Satanic Armageddon Read online

  Amani was waiting for the distant clock to clang its single note which would echo over the city. That was when he would break into a run, screaming abuse before he littered the street with dead and dying innocents. His only regret was that he would not be able to view the mangled corpses and hear the screams of the wounded.

  Satanic Armageddon

  A Black Fedora Story

  Guy N. Smith

  Other books by Guy N. Smith:

  WEREWOLF OMNIBUS

  THE CHARNEL CAVES: A CRABS NOVEL

  SABAT 6: THE RETURN

  TALES FROM THE GRAVEYARD

  THE CASEBOOK OF RAYMOND ODELL

  Further books by the Sinister Horror Company:

  WHAT GOOD GIRLS DO – Jonathan Butcher

  MARKED – Stuart Park

  FOREST UNDERGROUND – Lydian Faust

  CANNIBAL NUNS FROM OUTER SPACE! – Duncan P. Bradshaw

  PUNCH – J. R. Park

  DEATH DREAMS IN A WHOREHOUSE – J. R. Park

  MAD DOG – J. R. Park

  BREAKING POINT – Kit Power

  HELL SHIP – Benedict J. Jones

  MANIAC GODS – Rich Hawkins

  Visit SinisterHorrorCompany.com for further information on these and other titles.

  PRESENTS

  Satanic Armageddon: A Black Fedora Story

  Copyright © 2021 by Guy N. Smith

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Edited by J. R. Park

  Design by J. R. Park

  Cover art by Mike McGee

  Published by The Sinister Horror Company

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Satanic Armageddon -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-912578-31-3

  THE SINISTER CHAMPIONS

  Anthony Watson, Chris Hall,

  David Lars Chamberlain, Emma Audsley,

  Gary Harper, James Steel, Jason Kelly,

  Jorge Wiles, Matt Shaw, Paul M. Feeney, Rebekah Mann, Steve Matthewman,

  Thomas Joyce, Tracy Fahey

  & Wayne Parkin

  Thank you for your support.

  To become a Sinister Champion, visit our Patreon page for details at:

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  Other adventures of John Mayo, the man in the black fedora, can be found in:

  The Black Fedora,

  first published in 1991

  The Knighton Vampires,

  first published in 1993

  The Grim Reaper: A Black Fedora Story,

  first published in 1997

  For Chrissy Spooner in appreciation of her invaluable help on my small nature reserve over the years.

  My Introduction to the Black Fedora at a Church Wedding

  I never cease to be amazed at the strange places in which ideas for books and characters crop up. Possibly the strangest of all occasions occurred at the wedding of two friends.

  As we all filed into the church, I noted with some surprise a young man wearing a broad brimmed black hat which he made no effort to remove. As he seated himself in a pew the vicar came down from the pulpit and asked him to remove his headgear!

  I was intrigued and after the service I made a point of approaching this somewhat strange guest. His name was Martin and he was exceedingly flattered when I told him that I was an author and that his hat had just given me an idea for a character in a forthcoming novel.

  ‘It's called a fedora,’ he told me. ‘I picked it up in a second-hand clothing store. Tell you what, I'll lend it to you. Look after it and I'll give you a call at a later date and maybe fetch it back.’

  So that was how it was left on that memorable day. I had the fedora and my next task was to create a character and a plot for the book.

  In the week's that followed everything came together. An unusual hat demanded an unusual character to wear it, along with dark clothing. All very sinister. Thus, John Mayo was born, a somewhat sinister individual, a loner who worked for Operation Werewolf, allied to Scotland yard's anti-terrorist force. It was during this period that his wife died suddenly, a devastating blow to Mayo. The department had given him leave and during that time he travelled to Knighton in Wales where he finds himself involved in a sinister encounter with "vampires". In due course he returned to his employers. Eventually he "retired" but was still "on call" if something arose which baffled the team of investigators. In 2006 his former employers became known as Counter Terrorism Command but nothing else changed.

  Mayo was enjoying a peaceful retirement when he was summoned to investigate a terrifying case which threatened the democracy of both the UK and Europe. He had encountered the vampire threat in the past but now he was up against an enemy which was under the control of satanic forces.

  It was the greatest and most deadly challenge of his long career.

  I still had that fedora of Martin’s on loan. About a year after acquiring it I was invited to take part in a "horror evening" at Llandovery in Wales. Here I was requested to go on the small stage and give a short talk to the audience. At the conclusion of this Martin appeared, pre-planned, to demand the return of his now famous headgear. Shrugging my shoulders, I reluctantly handed it over.

  Then somebody in the audience stood up and an identical hat came spinning onto the stage "you can keep that" the benefactor shouted amidst cheers. Clearly my fans were determined that I was not to lose a fedora which had spawned two best-selling novels set in their home territory!

  Guy N. Smith

  Chapter One

  ‘Great to see you again, Mayo,’ the tall, slightly stooped man rose from behind his desk, extending a welcoming hand. ‘Good god, twenty-five years or so since we last saw each other, that time when you bought that gang of pseudo vampires to book in Wales. Seems like only yesterday and I'm retiring at the end of next year.’

