Simon Hawke - The Dracula Caper

"You should have left well enough alone. Moreau," said Drakov, pushing the door open and shoving the woman in ahead of him.

"Forgive me, Dr. Morro!" said the madame. "Forgive me!" Moreau bolted for his revolver on the nightstand by the bed, but Drakov was too quick for him. He shoved Madame Tchu hard into Moreau and they both tumbled to the floor. As Drakov reached inside his coat, Jasmine let out a ki-yai and came flying across the room, feet extended, and delivered a punishing kick to Drakov's chest. He staggered back, but managed to keep his balance. He blocked her next two kicks, which came like a blur in rapid succession, and deflected the third kick by turning it aside, adding his force to its momentum to spin her around, exposing her back to him. He moved in quickly and seized her from behind in a judo choke hold, jerking her up into the air, ready to snap her neck, when Moreau came up with his revolver.

"Nikolai. no!"

Drakov hesitated, maintaining the pressure, not allowing her to breathe. Jasmine thrashed in his grip and started making choking sounds.

"Put down the gun or else I'll kill her." Drakov said.

"If you kill her, Nikolai," Moreau said, "nothing will save you. I will shoot you where you stand."

"I have no doubt of that," said Drakov, "but she will be dead, too. If her life means anything to you, throw down the gun."

Moreau hesitated. His hand holding the gun started to shake. Drakov applied more pressure and Jasmine started to rattle in her throat.

"Damn you," said Moreau. He threw the gun down on the floor.

"And your warp disc, as well," said Drakov. "Take it off carefully and drop it on the floor."

Moreau complied.

Drakov dropped Jasmine and she fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and gasping for air. Drakov pulled out a laser pistol and trained it on Moreau.

"That is the difference between us, Phillipe," he said. "I would have fired."

Moreau got down on his knees beside Jasmine and held her in his arms. She started sobbing.

"That is a rather dangerous young woman you have there," Drakov said. "She was much quicker than the guards downstairs." He prodded Madame Tchu with his foot. "Get up, woman. Go tend to your whores. Tell them to keep quiet if they know what's good for them."

She got up slowly and looked to Moreau, shaking her head with tears in her eyes.

"Go on, Madame Tchu," Moreau said. -Please go. There is nothing you can do.”

She ran out of the room.

"Somehow I never imagined I would find you in a whorehouse." Drakov said. "Really, Moreau. You disappoint me. Did you think I would fail to notice your Chinese thugs snooping about? Whom did you think you were dealing with? What did you hope to accomplish?"

"You know perfectly well," Moreau said.

"Why?" Drakov said. "What are these people to you? You are on opposing sides. Your superiors in the Special Operations Group would consider that I was doing them a favor."

"Perhaps they would condone what you have done," Moreau said, "but I cannot."

"I have only carried on your own work," said Drakov. "You should be proud. The pupil has surpassed his teacher."

"Yes, indeed you have," Moreau said, "and I will never forgive myself for the part that I have played in this. You may as well kill me now and get it over with. I no longer have any great desire to go on living. But if there is even one spark of human decency left in you, let her go. She is no threat to you."

"True," said Drakov, "but she seems to mean something to you, and I would hate to kill you now and deprive you of the opportunity to see just how far I have advanced your work. We will bring her with us.”

"Nikolai, please…

Drakov fired the laser and Moreau cried out as the beam grazed his shoulder, scorching the skin. Drakov grabbed Jasmine by the hair with his free hand and hauled her to her feet.

"I said, we will bring her with us. Pick up your warp disc and enter the coordinates I give you. Try any tricks and I will kill her

With a sick feeling, Moreau reached for his warp disc. He had no thought for his own welfare anymore. He only prayed Lin Tao would reach the temporal agents in time.

"Where the devil are we?" Brant Stoker whispered. "What happened?"

"I am not certain. Stoker, — Conan Doyle said, looking around, "but logic would seem to indicate that we have been drugged."

"Drugged!" said Stoker. "But I remember nothing!" "Precisely," Conan

Doyle said. "What is the last thing you remember clearly?"

"Being in Whitechapel, following Count Dracula into that courtyard

…" Stoker frowned and pulled at his pointed red beard absently. "And then it is all a blank!”

"As it is with me," said Conan Doyle. "The only possible explanation is that a drug was somehow administered to us and we were brought here senseless. As we neither drank nor consumed anything since we left the pub, I can only surmise that the drug must have been introduced through our lungs, perhaps through an airborne agent of some sort, such as a gas or powder we might have inhaled. Or through our skin, most probably from a distance, possibly by a dart fired from an African blowgun or some similar instrument. I would think the latter method, since the breeze would have rendered the former uncertain."

He reached out and took Stoker's chin in his hand, turning his face to one side. "As I suspected," he said. "There is a tiny wound upon your neck, slightly inflamed, little more than a pinprick. I would venture to say that I have a similar wound upon my own neck.”

"Yes, I see it," Stoker said. "Egad, Arthur. how do you know these things?"

"It is elementary my dear Stoker," Conan Doyle said. "Observation, logic and a great deal of reading. I also perceive that we are not in England anymore."

"What!" Stoker exclaimed. "Impossible!"

"I assure you that it is so." said Conan Doyle. "You have but to take stock of our immediate surroundings to convince yourself that I am right. Observe this room, the obvious age of these stone walls, the dimensions of the blocks used in the construction. Where in Whitechapel could we find such an edifice? We are in a sort of keep, Stoker, or a castle-"

"That we are not in Whitechapel, that I can accept," said Stoker, "but we must still be in England, on the Cornish coast perhaps-"

"On the contrary, Stoker. The architecture is of a style such as that employed by the knights of the Holy Roman Empire. This is not an English castle. Besides, if you will take a moment to smell the breeze coming in through that open window, you will notice that there is no smell of the sea, so we can eliminate the Cornish coast. No, Stoker, what I smell is pure. clean, fresh mountain air. Air which is not laden with the damp of English breezes. Observe, moreover, the tapestries hanging on these walls. They are Turkish, unless I am mistaken, and quite old, dating back to medieval days."

He walked over to the window, somewhat unsteadily, still feeling the aftereffects of the drug. Stoker sat up slowly, rubbing his head, and followed.

"Just as I thought." said Conan Doyle.

"Good God!" said Stoker.

They looked out upon a mountain view, with snowcapped peaks in the distance, covered by clouds. Below them was a sheer drop into an abyss. They were in a castle perched upon a cliff, overlooking a mountain pass.

"I must be dreaming!" Stoker said. "Where in heaven is this place?"

"Not in heaven, Stoker,” said Conan Doyle, "but somewhere in the Alpine range, most likely one of the Balkan nations."

"But… how is that possible? How did we get here? Who could have done this? — Stoker said.

"As to how we came here, that remains a mystery," said Conan Doyle. "But as to the identity of our abductor, there can be little doubt."

They heard a key turn in the lock and the door slowly creaked open. Dracula entered, carrying a candelabrum.