“You mean like Merlin?” she said, as if it were common terminology.
“How do you know that?” I asked, impressed. It was little wonder I liked her, even if I had no idea how to show her. I smiled.
“I told you that day at your house before we went after Medea that I was a geek as a kid. I loved all the stuff I used to think was just stories and mythology.”
“Okay, then yeah, like Merlin, only half Blud Fae and half Succubus and with training similar to mine,” I said. “He has no issues with using a gun, and according to Duma, he’s also a fae boogeyman of sorts, believed to be a spook-story. Apparently, he’s been creating mayhem among the Paran community as well as the human one for eons.” The tension in my shoulders and neck relaxed as the conversation steered toward more comfortable subjects.
“Well, I can’t be positive, but I think I’ve found a few incidents that haven’t been linked together yet but might also be this guy. Given what you told me about weapons and previous attacks, I think he might be responsible for the deaths of people or, well, not people, in Saarbrucken and Bremen in Germany, Prague, Vilnius in Russia, outside Yellowknife and Southern Louisiana near Breaux Bridge. Some of the remains appear human, but the DNA gathered from the scenes all came back inconclusive. Part of the reason these attacks haven’t been linked to anything is that it’s assumed that the evidence is contaminated.”
“How recent are these attacks?” I asked.
“All within the last few months.” I could hear her flipping pages as she talked. “None older than July of this year.”
“That’s probably him. He’s hit werewolf clans, vampire covens, various human splinter groups of wizards and witches, you name it. Not to mention somehow having a hand in the destabilization of Libya. Probably Egypt, too.”
“Interesting you mention those places, because the CIA has reports of a single highly skilled assassin working with both of those governments in recent months.” She flipped more papers. “From what I can tell, lots of assassinations, bombings, and other terrorist activities that can’t be solved or attributed to others tend to get thrown into this one file. The one connection is the precision and skill with which the jobs were carried out. One theory is that it’s one man with a base of operations somewhere in Eastern Europe.”
“That fits with what we know, as well.” I stared out into the trees while I rubbed at my forehead. “Anything about those bullets?”
“The .22LR is worthless.” She shuffled papers again. “Too common to be useful. And the .338 was likely homemade. But it had to be by someone who really knows his stuff. Our guys are still fawning over its properties. The alloy created for it is unique. That’s why they want to know where I got it. The only thing I can tell you with any certainty is that some of the metal used to form it carries isotope signatures from the Banat region of Western Romania. Specifically, in mines from an area near—”
“Coronini,” I said.
“How’d you… is that where you are now?”
“Like I said, better you not know.” I closed my eyes at the realization that the Hanner Brid had clearly been operating in conjunction with Lilith for some time, but to what end?
“Hey, kissy-kissy later, D. We gotta go meet the boat,” Duma said, more loudly than he needed to from right next to me.
“Was that Duma?” Sarah asked.
I could feel myself blushing. “Ah, you heard that?” I kicked at the ground then winced.
“Yeah.” She exhaled heavily. “Is there any way I can help? I mean really help? Tell me where you are, and I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Her tone was flat and serious.
I knew she would be, and frankly, she would probably be a big help in Coronini, but there was no way I was dragging her into a hornet’s nest. It was going to be hard enough getting into that place, and while I didn’t need to watch out for her, I wouldn’t be able to help myself—and that would cause more trouble than her skills could offset, especially in Vampire Central. Besides, I had already caused her enough trouble.
“No, it’s better if you stay outta this. Trust me, please. I’ll get back in touch in a few days on a new number.” I tried to sound as though I believed it. “We’ve talked too long on this one.”
“Okay, but please be safe.” Her voice softened ever so faintly.
“I’ll do my best. And Duma’s got my back.”
Chapter 24
Duma and I hightailed it a few hundred yards through the woods to the confluence of the Great Morava River and the Danube, then we waited inside the tree line along the banks. I could smell the wood smoke from nearby chimneys and see rooftops off in the distance both north and south of us. The area was largely rural with a low population and favored by smugglers as a result.
Twenty minutes later, a sleek forty-foot-long boat pulled into the mouth of the narrow tributary and beached along its eastern shore less than a hundred yards down from where we were hiding. A boat as long as this one with the engines to push it should have been easy to hear as it approached, but it barely produced a sound beyond a low thrumming vibration.
Duma headed toward the vessel without hesitation, but on instinct, I followed at a distance. Duma was entirely too laid-back about the whole idea of meeting a boat on a river that was home to smugglers of all kinds, driven by who knew who, en route to one of the largest and oldest vampire dens on Earth. He hopped on the boat and smiled at the scruffy, mustachioed captain, who simply nodded back. The skipper, wearing a heavy peacoat with a wool watch cap on his head to fight the chill of the river, was definitely human and alone on the boat. Grudgingly, I jumped aboard and quickly bowed my head. The small, thin man, at least half a foot shorter than me, acknowledged my presence with little more than a sideways glare.
The boat had the lines of an open-ocean racer, but once on board, I could see that the deck was entirely open and dotted with metal tie-down rings and only a small galley-way forward. This boat was clearly designed for smuggling, but my purview didn’t include enforcing human laws.
