by Drew D'Amato
But then Radu had Napoleon to worry about. Radu did not like the idea of one man running the world. The bureaucratic and foreign policy bullshit of different kings allowed him to move more easily across Europe. One big government, the closest to rival Charlemagne would be bad for business. The aristocrats out east had no problem listening to someone else if they were more powerful or wealthier, but Napoleon would not listen to anyone. Europe was Radu’s turf.
Vlad and Jericho went to the pubs and told the locals who asked that they were Americans, and people had their questions. Specifically, What did you do to beat the English? They felt an admiration from the Irish locals for throwing off the chains of their mother country—and especially since their mother country was England.
Normally while in public, the vampires try to hide from as much direct contact as possible, but this time instead of trying to hide, they opened up to the humans, and openly conversed with them. It wasn’t Vlad’s idea, but when he saw what it meant to Jericho to feel like an Irishman and not a vampire for a while, he didn’t discourage it. Jericho even came close to telling stories of the Englishmen he killed in the American Revolution. He did the math and realized that wouldn’t be wise.
There were also some of the populace—Protestant and Catholic—who felt Americans had made a mistake. They were weak. If they were not, then they would be helping the French in their cause. People from both religions warned, Britain will be back and this time it would be for keeps. Jericho told them in a few years the Irish would be coming to America to live. Everyone in the bar laughed at that suggestion.
Jericho also got chummy with the locals to find some information on the graves of his family. He had learned they were buried at St. Molaise, all of them. He looked for his daughter Tate first. He had two daughters, but Neala had died in childbirth. Tate was not even two years old when he last saw her. She wasn’t buried with the rest of the family, but over on another hill in the cemetery next to her husband. He hoped she married well. Luckily 18th century Irish tombstones told a bit of a story.
Vlad had no idea what the Classical Irish print read, but he saw there was enough of it. It filled up the entire stone. Jericho paraphrased it for Vlad. Vlad didn’t ask him to, but Jericho wanted to speak his daughter’s life out loud.
“She married Noland Bard, from a good family. She had five kids. Four survived child birth. Her husband died in 1730, she died in 1733. She was sixty-eight.”
Jericho smiled. He was proud. She had a good life inspite of never knowing her father.
Then he found the rest of his family. He actually had already known where this site was, it was just his daughter’s that required investigating. The first grave in this lot was dug in 1656—Neala—he was there for that one. The next grave was his youngest son. Jericho again summed it up for Vlad.
“My son Murphy, he died in 1669 of a fever. He was almost six.”
A tear started to form in his eye. He had a problem with getting sick a lot Jericho remembered. Then he was filled with the image of his young boy dying in his mother’s arms; a woman alone, losing a son, with no idea of what happened to her husband. He grieved for all of them. It was a low hit, but the next grave was worse.
“This is my firstborn, Daniel the second,” Jericho said before he looked at the grave. He read it and froze.
LIBERATA STETIT AD BOIANDI FLUMINIS RIPAM PRO EADEM CAUSA ADVERSENS EOSDEM HOSTES ANNO MDCXC
Fell mortally wounded on the banks of the Boyne for the same cause against the same enemy in the year 1690.
The Battle of the Boyne, July 1st 1690. Catholic King James’ last realistic chance to recover the throne of England from Willian of Orange, a Protestant. The outcome of this battle for both countries can still be felt today. Everytime someone hangs an Irish flag, the colors—green and orange—are rooted in the outcome of this battle. Green for Catholics, orange for Protestants and white in the middle for peace. His son, his pride, fell in that battle in the last great attempt against the same enemy. He grew up to be just like his dad. Almost like his dad… his dad was never killed by the English.
He was so proud and so sad at the same time. He felt at first that he couldn’t explain to Vlad the mix of emotions he felt right then. But Vlad as a human had lived in a constant war. Vlad understood. He hugged Jericho. Then Vlad saw for the first time ever a vampire cry. That night Jericho asked just one thing from Vlad. Whenever he died, if Vlad could come by and inscribe his name on his wife’s grave.
