“Thanks.” Alison stepped forward and hugged Jim, then gave him a friendly kiss on the forehead. She broke the embrace and started to walk away when she said as an afterthought, “Any idea when Drake’s coming in?”
“I’m not sure. He has to go out to Reagan National later today to pick up his professor friend.”
“You mean Reese?”
“Yeah, that sounds right. Do you know him?”
“I know of him, but I’ve never met him.”
Alison did not like this at all. If Reese was coming to Washington to visit Drake, then that meant their hunts would be taking on a whole new dimension.
* * *
Roach closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to work out the migraine spreading behind his eyes. He knew it wouldn’t do any good, though. His migraines had been coming with greater frequency and greater intensity. Lately, they had become a way of life. At this rate, he wouldn’t make it to retirement. On the plus side, at least this migraine did not have Drake Matthews written all over it.
Preston sat in the chair opposite Roach’s desk. He looked up from reading Rodriguez’ report of yesterday’s raid on the row house. “Do you need an aspirin?”
“It won’t do any good. I can tell this is going to be one of those long-term migraines.”
“What caused it?”
“That.” Roach opened his eyes and pointed to the report Preston held in his hands.
“But there’s nothing in it.”
“That’s the problem.” Roach slowly sat upright in his chair so as not to spike the pain. “We bring half our force down there, shoot up the neighborhood, nearly burn out the row house, and found nothing.”
“What’s the big deal?” Preston folded the front pages of the report back into place and dropped it on the chief’s desk. “The squatters may have been junkies, but they weren’t stupid. After they attacked the sewer worker, they figured we’d come after them, so they moved out before we got there.”
“Then who fired on us from inside the row house?”
“We’re assuming those were gunshots. None of our officers reported being shot at.”
“Then what made those sounds?”
“Does it matter? Other than that one junkie who jumped to her death and combusted, no one came out of the row house, and there was no one inside when we went in. Which means no one else could have been inside. Unless they just disappeared.” Preston’s voice trailed off on the last word, as if he suddenly thought of something contradictory.
Roach did not notice. “Something just doesn’t seem right about the whole thing.”
“Then the only explanation is that Rodriguez is lying.”
“Why do you say that?”
“If someone escaped from that row house, they didn’t come out the front or back doors. That leaves the tunnel in the basement.”
Roach considered the possibility, but only for moment. He shook his head. “No. Rodriguez is a good cop. If he says nothing came down that tunnel, I believe him.”
“Then quit complaining. You entered a shithouse and came out smelling like roses. No casualties. No incidents. The local news outlets are praising you for how you handled this situation. Even The Standard had nothing but good things to say about you. This turned out to be a win-win.”
As much as Roach’s pessimistic side hated to admit it, Preston was right. What could easily have been a major fuck-up actually worked in their favor. It had been a long time since the local news was unanimous in its opinion of Roach and the Washington police. Unless, of course, it was to slam him for some perceived deficiency in his duties. However, despite the positive outcome, all Roach could muster was, “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am.” Preston stood and straightened his suit and tie. “Take my advice and bask in the glory while you can. Do you need anything else?”
“Nope. Just go out and make us look good.”
Preston offered a mock salute and left. Roach watched him leave with mixed emotions. Preston could be pompous, arrogant, and self-serving. Yet he also was one of the best public relations men around. Preston could manipulate the media better than anyone he had known in his career. Roach admired and appreciated those skills.
Despite the positive results of yesterday’s raid, Roach felt this high was only temporary, and that things were going to take a turn for the worse sooner rather than later.
* * *
The young man in a three-piece suit paused as he passed Jessica, who was getting onto the elevator. “Good job, Jess.”
“Thanks,” she responded, although she had no idea who had just spoken to her.
It was the third time Jessica had been complimented that morning. She assumed because of her article that ran in the morning edition. So far the comments she received were good. To be honest, she enjoyed basking in the limelight, if even for only a few moments. The opinion she was most concerned about, and the one that mattered most, belonged to Philips.
The elevator stopped on her floor. As the doors slid open, Philips stepped in, nearly colliding with Jessica as she got off. At first she did not recognize him because he smiled. Upon seeing Jessica, he beamed.
“Good morning,” Philips nearly bellowed.
“You’re in a good mood. What happened?” Jessica immediately regretted the way she phrased the question.
Instead of getting mad, Philips laughed. “Walk with me and I’ll tell you.”
Jessica stepped back into the elevator as the doors slid shut. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going see Roberts, our publisher. Seems he got a phone call this morning from Joel Preston.”
“That little toady who works for Roach?”
“That ‘little toady’ called Roberts this morning to thank him for the good coverage.”
Jessica was confused. “Isn’t that unusual?”
“Damn straight.”
The elevator stopped on the top floor. Philips stepped and out and walked down the hall. Jessica sprinted along behind, trying to keep up.
“So then why did Preston call?”
Philips smiled. “The police finally got some good press from us, and Preston is buttering up Roberts to make sure it continues.”
“Will it work?”
