Eldritch Ops

by Phipps, C. T.

  “Are you?” Christopher asked.

  “Don’t dodge the question,” I said.

  Christopher paused before responding. The resulting silence was oppressive and reminded me I was in the presence of a predator who considered my race food—no matter what he’d once been. “No, Derek, I’m not. My hands aren’t clean. However, I am mostly me. I also think what I’m about to ask you is something I can only get from you and is the greatest favor I could ask.”

  “Is it for the Vampire Nation?” I asked.

  “No,” Christopher replied.

  “Good.” I paused, considering my answer. “I might do a favor for you. I’ll never do one for an enemy state. Tell me what I can help you with.”

  Christopher’s expression became serious. “Protocol Zero.”

  I stared at him, shaking my head. “Sorry, never heard of it.”

  “Come on, Derek.” There was a hint of anger in his face before he clenched his fists. It was uncharacteristic behavior from my usually cool and confident friend. Then again, that had been before he became a bloodsucking creature of the night.

  “This is one of those situations where the answer would be the same whether I knew anything or not. If you have any trust in me, please understand I’ve never heard of a Protocol Zero,” I said.

  Christopher’s shoulders deflated. “This is personal for me. Have you, at least, heard about Protocol Ten?”

  I reluctantly nodded. “It was a plan by the Red Room to inoculate most of the world with a dangerous anti-vampire viral toxin. One of the so-called Black Protocols. Over a course of three to eight months, it would kill every single vampire who fed on the vaccinated subjects. It was the hope of the Committee they could wipe out the majority of the world’s undead without war. The program to develop the serum was started in 1983 and lasted until 2013 when—”

  “You shut it down,” Christopher interrupted. “A curious response from an avowed vampire hater.”

  “Just because I think vampirism is a curse rather than a blessing doesn’t mean I’m comfortable massacring everyone who suffers from it.”

  “Not everyone feels like you do.”

  I stared at him. “I’ve questioned my beliefs. Sometimes, the behavior of the Vampire Nation makes me think you are all evil. That doesn’t mean I’m going to act as judge, jury, and executioner without having all the facts.”

  “Admirable,” Christopher said, almost as if he was mocking me.

  I didn’t like that and stared. Was he making fun of me? Was the monster still my friend at all? I couldn’t tell.

  “I mean that sincerely,” Christopher said, placing a hand over his heart. “I’ve heard about your efforts to integrate supernaturals into the House.”

  Thanks to my efforts, the first supernatural agents had been accepted into the Red Room’s ranks. We’d gotten more intelligence from those who hated their own kind in the past three months than we’d gotten in the past ten years from other sources.

  I wasn’t going to let myself get distracted by flattery. “Tell me about this Protocol Zero and what you think it is.”

  Christopher tapped the folder he’d laid before me. “I believe Protocol Zero, a phrase we’ve heard from a number of resources but in very hushed tones with no reliable first source, is a project based out of the Red Room. It is based around kidnapping supernaturals, brainwashing them, and turning them into sleeper agents. They’re responsible for the recent disasters.”

  “And your evidence for this is?” I asked.

  “Suicide attacks, assassinations, sabotage, and out-of-character actions from numerous sources. There’s been several kidnappings we’ve started to develop a pattern for. People go off the grid for months at a time before reappearing.”

  “So, you have no evidence for this,” I said dryly.

  “One of the ones who has disappeared is my wife.” Christopher looked straight into my eyes. “I need you to find her. Please.”

  I stared at him, unsure how to respond. On one hand, a man I once considered my best friend was asking me to find his wife. On the other, he was accusing the Red Room of being responsible. My organization could do what he was describing, but I would know if they were—and they weren’t. Yet how could I tell him that he was barking up the wrong tree? I’d hold onto any hope if the person I loved was in danger. “I don’t—”

  Shannon interrupted me, shouting over the earpiece so I could hear her. “Derek, get down!”

  I didn’t hesitate, throwing myself to the floor.

  Above me, the window shattered, and the air filled with bullets.

