by Graham Brown
He pulled his phone out and texted Christian.
Ready for pick up. Come fast, please!
***
Henrick ran out into St. Peter’s Square and scanned the open space as quickly as possible. One of the security directors came up to him. “What’s this all about?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Henrick replied.
“And who are you? By what authority are you sounding the alarm and giving orders?”
The double-edged sword of the Ignis Purgata, Henrick thought - so few were allowed to know of them it made things difficult at times.
“Listen to me,” Henrick growled. “Bishop Messini has just died. A heart attack, possibly. But as he fell, he insisted that this Dr. Faust had given him something. Poison perhaps.”
The security chief radioed his men. He’d heard the news. “Messini? That’s a shame. Always a kind word from him.”
“Then get off your ass and look for the man who might have killed him,” Doros said. “He has to be here somewhere. He’s old; he can’t move that fast.”
As the security director moved off to coordinate the search, Henrick gave Doros an approving nod. “That’s more like it.”
“In for a penny,” Doros said.
Henrick was glad to hear that, but didn’t respond. He was looking, looking, looking… “There!”
Most everyone else in the square was watching the commotion, but one figure was hustling towards the Via della Conciliazione, The Road of Conciliation, which led from St. Peter’s Square to the Tiber River.
“That’s him!”
***
Faust walked briskly across the Via Paolo, a curving road that followed the rounded boundary of St. Peter’s Square. The Road of Conciliation was just up ahead. Two cars and a taxi whipped past him. A horn blared. Someone shouted a few choice words in Italian.
Faust marveled at how many languages had been used to swear at him lately. It had to be some kind of record. Safely to the other side, he risked a glance back. Two men were rushing across St. Peter’s Square towards him.
This was terrible. This was a disaster. By the eye patch he recognized one of them—Henrick Vanderwall, leader of the Ignis Purgata and murderer of Simon Lathatch, if Christian was to be believed.
Faust stopped looking and kept moving. The same feeling he’d had when running from the female vampire weeks before came over him. Fear and panic and a sense that he could not compete.
Henrick and his friend were picking their way through the crowd. They waded into the street, boldly ordering moving vehicles to stop. Faust was struggling, lumbering along. He’d run more in the last month than in the past ten years, and he didn’t like it.
He looked up ahead to the corner where Christian would meet him. But there was no car waiting, no savior, no chariot to carry him to safety. Christian was late, or not coming at all.
He turned down a side road in the vain hope that he’d somehow elude the hounds, but this was not the case. They were coming faster now, sprinting towards him.
Faust was hustling forward, looking back at his pursuers, when he ran smack into someone who grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dr. Faust?”
Vatican security had him. The pursuit was over. Henrick and his sidekick even slowed their pace going from a sprint to a walk.
“I was just heading for the bus stop,” Faust stammered, out of breath.
“The bus stop is over there,” the guard said.
Faust looked in the direction being indicated. He shrugged sheepishly. “Silly me. I get lost all the time. You wouldn’t believe the trouble-“
The sound of a high-performance engine cut off his words as a red Ferrari came tearing through the traffic and screeched to a stop in front of them.
Release him!
The voice echoed in Faust’s mind, but the attack was meant for the security guard. He let Faust go and stood like a statue as Faust rushed to the open door.
“No!” a voice shouted from across the street.
“Get down!” Christian yelled.
Faust ducked down as Christian pulled him into the car and stomped on the accelerator while simultaneously releasing the clutch and spinning the wheel to the right.
The engine’s twelve cylinders howled and the tires spun. A cloud of blue smoke billowed into the night as Christian whipped the car around in a half-circle creating a smoke screen and then straightening the wheel.
At the same time, Henrick and his partner pulled their weapons and began firing. A half dozen bullet holes were punched in the pristine red sheet metal, but the Ferrari leapt forward with a suddenness the prancing horse on its hood would have been proud of. In seconds it had reached the nearest corner, carved a sharp turn and vanished out of sight.
Without the slightest hesitation they roared down the street and onto another boulevard. And just like that they were gone.
Faust looked back. He guessed that both he and Christian would have to deal with Henrick again someday, but for now, the nimble red car was racing into the night, picking up speed and weaving around other cars as if they were standing still.
Chapter 34
Christian got them out of Rome with surprising ease. It wasn’t just the horsepower. He took an odd route that avoided most of the traffic. And when cars did get in front of him, they quickly pulled to the side and let the Ferrari pass. Even a police officer ignored them as they raced by at a hundred miles per hour.
Faust wasn’t sure if the drivers gave way out of reverence for the roaring, half-million dollar champion of Italian motor vehicles or if Christian was willing the other motorists to get out of his lane. Either way it was helpful. In twenty minutes they were tearing south on Strada Statale 148, a newly reconstructed highway linking Rome to the southern part of Italy.
For his part, Christian was having flashbacks. As the concrete wound its way through the mountains, Christian remembered a march along a similar road when he was just sixteen and a new recruit for the Legions. So much had changed but the mountains were the same.
