by D C Young
The other man sighed heavily.
“I know how you feel, but what are a mere three weeks after nearly a century of searching?”
***
“Samantha?”
It was Detective Hanner’s voice on the other end of the phone. Sam had not been expecting to hear from her so soon after Los Angeles Police had put out the all points bulletin on Maestro, Hanner’s next door neighbor.
“It is, Hanner. Do you have any news yet?”
“Yeah, but it’s all bad.”
Samantha heaved a long sigh and continued listening to what the policewoman had to say.
“If he was anywhere in the greater L.A. area when the A.P.B. went out, he must have moved really fast, because he slipped through our dragnet. Somehow, I doubted that could happen, so I went by the house.”
“Did you come up with anything fresh there?” Sam asked.
“The whole house seems abandoned. It seems as if he’s either gone away for an extended period of time or he’s just been hopping in and out fairly regularly. I put a car on the house to keep an eye out for him just in case, though.”
“Well, I guess that’s all you can do for now. How long will the A.P.B. remain in effect?”
“Another forty eight hours, but in the meantime, we’ve got every exit and transit station covered, looking for this guy. If he’s still here and tries to leave town before then, we’ll catch him. I’ll leave the city scouring to you though; L.A.P.D. doesn’t have that kind of manpower.”
Samantha chuckled at the detectives joke, thanked her and hung up the phone.
I guess I’m on my own with this one, she thought.
Chapter Fifteen
“Due to recent cutbacks and the rising costs of electricity, the ‘Light at the end of the tunnel’ has been turned off until further notice.”
—Unknown
Three weeks later, a bedraggled procession stumbled out of the jungle at nearly 3 a.m. Mengele had been alerted of their arrival and was awake and watching as Jorge led the eight men. They were sweating profusely as they carried the large coffin the last few feet of what had to have been a nightmare jungle crossing.
Mengele hobbled slowly to the pyramid’s door and opened it, ushering the others through. When they reached the end of the hall, the procession stopped. There was nothing but silence and the sounds of men panting heavily.
“Chief,” Jorge said tentatively, “What now?”
“What do you think?” Mengele lashed back. “We get him inside, and ze rest of you fuck off. Is that understood!”
“Yes, chief. Of course, but if I might interject?” a young voice asked.
Mengele looked in the direction the voice had come from. It was one of the smaller, younger Indians: he wasn’t even big enough to hold one corner of the weighty coffin on his own.
“Go ahead, Xander.”
“The chute in the side of the pyramid… the ventilation?” the shy voice was soft, tentative.
Mengele nodded encouragingly.
“If I’m not wrong it’s about the size of this box and the chute is very smooth as well. It would take very little effort to push it through the vent and straight into your lab.”
“Well thought, Xander. You are now in charge.”
***
Once the vampire was delivered to Mengele’s private medical wing, the experiments began. For weeks there were two constant streams: people walking in and the dead being carried out. But then… success. One of the Indians actually lived for forty-eight hours! Definite progress when all the others had expired the instant the blood transfusion had begun.
Regardless, forty-eight hours was still nothing. Mengele knew he was frustratingly close to the real answer, but something was still escaping him. As much as he wanted to work without stopping, his body succumbed to fatigue every couple of hours. It was maddening. He laid down to rest, anyway, knowing the results of replenishing himself.
It had been during one of those age imposed naps that he’d deciphered the gene sequence that had eluded him for so long. He saw it in three dimensions, right in front of him, and watched as it floated into the exact position on the DNA strand where it belonged. It would, if he was lucky, have the desired effect without killing the recipient of the transfusion.
Suddenly, the composition of the two streams in and out of the pyramid changed drastically. Those who walked in now walked out again, on their own two feet, not laid out in makeshift coffins. A great improvement, but there was one more experiment that Mengele had yet to try and several days passed while he struggled with himself.
Old and decrepit as this body was, it still held life. Life! If he made the slightest miscalculation, his life was exactly what he stood to lose. But he knew that he would eventually have to give it a try. It had been his life’s ambition: he had so many plans and none of them would be possible in the body he presently had.
He sighed, alone in his lab looking down at the very thin vampire stretched out on a bed next to him. A tube went from the vampire’s arm to a regulating machine and then out through another tube into his own bony arm. There was a single switch that he had to turn before the liquid in that tube would be pumped into his own bloodstream. All he had to do was reach up and turn that switch, so that the fluid could flow freely.
Such a simple act, and yet...
Hours passed while he stared at it, until finally he took a deep breath and with no thought at all reached up and turned the damn thing on. Those still waiting anxiously outside the small room heard clearly when his screaming began.
Some three days later, Mengele finally felt well enough to spring out of his bed and make for the nearest mirror. The sight of his own face with the years fallen away like a layer of dust brought tears to his eyes. They ran slowly down his newly-smooth cheeks as he stood and stared at his reflection.
Dr. Mengele went straight back to work, making use of his new found strength and virility. Soon, he discovered that there was a small flaw in the process. It seemed that the transfusions reined in the effects of aging, but the results were not permanent. They lasted perhaps a week, at most.
