by Leo Romero
“But, they don’t have the muscle.”
Johnson jabbed the remote toward Nixon. “Exactly, Jim! And that’s where we come in. We’re the muscle. So, just to be clear, we now know who our bosses are at this moment in time.”
“The Dragons,” Nixon replied almost as an auto-response.
“That’s right, sergeant. Our allegiances are with the Dragons. And our enemy?”
Nixon frowned. “Er...” his eyes rolled in their sockets in frantic circles as he desperately searched his brain for the answer. He didn’t wanna look like a dolt. He wanted the general to know he could rely on him. “Um...” he continued, scratching his head. He clenched his teeth in frustration. Man, he had to come up with an answer.
Johnson sighed. He stood up from the edge of the table and gave Nixon a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jim. We’ll fill you in on all the details.” He pointed his remote at the screen. “Someone wants to speak with you. Someone important,” he said, pushing a button on the remote.
Important? Nixon echoed in his mind. He knew that was code for a higher upper in the chain of command. He licked his hand and patted down his short hair. He sat up in his seat and cleared his throat. The TV blinked on and a face appeared. A small, skinny face that looked like no threat at all. Actually, the guy looked like a dweeb; the kinda guy Nixon used to take pleasure in beating on in high school.
“Hello, James,” the dweeb said in a squeaky voice.
Nixon squinted. Even through the TV screen he could see vamp hypnosis going on. The dweeb’s black eyes were kinda whirling and glittering like galaxies. Nixon didn’t know whether to look straight at them or someplace else.
He cleared his throat. “Sir, yes sir!” came his reflexive reply.
“There’s no need for such formality,” the dweeb said, closing his eyes and briefly shaking his head. “We’re all comrades here.”
Comrades? That sounded like commie speak. Who the hell was this guy?
“My name is Benedict,” the dweeb informed him as if reading his mind. “I understand you were working for my brother Leviah.”
“That’s correct, sir,” Nixon said, forgetting to drop the ‘sir’ through force of habit.
“Good. You served him well.”
Nixon remained silent.
“And you’ve served us well so far as well. Excellent work killing the Chaos agent who was sent to Chicago. What was it you did again to incapacitate him?”
Nixon cleared his throat. “I shot him through the heart with an armor-piercing bullet, sir.”
Benedict chuckled. “Ah, yes,” he lisped. “Armor piercing bullet. Most ingenious. Why haven’t we thought of that one, general?”
Johnson grinned and shrugged. “That’s why we got the best on our team, your Lordship,” he said with a chuckle, giving Nixon a hearty pat on the shoulder. Nixon just grinned stupidly.
“We’ll have to research that method more thoroughly, general,” Benedict declared. “Now, James, I’m also led to believe you have combat experience in the Middle East.”
“Affirmative, sir. I fought in Gulf War One; early 90s.”
“Jim was part of a team that secured a Kuwaiti oil field,” Johnson said with a beaming smile.
“Is that so, James?” Benedict asked.
Nixon gave him a proud nod.
“Well, we have a new problem arising in that part of the world, namely my brother Rah, the head of the Claw Order. And more specifically, his children. Do you know of the House of Rah?”
Nixon shook his head. “Negative.”
Benedict leaned back. “Well, maybe a little filler is in order. The House of Rah has controlled the Middle-East via religious zealotry since the mid-20th Century. Up to that point, my brother Rah and the Claw Order used to maintain control with bloody violence and brute force. Then, along came his children. They grew and took his place, forming the House of Rah and gaining a stranglehold over the oil supply. Leviah saw this as an obvious threat and wished to quell the vast power they were gaining. Unfortunately, their power was too great; the US needed the oil, and the House of Rah’s use of the Wahhabi factions to maintain control were too strong. So, Leviah had no choice but to broker a deal. The oil was kept flowing to the Western world, of which we too benefited here in Europe, and the House of Rah was allowed to continue on with their reign of terror on the Middle-Eastern states. Are you with me so far?”