“Probably not. If anything, Roberts will dig up something embarrassing just to piss off Preston.” Philips smirked at the thought. “In any case, this is good news for you. You’re getting some good feedback upstairs, which can only help your career.”
Jessica beamed inside. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, finally, her career was about to take off. Now that she had proven herself, maybe she would get something substantive for her next assignment.
“So what’s next?”
Philips reached under his business jacket and pulled out a business envelope, which he handed to Jessica. Sticking her little finger under the flap, she ripped open the top of the envelope and removed its contents. She held two pieces of thick paper two inches wide and five inches long. Turning them over, she saw that they were tickets to an exhibit at the Smithsonian titled “The Spanish Inquisition Through the Eyes of Antonio Ferrer.” She looked up at Philips, incredulous, trying to determine if this was a joke.
“You got me doing an art review?”
“Calm down,” said Philips. The two reached the door to Roberts’ suite and stopped. He turned to face Jessica, lowering his voice. “This isn’t just any art exhibit. Roberts’ wife played a huge part in arranging this. It means a lot to him. And he asked that you cover it for the newspaper. You do this for him and you’re pretty much made here.”
All Jessica could think of to say was, “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Roberts. This is another good opportunity for you. Make use of it.” Philips patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”
As Philips entered the publisher’s suite, Jessica headed back to her desk. Inside, she soared. Not only had she received kudos from both Philips and t
he paper’s publisher, she also had been given a second golden opportunity. Not only to cover the exhibit and really impress Roberts, but also, thanks to the second ticket, she had a chance to make a peace offering to Drake, and hopefully get a second date.
* * *
Drake watched the sliding glass doors leading out to the pick-up zone at Reagan National Airport, wondering what took Reese so long. He had tried to arrange it so Reese would be ready when he showed up. Despite confirming the arrival time with the airport and timing it so he would pull up to the pick-up zone twenty minutes later, Reese was a no-show. A State Trooper had moved him along, forcing Drake to circle the airport twice. On the third pass, the Statie was not there, so Drake pulled the midnight-black SUV into a space at the far end of the pick-up zone and shifted into PARK.
Five minutes later, Reese stepped out of the terminal, engaged in an epic struggle with his luggage. An oversized carry-on draped precariously over his right shoulder tilted him off balance. His rolling suitcase seemed to have the same problem and leaned to one side. As he pulled it, the suitcase tipped over, dragging Reese to a halt. When he turned to right it, the carry-on slipped off of his shoulder and fell to the pavement. Reese struggled to put everything back in order.
Drake shifted into DRIVE and cruised down the pick-up zone. As he approached Reese, he beeped the horn. Reese looked up and waved, causing the carry-on to slip off of his shoulder again. Reese hunched over to catch it, bumping and knocking over his suitcase. Shifting into PARK, Drake jumped out.
“Need help with those?” Drake asked good-naturedly.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Reese held out his hand. Drake gave it a firm, friendly shake, and then picked up the suitcase. Its weight nearly pulled his arm out of its socket. “What’s in here?”
“Clothes. Toiletries. A bunch of books.”
Drake hauled it to the rear of the SUV, lifted the hatchback, and hefted the suitcase inside. Reese placed his carry-on beside it. The two men crawled into the front seats, and a minute later were on their way out of the airport.
“Thanks for picking me up,” said Reese.
“No problem.” Drake gunned the SUV, merging out of the airport exit and onto the George Washington Parkway. “Where are you staying?”
“The Willard Hotel, right near the White House.”
“Sweet. I didn’t think college professors made that much money.”
Reese laughed. “We don’t. This is a business trip, so all expenses are being paid by Salem State.”
“What’s so special down here in Washington that you couldn’t tell me about over the phone?”
Reese shifted in his seat to face Drake. “Tomorrow the Smithsonian opens a new exhibit. ‘The Spanish Inquisition Through the Eyes of Antonio Ferrer.’”
“Was he a medieval vampire hunter?”
“No. He was an inquisitor with the Spanish Inquisition known as the Butcher of Saragossa. He was a particularly cruel but effective inquisitor, fanatical in his duty to purge Christian Europe of all heresies.”
“So how does he fit in with the undead?”
“I’m getting to that.” Reese began talking more rapidly to match his growing excitement with the subject. “According to vampire lore, Ferrer was the last person to be in possession of the Vampyrnomicon back in the 1480s. After that, no one ever saw the book again.”
“The Vampyrnomicon? That’s the Book of the Undead, right?”
“The same.”
“I thought the Vampyrnomicon was just a legend?” Drake veered off the left-hand exit ramp that would place him on the Arlington Memorial Bridge.
“I always assumed it to be a legend since no one has seen it for more than five hundred years. But now I have a chance to look at Ferrar’s personal papers and see if there’s anything to it.”
“Hasn’t anyone looked at this Ferrar’s personal papers before?”
