blackness that hid evil and debauchery, madness and death. Wickedness awaited him. He couldn’t yet see it, but the sweet aftertaste of manna tingling on his tongue reminded him that he soon would.
Maddix bowed his head. Uneasiness gnawed at his stomach lining like a rat chewing through insulation. He didn’t want to do this again. He’d almost rather lay down on a train track and allow a freight train to splatter him than battle a demon.
I don’t know why you called me to do this, God. I’m a weak person, a handicapped man with only one leg. PTSD is making my brain think harmful thoughts. But I know your power is made perfect in weakness. Allow me to borrow your supernatural strength for just this night.
Maddix dropped his rope into the crack. It unfurled silently into the blackness. Maddix inhaled and exhaled a deep breath and pushed off with his left foot. He entered the crevasse; his body plummeted into hell, into the underworld of Pe
rdition Canyon. The rope slid through his fingers, and with the susurrus sound, any hope of returning to the surface the same man. His climbing shoes contacted the canyon wall ten feet later. He silently pushed off again, using only a small amount of hand friction to brake, repeating the procedure until he’d rappelled fifty feet and landed safely onto a natural archway.
Maddix turned off his headlamp and flipped on his night-vision goggles. The guts of Perdition Canyon changed from black to green. Details took shape. Ridges, gouges, cuts and grottoes bathed in green phosphors jumped out at him like specters at a spook house. He wasn’t sure if switching off the headlamp helped his concealment or not. But it seemed natural to do so. Why do anything to attract his enemy’s attention?
Tonight he swapped up with Sara and Webb and entered the northern end of Perdition Canyon. He didn’t want the demons to detect a pattern. And the advantage of surprise was no longer with them. The demons would be expecting them and setting up their own ambushes.
Maddix pulled out his hand-held GPS system from his dry bag and checked his location. He was still on course and would soon reach the coordinates where Sara found the sleeping demon in the cocoon. And he could faintly hear a waterfall, probably the same waterfall where Sara discovered the demon the evening before.
Maddix reached behind him and touched the hilt of the Eden sword. It felt warm to his touch and emitted a barely discernible humming noise. His greatest fear was that he would somehow misuse the sword, or worse, lose it in the canyon. He would never forget how the demons looked at it with lustful eyes. They greatly feared the sword but also longed to possess it.
Maddix tucked his GPS system back into his dry bag and slung it over his back. It was time to go demon hunting.
He grabbed his rope and stepped off the archway.
****
“You’re driving too fast, Aeton! We’re going to fly off the cliff,” Dimitri Petrakis warned from the backseat of the Escalade. Petrakis peered out his window at the barely visible roadside. The one-lane dirt road they traveled snaked its way around the side of a bluff. The road was an endless series of switchbacks, and had no guardrails to prevent an uninitiated driver from soaring over the edge.
“We have to hurry, Dimitri. They can fly faster than we can drive,” Lasko shot back.
“It will do us no good to die on the way up to the canyon,” Petrakis countered.
Lasko gripped the wheel firmly. “Just close your eyes and stop looking out your window, Dimitri. We’re almost there.” The Escalade’s headlights cut through the gloom like theatre spotlights and lit up the desolate landscape. Soon he would have to extinguish the headlights or risk revealing their presence to Maddix and his friends. But that would make their journey even more perilous, almost suicidal.
Lasko could see the red and white signal lights of the helicopter far ahead. They had to get closer, much closer. But to do that they were going to have to get out of their vehicle and hike into Perdition Canyon, which is precisely what he had in mind. He just hadn’t told his fellow SA agents yet. They wouldn’t like getting their designer shoes dusty. But so be it.
“Nikko is the lucky one. He’s probably snoring in bed right now,” Alexander Kritikos said. He sat next to Lasko up front.
“Hopefully we’ll be joining him soon. But that all depends on Aeton slowing down,” Petrakis said.
A large barricade suddenly appeared in front of them, maybe thirty yards ahead, and marked the end of the road. Lasko slammed on the brakes. A billowing dust cloud enveloped the skidding Escalade. They jerked to a neck-snapping halt only a few feet from the sign.
“Is everyone OK?” Lasko asked.
“Other than whiplash, I’m fine,” Petrakis said.
Lasko shut off the engine. He pocketed the keys. “This is where we get out and walk, gentlemen.”
“Are you serious, Aeton? We don’t have the proper gear for hiking in country this rough and isolated,” Kritikos pointed out.
Lasko unbuckled his seat belt. “I’ve got night-vision goggles and flashlights in the back.”
“What about a compass and a map. We don’t know our way around this wilderness. We could easily get lost,” Petrakis said.
“We don’t need a compass and map. I’ve got a GPS. And the only way we’re going to find out what Maddix is doing is to sneak into the canyon and take a video.” Lasko declared. He was truly disgusted with his partners. They were nothing but crybabies. As soon as this job ended he was going to ask Skymolt for a different team. He didn’t mind Castellanos, but Dimitri and Alexander had to go.
