Boar and the other werewolves were dragged to a van and driven away. Unable to see, Boar had no idea where they were being taken. When the door of the van opened again, he could see they’d been taken to what appeared to be some sort of dog kennel.
Wrapped in the silver nets as they were, none of the werewolves were able to shapeshift back to human form. The TFV strike had been perfectly timed, catching the gathered skinchangers in wolf form, the smallest form they could take. That was no coincidence or fortune, but undoubtedly a deliberate strategy. These hunters, for however they’d bungled the attack on Club CRASS, were professionals and knew their stuff.
The TFV troops pushed the wolves into the kennel and placed each one into a cage. They then released them from their nets and left them free inside. Six werewolves on one side of the room, including Boar, with one alone opposite them. That was Ortega.
Boar shifted into human form and tested the cage bars. Like the nets, the bars contained silver and were painful to touch. The other wolves did likewise and discovered the same. This was no ordinary kennel since these were no ordinary cages. It might look normal on the outside, but it was clearly a front for TFV, hidden in plain sight.
“Nice place.” grumbled Boar sarcastically at the TFV guard that had remained in the room. Fully suited out in a commando uniform, the soldier’s face was obscured by a tactical mask, so Boar could not tell if he was one of the same troops he’d seen at Club CRASS. The soldier also gave no response.
“I doubt they’re going to be chatty, Boorman.” said one of Ortega’s bodyguards. “We’re monstrous filth to them.”
“Yeah,” agreed Boar. “But I’m guessing we’re also something else: bargaining chips.”
“What do you mean?”
“They want Orlov. I wonder how long Chief Ortega can hold out once they start torturing us.” It was speculation on Boar’s part, but he knew Drake well enough to know this was going to get uglier before it got better.
“They wouldn’t dare.” said Ortega himself.
“I ain’t keen on dying for that troublemaker.” growled one of the scouts.
“Funny how they showed up right after you did.”
“I won’t claim I wasn’t followed, but if you’re assuming I set this up...”
“And how’d they know to follow you?” growled the bodyguard.
“Because they went to visit his vampire friend the other night.” answered Ortega. “Oh, did you not realize we have spies keeping an eye on your friends, just as you do on us? I knew about the soldiers showing up. I know they attacked Mr. Allens in an effort to find you. The two of you played their game quite nicely.”
“Michael will not be happy to know the werewolves have been keeping their eyes on him.” Boar thought. At that moment, Drake and Agent A entered. Drake was in his usual black suit while A was in an identical uniform to the guard, just minus the mask. A was also bearing a bullpup assault rifle that looked more European than US Army issue.
“So, Mr. Ortega, I see you’ve decided to rejoin the human race for the time being.” said Drake with a menacing mirth. “So, I’m guessing you’re smart enough to know why we’ve abducted you: Konstantin Orlov. I want to know where to find him.”
Ortega shapeshifted into a wolf and then curled up as if to sleep, blowing Drake off completely.
“Very well.” said Drake, reaching under his suit coat and drawing out a long rapier. It’s blackish blade revealed it was made of tarnished silver, perfect for skewering werewolves. Which Drake the proceeded to do...with Boar, sinking the blade into his shoulder.
The touch was silver was painful enough, but to have the blade driven into his flesh was agony. Boar let out a bellow of pain, barely keeping his feet. “You son of a bitch...” he growled through his teeth. “I’ll fucking kill you....” Boar was about to say his name “Drake,” but found himself unable to say the word.
Drake twisted the blade, driving Boar to his knees. “Were we wrong that wolves protect their own? Would not the alpha of the pack, the chief, wish to save his loyal packmate? All I need is a location.”
Ortega yawned and shifted position, but did not return to human form or reply in any other fashion. Drake withdrew the blade and snapped a wicked slash across Boar’s face; That would leave a mark.
“Perhaps another.” said Drake, moving to the next cage. At that, Ortega perked up.
“Yeah, maybe one of his actual pack.” growled Boar, his anger and pain overriding his better judgment. “Try that.”
“Mind yourself, Boorman.” said Ortega, shifting back to human form. “You don’t want my enmity.”
