Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

  She turned and went to the room’s en suite bathroom and, I admit, I watched her leave. She looks very cute from behind.

  Once alone I shrugged off my jacket and vest, wrinkling my nose at the odor of my sweat. It had been a long chase. Two days of hard traveling, finding clues and asking questions, followed by that nightmarish moonlit pursuit across the countryside. During the chase I was too hopped up on adrenaline to feel weariness, but it was queuing up to kick my arse tonight.

  I distributed my weapons around the room. I unbuckled the various straps that held the holsters to my thighs and unsnapped the belt. The SIG went under the pillow; the MP7 remained in its holster, hanging by the belt from the headboard. Both the PDW and the commando knife would be within easy reach even if I couldn’t get to the SIG for some reason.

  I took the FAL over to the battered dressing table and removed the magazine, the round in the breech, and the incendiary round from the grenade launcher. Then I methodically stripped and cleaned the big gun. Going through the familiar motions had an almost ritualistic feel, taking me back to the earliest days of my basic training. The reassuring snap and click of freshly cleaned components coming together was like a benediction.

  I loaded the FAL and leaned it against the dresser. It didn’t need to be close by. In the event that something tried to attack us here I wouldn’t be going for the rifle, I’d be grabbing a gun that wasn’t a big as a barge.

  Marie came out of the bathroom, trailing a cloud of steam and wearing only a soft, pink towel. She had a dreamy look on her face and her skin shone with warmth. She looked so stunning that I felt my heart leap into my throat.

  “Bathroom’s free,” she said impishly. “Need some help washing your back?”

  “No, thank you all the same,” I replied gallantly.

  I grabbed my bergan and made myself at home in the bathroom. I took another spare weapon from the backpack—a second SIG with an extended, threaded barrel—and put it on the edge of the bath.

  The shave and shower felt like a little slice of heaven and, by the time I emerged, clad in a pair of baggy boxers, I was on the verge of sleep. I left the second SIG in the bathroom, just in case, and replaced my bergan in the corner.

  Marie was lying face down on the bed, wearing a snug t-shirt and a pair of very tight, very short shorts. She had the TV remote in her hand and was channel surfing.

  “Anything good on?” I asked as I slid between the sheets.

  “Nope,” she said, switching the set off.

  She dived under the covers and snuggled close to me.

  “Tell me something,” she said. “What did Anna mean earlier about paying John for his blood?”

  I chuckled and shook my head.

  “That’s a long-standing joke,” I said.

  She snuggled even closer and laid her head on my chest.

  “You gonna explain it to me or do I have to pester you all night?”

  “Anna always says that she and John have a business relationship. Every time she gets a suck, he gets a blow.”

  Marie was silent for a moment, and then she started laughing.

  “Think she’s serious?” she asked merrily.

  “I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” I said firmly.

  “So that’s what you meant when you said you wanted dessert from her?”

  “Yeah, that’s also a running joke,” I said, fighting sleep. “I can’t be main course, but I can get dessert.”

  “And John puts up with you flirting with his wife like that?”

  “John started the joke. He thinks it’s hilarious. I guess he figures I’m safe.”

  “Are you? That’s a shame. Safe is boring,” she laughed again. “So why can’t you be main course?”

  “My blood,” I said drowsily. “Aren’t they teaching that in training too?”

  “What about your blood?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

  “Something weird in my blood chemistry. My blood burns vampires like a weak acid. Doesn’t damage the skin too much but if they try to bite me they better count on not tasting anything for a few weeks.”

  Marie lay silently for a while and I started to doze. I was in that twilight world between awake and asleep when she said something else. I struggled to fight off the fatigue.

  “I’m sorry?” I said muzzily.

  “I asked you why you keep pushing me away. Why do you keep me at arm’s length?”

  “Sweetheart, if we were any closer we’d need birth control.”

  “Pretty much what I had in mind,” she said archly. “But you know what I mean. You’re single; I’m single. I like you and I’m pretty sure you like me, so why not? That business about you being my superior just doesn’t cut it.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No, Jack. Look, how long before you submit my evaluation to the Ministry?”

  “It’s due in about a week. To tell the truth, it’s already gone.”

  “And did I pass?”

  “You know you did.”

  “So, I am a hunter, right? The rest is just bullshit and formality, right? Give me my badge and I’m official.”

  I really didn’t want to open this discussion again. Up until now she had seemed to accept military regs as a good reason. Shows what I know.

  “Besides, we’re not military. Officially we’re police officers, right? Is there something else going on?”

  “Like what?”

  “Is there someone else? Someone in London?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Sweetheart, there’s no-one else. It’s just …” I trailed off, unsure how to go on.

  “Just what?”

  “This world. Us. Our job. I couldn’t do that to you.”

  “Do what, Jack?”

  “Getting involved with someone—you—when I could be dead tomorrow just doesn’t seem right.”

  “Bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it. Do you think it would be any easier to lose you just because we hadn’t made love?”

