Vampire Thriller (Book 2): The Living Night

by Jack Conner

  “That can’t happen.”

  “I know, Roche. He’s Chief of Security, after all. He commands more men than pretty much anyone else here, except you and one or two others. If he met with an accident, his men would put the finger on you.”

  “We can’t let that happen. I need those men. I can’t have them thinking I murdered their prized Colonel. I’m afraid it’s up to you to deal with him, to keep on putting him off.”

  “There’s another consideration.”

  “Yes?”

  “There are others, not loyal to myself, that are even more radically opposed to the continuance of the War than De Soto. However, I can’t get any information out of them concerning their plans ... whereas the Colonel might. In other words, we need him alive.”

  “Interesting.”

  “He wants a deadline, Roche. He wants an exact date and time when the coup will begin. I’ve been stalling, yes, but this is only making him suspicious.”

  Roche smiled grimly. “Watch your back, my friend.” Just as he was about to raise his mug in a toast, he stopped and sat up straight.

  “What is it?” Francois said.

  Roche concentrated. Because of the alcohol and his exhaustion, the images he was receiving proved elusive, blurry and twisted. He focused more, and they snapped into clarity.

  “Jesus Buddha.”

  He slammed the mug down so hard it shattered, spewing coffee and liquor and ceramic shards all over the room.

  “Roche! What’s wrong?”

  “The wolves. One of the neighboring mountains ...”

  “Blackie, calm down.”

  “No.” Grimly, Roche passed a hand across his face. To his shock, it trembled. “Kharker was right,” he said, hearing the raggedness in his voice. “The Libertarians, Francois—they’re here.

  Ludwig’s widow has come for her vengeance.”

  * * *

  Quickly, D’Aguila gathered his soldiers and struck off toward headquarters. When he reentered the clearing, he turned to the soldier named Clayton and said, “Think you can relocate the surviving wolves before the sun comes up?” All but a few of the animals had been destroyed.

  The soldier nodded. “You wish them dead, as well?”

  “Yes. We need to be certain that the Dark Lord knows where we are.”

  Clayton managed to hide his shock, but could not help blurting, “Sir?”

  “You heard right. We have to play this safe. We have to make sure that he knows we’re here before I put my plan into action. To do that, one of the wolves must see you. To that end, act as you did before in your execution of the animals, but this time let one of them, and only one, turn in time to see you. We want Sarnova to think this a mistake. If more than one of the wolves see you, he’ll know it for the trap it is. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Another shadow of doubt crossed Clayton’s young features. “But won’t the sun—?”

  “Yes, of course. By the time your mission’s complete, it’ll be dawn. So once the wolves are dead burrow under the snow and get your ass back here with all due speed. In all likelihood, you’ll be one of the last to evacuate.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Then get yourself into the air, son! We’re depending on you!”

  Clayton launched himself into the sky and flew north as fast as his wings could carry him.

  Satisfied that that part of the plan was taken care of, D’Aguila led his last two jandrows down into the cold bunkers of the headquarters. At his return, the other Libertarians leapt to their feet, and he could see the relief on all of their faces.

  “Come to attention, men!” he called, knowing as he said it that it was an unnecessary order. Still, he was heartened to see his soldiers snap into position with such precision.

  “Men,” he said, speaking slowly so that they could all measure his words, “when we first arrived here, our orders were to infiltrate the Castle, kidnap the Dark Lord and bring him back here for questioning. Events have not turned in our favor. Maleasoel is missing, and though we all hope for her swift arrival, we cannot base our actions on hope alone.” He gauged the expressions of his people and saw they were in agreement. “We must act on our own to execute the completion of our task. Are there any who disagree?”

  Silence.

  “Good,” he said. “Also, the escape—and subsequent death—of the albino Jean-Pierre has alerted the Dark Lord to our presence.”

