Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

The priest stared off into the night. “Nothing I tell you will be good enough, but I know how sick I am, and my sickness has never been dealt with, not by me, or the Church. They only swept me under the rug, moved me around. Many of them shared my struggles, some even encouraged me.”

Thorne stepped closer. “Like Cardinal Polletto?” Father Tolbert perused both their faces. “He knew about my difficulties, but never raised a hand to stop me.”

“Why do you think he didn’t?” asked Thorne.

“I know now how evil Cardinal Polletto is, and that he’s been using me for his own purpose, for The Order.”

Both Robert and Thorne moved closer.

“You know about The Order?” asked Robert. “What can you tell us?”

“They’re very powerful,” answered Father Tolbert. “They used me to bring Samuel and his brothers into the world.” Robert grabbed the priest and shook him hard. Thorne grabbed her partner and pushed him back. She turned toward Father Tolbert and took a knee. “How did they use you?” she asked.

Father Tolbert repeated the story Cardinal Polletto told him. That he was the father of the triplets. “The Order believes Samuel is the Anti-Christ, and intends to find out through a ritual to be performed in seventy-two hours.”

“Have you seen Samuel?” Thorne asked gently.

“No, but Cardinal Polletto introduced the other boys to me over a week ago. They could be anywhere right now. The Order will keep them hidden until the ceremony, but we have time.” Thorne stood. “But you said we only have three days.”

“I know, but they can’t perform the ritual without me. That’s why I ran away and hid out. Without me, they can’t make a move.”

“We have to take him back to the villa,” Robert told Thorne. “Keep him hidden until we find Samuel and the others.”

“Thank you,” gushed Father Tolbert, crying. “I didn’t know where else to turn.”

Robert grabbed him again. “Listen, you asshole. God may forgive you, but I never will. If you live through this, you’re going to jail for the rest of your miserable life. And if they don’t put you away, I’ll kill you myself.” Robert slammed the priest down hard on the concrete bench.

Thorne looked at him with little pity. “Where is this ritual going to take place?”

Father Tolbert opened his mouth, but his words were drowned out by machine gunfire. Robert and Thorne spun around and fired back at six men running toward them. Father Tolbert dove under the bench, bullets whizzing past his head. Robert snatched him to his feet and shielded him from the gunfire. Thorne cursed as she shot back, killing two of the men.

“Let’s go!” Robert shouted, pushing the priest toward the darker side of the street.

Father Tolbert pumped his arms and legs as fast as he could, his lungs begging for more oxygen than he could provide. The gunfire continued. Two cars screeched to a stop, and more armed men jumped out and gave chase. Father Tolbert found his rhythm and ran harder, but when he turned to see how far the men were he lost his footing and crashed to the ground.

“Get up!” screamed Robert, extending one hand, shooting with the other.

Father Tolbert jumped to his feet, but his ankle twisted and he crashed back down on the concrete.

Police cars flew up behind them. Father Tolbert felt a moment of relief, until the police pointed and fired at them. The men in front of them advanced. Robert sent two more to the ground. A bullet caught the priest in the leg.

“Robert, leave him!” screamed Thorne.

“No!”

“No, please,” bellowed Father Tolbert, “don’t let them get me!” More cars showed up. More men. More guns. Robert and his partner bolted, and left Father Tolbert on the ground. Two men ran over and snatched the priest to his feet. One plunged a needle into his arm. Father Tolbert felt dizzy almost immediately and lost his balance. The other man taped his mouth and tied his hands. A car drove up and they tossed him in the trunk.

Father Tolbert kicked and twisted as best he could, but to no avail.

He heard screaming and more gunfire as the car peeled away. With the small bit of strength he had remaining, he said a prayer for Robert Veil and Nikki Thorne.

R obert ran hard down a dark, narrow street, bullets cascading past his head like angry bees. Thorne, right at his side, turned around and dropped to one knee. On cue, Robert stood above her and both fired at the crowd, killing a few and wounding several.

“Break!” Robert yelled, and they both took off and bolted into an alley, a stampede of footsteps right behind them.

When they reached the middle of the alley, they each fell to one side.

Robert saw at least eight armed men running hard. He signaled Thorne with a finger up. Wait. Just a little closer. “Now!” They pointed, fired, and sent several men to heaven or hell, and the others diving for cover.

Those still alive shot back, but Robert and Thorne had the advantage and kept them pinned down.

“We can’t stay here!” shouted Robert, checking the alley for an exit.

When he turned around, he spotted more men coming up behind them.

Several stories up, fingers pointed down amid loud Italian chatter.

“Let’s get back out into the street!” screamed Thorne.

Robert reloaded. “Forward or back!”

Thorne reloaded. “To the front!”

On three, they both ran forward, bullets streaming past their heads, firing non-stop, screaming warriors, mowing down everybody in sight, as the men in front of them cried out in terror.

Robert picked up the rumble of car engines and sirens in the distance. “On my mark, let’s break to the right,” he told Thorne. “Three, two, one.” With one big hail of gunfire they sent a stream of bullets behind them and made a break down the right side of the street.

Halfway down two vehicles, one a police car, spun around the corner. Robert and Thorne kept advancing, firing, reloading, then firing some more. One of the cars swerved to avoid the gunfire, smashed into the side of a building and burst into flames.

A man leaned out of the police car, machine gun in hand. He fired a short burst, but Thorne was more accurate, killing the driver, who hit a parked car and launched his passenger, like a missile, through the windshield and a bakery’s front window.

Robert and Thorne kept running. The men behind them continued to chase. When Robert turned to fire, only three men remained. Thorne killed one, then another.

“Let’s go!” she yelled.

They turned a corner, the sound of more screeching tires and police sirens heading their way. Robert spotted an open door to an apartment building. “Thorne, over there!” he barked, pointing.

They both ran into the building and bounded up the stairs to the roof.

They looked down. Five cars parked and more armed men hopped out, searching every crack and crevice. Robert tapped Thorne on the shoulder. They sprinted to the edge of the roof and jumped to the next building. Five buildings down, they reached the end of the block and hid in the stairwell, listening closely to the commotion on the street.

“We can’t go back out there right now,” whispered Robert. “We’ll have to stay here for the night.”

Thorne agreed.

Robert pulled out his cell phone, but hesitated at the sound of voices on a rooftop three buildings over. Both of them reloaded. Robert peeked out and watched three men coming their way.

“We could head downstairs,” whispered Thorne.

“No, not yet, they’ve probably got it covered,” said Robert.

The men reached the building next to theirs. He and Thorne readied for another fight. One of the men jumped over to their roof, machine gun ready, laser sight beaming. Robert pulled the door shut, and they waited.