Rise of the Beast (58 page)

Leland was in front of his building at seven, where Mr. Pagoni’s limo picked him up. It wasn’t a long drive, about 20 blocks to Pagoni’s building. Leland was quickly ushered to the penthouse where he would be having breakfast with the godfather, as he had once before. Only this time, he was surprised to find Pagoni himself in the kitchen cooking omelets.

“You can’t expect other people to do everything for you,” said Pagoni in a jovial voice. “The Bible says that those who would wish to lead need to be the servant of all, or something like that.” He glanced toward the large security guard behind Leland. “You can go ahead and leave us, Max. What Mr. James and I have to talk about is very private indeed.”

The guard nodded and headed for the elevator, leaving the two men alone. A moment later, they heard the elevator close. It was only then that Pagoni spoke once more.

“I even gave Sylvia the day off,” said Pagoni. “I decided to do for myself today.”

“Very good, sir,” said Leland, as Mr. Pagoni, placed a delicious smelling omelet on his plate.

They headed on into the dining room. After offering a brief prayer, Pagoni dug into the omelet. “Confession is good for the soul,” he said. “There is something that you ought to know. When I saw that block of gold you brought in here that morning, I became very curious about this Andre Lusan. I mean, who with that kind of wealth doesn’t have his own documents? And how did he get into the country in the first place? Everything you told me that morning was true. I had no doubt of it, but I also knew that you had left certain details out. So I took the liberty of wiring those floors of the Davidson Building. I made sure that my people were very discrete about it. After all, I didn’t want my new renters to discover what I had done.”

Leland looked on in amazement. Never had he even dreamed that Pagoni had done such a thing.

“Don’t be so surprised, Leland,” laughed Pagoni. “You know as well as I do that I’m no saint. Like most Americans, I pursue the almighty dollar. I just pursue it a bit more aggressively than most. I instructed my people to listen for any references to the gold. You see, I didn’t buy Lusan’s story about a Saharan
gold mine. I figured that we might discover his source, claim a bit of the action for ourselves. We spent a lot of time listening, especially to conversations on the 32nd floor. Unfortunately, they didn’t talk too much about it. What they did talk about was just downright strange. One of my people figured that they were talking in some sort of code. I mean, they had to be. After a few months we switched off the microphones. It just wasn’t cost effective. Then, about four months ago, my youngest nephew got wind of what we’d been doing. He practically begged me to let him turn the microphones back on and take up the project on his own time. I agreed.

“He must have recorded thousands of hours of conversations. I remember him saying that some of what he heard really freaked him out. He also talked about hearing some really eerie sounds over the microphones. I’m here to tell you, it really shook him up. He asked me to listen to parts of a few of his disks. I told him that I really didn’t have the time.” Pagoni shook his head sadly. “In retrospect, I wish I had. One of the recordings was some sort of a meeting in which they talked about murdering a police detective and another was about their plans for your wife. I’m sorry, Leland. If I had listened to him when he first came to me, this horrible thing might not have happened to her.”

“Oh, god,” said Leland, leaning forward, his face in his hands. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Pagoni; you didn’t know.”

“But we still have four months of disks,” continued Pagoni. “I’ve got my nephew listening to them full-time. I’d like you to help him. Between the two of you, you might learn a lot about Lusan’s plans. In the meantime, we have the bugs in your house. We might be able to feed him some false information, get him to slip up.”

“But now he’s under the protection of the French government,” lamented Leland. “I doubt they would send him back to us.”

“And keep in mind, this bugging I did was strictly illegal,” noted Pagoni. “I fear anything we discovered using it wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law anyway. But it will give us ammunition. I know what he is now, Leland. I’m not allowing him to desecrate our world. I have my own resources, even in Europe.” He paused. “Especially in Europe. If no one else is willing to take on this unholy Monster, well, I’ll do it myself.”

“I’ll help you, Mr. Pagoni,” promised Leland. He glanced at Pagoni’s ring. “You’re a Knight of Columbus, aren’t you?”

“I sure am,” confirmed Pagoni.

“I think you’ve become a real knight now,” noted Leland, “a knight on a holy quest. I’m proud to serve at your side.”

Pagoni laughed openly. “Yes, I like that. Well, my friend, let us go forth and do battle with the dragon. I do believe that is what the Book of Revelation calls him. I’d like to add the title of dragon-slayer to my rather long resume.”

As the two men parted that morning, they both knew that they had their work cut out for them. They had become noble knights on what was, perhaps, the most holy quest in all of history.

It was late November, and the Stade Vélodrome in Marseille was filled to overflowing. It was a big night. Both Andre Lusan and Julien Devereux, president of the European Union, would be speaking. It wasn’t clear what the topic was to be, but the word was that it would be the announcement of the millennium.

Security was incredibly tight around the stadium. No one got in without going through a metal detector twice. Trouble and all kinds of threats surrounded these great men. They were considered enemies of both the Islamic and Christian fundamentalists. It was one of the few things that both groups could agree upon.

High above the upper tier of seats, a metal panel was lifted and slowly pushed to the side. From beneath, a thin and sweaty man emerged onto the roof wearing distinctly Middle Eastern garb. It had been the better part of a week since he had seen sunlight. That was how long he had been in the tight confines of that conduit. He drew out his sniper rifle.

Twice during the past week, Luis had nearly been discovered. If security had gone to the trouble of actually entering the ventilation duct rather than just glancing in with that mirror on a stick, his efforts would surely have met with failure.