“Aveti hartile?” Duma said to the captain. I had no idea what he’d said.
I felt like I was in the Eastern European version of Key Largo.
He reached into a cabinet under his seat and tossed Duma a small waterproof duffle. “Restul este mai jos,” he replied in the same guttural language Duma used.
Has to be either Romanian or Hungarian.
“He says the rest is down below.” Duma pointed to the forward galley-way then began withdrawing maps from the duffle.
I cautiously poked my head into the small dark space, half expecting to find the Hanner Brid staring back at me. I glanced back at the little man, who noted my apprehension and flipped a switch on the console in front of him. A red light snapped on inside the galley-way, illuminating the small storage area in the bow. I went below and took my time checking the gear. Everything, down to the LAR-5 UBA rebreathers, was in order. Even the dry suits were brand-new. I was two percent more comfortable with my insane plan.
Satisfied with the gear, I emerged to find Duma and the captain leaning over a chart and chatting in the same guttural language. Duma probably didn’t even know he was speaking a different language. After a moment, he waved me over.
“Gheorghe says the closest safe insertion point is here.” He pointed at a map of the river lit by a small flashlight with a red filter.
“Da,” Gheorghe said, nodding vigorously.
The spot put us about two miles upriver from Coronini, under a bridge. Gheorghe spoke in his native language, glancing back and forth from Duma to the map, indicating several locations.
“He says that the current runs swiftly in the center, but it’s shallow and calmer along the edges through here. We can come ashore here, where there’s a small drainage canal,” Duma said, translating and pointing slightly downstream from the bridge. “He says it
runs through a dense stand of trees that spread right to the shore. He’ll pick us up here, on the shore at Golubac Fortress. If we’re not there by nightfall, though, we’re on our own.”
“I don’t blame him,” I said. Since Golubac, the remnants of a medieval fortress, was across the river and downstream of Coronini, it made sense, assuming we survived. I checked my watch. “Let’s get going.”
Sunrise was about four hours away. After we got underway, the boat had to be running nearly seventy miles an hour, and I heard little more than the wind whipping past my ears. Smugglers and that mother of all invention: necessity.
Meanwhile, Duma hunkered down on the foredeck in the lee of the bow, scrying to locate the Demon Fae. Every few minutes, he shifted, rolled his shoulders and head, then appeared to restart. Maybe it was the rocking boat, the deteriorating blood, or both, but things were not going well. I left him to it.
After about twenty minutes in isolation on the foredeck, Duma finally came over to me with the satellite image he was using as a map, his face drawn and dark rings under his eyes. A circle marked one building in a field at the edge of town. It was only about half a mile from our insertion point, but according to the image, we would have to cross an open field next to a major thoroughfare for most of that distance.
He leaned heavily against the gunwale next to me. “You know we should have killed Belphoebe back there,” Duma shouted over the wind. “She’s a real balloon knot, and if we survive this, she’s gonna end up biting us in the ass again.”
“What the hell is a balloon knot?”
“An asshole,” he replied. “Tie a knot in a balloon. When you look at the end, it’s all puckered, like an—”
“I get it.” I held up my hand. “Couldn’t you just say asshole?”
“It’s more colorful.” He smiled, despite the weariness still evident in his face.
“You’re probably right.”
“Of course I am. It’s hipper, too,” he said.
“No, I mean about Belphoebe. Hopefully, we can wrap this whole thing up here and do it fast.”
“That’s the one quirky thing about you that I’ve never understood, D,” Duma said. “You have the capacity for great violence. I’ve seen you kill scores of beings, humans among them, without batting an eyelash. And yet, there are so many times you choose to avoid it, even when it may be prudent. Mark my words, she will come back to bite you in the ass—and not in a good way, my friend.”
I glanced at him then stared at the deck. “Duma, I choose to look past your predilection for bloodshed because you are my friend and because you are not human and I know you see the world in a different way. That’s okay. But you have always known that I don’t fight for myself. I fight for my kind to be able to exist in a world where you, as bloodthirsty as you can be, aren’t even close to the most dangerous thing out there. Compared to most Parans and especially the Old Ones, humans are easy prey. As a species, we are weak, but I am not. So I fight—and I kill. I would gladly put down the weapons and armor and walk away if the conflicts ended today. Killing and violence have to serve a purpose, not be the purpose. And maybe you’re right about Belphoebe—you probably are—but maybe this time she’ll see sparing her life as compassion rather than weakness. Or maybe, given her limited range of emotions, she’ll simply see it as the prudent thing and realize that death only leads to more death, not to peace. I’ve been a soldier for over three thousand years, and the one thing I can tell you for sure is that the only ones who see the end of war are the ones who die. I may be good at it, but I don’t seek it out.”
“Nice speech.” Duma waggled his head back and forth as if weighing what I’d said. “But you don’t need to seek it out. It always seems to know exactly where you are. And I will always be a firm believer that the best deterrent is a brutal show of force. Something you humans have taken to heart.”
“Yeah, well, the day Parans and Old Ones back off and decide to let us humans kill ourselves off without their interference, I will retire.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “And I promise you, I will not miss it one bit.”
