Chapter Sixty-Seven
While Adam was getting patched up in Budapest the next day, Sabrina flew out from London on a Steiner aircraft. Meanwhile, Ben was on the phone to Switzerland. Heinrich Dorenkamp told him the news. Ruth was on her feet and had already discharged herself from hospital after arguing with the doctors. As for Maximilian Steiner himself, he had come out of intensive care, weak and grieving for his nephew, but stable and headed for a full recovery.
Ben didn’t bother watching the news, because he knew nothing would ever come to light about the incident in the wilds of Hungary. What had happened there was buried and gone, just as surely as the legacy of SS-Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler. Nobody would ever know the whole truth about who had been behind it. With Otto Steiner dead and his operation in ruins, the faceless, nameless figures who’d financed the project would now slip back into the shadows and wait for their next opportunity. That was just the way things worked. Always had, always would.
Ben hung around for a while in the hospital while Adam and Rory were reunited with Sabrina. He smiled to himself at the emotional scenes. Things hadn’t worked out too badly in the end.
He walked away without anyone noticing. Jeff was sitting in the Porsche outside. Ben climbed in next to him, and they headed for the airport.
It was the next afternoon, when Ben was sitting with Storm in the kitchen at Le Val, feeding him pieces of sirloin steak and watching him grow stronger by the hour, that he heard a car outside, and a minute later the door opened.
He turned, half expecting to see Jeff.
It was Ruth. Other than the sling around her arm, she looked fine.
‘Is he all right?’ she asked, looking with concern at the bandaged dog.
‘People who’ve been shot don’t just travel about the place,’ he scolded her.
‘Would you take that kind of advice from anyone?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
She swiped a glass off the side, pulled up a chair at the table and poured herself some of the wine he was drinking. ‘How are you, bro?’
‘I heard about Maximilian. I’m glad he’s going to pull through.’
She shrugged. ‘Me too. I feel pretty bad about what’s happened.’
‘Some of the things you did were wrong,’ he said. ‘But you did them for the right reasons, and that’s what’s important.’
‘You’re too nice to me. Fact is, I have some changes to make to my life. A lot of amends to make, and it starts here. Did Heinrich tell you that Maximilian is thinking of retiring?’
Ben shook his head. ‘Meaning what?’
‘Well, Silvia’s not interested in running a business. So, with Otto gone, that just leaves me.’
‘Sounds like something new for you,’ Ben said.
‘Franz will help me. We’re going to build the greenest multinational corporation you’ve ever seen. Use its power and money to do something for the world.’
‘Something that doesn’t involve Zero Point Energy?’
‘Maybe that’s still a little ahead of its time. We’ll find other ways to make a difference.’
‘Something tells me you’ll do pretty well.’
She smiled. ‘Now, enough about me. Did you call Brooke?’
‘We’ve left messages for each other.’
‘You’re nervous about talking to her.’
‘Things were left a little up in the air,’ he said.
‘She and I have been talking a lot on the phone. She told me a few things. Like the fact that your business is in deep shit because of that guy Rupert Shannon.’
With all that had been going on, Ben had almost managed to forget the Shannon situation. The prospect of losing Le Val returned like a toothache. ‘Back down to earth with a thump,’ he said.
‘Is it true?’
‘It’s true. But I’ll sort it out somehow. I’ll be talking to Dupont at the bank soon. Whatever happens, we’ll survive.’
‘Well, maybe you won’t need to,’ she said enigmatically as she reached into her bag and took out an envelope.
Ben slipped out a single folded sheet from inside. It was a letter from the new CEO of Steiner Enterprises, Ruth Steiner-Hope. He smiled at that.
‘Read it,’ she said.
The letter was brief and straightforward, an offer to reinstate the original contract with Rupert Shannon and his team. Ben read it twice, then looked up at her with a frown. ‘But you don’t need them any more. Especially as they weren’t much use in the first place.’
She chuckled. ‘Shannon will be so keen to grab the dough, he won’t read the small print of the new contract that’ll be attached when this is posted in the morning. It basically states that they’re being hired for general duties. No specific mention of bodyguarding. Which means we’re going to put them to work mucking out the new stable complex I’m building, mowing the golf course and sifting out the swimming pools. If they refuse, it’s their choice. Either way, you’re off the hook.’
Ben folded the letter back into the envelope and handed it to her. ‘Thank you, Little Moon.’
‘There’s a condition. Something I want you to do.’
‘Name it.’
‘I want you on a flight to London. You’ve got to go and see Brooke.’
