by Lynn Sholes
When Ivanov saw her check the time, he said, "Hopefully, men in castle are sleeping. Better to die in sleep."
His comment brought muted chuckles from the others. Once again, Cotten was thankful that they were on her side. She had to keep telling herself that this was the only way to get John back. If blood was shed, then it was justified for what they did to the two Swiss Guards. An eye for an eye. That was in the Bible somewhere.
"We are almost there," Ivanov said to Cotten. "Soon you will see friends."
The group got to their feet and moved on through the snow, climbing higher into the clouds.
The wind became fiercer. It was hard for Cotten to stay on her feet as she hugged the rocky face of the cliffs on one side, while avoiding a glance down in the other direction. It was too dark to see how high they were, and she considered that a blessing. If she could see how far she might fall, it would prove impossible to go on.
Cotten was bone tired. Her feet cramped, and her legs ached from lifting the large shoes. The wind bit through her heavy clothes. The tip of her nose, sticking through the triangular hole in the ski mask, was numb when she touched it. They had to be getting close.
Suddenly, just as they maneuvered around an outcrop of granite, Ivanov brought them to a halt. As the wind battered her, she saw him point upward. Straining to see through the blowing snow, Cotten stared in awe at the looming structure towering over them. Its dark silhouette formed a foreboding mass
72
against the snow-laden clouds.
Wolf Castle rose up from the mountain, as ominous and menacing to her as it must have been throughout the centuries to all would-be invaders. In the howl of the wind that raced up the face of the cliffs, she could imagine the castle laughing at her.
The task of carrying out an assault suddenly seemed impossible. But she had come this far. When no one believed she could do it, she was now so close to John that she might call out to him. There was no turning back.
"First time I see Wolf, I piss in pants," Victor said from behind her.
"I see why," she said, still staring at the imposing fortress.
Krystof turned and asked, "Ready?"
"Yes," Cotten said.
He signaled Ivanov, and the group started forward again.
When she dared, Cotten glanced up again. The rock was a sheer vertical wall at this point, hundreds of feet high. She assumed that if anyone was standing on the castle ramparts, they would be unable to see the path. At least at one time it had been a path or trail, but there was not much left to identify it as that today. Still, it was well concealed among the rocks and outcroppings below the castle, a perfect route to enter or flee from the fortress. It would be impossible to get an entire army into the fortress this way, but a few individuals could do it easily.
The group moved behind a large boulder and stopped. Cotten saw a metal grate covering an opening cut into the rock. It was barely three feet high and not quite as wide.
Ivanov knelt and pulled on the iron grate. It held firm. "Bastard," he said. He looked up at Alexei. "Well, don't just stand around yankin' pecker. Help me."
The big man squatted beside the colonel and together they took a strong grip on the grate. With a mighty heave, it gave and pulled open.
"You okay in tiny spaces?" Ivanov asked Cotten.
"Do I have a choice?" she said.
"It is back door," he said. "Let's go."
The colonel tightened the strap to his AK-47 securing it to his back. Then he crawled into the hole. When his feet had disappeared, Krystof secured his rifle in the same manner and followed. Alexei went third, pushing his supply bag in front of him.
Cotten and Victor stood on the rocky ledge as the snow swirled around them. She looked at him, but could see only his eyes through his ski mask.
"First time I crawl through hole, I shit in pants." Then he laughed out loud and patted her on the shoulder. "You do fine as long as not afraid of rats."
Not sure whether to laugh or cry, Cotten dropped to her knees and entered the back door.
73
TORTURE CHAMBER
The tunnel that Ivanov called the back door was small and cramped. Crawling on her hands and knees, Cotten found the floor coated with slime and patches of ice. She heard Alexei in front of her grunting and breathing heavily as he squeezed his bulky frame through the passage. From behind, the beam of Victor's flashlight jumped around erratically, proving to be little help in revealing their surroundings.
The passage was obviously man-made—Cotten. figured it could be hundreds of years old. About forty feet into the mountain, it opened into a natural gap in the rock. The space was not much wider than the tunnel, but was high enough to stand. The floor of the V-shaped cavern was littered with stones forming a crude, uneven floor. Cotten looked up, but in the darkness she couldn't determine the height of the ceiling.
The group moved along the upward-pitched rock path as it zigzagged farther into the mountain. Sometimes it widened, while other times the fissure became narrow, causing everyone to turn sideways and squeeze through. It was particularly hard for Alexei.
Cotten heard the sound of water dripping all around her. The flashlight beams reflected off moisture seeping out of a thousand cracks.
After ten minutes of climbing, the gap opened into a small cavern allowing all five to stand together. An enormous flat rock formed the floor. On the opposite side were steps carved into the wall leading into darkness.
