The Lilitu (The Lilitu Trilogy Book 1) Page 2

  Gabe had to wonder how it was possible that a monster straight out of ancient mythology not only existed, but did so right in the middle of the most modern city in the free world. She saw it with her own eyes and still could not believe it. Yet Gabe had learned in her short years at the CIA that there were many things science, in all its wisdom, could still not explain, and might never explain.

  There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

  Gabe, the navy, and the CIA black ops team had managed to track Lilith through the dark, abandoned subway tunnels beneath Manhattan and force her to disarm a backpack nuke within seconds of detonation. The city’s inhabitants would never know how close they had come to being vaporized in a fireball hotter than the sun. It had been much too close to even think about. Now, the monster would be taken by the biowarfare team to an undisclosed location, along with her egg, and studied.

  All that was left to do now was the paperwork.

  Gabe hitched a ride back to her hotel and spent the rest of the night trying to remember everything that had happened as best she could, talking into a digital recorder, and then typing out her notes on the laptop. This was going to be one they would probably classify above top secret. If it became known that there were mythical beings walking around loose, there would be worldwide panic. At least that was the cover story. She knew the real reason was that the government wanted the edge in case there was any way this knowledge could be used in warfare.

  But that kind of thinking was what had gotten them in this mess in the first place. Lilith’s own stepfather, a powerful senator and Chairman of the Armed Services Committee, had agreed to cut Lilith loose in Manhattan, see what she could do, then sell her and her offspring to the highest bidder. But it had all backfired on him, and he had ended up putting a bullet in his own brain.

  Seems like the bastards will never learn.

  Then again, could she really blame them? Would it be better if a country like Iran or North Korea got hold of one of those beasts and grew their own army of killing machines to use against the West?

  That was a frightening thought.

  She filed her report, went down to the bar for a few drinks, and then turned in and tried her best to sleep, the events of the past week playing through her mind like a bad horror movie with no end.

  The next morning, she caught a plane back to Langley and hoped that the whole episode was behind her.

  Chapter five

  September

  CIA Headquarters—Langley, Virginia

  Winter would be coming soon and, in Virginia, the temperatures could get below zero. It was time to take some well-earned vacation. This year, Gabe would be going to visit her parents in Australia.

  Although she was born in Washington, DC, where her father, Gabriel, worked for the CIA, they had eventually moved to the other side of the world where he trained with the ASIS— Australia’s version of the CIA. His only stated reason for moving had been the fact that he loved the Australian spirit of self-reliance, which he felt was slowly fading from the American culture. There was no Australian blood in their family that she knew of, so they had no family there—they had been completely on their own. That seemed to suit her father just fine. Her mother, Annette, was not completely sold on the idea, but being a housewife and not the breadwinner, she relented. Once there, however, she fell in love with it. They never returned to the states, except for the few times her father needed to meet with his former employers as part of ongoing operations with the ASIS.

  She took a flight from DC and met her mother at the Sydney Airport. The temperature that day was close to seventy degrees and sunny—a nice greeting after being away from home for so long.

  Annette Lincoln, though now in her fifties, still managed to maintain her girl-next-door good looks. A former model-turned-housewife, she passed on those genes to her daughter. Not that Gabe wasn’t grateful, but her good looks didn’t seem to help much in the romance department. But it didn’t really matter—who had time for romance when you were busy saving the world?

  She smiled as she crossed the terminal, and fell into her mother’s open arms like a schoolgirl returning from summer camp.

  “Hey, mum, it’s great to see you.”

  “Hi, honey. Glad you could get away for a while.”

  The pair headed for the baggage claim area and found Gabe’s suitcases, and then made their way to the parking lot and her mother’s Land Rover.

  * * *

  The traffic in Sydney, like DC, never seemed to let up, even on Saturday. However, it was nothing like the complete gridlock that occurred during rush hour, or peak as they called it in Australia. Many people who worked in CBD, or the central business district, rode either the bus or the train to avoid navigating the hodge-podge of thoroughfares that passed for roads in the city or paying outrageous parking fees.

  Still it was good to be back in Oz, she thought, eying the giant tile-covered shells of the iconic Sydney Opera House as they neared the Sydney Harbor Bridge. About ten years ago, when she was seventeen and heading off to university, Gabe’s parents had purchased a house in Greenwich. She had only seen the place a couple of times and fell in love with its old rustic charm. It was a red brick bungalow-style house with a wraparound porch, wooden awnings over the windows, and a second-story balcony where she could relax with a good book out under the stars.

  They rounded a corner and the house suddenly came into view, looking just as she had remembered it. A eucalyptus tree stood guard in front of the house, fronted by a multi-level stone wall no more than a foot high at its peak. Just to the right of the tree, she noticed a small bush of purple azaleas.

  “I see you’re still doing a bit of gardening.”

