At Sword's Point (28 page)

Inside the great hall, the fighting was intense as two dozen men armed with broadswords and daggers hacked and slashed at each other in grim determination to avoid the grave. In the corner, his back to the wall, the monocle in his right eye gleaming, von Liebenfalz stood at parade ground attention, a P-38 in each hand, as one of Kluge's men bore down on him with a titanium-bladed sword. The black-clad knight raised his sword to attack, and as he did so, von Liebenfalz fired. His bullet took off his adversary's thumb.

Unable to grasp the sword with his wounded hand, the black-clad knight tried to shift the weapon to his other, just as von Liebenfalz fired again. The bullet struck the sword just below the crossguard, spinning the weapon from the knight's hand. A look of confusion crossed the vampire's face as von Liebenfalz pumped two rounds into its chest. The pain slowed the vampire for a moment, but then he recovered and lunged for the baron.

Bringing his pistol instantly to bear, von Liebenfalz fired again, this time blowing off the top of the vampire's skull. Mortally wounded, it fell to the ground literally at von Liebenfalz' feet.

Drummond put all of his weight behind his sword as he swung it at the head of an attacking Nazi. Jumping back, the Nazi tried to avoid the blade, but it caught him on the side of the head, severing the top half of his left ear and embedding itself deep in the skull. Drummond wrenched at the sword but was unable to free it. Stumbling on something as he tried again to pull the sword free, Drummond glanced down and saw the Nazi's own weapon lying at his feet. Releasing his own sword, he grabbed that dropped by his opponent and, swinging it upward, slashed open the belly of the vampire.

Behind him Drummond heard a scream of anguish and turned just in time to see one of de Beq's men disemboweled by a black-clad vampire. Swinging his sword in a murderous arc, Drummond brought his blade cleaving down on the vampire's shoulder, nearly severing its arm.

Screaming, the vampire threw himself at Drummond, knocking him down as he landed. Drummond managed to retain his sword and with a back-handed swing cut through the calf muscles of the vampire's left leg. The vampire staggered back, and as he did a burst of fire from Eberle's MP44 turned his head into pulp.

Suddenly Drummond found himself alone in the great hall, surrounded by men who were fighting to the death. As he watched in horror, he saw two adversaries, slipping on their own entrails, repeatedly stabbing each other until finally one tripped and they both fell down. Against one wall, Etienne Lefroi was slumped peacefully, a sword through his body, and at his feet the headless torso of one of the Nazis.

Gradually the fighting subsided until only five men remained standing in the great hall—two red-surcoated ones and three in black. William of Etton, a gaping wound on his thigh, stood back-to-back with Henri de Beq as three SS vampires circled them, looking for an opening. Suddenly one of them rushed in, and as he did, William and de Beq stepped away from each other and then just as suddenly turned to meet their opponent with three feet of steel.

The move caught all three SS vampires off guard, and as William of Etton ran through the charging vampire, de Beq turned on the SS man nearest him and brought his sword down on his head, slicing it in half. He then turned to help William of Etton, but he was too late.

If it hadn't been for the massive wound on his leg, William might have been able to turn and parry the blow that the last SS vampire aimed at his neck. The sword crashed down on William, slicing through his chain mail as if it were muslin. The titanium blade bit diagonally down through flesh and into bone. A fine mist of blood shot up from William's severed arteries, drawing a crimson veil across his final expression. Sinking slowly to his knees, William of Etton died.

De Beq turned just as William started to collapse, and swinging his sword like a baseball bat drove it deep into the side of the Nazi vampire who had killed him. Pushing back, de Beq withdrew his sword and swung again, this time cutting the vampire in two. It fell to the floor screaming, its fingers briefly scrabbling to drag its two body halves together.

Slowly Drummond looked around the room. In the corner, von Liebenfalz still stood rigidly to attention, a pistol in each hand and a cut across his forehead. Behind him Eberle stood with his assault rifle, a fresh magazine in the receiver. In front of him was Henri de Beq, Knight of the Sword.

De Beq looked at Drummond and smiled.

"So, this is what it comes down to: you and me. The last two knights of the Order of the Sword. This was a good battle, John Drummond—the finest, I think, that I have ever fought. When we set out today, I thought this would be my last battle. In fact, I even prayed that it would be. But it wasn't. And you know what? I'm glad— glad because this battle has given me a new desire to live, to live forever."

As de Beq spoke, Drummond saw a change come over him, a certain feral wildness that he couldn't quite identify until he remembered the rogue vampire that von Liebenfalz had killed the day before. De Beq had the same look to him as the vampire in the woods, when the baron had finally been forced to kill it.

Suddenly de Beq launched himself at Drummond, his sword gripped with both hands raised high above his head—a yell, almost a scream, rising up from his throat.