  His visitor nodded, merely grunted a reply as he lowered himself into the proffered chair opposite. John Mayo was of indeterminable age though he had to be in his early sixties with pale blue eyes and pallid features made all the more so by the jet black broad brimmed fedora which possibly hid greying hair. He rarely removed his headgear; it was an integral part of one who had worn it for it most of his life. His dark matching bomber jacket and corduroy trousers added to a somewhat sinister appearance. In many ways Detective Inspector Charlie Wells was encouraged by this. It was somewhat reassuring to note that the other had changed little if any, over the years.

  ‘You took some finding, Mayo.’ A rare half smile. ‘In fact, I almost believed that you had retired. I had nearly given up until I chanced to meet Ernie Watts, a former employee of this unit and, somewhat reluctantly, he gave me your address, your hidey-hole, so to speak. Anyway, I've found you and you've been good enough to agree to a meeting. Are you still working for want of a better description of your somewhat mysterious lifestyle?’

  ‘It all depends,’ the other was somewhat hesitant in his reply. ‘If I fancy a mission, I take it but it has to inspire me. I'm not a Private Eye in the accepted sense of the word. I've done maybe half a dozen investigations since that business in Knighton, no more. Anyway, curiosity prompted me to answer your call, I'm not promising anything, but I guess it wouldn't be any run-of-the-mill problem you've got. So fire away.’

  ‘As you are aware, Mayo,’ Wells settled himself back in his chair, ‘we are a special offshoot of MI5. We merged some time ago
with the anti-terrorism branch of the Metropolitan Police. This department was formed in 2006 and is known as Counter Terrorism Command. We operate independently and the public are not aware of our existence. Our officers arrest suspected spies as MI5 are not authorised to effect this. Between ourselves we have removed some highly dangerous ISIS members in recent years. Now we are faced with the biggest and most dangerous challenge of all.’

  ‘Go on,’ Mayo leaned forward, his lips pursed. Clearly he had not been summoned to investigate a run-of-the-mill episode. He was intrigued.

  ‘As you are doubtless aware,’ the other continued, ‘knife and gun crime in the UK is at an all-time high. For instance, only last week there were four street stabbings in Birmingham in five days. This was followed by two random shootings in Manchester.’

  ‘Drug gang warfare,’ Mayo interrupted.

  ‘Yes, but there's more to it than just that. These apparently random crimes are organised by the most dangerous master criminal of all time, not just in the UK but across Europe. We have managed to intercept some bomb plots but they are only a few of what is building up into a massive destruction of human life. Reduced police on the streets cannot cope with ‘stop and search’. Our agents have discovered that this destruction is organised by Leonid Zinovsky, the most wanted terrorist in Eastern Europe, who works with virtually every organisation, causing mayhem and loss of life. Mass killings in Paris, Belgium the Middle East you name it and he is behind it. His followers are known as 'The Moon People'.’

  ‘So, where do I figure in this?’

  ‘I guess you're the man for the job, Mayo. We've already lost one of our agents so I want you to be aware of what you're taking on. That is, if you are agreeable to working for the department.’

  ‘Fill me in on the details.’

  ‘As you know a number of youngsters are being radicalised. Zinovsky is recruiting drug addicts, running a massive drug trade in which those concerned fall into his powers. Teenagers vanish from respectable homes, go abroad to join ISIS and other factions. Mostly they disappear, victims of warfare or murdered. A few weeks ago, we were contacted about one Gemma Jones, a Welsh teenager who just walked out on her parents. They're frantic. Anyway, one of our agents, Bill Williamson, tracked her to a deserted farmhouse in the Welsh Hills which was being used by Zinovsky as a HQ, albeit temporary. That was the last we heard of Bill, he just vanished, probably murdered and his corpse disposed of. Anyway, it would appear from his last report that this farmhouse is a temporary 'temple' for want of a better description. We've checked it out, there are signs of occult activity having taken place there, a meeting place for radicalisation etc. Nevertheless, it's a starting place for an investigation and I believe you are the man for this. Well, what do you think?’

  ‘I'll give it a go,’ Mayo's answer was instant. ‘I'll go and take a look around in broad daylight, check that it's empty, see if there are any clues to what is going on there. Depending on what I find, if anything, I'll play it from there.’

  ‘Good,’ there was no mistaking the relief in the other's voice. ‘I must make it clear, though, that you're on your own. Fill me in on anything you find but we avoid publicity. If, like Williamson, you disappear then we can't publicise it. You have a double mission, find Gemma Jones and get her out of wherever she is before she disappears abroad. If you can find out what has happened to Williamson it will go on the records but no further.’

  ‘What about Zinovsky and the occult connection?’

  ‘I take the occult factor with a pinch of salt. Personally, I believe it's a mode of fear instilled into Zinovsky's followers, all part of radicalisation, but I keep on open mind. We believe that he is currently in the UK although he could vanish overseas at any time. If you can find him then that's a real bonus.’

  ‘And if I do?’

