The first cage of rats had been released while the galleys were docked at Constantinople. It had been a test case. Chiang Shih wanted to see if a limited number of plague-ridden rats could infect a large population center. The effects of the vermin’s introduction into the city had been far-reaching and catastrophic, far outweighing Chiang Shih’s expectations.
She released the second cage of rats aboard the galley two days previous to ensure the plague had enough time to take hold amongst the passengers and crew. The incessant coughing heard throughout the vessel this morning testified to her success.
The third cage would be released at their destination and, with luck, would have the same results in Europe as it did in the Crimea and Constantinople.
The galley lurched to one side as it tacked hard to port. Chiang Shih went to one of the portals and pushed aside the Persian carpet. The fleet had drawn close to the Sicilian shore and turned to enter the harbor from the north. They sailed by a series of warehouses dotting the narrow peninsula. Across the harbor on the opposite bank, a medieval wall followed the shoreline before eventually turning inland at the southern and northern outskirts of the city. Towering sixty-five meters above it all stood the campanile for the city’s Normanesque cathedral. The shores outside the city walls bustled with activity. Fishermen unloading their daily catch. Women doing laundry. Children playing along the beach. All of them unsuspecting of the tragic fate that approached.
The fleet had reached its destination. It prepared to weigh anchor at Messina.
Abu Bakir came up behind Chiang Shih to peer out at the harbor, being careful to stay far back to avoid the sunlight. “What are your orders, Mistress?”
“We’ll go ashore around midnight.” Chiang Shih turned to face Abu Bakir, allowing the Persian carpet to fall back over the portal. She pointed to the cage filled with rats. “Bring them with us when we do. We’ll let them go inside the city walls, then find a place to stay until the plague sets in.”
“And then we can feed?” Walker asked expectantly.
Chiang Shih nodded and returned to the hay to get some rest.
The Black Death and the undead had arrived in Europe.
11.
In a desert of political correctness, where crime ran rampant but Washington’s leaders hailed a city-wide smoking ban as a boon to public safety, Shelly’s Back Room on F Street provided an oasis of sanity. The law exempted those businesses that derived their income predominantly from tobacco sales, and since Shelly’s dedicated solely to cigar aficionados, it avoided the ban, which suited Drake just fine. He liked having a place where he could enjoy a cigar in comfort without fear of smoking out van Helsing or having Alison chide him about the hazards of second-hand smoke. Today had an added benefit, for Drake was meeting Reese for lunch and to catch up on old times.
Drake sat in a winged-back chair by the window overlooking F Street from where he could people-watch, although there were not too many people to watch at noon on a Saturday in the federal district. Nor were there that many people inside the bar. Just two couples in suits and fancy dresses, probably grabbing lunch before taking in a show at one of the nearby theaters, and a young man with long hair and a red parka vest who entered a few minutes after Drake. With nothing better to do while he waited, Drake removed his travel humidor from his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a Macanudo, and snipped off the tip with a pair of cigar cutters. Using the box of matches from the table, he lit one and held it below the end of the cigar. The flames leapt up to the tip. Drake slowly rotated the cigar as he puffed, continuing until the strawberry burned red. He drew in a mouthful of smoke, savored the flavor, and blew it into the air, watching as the bluish-white smoke billowed toward the ceiling. Life was good.
“Can I get you anything?” A young brunette stood beside Drake’s chair, smiling with mock pleasantry. She wore a short denim skirt and a blue halter that left little to the imagination. The outfit would have been appealing if the waitress did not look too young to drink alcohol, let alone serve it. She had a pretty face and sensuous eyes. For a moment, the girl reminded him of a young Alison, if Alison dressed like a slut, a prospect Drake could only dwell on for a few seconds before having to push that distracting thought from his mind.
“Just an iced coffee. I’m waiting on a friend for lunch.”
“Sorry, sir. We don’t have iced coffee. If you want, I could pour hot coffee over some ice.”
Drake tried not to grimace. Though her intentions were in the right place, the end result would be luke-warm, coffee-flavored water. “No, thanks. Just give me a diet cola.”
The waitress sauntered off. Drake took another drag of his cigar and slowly exhaled. Halfway through his next puff, a voice said, “Those things will kill you.”
Drake looked up to see Reese standing beside him. “So I’ve heard.”
Drake stood and shook Reese’s hand. The two exchanged a few pleasantries as Reese slipped off his jacket and sat down opposite Drake.
The waitress brought over Drake’s diet cola and placed it in front of him.
“Thanks,” said Drake as he picked up his cigar.
“My pleasure. Have you decided what you want?”
“I’ll have fish and chips.”
“Okay.” She looked over at Reese. “Do you need to see a menu?”
Reese shook his head. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”
“Good enough.”
As the waitress walked away to place their order, Drake asked, “So how’s the research going?”
Reese became animated. “This is the most awesome book I’ve read on the undead.”
“I thought you’ve read dozens of vampire hunter diaries.”
