The Adventures of Lazarus Gray (22 page)

Miya’s plan to slowly
seduce Gray was a failure in Lunt’s eyes. It was taking far too
long and there was no guarantee of success. After all, The
Illuminati had authorized her to sleep with him before in the hopes
that it would tie Gray to their will, only to find that he was
willing to toss aside their relationship in the name of his
sickening morality. Lunt had decided that it was now time to roll
the dice and take the offensive. Let Gray know the truth: either he
would realize his mistake and come back into the fold or he would
have made it clear that Lunt needed to kill him.

To his great astonishment,
it was Gray himself who picked up on the other end. In grave tones,
Lunt’s former associate said, "You’ve reached Assistance Unlimited.
How may I help you?"

"Your name is Richard
Winthrop. You were born in San Francisco. Both of your parents died
when you were in your early teens but they left behind a trust that
enabled you to take care of yourself. You graduated with honors
from Yale University. The night of your graduation, agents of The
Illuminati, who were aware that you showed a curiosity for things
of an occult nature, approached you. You were brought onboard with
promises of access to hidden libraries scattered across the globe.
Of particular interest to you were spells related to the binding
and summoning of elder entities. I think you found it appealing to
believe that man could harness the powers of the
ancients.

There were attempts to
subvert you to the ways of the Order but you resisted. In
particular, you rebelled at the kinds of blood sacrifices that were
required for us to maintain our status. You turned against us and
became quite the thorn in our sides. In the end, you snuck onboard
a boat headed here to Sovereign, intending to stop one of our
operatives from stealing a rare tome from the museum. You were
discovered not long after the boat docked in the harbor and
suffered a concussion. You managed to escape but you passed out on
the shore. One of our men went looking for you, disguised as a
member of local law enforcement. That’s the man that you killed,
immediately after waking up. Our man on the boat apparently thought
it best not to let anyone know that you’d escaped. He told us you
were dead and that he’d dumped your body overboard. Imagine my
surprise when I saw you here in Sovereign."

If Lunt was expecting Gray
to react with shock, he was disappointed by the calm tone of voice
that Lazarus used in response. "And the coin that I was
holding?"

"The image of the man with
the lion’s head is our symbol – and the name that was engraved
under the picture was the name of our founder. The real Lazarus
Gray died centuries ago."

"I see."

Lunt was about to tease his
old foe with more information but to his surprise, he heard the
click of the line being disconnected. He stared at the phone for a
moment in disbelief. Had Gray actually hung up on him?

He set the phone back into
its cradle and looked over his shoulder at Miya, who was stepping
from the bedroom. She took one look at the expression on his face
and paused. She had only a sheet wrapped around her lithe form but
Lunt seemed unaware of how close to being naked she really
was.

"What’s wrong?" she asked,
her eyes narrowing.

Lunt looked away and for
one of the few times in their relationship, Miya realized that he
was genuinely afraid. "I think I may have made a terrible
mistake."

***

Lazarus Gray was looking
out the window when his aides entered the meeting room. All of them
had met up again after their various adventures, exchanging
information as they did so. They had warned the authorities to
increase security around the water stations for fear of Mr. Skull
making good on his earlier schemes.

"Chief?" Samantha asked.
"We were waiting outside by the car but you were taking so long
that we got worried. Who was it on the phone?"

Gray’s face remained
impassive but there was a flicker of emotion in his mismatched
eyes. Samantha noticed it but wasn’t sure if it was sadness, anger
or excitement, or some combination of all three. When Gray looked
at her, all traces of emotion had vanished, leaving his eyes
looking as placid as usual. "It was no one important," he said at
last. "We shouldn’t waste any more time on that. Let’s go. We have
a criminal to catch."

Chapter IV

Death from the
Skies!

Sovereign City was home to
a fairly large airport but it also had a number of private
airfields that catered to those rich enough to afford them. Mr.
Skull was one of those lucky few and he owned two small planes,
both little more than crop dusters but he treasured them both. He’d
gotten a pilot’s license before coming to Sovereign and enjoyed the
opportunity to take to the skies, where all those below him looked
like nothing more than ants.

As he strode into the
private hangar where his two planes were housed, the guard who was
paid to be on duty stood up quickly. He held a trash pulp magazine
in his left hand and cup of coffee in the other. The expression on
his face was so sheepish that Mr. Skull was reminded of a little
boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Mr. Skull! I didn’t expect
you!"

"Obviously." He peeled off
the coat he wore and tossed it to the guard. The act of catching
the garment caused him to spill his coffee all over his pants and
shoes. "I’m taking her up," Skull said, gesturing to the closer of
the two identical planes.

The guard peered outside
and noticed that Skull was alone. He had no way of knowing that his
employer had dropped off his injured lackey at the hospital,
leaving the other man to keep an eye on him. The guard did realize
that it was strange to see Mr. Skull out and about without anyone
with him.

Skull was already strapping
himself in and beginning his pre-flight routine when the guard took
a few steps forward. "Sir?" he asked, yelling over the sound of the
engines roaring to life.

Skull glanced down at him.
He didn’t wear any goggles when flying, since they were rather
pointless in his current state. The flickering flame that
surrounded his skull usually vaporized any particles or insects
that flew too close to his head. "What do you need?" he
asked.

"Should I be expecting
anyone else? Should I tell them where you’ve gone or when you’ll be
back?"

"If anyone comes looking
for me, tell them nothing."

