The People's History of the Vampire Uprising
Page 34
I felt Father Mark come stand next to me. “I’m guessing no action up there,” he said.
“It’s locked up tight,” I answered, “but we already knew that. I think it’s time for us to do this.”
Father Mark nodded with a serious look on his face. “No better time.” I noticed that he had changed into a mechanic’s jumpsuit, the better to blend in as one of the many workers that came in and out of the area.
At this point, I could only think of a quote we had studied in one of my military classes, from the first chapter of Edward Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: “In the second century of the Christian era, the Empire of Rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth, and the most civilized portion of mankind. The frontiers of that extensive monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valor. The gentle but powerful influence of laws and manners had gradually cemented the union of the provinces. Their peaceful inhabitants enjoyed and abused the advantages of wealth, comfort, and luxury. The image of a free constitution was preserved with decent reverence: the Roman senate appeared to possess the sovereign authority, and devolved on the emperors all the executive powers of government. During a happy period—A.D. 98 to 180—of more than fourscore years, the public administration was conducted by the virtue and abilities of Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, and the two Antonines. It is the design of this, and of the two succeeding chapters, to describe the prosperous condition of their empire; and afterwards, from the death of Marcus Antoninus, to deduce the most important circumstances of its decline and fall; a revolution which will ever be remembered, and is still felt by the nations of the earth.”
I feared that if we failed, such words might be written about the Catholic Church and about all other free governments that valued morality and the goodness of their people.
We walked out the service exit of the building. The lights which usually surrounded the building were completely shut off—courtesy of myself and a small old-fashioned BB gun. The darkness was welcome at this point but I would fear it more as we entered the field of battle.
We strolled to the service entrance of the villa. We had no key, so I muscled the door open with a specially crafted door handle screwdriver. The door opened without much of a sound and there was no alarm—it made sense, given the wandering occupants and the temporary residential aspect of the building. Lucky again.
We separated at this point, with Father Mark making his way to the fire escape, where on my signal he would force his way in the window nearest the bedroom where the cardinals were housed.
I walked cautiously down the wooden floors of the hallway, moving on my toes to avoid making any noise. I was surprised by the lack of security even on the first floor, but our sources informed us that the prospective cardinals were attempting to keep an extremely low profile until after the re-creation ceremony. My gun in its holster was stacked with the depleted uranium bullets because I was not sure if there were any Gloamings with the future cardinals—for all we knew even the other cardinals could be Gloamings by now. Additionally, I outfitted a custom silencer in case I had to eliminate any bystanders before I found the cardinals.
Our intelligence was certain that the three prospective cardinals would be occupying the same room at the end of the hallway on the third floor. On the second floor, I dropped to my knees and waited a long ten minutes as I scanned each side of the hallway in the darkness. No one to be seen or heard on the second floor. I peered up the stairs and saw the door that separated the residential portion of the villa.
A few more steps and I reached the door and caught my breath. I guessed there was no AC in these old buildings, along with the lack of security and detection devices. Luckily again, the eighteenth-century lock could be easily tripped with the modified screwdriver. I opened the door slowly and strained to see down each hallway. This hallway was lit, even though the lighting was dim. I saw one man in a black suit sitting in a chair nearest the last room—the room I assumed to be where the cardinals were staying.
The man in the black suit read from an iPad and the glow bounced off his bearded face. I closed the door and took another deep breath. Feeling a bit steadier, I shook my head, desperately wanting to rip the constricting fabric from my head. I tapped the screwdriver on the door about fifteen times, then stepped to the hinge side of the door. The footsteps came louder toward me on the other side as I pulled the gun from the holster and held it next to my chest.
The door opened and a man’s head poked around to stare at the lock and I knew he was wondering why the lock was broken and where that noise had come from. My hand shook as I lifted the gun up to meet his face and pulled the trigger, the surprise shining from his eyes. And I have never forgotten that sight—I remember every single one since the first. The silencer fizzed like a just-opened soda and the blood splattered across the wall and onto my face. I stepped back as the man’s body tumbled down the stairs like a rock skipping over a clear lake and hit the iron railing on the second floor.
I leaned against the wall and caught my breath for a few minutes before taking out a handkerchief and wiping the blood off my face for some reason. All it did was smear, as if I were wearing a horrible mask. I hadn’t felt like this in a long time, and like all the others I swore it would be the last time. My hand pushed the door open and I skipped down the hall to the last room. Breaking the lock was not an option given that it would be discovered, so I simply knocked on the door twice, hoping that the people inside would assume it was the guard.
After about thirty seconds, the door opened and I pulled the trigger before my brain registered who had their hand on the doorknob. I hit the ground in case my bullets had just ripped through a Gloaming—their tendency upon impact is to have a harmful blast radius of a couple of feet due to their unique anatomical structure and latent radiation. The trigger pulled back a few times and I shot a couple of bullets at the west window—the plan was for Father Mark to be waiting, crouched outside the window, for me to blast it open so he could come inside.
