Occult Assassin 4: Soul Jacker (10 page)

Before the detective could reply, her walkie-talkie crackled to life.
 

A penetrating voice, deep and mellifluous at the same time, filled the apartment. “You can keep running, my dear Samia, but you can’t hide from me. This building belongs to me.”
 

Talon’s jaw tightened, realizing the speaker was the enemy.
 

The voice continued, “Don’t you find it ironic that we should be reunited like this?”
 

Samia offered no answer, seemingly too shocked to respond. Talon concluded there was some sort of past between the detective and the man on her walkie-talkie. Just what he needed—another complication in an already difficult mission.

“Before you die, I hope to look into your eyes and understand what made you join the forces with the enemy and turn on your own people.”

Samia found her voice at last. “I became a cop to protect my people.”

“If your think your badge buys you acceptance in a country of the infidel, you’re a fool. We’re strangers in a strange land.”
 

“You think killing a few cops will change things for our people?”

“This is just the beginning,
kanz
.”

With this ominous message, the radio grew silent.
 

Talon wanted to know how the detective knew Rakan, but before he could ask her about it, he caught shadowy movement beyond windows in the living room. A trio of human silhouettes appeared against the glass, which Talon now realized opened up onto a balcony. Even though the new arrivals were cloaked in darkness, he recognized the shape of their AK-47s.
 

Instincts snapping him into alertness, he threw himself on top of the detective as a volley of lead shredded the apartment. They hit the floor as bullets decimated every piece of furniture in the unit. Metal sparked, wood erupted, and glass shattered. The old man’s frail form twitched like a marionette before crashing to the ground in a string-cut sprawl.
 

Talon’s heart pounded, but his features remained composed, scoping the battlefield with clinical detachment. The Glock rested in his hand, waiting for the right moment to unleash hellfire on his attackers. Thick tendrils of cloying smoke wafted through the dead man’s home, and the stench of cordite filled the air. Silence followed the barrage as the enemy swapped their spent magazines for fresh ones.
 

Talon seized the moment.
 

His hand came up, he sighted on his target, and he fired. The bullet smashed first through glass before finding flesh and bone. The target was catapulted backward, disappearing from the balcony as the impact sent him over the railing. Three more shots took out Rakan’s followers. A heartbeat later, the apartment’s front door flew open, and more armed men jumped into view.
 

Talon whirled toward the new enemies as Samia unleashed her own volley. The men crumpled, but the enemy knew their position now and they would have to stay in motion. Talon had no idea how many more foes might lurk in the adjoining hallway but it would be better to face them head on than to be boxed in until they ran out of ammo.

He nodded at Samia, and they both sprang to their feet. Taking the lead, gun ready, Talon rushed for the exit. Samia followed right behind him, eyes alert, her fear held in check. Talon’s strategy was simple. Fight their way to the elevators and then make a go for the top floor. Rakan or one of his minions might detect their approach, but that’s where the second part of the plan would come into play.
 

The corridor was still blanketed in the unnatural mist, but it was free from armed fanatics. Luck was on their side, and they reached the lift without any further resistance. Talon stabbed the call button and the elevator doors split open. They slipped inside and he punched in the top floor.
 

Samia’s voice shook as she said, “We can’t go out there. Rakan will know we’re on our way. They’ll be waiting for us.” Her dark eyes darting from side to side. He could see how hard she was fighting to control her burgeoning panic.
 

“I know,” said Talon. “That’s why we’re not going out there. We’re going up
here
.”

Talon pointed at the elevator’s roof access door. He popped open the hatch and lifted Samia through the opening. Less than a minute later, he’d pulled himself onto the roof of the ascending elevator. If the enemy planned to open fire once the lift reached the top floor, they would be safe on the roof and positioned to rain down destruction from above.
 

His eyes locked with the detective’s. “What was all that about back in the apartment? You used to know Rakan?”

She turned away and replied in a halting voice, “I grew up in the banlieues. Rakan and I were close for a while. I always worried things would end badly for him. He became a criminal.”

“And you became a cop,” he said.

