The Demon Pool (35 page)

Jim used the Google Earth satellite views on Saffi’s
laptop to plot out a route onto the property. It would allow him to park a mile
west of the estate and approach from the northwest. The brush was less dense
there, but a fair smattering of mature trees would provide some cover. Jim had
also come up with a simple plan to divert the attention of Carl’s captors long
enough to gain the advantage he needed.

Jim popped into Saffi’s bedroom and
put on a pair of black tactical trousers, Oakley black tactical sneakers, and a
black, long-sleeved polo shirt. He put a tube of Carbomask tactical face paint
in his bag. He secured his service pistol in a black Urban Carry holster,
concealed, but easy to draw. He shoved his backup gun into an ankle holster and
bounced up and down on his toes several times, ensuring nothing rattled.
 Dressed for battle, his non-tactical gear stashed, he waited for Uncle
Jack to arrive. He did not wait long.

The introductions were quick and Jim
gave Uncle Jack the “Reader’s Digest” condensed version of the problem and the
plan. He would leave it to Saffi to fill in anything else Uncle Jack needed to
know. Jim grabbed his gear bag and went to the front door. He turned to Saffi
and Uncle Jack.

“They expect me exactly at midnight,”
he told them, “and their attention will be on the front gate. Uncle Jack, at
11:55, you show up at the front gate in Saffi’s car, turn out the headlights,
and wait. They won’t be looking for me coming at them from another direction.”

“We know that they have at least one
gun — Carl’s. I’ll neutralize whoever comes out to open the gate. If for some
reason I can’t do that, then as soon as the individual or individuals get to
the gate, hit your brights, put it in reverse, and get out of there. The
confusion should be enough to allow me to get inside and get Carl loose. Anyone
who does not instantly obey my commands gets shot. Any questions?”

Both Saffi and Uncle Jack shook their
heads.

“We need to pray before you leave,
Jim,” Jack said.

It was not a request. Saffi nodded in
agreement.

“Okay, but let’s make it quick. I
need to get started.”

Uncle Jack held out his hand to
Saffi, who took it willingly. Saffi and Uncle Jack both held out their free
hands toward Jim. Jim hesitated, then took their hands.

“Let’s pray,” Uncle Jack said. He
closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began praying aloud.

“Heavenly Father, we know that you
are good, that you are holy, that you are true. We know that all the powers of
darkness are subject to your authority and to that of your righteous Son,
Jesus. We pray for your covering tonight as Jim goes into the lion’s den to
recover that which was lost.”

Jack’s voice rose in volume.

“We pray for your protection, for
your power, for your holy angels to clear the path and provide the covering for
Jim’s work tonight. We also pray that you will open Jim’s eyes and his heart to
your truth, the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Jim started to pull his hand away,
but Uncle Jack’s grip was a vise.

“Lord, we know it is not your desire
that anyone be lost, and you know how I have prayed for Jim all these years.
Please keep him safe tonight so that his soul will not be lost. In the name of
Jesus, we pray, Amen.”

The vise released its grip on Jim’s
hand. Somehow, he just did not feel like the lost sinner that Uncle Jack
portrayed him to be. He knew he had broken a few of the Ten Commandments, but
didn’t everyone? Maybe that did make everyone a sinner by Uncle Jack’s
definition, but he did not believe that he was so bad that God, if he existed,
would send him to hell. Maybe Kat Connors and her little gang of freak losers,
but not someone who was actually trying to live a good life.

Saffi looked at Jim with pleading
eyes that said “be careful.” She was so pretty it almost made Jim want to go to
church just to spend time with her. Get to know her. But that would be the
wrong motive wouldn’t it? Was it motives that sent people to hell, or just
behavior? Or maybe some combination of both?

Well, regardless of how he felt about
God, Jesus, the Bible, or religion, evil existed. Of that, he had no doubt.
Tonight he would confront the evil surrounding the Briggs’ case, whether it was
in the form of a malicious woman and her moronic minions, or the devil himself.
He would go to war one more time.

Jim parked the Charger a mile-and-a-half west of the de
la Garza estate. Although the night began with the sky sprinkled with stars and
illuminated by a sliver of moon, a thick cloud cover had rolled in from the
Gulf of Mexico. At least, he hoped it was only clouds. He recalled Pedro’s
story of the darkness that surrounded his truck while driving to Saffi’s apartment.
Pedro had described it as some thick, black, malevolent murk that overshadowed
his vehicle and chased him all the way to Ft. Myers.