5
“Here we are,” Vlad said when he and Pacami reached it.
Pacami inspected the marker. “How can you be so sure, the script has worn away?”
“Trust me father I wouldn’t know what it said even if I could read it.”
“Then how do you know this is the one?”
“It’s the only grave with two finger holes in it.”
Pacami shined his flashlight on the top of the grave and in the middle of the center crest, were what looked like the top two holes on a bowling ball. Pacami turned to Vlad amazed.
“It’s not so hard to do when you are a vampire.” Vlad stepped forward with the plastic container in his hand. “The graves to the left are three of his kids. This one is his wife. She died in 1691 a year after her oldest son was killed in battle. She was 61. Jericho asked that if he ever died I come back and write his name next to hers. However, he was expecting us to be vampires, where with a just a finger I could easily chip out his name. As a human I don’t have the strength nor the skill to do that. However, I think he will be happy with what I do instead.”
“We didn’t bring any shovels though. How are we going to put the container in it, with just our hands?”
“The container is just a vessel, like the body, it is what’s inside that is the soul.” Vlad unscrewed the container and poured the cremains directly on top of the grave. He then patted it down with his hands and feet. “Father, can you say a prayer?”
Pacami thought about reciting a standard prayer but realized this situation was unique.
“Oh Lord, forgive this man for the sins he committed on this earth either as human or other, for he did it for a just cause. We pray you see that his heart was true and believed his actions would have been what you asked from him. May his soul now have peace in your kingdom with his loved ones.”
Vlad felt like the words were a plea, but isn’t that really all prayers are? Vlad took out a marker from his back pocket and knelt in front of the grave.
“Vlad, won’t that just fade over time?”
“Apparently so does engraving. But at least it is done. A soul can’t rest until it has a marker.”
Pacami got behind Vlad and saw what he wrote in the bottom right corner:
DANIEL O’CONNELL
1634-1667
Vlad looked back at Pacami. “It didn’t seem right marking something about Jericho. Vampires don’t deserve graves. Men do.”
Pacami just nodded, not wanting to ruin the power of the moment with something as weak as words. They made their way out of the graveyard. The past has been taken care of, no more time for nostalgia. This war was finally in its last stage.
EIGHT
1
Saturday night was upon them. Vlad and Pacami stood in the middle of St. Peter’s Square next to the red granite Egyptian obelisk brought over by Caligula with their insurance strapped to them underneath their tan trenchcoats. A cold wind that felt like death blew against their cheeks.
After spreading Jericho’s cremains the two found the first hotel they could in Northern Ireland and stayed there for the night. Friday morning they had a flight to Rome that left at 11 a.m. They stopped for a layover in Germany then made it to Leonardo da Vinci/Fuimicino Airport around five in the afternoon, Italian time. Their priority was a hotel room. Once there they ordered room service. Eating the food had made Pacami grow tired. They each had managed to sleep for some time during their flight, but Pacami was still a man in his sixties. Vlad let him rest and left him a note that
he was going to get some insurance. Whatever Pacami did, he was not to leave the hotel room.
When Pacami woke Saturday morning he found Vlad explaining what he had planned for the night. Pacami was amazed that he managed to get this equipment in just one night.
“Money can buy you almost anything, and my time as a vampire has supplied me with enough connections,” Vlad told him.
“So what do we do now?”
“I need to sleep, to be rested. I keep forgetting humans need rest. Wake me up at five.” Vlad moved onto his bed.
“What should I do in the meantime?”
“Don’t leave. I don’t think they are following us, but it would not be wise to take this risk.” Vlad turned over, and then like a vampire slept during the day.
Now they stood at 10:50 in the evening, alone in St. Peter’s Square.
“Why do you think they chose 11:01?” Pacami asked.
“24 is a number of significance to Catholics. 7 is the number of perfection, 6 the number of the devil one less than perfection, so 8 is the Lord’s number—more than perfection. 3 is the number of man. So as 666 is for the antichrist, 888 is for Christ, which of course adds up to 24.”
