You'll Be Surprised
Chapter Five
Eichhorst's Apartment, Stoneheart Building, Manhattan - Present
Thomas Eichhorst straightened up and wondered if it were worth trying to use his stinger to suck out the last drops of blood lurking in Michael's vessels. He'd rather not waste any; it was so difficult to find purebred Aryans in this filthy cosmopolis. Mid-western farmboys were his last recourse…or farmgirls, at a pinch.
Many people have noticed that Eichhorst fed primarily on young men these days and some have presumed that this was a predilection carried over from his lifetime – a sexual inclination towards men that had translated into a preference for their blood.
This was not the case.
Eichhorst mainly hunted men for three simple reasons. Firstly, it was easier. Even before the Master's arrival, women in any large city tended to travel in pairs or groups after dark, whereas men would occasionally go it alone. Secondly, there was simply more blood in a man. Finally, from an aesthetic perspective, women were prone to "taint"; either their blood would be contaminated by contraceptive hormones or their natural bouquet would be masked by perfume. The latter issue was also becoming more of a trend in the modern male and Eichhorst did not approve.
But there had been another reason once and it was beginning to come back to him. He had begun to select young blond males in 2002. Boys first, about twelve years old (which caused no end of trouble) and gradually as the years passed, teenagers and then young men. It had become so much a part of his routine procedure that he'd forgotten the root cause lay, once again, with Sandra Edwards.
In Michael's case, he made a swift decision. He opted not to waste time on matters of pleasure. He was adequately fuelled after finishing the latest offering in the feeding room and other concerns were much more urgent. He left Michael where he lay and headed back to the living room. He didn't even stop to change his blood-spattered shirt, just re-fastened the buttons of his jacket.
He quick-dialled the new security chief from the phone on the desk. Cellphone signal strength had been poor down in the basement, even before Miss Velders' intervention.
'Good morning, Mr Fitz...Mr Robinson.' He didn't wait for his greeting to be returned. And he didn't need to give his own name – everyone would know who he was. 'I want Eldritch to arrange a meeting with the CEO of FinchTV tonight. In the meantime, I need all the information Stoneheart has on this man … and his wife, girlfriend, mistress or whatever she calls herself. All the women in his life are to be profiled.' He paused for a moment, thinking, then he added doubtfully, 'It is possible she may be only a business associate, so include them too.'
She was there, he knew it, somewhere around the Finch boss - pulling strings, exerting pressure, coaxing, cajoling and seducing. He barked a complacent little laugh. At least he would always be immune to that particular weapon.
'Oh and Robinson,' he added. 'Clear up the mess in my bathroom.'
He reached for his prosthetic ears but pulled back. It would be a waste of precious time – no one who might possibly see him like this would leave the sewer alive…Well, maybe one person – and only if she would leave with him. Besides, she already knew what he really looked like.
He paused again, mulling that thought over with his head cocked. Yes, she did know, didn't she? She knew his secret and could have exposed him as an immortal rather than "The Well Dressed Man". That news clip had all been a power play! An elaborately designed power play especially for his benefit. He chuckled at the realisation. This was going to be so much fun! He strode off down the corridor grinning.
Sewers beneath Stoneheart Building
His memories distracted Eichhorst agreeably until he reached the iron gate marking the scene of his meeting with Gus and his corpulent friend. That would have to be properly secured now that he knew this sewer was compromised.
He couldn't smell anything out of the ordinary initially - nothing but the distant stench of effluent. He examined the whole area in minute detail, even feeling the walls where, judging from the angle of the footage, the cameras must have been fixed. And there he found the holes. Not clusters of screw-holes for the mounting of large cameras - he would have noticed those even if the humans hadn't – but little, filled-in holes where the tiny cameras and microphones must have been set into the walls themselves.
He flicked his stinger out and quickly in again, tasting the air. There was a weak smell of cleaning fluid but no indication that a human had ever been here. So…she'd had it sanitised after removing the surveillance equipment. Smart. He sampled the air again, this time using the whole stinger – letting the scent molecules contact the entire length. The stinger shaft was not particularly sensitive to smell but the papillae at the root were full of chemoreceptors. It felt odd to have it flapping away loose like this, without anchoring the other end to a human but he liked the way the stinger felt as the slight air currents played along it. He also spread the fang stalks wide and sucked in some air, engaging the taste sensors deep inside.
