At Sword's Point (29 page)

The key to the executive penthouse was still in the control panel, and Drummond turned it to the up position. The doors closed, and Drummond began his ascent into hell.

* * * *

In his penthouse suite, Kluge had watched the death of his vampire on closed circuit television in the same dispassionate way that the guards in the death camps had looked on as the inmates were herded into the gas chambers. It was unfortunate, he decided, that he hadn't been able to send Baumann to rescue his man, but at that moment the
Scharführer
was engaged in a more important mission. For an instant, Kluge felt isolated and alone in his immortality.

The knowledge that he and Baumann were the last of the
Alte Kameraden
brought Kluge's thoughts to focus on his most promising disciple, Anton von Tupilow. He turned to the younger man and regarded him silently for a moment, then made up his mind.

"Here," he said, handing von Tupilow a thick leather satchel from a desk drawer. "This is my escape kit. Take it and go down the back stairs to the basement parking lot. You will see a door marked 'Generator Room.' Use this key—" he tossed it to von Tupilow "—to open the door. The tunnel beyond leads to the underground parking lot at the
Katharinenhospital
. There's a black Porsche Speedster in the lot. The same key that opens the generator room works the ignition. If you see Baumann with the others loading the vans, tell him that I want to see him when he's finished."

At von Tupilow's nod, Kluge continued more confidently.

"Get out of Stuttgart and go to Vienna. I have a suite of rooms at the Bristol Hotel under the name of Count Metterdorf. Use that name when you sign in. I'll join you as soon as I can. If I haven't contacted you within a month, open that case and follow the instructions. Do you understand?"

Von Tupilow clicked his heels. "Yes,
Hochmeister
!"

"Good.
Sieg Heil
!"

Kluge saluted von Tupilow, then opened the door in the paneling that led down to his freedom.

"One word of advice, Anton," Kluge said, just before the younger man stepped into the opening. "Never hunt alone."

When von Tupilow had gone, Kluge turned back to the security monitor on his desk. The black-and-white image showed a lifeless hulk crumpled beside Kluge's Mercedes and a man with an assault rifle covering the elevator and surrounding car park. The display above the elevator door indicated that the elevator was on its way up.

Kluge started to turn away, then looked again as an old American car entered the frame, pulling up behind the Mercedes. Despite the menacing motions of the man with the rifle, a big, bearlike man got out of the car, displaying empty hands to his challenger. Although there was no sound to accompany the picture, Kluge could imagine what was being said.

As the two men in the parking structure mouthed unheard imprecations, Kluge went to a glass-topped case on the far side of his office and removed a sword that had once belonged to the Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights. First things first. Far more immediate than the two men in the car park was the question of the man in the elevator—an opponent to be reckoned with. His handling of the vampire in the elevator showed that he was both brave and resourceful. It remained to be seen how adept he was with a sword.

Glancing again at the screen of his security monitor, Kluge noticed for the first time that the bearlike man was wearing a yarmulke.

A Jew
, he thought.
Probably the Mossad
. The big man's shirttail hung out, nearly—but not quite—concealing the butt of an automatic pistol.

What was that old proverb about the Russians? Something about being nice until they tucked in their shirts?

He doubted the big Jew was a nice person. His experience in the Russian camps had been that no one was nice, whether or not their shirttail was tucked in.

No, the Jew almost certainly was after him. Kluge had expected it since the day he literally bumped into a former camp inmate in Vienna. The old man had gone straight to the authorities—the most dangerous thing that had happened to Kluge since his escape from Russia—but in the end, no one believed him.

Or had they? Kluge looked at the monitor again. Suddenly he was certain that the big man in the yarmulke was there for one of only two reasons: to kill Kluge in retribution for the death of the old Jew in Vienna a few weeks before, or to kidnap him, take him to Israel, and experiment on him just like the Russians had done.

In an instant, Kluge's mind was made up. He would never allow the Jews or anyone else to use him like some laboratory animal. This man on the elevator had better be damned good, because if he wasn't, the Jew would have to be better. Kluge had decided to die rather than risk falling into the hands of the Mossad—and better in battle against a worthy opponent than forced to take his own life.