After a quick prayer that Father Mark wasn’t dumb enough to stand in front of the window, I pointed my gun at the opening door to the right of me. Two figures stepped out, one holding a bottle of Scotch in a crystal decanter and the other holding two glasses—and I hoped that once this was over someone would be pouring one for me—and I pulled the trigger as Father Mark jumped into the room from the shattered window and the fire escape, with his gun drawn.
At this point, it simply felt as if we were acting out a dream, someone’s dream. One of the two figures near the door, struck by a bullet, burst into flames like an ignition or a grenade. The heat blast covered me like a blanket. I rolled over as Father Mark cracked two men coming out of the other bedroom. They fell to the ground without an explosion. I rose up and pointed my gun at the open bedroom door to the right of the sitting room. Father Mark stepped inside the other bedroom and called out that the room was clear.
The only conclusion that could be drawn at this point was that the targets were in this second bedroom. I heard movement in the bedroom in front of me and stepped slowly into the doorframe. One of the cardinals stood in the corner, and as I raised the pistol he let out a high-pitched scream like I had never heard. I hesitated and reeled back from the noise as he leapt toward me and knocked me to the ground and then jumped away. Behind him was another prospective cardinal in red, and he followed the other. Father Mark pumped him full of bullets but he dove through the window with a crash.
Father Mark and I stood looking out the window but the cardinals were nowhere to be seen. A loud siren could be heard coming closer, along with shouting voices from down the street.
“I can’t believe we missed that fucking Gloaming,” I said almost to myself as I pushed my gun back in its holster. “We need to get out of here.”
Father Mark nodded his head and we opened the front door and walked into the hallway. I stopped and held my arm out so Father Mark would not move. Voices from downstairs and the
sounds of doors slamming filtered up to us. Father Mark glanced at me.
“Police,” I said. “Get to the fire escape.”
He nodded and steered me to the middle room—the main room was not safe, given that the broken window would be an inviting target to the police when they arrived on the scene. The door was unlocked and we walked into an empty living room and bedroom. I closed the door behind us and figured we had less than three minutes before Italian and Vatican security started breaking down each door on every floor, including this one. We marched over to the window nearest the large king bed. It seemed to be facing the quieter, eastern side of the building.
Father Mark opened the window as I guarded the door with my gun drawn. I could feel the cold air from the open window as Father Mark scanned the outside area. He nodded at me and stepped out onto the fire escape as the voices grew louder in the hallway and I heard the unmistakable sound of a door being kicked open. I knew they would be kicking down this door in seconds.
Out on the fire escape I thought to close the window behind me, hoping that they wouldn’t notice anything amiss that would lead them to a mechanic and a crazy nun outside on the fire escape. We made our way down the escape in a deliberate manner, taking each step in silence. I was already trying to think ahead. By now I imagined that most exits in the Vatican would be sealed off. We jumped off the metal grate to the ground and slipped down toward the dark trees nearest the medical building.
From there Father Mark opened the padlock on the steel flooring nearest the back service entrance. We both went inside and took the ladder down about twenty feet. At this point, Father Mark removed his one-piece mechanic’s jumpsuit and grinned at me like he had just won a ticket to paradise.
“If you’re up for it we should do it again sometime,” I whispered. And I wasn’t sure if he could hear and I didn’t know whether I wanted him to, but he gave me one nod of his head as he climbed back up the ladder and then took off on a stroll in his casual priest garb. I was certain he would be nursing a pint within the hour.
I heard the door bang shut and the padlock click in place. He would head back to his apartment in Rome and be back at work the next day—looking a bit more tired but clear of mind and spirit. I’d made a brief and unsuccessful attempt to convince him to return with me to the order’s headquarters. He said that his life was still there at the Vatican and that there were many more like him in its employ who supported the true church and could make a difference.
And he felt that if we did this job correctly no one would ever find out he was a part of it. I couldn’t have disagreed more as to his safety, but his mind was made up.
As I jogged down the tunnel I switched on my flashlight. After only several minutes the well-made stone tunnels of Vatican City gave way to the earthen tunnels of Rome. I smiled. In the dark and fetid gloom, the brand-new ladder was right where it was supposed to be. I looked up at the open hole and saw the same farmer who had driven me from the airport waving me up with his usual dour expression.
