by Jack Conner
"It probably would've worked, too, hadn't someone stepped forward to take responsibility for Ludwig’s murder.”
Ruegger leaned closer. “We heard you know who ordered the hit. In fact, that’s why we came to find you.”
“I figured as much. You won’t like the answer, though.”
“Who?” Ruegger breathed. “Who ordered Ludwig’s murder?”
Hauswell paused. “Kharker,” he said. “Lord Kharker has taken responsibility for it.”
Ruegger stared at him. “But that … that can’t be.”
Danielle squeezed his hand, but he barely felt it. “Why would Kharker have had Ludwig killed?”
“An excellent question,” Hauswell said. “When I first became aware of this information—only known to a few very high-ranking shades—I assumed he had some motive. Revenge of some sort, possibly. Or perhaps it has something to do with you, Ruegger. Jealousy, maybe. Who knows?”
“I don’t believe it,” Ruegger said. “I think Kharker’s covering for Sarnova. Vistrot and this unnamed woman had set the Libertarians up to attack him, so Kharker took credit for Ludwig’s death in an attempt to divert them.”
“Possibly,” Hauswell said.
"Then why haven't Ludwig's followers killed Kharker?" Danielle said.
The old German smiled. "He is in the middle of the Congo, Danielle.”
"That accounts for some of it, but you're missing something,” Ruegger said.
"What’s that?"
"I don't know. I suppose we'll have to make a trip to the Congo to find out." He lowered his voice. "Crime and religion, eh, Hauswell? Who's the woman who started this whole thing?"
Hauswell took a nervous sip. "My dear fellow, make an effort of restraint when I tell you.”
“I’m restrained.”
“Okay, then. Here it is: Vistrot's accomplice is none other than Amelia."
Ruegger's face grew ashen. He sat back, blinking rapidly. "You're sure?"
"Quite certain. Amelia, your long-lost love, is in cahoots with Vistrot. She, my dear chap, is the one who came to me all those years ago and prodded me to save you from yourself during the Second World War. I suppose she chose me because I'd done a similar thing in saving Laslo. But don't get me wrong, Ruegger—I was glad to help you."
Ruegger stared. "Why didn't you tell me, you bastard?"
"Please, let's not get nasty. I wasn't so sure you didn't already know, and in any event she told me to keep quiet about it."
Ruegger shook his head. "But she's dead. I saw her ... "
"You saw a kavasari taking her blood. I assume he changed her into what he was."
"Then why has she never contacted me?"
"Calm down." Hauswell lit a cigarette and passed it to Ruegger. "I suppose the reason for that is that the kavasari are very secretive. We know of their existence, but when have you ever heard of an individual of that race? And who can blame them? They must kill shades to live—so what shade wouldn't want to exact a measure of protection by performing a preventative strike? Besides, I've often heard it rumored that they belong to an ancient religious order that shuns publicity. She probably realized she could never be with you in the same way again and wanted you to get on with your life. She only revealed herself to me because she knew it would be a one-time meeting. With you … especially in the condition you were in …"
Slowly, Ruegger's composure returned. "I'm sorry for my outburst."
"Nonsense. Under the circumstances, I feel you've behaved quite appropriately. But you see why I implied that you might be connected to the Scouring?"
"You thought I knew of Amelia."
"I suspected it was possible, especially with the emphasis on eradicating religion—I suppose during your time together, you must have rubbed off on her.”
“Maybe. I think Amelia developed her own line of reasoning independent of me, though.” He looked at Danielle, who had gone very quiet. "You alright with this?"
She didn't respond at first, but then she nodded. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"
"What?"
"The reason why the Balaklava have been terrorizing us. Vistrot wanted them on our backs—on your back—so that he'd have some leverage if Amelia turned against him. He was blackmailing her with our lives. And torture. Because he couldn’t hope to overpower a kavasari himself."
Ruegger’s brows drew together. "Then the Titan sent Jean-Pierre's death-squad for the same reason, knowing that the albino wouldn't kill you."
