The Adventures of Lazarus Gray (30 page)

Eun glanced up, finding
Gray’s eyes upon him. "What are we going to do, Chief?"

The man who now called
himself Lazarus Gray bore an unusually grim expression, even for
him. "As both of you know, this was not a random act of God. No
matter what the authorities might wish to believe, this was an
attack. A warning, if you will."

Eun nodded, his gaze moving
toward the crumpled letter that lay on the meeting room table. Eun
had been the first to discover it, dropped in their mail slot
sometime overnight. Its surface was scrawled with horrible
handwriting that somehow seemed to transcend mere ugliness: this
was the mad doodling of a demon, straining to muster an attempt at
English.

The note read:
THOSE CHILDREN ARE JUST THE BEGINNING. I WILL BURN THIS CITY
TO THE GROUND UNLESS YOU GIVE YOURSELF TO ME. FALL UPON YOUR KNEES
BEFORE THE GOD OF HATE.

"The first thing we need to
do," Lazarus answered, "is find out who sent this
letter."

Samantha pulled a chair out
from the table and sat down. She was a beautiful girl with a
peaches and cream complexion, but at the moment she looked deathly
pale. "Are we going to go to the police? Or let Doc Daye know
what’s going on?"

Lazarus considered the
questions before shaking his head. "Going to the authorities would
do no good. They could place the citizenry on a general alert but
we have no idea where this killer might strike next. A panic would
do no one any good. As for Doc Daye, I will forward a copy of the
letter to him and ask him to share with us any clues that he might
come upon."

Eun nodded in agreement.
"Okay. I’ll start looking through the archives to see if I can find
any reference to The God of Hate." Assistance Unlimited had one of
the top newspaper clipping collections in the world, as well as
many priceless bound volumes that would have set any bibliophile’s
heart aflutter.

Lazarus fixed his gaze upon
Samantha, who straightened immediately. "While Eun is doing that, I
want you to come with me. We should see the crime scene
firsthand."

The three members of
Assistance Unlimited sprang into action but while Samantha and
Eun’s expressions were brimming with excitement, Gray’s remained
impassive. There was something eating away at the edges of his
frayed memory, some past association that the words ‘God of Hate’
almost brought to the fore.

There were dark days ahead,
he knew. And he prayed that his friends were strong enough to stand
up to the test before them.

Chapter II

Horrors Laid
Bare

The God of Hate reclined on
a bed of soft pillows, the smell of opium thick in the air. Three
whores lay scattered about the bed and the floor, their clothes
lying in an unruly pile next to the door. The girls had been
drugged and then thoroughly violated in ways that would leave
emotional scars for years. Thankfully, the opium would most likely
prevent any of them from having a clear memory of what had
occurred.

The room in which The Claw
lay was rented and paid for by The Illuminati, who had hired him to
deal with Lazarus Gray. In return, he would receive several young
virgins that he could sacrifice for even greater power. Such was
the world in which The Claw moved: humans were nothing more than
bags of meat, to be eaten, screwed or traded.

A bedside radio had
alternated between horrified reporting of the orphanage tragedy and
the popular music of the day, which sounded like the bleating of
animals to The Claw’s ears:
Cheek to Cheek
by Fred Astaire
and Ginger Rogers;
Lullaby of Broadway
by The Dorsey
Brothers; and
You’re The Top
by Cole Porter. The Claw found
he preferred the shocked tones of the reporters to the wailing of
the singers, so he reached over with a sharpened nail to turn the
radio off.

He rose from the pillows,
stepping over a naked girl whose nose had been shattered. Her
beauty would never fully return but The God of Hate felt no
sympathy for her. She had served her purpose and been discarded,
like a used tissue.

The Claw dressed slowly and
methodically, putting his skullcap on last. He looked at himself in
the mirror, smiling so that his razor-sharp teeth could be seen.
There were bits of bloody flesh caught up near his gums and his
tongue flicked up to work at them, savoring the flavor.

The origins of The God of
Hate were unknown to all but a few on this planet and The Claw saw
no reason to reveal his true nature to his enemies. But he was not
birthed of this world and he would be alive long after its sun had
grown cold. Immortality could be a curse, with eons of boredom. But
The Claw refused to allow himself to stand still. He was always
moving, always expanding his power base… and this attracted
opposition, which The Claw secretly enjoyed. By pitting himself
against so-called ‘heroes,’ he found a way to keep himself
amused.

And this Sovereign City was
certainly full of challenges. There was Doc Daye, Lazarus Gray and
Fortune McCall, all living in this one troubled locale. It was
almost enough to make him consider moving his base of operations
away from Ricca….

But no, Ricca was too
perfect a home. He would destroy Gray as he’d promised, and perhaps
take his revenge upon the Daye family… and then he would
leave.

Behind him, one of the
girls was beginning to stir, a low, pained moan escaping her
cracked lips. The Claw felt a renewed stirring within his loins and
considered playing with her a bit more, but in the end he simply
walked to the door and exited the hotel room. He had wasted enough
time and he was here on business, after all.

He harbored no doubts about
how Lazarus Gray would respond to the letter he had sent him. Gray
would never surrender.

Which was just how The Claw
wanted it.

***

Morgan Watts sat in the
back of a cab, a heavy folder on his lap. He’d actually managed to
get a lot more information than he’d ever dared hope and he
couldn’t wait to get back to America so he could share it with the
rest of Assistance Unlimited. When Gray had first told them of the
scope of The Illuminati’s activities, Morgan had felt overwhelmed.
How could Assistance Unlimited, four people strong, topple an
international cartel that had their fingers in every level of
finance, industry and the occult? But now, he was beginning to feel
differently. Today had gone very well and the information could be
used to badly hurt Lunt and his friends.