From there it began as the official policy of the order. We decided to take action against any attempt to subvert and alter the beliefs of our church—to take the church back to its original purpose. The bombing of the Windwood Retreat in Mexico City was what really put us on the United Nations list of terrorist organizations. I don’t regret that operation. The night creeps were having another illicit gathering designed to stack the College of Cardinals and ensure that the Vatican would be transformed into a haven for the Gloamings. So, no, I don’t regret it. But did I feel a sense of accomplishment? Was I proud of killing? I felt what anyone would feel who was caught up in this war—and yes, this is a war—which was that I was building on hope. Hope for a world of truth over corruption, with safety over harm. I was building on the good work of others, I suppose, even if I gave away some of my soul to do so. Maybe if I lost my soul, I still had my integrity.
Chapter 26
Father John Reilly
Operative, the Order of Bruder Klaus
Department of Justice—DIRECTIVE:
SUBJECT: Suspect interview with Father John Reilly
Detainee was captured in REDACTED at an undetermined location of a tunnel underneath downtown Chicago. Detainee was transferred to a holding facility at REDACTED. Immediately interviewed by the supervising field agent.
Detainee was taken to modified Gloaming interrogation room of which there are five, located in New York City, Dallas, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Miami.
Following protocol level six interviews, Detainee is being held for continued interrogation while U.S. secretary of defense maintains DEFCON 2 status nationwide. Special agent in charge of Gloaming Crimes Unit, Hugo Zumthor, has activated all field agents in response and has assumed control of interview. Top secret security clearance is required for the following transcript.
Transcript tracks with stenographer operator.
Zumthor: Well, you actually are a Catholic priest, it appears.
Father Reilly: I am.
Zumthor: So how does a priest end up with a group of Gloamings forming their own cult? Sounds like the beginning of a joke.
Father Reilly: Or the punch line.
Agent James enters the room.
James: I’ve been told by someone in the Justice Department that CIA and Homeland Security will be here within the hour. You’re gonna be big-time, my friend.
Agent James leaves the room.
Zumthor: Guess we better cut to the chase. When did you meet your first Gloaming?
Father Reilly: You don’t know?
Zumthor: Know what?
Father Reilly: I’m a member of the Order of Bruder Klaus.
Agent Zumthor rises from the chair and sits on the table.
Zumthor: Seems counterintuitive, but to be fair, what do I know? Well, then, tell me how you re-created. Let’s start there.
Subject says nothing. Holds agent’s stare for twenty-four seconds.
Father Reilly: Okay. I’ll start in the middle. I was sent to one of our safe houses at Mont-Saint-Michel.
Zumthor: What is that?
Father Reilly: It’s a small island off the coast of France. The island is about a mile and a half from the shoreline. On it is a monastery that resembles a castle, like something from Game of Thrones, and one block with some shops and houses. Pretty much takes up the entire island. It’s a nice tourist place to visit if you’re so inclined. The cool thing about it is it has a natural defense—you can walk to the island from the shore at low tide but at high tide it turns into a natural moat. Got to have a boat then.
Zumthor: Looking forward to visiting. Go on.
Father Reilly: I normally sleep during the day, for obvious reasons—at that time I was so worried about being attacked by a Gloaming, I felt I needed to be on guard at night. But it was December, and it was so cold, and I wasn’t feeling well, and I was on the run, and jet lag had me messed up—so I fell asleep at about eight in the evening on this old crooked cot shoved up against the stone wall.
Well, I woke up at one in the morning with someone’s hand on my chest.
Zumthor: Who was it?
Father Reilly: Liza Sole.
Zumthor: No shit! Bet that was a kick in the gut. Surprised I’m even looking at you.
Father Reilly: Yup. At first I thought I was dreaming. Then I was already giving myself last rites, while kicking myself for slipping so badly. My heart was going nuts. I had many nightmares about this happening.
Zumthor: What did she do?
Father Reilly: She patted me on the chest, then walked over to a chair and sat down.
Zumthor: Hard to believe.
Father Reilly: No one was more surprised than myself.
Zumthor: What happened next?
Father Reilly: We talked, Agent Zumthor.
Zumthor: Really? What could you two possibly talk about?
Father Reilly: [Sighs.] Everything. Life. I had so many questions. I wanted to know how she lived. What were her days like? Every d
ay was different to her. Since she is to live so long she has time to see everything around her. To notice everything in existence. To feel everything. She told me about how her concept of time and memory had changed forever. Simple objects and actions seemed to make themselves more aware to her senses. She felt that communication among Gloamings seemed so difficult, and there was a growing concern that many Gloamings were afflicted with solipsism syndrome, which was making them more isolated over time. Oppressive loneliness. They seemed to have a certain detachment illness brought on by all the changes in their minds and bodies—it forced them to concentrate on cultivating and understanding their own minds to the detriment of interpersonal relationships.
They also, which I previously didn’t know, spoke in a contrapuntal manner with each other, and only each other.
Zumthor: What does that mean?
Father Reilly: They speak over each other in a fast style, like they anticipate what the other is going to say. Similar to how two music lines are played at the same time in some songs. Like Mozart, or African polyrhythms. Very interesting process.