  “Oh, yes. Wait until you see the back yard. I have to have something to keep me busy with the two of you away all the time. Otherwise, I’d lose my mind.”

  They pulled up in the drive and Gabe got out and grabbed her bags from the back of the car. She took the stone walkway to the front porch, her mother close behind. As they climbed the steps, her father appeared in the doorway, a stern look on his face.

  “It’s been far too long, young lady. And why haven’t you called?” he asked, reaching out to give her a hug and take one of her bags.

  “I know Dad, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy.”

  Gabriel couldn’t say much—he understood the time-sucking nature of the CIA, and the ASIS, better than anyone. There had been many a night Gabe, as a young girl, had called on her father after awakening from a bad dream, only to have her mother come and comfort her, explaining that her daddy was away on business. At the time, she was too young to understand what that business was. When she finally did understand, her respect and admiration for her father had grown exponentially. After all, how many girls could say their father was a spy?

  It had only been two short years ago that Gabe decided she wanted to follow her father’s lead. And now here she was, the one giving the excuses instead of the other way around. Life was strange like that.

  After putting her bags in the upstairs bedroom and grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, they sat in the living room and talked about Gabe’s latest adventure—or at least the parts she was allowed to talk about in front of her mother. Her father had the equivalent of a top-secret security clearance, so there wasn’t much he didn’t already know about the CIA’s business.

  Gabriel took a swig of beer, and then reached over and grabbed a copy of the Sydney Morning Herald off the table. He tossed it on Gabe’s lap.

  “I didn’t want to bring this up during your vacation, but I thought you should know,” he said. “Look at page five.”

  Gabe frowned and set her beer aside, opened the paper to page five.

  “Down at the bottom,” her father prompted.

  Staring back at her in black and white was a picture of an ancient Babylonian terra cotta plaque that Gabe instantly recognized—the Burney Relief—named after its one-time own
er, an antiquities dealer. The relief was of a nude female with wings and owl feet. She stood atop two reclining lions turned away from each other, with owls on either side. On her head was a cap embellished by several pairs of horns, and in each hand she held a ring and rod combination.

  Beneath the photo an address was printed—it was the World Tower, a huge residential building in downtown Sydney. There was nothing else, only the photo and the address. Gabe could feel painful knots begin to tie themselves up in her stomach. She didn’t know what to make of the ad, but she did recognize the meaning of the relief in the photo. In fact, she had just spent several months in hell because of it—it was the symbol for Lilith.

  Chapter six

  Gabe looked up from the paper. “Have you seen this anywhere else, dad?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve seen posters in some of the downtown businesses. They’re probably on the trains and busses in all the major cities, as well as in all the magazines and newspapers. I think I may have seen it on the TV. Just the photo and the address.”

  “I don’t like what I’m thinking.”

  “A steganograph?”

  “A stega what?” Gabe’s mother said.

  Gabe glanced at her. “A steganograph. It’s a way to conceal a message within another message. But in this case, I think the message is the picture itself.”

  She carefully tore the ad out of the paper and crammed it in her pocket. “Dad, I need to borrow your car tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? Won’t they recognize you?”

  Months before, Gabe had infiltrated a group put together by Lilith MacIntyre, who gained access to a navy vessel by posing as a magazine editor named Julia Lambert. What had ensued was like something out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

  “I don’t think so. All the people that I knew in Manhattan were mercenaries and cult followers. The ones that didn’t die left and never came back.”

  “Still, it’s pretty risky. Can’t you get some help?”

  “Dad, you know the whole thing has been disavowed. As far as they’re concerned, that incident in New York City never even happened.”

  Gabriel took a swig of beer. “That’s what I love about the US Government. It always has your back.”

  “I think if I can get in there, see what they’re doing, I can put together a plan of action. One thing is for sure, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Gabe took the Land Rover across the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Remembering to drive on the left side of the road was always a bit of a pain—she had clicked on her windshield wipers instead of her blinker several times. But it quickly came back to her.

  Gabe had also forgotten how crazy the drivers were in Sydney. They sped as if they couldn’t get to their destinations quickly enough. The drivers in DC were rude and obnoxious, but at least they drove the speed limit for the most part. In Sydney there seemed to be one speed—fast. It was ironic, considering Aussies were so laid back.

  Gabe knew she would have to drive a couple of miles and then head back in the other direction to get where she was going. She turned off Harbour onto Bathurst and drove until she reached Castlereagh Street. Huge multi-story buildings loomed on either side, fronted by small cafes, coffee shops, and clubs, many of which she had frequented in her youth. She turned on Castlereagh and drove until she reached Liverpool Street and made another right.

  Why do big cities have to have so many damned one-way streets?