Drake stopped before the next cage, the one containing Ortega’s talkative bodyguard. He drew back the blade to strike.
“He’s in Juniata.” said the scout. “There’s an old foundry with a warehouse nearby, about a block from the golf course.”
“Hollis, how dare you!” growled Ortega. “You can’t give up one of our own.”
“Orlov has defied you countless times.” said Hollis.
“It is not for mortals to judge him for that.”
“Agent A, can you locate the venue named by our friend here?” said Drake, ignoring the bickering.
“Probably.” replied the TFV agent.
“Do so. Get a surveillance detail on it immediately. This wolf could be lying.”
“Yes, sir.” A gave a salute. “What about the wolves?”
“We keep them. If they’re lying, we’ll need them again.”
“And if the tip checks out.”
“We’ll see.”
----
Solomon checked the chambers on his revolver. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“For a vampire who spent his formative years in the later part of the 19th century,” said Julia. “I’m surprised to hear you make a Star Wars joke.”
“That was a joke?” asked Solomon.
“Old movie. Good one.” Said Mitch. He was driving his Camaro down the streets of downtown York. “But also an apt feeling for tonight. I’m not keen on seeing what Ernie can do. Everyone talks about him like he’s some sort of vampire god.”
“We found out.” Said Julia. “I’m not keen on repeating the experience.”
“Michael wants us to flush Ernie’s cult.” Said Solomon. “Scare them. We go in, shoot the place up and make a ruckus. Get the police there. Ernie hates mortal scrutiny. That’s why he’s so sharp to uphold the Masquerade. It’s one of the few consistencies between all his personalities.”
“That and a scary obsession with my sire.”
“Regardless, we’re here to draw attention to the cult and scare people. Shoot to wound. Make sure a round or two goes out into the street. We want the cops to show up.”
“And what if Ernie does?” asked Mitch.
“Then run. Run fast.”
“We’re here.” Said Julia. Mitch pulled the Camaro over to the curb and parked it. The three of them got out, their weapons concealed beneath summer jackets and invisible to the crowds gathered for York’s nightlife. Together they marched down the street to the storefront that Ernie’s cult used as their “church.”
The three went inside, drawing their weapons. They had checked and double checked the cult’s flyers on the way over from Philly. Tonight was the night for a scheduled meeting. There should be a crowd, cultists gathered for another of their “worship services” (aka orgies.)
Scared naked people running away from three gunmen should make quite the spectacle. That was Solomon’s plan. And now they charged in with weapons at the ready.
And found an empty room.
Not merely empty in terms of people. No chairs, mats, tables, supplies. No anything. It was utterly abandoned.
“Looks like he bugged out already.” Said Mitch, holstering his pistol.
“Of course.” Said Solomon with a frustrated tone. “They’ve uprooted to Philly. The attack on Monroe’s island sanctuary was his first move. Call it his debut.”
“We’ll never find him now.”
“Then let’s hope Boar is having better luck than we are.”
---
Alex McCoid, better known to most as “Agent A,” pressed his L85 assault rifle into his shoulder. He pressed his earpiece closer to his ear. “Research confirms two of the guards are known Russian mafia associates.” He said aloud.
“So?” said the big Russian at his side. Mikail was an older fellow, former Soviet Spetznatz who emigrated to the US after the collapse of the Communist regime. TFV snatched him up quick and his expertise had proven invaluable to Alex’s team. He would have been useful when Alex was sent to Russia earlier, but even TFV agents get vacations from time to time.
“We move in. Quiet until required otherwise.” said Alex.
“Roger.” said Mariah Kingsley, aka “Agent M.” She hoisted her crossbow, a quiet weapon perfect for Alex’s order.
The guard near the warehouse’s front door never felt a thing when Mariah’s crossbow bolt went clean through his skull. He dropped with no more sound than the thud of his body hitting the ground. With the way clear, Alex’s team moved in, knowing that they were all under the watchful eye of the fourth member of their team, the Israeli sniper Isaac.
