What if the Vatican had in its possession the dead bodies of Vampires? What if the Vatican had historical records of these killers in its secret “Library” for centuries? What if the Jesuit Order was formed to be the official liaisons to and protectors of the Vampire race? Why would the Vatican be a party to such an arrangement? What does the Vatican know that we don’t?
ANSUZ: A HUNTING WE WILL GO
I don’t know whether to return the guard’s salute or what. I just smile at him and drive on, past the majestic centuries-old Elms and Oaks that line Hill Grove Estates’ main drive. Then my smile quickly evaporates. There’s a Ambulance In front of the double front Estate House doors, emblazoned with “NYU Langone Medical Center”. It’s back doors are open and its gurney is missing. A security guard waves me down the side Estate Garage driveway to park.
A medical emergency. Hill Grove looks like it’s on full alert.
Security is everywhere, guys hefting HK 416s and M4s and jabbering into microphones hanging down to their mouths from earpieces. Black tactical-suited soldatos are meandering through the thick tree groves and bushes. Everybody is out and focused.
I enter the main hallway and run smack into Valet August.
He’s in a panic. His Aryan-accented speech is flustered.
“ACH DU LIEBER!! JON!!! Mr. Croft!!! Jon Croft!!” He takes my arm and leads me down the house’s cavernous main hallway, nervously chattering as we go.
“Medical Staff are giving assistance to Dr. Sarkisian……after you left earlier today, he collapsed. There was much blood. Please, let us wait in the kitchen until someone gives us status.…….I called his usual doctors at NYU Langone and they scrambled their Long Island Unit to respond.”
We head to the kitchen – passing the main dining area where an impressive triad of EMTs are struggling to get Dr. Sarkisian conscious. The little man is on an absurdly large gurney. His heartbreakingly small and contorted body looks even more miniscule. There’s machine-gun frantic medspeak: “BP” – “history of heart rate arrhythmia” – “prior tachycardia”. They’re all over the board. Somebody calls out “ventricular hypertrophy”……. then “ventricular hemorrhage….” It’s a cardio event for sure.
Finally an EMT yells: “BP dropping below 65 now……YES – HE’S INFARCTING!!”
This aint’ good. We just sit there for agonizingly slow-passing minutes looking at ech other.
August makes coffee. We drink three cups each. An EMT pokes his head in and announces, “We got him stabilized – we’re taking him into Manhattan……we think he’s suffered a major myocardial infarction and aortic bleed.….Dr. Ainstrom will call you later from the Surgical Cardiology Unit. They’re already preparing for his arrival”.
With that announcement, they secure Doc’s small body on their mammoth gurney and roll him into the Ambulance. They leave in a shower of gravel and blaring sirens.
August touches my elbow again. His face is serious and determined. “It is time……please come with me into the library, Jon….” He says.
We make our way to the Library. It’s a place that would make most University research rooms pale by comparison. Is everything over the top here? Doc Sarkisian’s taste is…..eclectic. Better word? Macabre. Deep, dark floor-to-ceiling oak shelves are packed with aged and faded, leather-bound volumes and scrolls of parchment and even older animal skins……more Assyrian, Sumerian, Akkadian and Babylonian carvings, statues and bas-reliefs. There’s gloomy, brooding Satanic masks……positively painful looking Eastern European religious icons. It’s definitely not a place to show your kiddles before bed time.
August directs me to an antique chair opposite a typical, Hill Grove fireplace big enough to accomodate a whole roasting pig, spit and all. Hanging down from the ceiling is a retractable flat-screen TV. He sits in the chair next to me and fiddles with his I Phone. The TV screen starts flashing. Images take shape that within seconds gel into their de-encrypted state and become crystal clear. I recognize the face immediately – even though the circumstances are exigent, I can’t help but smile.
Hakan Olsen-Nyberg. The man. The legend himself. Broadcasting from – who the Hell knows where? Hearing his voice instantaneously buffers the atmospheric levels of angst in the room.
“Hello August and Jon…….I’m sorry our little talk today is under such delicate circumstances……but continuity is of paramount importance to our breathren.
Jon, please know that August is NordTurVerein…….There is nothing I say here today that we have not previously discussed. We have been aware of Doctor Sarkisian’s medical challenges for quite some time. Should Dr. Sarkisian die, arrangements have been made. NordTurVerein leaves nothing to chance. That having been said, our physicians have a direct line to NYU Langone Cardiac Surgery Unit and are monitoring all developments there as we speak.
Let us begin.
NordTurVerein owns Hill Grove.
Jon Croft, you are now on the books as Hill Grove Estate Attorney. Your NordTurVerein status and pay-grade is Consigliere.
Katrina Kozub – being Varang – will take charge of Security. Her NordTurVerein status and pay-grade is now Commander.
NordTurVerein will continue to cover all expenses associated with running the Hill Grove Estate. August will be on-site Valet to both you and Katrina and discharge his duties as before. Your eminent Chef, Raoul, will remain and discharge his duties as before. You, August and Katrina have access to me 24/7. However – and this is imperative – I am to be contacted only in critical emergencies. August has already copied you both on my secure link. You and Katrina will reside at Hill Grove Estate and share authority as equals. The two of you will exercise absolute control. Make Hill Grove Estate your legal domicle. NordTurVerein has its reasons for extending to you these accomodations and offices of high leadership going forward.
Congratulations.
May the All-Father Odin bless you and keep you safe, Jon Croft. Good bye.”
