Return of the Phoenix - 01 (10 page)

“No. We’re only trained how to hunt down and kill the monsters that prey on humans,” Jack answered, hoping his a
nswer sounded cold and calculated. Rufus appeared unaffected, still staring at the candle.

“We, ourselves are unsure of our origins. We have only le
gends to go by,” he stated. “But even legends have a grain of truth at their hearts, yes?” Finally he turned to look at Jack, a sad smile forming. Rufus sighed again and began his tale.

“Many centuries ago, it is said that one of the Disciples of Christ turned on him, yes? Judas.” Jack was never really a rel
igious man, but he remembered that much from his grandmother dragging him to Sunday School as a kid. “Judas’ betrayal was the worst kind. A betrayal of a brother against another. However, this brother was the Son of God. So his punishment was everlasting. Judas indeed tried to hang himself out of guilt, but he never truly saw death. Rather, he became the undead. Never truly alive, never truly dead, never to die.” Rufus, cleared his throat and turned again to the flickering flame of the candle and let his gaze stare into the glow. “Never to walk in the light of the sun again, forever cast into the darkness…this was his punishment. To be forever a creature of the night and to forever feed upon the very blood of mankind. A thirst more powerful than any mortal greed, and his only weakness, the same weakness that bought his treachery in the first place.” Rufus turned again to Jack. “Silver.”

“So you’re saying that a disciple of Jesus was the
first
vampire?” Jack asked, somewhat disbelieving.

“So say the legends,” Rufus answered. “And of those that he fed upon, if any lived, they too became vampire. Although few survived early on. Legend says that it took him many years to discover the pathway to truly create without destroying the mind.”

“Sharing his blood with them.”

“
Exactement
! Otherwise, they were mindless creatures, running rampant through the countryside without the sense to escape the burning sun when it rose, and were quickly disposed of,” Rufus answered. “But once he discovered that sharing his own blood with others salvaged the mind of the victim, he chose wisely in who he turned. People of great wealth and power. And he ruled great lands with many wives, and sired many children. Natural born vampires, who’s powers are very much like the stories you read in your novels and—”

“Whoa! Wait a minute, hold on a second!” Jack interrupted. “You mean to tell me that vampires can
breed
? We’ve been taught that once somebody is turned, they’re basically sterile.”

“
Oui
. For the most part, most
turned
vampires are sterile,” Rufus explained. “But not all. This is why he took many wives, to increase the odds of siring offspring, and why the natural-born vampires rose to such prominence in the ranks of the families.”

“This still doesn’t explain the werewolves who operate du
ring the day,” Jack said.

“True. I am getting to that.” Rufus shifted in his chair to face Jack better. “According to the legends, at the time that the first vampire came into being, the first werewolf was as well.”

“One of Judas’ first victims?” Jack asked.

“
Non
,” Rufus answered. “The Roman centurion that he conspired with, the very centurion who pierced the side of Christ at the moment of death, whose spear became the ‘spear of destiny’…
he
became the father of the wolves.”

Jack was taken aback by this revelation. If what Rufus was telling him were true, if the vampire legends were true, it went a long way toward explaining the allergic reactions both had to silver, as the thirty silver coins were tied to both originators. Both had conspired to betray Christ and brought the wrath of God upon their heads. Both had personally wounded Christ, one with a kiss, the other with a spear. Still, it didn’t explain how his team was attacked in broad daylight.

“So how did these wolves operate without it being a full moon?” Jack asked.

“They were natural born,” Rufus answered. “Direct d
escendants of that Roman centurion. Claudius Maximus Veranus was the centurion. Many have tried to claim that Longinus was the centurion who pierced His holy side and then later converted to Christianity, but alas, that is not how it was. Longinus may have been present at the time, but he did not wield that spear.”

