“Hauptmann?” he said. “Herr Oberst asked me to bring you for the briefing.”
“Okay ladies and gentlemen, let’s shake a leg.”
There’s a moment that comes inevitably in any relationship. It’s the moment where the specter of the ex is raised. It might be a dusty and unremembered item of jewelry, the subject of innocent questions, that one partner suddenly recalls was a gift from a previous boyfriend. If you’re lucky it won’t have anything attached, such as the guilty memory of allowing him, in gratitude, to do that thing he’d always wanted to do but you’d been reluctant to agree to. It might be a birthday card, dug out from an old box of discarded papers by the love of your life who suddenly wants to know who ‘luvbomb’ is, why she’s calling you ‘my stud’, and why she’s hoping that you got plenty of sleep before your birthday. It might be the sudden revelation that the dog you both dote on was actually rescued from the pound by you and your ex on your first date.
These moments, each containing their own special mix of horror, embarrassment and potential for relationship-ending argument, pale to insignificance next to the nadir of ex moments; actually bumping into an ex—while you’re with your new partner.
“Jack!”
“Eva?”
The woman who had spoken was tall and slim; with blonde hair so pale it was almost white. She was wearing a Swiss Army uniform that did absolutely nothing to hide her full figure. I caught Marie’s eyes narrowing out of my peripheral vision. Eva was smiling warmly as she walked towards us.
“Anna, John, it’s been a while.”
“It certainly has,” said Anna.
I managed to recover from the shock and found my voice.
“Eva, this is Marie Hennessey, Samir Hasaan, and Cameron Baxter. Everyone, this is Eva Klinsman, who used to go by the name ‘Valkyrie’ when she worked for the Ministry.”
“That was a long time ago, Jack,” she said.
She indicated a young man in a dark blue suit at the back of the room.
“This is Max Jeurgen. We’ll be working with you in this mission.”
I nodded to the guardsman and turned to Eva.
“You’re in the Swiss Guard? I didn’t think they admitted women.”
“They don’t, yet. I’m officially here as a liaison with the Swiss military, working with the Guard on the vampire problem.”
Anna caught my eye and gave me a look. She and John had been on my team when I had been dating Eva, so they knew the history. I guess she was warning me not to appear too friendly.
“Okay, so you’re going to be telling us why were here?” I asked.
“Yeah, Max and I will be handling the briefing.”
We took our seats and Eva dimmed the lights. She activated a screen and brought up an image that showed a distinguished gentleman in a black cassock.
“This is monsignor D’Amacourt,” she said. “Three months ago his body was found in a hotel in Milan. He was visiting his home diocese and was, apparently, attacked by so-called ‘rogue’ vampires. The local vampire community made all the right noises, appealed for witnesses, promised all possible aid to the authorities and expressed hope that this wouldn’t cause a breakdown in relations with the Holy See.”
“Same old bull,” I said with a sigh.
“Absolutely. The Vatican gendarmerie believed that D’Amacourt was killed in retaliation for the Papal position on the souls of vampires. This belief, however, has recently changed.”
Another picture flicked up. This time it was a younger man in a simpler habit.
“This is brother Canidau, he was one of the curators of the Vatican archives. His body was found in an alleyway in Rome, not far from Vatican City. He had been shot in the head.”
A third picture came up, a serious-looking man in a Roman collar.
“This is Father Fitzpatrick. He was in charge of the curators of the Vatican archives. Two nights ago the archive was broken into, several artifacts were stolen, and three priests, including Father Fitzpatrick were killed.
“Monsignor D’Amacourt was in charge of the Vatican archives, Father Fitzpatrick was over the curators of the archives, and Brother Canidau was one of the curators. This appears to be a concerted effort to break into the archives and steal something. Long planned and, we’re certain, executed by vampires.”
“How are you certain?” asked Bolt.
“Mostly because of what was stolen.”
Another picture snapped up. This one was an amazingly lifelike sculpture of a human heart, all the veins and arteries carved in what appeared to be solid gold.
“This object belonged to Vlad III of Wallachia. After his death this was recovered in the possession of one of Vlad’s most trusted servants. He was attempting to escape. It is the heart of Vlad.”
“As in…?” I asked.
“As in his heart, his actual heart, cut from his chest while he was alive and encased in gold. This is literally the heart of Dracula.”
CHAPTER
10
“He cut out his heart?” I said. “This is a joke, right? You brought us here to listen to medieval fairy tales? Listen, when you cut out a vampire’s heart, they die, end of story.”
“Not according to our records. Vlad the Impaler was an extremely powerful vampire, maybe powerful enough to survive that. After all, there are documented cases of vampires surviving having their heads cut off, right Jack?”
Everyone turned to look at me and I rolled my eyes.
“Yes, that’s partly true. I did—once—meet a vampire that—briefly—survived after I cut his head off.”
“What? That’s impossible, surely?” said Bolt.
“I don’t know how he did it, but I shot him and he went down, but he wasn’t dead. So I took my kukri and decapitated him. His head just lay there mouthing words and spitting at me. Then his body started pulling itself towards the head. I didn’t wait to see if it would manage to get itself together and I drop kicked the head as far as I could.”
