Morgan followed, staying far enough behind that Conrad wouldn’t notice that he was being tailed. From what Morgan had been told, Conrad had joined The Illuminati in his late teens, having been invited to join mainly because of his family’s money. Whereas many members of the organization possessed some measure of skill in the areas of the occult, Conrad was an exception. The son of a wealthy banker, Conrad helped provide needed capital and connections but was otherwise kept out of the loop when it came to the full extent of their supernatural affairs.

  But he still knew enough to be useful.

  Morgan recognized the area they were entering, having meticulously studied maps of the city. He ducked down an alleyway, confident that he knew where he could cut off Conrad’s progress. Indeed, he found himself waiting at a point, just ahead of the other man within moments and as Conrad passed, he reached out and grabbed him, yanking him off the street. He kept one hand over Conrad’s mouth while the other held the barrel of a gun against the man’s forehead.

  "Don’t move. Understand?"

  Conrad’s eyes were wide and frightened. He nodded quickly, wetting his lips when Morgan released his hold on him. "I have money," he said, starting to reach into his coat pocket.

  "Keep your hands where I can see them." Morgan cocked the gun and Conrad quickly raised his hands, showing the palms to Morgan. "I don’t want your money. I want information."

  "What do you mean?" Conrad seemed both relieved and guarded. "If you’re looking to pull some sort of art heist, you’ll find that there’s only so much I can help you with. The museum’s inner workings aren’t known to me."

  "Do I look like an art thief?" Morgan reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph of Walther Lunt. The German had one side of his face ruined by an acid attack years before and the assault had left him with a glint of madness in his eye. The photo showed that quite clearly. "You know this man?"

  Conrad hesitated, wetting his lips once more. "Yes."

  "I understand you’re both part of the same group. Am I right?"

  "We’re in a gentleman’s club together, yes."

  "Nice name for it. Your father is in banking and I bet that Lunt and some of the others use you to help keep their money hidden. Am I on the right track?"

  Conrad said nothing for a moment and when he did speak, his voice had dropped an octave. "You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend. You don’t want to mess with these people. They’ll hurt you in ways that you can’t even imagine."

  Morgan narrowed his eyes, his grip on the pistol never wavering. He was pretty sure that one reason why Lazarus agreed to let him go on this mission was because of his past. Morgan had once run with the toughest thugs in Sovereign. He’d done lots of bad things and on a few occasions, he’d had to kill to save his own skin. Unlike Samantha or Eun – and maybe even Lazarus – Morgan was quite capable of pulling the trigger if need be. "I’ll take that risk. Now answer the question: do Lunt and the others use your father’s bank?"

  "I’m pretty sure that you already know that they do. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?"

  "Smart boy." Morgan reached out and grabbed Conrad by the arm, yanking him close. He shoved the gun hard into the younger man’s ribs, keeping it out of sight as he walked Conrad back out onto the city streets.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the bank. It’s after hours but you can get us in, can’t you?"

  Conrad’s jaw worked in helpless frustration. "And then what?’

  "You’re going to give me addresses, phone numbers and anything else I can think of for those people Lunt works with."

  "And when you’re done, do you think I’m not going to warn them?" Conrad’s eyes widened as the words left his mouth and he visibly realized that he should have kept his lips shut. "Oh good lord, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?"

  Morgan just smiled coldly, letting Conrad fill in the details. He actually had no desire to commit murder, even though he was capable of it. He’d brought along a small drug cocktail that Lazarus had perfected. It would wipe Conrad’s memory of the last 24 hours and leave him a very confused man. "I won’t shoot you unless you make me. That’s a promise."

  Conrad stared into Morgan’s eyes, not sure if he believed the older man’s words. In the end, he knew that he had no choice: even a faint hope of survival was better than none. "I’ll get you the information you need… but I think you’re making an awful mistake. Lunt alone is a lunatic. If you go after the other members of the cabal, too, you’re a guaranteed dead man."