Samia nodded. Talon wondered how he might use this revelation to his advantage in the upcoming battle. More importantly, could Samia still be trusted in a fight with a man she once loved?
 

Questions continued to cycle through his mind as the lift ground to a halt. Three floors still separated them from the top. He traded a look with Samia and tilted his Glock toward the open elevator roof hatch. She followed his example, body coiled and expression tense as the elevator doors opened in the cab below. A hungry fusillade tore apart the elevator’s interior as Rakan’s followers opened fire. Sparks and smoke filled the lift. After about ten seconds, the gunfire stopped, and two of the attackers cautiously stepped inside.
 

Talon was about to open fire on the enemy below when his pentacle flared with scorching heat. He sensed sudden movement in the elevator shaft as a massive shape shot through the darkness. Samia’s lips opened to form a scream as a the thing wrapped its tentacles around her waist and hoisted her into the shadows above with brutal force.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

SAMIA HAD SENSED rapid movement above her, the hairs on her neck prickling with alarm. A thick, powerful limb had closed around her waist and squeezed with ferocious force. She had dropped her pistol and an instant later, she was airborne, being whisked up the elevator shaft by some unholy beast. She caught a glimpse of the wet, albino-white tentacle, a network of fiery red veins visible under the translucent skin.
 

She screamed as she was pulled through the open elevator door three floors above and hit a hallway coated in a weird, sticky slime. The tentacle tightened and she was dragged down the wet hallway. Her scream echoed in the empty hall.
 

All movement suddenly stopped and the ivory tentacle withdrew, vanishing down the far end of the corridor. Dizzy, she sucked down a big gulp of air, becoming aware of the stench of rotten fruit. She realized the smell was coming from the sodden carpet. It smelled exactly like Rakan’s mysterious new drug. Was this monster somehow excreting the drug Rakan was feeding his followers? The thought boggled her mind. Talon had said there was more to this case than met the eye, but this was impossible—wasn’t it? A shadow moved and she turned to see the monster slithering ponderously toward her. Samia wished the beast had remained cloaked in the shadows. The transparent creature called to mind a giant earthworm or super-sized maggot. A ring of squirming tendrils framed a maw of razor-sharp teeth positioned below a giant cyclopian eye. The tentacles moved in strange synchronicity, seemingly under the command of an inhuman yet intelligent mind. Like a slug, the beast was leaving a slimy trail on the floor as it advanced toward her.

Rakan’s drug. It had to be.
 

Then she spotted the body of the RAID captain inside the see-through mass of the monster. The hapless officer resembled a fly caught in amber, his skin almost completely dissolved by the creature’s digestive fluids. While she watched, the RAID captain’s skeleton twisted and bones were ejected one by one from the demon’s slimy body as it quivered and sloshed toward her with malevolent intent, tentacles jittering. Samia remembered the old man’s story. The elderly were sacrificed while the young were turned into soldiers. She was about to become a meal for this beast.

What ancient evil had her former lover unleashed upon the world?

Her grandmother had told her tales of demons and Jinns when Samia was a child, but she hadn’t believed them. Her mind turned back to the graffiti of the hand of Fatima she’d come across in the neighboring building, a symbol of protection. It all made sense now. An ancient force of evil had returned to haunt the modern world.
 

Talon’s words slashed through her mind:
I’ve seen things most men couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares. There are horrors out there, dark forces certain men can tap into. Men like Rakan.

Her terror catapulted her back to her feet, and she began to retreat down the corridor. Unarmed, her only option was to flee. But where could she go? The giant worm reared up, readying for an attack, its tentacles casting a mad parade of shadows against the walls.

Seconds before they could pull her toward the waiting maw, the beast froze in place. Footsteps echoed behind her. She spun around to see Rakan closing in from the other side. The skinny young man who’d courted her ten years earlier had been replaced by a powerfully muscled figure. The long hair was gone, and a thick beard hid most of his features. Only his eyes remained untouched by time. The spark of fanaticism had always been present, even when he had been a skinny teenager, but years of prison and hardship had fueled the fire that now burned with piercing intensity.
 

Had she truly once been in love with this man?
 

