Battle Scream (The Battle Series Book 1)

by Mark Romang

  Hand in hand, Maddix and Sara followed Gabriel out the front door and into their new life, a life fraught with danger, a life on the run.

  Chapter 47

  Red Rock Canyon—Mojave Desert

  High in the Spring Mountains, Selachian sat underneath a Sonoran scrub oak tree. The withered vegetation on the tree—more like a shrub than a tree—put out little shade. But any shade in the desert is priceless. Nearby his pet imps napped on a rock.

  Far below him, Selachian monitored the Las Vegas Valley. His eyes, infinitely more acute than an eagle’s, zoomed in on the Vegas Strip some 17 miles away. He watched the people, the tourists, the gamblers, showgirls and prostitutes come and go. All he could do was watch them. In his neutralized state, he wasn’t allowed contact with humans until the millennial reign ended. And the millennial reign hadn’t even started yet. The Rapture needed to take place first, followed by the seven years of Tribulation. And Lucifer was doing everything he could to delay the Rapture from taking place. So Selachian existed in a state of limbo, stuck in this useless state indefinitely.

  It made for a boring existence. Immortality has its drawbacks.

  He just wished he could do something more than simply exist. He needed a purpose to fill his endless time. But more than a purpose, he longed for hope. Hope energizes a soul like nothing else. Hope feeds a spirit, nourishes it and strengthens it, makes it grow. But all he had hanging over his head was doom. Doom and endless torment were his bedfellows.

  A rancid scent rode the hot afternoon breeze and entered his nose. Thinking it was one of the wild burros that populate the canyon, Selachian turned his once regal head toward the scent’s origin and saw Lucifer picking his way down the mountain. He’d been wondering when his master would pay him a visit.

  Lucifer nimbly skirted the slope’s hazardous footing and joined Selachian. He sat down on a sandstone boulder. “How is my favorite general doing today?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Eternity seems even longer when you’re stuck out here with nothing to do.”

  Lucifer nodded. “Eternity can get tedious when you have no purpose.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t acquire the Eden sword like you requested, Master. But I was able to read the etching on its blade.”

  Lucifer looked at his ex-general and grinned. “Yahweh will gather his people when the pup of the rabid dog confesses.”

  “You knew what the etching said all along?”

  “No, Selachian, I read your thoughts. You keep forgetting I have this ability. But I don’t know what the riddle means.”

  Selachian sat up straighter. “The craftiest of all serpents can’t decipher a simple riddle?”

  Lucifer shot him a hard stare. “I’ve been too busy plotting Israel’s destruction to give it much thought. Perhaps you would like to share your opinion with me. If not, I’ll have to read your mind again.”

  “Andrew Maddix is the rabid dog. When he was in the military his call sign was Mad Dog. The pup is the child he and Sara Kendall will have together. Their child will be the last human to confess their sins before the Rapture takes place,” Selachian explained.

  Lucifer nodded. “That makes sense. I just came from Heaven. God forbade me to have any contact with Maddix and Sara until their child reaches the age of accountability.”

  “Why do you keep going to Heaven? You know you are not welcome there.”

  “I go there to recruit.”

  “You wish to start another revolution in Heaven?”

  Lucifer nodded. He stroked his long golden hair. “I bleed anarchy. I can’t stop myself.”

  “But look at what your last rebellion got us. And you wish to start another one?”

  “If I can only persuade Michael and his vast army to join my side this time I can overthrow God.”

  Selachian picked up a rock and threw it angrily. The rock sailed all the way into the valley, landing less than a mile from the Vegas Strip. “You will never persuade Michael to join you. His allegiance to God is unshakable.”

  “I’m not so sure. Michael grows weary of battling me. Even he has his limits.”

  Selachian changed topics, steering the conversation back to Andrew Maddix. “This means your window of time is very small.”

  “Yes, but this stipulation doesn’t forbid me from leading law enforcement to their doorstep. If I can have them arrested before Sara becomes pregnant, I win. The Rapture timetable will have to change.”