Rufus stood and poured a glass of water for Jack then r
eturned to his chair. Jack studied that glass as Rufus spoke further. “Like other shifters, natural-born werewolves can control their transition to the animal. They do not need a full moon. However, on the full moon, they cannot control it. The lunar cycle controls them. When a natural born wolf shifts during the full moon, the wolf has control of their mind. If they control the shift and do it on their own on any other day then they still retain their minds and have full cognizance of what they are doing.”

“Other shifters? What do you mean, ‘other’ shifters?” Jack asked.

Rufus smiled slightly then responded. “There are shape shifters out there who can assume any animal shape they so desire. It could be something as large as a horse or as small as mice. Some prefer to take flight and will often take on predatory birds like owls or hawks.”

“So the wolves who aren’t natural born?” Jack asked.

“Survivors of an attack, usually,” Rufus stated. But Jack could see that he was holding something back. What that something was, he wasn’t sure, but what the vampire had shared so far was making sense. Too much sense to just be legend. As Rufus had said, didn’t all legends have a grain of truth at their heart?

9

Mitchell had just sat at his desk and opened the day’s su
mmary reports when he heard a knock at his door. “Come,” he said without looking up.

“Colonel? I think I have something disturbing to report from the squad attack in Texas.” Mitchell looked up to see his lead lab technician at his door. The man was pale and holding a folder in shaking hands.

“Come in, Mike. What is it?” Mitchell only had a handful of civilians working for him and Mike Waters was one of them. One of the best pathologists and forensic investigators Mitchell could find.

“Matt, our clean-up crew scoured the area. We got every f
iber, hair, scrap of clothing…hell, even trash that had blown in from off-scene.” Mike finally met his eyes. “It is our best belief that one of the men is missing from the carnage.”

Mitchell was unsure how to take the news. “Missing how? Like possibly still alive or dragged off and killed or eaten on site?” Matt’s mind reeled at the thought.

“We looked at the depth of prints coming in and estimated weights of the incoming attackers. The sand was soft, so impressions were impossible, but we were able to discern that
one
set of prints that left, singularly away from all the others, were at least two hundred pounds heavier than any of the others simply by the depth of the impression in the sand and the spray off the prints. We think that these prints might indicate that one of the men was being carried away from the scene.”

“Do you have any idea who it is yet?” Matt asked, hoping that at least one of his men was still alive.

“Thompson, sir.” Mike handed him the file with the forensic data. “All the other men’s uniforms have been more or less pieced together except for the Phoenix. We haven’t found a single scrap of his uniform in any of the carnage.” The Phoenix was Chief Petty Officer Jack Thompson’s call sign that the squad members had given him after he walked out of a fireball of a building without a scratch on him.

Matt took the file and thumbed through the photos of the scene, the morgue photos where bodies were pieced back t
ogether like a puzzle, hair and blood analysis, soil analysis, photos of trash and shell casings, photos of boot and foot prints, blood splatters and sprays and a summary of evidential findings. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Not at this time, sir. This is the final report and the remains are being prepared for cremation,” Mike responded.

“Very well,” Matt said. “If anything else happens to come up, I want to know.” Mike turned and left and Matt opened the blinds in his office looking down onto the training area. Squad members were gearing up for a live fire exercise in the CQB simulators. Laura had the drill instructors separate and mix them according to their strengths and while one squad went through the drill, the other prepared their gear. Matt watched the teams as they prepared for the exercise but his mind was on Chief Thompson and the possibility that he may be alive.
What could they want with him? Were they torturing him? Were they trying to get information from him? Would they try to attack the teams here at the base?
These thoughts and many others ran through his mind as he observed the squads perform flawlessly one after the other in different scenarios and with the DI’s changing the layouts of the CQB platform between runs so that no two runs were the same.

Matt picked up the folder and headed for Laura’s office. She needed to know that there was a possibility that Jack was alive. If the monsters had him, there was always the possibility that he could be compromised.

