This is how Integra meets her assassin.
The luncheon's quiet drops behind them, lost in passages of Gothic-Tudor splendor. They flash through rectangular rooms in a string of open doors, navigating the mansion's tangled labyrinth. Amidst the flurry of footsteps, they gain a few of Dantes' bookend bodyguards.
They stop before a doubly planked arched door, a staircase behind them sunk into the ground appears to be an addition. Eric deftly enters a code in a locked security pad, his fingers flying across the screen. He presses his thumb into a scanner, and the arched door clunks as he heaves it open. He smiles over his shoulder to Integra and motions for her to enter as the bookends fall into place at her sides.
They enter a second chamber with a floor-to-ceiling steel-reinforced concrete door. Video cameras monitor from all corners of the ceiling. A spiky-brown-haired man greets Dantes from his post. He steps to one side of the door with a turnkey in hand, he hands another to Dantes.
"William."
William-the-security-guard nods to Dantes as Eric takes his place at the opposite end of the door. Both men insert their keys into small, round recesses, and William counts down from three. On one, both turn their keys toward the doorway which clicks audibly.
Dantes turns a massive wheel in the center of the access and opens it to reveal a strongroom.
Integra nods to William's impassive face as she steps through the foyer into what appears to be a gallery. The bookends push the vault door closed behind them. They position themselves on either end of the door as Integra joins Dante's side.
He smiles down at the tall woman. "Shall we?"
Polished wooden floors stretch the length of the long room and into adjacent chambers. Recessed lighting halos each picture, sculpture, portrait in the long gallery. They walk a measured pace, allowing her time to inspect the massive collection of artwork entombed in the heart of the mansion. She inspects a Rembrandt.
"The Storm on the Sea of Galilee," she reads aloud. "A depiction of Christ in the storm," she murmurs adjusting her steel-rimmed glasses. The light in the flashing night sky is liquid and poured over the heads of the pilgrims, their ship thrashed between cavernous waves, men on board sheltering Christ at all cost, even unto ruin.
Integra turns to face Dantes. "As I recall, wasn't this painting stolen?"
"It's part of my personal collection," he answers, smiling ever so slightly while gesturing the length of the room.
They walk the length of the gallery passing works by masters such as Picasso, Van Gough, and countless others Integra cannot name each arranged and displayed impeccably.
She stops before another seascape, lured by a pair of soulless red eyes staring out from the sea. "What is the story behind this?" she inquires of the gruesome scene.
"That is Watson, and the Shark." Dantes points to each as though introducing friends. He smiles.
The water in the picture is oily green, sky clouded, tall ships in a harbor. A group of men in a small wooden boat are frozen in the action of rescuing a youth from the sea. He is floating, his long white-blonde hair appearing almost green in the water, a look of shock and horror on his nearly feminine features as he floats upside-down, staring into the gaping maw of a thick-lipped slick gray shark. His hand appears mere inches from the shark's nose as it swims in for a repeat encounter. The boy's right leg appears to have been stripped off, ribbons of blood flow from the wound into the water. The men in the small craft wear visages of pain, horror, shock, and helplessness, two bravely reaching into the water to grab the doomed lad. A rope dangles from a man's hands, just out of the swimmer's reach. Another soul, appears with a boat hook at the prow, long, wavy brunette hair blown back in the Caribbean breeze as he moves to impale the red-eyed monster, sending it to its demise. Despite the heroic efforts, escape seems impossible for the blonde human.
"Is this fiction?" Integra asks, as transfixed by the painting as the swimmer Watson by his shark.
"No. This painting was a true story. Perhaps you recognize the name Brook Watson."
"...Of course, once Lord Mayor of London. His leg was amputated below the knee," she replies. She pauses a moment then smiles. "One opponent famously thought a wooden head would have served him best."
"Yes, he survived and commissioned this painting to recall his triumph over such adversity. A testimony to the strength of the human spirit."
Dantes turns, leaving Integra to digest the scene in front of her. "A happy ending?" she questions aloud.
"Indeed. Fortune doesn't smile on most, and certainly never twice."
She lingers for a moment longer, transfixed by the eyes of a shark.
A cloud of unease fills Integra as she trails Eric Dantes through the doorway to an elevator. He enters a numeric code in a small keypad left of the elevator. The pad slides up to reveal a miniature scanner. Eric leans in towards the retinal scanner pausing in its green light before the doors open. As they descend, Eric smiles down at Integra.
"I'd like your opinion on what I am about to show you."
Stepping through the opposite doors, they enter a small, cold, white space. In the center of the room objects are displayed under thick security glass, infrared cameras focused on mushrooming pedestals. Only two display cases contain objects.
Eric's voice fills the small area, "I had this room installed for this single purpose; to guard these objects. However, it may no longer offer enough protection."
He gestures to one of two items under glass. It is a wrinkled parchment, faded, edges worn off decades ago. The large scroll appears to be blank aside from a few hand-inked markings at the top.
