by Grey Durose
At first, she thought she was heading for the modern extension of Rome but, at the last minute, she found herself turning off towards the settlements close the ruins of old Ostia, the once thriving port of ancient Rome, now some distance from the sea.
Jacqueline slowed outside a row of houses, she'd arrived; every bone of her body was telling her so. Caution was needed so she kept moving and found a secluded spot to park beneath some trees where her car was mostly shielded by an old stone wall. She turned off the engine, gathered her things together and put them in to her backpack. She concealed a silenced handgun and combat knife under her jacket and got out of the car, it was time to finish the job.
The row of houses had been merged in to a single building, a mansion disguised as a terrace, and Jacqueline assessed it from the front and side. The structure seemed quite old but most of the ravages of age had been patched. Heavy terracotta tiles covered the roof and the walls were coated in a fresh layer of white plaster. Black-railed balconies ran across the upper floors and there were cameras at the front. There were no cameras at the side and the lights on the second floor were all off.
She found a drainpipe which ran up the corner of the building and gave it a good pull, using her feet for leverage. It creaked a little, at the top, but otherwise held firm. Climbing was easy for Jacqueline, she'd scaled harder walls by the age of five. When she reached the second floor she looked across; suddenly the balcony seemed a lot further away than it had when she'd looked up from the ground. She reached across to test the distance, the tips of her fingers were five feet short, considerably further than she'd anticipated and a challenging leap. She clambered a little higher up the pipe, it was starting to shift a little now. This time, she stretched across with her body as well as her arm but the balcony was still over three feet out of reach.
Jacqueline took the point of her boot and gave the plaster on the wall a sharp kick and waited. Once she was sure no one was coming, she tapped away with her boot until there was a big enough hole in the plaster to give her a partial foothold. She pushed her boot in to the shallow hole and held onto the pipe with her right hand, counted down in her head then with one almighty swing of her upper body, she pushed off with her foot and twisted in the air to face the balcony. She stretched out her hands and just managed to grasp the top of the rail and heave her body up and over. There was a rustling in the bushes below as a few pieces of white plaster fell to their deaths.
The small-paned balcony window was unlocked and Jacqueline slipped in to the gloom. She moved briskly across the rug and closed in on the dim slithers of light forcing their way in to the room through the narrow gaps around the door.
There was a short corridor on the other side of the door, which ended in an iron spiral staircase. She went straight to the stairs and began to creep down, slowly. She carefully bypassed the first floor, only stopping long enough to glance down the corridor before continuing on to the ground floor; unholstering her gun as she approached.
Jacqueline paused for a moment, crouching to make herself hard to see from either floor of the building. She took the next few steps still crouched, until she could see in to the space below. It was an extravagantly decorated room, which once would have been the main living area of the house. Now it was merely a sitting room at the base of one wing of a mansion, connected to the same area in the central house through an open double-doorway, with polished oak doors, beyond which a bright light was glowing.
She climbed down the rest of the stairs upright; aware that she could be disturbed at any moment, she kept her gun trained on the open doorway. As she reached the floor, she could hear the soft tones of some traditional Italian music, the background music for an outdated soap-opera. Standing at the edge of the doorway, Jacqueline bobbed her head out to take a look in to the room. The main entrance was set in to the front wall with a large staircase ascending towards the opposite wall. There was a desk next to the door, with a security guard sat behind it and a small monitor on top. She'd need to be quick and there'd be no time for a sudden bout of inaccuracy. She took a deep breath and prepared to roll in to the room.
George parked near to the address in the notes from London and took a moment to crouch down and gather his thoughts. He grabbed his bag and shouldered it, putting his Taser in his pocket and tapping his jacket to make sure his trusty dagger was at hand. He strode along the road until he was at the front door. He took a deep breath and pushed the black buzzer and waited for a response.
Jacqueline's plan was rudely interrupted by a loud buzz; someone was at the door. She raised her gun, backed up against the wall and waited. She heard the doorman ask who it was, then a reply which was distorted by the intercom. There was another loud buzz, she heard the door lock clunk open, the sound of the doorman's chair slide out as he rose and a couple of footsteps on the tiled floor before a cry of surprise. The next noise was odd, a kind of pulsing then a click, then more pulsing and another click, accompanied by the sound of limbs thrashing and then something collapsing in a heap. The pulsing stopped.
George closed the door behind him and dragged the guard's body in to a side room. He taped the guard up before returning to the entrance hall and looking around, unsure where to start. So far his prey had preferred to live below ground to avoid the sunlight, maybe there was a cellar. He looked around for obvious doors and as he did so he caught sight of something moving in the corner of his eye.
Jacqueline listened as a dragging sound slowly moved off to the other wing, there had been the sound of some kind of tape unwinding and a door being closed. She had waited a few moments then bobbed her head out again, the doorman was gone but standing in the middle of the room was George.
'What the fuck are you doing here?' She muttered to herself under her breath as her heart stopped for a moment. She was torn, should she shoot him and get him out of her way, or should she listen to the voice in the back of her head telling her to give him a chance? She wouldn't have much time to decide, she could hear soft footfalls closing in on her position.
