Occult Assassin 4: Soul Jacker Read online

  OCCULT ASSASSIN

  SOUL JACKER

  BOOK 4

  WILLIAM MASSA

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  Copyright © 2015 William Massa

  Published by Critical Mass Publishing

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

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  Also by William Massa

  THE OCCULT ASSASSIN SERIES

  Occult Assassin #1: Damnation Code - Amazon US Amazon UK

  Occult Assassin #2: Apocalypse Soldier - Amazon US Amazon UK

  Occult Assassin #2.5: Ice Shadows (A Novella) Amazon US Amazon UK

  Occult Assassin #3.5: Coffin Collector (A Short Story) Amazon US Amazon UK

  Occult Assassin #4: Soul Jacker

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  HORROR/DARK FANTASY

  FEAR THE LIGHT

  GARGOYLE KNIGHT

  MATCH: A SUPERNATURAL THRILLER

  SCIENCE FICTION

  CROSSING THE DARKNESS

  THE SILICON SERIES

  SILICON DAWN

  SILICON MAN

  COMING SOON

  TARGET EARTH: THE SYSTEM BOOK 1

  GARGOYLE QUEST

  THE STORY SO FAR

  After a decade spent fighting the enemy abroad and keeping his country safe, Delta Force Operator Mark Talon is ready to settle down with the love of his life. But Talon’s world crumbles when his fiancée becomes the victim of a murderous cult.

  In the wake of his terrible loss, Talon dedicates himself to a new mission – hunting down twisted occultists around the globe and stopping them before they can unleash the forces of darkness upon an unsuspecting world.

  In Soul Jacker, Talon must head to the ghettos of Paris and face the curse of the Jinn.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A QUAINT MEDIEVAL chapel topped the Northern Italian mountain, the breathtaking vista offering no indication of the evil forces converging on its summit. The first sign that something might be amiss came when a silver helicopter popped up from behind a jagged rock formation, a shadow against the sun, and zeroed in on the stone structure.

  Alerted by the deafening rotor wash, Roberto Abatte, high priest of the Order of the Flayed Prince, emerged from the chapel. Shielding his eyes from the blinding sunlight, he peered up at the approaching craft. As expected, Laura Santerre, heir to her late father’s fashion empire, was both the last to arrive and the flashiest entrance of them all. Most of the other acolytes had braved the series of winding roads that snaked up the steep mountain, their luxury cars now parked around the chapel. Big security men in expensive suits fronted the fleet of BMWs, Ferrarris and Maseratis. They eyed the approaching craft with wary suspicion.

  As the helicopter touched down, the guards raised their hands to shield themselves from the buffeting gusts of wind. Roberto faced the incoming craft in stoic silence. At this altitude the icy air packed a punch, but his self-discipline prevented him from showing any discomfort. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of displaying weakness in front of his flock.

  Laura climbed out of the helicopter and strode toward him, flanked by two guards of her own. She was dressed in a formfitting black dress that accentuated her ample curves and formed a perfect contrast to her alabaster skin and blood-red lipstick.

  Laura didn’t bother to hide her sexual interest as their eyes met. Another spoiled brat, Roberto thought, to whom the cult and its rituals were just a way to stave off boredom and convince herself that she mattered. Her file painted the picture of a young woman who tried on identities the way other people changed clothes. Over the years she’d experimented with drugs, sexuality, religion, and a string of failed business ventures. Her curiosity rarely led to a lasting commitment—but she would soon discover the Order wasn’t a role she would be able to discard so easily.

  “I hope I’m not too late,” Laura said. Roberto shook his head and indicated with a wave of his hand that she should follow him into the stone chapel. Her high heels echoed against the marble floor as they entered the place of worship. Six pairs of curious eyes tracked the new arrival. The congregants’ eagerness to commence the initiation rite was all too palpable.

  Laura grew still, unable to mask her surprise as she took in the Christian symbols of worship surrounding her. Having expected this reaction, Robert explained, “If the Inquisition taught us anything, it’s the art of hiding in plain sight. Look more closely and you will see what I mean.”

  A smile curled Laura’s lips as she spotted the subtle signs. Upon first glance, the stained glass windows depicted classic images from the Bible, but closer inspection revealed the symbols of black magic embedded in the imagery: a triangle with the all-seeing eye looming over a saint, a pentagram among a firmament of stars, a savior crucified on an inverted cross. The telltale indicators of the left-hand path would jump out at any person who knew what to look for.

  Roberto tilted his head toward the congregants, and Laura joined their ranks. He advanced toward the altar, on which a thick, leather-bound book rested. Taking up position before the tome, he regarded his gathered flock. There was a famous soccer star and his actress wife, the owner of a fleet of luxury cars, even a countess. Wealth had bought them power and prestige but couldn’t satisfy all their needs. These men and women recognized the limits of material rewards and yearned to be part of something far grander and more meaningful.

  Roberto planned to fill that emptiness today.

