Pulp Fiction | The Vampire Affair by David McDaniel

by Unknown

  Napoleon looked at the kitchen door with a growing interest. He patted Gheorghe on the shoulder and said, "I certainly will. In fact, if I can, I'll be back out in a few minutes to set your mind at ease."

  He tapped at the door and called Illya's name, but it was Zoltan who slipped back the latch and let him in.

  Illya was standing over the large table near the window, rows of butcher knives, paring knives, tongs and other implements beside him and an incredible mess in front of him. He wore a chef's apron to protect his clothes, and his sleeves were rolled up above his biceps. His arms were bloody up to the elbows. He looked up as Napoleon hesitantly approached the table.

  "Welcome to my operating room," he said. "I've been performing a little post-mortem on our victim of last night."

  Napoleon looked at the gory mess on the table and felt just a little ill. Illya noticed and smiled. "Sorry about the mess, Napoleon. But remember, you look even worse than that inside."

  "It should stay inside where it belongs. All right, Doctor Crippen, what knowledge have you added to the field of medical science today?"

  "Medical science has not benefited from this investigation, but criminology may have been advanced to some extent." He waved his hand over a number of what were to Napoleon undistinguishable lumps of meat, and picked one up.

  "Notice the leg muscles," he said seriously. He prodded the meat with a short skewer, and separated some of the fibers. "See that?"

  Napoleon saw only raw meat with a few streaks and lumps of yellow in it, and said so.

  "Exactly. The yellow is fat. Fat? In a wild wolf? And especially in the leg muscles?" Illya shook his head, put down the leg, and picked up something else. "The stomach," he said. "Most interesting." With bare fingers he pulled apart an incision and pointed to a horrid-looking mass. "Remains of the last meal."

  Napoleon felt even more ill, and made an inarticulate comment to that effect. "Yeuchh," he said.

  "Look," Illya insisted. "Cereal grains. A wolf with cereal grains in its stomach?"

  Napoleon turned away and stared determinedly out the window at a bare tree. "It's been a hard winter."

  "Don't faint yet, Napoleon," said Illya. "You haven't seen my prize exhibit."

  He took a deep breath and looked around again. The Russian was holding a thing that Napoleon finally recognized, though it was covered with blood and somewhat cut up. It was white and convoluted, and filled Illya's hand as he held it out.

  "It's the brain," said Napoleon.

  "That's right, Napoleon, it's the brain," said Illya, too pleased to contain his enthusiasm. "But this is not a nerve." And his free hand held up something about a foot long, limp and shiny. It was a copper wire.

  Napoleon looked at it closely, forgetting his queasiness in a suddenly awakened fascination. The wire ran to the surface of the brain and ended there in a small patch of off-white plastic which he hadn't noticed before. Slowly he looked up at Illya, his mouth open slightly.

  Illya nodded. "The plastic is apparently some kind of solid-state radio receiver." He lifted it from the brain as he spoke, revealing two short wires descending from it. "These two leads were implanted in the brain. I'm afraid my knowledge of vulpine anatomy stops there, but if the wolf's brain is analogous to a human brain, they were planted in the pleasure center and the pain center respectively. Do you remember that report we had some months ago on experimentation with pleasure-pain stimulus?"

  He replaced the brain on the table and eased himself onto a convenient stool as Napoleon nodded slowly, awareness growing within him.

  "Some scientist had a collie with a radio-controlled pleasure-pain stimulator, and he could train it to do all sorts of things with no more cue than a touch of the transmitter button. And there was a diagram of how it could be planted in the human brain...."

  "That's exactly correct, Napoleon. There wasn't a diagram of how it was implanted in the collie—if there had been, I could be one hundred percent sure, instead of ninety-five percent. But this is close enough. That wolf was kept in a cage or pen, or somewhere where he couldn't get as much exercise as he should have—and he got a few fat deposits in his legs, because he was there a while. And while he was there they fed him on commercial—probably canned—dog food. Poor beast. Most dog food has cereal added as filler and for some of the vitamins. But a wolf in the wild would starve before eating grain.

