What if the US Central Intelligence Agency and the Vatican knew there was secret advanced technology from an alien civilization in Iraq before the United States invaded it? What if this technology is needed to save the Earth? What if our planet has barely twenty-five years left before mankind has to face an ancient race of awesome and terrible power?
NOWHERE TO RUN
In the helicopters back from Tarrytown, Tech Officer Krystof is busy on his laptop getting everything – blueprints, schematics, wiring diagrams, security surveillance monitors, measurements, you name it – ever archived in New York City Building Department and Con Edison Power Company. He’s frantically downloading file after file from the new French tech genious working for the Ansuz Group, Henri Buchard. I’ve met the guy briefly and can tell that he’s not only smart – he’s crazy smart. Bouchard has a doctorate in computer science from the National Institute for Applied Sciences in Lyon, France and additional certificates from the Ecole Polytechnique of Paris in computer languages and advanced AI algorithms. He apparently works for us because he likes to be “left alone” – and smokes weed and drinks wine all day long. Eccentricities aside, Bouchard is one of the most sought-after computer wizards in the world. We’re lucky to have him. He’ll fit in great with the rest of us Ansuz pirates.
Both choppers put down at the Downtown Manhattan Heliport at Pier Six on the East River in Lower Manhattan. We’re met by two blacked-out Mercedes Vans to take us up to 721-725 Fifth Avenue in Midtown Manhattan – Trump Tower.
Turns out, Trump Tower is a weird building. Got a phobia about 13th Floors? Fine. Many buildings simply replace the 13th Floor with the 14th Floor – that is, they skip it altogether. But Trump Tower is a doozy; they’ve skipped ten stories in order to give floors at the top a higher elevator number. It’s all about appearances. The New York City Council on Tall Buildings and Urban Habitats says Trump Tower is – technically – 58 stories tall. The Donald got the NYC building officials to agree that he could start the actual residential part of Trump Tower at Floor 30 because it equated to approximately 300 feet above the ground. Trump argued that the lower commercial floors had tall ceilings, therefore that enabed him to skip ten floor numbers in the elevators when designating the higher levels. What does all this mean for us?
If Lorcan the Vampire is hiding out in a thirteenth floor “safe house” in Trump Tower, we can’t just measure up thirteen stories from street level because the floor numbers won’t jibe. So what do we do? Steathily make our way up to what is designated “Floor Thirteen” on the elevator readout and hope for the best – then fight our way out of the building? Deliver flowers to his room? Send him a Hooker? How do we smoke him out? Everybody is brain-storming ideas for a surprise extraction.
“…..hover close to the room’s plate glass windows and blow them inward – then rapel in like commandos………dress up like New York City EMTs and push a gurney into the main lobby….say there’s an emergency on the thirteeth floor and we gotta’ get up there…….start a fire on the floor below and move in with NYC Firemen – or EMTs with the firemen…….pump knock-out gas under the front doors until it floods the suite and then blow the doors open………..blow out the wall of the suite next-door, walk through the hole and grab the Vampire………..”
I’m sceptical. “This is an official residence of an ex-US President! US Secret Service Security and surveillance tricks are gonna’ be off the charts…….we’ll need more time to plan……and probably specialized equipment if we want to go in as a special forces operation……….”
While everybody is debating military tech issues and commando master plans and strategy, I get an idea.
“Listen – why do we have to untie the Gordian Knot if we can cut it? Why don’t we find out Lorcan’s cell number and send him gun camera footage of the dead girls at the Estate – and a zoom of Maria’s Varang Orthodox Cross hand tatoo. I’ll tell him – lawyer to lawyer – that he’s a Dead Man Walking and his only hope if he wants to live is to give himself up to us. We can take him to a secure location – Camp Hero – and chain him up to Jack in the underground tomb. Once we post the video on my website – we know the Vampires monitor it bacause they wanted to buy it so bad – his ass is grass. They’ll throw him under the bus. Let’s threaten to serve him up to his own group of reprobates. Their shit is an internal squabble. They don’t want war with everybody – besides, isn’t there some kind of Vampire Treaty that Lorcan and his pals just violated?”
Katrina jumps on the idea.