George was sure he'd caught sight of a head popping out from behind the door frame across the room. He had company and the last thing he needed was someone sneaking up behind him when he was in the middle of a fight. He stepped softly across the floor, drawing his blade, fully expecting to have to spill blood. He reached the doorway, moving to the far side from where he thought he'd seen the head. The walls which had once separated the properties were thick, preventing him from getting a good look and the room beyond was dark. There was no other choice but to plunge in to the darkness and hope his observer couldn't seize the upper hand.
Jacqueline was still paralysed by indecision. What is it about this guy that messes with my head? she found herself wondering. She could hear him on the far side of the doorway preparing to rush her but she still hadn't moved. It was too late for plans.
George came tumbling straight at her, that weird dagger lashing out at the darkness, the darkness that contained Jacqueline's legs. She was fond of her legs. Instinct took over and she launched herself from the floor, leaping straight up as George's blade swished through the air. George came to a halt below her and she came down on top of him, one foot landing on his back, forcing the air out of him. The other foot, was targeted on his weapon hand. His hand was forced open by the impact, knocking the dagger from his grasp.
George rolled on to his back, taking Jacqueline's feet out from under her and sending her upper body crashing in to the wall. She turned her back to the plasterwork and slid down on to her backside with a bump and bringing her gun up, aiming the muzzle of the silencer at George's head.
George looked at her and she glared back. 'YOU!' George shouted.
'Shhhhh!' Jacqueline urged.
'What the bloody hell are you doing here?' George asked in a hushed voice.
'I was just asking myself the same question.' She snapped.
'Cultists!'
'Same!'
'Well, maybe you'll do a better job of it
this time.' He muttered. From the look on her face, George considered the possibility that this might not have been the most diplomatic response.
'Remember whose holding the gun, smartass!' She snarled, before it occurred to her that she had no idea what he meant. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway?’
'Paris! Remember your little foray in the sewers?’
'What about it? I did an amazing job.' Her head swayed proudly from side to side as she said it.
'Yeah, just great! Killed the cultists and completely missed their leader!' He imitated the sway of her head as he said it.
'What leader? There was nobody left alive in that place.' She replied.
'Not alive in the conventional sense, correct.' He was starting to get a little too loud again.
'There you go again. If you have something to say, just say it. So I can shoot you and get on with what I came here for!' It sounded a little more threatening than she’d intended but it felt pretty good.
George was taken aback, this was an unusual situation for him and he didn't like being threatened. 'If you'll calm down for a minute, I'll explain.' It was patronising, he knew it, but he breezed swiftly past before she could bite his head off. 'The leader was still there. He must have been hiding, or resting, I don't know. What I do know is: you were bloody lucky I came along later and finished the job. If he'd gotten away it could have meant the end for all of us.' He was beginning to regain his calm.
'Oh.' She uttered. 'What did you mean by: not in the conventional sense?' She'd wondered at the time why the tug in Paris had lingered after she terminated the cultists and a slight feeling of embarrassment was starting to creep up on her.
'I mean he was never really alive, he was a kind of vampire-demon-thing.' At this rate he'd have to kill her because of his own big mouth.
'A VAMPIRE? And I missed out, damn it!' She gushed.
It was George's turn to do the shushing. 'I suggest you go back to where you're staying and sit this one out. This is going to be hard enough without having to babysit an amateur.' he lived in hope for all of a second.
'No way! Listen George - if that's even your real name - I came here to do a job and I'm not leaving till it's done. If you don't like it maybe you should go back to where you're staying.' She looked him square in the eye with a mean squint.
He weighed it up for a moment before he spoke: 'Since neither of us is about to leave, I suggest we continue together and sort this out later.'
'Agreed.' She replied, begrudgingly.
'Just stay behind me, and try not to make too much noise.' He was starting to think his subconscious had given up all hope and was actively trying to lure a bullet out of her gun.
'Any more comments like that and the last place you'll want me is behind you.'
George poked his tongue out, it was out of character but something about her attitude was already beginning to rub off on him.
The odd couple raised themselves cautiously from their respective places on the floor and George bent down to pick up his dagger. 'Ready?'
'Always ready, Georgie.' She replied.
'If we're going to be spending time together, let's get one thing straight: it's George, not Georgie, not big G or any other contractions or elongations you can think up. Okay?'
'Fine. You didn't seem this uptight on the train.' She complained, 'Jacquie, by the way.' She added.
'Jacquie; I take this job very seriously.'
They both walked in to the entrance hall and began checking the walls for any sign of a hidden door, double checking each other's work without admitting that was what they were doing. George went over to the desk, he noticed three buttons on the underside of the top. 'Of course, so obvious!'
'What is? Found it?' Jacqueline rushed across to take a look. 'Which one? There's three of them.' She went to try the left most button.
George grabbed her wrist and moved her hand away. He crouched down to get a closer look; the left button was clearly the most used of the three, it had a grimy coating from finger grease, whereas the central button was as clean as the day it was installed, he pressed the right button. There was no buzz, for a second or two there was no noise or response of any kind. Just when he was about to try again, there was a soft grinding of stone against stone and the hissing of hydraulics springing in to life.