Instinctively Drummond brought his sword up, point forward to defend himself. He no more than got the point up when he felt de Beq impact against the sword, his own momentum driving it deep into his body.

For a moment de Beq was frozen in position, both hands clutching a sword held high above his head. Then, slowly, the hands came down and his sword fell clattering onto the floor of the great hall. De Beq's eyes were closed as if in great pain, although once he had dropped his sword, he opened them to look at Drummond.

"Thank you, John de Beq," he whispered with a slight smile. "It was a fine battle to die in."

Drummond felt the sword go heavy in his hands, and slowly lowered Henri de Beq to the floor.

"Come on, we have to go." It was Eberle, reaching down and prying Drummond's fingers loose of the hilt of the sword that was now sheathed in Henri de Beq, urging him toward the door. "Leave him, John. It's done.

Numbly Drummond moved toward the door with Eberle, stopping then as a grim thought occurred to him.

"Wait a minute, I want to see something," he said, turning back to the great hall.

Slowly Drummond went to each of the bodies of the SS vampires, turning them over, looking into their faces.

"He's not here," Drummond said. The bastard's not here!"

"Who? Who isn't here?" von Liebenfalz asked.

"Kluge, that's who," Drummond said. "The bastard's not here. He's escaped!"

* * * *

In the courtyard, Berringer had watched as three men in Nazi uniforms came out of the castle and climbed into a silver-blue Mercedes-Benz and raced off down the drive. It was his guess that, dressed as they were, they couldn't be going far.

Stillman was traveling over eighty miles per hour when he saw the dark blue Saab parked by the side of the road with two other vehicles. Slowing down, he drove past the Saab and then made a U-turn to come back and inspect it up close. Just as he pulled into the parking area, a silver blue Mercedes 500 pulled out of the gates at speed and turned up the road headed in the direction of Stuttgart.

Starting to tremble in after-reaction, Drummond walked over to the body of the Nazi he had killed with de Beq's family sword and grabbed the hilt. He pulled as hard as he could, but the blade remained embedded in the vampire's skull. In the end, he had to brace one foot against the skull and wrench the sword free. While he did this, Eberle and von Liebenfalz began dragging all of the bodies of the Knights of the Sword into the center of the great hall.

"Check around and see if you can find some petrol, will you, John?" Eberle said, as he started dragging at another body. "We need to torch this place and get the hell out of here."

"First, I want to see if we can find Kluge's office," Drummond said. "We can't let him get away. That may give us a lead as to where he's going."

Eberle was beginning to look a little antsy.

"Look, John, it's getting late. People are bound to come by here eventually, even if it's only the milkman." His smile was a little strained. "I don't know about you, but I don't really want to take the rap for offing all of these guys. Okay?"

"Ten minutes. That's all. Just give me ten minutes, and if I can't find Kluge's office, we'll leave. Fair enough?" Drummond looked from Eberle to von Liebenfalz. "Well?"

Von Liebenfalz shrugged, and Eberle shook his head unenthusiastically.

"Okay, but make it fast. In ten minutes, this whole place goes up in flames."

Drummond raced up the stairs leading from the great hall to the private apartments of the castle. Kicking in door after door, he searched for Kluge's office. On the next two floors, all of the doors were locked, leading Drummond to the inescapable conclusion that Kluge's office, if indeed he had one, must be elsewhere in the castle, or perhaps in the adjoining stable complex.

He had seen the stable as they approached, about one hundred yards from the castle. Dashing back downstairs—Eberle was dousing the bodies with a jerry can of petrol he had found somewhere—Drummond ran across the castle yard and over to the stables, momentarily daunted as he was faced with the vast expanse of the indoor riding school.

But the office had to be here, if Drummond had any hope of finding it. Undoubtedly this was where Kluge had trained his Nazi knights in the skills of chivalry. After ransacking what proved to be the tack room and feed rooms, he was about to toss in the towel when he noticed a small stair leading up from what had been the coach house to the loft space in the attic. Hardly daring to hope, he dashed up the stairs and found it: Kluge's office.

He wished he had time to fully investigate, but even rifling quickly through the top layer of papers on the desk, Drummond quickly discovered three things: Kluge was rich, he owned more companies that most people can count, and one of those companies had its world head-quarters in Stuttgart. Even the name was familiar: Euro Plasma Technik.

Smiling nastily, Drummond rushed back to the great hall brandishing a sheaf of documents.

"Okay, Markus, let 'er rip," he said, as he came into the hall. "The sonofabitch has an office in Stuttgart. My money says that's where he's heading."

