An excerpt from book two of the exciting Offspring trilogy, The Keys of Solomon.

***

Falco was familiar with the long stretch of cracked asphalt. Every curve, every dip, every pothole was committed to memory. He exited the county road fourteen miles east of St Louis and turned left onto a freshly paved roadway. He drove along for several miles before cutting his headlights. Falco preferred to drive the final miles by moonlight and instinct, paying close attention to the odometer. When he drew within a couple of miles of his destination, he pulled the car off the roadway and into the tree line. Killing the motor, he glanced at the luminous dial on his watch. 2:55 am. Right on time.

He rechecked the Glock, then donned a black nylon hood and cinched the thin elastic around his neck. The material was sheer; it allowed him to breathe and see, yet effectively concealed his face. With his small pack slung over one shoulder, Falco paused and tested the air.

                The temperature was much colder out among the trees, away from the city. The air should have been fresher, sweeter. Yet, as he reached out with his senses, the stench slammed into his stomach like a fist. Falco bent forward and waited for the assault on his senses to pass. It took a few minutes longer than usual, this time.

My God, he’s strong! Just--hang on. It’ll pass... it’ll pass.

                A full minute later, the nausea began to fade and Falco relaxed. Taking up his gear, he set out on foot. It took almost half an hour to cover the final distance through the dense underbrush. No wasted motion, no noise of any kind. Falco silently recited the assassin’s credo. Quick and silent in, quick and silent out. It sounded good, but he knew all too well that things didn’t always work out that way. Nogales had been messy. Buenos Aries had escalated into a full-fledged fire fight.

As he crouched inside a thick patch of weeds and vines, Falco surveyed the area with the monocular. The estate was in reality a compound, and consisted of a main ranch house, surrounded by several large bungalows. Guard posts surrounded the perimeter of the grounds. A sprawling golf course flanked the southeast edge of the estate. The stables and polo grounds were just to the north and west of the main compound. The target expressed a great love for golf and the outdoors, thus he explained his unusual choice for a state-side vacation spot to his superiors. Falco knew better. The country club, once a weekend hideaway for the Midwestern affluent, was now a haven for the Enemy. A nest.

Falco scanned the rest of the grounds. The largest of the bungalows was situated well away from the others, just beyond the periphery of the brilliant security lights. It was also farthest removed from the stables. From experience, Falco knew placement of the bungalows was no accident or coincidence. The horses, if any still remained, would not, could not abide such an abomination in close proximity. He would be surprised if a single animal of any kind remained on the premises.

Sweeping the night-vision instrument over the rest of the area, Falco detected two thermal outlines, most likely guards, he thought. Neither figure moved for several minutes, suggesting that both were possibly asleep. If only he could be so lucky, he thought.

Falco kept to the shadows as he crept toward his destination. When he was within twenty yards of the first bodyguard, Falco holstered the Berretta and drew a sleek combat knife. Gripping the knife with the blade held down and along his right forearm, he inched forward. The bodyguards were sitting on opposite sides of the front porch, heads down and breathing deeply.

The rear of the building appeared unguarded, striking Falco as odd and more than a little disturbing. Perhaps, there’s no backdoor, no exit. His anxiety grew. On the one hand, with only the single front door, Falco could easily cover his escape route. On the other hand, if things went badly, he could find himself blocked in. He glanced up and made a mental note of the rows of heavily barred windows. No help there. In fact, the layout smacked of trap.

Falco crept to within striking distance of the first guard, a thickly built man with bullish shoulders. Falco willed his own muscles to relax, then exploded forward in a tight, linear route. With the heel of his left hand, he struck the guard high on the bridge of the nose, snapping back his head and exposing the throat. The knife hissed through the air and opened a gaping wound below the man’s double chin. On the backstroke, he crushed the man’s temple with the knife’s steel pommel. The double-strike had taken less then two seconds and left nothing to chance. The guard dropped in a disheveled heap, dead before his head hit the ground.

The second guard stirred, coming alert much quicker than Falco had anticipated. The man spotted his fallen partner, then Falco. Time froze for an instant. The delay was all Falco needed. He closed the distance between the man and himself in an economical blur of motion, drove the pommel into the man’s solar plexus and was rewarded by an instant gush of putrid air.

