by Declan Finn
She sighed lightly, on the other end of the phone. “Merle, you can’t. They’re not in your area.” She took a moment to laugh. “After all, they’re not vampires,” she joked.
He smiled evilly, even though she couldn’t see it, but he let her hear it. “Oops, so I cut their heads off for nothing. My mistake.” He hesitated. “Listen, are they going to want you in the office today?”
“Probably, yeah. I can’t see what they’re going to want me to do about it, but they’re talking about closing the city. So, I expect the entire SFPD will be put onto enforcing it.”
“Why would they do that?”
“They closed down the country for days after 9/11, too, LA, Vegas. Even Idaho. Because, you know, terrorists would be going after potato crops. It’s SOP against more attacks now.”
Kraft nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “I’ll take Arthur for the day if you want.”
Detective Kelly’s voice grew lighter. “Thanks, Merle, but I’ve already arranged something for today. I think there’s going to be a small kiddie convention over at a friend’s house. He’ll be fine.”
“Would you mind if I visited anyway?”
He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “Of course not. But what happened to your mission to hunt down terrorists out of your jurisdiction?”
Merle could hear the attempt at amusement in her voice and smiled. “I’m going to spend an hour or two finding out who to kill first.”
“Well, the guys who blew the place up are probably dead.”
“I know. I’ll kill the guys who helped with the logistics, then I’m going to kill the guys who planned it, and then I’m going to kill everyone who was happy about it.”
“It’s a start.”
* * *
Marco stomped forward, moving around obstacles without really seeing them. His eyes focused on his target, and only on the graveyard – the only place on earth where the locals wouldn’t give him condolences. He didn’t see people between him and the cemetery, only the path to take around them. His hands were balled into fists, and he didn’t even speak to people who called out his name. He could feel his sinuses contract, as though he were about to break into tears, and his chest felt hollow.
What if Amanda really was gone?
Catalano moved with quick, controlled steps. A fast walk. He stepped around, between, and across anyone in his way. He was at the cemetery for five minutes before he even noticed.
And he kept walking.
Terrorists had decided to take it upon themselves to trash his city, his home, AGAIN. Someone wished to bring death and chaos to the country…
So, logically, he decided to bring death and chaos in his own fashion.
Marco stopped at his dorm, very briefly. He collected all of his equipment, and an iPod. And one cut. There was only one song for the day. Something to cut out the song of cities falling, and clouds of darkness.
This song was called “March of Cambreadth.” It had only one refrain: How many of them can we make die?
Marco picked up his phone, ringing one more time. Another text. Another condolence call.
Marco growled, threw it across the room, and stormed out.
If there was good news, it could wait.
If there was bad news about Amanda…
Marco didn’t want to know.
CHAPTER 16:
FUN AND GAMES
Robert Catalano looked over the ruins of his hospital building. He grimaced, and wondered what he was going to do with the rest of his patients, now that he no longer had someplace to treat them.
At least I’ve confirmed the evacuation of damned near everybody. Except Amanda. Marco’s going to hurt after this. I almost feel sorry for whatever tried to do it to him.
“Doctor Catalano?” came a voice to one side.
Robert looked over. There was Enrico, the suave mobster. He reached forward with an open hand, as though he hadn’t held the doctor at gunpoint only a few months before.
Robert took the offered hand. “Enrico. What can I do for you?”
Enrico smiled. “Not the question today. What can I do for you, sir?” He nodded towards the wreckage. “Anything I can do to help? Anyone in there?”
“No, not today.” Robert frowned. “Not unless you can block out the sun.”
Enrico’s eyebrows went up. “Is one of our mutual friends still in there?”
“You could say that.” He looked to one side, at Father Rodgers, still on the phone, still dialing, hoping to get an answer. “We’re working on it.”
“Ah. Indeed. Well, I think I can help with that.”
Robert arched a brow. “Really? You can get rid of the sun?”
Enrico pulled out a cell phone of his own and started typing. “You could say that,” he murmured. “I’m going to need an hour or so. I have some of my construction guys already en route. Meanwhile, I think you should talk to someone. Follow me.”
Robert frowned thoughtfully, and followed. He figured he had nothing to lose, and the mobster had nothing to gain from hurting him.
Robert followed Enrico to a long black limousine. Enrico knocked on the door, and it opened. Enrico waved him in. Robert shrugged and entered. The door was closed behind him, and Robert found himself face to face with a lovely blonde woman. She was dressed in an elegant white power suit with a skirt that showed off her well-toned legs.
“Hello, Doctor Catalano,” she said in a pleasant British accent. “I wondered if I couldn’t help you dig up a mutual acquaintance of ours.”
Robert cocked his head and studied her, but made certain to avoid her gaze. If he had learned anything lately, it was that making eye contact with someone he don’t know personally could end badly for all concerned.
“Friend of Amanda Colt’s, I presume?”
“You could say that. My name is Jennifer Bosley. Has Amanda told you anything about the New York City Vampires Association?”
Robert smiled slightly. “She may have mentioned it here or there.”