As for the road, he couldn’t help but be impressed. A perfect piece of engineering, he thought to himself. The construction battalions of the Empire would be proud. It was also rather empty as the hour was late and most travelers took the larger A-1/E-45 superhighway.
As Christian drove, Faust spent time with his smart phone, paging through photo after photo, enlarging certain sections and then moving to the next page and back again.
“Anything?” Christian asked.
Faust ignored him and continued for almost an hour without speaking, except for the occasional grunt. All the while, Christian resisted the urge to listen to his thoughts, until finally he could wait no more.
“Doc!” he said abruptly.
Faust turned.
“Do we have anything or not?”
Faust sighed; he looked frustrated. His eyes were red from staring at the little screen. “Sorry,” he said. “I get absorbed in my work. I forgot you were here.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” Christian replied. “What do you have?”
“Muscat,” he said.
“Muscat,” Christian said. “As in the city?”
Faust nodded.
“The Dark-Star is in Muscat?” Christian asked.
“The ones who buried the Dark Star,” Faust corrected. “They returned to Muscat. They call themselves the Guardians or the People of the Stone.”
“I hope you got more than that, Doc.”
“That’s where the trail starts,” he said.
“Where does it end,” Christian said. “That’s what matters.”
“Well…”
“Do we at least have a map?”
“Sort of,” Faust said, in a way that did not sound promising. He went back to the phone and pulled up another document. “This parchment is a map. It has a starting point, Muscat, but no end point. All that exists upon it are dots.”
“Show me.”
Faust held up the phone. He wasn’t kidding, nothing but dots. Hundreds of them. “I don’t suppose we could connect them and…”
“It’s not a child’s game,” Faust said seriously.
Christian shrugged. “It was just a suggestion.”
“I appreciate it, but leave this to me,” Faust said. “I may not be sure what to make of it right now, but we’ll get it to give up its secrets sooner or later.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Christian said. “Good work, Agent Faust.”
Faust looked over grinning.
Still driving but going the speed limit now, Christian reached into the foot well and pulled out a small wooden box. “Here,” he said, handing it to Faust. “You’ve earned it.”
Faust opened the box to discover a dust-covered bottle made of ancient, hand-blown glass. It was dark and wrapped in a handwritten label.
“You must be joking,” Faust stammered.
“My kind aren’t known for our sense of humor,” Christian said. “This is yours. Gautier Cognac. Produced in 1840. There are less than a hundred bottles of this stuff left in the world.”
“This had to cost…”
“As much as this car,” Christian explained. “More, in fact, considering I borrowed the car and paid full price for the cognac.”
“Borrowed it?” Faust said. “That sounds fishy to me. Won’t someone be looking for it?”
“Not at all,” Christian said. “The man who loaned it to me was only too happy to be rid of it for a while. He’d run out of parking spots in his villa and was taking delivery of a new Austin Martin. Once we reach Naples it will be returned with a full tank of gas, none the worse for wear.”
“Except for the bullet holes,” Faust said.
“Nothing a little patch job can’t fix,” Christian said.
“Hmm…” Faust said. He turned his attention back to the bottle, closed the box, and put the prize down by his feet.
“Aren’t you even going to try it?” Christian asked.
“Heavens no,” Faust said. “This is not something to be drunk. I can retire on that.”
Christian shook his head. “That’s it,” he said. “Next time I’m getting you a box of wine.”
Faust laughed and even Christian smiled, but the moment was short lived as the thunderous sound of a helicopter rushing over the top of the car shook them.
Christian’s eyes snapped forward. The helicopter was no more than fifty feet off the deck. It passed them from behind and, once it was in front, it slewed to the side matching their speed. A powerful spotlight came on and night turned to blinding day as a stark white glare engulfed the car.
Chapter 35
Christian slammed on the brakes and the Ferrari screeched to a halt. The helicopter continued on, made a wide turn and came back towards the highway. It slowed to a hover no more than a hundred yards in front of them.
Christian stared into the floodlight, shielding his eyes with one hand, trying to see through it, but it was no use.
“Hang on,” he said.
He put the Ferrari in reverse and looked over his shoulder, accelerating backwards only to see a second helicopter drop in behind them. He hit the brakes again and they stopped. They were caught, trapped between two hovering beasts, illuminated in their overlapping lights.
“Now what?” Faust asked. “Surrender?”
Christian wasn’t sure. If it was the Italian Military or the Carabiniri, surrender might make sense. He could admit to kidnapping Faust and then trick the pilots into flying him away, much as Drake had done in the Gulf of Mexico. Before he could decide, a third light snapped on as bright as the other two but with a different hue, bright white, but tinted cobalt blue and purple. It came from the door of the helicopter ahead of them.
A second blue beam hit them from behind. With a flick of his hand, Christian knocked the rearview mirror from its perch. It clattered into Faust’s lap.
“What’s wrong?” Faust said.
“It burns.”
The tint of the windows and the UV filtering effect of glass protected him from most of the pain, but not all.
“Nova rifle,” Faust said.
