by Mark Romang
Sara typed in the address. She then used her thumb and forefinger and manipulated the screen, enlarging the image. “It’s a large building. Looks like a hotel. I see a sign. Let me scroll over and zoom in on the sign.” Sara fiddled with the screen some more. She smiled triumphantly. “Webb is at a Super 8,” she said.
Maddix dropped the half-eaten cinnamon roll back down into the sack. “Okay. Turn off the phone and take out the batteries. Let’s roll.” He backed the Accord up and left the park, heading for Interstate 15. Las Vegas was about 119 miles or two hours away to the southwest.
“Why do you want me to turn off the phone and take out the batteries? Are you afraid Webb will track us with the cellphone app?”
Maddix shook his head. “Webb doesn’t know the app is on there, remember? I hid the app. But a court can subpoena phone companies for call records any time a law enforcement agency requests them. And police can easily track cellphones that have GPS.”
“Oh, I see,” Sara said. She slid the battery out from the phone’s back and set the phone and batteries down in a tray in the console.
They made it back through town in five minutes and were soon on the interstate. The interstate wound through mostly flatland, a black ribbon cutting across an endless beige sea. Sand-colored knobs rose up from the desert floor now and again. Heat waves danced and shimmered far in the distance over the blacktop.
“I’m curious, Andrew, how are you going to get the sword away from Webb? You know he will not give it up willingly,” Sara said.
Maddix nodded. He looked over at her. Cold determination flashed in his dark eyes “Webb has made a lot of noise lately, saying he wants to spar with me. It looks like his wish will come true today.”
Chapter 42
That same moment—Gaza City,
Daraj Quarter
The Hamas senior leadership met on the moonlit beach. They formed a tight circle in the sand: nine men and one woman, each oblivious to Lucifer eavesdropping a dozen feet outside the circle.
One of the nine men and the lone woman stood inside the circle. The threat of Israel’s surgical rocket strikes kept them always on the move. They rarely came together in residential places any more. And in this case they would be discussing operational strategies, and didn’t want their conversation recorded by listening devices.
So tonight they met outside. The Mediterranean surf pounded the beach relentlessly and muffled their inflammatory words. Kalil Nazari—the prime minister of Hamas—stood inside the circle, Soussan Golzar at his shoulder.
“Tonight my friends, is a historical moment,” Nazari began. “Tonight, Palestine takes its first step toward legitimate statehood. Tonight, we begin a dangerous yet ingenious operation that will destroy Israel and give us our land back. All of our land,” Nazari placed a hand on Golzar’s shoulder. “This brave young woman has agreed to infiltrate Mossad and gather key information we can use to topple Israel’s government.”
“How can one woman bring forth such a grand achievement?” asked the political bureau chief of Hamas, Jakeem Salib.
“If you could see Miss Golzar in the daylight, you would know how. She is breathtakingly beautiful. Furthermore, she has agreed to seduce a Mossad agent of our choice and become his lover. Information will be extracted from the Mossad agent that we can use to plan a catastrophic attack on the Israeli Cabinet.”
“Can we trust her? Why would she do such a thing? She isn’t even a Palestinian,” Salib said, surprising the prime minister. “She is from Iran.”
“Trust me, Jakeem; Soussan hates the Jews as much as you and me.” Nazari turned and faced Golzar. “Are you willing to become a spy for Hamas and make love to a Jew? More importantly, will you forgo your traditional Iranian clothes and dress like a Jewish woman?”
Golzar nodded her head. “Yes, I am willing to use my body as a weapon to bring down the vile Zionist regime. I enjoy sex very much and will pretend I am making love to a Muslim Iranian. I will do anything you ask me to.”
“But why are you willing to risk your life to do this? Why do you hate the Jews so much?” Salib continued.
“My hatred for Israel and America has been passed down to me. My grandmother was the university student who cut the chains locking the U.S. embassy during the hostage crisis in 1979. Her revolutionary spirit lives inside me. I want to honor her for her bravery and continue her proud legacy,” Golzar said.
