Far away, about 60 kilometers from Benina International Airport in Libya, the kingpin known as Bible sat stiffly in a black high-backed leather chair, clearly seething. Silent fury was carved into every wrinkle of his weathered face as he slowly smoked the end of a nearly finished cigar.
Although the base's air conditioning was well maintained, with its steady hum lightly rattling the ventilation system in his office, sweat streamed down the old man's face. Even the oscillating fan sitting in one corner of his desk, which blew warm, stale air weakly toward him, did little to provide relief.
But it mattered little to him. He had spent most of his career, his life, in places like this. The sweat soaking his collar and chest was caused more by rage than any heat could produce. The past year had been a mixture of gains and losses, which he expected in such a risky venture. But when the losses became too much to bear and he realized who was mainly responsible, his outrage erupted like a shaken soda bottle carelessly opened.
His men had been especially careful to avoid him, and those who had to report in person were visibly unnerved.
This only enraged him more. He despised weakness and showed no mercy for those who lacked a spine. Anyone who shrank in his presence could not be trusted to do the job or lacked the stomach for the details of his business.
Whenever someone cowered before him, he would kick them out with no food, water, shoes, or coverings and tell them that if they managed to reach a certain point in the middle of Libya's city and called for a ride, he might consider bringing them back.
No one ever called.
He felt especially frustrated with the events of the past few days. He had lost valuable merchandise and was forced to eliminate a crucial source. It cost him a lot of money and connections, both of which would be difficult to replace. His clients were extremely dangerous, so any delays in shipments would not be tolerated. Still, if Samedi succeeded in his plan to capture Angel's demon, whom the Vodou priest believed to be the daughter of Lucifer himself, his power would be unmatched. He would be virtually untouchable.
The combination of anger and anticipation stirred other, uglier emotions that demanded immediate satisfaction. He reached forward, placed his cigar in the steel ashtray to his left, and pressed a button on the landline phone to his right.
"Sir?" A business-like male voice answered immediately.
"How soon before Samedi arrives?"
"He is en route from the airport. ETA 45 minutes."
More than enough time. "Good. Call down to the cells. I wish to sample a piece of the merchandise. Have the commander in charge pick anyone but that curly-haired bitch and bring them to my suite immediately."
"Yes, Sir." The response was crisp, then the line went dead.
As he stood and pulled his white dress shirt down to smooth the wrinkles, his lip twisted up, wicked and perverted. His men knew exactly what kind of merchandise he preferred to sample—the younger, the better.
About 50 minutes later, four men dressed in tan and white military fatigues with M16s stepped back from the base's helipad as a UH-1Y Venom helicopter descended vertically, kicking up sand and debris with the rotor wash. When it touched down, landing smoothly at the center of the pad, two guards approached to secure the aircraft, while the other two assisted in opening the door.
The same two men from the plane who had restrained Angel earlier lifted him from his chair inside the helicopter and guided him toward the waiting men outside. They grabbed his arms and lowered him onto the dusty concrete pad. As the guards moved him away, Samedi and Rygen—now in human form—followed them inside.
Rygen looked around, inhaling the air. "This place reeks of evil. It smells like the wrath ring of Hell."
"Then you should feel right at home." Dismissing his observation, Samedi pointed at Angel. "Watch him closely!"
Rygen's throat rumbled with an irritated growl. "Yes, master." He joined the soldiers, sneering at Angel, and followed them inside, with Samedi trailing loosely behind.
Moments later, as he stepped inside, Samedi glanced around and sighed. He despised the dilapidated state of Bible's fortress, mainly because of the dust and grime from the surrounding desert. The heat was far different than that of New Orleans, and the water here never tasted good.
However, he highly valued his solitude, spending much of his time here building his power and hiding most of his true strength from his boss. He was confident he could trap the demon princess in a particularly wicked summoning circle once she arrived.
Motioning to Rygen and the guards, he ordered them to take Angel to his altar room—located about 80 yards down a dead-end hallway—the center of his satanic rituals and the main source of his power. The long hallway branched off from a four-way intersection near the main foyer. Numerous doors lined the cinder block corridors leading to it, their contents hidden from prying eyes.
Reaching the altar minutes later, Samedi moved ahead of Angel, Rygen, and the guards and entered the room, flicking a switch on the wall. A single bulb hanging from a long electrical cable flickered on, casting harsh shadows in the corners of the windowless space. He told the guards to bind Angel in shackles along the far wall. Once the shackles were secure, the guards stepped back and waited for their next orders.
For the first time, Angel spoke. Glaring at Samedi, he spat, "You're sealing your doom, Samedi."
The Vodou priest merely laughed, ordered the guards to leave, and went to his altar to prepare his spells.