The cleaning compound was stronger but …there! Right next to the holes, where the cement was barely dry, he got traces of a faint chemical odour, plasticky almost...
A hazmat suit! That's why he couldn't smell the blood of the human that had made good the tunnel walls! Unusually this was a fresh suit rather than an out-of-date one purchased after 9/11 and left to gather dust at the bottom of a janitor's closet until this new emergency. And it had been expertly donned by someone well-drilled in emergency procedures. He could tell that because an inept wearer shed enough sweat, skin cells and cologne putting a suit on that he could smell them with his mouth shut.
This time he didn't feel impressed with her initiative. He was disappointed again. More than disappointed, in fact. He felt cheated of the encounter. And a worm of doubt was beginning to wriggle in. She would have left him a message, a trace of her scent or even a drop of her blood – something to let him know it was she who wielded this power over him. This caginess was out of character for her. He began to wonder if someone else was behind it all. But if not her, then who? Who else would have the inside knowledge, the resources and the…? …Eldritch Palmer. Of course.
He turned on his heel and sped back to his dressing room. If he was visiting the upper levels of the Stoneheart building he wanted to appear like all the other occupants.
Main Elevator, Stoneheart Building
A few minutes later, in prosthetic ears and fresh clothes, he exited the elevator to find Robinson the new security chief waiting for him. He was holding something out in the manner of a peace offering. It was a Stoneheart-logoed plastic folder. It was very thin.
'That was quick,' said Eichhorst approvingly as he took the proffered file.
This was another bonus of the fall of the internet and cellphone networks – he received his briefings in the traditional format rather than having to deal with modern technology. Strigoi were incapable of learning as humans did, so every time a new generation of technology was rolled out he had to acquire the ability to interact with it effectively from an assimilated human mind via his master.
But even Eichhorst 1.0 had thoroughly understood the workings of pen and paper and possessed an excellent facility for spoken and written English.
He smiled faintly as he opened the folder. The smile faded abruptly as he examined its contents.
The first printed sheet declared:
Dossier on:
MR ALEC FFINCH-MYLES
Chief Executive Officer of FinchCorp
Prepared for Mr Thomas H. Eichhorst
By
J. E. Robinson & T. M. Standard
Date: February 18 201…
Eichhorst's thumb obscured the year.
The second sheet announced the following details:
Name: Mr Alec ffinch-Myles
Date of birth: Unknown
Place of birth: United Kingdom (Presumed)
Nationality: British
Company(ies): FinchCorp (? – Present)
Position(s): CEO (? – Present)
Address: Finch Tower, 32 West 58th Street, Manhattan, New York
Family: Unknown
Romantic Attachments: Unknown
Political Affiliation: Unknown
Criminal Record: Unknown
Financial Commitments: Unknown
Known Associates: FinchCorp Board (names and addresses attached)
Estimated Total Worth: $34.2 billion (pre-Crash)
Estimated Liquid Assets: Unknown
Strengths: Unknown
Weaknesses: Unknown
Eichhorst finished skimming the information and then made a show of examining the scant document again, searching both sides of each sheet and shaking the folder out to see if he'd missed something. He looked up at Robinson but said nothing. The big man swallowed. Eichhorst continued to stare silently. Robinson tried manfully to hold his gaze until his eyes watered, but eventually he was forced to concede, wondering if the scary little German had lizard in his ancestry.
Eichhorst accepted the other's surrender graciously and then said quietly, 'This is it, then? This is all we have on FinchCorp's CEO?'
'Yes, sir.' The big man took a breath and added apologetically, 'And I'm afraid a meeting with Mr ffinch-Myles is impossible, sir.''
There was more accusatory staring before Eichhorst said, 'Very well. Where is Eldritch now?'
'In the breakfast room, sir. But he asked not to be distur…'
But Eichhorst was already through the double doors.
Palmer's breakfast room, Stoneheart building
Eldritch Palmer had his back to the doors when Eichhorst entered. He had just finished a hearty breakfast and was rewinding the television for another viewing of the Well Dressed Man appeal.
He turned at the sound of the door clunking shut. He didn't seem annoyed, or even surprised to see that Eichhorst had flouted the "Do Not Disturb" instruction. His eyes rested on the silver burns on Eichhorst's face.
'Ooh, those wounds are taking a long time to heal,' he said with relish. He paused the television programme with the "Wanted" image on it and pointed to the screen with the remote. 'It's OK he seems to have got your good side.'