  "And finally, he had this device implanted in his skull. The operation is not an easy one at all, and I should like to meet the surgeon who performed it successfully on at least thirty wolves."

  Napoleon considered all the implications of the situation, and went over them very slowly. "Somebody kept these wolves penned, fed them, and made very efficient hunting machines out of them." He looked up. "I smell a rat, Illya—a rat with feathers."

  Illya nodded. "Remote-controlled wolves, a false back to the cave, a flying vampire—yes. And I think we will know in a very short time the secrets behind their other little tricks."

  Zoltan spoke for the first time. "Do you know who is responsible for these monstrous things?"

  "Let's say we are fairly certain. The wolf has no brand on his flank, and there is no maker's mark on the receiver here, but to the trained eye it speaks as loudly as an unsigned Chagall to a student of modern art."

  "What bothers me," said Napoleon slowly, "is why they didn't kill us. That first night in the forest—or last night, if they weren't ready then. And, most especially, why was the Count driven off by Hanevitch's crucifix trick when your bullets didn't affect him?"

  Illya's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Why? I think we may have an interview with Colonel Hanevitch before we go home again. I wonder if he knows more about this than he has seen fit to tell...."

  * * *

  The interview with Hanevitch was postponed in favor of more immediate problems. Even with Napoleon and Hilda helping, the kitchen took a while to clean up. And by the time they had finished, Illya was more cautious.

  "On the other hand," he said, "a move at Hanevitch now could tip off the enemy. Better, I think, we should strike directly at their nest."

  "By going in through that false-front cave and following the yellow chalk marks back to their source?" asked Napoleon.

  "Exactly. Zoltan, did you see any way the rock could be opened from inside the cave?"

  "We were in no hurry—I experimented with the operation of the secret entrance for some minutes and solved all its secrets."

  "Are you game to come with us on a full-scale invasion tonight?"

  "On the condition that we stay close enough together that we do not get separated again."

  "I'm coming too," said Hilda. "If this is what I think it is, you'll need everybody who can handle a gun."

  Zoltan frowned. "I do not think you should. This is not a proper business for a young lady to be involved with."

  "But I am involved! Who is more involved than I am? I found Carl's body; I was almost killed by that vampire—except that he wasn't really, I suppose, but I thought he was at the time. No one has more right than I to be in on the final attack. What about you?" she finished aggressively.

  Zoltan drew himself up. "They are using my castle and my name," he said. "Your life may have been in danger, but my family honor means more to me than my life."

  Napoleon looked at Illya. "I feel kind of left out," he said. "I'm just doing it because it's a job. Maybe we should stay here and let them go."

  Hilda said, "But you were chased by those wolves, and they almost killed you."

  Napoleon shrugged. "People try to kill me on just about every assignment I get. You get used to it after a while."

  "I don't know whether I ever could."

  Zoltan frowned slightly. "You shouldn't have to," he said. "The first time I saw you and knew what you were involved with, I asked myself 'What is a nice girl like her doing in a job like this?'"

  "I just knew more about this area and the people than anyone else in the Bucharest office. I was working as a code clerk th
ere two weeks ago, and just about everyone else there grew up in the cities. But I was raised in Orjud, not forty miles from here, over the mountains, and I knew all the legends and the ways of life of these people. So they gave me a provisional promotion to the rank of Technician, and sent me here with Domn Endros. And that's all." She looked at Napoleon and Illya. "I'm sorry if you thought I had some training as an agent or something like that, but I'm really not."

  "You'll be getting some training tonight if you come with us," Napoleon said. "Can you use a gun with any degree of effectiveness?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Have you ever used one on a person?"

  "N—no...."