  I lay there in silence, fighting both sleep and the logic of her words. Was she right? Was I making excuses to keep her away? All vampire hunters are, ultimately, alone. Yeah, most of us have teams, groups, whatever. But it’s always ultimately us. It’s Pagan and his team, Norse and his team. Was the lone wolf image a masculine fantasy? Were we alone because that’s the way we wanted it to be or just because that’s the way we believed it should be? Was I denying myself the comfort of a human relationship simply because it didn’t fit the image I had of myself?

  Would it be any easier to lose her just because we’d never taken it further?

  She lifted her head again.

  “Jack?” she whispered.

  “You may have a point,” I said finally.

  “Well that’s a start,” she said and kissed me on the cheek. “Sleep on it, okay?”

  I muttered something as the fatigue tugged at me, but I was warm, comfortable, exhausted and asleep in seconds. Yeah, it surprised me too.

  CHAPTER

  4

  When I woke up I was alone, and that was worrying. Not that Marie had left—she slept less than me and she hadn’t been as tired—but that her leaving hadn’t awoken me. I glanced at my watch. It was one in the afternoon.

  My stomach bellowed for attention; I could smell bacon. A giant bacon sandwich with lashings of brown sauce sounded like the perfect way to start the day. I hauled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and stumbled downstairs, buckling my gunbelt into place. Marie was sitting in the bar at a table with Frenchie and Norse. She leaned in close to Frenchie and gave a musical laugh. I was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy.

  “Y’want some breakfast, Pagan?” said Taffy from behind the bar.

  “Sure,” I said, my stomach still rumbling.

  “One big boy special, comin’ up.”

  Taffy knew me well. His big boy specials were legendary amongst the vampire hunters. It was a large crusty roll piled with sausages and bacon. If he had any available he would add fried
eggs, mushrooms, cheese, fried onions, and anything else you could think of. I liked them plain and slathered with sauce, but I’ll eat them any way they come. The body is a machine and it needs fuel.

  They were named because Taffy insisted it took a big boy to finish one. It was a heart attack on a plate, but oh so good.

  I walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. Marie threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek.

  “You’re awake!” she said excitedly.

  “Yep,” I said, returning her kiss. “The guys been keeping you entertained?”

  “Frenchie was just telling me about a certain weekend in Singapore.”

  I gave Frenchie an amused look.

  “And whilst our snail-eating friend was spilling his guts,” I said smoothly, “did he tell you everything?”

  Marie’s eyes widened.

  “Oh Frenchie, you kept something back?” she asked in mock surprise.

  “Don’t do it, mon ami,” said Frenchie with a broad smile.

  “Oh, I think I’m gonna,” I replied, raising my eyebrow.

  “What? What happened?” asked Marie eagerly.

  “Well, did he tell you about that brothel, about how we were in there when the police burst in looking for a drug dealer?”

  Marie nodded.

  “Did he tell you that we were so drunk that we tried to tell the cops we’d walked in by mistake and we thought it was a restaurant?”

  Marie nodded again, trying not to laugh.

  “And we tried to bribe the cops not to arrest us and they took our money before they told us what they were really there for?”

  There were tears running down Marie’s cheeks from laughing so hard.

  “Mon ami, sil vous plait,” said Frenchie, appealing for mercy. “Please do not.”

  “And did he tell you,” I asked, slowly and carefully, “that when the police burst in he was shuffling through the lobby with his trousers and underpants ‘round his ankles, lipstick all over his manhood, yelling ‘Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! C’est une homme! Une homme! It was a man!’?”

  Marie howled with laughter and Norse roared as he pounded the table with his fist.

  “Oh, Pagan,” said Norse when he could speak again. “I’ve heard that story a dozen times but for some reason Frenchie always forgot to mention that bit.”

  Frenchie was giving me a hurt look.

  “But she look so beautiful,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, she did,” I conceded. “She had a great butt, lovely pair of boobs, and, apparently, a nice little dick.”

  That started everyone laughing again. While we were recovering Taffy brought over my breakfast. It was everything I’d expected. There was even a fried egg sticking out of the side.

  I took a bite of the greasy sandwich and chewed with enjoyment.

  “Norse?” said Taffy from the bar. “Phone call for ya.”

  Most of the phone lines around the country were falling apart and the vamps had been destroying wireless network towers. You couldn’t pay people enough to go repair them so communications were spotty. Most of the Ministry’s agents relied on satellite phones or simply picked up and left messages at those safe houses that had dedicated underground hard lines.

  I sat and finished my breakfast while Norse took his call and Frenchie entertained Marie with an off-color account of his war experiences. His demi-brigade had worked closely with my former unit as we fought a rear-guard action in parts of Eastern Europe. He was telling the story about how a joint patrol had tracked a vamp deep into the Black Forest. The only thing we found after a night of tense searching was a young couple that was taking advantage of the seclusion to consummate their relationship. Frenchie’s retelling was entertaining and frequently hilarious.

  “Pagan?” said Norse from the bar.

  I took my time walking over, pausing to drop my empty plate next to the kitchen and give my thanks to Taffy.

  “What’s up?” I asked as Norse slammed the phone down.

  “Well, looks like we’re stuck here for the moment. The Ministry’s sending some suit up to give us a message so important that the phone can’t be trusted. He’ll be here before noon tomorrow.”