“So what happened to the body?” asked Marie.
“It kept on crawling for a few seconds, then it collapsed. I didn’t want to take any chances so I burned the thing with an incendiary.”
Bolt let out a low whistle and shook his head.
“So it is possible?” he asked.
“Unlikely. Even if Vlad was way more powerful than the vampire I took out he couldn’t have survived long without his heart. Not long at all. But even if he did, what’s the big deal? He is dead, right?”
“Yes,” said Eva, clicking up another image. This was an oil painting of a severe-looking priest with tonsured hair and a beard you could hide behind.
“This is Father Theodore, one of the earliest vampire hunters. He stove Vlad’s head in with a silver-edged mace and then the body was burnt.”
“So end of story, right?” said John.
“Not quite. Something else was stolen.”
Another picture, this time of an ancient leather-bound book.
“The Book of Armin-Sang,” I said as a weight hit my stomach.
Eva and Jeurgen looked stunned.
“You have seen this?” he asked.
“Yeah, we have a copy at the Ministry.”
“How? We thought ours was the only one!”
“Few years back we caught some limp-dick vampire who had unearthed a copy. We caught him in a hospital, draining twelve newborns.”
Jeurgen looked like he was going to vomit but Eva nodded firmly.
“The prophecy of Ya-To-Tek the undying,” she said.
“So it was called in the book,” I shrugged. “Drain twelve babies born on a full moon within six hours of birth and the vampire will gain immunity from the effects of the sun.”
I glanced around the room and smiled grimly.
“It didn’t work. We proved that.”
“How?” asked Anna.
“Sunbed.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she stared at me.
“We crisped the bastard.”
“So what is this book?” asked Cam. “The collected works of vampire prophets?”
“That’s a fair assessment,” I replied. “Armin-Sang was an eighth century vampire with a fondness for prophetic texts. He gathered together all of these wacky vampire prophecies and put them all in one volume. Apparently he had this dream of becoming some sort of vampire messiah. Everything in it is a complete load of bollocks, though.”
“Maybe not,” said Eva. “But regardless, the book was stolen along with the heart.”
“And there’s a prophecy in there about the heart of Dracula?” I asked.
“We believe so.”
“You believe so?” said Marie.
Uh-oh. Marie’s tone had been acidic. Maybe she didn’t like the way Eva had been looking at me, or she’d picked up on some vibe between us, but she clearly did not like the Swiss woman.
“We hadn’t had time to catalog the interior of the book. Since the Vatican archives started scanning the records and storing them digitally, the work had been slow. It’s a big job, too. The archives are huge. The curators believe that it may be twenty years or more before it’s complete.”
“Well we can solve that tiny problem for you. I’ll contact my government and get them to scan the book. We can probably get them to email us the entire thing within a few hours.”
Eva smiled warmly.
“Thanks, Jack. That would be really useful. Our records show that there is a prophecy inside that concerns itself with a vampire’s heart, but that’s all the details we have.”
“Any other nuggets of information you’d care to share?” said Marie.
“Some,” said Eva.
A series of pictures came up on the screen; grainy, low-res images taken by surveillance cameras. They were clear enough to see that the group that had raided the archives was wearing black military-style outfits, body armor and hoods. I couldn’t see clearly enough to be sure, but they looked like they were wearing British-made S10 respirators. The group used gas grenades and they moved with the speed and grace that marked them as other than human. They might have been werewolves but all of the evidence pointed towards vampires. Besides, werewolves would have been even faster.
“Any leads?” I asked.
“We have one possibility,” said Eva. “Take a look.”
The screen showed a video clip, shot from one of the CCTV cameras. The attackers were speeding through the archives and everywhere they went churchmen were standing, rooted to the spot, showing that peculiar wooden stance that spoke of humans being rendered insensible by vampiric mental powers. A group of Swiss Guard came running into the shot and was immediately dominated. All except one. One Guard raised his assault rifle and managed a long burst before a vampire slammed a fist into the side of his head. The Guardsman had hit one of the vampires, the rounds tearing his stomach apart.
The other attackers moved out of shot, abandoning their fallen comrade. After a few seconds the Guards began to stir, recovering quicker than the churchmen. The fallen vampire began to move sluggishly, dragging himself across the floor, leaving a wide smear of blood behind him. Within seconds the guards were on him, clubbing the vamp unconscious with the butts of their rifles.
“So the vampire survived?” I asked.
“Yes, we managed to get him into a penitent’s cell in the lower levels before he came to,” said Jeurgen. “Since then we haven’t tried to get near him. The first person he can possess will probably let him free.”
“True,” I said, thoughtfully. “What about the guardsman who managed to fire his gun? How’s he?”
“Recovering,” said Eva. “He took a nasty blow and a concussion. But he’ll be fine.”
“You might want to think about promoting him,” said Anna. “Being able to resist like that, with no special training? Impressive.”
I stared at the screen where the fallen guardsman lay still, frozen by the blow that had felled him and by the paused playback.
“We’re not police officers,” I said, “despite the official designation in the records. What can we do?”