  "I’ll roll the dice on that one. Now let’s go." Morgan gestured for Conrad to lead the way and the two of went off in pursuit of the information that would, hopefully, lead to a critical strike against The Illuminati.

  ***

  "... city continues to mourn the loss of 57 innocent lives in last night’s terrible fire at Doc Daye’s Home for Forgotten Children. Sovereign Fire Chief Gabriel Sanders says that the tragedy is like nothing he’s ever seen before…."

  Lazarus Gray turned off the radio, well aware of the somber mood in the room. With him in the meeting area of Assistance Unlimited’s headquarters were Samantha Grace and Eun Jiwon. Both of them stood in silent contemplation, eyes downcast.

  "It’s so awful," Samantha said at last, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. The daughter of socialite parents, Samantha had never been one of the city’s ‘forgotten children,’ but her kind heart allowed her to easily empathize with those who had perished. It was horrible enough to be alone in the world, with no family to speak of… but to have that life cut so cruelly short was almost too much to bear.

  Eun glanced up, finding Gray’s eyes upon him. "What are we going to do, Chief?"

  The man who now called himself Lazarus Gray bore an unusually grim expression, even for him. "As both of you know, this was not a random act of God. No matter what the authorities might wish to believe, this was an attack. A warning, if you will."

  Eun nodded, his gaze moving toward the crumpled letter that lay on the meeting room table. Eun had been the first to discover it, dropped in their mail slot sometime overnight. Its surface was scrawled with horrible handwriting that somehow seemed to transcend mere ugliness: this was the mad doodling of a demon, straining to muster an attempt at English.

  The note read: THOSE CHILDREN ARE JUST THE BEGINNING. I WILL BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND UNLESS YOU GIVE YOURSELF TO ME. FALL UPON YOUR KNEES BEFORE THE GOD OF HATE.

  "The first thing we need to do," Lazarus answered, "is find out who sent this letter."

  Samantha pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. She was a beautiful girl with a peaches and cream complexion, but at the moment she looked deathly pale. "Are we going to go to the police? Or let Doc Daye know what’s going on?"

  Lazarus considered the questions before shaking his head. "Going to the authorities would do no good. They could place the citizenry on a general alert but we have no idea where this killer might strike next. A panic would do no one any good. As for Doc Daye, I will forward a copy of the letter to him and ask him to share with us any clues that he might come upon."

  Eun nodded in agreement. "Okay. I’ll start looking through the archives to see if I can find any reference to The God of Hate." Assistance Unlimited had one of the top newspaper clipping collections in the world, as well as many priceless bound volumes that would have set any bibliophile’s heart aflutter.

  Lazarus fixed his gaze upon Samantha, who straightened immediately. "While Eun is doing that, I want you to come with me. We should see the crime scene firsthand."

  The three members of Assistance Unlimited sprang into action but while Samantha and Eun’s expressions were brimming with excitement, Gray’s remained impassive. There was something eating away at the edges of his frayed memory, some past association that the words ‘God of Hate’ almost brought to the fore.

  There were dark days ahead, he knew. And he prayed that his friends were strong enough to stand up to the test before them.

  Chapter II

  Horrors Laid Bare

  The God of Hate reclined on a bed of soft pillows, the smell of opium thick in the air. Three whores lay scattered about the bed and the floor, their clothes lying in an unruly pile next to the door. The girls had been drugged and then thoroughly violated in ways that would leave emotional scars for years. Thankfully, the opium would most likely prevent any of them from having a clear memory of what had occurred.

  The room in which The Claw lay was rented and paid for by The Illuminati, who had hired him to deal with Lazarus Gray. In return, he would receive several young virgins that he could sacrifice for even greater power. Such was the world in which The Claw moved: humans were nothing more than bags of meat, to be eaten, screwed or traded.