“I’ll bet.” She made certain to flash her teeth, and show a bit of fang. “Obviously, I can’t come outside and help you with your operation, but I would like to offer some assistance.”
Robert frowned to himself. “You? Really? From what I’ve heard, while you yourself have been largely an ally, your association hasn’t been part of Amanda’s fan club. Or my son’s.”
“Understood. However, I have talked to your son rather recently. As I explained to him,” she pointed outside at the rubble, “this is unacceptable. I will not put up with it, and neither will anyone else.” She paused, then shrugged, throwing the hand with the pointing finger in the air. “Publicly, anyway. There are some who think that any harm to humans is a benefit to us. I don’t. This sort of unfocused aggression and destruction doesn’t help anyone, except maybe a select element. And I don’t play with that sort. They’re bad for business. I will not have it in my city.”
“And what do you intend to do?”
“I can’t do anything directly to help you confront this,” Bosley said. “Direct confrontation would require unanimity, and I couldn’t guarantee that. If I can’t guarantee it, it’s not worth bringing up. You understand me?”
Robert nodded. “Sounds like basic politics. If you bring it up and you’re thwarted, you lose position and power.”
“Precisely.” Bosley gave him a broad, genuine grin. “I like you. I can see where Marco gets it from.” She spared a glance outside, and the smile faded. “When Enrico puts up the tent—similar to a circus big top—you can be certain that Amanda will be found in short order.”
“You can do that? Even with the sun up?”
“We have our ways. If she is alive, a group of us, put together, could pinpoint her location. And that of anyone else still breathing. Mister Enrico’s construction crews can help us clear away whatever might be in the way.”
“Should I ask where you dug him up?”
“I have connections in this town that go
back longer than you’ve been alive. You don’t think that I would have a few friends in low places?
Robert opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it, saying nothing.
Bosley laughed. “I really do like you.”
There was a knock at the door. It was Father Rodgers. Robert tensed. It could only mean one thing.
He had news.
* * *
Amanda Colt opened her eyes, and it felt like an entire building had fallen on her.
Apparently, it has.
Amanda could feel parts of her body trying to knit itself back together, and sometimes failing. She tried moving her fingers, or her toes, and while they would respond, they were buried under too much rubble. In fact, she was relatively certain that if she hadn’t been a vampire, she would be so much bloody paste.
Though now wasn’t that much better. Maybe I can turn to mist?
Amanda focused on making her hand transform, and found she couldn’t. So, the sun is up. I’m sure I would have noticed… if there wasn’t a building on top of me.
Amanda sighed, and concentrated on the sun. It felt like it was after noon. One? Two? Two felt right.
But it’s early September. Sundown is still hours away. And I have to hope they don’t find me before then. Lovely.
She closed her eyes, and thought it over. What could she possibly do? It wasn’t like her phone would be intact after all of this. And even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t like she could even get to her phone, and—
Then the phone rang.
Amanda wondered how that happened, then dismissed it. She didn’t care how it was still intact. The next question was how to get to it.
Amanda shifted her hips so her pocket was lower down her body, pulled her shoulder up, pulling her hand farther up, and slowly worked her hand into the pocket. She reversed the process to get it out again, swiped the lock, and hit what she hoped was speakerphone.
“Yes?” she shouted.
“Madam Colt!” came the billowing voice she knew so well. “How are you?”
“Father Rodgers, I will live. As usual.”
“Good to hear that. We’ll—”
“Take a team to San Francisco,” Amanda called back. “Get to Marco. He is being targeted by a creature called Day. D-A-Y. Maybe his last name. He is a… a creature of some sort. He is after Marco.”
There was a pause. “Madam Colt, I can’t. There has been a ban on air travel since this happened.”
“Give the tower a password. Dhampir. D-H-A-M—”
“Thank you, I know how to spell it. And you think that will get us off the ground?”
“To the moon, if you like.” I hope the code is still good. It’s been twenty years. “But you must save Marco. He is the target.”
“I hear you. What about you?”
“I will be fine. Just save him! Before he does something stupid.”
* * *
San Francisco
Merle waited for his secure uplink to the White House. The President wasn’t actually at the White House, since no one wanted to give terrorists another target, but the secure link was relayed from Washington DC and all the way to Air Force One. It had been hours since the attack.
Shortly, the connection kicked in, and Merle nearly stood up in salute. He had received one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff instead of the President. Merle instead leaned back in the chair, laced his fingers together, and nodded respectfully. “General.”
The old military man was used to interacting with their only Extra-Special Forces agent. There had been some problem with a creature killing military personnel over in Poland, and Merle had dealt with it. “Merle.”
“What’s up? I hear that the entire country has been locked down. I worry when someone locks down the Vegas Strip and closes Idaho—again. We have intel that some new Bin Laden wants to nuke the potato stock?”
The General smirked. “Fear. That’s why they called them terrorists, Merle.”
Merle nodded. “It is an Al-Qaeda job, isn’t it?”
The General nodded. “Seems to be.”