The centre of the staircase rose up then parted in the middle. By the time the system halted it had revealed a stone stairwell leading down in to a lit passage, two metres wide. George put his knife away and switched to his twin handguns. Not to be outdone, Jacqueline put her handgun away and pulled a SMG from her bag. George looked at Jacqueline, she nodded and they both approached the steps, him on the left and her on the right.
The cement-lined passage stretched ahead for thirty feet before another set of ten steps took it down further and the ceiling dropped accordingly. There were no signs of any security down here so George pressed a button on the wall, prompting the entrance to close behind them. They moved quickly down the passage to the second flight of stairs and, once they'd checked to make sure the passage ahead was clear, they skipped down them and onward to a corner. They switched sides, with Jacqueline pressed up against the inside of the corner in readiness and George tumbling across the passage and coming to a halt in a kneeling position with his guns trained on the far end of the empty passage. They continued progressing in this manner, on and down and around, responding to each other in a growing symbiosis, until they finally came to a door. The door was solid steel, with a stone frame, there was a robust metal handle but no sign of a traditional lock, just a keypad on the wall.
'What now?' She was eager to see how George would deal with the obstacle.
'Now I get out some tools and we'll be on our way in no time. What would you normally do?' He asked. He was a little bit curious but, for the most part, the question was intended to distract her so he could get on with opening the door without revealing too many trade secrets.
'Get out some explosives and see if I could blast my way through.' She replied, assessing the door.
George gave her a disapproving look. 'You can't use brute force to solve all your problems.' He scolded.
'Not all, but most.' She grinned.
He got out his dagger and forced the face off the keypad. It was a pretty basic model and he was relieved that they wouldn't have to resort to plan J. George grabbed a small pack of cutters and screwdrivers and also a small electronic device. A few moments of cutting, twisting and reconnecting and he had it rigged. He pressed a button on the device and there was a short delay then a clunk inside the door. 'Voila!'
'Spend much time as a cat burglar in your youth?' Jacqueline asked with a poorly disguised smirk.
It was meant to be an amusing rhetorical quip but George was still in analytical mode and felt compelled to answer; 'Escapologist, actually.' He said with a little more pride than he’d intended.
'Ooh, does that mean you've got some handcuffs with you? Maybe we can make some use of those later.' She winked.
'I don't carry my act around with me but if you'd like to be my lovely assistant some time, let me know.' He countered.
'My great-grandmother was a magician's assistant, maybe I'd be a natural.' She chuckled then gently shoved the door. It slowly swung open, Jacqueline raised her hands with a flourish and slightly raised one knee, 'TA-DA!'
'Very good, but keep the noise down, we must be getting close by now.' He reminded her.
The passage became narrower here and after a short corridor, it met with a hole in the side of an ancient-looking wall. Passing through the hole, they found themselves inside some kind of catacomb. The walls were indented with horizontal alcoves on both sides, two, sometimes three deep; each containing the skeletal remains of long dead people. Most of the deceased were just fragile bone but some still had scraps of rotting cloth covering them and a few even had strands of discoloured hair resting near their skulls.
There was a stale smell to the air down here
and the odd drip of water was all that broke the silence of the restful dead. From the scattered stones on the floor, and the lack of any precious adornments on the bodies, it was clear the place had been picked clean by grave robbers long ago.
George looked to the left; the passage had collapsed, filling the tunnel with rock and soil from above. To the right it was clear and the way was lit by occasional wall lamps.
'Shall we?' George gestured down the tunnel.
'We shall. Gentlemen first.' She returned the gesture with a wry smile.
George took the lead, trying to find the best footing among the broken masonry. The tunnel seemed to go on forever with side branches which would loop off, only to rejoin the mother passage after a few metres. They travelled for half an hour before they finally began to hear the sound of voices echoing towards them from ahead. Their progress slowed, as they took greater care to remain as silent as possible. It wasn't easy with all the rubble underfoot but they were both well versed in the art of stalking. Eventually, they made it to a veiled doorway.
The room they were now viewing had a vaulted stone ceiling and a smooth tiled floor, the walls were plastered and decorated with scenes of hunting and ritual, in keeping with a Roman theme. The colours were rich and the artistry spectacular but they were so clean and pristine that they couldn't possibly be authentic. The room was lit from above by a huge sparkling chandelier which created dancing patterns of light with its gently swaying crystals.
George started counting; all the cultists were there in their ceremonial robes and sat in a great stone throne on the far side of the chamber, was their leader. The great leader of the Cult of the Right Arm, was a much more demonic looking figure than George had previously encountered. Its skin was a ruddy shade and patches of tiny reptilian scales could be seen. Its form was heavy and muscular and its fingers and toes ended in thick black talons. The vampire's head was almost human but absent of hair and sporting a straight pair of bull horns, ten inches long, protruding from the side of its cranium and extending forward; his body was draped in luxurious purple silk.