The Paradise Prophecy (25 page)

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Authors: Robert Browne

BOOK: The Paradise Prophecy
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Beel smiled. “If you could see my eyes right now, I’m afraid it might embarrass you.”
Ten points for that one.
They reached the parking lot and she moved to the slot he had reserved for her, where a worn ten-year-old Miata waited. He had expected her to be driving something a little more upscale, but then he remembered that she was a newspaper reporter.
She definitely carried her poverty well.
Stopping at the driver’s door, she opened her purse and dug around for her keys. When she found them, she turned, and Beel made sure to be standing close. Not close enough to make her uncomfortable, but enough to make his intentions clear.
She didn’t shy away. In fact, she surprised him. “Do you feel like having a drink?”
“I’d love to.”
“I have an apartment off Cahuenga, just over the hill. I might even have some vodka.”
“Excellent. Lead the way.”
She smiled now and leaned into him, brushing her fingers against his jeans. “And when we’re finished with our nightcap, maybe I can do something about this little devil you’ve been trying to hide from me all night.”
“Not so little,” he said.
Her smile broadened, and she leaned up to kiss him. “I certainly hope you’re telling me the—”
She stiffened suddenly and her whole body began to shake. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets until only the whites were showing.
Beel was momentarily startled, but then he sighed.
Shit.
He stepped back as the reporter continued to shimmy and shake in what, to the uninitiated, might look like some kind of medical emergency.
But Beel knew better.
Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one up, waiting patiently for the moment to pass. Then, with the whites of her eyes still showing, the reporter stopped shaking and perched herself on the hood of her car.
“We’ve had an interesting development,” she said.
Belial. Always one for the dramatic entrance.
“It had better be, my dear. I don’t appreciate this interruption.”
She stared at his jeans with her blank eyes. “That’s obvious. You seem to be adjusting to this skin you’ve acquired. You look even better than you did in Istanbul.”
He waved a hand at her. “Get to the point.”
She nodded. Paused. “I have word from one of my drudges that someone we both know and love made a bit of a fuss today.”
“Who?”
“My dear brother. And he took a few of my darlings in the process.”
“Really,” Beel said dryly. “And I should care why?”
“Because the fuss was over a fifteen-year-old girl. He seemed very concerned about her.” She paused. “Too concerned.”
Beel took a drag off the cigarette. This
was
interesting. “Who is this girl?”
“All I have is a first name. And my drudge tells me she’s quite a looker. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet had a chance to get up close and personal myself. I’ve been a bit busy.”
“This could be nothing. Your brother’s interest in the creature could be purely predatory.”
“Come on, Beelzebub”—she always used his given name—“you know him almost better than I do. He made up his mind about these things a long time ago, and I doubt he’ll ever change it.”
Beel shook his head. “He’s no more a saint than the rest of us. This fable these moronic creatures have built around him is pathetic.”
“True, but he’s just arrogant enough to believe it, and I’m told he came out of nowhere today, so I can only assume he’s been watching this girl. And that speaks volumes.”
“We’ve been through this before,” Beel said.
“But what if he’s right this time? What if this girl really is the Telum?”
Beel wanted more than anything to believe it, but he wasn’t so sure. Belial’s brother had always played his cards very close to the vest, and there was no telling what he was up to. And as much as Beel would like it to, none of this meant that their former colleague had actually found what they’d all sought for so long. He could merely be trying to distract them, in anticipation of the coming moon.
Besides, identifying the Telum was only half the battle. They needed to find the key to releasing it, as well. And wasn’t that the whole point of going after
Custodes Sacri
?
“Beelzebub?”
Beel shook himself from his reverie and looked at her. “Moloch and Mammon tell me you visited them in Amsterdam. That must have been pleasant.”
She shrugged. “Mammon’s the same as ever. He’s predicting a massive collapse on Wall Street, and Moloch’s still playing soldier, working tirelessly to get their weapons and drudges in place.”
“But will it be enough?” Beel asked. “The eclipse is only days away.”
“All the more reason to pursue this girl.”
“And what about
Custodes Sacri
? If she really is the Telum, we need that key to seal the deal. Or
un
seal it, in this case.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve hit a bit of a dead end. The one the Brazilian told me about has gone into hiding.”
“Then
find
him,” Beel barked. “You wanted the lead on this, so get me some fucking results.”
She stiffened. “This isn’t just about you, Beelzebub. We all have a stake in this race.”
Beel knew she was right, and he didn’t like letting his temper get away from him. But they had come so close so many times before, only to see their hard work undone by some foolish mistake or some petty dispute.
He thought about all the infighting, the backbiting, the conniving, the fractured alliances, the wars . . .
And where had any of it gotten them?
“Apologies, my dear. I’ve just been waiting so long for this, I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever see it done.”
“We will,” she said. “I promise. But while I’m busy hunting down
Custodes Sacri
, I need you to keep an eye on my brother and the girl. I’ve already instructed Zack to make contact again and wait for our orders.”
“I do so hope you’re right about her.”
Belial stepped toward him now, pressing herself up against him.
“Don’t fret, Beelzebub. If all goes well, the Master will rise again, and bring the full wrath of Abyssus along with him.” She kissed his cheek, lingering there for a moment. “
A posse ad esse.”
Then she was gone.
BOOK VI
 
Traveling with the Mr. and Mrs.
 