In spite of the sudden overcast, Jim did not feel
any evil presence in the air. He felt only the forward edge of a tropical
storm, or, possibly, a hurricane blowing in from the gulf. He realized he’d
been divorced from the news and weather reports the last few days. The tropical
storm that had been forming in the gulf could now be closing in on the Florida
coast. Had it reached hurricane strength yet? No problem. The worse the
weather, the greater the tactical advantage.

He had driven into the tree line far enough that
his dome light would not be visible from the roadway. Turning it on, he took a
few minutes to put on the camouflage face paint. He dug around in his gear bag
until he found a matte black do-rag with a built-in sweatband. Despite the
slightly cooler temperature, the humidity was as high as mid-July. He didn’t
want sweat in his eyes spoiling his aim when he had to pull the trigger. He
might only get one shot at each target, and he wanted to make damn sure that
the shot would count.

He used the tube of Carbomask to touch up around
his hairline, ensuring that he covered every blond hair and bit of exposed
flesh. He checked himself in the rear view mirror. If someone looked straight
at him tonight, all they would see was a pair of ice-blue eyes staring out of
the pitch-black night.

He checked his weapons, secured them, and turned
off the dome light to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He put on the
night vision goggles and the night lit up with a green glow. He would easily be
able to see where he was going, and he was reasonably sure that even the devil
himself would have a hard time locating him tonight.

Jim sat still for another moment. Maybe all the
demon crap was just that — crap. But, if it was real, well, why take chances?
He closed his eyes and took a moment for another prayer.

“God,” Jim said quietly, “you know I’m not even
sure that you actually exist. Sometimes I wish that I could be like Uncle Jack,
or like Saffi. It’s probably nice to have that kind of faith. I guess everyone
needs something to believe in, otherwise Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny
would be out in the cold too.” He smiled, then continued, “I’m not making fun
of you, God. Please do not get pissed at me, especially tonight. This is going
to be tough enough as it is without pissing off the one person who might
actually have the power to help me. So, God, if you are real, Uncle Jack and
Saffi will be talking to you tonight. Would you take a moment and listen to
them? Not for my sake, but for Carl’s. He’s a good guy, God. One of the guys
with the white hats. If you’re there, thanks for listening. In Jesus’ name, I
guess. Amen.”

He opened his eyes, lifted the night vision
goggles, and pulled back his sleeve to check his watch. It was almost eleven
thirty. He could easily cover a mile-and-a-half in about eleven minutes on
pavement, running and in the daylight. But he’d need more time going through
the brush at night, even with the night vision goggles.

Noise wouldn’t be a concern until after he
breached the fence behind the estate. Once inside, he’d have to move slower,
with more stealth. The bad guys would be looking for him at the gate, not
behind the house, and with the wind picking up, any sounds he made would be
masked.

He slipped the sleeve of his jersey back over his
watch and pulled the night vision goggles down. He sat quiet for a moment
longer. Nothing felt out of place. If demons lurked about, they were not close
enough — or powerful enough — to have any influence or effect. At least, that
was what he hoped.

Baalzaric worried. It was an emotion he did not often
experience. In spite of his success with Kat, Baalzaric felt something had gone
wrong. He was not receiving the reports he expected from his demonic horde. He
was sure that Demore would show up, but not knowing Demore’s location bothered
him. Something stood in his way, interfered with his network, and that
concerned him.

On the surface, it seemed Kat had gained control
of the situation. Demore was on his way, and she would eliminate him as a
threat. As for the virtually useless Bruce York, neither Baalzaric nor Kat had
any further need of him. They might keep Kevin around for a while. He was easy
to control and had developed certain skills in body disposal that could be
useful in the weeks and months to come. He would also make a suitable
scapegoat, if they needed one.

Knowing what suckers humans were for their fellow
human beings, especially the ones who thought of themselves as the good guys,
he was sure that Demore would show up on time, and Kat would see that he was
either co-opted or eliminated. Nevertheless, in spite of the careful planning,
he felt that something had gone wrong, and he did not like it. Not at all.

***

Kat felt anxious. Something in the back of her mind
told her that her plan was not as foolproof as she had expected. Although it
was possible that Kevin, or even Bruce, might be able to handle Demore, she
couldn’t count on it.

Her first choice would be to have Demore join her
little group of demonically possessed love-slaves. It would be useful to have
someone who could warn her if, or when, the authorities got wind of the plans
she had for Advanced Genetic Technologies. It would also be useful if Demore
cooperated in closing the Briggs’ case as one more tragic automobile accident.
That would be the ideal. But with people, you never got the ideal. The best you
could ever hope for was that you could use them to get what you wanted before
they used you. So she would use Demore, if she could, and kill him if she could
not. Either way, she would win.

