The Ravages Of Hell
folder
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
17
Views:
2,931
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Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
17
Views:
2,931
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of its characters. . Nor do I intend to make any profit from this story.
17
FIC: Ravages Of Hell (17/?)
The White House Briefing Room, Washington DC.
The president nodded as his entire cabinet minus the vice-president and secretary of state rose upon his arrival. “Hello everyone, please sit,” he ordered, “this is no time to stand on ceremony.” He himself quickly sat down, noting the drawn looks on the men and women sat on both sides of the room’s long table. “Any clues on who’s caused this? Islamic fundamentalists?”
“No sir,” the head of the CIA shook his head. “Our human intelligence sources have come up with no evidence supporting that theory. Indeed,” the life-long agent hesitated, “we’ve received unconfirmed reports that the Islamic terrorist group leaders and their backers have also been hit.”
“Uh,” he pursed his lips together, “that’s something at least. If true.”
“Our satellites confirm the CIA’s reports,” put in the NSA’s chief, “there’s been increased activity on email accounts and cellulars owned by known Islamic terrorists. All indicating anger and bewilderment at various hits on their assets. In some cases blaming us.”
“Um,” he leaned back in his seat before turning to the Secretary of the Treasury. “Have those VIPs I ordered been taken into protective custody?”
“Yes,” the man hesitated, “sir, if I might protest. The Secret Service was never meant to protect private individuals.”
“I know, John. But these people are fundamental to our people’s well-being.” Dismissing the man’s complaints, he turned to the Attorney-General. “Any leads on who’s behind these attacks?”
The Attorney-General tugged nervously on his tie before replying. “The FBI, AFT, DEA, Homeland Security, the US. Marshals, and local units have come up with no substantial leads,” the nation’s top law officer finally admitted.
“Damn it, Allan!” he exclaimed. “Does the phrase ‘top priority’ mean nothing around here?”
”Sir,” he glanced towards the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “What little intelligence we have seems to lean towards the conclusion that the attacks both here and abroad are linked. Perhaps you should consider declaring martial law.”
Martial law. He shuddered inwardly at the images that this phrase conjured up and the terror that enacting it would cause an already increasingly uneasy populace. “No,” he shook his head. “At the moment this has been limited to precision attacks. If it escalates I’ll consider it then, until then no. But,” he paused in contemplation, “draw up plans for the rapid withdrawal of our troops from all foreign nations, including Iraq. And I’d like some studies on the effect of martial law on the economy, the country, and morale. And keep looking for a source, people. Once we’ve found it, I don’t care if I have to send in SWAT, the SEALs, or nuke the damn bastards, we’re putting them out of commission permanently!” A strained silence followed his outburst. Gathering himself, he continued. “Who else has been hit?”
“South American drugs barons, oriental crime lords, religious leaders, industrialists, international power-brokers.” The CIA director shook his head. “It would be quicker to say who hasn’t.”
“And the Council?” he queried, bringing up the age-old body that historically only the president and the head of his counter-intelligence unit had known about for the past few centuries.
The CIA’s director shot the puzzled-looking cabinet members a nervous glance before replying. “We’ve heard nothing from them.”
“Damn it!” Now more than ever he wanted a drink, but decades of sobriety couldn’t be tossed away so easily.
”Might I also suggest that until this crisis is over that you, the vice-president, Vice President, Speaker of the House, and the leader of the senate, not be in the same place at any one time.”
A long silence followed the National Security Advisor’s suggestion. Conscious that every eye had turned to him, the President took a moment before slowly nodding. The implied admission that the Secret Service might not be able to protect them was a bitter pill to swallow, but given current events had to be considered. “Add the Secretary of State, Homeland Security, Defence, and yourself to that list,” he agreed before standing. “Ladies, gentlemen. You have work to do. Get to it.”
* * *
NATO HQ, Brussels, Belgium.
“Gentleman,” Jaap de Hoop banged his fist on the desk before him. “Gentlemen!” he was relieved when silence fell at his roar. “Gentlemen,” he continued at a lower volume, “we are here to discuss the recent rash of assassinations. Let’s come to some sort of order.”