  His eyes fell on the leather-bound tome. The ancient volume radiated an eerie energy. It was more than mere parchment bound by animal hide. The Grimoire Incatrix had been translated from the original Arabic into Latin during the 13th century, and the incantations contained within its weathered pages formed a direct line of communication with a force not of this Earth. When spoken at the right pitch and at the correct time of year, the words could open doorways to other worlds.

  A solar eclipse was mere minutes away, and a dark baptism awaited the well-heeled power brokers in the chapel, an initiation rite that would bind them to the Order—and to the darkness. Once the moon finished swallowing the sun, the black magic within the book would manifest itself in the unholy chapel.

  “Today marks a new chapter for all of you,” Roberto declared, fanatical conviction fueling his words. “Soon your old selves will be nothing but a memory. Rebirth awaits. Are you ready to take the final step and prove your devotion to the darkness?”

  Their answer was a resounding yes.

  He leaned over the Grimoire, flipped open the book…and froze. His stomach churned as the world tilted. The book before him was not filled with ancient secrets. It was a hollowed out replica containing a digital timer and a tangle of wires embedded in a clump of white putty. Before he could scream, the timer hit zero and charges ignited the plastic explosives. A heartbeat later, the entire congregation of devil worshippers got their chance to experience hell on Earth.

  ***

  The stained-glass windows of the chapel blew out with devastating force, the explosion shattering the idyllic mountain setting. The stunned guards outside froze, the blast shaking bones and rattling teeth whi
le apocalyptic columns of searing flame painted their faces scarlet. An instant later, their hands reached for their firearms as they rushed toward the raging inferno.

  They hadn’t gotten far when a series of muffled pops erupted and three of the men went down before they knew what hit them. Another volley of lead forced the remaining guards to seek shelter between the parked cars. Eyes darting, they tried to spot the new assailant. They were still combing the mountaintop battlefield when the chapel door flung open and one of the cultists burst from the structure. Fire licked the man’s form. Two bullets struck down the living torch—a mercy killing, courtesy of the same mysterious assailant.

  The guards spun around and spotted a shadowy figure disappearing behind a nearby Mercedes. A moment later the sound of the engine bashed the air and the vehicle screamed past them, hurtling down the narrow mountain road. Shouts were exchanged and the men rushed to their cars and motorcycles.

  The chase was on.

  Behind the wheel of the fleeing Mercedes, Mark Talon allowed himself to steal a glance at his rear-view mirror. The eyes staring back at him flickered with single-minded determination. Six months earlier the former Delta Operator had lost his fiancée at the hands of a murderous cult. In the wake of the tragedy, he’d turned his back on his military career and signed up for a new mission - hunting down evil occultists across the globe and stopping them before they could unleash the forces of darkness upon the world.

  The roar of a black Ducati motorcycle bashed the air as it popped up in the mirror next to his face, a BMW hot on its tail.

  Talon punched the Mercedes’ accelerator, his attention split between the high-speed chase and the object that had brought him to the remote chapel: The Grimoire Incatrix.

  According to Simon Casca, the Silicon Valley billionaire turned occult expert who sponsored his missions, it was one of the most dangerous tomes of black magic in the world. Five long weeks of recon had led them to Northern Italy. The billionaire’s intel had steered him toward Roberto and his connection with an organization known as the Order of the Flayed Prince.

  How the hell do these cultists think up these names?

  After tailing the man for a few days, Talon had discovered that Roberto kept the book locked up in the Cassa Depositi e Prestiti and only retrieved it from the Italian banking institution for special occasions. So he’d waited, remaining in the shadows, biding his time.

  Until today.

  Once he had discovered the location of the initiation ceremony, he’d made his move. Approaching the chapel from the mountain-side, he ‘d reached the peak thirty minutes before Roberto did. Hiding in the chapel’s vestibule, he’d switched out the books and waited for the new members of the circle to arrive. He had felt zero mercy when the bomb went off. Each one of the initiates had spilled blood as part of their dark rites. Seven innocent lives had been snuffed out so that the decadent fools could gain access into one more elite club.

  The dead could not be brought back, but Talon would make certain these fanatics would never hurt anyone else again. He knew from experience that the world was a better place without certain people in it.

  The screaming engines of the advancing BMW and Ducati reminded Talon that one more battle lay ahead. The explosion in the chapel had cut off the head of the snake, but he still had to deal with the spasms of its dying body.

  Talon twisted the steering wheel, the tires tattooing black marks on the winding road as he carved a hairpin turn. One wrong move would send the car hurtling down the steep mountainside to a fiery end. Right hand on the wheel, he used the left to bring up his Glock. With the press of a button, the window whirred open and then he was returning fire, the recoil sending tremors up his arm. The mountain landscape streaked past him in a mad blur. In the fading light, it was difficult to aim. The sun’s light was growing dimmer, and darkness was falling like a shroud across the land.

  The solar eclipse was beginning.