Kat had spent the last two hours cleaning and
preparing the main bedroom upstairs. According to Bruce, the house had remained
closed up for years, except for his occasional visits. Surprisingly, little
dust infected the bedroom. Kat placed several specially prepared candles
strategically around the room. The windows faced the back of the property,
allowing Kat to light them without jeopardizing security.

Her final task, getting the windows open to
eliminate the staleness, took significant effort. She used both thumbs to push
the circular latch around its pivot point, unlocking each window. Then she
struggled, her shoulder muscles bunching into knots, as she pushed each window
open just enough to let some fresh air into the room.

Bruce and Kevin had kept the house dark to avoid
drawing attention from the occasional passing motorist. But Bruce, as the
government’s administrator, had kept the power to the house connected. At Kat’s
bidding, he screwed the old fuses back into their sockets. Amazingly, the
ancient water pump and the almost antique water heater still worked. Kat picked
up a small gym bag that was sitting next to the bedroom door and went down the
hall to the bathroom.

Someone, possibly military engineers during the
Army’s World War II stay, had upgraded parts of the estate’s electric and
plumbing. The bathtub had a shower, and someone had even hung a shower curtain.
From the looks of it, it had been sometime in the distant past.

Kat turned on both handles, adjusting the water
temperature until it was warm. Despite the age of the pipes, the pump, and the
hot water heater, the water that splashed against her bare skin felt warm and
fresh. Kat washed herself. Just as she had done repeatedly after Robert Greer
had had her, only this time she would not be the victim. She would be the
seducer.

She pushed the earlier anxiety away as she rinsed
soap and shampoo from her body. She turned off the water and pushed the shower
curtain aside. She grabbed her towel as she stepped out of the tub and dried
herself.

She reached into the gym bag and took out a small
bottle of Gucci Eau de Parfum, applying it to all of the strategic pulse areas
of her body.

Kat put the perfume back into the gym bag and put
on a mini-sundress and Cole Haan sandals. In a corner, across from the tub and
shower, stood an antique oak dressing mirror. Standing in front of the mirror,
Kat looked at herself. She was ready for Jim Demore. What she was not ready for
was Bruce York staring at her through the open bathroom door.

“Did you peep in windows when you were a little
boy, Bruce?” Kat asked.

Bruce’s bulk filled the door frame. A red flush
took over his face. He pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and
blinked stupidly at her before answering.

“The cop will be here soon,” Bruce told her.
“Then we can kill him.”

Bruce continued to stare. Kat faced him. The hem
of the short sundress swirled around the tops of her thighs. Kat looked at his
pathetic bulk, and then into his eyes. More stupid blinks.

“Bruce,” Kat said as if she were explaining
something to a child, a particularly, dim-witted child. “I need to know exactly
what he knows, so I don’t want him dead yet. There are things that you don’t
know, and frankly Bruce, I don’t have time to explain right now.” She made no
effort to keep the condescension out of her voice. “When he arrives, bring him
to me. Alive. Understand?”

“You don’t have to talk to me like that. I’ve
done everything you wanted,” Bruce squeaked.

The whine in his voice irritated her. Bruce
pushed his glasses back up on his nose again. Blink, blink, blink.

“Yes, you have,” she said.
But I don’t need
you any more, slug-boy
.

Her voice was ice, wrapped in silk.

“Just bring Demore to me when he arrives,” she
ordered, “and you will get everything you have coming to you.”

Kat walked toward Bruce as she spoke. Her
high-heeled sandals clicked against the floor. She stopped short of allowing
her breasts to brush against Bruce’s shirt. She placed her right hand on his
chest and let it slip slowly south.

“Believe me, Bruce,” she said softly, “I have
something special for you.”

Kat’s hand snaked around Bruce’s waist. She grabbed
his belt and spun him around as if he weighed nothing, then gave him enough of
a shove to start him moving back toward the stairs.

***

Once they killed the cop, Baalzaric had no reason to
keep Bruce alive. He knew the temporary inhabitants of Bruce’s body would not
be happy when they had to abandon their fleshly home, but it would be one of
the unavoidable sacrifices required for their future immortality. Although they
could not know it now, they would find the future benefits from Baalzaric’s
efforts far outweighed the temporary inconvenience.

Of course, it might be possible for them to share space
with the demonic inhabitants of Kevin Williams. Baalzaric smiled to himself. It
would be fascinating to know how many demons one evil little sociopath could
hold.