“Yeah…..the Kronengarde Pact – the Vampires signed a Treaty in 1933 in Kronengarde, Denmark with the Jesuits, the NordTurVerein – and their military arm, the Varang – and the Aryans. It was later expanded in a limited way to include the United States Central Intelligence Agency in 1950. It sets up an Organized Crime – “Mob” structure to settle beefs and turf wars, as well as protect profit centers and investments. There’s a “Code” of Conduct they agree to follow. If one of their group goes “rogue” then any member can “correct” the problem. No questions asked.
If word got out that Lorcan and his friends orchestrated a “Wedding Supper” and sacrificed a Varang “Bride” they’d all be Persona Non Grata and an KOS Order – Kill on Sight – will be issued. Nobody can help him. They all know the score. They’ll all close ranks. Especially if they learned the “Wedding Supper” took place at a “sanctioned” von Anhalt “Safe House”………Shit would hit the fan. Breaking that Treaty means War. It’s a big deal.”
This gives us leverage. I propose a plan.
“How about we release a short snippet of the gun camera footage from the Bosworth Estate raid……..show the girl’s faces and enhance the Varang tatoo on Maria…….show the faces of Sleazebag and Baldy…..AND THE CHERRY ON TOP? Footage of Lorcan staggering out the front doors, washing his face in the Bentley and tearing out the driveway. Everything is date-stamped. Lorcan will know the clock is ticking – and his lifespan is running out. He’ll see that we’re the only alternative he’s got left.
Look – nobody has to know who the Hell we are!!! We don’t have to identify ourselves as The Ansuz Group. We wear black tactical gear with face wraps and goggles. We don’t even have to identify ourselves to Lorcan! Once Lorcan sees the download – on my website – we call him and propose a deal. We watch the building for him to leave……..if he runs, we take him out or chase him. Trump Towers has too many surveillance cameras and Secret Service protocol systems for us to move in hot. Besides….the CIA might notice something going down. We don’t want them up our asses.”
Katrina is sold. “And you’ll make the phone call if we get Lorcan’s cell phone number?”
“Sure will” I say. “I dealt with bigger pricks when I was a Prosecutor. This guy’s just thinks he’s the shit. Frankly, I’m starting to wonder if these Vampires are as smart as they’ve been hyped to be. Maybe inbreeding in a limited DNA pool and drinking tainted blood has made them stupid – a recessive genes nightmare. Cousins hooking up with cousins ain’t no way to grow a strong brand.”
Krystof and Henri Bouchard, our Tech mavens, are on it. Krystof’s already talking to himself, squirming under his laptop like he’s getting an erection. “Scanning thirteeth floor for SIM card signatures and phone numbers….”
Our Mercedes Vans have just pulled down Fifth Avenue and Trump Tower is right in front of us. Black Secret Service Chevrolet Tahoes and Suburbans line both sides of the famous thoroughfare. If Trump isn’t in the building, his kids or wife are in there. It looks seriously covered by operatives. We pull down the block and park on a side street. Our Mercedes vans look too official for anybody to be surprised by them. As soon as we park, two NYPD Police Cars whiz past us. As far as they know, we’re just another troupe of Alphabet-Soup United States Security Agencies assigned to be on site – CIA, NSA, ATF……..Hell, even British MI6 has a presence in Manhattan. Besides – it’s New York. Don’t expect normal conduct from anybody.
Katrina has decided. “Krystof – partner up with Henri Bouchard back at base and send the edited gun cam footage to Jon Croft’s website now. We just want the girls faces and Maria’s Varang tatoo – and copy Lorcan. Nothing else. Once the Vampire has had three minutes to consider that first video piece – hit him with the surveillance footage of him staggering out of the Estate. Give him a one-two punch.”
We all go quiet. My website receives and publishes the package. We wait ten minutes listening to the background sirens and sounds of Midtown Manhattan. Finally, Krystof announces………”GOT IT! It’s a European boutique Nokia model….billed to “BourGeos”, a Belgium Shipping Company where he’s an “Employee”. He’s actually listed as Lorcan Inglese on the SIM user interfaces and work email links”.
