Reign of Evil

CHAPTER 1

JUMPING OUT OF AIRPLANES INDICATES A SEVERE LACK OF BOREDOM was scrawled on the inside cabin of the plane in permanent ink. Jack Walker loved night jumps. In fact, it was his favorite part of being a SEAL. Sure, the free travel, the government rations, the shooting, the fun of getting your ass kicked by supernatural creatures you didn’t even know existed held their own special places in his heart, but those were nothing like the feeling of leaping out into the blackness of the night sky and becoming one with the universe.

He stared down the hull to the open door. Red and green lights rested above it. Both were off. Outside was total black.

Sam Holmes, his commanding officer, was with him because it was time to recertify Jack for High-Altitude High-Opening jumps. Not that there was any doubt that he could do them—SEAL Team 666 had sure done their share of them lately—but with all free government food and travel came the necessity of paperwork.

Triple Six had experienced a much-needed rest over the last five weeks and Holmes wanted to make certain everyone was current in their certifications, so this week had been filled with glorious physical fitness tests, rifle and pistol range qualifications, medical exams, SCUBA re-quals, and HALO, HAHO, free-fall, and static-line jumps. Where regular military units made sure their equipment was battle ready, whether it be a tank or a ship or a plane, in the SEALs the men were the equipment.

Laws, YaYa, and Yank had been certified the previous evening. Jack would have joined them, but he’d had to appear in traffic court in Los Angeles to try to contest a speeding ticket on the 405. Not that he wasn’t speeding; he was just hoping that appearing in his shiny dress uniform might earn some leniency from the hopefully patriotic judge. It had been a waste of time. Jack had been ordered to pay the full fee and received points on his license and wasted a day.

So much for patriotism.

Most important for Jack, once he recertified in HAHO he could go on some much-anticipated leave. Jen had gone to England a week early to spend time with an old college roommate from Bard. She planned on spending time with her friend now so that she and Jack could see the country together once he arrived. They still hadn’t set a date for the wedding, but they were thinking about spending their honeymoon in England. This trip would serve as a reconnaissance to see if there was any place with which they might fall particularly in love. As Jen said, only a SEAL would recon his own honeymoon.

But that had to wait. Jack was already a senior parachutist and had almost enough jumps for master parachutist wings. Still, the U.S. Navy in all her wisdom wanted a checkmark on a list in a file. There was no other thing to do but comply.

Normally he’d conduct the jump with the other SEALs of Triple Six. HAHO in and of itself wasn’t difficult once you learned and practiced, except for the sheer bulk of equipment, oxygen tank and mask. What was difficult was for all the SEALs to stay together so that they could hit the target simultaneously. With nearly forty thousand feet of room to drift apart, the chances of screwing it up were astronomical. But this was just a certification jump. He and the others would practice another time.

Jack and Holmes were the only two passengers in the rear of the DCH-6 de Havilland Twin Otter. The seats had been removed and replaced by a single bench along the port side. Jack sat with his equipment hanging to the floor. He carried a one-hundred-pound pack in front. His HK416 was attached to the front. The oxygen tank rested on top. A hose ran from the tank to the mask he wore. He’d been pre-breathing 100 percent oxygen to purge the nitrogen from his blood for ten minutes so he wouldn’t experience hypoxia or the bends. A helmet and goggles rested on his head. He stared at the altimeter gauge on his left wrist and watched it creep past 24,000 feet. His MC-6 parachute served as a seat cushion, which he leaned back against.

Holmes sat beside him. He wore a chute, helmet, and mask but wasn’t carrying a simulated combat load.

“I know you’re aching to get this over with, SEAL,” Holmes said through their intra-mask com system, “but slow is smooth and smooth is fast. We’re not going to rush anything.”

“I’m okay. Last thing I wanted was to spend a week with two chatty Cathies. Talk about feeling like a third wheel.”

“Just so. Slow is smooth and—”

“And smooth is fast, I know.”

Holmes held up a hand. “Hold. Getting a call from Laws.”

Walker watched Holmes. Through his mask, he could only make out the SEAL team leader’s eyes. But several times they flicked in his direction. Walker felt worry creep into his system. He’d had a finely honed sense of trouble ever since he was orphaned and left on the streets of the Philippines as a child.