Angel, however, looked towards Rygen and noted his uncomfortable stance. Licking his lips, he addressed the demon directly. "You know I'm right, demon."
"Shut up," Rygen growled. Yet his voice and body language betrayed him, suggesting something was indeed bothering him.
"You know if Samedi binds Charlie, he won't need you anymore. She killed you once, puppy—I bet he'll have her kill you again."
With a single growl, Rygen shifted into his hellhound form and lunged for Angel.
Samedi spun around and commanded, "Rygen! Stop!"
The power of the binding spell felt like an invisible chain around his neck, and he skidded to a halt, his claws scraping into the stone flooring. He turned his dark gaze upon Samedi. "You don't need him alive, Master. The bitch will come, either way!"
"Bible wants him alive." Samedi snapped. "So he will remain so."
"I want to feast!" Rygen complained.
"Whiny little bitch." Angel mocked, testing the bind and taking a risk on his own life doing so.
"I will eat you slowly, fucker!" He dug his claws into the flooring, tearing up chunks.
Samedi sighed and repeated the command to stop, adding, "You're damaging my altar! Bad dog!" A deep growl answered his insult. He shook his head, conceding, "I won't have peace to finish my spell if I don't let you have a bit of fun."
The words stirred dread in Angel as he looked between them.
Rygen gave the Vodou priest a curious look. "Master?"
"Bible ordered him to be taken alive. He did not clarify what state of living Angel needed to be in. You may play with him, but do not break him."
Pushing his heels into the dirt floor, Angel tried to press himself back against the wall and appear smaller and less threatening.
Shit! He cursed himself for his attitude.
Rygen laughed and morphed into a doppelganger of Angel and stalked up to stand before him. To make a show of it, he slowly pulled his elbow behind him, balled up his fist, and drove it into Angel's midsection, driving the air from his lungs. Angel grunted from the blow but could not double over due to the shackles.
"Went too far, didn't you?" Rygen struck again, and Angel felt a rib crack under the power of his strikes. "But hey, don't beat yourself up too much about it."
Behind them, Samedi let out a small laugh as a third punch landed against Angel's kidney, eliciting a shout of pain. "I mean, you're only human. So fragile," the demon mocked with delight.
The Vodou priest tuned out the sounds of Rygen's assault on Angel and went back to his preparations, gathering the powder he'd use for the circle and three vials of human blood he had taken from some of the merchandise brought in on earlier shipments. Each vial was from a virgin and much stronger than the blood he'd taken from the dead girl in the warehouse.
He selected half a dozen black candles and placed them on a small, dust-covered cart. This would be the most complex binding spell he had ever attempted, since his target was already on Earth and shared the blood of Lucifer. Samedi wisely acknowledged to himself that he was not entirely confident in his ability to make the necessary modifications to the spell.
"STOP!" The loud, commanding voice of Bible, dressed in a silk bathrobe with real gold trim, startled both Samedi and Rygen.
Stopping in mid-strike, the demon beast turned his bloodthirsty eyes on the intruding voice. "Who dares?"
Samedi didn't have a chance to warn him. Bible strode forward, swiftly reducing the gap between them as the demon took on its hellhound form, nostrils flaring at the newcomer. Unfazed by the magical transformation, Bible struck Rygen across the mouth with a backhand.
He shouted in surprise at the stranger's audacity.
Samedi moved quickly between them, facing the hellhound. "This is Bible. Do as he commands."
Swiping his paw across his bloodied lip, he glared at the newcomer. "I'm fucking sick of you human 'Masters'."
Bible didn't bother to reply to him.
The sheer lack of interest in the hellhound infuriated Rygen.
Instead, the kingpin turned to Samedi. "Took some liberties?"
"I allowed Rygen a bit of fun, yes. It kept him quiet."
The old man shook his head, looked down at Angel's broken body, and saw that the punishment had knocked him unconscious. "I should have been more precise on the condition I'd prefer him in, but as long as he's alive to see his demon bitch kill him, I'll allow you to set the plan that fits your talents best."
"Thank you," Samedi acknowledged with sincerity, adding internally, I will be doing just that.
Bible grabbed the hem of his bathrobe and knelt before Angel. With the palm of his rough hand, he lifted his chin and examined Rygen's handiwork. One eye was swollen shut from the blows, while the other fluttered, showing he was trying to regain consciousness.
"You look so much worse than the last time I saw you," he snarked, thick malice coating his voice. "Which is better than you deserve, you fuckin' has-been!"
Bible's voice seeped into Angel's mind, awakening memories and nightmares that had haunted him for years. The familiar tone sent a chill through his veins despite the desert heat. With a hard gulp of coppery saliva, Angel opened his only usable eye and focused on Bible.
It took a moment for his face to register, but once it did, shock and fury overtook him, and Angel uttered a single word, low and venomous: "Tag!"