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  A Belial Series Novel

  R.D. Brady

  Scottish Seoul Publishing

  "Sooner or later everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences."

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  “The day science begins to study non-physical phenomena, it will make more progress in one decade than in all the previous centuries of its existence.”

  Nikola Tesla

  PROLOGUE

  Shoreham, Long Island

  1902

  James Franklin II looked out the window as his driver pulled to a stop. It had taken hours to get here from Manhattan. Thank God he had been able to borrow Mr. Morgan’s Curved Dash Oldsmobile and driver. But his bum was still sore from the bumpy ride.

  Irritated, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face. This was lunacy to begin with. He couldn’t understand why a man of Mr. Morgan’s intellect would have bought into it. Thank goodness he’d finally seen the light.

  Smoothing down his coat, James picked up his bowler hat from the seat next to him as the driver hustled to open the door.

  He stepped out, looking around with distaste at WardneClyffe Tower—a metal skeleton that rose 186 feet in the air before ending in a metal dome. To Franklin, it looked like a giant mushroom. Wireless electricity for the east coast. Ridiculous notion.

  Some people claimed Nikola Tesla was a genius who was in tune with a knowledge greater than that of mere mortals. Even his birth was something out of a story: a ferocious lightning storm was said to have hit the night Tesla was born. The midwife had thought it was an omen and claimed he would be a child of darkness. His mother had retorted, “No. He will be a child of light.”

  James had also heard that the man had a peculiar fondness for pigeons and a complete fear of germs. The man was insane.

  “You, boy,” he called to a dark-skinned figure kneeling on the ground and banging something. The boy turned, and James realized he was much older than James had assumed, closer to James’s own age of fifty. Not that he apologized.

  The man got to his feet, removed his cap, and held it in front of him. “Yes, sir?”

  “Where is Mr. Tesla?”

  The man pointed to the building. “He’s in his lab. Do you know the way?”

  “Yes, yes of course.” James paused, glancing at the building warily. “Is he conducting an experiment?”

  James had seen more than enough of Tesla’s demonstrations. Tesla could stand in the middle of balls of electricity—have them shooting out of his hands, in fact. James wasn’t sure how he did it without killing himself, or someone else.

  The man smiled. “No. Just writing something.”

  “Very well.” With a determined stride, James headed across the barren lawn to the building. He rapped sharply on the door before pulling it open. “Mr. Tesla?”

  Inside, two men stopped their conversation to stare at him. Nikola Tesla, with his dark hair and mustache, pierced him with his blue eyes. He had this uncanny ability to look as if he was staring right through a person. The man next to him had bushy white hair and wore a white suit with pinstripes.

  James’s eyes grew large. “Mr. Clemens, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were here.”

  Samuel Clemens turned to Tesla. “Who’s this, Nikola?”

  “The money,” Nikola said dryly.

  “Ah, well, that’s my exit cue then. Next week in Manhattan?”

  Nikola nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  Samuel nodded at James as he departed.

  James watched him go. He’d heard that the two were on friendly terms, but he had no idea the great writer would be here today.

  “Could you shut the door? You’re letting the flies in,” Nikola said from behind him.

  “Right.” James hastily reached for the handle and shut the door. He turned. “Mr. Tesla—” Tesla was nowhere to be seen. “Mr. Tesla?” But the man did not appear.

  James stalked forward. “Mr. Tesla?” He wandered through the rows of tables and piles of metal, making his way toward the office in the back. A light was on, and Tesla sat behind his desk.

  James shook his head as he stormed up. “Mr. Tesla, I need to speak with you.”

  Tesla did not look up. “Then speak.”

  James ground his teeth. “Right, fine. Well, Mr. Morgan has decided to cut extraneous expenses due to the downturn of the market.”

  Tesla continued making notes on the schematic in front of him.

  “He won’t be able to continue funding your project,” James said.

  Tesla’s pencil stilled, and James gave a satisfied smile. Finally, the man was paying attention.

  Tesla looked up, his eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

  James swallowed and took an involuntary step back. “Mr. Morgan has been a generous supporter of your work. But now—”

  “Do you have any idea what I am doing here? I could control the weather. Reduce the impact of storms. I will make it possible for people to have electricity without having any wires. Do you get what that could mean for mankind? What this could lead to?”

  “Yes, well, Mr. Morgan is not convinced the project will be successful. Nothing like this has even been done before.”

  Tesla stood up and stalked around the desk. “Yes it has. But you people are too blind to see it. I have seen it. I know it will work.”

  James was rethinking not having his driver come in with him. He knew Tesla was viewed by some as being only a hair’s breadth from crazy. The man claimed that he could envision entire machines, mold and change them in his mind.

  But James knew that was not how inventions happened. They didn’t magically appear. And nowhere in human history had mankind been able to control the weather, for goodness’ sakes.

  “Nevertheless, Mr. Morgan will not be funding the project any further,” James said.

  “Then Morgan is a fool.”