Nixon’s face was contorted in confusion, his mouth a tight O. “I think so, sir,” he replied, his face still in a frown. “You mean to say the Bloods were funding terrorists.”
Benedict nodded. “In essence, yes. But now that the Bloods are no more, we have taken the decision to stem the funding of the various terror groups that link back to the House of Rah. We are starving the beast, hopefully clearing the path to Rah himself, so he can be eliminated.”
Nixon glanced at Johnson. “You mean we’re taking down the whole of the Claw Order?”
“Absolutely,” came Benedict’s lispy reply.
Johnson straightened his back. “The orders are dropping like flies, Jim. Our main objective is to make sure we’re the last left standing.”
“The Great Unveiling is upon us, James,” Benedict said, making Nixon meet his stare. “Whomever is left at the end of the period of unveiling will be the rightful heir to the throne of Moroz.”
That confused expression emerged on Nixon’s face once more; he blinked repeatedly, a sure sign of someone who wasn’t following the narrative, even though he was trying his darnedest.
“Never mind, James,” Benedict said, obviously recognizing the fact. “But be aware, the last three orders will now be engaged in a battle to the death. The melting point has been reached. The forces are now clashing after so long dormant. It will be a bloody battle from here. We want to eliminate all uncertainty and ensure that we’re the last standing. If not, then you and I will die slow, horrible deaths at the hands of my siblings. I, on the other hand, will show compassion to those that have facilitated the Great Unveiling in our favor. You will be held in great esteem once my father returns.”
“Moroz?” Nixon said, finally slotting the jigsaw together.
“Yes,” Benedict answered with a solemn nod. “Now, do you understand where we are at this moment in time?”
Nixon nodded. “Sir, yes sir!” He glanced up at Johnson, who was giving him a toothy grin; he gave Nixon a double raise of the eyebrows. Nixon sent him back a smug grin. Yeah, they were on the winning team. Team Win!
Team Win for the freaking win!
“You haven’t got a thing to worry about when it comes to Jim, your Highness,” Johnson said, patting Nixon heartily on the shoulder. “He’s a bonafide badass. Aren’t ya, Jim?”
Nixon glanced up; the shine off Johnson’s teeth almost blinded him.
Nixon looked back at the TV screen. “That’s right, your Lordship. You can rely on me.”
“That’s good to hear, James. Now, onto other matters. I believe you are acquainted with this lovely young lady.”
An image flashed on the screen. A bitch in tight leather, swinging into action with a dart gun in her hand. Even with the low resolution, her bug-green eyes glittered like emeralds.
Nixon’s top lip curled up. “Yeah. I know her. Trixie Beauchamp. She’s the daughter of the Dentist, the famous vampire hunter.”
“Infamous,” Benedict corrected. “And yes, Trixie is indeed his daughter. I believe you’ve had a run-in with her.”
Nixon glanced down at his crotch; a shadow of the pain from her kick to the nuts still lingered. “Only briefly,” he replied.
“And what was the outcome?”
Nixon twitched nervously in his seat. He didn’t wanna admit he was beaten by a girl; he’d look like a wuss. And to a dweeb like Benedict that would be humiliating, even if he was a vamp. “She kinda... got away,” came Nixon’s diplomatic reply. “Slippery. As. A. Snake, lemme tell ya.”
Benedict gave him a knowing nod. “Yes, Trixie has proven hersel
f more than capable. Which is exactly why we have her under our control.” There was a haughty grin on Benedict’s face; the kinda thing dweebs did when they won video games.
“What do you mean by that, sir?” Nixon asked, his confusion genuine.
“I mean, James, that Trixie is inadvertently doing our bidding.”
Nixon’s jaw dropped. “You mean she’s working for us?” he exclaimed.
“Affirmative,” Benedict retorted with a smile and a nod.
Nixon looked around them both. “How the hell did that happen?”
“She isn’t aware of it,” Benedict told him.
Nixon eyes lit up. “Oh. I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Everything’s on a need to know basis, sergeant,” said Johnson. “As far as the rest of the US military is aware, the POTUS is the one running things and we’re at war with the Arabs over terrorism.”