"From here on, we must be like ghosts," Ivanov said. "No noise, no talking."
"How much farther?" Cotten whispered.
"Not far. We come up through storm drain in basement. Basement nasty place. Many men die there. Next, we follow stairs through wall to tower. From top of tower, Alexei will go to work." He shined his flashlight on each of their faces then at his watch. "Midnight. Time for Dracula and KGB to go hunting. Ready?"
Each of the men acknowledged while Cotten gave a tentative wave. Then Ivanov turned and started up the steps.
The climb was slow since the steps were steep and irregular. And because the stone was permanently moist and slippery, the going was extra treacherous.
After five minutes of cautious climbing, they came to a confined, rectangular-shaped space just big enough for them to crouch in. The ceiling was an iron grate similar to the one protecting the cliff-side opening to the back door. Ivanov turned off his light and signaled the others to do so as well.
The now familiar sound of dripping water surrounded them. Cotten felt sure she heard a squeak, and the scurrying scratch of claws on the stone floor was unmistakable. Rats.
Ivanov motioned to Alexei. The two positioned themselves and pushed the grate up with their backs, then slid it out of the way. A few seconds later, everyone stood in the basement. Quickly, the men pushed the grate back into
74
position.
An acidic stench assaulted Cotten's nostrils as she shivered in the cold. In the beams of their flashlights, she saw narrow cubicles lining a wall to her right. Each had a metal-barred prison door covering the entrance. To the left was a large open area with a handful of long wooden tables. She made out wrist and ankle clamps on each, and realized this was more than a basement. It was a dungeon—a torture chamber.
The group crept along, taking care to cause as little sound as possible. Ivanov suddenly held his fist up and everyone froze. Then he motioned to a nearby prisoner's cell, its door agape. They moved inside, cramming their bodies together in the confining space. Cotten stood beside the colonel in the front, with Victor, Alexei, and Krystof behind them.
"What is it?" she whispered. From behind, Victor's hand slipped around and covered her mouth. Then she heard voices, at least two individuals, both male. Their words were faint and hard to understand as they echoed off the basement walls.
"This is one of the most frightening places I've ever seen," the first voice said.
A pale light appeared from around a corner to Cotten's right. Two men walked i
nto her line of sight and entered the area containing the torture tables. One carried a lantern and wore a military uniform. The other was dressed in dark trousers and a heavy coat.
Cotten's hiding place was just on the outer fringe of the men's lantern light. If the two turned and came in her direction, she and her friends would be exposed. Cotten felt Victor pull her deeper into the darkness of the cell.
"This room has been the final place on earth for thousands," the military officer said. "Starting with Dracul, right through the height of the Cold War. If you listen carefully," he said with a chuckle, "you might still hear the echo of their screams."
She watched them walk around the torture chamber as if they were touring a museum after hours. At one point, they paused thirty or so feet away with their backs to her.
"The priest is unsure what happened," the officer said. "I suggested to him that it was the ghost of Dracula who stole his precious cross."
"It would have proven a hindrance if we were forced into a confrontation and he still had it," the other man said. "The crucifix is a powerful weapon. And the priest has had the fortitude to use it against us in the past—in an altercation with the Son of the Dawn."
The officer said, "He doesn't come off as being that strong."
"Don't let his appearance deceive you. Most of the time, it's a disappointment that so many lack true courage. But, if more had the strength of the good cardinal, it would make our job harder."
"I've been informed that the distracter has worked," said the officer. "The Stone woman has dropped her investigation."
75
"So far. But that doesn't mean we can let down our guard. Remember that the priest is the least of our problems. He only serves as the diversion to keep our target preoccupied."
"Are you confident the Koreans can accomplish their goals in the time frame?"
"The scientist leading the project is driven by hate, the truest form of motivation. We have rarely seen anyone so consumed by it. She will complete her task. But her health is failing. We must make sure she has no further interference until she is finished."
"What are you going to do with the cross?" the officer asked.
"I'll keep it hidden away."
"Just destroy it. There's an ancient well located near the old castle stables. Dispose of it there."
"Excellent." The man with the heavy coat wrapped himself in his arms.
"Thank you, my brother, for the tour. I've been most curious about Dracula's dungeon. But I've seen enough. Besides, it's freezing down here."
They turned to leave, and as they did, Cotten saw their faces illuminated before they disappeared around the corner. She didn't know who the officer was, but she recognized the other man from the ransom photo. He was one of the kidnapped priests.
A terrifying dagger of fear pierced her soul. Both the officer and the priest were either Nephilim or Fallen. It meant pure evil had found her. Now she understood why John was kidnapped, and who was responsible.
The Son of the Dawn.