*****

Senator Franklin walked through the lonely house, drink in hand, housecoat flapping behind him. His lambskin slippers didn’t echo on the hardwood floors as he settled in to his favorite chair of his private study. He reached for his humidor, pulled out a Romeo and Juliet, and clipped the end. His true vice was ill
egal cigars…which he allowed himself to enjoy only at home.

As the flame licked the end and he pulled the smoke into his mouth to bring the end to full burn, he noticed movement in the shadows of his study and nearly dropped the lighter.

“How the hell did you get in here?!” he demanded.

“Hello to you, too, father,” the shadowy figure answered, never quite stepping out of the shadows. “I would say that I’ve missed you, but we both know that would be a lie.”

“Damien,” Leslie Franklin stammered. “I didn’t realize it was you.” Franklin stood and approached his son. “Why are you hiding in the shadows, son? Come here and sit. Talk with me.” But the shadow in the corner never moved. Franklin could almost feel the animosity radiating from his only son.

“I’d rather stand, thank you.”

Franklin waivered a moment, then remembered his position. The power he held both in wealth and in title. He raised his chin slightly and went back to his chair. “Suit yourself, son.”

“Son?” Damien responded. “Is that truly how you see me?”

“You’ve always been my son,” Franklin stated flatly, without emotion. “What would you have me call you?”

“Truly?” Now the shadow moved, but not into the light. Staying at the periphery of the table lamp, Damien circled the desk to stand closer to the study window. “While mother was dying of cancer, and you were so busy screwing anything with a short skirt and a pulse, did you have the time for me then?”

“Do we have to go through this again?” Franklin sighed.

“No,” Damien responded, “I suppose not. Nothing we say will change the past.”

“No, it won’t.”

“What of the future, father?” Damien asked, an edge to his voice. “Have you taken care of Mitchell and our little problem?”

“I’m working on it, son. It hasn’t been as easy as I thought it would be,” Franklin replied, his voice wavering.

“Perhaps I should do it for you? Sometimes a politician isn’t the best tool for the job. Sometimes—”

“It’s taken care of,” Franklin interrupted. “If you’ll learn a little patience, you’ll get what you want. All of you will. The Monster Squad will be irreparably embarrassed and there will be no possible way for them to continue doing what they’ve been doing.”

“What wheels have you set in motion, father?” Damien asked, his voice dripping with accusation.

“You’ll see, my son.” Franklin was smiling now. “The Monster Squad will be outted to the public. The whole world will know exactly what they do, who they do it to, and it will appear to be an inside job.” Franklin was actually proud of himself.

“You FOOL!” Damien snapped. “We can’t risk the world finding out that monsters exist!” He stepped out of the shadows and approached the desk. His eyes were so pale, it was imposs
ible to tell where the whites began. His skin so thin and translucent that the blue veins appeared ghastly and like that of a corpse. His incisors had grown out to attack position and his nails extended. Franklin knew he was not long for this world.

“Damien!” Franklin exclaimed. “Don’t you see? Monsters
don’t
exist to the rest of the world! The squads will be made out as tax-dollar wasting idiots, jetting around, partying on the military’s dime, all in the name of fighting off boogeymen that aren’t
real
!” The good senator was almost hyperventilating now as Damien stood over him, hand pulled back to a strike position.

Damien considered his father’s words for a moment. Slowly he lowered his hands and retracted his nails. Slowly his incisors drew back up and his skin darkened until he looked almost no
rmal. And when Franklin looked into his son’s face again, his eyes were sky blue…just as his mother’s had been. “This had better work as you think it will.”

“It will,” Franklin stammered, breathing a sigh of relief.

“If it doesn’t, and it is
we
who are outted…it will be open season on
all
humans,” Damien said as he turned for the study window. Turning back to his father he added, “And you will be at the top of the list, father.”

*****

“So why would a werewolf carry me to you, Rufus?” Jack asked.

“This particular wolf works for my family, Mr. Thompson,” Rufus answered. “We had to know what the Lamia Humanus clans were up to. They employ many natural-born wolves to s
ecure them during the day. Many years ago, we urged one of our wolves to infiltrate and feed us information as she could.”