Lasko opened the back hatch and handed out the goggles and flashlights. He put on his night-vision goggles and turned them on. “Keep your flashlights off as much as possible. We move fast. Let’s go,” he said and skirted around the barricade.
Lasko had barely traveled a dozen feet when he jerked to a halt and backed slowly to the side. He flipped on his flashlight and pointed it at the ground. “Watch out for the snake. It’s a big one.”
Petrakis and Kritikos jumped straight up as if they were walking barefoot on hot coals. “It’s huge, probably six feet long.” Petrakis exclaimed. “But why is it out at night? I thought snakes hate cold temperatures.”
“Never mind, just keep walking. And try to be a little quieter. You’re louder than the coyotes.”
****
The kingsnake uncoiled its six foot length and slithered across the rutted gravel road, past the barricade and toward the Escalade. It glided silently over the uneven surface, its slender body maneuvering effortlessly underneath clumps of tumbleweed and sagebrush. The snake flicked out its forked tongue and tasted the night air, gathering scent molecules as it slithered. A few sprinkles of rain misted its tri-colored body of red, black, and white bands.
The snake didn’t worry about the men. He was not their prey. In fact, the men were his prey. And he would finish them tonight.
The kingsnake reached the SUV and coiled around the driver’s side tire. It lifted its head and shimmied up into the wheel cavity. Near the brake caliper, the kingsnake found the rubber brake line. Opening its mouth wide, the kingsnake sank its six rows of serrated teeth—four on top and two on the bottom, into the line. The snake repeated this aggressive bite several times until it punctured the rubber in multiple places. Brake fluid spurted out the holes in the line and pooled in the dust and rocks around the tire.
The kingsnake dropped back down to the ground and continued its sinister task. It slithered over to the Escalade’s other front tire on the passenger side and crawled up into the wheel cavity. Once again, where the brake line met the brake caliper, the serpent drove its teeth violently into the rubber hose as if it were killing a mouse or lizard. Time after time, the kingsnake attacked the hose, finally opening its mouth when it tasted escaping brake fluid. The fluid so vital to the vehicle’s stopping ability fled the hose, spilling onto the ground.
Its nefarious deed accomplished, the serpent slithered out from under the SUV. It lifted its head skyward, stretching its great length perpendicular until it almost stood. And then it simply vanished. In the serpent’s place, a large grotesque demon stood unchallenged in the open. Two squabbling imps sat on the demon’s shoulders.
Standing still and undaunted like a general scanning a battlefield, Selachian watched the helicopter fly over Perdition Canyon. Maddix and his friends were legitimate foes to reckon with, but only because Maddix possessed the Eden sword. The mysterious powers of the sword were legendary. And relieving him of the sword would not be easy. But if all went according to Selachian’s plan, Maddix would no longer be a threat, at least not much of one.
The sprinkles increased to a drizzle and mingled with the oozing battle scars on his flame-charred face. Selachian actually felt a little sad about the fate of the Skeptikos Alliance agents. They had been valuable assets over the years, battling the Christians and thwarting their efforts at spreading the Gospel on so many fronts.
But now the SA agents could serve a far gre
ater purpose if they stopped living. Better yet, Lucifer may finally stop doubting his usefulness and stop flirting with replacing him with Drakon.
Soon, very soon, I will establish my legacy. I will be the one that slows the hands of God. I will succeed where Lucifer has failed so many times, Selachian thought. A sound from far off sent excitement rippling up his back. The imps hopped around on his shoulders and squawked excitedly.
Selachian cocked his head. He thought he heard screaming. Not an otherworldly scream made by a demon, but an earthly one. It sounded like a scream escaping from the diaphragm of a…human.
Chapter 27
His knees bent to absorb the impact, Maddix landed deftly on the canyon floor, narrowly avoiding the pool of water nearby. His shoes made only a soft thudding sound on the sandstone. Maddix unclipped from his rope and looked around. He shivered.
Twisted rock walls met his gaze in all directions. Wind and water had carved the sandstone, sculpting odd and random grooves and three-dimensional shapes that resembled sides of beef hanging in a dusky meat locker. Shadows of varying degrees jumped out at him. He was in a small room that condensed into a bottleneck ahead and behind him.
Maddix removed the Eden sword from its scabbard, cringing at the metallic noise made by the iron blade as he withdrew the weapon from its bronze scabbard. He was here to hunt demons, but wanted to delay the battle for as long as he could. And making unnecessary noise would only hasten the fracas.
Maddix moved southward. He stepped cautiously, wanting to avoid a twisted ankle. His knee still throbbed from last night and reminded him to be careful. The way ahead narrowed; canyon walls closed in on him. He had to turn sideways to make it through the gap.