“Only a few, actually. And most are self-serving accounts. Ferrar’s memoirs are different. He describes the undead at their weakest moments when they’re most vulnerable.”
Now Drake became excited. “Is there anything we can use to kill them?”
“Not unless you want to capture and interrogate them.”
“I’ll pass.” Drake took a puff on his cigar. “What else is in there?”
“Not too much, at least from a hunting perspective.” Reese paused as the waitress came over with his drink, resuming his conversation only after she stepped away. “The memoirs did mention the Vampyrnomicon.”
Drake paused while raising the diet cola to his lips. “What did it say?”
“So far, Ferrar’s memoirs have only mentioned it in passing. He did read it, though.”
“What’s in it that’s so important?”
Reese shrugged. “Ferrar hasn’t discussed what he read, only that it upset him. And before you ask, I don’t know what happened—”
“Excuse me, pal.”
Drake looked up. The guy with the red parka vest stood beside them, his right hand resting on the back of Drake’s chair, an unlit cigarette in his left hand. He raised his cigarette hand. “Do you have a light?”
“Sure.” Drake took the box of matches from off the table and handed them over. The guy pulled out a match, struck it against the side of the matchbox, used the match to light his cigarette, and returned the box to Drake.
“Thanks, man. Have a good one.”
Drake waited until the guy left the bar, then returned to his conversation. “You were saying?”
“About what?”
“What happened to the Vampyrnomicon?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t know what happened to it. I haven’t finished reading Ferrar’s memoirs. I only got two-thirds of the way through them before the museum closed. I should finish them on Monday.”
“Then let’s get together Monday night for dinner so you can tell me what they say. I know a place that serves great pub food. Unless you want something more upscale.”
“Pub food’s fine with me.”
“Then it’s a date.” Drake puffed on the cigar again. “And it’s my treat.”
“If I’d known that, I would’ve picked the upscale place.”
; “Too late.” Drake blew smoke skyward. “I’ll pick you up at the hotel at nine.”
“Kinda late for dinner, isn’t it?”
“I wanted to have Jessica join us, but she has a staff meeting that night until seven.” Drake paused. “You don’t mind if Jessica joins us, do you?”
“Is that the reporter who interviewed me about you?”
“Yup.”
“I’d love to meet her again. I’m curious to hear what she thinks about the existence of vampires now.”
Drake laughed. “I think she’ll have some interesting insights.”
The waitress showed up with their lunches and placed them in front of Drake and Reese. “Can I get you anything else?”
“We’re all set for now,” said Drake.
“Okay. I’ll check on you in a few.” She walked away to check on the two well-dressed couples seated at the other table.
Drake used his fork to break off a chunk of fish and dipped it into the saucer of tartar sauce. “So how are things at Salem State?”
Exiting Shelly’s, Akers turned east onto F Street and rushed to his Oldsmobile Sierra parked a few doors down from the cigar bar. Sliding into the front seat, he removed the listening device’s receiver from the glove compartment, switched it on, set it on the dashboard, and placed the headset over his ears. He heard nothing. He adjusted the volume. Still nothing. Moving his thumb to the channel button, he scanned through, hoping to find the correct frequency.
Fuck. This should have been simple. Planting the microphone had been easy. About the size of a watch battery, he had clipped it to the back collar of Drake’s leather jacket when he placed his hand on the chair while asking for a match. According to the directions, he needed to tune in and eavesdrop on Drake’s conversations until he found out the location of the Vampyrnomicon. Despite following the directions, the damn thing still didn’t work. It wasn’t his fault, but he knew Chiang Shih wouldn’t see it that way. If she dealt with him the same way she dealt with her own vampires…. Akers shivered at the thought.
After several frantic minutes, he heard voices intermingled with static. Changing the frequency at a slower rate, he eventually fine-tuned the reception until he picked up the conversation between Drake and Reese.
“…if Jessica joins us, do you?”
“Is that the reporter who interviewed me about you?”
“Yup.”
“I’d love to meet her again. I’m curious to hear what she thinks about the existence of vampires now.”
Laughter. “I think she’ll have some interesting insights.”
The clinking of plates. “Can I get you anything else?”
“We’re all set for now.”
“Okay. I’ll check on you in a few.”
“So how are things at Salem State?”
Akers leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He wished he had the foresight to get himself some coffee prior to this because, if the last minute was any indication, he would need all the help he could get not to fall asleep.
* * *
Checking her notepad, Jessica reviewed the questions she had prepared for the interview. Despite the commotion of the Cafe Renee coffee shop on Union Station’s mezzanine level, she maintained her focus. She did not want to screw up this opportunity. Much to her surprise, Rodriguez had returned her phone request for an interview. Even more surprising, rather than responding with “no comment” or trying to placate her with a canned statement, he agreed to meet with her for a late afternoon coffee.
As Jessica jotted notes beside her questions, she heard a voice behind her. “Miss Reynolds?”