  A bedside radio had alternated between horrified reporting of the orphanage tragedy and the popular music of the day, which sounded like the bleating of animals to The Claw’s ears: Cheek to Cheek by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers; Lullaby of Broadway by The Dorsey Brothers; and You’re The Top by Cole Porter. The Claw found he preferred the shocked tones of the reporters to the wailing of the singers, so he reached over with a sharpened nail to turn the radio off.

  He rose from the pillows, stepping over a naked girl whose nose had been shattered. Her beauty would never fully return but The God of Hate felt no sympathy for her. She had served her purpose and been discarded, like a used tissue.

  The Claw dressed slowly and methodically, putting his skullcap on last. He looked at himself in the mirror, smiling so that his razor-sharp teeth could be seen. There were bits of bloody flesh caught up near his gums and his tongue flicked up to work at them, savoring the flavor.

  The origins of The God of Hate were unknown to all but a few on this planet and The Claw saw no reason to reveal his true nature to his enemies. But he was not birthed of this world and he would be alive long after its sun had grown cold. Immortality could be a curse, with eons of boredom. But The Claw refused to allow himself to stand still. He was always moving, always expanding his power base… and this attracted opposition, which The Claw secretly enjoyed. By pitting himself against so-called ‘heroes,’ he found a way to keep himself amused.

  And this Sovereign City was certainly full of challenges. There was Doc Daye, Lazarus Gray and Fortune McCall, all living in this one troubled locale. It was almost enough to make him consider moving his base of operations away from Ricca….

  But no, Ricca was too perfect a home. He would destroy Gray as he’d promised, and perhaps take his revenge upon the Daye family… and then he would leave.

  Behind him, one of the girls was beginning to stir, a low, pained moan escaping her cracked lips. The Claw felt a renewed stirring within his loins and considered playing with her a bit more, but in the end he simply walked to the door and exited the hotel room. He had wasted enough time and he was here on business, after all.

  He harbored no doubts about how Lazarus Gray would respond to the letter he had sent him. Gray would never surrender.

  Which was just how The Claw wanted it.

  ***

  Morgan Watts sat in the back of a cab, a heavy folder on his lap. He’d actually managed to get a lot more information than he’d ever dared hope and he couldn’t wait to get back to America so he could share it with the rest of Assistance Unlimited. When Gray had first told them of the scope of The Illuminati’s activities, Morgan had felt overwhelmed. How could Assistance Unlimited, four people strong, topple an international cartel that had their fingers in every level of finance, industry and the occult? But now, he was beginning to feel differently. Today had gone very well and the information could be used to badly hurt Lunt and his friends.

  Morgan glanced out the window just in time to see the cab miss the turn that would have taken them to the airport. He leaned forward, tapping the driver on the shoulder. "Monsieur, you should have turned left back there."

  The driver pushed harder on the accelerator and the car sped along faster than ever. Morgan now realized that he was in tremendous danger and reached for the door. He cursed under his breath when it refused to open. He was fumbling to pull out his gun, intending to force the driver to stop, when the vehicle abruptly braked. Morgan looked out the window to see that the cab was now parked near an open field, where five large men stood smoking cigarettes. One of them held a pistol in his left hand. The gunman was bald with a hook-shaped scar that ran from the corner of his mouth up to just under his right eye.

  The driver got out of the car and stepped around to open Morgan’s door. "Your stop, Mr. Watts," the driver said, a faint smile on his lips.

  Morgan stuffed the folder into the lining of his jacket. Gray had altered all of his aides’ clothing to allow for hidden pockets. He stepped out of the car with gun in hand and quickly backhanded the driver, shattering the man’s jaw and knocking him to the ground. The other men reached into their own coats but stopped at a motion from the bald man. The movements confirmed Morgan’s worst fears: he was facing not one armed foe, but five.

  Addressing the bald man, Morgan said, "I bet you know all about me and I know nothing about you. Seems a bit unfair. What’s your name? And who do you work for?"