Morgan glanced out the
window just in time to see the cab miss the turn that would have
taken them to the airport. He leaned forward, tapping the driver on
the shoulder. "Monsieur, you should have turned left back
there."

The driver pushed harder on
the accelerator and the car sped along faster than ever. Morgan now
realized that he was in tremendous danger and reached for the door.
He cursed under his breath when it refused to open. He was fumbling
to pull out his gun, intending to force the driver to stop, when
the vehicle abruptly braked. Morgan looked out the window to see
that the cab was now parked near an open field, where five large
men stood smoking cigarettes. One of them held a pistol in his left
hand. The gunman was bald with a hook-shaped scar that ran from the
corner of his mouth up to just under his right eye.

The driver got out of the
car and stepped around to open Morgan’s door. "Your stop, Mr.
Watts," the driver said, a faint smile on his lips.

Morgan stuffed the folder
into the lining of his jacket. Gray had altered all of his aides’
clothing to allow for hidden pockets. He stepped out of the car
with gun in hand and quickly backhanded the driver, shattering the
man’s jaw and knocking him to the ground. The other men reached
into their own coats but stopped at a motion from the bald man. The
movements confirmed Morgan’s worst fears: he was facing not one
armed foe, but five.

Addressing the bald man,
Morgan said, "I bet you know all about me and I know nothing about
you. Seems a bit unfair. What’s your name? And who do you work
for?"

"I suspect you know the
answer to that last question," the bald man answered. "But my name
is Louis. I don’t suppose you knew that all members of The
Illuminati, especially those who safeguard valuable information,
are subject to observation. We saw your kidnapping of Mr. Conrad.
Now I’d like you to give us all the information you gathered. If
you cooperate, we may not hurt you too badly."

Morgan bit his tongue
before he voiced his doubts about that. They were going to kill him
regardless of what he did. As casually as possible, he reached into
his pocket, pretending to comply with Louis’ request. He pulled out
a small slip of paper on which he’d written Conrad’s address and
usual schedule. As he was doing so, his fingers brushed against a
small radio device that was used by all the aides to keep in
contact with one another. One of its settings was a simple distress
signal that would alert all the others that the user was in danger.
Of course, its range was somewhat limited but Gray had managed to
find a way to piggyback its signal over international wires. There
would be probably be no way for anyone at Assistance Unlimited to
actually help him but Morgan wanted to warn them,
nonetheless.

"Here you go," Morgan said,
folding the paper in half and then handing it over. "I didn’t take
much information, actually. I just wanted to know how to reach a
man named Walther Lunt."

Louis obviously recognized
the name. His back stiffened and a terrible sneer touched his lips.
"That bastard… if it were up to me, I’d let you have
him."

Morgan sensed an opening
and leapt for it. He gestured with his free hand toward the scar on
the man’s face. "Is he responsible for that?"

"Among other things, yes."
Louis shook his head, obviously trying to clear it of bad memories.
"Down on your knees. "

"Aren’t you going to look
at the paper? That’s everything, I swear."

Louis hesitated and then
began to unfold the paper. When his eyes dropped, Morgan sprang
into action. He knew he was a dead man but he wasn’t going to risk
going down without a fight. He threw himself into Louis, knocking
the man off his feet. Morgan made sure to shove the bald man into
one of his henchmen.

Using instincts honed as a
member of Assistance Unlimited, Morgan was a blur of action. He
drew his gun and had blown off the head of the nearest thug before
the remaining two men had even reached for their own
weapons.

Morgan ducked and rolled,
evading gunshots from the two men who were still on their feet.
When he came back to his knees, he fired twice more, each bullet
ripping through the throats of his targets.

In just a few seconds,
Morgan had killed three men, which left him facing only two more:
the odds had improved immensely. With any luck, he might get out of
this in one piece, after all.

Louis gestured for his
remaining ally to hang back. He held his hands up, his gun still
clutched tightly. Morgan held his weapon aimed at the bald man’s
head but didn’t pull the trigger. He was curious what Louis was up
to.

"We can talk about this,"
Louis said. "We both hate Lunt."

"I thought you said it
wasn’t up to you, though. You’ve got your orders, right? Take the
information I’ve gathered and kill me. That’s the basics,
right?"

"That’s what I was told to
do, yes. But that doesn’t mean we can’t change things."

Morgan stood up, his eyes
flicking over to the cab that had brought him here. The driver was
sitting in the front seat, watching intently. Given the blood that
freely trickled from his ruined jaw, the driver’s hatred for Morgan
was obvious. No way was that guy going to sit by and let Morgan
negotiate his way to freedom. "I don’t think that’s going to happen
and we all know it."

Louis swallowed hard and
then spun about. He shot the man standing behind him, blowing a
hole directly between the man’s eyes. He then turned toward the car
and fired three times before one of the bullets ended the driver’s
life. He then tossed the gun aside and turned back to Morgan. "Now
can we talk?’

Morgan took a deep breath
and nodded. He lowered his weapon, wondering about the wisdom of
this. A part of him said he should simply kill Louis on the spot
and flee back to the States… but what if he could gather more
information this way? What if Louis knew something that would allow
Assistance Unlimited to drive a stake through The Illuminati’s
heart?

"Make it good," Morgan said
at last.

And Louis began to
speak.

***

The crime scene was abuzz
with activity but Samantha found it hard to concentrate on the men
and women around them. She kept focusing on all the tiny bodies
that had been laid out to the side, sheets carefully placed over
the ruined remains. The smell was awful and she knew that at least
part of that came from the burned flesh of children.

"Samantha? Are you going to
be all right?"

Samantha glanced over at
Lazarus, noting the look of concern in his eyes. His face remained
stoic but for those who knew him well, it was obvious when he was
troubled. "I’m fine," she lied. "Really."