Thornfalcon (The ARC Legacy Book 1) Page 4

  Samantha glanced at her mother. Eva's worn face could not hide the pain as she stared down at the table. The spark of a once vibrant and energetic woman had dimmed. This was all about her father.

  “That being the death of religion?”

  “Exactly.” Steadman's face was animated as he elaborated. “Imagine, if you will, a physical link between Heaven and Earth, a conduit through which prayer is heard. Sever that conduit and what happens?”

  “If you are correct, prayers are no longer heard.”

  “And in some cases, not answered where once they were.”

  Samantha leaned back in her seat. It was not hard to understand their logic. She had grown up hearing snippets of her father's great sacrifice. “You think Dad was responsible?”

  Steadman shook his head. “No, I do not. He was not the only one to make a sacrifice. We lost many in that ill-feted journey, including—

  “Metatron,” Eva finished for him. “He said his name was Metatron.”

  “Who?”

  Eva looked up at her. The pain of loss still shone in her mom's eyes. “A man we met once. He helped us. He called himself Janus. He took the fight to those beyond.”

  Samantha looked around the table. Not one face registered surprise. “You all know of this?”

  “If you didn't distance yourself behind distractions you would know too,” Nina chided her. “What do you know of the name?”

  “An angel. Called the Scribe by some. The Voice of God by others. Are you saying he is the reason this is all happening?”

  “We can't be sure,” Mohammed stood, pacing around the room. “What we do know is this: In the two decades since the demon incursion—yes, a demon incursion is what happened—ARC has gone a long way to silencing the rumours. People forget, move on, dismiss what is incredible, and live for the mundane. Yet as they accept that reality, changes still occur. They are small at first, but with increasing frequency, they become noticeable. And then they gather a following. The oddities: The jellyfish, the strange animal behaviour. It's just the start. Religions starts to splinter, attendances fall. This might not appear much to the person on the street, but religious attendance globally has reduced by thirty percent. All religion—Catholic Mass, Muslim prayer—you name it; the numbers don't lie.”

  “There are some that say numbers are as close as you get to the handwriting of God,” commented Tricia Pellirojo.

  “You could be right,” Mohammed agreed. “To be honest, we are running out of ideas. But as religion wanes, these strange occurrences increase.”

  Clare added, “I'm here because the occurrences are physical in nature too. Monsters out of legend, creatures that can suck a person dry of their sins, bizarre scientific experiments on horses that should not be physically possible. I've investigated them all. The Voydanoy are a prime example. Water creatures with frog-like faces who steal children?”

  “Sounds considerably far-fetched,” Samantha dismissed the example.

  “And yet not only do we have one in our lab, we have at this table a dissenter who raises images of demons for kicks,” Clare argued back. “This lack of interest in religion is reaching epidemic proportions.”

  Samantha listened and watched as the arguments flew across the room like flies batted with swatters—first Mohammed…

  “This is more than a lack of interest. This is a forced increase in apathy. Do you have the coverage, Jeanette?”

  Jeanette Gibson, head of media, swatted back, “I do.” She dialed a few buttons into the conference table console, and a series of stills followed, the black and white photos showing groups of people surrounding rocks and other items as if praying to them. “A marked resurfacing of Pagan rituals. People are disappearing into mysterious cults of their own free will and never being seen again. These cults are no longer clandestine. They're actively recruiting. As religious attendance decreases, the interest in pre-religion increases. The world is slowly reverting. Mankind craves ritual and ceremony, looking to worship idols if they believe religion doesn't hold the answer. The names are many: Xris, Vodec, Drue, Lost, Heaven's Gate. We are struggling to understand their draw. As the years have gone by, one group, though quiet at first, has been making increasing noise—Aeon Fall.”

  A picture of a hiker flashed on the screen. He stood atop a hill staring off into an infinity of mountainsides. In the sky above him hung bright red letters that read, 'Your God is dead'. Hanging over a lower path, the words 'Aeon Fall' were printed in neat white letters.