Alex took point into the warehouse, turning on his night vision goggles to navigate the interior without light. It proved unnecessary; the interior was dimly lit from some old lamps above. He moved lightly behind a crate labelled with Cyrillic characters.
“From Moscow.” translated Mikail in a whispered tone. “Shipping label...”
“Means these could be our weapons.” Alex replied quietly. “No way to tell for sure without opening...and opening means noise.”
Mikail motioned with his eyes towards the back of the warehouse. Two more guards had emerged from around a pile of crates. Alex swiftly signaled Mariah, who took aim.
The first bolt took the leftmost guard in the neck, killing him almost as cleanly as the guard outside. But the second was quick, raising his Skorpion submachine gun and letting off a burst.
“Weapons hot.” called out Alex. He let off a burst from his L85 and took out the second guard.
Alex rushed down the corridor formed by the warehouse’ crates as his team covered behind him. Guards flooded out onto the warehouse floor. Alex let off two bursts, taking down two guards before they could even bring their weapons to bear.
“Only damn thing I was ever good at.” Alex lamented to himself. “Killing people.”
Alex was too caught up in his thoughts and his muscle memory to notice the catwalk above him. He failed to notice Julian Stark, Orlov’s assistant, above him. Stark morphed into dire wolf and leapt down onto the crates above him. The bear-sized bulk of his body knocked the crates loose and down onto Alex.
“Commander!” cried out Mariah in surprise.
Mikail opened fire with his RPK on Julian. The silver bullets he’d loaded struck home. Julian yelped and tore off into the darkness.
“Did you get him?” asked Mariah.
“Wounded, but not dead.” said Mikail. He checked his comm. “Isaac, Alex is down. We need you.”
Mariah moved to Alex. “I can’t get him clear.”
“Damn. Orlov will be on the move. That wolf from above was his stooge. We don’t have time to get him out.”
“Leave Orlov to me.” said Isaac, appearing almost out of nowhere.
“Chyort voz’mi! (Damnit)” Mikail swore in surprise. “I hate it when you do that.”
Meanwhile, Orlov was swiftly gathering his things, documents and whatever else he could get his hands on. Two of his guards stood close by.
“Oni ne vampiry (They are not vampires).” said one of the guards.
“Nyet, oni soldaty (No, they are soldiers).” said Orlov. “Okhotniki (hunters).”
Isaac burst into the room. In less than a second, he put down the two guards with his pistol, pinpoint accurate shots to each of their heads with his compact Auto Mag II.
“Stupid soldier.” said Orlov in English, dropping his stuff and morphing into a wolf-man. “I am no ordinary criminal.”
Isaac pulled the trigger, planting a third silver .22 magnum round into the center of Orlov’s forehead. “Doesn’t matter. You die the same.”
---
David Hemmingway’s eyes popped open. Years of working in the darkest corners of the world had trained him to be a light sleeper. He shot to his feet and grabbed a gun. Firearms weren’t usually the best weapon against the foes he often faced, but there was still something reassuring about the grip of a pistol in his hand.
“Brother Andre?” he asked tentatively. Something had woken him. He hoped it was just one of the monks moving about after dark. There was no answer.
David stepped out into the hallway. Everything was quiet; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But David’s instincts were too sharp. Something wasn’t right.
Then he heard it. The muffled pop of a silenced pistol shot. They were under attack!
David dashed down the hallway towards Andre’s room. He saw two men in black outside the door. David raised his weapon and opened fire, uttering a quick prayer that his foes were human.
The first assassin took a round in the shoulder and spun about to face the new threat. David’s next shot took him in the face, dropping him. His partner returned fire, but his shot was spoiled by the falling body of his dead ally. David finished him with the next shot.
David looked into Andre’s room. The local Malleus leader was dead, a bullet shot clean through his forehead. He shook his head in anger and then turned to Andre’s murderers.
He ripped the ski mask from the first dead man. He was a non-descript blond man. His outfit had no visible markings. No identifiers. He was probably a hired gun, a foreign hit man. But who’d hired him?
David could guess.
He heard shuffling down the hallway. This pair was not alone.
“You will pay for this, Michael.” Snarled David in his mind. He dashed out into the night.
Next chapter
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