Van Dyne's Vampires

by C W Hawes

  She pressed the button on her desk to summon her chief of staff. In a moment, a woman opened the door and poked her head in. “You rang?” she said.

  “Miriam, I need you to find out everything you can on a Dr Rafe Bardon. He is supposed to be the director of the Office of Unidentified Phenomena. Have you ever heard of either?”

  Miriam cocked her head in thought for a moment. “No, ma’am.”

  Steinberg nodded. “See what you can find out. And I need the information yesterday.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”

  “No. And, Miriam…”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “This has top priority over everything.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get the information.”

  ***

  Across town, Dr Rafe Bardon was looking at the tea and fry up his secretary Evelyn, had brought him.

  “Heaven on earth,” he muttered. He stabbed a fried mushroom with his fork, just as there was a knock at the door and Evelyn poked her head in.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir. But Mr Parker is here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”

  Bardon frowned. What did Parker want this early in the morning? And why couldn’t he have called? The frown disappeared, and Bardon sighed. “Send him in.” Bardon ate his mushroom.

  Evelyn closed the door, and in a moment there was a knock.

  “Come,” Bardon said.

  In strode a tall man, with thinning sandy-colored hair.

  “Have a seat, Mr Parker,” Bardon said. “I’m at breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Parker waved his hand. “No, go ahead. Please.”

  Bardon smiled his thanks, and speared a piece of sausage. “What is so urgent?” He popped the sausage into his mouth.

  “We’ve gotten wind that Miriam Abramowitz is trying to find out about you and the OUP.”

  “Has she had any success?” Bardon guided a forkful of scrambled egg to his mouth.

  “We don’t think so, but she has an uncanny ability to sleep with the right people and get the information her boss wants.”

  Bardon swallowed a bite of fried tomato. “And who is that?”

  “Her boss?”

  Bardon nodded.

  “Congresswoman Diane Steinberg.”

  “Ah, yes, now I remember.” Bardon speared a sausage, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Thank you for letting me know, Mr Parker. This probably has something to do with Valdis van Dyne, doesn’t it?”

  “He has been phoning senators and congressmen, and probably everyone else he controls.”

  “As I thought. Grab a snake by the tail and the head will thrash about. I will take care of Miriam Abramowitz, Mr Parker. Do keep me informed.”

  “I will, Dr Bardon.”

  Bardon watched the Assistant to the Under Secretary of Homeland Security for Intelligence and Analysis leave, and took another bite of sausage. When he’d swallowed, he buzzed Evelyn on the intercom.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Come, please.”

  “Be right there, sir.”

  In a minute, Evelyn entered Bardon’s office.

  “Evelyn, there is a woman, Miriam Abramowitz, who is Congresswoman Diane Steinberg’s chief of staff, I believe. I need some of her hair. Please dispatch an agent to procure that for me as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bardon watched Evelyn leave, and then drank tea. He turned his gaze to the hideous statues of Cthulhu and Shub-Niggurath that were on either end of his sideboard. He addressed them as if they were his students.

  “We know so much, and yet we know nothing at all. For our knowledge is fragmented by the artificial disciplines we’ve created. If all knowledge were brought together in but a single discipline, all of humanity would end up insane — or gladly retreat into a new and permanent dark age.”

  14

  Mostyn was angry. He stared at the tablet. His team sat around the conference table waiting for what he had to say. He re-read the revised orders from Bardon. A Major Clement C. Beauregard would be arriving soon with a detachment of fifty OUP Special Forces operatives. Major Beauregard’s mission was to seize the Vautier property and everything on the property. Mostyn and his team were relegated to clean-up. They’d make sure the Major and his men hadn’t missed anything.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” he muttered. To his team, he said, “We’ve been set on the bench. Bardon’s sending in an OUP Special Forces team.”

  “Why?” Jones asked.

  “No explanation,” Mostyn replied.

  “Come on, Mostyn, you know why,” Dotty said. And when he didn’t say anything, she continued, “He’s afraid his ‘best people’ might get hurt.”

  “We’ve been in far more dangerous situations,” Mostyn replied.

  Jones yawned and stretched. “So what’s stopping us? Can’t we get in before the Special Forces goons?”

  Mostyn gave Jones a long look, his face thoughtful. Finally he said, “How?”

  “Well, for starters,” Jones began, “we have your wife, Ms Stealth. Special Forces don’t have her abilities.”

  Helene clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “Oh, yes, Mostyn Pierce. I can dematerialize and clear the way. It will be so exciting.”

  “A new experience,” Dotty said, her tone mocking. She also rolled her eyes.

  Helene turned around and faced Dotty. “You are being mean.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be? You stole my man. Even Jones is calling you his wife.”

  “Well, I—” Helene didn’t finish the sentence. Dotty’s right fist shot out and hit Helene in the chest. Her left upper cut connected with the underside of Helene’s chin, snapping the K’n-yanian’s head back. Helene sank to the floor glassy-eyed.

  Mostyn ran between the two. “For God’s sake, Dotty.”

  “She deserved it,” Dotty shot back.

  Helene shook her head. Mostyn knelt down. “Are you—?”