The guard backed away
quickly as Skull began driving the plane toward the open hatch. He
watched as the bizarre figure vanished into the sky, wondering not
for the first time how Mr. Skull pulled it off. That was the most
realistic mask he’d ever seen. If the guard hadn’t known better,
he’d have almost believed that was the man’s actual
face….

***

THREE YEARS
BEFORE

Borys had sat in the
darkest corner of the Vatican Library that he could find, pouring
over the ancient records. He loved books, the feel of the ancient
pages against his fingertips lulling him into a sense of security
that he found nowhere else. Since the age of 13, when he'd made the
decision to pledge his love only to God, he'd found an almost
sensual pleasure in the written word. It was his little flirtation
on the side, so to speak, giving him something to think about
during the long, difficult years of celibacy.

And it was not as if women
would have scorned his attentions, had he chosen to pursue them. He
was handsome, with classic Polish features and dark hair. It was
his eyes, though, that had drawn the most attention from others.
Even as a little boy, they could captivate men and women alike.
They were so dark that they were almost black, with an intelligence
that seemed to be projected from far within.

He’d fled Russia over a
decade ago, settling in Canada. He’d made his dream of becoming a
priest into reality and it was after one of his services that he’d
met a young man with a stout body and a desperate need for
acceptance. The young man, along with a few other young ones, had
moved under the wing of Borys, believing him when he’d told them of
visions he’d had: of a world on the brink of destruction, with
ethnic cleansing and the rise of an evil axis of power. The three
of them had even followed him here on this trip to Rome, where
Borys was convinced that he’d learn the secrets to averting
disaster.

"Find anything
useful?"

Borys didn't bother looking
up from the yellowed papers. "There was a Christian seer in the
14th Century who recounts a vision he had with the Virgin Mary. She
allegedly told him that there would come a time of great
tribulation, prior to the Second Coming." He cleared his throat
before continuing. He adopted the mock professorial style that so
greatly annoyed his companion.
"The creatures of the pit will
rise up and walk alongside the Holy; Men and women of little faith
will follow the quick and easy paths, while the true son will face
an uphill struggle.
"

"Typical religious
double-talk."

Borys sighed. "Garrison...
Why are you here if you don't want to learn?"

Garrison Montreux sat down
beside his Borys, looking him square in the eye. Garrison was a
much harsher figure than Borys, with a deep scar that lined his
left cheek and the weathered appearance of a life-long fighter. It
was obvious to everyone who met him that Garrison had to struggle
for everything he’d ever gotten and this had hardened
him.

"Because you asked me to
come."

Borys didn't answer that
one. It was true enough, though he would have gladly visited these
sacred halls even without a mission at hand. "Where are the
others?"

"Valerie and Michael are at
the hotel, waiting for us. They're anxious to be gone from here and
I don't blame them. This place is an anachronism. It doesn’t have
any place in the modern world."

That was too much for Borys
to ignore. "Damn you, Garrison! Are you trying to provoke me? I
know that you're an atheist but this is the holiest of places! It
is home to God's chosen representative and in these books is the
wisdom of the ages! There are dark days coming and it is here that
we might find the source of inspiration!"

"You really believe that?"
Garrison asked. "That the secret to avoiding another world war lies
in one of these old books? That's a bit much, don't you
think?"

"We've run out of other
options, haven't we? Besides, my powers are derived from God
himself... if he chooses to reveal the truth to us, this is as
likely a place as any."

"Derived from God,"
Garrison snorted. "What makes you think that? Do you think Doc Daye
gets his abilities from the King of the Jews, too?"

"That’s not for me to
judge." Borys looked down at his hands. He wore thick cloths tied
around each palm, leaving the fingers free. Dark spots in the
center of his palm were beginning to spread again. "The stigmata is
proof that--"

A book flew off a shelf
nearby, landing with a loud thud. Both men were on their feet at
once, with Garrison's hand creeping down to the gun he kept
holstered beneath his heavy coat.

"What the hell?" Garrison
whispered. He looked about the library. "I thought we were alone
here."

"We are," Borys replied. He
walked over to where the book had fallen and picked it up, staring
at its leather-bound cover. Stamped on the front were the words
Chaldean Magic
. "This is one of the forbidden
books... What is it doing here, in the open?"

"Perhaps your God wanted us
to find it." Garrison’s voice, though full of sarcasm, also held a
note of concern. Borys realized that he felt it too -- the sense
that something momentous was occurring. 

Borys felt along the edge
of the book, finding one page that seemed to have been marked
somehow with a tiny notch in the top of the vellum. With trembling
hands, he opened the tome and began to read....

"Well?" Garrison
prompted.

"It's here," Borys
whispered, in a voice full of holy reverence. "God has shown us the
way." He held the page up for Garrison to read.

There on the page, amongst
various occult diagrams, was a spell entitled
The Bonding of Man
and Demon
. Beneath the spell was a drawing of a demon rising
out of the abyss... and the demon’s skull was aflame.

The image shook Garrison to
his core and in a moment of supernatural clarity he realized that
in these words lay the power he’d always wanted. He’d built his
body into something strong and deadly but he’d needed more, which
had led him to follow Borys on this wild goose chase.

"Give me the book,"
Garrison whispered. He reached for it and tried to wrest it free
from his mentor’s grasp but Borys held it tight. There was a look
of fear in the older man’s eyes.

"No. I don’t like the way
your expression changed when you read that page. It’s not healthy
for you. Let me keep it."

Garrison snarled like a
caged tiger and before he’d even realized what he was doing, he’d
drawn back a fist and then slammed it hard into his friend’s face.
He repeated the attack several more times until Borys lay quietly
on the floor, drops of his blood splattered on the pages of the
book.