“I knew that, also 24 has some apocalyptic significance. The 12 tribes of Israel and the 12 Apostles. But why 11:01?”
“The 23rd hour and one minute—24.” Pacami’s face signaled embarrassment as he realized this. “C’mon Father, let’s go. And don’t think too much, stay focused.”
The two of them walked toward the Basilica with the 140 statues of saints on the dome staring down at them.
2
When the two of them started to walk up the steps a figure dressed in a blood-red robe jumped out from behind a column armed with two guns with silencers pointed at them. Vlad noticed the red robe—the robe of the Order of the Dragon. This robe symbolized the blood of Christian Martyrs. The symbol of the Order—the same as the one on cover of the Dark Bible—hung from the Crusader’s neck as a medallion. Vlad had more attention focused on that then he did of the gun pointed at him.
“Father Humphrey,” he said.
“Yes,” Pacami replied after a second of forgetting he had given this name as an alias. “Bandini?”
“You can hand over the Dark Bible now, turn around, and I will never pull this trigger.”
“Oh son, I don’t think you are going to pull that trigger.”
Pacami and Vlad opened up their trenchcoats revealing their insurance. The two of them both wore black vests with blocks of C-4 strapped on them.
“You men watch too many movies,” The Crusader said. “C-4 will not blow up from a gunshot.”
“No,” Vlad said. “But it does if I drop this.” Vlad showed the man a dead man’s switch that he held in his right hand. He was holding the switch together and there was a red light shining on it. “I’m sure you know how something like this works.”
“Now, we have also brought the Dark Bible with us,” Pacami said holding it up in his hand. “We held up our end of the bargain, we just want to see you hold up yours. We just want to see the Blood destroyed. We have no intention of dying tonight.”
“But if you try to kill us we are going to take the holiest of holies down with us too. Now ask Bandini what he wants to do,” Vlad said. This Crusader had dark black hair and dark eyes, tanned skin, and in his thirties. He was not Bandini.
The Crusader didn’t think they were bluffing. He wasn’t sure what to do next. He was young, the bigger fish were inside. Fish that were safe inside with the Blood and not a care whether this young man died as long as these two went also, and the Blood stayed safe. Vlad started to realize this was a possibility.
The Crusader spoke into his walkie-talkie, “Those two are here, they have the Bible.”
“So what is the problem, Roberto? The gun didn’t scare them,” said the voice on the other end. Vlad knew it was the voice he spoke to a few days ago at Favorite Things.
“They are both strapped with C-4. One of them is holding a dead man’s switch. They want to see the Blood destroyed.”
“How do we know they won’t just detonate it once they get in here?”
“You don’t,” Vlad said. “But if we are just going to do that for the sake of it, why not do it now? Why not just run in and take out all of you and the Blood too. We are not suicidal, I just told my uncle you guys would not hold up your end and we had to take this precaution.”
“We can’t let people with that much C-4 inside the Vatican, tell them to take the vests off and we will let them in,” Bandini on the other end of the walkie-talkie said.
“Yeah sure,” Vlad said. “You’ve done a lot to establish trust so far with that gun pointed at us. Let us in, or I drop the switch now.”
The Crusader grew nervous. The higher-ups inside would probably be safe if the C-4 detonated. They would have a tough time though explaining what happened to the front of the Basilica, but they would still be safe. He hoped Bandini would allow them to come in, or it would mean his life.
“Fine, bring them in,” Bandini said.
The Crusader nodded and waved them with his gun. Pacami and Vlad walked in front of him as they crossed into the Basilica.