A bell sounded out in the lobby, alerting Kluge that the elevator had arrived. Hefting his sword, Kluge opened the door of his office and stepped outside to meet his adversary.

The little lobby looked empty, but Kluge could sense the presence of someone else in the room.

"I saw you on the security monitor," Kluge said in German. "You were very impressive. I admire cleverness and courage. Also prowess. I hope I won't be disappointed."

"
Ich spreche nicht Deutsch, Herr Kluge
," Drummond said as he stepped cautiously from the elevator, de Beq's sword at the ready.

"Well," Kluge said, shifting to English, "you have the advantage of me. Do you mind telling me who you are?"

"John Drummond," Drummond replied.

"I see," Kluge said. "And now that our paths have crossed, Mr. Drummond, what can I do for you?" he asked, bringing his own sword up into a defensive position.

"You can die, that's what," Drummond said, circling to Kluge's right. "You can die and go to hell."

"Hardly a charitable wish," Kluge said, "but if that's the way you feel, I'll give you the opportunity here and now to do your best to kill me."

Kluge held his sword away from his body and at a downward angle, the point inches from the floor. Stepping forward and to his left, he halted Drummond's feint with a quick upward slash of his blade.

Drummond leaped back, swinging de Beq's sword like a golf club, and only managed to deflect Kluge's blade at the last instant. Bringing his weapon back like an edged pendulum, he swung wildly at Kluge, who deftly parried the attack and stepped back into a guard position.

"So," Kluge said, looking at Drummond and trying to decide whether to kill him or let him live, "who are you with? The Israelis?"

"No, the police," Drummond replied. "LAPD."

Kluge regarded Drummond quizzically. "You are a bit out of your jurisdiction," he finally said.

Drummond gave Kluge a cold smile. "Let's just call it 'hot pursuit.'"

"Yes, but on whose behalf?" Kluge replied. "
To protect and serve
—isn't that what it says on your police cars, Mr. Drummond? They do on all the TV shows, at least. Tell me, whom do you protect and serve today?" Kluge began slowly edging around behind the security desk in the lobby as he spoke.

"Do you protect
your
home? Do you serve
your
people? No. You are here to kill me, to protect Jews and to serve Jewish interests. It would be better, Mr. Drummond, to join with me in the Aryan struggle than to die for the Jews."

"One of us is going to die, Kluge, and it isn't going to be me." Drummond swung overhand at Kluge. The vampire deflected Drummond's blade easily with his own, then riposted with a blow that nearly knocked the sword from Drummond's hand. As Drummond recovered his weapon, Kluge glanced at the monitor on the desk.

"Do you really believe that, you insignificant fool?" he retorted. "There is a Jew—probably with the Mossad— dealing with your friend right now." A flicker of disbelief crossed Drummond's face. "You don't believe me? Well, see for yourself."

Reaching to the end of the desk, Kluge turned the security monitor toward Drummond. On the black-and-white screen, Drummond could see Eberle holding a big man at gunpoint, keeping him at a distance, hands over his head. Kluge pressed a button on the control panel on the desk, and the remote security camera zoomed in on the pair, unmistakably showing the yarmulke the big man was wearing.

"A Jew, Mr. Drummond," Kluge said. "A Jew who is here to kill us both. Only he doesn't know the bond we share."

"I don't share anything with you, Kluge," Drummond said, glaring at the vampire.

"We share the bond of our race, Drummond." Kluge smiled. "And the blood of the immortals."

"No, that's where you're wrong, Kluge." Drummond's voice had the flat ring of authority. "I'm not like you. I'm not a Nazi and I'm not a vampire. I'm a cop. You asked who do I protect, who do I serve? Well, I'll tell you. I protect the innocent and I serve the good. And you, asshole, are neither."

Drummond brought his sword down on the security monitor, shattering it in a shower of exploding sparks, following through immediately with a slash at Kluge's arm which—quite unexpectedly—actually connected.

It was only a flesh wound, but Kluge screamed in outrage and slashed back at Drummond, who managed to parry Kluge's sword with his own and then vaulted over the desk and swung his sword overhead, bringing it down on Kluge's shoulder.

