Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

  The sun went away and darkness descended.

  I applied my camo cream and pulled on a black woolen commando hat. I was as ready as I ever would be.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Twelve helicopters waited on the tarmac. Six were Westland AH1’s—British made versions of the Boeing Apache Longbow—and the others were Westland Lynx troop carriers. All twelve were heavily armed, carrying missiles, rockets and heavy-caliber chain guns.

  Never enough firepower. My mantra.

  Standing by the nearest Lynx was a familiar figure, holding a familiar weapon. I broke into a broad grin.

  “Rock Ape, you ol’ bastard,” I greeted my former trainee. “You still alive?”

  “Sure, boss,” he replied, his teeth white against his camo cream. “Take more’n a few months of fighting sissy vamps to kill me off.”

  “You a hunter now?”

  “Yep, in a team, too.”

  “Whose?”

  Rock Ape pointed into the Lynx and I turned in time to see a short, lithe figure jump out.

  “Knuckles” I said, laughing. “Well fuck me.”

  “I don’t think we have time, Pagan,” said Knuckles with a stern look. “How you been?”

  “Fair to middling,” I said.

  She was looking me up and down, peering around me.

  “Oh crap,” she said. “The world is coming to an end. It’s in the book of Revelations.”

  “What is?” asked Rock Ape.

  “Signs of the apocalypse,” she said. “Seven seals, four horsemen riding out, the Pagan loses his SLR”

  “Naah,” I said, yanking the shorty around on its sling. “This is just a version more suited for evening wear. I do so hate being improperly dressed for these social engagements.”

  “Heard about you and Scrapper,” said Rock Ape. “Finally.”

  “News travels fast,” I said, clamping down on the rush of pleasure.

  “Well, when the poster boy for the Ministry gets a VIP’s joyride to chopper his girlfriend in for the night, people notice.”

  “Hey, I had nothing to do with that,” I protested mildly.

  “But I bet you didn’t pass up the opportunity,” said Knuckles, a little sourly.

  I sighed and gave her a long-suffering look.

  “You still not gotten that stick out your arse yet?” I teased, and then turned to Rock Ape. “You need to get this girl laid, might chill her out a bit.”

  I was grinning, waiting for the inevitable response, when I noticed Rock Ape and Knuckles looking at each other. Even in the dim light and under the camo cream I could tell they were both blushing.

  “You two?” I said as realization crept in.

  “Okay, keep it quiet,” said Knuckles softly. “We’re still military and this kind of thing’s frowned upon.”

  I mimed zipping my lips shut and grinned at the pair.

  “Here comes the rest of my team,” said Knuckles quietly.

  I turned and saw a young man with an automatic shotgun, a scar faced, bald man with an LSW, and a pleasant-faced woman with a huge sniper rifle.

  “Billy, Pogo and Cally,” said Knuckles, identifying the trio. “This is Pagan.”

  Billy gaped, Pogo gave me a respectful nod, and Cally simply raised an eyebrow.

  A pair of trucks rolled up and heavily armed soldiers jumped out of the canvas-covered backs almost before they had stopped.

  Looks like my backup had arrived.

  I turned back to Knuckles, my mouth open to speak, when I caught the look on her face.

  “Not really your style, is it Pagan?” she asked. “How much shit you gonna be in before you yell for help?”

  “Way too much,” I said.

  “Well,” she said. “If you call, we’ll be waiting. You have my word on that.”

  “If I call,” I said, emphasizing the ‘if’, “come in guns blazing and shoot anything that moves. Don’t even look for me.”

  “Sure, boss, whatever you say,” she answered, her tone telling me she’d ignore that last order no matter what.

  Loyalty is a fine thing, but not if it gets people needlessly killed.

  “Time to shake a leg,” I said.

  We, Knuckles’ team and I, climbed aboard our Lynx as the other teams did the same. We settled into the uncomfortable seats and Knuckles passed me a headset.

  “Pagan to Goose flight, come in,” I said into the microphone.