Two hours later, cutting northwards over the Channel on board his sister’s personal jet, he dialled Brooke’s number.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
‘At last. Where have you been?’
‘I’ll tell you about all about it when I see you.’
She was quiet for a second. ‘I don’t know when that will be, Ben.’
‘It’ll be within the hour,’ he said.
She said nothing, but he could hear the smile in her silence.
‘You and I started something,’ he said.
‘Yes, we did,’ she replied after a beat.
‘How would you feel about picking up where we left off?’
‘You and me?’
‘You and me.’
There was a pause. ‘See you in an hour,’ she said.
Read on for an exclusive extract from the first book in the
thrilling new VAMPIRE FEDERATION series coming
from Scott in summer 2010.
SINCE THE DAWN of civilisation, vampires preyed on human beings, drank their blood and regarded them contemptuously as an inferior species, a mere disposable resource. For aeons, the vampires ruled.
But things have changed. With the birth of the modern age and the explosion in human communications and surveillance technologies, many vampires realized that they could no longer carry on the old ways. Something needed to be done, if the ancient culture was to survive.
In the last quarter of the twentieth century, the powerful World Vampire Federation was founded to control and oversee the activities of the vampire community. No longer would vampires prey unrestricted on human beings and turn them into creatures like themselves. New biotechnologies enabled the Undead to walk in daylight, living among us, in our cities, our streets. Strict laws were imposed to control vampire activity and allow their community to carry on. Quietly. Unnoticed. Undisturbed.
These laws were enforced by the Federation’s Vampire
Intelligence Agency, or VIA, with a licence granted by the
Ruling Council to hunt and destroy transgressors.
But not all the vampires were willing to obey …
1
Eighteen years later
October 27
Pockets of thick autumnal mist drifted over the waters of the Thames as the big cargo ship cut upriver from the estuary, heading for the wharfs of the Port of London. Smaller vessels seemed to shy out of its way. With its lights poking beams through the gloom, the ship carved its way westwards into the heart of the city.
On the approach to the docks, the beat of a helicopter thudded through the chill evening air.
Eight sailors of mixed Romanian and Czech origin were assembled around the helipad on the forward deck, craning their
necks up at the sky at the approaching aircraft. At their feet lay a pair of steel-reinforced crates, seven feet long, that had been wheeled up from the hold. Most of the crew preferred to keep their distance from them. The strong downdraught from the chopper’s rotors tore at the men’s clothing and hair as its pilot brought it down to land on the pad.
‘Okay, boys, let’s get these bastard things off our ship,’ the senior crewman yelled over the noise as the chopper’s cargo hatch slid open.
‘I’d love to know what the hell’s in there,’ said one of the Romanians.
‘I don’t fucking want to know,’ someone else replied. ‘All I can say is I’m glad to be shot of them.’
There wasn’t a man aboard ship who hadn’t felt the sense of unease that had been hanging like a pall over the vessel since they’d left the Romanian port of Constantza. It hadn’t been a happy voyage. Five of the hands were sick below decks, suffering from some kind of fever that the ship’s medic couldn’t figure out. The radio kept talking about the major flu pandemic that had much of Europe in its grip. Maybe that was it. But some of the guys were sceptical. Flu didn’t make you wake up in the middle of the night screaming in terror.
The crewmen heaved each crate aboard the chopper and then stepped back in the wind blast as the cargo was strapped into place. The hatch slammed shut, the rotors accelerated to a deafening roar, and the chopper took off.
A few of the ship’s crew stood on deck and watched the aircraft’s twinkling lights disappear into the mist that overhung the city skyline. One of them quickly made the sign of the cross over his chest, and muttered a prayer under his breath. He was a devout Catholic, and his faith was normally the butt of many jokes on board.
Today, though, nobody laughed.
Crowmoor Hall
Near Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire
Forty miles away, the gnarly figure of Seymour Finch stepped out of the grand entrance of the manor house. He raised his bald head, peered up at the sky. The stars were out, seeming dead and flat through ragged holes in the mist that curled around the mansion’s gables and clung to the lawns.
Finch couldn’t stop grinning to himself, even though his hands were quaking in fear as he nervously, impatiently awaited the arrival of the helicopter. He glanced at his watch.
Soon. Soon.
Eventually he heard the distant beat of approaching rotor blades. He rubbed his hands together. Took out a small radio handset and spoke into it.
‘He’s coming. He’s here.’
2
The Carpathian Mountains, Romania
October 31
It was getting dark as Alex Bishop emerged from the path through the woods. Across the clearing, she could see the old tumbledown house. She just hoped that her informant had been right. Lives were on the line.
