He knew.
The battle raged all around the monolithic structure and though the humans held their own, in the end, the battle was destined to be quite one-sided. Mulkerrin’s resources were almost limitless, and yet he could feel that the once-priest did not know his own abilities well enough to use them, and what he did use took a toll on him, his grip on the magic being tenuous. The sorcerer stood in the middle of the open courtyard in the center of the fortress, his concentration complete. He was surrounded by a black, swirling mist through which he was nearly invisible, though the sun shone down on the courtyard.
And that was beginning to change. Thunderclouds pregnant with a monstrous storm, glowing with a sickly, reddish radiance which the human soldiers below deemed wholly unnatural, moved slowly in from the south, as if answering a call Mulkerrin had sent.
He knew, but it wasn’t knowledge that came from experience—not from seeing, or hearing, or touching. It was a transcendant awareness which reached out from that cold, dark chamber and encircled the fortress, not yet able to envelop completely the battle, the attacking forces, but spreading. He knew Mulkerrin, then, completely and totally, the sorcerer not believing such an intrusion possible and therefore not registering the subtle penetration of his soul. Of his magic. The knowledge, the awareness, met the magic, and danced with it in the ether, becoming intertwined with the magic, intrinsic to it. Whatever Mulkerrin commanded, that joining gave him knowledge of, awareness of. And that awareness sent tendrils of anger, hatred, disgust, into the magic, not tugging or pulling, not screaming, but insinuating, tainting, whispering to it, so that it changed.
And in the glory that was his evil, Mulkerrin barely noticed.
Down in that cold, dark chamber, at the center of the awareness that enveloped the fortress, that joined with and unsettled the magic, he lay. And below the awareness, the knowing, the magic, was pain. Pain both simple in its totality and incredibly complex in its persistence.
His blood had been spreading in a large pool for many hours and was beginning to cake into many of the grooves between the stones of the floor. The gaping hole in his chest, where the bones stuck sharply out at all angles, had long since stopped sucking at the air. His eyes were open, but he did not see. He did not blink, or breathe, did not smell, or hear.
His hair was long and white, the beard and mustache the same color, and his skin was mottled, wrinkled and pale. His body was tiny, shriveled, the hands like claws, the limbs truncated. Rot had appeared in several places, especially around the ragged chest wound.
Thum-tum.
A trill went out, into the awareness and the magic, and Mulkerrin felt it, through yards of stone, like a pre-orgasmic shiver. The sorcerer merely laughed, thinking it nothing more than the rush of the magic.
Thum-tum.
This time, the awareness suppressed the trill, confined the tickle of it to a more subtle level. He reached out, with his own awareness, and smoothed out the lines of what he felt. Above the pain, within it, enveloping it and giving it birth, he knew.
Thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum.
He knew.
Thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum, thum-tum .
The newly formed, tiny, infant heart rattled along like a freight train, speeding out of control to do a job it was never meant for. It screamed at the trauma of the pain, but kept drumming as a thin film of muscle stretched across the open wound. Around the body, blood that had dried, scabbing the stone floor, was wet again, warm again. And just as it had slowly seeped from him, pooling on the floor, so now it was absorbed by his skin, through his pores, flowing back into his body like the tide rolling in. And high tide wouldn’t be long.
Cody knew.
10
Washington, D.C., United States of America.
Tuesday, June 6, 2000, 11:25 P.M.:
The American media had become far too powerful over the past few decades, and as Henry Russo, the President of the United States, prepared for his midnight address, he silently vowed to himself to research new ways to stifle their nagging, insistent voices, at least to quiet them long enough for a man to think! Call it censorship, he thought. Call it whatever the hell you like! Nevertheless, he would not be bullied by a bunch of reporters.
Or so he told himself. In reality, that was exactly what had happened in the past, and what had happened today. Doubtless, despite his best efforts, it would continue long into the future. Though there was not yet news from inside Salzburg, word from Austrian media had been pouring in all day. First about the earthquake, felt by a very few, and then about the military evacuation taking place. In addition, several people had been picked up on the outskirts of the city, apparently refugees, spinning tales of monsters rising from the earth. Of course, it didn’t help that Doris Toumarkine from The Hollywood Reporter had called to confirm a story that Will Cody and Allison Vigeant had been in Salzburg at the time. Heaven forbid somebody not know where celebrities were vacationing!
Just fucking dandy!
Henry had held off as long as he could, but with Operation: Jericho already under way, it would do no harm to present the news of that op to the world. Certainly, it was his duty as President to be sure his own press conference was held before that of the UN secretary general. And he knew Rafael Nieto would be up at first light with a report of the battle. No matter that they fought the war together—the political skirmishing must go on. And maybe then he could get these reporters out of his hair, just for a little while.
“Henry?” Julie Graham stepped into the Oval Office and he smiled at her, despite his mental grumbling.
“Come on in.”
“Bill was a little worried about you, wanted me to check in,” she said, her raised eyebrow enough to make him certain of the joke.
