“Just to keep you up to date,” said Echo leader, “the incoming Frog Airline flights have been cordially invited to go the fuck away or be on the receiving end of a really big headache. So far there's no response from them.”
“Roger Echo leader. How far are we from land?”
“Less than two minutes,” he replied. “Worry not, Galahad. Here come the Crabs. Better late than never.”
I looked forward eagerly. Four dots appeared on the horizon, quickly growing until I could see what they were. Big, ugly, beautiful, delta-winged bastards. Eurofighter Typhoons from the Royal Air Force. They were on us in a matter of seconds, flashing overhead at supersonic speed.
The French pilots were screwed, I decided. They might have fancied their chances with the little Harriers, but Typhoons were better than their Mirages in just about every category.
“This is your captain speaking,” came the smooth voice of Echo leader. “I’m pleased to announce that Frog Airlines will not be completing their scheduled landing today. The little fuckers are now heading home just as fast as their little planes can carry them. And just to make sure they don't try anything silly, our friends from Crab Air are providing a nice little escort for them.”
“Echo leader, if I had a sister, you could marry her.”
“Thanks, Galahad, but my wife and daughter might object.”
“Well, if you can make it to Brize, Echo flight, I'd be honored to buy you both a skinful.”
“Careful, sir, we might just take you up on that.”
Ahead I could see the most incredible sight, a scene that had been greeting sailors and welcoming them home as long as there had been an England: the magnificent, towering, unmistakable white cliffs of Dover.
Our escorts gave us a final wave before peeling off to return to their ship.
I don't know who started singing—it was probably Cam, but I heard Marie join in—and I raised my voice along with the others, belting out the famous wartime song that went with the cliffs.
CHAPTER
47
I brought the Huey in for a gentle landing at RAF Brize Norton. On the runway in front of us I could see a Concorde, the same one that had taken us to Rome, now waiting to take our guests back. I'd probably feel a little better to get Marie and Eva apart. I was a little worried about the way they seemed to be bonding. There was way too much potential for embarrassment there.
The engines wound down as I stretched in the seat. A familiar feeling of loss crept over me. I’d—we’d—set out on a mission, succeeded and made it home safe. And conscious this time. Now I felt deflated. We had done the job we'd been sent to do and now it was over. The moment was gone. Oh, there would be other jobs, other moments, other adrenaline rushes, and other hills to get over. I sighed, feeling drained and exhausted. Almost everyone else was off of the chopper, so I shrugged out of the harness and stepped down to the tarmac. I gave the side of the helicopter an affectionate pat.
“Good job, old girl,” I said. “Thanks for getting us home.”
“Talking to helicopters, now?” said Marie as she slid her arms around my waist and laid her head against my back.
“Yeah, I talk to a lot of inanimate objects. Probably a sign of dementia.”
“Too many blows to the head,” she said. “That would explain why you like me.”
“Nah, that’s the cute way you wrinkle your nose just before you sneeze. It drives me wild.”
She hugged me tighter for a moment and then ducked under my arm to hug me from the front.
“How you feeling?” she asked.
“Tired.”
“Just tired?”
“Tired and a little horny.”
“Just a little?”
“Oh, I'm sure you can remedy that. Make me very horny.”
“I try my best,” she said, kissing me on the chin.
The rest of the group was loading the kit on to the back of a pair of Land Rovers. I let out a sigh.
“Come on, love of my life,” I said. “We'd better hustle. No doubt there'll be debriefings and questions and more questions, and then, just when we thought we were safe, even more questions.”
“Yeah?” she said as we grabbed our things. “But just remember something.”
“What's that?”
“Every time you get angry, or frustrated, or pissed off, remember that I still have that little leather number and the collar that goes with it. That should put a smile on your face.”
I broke into a broad grin.
“See? Told ya.”
“Marie, my love, my mate, my woman, my life?”
“Yes?”
“You are an evil devil woman. And I love you.”
CHAPTER
46
The debriefing was predictably boring. Going over the same information a dozen times and answering the same question phrased a dozen different ways is not the way I like spending my evenings. John and Anna were there, the latter giving me a selection of cold looks.
Things were just closing up when Eva stood up and turned to face Minister Tilehurst.
“Sir, if I may,” she said with unexpected diffidence.
“Yes ma’am?” he replied.
“I wanted to extend, on behalf of the Holy Father, a thank you to Hauptmann Henderson and his team. And a personal thank you to Hauptmann Henderson himself, for taking this with good grace and civility.”
There was total silence in the briefing room.
“Taking what with good grace?” asked Tilehurst eventually.
“Oh,” I said, “she means that she appreciates me not being an insufferable bore about this whole business. I never once pointed out, for example, the inherent stupidity in bringing an expert in to advise on an important matter and then completely ignoring everything that the expert advises. I never once, though sorely tempted, said ‘told you so’ nor did I remark upon how everything I said about this whole business was proven totally correct. I haven't even pointed out that nobody has apologized for their complete lack of faith in me and my knowledge.”