The Hamas political bureau chief chewed on her answer for a brief moment. Salib turned to the Hamas prime minister. “How long will this operation go on, Kalil?” he asked. “Are you insinuating we should stop our rocket attacks? And what sort of catastrophic attack on the Israeli Cabinet are you considering?”
“No. We will maintain the status quo and continue to fire rockets. But we all must come to the conclusion that firing a few rockets every few months will never help us attain our goal of a Palestinian state that encompasses all of Israel. We must consider new tactics. Therefore, Miss Golzar will infiltrate the Knesset building and plant an improvised explosive device (IED), perhaps more than one. The attack will take place when the prime minister is present. The damage to the Israeli government will be immeasurable,” Nazari said, almost breathless.
“An operation this delicate will take years to unfold. You do realize this, Kalil?” Salib pressed.
“Yes, of course. That is why we need to start now. We need to vote on this tonight. All in favor please step forward.” One by one the Hamas hierarchy all took a step forward, including the political bureau chief.
“Good, I knew you would see the genius of this plan. I want to congratulate Ibrahim Najjar for concocting this brilliant subterfuge. He has demonstrated amazing initiative. Ibrahim, come here,” the prime minister urged.
Ibrahim Najjar came alongside Nazari. “Ibrahim, you will be Miss Golzar’s handler. You will be trusted to inform me and the senior Hamas leadership of developments and progress. You will also pass along to Miss Golzar a monthly stipend for living expenses. We will determine the amount of this stipend in the next few days, as well as her Mossad target.
“Yes, sir, it will be my pleasure to do this for Hamas and the future state of Palestine.”
“But Kalil, an operation so important must have a name,” Jakeem Salib said firmly.
Nazari thought for a moment. “We will call it Operation Jezebel.”
A few feet away, Lucifer raised his sculpted arms in triumph. He sneered at the heavens. His influence on Ibrahim Najjar and Soussan Golzar finally reached fruition. He’d been pursuing them since their childhood. He was their father now. He held their souls in his hands. And whether they knew it or not, they would do anything he asked of them.
****
Sitting at his desk in his office at Walter Reed Medical Center, Army Major John Triplett checked his schedule. His day planner suggested he was free from appointments until 1 P.M. He felt like playing golf instead of working. And for a brief moment the psychiatrist entertained trying to get nine holes in before his next appointment. But in the end his commitment to responsibility won out.
Triplett brought up his email and perused the inbox. His eyes scanned for a dozen seconds but then stopped when he saw a drug recall notice from the FDA. Triplett highlighted the email and clicked it. The drug being recalled was an antipsychotic med. It was a fairly new drug most often prescribed to combat PTSD in war veterans. The drug had been highly touted to be an effective alternative to risperidone. But the email suggested a high number of veterans taking the new drug were experiencing an upsurge in hallucinations.
Triplett shook his head. He wished the pharmaceutical companies could get it right for once. The veterans deserved better. Triplett clicked out of his email and went to his documents. He opened a document file that contained a spreadsheet detailing his patients and the drugs they were taking. Luckily, only a few of his current and former patients were on the recalled drug. But one name stood out from all the others.
Andrew Maddix.
Triple
tt would never forget this individual. Maddix was a former SEAL who suffered a horrific accident that took his right leg. What made Maddix so memorable was his near-death experience. His NDE took him into hell. Maddix swore he’d seen demons as well as angels during the vivid experience.
Triplett had given Maddix a bottle of the recalled drug. Four years ago the drug hadn’t even been approved for the market yet. But it had been highly praised in medical journals. So Triplett gave Maddix a bottle upon his release from Walter Reed Medical Center.
Triplett decided he would contact Maddix first. He’d often thought of the young man over the last four years. He’d sensed there was something special about Maddix during the time he’d treated him. Triplett felt guilty now for not making an effort to check up on him. He sure hoped Maddix wasn’t one of the patients suffering hallucinations. Even better, he hoped the ex-SEAL hadn’t even opened the bottle.
