Jonathan Maberry - Assassin's code

Vox took a breath and adjusted his tone. “Yes, Father. Do you have something to report?”

“We have had a problem, sir.”

“Tell me.”

Belloq told him about the failed ambush of Joe Ledger.

“You lost the whole team?” growled Vox. His anger was only partly contrived. It would not have surprised Vox to hear that Ledger had taken out at least half the team; he knew Ledger was that good. But all of them?

“Every last man is in the arms of Jesus.”

“Please, Father Belloq, this is madness,” said Vox, mopping sweat from his face. His stomach felt like it was ready to explode, but there was nothing left it in. “What could possibly have happened to all those men?”

“There is only one possible explanation,” said the priest with undisguised contempt. “Upierczi.”

Vox faked a gasp and then waited a few seconds for Belloq to appreciate how disturbed he was by this news.

“Surely no single Red Knight could-”

“No, sir. We believe that the Upierczi are out in force. Sir… I’m afraid that the thing we were afraid of is about to happen.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes… it seems certain now that the Upierczi have obtained nuclear weapons.”

Vox didn’t have the energy for a cry of dismay, so he let a protracted silence convey the right amount of shock. When he thought enough time had passed, Vox said, “Are you positive?”

“Sir,” said Belloq, “when you know the world of covert operations as well as I do, you understand that very little is certain. We operate on degrees of ‘confidence’ in a thing, and then we are forced to act. If we waited for absolute certainty it would be too late.”

“Yes, yes,” said Vox with feigned distress, “you are right, of course. I don’t understand these things. It’s just that… my God! Bombs? What would vampires want or need with such dreadful weapons?”

He heard Belloq sigh with exasperation. Good. That was the right reaction. He wanted the man to be impatient. Impatience was useful.

“Sir,” said Belloq, “I’ve explained this a dozen times. The Red Order has lost control of the Upierczi. The Kingdom of Shadows is in open revolt and they are about to make war on the world of men. And the human traitors who work for the Upierczi have infiltrated every government, every level of industry and world trade. The launching of bombs will be the first wave… and I believe it will send a signal for a complete takeover of world governments and key industries.”

“You think it will actually come to that? Humans helping monsters to conquer the world?”

“It is happening!” insisted the priest. “And we are running out of time. That list your chief of security provided… We need to act on that immediately. We need to cut off the Hydra’s head before we are overwhelmed.”

Vox almost laughed. The phrasing was so trite, so corny. Belloq might be a ruthless killer, but he was also a complete ham-bone. That was also useful.

“The list,” Vox echoed, as if fretting over a dreadful decision. In truth the list was one he had prepared and added to while still in the good graces of Church and the president of the United States. It was his own version of a nuclear bomb, and once used it would do far more damage than the Teller-Ulams hidden throughout the Middle East. That list would blow a hole in the world and leave nothing but chaos behind.

A very, very profitable chaos.

“I’m sorry,” Vox said contritely. “This is all beyond me, and it terrifies me.”

“We’re all scared,” Belloq assured him. “But courage is defined by acting even in the presence of great fear. God needs us to be courageous. God needs us to be the heroes in this battle against the forces of evil.”

Forces of evil. Vox had to cover the phone while he laughed quietly. He wished he could put that on a business card.

“Tell me what to do,” he said after a moment.

“There is only one thing you need do, sir. You need to give me permission to use that list. I promised that we would do nothing without your say-so. Mr. Verrecchia-now is the time. Search your heart, search your faith… Ask yourself what God requires of you.”

Vox was silent as he picked lint off his pajama bottoms, letting the clock burn. Letting Belloq imagine the torment that “Verrecchia” must be experiencing because of the consequences of this action. Many people would die. Thousands of them. Men, women, and even children. No one could be spared. It was the only way to protect the world from the vampire uprising.

Although he kept his voice grave, Vox was smiling as he said, “Let God’s will be done.”

He disconnected and tossed the phone on the bed.

The sickness in his stomach was still there, but Vox realized that the trembling in his legs and arms was less. Much less. Even though the side effects hit him sooner and harder with each treatment of Upier 531, there was no doubt at all that they were wearing off sooner. He rolled up his sleeve and peeled off the bandage to examine the puncture marks.

There were none.

Vox pulled open his robe and pulled up his vomit-stained undershirt.

This time his gasp was genuine.

The big puncture wounds from the horse needles Dr. Hasbrouck used on him were…

Well, shit, he thought. They were gone.

No. That wasn’t the right way to think of it, he realized with a new and dark delight.

They were healed.

He closed his eyes.

The treatments were working.

And with a jolt he realized that he hadn’t had a coughing fit all day.

Hugo Vox smiled. If Father Belloq had been there to see that smile, the Sabbatarian would have screamed and grabbed for a hammer and a stake.

The Hangar

Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn

June 15, 10:25 a.m. EST

Church’s phone rang and he saw that it was Lilith again. He answered.

“Have you had a chance to look at the contents of the flash drive?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Your opinion?”

“It’s contrived.”

“That was Circe’s take.”

Lilith paused. “How is Circe?”

“She’s well,” said Church coldly, “but she is not a topic of conversation.”

“You are a difficult person to like,” she said.

“Many have said the same about you.”

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, and in that silence much was said.

Eventually Lilith returned to Church’s original question. “Rasouli is feeding the Red Order to you.”

“So it seems,” agreed Church, “though I still don’t know what the Red Order is. Not in full. I suspect you do.”

“Actually,” she said, “I don’t. I know how they operate, I know some of the players, but there is something called the Holy Agreement, and I would give a lot to know what’s in it. We believe that the Agreement was drafted and signed by Sir Guy LaRoque, the first Scriptor of the Red Order, and his counterpart, Ibrahim al-Asiri, who was, in turn, the first Murshid.”

“Surely you have a guess about its content.”

“Guesses are useless in the absence of verifiable information. We have a thousand theories, and some of them may be correct, but there’s no meter that will let us know. It’s fair to say that Rasouli’s information does more harm than good to our speculations, because we can’t factor nukes into any of our scenarios.”

“We’re building some theories along the lines of a doomsday cult. Does that make any sense based on your understanding of this matter?”

“Doomsday? No.”

“What about a faction rising within the Order or the Tariqa with a bent toward mutually destructive tactics? Suicide bombers and big-ticket destruction are not unknown in these circles,” he said.