  “This strategy of yours is precisely what I was originally doing when I framed Maddix with murder charges,” Selachian complained, unable to hide his irritation.

  Lucifer stretched out his lovely wings. His wingspan provided dense shade for both of them. “I underestimated your craftiness, Selachian. I am sorry, my friend. I will send Drakon out to visit with you from time to time. You can mentor him, counsel and impart your battle strategies with him. This will give you something to do to pass time.”

  “Thank you, Master,” Selachian said.

  Lucifer retracted his wings and stood up. The blazing sun beat down on Selachian and his sleeping imps once more. “While I’m here I think I will visit my favorite city.”

  “You’re going to gamble again?”

  Lucifer shook his head. “Playing poker loses its appeal when you already know the cards in everyone’s hand. No, I’ll simply do what I do best: wage war on humans.”

  Epilogue

  Stockholm Sweden—two weeks later

  Nikko Castellanos finished sweeping the last stateroom on Henrik Skymolt’s yacht for listening devices and wiretaps. Sweat dripped off his brow as he made his way back to Skymolt’s quarters.

  It took him nearly five hours to determine the 74 meter luxury Nobiskrug yacht was clean. Worth over 100 million dollars, the mega-yacht contained six luxury cabins, four decks, a movie cinema, a swimming pool, a restaurant-sized kitchen, and a helipad. It took time to go over so much space. Castellanos also had to sweep the engine room, crew quarters and pilothouse. Castellanos rapped on a Brazilian rosewood door. “It’s me, Nikko,” he said, leaning in close to the door.

  “Come in, Nikko,” Skymolt replied.

  Castellanos entered the spacious stateroom and found the multi-billionaire sitting at a gleaming wooden desk and peering over a fishing fly held in a tying vise. Skymolt tied his own fly-fishing lures—a passion second only to badgering Christians. “The yacht is clean, sir. No bugs and no wiretaps,” Castellanos said.

  Skymolt didn’t look up from his delicate work. “Pour yourself a drink, Nikko. And then have a seat. I have business proposal I want to run by you.”

  Castellanos walked over to the well-stocked bar and poured himself a tumbler of Macallan Scotch whiskey. He returned and plunked his six-foot, well-conditioned frame into an armchair across from Skymolt. He sipped the expensive whiskey and waited for the real-estate tycoon to talk first.

  “Nikko, I think I’ve paid you rather handsomely over the past few years for your services, wouldn’t you agree?” Skymolt said.

  “Yes, Henrik, you have.”

  Skymolt looked up from his tiny lure. His cobalt eyes bore into Castellanos. “Well, I’m about to give you a significant pay raise. But it’s the only fair thing to do since this will undoubtedly be your toughest assignment yet.”

  “You have my attention, Henrik.”

  Skymolt smiled. Perfect white teeth flashed at Castellanos. “You love money, just like me. I admire that.”

  “Wealth makes living on this planet easier.”

  Skymolt set his tweezers and bodkin—a blunt sewing needle with a large eye—down on the desk. “That it does, Nikko. And you’re life could get much easier if you complete your next assignment.”

  “How much does this assignment pay? And what do I have to do?”

  “Kill two people,” Skymolt said matter-of-factly. “I’ll pay you five-million dollars for each person.”

  “I’m not a murderer.”

  “Come now, Nikko. I know how many people you’ve kil
led, and the methods you used,” Skymolt said. The Swede opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thick file. “Your CIA file will back up my claims.”

  “How did you get that file? It’s classified.”

  “That’s none of your concern. All you need to worry about is the two targets: one man and one woman.”

  “I don’t kill women or children.”

  An eyebrow lifted on Skymolt’s brow, pushing up a blonde lock. He tapped the file. “This file says otherwise. You’ve killed three women before.”

  “They were terrorists plotting attacks on America. They got what they deserved.”

