Cain

Cain - Part 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Here’s another weird piece of shit for you, Inspector,” the man in the dark suit announced scornfully, throwing the stapled four page document across the desk of the seated man, nearly spilling his hot coffee in its plastic cup.
    Detective Inspector Albert Maher looked up at his superior, Detective Chief Inspector Richard Bellings of New Scotland Yard with a sneer. Bellings always referred to him as ‘Inspector’ and not by name, preferring to maintain an impersonal relationship and a constant reminder to his insubordinate of his authority. Christ, Albert pondered, the DCI even had a poster of Robert the Bruce in his secluded office at the end of the building, remarking often of his direct ancestral link to the Scottish king. But rather everyone knew he spent most of his time there viewing pay-site Asian porn and dating websites, keeping his underpaid secretary busy ferrying him disposable handkerchiefs.
    “Let me guess,” Detective Maher sighed. “Some kid lost his favourite hamster at a neighbour’s party.”
    “Don’t be obtuse,” Bellings snarled. “Read the file. The man was allegedly mugged and is currently under observation until six pm tonight in St. Thomas Hospital. MI5 have cleared him of any link to Al Qaeda, but his identity papers are proving much confusion. His apartment has also been burgled.”
    “Hasn’t had much luck has he,” Maher laughed, flicking through the report. “Says here the only witness to the assault was a wino. Great, that should clear things up.” Albert shook his head and then stopped. “Wait a second…is this for real? Witness declares the victim punched his assailant in the chest, sending him a distance of over one hundred metres?” Maher stuttered in astonishment. “An Olympic weightlifter isn’t that strong!”
    “Like I said, a case right up your street.” Bellings smiled. “Washington is sending a CIA agent over to investigate. Apparently the man might have worked for them in the past. They said he matched the description of an operative who did some undercover work in Cambodia in 1970.”
    “The Central Intelligence Agency is not that blind or stupid. My three year old nephew could tell this man by his picture is barely thirty five years old!”
    “Just check it out,” his superior snarled. “Last thing I need is the Prime Minister on the phone screaming at my ear because the Director of the CIA is being denied access to one of their agents.” Bellings sighed. “I need confirmation of his identity.”
    Albert turned to the adjacent desk where sat his partner, Detective Sean Neilson, smiling into his coffee, knowing all too well of his friend’s hatred of their superior.
    “Oh no,” Sean laughed. “You’re on your own with this one. I’m off in five minutes to an early lunch and then home. My wife promises something special for our anniversary and she said not to be late.”
    “For fuck’s sake, Sean,” Albert said, gritting his teeth. “Everyone knows your wife hates your guts. You know there’s not a chance of getting laid tonight. Special probably means your bags are packed and she’s now dating your balder but more successful brother.”
    “She just likes to play hard to get,” Detective Neilson smiled. “Besides I know your fondness for crap cases. Have fun interviewing the wino.” Sean said, rising from his seat and made for the elevator.
    “Thanks,” Albert shouted, collecting his coat from the back of the chair.
    A long car journey through London’s afternoon traffic and Albert Maher arrived at St. Thomas Hospital. He hated the sterile smell of hospitals, overworked nurses performing mundane tasks without complaint, the procession of terminal patients whose only joy was three cigarettes quickly smoked in ten minutes at the entrance.
    Two floors up and several corridors later he found the private room. The patient was sitting up reading The Sun, a tabloid newspaper of vacuous celebrities and airbrushed topless models. A bit lowbrow for someone who once worked for the secret intelligence community, Albert pondered. The man appeared as in his file to be in his mid-thirties, curly jet black hair barely touching the shoulders and having the skin complexion consistent with someone of Middle-Eastern origin. The patient was handsome, ensuring better service with the young nurses who catered to his every whim. The report said his name was Sam Philips, an Information Technology Consultant for a large computer firm in central London, responsible for the maintenance and upgrading of servers for banks and government departments. The Secrecy Act prohibited all further investigation into his employment history and working operations. A perfect cover for someone who wanted to remain anonymous.
    The patient looked over the top of the newspaper at his visitor. An aging detective in a £200 dark suit and badly matching tie stood before him. The policeman to his eyes appeared to be in his early fifties, balding grey hair and neatly trimmed white beard. The air of twenty year apathy was all about him, a detective downtrodden by perpetual bureaucracy and arrogant superiors with their vision solely fixed on being Chief Constable by their fiftieth birthday.
    “Take a seat, Inspector.” Sam Philips announced.
    “How did you know I was an Inspector?” Enquired Maher, placing his tired body on the uncomfortable plastic chair.
    The patient smiled. “I surmised New Scotland Yard discovered my background in the Central Intelligence Agency. Besides I already gave my victim statement to two uniformed constables. It was only a matter of time before they sent someone higher up the food chain to interview me.”
    “You’re proving to be quite the quandary at the office, Mr. Philips.” Albert declared. “We can find no social security number for you, no education history and no trace of employment before your current one. You are a ghost.”
    Sam laughed. “I have been called many things, but never a spectre. However, there have been many over the years who would have liked me to depart the mortal plane.”
    “Of that I have no doubt,” Maher nodded. “Your recent assault is proof of that. What exactly happened last night?”
    “I received a blow to the head and was dazed when the paramedics discovered me,” the patient said, shrugging his shoulders. “The exact details escape me.”
    Albert revealed the file and flicked through the document. “Witness declares the man, that being you Mr. Philips, entered the alley just before midnight. He knows the approximate time because he had just purchased a bottle of whiskey from the nearby off-licence just before closing time.”
