Rise of the Nephilim Page 12

Eric mulled over Jude’s suggestion. “Okay. I’ll get you to the Vatican. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Thanks, Eric,” Jude said, managing a weak smile.

  Jude ditched his jacket in the alleyway to avoid unwanted attention. The men snuck away through the gathering crowd to get a peek at the incident and walked down the street. He noted that the mysterious lady had long since disappeared. Eric suggested that they sneak inside a nearby department store and purchase new clothes to disguise themselves long enough to escape. Jude exchanged the remainder of his dirty suit and tie for a white T-shirt, khaki pants, and a leather jacket, topped with a grey toboggan and aviator sunglasses. He looked at himself in the shop mirror, imagining that if anyone saw him now, they might assume he was some tourist backpacking through the area. He met up with Eric near the entrance. The former marine had also dressed down into a polo, slacks, and loafers, looking nothing like the regimental security professional he was. Satisfied with their new attire, they ventured outside and flagged down a taxi.

  “Fahr uns nach dem Bahnhof, bitte,” Eric commanded the driver, as they slid into the back seat, “Drive us to the train station.” The man grunted an affirmative and set the car into motion. The short ride to the station was a silent one. Both men watched the passing urban landscape, listlessly trying to grasp the gravity of their situation in the small window of relaxation afforded them. After twenty minutes, the cab stopped at the main entrance of the long, flat face of the Genève-Cornavin rail station. While Eric paid the cabbie, Jude turned around to observe their proposed escape route. The beige concrete façade looked as if it belonged to any number of European federal buildings, but the distinctive white-on-red opposing-arrow symbol of the Swiss railway and the large Swiss clock fixed on the atrium window marked its purpose well.

  “What do the letters ‘SSB CFF FFS’ on the side of the building stand for?” Jude asked Eric when he had sent the driver on his way.

  “The SSB stands for Schweizerische Bundesbahnen, or Swiss Federal Railway in English,” instructed Eric. The other two acronyms are the same in French and Italian, since we are so close to both borders. Two of the platforms here are actually non-stop to France, but we are going to Zurich then Rome.”

  “Glad you know the language,” Jude said appreciatively.

  Eric responded, “My family moved to the United States to get away from the Nazi takeover of Germany. My grandparents insisted we maintain our heritage and taught me to be fluent in German as well as English. It’s turned out to be incredibly handy in my line of work. That’s enough dawdling, though. Let’s go.”

  Jude took one last look at the building, as they passed underneath its brushed-steel awning and into the main hallway toward the ticket booths. The hallway looked as if it had been renovated recently into a sleek, modern mixture of bright-colored stained wood and glass. The next train to Zurich would not be leaving for another thirty minutes, so after the two bought their tickets, they proceeded down the concourse toward the platforms reserved for the France-bound trains. Eric saw the confusion on Jude’s face and explained that it was a precaution, in case they were recognized later. They managed to grab some seats in view of a digital schedule board to track their train’s arrival.

  Eric wandered down the hall to phone his superiors. Jude attempted to begin the book he had acquired to keep him occupied on the nine to ten hour train ride back to Rome, but all he could think about was Emily. His betrayal of her trust was compounded by the regret of leaving her body lying in some back alley of a foreign city, buried among the trash. His session of self-loathing was interrupted, however, when he noticed a small group of people gathering around a bank of televisions on the other end of the platform. From their reactions, he could easily guess the networks were covering the attack on the conference center.

  He crept behind the chattering onlookers and tried to ignore a few ladies who were openly sobbing on the neighboring benches. He focused on the large, flat-screen displays and looked for one in English. With luck, he spied one streaming a feed from BBC news. At the moment, the image on the screen showed an aerial view of the conference center that panned between the makeshift command center occupied by Swiss peacekeeping forces and the ruins of the main entrance.

  “…. Authorities are calling this one of the worst attacks in recent memory, and the entire world is in an uproar,” announced the reporter over the footage. “We have initial reports of over two hundred people dead and three hundred unaccounted for, most of them prominent religious figures. No known terrorist organization is currently claiming responsibility. The Swiss police force has issued a moratorium on giving details to the press, so we will continue to update you as soon as we are able.”

  The scene cut away to a studio where the anchors began speculating with pundits via live feed on who could be responsible for the attack and why. The sound faded away into the background, as Jude reflected on the attack. Was it really just few short hours ago? It seemed like half a lifetime. Jude staring blankly at the screen, as the talking heads argued. Suddenly, the screen cut away again to the head anchor. A large “Breaking News” banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  “This just in from our sister station in America. It seems they have been provided footage of the attack from an anonymous source. We don’t quite know what to make of it yet, but I must warn you that what you are about to see is very disturbing. If you are sensitive to such things, please change the channel now.”

  The feed transported viewers back to the lecture hall and displayed earlier footage of a wizened Buddhist monk in the middle of his presentation. Suddenly, the picture shook violently, as the stage exploded in a rain of smoke, wood, and blood. The blast wave knocked the camera askew, so that half of the screen was focused on the railing in front of it, but the lower area of the auditorium was still visible amid the flickering light and electrical interference. Screams and prayers of the fleeing and dying blended together in a sickening cacophony of a dozen different languages before the gunshots began.