  Right on schedule…

  Talon had come prepared. He lowered the Glock for a beat and snatched a pair of night-vision goggles from his satchel. The glasses transformed the road ahead into a spectral green landscape. As the orb of the moon slid over the sun, tires screeched behind him, his pursuers struggling to adjust to the sudden darkness.

  Once again Talon’s eyes darted toward the rear-view mirror, but this time his blood turned to ice. A dark, faceless entity peered back at him—a figure carved from shadow. Struggling to keep his terror in check, Talon spun around and found the backseat empty.

  His gaze traveled to the Grimoire, and Casca’s warning came to mind. The tome would do anything in its power to remain with its rightful owner. This wasn’t just a book but a direct line to another plane of existence, with the ability to sway the minds of those who didn’t keep their guard up. The terrible vision in the backseat of the car was probably just the beginning. As soon as the fatalistic thought crossed his mind, the book launched its next attack. The windshield fogged up and an oily mist filled the car. It coated the windows and turned the world black. Damn it! He was flying blind now. If he missed the upcoming turn, the Mercedes would go over the side of the road…

  There was no hesitation as his gloved fist shot out at the windshield. Glass shattered and the ghostly green vision of the mountain landscape jumped back into view. Not a moment too soon as the guardrail rushed up at him. Talon understood he was mere seconds away from shrieking down the mountain in a steel coffin. He jerked the wheel, inwardly cursing the infernal book as he barely navigated the sharp turn. Rubber burned.

  The car grew icy cold, but Talon wasn’t impressed. The Grimoire might be pulling out all the stops, but cheap parlor tricks wouldn’t be enough to defeat him. He turned away from the book of black magic and focused on the motorcycle closing in from behind.

  With a snarl, he floored the brakes. The biker was going too fast to correct his course and slammed into the back of Talon’s Mercedes. The impact sent the rider over the handlebars, and the man crashed full-force into the rear windshield. A beat later, his lifeless form lay prostate in the backseat amid a shower of broken glass, his helmeted head lolling. Talon punched the gas, leaving the twisted, smoking remains of the shattered motorcycle behind.

  Talon’s attention switched to the roadway ahead. The BMW was gaining on him.

  Alright, come and get me!

  The BMW pulled abreast of the Mercedes on the left side, and Talon clenched his jaw as he whipped the wheel. Metal collided with metal, the BMW protesting under the violent assault. Talon repeated the move once, twice, his face distorted with killer instinct. The third impact sent the Mercedes through the railing. The driver’s terrified scream echoed as the car plummeted down the rocky hillside.

  Talon had only a moment to celebrate his victory. A helicopter was moving in fast, headed straight toward him. A man leaned out of the craft, machine pistol leveled at the Mercedes. Bullets stitched the road before perforating the hood, turning much of the Mercedes into Swiss cheese. It was only a matter of time before Talon lost control of the vehicle—or a lucky bullet hit the gas tank. The Glock was no match for the sustained firepower of his airborne attackers. What to do?

  Talon glanced at the dead motorcyclist, and a plan sparked behind his eyes. Instead of slowing the Mercedes, whose engine was now belching smoke, he sped up and reached behind his seat to remove the corpse’s helmet. Swiftly, Talon donned the helmet.

  Thirty feet in front of him, the chopper hovered beyond the road’s flimsy guard railing like some mechanical beast of prey. One last task remained before Talon could make his move. He grabbed the Grimoire and slipped it under his leather jacket. A burning sensation assaulted his chest, almost as if the book had sprouted claws and was ripping its way through skin and bone to get at his pounding heart. How he wished he could leave the infernal tome behind, but Casca would never forgive him. Besides, if the billionaire was right, even an explosion wouldn’t destroy the magical book.

  The Grimoire secured, Talon hurled himself f
rom the moving Mercedes. The mountain road lashed out at him with voracious ferocity, the impact rattling every bone in his body.

  The Mercedes kept shooting down the road, on a direct collision course with the chopper. The pilot tried to pull away from the out-of-control car, now turned deadly projectile, but he failed to react fast enough. With a ferocious shriek of rending metal and glass, the Mercedes slammed into the cockpit.

  The explosion that followed canceled out the eclipse, as for a brief moment it lit up the mountainside. The fiery wreck vanished from view behind the guardrail, and a series of smaller explosions rocked the landscape.

  The symphony of destruction gave way to silence.

  Talon lay on the dusty ground, grateful to still be alive and in one piece. He inhaled deeply and stumbled to his feet. His muscles screamed out in pain.

  He extricated the book from under his leather jacket while the darkness around him lifted. The moon was beginning to pass the sun, and the first rays of sunlight lit up the world once more. The stench of burning metal and plastic permeated the air. Even the book was cold to the touch again, almost as if it sensed the battle was over.

  Already dreading the bruises that would form by the time he reached the bottom of the mountain, Talon began his descent. Once again he’d cheated death, but how much longer would his luck hold up? He cast off the thought and eyed the book over which so much blood had been spilled. Talon could already picture Casca’s excited smile when he handed him the Grimoire. But would the tome of infernal magic truly be safe in the hands of the billionaire?