Holmes spoke for perhaps two minutes, then turned to face Walker.

“What’s the news?” Walker asked.

Holmes shook his head. “It’s bad. We’re going to cancel training.”

Butterflies with switchblades kamikazied in his stomach. “How bad?”

“Worst.”

Walker went through the list of all the worst things that could happen. He was stunned at how few there really were. He glanced at Holmes and then he knew. The emptiness was so complete it was as if his insides had been torn out, leaving the vacuum of space.

He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking as he said, “Jen?”

Holmes closed his eyes and nodded.

Walker gulped for air. He felt like he was falling. How ironic he wore a suit made for it and it wasn’t helping. “How?”

“They don’t know. She and her friend and a group of others were all murdered visiting Stonehenge.”

Suddenly he had something to grab on to. “Did you say ‘murdered’?”

“I did.”

“Do they have the—”

“They have no idea.”

“By ‘they’ you mean MI5?”

Holmes nodded.

“What about our intel? Do we have any?”

“If we did I know it’s well above our pay grades.”

“To hell with pay grades. She was my fiancée… and I want to know. I need to know.”

“We may never know.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Regardless, this exercise is over. Team leader to pilot.”

“No!” Walker felt a sense of panic. He had to have something normal. He needed something planned. He had to jump. He glanced at the open door, then back at Holmes. “Let me do this.”

The voice came from the cockpit and through their com systems. “Team lead, this is pilot. What’s your command?”

Holmes gave him a steady gaze.

“What? You think I’m going to kill myself?” Walker felt his lip curl. “You think I’m going to swan-dive so I can be with Jen in a better place? As romantic as that sounds in movies, it’s bullshit. Someone has to be alive to pick up the pieces. Someone has to be the one to get revenge.” He paused and couldn’t keep from one last desperate whisper. “Is she really dead?”

“Yes, son. She’s really dead.”

“Let me jump. Just let me fucking jump.”

“Team lead, this is pilot; I say again, what’s your command?”

“Pilot, this is team lead; continue mission.”

“WILCO.”

When they reached altitude, the light above the door blinked red.

Walker made to stand and move, but Holmes gripped his arm. They both wore masks, but Jack could feel the intensity in his commander’s eyes.

“We’ll get through this, Jack. We’re your family. We’ll help you any way we can.” Holmes held on for a moment, then let Walker go.

They both stood and crouch-walked to the door. When the light turned green, Walker stepped out and let the wash carry him back and down. He knew Holmes was right behind him, but there was no way to see him. Not through the darkness. Not through Walker’s tears.

Fifteen seconds later he deployed his chute and felt it jerk him free of his fatal fall. He stared at his altimeter and watched as it indicated his descent. Sobs overtook him at 25,000 feet. At 21,000 feet he thought about pulling the release on the chute. Maybe there was a heaven. Maybe there was an afterlife. God knows he’d discovered that there was so much more to this world since he’d joined Triple Six. If there were demons and shape changers why couldn’t there be a heaven?

Holmes’s voice brought him back. “Walker, you’re off course.”

Walker checked the GPS compass on his other wrist. He was way off course.

Holmes’s voice was filled with urgency. “Walker, what are you doing? We talked about this.”

He guided his MC-6 in the proper direction. “Course corrected,” he said, then nothing more.

If there was a heaven then he had time to get there. Time probably moved a lot differently in such a place. It might only be a moment for Jen. Then a voice reminded him that it could also be an eternity, but he ignored it. What had initially seemed a comparison of love and revenge and a question of which was stronger had been reconciled. Love was revenge’s fuel and by god he’d loved Jen like no one else. He pictured her waiting for him by the famous San Diego statue of a sailor kissing a nurse. The way Jen’s red hair had lain against the white nurse’s uniform she’d rented from a costume store. The way she and Jack had kissed, mimicking the statue. That had been a hell of a day.

By the time he hit 10,000 feet he knew what had to be done. By hook or by crook he was going to find out who killed his fiancée and when he did he’d do the same to them and everyone else involved.

He’d do it or die trying.