“A reliable witness is always good, detective,” the patient said and burst into laughter.
    Maher continued without responding. “Witness says a black van pulled up alongside and three men jumped out and tried to bundle the victim into the vehicle. Mr. Philips punched one assailant in the chest sending him flying through the air a distance of one hundred and ten metres and pushed the other two men to the ground. Any of this sounding familiar?”
    Sam shook his head. “Can’t say it does, copper,” the patient replied. “But you know what a knock to the skull does for memory.”
    “Speaking of blows, do you work out in the gym as part of your employment, Mr. Philips?”
    “You know I can’t talk about my job, detective.” Sam retorted sharply.
    “The witness said you then ran off to a nearby wall which you tried to scale but which collapsed, covering you in rubble. The wino then went for help. Paramedics discovered you unconscious but without any injury. Remarkable, Mr. Philips.”
    Sam smiled. “Just lucky, I guess.”
    “You were covered in blood, none of it yours.” Albert said, rising from the seat. “Furthermore, we could find no trace of the men and all cameras in the streets leading to the alley had been disabled. Quite professional for a mugging.”
    “You should head for the docks with all this fishing, Inspector.”
    “Too professional to make it some random racist attack, drunken soldiers angry at fallen comrades in Afghanistan. The CIA believe you match an operative that did work for them in Cambodia during the Vietnam War. But that was over forty years ago.”
    “Can’t be me then,” Sam replied. “Though my chemist does recommended the best anti-aging cream in London.”
    “Your apartment has also been broken into, quite a mess they made but apart from a laptop nothing else appeared to have been taken. Cash was left on the kitchen worktop. The computer shop which sold the computer said it was only a cheap laptop, one of their lower range used for simple word-processing and internet access. Not really worth their trouble unless they thought there might be valuable information stored on the hard drive.”
    “Maybe they heard about my fetish for women with large asses, I had built up quite a collection, some movies too.” Sam laughed.
    “Neighbours said you lived alone, no girlfriend and even no friends ever called.” Maher stated. “Any family we can contact for you, Mr. Philips?”
    “My parents and my brothers are long gone, detective.”
    “That’s an interesting tattoo you have,” Albert declared, pointing to Sam’s chest where a large marking could just be made out from the top of the opened pyjama shirt. “Doctors said they have never seen anything like it, appears to extend deep below the skin, even into the ribcage itself. They said it looks like some form of writing, but not a language they recognise.”
    “It’s Sumerian, the ancient words of Mesopotamia, the northern mountain region to be exact.” Sam replied sharply. “It means ‘Firstborn.’ It was a gift, among other things from the Father of my father as recognition of me being the first child born into the family.”
    “Your grandfather had incredible skill, he must have been popular. I’ll bet he always had some wise words for every passing traveller.” Maher grinned.
    Sam sighed. “Indeed. But he stopped talking when people no longer listened. However, he was not my grandfather, it’s complicated.”
    “Everything about you is complex, Mr. Philips.” Albert said. “The only reference we can find to a Sam Philips is a baby who died stillborn and is in the cemetery.” Inspector Maher declared. “Where is Mesopotamia anyway?”
    “Iraq.” Sam replied flatly.
    “At least that might go some way to explaining the confusion over your identity. Your papers were probably lost in the war. I believe the Interior Ministry suffered damage,” Maher stated.
    “That was probably it,” Sam smiled.
    “You are some bullshitter, Mr. Philips,” Albert snarled. “However, I can neither arrest nor detain you, and any further questioning appears pointless. But don’t leave Britain without notifying me, or I will have Interpol drag you back here and I don’t care who from the CIA tries to bust my balls.”
    “Goodbye, Inspector.” Sam laughed and watched DI Maher leave before calling the nurse to bring his clothes and prepare the discharge papers.
 


CHAPTER TWO

“To order, gentlemen, please,” Grandmaster Samuel Carson shouted, drowning out the noise of the men who filled the hallway and entrance of the forty bedroom mansion, situated just outside London on a sprawling estate, the nearest neighbour two miles away in the village.
    The fifty-five year old glanced over the congregation, membership in the English wing of the Illuminati being exclusively male. Over a hundred men from privileged backgrounds thronged the large building. Eight representatives of Parliament, seven of which Conservative including one Minister congratulated themselves. Also present was the Chief Constable chatting to his nominated lieutenants, hungry and waiting for their own moment to shine. Other associates included the current Lord Mayor of London and five billionaires made from company directors. No lottery winners would be found here, no amount of money could buy membership into such exclusive company. No working class slobs who considered themselves fortunate to live a daytime life of drunken debauchery to match their already soulless nights would find place here, Samuel pondered. Historians wrongfully believed the Illuminati were Satanists, but the truth is representatives of such an elite order were too consumed in self-worship to bother glorifying or praying to any deity.
    “That was some fuck up, William.” The Lord Mayor snarled.
    The Chief Constable glared at the politician. “It is true we underestimated our nemesis, but such a comment does not become you, Charles.”
    “Christ almighty, Bill,” the Mayor retorted sharply. “You cannot play down such an incident. You have two men in a private hospital and one downstairs on a slab, his chest smashed and every organ punctured.”
    “Gentlemen, please,” Samuel interrupted. “A different strategy will now be adopted. It was ridiculous anyway. He would have given up no information and trying to keep him in permanent captivity would have proved too dangerous.”