On they move
Indissolubly firm; nor obvious Hill
Nor streit’ning Vale, nor Wood, nor Stream devides
Thir perfect ranks
—
Paradise Lost
, 1667 ed., VI:68–71
 
 
24
 
ISTANBUL, TURKEY
 
B
atty and Rebecca had come to Istanbul early in their marriage, when their interest in ancient history and biblical lore was in its prime. They had decided against the usual tours and had instead wandered the city on foot, soaking in its atmosphere—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the people.
Once hailed the New Rome, Istanbul was a city of hills with a vast and varied narrative. Straddling both the European and Asian continents, it had been the center of the Roman, Latin and Byzantine Empires, and had seen the fall of Constantine Palaeologos during a fierce battle against the Ottomans.
A descendant of Constantine the Great—the first Christian Roman emperor—Palaeologos was said to have been rescued on the battlefield by an angel and was awaiting resurrection to this very day.
Batty wasn’t holding his breath.
Like its culture, Istanbul was a mix of old and new, traditional and modern. Ancient mosques and synagogues and cathedrals adorned traffic-choked streets full of towering high-rises. Although its government was secular, the place breathed Old World spirituality, a feeling that was helped considerably by the call for prayer that blasted over loudspeakers at regular intervals throughout the day.
As he walked from the hotel toward Taksim Square, Batty remembered Rebecca’s joy in immersing herself in the local culture. She had always embraced life with the unfettered enthusiasm of a child, and it was difficult to walk these streets without missing her.
Traveling with Callahan was a different story altogether.
“So here’s the drill,” she’d said to him as they boarded the plane in São Paulo. “We’re Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Broussard from Baton Rouge, taking our first trip to the Middle East.”
“Why the subterfuge?” he’d asked.
“There’s so much tension in that area right now that we don’t have much of a choice. My people tell me that not only can we expect zero cooperation from the Istanbul police, the government of Turkey doesn’t want us there at all. Fortunately, the country’s still cleared for tourists.”
Batty knew Callahan didn’t want him here. She was obviously someone who was used to working alone. But whoever was pulling her strings had insisted he go with her, and it wasn’t hard to deduce that she was unhappy about it.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she’d told him as they settled into their seats. “You’re part of this assignment for one reason only, Professor—gathering and providing information. You have a unique insight into this stuff and as certifiable as you might be, we’d be stupid not to take advantage of that.”
“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”
“I sat in that bar and listened to your story, and I’m truly sorry about what happened to your wife, but I live by the credo that seeing is believing, and until I actually see something to convince me otherwise, I’m continuing this case on the assumption that what we’re dealing with here is a very clever, very sophisticated and very troubled serial killer.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I’ll be the first to admit it.”
After arriving at their hotel, Batty had watched as Callahan used a program on her cell phone to forge credentials for the Istanbul police department. In the photo she wore a scarf and looked very much like an Istanbul native. But then Istanbul was a mix of Turks, Kurds, Jews, Georgians, and just about everything in between, so that probably wasn’t saying much. The ID was written in Turkish, but he doubted it had her name on it.
“So who’s this?” he had asked, looking over her shoulder.
“The new forensics tech at the Istanbul Crime Lab. I want to get a look at the remains.”
“And what will I be doing while you’re having all this fun?”
“I already told you. Gathering and providing information.”
“Oh? What do you have in mind?”
“You’re going sightseeing,” she said.
So here Batty was, crossing through Taksim Square on the way to the Garanti Auction House, where Koray Ozan’s body had been found the previous evening. His task was to determine the exact location of the crime scene, and because Callahan was unable to secure blueprints of the building, she’d told him to check for entry points and potential security threats, then report back to her.
“What do you plan to do? Break in to the place?”
“I need access to that crime scene. And unless you’ve managed to get clearance from the local police, I don’t see any other way.”
“Seems pretty risky to me. The building’s bound to be wired up tight.”
“Let me worry about that part,” she said. “Your job is to observe only. Don’t get anxious and start sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. You get yourself arrested, you’re on your own.”
 
 
T
he auction house was located a block north of the square and Batty didn’t need a street address to find it. There were still several
polis
cars parked out front, uniformed officers milling about.

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