Chapter 35.
* * * * *
HANSEN'S ISLAND, SOUTH CAROLINA
SEPTEMBER 19, 1993 (1:31 A.M./EDT)
"Dr. Malcolm Scorpio" (alias J. J. York nee Eric Cord) whipped out his Pen-lite flashlight the moment everything went dark. Like everyone else at the so-called "VA hospital," he, too, had heard the explosion preceding the black-out. But, having known what was coming (via the wireless transceiver on the right ear piece of his "prescription" glasses), he had been suitably prepared for it. Now, however, he found himself trying to make his way down a certain corridor against the crowd of panic-stricken patients.
He was looking for an office door, or even a men's room door, that had not been locked for the night. Just so he could call "Sam" and find out if Harry D'Amour had been located. But, he was apparently doomed to be disappointed in that regard. For, suddenly, he found himself grabbed by a female MP. One who immediately put his right elbow in a near-unbreakable arm lock!
"No way out this way, doctor! You'll have to follow me."
Whereupon, she dragged him all the way back along the route he had just traversed. Once they were outside, though, she dragged him towards the southeast corner of the hospital's main wing. Externally paralleling his original indoor route!
"Hey!" he exclaimed. "What's the meaning of. . .?"
"Quiet, Eric!" she hissed at him, rather harshly: "It's me."
"Gwendolyn?! Man! That Merinita spell works wonders."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. I just got word from Hank that he and Becky found D'Amour. We're to rendezvous with them at the emergency helipad. Which is this way!"
"Lead on, McPost!"
She instinctively winced at that painful paraphrasing of Shakespeare. Between the black-out and the glamour spell, however, her expression was completely invisible to the pseudo-psychiatrist. They were even more fortunate that their good luck continued to hold. For the fleeing duo made it to the big square piece of tarmac, with the indelible white capital "H," at roughly the same moment as Hank Summers, Becky Granger, and the man they had all come here to free.
One second later, Airwolf touched down. Her Immortal pilot using the infra-red mode on her helmet.
"Hurry up!" yelled Cassandra. "The auxiliary generator will be kicking in, any second."
Becky, Gwendolyn, and "Harry D'Amour" quickly piled into the rear compartment of Airwolf. Each of them virtually belly-flopping on to the floor of the gunship. At the same time, Hank Summers buckled himself into the co-pilot's seat.
"OK, everybody," Cassandra yelled again. "Hold on to something for dear life!"
As if to verify her worst fears, the emergency generator came to life just as Airwolf had reached the height at which the gunship's VTOL could be disengaged and level flight commenced. Consequently, three of the hospital's genuine MP's spotted Airwolf, causing two of them to go for their Beretta 92's, while the one in between them went for his walkie-talkie.
Cassandra discouraged that, however, by firing off one of the posterior air-to-ground rockets.
BA-DA-BOOM!
The two-headed lamp post the three MP's were standing in front of was accordingly cut in half. The upper portion falling straight downward like a chainsawed redwood tree. This, in turn, forced the MP's to "hit the dirt," in opposite directions from each other, while simultaneously blacking out the helipad, once more!
With that having been accomplished, Cassandra took off for the mainland at top speed.
* * * * *
DOS PUEBLOS, CALIFORNIA HARRY D'AMOUR'S POINT OF VIEW
SEPT. 18, 1993 (10:40 PM/EDT)
We met in Room 304. The room assigned to "Mr. and Mrs. Bentley Hamilton."
Merrick, of course, had already informed us that their real names were Nick and Kate. And that they were private detectives who specialized in unusual bodyguarding assignments. He had then introduced the two of us. "Us" being myself (in the body of Brian Stark alias "Gregor Buza") and a teenage girl (in a brown leather jacket and dunagrees) named Michelle. When that had been accomplished, he began relaying the plans for the centennial birthday party of Matthew Hamilton, Monday night.
"Nick and Kate shall keep an eye on Xander Harris, for us. Both before and all throughout the party. This lad is the guest of honor's great-grandnephew on his daughter-in-law's side. And just _why_ nothing must be allowed to happen to him I am not at liberty to say! While they are engaged in that duty, however, Michelle and I shall be making the rounds as photojournalists for a monthly newsletter put out by a certain organization the guest of honor's son supports, quite frequently.