Below him, in the stands, he heard the roar of the crowd as Lusan and Deveraux took the stage. Right now he was both hungry and dehydrated. His water and food had run out early yesterday. He knew that it was unwise, yet he stopped to rest. He scanned the enormous roof. Their intelligence was right; no
security had been stationed on the roof itself. He scanned the skies. There was a helicopter far off to the west, but it was much too far away to detect him—at least he hoped so.

On the stage below, President Deveraux had stepped up to the podium. He was preparing to introduce Lusan to the multitude. Luis was almost sickened by the flattery the president heaved on Lusan. This was a murderer, a torturer, the greatest liar in human history he was talking about. You’d have thought he was describing a saint. “What fools,” murmured Luis.

Far below, Lusan took the podium. It was the better part of a minute before the crowd quieted down enough for him to speak. “Fellow Europeans, you’ve been so kind, so much like God would have you to be. You’ve given to my ministry, you’ve given generously. Well, it is time for this ministry to give back to you. Tonight I announce where some of your money has gone. On a remote South Pacific island, scientists in the employ of the Divine Light Foundation have accomplished a feat that has been one of the great dreams of science for over half a century. I am pleased to announce the end of the energy crisis and the dawn of an age of clean, renewable power. For the past three months we have operated a full-scale fusion power plant capable of generating enough electric power to light every home in Marseille, as well as those within a 50-mile radius of this city.”

On the screen behind him appeared the generator in operation on his island. It was quickly followed by a series of schematic diagrams of the unit. Lusan held up a small computer flash drive for all to see. “On this drive are the complete specifications of the plant. I am presenting them to the people of Europe. I seek no compensation. After all, it was your giving that made it all possible. Working together, you have accomplished a miracle.”

Lusan proceeded to walk over to the president. He handed him the drive.

The crowd went wild, rising to their feet. Again Lusan had come through for them. He had delivered to them one of the Holy Grails of science.

“Global warming is over,” he announced, “as is the era of high-cost electricity. Welcome to the future!”

Again the crowd exploded in applause, and in the midst of their moment of joy, an assassin took his stance at the edge of the roof and centered his sights on Lusan. His high-powered scope focused in. Yet Lusan was out of position, blocked by a metal pillar. He should have taken his shot ten seconds ago. He
looked up; the helicopter was coming back this way, its searchlight shining brightly. A guard standing on a suspended walkway on the far side of the stadium had shifted his attention in his direction. Had someone seen him?

Time was running out. Luis made a split-second decision. He would target the president first; he had a clear shot. Then he would get Lusan with the second shot. He focused in on Deveraux, placing the crosshairs on his head. He placed ever more pressure upon the trigger. There was a sound like thunder.

The president reached for his head and went down amidst a cloud of blood. Luis turned to Lusan. He was in the clear, confused, trying to assimilate what had just happened. Suddenly, Luis felt a terrible cold surrounding him. He knew only too well what was happening. He had to take his shot. A second blast echoed through the stadium. Lusan reached for his stomach. He’d hit him all right, but was it a fatal blow?

People were scattering for cover all over the stadium. A shot rang out from the far side of the stadium, then another. His time was almost gone, and Luis knew it. He felt like he was being buried in a block of ice. He tried to get another shot. Lusan had found cover. There would be no more shots. It was time. He reached into his pocket for the detonator; he could barely feel it. He stumbled to his feet. He felt a searing burning sensation in his hip. A bullet had found him. At this point he was nearly blinded by the terrible, ethereal force around him. He searched for the edge of the roof; he found it.

“Allah Akbar!”
he cried, in the loudest voice he could muster, as he stepped out into thin air. He fumbled for the button of the detonator and then pressed it.

He was still better than 50 feet above the stadium floor when the powerful bomb went off in a mighty flash. The people on the ground were spattered by hot blood and a hail of shredded clothes, flesh, and body parts.

On the stage, Lusan was in tremendous pain. It was a new experience for him, and he didn’t like it a bit. He crawled toward President Deveraux. He’d been hit in the forehead by the bullet. The bullet appeared to have hit his skull at a relatively high angle and lodged itself somewhere within the brain.

“No,” cursed Lusan, “it can’t end this way. I’ve worked so hard.” He looked about. He sensed dozens of his minions in ethereal form all around him. They had come to protect him if need be. But, for once, he wasn’t worried about himself. He figured that he would survive. It was President Deveraux he was
worried about. “Prevent his spirit from leaving his body,” he commanded. “Give him whatever strength you have.” Lusan thought and came up with a plan. “Push the bullet back from where it came. Reach into his skull and remove it.”

By this time, paramedics were on stage. They tried to render assistance to Lusan.

“No,” said Lusan, “Stand back. He is beyond human medical help. We must reach beyond the natural.” Lusan placed his hand about two feet above the president’s head even as his minions did their work.

The paramedics stepped backward as they witnessed the slug literally push itself from the open wound. It levitated then fell to the stage.

For a moment nothing happened. Then the greatest minion of the thousand among them descended into the body of the president. He took control, bringing order to the chaotic cascading of nerve impulses firing off of the dying neurons. All the while, Lusan’s hands remained above the president.

One of the paramedics drew close, searching for the president’s pulse. He found it, though it was very weak. The president was breathing now, though the breaths were shallow and irregular. A faint glow appeared between Lusan’s hands and the president’s body. It was a phenomenon witnessed by virtually everyone within a hundred feet of the stage.

“His pulse is growing stronger,” said the paramedic, a sense of astonishment in his voice. “This is incredible.”

All the while, Lusan knelt before the president, the glow growing ever brighter. Yet Lusan’s own injuries threatened to end the show. His pain was tremendous and his consciousness fading. “Don’t allow the president to die,” he said in a voice that everyone on stage could hear.