Mark Stone - The Judas Line

Fatigue pulled at me, but I didn’t care. Mike was alive. A flick of a K-bar and the zip ties holding his wrists together parted.

“So this is the infamous clergyman who causes the Sicarii to quail and quiver in their boots.” Cain stepped into the suite, smiling at Mike with what seemed to be genuine affection. “And I note the figure of a surly Russian who must be the dreaded Boris of whom such tales are spun as to unman ordinary mortals.”

“Interesting turn of phrase,” began Mike, rubbing some life back into his hands. “I vote we delay any further discussion until we are safe. Let’s get out of here now .”

“Sit, Boris,” I commanded. The Russian just glared, so I shot the cuff of his expensive slacks. “Sit, or I take out your ankles, like last time.” That put him on his butt right quick. It was then I noted we were standing on several wrestling mats. We had to be in a training suite where the guards kept their skills sharp. That meant Julian was close by.

“Hey, boss. Hey, handsome,” Maggie’s deep but very feminine voice came from behind. “Is this tall drink of cute the priest you were after? Too bad he belongs to God.”

Mike’s expression at seeing Maggie for the first time was worth the price of admission. She was a lot of woman to take in all at once.

Cain gave her a once over. “Alan?”

Her face closed down. “He was on the League’s payroll. Tried to do me in.”

I cast my mind back to the Seeing, the second half of which I had paid scant attention to while searching for Mike, and gave Cain a nod.

Mike cut in before Cain could reply, sounding more than a little frustrated. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we have a psychopathic Russian to deal with. Anyone have a pair of handcuffs or three?”

“Sorry, man,” I said, not taking my eyes off of Boris. “You’re right.”

“Actually, a better idea springs new-formed to mind,” Cain mused. “Mr. Heart should pursue the perilous quest while Michael, Maggie and I provide our overlarge friend here with some much needed containment.” His shades moved my way. “Go. Find the Primal and set it free. Michael will be safe in our august company.”

“Mike, you mind, man?” I was half-afraid he’d fall over despite the Healings.

“If you trust these people, then it’s okay with me. Do what you must do. I’m pretty sure Julian is on the opposite side of the building, well past the elevators.”

“Thanks, man.” To Cain, “Be careful, Boris is the most dangerous non-magus I’ve ever met.” That earned me a smile at full power. I was about to run out, but an impulse that had nothing to do with danger seized me. Grabbing Maggie by the shoulders, I laid a big one on her moist lips.

For a moment I thought she’d clean my clock right there, but instead her arms encircled me and she returned the kiss with interest.

When we both finally came up for air, lights sparkled in her baby blues. “Let’s go, gorgeous.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, Blondie, but this is a Family thing. I have to fly solo.”

She scored quite a few points by nodding, instinctively understanding. “If we survive this, handsome, you’re taking me someplace nice.”

I kissed the end of her nose and she dimpled prettily. “You got it, Blondie.” And with that I ran out, looking for Julian. I had to put an end to all this before New York paid the price.

Mike

Morgan was dressed like an SAS commando, all in black, with a black knit cap and blackout makeup on his face. He bristled top to bottom with weapons. The other man, a lean, strong figure, towered over him. He gave the impression of solidity, so much so that you would imagine the Washington Monument crumbling before he did. He wore the kind of sunglasses favored by skiers, and when he spoke, the lilting style was a mixture of colonial and southern formal that made my ears want to pack it in for the evening.

The woman was dressed the same, but looked like she’d be more comfortable with a sword in hand, collecting the souls of the dead from the battlefield for transport to Valhalla. When Morgan kissed her, I saw a real spark there between the two, a glimmer of something … divine.

After Morgan ran off, the woman turned my way and gave me a once-over. “Get a good eyeful, tall, dark and priestly?” she asked sourly.

I rubbed my moustache. “Was it at first sight? Or while you were planning this little shindig?” It was a random shot, but by the look of her, it scored.

“How did you-?”

“I may be priest, but I’m not blind.”

The long, lean man broke in. “As illuminating as the new-found romantic nature of my apprentice may prove, I do believe that introductions are in order. The lovely lady whose resemblance to a Valkyrie is more than coincidental is Maggie. I, sir priest, am Cain.” At my startled look he nodded. “Yes, that Cain. Brother of Abel. And while I realize that a priest may be brimming with questions both practical and philosophical for a gentleman such as myself, we have other, more pressing, concerns.” He waved a pistol at the Russian, who had remained seated throughout.

Cain? Cain? A few weeks ago the revelation would have had greater impact. Considering everything that had happened, it now seemed par for the course.

“Okay … Cain. Let’s tie him up.” What I wanted was to fillet Boris into Russian cutlets, but I was still a man of God.

The tall man flashed a huge smile. “When I arrived upon the scene, young … Morgan was in the process of providing you several Healings. Would it be incorrect to assume that you have suffered most egregiously at the hands of the infamous Boris, the Mad Russian?”

“If you’re asking me if he beat the living daylights out of me, then yes.”

Maggie cut in. “He looks nasty.”

I snorted. “Nastiest piece of work I’ve ever come across.”

She aimed a Tec-9.

“Stop!” I shouted, appalled. “We don’t kill prisoners.”

Her look told me I was a few cans short of a six-pack, but I just stared her down until she lowered her weapon. “What do we do with the bastard, then?” she asked.

Before I could answer, Cain stepped forward, coming within three feet of Boris. “I have been informed that you are a force to be reckoned with, an extraordinary fighter of incalculable skill.”

It took Boris a moment to digest that, but when he did, he tipped a spare nod.

“Wonderful!” Cain replied. “In my time I have studied the manly arts of the squared circle and consider myself a pugilist of no mean ability. To this end I have but one question.” He stepped back, lowered his weapon and smiled like a shark sizing up its breakfast. “Do you want a shot at the champ?”

Boris stood, his smile matching Cain’s mean for mean. “Oh, yes.”

Morgan

Down the hall, past the elevators, not slowing, not stopping, I had to go in straight and quick, no hesitation. I was twenty years younger than Julian, but I was certain he’d be no pushover. He’d be aware that we were in the building and therefore on guard.

I skidded to a stop in front of the door to the suite and, as loud as I could, summoned Force. The metal door burst from its hinges, flipping end over end into the room; I followed right after.

Crack! A hit to my right thigh and I went down, blood spraying.

Crack! Another shot to the thick meat of my left thigh.

Crack! My right arm sprouted gore and the pistol fell from nerveless fingers.

Crack! My left arm became an unfeeling lump of meat dangling from my shoulder. Blood trailed down my chin from where I’d bitten my lip and fire consumed my thrashing limbs.