Ah, the joke. William Galin, the vice president, hated him more than anything else in the world. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised Henry to learn that Bill Galin wanted him dead. He had, after all, chosen Bill as his running mate essentially to keep an eye on him. Bill was an excellent politician, but to those who knew him, he was also a bigoted, classist, sexist, petty egotist who might have given Henry a terrible time down the road.
With Bill as his running mate, Henry had been assured of a certain number of ultraconservative votes, as well as almost the entire middle-of-the-road constituency. Once in office, he had put Galin under his thumb, had, in effect, banned him from the White House. The man had become more invisible than any public official since Dan Quayle. In fact, the only time the public really saw him was behind the President at the podium. But it just went back to something Henry’s parents had taught him growing up: children—especially petulant children—should be seen and not heard.
“Henry, you okay?” Julie’s concern wiped away the scowl Bill Galin always brought to the President’s face.
“Yeah, Jules. Sit down.”
“Look, I know you’ve got this thing scheduled for midnight,” she said, taking the leather chair in front of Henry’s desk she had long thought of as “hers,” “but the media is going crazy. Maybe we should bump this thing up, startle them for once?”
Henry shook his head.
“What do you mean? Why are they any crazier than they were?”
“Nobody tells you anything, do they?” Julie said, eyebrows creased and without a trace of humor. “Somebody leaked word of Gallagher and Nueva’s disappearance, for starters. And to top it off, the name ‘Mulkerrin’ is already on the wire.”
“Shit.”
Henry was up and out of his chair in no time. He didn’t even bother to grab his jacket.
“Is Marcopoulos here?” he said as he swung the door open.
“I don’t know,” Julie answered, following swiftly, even as Henry’s personal contingent of Secret Service jumped to attention and swarmed around them, muttering into their collarcomms as they went. Gary Williams, the agent-in-charge at the moment, flanked the President on one side, and Julie wa
s on the other.
“Get the VP,” Julie said to Williams as they hustled, the fed-up look never leaving the President’s face. Williams merely lifted a finger, and two agents ran on ahead.
As they approached the conference room, George Marcopoulos stepped out of a side corridor, followed immediately by Vice President Galin and the agents Williams had dispatched.
“Henry?” Galin frowned, obviously flustered. “What’s the rush?”
The agent in the lead banged open the conference room doors, throwing the press into a whirl of activity, for once taking them completely by surprise. Henry almost smiled at that, as he turned to look at Galin, who fell into step just behind him.
“I’m through playing games,” he snapped, and then he was mounting the dais amid a hundred voices asking questions, camera lights popping on. Galin, Marcopoulos and Julie Graham stood behind him, as their chairs had not yet been set up. Henry tapped the mike to see if it was on, and when he discovered it was not, he simply shouted.
“Quiet!”
The room was suddenly silent, and behind him Julie Graham tried not to laugh, wondering how this would all play out in the press. She knew that was the last thing on Henry’s mind, and she was glad. But beside her, Bill Galin cringed.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen of the press, a brief statement and then I’ll be happy to answer any questions,” the President began, rising up to his full height behind the podium and lowering his voice when the microphone suddenly snapped on. Behind him, chairs were put in place and the others sat down.
“Please be aware that what I’m about to do is almost unheard of in politics: I’m going to give you the facts. I’m tired of rumor, hearsay and outright falsehood. So here goes.
“Early this morning, Liam Mulkerrin took over the Fortress Hohensalzburg in Salzburg, Austria. Not long afterward, an earthquake reportedly took place in Salzburg. I say reportedly, because this quake did not register on the Richter scale at all. William Cody is apparently Mulkerrin’s prisoner at this time. A UN Security Force operation is under way to assist Austrian troops in the evacuation of the area and the capture of Mulkerrin.
“Questions?”
The Warner Network correspondent was the first with her hand up.
“Yes?”
“Mulkerrin was reported dead after the Venice Jihad. Why? And what involvement do Meaghan Gallagher and Alexandra Nueva have in this operation?”
The President scowled, openly, on international television. Anyone watching could easily have seen the smile that spread across Julie Graham’s face then.
“Mulkerrin was believed dead, Marinna,” the President said. “As far as Nueva and Gallagher are concerned, as you may have heard, their whereabouts are unknown.”
The room exploded with new questions, but Henry pointed to Pamela Martin from CNN.
“Mr. President,” she said grimly, “we’ve all seen the video from Venice. What of the reports of similar creatures in Salzburg, and do you know whether Allison Vigeant was taken captive with Mr. Cody?”
“I’ve seen the video too,” Henry answered. “I hope there’s no truth to that, and no, we’ve no word about Ms. Vigeant.”
Before he could even choose another hand, the Fox correspondent spoke up.
“In light of their suspicious disappearance, could the shadows be involved with Mulkerrin’s return?”
Even from behind, Julie Graham could see that the President was about to blow his stack. Barely thinking, she elbowed George Marcopoulos, who was on the same wavelength and already standing up. Marcopoulos deared his throat, and the President turned around even as he began a stern warning to the media never to jump to such conclusions.
“Ah, it appears that Ambassador Marcopoulos has a response to your question,” Henry said, and stepped from the podium to allow George to approach.
“You may be sorry,” he whispered to the President as he stepped up next to him and leaned into the mike.