3
Upon entering, they noticed the centuries-old famous immaculate Baldacchino. The Baldacchino stood twenty-nine meters in height in the middle of the room underneath the dome of the Basilica. The Baldacchino had a top to it and four columns at the four corners. Colored in bronze, statues of warriors and baby angels stood on the roof of it and a cross right in the middle of it. The columns were also made of bronze and had a twisted look running down it, like a vine around a branch, or a cruller donut. The bottom of the four columns ended on big white marble blocks for each column, each white block almost three feet tall from the platform. At almost the same height as where the top of the white blocks ended was the height of the altar that also stood on the platform.
The altar was made of marble and covered with a white cloth. It sat underneath the top of the Baldacchino. Six steps sat on one side (the left side if walking towards it from the entrance) of the base of the Baldacchino for one to walk up to get to the altar. A semicircular marble gate came out in the front of the Baldacchino. In the space between the Baldacchino and the marble gate was an opening in the floor for the worshippers to see the Confession, an open-air crypt.
As Vlad and Pacami got closer they noticed more than just the Baldacchino. They now focused on the people standing on it. Six men stood inside the Baldacchino in front of the altar facing them. Fourteen other men stood around the semicircular opening to the Confession. All of them faced the three walking in and wore red robes also. The men were dwarfed compared to the Baldacchino.
Behind the Baldacchino, Pacami took in the sight of St. Peter’s chair. The chair is believed to be the one St. Peter himself sat on. The seat of the chair appeared to be about fifteen feet in the air. The chair sat on a platform with the four Doctors of the church at the base of it, one on each leg; two western ones, Ambrose and Augustine and two eastern ones, Athanasius and John Chrysostom. The Catholics would tell you that the Holy Spirit Itself hovered above the chair.
Vlad and Pacami stopped right at the foot of the steps to the altar. From there they could see what else was underneath the canopy of the Baldacchino. The altar and on it a gold cross, and a silver urn. As Vlad and Pacami stood there, their escort took his place with the other six on the top of the altar. Vlad and Pacami stood there speechless waiting for someone to talk to them. Then a man with salt and pepper hair in the middle of the group of now seven moved forward on the platform to speak.
“Father Humphrey,” Bandini said.
This was the man from my dream, Vlad thought.
“Forgive me if I find the presence of you two intriguing,” Bandini continued.
“What do you mean?” Pacami asked.
“Well here I have a priest and his escort strapped to the gills with C-4. Look, I am sure you are aware of who we are and w
hat our Order is, but pardon me if I am curious as to how a priest and a mercenary came into possession of the Dark Bible. I just have a tough time believing Vlad wanted to become a human again.”
“Well, how well did you know this vampire? His side of the story was that they fought Radu because he planned to take over the world, and that Radu was evil. It didn’t matter much to me, I wasn’t going to judge them for their morality. They were vampires and wanted to be human again. How could I, a man of faith, not take this power away from a vampire if I can? Also I felt that if I said no, they might have killed me.”
“Absolutely. And you told me this story before. And according to your story Vlad killed himself when he tried to drink the fake blood. What I find harder to swallow is what happened afterwards. The vampires didn’t care. They didn’t even care that you left with the Dark Bible?”
“No, that’s not what happened.”
“Then what did?”
“I killed them,” Vlad interrupted.
“You killed them all?”
“Why not, they were just humans.”
“Why did you kill them?”
“My uncle told me about the phone call, so I came with him back to their house with some handguns on me. I feared they might have decided to tie up some loose ends. The vampires had skimmed over the Dark Bible themselves before we got there. My uncle attempted the lie of it being a suicide, but they knew better. They knew you had the real Blood, and they were going to come up with a way to get it from you. Jericho pulled out the business card of Henderson. As I processed all this information as a human I felt I had just one option. I kill them all before they could get their hands on the blood and become vampires again. Like you, I also want to kill every vampire out there.”
“Why didn’t you say that when we spoke on the phone?”
Pacami didn’t have anything to say. Vlad was improvising now.
“Because then you could trace us,” Vlad said. “Find out where five men were found shot dead, and one committed suicide in a bathtub, and from there you could find us. We didn’t want that. You can do that now after we leave, but we are not leaving until that Blood is destroyed.