Kluge's parry was late. He managed to deflect Drummond's blade enough to prevent it cutting, but not to stop it from shattering bone. His collarbone snapped with a brittle crack, and his left arm dropped uselessly to his side.

Snarling, his sword still clutched in his right hand, Kluge scrambled awkwardly around the desk and made a dash for the elevator. Grimacing with pain and staggering as he ran, the vampire careened into the elevator and collapsed to his knees, scrambling to get his back to a corner. Drummond, thinking he had done the vampire serious injury, charged after him, his sword above his head, ready to smash on Kluge like an executioner's axe.

Kluge dropped his sword as he frantically tried to prop himself in a sitting position in the corner. Just in time, as Drummond arched his back to bring his sword down in a killing blow, Kluge snatched his sword from the floor of the elevator and, with a cunning smile on his face, brought it up with a powerful thrust into Drummond's side.

Drummond's first sensation was not pain but an icy blow to his side as the blade passed through his body.
Then
the pain hit, in a wave that crashed over him with such intensity that he staggered against the wall, paralyzed with agony, spitted on Kluge's blade. As Kluge pulled back his sword and Drummond felt the blade slip out of his body—a burning sensation, as if his very life were being pulled out with it—he felt himself sinking slowly to his knees, de Beq's sword slipping from fingers suddenly gone cold and numb.

In that instant, Drummond knew that Kluge had deceived him into believing he was seriously injured. He also knew that he was a dead man. His vision narrowed to a distant tunnel, and in his ears he could hear the last of his life rushing away from him. Sinking forward helplessly, into Kluge's very arms, he was dimly aware of the vampire's gloating laughter.

A part of him seemed to be floating near the ceiling of the elevator, looking down on himself as he slowly collapsed across Kluge's chest, dying. But suddenly anger began to replace the floating complacency that was carrying Drummond away. In the darkening, twilight world into which he was drifting, one final thought came to Drummond—that even if he died, Kluge must not survive.

Determination gave him strength for one final act. As he watched, he saw himself reach to the small of his back and grab the hilt of de Beq's dagger—the Damascus blade the knight had said came from heaven. That last movement brought the knife around to slash deeply into the side of Kluge's neck. It was the last thing of which Drummond was aware, before he slid into merciful blackness.

The shock of Drummond's dying attack burned into Kluge's consciousness. Using his good arm, he instinctively reached around Drummond's body and clamped his hand over the wound the broad-blade dagger had inflicted as Drummond fell forward, but he knew it was little use. He tried to shift from under Drummond's body, but its weight held him pinned against the floor of the elevator. Vampiric blood still might have saved him, but there was none. Drummond clearly had not been a vampire as Kluge had believed. Kluge could feel his strength ebbing, and knew that in only a matter of minutes, he would be so weak that the Mossad agent waiting below would have no difficulty in capturing him.

He shifted slightly, pressing his lips against Drummond's throat. Faintly, distantly, he felt Drummond's pulse slowly fading. A smile curved at Kluge's lips. The Mossad wouldn't have him after all. He would give them Drummond instead.

Letting go of his wound, Kluge used his right hand to grab Drummond by the hair and force his mouth over the wound on his throat. He heard Drummond cough weakly as the vampire's blood welled into his mouth and he swallowed—a survival instinct—and he pressed Drummond's face harder to the wound, willing him to swallow more, smiling…

Slowly, as Kluge's blood infused him, Drummond found himself being dragged back from the darkness he wished to embrace and pushed into the painful light of life. Instinctively his hand groped to his side, closing his wound, staunching the flow of his own blood.

The movement told Kluge that Drummond would survive. At the same time, he could feel himself slipping away, and he fought for yet a few more seconds of consciousness. Grabbing his sword for the last time, he stretched up and, with the tip of the blade, tried to push the down button on the control panel. His vision blurred, the effort was too much, and Kluge felt his sword sink to the floor…

Moments later, when Baumann found them, he lifted Kluge from under Drummond's body with an effortless heave and laid him carefully on a hospital trolley. Then, returning to the elevator car, he pulled a syringe from his white lab coat and jabbed it into Drummond's neck, slowly injecting him with a massive dose of adrenaline. Straightening then, he leaned over Drummond and pushed the button that would send the elevator down to the executive parking level.