He texts Lorcan footage of him staggering out of the Estate as well as a link to my website, where he can see the “Brides” faces and Maria’s Varang Tatoo. Seconds go by………then Krystoff blurts out: “He’s opening it!!” He sounds like a little boy ripping open gifts on Christmas morning.
It’s now my turn. Let’s see what Lorcan will do……….
Krystoff hands me his Cell – he’s already dialed.
It’s ringing. And ringing. It goes to voicemail. I hang up.
We wait some more, just looking at each other. Then – it rings. I answer.
“Hello.” I keep my voice low and steady. Not loud – but not soft. Confident.
“I saw your videos. What do you propose?” Lorcan’s voice is gravelly and has a slight accent. In my mind’s eye I’m seeing him as Gypsy Charlie Manson from the Montauk meeting. Tacky, sleazy dress code. Leather pants. Black helmet-hair. Bulging mouth. Probably wearing Ray-Ban sun glasses right now – past midnight – in a thirteenth-floor penthouse at Trump Tower. And what’s the deal with Vampire eyes and sunlight, anyway??? More recessive gene shit??? What a picture……I delay for a few seconds to make him wait…….then start talking.
“If you cooperate – you’ll live. Depends how useful you are. Walk out of the main exit and make your way slowly up Fifth Avenue. We’ll pick you up in an unmarked black Mercedes panel van. Bring no weapons. Tell no one about this conversation. Bring your cell phone. We will be monitoring it. You’ve got ten minutes to get down to street level. Good Bye.”
I hang up before he can respond. Katrina speaks first.
“Allright. Drive around the block to get back to the front of Trump Tower and stay sharp. Take this Scumbag in and cuff’em tight. I wanna see red laser dots up and down his torso for the whole ride. If you’ve got to shoot, double and triple-tap him. Krystof – scan him for trackers immediately after he’s cuffed. Remove them any way you can, even if we’ve gotta’ help cut out his liver. Download his Cell phone information. We dump any tracker we find and Lorcan’s cell phone over the Queensboro Bridge. Krystof – you dump your phone overboard, too. Everybody savvy?”
The van starts moving. You can feel the tension ramping up inside the van as everybody puts their goggles and face wraps back on. We look like a team of big angry insects ready to pounce on some carrion or road kill we just found. Franco has hefty shackles in his hands, ready to restrain our passenger.
As we make the turn back down Fifth Avenue heading towards Trump Towers we see a tall, lanky, rugby-player-like physique walking out of its glass main doors, weaving through the crowds that seem to permanently swamp the iconic structure. He’s got a trademark thigh-length leather jacket flapping in the breeze and high collar shirt on. Tight pants. Stupid shoes. And Ray-Bans…..A Vampire out of Central Casting at some porno “B” Movie studio in California.
Who the Hell dresses these people?
He starts walking towards our van. We’re heading down the street – he’s heading up. We rendezvous mid-block and throw open the side panel door. Lorcan hesitates when he sees a tactical-outfitted group of heavies waiting for him to climb in. Red laser dots dancing on his chest help him overcome his reluctance. He gets in.
We slam the door shut behind him and Franco quickly claps on the restraints. Lorcan seems resigned to his fate as he’s pushed down onto a bench seat. He realizes he’s got nowhere to go.
Of course, Lorcan can’t see any of us. We’re all covered in tactical gear. He’s not really all that impressive. Yes, he’s tall but not particularly ripped in the muscle department. His face is tinged pissy-yellow and there’s a funny, almost puke-like sour smell that’s coming off him. His fingers are long and boney. He’s got big feet and those stupid booty-type shoes that make him look like a desperate male hooker in a gay bar. Katrina snatches his sunglasses off as soon as he’s cuffed and seated. She wants to see his lizard eyes – and makes sure he sees her stow the Ray-Bans in her tac-vest pocket. Krystoff does a thorough scan for trackers as Franco pulls the Vampire’s cell phone out of his leather coat. Krystof soon nods to Katrina the “all clear.”
Lorcan looks like a spoiled boy who actually believed the bullshit his mommy told him about how handsome and brilliant he is………someone who never really had to confront the full weight of his averageness. He’s a big fish from a small pond who was raised with others like him. Coven-tutored from birth. Then the best private schools. Best clothes. Endless ego building. A Prince whose life has been stage-managed. An entitled mediocrity. A test tube freak.
