CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU NEED TO see this, sir,” the young man said, hurriedly entering Paul Watson’s office.
Watson, senior officer in charge of retired agent management, was sitting at his desk scrolling through mounds of digital mail. Bald and weathered, Watson’s fifty years of faithful service to his country had landed the desk job few had the stomach for.
“Let’s see what you have, Agent Tanner.” He scanned the image briefly, instantly recognizing the face. The image of the man had to be taken at least twenty years ago. “Where did this come from?”
“Peterson was clearing the main frame server’s deleted waste files. He came across this in a hidden archive file that would have been scheduled for automatic deletion at midnight. He checks the file destruction system randomly, as a security protocol, and found this hidden file.”
“When did this picture run the digital face recognition database?” Watson’s temperament was even keel, his voice showing no undue concern. His calm mannerisms began to transfer to the much younger agent.
“Four days ago, sir.”
“Do we know who ran it?”
“New Orleans PD, sir,” Tanner’s initial excitement was tempered by the monotone subdued demeanor of his senior agent.
“I suppose you have a name to go with this picture?”
“Yes, sir, New Orleans PD arrested a Brian Denman, who comes up as a ghost. I did some extensive research and ID’d him as Nick Gabriel. Here is his file,” Tanner said, as he proudly handed over the documents. “He was permanently retired for over twenty years, the victim of a targeted hit.”
“I know this man. We need to start a new case file. I want to know why Mr. Gabriel, or someone who looks like him, is a person of interest to the New Orleans PD.”
“Well, sir,” Tanner began, as he handed over a second manila folder, “it seems as though he is a suspect in a shooting at a night club in New Orleans. Before he could be booked on charges, he escaped. According to our sources, he may be involved with the murder of an unknown female victim, approximately twenty-four years of age. Currently, his whereabouts are unknown.”
“And do we know how this particular file came to be scheduled for deletion without a red flag?” Impressed with the rookie’s thoroughness, Watson studied the picture, waiting to see if the youngster had discovered the photo’s age discrepancy.
“Two possible scenarios: the first, and most probable, is somebody inside the agency did it, either by accident, or intentionally. The second scenario is somebody hacked into the system and deleted the file from the outside. The data footprint appears to have been covered by someone very skilled in file manipulation. We also are having issues with the outside source theory; the moment New Orleans ran the image, we should have caught the red flag from the same software. For an outside source to have deleted the file before we caught it, they would have to be monitoring our system twenty-four seven. And there is no way that is taking place. That leaves us with the inside agent theory, sir. But at this early stage, we don’t have evidence that points to anyone.”
“Any chance this was some kind of computer glitch?” Watson asked.
“No, sir,” Tanner reported, wondering if he had missed something.
“You did not find it peculiar Agent Gabriel was a notorious hack in his years of service?”
“No, sir, there was no mention of any computer skills in his files at all.” Tanner knew something was amiss, but he had reviewed the file thoroughly, twice.
Watson opened the file and thumbed through a few pages. “Son of a bitch,” he said as he shot out of his chair. His voice raised an octave and a decibel higher.
“Some smart-ass has replaced Gabriel’s records with mine.” Watson slammed the folder down on the oak desk. “Call in everyone for a meeting in one hour. Nobody goes home until I have answers. I want to know where and when Gabriel’s records went AWOL. In his day, Gabriel was the best of the bad asses. I know, I recruited him. Somebody is fucking with us.”
Watson sat back down and brushed his hand through the imaginary hair that had left him twenty years ago. Distant memories blitzed through his mind. “When we lost Nick we lost one of our best. With all of the facial recognition software in place over the whole country, there has never been one hit since his death. I want to know who is doing this and why.”
There was an unsettling moment of silence for the rookie as Watson was lost in a blank stare.
“This picture; how did you manage to match it to Gabriel?”
“Well, because of the great lengths somebody took attempting to delete it, I figured with no matches, it was a sure bet the same individual had wiped the image from all facial recognition software protocols. The only hit was from ID badge photos taken in 1991. All other references to Gabriel were gone,” Tanner said.