  “Good day, Mr. Tesla.” James backed out of the office, keeping an eye on Tesla. But Tesla was staring off into space, caught up in something in his own mind. James quickly made his way back through the lab and toward the door. The man was crazy.

  A few minutes later, James was being driven quickly away. He stared out the window at the metal skeleton Tesla had erected, and scoffed.

  Control the weather. What hubris. That is God’s work, not man’s.

  CHAPTER 1

  Washington, DC

  Today

  Delaney McPhearson pushed through the heavy hotel room door. “Jake?”

  “In here,” Jake Rogan called from the living room.

  Laney steeled herself as she made her way down the marble-lined hallway. It had been good to get away, but the last few months of stress couldn’t be completely erased.

  She shoved her concerns aside and instead focused on the luxurious hotel room she was in. She remembered the days when a hotel room meant two double beds and, if she was lucky, a working ice machine down the hall. Now, she was staying in a suite that had a bedroom, kitchen, living room, and a bathroom that was larger than her bedroom growing up. Times sure had changed.

  But although the hotel had been a nice perk, after two weeks, she was sick of it. She wanted nothing more than to head home to her little cottage in Baltimore. Of course, if there were any more meetings like the one this morning, that wouldn’t happen for a while.

  Laney turned into the living room. Jake’s dark brown eyes lit up, and her heart squeezed. Getting away had been good for him, too, even if it meant meeting after meeting. He had been injured six months ago, and it had taken a long time to regain the muscle that he’d lost while recuperating. He still had some loss of motor function, but the doctors assured them that in another few weeks he’d be back t
o what he was before.

  Jake started to get up from the pale green couch.

  She waved him down. “No. I’ll sit with you.” She took a seat next to him.

  He took her hand. “You need to stop worrying about me.”

  Laney knew he was right. But she’d seen him shot twice, and neither time was something she was likely to forget. The idea of losing him was just too terrifying to contemplate. After this most recent incident, the first few months had been the worst. Jake had wasted away, unable to eat much. Now he was back to his normal workouts, which, shallow as it was, Laney really loved watching him do. There was something about a sweaty muscular man that was infinitely appealing.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  Jake groaned. “Oh, great. My subcommittee was made up of senators from the heartland. Each was more interested in grandstanding than listening to the answers to the questions they posed. One guy made this long-winded speech before finally getting around to the question, and as soon as I started to speak, he got up and left. Who the hell elected these guys?”

  Laney laughed. “Sounds like we met with the same people.” Although Laney had met some incredible people in her time in DC, most of them were not elected officials. The elected ones were too concerned with how everything was perceived rather than the truth. She sighed. And they’re the ones I need to convince that everything is fine.

  The problem was, she wasn’t convinced herself.

  “Matt called a few minutes ago,” Jake said.

  Matt was Special Agent Matthew Clark of the Special Investigative Agency, an offshoot of the Department of Defense. For a long time, the department had been unknown to the majority of people in Washington, DC, including those within the intelligence community. But the last few months had thrown all of that secrecy out the window.

  “Do I even want to know what he had to say?” Laney asked, pulling away from Jake to look at his face.

  “There was another incident.”

  Laney groaned even though she had known what Jake was going to say. “Okay, tell me.”

  “Better yet, I can show you. Here.” He leaned over to the iPad that was on the coffee table, turned it toward her, and hit play.

  Onscreen, a huge waterfall roared. A few boats bounced along, keeping well away from the onrush of water.

  “Is that Niagara Falls?” Laney asked.

  Jake nodded. “Yeah. This video was taken by a tourist yesterday afternoon. Watch the top of the falls on the left.”

  Excited utterings came from the iPad’s speaker, and then the camera operator zoomed in. At the edge of the falls, two men stood as if waiting to make sure people saw them—which Laney was sure was exactly what they were doing. After a few seconds, the men dove over the edge into the raging water.

  “Goddamn it,” Laney muttered.

  The men’s act was met with stunned exclamations and concern. The video zoomed in to where the men had gone under. A few seconds later, they popped back up and swam for shore. They pulled themselves up on the bank and then sprinted out of view.

  “Son of a bitch.” Laney sank deeper into the couch. “How many hits has this gotten?”

  “Enough,” Jake said, his voice grim.

  Weariness settled over Laney. Another Fallen incident.

  “How long was this video up?” Laney asked.

  “Thirty minutes.”

  Laney closed her eyes. Thirty minutes on the internet was a lifetime. “What’s the response?”

  “Most think it’s a hoax. The rest are split between CGI and special suits. Only a very few are suggesting it’s like some of the other incidents that have hit the web. I already have Dom trying to figure out a plausible explanation for how two individuals could survive such a fall.”

  Laney shook her head. The one person who might be loving the Fallen popping up as much as they were was Dom. So far, he’d spun stories about doppelgangers and electromagnetic energy, among other things. In response to one spectacularly fast sprint by a Fallen through the crowd in front of the Vatican, he’d even blamed drones.

  “Matt’s spinning this one,” Jake said.