Christian nodded. Surrender was off the table. “You might want to get out?”
Faust looked outside then back at Christian. He shook his head.
Christian revved the engine. “Last chance.”
Faust clutched his phone, put his seat belt on and nodded. "Let’s go!”
Christian dropped the car into first gear and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The horsepower and torque of the Ferrari took over, the back wheels spun out and the car twisted sideways until the rubber gripped the road. From there the Ferrari shot forward as Christian straightened the red bullet out, roaring toward the helicopter ahead of them.
Inside the helicopter, Henrick shouted to the pilot. “Move, move, move!”
The pilot pulled back on the stick but the copter had moved only inches when the Ferrari shot beneath it and roared off down the road.
“Follow him!”
Within ten seconds Christian and Faust were moving at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. They caught up to and blew by the few other cars and drivers as if they were standing still.
The helicopters were in full pursuit now, one on their right, and one on their left. The colored beams of light came on once more, sweeping over the car time and again, sending shivers of pain through Christian each time they found the mark. He swerved like a mad man, tapped the brakes and slammed the throttle home to keep out of the swath of pain. As a result, the Nova rifles never held their target for more than a second or two.
“Those are the new weapons I was telling you about,” Faust said. “UV rays. A million candle power.”
“Thanks for the update,” Christian said. “Remind me to pick up some sunblock when we stop for gas.”
As he spoke, Christian whipped the car around a slower vehicle and ducked in beside a long haul truck. The big rig blocked the false sun from one side like a shade, but as the helicopters closed in, the trucker hit his brakes hard and Christian had no choice but to gun the engine again.
Around a sweeping right hand turn the Ferrari continued to pick up speed. And as the turn ran, the hills and trees on the right forced the helicopters to form up on the left side.
After one more pass with the Nova rifles, the strange beams of light went out.
“Now what?” Christian asked.
The answer came instantly as marksmen on the skids of the two helicopters opened fire with assault rifles. Flames from the barrels and tracers lit up the night, and Christian slammed on the brakes once again. He downshifted, slowing the car rapidly, switching lanes, and then flooring it again, getting back up to speed. The bullets missed, but their impact could be seen on the concrete barrier that divided the highway.
“That was close,” Faust said. “How do we get out of this?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’m working on it.” Christian slammed his foot on the brakes again as another burst of gunfire came at them.
“We’ve got to get off the highway! We’ve got to hide!” Faust yelled.
That was true. But they needed an exit. For a second Christian wished he’d stolen a Humvee; that way he could have made his own exit.
The curve of the highway became a straightaway and Christian gunned it, hoping to put the helicopters behind him. Faust closed his eyes as the speedometer hit one hundred and sixty miles an hour.
The helicopters followed, slowly closing in. The gunfire erupted again, tracking him and trying to lead him. One of the shooters led them by too much and the armor piercing bullets hit a tanker carrying propane. A massive fireball rose up, engulfing the entire highway, the Ferrari and the helicopter itself.
The brunt of the explosion was channeled upward, back in the direction of the shells that had pierced the tanker. The Ferrari raced beneath the fire cloud and shot out the other side, singed and toasted but in one piece. The helicopter was a diffe
rent story. Covered in burning fuel, it became a fireball of its own, careening forward and dropping until it hit the road and blew apart.
“My God,” Faust whispered.
Up ahead Christian spotted their salvation, a long tunnel cut into a mountainside. They could get inside and commandeer another vehicle in the tunnel, escaping unnoticed, like a magic trick. Christian dropped the hammer on the Ferrari, flooring it in an effort to make the safety of the tunnel faster, leaving the destruction of the tanker and all its flames far behind.
The second helicopter was still chasing them. Flying at top speed only feet off the deck. Christian realized the pilot might not be aware of the landscape. He might not realize a tunnel was coming up and, if Christian could bait them a little bit, he might get them to crash into the mountainside.
He slowed for a second and then accelerated again.
The helicopter got close, drifted back and closed the gap again. Just a few more seconds.
The gunner on the skid opened fire again. This time he hit the mark and the armor piercing shells pounded the front wheel, driver’s side door and the roof. Glass and metal fragments went flying everywhere. Flames shot from the engine and the Ferrari went sliding like an Indy Car with the tires blown out. It hit the middle of the concrete divider and then slid on into the tunnel. As the crippled machine dragged along the cement wall, its rims grinded into the highway, sparks flying in every direction until the car finally came to a stop.
When the violent ride ended, Christian turned back. There was no explosion at the entrance to the tunnel. The helicopter had pulled out.
He turned his eyes from the tunnel entrance to Faust. “Come on, Doc. We have to move.”
Faust looked over at him, his hands were covered in blood. His white shirt was stained crimson red. Christian reached for him trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. Faust’s life was pouring out of him by the liter.
“The bullets…” Faust said, “…they came through you.”
Christian knew that. It only made it worse. Blood was everywhere. Christian’s hands pressed hard on Faust’s chest trying to stop the bleeding, but it was pointless.