Katrina speaks up.
“We’re heading to Camp Hero. We’ve got heavy traffic up to and over the Queensboro Bridge……the Long Island Expressway and Sunrise Highway don’t look so great either – so sit tight and stay sharp. Let’s not be poor hosts and allow our guest to get bored. Krystof – run on the overhead screen that gun cam video of the Tarrytown raid….give Lorcan Inglese something to ponder.””
We drive and the video is piped through a retractable video screen behind the driver’s seat. As things get real on the monitor, Lorcan’s face loses any shred of self-assurance and calm. He can see we know what he knows. How they tortured those girls – and loved every minute of it. He mouth hangs wide as Katrina whacks off Baldy’s leg – and the “Dentist” extracts at least six of his teeth with a crude Leatherman multi-tool. He visibly shudders when he hears the cheering and jeering of the team as each tooth is pulled out – “DOBRE DENTISTA!!! DOBRE!!! DOBRE!!!” The piece de resistance – or, rather, coup de grace – is when Sleazebag gives up Lorcan’s location at Trump Tower after having his leg hacked off and taking multiple gut shots with fulmonating bullets.
Katrina wants to lay down the law early. And I agree with everything she says.
‘Now – some ground rules, Lorcan. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. We decide the conditions under which you live. You may be of use to us – or not. At the first indication that you don’t wish to cooperate, we will blow your brains out and dismember you, scattering your remains like random piles of dogshit. We’re not your friends. We’re your enemies. This all is just a temporary accomodation for as long as we find it beneficial. You are never returning to your previous life. You are never going home -wherever your home is. If you ever tire of these conditions, please let us know. We will gladly kill you on the spot.
“And one more thing – the Bosworth Estate had state-of-the-art surveillance cams throughout the Mansion. Even in the Ballroom. We’ve got video of your twisted “Wedding Supper” and the slaughter of those “Brides”. Movies of you feeding and howling. ALL that video – AND our raid footage AND YOU stumbling out the front door to steal that old Bentley is ready to go viral online. In a few minutes, five of my Commanders will have a numerical prompt on their phones to release it on the Internet any time we want. The whole enchilada. We got you by your Vampire balls, Scumbag. You breached the Kronengarde Pact. EVERYBODY is gonna’ be after your ass. KOS – Kill On Sight. You got nowhere to hide. You got no money. You got no friends. Persona-Non-Grata. You’re our BITCH now!!!”
Lorcan doesn’t say a word, just sits there shackled with little laser dots covering his face and chest. Even in defeat, he’s loathsome. He’s a snake with arms and legs. I can see Katrina is just looking for a reason to ventilate him. Give him a taste of our new bullets. I’m seated on the bench directly opposite from him. Even though my goggles and face wrap is up, I get the feeling he knows it’s me. The sooner this son-of-a-bitch is chained in a bunker at Camp Hero, the better. This guy gives me hives. I know you’re not supposed to like Vampires – but this Scummer triggers a whole new level of revulsion.
For the rest of the hour and a half in the van, we go silent. But the red laser dots on Lorcan’s chest never waver. These guys don’t miss a trick. Even so, it’s a long ride.
Finally, we’re all dropping twenty-seven floors underground in that huge multi-vehicle elevator at Camp Hero. Ready to introduce – and chain – Lorcan the Vampire to Jack-In-The-Box. Ready to lock this scumbag up in one of the most secure facilities in the world. I’m exhausted. I can’t wait to hit some Johnny Walker Black on the deck at Oak Grove and chill. Tomorrow Katrina and I are gonna’ find out two things – who killed Katrina’s brother and who killed my wife. God help Lorcan if he doesn’t know. We may have to encourage him. There’s plenty of Doc’ Sarkisian’s old wheelchairs stashed at Camp Hero – and Katrina’s a gal that’s “Ready with a Machete”. Two Vampire legs can be hacked off as easy as one. Two questions – two legs. I’ve seen her in action.
Lorcan on wheels. Imagine that.
Copyright, 2023 Jon Croft
joncroft52@yahoo.com