  ‘Kill him! Leave his body where it can be found. That will be a big blow to his organisation. Doubtless he has intimate followers. Kill them, too, if you get the chance. This whole business is building up to a massive takeover of the UK by crazed radicalists who will stop at nothing. The plot is to have the UK and the rest of the world under their rule. Civilizations will be bombed or shot. Time is running out. Get yourself picked up by them, infiltrate their ranks. I can't advise you any further. Destroy them if the opportunity arises. I'll leave it up to you, Mayo. You're on your own. There are no rules to play by.’

  ‘I'll do what I can,’ John Mayo stood up adjusting his fedora. ‘I'll be in touch... maybe. Wish me luck.’

  ‘Before you go,’ Wells produced a couple of photographs from the drawer of his desk, ‘take a look at these. The missing girl, Gemma Jones, and our agent Williamson, just so you will recognise them if you come across them.’

  Mayo studied the printout, nodded.

  ‘Oh, just one more thing. It is believed, not yet proved, that bin Laden's son, Hamza bin Laden, is emerging as the leader of Al-Qaeda, seeking to avenge his father's killing. Like Zinovsky, he's something of a shadow. Currently the Americans have put up a one million-dollar bounty for his capture. I just thought it worth mentioning.’

  ‘I read it in the papers,’ Mayo smiled. ‘I'll add him to my list just in case I come across him. You've given me plenty to go on. I'll keep you posted.’

  Wells sat staring at the wall long after his visitor had left. A final effort on his part to combat the evil which was fast taking over the UK. There could be no better agent than the man in the black fedora, of that he was convinced. A niggling thought troubled his conscience that he had condemned Mayo to an unspeakable death if the other fell into the hands of Zinovsky and his followers. He brushed it aside. Several of the department agents had lost their lives doing jobs in which they knew the risks. His own job was to deploy them into unspeakable danger. Maybe he had just sent Mayo to his death. He shook his head, his thoughts turned to his forthcoming retirement. Maybe then he could relax with a clear conscience.

  Chapter Two

  ‘I thought you had retired!’ There was a note of shock bordering on anger in the attractive woman's tone. Gwenda had been Mayo's live-in partner for the past decade. Marriage had been mentioned on numerous occasions, but it had never materialised. They were happy enough in their Gloucestershire cottage and saw no reason to change their status.

  She was petite with short fair hair which successfully hid any signs of grey. Thirty years younger than her partner, age was not a problem. Mayo was active, satisfied her in every way. She prayed that it might be so for many years yet.

  There had been few calls upon his ability to investigate any unusual cases beyond the powers and capabilities of the police in recent years. She had prayed that there would not be any more. But now...

  ‘Well, what is it this time?’ she snapped, hands on hips, her pale blue eyes meeting those of her partners. ‘Can't this special force, whatever they call themselves, sort out their own problems without calling you in to help them?’

  ‘Apparently not on this occasion,’ his voice was soft, he shook his head. ‘I can't go into details, I'm sworn to secrecy but hopefully I won't be away for too long, a week or two at the most. And if I don't find what I'm looking for then I'll pack it in. I'll just say that a teenage girl has vanished from her home, her folks are frantic and I'm determined to find her before she comes to any serious harm.’

  Gwenda’s expression softened. ‘Well, in that case I can't argue. But these days young girls are getting kidnapped, raped and murdered on almost a daily basis. I just hope you find her alive and unharmed, John.’

  ‘I will do my best,’ he turned away and went through to the adjoining room where his .38 handgun had lain hidden in a drawer for several years.

  Mayo left home in the early afternoon, embarked upon the long drive up to Mid Wales. He needed to arrive in time to find secure parking for his Mini Clubman 4x4 and book in at a B&B. Presteigne was as good a place as any to begin his quest, numerous youth had moved in here, living on social security and there was a growing drug problem. Re
cently there had been some incidents of violence on the streets late at night.

  A youth pressed against a door, half hidden, stepped out in front of him, his features masked by shadow.

  ‘Only a fiver,’ he had a plastic packet in his hand.

  Mayo slowed his steps, his hand dropped into his pocket. The feel of that handgun was somewhat reassuring.

  ‘I'm skint till I get my social security tomorrow. Maybe we could meet up someplace then, do a deal.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ An angry hiss.

  Mayo's instinct told him that this was a lone pusher, just out to make a few quid, nothing to do with the Moon People. He walked on, increasing his pace.

  ‘Hi, there!’ A female voice came from a darkened passageway adjoining a couple of premises. He halted, peered, made out a slim girl pressed up against the wall.

  There was a tense silence, each sizing up the other.

  ‘Can’t we find somewhere more comfortable than a stand-up job in a draughty passage?

  He moved out into the light cast by a nearby streetlamp and he saw a slim, petite figure wearing a sweater and jeans, long fair hair falling about her shoulders.

  ‘Maybe,’ she smiled, ‘but how do I know that you're not a cop?’

  ‘Because if I was, I would have arrested you here and now for soliciting on the street.’

  ‘Sure, there's a better place but it's not around town. We have to meet up another night, I'd arrange for a friend to take us because it's a mile or two out-of-town.’