“You sure you want to thank him for his good grace?” asked Marie with a smile on her face.
“Well, until he spoke I did,” said Eva, returning the smile.
“Hey, I wasn’t saying any of that, I was merely pointing out that I hadn’t said it,” I said, trying to sound offended.
“Actually,” said Tilehurst, “Jack does raise a good point.”
“Thank you, boss.”
“Although not the one he thought he was raising,” he went on, sparing me a glare. “Almost everything humanity knows about the vampires is based upon several centuries of disinformation on the part of the vampires themselves. Now, we’ve been working on this for a number of years, but if we are to really start building bridges with our allies,” he nodded at the two Vatican agents, “we need to start sharing information freely. We are in danger of overestimating the enemy, which can be as big a mistake as underestimating them.
“So much of our time has been spent fighting the vampires that we seem to have missed the research part of our mission. Well, to be fair, we have researched a number of weapons to use against them, but we haven’t really looked too hard at the vampires themselves beyond what kills them. We don’t even know exactly how a human becomes a vampire. Not many of the details, anyway.”
“So what’re you saying, boss?” I asked. “We’re going all David Attenborough?”
“David who?” asked Jeurgen.
“Famous TV presenter? Does lots of educational nature shows? ‘Big cats of the Serengeti’ style of thing?”
Jeurgen shrugged.
“Well, that joke fell flat,” I muttered. “What I meant was, we’re going to be devoting some resources and time on finding out what makes vampires tick?”
“Exactly,” he replied. “Now, what about this line Lucia tried to feed you? Do you think she was behind the whole thing so you’d wipe out her opponents?”
“I dunno,” I said after a moment. “She c
ould have just been taking advantage, I suppose. When’re you going to order me to go kill her, boss?”
“She pissing you off that much, Jack?” asked Bolt.
“She’s unfinished business.”
“And at the moment she's off limits,” said Tilehurst.
I stared across the table at him, feeling disbelief.
“Don't do it, boss,” I said. “Don't say it. Please don't say ‘better the devil you know’.”
“Well, we’re not quite there yet,” he said. “But we are getting sketchy reports that she’s keeping things in check up north. Until we get some intelligence from teams on the ground up there the status quo will be maintained.”
“And, I’m guessing, she has some absolute bastard in her number two spot, just to add incentive.”
“Spot on,” he said, tossing a file onto the table. “Meet a vampire who goes by the name ‘Mörder’. By all accounts not a very nice gentleman at all.”
“I'm hardly surprised,” said Eva.
The file contained pictures of a vampire who was, if anything, trying a little too hard to look evil. Dark, sunken eyes glared out from under bushy brows and a hairstyle with that ‘been in a straightjacket for ten years’ look surmounted a head that wasn't much more than a skull with pale skin stretched over it. Long yellow fangs poked out from a cruel, thin-lipped mouth. A prominent chin and thickly veined neck led down to a cadaverous torso. This was no pretty-boy vamp. One of the pictures had been taken whilst the vamp was feeding, although such a benign word did not do justice to the violence of the act. Mörder had a man, easily fifteen stone, held off the ground in one hand as he lapped at the blood running from a torn-out throat.
“Why are you not surprised?” asked Marie.
“Our friend there calls himself ‘Mörder’. It's German.”
“Murder?” I hazarded.
“Murderer,” she corrected.
“Well, no points for originality,” I muttered. “Still, it's better than ‘Dark Lord of the Dark Darkness’ I suppose. Any read on who this guy really is or where he came from?”
“Nothing concrete,” said Tilehurst. “He apparently came out of either Russia or one of the satellites. He's supposed to be something of a famous painter in the vampire world. His works sell for much more than I'll ever earn.”
“Blood and death and defilement of virgins style of thing?” I asked.
“No, surprisingly. Landscapes. Pretty, sun-dappled meadows and rolling vistas style of thing. Views of the Black Forest by dawn and pink sunsets over the Alps.”
“Stuff vamps miss,” said John quietly.
“Probably,” said Tilehurst, straightening in his seat. “No matter. Lucia is, at the moment, off limits. Don't worry, Jack. One day we'll put an end to her and I promise you'll be the one I send to pull the trigger.
“For now, you get some well-earned rest. Take a week off, all of you. Things are quiet and, with the aid of the Holy See, we'll get to rub the collective noses of the vampire propaganda machine in the lies they've been telling the last few days.”
“Indeed,” said Jeurgen with a smile. “The Holy Father himself will be delivering a very personal and very public thank you to the British government for allowing Pagan to come to aid of the Church in this matter.”
“Oh, that's gonna tweak a few noses,” said John with an evil smile.
EPILOGUE
Many miles to the north, inside Havelock Manor, Lady Lucia was finishing a long-overdue shower. The trip back from Wallachia had been long and exhausting, but at least she could draw some small comfort from the fact that it had been shorter than the one Jack and his friends had been forced to make.