“I figured all that out, general. That’s grade school stuff.”
“Good, ’cause you’ve been drafted up the chain of command, sergeant, and right now you need to be in the loop.”
“The issue is, James,” Benedict began, “that although Trixie was heavily involved in the dismantling of both the Blood and Chaos orders, we feel that the Claw Order may prove to be a bridge too far for her and her accomplice.”
“Accomplice?” Nixon echoed. “You mean Dempsey?”
“Dominic Dempsey,” Johnson said with a nod. “We got a file on him. Low IQ street punk, can barely tell the difference between his ass and the nuts he doesn’t have. Beauchamp really screwed up hiring him.”
“Now, gentlemen, we mustn’t underestimate anyone,” Benedict warned. “Although they may be inadvertently working for us now, we’ll inevitably have to face them off some time in the future. By that point, we cannot be certain how much they will have learned about us and how much their skills will have improved. Toady’s street punk is tomorrow’s genius.”
Johnson pointed at the screen. “Those are some wise words right there, Jim, you’d be well served listening to that.”
Nixon looked from Johnson to Benedict. “I’m listening!” he said as if offended. “Don’t worry about Trixie and Dempsey, sir,” he told Benedict. “I can’t see them taking down the Dragon Order any time soon. Shit, they’ll probably be dead by next week.”
“And that’s precisely what we want to avoid, sergeant,” Benedict told him. “We want to keep them alive. They’re too adept at destroying orders for them to be wasted. And that’s where you come in. You are to offer support, but to not let them know you are doing so.”
Nixon nodded. “I get it. You mean make sure they aren’t popped by the Ay-rabs. Babysitting jobs aren’t a problem, sir, you can count on me.”
“It’s vitally important they think the upcoming assassination of Rah and his children were conducted by them and them only, without any outside assistance. We’ll need to steer them toward the Far East after this mission and we mustn’t allow them to discover who is really guiding them.”
“Think you can handle that, Jim?” Johnson asked him.
Nixon glanced from the TV screen to Johnson and back again at Benedict. “It’ll be a piece of cake, sir. I know the mid-east like the back of my hand.”
Johnson let out a choking, hoarse laugh.
Benedict sat back in his seat. “Excellent,” he said, interlocking his fingers and grinning.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dom called Eddie to say his goodbyes once again.
“Yo, Eddie.”
“Hey, bro. what’s up?”
“Another mission. Just calling to say bye.”
“Another one? Already? Where to this time? The Arctic Ocean?”
“Iraq.”
“Iraq!”
“Uh-huh.”
“What the hell’s out there?”
“More vampires that need their asses handed to them.”
“But, there’s a war going on.”
“That’s right.”
“Jeez, and you’re gonna walk right in the middle of it?”
“We know exactly where we need to go this time. No trekking down rivers.”
“A quick hit, huh?”
“That’s right, bro. Don’t worry, I’m getting used to this stuff now. I promise I’ll be back before you know it.”
“You better be.”
“You take care, Eddie.”
“You take care. And look after Trixie.”
“I’m always looking after Trixie.”
Dom ended the call and stared at his cell. It was weird how a lot of the emotional angst of him going away on a ‘mission’ had evaporated between them both. It had become diluted as if both of them were now used to the idea. Hey, Dom’s gonna go jump into another pit of danger, but no sweat, he came back the last few times, so I’m sure he’ll be okay. Now what’s on the TV tonight? It was blasé. Dom realized it was probably how soldiers interacted with their families before going on a tour. After so many missions and successful returns, it would be only natural for the anxiety to be lessened. Wouldn’t it?
Dom didn’t want to think about it too much. He promised Eddie he’d be back and that was all that needed to be said. With the way Chicago was heading, it was probably just as dangerous to stay than to head for the Middle East. Anyway, saying goodbye to Eddie made him feel better about things. At least he did say goodbye. He shivered.
