Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,24

the block. “Becky, a car is about to take you someplace safe.”

Panic invaded her face and Talon knew she needed a reassurance stronger than words. He gently touched her arm. Leaning closer, he said, ”You have to trust me, Becky. My friend will make sure nothing happens to you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Becky nodded.

Talon led her outside of the house. She was traumatized but kept her composure.

He scoped the neighborhood for any potential witnesses but the sidewalks remained deserted. Headlights speared the night and a black BMW pulled up to the curb.

A tinted window rolled down, revealing the face of one of Casca’s security men. The big man managed a reassuring smile as Talon assisted Becky into the luxury car.

“You’ll be safe, Becky.” Talon caught a whiff of fine leather as he closed the car door behind her. The BMW edged into the road.

Talon strode back into the house and paused before the seeping bodies. The cultist’s high-quality Halloween masks appeared to be from The Terminator, or at least inspired by the iconic film’s design. The living room resembled the grim battlefield in a post-apocalyptic science-fiction flick.

Talon stripped off the masks. Like his first kill, these two cultists looked like harmless computer geeks. All three men sported the 666 binary tattoos. Talon wondered what initiation rite had earned the cultists their mark of the Devil, and feared the answer.

Checking their belongings, he came across Omicron worker-identification badges. The evidence was rapidly mounting against the tech company.

Turning away from the bodies, Talon searched the home. Except for the three dead cultists, the elegant dwelling offered few hints as to the dark predilections of its inhabitants. Talon did spot a few occult books and a set of black candles on a library shelf. A deck of Tarot cards sat near the paranormal paraphernalia. Three cards poked from the deck: The Devil, the Hanged Man and the Death card.

The spooky, medieval images triggered renewed confusion in Talon. Had a creepy hobby metastasized into a twisted philosophy that encouraged human sacrifice? How exactly had occult rituals mated with 21st Century computer technology? Something had turned these computer-geeks into fanatics who were willing to die for their misguided beliefs.

And kill for them.

Once Talon completed his search of the house, he scooped up the dead cultists’ cell phones. He also grabbed a laptop that sat on the oak table, its screen splattered with blood.

He knew Casca would want to study the computer’s data. The billionaire had come through for him twice now. Though he hated to admit it, he was glad to have someone with Casca’s means and level of influence on his side. Talon was used to working within a unit and knew that firepower and skill weren’t always enough. Intel, resources and the proper backup could be crucial in shaping the final outcome of any conflict.

Talon filled up a black satchel with evidence and wiped off all the surfaces Becky might have come in contact with. Inspiration struck him as he studied the password-protected Omicron cell phone. He keyed in the cult’s trademark binary number and the home-screen popped up, its data at his full disposal. There were text messages and emails to go through, but for now he was more interested in the photos and videos on the phone.

Becky’s shocking experience in the Omicron auditorium popped into his mind. If she was telling the truth these cultists not only killed and filmed their murders but also streamed them to their unholy flock.

Had they recorded Michelle’s murder? The thought filled Talon with a mixture of horror and rage. Like a man possessed he went through the cultist’s videos. He located the first recording and pressed play. The footage showed Becky weakly fighting back inside the SUV.

Talon continued his search. After three more unrelated videos, he found the one he dreaded to view. His pulse quickened as Michelle’s final moments unspooled before him. The sound of her fear-stricken voice in the eco-home felt like a distant whisper from beyond the grave. As the merciless masked killers closed in on their downed victim, Talon’s fingers whitened around the body of the phone and nearly snapped its case.

Twenty seconds into it, before the knife had reached her, he stopped the video. He didn’t want to relive the murder. Couldn’t. Inhaling sharply, he turned off the phone. The screen went black and so did Talon’s mind. Rational thought was swept aside by a white-hot rage.

He was going to bring down the whole damn cult.

The vibrating cell