    The policeman and politician smiled through their teeth at the leader of their order. Samuel Carson was an American, born and raised in Chicago. His father a wealthy businessman having forged lucrative contracts in Saudi Arabia. This offered Samuel a privileged upbringing, including private schools both in the United States and the Middle East. However, there were many in the British wing of the Illuminati who distrusted Mr. Carson. He had only recently been appointed the Grandmaster for England following the death of the last leader. But through the thin veil of courtesy everyone knew of his fearsome temper, his ruthless ambition and history of terrible retribution for anyone that dared cross him. However, the American wing of the Illuminati under Samuel Carson’s direction had an impressive legacy with forty-seven members of Congress fulfilling tasks for the organisation and two former Presidents; a contrary father and his drunkard son.
    “This has been the most important objective of our order since its official creation in 1776, even though of course we existed many years before that date,” the Grandmaster turned and shouted over the congregation, motioning all into silence. “Cain alone knows the location of Eden and the Tree of Life. Within its roots lie a source of unimaginable magickal power which we can utilise to finally come out from the shadows and realise our true heritage as leaders of this world. No longer will we suffer global tyrants like China and Saudi Arabia. We can bring peace to Africa and establish the single world government to which we all aspire.”
    “Where is the suspect now?” The Lord Mayor enquired, turning to the Chief Constable.
    “He has just left the hospital. I have three undercover detectives monitoring his every move. It is likely he will attempt to obtain a new identity since his current one has been blown.”
    “And do we know what forger he will use?” Samuel asked.
    “Information we gathered from his laptop suggest an Irish master forger called Jack Mulcahy,” the policeman stated. “I have two agents ready to intercept the Irishman.”
    “Hold on that order,” Samuel said sharply. “I have a better idea than playing endless games of cat and mouse with Mr. Cain Kadmon.”
    The policeman stared at his Master in puzzlement. The side door to the hallway opened at that moment and in walked Alice Carson, the twenty-six year old daughter and only child of the Grandmaster. The congregation watched her entrance intensely, not just because of her blood connection to their fearsome leader but also for she was very beautiful. Quite tall at five foot ten inches and curly red hair which stretched almost to the small of her back. She had been trained in elocution and strict deportment exercises which must have proved difficult considering her thin frame in contrast to her large breasts. Female members of the Illuminati were very rare as the order was inherently both racist and sexist.
    “Father,” Alice said softly in a sarcastic tone. She despised all these old men with their spiteful glares and ambitious thoughts. Despite her link to their Grandmaster she knew they only thought of her as weak because of her gender and lacking the ruthlessness required to fill her parent’s shoes.
    “I have a task for you,” Samuel announced. “One which only you can accomplish and which will secure your place as my heir to the organisation.”
    “Master,” the Chief Constable interrupted. “I must protest. The Illuminati is a male member only order. Besides, there are few amongst us that would follow Alice.”
    The Grandmaster turned and grabbed the policeman by the throat. “You forget your place,” Samuel snarled. “Perhaps one of your lieutenants should be sitting in your office.”
    One of the detectives in the background came forth. “I will bow to Alice as our leader after your demise, Master.”
    “Well done,” Samuel declared, releasing the Chief Constable, allowing him to stumble backwards, gasping for breath. “Maybe all the congregation will follow your example. What is your name?”
    The policeman smiled. “Detective Chief Inspector Richard Bellings of New Scotland Yard,” he announced proudly. “Furthermore Master, I have links to the criminal underworld that will secure weapons for our journey to Iraq. As everyone is aware, the Al Qaeda troubles the country has will likely pale in comparison to what we might discover in Eden.”
    “You speak true,” the Grandmaster nodded. “The very earth became poisoned after Abel’s blood was spilt by the Tree. Who knows what creatures roam Eden over the last six thousand years?”
    “Perhaps even Lilith still resides there?” The Mayor said fearfully. “The she-demon is dangerous, magickal powers she obtained from the Apple might be formidable.”
    “We cannot surmise on her,” Samuel said. “Adam’s first wife might just be a myth. However, it would be prudent to plan for any eventuality. I want top of the range armaments, including flamethrowers.”
    “And what of Cain?” Bellings enquired.
    “A scientist we have on our payroll has obtained titanium steel,” Samuel retorted. “Even his strength would find it difficult to break those chains.”
    “And my task, father?” Alice asked.
    “I need someone to get close to Cain, gain his trust and gather as much information as possible. Perhaps even the location of Eden.”
    Alice sneered. “Do I have to have sex with him?”
    “No,” Samuel replied. “Cain prefers the damsel in distress,” the Grandmaster declared and everybody laughed. “He has spent all his years attempting to find redemption for the crime of killing his brother. However, you might have to harm or even kill some of our members to secure his loyalty. In short, do whatever it takes to discover his plans and new identities he will assume.”
    “I will do as you command, father.” Alice said and left the hallway, all eyes fixed on her back in mistrust and envy.
 


CHAPTER THREE

Cain waited until nightfall before leaving the grounds of the hospital, knowing the cover of darkness would aid his escape from prying eyes. He knew detectives from New Scotland Yard were likely watching his every move, but a few tired policemen out past their bedtime were not much of a concern, and would be relatively easy to evade for someone of his experience. MI5 and CIA operatives would be more difficult. Cain knew those spies were far more persistent and had espionage tools to hear him fart a mile away. Satellite observation could also not be ruled out. However, even they would not be able to match his speed and strength as he prepared to duck through hotel entrances and restaurant exits in a matter of seconds. A few minutes later and he would be blocks away as they scrambled to keep up.