Eberle already had a torch going and handed it to Drummond as he and von Liebenfalz drew back. They had gathered up the bodies of the dead Nazis as well, but had left these around the perimeter of the room, though also doused with petrol. Drummond had not thought that much about what they were going to do and found himself hesitating as he turned to the pile of bodies in the center of the room—the bodies of men he had come to know and respect in so short a time, especially one of them.

"So long, Henri," he whispered, not daring to look too closely at the petrol-soaked pile.

As he tossed the torch and the flames shot up, he found himself remembering his conversation with Father Freise about whether vampires ever actually died and hoped desperately that these men had found their peace after seven hundred years of waiting. His eyes were moist as he turned away from the growing conflagration, but he told himself it was from the smoke. The heft of Henri de Beq's family sword in his hand gave him a solid sort of comfort as he looked back at the flames for the last time.

The great hall was already well ablaze as he and his two companions silently made their way out across the courtyard, gathering up stray ordnance and heading down the drive to their waiting cars. Eberle started to stash his MP44 in Drummond's Range Rover, but Drummond caught his sleeve and shook his head.

"Take the Saab, Markus," he said. "I think this is the place where we all say good-bye."

"No way, John," Markus replied. "There is still one, and possibly more vampires on the street. You worked hard enough to convince me; I'm not pulling back until we have him. How about you, Baron?"

"Well, I am sorry to have to withdraw, after this remarkable little adventure we have just shared, but I must get back to Vienna." He bowed curtly. "So if you gentlemen will excuse me?"

As Drummond looked on in some astonishment, von Liebenfalz climbed into his car and started the engine.

"Do give my regards to Father Freise," he said through an open window, just before he drove off into the night.

"Well, it looks like it's down to just you and me, old buddy," Eberle said, as the baron's taillights receded. "Where to now?"

"Like I said, the offices of Euro Plasma Technik in Stuttgart," Drummond replied. That's where Kluge has his worldwide headquarters, and that's where I think he'll go to ground." He knitted his brow for a moment. "We'll have more flexibility if we take two cars. Can you follow along in the Saab?"

"Indeed, why not?" Eberle quipped. "After mass murder and arson, what's a little grand theft auto?"

* * * *

Brian Stillman watched both men from across the road with a pair of infrared binoculars. As soon as he saw them get into their cars and head back in the direction of Stuttgart, he climbed into his Buick and followed. A quarter mile further down the road, Tom Berringer also watched as von Liebenfalz left and then Drummond and Eberle drove off together in the remaining two cars. He was about to follow when another car pulled out of a small farm lane and tucked in behind them.

* * * *

Never one to believe in coincidence, Berringer let the gold Buick pull ahead before switching on his headlights and joining the queue, following them into Stuttgart.

Driving into the city, Drummond had time to think and found himself wondering whether he was walking into an elaborate trap set by Kluge. He had no idea how many vampires Kluge had made in the half century since the Second World War. For all he knew, there could be dozens, even hundreds, of vampires lurking about Euro Plasma Technik. His only hope was that Kluge would not think he was being followed, or would not have time to mobilize another vampire battle unit.

As he and Eberle threaded their way toward the center of Stuttgart, Drummond checked the street plan of the city in his road atlas. If he had read the map correctly, Kluge's offices should be up ahead and to the left, in the vicinity of a place called the
Katharinenhospital
.

Drummond spotted a sign for the
Katharinenhospital
and made his turn. Two blocks on, he came upon the six-story office building that housed the world headquarters of Kluge's international blood bank operation. Looking at the massive structure, so solid and respectable looking, he decided that there could be no better cover in the world for a vampire than running one of the largest blood services companies in the world. Kluge would have at his disposal lawyers, accountants, scientists, and a worldwide network of blood banks to feed on.

Well, they say an army marches on its stomach
, Drummond mused.
I wonder how big an army Kluge has? If he has two hundred blood banks around the world, and each blood bank feeds twenty-five vampires
… That was five thousand vampires, ready, willing, and eager to carry out Kluge's orders…

Shivering, Drummond pulled into the parking lot next to the Euro Plasma Technik building, Eberle following right behind. Cruising slowly toward the back of the parking lot, he spotted an up-ramp marked "Executive Parking Only," and turning off his headlights, eased the Range Rover up the ramp. The lot above was well lit, and over by the far wall, next to a set of elevator doors, was a silver-blue Mercedes very like one they had seen back at Marienkampf Castle.

Drummond stopped the Range Rover about thirty feet back from the Mercedes and signaled Eberle to park similarly on the other side of the car, effectively turning it and the elevator door behind it into a lethal killing zone. Eberle waved to Drummond and pulled up as directed, then stepped out of his car and laid the barrel of his MP44 assault rifle over the hood of the Saab. Drummond then slid across to the passenger side of his car. As he did so, his foot struck something lying on the floor.