  Samantha frowned. “It looks like a war propaganda poster. Who are they?”

  “Nobody knows,” Jeanette replied. “At first nothing more than rumours of an underground organisation, nothing more than a collection of conveniently-placed street messages. Graffiti on churches and the like. They were no threat. That was ten years back. Soon we started hearing from multiple sources of the formation of a leadership structure.”

  Samantha drummed her fingers on the conference table, setting off another of the interactive panels under the glass. The bright blue glare startled her back to the present. “So? What has that to do with all these strange occurrences? With ARC?”

  “It became clear to those that chose to take notice, there was a problem with religion beyond filling churches and temples. We attempted to mitigate the negative effects, but Aeon Fall picked up on the crisis as well. They encouraged it and aren't attempting to hide from the public eye either.”

  The screen flickered. Numerous propaganda posters came into view, the words 'Salvation', 'Follow', 'Together' were heavily emphasised.

  “So what do you want me for?” Samantha challenged. “It seems you have a mysterious organisation that wants to manipulate the public, encouraging a belief you might not agree with. Sound familiar to anybody?”

  Her mother shot to her feet. “How dare you lay that accusation at our door? We've been protecting mankind.”

  The fly swatting became a crescendo.

  Samantha watched each of the councilmembers lose their way. They were desperate, reeling with hollow looks on their faces. These were the people who held the fate of the world in their hands.

  “From whom are you saving mankind?” Samantha demanded. “I know the history. ARC was formed to monitor and counter the threat of demons. I've read the documents, been through the archives. Yet how many demons have appeared on earth in the last two decades?”

  She opened her hands, spreading them apart, inviting comment. None came. “You're the saviours of mankind and you cannot live with the aftereffects of your great victory. Does it not strike you that for whatever reason, Aeon Fall know this as well? Maybe they have the answer.” Then it hit her. “Your satellite. Your technological marvel. Mother, what does it do?”

  “If you had been here, you would know.”

  “But I wasn't,” Samantha snapped back. “You made it abundantly clear that you were preoccupied with my sister over there.” She watched Nina's face fold into a frown, and thought, she looks like her true self.

  Samantha raised her finger in warning to Nina. “Don't you even think of projecting thoughts into my head,” and pivoted back to the council. “Did you bring me here to make me account for my transgressions or to apologise for yours? If you want my obedience, lock me up, because that's the only way you will get it. Do you want my help? If so, you have to give a little back. What does the sky sling do?”

  “It will open a portal,” Her mother provided.

  “To heaven? You're seeking to reconnect with God?”

  Nobody answered.

  There was a strange feeling of tension in the air, of guilt. “No, that's not it, is it? Samantha challenged.

  “It will open a portal to Hell.”

  Her mother's voice rang out; Samantha heard the clear, ominous, authoritarian timbre.

  “One we can control, unlike what you've been doing the past few years. Lock you up? Your skills have been the basis of our entire effort. There's technology down there that surpasses anything we've been ab
le to develop. Behind it, there's an energy source of indescribable proportions.”

  The words sounded too rehearsed. Whatever her mother's real reason, this was not it. “You brought me here to tell me you're opening a gateway you nearly sacrificed everything to close? Because I can do the same?”

  “I've brought you here to understand why.”

  Samantha rose, walking away from the conference table. “Because if you can convince a massive doubter like me, you can convince anybody—correct?”

  Eva slammed her hand on the table. “Because you're my daughter too. Because you've been irresponsible, a tearaway. Like it or not, you have responsibilities.”

  “And the time for playing games is over, right?” Samantha smiled. There it was: that omniscient authoritarian voice her mother mostly kept in check. She waited for more.

  “Your attempts at lashing out are at an end, Samantha. Your followers are being dispersed as we speak. Do you believe the knowledge you gained growing up would be allowed to escape into the public domain? If you had let anything slip you would have been locked away. Only I kept you from that fate. Remember, daughter, at the end of the day your name is Scott and that means something. The very word is the modicum of sacrifice. Because your father sacrificed himself for all of us.” Eva sat back down. “He paid for our sins.”

