PART THREE: THE LAST STAND

Chapter Four: A Place Called Armageddon

The second floor corridor snaked around to a small lobby round the front of the manor. They brought me to a pair of high wooden doors with an ornate stone gargoyle carved over the top. I figured it was meant to look gothic and worn, a neat historical addition to the overall look. I thought its dead eyes and wide open grin just looked scary.

One hand on my gun, I gently pushed open the door and stepped into blackness.

I'd walked into Senator West's home office, the seat of power. From this room the Senator made his phone calls and pulled the strings that ran the city. This was the real heart of New York, the throne room of an evil empire.

Through the large French windows I could see a small stone balcony, beyond which lay the grounds shrouded in darkness and, beyond that, a row of streetlights marching on to the bright lights and towering skyscrapers of the city. In my mind I could see the Senator stood on the balcony in the dusk light, nursing a glass of Cognac and watching with a satisfied grin as those lights dimmed, chuckling as the shadow of Miasma marched through the avenues and alleyways.

Tonight, however, he'd been far too busy for that. Candles covered every surface, fiery little glows like stars. White candle wax, turned a grubby yellow, had trickled down all the surfaces like blood. In the centre of the room, on the old oak desk, an ancient black Bible lay open to Revelations.

Nathan West had gone mad, alright.

In meticulous red pen he'd underlined several lines, all talking of the end of the world and the coming of God. The first line that caught my eye read, '…And he will take them to a place called Armageddon.'

I slammed it shut. Not tonight. I'd seen enough of this crazy religious crap to know that the scariest part of it all was someone taking it seriously – most of all one of the most powerful men in the country, standing on the cusp of the Presidency. Most of all, someone with connections to a group like the late Inner Circle.

It was then that my eye caught something else. A small black attaché case, sat inconspicuously under the table. I grabbed it. Flicked open the lock. And, for the first time in a long while, found myself breaking into a grin.

Sat in the soft plush briefcase interior, in its own moulded holder, was the Miasma vaccine.

My quest was almost over. I had the chalice. And now it was time to get the hell out of here, whilst Mona still had time.

I slammed the lock shut, turned to head out the door, and felt a grip like iron on my shoulders yank me backwards. The briefcase hit the floor hard, skittering away beneath the table, and the grip moved up to my neck, squeezing like a python.

"That doesn't belong to you, Mr Payne," a voice rasped in my ear, hot breath tickling my face. It was Scipio. "That is the property of Mr West."

I was thrown hard to the floor, whatever air I still had in my stomach choked out. Red lights flashed before my eyes in the darkness. My head felt on the brink of explosion. Veins throbbed painfully in my neck.

You break out of this, Max, or you're dead. Come on.

I elbowed Scipio hard in the gut, but it was like slamming into a rock. He barely registered it.

Instead he pushed me forward, and I felt the strength draining out of my muscles, and my head spin wildly. One last chance. No strength at all. All drained. Just have to drive him back, one last push…

Using the weight of the table, I shoved backwards hard, feeling pain roll up through my arm muscles. Scipio stumbled backwards, knocking a candle to the floor. The carpet beneath us burst into wild flames.

Scipio screamed, releasing me for a second, backing away from the roaring flames that were swallowing up the office around us. They rolled up over the table, catching the velvet curtains, filling the office with choking heat and smoke.

I rested a second, rubbing my sore neck, sucking in oxygen, and then grabbed the briefcase.

I leapt through the French glass windows, standing out on the stone balcony whilst behind me West's office descended into flames. It was a short drop to the floor. A few bushes would cushion my fall. I grabbed the edge of the balcony.

Scipio leapt through the windows like a demon, trailing fire behind him, his face a grimace of rage and anger. He was a monster hell-bent on death and destruction. A nasty streak of blood had risen on one seared cheek. Glass flew out in all directions.

I fell to the side as he descended on me, hands like clamps clutching my squirming body, throwing me against the wall. I felt fire lance across my chest over the broken rib, felt the air knocked out of me.

He ran at me like a bull.

I leapt up, grabbing the lip of the tiled roof, heaving myself up. I felt the whisper of his fingertips on the soles of my shoes as I scrambled up the tiles. They slid away beneath my grip, shattering on the balcony below. Above my spinning head the roof stretched up to a curve and beyond that the stars flew out wildly. Guiding the way to freedom. If I could reach the top of the roof, I'd be safe. I could make it.

One grazed hand, the one still clutching the briefcase, grabbed the ridge, squeezing tight. Holding on for dear life.

Scipio had scrambled up after me, as fanatical as a religious cultist. He wasn't about to give up, not now. Not when he owed so much to Senator West.

One arm grabbed my leg and yanked hard enough to tear it out, if he'd wanted to. I felt his nails dig deep enough into my shins to draw blood.

Desperate now to escape him, I reached for my Beretta with my spare hand. He was struggling for grip with his one hand, tearing at me with the other. As I turned to stare at him, his one eye was wild with blood-lust. I pointed my gun at his face and pulled the trigger.

He screamed as the bullet caught him in his one operational eye, letting go of his grip and tumbling down the tiles to the balcony below. As I watched he smashed through it like a meteor, trailing rubble and dust with him as he descended into the roaring flames below.

Goodnight, Scipio, I thought, and slumped half-conscious over the edge of the roof.

Suddenly the bell tower in the centre of the roof, an old white Victorian tower with a gold clock that would have looked acceptable in any civic centre, collapsed into the house with a titanic roar. Fire rolled up wildly in the rubble and a good portion of the roof slid into the flames.

I had to leave now. West's manor was burning up.

Wincing at the agony, clutching the briefcase, I crawled to the edge of the roof. I gently let myself down to a small window box and then leapt into the bushes around the outside of the house. The shock hurt for a moment, the branches of the bush left a thousand small scars and lacerations, but I was alive and standing.

And I had the vaccine.

Behind me another wall collapsed and the flames rode high into the summer night. Men were fleeing into the shadows of the ground. The seat of power was collapsing in fire.

I stood up, brushed myself off, and disappeared into the night.

To be continued…