“I am appalled that such questions may be asked at a time like this. Human and shadow are united against a common enemy. The SJS fights side by side with the UN Security Force. Will Cody is captive, perhaps dead. If two prominent shadows have disappeared, we should be concerned for their safety, not accusing them of betrayal. As you say, you’ve seen the video, you know how many of their people were murdered by this madman. And you suggest they are in league with him? Like all minorities before them, like all humans in fact, there is evil to be found among the shadows. But we cannot turn on our allies because they frighten us!”
Bravo . . . A voice floated out, over the audience, seemingly soft but loud enough for everyone to hear clearly . . . Well said, dear George, but you see, your services are no longer required.
And then they were there, six of them, in the room where they hadn’t been before. Nobody, not even the Secret Service, had seen the mist creeping along the floor, so fine as to be almost invisible. Now, for some, it was too late. Four of the creatures were in the audience, tearing the cameras from the grasp of frightened, soon-to-be-dead media personnel. The two others, a tall black male and a slick, deadly-looking Asian, were on the stage.
“Mr. President!” Agent Williams shouted, up the steps with other agents in tow. But the Asian vampire, apparently the leader, already had him.
Knocking George Marcopoulos into the vice president and the secretary of state behind him, the creature clutched the President’s neck with one hand, lifting him from the ground, and grabbed the microphone with the other. Before it could speak, it was buried, along with the President, in a pile of Secret Service agents. A dozen more brought their weapons to bear on the other creature, even as agents in the audience moved in on the shadows there.
It was over quickly. The leader, buried in flesh with the President, burst into flame under the pile, sending agents screaming, rolling off the stage and into the stunned media. Two agents tried to drag the singed President away, even as the others emptied their weapons, to no avail, into the tall one. Knowing that the President was as good as dead, Gary Williams made a decision. Ignoring his orders, he grabbed the two nearest VIPs—Vice President Galin and Ambassador Marcopoulos—and shoved them through the escape panel behind the curtain, pressing the button that sealed the corridor behind them. They ought to have been safe back there, but already Williams could hear a terrible pounding on that panel. He wished he could have saved the secretary of state, but she’d been moving toward the President instead of away.
Julie Graham grabbed Henry Russo’s charred hand and began to pull him toward her, ignoring the dead and dying agents surrounding her. The screaming continued from the press, and she couldn’t hear a thing, but even as she made eye contact with Henry, a heavy, booted foot came down on her forearm, shattering the bones. Wailing in her agony, she looked up into the face of the once-human thing that reached down and took the President’s hand from her own. It leered at her, then ground that boot back and forth on her broken bones, and mercifully, she blacked out.
The once-Asian thing, the leader of the band of assassins, stepped back to the podium. It hoisted the President by the neck once again, and those in the audience who did not turn away saw that Henry Russo was quite awake, though barely able to whimper with his throat so tightly clutched.
“Good evening,” the shadow said into the microphone. “I have a message from Lord Hannibal. Humans take warning, vampires take heed.”
Henry Russo, the President of the United States, screamed one last time as the creature leaned its face in and tore out a chunk of his throat with its teeth. It sank those fangs back into the wound, drinking deeply and moving its face around, purposely wetting its cheeks with the President’s blood. Finally, it turned back toward the press, toward the cameras now operated by its fellow shadows.
“This!” it cried, blood dripping from its face onto the podium. “This is our destiny!”
Then the creature lifted the President’s body above its head with both hands and brought it down across one knee. Henry Russo’
s corpse broke in half and was flung into the pack of media hounds he’d once considered his greatest burden. The shadow-assassin turned back to Julie Graham, who was just coming around, and smiled.
It took its time with the rape and murder of the secretary of state, and though the other vampires controlled the cameras, the broadcasters could easily have stopped the feed, chosen not to show the atrocity live on the air. None of them did. The rules changed during war, and there were, after all, ratings to consider.
“Go! Go! Go!” Agent Williams shouted, even as he shoved at the vice president’s back. Williams was nearly dragging Ambassador Marcopoulos, slowed by age, down the narrow, “safe” corridor that led from the room where the press conference had been held—and where carnage now reigned—to the Oval Office, which had its own defenses. Still, the office had only so much protection, and its parameters did not really include safety from vampire attacks.
Williams had been studying the creatures since their existence had been revealed, and as far as he could tell, their abilities and weaknesses were spread across a broad spectrum. He knew from books and articles, as well as from rumors along the national security grapevine, that only a very few were still unable to bear sunlight or the presence of religious symbols. Nearly all of them had recovered from the mental programming that had been spread among them like a virus by the Catholic Church. While silver was not fatal to them, most still had a reaction to it, and science reports indicated that they did weaken in its presence, as if it were some kind of poison.
According to numerous accounts, the shapeshifting abilities of the creatures varied widely, but government studies postulated that eventually the things could learn to become almost anything. Though no one wanted to discuss it very loudly, there seemed only one sure way to destroy the creatures. They had to be dismembered, and the parts of their bodies separated, kept apart. Of course, in light of their capacity to become mist or fire, and depending on the individual vampire in question, such an act could be quite difficult, almost impossible.
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