  Goose 1 through to Goose 5, plus Mother Goose—our chopper—acknowledged one by one. Then I went through the same procedure with Hawk flight. Hawk 1 through to Hawk 6, our Apache escorts, signaled their readiness.

  “Okay Goose flight, let’s get this show on the road. Hawk flight, if I could prevail upon you to take point, we’ll follow you in.”

  “Roger Pagan,” said Hawk leader.

  We all grabbed for handholds as the Lynx choppers rose gracefully into the air.

  It was midnight and we were making our way north, into the darkness and, quite possibly, towards the end of my life.

  I felt like a switch had been flicked inside me and, now that Marie had pointed it out, I could sense the change she was talking about.

  I am become Death.

  My emotions receded, my perceptions sharpened, and my body went into fight mode.

  I am become Death.

  I was staring at the floor, running my plan through my mind at high speed, looking for flaws, considering the angles, attacking the weak spots. I made contingency plans, discarding some, keeping others.

  I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

  “Pagan, Mother Goose, we are three from drop, over,” said the pilot over my earphones.

  “Mother Goose, Pagan, roger,” I replied.

  “Mother Goose, Hawk 1, we are beginning our attack run, over.”

  Ahead, through the windshield, I could see the night explode as our six escorts opened up with everything they had, spraying an utterly innocent stretch of parkland with deadly ordnance.

  Mother Goose flew in low, slowing as we approached a clearing.

  “Good hunting, Pagan,” said the pilot.

  I gave him the thumbs up, pulled my headset off, and slipped out of my seat. Rock Ape had already thrown a line out and was holding it steady.

  I took the line from him. I didn’t want to waste time with a descender, so I was doing this the old-fashioned way, by slowing my fall with nothing but friction.

  I swung out onto the Lynx’s skid, watching as the helicopter centered itself over the clearing. I raised a hand in a final farewell and stepped off the skid. I plummeted twenty feet like a stone, using my hands to slow myself only slightly. As the ground rushed up I gripped the line harder, the friction tearing into my gloves, and landed with barely a bump. I took off running towards the trees, not even looking back as the Lynx powered away into the night. At the treeline I paused to strip off my shredded gloves and replace them. Then I unslung the shorty, snapped the stock into place, and concentrated on slowing my breathing. After a few moments I took a bearing on my compass and moved on.

  I had three miles to make and not a lot of time to make it.

  Once I was a safe distance from the clearing I stopped and sank to one knee against a gnarled tree trunk. I pulled a cellphone from my pocket and an eyepiece from the other, and snapped the two together. Screwing the eyepiece into my eye socket like a jewelers loupe allowed me to use the device without any tell-tale light escaping. I cycled through the options and sent a millisecond burst of code. Two seconds later the phone received a series of five satellite images, the most recent less that thirty seconds old. The forest, for a mile in every direction, was empty of any large heat signature other than mine.

  Vamps are colder than humans, but still warmer than their surroundings, so they show up just fine on our IR satellite images, especially when the weather’s chilly.

  I tucked the phone away and set off running.

  I covered the distance in a respectable time. No records we
re in danger, but I did okay, and it wasn’t long before I crested a slight hill and saw Havelock Manor ahead. Once again I checked the satellite images. There were vampires patrolling the grounds of the manor, as well as a few pet humans, but outside the walled-in area was nothing.

  Better and better.

  I was still cautious. I am become Death, not Stupid. I made my way to a nice, quiet area of the wall and checked my phone again before pulling myself over. Crouching in the darkness I slung the shorty and pulled out my MP7.

  With the stock extended and the forward grip folded out the weapon went from a machine pistol to a respectable substitute for an assault rifle. With the suppressor attached it became a very quiet, very deadly weapon. I pulled out a second suppressor and screwed it onto the extended barrel of my SIG before replacing it in the holster.

  I crept through the grounds, skirting the immaculate lawns and keeping to the undergrowth, stopping periodically to check where the guards were by requesting a new set of satellite images.