“The hell you won’t.”
Duma smiled at me, and we both walked to the galley-way. We sat silently, half-dressed in our dry suits so we didn’t overheat as we waited for the captain to tell us it was okay to slide into the water.
“How did you get this stuff so fast?” I asked. “I mean, this stuff is top-shelf. Even these old LAR-5s are pristine.”
“Connections, my friend. It’s all about who you know in this part of the world. I’ve worked with this guy before, lots of times.” He gestured toward the captain. “Best in the area. But he ain’t cheap. This little boat ride is gonna cost you…” he said, rubbing his fingers and thumb together.
“Are you kidding me? How much?”
Standing at the helm, the captain hooked his thumb overboard and slowed the boat until he was merely holding ground against the rapid current.
“Now ain’t the time, D. Cappy says time for froggies to get wet.”
I suited up and walked over to the starboard corner, where I put on my fins and rolled backward off the cap rail. Swimming hard against the current, I tried to locate Duma in the dark, cold water. I flashed a red-filtered light at the captain to let him know I was okay, and Duma did likewise. We ducked underwater as the boat pulled away.
The current swept us quickly downstream as we made our way to the calmer shallow flats along the banks. Once we cleared the swifter water, we continued slowly and deliberately, working our way shallower as we neared the ditch. I kept an eye on the GPS, remembering when I had to navigate by compass. By the time the dull green screen of the GPS indicated we were a hundred yards from our target, we were in less than three feet of water. In the ditch, I slowly rose from the water until I could see. Nothing moved as the first rays of the sun rose over the hills in front of us. The small farming village about a half mile to our right was quiet. Behind me, across the black surface of the Danube, I could see the shadow of the ruins of Golubac almost directly across the river from the village. Duma surfaced next to me, and I raised my hand out of the water to motion for him to continue forward.
We came ashore silently then took cover in the stand of trees marked on the satellite image. After stashing our diving gear, we cut off our dry suits. I hated to ruin them, but they were too difficult to remove quickly and even harder to put back on in a hurry.
Once we were set, we waded farther up the length of the drainage canal within the stand of trees then paused to check the satellite image of the town. Right in front of us, the DN57 Highway ran roughly parallel to the shore, leading straight through town. It was entirely deserted, and not because it was oh-dark-thirty. No one comes through this town unless they absolutely have no other choice.
Across an open field sat the structure in which Duma said the Demon Fae was hiding. If we headed straight from our current position, we would pass too close to the houses, and every human in the village worked for the Liuntika Strigoi in some capacity. Our only safe option was to head beyond the houses and well into the fields for an additional half mile or so before heading toward our target.
We covered the open ground cautiously, but within twenty minutes, the first streaks of sunlight illuminated the wooden roof of our target—a large, rustic, well-used two-story barn—dead ahead. The structure had no windows at all.
Roosters from the large farmhouse near the barn began crowing at the dawn, and the soft, indistinct noises of people beginning to start their day spread from the buildings to our right. As we approached our target, Duma veered to the left while I circled around the barn to the right. I kept my gun ready to fire upon contact.
I crept painfully slowly down the building’s flank, examining every hole, crack, and crevasse I ran across. All I could see inside was a large, open space. At the front of the barn, I quickly popped
my head around and saw Duma kneeling at the opposite corner, waiting for me. He shook his head then waved his hand in front of his face, wrinkling his nose as if he smelled something rank.
Along the front of the structure, a large sliding door took up most of the wall. A normal-sized door stood between it and Duma. The doors had no windows and no visible locks. In fact, the handle on the door was a dowel rod attached to a piece of rope that ran through a hole in the wood. There were no other means of entry.
We met at the smaller door, and I held up three fingers. I ticked them off, then he jerked the door open without so much as a squeak. The fact that the door had opened without a sound was very odd.
From my kneeling position, I peeked around the corner. Nothing. I stepped inside, and instantly, the overwhelming sickly sweet metallic smell of blood assaulted my nose. I swept the gun from left to right as I scanned the large, open space for movement and potential targets. The entire structure, including the stall, was devoid of any sign of animals, hay, or even tools. Duma stepped inside and closed the door, holding the back of one hand under his nose. His kukri knives were out and ready. Blood, at least several days old, stained the wooden floor.
“Vampires…” Duma said quietly, his face distorted in disgust.
A wooden walkway, ten feet off the ground, circled the entire building, leading to a substantial hayloft. A collection of bloody chains and shackles hung to the right of the barn door, and a rail-and-pulley system ran along the rafters down the center of the building. I scowled at Duma for talking then motioned for him to jump to the floor above. We could both make the jump, but he would do so far more quietly than I could. He sprang upward and landed on the wooden walkway without as much as a creak.
After a moment, Duma peered down at me and shook his head, indicating he observed nothing up top. Then he pointed at a metal grate in the center of the first floor. Cautiously, I crept to the edge of the grate, and Duma jumped down, landing near me in a low crouch without even an audible exhale on impact. I shook my head while he grinned.
Chaos Unbound (The Metis Files Book 2) Page 20