"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….
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.