THE WELL
"Nephilim or Fallen," Cotten whispered when the echo of the footfalls faded away.
"Quiet," Ivanov said softly.
The basement was as black as the darkness Cotten felt in her heart. She had been tricked. They knew she would not stand by and let harm come to John. She would drop everything and race to his rescue. And the thing they wanted her to abandon, to leave behind, was her investigation of T-Kup, Calderon, and the Korean connection. Now it became the second most important issue in her life, next to getting John out of this horrible place. But first, she must grab hold of her emotions. She had to somehow make Colonel Ivanov and his KGB friends realize that they faced far more than gangsters in Wolf Castle. In fact, gangsters would be welcomed adversaries.
But how would they react to her? Certainly, she would sound like she had lost her mind. The simplest explanation for now would have to do. Any lengthy explanation involving God and Satan and Fallen Angels would distract them from their mission. But at some point, she would have to face the priest and the man
76
dressed in the military uniform. And in doing so, she would be confronting her father's kind and her own—the Fallen and Nephilim.
Ivanov pushed the cell door forward an inch at a time. After it stood open, he waited in the darkness another few moments before flipping on his flashlight. With caution, he took a step forward. Making his way to the end of the row of prisoner cells, he looked around the corner in the direction the two men had left. Finally, he signaled for the others to follow.
"Okay," Ivanov said. "Now we go up to top of tower." He started to take a step.
"Colonel, I recognized one of those men," Cotten said.
"So did I," he said. "Major General Nikolai Borodin. Big shot gangster general in former Soviet army. Most corrupt prick of all. I am not surprised he is behind this."
"Well, the other man is one of the hostages. He is a Catholic priest. I saw him in the picture of the captives sent to the Vatican by the kidnappers. Now I know he is a traitor, probably responsible for setting up the abduction."
"Birds of feather," Victor said with a huff.
"Borodin is corrupt," Ivanov said. "Now, so is priest. Both need to go meet God tonight." He was about to turn and lead them on, but he paused and looked at Cotten. "What was strange word you said back in cell?"
She considered lying to him so they wouldn't lose their momentum. Instead she said, "Nephilim."
"It means?"
"Offspring of Fallen Angels."
"Interesting," he said. Ivanov lifted his brows and nodded. "Will Nephilim die if bullet go through brain?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Fuck Nephilim."
Motioning the group to follow, Ivanov headed across the torture chamber to a set of wooden stairs, arcing the floor ahead with his flashlight beam. Cotten saw tiny red spots as the light reflected off the retinas of rats caught in the beam. They took one look and scurried to the safety of the darkness.
The stairs were circular and extended upward for twenty feet or so. The group came to a wooden platform and a large, bulky door. Ivanov pushed, and with a creaking of rusty hinges, it opened. A blast of frigid air rushed in, smacking Cotten and throwing her off balance. She started to teeter on the edge of the steps when Victor's strong grip grabbed and steadied her.
"Thank you," she said and squeezed his arm.
"Would be bad fall," he said.
One by one, they slipped through the door into the darkness of the freezing night. The wind howled across the top of the mountain and raced around the castle's walls. Crouching below the upper lip of the parapet wall, the group waited for Alexei to unfasten his sniper rifle from his back and open his supply bag.
77
Cotten rose just enough to take a quick look over the wall. She saw the main entrance down to her left. It appeared that the drawbridge was in the up position. In addition to the tower they were gathered beneath, she saw three other tall, round towers connected by thick walls forming a large polygon-shaped fortress. The battlements protected what she estimated to be at least two acres of stone and wood structures. Inside the confines of the fortress the main buildings were capped with steep roofs that would shed the snow. Most of the structures were spotted with dozens of arched windows. A few lights were on behind the windows. Snow-laced wind whipped across the top of the medieval structure bringing a cold, damp edge that cut deep.
Cotten watched Alexei as he pulled a long, slim cylinder from the bag and screwed it onto the end of the rifle barrel. Then he removed a tubular-shaped device that attached to the top of the weapon. She assumed it was a night vision device of some kind. Alexei grabbed a magazine clip from the bag and pushed it into the bottom of the weapon. Pulling back the bolt, he slowly stood and peered over the top of the stone battlement wall. Sighting through the scope, he scanned the courtyard below. Back and forth he moved in a slow sweeping motion, stopping now and then to examine particular areas. Then
he slipped back to his crouching position.
"Two men on front gate," he said to Ivanov. "One on back wall."
"Start with one on wall," the colonel said.
Alexei stood and re-aimed his weapon.
A moment later, Cotten heard a muffled thud.
He shifted his aim, and two rapid thuds followed. The three shots, along with the clinking sound of the metal shell casings dropping onto the stone walkway, were swept away in the howl of the wind.