  Chapter Two

  Glass rained down onto my shoulders as bullets whizzed through the air above my head. Thankfully, the gunfire missed all the ski lodge’s patrons. That didn’t prevent all-out pandemonium from ensuing. People screamed, ran in every direction, and threw themselves to the ground, unaware who was attacking them or why.

  A smart assassin would have continued firing until we were dead or have used something more precise than random gunfire, but no second burst emerged, probably because he was waiting to confirm our deaths.

  I hated amateurs.

  Christopher was clutching his shoulder. The vampire’s left side had taken an orihalcum bullet and the magical metal was burning inside him, causing a sickening odor to emanate from the wound where it poisoned his insides. The bullet wasn’t deep, however, and Christopher jammed a metal fork in, prying it out.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Just kill that bastard!” Christopher hissed.

  “All right.”

  Above our heads, I heard the sound of a snowmobile revving up. Risking looking up over the window’s edge, I saw a single red jumpsuit-wearing figure in a helmet on a black snowmobile. He had a Jupiter-82 submachine gun he was holding like he’d only had a little practice with it. Our attacker fired a couple of more rounds against the side of the building while I ducked below the table to avoid being hit. I heard him drive off a few seconds later. Rising, I was tempted to put a bullet in the back of the figure’s head, but as much as I wanted to, I needed to know who he was and whether he was working for anyone. I shielded my face with my arm and smashed through the remains of the window.

  Running across the snow, I saw an abandoned still-running blue snowmobile owned by the lodge ski patrol and commandeered it. Squeezing on the accelerator, I took off after my rapidly disappearing assailant. He was heading down one of the bunny slopes and would get away if I didn’t get to him quickly.

  “Derek, I need an update!” I heard Shannon’s voice coming from my earpiece.

  “The assailant has orihalcum-based weaponry. Christopher is down but not out. In pursuit,” I said, feeling bits of snow splatter against my face. “I need you to check on Hang. It’s possible this was a distraction to get me away from him, so they can assassinate one or both of us.”

  “Copy,” Shannon said. “Good luck.”

  I smiled. “He’ll need it more than I will.”

  If I’d been thinking like a Committee member rather than an agent, I would have focused on getting myself to safety. I was, after all, a VIP and one of the most important assets of the House. Unfortunately, a year hadn’t dulled the fact that I’d been one of the House’s best wetworks men, and it wasn’t until later that I realized chasing down an assassin via snowmobile just made me a bigger target.

  Old habits die hard.

  “Come on, you bastard,” I muttered, the icy wind blasting against my face as I sped up.

  The distance between my assailant and I diminished until we were only a few yards apart. That was when I saw him make a turn over a plastic sign planted into the snow that folded underneath his vehicle, which soon went under me as well. The sign said “DANGER - SLOPE CLOSED DUE TO SEVERE CONDITIONS.” The side of the mountain gave way to a massive obstacle course of ice and rocks. A severe storm had covered the place in a landslide that seemed almost tailor-made for killing us.

  Seeing it was entirely likel
y they’d used a witch to conjure it for that very purpose, I thought about my options. I needed to get within enough range to tackle the son of a bitch and disable him. Hopefully, he was human and wouldn’t rip my arm off, but those were the dangers you dealt with as a Red Room agent.

  If not? Well, life was short anyway.

  I was within striking distance when the amateur took one arm off the wheel and grabbed his submachine gun, trying to take me out. Seizing that opportunity, I leapt forward and knocked him off his vehicle. The two of us slammed against the ground, with me using my assailant as a cushion. I’d misjudged our speed and the hardness of our landing. It hurt like hell, tearing up my knee and banging up my right arm. That was going to require some magic, possibly surgery, to fix.

  I grunted, rolling over the figure underneath me and lifting him up to my face. “Who sent you?!”

  My assailant turned out to be a dull-eyed blond man in his mid-forties with a stubble beard and vacant expression. He tried to hike his submachine gun, but I slammed my head into his, giving me a serious headache and knocking my opponent out. One look at him told me I wasn’t going to get anything out of him.

  He’d been mesmerized.