  Seeing the uncomfortable stirrings of his men, he continued quickly: “Have no fear. Maleasoel and myself planned for this eventuality and came to discuss several alternate sites for headquarters. We must begin an underground evacuation to one of those sites immediately. If Malie returns, she’ll know where to meet us. At any rate, Blackie will be mobilizing his troops to come and blast us into a million pieces. We’ll escape his attack, yes, but should we let a successful escape be an end to the encounter? Or—” he grinned “—should we lay some trap for the invaders? I’m not talking about simple booby-traps here.” He could see that many of his troops were beginning to nod, perhaps guessing at his plan. “For even in retreat, the glorious Army of Liberty will not be beaten. In fact ... it will prevail!”

  Chapter 15

  “The Libertarians are here!” Roche Sarnova declared, marching back into the War Room. “I’ve seen it through my wolves.”

  “You know where they are?” demanded Colonel De Soto, his hatred for Sarnova momentarily checked.

  “I do,” replied the Dark Lord, and told them where.

  “Then, as Chief of Security for the Castle, I request permission to lead our team against them.”

  Roche smiled bitterly, but remembered Francois’ stern warnings that they needed De Soto alive. “Colonel, I would love nothing better than to send you out after the Libertarians. However, strictly speaking, they have not launched an attack on the Castle itself and are therefore out of your jurisdiction.”

  “Bullshit!”

  Sarnova shot him a glare, and the Colonel backed down, but though he remained silent it was apparent to all that his fury held no bounds … and some would undoubtedly agree with his point of view.

  “Besides,” said Sarnova, in an effort to both soothe the surly De Soto and regain the support of his people, “you are not a daybeast and if you were to lead the assault you would have to stay inside the helicopters behind black-out curtains. Certainly not the best position for a warrior, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  Reluctantly, De Soto nodded.

  Continuing, Sarnova turned to Colonel Wheatshear, a werewolf in charge of all offensive military operations stemming from the Castle. “Colonel, I place the burden of dealing with Maleasoel’s army in your hands. Are you up for a fight?”

  “Of course, my Lord. But dawn has already fallen. I fear that we cannot muster enough werewolves to rout an entire army.”

  Sarnova waved the concern away. “The battle will not be fought hand-to-hand. If our dear Colonel De Soto has been performing his duties, we should have ten armed attack helicopters at the ready. We have wolves capable of flying them, as well. Your mission is simple, Colonel. Take the birds up and bombard the Libertarians’ encampment with all the hardware you’ve got. Then send in a few humans to trip any booby-traps that the missiles failed to set off. Afterward, you and your lupine kin will descend into the encampment and take as hostages any survivors. They may have valuable information. Get a move on. We’ve all been planning and training for this day for years. Are there any questions?”

  There were none. All knew what they must do, and within a minute the War Room was all but deserted. The Dark Lord held Wheatshear back.

  “Yes, my Lord?” inquired the Colonel, obviously anxious to begin the raid. “Is there something further?”

  “One thing more. You’ll have a passenger aboard one of your helicopters. Lord Kharker.”

  “I’ve heard that he’s a skilled fighter.”

  “He is, but keep him away from the front lines until the area is secured. It may wo
und his pride, but this is not his fight and I don’t intend for him to lose his life in it. Now go. Prepare your men and birds, only hold one of the machines back for him to board. Make it the perimeter patrol; that will allay his suspicions. He’ll be along within a few minutes.”

  “Of course, my Lord.” Bowing, the Colonel spun on his heel and left.

  Sarnova allowed himself to feel pride at his soldiers and the satisfaction of impending victory. Still, part of him felt that this had all been too easy, that the Libertarians were leading him into a trap. But what could it be, really? He held all the advantages. Dismissing the doubt as a mere manifestation of the paranoia that had all but swallowed him whole in recent months, Sarnova headed back to his own chambers, where the Ambassador and Lord Kharker awaited him.

  After a quick greeting, Mauchlery left them, knowing that they had private words to exchange.

  “Roche, I’m glad you had Francois come for me,” Kharker said, “but this isn’t a social meeting, is it?”

  “I’m afraid not, my friend.”

  “Malie’s here, isn’t she? And her whole stinking army with her.”