  “You and your group or everyone?”

  “Everyone. Apparently the head shed’s got something planned.”

  ‘Head shed’ is slang for the intelligence department. They gather intel on all the major vamps and their movements, and give us targets based on their information.

  I hated dealing with the Ministry like this. For some reason they could never get the hang of the idea that we sleep during the day. The vamps are nocturnal and, therefore, so are the hunters. But any time a suit wants to give us a briefing it’s always eleven hundred hours or close to it. I know why: it’s so their worthless, cowardly hides are safe. An eleven a.m. meeting means they get into the danger area only once the sun is well up. They can give the briefing and skedaddle home before sunset. The rest of us either have to sleep some the night before or sleep during the briefing. After all, the suits are the ones really fighting this war, right?

  The rest of the day was spent with preparations. If the head shed had a big job in the works we needed to be ready. When John woke up he gave the Land Rover a thorough check, and Norse went with me to visit a gun dealer in town to buy some more ammunition.

  The town was almost deserted; most of the shops and houses boarded up, and the silence was unnerving. Even during daylight hours it was like a ghost town.

  Dusk was rapidly approaching by the time we made it back to the Wheatsheaf. Anna was awake and looking serene and composed as usual. Marie was staring anxiously at the door when we walked in. Her smile lifted the gloom somewhat and the hug she gave me was enthusiastic. Anna gave us a knowing look and smiled warmly.

  The door banged open again and John hurried in. He gratefully accepted a pint from Taffy and flopped down in a chair next to his wife.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said with satisfaction after putting a dent in his drink.

  “How’s the Land Rover?” I asked.

  “Sound as a pound, mate,” he replied. “Or at least sound as a pound used to be any rate.”

  I was about to reply when an ominous roll of thunder cut me off.

  “Well that’s gonna be fun,” said Norse in disgust.

  I agreed with him. Vamps had a flair for the dramatic and seemed to like stormy weather, so tonight would be a dangerous time for anyone out and about. Most of the bar’s patrons were hurrying home to beat both the night and the storm, so it was just the two teams left in the bar when the rain hit.

  It didn’t take long before we decided to turn in for the night. Picker was left sitting by the door, cradling a shotgun and sipping from an enormous mug of coffee.

  I was hanging my gunbelt from the headboard when I noticed Marie giving me a speculative look.

  “Something I can do for you?” I asked with a smile.

  “Oh yes,” she said as she lay down on the bed. “There’s a few things you can do for me.”

  I laughed as I popped the magazine on my SIG and checked the load. Satisfied it was full I slid the mag home and placed the pistol under the pillow. I hadn’t fired the weapon since checking it last, but it always paid to be sure.

  She flipped over to lie on her stomach and propped her chin in her hands.

  “Still thinking?” she said teasingly.

  I put my hands in my pockets and pursed my lips.

  “And if I am?” I asked finally.

  She slid off of the bed and stood close enough that our bodies were almost touching.

  “Take your time,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere except to have a bath.”

  She kissed me on the chin and walked away.

  “But you are watching me walk,” she said from the bathroom door.

  I jumped guiltily. She was right; I had been watching her walk. She winked and closed the door behind her.

  I sat down on the bed and wondered what the hell I thought
I was doing. I switched on the TV in an attempt to distract myself. Most of the channels were nonsense.

  There were silly soap operas with plots and characters that just didn’t appeal to me.

  There was a silly sitcom about a long-suffering woman whose husband was a vampire of the Bella Lugosi mold, who apparently had lost the ability to distinguish between a “w” and a “v” when he was turned.

  There was some silly program about a bunch of teens working deep in the north as undercover vampire hunters and, it seemed, having sex with each other on a regular basis.

  There was that silly movie adaptation of that silly series of novels about that silly vampire hunter who would have lasted about thirty seconds out here in the real world against real vamps.

  There was a silly documentary about vampire hunters that managed not to get everything wrong.

  I clicked past old movies, bad dramas, and stupid people voicing their stupid opinions.

  There was the vampire channel. Oh, that one’s a treat. One long, 24-hour infomercial about how much better our lives would be if we just joined our American cousins in accepting the vamps as citizens.

  There was the news. Coverage of a Ministry hit just outside of Newcastle. A nest of vamps had taken over and renovated a large industrial area, turning it into chic homes, complete with bars, clubs and restaurants. It was a showplace, we’d learned via our spies in the north, a place to show off to the world’s media, a stage-managed propaganda tool. ‘Come see how we can live together in perfect harmony,’ the vamps would say, ‘the humans are the bad guys, we just want to live and let live’. The Ministry needed to nip that in the bud and army Lynx helicopters and RAF Eurofighters had flattened the area in what the Ministry of Defence was calling ‘a tactical precision strike with minimal loss of life’.

  A statement, given by some ridiculous-looking spokesman from an American vampire special interest group, followed the report. A pretty-boy vampire with silky blonde locks and way too many ruffles on his white silk shirt expressed concern over our treatment of his murderous kin and called on the US government to introduce sanctions against us. The reporters sat rapt as he went through his prepared statement and I swear I saw a woman in a business suit staring at the bloodsucker with naked lust.