  She pushed him aside, and stood. She wobbled a bit, but caught her balance. “That was not nice, Dotty Kemper. You are not nice.”

  Dotty took a step towards Helene and vanished.

  “Helene! No!” Mostyn yelled. “Please.” He stood. “Please, Helene.”

  She looked at him, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Very well, my husband.”

  Dotty reappeared and Helene slugged her. Dotty reeled back and fell on her butt.

  “Holy shit,” Jones said, “a cat fight.”

  “Shut up, Jones.” Mostyn’s tone was sharp.

  “My money’s on Helene,” Ramsey said.

  “No money’s anywhere. You two will stop it right now. We’re on a mission.” Mostyn squatted next to Dotty.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Save it, Mostyn. You can fuck that bitch all you want. I’m done.” Dotty got up, and stormed out of the conference room.

  Mostyn looked up at the ceiling, and muttered, “Why now? Why the hell now?”

  ***

  Mostyn went for a walk. He needed to get away. Have some time to himself. There were walking paths from the casino and hotel into the woods. He took one. Maybe Mother Nature would give him some wisdom.

  He had no idea what to do about Dotty and Helene. He’d tried to talk to Dotty, but she wouldn’t let him in her room and told him in no uncertain terms that he could go and copulate with himself. He didn’t pursue trying to talk with her. She needed time to calm down first.

  Helene, on the other hand, felt slighted; that he was favoring Dotty.

  Mostyn shook his head, and muttered, “Women. You can’t live with them and you can’t live with them.”

  And then there was Jones. Jones the Greek god playboy and Jones the cowboy.

  Mostyn didn’t like the playboy. He didn’t like the little gestures he made to Helene, and even at times to Dotty. Mostyn did, however, like Jones the cowboy. The Jones who would rather ask for forgiveness than permission. And he liked Jones’s idea for this mission. All Bardon needed to do was give
him a couple more agents and some high-powered weaponry and Mostyn could pull it off. Whatever happened to doing more with less?

  He was inclined to play the cowboy. But now, with Dotty and Helene at each other’s throats, he no longer had a functioning team. And that pissed him off even more than Bardon’s new orders.

  There was a bench. He sat down, put his head in his hands, and sighed. He’d leave, except no one really left the OUP. Too secret. If you could work, they gave you a desk job. If you couldn’t work, they packed you off to a quiet, isolated place with a pension. And you were under constant surveillance.

  He didn’t relish a desk, and he didn’t want big brother watching his every move. This thing, though, between Dotty and Helene was getting him down. He was beginning to think it was match point to Kemper. Bardon and his magic had failed.

  What to do? What on earth was he going to do?

  15

  Special Agent in Charge Pierce Mostyn was once again sitting at the table in the small conference room in the casino and hotel on the outskirts of Murphy, North Carolina. He’d just finished briefing Major Clement C Beauregard, who was pacing up and down the length of the room.

  Beauregard turned, stopped, and said, “Thanks, Mostyn. Now here is the plan. At Oh Five Hundred we’ll hit the Vautier place with an EMP.”

  “Won’t that destroy valuable records?”

  Beauregard continued his pacing. “Might. However, we need to knock out their ability to respond.”

  “Van Dyne uses genetically modified organisms, monsters, if you will, to respond. They’re not going to use missiles.”

  “I know that, Special Agent Mostyn. I’ve read your reports and the other data on Van Dyne Corporation. So I know they use electronic surveillance, and I want it knocked out before my men go in. Those people need to be blind so my people can do their job with the least amount of casualties.”

  Mostyn leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head, and closed his eyes.

  His thoughts ran over the Major’s statement. An EMP would do too much damage to sensitive data. Of course, critical areas might be in a Faraday cage. Might. If Van Dyne had anticipated a direct assault. At the headquarters in New Jersey, certainly. Out here in the sticks? Probably not. No one knew about this place. Secrecy was the protection here.

  He opened his eyes and looked at Beauregard’s back. “There’s a better way.”

  “What’s that, Mostyn?”

  “Send my team in first to secure the sensitive data.”

  “Too risky. That’s why I’m here.”

  “So you’d rather destroy the data.” Mostyn stood, and faced the major, who was now walking towards him. Mostyn continued, “Data Dr Bardon wants and needs if he’s to stop Van Dyne.”

  “Need I remind you, my orders are from Bardon and they are to take the facility and render it inoperative.”

  “So, Major, are you telling me that you don’t think on the battlefield? You just follow orders even if they result in the loss of the primary objective?”

  Beauregard stopped and looked down at the man in the expensive three-piece suit. “Bardon said nothing about data. He wants the facility shut down.”

  “I’m sure he does. But the data is ultimately what’s important. If we can get the data and shut down the facility, then that’s going above and beyond to get rid of this evil.”

  The major tilted his chin up and his eyes took on a far away look. In a moment, he looked back at Mostyn. “I’ll have to talk to Bardon.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re in the field. The situation demands an immediate response. It’s up to you to make the command decision.”

  The major smiled. “Have you always been a cowboy?”

  “Giddyap.”

  ***

  Over four hundred and fifty miles away, Congresswoman Diane Steinberg was on the telephone.