Hauswell nodded. "I see that you two have come to the same conclusions I did, although much quicker, I must say."
Ruegger inhaled gratefully on the cigarette. "So that solves the question of the Scouring—at least, some of it—but what of the War of the Dark Council? Do you know anything about that, Hauswell? It seems awfully convenient that it began around the same time as the Scouring."
"To be honest, I know absolutely nothing about the war. My concentration has been on the Scouring. If I had to guess, I'd say that Amelia began that when she did because the war would've created a helpful distraction, taking some of the focus off of her own activities."
Danielle drained the last of her brandy. "It's all starting to fall into place now, but there's some major pieces missing.”
"We need to find out more about the war and Kharker's involvement in all this,” Ruegger said. “Why he claimed credit for killing Ludwig.”
She rose to fix herself another glass. After taking a long sip, she said, "I haven't seen Kharker since my days with Jean-Pierre.”
“I haven’t either,” Ruegger said. “And before that, not since World War Two.”
“Are you two really planning another trip?” Hauswell said. “You’re mad! It will be dangerous.”
“It’s the only way to stop all this,” Danielle said. “Find the heart of the knot and unravel of it.” Darkly, she added, “Or just cut it in two.”
Ruegger grimaced. "To the Congo it is."
Chapter 25
"It's almost over, you know,” Amelia said.
"What's that, dear?" Vistrot asked. The two lay in bed.
"The Scouring of course. Just a few more deaths and it will be complete."
He nodded, feeling a certain pride for the murderous phenomenon he and this strange being had created. What would happen now that it was over? He found himself hoping that Amelia would stay with him, then immediately chastised himself. What about Kristen? Still, he was quite taken with the kavasari. She was everything that Kristen was not—voluptuous, mature, and welling over with power—and it had seemed only natural that they strike up an intimate acquaintance to parallel or strengthen their business relationship.
Not only that, but he wanted her blood—the strongest blood an immortal could know—and, being a kavasari, she hadn't turned down a free meal.
He wanted to be what she was. He wanted to feel that power and know that it was his own. She’d said that she wouldn't allow this, that a certain number of kavasari had to be maintained in order to conserve the status quo, just as the number of lesser immortals could not be allowed to go beyond a certain point. The exceeding of this limit was one of the several reasons she cited for having begun the Scouring in the first place, and she would be damned if she contributed to the over-population of the Community.
Nevertheless, what Vistrot wanted …
"When it is over, Amelia my darling, will you stay with me in order for us to rule the world together?"
"We've discussed all this before,” she said. “Maybe I'll stay and maybe I won't. It depends on how good a job you do. But in no way will I be subordinated to you. The lords you’ve installed in the various power vacuums must serve me with the same diligence that they serve you."
"You know they will. I've taken great pains to ensure that they think of you with the proper respect. If I were to leave, they would be yours to command. After all, you are a kavasari and could eat any of them for lunch if you so desired."
Instantly he regretted the comment; he was already
quite afraid that she would turn on him when everything was over, when their Kingdom had been established. He did not need to be planting thoughts in her head.
"Augustine," she said softly, running a hand over his chest, "there's one more thing you need to do for me."
"Anything."
She smiled, but not warmly. "You must kill Kristen."
He started. "Never!”
"Now now. I'm a jealous woman and if I were to stay on after the Scouring, I would naturally want to be your one and only. Not only that, but you need to prove your loyalty to me. You've hounded me with the threat of killing Ruegger for so long that I feel you've been taking undue advantage of my one weakness; this is not the act of someone I can place great trust in, is it? If you do this for me, if you kill Kristen, then I’ll be pleased. I will trust, respect—and love you."
He stared at her. "You love me?"
Running her fingers across his bald head, she leaned over and kissed him. "How could I not? And don't you love me, too, just a little?"
Feeling her lips against his face and her fingers sliding ever further south, he snarled, "Yes. Yes, devil help me, I do. But Kristen ..."