  The Dark Lord nodded. “We’ve already begun preparations to launch an attack.”

  “No! Roche, you can’t do it. Jean-Pierre is with them. He could be killed in the crossfire.”

  Sarnova frowned, aware of what must come next.

  “Roche, I know you’ve got to do this, eliminate Malie’s threat, but you can’t just go ahead and kill him, too.”

  “Do you have any alternate suggestions?”

  Kharker considered. “You’ve got to strike now while you know where they are and while the sun is still up so that you can use your choppers to your advantage.” Kharker swore under his breath and swung his suddenly cold eyes up to his old friend. “Roche, I realize that I have no place to interfere, but would you grant me one request?”

  “You’ll have to state it first.”

  “I must go with them. The raiding party. That way I’ll be able to recognize Jean-Pierre and tell them not to mark him as a target. And hopefully I’ll get to chop off a few Libertarian heads in the bargain. Please, Roche, you can’t deny me this.”

  Sarnova pretended to think it over, then smiled and patted Kharker on the back. “Of course,” he said. “But you’ve got to promise me something in return.”

  “What?”

  “That you’ll stay in your chopper, well away from our missiles and their countermeasures, until the area’s secure. If you spot Jean-Pierre, and I hope you do, call up Col. Wheatshear. He’s leading the op. Tell him to hold his fire. But don’t enter the fray yourself. Okay?”

  Unable to hide his smile, Kharker laughed and gave Sarnova a quick hug. “Of course,” he said.

  The Dark Lord’s face became solemn again. “You must promise me one thing further.”

  Kharker raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “Don’t get yourself killed.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Roche.”

  * * *

  One helicopter remained in the hangar, Kharker saw, and it was spinning up. Several soldiers bustled about it, checking their weapons. Kharker marched up to the pilot and said, “I’m coming with you.”

  The pilot peered at him. “Who are you?”

  “Lord Kharker.”

  Instead of balking, the pilot nodded. “We’re the perimeter patrol, Lord Kharker, and of course we have no authority to deny you, of all people, the opportunity to accompany us. Do you require weapons?”

  Kharker indicated the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder and the machete that slept in a leather sheath at his hip. “This is all I need.” He couldn’t hide his scowl. “You’re the perimeter patrol? Then you won’t be in the fight yourself?”

  “Indeed, sir, and we leave immediately. The others have already lifted off.”

  Suspicion reared its head. “Why did you delay lift-off?”

  The pilot frowned, and a trickle of sweat ran from his brow. “Er, final preparations. We thought there might be something wrong with her.”

  “The bird looks fine to me.”

  “We had to make sure.”

  Kharker relaxed. “You were told to wait for me, weren’t you?”

  Seeing that the Hunter was taking it well, the pilot nodded. “Yes, Lord.”

  Suddenly embarrassed by the obvious maneuverings of the Dark Lord and by his own predictable actions, Kharker coughed. “Well, goddamnit, I’m here now, so let’s get this show on the road!”

  Within a minute, the military aircraft had been boarded and the circular platform it stood on had been raised to greet the chill wind of the outdoors. Above the battlement the bird now jutted from, Kharker could see nine other helicopters hovering impatiently. At the sight, his own embarrassment withered into a helpless chuckle.

  “Roche,” he whispered, “you’ve got my number, don’t you?”

  The bird joined its dark cousins in the sky, and the convoy dipped low into the valley to avoid the stiff winds that tortured the higher regions. Once it attained its new altitude, the convoy struck off in the direction of the Libertarians.

  Kharker thought of Jean-Pierre as the mountains rolled away on both sides. Feeling the morning sun through the eastern window, he lit up a cigar and sank deeper into his thoughts. He pictured the good times he and the albino had shared before the appearance of Danielle. Now that the Gutter Angel had been purged from Jean-Pierre’s system, they could share even better times to come.