He looked around the room, seeing a number of frightened faces. But then it was hardly surprising. Many of them had lost friends to the mysterious power that was attacking them and they were far from familiar with murder striking directly at them. Crime was something that blighted the lower classes, not daring to strike at them.
Until now.
Gathering himself, he continued. “Now, I have a report from Cardinal Brooks of the Vatican,” he turned towards the guest, “Cardinal?”
A gasp went up as the heavily bandaged man was wheeled to the podium, his left leg torn off by what the religious man claimed was a demon attack on the Vatican. A ridiculous claim, except the right side of his face had also been clawed off and the vast majority of the Swiss Guard who patrolled the small city-state had also been ripped apart, some so disfigured that they were unrecognisable save from dental records.
Troubling times indeed.
* * *
UN. Security Council, NY
The Secretary-General’s heart thumped as he made his way into the council’s chamber, conscious that the eyes of all 15 representatives were fixed on him. Never since the UN’s formation had they faced such a threat. And yet, he couldn’t tell the members the full, horrible truth, not without starting a worldwide panic that would be impossible to control. Indeed, he seriously doubted there was anything they could do but pray. The power to deal with what was terrorising the world lay in other hands. “Ladies, gentlemen,” he nodded taking his seat at the head of the hoof-shaped table. “I wish to call this meeting to order.”
“Sir,” the UN representative from Japan spoke into his mike, his halting English masking a keen mind. “All of our intelligence services have received reports of attacks on not only our own sovereign soils, but also of many other nations,” the Oriental glanced around the hushed room. “It is clear that these attacks are all the workings of a single organisation. But which one? None of the Islamic terrorist groups have the resources and influence to carry this range of attacks out. There’d be no profit in an international crime cartel doing this. Indeed a number of them -.”
The man’s voice trailed off as an aide rushed over to him. His eyes widened as he read the note that had just been passed to him. “Ladies, gentlemen. It appears a fresh wave of attacks have been launched.”
”Against who?” queried the French ambassador.
“It appears the leaders of the world’s intelligence services have been targeted this time.”
* * *
EU, Brussels
“Yes sir,” the British foreign secretary nodded as his PM finished giving him instructions, “I understand, sir,” he agreed into the mobile. “I’ll ring back immediately,” he promised before hanging up and looking towards the two Special Branch agents sat opposite him in his limo, neither their muscles nor the guns under their left armpits hidden by the cut of their custom-made suits. The two men were newly added to his security detachment, but given the troubled times they found themselves in, his inner socialist hadn’t protested their addition, rather had been gladdened by their addition. “Let’s go.”
”Yes sir,” one of the granite-jawed thugs rapped on the tinted window. A second later and the door swung open. The man jumped out. “Ready sir.”
The EU security guards rushed down the steps to meet him, shoving aside what few press there were there, the majority doubtless off covering what assassinations had been leaked to the press. Half-way up the steps he was joined by his counterpart from Italy, the man’s own security following closely behind. After a rushed exchange of greetings, the Italian got down to business. “We’ve had a rumour that the head of your Free-Masons has joined the murdered lists, is this correct?” He nodded tersely, his counterpart’s face sagged. “Ah, I went to Oxford with him. Good man, he’ll be missed. Any idea on what’s causing this?”
“No,” he lied. “Our intelligence services don’t have a clue,” that was true at least, “yours?”
“No,” the Italian stopped as the doorman opened the Parliament building’s front door. “There’s rumours that the French and Germans are going to use this crisis to push for the earlier creation of the Rapid Reaction Force.”
“That’s all I need.” He groaned. The British press would have kittens at just a whiff of that, more grist to the mill of those neo-fascist Eurosceptics who dared to the righteousness of their tearing down of Britain’s insidious national pride. And it wasn’t as if a Rapid Reaction Force could help against what they faced. Squaring his shoulders, he took a breath as he stepped into the building. Somehow he thought things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.
* * *
CIS, Minsk, Belarus
“It’s true is it?” Vladimir Rushailo queried as he hurried into the Commonwealth of Independent States’ headquarters, his assistant running beside him, their armed security marching around them, their hard eyes skirting the near-by shadows for any sign of trouble, and their fingers stroking the triggers of their sub-machine guns. He supposed it should make him feel safe, but it didn’t.