“That’s the thing.” Reese became so excited Drake thought he might hyperventilate. “Because of the controversy surrounding Ferrar’s methods of forced conversion, the Spanish Government has kept his papers locked up since his death. This is the first time anyone is being allowed to view them. Only a handful of academics are being granted access to the papers, and I’m lucky enough to be one of them.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I finagled it due to my academic credentials as a medieval scholar.” A large grin appeared underneath his neatly-trimmed beard. “Of course, I never mentioned my interest in vampires.”
“You’re starting to think like me.”
“I could use a little more excitement in my life.” Reese looked out over the Potomac as they crossed the river into Washington. “So, what’s been happening with you?”
The two men spent the rest of the trip chatting amicably like old friends. Which, Drake admitted, they were. True, they had not spoken in months. None of that mattered. When Drake had first gone to Reese to tap his expertise on the supernatural, Reese immediately recognized Drake as a true believer in the undead, albeit a reluctant one at first. That mutual acceptance created a unique bond between them. The hunter and his mentor. Thank God for that mentoring. Reese had provided Drake with the background and knowledge he needed not only to bring down the Night Stalker, but also to stay alive these past few months. Without Reese’s guidance, he most likely would be one of the undead by now.
Drake pulled the SUV up in front of the Willard Hotel and helped Reese unload his luggage from the back. Reese held out his hand. “Thanks again for picking me up.”
Drake took the hand and gave it a firm pump. “My pleasure.”
“If you can a spare a night from hunting, I’ll take you to dinner. My treat.”
“I think I can handle that. It’s been quiet lately.”
“That’s good to hear.” Reese slung his carry-on over his shoulder.
“Before you go, there’s one thing that still bugs me. What’s so important about this Vampyrnomicon?”
Reese looked around to make certain no one could hear. “If the legends are true, it’s far more than just a book. The Vampyrnomicon contains all the knowledge there is about vampires. Their origins. Their history.”
“You mean it’s like their Bible?”
“In an unholy sense, yes. But it’s much more than that. According to legend, the Vampyrnomicon spells out in detail how the vampires can obtain immortality and dominate the world.”
“Jesus.” Drake began to comprehend the enormity of the war he had joined. “I can see why you want to keep it out of their hands.”
“For that reason, yes. Hunters for centuries have been searching for the Vampyrnomicon for a far more important reason.”
“Why’s that?”
Reese raised an eyebrow. “According to the legend, the Vampyrnomicon also describes the way to destroy the vampires permanently.”
* * *
This is just fucking great, John Simmons sighed. First, he got called in on his night off to cover for that lazy shit Antonio who had called in sick again. Then he had to contend with the dregs of humanity that flowed past his station like turds through a sewer pipe. It began with the family from Guatemala who showed up at his station with expired passports and no paperwork. Then that Russian dick wipe who berated him for not processing him through Immigration fast enough. Hell, the little Commie fuck even had the audacity to call him a capitalist. And finally, his last customer, that asshole Arab in his white dress and sandals who slipped him a hundred dollar bill inside his passport, hoping to bribe his way into the country since he did not have a visa. Simmons just wished he could be there when his pals did a cavity search on the bastard.
Another glorious day in the life of an Immigration officer. He had been doing this job for close to five years at Dulles International Airport, five years that mixed equal parts frustration and boredom as he tried to stop undesirables from sneaking into the country. Yeah. Right. Like trying to stop a tidal wave with a sponge. But what the fuck. Only eighteen years
to retirement. With luck, he would be killed in a terrorist attack at the airport long before that.
Raising a hand and motioning with his fingers to advance, Simmons called out, “Next.”
Simmons looked up as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen approached his station. She was Asian, probably Chinese, and in her early thirties. Silky, raven black hair flowed half-way down her back. She wore a leather mini-skirt that accentuated her tight, round ass, stiletto knee-high boots that high-lighted her legs, a stylish leather jacket, and a sheer white blouse that did little to conceal her breasts. Yet her face attracted Simmons’ attention, for it did not have a single blemish or flaw, almost as if it had been crafted by an artist. And her eyes. He had never seen a pair so stunning. The irises were ruby colored.
She stood before his station and smiled with those inviting lips, a smile both sensual and disarming. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon, ma’am. Passport, please.”
“Certainly,” she purred. The woman slid a red-colored passport across the counter with a hand every bit as perfect as the rest of her body. For a moment, Simmons wondered what it would be like to have those hands caress his body.
He flipped open the passport. The People’s Republic of China had issued it for a permanent resident of Hong Kong. There seemed to be nothing unusual about it. Several entry and exit stamps for Thailand and the Philippines. Plus a multiple-entry visa for the United States valid for one year. She must be, or at least knew someone who was, highly influential.
“Is this your first trip to the United States, ma’am?”
“Yes, it is. I’m looking forward to it more than you can imagine.” Her voice was mesmerizing.
“Business or pleasure?”
“Mostly business.”
“I hope you’re successful.”
“Me too.”
Simmons stamped her passport and slid it back across the counter. “Welcome to the United States, Miss…”
The woman took the passport and slid it into her jacket. “Chiang Shih.”
With that one bureaucratic move, the ultimate evil had been allowed into the country.
The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon Page 12