  The convoy began a slow rise along one of the many mountains that populated this desolate corner of the world, and adrenaline washed away Kharker’s reverie. Soon battle would be upon them. The helicopter cleared the precipice and started forward over the woodland below. Then there was a clearing, and Kharker could see traces of blood on the snow, blood that would soon evaporate in the light of the sun—unless, of course, it was werewolf blood. Kharker prayed it wasn’t.

  They flew over the wooded region that Sarnova had named as the Libertarians’ headquarters, and Kharker’s helicopter began a circling pattern around the main force, looking for foes that might have strayed beyond the main installation.

  Settling over a still region, the chopper awaited further instructions. Although far away from the main action, Kharker was afforded a good view of the nine birds as they scoured the terrain for signs of their prey. From the cockpit, he could hear the garbled voices of the soldiers via radio as they relayed to their colonel what they were seeing. Not much, apparently, aside from the blood in the clearing and the tracks in the snow. However, there was no doubt that this was the place Maleasoel had chosen for her HQ. It was daylight now, and the Libertarians would be underground, unless a few werewolf scouts roamed the surface.

  Once they’d appraised the area, the nine attack helicopters formed a wide circle and aimed their weapons on the Libertarians’ underground bunker. At a signal from Colonel Wheatshear, they began their assault, and Kharker found himself entranced by the awesome display of the powerful missiles streaking into the snow.

  Explosions rocked the land, then more explosions below as the missiles triggered the expected booby-traps the Libertarians had left behind. Kharker’s hope ebbed, for it was clear to him and to the others that if Malie’s army had laid traps behind them, they were gone. Which meant that Jean-Pierre, too, was lost for the moment. Nevertheless, the assault continued, missiles boring through the snow to detonate underground.

  After several minutes, the assault ended, and one helicopter landed in the clearing. Three humans stumbled out from the machine and, caught in a spell of psychic dominance, they marched toward the scarred wasteland that had once held the Libertarians, making their way to the edge of a hole, where they peered down into the bunker Malie’s army had carved from snow and stone.

  The humans fanned out, then lowered themselves into the tunnels, where Kharker could no longer see them. After a minute of nervous silence, there came a loud explosion as one of the mortals triggered a booby-trap. To Khark
er’s irritation, he felt a twinge of sadness at the loss; the human hadn’t even been given a fighting chance. On the other hand, his death had probably saved a few immortals from the same fate.

  There were no other booby-traps. The two surviving mortals climbed out of the bunker and made their way back to the helicopter that had released them.

  Five birds set down next to it, and out poured the raiding party of werewolves and other immortals that did not fear the sun. Leading them was Colonel Wheatshear.

  With two birds hovering over them and the perimeter patrol chopper some distance away, some of the soldiers fanned out to explore the area surrounding the desecrated bunker, hoping to stumble upon some clues to where the Libertarians might have gone, but the main party, led by the Colonel, quickly descended into the smoke-filled tunnels and were lost from Kharker’s view. Part of him wanted to hop out and join them—the area was secure now—but another part just wanted to sit here and watch. What was the point in doing anything else? Jean-Pierre was gone, and there would be no battle to find sport in.

  Just as he was thinking this, a blazing streak caught his eye. Roaring in from a ridge about a hundred feet to the west, the missile shot past his helicopter and continued swiftly along its trajectory, at last smashing into the still smoking remains of the Libertarians’ underground bunker—and detonating.

  Kharker had no time to prepare, no time to brace himself.

  The missile erupted with an explosion larger and more powerful than any he had ever witnessed. In the blink of an eye, it incinerated all the Castle soldiers within the bunkers’ immediate vicinity, then grew to engulf a wider area. The hovering birds burst into flame and tossed their fragments upwards. The helicopters in the clearing, too, were swept away in the might of the hellfire.

  So bright that it blinded Kharker, the explosion sent shock waves that tossed his helicopter away as if at the flick of a mighty wrist. Even as it tumbled through the air, the bird started to disintegrate under the pressures of the sudden force. When it tilted so that its propellers could no longer keep it upright, the helicopter began a descent to the thick canopy of trees below, a plummet slowed somewhat because, even as it fell, the crumbling bird was still in the grip of the shock wave.