  Skymolt leaned back in his chair. “I’m open to negotiating your price. I’ll give you eight million dollars for killing Andrew Maddix and six million for Sara Kendall.”

  Castellanos took a sip from his tumbler. The large sum rolled around in his head. He could live extravagantly off that much money for the rest of his life. But killing an innocent woman like Sara Kendall was out of the question. Even he had his principals. Maddix on the other hand, he would enjoy killing. Maddix killed his Skeptikos Alliance friends. He was a killer who paraded around as a peaceful man of God. A hypocrite if ever there was one. “Why do you want me to kill these two?”

  “I think you know the answer, Nikko.”

  “Revenge for the deaths of Aeton, Dimitri, and Alexander?”

  Skymolt laughed bitterly. “Surely you are kidding, Nikko. Do you really think I invest emotionally in my Skeptikos Alliance agents? They are all expendable, except for you, Nikko. You possess a unique skillset that makes you an irreplaceable asset.” Skymolt got up and retrieved the $10,000 dollar bottle of Scotch. He refilled Castellanos’ tumbler. “The YouTube video of the church exorcism has now reached 500 million hits. A good portion of those people now believe there is a God, a spirit world, angels and demons. Maddix and Sara have destroyed my life’s work of refuting God’s existence. And all it took was one four minute video.”

  “You want me to kill people over a YouTube video?”

  Skymolt nodded. “I do. Will you do it, Nikko?”

  “I already told you I will kill Maddix but not Sara.”

  Skymolt let out a long sigh. “Very well, kill only Andrew Maddix. But I want you to cut out Sara Kendall’s tongue. That way she’ll stop proselytizing.”

  Castellanos felt his jaw drop. If he wasn’t an atheist himself he would swear that the devil lived inside Henrik Skymolt.

  “Do you think I’m a madman, Nikko?”

  “I have to admit, the thought just occurred to me you’ve lost your mind.”

  Skymolt’s ageless face grew stern. “So will you do it? Will you cut out Miss Kendall’s tongue?”

  “If I do that she’ll bleed to death. I’d still be killing her,” Castellanos argued.

  “Then just cut off the very tip. She’ll be left with a speech impediment and be too embarrassed to spew her religious beliefs.”

  Castellanos pictured 14 million dollars. It was a staggering amount. He could do most anything he wanted or dreamed about with that much money. “I’ll need half the money now. Maddix and the girl have gone underground. This might take several months or even a few years to find them. I’ll need money to bribe people.”

  Skymolt smiled. “I’ll wire half the amount into your Swiss bank accounts right now. But you must check in with me every two weeks and update me with your progress. And to get the full payment you must bring me pictures of Maddix’s corpse. Bring me Sara Kendall’s tongue in an ice cooler.”

  Castellanos nodded his head even though he had no intention of cutting off Sara Kendall’s tongue. He figured he could kill an animal and bring Skymolt the tongue. He’d never be the wiser. The former CIA operative stood up. “I better get started then, Henrik. Andrew Maddix and Sara Kendall drop farther off the grid with each passing hour.”

  Skymolt stood up and walked Castellanos to the door. “If anyone can find them it’s you, Nikko. I read your entire file. You’re a dangerous man, a highly-skilled assassin. I know you’ll succeed.”

  To be continued…

  Thank you for reading Battle Scream. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you hate to see the story end, you’re in luck. On the next page you will find the first few chapters of Battle Storm, the sequel to Battle Scream. Enjoy.

  Click here to learn more about my books.

  Battle Storm

  By Mark Romang

  Copyright © Mark Romang 2014

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig, Inc.

  Author’s Note

  A human cannot physically fight a demon. The only way to defend against a demonic attack is to put on the full armor of God as described in Ephesians 6:10-18, and to pray. Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. James 4:7. But for the sake of writing an action-packed suspense novel, I temporarily altered the rules of engagement. Although Battle Storm is filled with spiritual metaphors and biblical truths, Battle Storm is not intended to be a guide book to the Earth’s last days. I wrote Battle Storm for entertainment purposes only.