He didn’t think anything would make him feel safe again.
“Yes, sir,” the pretty girl he’d hired as much for her decorative quality as her shorthand replied. “We’ve just had a confirming report in. First Deputy Director Brezhnev was murdered in St. Petersburg. Him and three men security team were,” the woman’s voice trembled, “ripped apart. As if they’d been attacked by a pack of wild animals.”
He shuddered. “If only it was wild animals,” he muttered as he reached the doors of the headquarters. He didn’t know what great illness was assailing the world, but he knew it was powerful and stank of evil, causing a stain that he doubted would ever be washed away.
* * *
Arab League, Cairo, Egypt.
“We must strike back at the infidels!” exclaimed the Syrian delegate. “The Americans must pay!”
“No!” exclaimed the Jordan representive, rising from his seat. “It is those Zionist pigs! They dare to strike into the very heart of our nations! Killing those who fight for our freedom!”
Amr Mossa raised his hands. Such was the esteem he was held in, the diplomats quickly silenced. “Peace be with you,” he softly counselled before raising his voice. “You all know me, I am no lover of either the Zionist or the Great Satan. But there is no evidence that either are behind these attacks. Indeed, our own sources have indicated they have suffered their own not inconsiderable losses. I would counsel for moderation until we have more information.”
“Better to wait and strike wisely, than act rashly and escalate the situation,” put in the Libyan delegate, making their earlier agreed comment.
“Quite so,” Amr nodded at his supporter.
”Then what do we do!” demanded the Algerian member. “We must have action!”
”Watch your borders,” he counselled. “Watch them like hawks.”
* * *
Assembly Of The African Union
Olusegun Obasanjo looked around the raging council room, heart breaking. All around stood armed guards, three times their normal number, such was the crisis. All the work he and his predecessors had done, destroyed by some new, unnamed but terrible horror. After a long, rattling breath he spoke, his hands firmly gripping the podium before him.
He couldn’t think of his family, of the unimagined monsters he’d seen tearing them apart as his guards dragged him to what passed for safety.
The White House Briefing Room, Washington DC.
The president nodded as his entire cabinet minus the vice-president and secretary of state rose upon his arrival. “Hello everyone, please sit,” he ordered, “this is no time to stand on ceremony.” He himself quickly sat down, noting the drawn looks on the men and women sat on both sides of the room’s long table. “Any clues on who’s caused this? Islamic fundamentalists?”
“No sir,” the head of the CIA shook his head. “Our human intelligence sources have come up with no evidence supporting that theory. Indeed,” the life-long agent hesitated, “we’ve received unconfirmed reports that the Islamic terrorist group leaders and their backers have also been hit.”
“Uh,” he pursed his lips together, “that’s something at least. If true.”
“Our satellites confirm the CIA’s reports,” put in the NSA’s chief, “there’s been increased activity on email accounts and cellulars owned by known Islamic terrorists. All indicating anger and bewilderment at various hits on their assets. In some cases blaming us.”
“Um,” he leaned back in his seat before turning to the Secretary of the Treasury. “Have those VIPs I ordered been taken into protective custody?”
“Yes,” the man hesitated, “sir, if I might protest. The Secret Service was never meant to protect private individuals.”
“I know, John. But these people are fundamental to our people’s well-being.” Dismissing the man’s complaints, he turned to the Attorney-General. “Any leads on who’s behind these attacks?”
The Attorney-General tugged nervously on his tie before replying. “The FBI, AFT, DEA, Homeland Security, the US. Marshals, and local units have come up with no substantial leads,” the nation’s top law officer finally admitted.
“Damn it, Allan!” he exclaimed. “Does the phrase ‘top priority’ mean nothing around here?”
”Sir,” he glanced towards the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “What little intelligence we have seems to lean towards the conclusion that the attacks both here and abroad are linked. Perhaps you should consider declaring martial law.”