  Damn, thought Jude to himself. Did they catch us on camera?

  With bated breath, Jude watched the two men he and Emily had encountered in the auditorium enter the frame, taking potshots off screen at the crowd. A wounded evangelist, in what had been an expensive-looking suit, reached forward and grabbed one of the intruders’ legs and seemed to be pleading for his life. The armed man laughed and took out a pistol from his hip holster. He pointed it down at the begging man. His partner, a Jewish rabbi, stayed his hand and bent down to talk to the preacher. The audio was too faint to hear, but the rabbi smiled and reached down, as if to help the man up. Instead of assisting him, however, the cleric jerked him up and tossed him against the wall, as if he weighed nothing. The broken archbishop convulsed spasmodically for a few moments, then lay still. The two men began looking around for more chaos to cause before the static on the camera grew too intense to make out any discernable images. The feed had been effectively cut.

  The gathering crowd of bystanders watching the news feed gasped in horror and disbelief at what they had witnessed. Whispers began to run rampant among them, the word Demon surfacing on many tongues. Jude slipped away quietly to look for Eric. He breathed a small sigh of relief that he had avoided a surprise television appearance.

  * * *

  Captain Beaulac stood in the police command center, furiously chewing a fresh stick of gum, as he waited for the final teams to clear their areas. Most of the intruders had been dispatched, but two or three had managed to slip through the blockade in the confusion. He cursed his bad luck that no captives had been taken. His superiors would rake him over the coals for such a poor performance. He had to remind himself, though, that the job was only halfway complete. Now began the arduous task of identifying the dead. So many good people had died today.

  His radio chirped for attention on the table in front of him, and he quickly snatched it up. “Parlez-moi! Speak to me!”

  “Sir,” one of his lieutenants spoke
,” we have detained a priest at checkpoint two who wishes to speak to you. He says he has information regarding the attack.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Beaulac said excitedly. He gathered up his jacket and hurried out of the tent toward the southern perimeter of the cordon. A few minutes later, he reached his destination and greeted his subordinate. The man led him over to a bench to meet this supposedly knowledgeable priest.

  The police captain was surprised to recognize the priest that was part of with the group he had released not long ago. The man was still bleeding from a fresh bandage on his arm, and was so pale that he may have been close to going into shock. “Hello again, Father…”

  “Gallo,” the priest finished, as he stood shakily.

  “That’s correct,” Beaulac acknowledged. “Forgive me for not remembering. I have been dealing with so much today. What has happened to you? Where are your companions?”

  Gallo began to cry. “The woman and one of the bodyguards are dead. The other two... I don’t know.”

  Beaulac perked up at this. An attack outside the perimeter was bad news indeed. “Was it more of those terrorists? Where were you, exactly?”

  Gallo shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure where we were. All I know is that Mister Sullivan led us down a back alley, then he and the other man turned and attacked us. I barely managed to make it out alive!”

  Beaulac felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. Did he really allow two suspects to escape? He grabbed Gallo by his shoulders, “Tell me, why did they do this? Did they say anything?”

  Gallo shied away from the policeman’s fervor. “He just laughed, as I ran away and said that it didn’t matter. He said I would end up dead eventually. Captain, Jude was a close friend. I don’t want believe he is responsible for what happened, but he was one of the organizers of this event. You don’t think he could have planted his own agents in the crowd, do you?”

  Beaulac turned ashen at what the holy man said. If everything he said was accurate, the peace of his beloved city was in even more danger.

  Gallo grabbed the officer’s arm and looked into his eyes. Waves of reassurance emanated from him and enveloped Beaulac. “Peace be with you, Mister Beaulac. I’m willing to help in any way I am able.”

  * * *

  Eric stepped into an alcove sporting a bevy of payphones, so he could report back to TacShield. He slid his corporate credit card into the reader on the machine and dialed Commander Reynolds’ direct line.

  “Reynolds here,” answered his superior in a weary voice.

  “Hello, Commander. It’s Strauss,” Eric said tentatively.

  “Strauss? Thank God you’re still alive! What in bloody hell is going on over there? You’re the only one to report in.”

  “We were taken by surprise and with overwhelming force, sir. I can’t really explain much past that. I’m having a hard time figuring it out myself. I’ve got a guy with me who claims to know, and I would have passed him off as some nut job a few days ago. Now… I’m not sure…”

  The commander prodded him, “What else can you tell me? Are Chambers and the Miller with you? Give me a quick debriefing.”

  Eric fumbled with his words in response to the question. “The archbishop insisted we keep our distance while the conference was in session. We couldn’t get to him in time, once the attack began. It seems that the conference was infiltrated by a sleeper cell of terrorists posing as attendees. They took the rest of the security forces by surprise, but we managed to neutralize a few of the assailants and extract a few other key personnel. We were escorting these personnel back to their accommodations when we were attacked again. Chambers…Brad… didn’t survive the encounter. Now, it is just me and one of the staff. His name is Jude Sullivan. Mister Sullivan believes he has vital information related to the attack and that his life is in extreme danger, so I am going to help him get out of Geneva and get to safety.”