No, it was something else that gave him concern. It was not Scotland Yard detectives or smug spooks that caused his unease. It was the breathing of something more ancient and evil at his neck, for he knew it was they who arranged his ‘mugging’ the night before and the burglary at his apartment. The same flat he dared not approach lest they await his presence for another attempt. The sooner he obtained new identity papers the better and leave England for good.
Cain set to running, darting in and out of hotel and fast food restaurants, startling staff and customers. He laughed as he heard several men across the street curse and give chase, trying their best to appear inconspicuous. He vaguely heard their astonishment at their nemesis’ speed and watched in dismay as their suspect disappeared into the night, fearing their morning report and their superior’s rant.
Cain slowed and caught his breath at a back alley. He glanced back down the street to make sure he had not been followed before entering the door of Jack Mulcahy the forger. Cain smiled, he and the elderly Irishman had a long history. Jack was sixty-five years old, standing at six foot, grey and balding. Cain would always remark his old friend was in the wrong employment, despite his brutish temperament, providing false documents for such dubious clients such as illegal Chinese immigrants to Muslim extremists. Politics was never my business, he would often say, English money always folds into the pocket the same way no matter its origin. But he would draw the line at Ulster Freedom Fighters, saying anyone who could murder his fellow Irish people would always find a closed door.
Jack Mulcahy was a lithographic printer by trade, he left school at fourteen cleaning up torn paper at a medium sized printing house, specialising in everything from carbon invoice books to memorial cards. People on the street who came to know and despise him would remark the only thing he inherited from his father was arrogance and a grossly inflated opinion of himself. Desperately craving respect, he bestowed none to others under his command as General Manager, belittling and threatening them at every opportunity in boredom and resentment at a contrary boss who hated Jack, but let him have free rein over his employees.
Even Jack’s own mother would bring insult upon herself by remarking to any that might listen, that her child was a self-obsessed son of a bitch. It was only when the proprietor retired did Jack finally acknowledge his demonic behaviour, as he was denied ownership of the printing house and his fellow workers ignored their lifelong cowardice and rose up against him. They realised a dole queue was preferable than serving a petty spiteful man who practised hypocrisy and laziness, but criticised others for even considering such apathy. Jack, offended the staff should dare reject his ‘superior’ wisdom, reacted in typical aggressive fashion, but was forced to resign and choose a different path. Not willing to serve another perceived tyrant and possessing a talent for machinery he soon followed a life of crime.
Cain quickly skipped up the narrow flight of stairs and approached the elderly man’s office at the end of the hall. However, he stopped just at the door. Something was wrong. Jack was old, not deaf. The creaky floorboards that lined the hallway in the centuries old building always meant he would open the door long before any visitor gripped the handle.
Cain cautiously pulled down on the metal and peeked inside. He immediately saw Jack sitting in his favourite swivel office chair with his back to the door. Cain approached and tapped the Irishman on the shoulder, but to no response. Jack might have been a heavy sleeper, but this was something else. He turned the chair and sighed as Jack’s head lay at an awkward angle, his throat cut so deep he had nearly been decapitated. His shirt and pants were soaked in blood and a dark pool had formed on the floor under the chair. Cain then noticed something odd. It appeared several of his fingers had been broken, the digits twisted and painfully deformed. Jack had been tortured, probably for the location of his counterfeit documents for established clients. Cain had to assume it was he the intruders were looking for and the name of his new identity.
He glanced around the room and noticed furniture had been thrown upside down, the fabric torn and stuffing left on the ground. Pictures were smashed and books torn to pieces, their spines cracked. However, Cain knew Jack had been in the business too long to leave his life’s work in plain view. The Irish forger had earlier mentioned a concealed storage area beneath the office chair close to the desk. Cain gazed down and noticed a thin crack on the floor under the chair. He pushed his dead friend carefully aside and examined the dusty floor. Cain ran his fingers around the edge until he found a tiny ring, barely distinguishable. He gently pulled and up popped a latch revealing floorboards and insulation underneath. Hidden inside was a small package. Cain opened it and removed the contents, revealing various forged passports, drivers licences and birth certificates. A few marriage certificates were also present, Pakistani women eager to escape arranged nuptials by pretending to be already married.
Cain left the office, safely pocketing his new identity papers, leaving other clients’ documents on the floor. They would have to take their chances with the police and custom officials. Just then he heard commotion coming from the bedroom. He approached his dead friend’s resting place and kicked in the door, preparing to attack whoever was inside. But the room was empty. He shrugged his shoulders, it was probably rats in the attic considering the age of the building. However, he halted upon hearing muffled sounds coming from the wardrobe. Cain pulled on the two handles and a woman fell to the floor with a scream. She was shaking in fear and had been crying. The young female wore blue jeans and a red v-neck top, revealing substantial cleavage. She had long red hair stretching down nearly the full length of her back.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” she sobbed in an accent Cain thought sounded American. “Where is my uncle?”
Cain picked the woman up off the floor and stared at her in puzzlement. “How long have you been in there?”
“I’m not sure,” she moaned, still shaking. “Perhaps two hours or more.”
Cain gently wiped the tears from her face, noticing her makeup was smudged from crying. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“My name is Alice Mulcahy,” she said softly, starting to regain her composure. “My mother was the sister of Jack. Where is he?”
“His niece?” Cain asked in confusion. “He never mentioned any family. How come you have the same surname if your mother is married?”
“My mother gave birth to me out of wedlock hence I retained her surname,” Alice stated. “I came here to Britain from the United States to find Jack as he is my last remaining blood relative. Where is he?”
“I am sorry,” Cain said, closing his eyes in remembrance of his old friend, and his tragic yet heroic death. “Your uncle is dead.”