Martial law. He shuddered inwardly at the images that this phrase conjured up and the terror that enacting it would cause an already increasingly uneasy populace. “No,” he shook his head. “At the moment this has been limited to precision attacks. If it escalates I’ll consider it then, until then no. But,” he paused in contemplation, “draw up plans for the rapid withdrawal of our troops from all foreign nations, including Iraq. And I’d like some studies on the effect of martial law on the economy, the country, and morale. And keep looking for a source, people. Once we’ve found it, I don’t care if I have to send in SWAT, the SEALs, or nuke the damn bastards, we’re putting them out of commission permanently!” A strained silence followed his outburst. Gathering himself, he continued. “Who else has been hit?”
“South American drugs barons, oriental crime lords, religious leaders, industrialists, international power-brokers.” The CIA director shook his head. “It would be quicker to say who hasn’t.”
“And the Council?” he queried, bringing up the age-old body that historically only the president and the head of his counter-intelligence unit had known about for the past few centuries.
The CIA’s director shot the puzzled-looking cabinet members a nervous glance before replying. “We’ve heard nothing from them.”
“Damn it!” Now more than ever he wanted a drink, but decades of sobriety couldn’t be tossed away so easily.
”Might I also suggest that until this crisis is over that you, the vice-president, Vice President, Speaker of the House, and the leader of the senate, not be in the same place at any one time.”
A long silence followed the National Security Advisor’s suggestion. Conscious that every eye had turned to him, the President took a moment before slowly nodding. The implied admission that the Secret Service might not be able to protect them was a bitter pill to swallow, but given current events had to be considered. “Add the Secretary of State, Homeland Security, Defence, and yourself to that list,” he agreed before standing. “Ladies, gentlemen. You have work to do. Get to it.”
* * *
NATO HQ, Brussels, Belgium.
“Gentleman,” Jaap de Hoop banged his fist on the desk before him. “Gentlemen!” he was relieved when silence fell at his roar. “Gentlemen,” he continued at a lower volume, “we are here to discuss the recent rash of assassinations. Let’s come to some sort of order.”
He looked around the room, seeing a number of frightened faces. But then it was hardly surprising. Many of them had lost friends to the mysterious power that was attacking them and they were far from familiar with murder striking directly at them. Crime was something that blighted the lower classes, not daring to strike at them.
Until now.
Gathering himself, he continued. “Now, I have a report from Cardinal Brooks of the Vatican,” he turned towards the guest, “Cardinal?”
A gasp went up as the heavily bandaged man was wheeled to the podium, his left leg torn off by what the religious man claimed was a demon attack on the Vatican. A ridiculous claim, except the right side of his face had also been clawed off and the vast majority of the Swiss Guard who patrolled the small city-state had also been ripped apart, some so disfigured that they were unrecognisable save from dental records.
Troubling times indeed.
* * *
UN. Security Council, NY
The Secretary-General’s heart thumped as he made his way into the council’s chamber, conscious that the eyes of all 15 representatives were fixed on him. Never since the UN’s formation had they faced such a threat. And yet, he couldn’t tell the members the full, horrible truth, not without starting a worldwide panic that would be impossible to control. Indeed, he seriously doubted there was anything they could do but pray. The power to deal with what was terrorising the world lay in other hands. “Ladies, gentlemen,” he nodded taking his seat at the head of the hoof-shaped table. “I wish to call this meeting to order.”
“Sir,” the UN representative from Japan spoke into his mike, his halting English masking a keen mind. “All of our intelligence services have received reports of attacks on not only our own sovereign soils, but also of many other nations,” the Oriental glanced around the hushed room. “It is clear that these attacks are all the workings of a single organisation. But which one? None of the Islamic terrorist groups have the resources and influence to carry this range of attacks out. There’d be no profit in an international crime cartel doing this. Indeed a number of them -.”
The man’s voice trailed off as an aide rushed over to him. His eyes widened as he read the note that had just been passed to him. “Ladies, gentlemen. It appears a fresh wave of attacks have been launched.”
”Against who?” queried the French ambassador.
“It appears the leaders of the world’s intelligence services have been targeted this time.”