“Wait a second, bub. One of
your
wolves?” Jack asked.

“
Oui
,” Rufus responded as if Jack should simply accept what he was saying. When it became obvious that Jack expected Rufus to explain further, Rufus sighed and settled further into his chair. “Many centuries ago, an accord was met with a natural wolf family and my own. We both were of the same mind that human life was precious and should be protected.” Jack nodded his head for Rufus to continue. “We came to an accord, an agreement. A
contract,
if you will, that our two families would bind ourselves together by blood oath and agree that no longer would either allow any in our clans to feed upon, prey upon, or hunt another human, so long as our lines continued.”

“That’s some pretty heavy shit, Rufus,” Jack said.

“True. Very heavy when you consider that both wolf and vampire usually hunt humans to sustain themselves.” Rufus took a deep breath and continued, “However, we both knew that we could satisfy ourselves with lesser animals. And so we
chose
to do so, and in doing so, we tied both our families together, forever.”

“By blood?” Jack asked.

“
Oui
,” Rufus answered. “By blood, by sacred oath, and by honor. Three things that neither family would
ever
break.”

“Okay, so the wolf that brought me here was one of your wolves that had infiltrated the group?”

“
Oui
,” Rufus said, “And by saving you and breaking away from the group, she cannot return or risk revealing herself as a traitor to their agenda.” Rufus stood and replaced the chair along the wall. “We risked much to save you, Mr. Thompson.”

“Why? Why risk your only spy to save my sorry ass?” Jack asked as Rufus opened the door.

“Because it is our sincerest hope that you will believe our tale and take the truth back to your people before it is too late. Before more
Lamia Beastia
are killed and the
Lamia Humanus
get everything that they desire…to rule the earth and subjugate humanity as their cattle.”

*****

“So if Jack’s alive, what does that mean for the team?” Laura asked, studying the forensic data.

Matt toyed with the items on her shelf as she perused the file. He picked up a trophy from her college days. Tennis. A
nother trophy was for swimming. She earned it in high school. Another row of trophies were all softball.
A real athlete, this one.
He sat the trophy down and noticed there was no dust anywhere. Not unlike his own office, but he had stewards that took care of such things.

“That’s what I wanted to pick your brain over,” Matt sighed. “I’m not sure if we should consider him compromised or if we dare hope that he’s holding his own.” He turned his full attention back to Laura. “What does your gut tell you?”

Laura looked through the photos again and set the folder down gently on her desk, as if she were actually handling the remains of the men she once knew. She took a deep breath and looked Matt in the eye. “Sir, I don’t think we can jump to any conclusions just yet,” she began. “We both know that Thompson is a strong soldier. One of the best there is.”

“True. But we have no idea what they could be doing to him right this moment, even
if
he’s still alive.”

“I understand, sir. And that is exactly why we need to keep this to ourselves.” Matt nodded. He never intended to release the information to the squad or they would expect to tear through the countryside looking for the soldier, regardless of the lack of i
ntel.

“Agreed. No sense in giving them false hope, and I definit
ely don’t want them trying to man a rescue attempt when we have no idea where he may be.”

“However, sir, should the time come that we
do
discover where he is, what then? Do we consider him persona non grata or do we attempt a rescue?” she asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Laura.” Matt sighed. “We simply don’t have enough information to form a rational decision at this time. Hell, at this point, we don’t even know if he is still breathing. They could have taken him for a midnight snack!” Matt exclaimed, then immediately regretted it. Laura looked up at him with shock and confusion and Mitchell threw up his hands, “I’m sorry, Laura. That was totally uncalled for. I’m just at a loss right now.”

“I understand, colonel,” she said.

Matt reached across her desk and picked up the file. As he thumped it across his thigh a few times he noticed the small ice chest in the corner of her office. “Were you able to get more blood for Evan?”