But the long-term results were crystal-clear from past experiments: the recipients regained their youth, but lost something vital; their self will. They could be told what to do, and were fully capable of carrying out any instructions. They simply could not think for themselves. A small setback compared to the triumph he’d had with his own body.
Truly that suited Mengele. A transfusion every few weeks, and he himself regained youth without losing his mental capacity. But that meant a lot more wear and tear on a valuable, irreplaceable resource: Alexei, of course. And it would only be getting worse since Maestro would soon need to undergo the same process.
He’d informed Maestro, of course, without specifying the results. That was a surprise he refused to ruin. Maestro was due in the next couple of days. Mengele was excited and had been giving orders right and left to prepare for the occasion.
He hadn’t been idle during the three weeks he knew Maestro was traveling through the jungle, either. The first part of his plan was now prepared. He wondered what Maestro would think, when he ultimately learned of his plans, because he’d certainly learn—when everyone else did, if not before. There’d soon be no more reason to hide his real identity and all the reason in world to appear as himself for the first time in half a century. People world-wide were depending upon him.
Chapter Sixteen
“Whenever death may surprise us, let it be welcome if our battle cry has reached even one receptive ear and another hand reaches out to take up our arms.”
—Che Guevara
“Chief!” the young runner was panting. “Mr. Maestro is about half a mile away. He’ll be here within the hour.” He bowed low and left the throne room.
Mengele’s heart leapt with excitement. How would Maestro respond? Then he grinned. This was what he’d longed for as well. How else would he respond? Half an hour later, a bedraggled Maestro came through the door, three long
weeks of jungle travel now behind him.
“Christ, Mengele, this had better be good. I’m too damn old to be gallivanting through the fucking—”
Suddenly, he caught sight of his friend perched on his throne, with no feathers, no paint, and no decorations. He saw just a smiling face, eyes beaming with happiness. They were young, lively blue eyes in a face as smooth as an egg. Maestro’s legs gave out and he sat down abruptly on the packed dirt floor.
“Mengele? Is that really you?”
Mengele leaped off the throne, pulled his shirt off to reveal his muscular, young chest.
“Yes, son, it’s me. And, of course, soon it will be you.”
Maestro’s eyes opened so wide he felt they’d fall out. Mengele had done it, as he’d known he would.
“When?” it was the only word Maestro could get out.
The other man grinned, understanding perfectly.
“We’re ready for you right now, if you like. But there’s a feast planned, surely you don’t want to miss that?”
“Fuck that.”
“Well then, follow me and let’s get this done.”
First, Maestro saw a nearly-dead Alexei lying next to a rumpled bed, separated by machines and tubing. The old man shivered convulsively and turned as if to leave.
“No, no, no!” Mengele shouted with glee. “This is what you wanted! Nobody said it would be easy. What is worthwhile, that is ever easy?”
Maestro considered that. No pain, no gain, he supposed.
Two hours later, he would regret that thought. As Alexei’s blood and the spliced genes poured into his body, it revolted in every way possible. Maestro felt as though he was being turned inside out–that every liquid in his old body, not to mention an impressive amount of solids–were exiting every possible orifice. It was agony and it went on, and on, until he completely lost track of time or even what day it was.
But Mengele never left his side, even when Maestro helplessly turned and vomited over the man’s pristine white lab coat. He simply shrugged out of the coat and sat in his shirt sleeves, talking nonstop in his low comforting voice.
“I know what you’re going through now. But soon, your old life along with that ancient old shell you’ve been wearing for so long will be gone, Maestro! Leaving behind a new, younger you. You remember, the one who could get it up 4 times in one night?”
Maestro laughed and nearly choked. Some forty hours later, the process was complete. Maestro was exhausted, but Mengele had brought a mirror to his bed and he’d been right. It had been worth every second of agony.
“Just one small thing,” Mengele said, as he stood to leave.
“God. I’m afraid to ask what.”
“Only that I have yet to work all of the kinks out of this process. For us, permanent results are not yet possible. You must do as I do, undergo this procedure every 3 weeks or so.”
Horrified, Maestro whispered, “This same thing? Every three weeks, Mengele?”
“Well, yes. It’s a small price to pay, wouldn’t you say?”
Maestro groaned.
But a month later as his arthritis returned to bony old legs, Maestro reconsidered. And several days later he was once again in bed next to Alexei.
“No pain no gain!” Mengele chirped.
“I’ll remind you of that when it’s your turn,” Maestro muttered loudly.
The other man paled. “You won’t ever have to remind me. It’s not something I can forget.”
A few days later, Maestro was sick of trying. It was clear that Mengele had not gotten the formula right yet and he was tired of being a guinea pig. But that wasn’t the worst of it. One night, Dr. Mengele had taken Maestro to the bottom level of the pyramid through a series of security doors he opened with the use of a keycard. When they reached the lower levels and Maestro stepped through into what Mengele had described as his sanctuary, Maestro had been floored. It was a long corridor off of which there were several dozen holding cells. Each one was housing two of the village natives, every one of which was dressed in a clean, pressed Nazi army uniform and seated on their bunks like statues.