Jessica turned around, immediately recognizing Rodriguez. Instead of being dressed in his uniform, he wore street clothes. Not surprising, though, since he probably had Saturdays off. She extended her hand. “Please, call me Jessica.”
“I will.” Rodriguez shook her hand. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“My pleasure, believe me. I’m glad you agreed to talk with me about the Fletcher case.”
“Yeah, about that.” Rodriguez sat on the stool opposite Jessica. “Sorry to have lied to you, but I’m not here to talk about the Fletcher case.”
Jessica became defensive. “Why?”
“Well, to start, I’m no longer on the Fletcher case. I’m not even on the force anymore.”
“You were fired?”
“Suspended.” Rodriguez frowned. “They don’t know it yet, but I won’t be going back.”
“Why’s that?” asked Jessica, sensing a story.
“Why was I suspended, or why am I not going back?”
“Both.”
Rodriguez chuckled. “Let’s just say I’ve seen some unusual shit these past few weeks. Shit that Roach and the others refuse to admit exists, and that I can’t deal with alone.”
“Vampires.” Jessica said it in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Yeah.”
What a sad state of affairs, thought Jessica, when two people could talk about the existence of the undead with no more a sense of embarrassment than if they were discussing a case of herpes. She still had one question.
“If you’re no longer connected to the Fletcher case, why did you agree to meet me?”
“You’re friends with Drake Matthews. I want you to arrange a meeting.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Jessica. “What did you want to see him about?”
A slight pause, as if Rodriguez seemed uncertain how he should answer. Finally, he said, “I want to help him hunt vampires.”
* * *
Finding a new location to pursue the undead had proven harder than anticipated, but not for the obvious reasons. The criterion for finding a new hunting ground was simple. They needed to find a location that contained minimum pedestrian traffic and little population so the vampires could prowl and feed unnoticed. They also needed to find a location where anyone who fell victim would not be missed or, more cynically, would not be important enough for the authorities to investigate their disappearance. In essence, Drake was looking for an economically-depressed crime-prone section of the city. He had several neighborhoods to choose from. Drake picked the waterfront along the Anacostia River near where the city had been building the new baseball stadium for the Washington Nationals. He drove the SUV, with Alison up front riding shotgun and Jim in the back wearing the infra-red goggles, scanning the area for the undead.
They approached the area via Route 295, exiting at the ramp leading to the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge. As the SUV reached the top of the span, the riverfront came into view. The stadium towered over the area. Floodlights dotted the structure. The surrounding area presented a stark contrast to the lights and frenetic energy around the stadium. Block upon block of run-down structures, most darkened and abandoned, others that should have been. Acres of buildings that once testified to the prosperity of the area had long since been turned over to the city, which threw up chain-link fences and gave them over to the city’s utility services. Between it all lay a no-man’s land inhabited by the desperate and the dangerous. The perfect preying ground for vampires.
The bridge sloped down and merged with South Capitol Street. Drake took the first right, turning onto N street.
“Heads up, Jim,” said Drake. “It’s show time.”
“Does this place look as bad in real life as it does through these goggles?” asked Jim.
“Worse,” answered Alison. “This place looks like Baghdad after shock and awe.”
“Which is why this would be an ideal location to feed. So keep your eyes open.”
The SUV’s right front tire banged into a deep pothole, rocking the vehicle. Alison put her hand out to stop from slamming her head against the side window. When the rear wheel banged through the pothole, Alison felt the jolt along her spine.
Drake stopped the SUV at the corner of N and Half Streets. “See anything?”
“Hang on,” said Jim.
As Jim scanned the area with the goggles, Alison looked around. S
he did not feel very comfortable with what she saw. City facilities set off by chain-link fences. Dark, rutted roads. A single building—a three-story brick structure with half a sign attached to the facade indicating the building used to be a privately-owned convenience store. Or rather, is currently a privately-owned convenience store. Despite years of grime on the exterior walls and mounds of garbage piled up around the building, a light inside showed a lone figure rummaging around and stocking shelves. Working alone in this neighborhood at two in the morning took a level of guts Alison admired.
“Jim?” prodded Drake.
“Just a minute.” Jim finished scanning the area. “Nothing but the shopkeeper in that building and somebody in a shed down the road to our right.”
“That’s the guard shack for the Water and Sewer Authority.” Drake leaned forward onto the steering wheel and looked to the right down Half Street. “Nothing down there but the riverfront.”
“Then we go left,” said Alison.
Drake turned the steering wheel and accelerated. For the next fifteen minutes they maneuvered through the area north of the stadium construction site, but found nothing. Cutting across South Capitol Street, Drake began cruising up and down the streets north of Buzzard Point where many old apartment buildings stood. He paused at every street corner, giving Jim time to scan the surrounding area. If they found nothing, they would move along to the next intersection and repeat the process. At each intersection they found the same thing. Empty streets. Abandoned buildings. The occasional pedestrian or vagrant. But no vampires. After nearly an hour and a half of cruising the riverfront, they emerged back out onto South Capitol Street directly across from the stadium.
The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon Page 24