* * *
EU, Brussels
“Yes sir,” the British foreign secretary nodded as his PM finished giving him instructions, “I understand, sir,” he agreed into the mobile. “I’ll ring back immediately,” he promised before hanging up and looking towards the two Special Branch agents sat opposite him in his limo, neither their muscles nor the guns under their left armpits hidden by the cut of their custom-made suits. The two men were newly added to his security detachment, but given the troubled times they found themselves in, his inner socialist hadn’t protested their addition, rather had been gladdened by their addition. “Let’s go.”
”Yes sir,” one of the granite-jawed thugs rapped on the tinted window. A second later and the door swung open. The man jumped out. “Ready sir.”
The EU security guards rushed down the steps to meet him, shoving aside what few press there were there, the majority doubtless off covering what assassinations had been leaked to the press. Half-way up the steps he was joined by his counterpart from Italy, the man’s own security following closely behind. After a rushed exchange of greetings, the Italian got down to business. “We’ve had a rumour that the head of your Free-Masons has joined the murdered lists, is this correct?” He nodded tersely, his counterpart’s face sagged. “Ah, I went to Oxford with him. Good man, he’ll be missed. Any idea on what’s causing this?”
“No,” he lied. “Our intelligence services don’t have a clue,” that was true at least, “yours?”
“No,” the Italian stopped as the doorman opened the Parliament building’s front door. “There’s rumours that the French and Germans are going to use this crisis to push for the earlier creation of the Rapid Reaction Force.”
“That’s all I need.” He groaned. The British press would have kittens at just a whiff of that, more grist to the mill of those neo-fascist Eurosceptics who dared to the righteousness of their tearing down of Britain’s insidious national pride. And it wasn’t as if a Rapid Reaction Force could help against what they faced. Squaring his shoulders, he took a breath as he stepped into the building. Somehow he thought things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.
* * *
CIS, Minsk, Belarus
“It’s true is it?” Vladimir Rushailo queried as he hurried into the Commonwealth of Independent States’ headquarters, his assistant running beside him, their armed security marching around them, their hard eyes skirting the near-by shadows for any sign of trouble, and their fingers stroking the triggers of their sub-machine guns. He supposed it should make him feel safe, but it didn’t.
He didn’t think anything would make him feel safe again.
“Yes, sir,” the pretty girl he’d hired as much for her decorative quality as her shorthand replied. “We’ve just had a confirming report in. First Deputy Director Brezhnev was murdered in St. Petersburg. Him and three men security team were,” the woman’s voice trembled, “ripped apart. As if they’d been attacked by a pack of wild animals.”
He shuddered. “If only it was wild animals,” he muttered as he reached the doors of the headquarters. He didn’t know what great illness was assailing the world, but he knew it was powerful and stank of evil, causing a stain that he doubted would ever be washed away.
* * *
Arab League, Cairo, Egypt.
“We must strike back at the infidels!” exclaimed the Syrian delegate. “The Americans must pay!”
“No!” exclaimed the Jordan representive, rising from his seat. “It is those Zionist pigs! They dare to strike into the very heart of our nations! Killing those who fight for our freedom!”
Amr Mossa raised his hands. Such was the esteem he was held in, the diplomats quickly silenced. “Peace be with you,” he softly counselled before raising his voice. “You all know me, I am no lover of either the Zionist or the Great Satan. But there is no evidence that either are behind these attacks. Indeed, our own sources have indicated they have suffered their own not inconsiderable losses. I would counsel for moderation until we have more information.”
“Better to wait and strike wisely, than act rashly and escalate the situation,” put in the Libyan delegate, making their earlier agreed comment.
“Quite so,” Amr nodded at his supporter.
”Then what do we do!” demanded the Algerian member. “We must have action!”
”Watch your borders,” he counselled. “Watch them like hawks.”
* * *
Assembly Of The African Union
Olusegun Obasanjo looked around the raging council room, heart breaking. All around stood armed guards, three times their normal number, such was the crisis. All the work he and his predecessors had done, destroyed by some new, unnamed but terrible horror. After a long, rattling breath he spoke, his hands firmly gripping the podium before him.
He couldn’t think of his family, of the unimagined monsters he’d seen tearing them apart as his guards dragged him to what passed for safety.