  "I suspect you know the answer to that last question," the bald man answered. "But my name is Louis. I don’t suppose you knew that all members of The Illuminati, especially those who safeguard valuable information, are subject to observation. We saw your kidnapping of Mr. Conrad. Now I’d like you to give us all the information you gathered. If you cooperate, we may not hurt you too badly."

  Morgan bit his tongue before he voiced his doubts about that. They were going to kill him regardless of what he did. As casually as possible, he reached into his pocket, pretending to comply with Louis’ request. He pulled out a small slip of paper on which he’d written Conrad’s address and usual schedule. As he was doing so, his fingers brushed against a small radio device that was used by all the aides to keep in contact with one another. One of its settings was a simple distress signal that would alert all the others that the user was in danger. Of course, its range was somewhat limited but Gray had managed to find a way to piggyback its signal over international wires. There would be probably be no way for anyone at Assistance Unlimited to actually help him but Morgan wanted to warn them, nonetheless.

  "Here you go," Morgan said, folding the paper in half and then handing it over. "I didn’t take much information, actually. I just wanted to know how to reach a man named Walther Lunt."

  Louis obviously recognized the name. His back stiffened and a terrible sneer touched his lips. "That bastard… if it were up to me, I’d let you have him."

  Morgan sensed an opening and leapt for it. He gestured with his free hand toward the scar on the man’s face. "Is he responsible for that?"

  "Among other things, yes." Louis shook his head, obviously trying to clear it of bad memories. "Down on your knees. "

  "Aren’t you going to look at the paper? That’s everything, I swear."

  Louis hesitated and then began to unfold the paper. When his eyes dropped, Morgan sprang into action. He knew he was a dead man but he wasn’t going to risk going down without a fight. He threw himself into Louis, knocking the man off his feet. Morgan made sure to shove the bald man into one of his henchmen.

  Using instincts honed as a member of Assistance Unlimited, Morgan was a blur of action. He drew his gun and had blown off the head of the nearest thug before the remaining two men had even reached for their own weapons.

  Morgan ducked and rolled, evading gunshots from the two men who were still on their feet. When he came back to his knees, he fired twice more, each bullet ripping through the throats of his targets.

  In just a few seconds, Morgan had killed three men, which left him facing only two more: the odds had improved immensely. With any luck, he might get out of this in one piece, after all.

  Louis gestured for his remaining ally to hang back. He held his hands up, his gun still clutched tightly. Morgan held his weapon aimed at the bald man’s head but didn’t pull the trigger. He was curious what Louis was up to.

  "We can talk about this," Louis said. "We both hate Lunt."

  "I thought you said it wasn’t up to you, though. You’ve got your orders, right? Take the information I’ve gathered and kill me. That’s the basics, right?"

  "That’s what I was told to do, yes. But that doesn’t mean we can’t change things."

  Morgan stood up, his eyes flicking over to the cab that had brought him here. The driver was sitting in the front seat, watching intently. Given the blood that freely trickled from his ruined jaw, the driver’s hatred for Morgan was obvious. No way was that guy going to sit by and let Morgan negotiate his way to freedom. "I don’t think that’s going to happen and we all know it."

  Louis swallowed hard and then spun about. He shot the man standing behind him, blowing a hole directly between the man’s eyes. He then turned toward the car and fired three times before one of the bullets ended the driver’s life. He then tossed the gun aside and turned back to Morgan. "Now can we talk?’

  Morgan took a deep breath and nodded. He lowered his weapon, wondering about the wisdom of this. A part of him said he should simply kill Louis on the spot and flee back to the States… but what if he could gather more information this way? What if Louis knew something that would allow Assistance Unlimited to drive a stake through The Illuminati’s heart?

  "Make it good," Morgan said at last.

  And Louis began to speak.

  ***

  The crime scene was abuzz with activity but Samantha found it hard to concentrate on the men and women around them. She kept focusing on all the tiny bodies that had been laid out to the side, sheets carefully placed over the ruined remains. The smell was awful and she knew that at least part of that came from the burned flesh of children.

 

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