“The only problem, this photo is of a guy between thirty and forty. Gabriel, if he is alive, is near sixty. Any chance we have an offspring, or somebody inserted an old file photo just to fuck with us?” Watson asked.
Tanner’s confidence took a slight hit, as he paused to collect his thoughts. “Computer says the match certainty is ninety nine point six percent positive. So unless Gabriel has had plastic surgery, we’ll proceed as if somebody has breached our system, and inserted Gabriel’s photo for unknown motives.”
“Call Murphy in New Orleans. Have him pay a visit to the detective who worked the case. I want details before lunch. Get going, pronto.”
Once Tanner departed, Watson rose from his desk, walked slowly to the door and closed it firmly, listening to the solitary click of the latch. If he was alive, Gabriel had surpassed all the odds, the only operative to accomplish surviving a lifetime of top-level missions. Nobody with this clearance was supposed to retire.
“Nick Gabriel, why are you back from the dead?”
Reaching for his cell phone, he pushed speed dial number nine. The phone rang twice before a scrambled voice answered. “Compliance, Gabriel, Nicholas, New Orleans.”
Watson hung up the phone. It was never easy to make the call to terminate an agent, much less twice. But there was an obligation to fulfill. Charged with protecting the dirty secrets of the nation he served, Watson knew this was the very reason he could never retire. He lived with the fear of the call: Compliance, Watson, Paul, Arlington.
Samantha woke from a most invigorating sleep, unlike any she remembered. Gazing around the room now filled with only distant memories, she wondered, had Brian actually been here holding her, or had it just been a dream born of desire and Ambien. Samantha yearned for the warmth of the morning sun as it filtered through the sheers, but her distress would not allow such simple pleasure. Then a most delicate aroma caressed her senses. Turning to the source of the fragrance, her eyes sparkled at the sight of a crystal vase filled with roses. Brian was here!
Samantha jumped from the bed and searched the room for luggage. Eagerly heading down to Dee and Phillip’s room, she knocked on the door anxiously, anticipating her suitcase to be inside. It was after eleven in the morning. “Damn it,” she groaned. Pounding harder before giving up, Samantha headed to the lobby for an extra key.
Samantha spotted Dee on the lobby couch, her back turned, sitting next to a man who looked familiar. She moved in stealthily to eavesdrop. Samantha listened intently as Dee described to Mitch O’Reilly the attack last night as she slept; the drugging of Phillip, the assault and threats of a sick ritualistic phlebotomy, and eventually, Brian’s daring rescue. What followed was devastation beyond comprehension. Dee recounted, verbatim, her conversation with Brian back at the hotel.
Words echoed, then fused together as one taunting confession. Brian is a vampire. Over and over the words burned. Feeling flush, her body swayed near collapse, Samantha staggered toward the couch.
“Dee?” she called weakly.
“Oh my God, Sam!” Dee jumped from the couch and ran to her sister’s aid.
O’Reilly followed Dee’s lead, and helped stabilize Samantha.
Samantha collapsed in their arms. Once on the couch, Dee cradled her sister against her body. “It’s okay Sammy, it’s okay,” she comforted, gently trying to reassure Sam.
O’Reilly knew he had enough information to charge the ten lunatics from the club with assault and attempted rape, supported by the discovery of the club’s illegal cactus juice supply. Additionally, ten pints of blood were recovered from the crime scene, of which for the time being, O’Reilly was sure he could divert five pints to an unnamed Good Samaritan who was probably getting a little hungry.
“If you don’t need me or have any further questions, I will give you some time alone with your sister.” Compassion had never been one of O’Reilly’s strong suits, but after what he had seen, he figured it was a good time to change his ways.
O’Reilly handed Dee his card. “Brian saved my life. So if you need anything from me, anytime, night or day, call me.”