“Three things,” said Eva. “First, we need to arrange some cross-training. If the vampires are going to start targeting the Holy See, the Swiss Guard needs training to fight them. Second, we need help securing the city against the vampires physically. Obviously our current security measures aren’t enough.”
“And third?” I asked.
“Third, we need to find out what they wanted the artifacts for, find them, recover the artifacts, and deal with those responsible.”
“Well, we know where to start,” I said with a sigh.
“Where?” asked Jeurgen.
“I’m going to have to go kick the shit out of a vampire.”
CHAPTER
11
The penitent’s cell was exactly the same as the image conjured up by the phrase. It was tiny, bare stone, and had a door that looked like it could probably have held back a charging rhino.
In the darker days of the church, confession of certain sins would buy the sinner a predetermined time in such cells, serving their penance before earning the priest’s forgiveness.
Right now only one was occupied.
The long, dank corridor was lit by harsh electric lamps that only served to better define the gloom inside the cells. I stood at the end of the corridor, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps that led down from the Vatican above. We were waiting for Cam.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to get anything from him?” asked Eva in a low voice.
I shrugged. I was willing to give it my best shot.
We turned at the sound of feet on the stairs. Jeurgen was leading Cam down. The big inmüt had been dispatched back to our rooms to pick up his machine gun and was now cradling the powerful weapon like it was a toy.
“Cam?” I asked.
“Ready, boss.”
“If he comes out…” I started.
“If he comes out, he doesn’t get two steps, boss. I understand.”
“Good.”
I slipped a silver-coated knuckle-duster onto my right hand. If the vamp got past me, I wanted him taken down quickly and without fuss. I gave my guns to John, then took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. Eva handed me a massive iron key and squeezed my forearm.
“Good luck and be careful, Jack.”
Marie shot the woman a dark look before kissing me on the cheek.
“Become Death, my love,” she said.
I nodded and started walking down the corridor. Behind me my team spread out as much as they could, their weapons ready. We had no idea how powerful this vampire was, so we weren’t about to take any chances.
I stopped in front of the locked cell and slid the key into the lock. It turned with a rusty groan and a protesting clank and the door swung inward by a few inches.
I placed the palm of my hand against the door and pushed it open. The cell was impenetrable darkness aside from the long rectangle of light thrown by the open doorway.
For a heartbeat nothing happened, then the vampire came out of the darkness, hands extended like claws, his face a mask of rage, his eyes ablaze with power. I grabbed him by the shirt and shoved backwards, slamming him against the back wall.
“Wrong move, chum,” I hissed.
I swung my fist, cracking him across the jaw with the knuckle-duster, and he went down hard.
I dropped on top of him, slamming my knees into his chest, and punched him in the face again. His scream of pain echoed down the corridor.
“I say, Pagan,” came John’s voice. “Keep it down will you?”
The vamp’s eyes widened.
“Pagan?” he whispered.
“Pagan,” I said.
I reached for my commando knife and slipped the pointed tip inside the vampire’s left nostril. The silver alloy blade was razor sharp and I felt almost no resistance as I tore the point out sideways, slicing the vamp’s nostril open. He screamed again.
I stuck the blade up his righ
t nostril and glared down at him.
“That, shitbag, was just to get your attention. The next one goes straight inside. And then I start cutting the rest of your body.”
“No, please!”
“Fuck with me and I’ll make sure it takes you months to die, understand?”
The vamp didn’t dare nod, not with an inch of sharp metal up his nose, but he managed to whimper an affirmative sound.
“Good,” I said. “Tell me the truth and you get to walk away. Why did you steal the heart?”
“I don’t know!” he gasped.
“Oh, bad answer.”
I pushed forward with the blade, getting an extra quarter inch of metal inside.
“Please! You have to believe me! I don’t know why he wanted it!”
“He? Who?”
The vamp hesitated so I twisted the knife a little.
“No! He’ll kill me!”
“Is he here?” I asked. “Is he kneeling on your chest? Does he have a knife up your nose? Is he about to perform an amateur rhinoplasty on your ugly mug?”
The vamp looked terrified, his eyes streaming tears, his nose leaking blood and snot.
“Tell me who he is,” I said.
Suddenly the vamp started gabbling.
“I don’t know his name. He’s based in France, Paris, in a club, he… he… he’s a buh-businessman. Big vampire businessman. Owns strip clubs and escort services. People—vampires—know him as a muh-man who can get what you need. He calls himself Herr Sturmbannführer. He was supposed to be in the SS during the war, escaped from the allies, set himself up in business. He gets things for vampires.”
“Things? Like what?”
“Rare blood types, old art, virgins. Stuff. Things!”
“And the heart?”
“Someone must have paid him for it! He paid us to get it… to find out how to get in… to… to… to steal it and deliver it.”
“Deliver it where?”
“Sang du les Dieux.”
“What? 'Blood of the Gods?' What does that mean?”
“It’s the name… the nuh-name of his club in Paris. We were to meet him there and give him the… the heart and the book. And he would pay us when we got there. Please, that’s all I know.”
Crusader (MPRD Book 2) Page 6