                He cupped his hand behind the guard’s head and pulled down sharply. Knee met face with an audible crack. Falco caught the man as he pitched forward, limp, and unconscious. Kneeling, Falco quickly slid the blade into the back of the man’s brain, just above the first cervical vertebrae. Another threat neutralized.

Falco moved to the door and tested the simple latch. The door was unlocked and swung open on well-oiled hinges. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The interior of the bungalow was dark and Falco used the monocular to scan the room. He located a second interior door and moved silently across the room.

Reaching the interior door, Falco paused for a few seconds in order to allow his pulse to drop to an acceptable level. Then, he pressed his ear to the cool wood and listened for sounds from within. Nothing.

It would be so easy to check the other side of the door, he reasoned. He only needed to open his senses, a miraculous gift from God, and he would know exactly where and how many resided in the room. He resisted the impulse. While there were a couple of reasons why he should use his special gift, Falco knew there dozens of other reasons why he shouldn’t. First and foremost of these reasons was that anyone he could detect could also detect him. He drew the Berretta from the holster, thumbed off the safety, opened the bedroom door, and crept inside on the balls of his feet.

***

The bedroom was dark as pitch. Falco again used the monocular. The spacious room was empty except for the lone figure lying on the canopied bed. He moved to the bed and stood over his target. Despite loathing for both the target and his task, there was no last minute struggle to reconcile duty with morality. This was war.

He was mildly surprised when his target spoke. The man had a love for pain killers and other barbiturates. He should have been dead to the world. He would be very soon.

"So, you’ve come for me, now, have you?"

Falco’s sense of duty was concrete and unassailable, but the resignation in the target’s voice struck him like a slap across the face. Falco struggled to find the words.

“You knew I would. You’ve made it easy for me."

                The old man chuckled softly and said, "Oh, Thomas. Do you not think I have prayed for death on a daily basis? If I’ve assisted you in your duty in any way, perhaps it is my way of atoning for past mistakes."

Anger surged through Falco like wild bolts of summer lightening and for the first time in many years, his emotions took over..

"Discipulus Daemonism! You casually dismiss your transgressions as a… a mistake? You knowingly, willingly, provide sanctuary and sustenance to the Enemy of God and Man. You offer yourself up as a living vessel for the most corrupt essence in all of Creation. There is no atonement for this sin!"

Thomas Falco had once known this man, studied at his side, and considered him both friend and mentor. Despite his anger, he needed to look into the man’s eyes a final time. He raised the flashlight. If there remained any sign of humanity, any possibility of redemption…

                Bishop Everett Hollingsworth lay partially covered by satin sheets. He was dressed in a silk nightshirt that bore an embossed monogram, the emblem of his office. The Bishop’s expression was one of weary amusement, his eyes dark, calculating. There was no trace of fear... or repentance.

"Bold words, Thomas, but you forget that I know you. I know what you are and what you’ve done in the name of your God, the King of Liars. I also know your puppeteers, that pompous house of arrogant and degenerate hypocrites.

“The Church. A haven for murderers, thieves, and molesters of small children! By what right does such an institution pronounce any degree of self-righteous judgment upon me or my Masters? You’ve no right to damn me, murderer!"

Through clinched teeth, Falco said, "By virtue of your betrayal and my oath, it is my right, my duty, to do exactly that!"

“Then to hell with us both!” The Bishop’s voice grew raspy, deeper, more forceful. His eyes pulsed in the dark with an ugly yellow aura and Falco fought the urge to step back. Throwing back the sheets, Hollingsworth started to rise from the bed.

Can’t let him get to his feet!

Falco shoved the Glock’s heavy barrel into the man’s face and drove him back onto the pillows. Stout fingers clawed at Falco’s eyes and throat, but the priest-turned-assassin brushed them aside. Two silicon-tipped slugs tore through the old man’s brain, silencing him forever.

                Falco steeled himself for the inevitable aftershock, and nearly fell as the room tilted, and spun violently. The episode, familiar yet always disorienting, was over in seconds. As the vertigo receded, Falco looked down upon the ruined face of the man he had once called Father. He searched Hollingsworth’s lifeless hand for the ring, the signet of the office of Bishop Coadjutor. He tugged the ring free and dropped it into his shirt pocket. Falco paused briefly to genuflect.

                Taking final look at the lifeless form, Falco said, "So you know me, know what I am, do you?” he asked softly. “And now you also know the wrath of my God. Peace, be still."