posted on Jun, 16 2006 @ 05:23 AM
Saudi Arabia: June 4th, 2006, 09:00GMT (noon local): 27 hours remaining
Byrd jumped as her assistant burst into the tent.
“Dr. Byrd, come quickly!” the young man stopped and gasped for air.
She rolled her eyes jokingly at the excitable young grad student.
“You promised to drink less coffee Sam.”
“No, I think we’ve found it!”
Byrd’s face went blank. IT didn’t exist. She’d only accepted Mr. Gray’s grant in hopes of finding something legitimate.
“You’ve found which ‘it’, Sam?”
“AZAZEL!” he blurted excitedly.
There’ll be no shutting them up now, Byrd lamented to herself.
“Don’t forget your hat, it’s hot as hell outside.”
Two bad jokes for the price of one, Byrd mused as she picked up the Indiana Jones hat he’d given her before they’d embarked. She gave a
crooked smirk in poor imitation of Harrison Ford and stepped out into the burning Arabian sun.
As the two made their way through the gauntlet of stakes and string marking the site, Byrd caught site of what had Sam so excited. The pit was at
least 15 feet long, marked on one end by an ominous serpentine head carved in brilliantly polished obsidian, and a scorpion’s tail on the other. The
majority of the statue remained buried.
“That’s Azazel?” Byrd quizzed. “What, is he wearing a name tag?”
“Um, it’s carved into the head actually; at least we think it says Azazel. Dr. Spellman says it’s definitely Semitic, but nothing he’s seen
“Not even on a ‘D’ student’s paper? When we dig it out we’ll be looking for a ‘Made in Taiwan’ sticker.”
She ran her hand over the face.
“There’s not a scratch on it. This thing’s been in the sand for a couple of months, tops.”
“Doctor, if you don’t believe in this, why are you here?”
“Um, gee, where do I start? Because there aren’t supposed to be cities in the middle of the Rub-al-Kali and I want my name on whatever comes out
of this. Just don’t expect me to say that it’s Cain’s city or the final resting place of Azazel. Call Zecharia Sitchin though, I’m sure
he’ll agree with you.”
Las Vegas: June 4th, 2006, 09:00GMT (1am local): 27 hours remaining
“Dice are out; no more bets!”
Haefly smiled confidently as he reached for the dice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pit boss focusing on his hands. Ugh, the big gloves
again, Haefly groaned to himself.
“I’m sorry sir, we can’t let you shoot with those gloves on,” the pit boss interjected.
Haefly focused his pale blue eyes down on the roundish, slightly tomatoesque man as he slid his gloves off slowly, producing six normal fingers from
the five oversized glove holes and pumping his hands to work the cramp from the second middle finger.
The man quivered a bit under his eerie gaze, then scrambled to apologize to the perturbed giant. “I’m sorry sir… I… I couldn’t have
Haefly evaluated the puny man’s apology. At 8-foot-3 Haefly very nearly dwarfed the man by a half. He tried to put himself in the pit boss’ shoes,
picturing a 13 foot giant staring down at him. He pictured his father.
“Forget it,” Haefly said, leaning down to take the dice in his bare hand and chucking them to the other end of the table.
“Seven, out. Pay the don’ts take the line, last come get some.” The stickman reported in his always upbeat banter, oblivious to what had just
Haefly examined his remaining chips and guarded them with one hand as a new player shouldered in beside him.
“Always bet on snake eyes,” the newcomer instructed. “Just this morning, a man told me that he planned to bet half a million on exactly
Haefly turned and inspected the man. “If he’s desperate enough to make that bet, he should bet at least a million.”
The stranger nodded. “Mr. Haefly I presume?”
Haefly began to pick up his last few thousand dollars and subtly pulled the cuff of his shirt back far enough to reveal the brand of a serpent’s
skull being crushed between a hammer and anvil.
“Do you have somewhere we can speak?”
“No. They’ve damn near busted me now. They stopped comping my room when I slowed down last night. Won’t even comp my drinks now…
“Very well. I’ll arrange something.”
“Arrange two bottles of Maker’s Mark while you’re at it. Gold label mind you.”
“My handlers told me.”
“Repeat business hmm?”
“Gentlemen in Rome.”
Haefly hardened his brow and followed his contact. He hated Catholics.
Two hours, several thousand dollars, and a painstaking security sweep later, Haefly settled into a mildly comfortable chair, the best in the
Stratosphere’s Presidential Suite. He plucked the cap from the first bottle of whiskey and tipped it up, quickly draining nearly a third of it.
“You want any, priest?”
“It’s Cardinal actually my son, and I do not drink,” the contact replied sternly.
“Cardinal eh? A job worth a Cardinal is a job worth 8 figures.”
“Out of the question. It’s not difficult, just important.”
“That sounds like a hit. Your handlers know I don’t do hits. Only weapons.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I destroy weapons. I don’t use them.”
“If you don’t take this job, there will be a proliferation of weaponry unlike anything before.”
“Oh, Good. Definitely eight figures.”
“No! Stop that! Our offer is 1 million.”
“I ain’t the Knights Templar, pal. Your spooks are sworn to poverty, but you’re here because I’m better. If it’s that important, it’s Ten
Mil important. I’ve been outta work since the Red Mercury scare you know.”
The Cardinal stared at back at the Nephilim with contempt.
“Very well Hephaestus, His Holiness has authorized as much. You’ll swear not to sin with it though; I could cut out the middle man and give it
straight to the dealers if that’s your plan.”
“You wouldn’t trust my oath if I did give it. You’re just still upset that my father’s kind wouldn’t bow to Adam.”
“He was a fool not to Hephaestus, and when the time comes Gabriel will come for you the same as your Father Azazel.”
Hephaestus tipped the bottle up and sucked it dry, then hurled it at the Cardinal’s feet, shattering it on the carpet to make a point.
“Invoke my true name all you like. I have my will. My father raped your grandmother so that I would not have his weakness to your tyrant god.”
“Only until the judgment. Now do we have a deal or not?”
“Of course we have a deal. You don’t even get it do you. As long as the old weapons are not rediscovered, there’s nothing in this world that
can finish my kind off. Gabriel will have to come fight us himself next time.”
The Cardinal grinned sadistically as he produced the dossier from his coat.
“The targets are about to harness your father; he’ll arm them anew and teach them to war. See that your father remains bound where the angel
Raphael placed him. You know what will happen if he is free on the unholy day.”
“Yeah, we’ll find out what Gabriel is really made of.”
“Talk is cheap, my large friend. We both know you’ll do as you’re told because we both know your fate otherwise. Go with God.”
[edit on 16-6-2006 by The Vagabond]