His eyes locked with hers, empty slits bereft of mercy or human emotion. Rakan had spared her so he could say his farewell, she realized, but it was only a momentary reprieve. His attention shifted to the monster at the far end of the corridor.

“Master, accept my offering.”

With these fatalistic words, the beast reared upward and rippled toward a screaming Samia.
 

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

YASMINE FOLLOWED THE others into the waiting van parked outside their tenement building. For the first time in her life, the world and her role in it made perfect sense. She finally understood her true purpose. Thanks to Rakan, the cause of all her suffering and pain had been revealed. The demons that ruled this unholy land had banished her and her family to this forgotten part of the city to live out their lives without hope. Rakan understood this. He’d lifted the veil that had blinded her.
 

The true enemy walked the streets of Paris. Safe in their wealthy neighborhoods, they felt shielded from their impoverished neighbors—but this false sense of security would be shattered today.
 

Today they would stand up to their oppressors.

She climbed into the van, joining a group of twelve other men and women. Their faces were familiar, fellow residents of her building, some who she knew by name and others who’d been strangers to her even though they they were neighbors. Most were armed with AK-47s and machine pistols. At least half of the group sported explosive vests under their jackets and coats.

Yasmine had never fired a gun in her life, but the weapon felt strangely good in her hands, almost soothing. The metal was warm to the touch, and she was gripped by a powerful sense of confidence and purpose. She knew exactly what to do. All uncertainty had left her body. A singular goal drove her now, shared by the others in the van. Soon she’d be pointing her gun at the monsters that ruled this accursed land.
 

The door clanged shut, and the vehicle lurched into motion. Rain pelted the windows, washing away the building she’d called home for most of her life. As the tenement receded in the haze, she cleared her mind of all thoughts beyond the upcoming battle.
 

Nevertheless, her eagerness made the drive toward their destination seem to last an eternity. When the van finally pulled into the underground parking garage of the
Forum des Halles
, Paris’ largest shopping center, Yasmine rejoiced. The moment of reckoning was at hand.
 

It took them another ten minutes to find a parking spot in the crowded structure. Their oppressors were busy fattening their stomachs and filling their empty lives with material possessions that would never make them happy. She almost felt sorry for them. They were travelers on the wrong path, driven by goals and desires that took them further away from the truth and deeper into the darkness.
 

Yasmine drew a deep breath as the driver killed the engine. He opened the door, and they all filed out of the van, faces locked into masks of concentration. The final battle was about to begin.

The mall was crowded with stores, restaurants, discotheques, a museum, and movie theaters. A city below the city, Yasmine thought. High street retailers dominated the shopping landscape: Mango, Zara, Kookai, H & M, Bershka, Sephora, Yves Rocher, and Fnac were all represented. Symbols of wealth and privilege, all serving as another sharp reminder of her people’s oppression. The French embraced materialism and spent their inflated paychecks on all this junk while her people barely could make ends meet. Failed colonialism and a need for cheap labor had lured them to this country so that their sweat and backbreaking work could bolster the economy of the infidel. Caught in a cycle of material indulgence and selfishness, their ungracious hosts refused to bear enough children, forcing the government to continue to import cheap labor from other parts of the world. They promised immigrants a better life, but all her people received for their efforts was a subsidized housing unit in a forsaken neighborhood where no one else wanted to live.
 

Even though some shops had already closed for the night, crowds filled the underground city. Bright overhead lights revealed a series of escalators busy carrying shoppers from the surface to the underground shopping paradise below. She studied the eclectic crowd, fighting back a surge of primal terror. On the surface, these people might look human, but Rakan had opened her eyes to the truth. Demons lurked below the façade of wealth and refinement. Crimson eyes glared back at her, and peals of cackling laughter drifted from restaurants and shops. Struggling to fight back a panic attack, she took in the world as it truly was. Her hijab, which immediately identified her as a resident of the banlieues, was a beacon to these monsters. They homed in on her cultural differences, earning suspicious glances from the security officers who roamed the underground hallways of the complex like a hungry pack of wolves. They were servants of the demons. The guards would have to be taken out first before they could point their machine pistols at the demons lurking inside the maze of shops and restaurants.