He reached for it, still keeping the Mercedes warily in view, and his fingers closed around the hilt of a dagger— the one he had bought for de Beq in Vienna. Pulling it from its sheath, he slipped the blade under his belt in the small of his back, glad for this small part of the presence of Henri de Beq. Then, easing himself out the passenger side of his car, he dropped down onto all fours and crawled over to the Mercedes.

It was an old survival tactic he had learned long ago. Pulling his pistol from his waistband and holding it at the ready, he placed his left hand next to the car, his fingers spread wide, the tips just resting on the door. If there was anyone inside the car, he would feel their slightest movement.

Sixty seconds ticked by and nothing moved. Cautiously Drummond raised his head above the level of the doors and peered into the car. It was empty, but there were bloodstains on the upholstery.

Crouching low, Drummond trotted back to the Rover. Just as he reached the midway point between the two cars, the elevator doors opened and a man in a white lab coat and silver-rimmed spectacles stepped out, a Schmeisser machine gun at the ready. Eberle immediately opened fire, distracting the man long enough for Drummond to sprint back to the cover of the Rover.

Eberle's first burst of gunfire went wide, smacking great craters in the concrete walls. The man in the lab coat dropped to the floor and rolled back into the elevator, coming up in a combat crouch. Pushing the gun around the corner of the door, he sprayed a long burst in the general direction of Eberle, then ducked back inside.

They exchanged several more ineffectual bursts of gunfire. From his position behind the Range Rover, Drummond could see that it was a Mexican standoff: neither man could get a clear shot at the other without exposing himself to the other man's fire. Drummond might have a clear shot when the vampire returned Eberle's fire, but to really hit him, they'd have to drag him out into the open.

Suddenly Drummond had a plan. It was obvious from the fire-fight between Eberle and the vampire that their quarry didn't know where Drummond was. If Drummond could keep his whereabouts uncertain for just a few minutes longer, he might be able to drag the man out of the elevator and kill him.

Moving around to the back of the Range Rover, Drummond dropped the tailgate and took Miles Brabazon's crossbow from the rear of the car. After rummaging in the back, he found one of the shark bolts with an expanding head and a reel of the shark-line.

Flat on his stomach, Drummond crawled under the Range Rover and worked himself to the front of the vehicle. After reeling off about sixty feet of the heavy mono-filament, he fixed the spool to the cable on the winch located on the front bumper of his car. The other end he passed through the small eye on the head of the bolt.

Crouching in front of the Range Rover, Drummond cocked the crossbow and snapped the bolt into the channel along the stock, making sure to keep his line clear. When he was satisfied that everything was ready, he waited for Eberle to let off another burst, then stood up to get a clear shot as his quarry returned fire.

The vampire detected Drummond's movement in his peripheral vision and swung around to fire. Anticipating him by a fraction of a second, Drummond fired the crossbow and dove for cover in one simultaneous movement. The bolt drove deep into the man's chest, and the three razor-sharp barbs popped open as the bolt head passed between his ribs.

Scrambling under the Range Rover, Drummond reached forward and pressed the switch that activated the winch. It ground away, slowly reeling in the heavy mono-filament until the line went taut, and Kluge's vampire found himself being slowly dragged out of the elevator.

Recovering from the initial shock of his wound, he grabbed the shaft of the crossbow bolt and tried to pull it from his body. The shaft slipped easily from the socket of the arrowhead, leaving the latter firmly planted in his chest. He spread his legs and braced himself on either side of the elevator door, pushing with all of his might to keep from being dragged out into the killing zone between the Mercedes and Eberle's Saab.

The winch slowed, its mechanical hum becoming a deep-throated, grinding sound. To Drummond's amazement, the vampire continued to strain against the winch and seemed to be holding his own.

With a loud crack, the vampire's left knee shattered and dislocated. Screaming, he twisted sideways in the elevator door, his rigid left leg acting as a brace to prevent him from being dragged out of the stainless steel cubicle. The tension on the line increased, and it began to hum as it vibrated between the slowly winding winch and the vampire's tightly wedged body.

Suddenly a wet, sucking sound backed by an agonized scream echoed off the concrete walls of the car park as the barbed arrow head was pulled from his body, its recurved barbs catching on the vampire's heart and lungs and ripping them out through a three-inch hole in his chest. The vampire fell back without a further sound, the silence of the car park now broken only by the whine of the winch and the wet, slopping sound of his lungs being dragged along the concrete.

Faintly sickened, Drummond grabbed his sword from the back of the Rover and dashed to the elevator.

"Stay here and cover me," he shouted to Eberle, and he shoved the vampire's hollow carcass out of the elevator.