  Laney knew that by now Matt’s people had infiltrated the online discussions and started an onrush of comments downplaying the possibility of it being real. The SIA had a public relations arm whose entire job was to spin Fallen incidents. And lately, that division had been working overtime. The Fallen incidents around the globe had exploded. Henry and the Chandler Group had even had to start pitching in. It was beginning to take up all their time.

  And Laney still couldn’t figure out why. The Fallen had been around for thousands of years, reincarnated time and time again. Yet they had always stayed in the shadows and out of the spotlight. Until now. Now, it seemed like they wanted the world to know about them.

  An image of Victoria flashed through Laney’s mind, along with a wave of grief. Victoria had stopped them from achieving immortality at the cost of her own life. Laney knew that had something to do with the change in the Fallen’s behavior, but she couldn’t figure out what.

  And Victoria hadn’t been the only casualty. Laney’s and Jake’s relationship had taken a hit as well. When she had first returned from China, she had spent all her time with Jake and Henry as they recovered, but after two months, with more and more Fallen incidents popping up, she had known she needed to get back in the field.

  Jake and Henry had been in no shape to do the same. And Jake had not handled it well.

  Jake pulled her into his shoulder and Laney laid her head there. “We’ll figure it out. We always do,” he said.

  Laney leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips, then leaned her head back on his shoulder. “Still no sign of Elisabeta?”

  Jake shook his head. “No. And Matt has everybody looking. I’m pretty sure he’s also commandeered more than a few international databases to run facial recognition. But she hasn’t poked her head out.”

  Laney frowned. Where was Elisabeta? Her minions were popping up all over the place like some international game of whack-a-mole, yet the queen bee had stayed hidden. The only news on her lately had to do with her latest philanthropic donations: and Laney was pretty sure the leader of the Fallen angels hadn’t turned over a new leaf.

  Laney wasn’t sure what made her more nervous—all the Fallen popping up or Elisabeta quietly maneuvering behind the scenes.

  Her cell rang and she read the caller ID with a frown before answering. “Hey, Matt. What’s going on?”

  “Laney, there’s been a threat.”

  “Where?”

  “The Capitol building.”

  “Fallen?” Laney asked, keeping her eyes on Jake.

  “Not sure yet. But if it is…” Matt said.

  Laney nodded. “I’m on my way. Call Jen?” Jen was Jen Witt, Laney’s best friend and a nephilim.

  Jake stood up and strode across the room.

  “Will do,” Matt said.

  “Any other agents in the area?” Laney asked.

  Matt blew out a breath. “No. With everything happening, we’re spread pretty thin.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there in five.”

  Laney stood, and Jake turned to face her, his arms across his chest. “A Fallen incident?”

  “Maybe. I’m heading to the Capitol.”

  Jake said nothing just gave her an abrupt nod.

  Laney wanted to say something, but she had no idea what magical mix of words would get Jake to understand that she had to do this. She felt the last two weeks of peace slipping away. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  “Sure,” Jake said.

  Laney started toward the front door, wishing she could slam it behind her. Instead, she pictured how much hell she was going to unleash on the Fallen who had created this tension between her and Jake.

  CHAPTER 2

  Captain Hank Reinhardt of the Capitol Police had a barrel chest and a bald head that made him look like a villain from a seventies James Bond film. Laney tilted her head back t
o study him. He needs an eye patch, she thought. Or maybe a cigar.

  Using his towering frame to his advantage, he stood way too close to Laney, staring down at her. Her multiple attempts to put more space between them failed, so she gave up the fight. Apparently he was one of those people who simply didn’t understand the appropriate distance between strangers.

  “Agent McPhearson, discretion is the most critical factor here,” Reinhardt said. “We have foreign dignitaries, school kids, tourists, senators. You name an important position, and they or a member of their staff is somewhere in that building. I don’t think I have to remind you this needs to be handled as delicately as possible.”

  “And yet here you are reminding me,” Laney drawled.

  He glared, and she could swear he moved even closer. “My men have the suspect’s picture.”

  “And they know to not approach him, right?”

  Captain Reinhardt’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “Okay, well, guess I’ll go help look.”

  Laney headed into the crowd making its way into the Capitol. Matt had wanted to evacuate the building but he’d been shouted down by Homeland Security, who argued that without a definitive threat they would not panic the American public.

  The suspect was the son of a known Fallen. The SIA knew the father had abilities, but they weren’t sure about the son. Still, Capitol Police were told that if they sighted him, they were to contact the SIA agent on scene.

  Laney wandered through the crowd, her eyes scanning everyone who passed. Matt had sent her a picture of their suspected Fallen—actually, nephilim. Rico Fuenes was nineteen, with long curly light brown hair he wore in a ponytail, dark eyes, and a scrawny beard. Slim in the picture Laney had seen, he could appear as a college student or tourist.

  He’d tripped the SIA alarms when he’d gotten off the metro today at the Capitol South Metro Station. They’d been able to track him to outside the Capitol building but they still hadn’t found him. Honestly, the kid could be anywhere.