"Do it and we can rule together. I give you one week. If you fail me, I can never trust you again, and why would I want to keep someone I can't trust alive? Do this and things will be wonderful and beautiful always. But if you cringe from your duty, I will have to deal with you—permanently—and Kristen, too."
* * *
Vistrot left Amelia to return to work. Of course, he had enough of both money and employees to ensure a peaceful, luxurious life without the everyday hassle of business, if that was what he desired, but he found the concept of idleness unsettling.
As he took station behind his desk, he found his mind swallowed by thoughts of Kristen. Even though they'd been apart only a short time, he missed her. She was so sweet and pure and vital, and he had wronged her through his liaison with Amelia. Of course, this didn’t entitle Kristen to cheat on him, and certainly not with Jean-Pierre. How could he possibly justify her death, though? Amelia had no right to ask him to arrange such a thing. If he were to kill Kristen, he would be destroying everything sweet and pure that remained in himself, if he hadn't done so already. What was he to do?
The phone rang. Slowly, distracted, he picked it up.
“Vistrot?” It was Jean-Pierre.
The Titan snapped to attention. "It's good of you to call, my friend. Are you ready to come back into the fold?"
"We need to talk, Vistrot. Alone."
"I'll schedule an appointment."
"You don't understand; I want to meet with you on my terms, not yours. You must leave your building and come to me."
"Out of the question, son."
"Then I'm out of the fold permanently. You’ll never see my face again. Not unless you're willing to come to me. Tonight."
"It’s not to happen, my friend. How am I to know that you aren't planning some cheap retaliation for the murder of your bride?"
"All the pain I could inflict upon you, if I had from this moment until the sun exploded, could never bring back Sophia or replace the soul that you stole from me with her passing."
"All melodrama aside, you should know that I regret her loss sincerely. She showed promise. Her passing, as you call it, was necessary to achieve the proper understanding between us. You’re one of my top officers—you know that, damn it. I look on you with a fondness unlike any other. For you of all shades to show me such disrespect … What action I took was required to reestablish the foundation of our relationship."
Jean-Pierre laughed. "Who are you trying to convince, you fat bastard? If you're trying to sway the ears of God, you're wasting your breath."
The Titan reined in his anger. "Your tone's uncalled for, boy. It provides me with the sort of reason I really do not require in order to refuse your invitation. If you keep up this disobedience, I’ll find some way to reprimand you—and it will not be pleasant, I assure you. Now—is Kristen with you?"
"She is. I suggest you send your love to her while you've still got the chance."
"Put her on, please. We’ll talk after you've had time to reconsider your attitude."
Shortly, Kristen came on.
"What is it, Auggie?"
His heart swelled. The anger he felt toward Jean-Pierre disappeared with her first syllable. God, how he wished she was here!
"Dear ... " he started. "Baby, how are you?"
"What you did to Sophia was unforgivable. Did you know that she was pregnant?"
He considered that a moment, at the end of which he felt a little pity for Jean-Pierre. Perhaps killing Sophia had been a touch rash, after all.
"Here, why don't you come back home?” he said. “I miss you, darling. There's no reason why we shouldn't be together."
"I miss you too, Auggie, but I'm with Jean-Pierre now. Unless you come to him, you'll never see either of us again."
"This is insane."
"You brought it on yourself, Auggie. If you wanna see me ever again, come to the Funhouse of the Forsaken tonight. Otherwise, this is goodbye."
"The freak show—?"
"That's right," answered Jean-Pierre. "Purchase backstage passes and we'll meet you after the show."
"Jean-Pierre, you ..." Vistrot made a fist and forced all of his anger into it. It trembled with rage, then grew still. "Fine. I'll come tonight, but if I don't show up for work tomorrow, you'll receive a very special visit indeed from Junger and Jagoda. Their faces will be the last you see, and that is not a fate I would wish upon you, however necessary it may become. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly."
The line went dead.