  I was crouched in the shadow of an overgrown tree when I saw the first vamps. There were two, wearing body armor and carrying H&K MP5’s. I watched them walk along the path, barely ten feet from me, and around the corner. There was something new about these. Vamps with guns were rare. Vamps with body armor—even if that body armor wouldn’t stop a round from the MP7—were rarer still. The vamps were, apparently, learning.

  There was definitely a party going on inside. Even from out here I could hear the sound of music playing. Something classical with lots of strings. Don’t ask me what it was, hardcore German metal is more my style.

  I rose from the ground, slipped across the path to the wall and scampered up the drainpipe. Halfway up was a stone balcony that provided a place to pause and allow the next patrol to pass.

  I checked the area again. There were no vamps on the roof. Apparently the vampires weren’t learning all that well.

  I went up the second half of the drainpipe and pulled myself onto the roof. This was easy. Too easy. The situation screamed trap.

  I cautiously made my way across the roof, senses alert, the MP7 hard against my shoulder. The door that led inside was locked, as expected, and it took me all of thirty seconds with my lock picks to get in. Sloppy. Too sloppy. It was only a storeroom, but it had another door that led into the manor proper. Security should have been tighter.

  I stopped, feeling like a total idiot. Vampires, not humans, were running the show. A human would have put guards on the roof, guards in the storeroom, guards patrolling the actual grounds rather than just around the manor, but vampires didn’t need to, not when they could sense the presence of a human at fifty yards.

  Any human attempting to get into the manor would be sensed long before they were a threat.

  Or so the vamps thought.

  I reached into a pouch and pulled out one of the toys that the Ministry R&D had given me. They were calling it a Firebug. It was a cylinder about the size of a D-cell battery with a nozzle on top that made it look like a travel-sized deodorant can. I placed the Firebug on the ground near a stack of boxes and went over to the door, listening carefully before cracking it open an inch. The corridor thus revealed was the servant’s quarters. It was dark, with the exception of a single open door that threw a square of flickering yellow light onto the carpet.

  I moved soundlessly down the corridor until I could just see into the lit room. What was inside made my lips draw back in a silent snarl. There was a young woman, twenty years old at most, naked and spread-eagled on the bed. A vamp knelt between her legs, his hips moving as he thrust into her. On each side of the woman was another vamp, also nude and aroused, their lips fastened to her forearms. I’d seen that feeding method before, when a vamp wanted the victim to last longer than they would if their wrists were opened. Obviously the threesome wanted the woman to last long enough for each to take a turn with her.

  I was about to move on, resigned to leaving the girl to her fate when she raised her head and gave a weak plea. Her pathetic cries for mercy elicited mocking laughter from the leeches.

  I stepped back into the shadows and fought with my emotions. No matter how important the mission I simply could not leave her like that. I wanted to move on, I knew I should move on, but Marie’s eyes gazed at me from across the miles that separated us.

  Let’s see how long you last in my bed, little wolf.

  I felt my control slipping, my emotionless mental state shattering. I swiftly collapsed the stock to the MP7 and drew my SIG. With one weapon in each hand I walked softly into the bedroom. The feeders died when I double-tapped each in the chest. The rapist died a second later as I pulled the guns together and walked a line of shots up his spine. Even as the dead vamps were toppling onto the mattress I dropped the MP7 on the end of the bed and leapt on the woman, my hand clamping over her mouth, my nose less than an inch from hers.

  “Don’t scream,” I whispered. “Don’t say a word. Don’t make a sound. Just get dressed, get out and never, ever come back. Understand?”

  The woman nodded, her eyes wide with terror.

  I let her rise to a seated position, my hand still clamped to her jaw. I slid the SIG back into its holster and pressed my finger against my lips as I removed my hand.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed silently.

  I jerked my thumb towards the door. She slid off the bed and struggled into a purple ball gown. Then she grabbed a pair of shoes and, with one last glance at the dead vamps, hurried out of the room.

  I looked around. The light had been coming from a pair of altar candles on the sideboard. I blew them out and dropped a Firebug on the bed, closing the door as I left.