“Thank you,” Dee witnessed the sincerity in O’Reilly’s expression, too many times vacant in most men’s self-indulging offers for assistance.
“How much did you hear?” Dee asked, as she rummaged for anything to help dry her sister’s tears.
“Enough to understand just how screwed up everything is.”
“First, I need to make sure you know everything I know. It’s the only way you can decide where you go from here.”
Painstakingly, Dee recounted all that she knew about Brian’s transformation and the sordid details surrounding it. Over and over Samantha heard the word vampire. When Dee finished Samantha wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to do … I was ready to spend the rest of my life with him.”
“Well, I would not jump to make any decisions immediately, but he does love you. That has not changed. The biggest change is his sleeping arrangements … and his diet. But the guy is ready to end his life just to protect you from himself. And I have never met a guy I could say would do the same for me.”
“What would you do?”
“I think we should meet Brian for dinner, tonight … after sunset. He also has a little problem with sunlight.” Dee allowed a reassuring smile to telegraph her belief things were not as bad as one might perceive.
Samantha returned the gesture. “Damn. So much for spending the rest of our lives on a remote beach soaking up some rays.”
“I hear it is possible to get a pretty nasty moon burn, if you try.”
“So you’re all right, with Brian being a vampire?” Sam questioned, literally amazed at her sister’s disposition.
“If he will love you, protect you, and treat you like you deserve, and, let’s not forget, not drink your blood, then yes, I think I’m okay with it,” Dee said with resolve. “We will meet him for dinner. Just give him a chance, before you decide to drive a stake in his heart.”
“Dee, that’s definitely not funny.” Samantha wrestled a smile from her face.
“Yes it is, you’re just upset your boyfriend is a blood sucker and mine isn’t.”
“Oh, I’m so going to kick your ass when this is all over,” Sam moaned.
“Now that’s more like it. There’s my Sammy,” Dee proclaimed happily.
CHAPTER SIX
THE SUN HAD not yet set as I awoke in my makeshift bed; a bathtub padded with extra quilts. Unable to rest comfortably, I began to wonder if there was something to that casket thing after all.
How am I going to explain this to Sam? I had mulled the question for the better part of the day. Unable to come up with a reasonable solution, I redirected my thoughts to Isabelle, who had forced me to consider the possibility my unnatural youthfulness was not the by-product of proper diet and exercise.
Isabelle claimed to be one hundred years old; yet she is not a vampire. How is that possible? She occasionally drinks blood, but she walks with the living. She is human, but, somehow interwoven with this vampire culture. Maybe the book Daniel promised to deliver would yield the answers I desperately sought.
I powered my phone on and reluctantly dialed the number, fully aware of the lecture to follow.
On the third ring a husky voice answered the call.
“Aunt Rena, it’s Nick.” Nicholas was my birth name. During my years at the CIA, I operated under many aliases. After I retired I continued the practice, as a way to keep everyone off my tail. In Phillip’s social circle I was known as Brian Denman. But I possessed many other identities, and as Mitch had discovered a few days ago, none traceable back to my true identity.
“Nicholas,” Aunt Rena reprimanded, her thick Romanian accent emphasizing her stern disapproval, “it has been over three months!”
“Aunt Rena, I am sorry. I have been on a job.” Vampire or not, I was reduced to the mischievous child she raised once again.
“Too busy for one phone call?”
“I need to see you, tomorrow night.”
“What is wrong?” Aware of the tension in my voice, her tone became somewhat sympathetic.
“We will talk tomorrow. Can I see you then?”
“Nicholas, you know you don’t need to ask,” she reminded, “I will make your favorite pasta.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Nonsense! The last time you came home you looked as though you had not eaten for weeks. I will make dinner, and you will eat.” Her voice demanded compliance.
“Thank you,” I replied. Having never won an argument, and already in her doghouse, I was at her mercy. “I will see you tomorrow, but it will probably be late. Don’t wait up.”
“Make sure you come hungry, Nicholas,” she ordered, ignoring my request and then hung up.