Alice stared at the man before her in disbelief and then sobbed. “I knew by his screams he was being murdered. The cries stopped before the men had left,” she said as Cain gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “No one could have tolerated such pain and suffering. I dared not move from the wardrobe. I am such a coward.”
“You cannot blame yourself, for you would be dead also,” Cain declared. “Do you know how many intruders were here? What accent did they have?”
“They were English,” Alice replied firmly. “Of that I am certain. I believe judging by the voices there were at least three of them.”
Cain sighed. “Three assassins to frighten an old man? They were expecting company.”
“There’s something else,” Alice interjected. “I heard one murderer mention the word ‘Illuminati.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
Cain stared at her in hatred. She noticed he was however not surprised or shocked by her declaration.
“You’re in way over your head,” he said sharply. “Go back home to America. Don’t leave this land in a body bag.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” Alice said, beginning to cry again. “I have no money and no relatives left. I came here on a college visa to study English at Oxford.”
“Better you should work in some dingy bar in the United States than bleed out on the floor like your uncle.”
Before she could respond a sudden noise was heard as the door downstairs was opened and frantic footsteps began to approach the apartment. Alice looked at him in abject terror.
“Quick, back into the wardrobe,” Cain whispered. “Don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear.”
“What about you?” She said fearfully, grabbing his sleeve.
“I have a score to settle with these gentlemen.” Cain snarled as he closed the doors of the wardrobe, shutting her inside.
He pushed the door of the bedroom nearly closed bar one inch so he could observe the intruders. Three men dressed in cheap suits entered the hallway and approached the office. One rather obese man who Cain presumed was the leader directed the other two to search the wooden floor of the office for any hidden compartments. He left out a growl upon noticing the fake documents that Cain had discarded strewn about the floor.
“It would appear our friend has been busy in our brief absence,” the man snarled in obvious contempt. “Search the apartment, unless one of you would like to tell Samuel we returned empty-handed.”
His two companions stared at him in fear, knowing all too well the price of failure. It was not a trait the Master accepted graciously. However, confronting their nemesis did not bode well either.
“He most likely has it on his person,” one man said, the tremor in his voice noticeable. “You don’t expect us to fight Cain alone, especially after what he did to Martin in the alley.”
“We might not be able to kill him,” their leader retorted sharply. “But we can certainly hurt him, or at the very least slow him down enough to seize the documents and make our escape.”
“This paddy we killed was his friend,” the intruder declared. “It is probably his intention that we not leave this apartment alive.”
“Shut up and do your job!” Their leader shouted as he kicked Jack seated in his chair across the room, causing the dead forger to fall out and hit the floor with an audible thud. The man laughed. “You put too much faith in this Jew. The stories of his strength and penchant for violence are unfounded.”
One of the men nodded in agreement before moving down the hallway and grabbing the handle of the door leading to the bedroom. He thought he heard a muffled sound just beyond the slightly ajar entrance and was about to cry out to his two companions when the wooden door suddenly came off its hinges and flew towards him, slamming the man against the wall.
The two intruders stared down the hallway in astonishment as the door had completely detached itself from its shattered frame and hit their friend in the face with a deafening crash. They watched as their comrade slumped to the ground, his features unrecognisable due to the blood pouring down his face and chest to the floor. Both men knew no-one could have survived such a blow. Their leader drew a semi-automatic handgun from his shoulder holster and pointed at the open bedroom entrance.
The other unarmed intruder cautiously approached the door, and while keeping some distance from the bedroom, stretched himself slant-ways and peered into the room. He turned to his armed leader in puzzlement, for he could see no sign of their mysterious assailant. He stepped towards the door, gazed at the ceiling and immediately realized where their attacker lay hidden. Cain had positioned himself above the broken door frame, left hand on the shattered wood and legs stretched, his feet on the top of the wardrobe. The assassin turned to cry out to his superior in fright, but Cain moved before he could respond and grabbed the man by his hair with his right hand, pulling him inside the bedroom.
The intruder let out a shrill scream of agony, as Cain still gripping a large tuft of hair threw the man against the far wall of the bedroom, knocking him unconscious. He then dropped to the floor as the last assassin ran down the hallway towards the open bedroom, shooting wildly at the entrance. The fat man turned and fired a round into the bedroom, catching his intended target in the left shoulder.
Cain let out no cry of pain, but instead stared fixedly at his attacker who dropped the now empty handgun in terror. The intruder turned to flee but Cain hit him in the back of the head with his right fist, sending the man flying down the hallway and crashing into the door of the office, pieces of his brain scattering all over the floor from his smashed skull.
Alice peeked out of the wardrobe. “Is it over?” She sobbed. “Are they gone?”
Cain gritted through his teeth. “Not yet,” he sneered. “One yet remains before I send him to the Underworld.”
Alice watched as Cain approached the fallen man and began to shake him vigorously. The assassin began to groan as his assailant picked him up onto his bottom and positioned him against the wall.
“Perhaps we should just leave and call the police,” Alice declared. “Let them deal with this and bring this murderer to trial for the death of my uncle.”
Cain sighed. “This bastard and the other two dead men are police,” he said as he gripped the individual’s hair, forcing him awake. “Isn’t that right, my friend?”
“Go to hell, firstborn,” the intruder snarled. “I answer only to the Grandmaster.”
Cain hit the assassin in the face, breaking his nose. “And he will answer to me!” Cain shouted as the individual cried out in pain. “No longer will I constantly look over my shoulder as you live comfortably in the shadows.”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Jew,” the policeman sneered. “We have orchestrated every major political and social event for centuries, our members have infiltrated every walk of life. You can’t buy a pint of milk or read a newspaper without the Illuminati having a hand in it. You may have eluded the books of history for six thousand years, but in this era of the Internet you will no longer find a hiding place.”