* * *
The rest of the day passed with such infuriating slowness that by the time evening came Vistrot was oddly looking forward to the Funhouse show. Nonetheless, he had no illusions about Jean-Pierre's intentions, but surely if Kristen were with him she would temper the albino's fury. He made quick arrangements with Junger and Jagoda, then set out for the Funhouse of the Forsaken, a small army of guards in tow.
The performance was sold out, but they'd been expecting him and even gave him a choice table close to the stage. His guards, however, were made to stand in the rear of the room. During the show, Vistrot fidgeted, unable to try to enjoy himself while Jean-Pierre was scheming to do him in. More troubling, what was Kristen's place in all this? After the performance, Vistrot shoved his way backstage, where a man met him. He had no lips but his teeth had all been filed to sharp points. Grinning his horrible grin, the lipless man led the Titan into a backroom.
Surrounded by misshapen performers and illuminated by a single harsh bulb, the albino waited in the center of the room smoking a Pall-Mall. This was the old Jean-Pierre, full of cold venom, unbound by such niceties as love. For some reason, Vistrot was reminded of his meeting with Sophia. She and the albino bore the same menacing postures, grim expressions and disinterested eyes.
"Where's Kristen?"
Jean-Pierre bared his teeth. They were sharp. "If you wish to see her, come with me. Leave your guards behind." He held up a finger, silencing Vistrot's next words. "If you say something stupid like ‘Out of the question, son', then I'm going to turn my back on you right now. As promised, you'll never see Kristen or myself again—unless, of course, there is a hell."
The Titan nodded to his guards, who, prepared for this eventuality, left him.
"Alright," Vistrot said. "Let's get this over with."
"Not quite, Titan. We've been friends for a long time. I know your tricks." Jean-Pierre turned to one of the freaks, who handed him a large robe. "This is what you're going to put on. Strip."
"I will not."
"My word is law, vampire. The reward of following the law is that you’ll see Kristen."
Vistrot shed his clothes and threw on the robe. At the albino's order, the bundle of garments that up to a moment ago had hung from the Titan was searched thoroughly until a performer found what h
e was looking for. After a slight ripping noise, he brought a small black object to Jean-Pierre.
"What is it?" one of the freaks asked.
The albino held it up to the light as if it were a diamond. "It gives off a radio signal, so if Vistrot doesn't show up for work tomorrow some soon-to-be-dead Jamaicans can track him down with yet another device that receives the signal this one gives off. Where was it?"
"Sewn into the lapel."
Nodding absently, Jean-Pierre held out his hand, and another small box was placed there; after tearing it open, he threw a sheet of pills at Vistrot.
The Titan looked down at the pills in his hand. "Laxatives.”
"That's right," said Jean-Pierre, as much to his following as to Vistrot. "See, the device we found was only a decoy; the Titan would've swallowed another, just in case the first was found. He knew I’d look for it. The laxatives will wash out the second one. Then we can take him to see his beloved."
A sudden twinge of fear ran through Vistrot. "Does this mean I won't be showing up for work tomorrow?"
"It depends upon how cooperative you are."
Vistrot knew this was probably a lie, but what choice did he have but to make himself believe it? He could leave this room and return to the safety of his guards, but then he would never see Kristen or Jean-Pierre again. Tearing open the sheet of pills, he dropped several of the laxatives into his hand and swallowed them dry.
Jean-Pierre led him out back to a small procession of limousines, which the performers were climbing into; his proved to be an old black 40's-style Rolls-Royce, a model, he knew, which happened to be a particular favorite of the albino's. After a series of intricate twists and turns (to make sure there was no one shadowing their movements), Vistrot was driven to a large if run-down motel. A hearse parked out front of their room.
"A hearse?" he asked.
"There's a coffin inside,” Jean-Pierre said. “We'll stay in this room until the laxatives kick in—by which time the sun will most likely be up—throw you in the coffin and take you to our final destination, where we'll release you into Kristen’s arms."