She stepped into her bedroom, toweling herself dry, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and go to sleep. The sun was coming up and it was the end of a very long day. She slipped into a short, silk robe and wrapped her hair in the towel. No sooner had she picked up her wine glass when the phone by her bed rang. Without even bothering to glance at the caller ID she switched on the speaker. Few people had this number, and only one of them would disturb her this late.
“Well, child,” said a female voice. “I understand now what you see in him.”
Lucia stifled a sigh.
“So you had a good view in the castle?” she asked.
“In the castle, and in the club, child.”
“And what do you think?” asked Lucia, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.
“I think he may be the one,” came the reply. “And he is very handsome, isn’t he? Are the rumors true?”
“Oh, Mother,” Lucia said in an exasperated tone.
There was a dry chuckle from the phone.
“Oh, my dear child. Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed? You have seen him naked, haven’t you?”
“Mother!”
“Lucia, I may be over four hundred years old, but I was only twenty when I was released from my mortal prison. I’m still a young woman and he is a robust young man.”
A slight smile tugged at the corner of Lucia’s mouth.
“Four hundred? You told me you were three hundred the day you turned me.”
“Well, maybe I’m closer to five hundred years old,” said the caller.
“Five hundred?”
“Have I taught you nothing, child? A lady never reveals her true age.”
Lucia took a gulp of her wine and tried to calm down. Conversations with her sire were always so frustrating.
“Do you think he is suitable?” she asked, her voice level.
“He is a huntsman, child. That much is obvious. He’s strong. Good stock. He appears suitable.”
“Are you sure he’s a huntsman?”
“Of course. His immunity, his blood, his eyes. He is a huntsman. Does he know of his nature?”
“No. He knows nothing.”
“Good. Bring him to see me.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” asked Lucia incredulously. “We’re not exactly on friendly terms, you know.”
“You’ll think of something. I have confidence in you. How long before he is yours, do you think?”
“He’d be mine already if it wasn’t for that werewolf. Two centuries of planning went kaput the day she got her claws into him.”
“Not entirely. She can be dealt with, if necessary. And there are ways and means of achieving our ends with or without his consent.”
“I’d rather do it the other way, mother.”
“We may no have any choice, child. I’ll expect you to bring him to the council when we meet next month. Do you think you can manage that?”
“I’ll find a way, mother.”
“Good. Sleep well, child.”
“Thank you, mother. You too.”
Lucia disconnected the call as she drained her glass, wondering how she was supposed to persuade a man who hated her to take a little trip to Eastern Europe with her. More importantly, how was she supposed to do it without being eviscerated by that damn werewolf?
She set her glass aside and sat quietly for a few moments, staring into space, thinking about Jack. If her people had waited only another century, Jack would have died, ignorant of his nature. If they had chosen to inform the world of their existence only forty years earlier, he would likely never have been born. In either case another man—another huntsman—would be about to…
She took a breath and faced the thought head on. What she was considering—what her sire had decreed was going to happen—was anathema to vampires the world over. A human and vampire pairing would produce a Dhampir, a sun walker, a vampire resistant to silver, to sunlight, to garlic. But a pairing of vampire and huntsman would produce … a creature not seen on Earth for almost a millennia.
And the thought of what a pairing between huntsman and purebreed werewolf would result in made her blood run cold.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Don’t bother looking on a map for the Ministry’s headquarters. The building in question is entirely fictional. There are, howeve
r, several buildings in that general area that do look the part.
Poenari Castle is real and was once one of the major castles used by Vlad III. The ruins can still be seen from the “Transfăgărăşan” road in Romania. It is not the towering, Bavarian style castle of which most people think when they hear the name Dracula. To the best of the author's knowledge there is no underground escape tunnel leading out of the castle and the interior descriptions are entirely the product of the author's imagination.
Whilst this book was being written the British government announced the retirement of the Harrier. The story that started in 1969 with the Hawker Siddeley Harrier GR.1 came to a tearful end with the BAE Systems Harrier II GR9. No other aircraft looks like it or flies like it. A wonderful piece of innovative British engineering will be consigned to the history books and they will be sorely missed. It seemed only fitting that these magnificent aircraft were there to welcome our heroes home one last time.
Of course, now nobody is using them, it should be fairly easy for the Ministry to grab them and make a run for it before anyone notices.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrew Chapman is an English immigrant who lives in Kentucky with his wife and a startlingly insane cat.
Crusader is his second novel, sequel to Pagan. Since his first novel Chapman has broken a life-long vow and eaten sushi. This is a fact of which he is not proud.
facebook.com/chapman.andrew
twitter.com/AndyOnTheWold
AVAILABLE NOW
Pagan
MINISTRY OF PARANORMAL RESEARCH & DEFENCE
BOOK 1
They stand between us and the darkness.
They patrol the streets of our cities every night.
They hold back the tide of hate and violence
that threatens to engulf us.
Crusader (MPRD Book 2) Page 22