  Chapter 1

  Knesset building, Jerusalem

  Soussan Golzar felt multiple eyes watching her every move. Yet she didn’t flinch, didn’t allow her fear to bleed through to the surface. Too much hung in the balance for her to exhibit alarm. Too many oppressed people had placed their dying hopes on her thin shoulders. She couldn’t fail them. She had to go through with the plan.

  She was inside the most secure building in the world: the Knesset building. A place where Arab and Jewish politicians bicker over Israeli legislation, where Mossad agents and the prime minister roam the building’s corridors, and a tourist destination that attracts nearly 20,000 visitors a month. This volatile human mix creates security nightmares and requires 200 armed Knesset guards to keep the peace.

  Soussan Golzar knew for certain security cameras filmed her movements. 400 cameras film the premises continuously. The real-time images are scrutinized on plasma screen televisions around the clock by Knesset guards in the operation center.

  But she took courage in the fact she was only a humble cleaning lady performing her assigned tasks. No one would be expecting a Jew to plant IEDs in the Knesset chambers, certainly not a trusted worker.

  Yet she only pretended to be a Jew. She was actually an Iranian with terroristic urges. She worked for Hamas, and was carrying out an operation five years in the making. Five years ago she seduced a Mossad agent and eventually became his wife.

  The identification papers given to her by Hamas operative Ibrahim Najjar were nothing less than topnotch. When she applied for work at the Knesset building she’d undergone a rigorous interviewing process that included vetting by Mossad. And no one seemed to doubt that she wasn’t a Jew, not even her doltish husband.

  Inside the empty Knesset chamber, Golzar pushed a vacuum cleaner behind the speaker podium. She glanced at her watch. She wanted to plant the explosive devices at precisely the same moment the Knesset guard performed its shift change up in the operations center. A new batch of guards took over at 11 pm.

  She only needed a few seconds to perform her nefarious deed, and counted on the confusion of drowsy guards handing control over to even sleepier guards to aid her cause.

  Tomorrow was zero hour for Operation Jezebel. Tomorrow morning Israel’s new government will be sworn in along with its newly elected prime minister. It will be an explosive moment for Israel, Golzar thought, grinning inwardly.

  She looked at her watch again. Two minutes until eleven pm; time to plant the bombs under the speaker podium. Golzar calmly wheeled the vacuum up to the podium and turned it so its back faced the security cameras. Golzar popped the front cover off the vac
uum cleaner and discreetly retrieved two stainless steel canisters. Keeping the canisters out of sight, she dropped the bombs onto the floor underneath the podium. She then pulled the crevice hose from the vacuum and sank to her knees, pretending to clean under the speaker’s podium.

  Golzar pointed her shapely derriere upward to distract any Knesset guards possibly watching what her hands were doing on one of the plasma TV screens, and then pulled a cordless screwdriver from her cleaning smock. The stainless steel canisters had pre-drilled mounting straps soldered to them. Golzar had practiced the mounting procedure many times. And now, her heart pounding, she screwed both canisters to the podium’s wooden underside in an unobtrusive location.

  It took her twenty-five seconds to tighten eight screws and mount the bombs. Each 40 ounce canister had twenty ounces of C-4 and eighteen ounces of ball-bearings and nails, as well as a two ounce timer already armed and counting down. Golzar wiggled her way out from under the podium and stood up. She rewound the crevice tool hose and hung it up on the vacuum cleaner. She then continued to vacuum the narrow strip of carpet on the stage, working her way nonchalantly to the end of the stage.

  Golzar vacuumed the stairs and then joined the other cleaning ladies on the chamber floor. The adrenaline surging through her athletic body started to diminish. She felt jittery and could feel her face flushing. She took a deep breath, and then another. Stay calm, Soussan. You did it. Your grandmother would be so proud of you if she were alive, a voice in her head whispered.