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Dark Hearted (COIL Series) (Volume 2)

By D. I. Telbat

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Corban James Dowler used his binoculars to study Heathrow Airport nearly a mile away. Standing that morning on the roof of a five-story building, England's damp air penetrated his blue blazer, causing him to shiver. For the third time in as many minutes, Corban glanced over his shoulder. Though still alone on the roof, he sensed a presence of danger. His team had not captured the demonic rogue, Abaddon, during their last mission. He hoped that was the only cause of his discomfort.
Answering his satellite phone, he continued holding the binoculars to his brow.
"Corban here."
"It's Chloe again, Corban. You know, I just realized what you said about where you are staying and something is bothering me. Why did you say you found the key to the apartment exactly where I said it would be? When did I tell you that?"
Chloe Azmaveth, the forty-five-year-old ex-Mossad agent, was in charge of COIL when Corban was absent. They were all recovering from the operation in Malaysia where Chloe had been needed in the field. She was now back in New York, filling her position as primary attorney and public relations liaison in COIL's main Manhattan office.
"I got your memo yesterday, Chloe, with Rand Jordan's info. You've forgotten already? Maybe you shouldn't have gone down to Asia with us. It may have been overly much for you. You hadn't done fieldwork for years."
"No, it isn't that. Even if things didn't go as planned, at least we caught Branden and Helena and got our boys back. But about Rand Jordan—I was busy relocating your family yesterday, Corban. Maybe someone else sent you Jordan's info to stay at the apartment there?"
"It had your text signature. I remember Jordan from the Brazilian incident two years ago. He's helped us before."
"Yes, I know the name, too. Wait. I'm pulling something up on the screen. Oh, no! This isn't good. Corban! Rand Jordan was found dead on the bank of the Thames eight hours ago!"
Tossing his binoculars, Corban was already moving, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket as he ran. At fifty-seven, and a little soft around the middle, he still moved with surprising speed across the roof. He threw open the access door and lunged down the stairs. On the first landing, he paused. Managing his breathing, he listened for activity below. Even wounded, his men wouldn't go quietly. They had only recently been stolen back from someone code-named Abaddon, and already they were being targeted again!
Stepping quietly down the stairs, Corban considered calling the police, but that might only endanger the peace officers. One more flight to go. He had no weapons with him this time—not even his thick-rimmed glasses with the tranquilizer dart, which he wore with some of his covert disguises. And he was alone. A taxi driver, a mere stranger, had transported him and his three injured operatives to the supposed safe house. And because they were injured, he couldn't count on them if adversaries were to show up.
Reaching the third floor, Corban left the stairwell and gazed down the long corridor. There was another stairway at the other end. He could hear a television blaring and a child crying, but everything else seemed to be still. Corban paced quickly down the hall and stopped in front of their door.
His ears burned with anger. Rand Jordan. Now that he reflected, the setup had been too easy for the enemy—a weary flight from Malaysia; the jet engine malfunction; a text message about a safe location to lay low in England. He must have been so exhausted, he couldn't think clearly. Of course, it had been a trap! But they weren't caught yet.
Unlocking the door carefully, Corban stepped inside. Nathan "Eagle Eyes" Isaacson, with his pale face, thick mustache, and bandaged gunshot wounds, lay on the sofa, unconscious. Quin "Toad" LuDao, the team's Chinese operative, looked up from the dining table, a spoon in his mouth and one arm in a sling. Jesse "Milk" Patters, whiter than his usual milky complexion, was at the kitchen counter, stitches on his cheek.
"We've got to move." Corban closed the door. "This place was a setup. Leave everything. Help me with Nathan."
Nathan groaned as Toad and Milk, in their own battered conditions, gathered the head of the sheet under Nathan. Corban threw an IV drip bag onto Nathan's stomach and grabbed the other end of the sheet. They lifted the hammock with great effort; Nathan was over six feet tall and heavy.