“You did all of that on your own? I’m impressed!” Cain laughed. “You, my friend, are just a pawn; an Illuminati wannabe. But the door will always be shut to the henchmen, only the elite can become members. Or do you think the Master shares power?”
“You waste your time attempting to corrupt me, firstborn,” the policeman smiled. “And I have no information to give,” he declared as he quickly reached inside his pocket and revealing a two inch blade, swiftly cut across his throat.
Cain cursed and grabbed the man’s neck, trying to halt the stem of blood, but to no avail. The assassin bled to death within a few minutes. Cain allowed his lifeless body to drop to the floor in disgust.
“What was all that about?” Alice asked in puzzlement. “I thought the Illuminati were just a myth. And why did he call you firstborn?”
“The real police will be here soon,” Cain interrupted. “Any shots fired in London will bring them running within a matter of minutes. We need to get out of here. You are no longer safe on your own; you will have to remain by my side from now on, it appears our destinies have become interlinked.”
“Hang on a second,” Alice said. “Who are you? What person would cut their own neck rather than give information?”
“The kind of individual who fears something worse than me,” Cain replied. “Questions about me can wait. We really need to leave.”
Sirens could be heard in the near distance as they quickly made their way out of the apartment and into the street. They darted in and out of several alleys before coming to a stop.
“Please wait,” Alice panted. “I can’t keep up.”
“Sorry,” Cain replied. “I keep forgetting most people cannot maintain my pace.”
“You’re not even winded,” she gasped. “You must be super-fit.”
Cain smiled. “Come on, it’s not much further,” he said as they approached a run-down looking hotel down a side alley.
“This looks charming.” Alice sneered.
“It will do for the moment until the heat dies down,” Cain retorted.
They entered the establishment and approached the counter where sat a small old man in a dirty tartan shirt, stained with what appeared to be several days old chips and curry. Cain threw enough notes on the desk sufficient for many nights board.
The short man grudgingly got up from the chair and stared at his new guests. “Will you two love birds make it down for breakfast?” He laughed.
“Mind your own fucking business!” Alice snarled and the man drew back.
Cain turned and gazed at her in astonishment. She had discovered a new born fire in her belly compared to the scared girl hiding in the wardrobe. It would appear this woman was full of surprises.
The old man threw a key with a number tag on the counter before returning to his chair. Cain and Alice ventured up the stairs and opened the door to their room. A single double bed lay in the centre with two adjoining bedside tables and lamps. The purple carpet below their feet was dirty and stained with marks Alice could not discern. The small bathroom and toilet were in a similar condition.
“Jesus,” she announced. “What a shit hole. Tell me our stay here will be brief.”
Cain nodded, he was too tired to argue as he sat on the edge of the bed. He took off the fleece jacket and t-shirt he was wearing, grimacing in pain. Alice glanced at the strange large tattoo that filled the entire width of his chest. Blood continued to run down his left arm from the gun shot wound. Cain pointed to the door, motioning for her to leave.
“Oh no,” she said flatly. “You won’t get rid of me that easy. Besides I have a strong stomach.”
“That’s not what worries me,” Cain replied. “Your nausea will soon be replaced by astonishment and insatiable curiosity.”
She stared at him in puzzlement as he pinched the wound with the fingers of his right hand as if it were a blackhead or spot he was about to squeeze. Cain drew his fingers in tighter and gritted his teeth in pain. He let out a cry as the bullet began to appear at the opening. Alice gasped in amazement as he squeezed and the metal came out and fell on the floor. Cain picked up the bullet and sighed in satisfaction. She could only stare fixedly in shock as the wound then began to spontaneously heal itself until the opening completely disappeared. Within seconds it was as if he had never been shot in the shoulder.
“That’s not possible,” Alice said. “What kind of man are you?”
“That’s a long story,” Cain replied with a laugh.
“I can only imagine,” she said, shaking her head in curiosity. “Are you some kind of genetic military experiment, or an extraterrestrial?”
“Neither,” Cain declared. “I am completely human like you, my blood and bones are no different than yours. This was a curse and gift bestowed onto me a long time ago.”
Alice frowned in puzzlement as he stared first at the dirty ceiling and then directly at her.
“My name is Cain Kadmon, son of Adam and Eve Kadmon, brother to Abel and Seth, the founder of Judaism and ultimately all of humanity.”
She stared at him in bewilderment. “You’re having a laugh!” She replied. “That is just a religious myth propagated by a corrupt Roman Catholic Church as a means to blind us to the truth of Darwinism. Next you’ll be telling me about Creationism and the lies about the dinosaurs, despite their bones being on display in the Natural History Museum!”
Cain sighed. “There is room for both. Jehovah takes many forms, humanity is just one of his little experiments. First it was the dinosaurs, now it is our turn. When he tires of us it will be something else. It was the conceit of man to believe we were created in his image. This world is but one of many in the Universe,” he retorted, as he pointed to his chest where a large black tattoo filled most of his torso. “See this,” he said and she nodded. “This was given to me by God when I killed Abel my brother as a punishment and warning to others who dared defy the will of Jehovah.”
“So you’re a murderer?” Alice growled. “Then you are no better than those monsters that killed my uncle.”
“It was an accident,” Cain said and bowed his head in shame, six thousand years had not removed his guilt. “I killed my brother in a fit of jealousy over him being rewarded for an animal offering and God rejecting my fruit. I pushed him and he knocked the back of his head against the Tree of Life.”