He got ready. He refilled his lucky Zippo and put on a fresh pair of combat pants. He guessed the Middle East would need something a little more understated than Central America, so he decided against the Hawaiian shirt. Instead, he opted for a black turtle neck and shades. Again, his blonde hair was a sore thumb, so he put on a fresh baseball cap (since he lost his NY cap back in the Amazon). When he was ready, he kissed the photo of Eddie and Dad, grabbed his bag and met the others downstairs. Vincent was already there, as was Trixie.
“I thought it was supposed to be us ladies that took an age to get ready,” Trixie said, an idle hand on her hip.
“Cute,” Dom retorted.
Trixie looked him up and down. “What are you dressed like?”
Dom stepped back and held his hands out to the sides. “What, you don’t like it? It’s inconspicuous.”
“It’s weird.”
“I’d pack some short sleeves and shorts if I were you, Dominic,” advised Vincent. “Iraq is a swelteringly hot country. A good pair of cargo shorts will always come in handy.”
“Don’t sweat it, Vince. I got em packed.” Dom patted his bag. “So, how we getting there this time? Magic carpet?”
“Very funny, Dom,” Trixie said, deadpan. “Mack’s gonna fly us from O’Hare to Baghdad in a private jet Miranda’s organized for us.”
Dom grinned. “Private jet? Just how I like to travel.”
“Hmm, don’t get too comfy,” said Vincent, “Iraq is a country torn. It’s full of danger.”
“I do danger for breakfast,” Dom said while putting on his shades.
Trixie shook her head.
Vincent pointed at Dom. “Remember, Rah will be surrounded by these jihadist types. They’re not to be trifled with.”
“Come on, Vince. We’re professionals. You got the dart guns?”
“They’re in the bag. Dad’s arranged for a guy in Baghdad to get us through customs.”
“Isn’t it great to be connected?’ Dom said with a haughty grin.
“Certainly is,” Trixie affirmed.
“So, what is this Agency thing, Vince?” Dom asked.
Vincent chuckled. “The first rule of the Agency is: you don’t ask what the Agency is.”
“What, is it like a secret society or something?”
“My lips are sealed. I have one or two contacts within the military presence in Iraq. They go back to our pact with Leviah. Getting those dart guns through customs shouldn’t be an issue. When you’ve got the collateral you can certainly get places. It’s taken a long time to build up to this point, please don’t take it for granted.”
Miranda entered the lobby.
“Hey, Miranda,” Dom said. “Seeing us off?”
“Something like that.” She looked him up and down. “What on earth are you dressed as?”
Trixie burst into laughter.
Dom gave her daggers. “Ha ha. Hey, what’s everyone got with the way I’m dressed?”
“Sweetie, you’re not James Bond,” Miranda said. “The all black turtle neck with shades and cap look doesn’t quite match up with where you’re jollying off to.”
Dom showed them his palms. “Okay okay. I’ll throw on a shirt once we’re on the jet. Happy now?”
“Whatever floats your boat,” Miranda said as she stepped up to Dom. She pulled off his shades and cap. “There, that’s a bit better,” she said, straightening his turtle neck.
“What are you doing, Miranda?”
“Teaching you how to dress.” She dusted down his top. “Much better,” she said, stepping back and analyzing her work.
Dom caught Trixie stifling a laugh. “What are you laughing at?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Yeah right.”
“Now, you two,” began Miranda, pointing at them both. “You keep your wits about you out there. I have a cousin who was sent out there to fight against Sadam in the early nineties. The desert is a harsh environment.”
“Worse than jungles full of snakes?” asked Dom.
Miranda paused for thought.
“Don’t worry, Miranda. We’re professionals.”
“Just look after yourself, we don’t want anything nasty to happen to you.”
“We’ll be back in no time. Keep an eye out on the news for us once the sparks fly.” Dom gave her an assured look as he spoke.
Miranda gave him an unsure look in return. “Hmm, now have you packed your things?”
Trixie nodded. “Yes, Miranda, we got everything we need.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Oh, have you got anti-diarrhea pills? You’ll need them, the water out there is full of nasties.”
“Er...” Dom glanced at Trixie. She shrugged.
“I’m sure I got them,” Dom said with a grin, patting his bag.