  Mesmerism wasn’t an accurate term for the use of psychic abilities to brainwash people, but it’d fallen into Red Room jargon anyway. You couldn’t mind control someone to love you or even to be your friend, but it could turn even strong-willed individuals into sleeper agents. I was dealing with nothing more than a patsy.

  No wonder he’d attacked so amateurishly.

  “Christopher, I hope you’re not responsible for this …” I muttered. It was hard to suspect Christopher, but mesmerism was one of the chief tools of the vampire.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of four more snowmobiles coming my way. Looking up at the top of the closed slope, I saw a quartet of men in red jumpsuits riding on snowmobiles identical to my attacker’s. They were carrying A-17 sniper rifles, far superior to J-82 for the terrain. They also carried themselves differently from their colleague. No, as they began aiming at me, I realized I was dealing with professionals.

  Dammit.

  I threw myself behind a nearby rocky outcropping for cover. A second after I did so, I heard a cartridge ricochet. I was trapped now, my enemies possessing a substantial advantage in terms of range as well as hardware.

  Taking a deep breath as more shots whizzed into the side of the rock, I contemplated my options. I could call for backup, I could try and engage them by magically pulling a gun to me Jedi-style, or I could try to pull a rabbit out of my hat with my magic. Which was option one too now that I thought about it. Knowing Shannon would never let me down and not wanting to wait for her arrival, I decided to try for option three.

  I rubbed the silver ring on my left hand. I’d spent most of my life without magic but I’d recently had awakened to it and done my best to learn as much as I could. I wasn’t as good as my twin sister Penny had been when she was fourteen with sorcery but I was still able to pull off the occasional trick—especially with my power object.

  Magic didn’t work the same way as it did in the movies with wands, staves, and chants—though they were damn useful (we called them enhancers). You had to want something so badly that you were capable of imposing your will on the nature of reality, bringing your desires about. That required emotional energy dwarfing what most people felt in their lifetime.

  My wedding ring was one of the few items I possessed capable of serving as a channel for my emotions, though not for the reasons you’d expect. My ex-wife, Cassandra, never loved me. She’d been brainwashed by her father into thinking she did. My feelings regarding our marriage were a mixture of guilt, shame, anger, and pain.

  Emotions I could harness to fuel my sorcery.

  Channeling those feelings into my right hand, I slammed down my fist into the ice. All four of the assassins fell to the ground and slid down the slope. I couldn’t shake the mountain, not at my level, but I was certainly able to make them feel like I could. Adjusting the flow of ki, or life-force, into my body, I increased my natural balance before moving to the next stage of my half-formed plan.

  “Let’s hope this works,” I said. Reaching my right hand into my jacket, I pulled out my Pantheon .50 pistol and stood up, before starting to run. I was severely injured but I could control my ki enough to compensate—though that was probably just going to injure me further. Still, I was going to die unless I moved, and I could depend on the House’s magic and advanced medicine to fix me if I survived.

  A big “if.”

  I had just enough time to cross the distance and get into range to fire, shooting two of my assailants on the ground before they could get at their rifles. A third lifted his, only for me to throw myself on the ground and put a bullet through his head.

  Which left one.

  “Surrender!” I shouted, watching the final member of the team crawl behind a snowmobile with his weapon.

  “No! God wills it!” the last remaining assailant shouted.

  “God wills what?” I snapped.

  His snowmobile and the ones around it exploded. I covered my face as sparks and bits of burning metal flew through the air and dropped down alongside me. The last of my attackers had possessed a grenade.

  Climbing to my feet, I stared. “What the fuckity-fuck?”

  Contrary to what Doctor No might tell you, people committing suicide to avoid being captured was pretty rare in the spy game. I’d seen it a total of twice before, and both situations were specifically the result of mental compulsion. A guy doing the whole “kill himself because God commands him to” thing was a new experience.

  “Derek!” Shannon called, not on my earpiece but nearby.

  I looked over to see Shannon coming over the side of the mountaintop, using skis like a pro and wearing a bright blue jumpsuit that contrasted with her long, dyed red hair. Shannon was a beautiful woman, unearthly so, the product of a union between a lilin and a normal woman. A succubus. I was glad she was on our side, having chosen to work with the Red Room even before nonhumans had been allowed membership.