“You were in Eden?” Alice asked in astonishment. “What was it like?”
“Words cannot adequately describe Paradise,” Cain replied, his voice trembling in sorrow and regret. “The most beautiful plants and flowers abounded everywhere and beasts roamed, lions mingling with antelope and not attacking. Every creature at peace with themselves and everything else. And then there was the Tree of Life, the largest plant situated in the centre of Eden, the very epicentre of all creation. The Tree dominated the Garden, all the animals gathered around it but dared not touch for it was forbidden.”
“Were there any Apples on it?” Alice asked. “Did you taste of its fruit?”
“Only one Apple ever grew on the Tree,” Cain replied flatly. “That was the purpose and essence of temptation. Lilith picked the Apple, gave it first to my mother to taste and she then gave it to Adam. They were then damned for all eternity and exiled from the Garden. Except for Lilith, she was to remain in Eden, bitter and alone with nobody for companionship for all time.”
“Did you ever meet her, the she-demon?”
“No,” Cain retorted. “These events took place hundreds of years before I was born. I was conceived in the wilderness of what is now northern Iraq, prohibited from ever witnessing Paradise.”
“It must have been tough for your parents,” Alice said. “Nobody else to depend on and no food to eat.”
“You have to realise Adam and Eve were immortals, destined to live forever, the founders of humanity for the Middle East.” Cain replied. “And my father had ultimate knowledge which he had acquired from the Apple, giving him the power to build an entire stone village from nothing and tillage the land, providing many crops.”
Alice frowned in puzzlement. “You said your parents were the creators of mankind for the Middle East, I thought the bible said Adam was the founder of all humanity?”
“Incest is strictly forbidden under God’s law,” Cain retorted. “If it were just us, we would have been forced to marry our unborn sisters to propagate mankind. However, Adam was unique and Jehovah wanted it that way. Only my father had been created directly by God making him immortal, and my mother made from one of Adam’s ribs, a scar he bore all of his life.”
“This was a subject always ignored by the Catholic Church,” Alice said. “They preferred blind ignorance and their followers not ask too many questions, so they could maintain control and power over the last two thousand years.”
“Yahweh first created Nok the Elder, an African king and his tribe of five hundred from the ribs of chimpanzees, making them fully human and subject to normal lifespans.”
“That would explain the close DNA link to the monkeys,” Alice interjected.
“God then copied the same formula for every region of the globe; from China, to the Aborigines in Australia, the Native Americans, and the Celts in Gaul and England, and so forth. Every tribe would be slightly different so their cultures would be unique and when they finally mingled it would provide mixed blood for all of humanity.” Cain declared. “But as I said He wanted Adam to be separate and his bloodline to suffer as little contamination as possible. We were to marry only royalty, so it was decided my younger brother Seth and I become betrothed to princesses, the daughters of Nok the Elder.”
“No wonder God always viewed the Jews as special,” Alice said and smiled. “Does that mean by the way that you are circumcised?”
“No,” Cain replied with a grin. “That practise was established long after I was born. However, it was Seth who was the true founder of Judaism, having written the first early scriptures.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Alice interjected. “But you have the appearance of an Arab, and not the modern Jew one would commonly see on the streets of Israel.”
Cain sighed. “Yes, this is true. Thousands of years after my birth the Jewish people became part of Egypt. They were accepted grudgingly as part of the Egyptian Empire because of their fighting skills, providing the elite first line defence against what is now Syria. However, the true Egyptians kept them in a perpetual state of poverty so young Jewish women were forced to marry Egyptian men to provide security and a home for their children. Over many hundreds of years much of the Jewish people developed a paler skin tone. But despite this, part of the Jewish population remained pure. It was only after the suicide of Saul, the first king of Israel, and the subsequent rise to power of David that things dramatically changed. King David was a psychopath, he had all of Saul’s family wiped out, down to even nephews and nieces. After their deaths, the bloodline dating back to my father was extinguished. I was furious at David’s actions, I wanted him to pay for his evil deeds, but the Israelites had been locked in three centuries of constant civil war. They were at all times in a state of battle-readiness so I was unable to get close.”
“That must have been heartbreaking for you,” Alice interrupted. “Having the blood heritage of Adam destroyed.”
“I should have seen it coming,” Cain retorted. “I was present with Moses at the Exodus. The elderly prophet required my presence to inspire and convince doubters of the motives of God and of their rightful place in history, or so I naively believed at that time.” Cain sighed. “However, after Moses died power passed to his chosen successor Joshua. I understood Joshua’s reasons for destroying Jericho and committing genocide, to promote fear across Canaan and provoke the city’s neighbours into fleeing without raising a sword against the Jewish invaders. But I could never reconcile myself with killing every inhabitant of Jericho, even the impaling of infants upon spears before their screaming parents. Those same cries of anguish still fill my restless nights. I left soon afterwards and never returned.”
“Do you believe humanity has become more civilised, with Europe finally at peace and the advent of such worldwide communication tools as the Internet, bringing people closer?”
Cain shook his head in dismay. “I firmly believe the opposite. Man has become more sophisticated in his torture tools, even so called democratic governments swapping innocent civilians between themselves, believing it is morally acceptable to water-board a kidnapped foreigner; placing a wet cloth over their face and continuously pouring a jug of water over it until they nearly drown, simply because they might dare to have a different opinion to capitalism than you,” he declared. “The same Roman mob mentality I witnessed in the Coliseum still exists today. I always find it strangely amusing when you switch on your television, watching some perverse singing reality show where amateur karaoke contestants embarrass themselves, their lifelong dreams being shattered to the laughter of vacuous idiots, who believe just because no-one is being killed the mockery is not damaging.”