  Reynolds took a second to process Eric’s report. “I’m sorry about Brad. He was a good soldier. I know you two were good friends, and you don’t want his death to be in vain, but this Mister Sullivan isn’t part of the mission parameters. I’m ordering you to send him on his way and rendezvous with what’s left of the Geneva team.”

  “There isn’t a Geneva team anymore, Jim!” Eric protested. “I can’t just let this one go. It isn’t some little babysitting job I’ve picked up to make myself feel better about Brad. You have to just trust me, ok?”

  “Strauss, this isn’t some office job where you can come and go as you please. When I give you orders, I expect you to follow them. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Eric mumbled to himself, as he slammed down the phone receiver and hung up on his boss.

  He stepped away from the phone booth and saw Jude walking down the hallway in the same daze he had been in and out of since they fled the alley. The soldier approached him and grabbed his arm, leading them the opposite way toward a nearby Credit Suisse banking kiosk. He pulled a plastic card out of his wallet.

  Eric explained. “I need to get as much cash out of this card as I can before it’s canceled.”

  “Canceled?” Jude asked.

  “Yeah, I’m on my boss’ bad side right now, and I think I might have just turned in my resignation. What does the news say?”

  “Well,” Jude recalled, “they have video of the bombing from one of the news cameras. The good news is that none of our faces made it on there.”

  “I’ll call that a win,” Eric murmured.

  Jude looked nonplussed, “The bad news is that those two goons you killed are on it, and one of them was caught using telekinesis. The cat’s out of the bag now.”

  Eric shook his head, “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it. Should you call ahead and let someone know you are on your way?”

  “I have the Vicar General’s number, but I don’t know how deeply the Vatican has been infiltrated,” Jude admitted. “I think it’s best to wait until we get to Rome and find a safe place to lay low.”

  Jude left Eric and returned to his bench on the platform. The excited hubbub of the throng gathering around the television bank persisted, but he had had enough news for the day. The only item on his agenda was to wait for the coming train. Finally, he had no other distractions to stay the tide of emotions welling inside him.

  He quietly buried his face in his hands and began to cry again. He cried for Emily and Inanna. He cried for all the lives lost and his uselessness in preventing it. He cried for his wayward friend Antonio and all innocence lost. He cried, because he was afraid.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Keep working, people! I want you to uncover who released that video!”

  Mike Carpenter’s hands were shaking under the heat of his supervisor’s glare. He and the rest of his group were working as diligently as they could to determine the source of the rogue transmission released by the BBC. To his chagrin, however, the signal had been routed through so many masked IPs that even the experts at the NSA were having trouble tracing it.

  The camera capturing the footage had been a custom-shielded model provided indirectly by the agency to national media outlets. That shielding was the only reason the picture had held out so long before succumbing to the strange, localized electromagnetic jamming like most of the other electronics in the building. The true mystery, and current source of ire for his superiors, was how this classified data had been pirated and distributed in such a short period of time.

  Mike’s hands were shaking after what he had seen in the leaked video. If he did not know it had been captured with agency equipment, he would have assumed it was some publicity stunt for a new found-footage movie or something. Panic and confusion were exploding across the blogosphere and message boards, as speculation grew over the authenticity of the clip. Conspiracy nuts were already analyzing individual frames to justify claims ranging from Illuminati plots to the beginning of Armageddon.

  Whatever the reality was behind this disaster, he and everyo
ne he worked with knew they had been caught unawares and their network possibly compromised. This fear, coupled with an acute curiosity, had kept him immersed in his work for hours. He traced the virtual pathways around the world, cracked firewalls, and wrestled with encrypted servers. Each success placed a new brass ring in front of him to grab. It was just enough to help him weather the tirades of his department chief.

  Finally, his search came to an abrupt halt. He just sat and stared at the results of his hard work on his computer screen for what felt like an eternity, before he realized his boss was angrily marching up to his desk.

  “Mike! What do you think you’re doing? This isn’t time to daydream!”

  “I…I’m not, sir,” Mike protested. “It’s just that I found origin of the transmission.”

  “Well?” demanded his high-strung superior,” Where the hell did this come from, and how did they leech it off of our encrypted networks?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  His manager looked at him as if he were conversing with an inmate at a mental asylum. “You don’t know? I thought you just told me you know where it came from?”

  Mike shook his head. “The signal begins in Geneva, but that’s all I can tell. I followed its trail to the router of a local internet café, and it ends there. It’s likely whoever sent it hacked into the Wi-Fi.”

  His supervisor leaned forward to puzzle over the evidence Mike had compiled on-screen. “Dammit! Send me what you have, so I can go over it. The last thing I want to do is cooperate with the Swiss government on this, if possible.”

  The man stormed away and shot a glance over to his administrative assistant. “Kelly, get Stevens on the phone. I want to know how we stand on information control. We don’t need riots in the streets over supposed supermen storming the peace conference.”

  Mike slipped on his headphones, as the man walked into his office for his teleconference. Supposed supermen… Maybe his boss was onto something. Surely it was just the static and distortion playing tricks on the viewers’ perception. That had to be it... Just tricks….