The Army Major picked up his phone. He dialed the number listed on his spreadsheet. The phone on the other end rang and rang. But after the tenth ring Triplett gave up. He would call Maddix again later. Sighing, Triplett moved on to the next name.
Chapter 43
Las Vegas outskirts
“Better turn on the phone again, Sara. We need to make certain Webb hasn’t changed locations,” Maddix said from his position in the driver’s seat. They were 10 miles out from North Las Vegas. It was almost noon. A hot sun baked the Honda Accord. The car’s AC struggled to keep up.
Sara obliged, popping in the battery and powering up the phone. A few moments later and she had Coleton Webb’s location. “He’s no longer at the hotel. He’s moved north in our direction. 5340 Alto Avenue.” Sara entered the address into Google Earth. She manipulated the screen. “It looks like a dumpy warehouse. The place is near a junkyard. I see a motorcycle parked in front of it. Maybe the bike is Webb’s.”
“Okay. Go to Google Maps and see how we can get there.”
“I’m one step ahead of you, Andrew. I already have it. Take Highway 574 east when you get to it, and then we’ll turn south on Highway 612. We’ll go a little ways and then turn left onto Alto Avenue.” Sara turned off the phone and slid out the battery.
“You’re getting good at that,” Maddix said, keeping his eye out for a Highway 574 exit sign.
“See, I am useful to you.”
Maddix looked at her and smiled. “I don’t mind that you’re with me. I just don’t want to get you in trouble.”
Sara lifted her hand and pointed. “Our exit is coming up soon.”
“I see it.” Maddix turned on his blinker and switched lanes. He took the exit and they were soon traveling down Highway 574. Knots formed in his stomach. A showdown with Webb awaited him in minutes. He didn’t want to fight his friend. But he didn’t see any other way to get the Eden sword back.
“Okay, here’s where we turn south onto Highway 512,” Sara said.
Maddix turned left at the stoplight. “You’re way better than GPS,” he said. “Alto Avenue can’t be too much farther, can it?”
Sara shook her head. “It has to be coming up real soon. In fact, I think it’s at the next light.”
Maddix turned left just as the light turned from green to yellow. A minute or two later a junkyard came into view, and then the warehouse. Maddix pulled into a nearly empty parking lot. “Not much to look at, huh?” A sign hung on the building’s façade. The sign advertised 20,000 square feet for lease.
“I think it’s safe to say the place is empty,” Sara said.
Maddix backed the Honda up next to an enduro motorcycle; a bike he assumed belonged to Webb. “Are you ready?”
Sara looked at him solemnly. “I think the question is, are you ready?”
“Webb’s a big boy. I could hit him with a 2x4 and he’d keep coming.”
“We’ll double-team him. You hit him in the face and I’ll kick him in the privates.”
Maddix grinned. “Okay, let’s go,” he said and exited the Honda.
They walked up to building’s front door, a windowless steel door. A padlock had been removed and thrown to the ground. Maddix pulled on the door. It opened and they stepped quietly in. Barn loft heat greeted them inside. One bank of lights two stories up cast a weak glow onto the concrete floor below.
Sara exhaled sharply. She clamped onto Maddix’s arm. “Am I seeing things? Are those bodies hanging from hooks? They’re everywhere,” she whispered.
“I think those are mannequins.”
“Oh, thank goodness. For a minute there I thought the creep from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie relocated to Vegas.”
Maddix didn’t answer. He focused his senses on his surroundings. He wanted to familiarize himself with the building’s layout. He looked for other exit doors, looked for an office where the transaction might take place. He also looked for improvised weapons he could use against Webb. A fire extinguisher would work great if he could find one. He knew there had to be at least one somewhere.
“I think I hear Webb talking. He’s somewhere in the far right corner,” Sara said quietly.
Maddix nodded. “I hear him.” They worked their way through a labyrinth of mannequins. Rows and rows of unclad mannequins hung from wooden rods suspended from the ceiling. As they got closer to Webb they slowed. Movement suddenly flashed by Maddix’s periphery. He jerked his head to the left and saw a face amongst the mannequins. An unnatural face, a hideous face, a leering face contorted by evil.