The logistics of getting to New York quickly and avoiding daylight would be virtually impossible. I punched in Dee’s cell number next.
“Hello,” she answered, sounding remarkably similar to Sam, and cheerful.
The tone of her voice lifted my spirits. “Hi. It’s me.”
“How did you get my number?”
“Job-related benefits.” If she only knew the information I had access to. “What do you say to Dushea’s, after dark, say around nine thirty?”
“We will be there.”
I hung up, and peeked out into the room. The sun had set enough for me to venture into the bedroom. A weathered book sat on the bedside table. Flipping through the delicate pages of the tattered book, I read with amazing speed the chronicles of the Ursuline Convent vampires.
Written by an assortment of nuns, priests, and convent guards, the pages began shortly after the women were confined to the third floor in the mid-1800s, quarantined by the demands of the distrustful public. Turning the pages, I discovered how the eight innocent human women succumbed to the evil requisites of Monique and Angelique. Notations of the implementations of safeguards, personal thoughts, prayers, and a smorgasbord of human interaction, filled the pages in random detail.
And there, crudely confessed by a male guard on the pages of this historic document, was the account of cruel deception. The last remaining mortal woman was offered freedom by the guard in exchange for sexual favors. My pace slowed as I read, painfully sharing the emotional angst of a woman terrified by the fate which had already befallen seven of her friends. She heard the agonizing screams of life draining into the abyss of the undead; the raw fear of knowing each day might be the day the others would choose to satisfy their insatiable hunger with her blood. She lived with the fear that her baby, now growing inside, was condemned to death, before it would ever breathe life’s first precious breath.
I briefly closed the book. Man, that guard was a prick. He knew what the deal was, and not only did he lie about his intentions, he allowed this girl to die, as well as his child, and then had the balls to write it all down. I opened the book again, compelled to learn more.
Her name was Sabine. She was the tenth vampire, the final transformation. The one who vanished without a trace.
Sabine was finally taken, feasted on, and born to the undead. She remained a recluse to her new sisterhood. Removed by a nun a
nd two guards for childbirth, Sabine was returned to the confines of the Convent’s third floor after the birth of her child, a baby girl. The infant was taken, leaving Sabine to presume her unholy baby had been destroyed.
I read on, saddened by the revelations of this tragic tale. For nights, Sabine cried out for her lost child … the name I read hit me like a runaway freight train. Isabelle.
“Isabelle!” I shouted loud enough to be heard throughout the floor.
Isabelle. Was she the mortal child of an impregnated human turned vampire during pregnancy? I had never come across any references to vampires giving birth. Could this be a coincidence? A renewed spirit welled within me. A purpose of good. I had to find Sabine, not to exterminate, but reunite her with Isabelle. Perhaps the daughter lost nearly two centuries ago.
Closing the book, a long-overdue exuberance swept through me. Was this Daniel’s alleged purpose for me? I had to go now. I had to see Sam and explain everything.
I pulled the curtain back far enough to see the sun had set. It was time to go. I made a quick detour to the safe house after I exited the hotel. Instinctively looking in the fridge for a beer, I discovered Daniel had already stocked up my coffers. “Cocktail time.” I raised the bottle mocking a toast. “Make mine a bloody Mary, or John, or bloody anybody, come to think of it.”
Draining the bottle, I instantly felt invigorated, almost to the point of intoxication. The thought of another round crossed my mind, but how easy could the addiction become uncontrollable? Better to test restraint now, in the solitude of this musty office, rather than in the public eye, or worse yet, the public’s neck. Sadly, for the first time in my brief unnatural history, I began to understand the urge to consume. The power it possessed within, and the restraint required to abstain.
Before the maître d’ could offer her assistance, I breezed past, instincts guiding me. I found Sam at a table for two, a glass of wine in her hand. The tension etched on her face combined with an uncommon rapid toe tapping revealed her apprehension of our meeting. My pace slowed, all my logical reservations lined up to battle the love I still harbored for this vision of beauty.
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