The call ends there. No opportunity to thank him. No chance to ask what this is all about.
August and I get up from our chairs. He grins at my somewhat befudddled look and stares straight into my eyes.
“Ach, So! Alles ist in Ordnung!”
I understand his German observation: Everything is in Order. Alright……easy for you to say.
Raoul fixes me just what I need – comfort food…….bacon and eggs. And crusty, buttered bread. It’s glorious.
I wander out to the rear deck to watch the darkening sky over Long Island Sound carrying a fifth of Cutty Sark, an ice bucket and a glass. I settle into a cushy deck chair and fix myself a double. I’m sure we’ll get some word from NYU Langone Medical Center in Manhattan in the next few hours. Even if I nod off out here I’ll be ok…..security details are still saturating the place. I wonder how much of that has to do with “Lorcan” approaching me at Montauk Lighthouse earlier in the day.
In no time, I’m snoring like the Montauk Point fog horn.
I wake in a start – somebody’s shaking me.
“Hey…..Consigliere..…..get up….people can hear you in Connecticut!!”
It’s Katrina. Although I’m in a brain fog, I can see that there’s something different about her. She’s looking radiant in a seriously tailored black suit and jacket ensemble. Definately French and high-end. Her high sandals are straight from the Paris couture house. Her hair is styled and formal. She’s beautiful. She’s feminine. She’s wearing a demure gold necklace and Orthodox Crucifix. Compared to her I look like a homeless derelict looking for a new refrigerator box to live in. She’s carrying her own glass and a bottle of Dewars. What a gal….
She pulls a chair next to me, looking like she ‘s got something to say.
“NYU Langone Medical Center called a half-hour ago. Doc died on the operating table.”
“Shit.” One word is about all I can muster.
She takes my left hand and looks into my eyes. Her grip tightens.
“Do you trust me? If you do – look away……….”
I look away. Suddenly I feel a white-hot pain searing the top of my hand – but I can’t wrestle it back. Her grip is like a vise…….holding whatever she’s burning me with hard against my flesh……..
Finally, she lets go and douses my hand with Dewars…….I don’t know what burns worse, her act of branding me or the whiskey. I look at my hand.
It’s a Rune. Burned into the top of my left hand. Like a capital “F” with droopy right arms. She used a small, acid stamp gadget to do it.
“That’s called the Ansuz Rune.…….it is the All-Father Odin’s symbol for intellect. It means thought, reasoning and communication. It is for warriors who fight with their mind…….like you.
Wear the Ansuz Rune with pride….. Looks like I need another drink”
It’s well past three o’clock in the morning but we don’t head back in the house until we finish both bottles. It’s one of those times that getting shit-faced is absolutely the right thing to do. What a day.
As we stagger back I tell her: “I wanna’ kill the bastards that cut my wife’s throat”.
Her reply is inspiring. “I wanna’ kill the bastards that murdered my brother.”
“You think Hack will be pissed if we do something?” I ask with slurred speech. I sound too sheepish even for myself to stomach. I’m embarrassing myself. Next I’ll be pissing myself.
She stops me dead in my tracks and grabs both my arms like she’s going to shake some sense into me. She’s angry……drunk-pissed.
“I met personally with Hack in Amsterdam yesterday. It’s done. You and me now have unfettered access to NordTurVerein assets and the absolute discretion to use them as we see fit.
Why do you think Hack awarded you the Ansuz Rune? Why do you think I burned it into your hand? In Hack’s Tribe – according to NordTurVerein law – such acts are tantamount to adopting you! Why did he make me – a Varang – Head of Security here? I’m now Commanding Officer of forty-two Varang ex-Spetsnaz officers. Do you think they’re on payroll just to traipse around Hill Grove Estate holding weapons? Why has NordTurVerein set us up – soup to nuts – in a walled, impenetrable compound?
I’ll tell you why…….
Hill Grove’s armory can supply an army regiment. Our com-links can redirect satellites off their orbits…….we’ve got CIA-grade IT. You think this is a Love Nest? It’s Fort Apache!!!! We have access to private Navy vessels and underwater craft. A deep-water dock leads straight out into the Atlantic Ocean. We’ve got Gulfstream Jets on standby at Gabreski Airport ten minutes away…..we’ve got Airbus Eurocopters at East Hampton Airport. Access to a sweet motor pool of every civilian and tactical vehicle made. AND we’ve got secret underground access to Camp Hero and every Air Force lock-code and password they ever dreamed up. The entire USAF Database. And our operation is all financed by NordTurVerein. I’ve been training my whole life for this moment.
Hakan Olsen-Nyberg knows Goddamned well what we’re gonna’ do. But NordTurVerein and the Varang can’t be involved. Every establishment, old-guard, wealthy and influential organization needs Fixers.….like us. Clandestine cadres of experts with specialized skills in problem solving. And we supply one critical give-back when we solve those problems: Plausible Deniability.
Me and you are now in the Extermination business……..specializing in Vampire Infestation!
And who’s gonna’ lure Vampires to us? The ultimate Vampire bait? Answer: Their prize…… Jack-In-The-Box at Camp Hero.
SO – what do you say there, Jon Croft? Wanna’ kick some Vampire ass? Welcome to The ANSUZ Group.”
Let the adventures begin…….
Copyright, 2023 Jon Croft
joncroft52@yahoo.com
Credit to Wikipedia for the Ansuz Rune Graphic