Merle’s deep blue eyes twinkled with malice. “Why didn’t we kill all of these people before, General? The CIA suggested it. Louie Freeh suggested it. Even I suggested it, and they’re not my area. Yet we let these pricks live, even after we invaded Iraq and Afghanistan! Come on, now. Can we kill them this time? Please?”
The General nodded. “Do you think your special services will be required?”
Merle frowned, remembering Dalf’s warning of several months ago, of something deep and dark and ugly making its move. I have a sneaky suspicion that this was only a part of what my brother said was coming.
“They already are.” He waved it off. If there was a problem in San Francisco, he could deal with it in his own time, his own way.
But if I left now, odds are, I’d leave in time for something to go wrong. I should at least secure home base before I try anything, in case any vampires want to play around with the confusion. “I think there might be a bit of a local problem cropping up soon. It’ll be secured in a day or two, and special situations or not, I’ll be free to start going medieval on AQ ass… sir.”
A raised brow. “Until we see something… peculiar… in the area, you will not be put on call. You are not a team player, Merle. Take care of your problems, and if we come across something we need you for, you’ll be there within 24 hours.”
Merle sighed. “Yes, sir. Understood. Good luck, sir.”
“You too, Merle. You too.”
Merle stood slowly, getting his bearings, his thoughts drifting immediately to Kristen and Arthur. My son only just moves from New York, the new kid in San Francisco, which is already traumatic enough for a kid of his age. Now this…
Someone is going to pay, and I’m going to at least help cash the check.
“Dalf,” he muttered, “if you had anything to do with this, I will stake you to the ground in the middle of Death Valley and leave your stinking carcass to be eaten…and I’ll see if I can get them to eat you while you’re still alive, you sick son of a bitch.”
“Merle,” came the calm, cool voice. “You mistake me for a lower class hood. They wish to kill people. They wish to take lives… I, take, souls!”
* * *
Yana and Tara frowned at each other across their little corner of the dorm.
“Can you get him?” the redhead asked. Her girlfriend shook her head.
Tiffany Whitman looked over from her place in George’s lap. He had one arm around her and one hand holding a Guns & Ammo magazine. “Who are we getting again?” she asked.
“Marco,” Yana explained.
“Oh, him. Why?”
“Because his father’s hospital was blown up, and we don’t know how many friends and family of his were murdered.”
Tiffany blinked, as though the thoughts were too much for her empty little head to contemplate, and she shrugged, turning back to George.
George glanced over his magazine. “If he’s cut himself off, he probably just needs some time to himself. It’s not like there’s a lot of privacy around here. Compared to New York, there’s not a lot of places to run.”
Tara hummed with thought. “Why would he run from us? We like him. We want to support him.”
George rolled his eyes and looked back to his magazine, muttering, “Touchy-feely Wiccan New Age psychobabble,” under his breath.
* * *
New York
By the time Father Rodgers and his team of Vatican Ninjas had boarded the private jet to San Francisco, he was still busy trying to reach Marco. Email, IM, cell phone, nothing worked. Absolutely nothing.
“Still can’t get him?” One of his men sat across from the priest, clad in the dark blue-and-green stripes of the Vatican Ninjas. He slung his sniper rifle off his shoulder and held it across his lap. Rodgers wondered if he slept with the thing. The man was more wiry and spry than anything else.
“No.”
“You really think there might be a p
roblem?” asked Ibrahim “Bram” Javaherian. He was a young Persian Catholic who had been with the Vatican Ninjas for only a few years… well, that was Rodgers’ assessment. He was too young, otherwise.
Rodgers knew more about Marco than he had ever let on, but couldn’t say much of it, due to the seal of the confessional. Heck, Rodgers had baptized Marco. Had taught Marco catechism. He had all but shaped Marco, or so he had thought.
When Marco had his first confession, Father Rodgers had expected very little from him. He was only seven. The first words were standard—“Bless me Father, for I have sinned, this is my first confession”—and was followed by a sincere, “Is it a sin to want to kill someone?”
Rodgers had answered just as seriously. “There are ways it is sinful. Who did you have in mind?”
“The people who knocked down the buildings.”
The priest frowned. He had been worried about this from the moment that Robert had reported what Marco had seen. “We must pray for those people, Marco, so that they change their ways.”
The young Marco had nodded slowly. “What if they don’t change? It would be self-defense to kill them, wouldn’t it? My teacher told me that self-defense was okay.”
Rodgers had thought, I should ask them what they think they’re teaching in these “stranger-danger” courses. “Yes. But it is most likely that a soldier would be the one to fight them like that.”
Marco nodded, and considered it. “Then when I grow up, I should do that. Thank you.”
Had that been the end of it, Rodgers would not have worried. Really, he wouldn’t have. Marco had been a child, and there were more than enough children who wanted to play soldier for real one day when they grew up. In and of itself, that was nothing. When Marco took Krav Maga, it had been seen as a phase, the same as with most children and karate.
Then, last year, months before the vampire plague had started, Marco came into the confessional and said, “Bless me, father for I have sinned, it has been a month since my last confession.”
Rodgers had given him a big, hearty laugh. “Marco, what could you have done in a month? You’re too busy to sin. I mean it, I’ve seen your schedule.”