  “Mom, I think you're looking in the wrong direction in terms of who paid for our sins.”

  Eva stood, red-faced, ready to go toe-to-toe with her own daughter.

  “Why don't we please just take it down a notch?” Swanson suggested. “Everything's just a little too heated. Sammy, yes we want you to understand the gravity of the situation. Also we can't have you acting like a maverick and creating your own cult, which, like it or not you were, in fact, doing through the use of your friend.”

  “I had no such intentions,” she countered. How ridiculous they all were!

  “He did,” supplied John Wolverton. “We highly suspect Lucas Rossi is a member of Aeon Fall too. If they ever reveal themselves we will know quickly. We are not without resource.”

  “You don't know the upper echelons of an organisation you're clearly worried about, yet you can tell all this about Lucas?”

  “Some people aren't as discreet about their affiliation as others,” the big man replied, shifting in his seat. “If you think I'm going to jump up and get all hysterical, you're grossly mistaken. Look at it this way, Sammy. When there's a big movie coming out, the studio doesn't want to be held responsible for direct leaks. They want the information to hit where it will have the most impact. They find one of the less-discreet members of the cast, put him in front of the camera and let nature happen. You have to admit, your Lucas isn't the most rational of guys.”

  “He's not my anything.”

  “That's not what he thinks,” Wolverton contradicted. “Eva, do we have the footage to hand?”

  For the first time in this grand confrontation, Samantha watched her mother's reluctance, holding her breath as she stared back at her daughter. “We, umm, yes we do. Her voice faltered. “Sammy, I'm sorry to have to show you this. I'd hoped to protect you from Lucas.”

  “Lucas? He can be a swine but he's harmless.”

  The film scrolled across the main screen behind Swanson. A room, dimly-lit, the walls plastered with photographs of women. Samantha watched in growing fear as the camera zoomed in on several of the pictures. Every photograph was her—many as she slept, some in various state of undress, and several of her during the summoning rituals. All the photographs seemed focussed on her neck, her breasts.

  “I'm sorry, Samantha,” her mother said. “I'll never let you suffer that again.”

  “You won't have time to worry, Eva,” said a calm, egotistical male voice from the screen. There were overtones of triumph in the words that followed. “You'll be too busy chasing your own tail.”

  Chapter Five

  The voice meant nothing to Samantha. Were they being watched? She wondered. She looked around the room and noticed two distinct reactions. Her mother had gone pale, her eyes wide, as she stared across at Swanson. He appeared the same. Gila Byron, Forrest Kyle, and oddly, John Wolverton wore similar expressions. They knew who the voice belonged to, or at least suspected. The rest of the council varied from intrigue to mild confusion.

  “Aren't you going to welcome back an old comrade?” the voice asked. “Surely it's not been so long you've forgotten?”

  Nina spoke first. “Why don't you show yourself and refresh our memories?”

  Amused, the voice said, “Ah yes, why don't I indeed, little princess? Put you all out of your misery, so to speak.”

  The screen flickered, static becoming a camera lens with a body filling the view as they set the camera in place. The man stepped back. Eva gasped.

  “It can't be,” Swanson whispered.

  John Wolverton frowned at the screen. “Is this some sort of joke?”

  The man stared in his direction. Piercing eyes, like a hawk watching prey, were framed by grey hair streaked with white hung loosely down his chest. A nest of a beard was a similar mix of colours. He wore a white t-shirt bearing the word 'Prophecy'. “No joke, oh mighty Mir-Shikar.”

  Samantha knew enough about her father figure to recall that term. It was the name bestowed on the head of the Shikari, an elite force employed by ARC to undertake only the most dangerous of tasks. And she knew enough to now be worried, as the room around her volleyed with cryptic whispers. She stared at the screen with the rest of them.