  She followed the unused monorail tracks until the World Tower finally loomed up on her left, with the glass-covered monorail station directly in front. A line of white taxi cabs sat idling in the street, drivers standing beside their cars, ready to grab potential fares. Behind them was World Square, an entire block of shopping, offices, and hotels. Gabe had been here many times in her youth. From the street, the World Tower looked like two buildings back to back, with the shorter of the two in the front. At seventy-five stories, it was the tallest in Sydney, and featured a pool, spa, sauna, gymnasium, game room, virtual golf driving range, and a private twenty-four-seat theater. The pool and spa areas on levels thirty-eight and sixty-one offered one-hundred-eighty-degree views of Sydney.

  Though they were called apartments, it was really more like a hotel, with check-in and check-out, and rooms that could be booked overnight. Gabe had booked a room using an alias in order to gain access to the inside of the building without arousing suspicion. It was expensive, but she would get the CIA to reimburse her. She hoped.

  She found the parking garage and pulled inside. She got out and grabbed her bags from the back, then made her way into the main building.

  The lobby was huge, with slanted pillars at both ends, and glass-covered walkways running between two sections of the building on the second floor. The place reminded her of an art gallery. Giant wooden slats lined the walls above her, below which stood a reception desk made of caramel-colored marble. A man sat on a couch nearby, reading a magazine. A young female desk clerk was busy on a computer and looked up when Gabe approached with luggage in tow. Her name tag said Hannah.

  “How may I help you?”

  “I have a reservation.”

  Hannah began typing on the computer keyboard. “Name?”

  “Joanna Duncan.”

  After a few seconds, the clerk said, “Ah, yes, Ms. Duncan. We have an apartment on the seventy-fourth floor.”

  “Anything on the seventy-fifth?”

  The woman glanced up. “I’m sorry, everything on that floor is booked.”

  Gabe reached into her pocket and pulled out the newspaper ad, opened it and held it up.

  “How about now?”

  As she eyed the clipping, Hannah’s face twitched almost imperceptibly, but Gabe caught it—it was what the CIA liked to call a tell. It meant she knew something, and in fact was probably in on whatever was happening on the seventy-fifth floor of the World Tower.

  “Just a moment,” Hannah said, and picked up the phone.

  Chapter seven

  Within seconds, a tall, blonde-haired man who could have passed for Brad Pitt’s younger brother came out of an elevator. Like Gabe, he was dressed casually in sneakers, blue jeans, and a pull-over shirt. She saw him do a quick head-to-toe sweep of her body, his gaze lingering on the giant red dragon tattoo she sported on her left arm. A faint smile creased his lips.

  Guess he likes what he sees.

  He walked directly to her and extended a hand.

  “I’m David Jamison. And you are?”

  “Joanna Duncan.”

  “Ah, Joanna. So, you’re looking for a room on the top of the world, eh?” he said with a definite Aussie accent. “I’ll see what we can do to accommodate you. Are these your bags?”

  Gabe nodded, still not sure what to say or whether she should even go with him.

  “I’m sure you’ll love it. The view is breathtaking.” He picked up the two bags and began walking back to the elevators. “Follow me.”

  Once inside the lift, he turned to look at her.

  “So, how did you find out about us?”

  The question took her by surprise, but she maintained a neutral expression. Did he think she was one of them? Was he one of them? She decided that for now, she would play along.

  “I saw the ad. Thought I would check it out. Have many others come?”

  “Several over the last couple of months, ever since the call went out.”

  The call?

  “You’re the last to answer,” he continued. “We’ll probably be making the move soon, but we have a few more things to iron out first.”

  The elevator reached floor seventy-five and the door dinged open. They stepped out into a small atrium, and then began walking down a long, red-carpeted hallway. They stopped in front of a wooden door with a keypad on the door handle. David punched in a code and opened the door, ushering Gabe inside with a sweep of his hand. He grabbed he
r bags, wheeled them inside and closed the door.

  “The others will be here to meet you shortly. In the meantime, make yourself at home.” He wheeled the bags off into another room. He hadn’t actually said this particular apartment would be hers, she thought as she began to feel a tightening in the pit of her stomach. She was right here in the middle of them. Who were these others he was talking about? Did he suspect why she was here? Did he recognize her? She started to think that maybe her father had been right—maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea after all.

  She glanced around the apartment. It was bigger than her apartment in DC, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. The furniture was all either black or gray and looked like typical hotel couches and chairs, each with its own pink paisley throw pillow. There was an ottoman in front of one chair, and a large glass coffee table in front of the couch. A huge flat-screen TV sat in the corner, the local news blaring from the speakers.

  A bar with three bar stools divided a huge kitchen from the living room. She spied a stove and a sink, as well as a convection oven, a microwave and a coffee maker. She had read there were king-sized beds in the bedrooms and Jacuzzis in the bathrooms.

  At five hundred dollars a night, I damn well should get a massage.

  She heard the door open behind her and turned to see a woman enter the room, followed by two men. The woman could have been Lilith’s twin—platinum blonde hair, sky blue eyes, sculpted body. The two men looked like they had just stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine. All were dressed in street clothes.