“This is what happens when the process is permanent,” Mengele said, waving his hands towards the cells. “They all have permanent youth, but they have also lost their minds and have become drones; my drones. With their incredible strength at my bidding, I will finish the eradication of the Jews that Mein Fuhrer started so many years ago. This time will be a success though, because with my vampire army ahead of me, it will all be finished before anyone can meddle in it.”
The next morning, Maestro packed his belongings and without a word to anyone, he rounded up his small entourage and walked out of Mengele’s Toban village without so much of a glance back over his shoulder. He walked into the jungle until he reached the low hill that overlooked it and slowly climbed to the top, the slippery jungle growth hindered his every step, but he needed the additional height. Without it, his phone barely had any reception.
Panting, he made it to the top. He turned, looked down at the village then pulled out his phone and brought up his contact list.
He scrolled down the list of names until he saw ‘Samantha Moon’ and then Maestro pressed ‘Enter.’
Chapter Seventeen
“The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it.”
—George Orwell
When Sam saw the phone number of the creepy Kabbalah guy, Maestro, come up on her caller I.D., she didn’t know what to think. He’d managed to elude capture by the police and made it all the way to South America. Sam had already given up on him as a lead in the case and had turned her attention to tracking down Dr. Mengele.
“What the fuck do you want? What have you done with Alexei?”
Maestro completely ignored her outburst, fearing that the connection would break at any moment. Instead of replying, he just started telling her the facts. “Samantha, I don’t have much time, the call could be disconnected at any time. I’m in the middle of the damn jungle in South America and right now, I may be running for my life. I’m sorry about your friend. What I did to him… what Mengele has done to him, is wrong and there’s no excuse for that but at least I can tell you he is still alive. I’m sending you a text message right now with my exact coordinates, look for the pyramid, you can’t miss it. Alexei is inside.
“But Samantha, I’m really hoping that you’ve got some major reinforcements in your corner because Alexei is probably the least of your worries right now…”
“What the hell does that mean, Maestro? My job is to bring him back to his family, hopefully alive. Nothing else matters.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Samantha. Mengele has been using Alexei’s blood to experiment on humans and he’s transformed a whole village of natives into his own brainwashed Nazi vampire army. He plans to finish Hitler’s work of eradicating the Jews.”
“What are you talking about, you crazy little man? Eradicate the Jews? Doesn’t he know Israel is a sovereign nation now and that they’re probably one of the best armed countries in the world?”
“I don’t think he cares. He’s taking the vampires to Jerusalem to attack the city.”
Samantha’s breath caught in her throat, choking her noisily.
“Jerusalem,” he said plainly. “In three days.”
Then the phone went dead.
An hour later Sam was knocking furiously on the front doors of Elysium. She knew Julia and the other vampires would be asleep for at least another two hours when the sun would set, but she was hoping and praying that William Wallace and the other werewolf, Björn, would be awake.
A uniformed maid threw the door open and as Sam stepped in she heard a commotion coming from the bedrooms upstairs. Meanwhile, about half a dozen maids and stewards were busy dragging the heavy drapes shut to evict the sunlight from the lower floors. In a minute, Julia Agrippina was on the staircase racing towards Sam. Even at the preternatural speed she was moving, the ancient vampire managed to remain extremely graceful; she se
emed to glide down the stairs like an apparition.
“What has happened, Samantha?” she demanded.
Sam looked past her to see Veronica sheathing her two swords across her back in her usual fashion. Wallace, Björn and Adelin followed closely behind her also looking ready for a war.
“I’ve got Alexei’s location but he is out of danger for now, so to speak.”
“What does that mean?” the large Scotsman asked brusquely.
His captor has abandoned him in the place he is being held captive. But that man, Dr. Mengele, is now leading a Nazi indoctrinated, vampire army in an attack on Jerusalem. They’ll be there in a matter of days.”
Julia put her hands to her face, shaking her head in frustration. Sam could see that she was at a loss for a plan but also that she was thinking hard. Finally, she composed herself and straightened her back. Then she spoke.
“Veronica, you go with Samantha to retrieve Alexei. William and I will take the others and go to Israel. We will meet these monsters in combat outside the city and finish them off before the humans even know they’re there.”
Not a word of protest was uttered, Council members merely set themselves in motion. Each one went to their respective corners of the house to gather what they needed and as they dispersed, Samantha and Veronica turned and walked out of the house.
Chapter Eighteen
“Peace is not the product of a victory or a command. It has no finishing line, no final deadline, no fixed definition of achievement. Peace is a never-ending process, the work of many decisions.”
—Oscar Hammerstein II
Sam looked down, scarcely able to believe her eyes. The robust, handsome young vampire she’d seen in all the pictures and videos that Julia and Anastasia had shown her was now so bled out and decrepit that his state was beyond her ability of description. Her stomach roiled in disgust and her heart hurt with an angry pain at the sight of his naked, desiccated chest; ribs protruding like a skeleton in desert sand.