  “I understand, Mr van Dyne, but my chief of staff was hit by a car yesterday. She’s in the hospital…” Steinberg listened to the voice on the other end of the line. “Yes, Mr van Dyne. This has top priority.”

  She heard the word “Good”, and then the dial tone. She cradled the receiver.

  Steinberg hated the man. He was, however, not one to be crossed. A friend of hers had a brilliant career cut short due to a scandal hitting the papers. All lies, but in politics even the hint of possible wrongdoing was frequently enough to end a career. She was in her twenty-third year serving in the House. She had no desire to retire or resign, and once you were in bed with van Dyne there was no getting out. And if you did try to leave, the consequences were worse than a bad divorce.

  Van Dyne wanted this Bardon person stopped. How was she going to do that. Miriam handled these things for her and now she was in the hospital with a broken leg and possible internal injuries.

  Steinberg picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Hi, John. Diane Steinberg. … Glad you recognized my voice. Hope you didn’t cringe. … You’re too kind. Say, I have a question. Do you know anything about an Office of Unidentified Phenomena? … Never heard of it? The agency is supposed to be in your department. … I see. Ever hear of a Dr Rafe Bardon? … I see. I guess someone’s trying to create some excitement. … What do I mean? Supposedly, this agency is spying on prominent American citizens right here in the US. … I’m sorry you can’t help, too. Bye.”

  She cradled the receiver, and leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes and spoke her thoughts out loud. “If I can’t get what I want by means of frontal assault, maybe I can get what I want by going through the back door.”

  Steinberg sat up and picked up the phone. Her finger punched buttons for the phone number of a reporter she knew. A young woman always eager to expose government corruption.

  16

  On the other side of the District of Columbia, Dr Rafe Bardon cradled the receiver of his phone. His conversation with the Undersecretary of Homeland Security for Intelligence and Analysis, the man who was technically his boss, had not gone well.

  Congresswoman Steinberg and now a reporter were becoming increasingly bold in their demands for information. And Bardon knew his boss, nominal though he may be, didn’t want to chance the possibility of publicity. Which meant an assault on the Vautier mansion, even though in a somewhat remote area of Appalachia, was fast becoming a non-option.

  Bardon puffed on his pipe. He looked over at the statue of Cthulhu, carved out of the strange green stone that made the image seem alive. He chuckled. It was, however, mirthless.

  His eyes shifted to the corner of the room near the statue. It didn’t look right. It didn’t follow the pattern of Euclidean geometry. That is to say, it wasn’t normal. At least normal as defined by everyday standards. By common building standards. He made a mental note to run the computer program which would renew the talisman.

  “If only the likes of the Congresswoman and Van Dyne knew about you and the others,” Bardon murmured. “Then they’d know how truly insignificant this little planet is in the vast expanse of not only the universe and this dimension, but how insignificant even this universe is in the complexity of the multiverse. We are less than the ants on the sidewalk that we so blithely crush out of existence on a pleasant summer’s day.”

  He puffed on his pipe and redirected his attention from the corner of his room that was slowly disintegrating into… Well, Bardon didn’t exactly know. Nor did he wish to find out. He decided to jot himself an actual note to run the program, and, when pen left paper, leaned back in his chair.

  “Steinberg and van Dyne’s lust for power makes as much sense as the tadpole in a shrinking mud puddle thinking the world is his oyster,” he said to the empty room.

  He sat up and set his pipe on the desk. Mostyn will get his wish, he thought. But first he had to talk with Dr Kemper and Ms Dubreuil.

  ***

  Mostyn and Beauregard were surveying the area around the Vautier mansion in a autogyro. The pilot was making lazy circles, while the two men planned the attack on the place that was
probably a secret Van Dyne facility.

  “We have about forty minutes of daylight left,” the pilot said.

  “Head back to the airport,” Beauregard replied. To Mostyn, he said, “You sure this is going to work?”

  Mostyn shrugged. “About as sure as my car starting in the morning.”

  “So the answer is, probably.”

  “You got it, Major.”

  The airport wasn’t far, even so, at the slow speed of the autogyro, twenty minutes passed until they landed. During that time Mostyn phoned Jones and told him to get everyone to Pine Bluff, and that he’d meet them at the Branch Water Bar. Waiting for them when they landed was Beauregard’s car and driver.

  “Come on, Mostyn. I’ll take you to Pine Bluff.”

  Mostyn got in the car and on the way to the hamlet, he got a call from Bardon.

  “Pierce, my boy, van Dyne is working the bureaucracy angle to shut down our operation. I need you to go in as quietly as possible and neutralize the site. Is the major with you?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re in his car.”

  “Put the phone on speaker.”

  Mostyn tapped a virtual button. “You’re on, sir.”

  “Major Beauregard? Rafe Bardon here.”

  “Hello, sir.”

  “There are problems on the Washington end. We can’t risk you going in. People are watching and your team is too high profile. You will be back-up to Mostyn. I’m sending three more agents to you, Pierce. They should be there in about an hour. How you neutralize the Vautier mansion is up to you, but keep it as quiet as possible.”