Integra reads: iI( iII I(IIIIII(III
She raises her eyebrows and turns to her host, mouth screwed into a thin line. "Wh-"
Eric cuts her off with one graceful hand in the air and motions to the second case. It houses a round, flat, circle of thick colored glass. Hues of yellow, blue, and red mix, forming a kaleidoscope. The center of the disc is open. Forged in ropey metal, there is a hole where a nail, screw, or some kind of fixture would hold the gleaming disc in place from the center.
Both objects appear ancient. Both appear fragile. Integra can attest that they both appear to be part of something bigger.
"Eric," she tries his name aloud, "I'm no expert in archaeology, I'm an expert in vampires."
His face hardens in the cold overhead spotlight.
"Does the name Nevio Bugiardini mean anything to you?"
Integra shakes her head.
"Nevio Bugiardini lived in the early part of the 16th century, chasing the heels of one famous contemporary, Leonardo da Vinci. He constructed fantastic machines, drew sketches and blueprints of technologies not even dreamt of at the time. He was a hermit, an outcast, considered even a lunatic by some in his lifetime. He was shunned by many of his kinsmen, but over the centuries his works grew in popularity as many of his prophecies came to fruition. Inevitably, numerous individuals, private collectors, and organizations strive to obtain as many of his works as possible, regardless of the outcome."
"These are relics from Bugiardini."
"Indeed. They are believed to be part of a puzzle that spells out one of Bugiardini's final prophecies."
"And you are one of the Bugiardini aficionados."
"Oh no, I'm just a lowly collector. However, it is a matter of utmost importance that these relics remain in my possession." His pupils dilate enormously, eyes appearing almost black. He finishes wetly, thoughts bleeding out his mouth, sweetening his quick tongue."To witness Bugiardini's final revelation would be a miracle in this dark world...I cannot have this falling into the wrong hands. We are so very close to gathering the final piece of this puzzle."
Integra crosses her arms. "Why Hellsing? If this simply involves devious wealthy globetrotters, I can't see what interest lies here for us."
Eric smiles and clenches his fist in the air, as if capturing an insect in flight. "These truly are devious and wealthy individuals. One group in particular has been after these relics since I obtained them, in fact, they were the catalyst of my odyssey."
His face sobers for a minute, eyes lost.
He continues, "They call themselves 'The Red,' and they have recently turned to necromancy or forms of vampirism to obtain these objects. Unfortunately, my human soldiers were untrained in the dark arts, and were no match for their undead army. My entire staff was burned out from our African estate, many running into the arms of a waiting vampire."
Startled, Integra looks up from her inspection of the objects. She slips into a stifling dream of tall grasses, and long-fingered red rivulets worming around ruddy blades. She scents the air, dripping with the perfume of charred flesh. It clings to her body like a sun-kissed cotton dress, she rolls in the delicious smell, wrapping herself in it like a lover's embrace, a lion rolling in its kill.
Slowly the blackness dissipates, the underground vault comes into focus. Dantes' features appear chalky and harsh under the overhead spotlights. She struggles for words, her brain addled as though waking from dreams. "...This was a recent development."
He nods.
"How long have you been running?"
"Years." Eric stares at the parchment. "I've established safe houses in all the continents of the globe, I'm an expert in dealing with different countries, their politics and governments. I am very well aware of the sprinkling of organizations, such as your own, who make a living destroying the undead. Alas, I am unable to provide the very basic service of effectively protecting my own men, as they so willingly protect this secret with their own lives."
Integra opens her mouth to ask something and closes it.
Eric meets her gaze solemnly.
"This attack in Africa was the first vampiric, it was over a month ago. However, to involve vampires, their plans must date back further. There were over 100 ghouls in the grasslands and at least three vampires. We were vastly unprepared. I completely underestimated their stake in this game. Thus, we have established a stronghold in England, hoping to receive your assistance."
"Considering the current state Hellsing finds itself in, I am almost inclined to accept." She pauses a moment, the hard light flaring off her glasses.
"Integra, you are the defenders of crown and country. Your efforts will always go unnoticed by the public who so owes you its life. Your family name will have little chance to stand in the pages of history," she opens her mouth, and he raises a hand to stop her. "...except in fictionalized references of the past."
She frowns.
"I was well-connected enough, fortunate enough, to arrange our meeting. This opportunity will not present itself again, and who is to say that the current state of Hellsing will rise to the busy schedule to which you are normally accustomed? Perhaps you have eliminated the immediate threats to your jurisdiction. I will not, no, I cannot accept help from lesser organizations. I refuse to gamble with more innocent human lives."
He grasps her hands in his. "If these artifacts fall under the control of The Red, it would cause a catastrophe of world proportions. Integra, will you help keep this secret safe? Only with your leadership could we stand a chance to gain the rest of the puzzle, while crushing their ranks into annihilation."
She scrutinizes his features.
"High praise Eric Dantes."
He implores her with his eyes.
She muses a beat.
"Fine, Hellsing accepts your assignment. We'll have Walter meet with Michard to draw up the contract tomorrow."
Eric's lips curve into a smile, his eyes glitter darkly. "Excellent Integra. I am blessed with your generosity."
They shake on the promise, she smiles as he captures her unease into his warm hand.