  "Then now is no time to start. The first few times are very difficult. You will stand in the background and hold a gun. You can look as though you were capable of killing someone, and that'll be all that's necessary. How about you, Zoltan?"

  "I am capable, my friend. I have done many things when they have become necessary. I would as soon withhold the details." He glanced at Hilda.

  "Good," said Illya. "We don't need them. You two will both have weapons." He looked at his watch. "We will leave the village by car at sunset. Dress warmly—it will probably snow again tonight."

  * * *

  Night had filled the woods again when the four shadowy figures slipped into the shallow cave. One finger-filtered flashlight scanned the wall, stopping at a hand-sized indentation in the rock near the back.

  Zoltan reached up, then paused and whispered, "Once we are in the tunnels, make no sound. It can carry strangely." The other three nodded, and he threw his weight on the handhold.

  In complete silence the back wall of the cave revolved and he slipped into the opening, catching the door halfway open and holding it while the others came through.

  When they were past, he released it. The wall slid soundlessly back into its place, and the cave was empty once again.

  Chapter 14: "Only When I Am In Costume."

  Down the tunnel they crept, Zoltan in the lead. Without hesitation he guided them through the labyrinth for several minutes, turning at intersections where yellow blazes indicated the trail. Their path rose slightly, but without the irregularities Napoleon and Illya had found the night before. At one intersection, Zoltan paused and pointed. "Here," he whispered, "is where we entered the tunnel last night."

  They continued, now in totally strange territory. After a good quarter of an hour, Napoleon gradually became aware of noises somewhere ahead—uncertain and indefinite so far, but definitely not natural.

  As they continued walking, the sounds became clearer. Some of them were voices, and some were mechanical. They had an odd reverberant quality, carried as they were along the tunnels and corridors for indefinite distances, distorted, echoed and amplified by the baffles of rock they traveled among. But they were closer, and still approaching.

  At last Zoltan stopped, and extinguished his light for a moment. As their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness they became aware that they could still distinguish the shadows of those ahead of them, and tell where the corridor walls were. The very faintest of blue glows showed ahead. Zoltan grouped the other three in a close huddle, and address them in the faintest of whispers.

  "There's something not far ahead. I think it is a large cave with many people working in it. We will go ahead—Hilda, you wait behind us where you can see what happens."

  "Wait a minute," said Napoleon. "I think it's very noble to try to keep Hilda out of this, but if something happens I want my life to depend on the best-qualified person around, rather than the least. Illya?"

  "I quite agree. Do you stay, or shall I?"

  "I think you should."

  "All right. How long do you expect to be gone?"

  "Not long. It sounds like there's a fair-sized group out there. I don't intend to tackle more than half a dozen. If it turns out there are more, we can just sneak right out again and radio for reinforcements."

  Illya nodded, and Zoltan asked, "Everything arranged?"

  "Right," said Napoleon. "We just go far enough to get a good look at what's going on, and then get out again."

  Zoltan snapped his light off, and let Napoleon lead the way.

  Around the bend to the left, the light grew brighter—and around a bend to the right it continued to increase. Now the texture of the rock surrounding them could be distinguished, and the four figures were all clearly visible to each other. Napoleon stopped short of the next bend and gestured to the others to wait while he went on.

  Slowly and cautiously he cocked an eye around the corner of the tunnel, squinting against the brightness of the alien-looking fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling of the large cavern which opened before his gaze.

  The walls were of rough natural stone, but the floor had been smoothed artificially. There were no more than half a dozen men in plain sight, all working around the end of a wide conveyor belt that ran out of the cavern to the right. They seemed to be occupied with loading large crates, unlabeled but of sturdy construction, onto this belt, which carried them away to an unknown destination. Along the walls were stacks and stacks of apparently empty crates of identical design.

  The conveyor was being loaded from a diminishing pile of boxes which seemed quite heavy—each took two men to lift it onto the belt. Napoleon could not see any indication of what the weight was, but his first guesses were heavy machinery, or ammunition.