"And, me?" I asked. "What'll I be doing, all this time?"
"You, Mr. Buza, should wait to infiltrate the party, at the last possible moment. After all, the FBI are bound to have undercover agents on hand with photographs of your likeness. And that goes double for whatever hired assassins might be present on behalf of the Russian Mob! So, it might behoove you to impersonate a tardy member of the locally hired extra help."
"Sounds do-able," I replied (with as much casual enthusiasm as I could fake).
Just then, a portable radiotelephone started buzzing away on Nick's bed. He went over to it, and answered it. He listened for a couple seconds. Then, he held out the receiver towards Merrick.
"It's for you."
The learned old Watcher took the receiver with a puzzled nod of appreciation. Then, he said "hello" before listening for a few moments.
"How soon will you be getting here?" he finally asked.
Another pause.
"Very well," he finally announced: "I'll inform them, straight away."
He then handed the receiver back to Nick before announcing that Cassandra and her cronies had successfully pulled "Harry D'Amour" out of Hansen's Island.
* * * * *
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA *ALTERNATE FUTURE
MARCH 21, 2024 A. F.*
David Bromley looked at his desk-top calendar and smiled. One year from today would mark the silver anniversary of the merger of Bromley Marks with the Pentex Corporation. Resulting in the founding of Shieldcorp! In those nearly twenty-five years, the Kindred had come to rule the world as they never had before.
Yet, now, all of that was in danger. Discourtesy of those crazy Greenswords!
Suddenly, his nostalgic reverie was interrupted by the shimmering materialization of an old acquaintance.
"Sahjahn?!" exclaimed the vampiric CEO: "What the frig are you doing here?"
"Sorry to barge in like this, Davey-boy. But, I have a message for your lord and master. The Greenswords have given up waiting for the completion of Plan A. They're moving up the deadline for Plan B, instead."
Bromley was immediately sprang to his feet.
"You don't mean. . ."
Sahjahn nodded: "The attack against the generator plant goes down tomorrow night."
* * * * *
HALF-WAY INN, DOS PUEBLOS, CALIFORNIA
SEPTEMBER 18, 1993 (11:00 PM/EDT)
The knock was so soft only the keen ears of a vampire could have heard it. Jackie and Jill clasped hands and did a psychic scan. Then, they looked at their sire.
"It is only Amelin."
He nodded his permission for them to let him in.
Amelin got right to the point.
"Is everything ready for Monday night?"
"Yes," replied Levi Tate. "The cake arrived today. It looks just like the one the caterers will bring to the house tomorrow night! Twenty-four hours after that? You make like Edward G. Robinson, Junior in SOME LIKE IT HOT. Minus the tommy gun, of course."
The Danislaw Gangrel grinned appreciatively, exposing his vampirc fangs.
* * * * *
KAMANAWANALEIA RESIDENCE SAM BECKETT'S POINT OF VIEW
(TWELVE HOURS LATER)
I had spent all of Saturday night, sleeping in a fishbowl, hidden behind some spare pillows on the top shelf of Suzy's closet. But, now, it was Sunday morning. And Suzy was just as cheerful as she had been at yesterday afternoon's practice.
"So, Chris," she began: "...what shall we do today?"
Having taken the fishbowl out of the closet, she was looking straight down at me as she asked this. Making it all too clear that I was still trapped in the shrunken body of Chris Caulder. So, with nothing much to lose, I replied (again, using Native American sign language) that she could start by giving me my freedom. All she had to do was unlock this electroshock Chihuahua collar from around my waist, and bring me to some scientist for help!
She merely laughed, of course. So, I turned away from her and pulled my white gym sock blanket over me.
"Oh, come on!" she admonished: "Don't sulk. It's too nice a day for that! And, Lynne is giving everyone the day off. She says too much of a good thing- -even cheerleading routines- -isn't healthy. And, that's one of the few things she and I have ever agreed on. I know! Let's go see a movie, together. There's a double feature at the Retroplex, this afternoon. LOST BOYS; back-to-back with a 45th anniversary showing of ABBOTT & COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN! How does that sound?"
I reluctantly gave her a thumb's-up with my right hand. After all, like I'd been telling Al. . .
. . .vampires didn't exist outside of bad movies.
tbc