She quickly checked the equipment she was carrying on her belt, unsnapped the retaining strap on the holster. The steps on the porch were rotten and she overstepped them, treading carefully. She went to the front door, all peeled paint. It swung open with a creak and she could smell the stench of rot and fungus.
Inside, the house was all in shadow. She stepped in, peering into the darkness. The door creaked shut behind her.
Her sharp ears caught something. Was that a thump from somewhere below her feet? She stiffened. Something was moving around down there. She followed the sound through the front hall towards a doorway. A rat, startled by her approach, darted into the deepening shadows.
A muffled yell from behind the door. Then another. Shrill, scared, all hell breaking loose.
Someone had got here before her. She kicked the door open with a brittle cracking and splintering, and found herself at the top of a flight of stone steps leading down to the cellar. She wasn’t alone.
Alex took in the situation. Three young guys in their twenties. One of them lay writhing in a spreading, dark pool of blood. Two still on their feet, one clutching a wooden cross, the other holding a mallet in one hand and a stake in the other. Both howling in panic, wild, demented, as the cellar’s other occupant rose up from their friend’s body and took a step towards them. His mouth opened to show the extended fangs.
Vampire.
The guy holding the cross rushed forward with a yell and held it in the vampire’s face. It was a brave thing to do, textbook horror movie heroics, but foolish. If he’d been expecting the vampire to cover its face and hiss and shrink away, he was in for a shock.
The vampire didn’t blink an eye at the cross. Alex knew he wouldn’t. Instead, he reached out and jerked his attacker brutally off his feet. Pulled him in and bit deep into his shoulder. The young guy fell twitching to the ground, blood jetting from his ripped throat.
There was nowhere for the third guy to run as the vampire turned his attentions to him and backed him towards the corner of the cellar. The young man had dropped his mallet and stake, and cowered pleading against the rough wall.
The vampire stepped closer to him. Then stopped and turned as Alex walked calmly down the cellar steps. He stared at her, and his bloodstained mouth fell open. Recognition in his eyes.
‘Surprise,’ she said. Reached down and drew the Desert Eagle from its holster.
The vampire snarled. ‘Federation scum. Your time is over.’
‘Not before yours,’ she said.
And fired. The explosion was deafening in the room. Even in Alex’s strong grip, the large-calibre pistol recoiled hard.
The vampire screamed. Not because of the bullet that had ripped a fist-sized hole in his chest, but because of the instant devastating effect of the Nosferol on his system -the lethal poison developed by the Fed chemists and issued under strict control to VIA field agents like Alex Bishop.
The vampire collapsed to the cellar floor, writhing in agony, staring at his hands as the blood vessels bulged out of the skin. His face swelled grotesquely, eyes popping out of their sockets. Then blood burst out of his mouth, and his hideously distended veins exploded in a spatter of red that coated the floor and the stone wall behind him. Alex turned away from the spray. The vampire went on twitching for a second, his body peeled apart, turned almost inside out, blood still spurting from everywhere; then he lay still.
Alex holstered the gun and walked over to the young guy in the corner, grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.
He gaped at her. ‘How did you—’
She could see that he had wet himself with fear. These amateurs had no idea what they were into.
‘It takes a vampire to destroy a vampire properly,’ she said as she unzipped the pouch on her belt. Before he could react, she’d taken out the syringe of Vambloc and jabbed it into the vein under his ear. He let out a wheezing gasp and then lost consciousness. By the time he woke up, his short-term memory of what had just happened would be completely erased.
Alex replaced the Vambloc syringe and took out the one that was loaded with Nosferol. Leaving the young guy where he lay, she stepped over to his two dead friends and injected each of them with 10ml of the clear liquid. Standard procedure, to ensure they stayed dead. She carefully capped the needle with a cork and put the syringe back into its pouch.
Two minutes later she was heading back out into the evening with the unconscious body over her shoulder. As she strode out of the house she tossed a miniature incendiary device into the doorway. She was halfway to the trees before the whole place went up in a roar of flame, bathing the murky woods in an orange glow.
Hiding the traces of another day’s work.
‘Rest in peace,’ she muttered. She took out her phone, keyed in Rumble’s number at the London HQ.
‘Harry. You were right. It’s happening.’
Acknowledgements
Once more, the author would like to thank the great team at Avon, Maxine Hitchcock, Keshini Naidoo and Sammia Rafique, for their enthusiasm and dedication.
The Lost Relic
SCOTT MARIANI
Dedication
To Noah Lukeman
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET Page 168