The three hobbled to the door.
"His side has opened up, Boss," Toad warned Corban. "He's bleeding through the sheet."
"He was once a Marine." Corban wrestled the door open. "He's been shot before; he'll make it. Besides, the Lord is on his side."
Moving into the hallway, Corban suddenly planted his feet, stopping their procession.
"They're coming!" He gestured toward the other stairway. "We go up!"
The three hustled with their burden to the right. As they disappeared into the stairwell, Milk looked back.
"They saw us! Four men. Armed!"
"Come on!"
On the fourth floor, Corban shoved Nathan toward the hallway. "I'll continue to lead them up. Find an open apartment door and hide!"
Corban dropped Nathan's feet as Toad and Milk dragged him down the hall, blood trailing. Below, Corban heard boots. Stomping up the stairs to the roof, he then slammed the door loudly to draw the enemy's attention. He dashed to the edge of the roof as the access door behind him opened. Had he bought Toad and Milk enough time?
"Don't move!" a man shouted.
Stopping at the edge, Corban looked down at the street. A reefer truck was parked directly below him. If only he could—
"Turn around!"
The man had an accent. Not British, as Corban had expected. Maybe East European. Corban hit Chloe's speed-dial number with his thumb and turned slowly, both hands in the air. He faced four bald men clothed in black, spread out, and aiming handguns at him. One had a long butcher knife in his belt.
"Where are your friends?" the one with the knife demanded.
"Friends?" Corban heard his phone connect with Chloe. She would be able to hear everything now. "I have no friends. Why are four white men with Eastern European accents and shaved heads aiming guns at me?"
"Corban! I hear you!" Chloe voiced on his phone. "Just play along. Try to stall them! I'm calling the police!"
The gunmen heard Chloe's voice, as well. They glanced at one another. The leader nodded, and Corban knew he had no more time.
Bending his knees and, with a short prayer, he threw himself backwards off the roof. He saw sky, and then landed hard on his back. His head and knuckles slammed onto the roof of the reefer truck, denting the cab. Corban struggled to remain conscious. The four gunmen appeared at the edge above and fired down at him. Rounds peppered the roof as the driver quickly pulled the truck away. Gasping for air, Corban reached for his sat-phone underneath him, but found it shattered. Sounds and light faded as he then slipped into unconsciousness.
#######
Xacsin McLeery stared at a blank video conferencing screen. He sat in a rock room with water dripping methodically nearby. After meditating for more than an hour, he felt a dark, powerful presence drawing near. Shivering with exhilaration, he saw a face appear on the screen next to his own bald, pale reflection.
Yes, it was Abaddon! Xacsin closed his green eyes, savoring his time.
"You have done well, my son," an unearthly voice rasped from the speaker. "I am proud of you."
"I am your servant."
"You must increase your efforts to hinder my enemies."
"Yes, my master. Give me guidance."
"They wish to destroy me before my time. They wish to destroy you."
"Protect me, O Abaddon."
"I will guide you, my chosen one, against the chosen of my Foe."
"Beautiful master, I will act as you will."
"You have dealt a great blow to the agents of mercy."
"Yes, I have succeeded in this for you."
"Mercy is weakness."
"I understand."
"Now you must follow through, my beloved, whatever the cost. Use whom you will. I permit it."
"I am your servant."
"Double your forces at the castle, the fortress I have prepared."
"Yes, master."
"Rest assured that I am inside the organization of our most hated enemies."
"Yes, great one. COIL will never suspect you."
"I am close to their leader, Corban Dowler, and he suspects nothing."
"I am your servant."
"Even partial success toward our objective is total victory. Do you know why?
"Because we have drawn the enemy from their cherished plans."
"Keep your wife at your side. She will inspire you with vengeance for what my enemies have done to her sister."
"Vengeance. Yes."
"It is a simple, weak mind that loves. But the beautiful mind conquers and reigns."
"Yes, I am a ruler."
"Let my gratitude for you drive you forward."
"I will, O great one."
"Dwell on my fury for those who call themselves saints."
"I hate them as well, my lord."
"When danger closes, I will guide you away in safety."
"I believe."
"I am your protector."
"I trust in you, O Abaddon."

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