  “Let me introduce myself to those of you that do not know me. I was called Porter Rockwell. I died so that you might live, Nina Scott.”

  “You can't be here,” Eva said. “We saw you taken from the transport. We saw your body, ripped apart by Bel…” Eva paused, as all attention fell on her. “We saw you die.”

  “Yes, you did,” Rockwell purred. “And now you see me made anew. You abandoned me in Hell, the plaything of Belphegor. Now you will soon know what that will cost you.”

  “We didn't leave you,” argued Gila. “That was a one-way ticket. We all knew that, accepted that. You were no different. Save Nina. Prevent an apocalypse. It was that simple.”

  Eva turned a laptop toward the rest of the council. On it was one word. Hacked.

  Rockwell glanced in Eva's direction. “Hacked like you wouldn't believe, Director Scott.”

  The screen fizzed as the word Eva had typed disintegrated. Colour came back as it was replaced with one of the Aeon Fall propaganda posters, three modern spires reaching for the sky with the words 'Find your Salvation' floating above them.

  “Find out how he's doing this,” Swanson's raised voice revealed panic. They'd never been caught like this. Ever.

  A satisfied smile spread across Rockwell's face. “Reap what you sow, ladies and gentlemen. Consider this a courtesy call. You all have front row seats to what's coming next.”

  The screen blurred, Rockwell's eyes the last image to fade before being replaced by the Aeon Fall logo. A triumphant theme began to play, as if angels had descended blowing holy trumpets and announced with fanfare the coming of a greater being.

  Samantha watched as these oh-so-cocksure board members crumbled in confusion, anger, and helplessness.

  “What's going on here, people?” Swanson demanded, thumping the lectern with a clenched fist.

  In an instant, everybody was speaking, trying to be heard above everybody else. Wolverton was up and away from the table, on his cell, her mother trying without much success to reboot her laptop.

  “We're locked out,” Gila cried as she tried without success to alter the conference screen.

  Swanson pounced on the tabletop control console, screaming, “Hollie, Hollie get in here. Hollie?” He mashed the speaker button with his thumb. Nobody answered.

  A moment later Hollie burst in through the conference room door. “I'm sorry, Council.”

  “It's okay, Hollie. We're locked out.”

  “I know.”

&nb
sp; “Can you … what do you mean, you know? I only just called you.”

  “I never received any message, sir. You aren't the only ones locked out. Somebody's disabled the entire facility. Hunter's Ridge is dead in the water.”

  The room fell silent. Nobody knew what to do.

  “Work the problem, people. Who are we?”

  John Wolverton was the first to respond to Swanson. “Phone's aren't down. There's just no signal out of the base.”

  “You've got power everywhere though,” Samantha said.

  “What good is power if you can't use it?” Swanson replied.

  “Yes, but if you have power, then surely you have somebody in this nest of geniuses clever enough to figure out why there is no signal. Is it blocked? Is there a satellite being diverted?”

  Swanson turned. “What did you say?”

  “Is the signal blocked?”

  His face fell. “It couldn't be.”

  Her mother closed her eyes, taking several slow breaths.

  “What?” Samantha asked. “What did I say?”

  “You might have hit the nail right on the head, Sammy. It could be him.”

  Samantha looked about the room. “It could be what? Him who? Mom, what's going on here?”

  “A month back there was a falling out in my department. One of my more gifted experts decided that for his own reasons he had had enough of ARC's development strategy. He was working on security here at Hunter's Ridge and then nothing. Just gone. When we searched his quarters we found a two-word note: 'Going Home'. Surveillance picked him up in Split, but after that we lost track of him.”

  “Who was he? Did you check his home? Wasn't he tagged? I mean you keep track of me pretty well.”

  “Security checked all of his known contacts and came up with nothing. You're correct. He was indeed tagged, and the signal failed in Split. The other possibilities—someone is either hiding him, or has abducted him.”

  “Someone like Porter Rockwell?”

  A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Eva's face. “Told you she doesn't miss a trick.”