“You must have lived an incredible life,” Alice said. “The world events you would have witnessed, the important people you would have met.”
“I tried my best to keep out of history’s way,” Cain replied. “I was an outcast, feared and despised by many. But it is true, I did bare witness to spectacular cities and persons. I visited Alexandria before it was destroyed and saw the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Unfortunately I also ran foul of many despicable characters including the Romans and the Nazis. Doctor Josef Mengele carried out grotesque experiments, attempting to utilise or copy my strength and regenerative powers. The Romans on the other hand tried to crucify me on the road outside Pompeii. They were unaware of my curse. Anyone who attempted to slay me would have vengeance cast upon them ‘sevenfold.’ There might have been earthquakes in the region and a volcanic eruption on the horizon, but that little mistake of theirs tipped the balance and blew the mountain.” Cain laughed. “Constantine, the first Christian Roman Emperor managed to capture me within the boundaries of Constantinople. He wanted to seal me inside a metal coffin and incorporate my body into the foundations of the new city, but decided it was best to free me, fearing the curse and God’s retribution.”
“Did you ever meet religious figures like Jesus or his disciples?” Alice asked. “It would certainly be intriguing to discover if he was indeed the son of God, or if such a thing was possible.”
“No, I was in China at the time learning unarmed combat. Even my superior strength would not guarantee success in a fight with overwhelming odds, it was considered wise to have an edge over a large armed mob.” Cain said. “As regards the Messiah, who knows? But if you had seen the majesty of Eden you would believe anything was possible. However, it is worth mentioning that Christ, if he indeed did exist, was a demigod; half human and half divine having a human mother. My father Adam, on the other hand had no human parents, making him higher on the divine evolutionary ladder than Jesus.”
“Is that why the Illuminati have such an interest in you,” she enquired. “Your link to the divine, to God?”
Cain clenched his fists in rage. “Samuel Carson and his cronies are not really interested in me or Jehovah, their only desire is the Tree of Life, they believe an incredible power source lies at its roots.”
“And does it?” Alice asked.
“To step foot in Eden is strictly forbidden,” he declared. “It was blasphemy enough when Abel and I entered the Garden to make our offerings, I was not about to start digging. However, the Tree is the centre of all creation so it is likely great magick stems from that ground.”
“Talking of Eden,” Alice said. “You say you were cursed? I thought Abel was immortal like you and impervious to injury?”
“Yes,” Cain replied, staring out of the window into the dark street, his voice shaking with guilt and regret. “But it is close proximity to the Tree of Life that makes you mortal, that strips you of your powers. Abel hit his head on the Tree, it was that wound that killed him. If I shoved him under a subway train here he would have survived, his injuries would have healed, but at the Tree he was vulnerable. I did not know that when I pushed him, it was an accident.” Cain sighed. “There was a famine which had lasted for many years. We were all starving, being immortal does not mean you do not feel hunger, and my wife was only human. Âwân especially found the wilderness of northern Mesopotamia difficult, she was not used to such hardship, being of royal blood and having many servants at her beck and call in Africa. Nearly all the animals had died, but Abel insisted we use the last lamb as a sacrifice to God to end the drought. I said Jehovah would understand in the circumstances if we made an offering of fruit gathered from the few remaining trees. I decided that Yahweh might be most receptive to our pleas in Eden itself, despite it being forbidden to enter. It was for this reason I did not tell Seth or our parents about what I planned. Jehovah rejected my offering and accepted Abel’s blood sacrifice, ending the famine and bidding us to leave Paradise immediately. I was angry, furious that Abel had been chosen over me, always believing father favoured my younger brother. Without thinking, I pushed him and his head struck the side of the Tree. At first I thought he was uninjured, having many times seen him fall great heights, his wounds within seconds heal completely. But this time was different. He lay motionless as blood flowed down the Tree and into the ground. I was terrified and tried to bury the body, fearing father would notice our overdue absence and come looking.” Cain declared, leaning against the window. “God cursed me, prohibiting me from growing crops of any kind. I was to be a vagabond, surviving on scraps and the generosity of strangers or even resorting to stealing. I was to walk the Earth for all eternity, knowing only loneliness and the death of loved ones around me as I lived forever.”
“That’s pretty harsh,” Alice said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “And what of your young wife, what became of her, did she come with you into exile?”
“Yes, Âwân travelled with me.” Cain sighed. “She was with child.”
“So you had a son or daughter?”
“No,” Cain said and began to cry, the tears running down his face. “The infant was stillborn. The curse included all crops, not just the ones in the ground. From that moment I was sterile, I would never again impregnate a woman.” He turned and struck the wall in frustration, causing plaster to fall. “Since I could not tillage the land, we attempted to survive on small animals I would catch, but she became sick from malnutrition and died giving birth, not even one year into our marriage. I have had many lovers throughout my long life, but never again would I marry.”
“What was Adam like?” Alice interjected. “It must have been extraordinary knowing him. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know what became of Seth and my parents,” Cain replied. “They were immortal after all. It is possible after our tribe achieved a certain size they were called back to Heaven without ever knowing death.”
“What was that era like with your clan, intact before the tragedy?” Alice asked. “Can you remember? I know it was a long time ago.”
“Recall?” Cain echoed, smiling at the memory. “I remember everything, as if it were just yesterday…”

 

CHAPTER FOUR