Maddix stopped. He wiped sweat from his eyes. The stuffy building made it hard to breathe. Did I really see that face? It appeared and disappeared so quickly.
“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?”
“I thought I saw something hiding in the mannequins,” Maddix said.
“Great. Now I’m really going to be jumpy,” Sara whispered. She looked side to side. “I don’t see anything.”
“I must have just imagined it. Let’s keep going.” Webb’s voice grew louder. His voice carried through the mannequins. Maddix heard a stranger’s voice follow Webb’s remark, and then laughter. He heard something mentioned about a sword.
“He still has the sword. We’re not too late,” Sara mumbled.
Something darted across the floor right in front of Maddix and disappeared into the mannequins. Maddix processed what he just saw. It looked like a gargoyle, like something that belonged on an ancient church in Europe. Hairless and naked, it had looked no bigger than a toddler. Fangs protruded from a snarling mouth. Maddix shivered despite the cloying heat.
“Did you see something again?”
Maddix swallowed hard. “I think I might be hallucinating.”
“That’s understandable. You’re under a lot of strain. And you haven’t slept in over 24 hours,” Sara whispered.
Maddix blinked his eyes open and shut. He clinched his fists. I must be insane. The last three days sent me over the edge, he thought as he slinked forward. A few paces later he heard an unmistakable sound, a sword pulled from a metal scabbard. The spine-chilling resonance sounded only feet away. The Eden sword’s original scabbard was still on Kyle Miller’s helicopter. Webb must have somehow found another one to replace it.
Maddix looked at Sara. He pointed straight ahead, beyond a single row of mannequins. “They’re right there,” he mouthed silently. Sara read his lips and shook her head in agreement.
Maddix held up one finger, and then two, and finally three. Sara nodded. Maddix burst through the mannequins, sending the plastic figures clattering to the concrete. Two men jerked reflexively. One was Webb, and the other a tall, gray-haired man.
“Aw, Mad Dog. Why did you have to show up now? I almost made the sale. Four-million dollars, can you believe it?” Webb said, holding the sword out.
Maddix looked at the gray-haired man. “The sword isn’t for sale. There’s been a misunderstanding.”
The gray-haired man scowled at Webb. “Is this true? I thought we had a deal. Are you really going to turn down this much money, Coleton?” the man said, open
ing an attaché case. Cash bundles filled the case.
Webb looked at Maddix, his eyes wild. “I’ll split it with you, Mad Dog. Just think what you could do with two-millions dollars. You could build a clinic or orphanage somewhere in Africa. Or you could run a soup kitchen out of your church. You could fund it indefinitely.”
Maddix shook his head. He suddenly caught a faint whiff of sulfur. He turned his attention to the gray-haired man. The sword collector’s eyes had locked onto the Eden sword, more specifically the etching. Webb still held the weapon in outstretched hands.
Maddix felt his eyes burn and water. He blinked repeatedly and backhanded the stinging moisture from them with his forearm. When his arm lifted away from his eyes he saw a demon holding the money-filled attaché case, a big, battle-scarred demon with frayed wings and a horribly disfigured face. The demon resembled Darth Vader without his mask. “Webb, hand me the sword. This isn’t what you think it is. You’ve been tricked,” Maddix said.
“I do that and this deal won’t take place.”
“Your buyer isn’t human. Now give me the sword.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s a demon now.”
Maddix nodded.
“Don’t listen to him, Coleton. Your friend is sick. He’s delusional. The offer still stands. Hand me the sword and I hand you the cash,” the gray-haired man said.
Coleton looked back and forth from Maddix to his buyer. “You ran out of manna, Mad Dog. There’s no way you can see the spirit world now. You’re bluffing me,” Webb said. He took a step forward and offered the sword to the older man.
“No!” Maddix shouted and launched himself at Webb. His left shoulder thudded into Webb’s right arm. They both tumbled to the floor. The Eden sword clanged against the polished concrete floor and spun like a top toward Sara. She snatched it up and ran.