  The music had covered the brief sounds but I still needed to know if the girl would raise the alarm. At the end of the corridor was a window that looked out over the entrance. I stood to one side and waited. Within a minute the woman ran out, still holding her shoes with one hand and clutching the bodice of her dress to her with the other. She was sobbing loudly as she ran down the path towards the driveway.

  “Come back and see us some time, little girl,” yelled one of the vampire guards, eliciting cruel laughter from his companions.

  Satisfied, I turned back to the corridor, counting doors until I reached the one I wanted. With the MP7 ready I inched the door open and saw another dark storeroom. Piles of boxes and cleaning supplies weren’t important, but the door on the other side of the room was. It led out onto the balcony around the main hall. I placed a Firebug on the ground next to the door, and another on a shelf of bottles covered with ‘flammable’ stickers.

  The last Firebug went on top of a bin of used cleaning cloths marked ‘laundry’ that gave off the sharp smell of chemicals.

  I cautiously opened the door, looking out onto the balcony. It ran along three sides of the main hall, initially built so that servants could replenish the candles on the massive, suspended candelabra. Now, with the huge crystal chandelier in place, it was barely used. Tonight it was dark and deserted. Perfect.

  CHAPTER

  19

  It was time to make my move. I collapsed the MP7 and slid it back into the holster, then took off the shorty and flipped out the stock. I snapped out the magazine and checked the loads. Silver-tipped 7.62mm rounds gleamed briefly in the dim light before I slid the mag home again. It always pays to check, even if you loaded the magazines yourself and this is the fifth time you’ve checked since doing so.

  The hinges were well oiled and made no noise as I slipped through the door. I moved around the balcony until I reached the stairway at the back. This, I knew, came out in the middle of an access corridor that led from the kitchens to a discreet door in the side of the main hall. Havelock manor had been designed by an architect who had definite ideas about servants being neither seen nor heard.

  I moved past the stairway and took a glance down into the hall. The reception was in full swing. What looked like about half of an orchestra sat off to one side, playing a light waltzy air, but
they were merely window dressing.

  Foppishly dressed vamps circulated around the hall, eating expensive-looking finger food from bone china plates and drinking from crystal glasses. There was a buzz of conversation broken by occasional laughter. A leech in a midnight blue crushed velvet suit waltzed with a dark-haired human woman wearing a black cocktail dress.

  The woman was either slave, sacrifice or willing slut. It didn’t matter much which. The chances were that, by the end of the night, she would be penetrated—with fang, penis or both—by at least the vamp she was dancing with.

  At the focus of the hall was a raised dais with an ornate throne. Seated there, absently fondling the hair of a half-naked male bloodslave, was Glavidia, the Queen du Noir, head vampire, One of Three, mistress of the leeches, and my target for tonight.

  I tucked the shorty against my shoulder and looked through the scope. The vampiress sprung into focus. She was, I had to admit, quite beautiful in a cold way. She was wearing a black gown that left her shoulders bare and revealed a large amount of milky-white cleavage. Both the full skirt and the bodice were delicately embroidered with gold thread and edged with glittering diamonds. Her hair was pale gold, almost white, and spread out over her shoulders in an artfully designed wave.

  The bloodslave, with his embroidered black jeans, diamond-studded collar, and bleached blonde hair, matched his owner exactly and was gazing up at her with adoring eyes.

  I crouched down again, getting out of sight, to make my final preparations. I had three more toys, gifts from the Ministry. They were grenades; their fragmentation surfaces flecked with silver, with cores formed of something called ‘silver azide C12’, a powerful silver-based explosive. Two were held in place on one yoke of my PLCE by webbing loops; the third was in a pouch on my left. I wanted to be able to throw the first two quickly to add to the confusion after I took my shot, so I did something incredibly dangerous. I eased the pins from both grenades, the levers held in place by the webbing. When I needed to throw them, I would yank them out, the levers would flip off, and I would have five seconds to get rid of them.