  He watched in silence a few more minutes while the last of the boxes rolled off into the darkness, and then was moderately startled when the six men climbed onto the belt and rode off after their burdens. About a minute later the conveyor belt rumbled gently to a stop and he became aware that it had not really been silent after all—there had been the low vibration of the driving motors.

  Then he turned and crept back to where the others waited. "There's a cave just around the corner," he whispered, when they had gathered close around him. "There were some men working in it, but they're gone now. I'm going out to have a quick look around. Come as far as the entrance and keep an eye on me."

  They followed like shadows, and stopped at the mouth of the tunnel. Once again Napoleon looked out carefully, and when he saw no one he stepped out into the light.

  Now he could see that the conveyor belt ran through a hole in the wall next to a flight of steps leading up out of sight, and that it started up parallel to them just within the hole. The surface of the belt was ridged into sections which apparently folded flat on the bottom but served to lift the load on the ascent. There was another belt, level, which ran into the room and ended a few yards away on his right, where he couldn't have seen it before.

  He started towards it, hoping to find an explanation of all this activity in the cave next door. Just then the scrape of a shoe on rock warned him of someone's approach.

  He knew he was too far from the tunnel to get back there safely. In a moment he had jumped forward into the darkness of the next room along the conveyor belt. He hugged the wall and listened to the cautiously approaching footsteps.

  They stopped some yards away, and there were several seconds of silence. At last a voice said in English, "Come out, Mr. Solo, wherever you are."

  Napoleon's stomach froze as he looked quickly around for an escape route. He eased his weight onto his other foot and started to move along the wall with infinite caution.

  The voice spoke again. "Mr. Solo, your friends have been taken, but not harmed. We have neither need nor desire to harm any of you. I would much prefer that you come out peacefully, because otherwise I shall have to come in after you and I have no wish to be shot at."

  Napoleon thought this was reasonable, and leveled his automatic at the entrance.

  After a short wait, the voice continued, with a note of regret, "You're being coy, Mr. Solo. We could leave you in there until hunger brought you out, but we have a schedule to keep. Perhaps this will change your mind. Miss Eclary..."

  There was a stifled scream which brought Napoleon a step
towards the entrance before he stopped himself.

  "I do regret the need for melodramatic methods, Mr. Solo. Please understand you can cause us no more than a temporary inconvenience, and under the circumstances we can afford to be most forgiving. Our work here is nearly done, and when we are through we will be far beyond your reach. You will merely be held prisoners for a few days and then released."

  Napoleon strained his eyes against the darkness, but the light from the next cave revealed nothing more than stacks of something around the walls near the conveyor belt. He looked around his own position, and started nervously when he saw what looked like a human body. After a moment he realized it was something made out of metal. Were they constructing robots?

  Then the voice came back again, and this time it seemed closer to the mouth of the cavern. It held a distinct note of patient regret. "All right, Mr. Solo—as you wish. We will come in and bring you out."

  Napoleon was peering through the gloom at the glow of light from the other room, watching for the first sign of a silhouetted target, when there was a soft chuff from around the corner. And then there was a burst of incredible blinding actinic light which seared into his eyeballs even as he threw up his arm to protect his face.

  In total blindness, he heard running footsteps and felt his gun wrested away from him before he could move. Then there were two strong arms on either side of him, pinioning his arms and hustling him along. As his sun-blaze-flecked vision began to clear, he heard the same voice again, beside him.

  "Sorry; I suppose that was unsporting. But as I said, I don't like being shot at. And this way you were in no danger either."

  Behind the purple ball that still floated in his sight, Napoleon could make out a man standing a few feet from him. The man was tall, thin-faced and cheerful. He had a familiar look about him which Napoleon couldn't quite place. Then his mind supplied a funereal pallor, a black cloak, fangs and a fiendish expression....

  "Count Stobolzny!"