  Sliding and slipping down the sheet of ice, I saw the figure of Christopher Hang follow with unnatural steps. As a vampire, he didn’t need skis to traverse snow. Vampires were powerful psychics who could practice levitation and flight. Vampires didn’t so much move across the ground as glide, and it was somewhat unsettling to see my old friend move like he was no longer of this Earth. Which he wasn’t, of course. To add to the odd juxtaposition, he was holding a seventeenth-century cutlass stained with blood.

  I raised my hand, waving to them. “Nothing to see here, guys. Just four corpses. Everything’s fine.”

  “I fear the number of bodies is going to get much larger before this ends,” Christopher said, walking to me. “We were ambushed by a dozen gun-wielding men almost as soon as you left. This is going to be a rather bloody mess for you and your organization to clean up.”

  “You killed a dozen humans?” I asked, staring at my friend.

  “I killed six,” Shannon said, looking hurt.

  I bit my lip, realizing my hypocrisy. I couldn’t worry about my friend being a monster when the woman I loved was one too. Also, it was a trifle hypocritical when I was standing over the charred remains of four people I’d killed myself. Gods and immortals, sixteen people killed in the United States? Christopher was right—the clean-up crews were going to be apoplectic.

  “Do you believe me now?” Christopher said, looking at the bloody remains with a longing look.

  “I never said I didn’t believe you.” I pulled out my cellphone and dialed a special number. “I’m going to need your help in covering this up.”

  “Just as long as I don’t have to be here when the Red Room’s agents show up. I suspect the majority of them won’t be as accommodating as you,” Christopher said, putting on a pair of sunglasses to protect him from the sun’s glare off the snow.

  “I’m not accommodating. Working wi
th vampire agents and traitors has increased the effectiveness of the Red Room’s response against the Vampire Nation by twenty-one percent.”

  “It’s closer to fifteen percent. Quite a few of those guys are working for us, working for you, working for us.”

  Shannon shook her head in dismay. “Spywork.”

  Looking at Shannon, I wondered what she thought of Christopher and whether he could be trusted. She’d probably tell me to stake him and forget all thoughts of peace, let alone do him a favor. Casting aside those thoughts, I dialed the closest Red Room sub-station capable of dealing with our shootout’s aftermath. Once I heard someone pick up the other line, I said, “This is Redwood-1. Authorization Code—Sigma-Alpha-Charlie. There’s a Type-3 class cover-up needed at the Hopeview Lodge and Resort. We need all of the calls redirected, psychics for reprogramming, counselors, and a cover story. There’s over a dozen bodies, so we should mesmerize people into thinking there’s just a single body.” I noticed Christopher was listening in. “I also will need our codes changed since this line isn’t secure.”

  Christopher shrugged. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “I can and I will.”

  I was answered on the other line by a man with a French accent. “Affirmative, Counselor. Estimation for arrival in thirty-two minutes.”

  “Make it twenty,” I said, closing my cellphone.

  “Do you believe me now?” Christopher asked, sticking his bloody sword into the ice.

  Shannon answered for me. “A group of assassins after you doesn’t indicate this is the work of your mythical conspiracy. Botched attempts to kill Derek are a weekly event. Tuesday, we had someone planning a car bomb. The Wednesday before that he had a Hoodoo curse for him to die of syphilis.”

  “It’s been a rough year.” I smiled. “Who knew so many people wanted to kill a member of the Committee.”

  “Everybody?” Shannon said.

  “That’s only because they all want to do it. Everyone wants a crack at the big dogs.”

  Christopher shook his head and handed me his sword. “Take this. It’ll lead you to everything I’ve learned so far. If you’re not convinced, I’ll trust you’ll be able to find out what is going on by yourself. I want to know if my wife is still alive, or whatever passes for it amongst our kind, and if not—who I have to kill to avenge her. You’re the one person in the world I know who can make it happen.” Christopher’s expression didn’t change as he spoke. His face no longer had automatic tics with his feelings, but his emotions required conscious effort to display. It was unsettling on a familiar face.