Eichhorst glanced at the TV from the safety of the shadow of the doorway and commented coldly, 'I don't believe this man can be trusted.'
'Well, not that one, no,' Eldritch grinned, nodding at the picture of Eichhorst's face on screen. His newfound health following the Master's gift of White was making him feel mischievous.
When Eichhorst refused to take the bait, Palmer sighed and clicked across to the film currently being shown. FinchTV had cut Zombieland to make it appropriate for a daytime audience.
'Why does he not agree to meet us? What does he hide?' asked Eichhorst.
'It's just his way. He doesn't meet anyone personally.'
'I don't like these films he shows.'
'They're just fillers between the newscasts. …which always toe our party line … this morning's little whimsy notwithstanding.'
Eichhorst watched a zombie decapitation and remarked flatly, 'This is an illustrated guide of how to kill us. I want to meet him.'
'Oh, it's just zombies,' said Palmer dismissively. 'Look, they never show vampire movies not even that soppy teenage rubbish. I want to meet him too but the best I can do is the senior execs.'
'Invite him to your birthday celebration,' Eichhorst commanded.
'All right,' said Palmer. 'But if he shows up, try not to make yourself too offensive. You put people's backs up. We don't want him switching sides like Mr Fitzwilliam. And that Velders girl.' He paused for a second. '…Or your little courier fellow.' Another beat. '…Or your CDC contact.' He turned back to his companion. 'Good grief, Eichhorst, does everyone who meets you end up wanting to kill you?'
Eichhorst ignored him again and watched the television with his head on one side. 'Oh,' he added as an afterthought, 'I shall need a new manservant.'
He pretended not to hear Eldritch's unconcealed snigger and returned to the Finch puzzle.
Who was ffinch-Myles that Sandra had joined with him? Did she love him or was she only interested in his money and influence? Was he worthy of her? (...Only in genetic terms… Clearly, Eichhorst didn't care if he treated her well.) Or was this another mésalliance he would have to terminate?
And why was it so hard to arrange a meeting if he wanted an interview? Perhaps Eichhorst should give him what he had so publicly asked for…
32, West 58th Street, New York
Eichhorst looked up at the huge golden letters spelling out the name Finch Tower. Even the elevators from the underground car park to the atrium tried to tell him that he was a tiny person entering a big world – ffinch-Myles' world.
He grinned. The pompous fool was about to be shown how misinformed he was.
He stretched out a finger to call the elevator but froze at the last instant. The call button was made of solid silver. He was angry for a second but then realised that this confirmed his belief that she was involved behind the scenes somehow. He wondered how to overcome this setback and was just about to resort to something as uncool as pulling his sleeve down over his hand to use it as a protective glove when a group of Chinese suits arrived.
Eichhorst smiled to show he wasn't a threat and joined them in the elevator. The buttons inside were also silver but there was only one choice of destination and one of the Asian delegation selected it. A recording of a voice announced, "Welcome to Finch Tower, New York City. Atrium level. Going up." It was a woman's voice, American, friendly but she wasn't finished.
'Ultraviolet pulse initiating,' she continued calmly. 'Please close your eyes. If you suffer from: porphyria, cancer of the skin or eye, sunlight allergy, vampirism or other photosensitive disorders, please exit the elevator now and follow the signs to the alternative entrance at street level.'
Eichhorst's head jerked up. One of the Chinamen nodded, 'Yeah, she did say "vampirism". Gotta love the sense of humour,' he commented sarcastically, impatiently moshing the CLOSE DOORS button.
'He's kinduva germophobe, apparently,' said another.
So they were American then… Things were so much simpler when blood and borders correlated perfectly. Eichhorst felt disoriented and sluggish. Was there silver in the walls? He had to get out, clear his head, get away from the light and the cursed metal. But the doors were closing. He panicked and hit the OPEN DOORS icon with his bare hand.
He screamed in pain, not caring if anyone saw the smoke. 'Let me out!' he yelled. 'I can't be in here…I've a…condition. Yes, one of…what the voice said. Open the door, for the love of…Scheisse! Mach die verdammte Tür auf!'
Eichhorst stumbled out of the doors, dishevelled and panting as if he still needed the oxygen. Once safely in the dark and away from silver, he swept his hair out his eyes, readjusted his suit jacket and gathered his thoughts. Something about a street level entrance…
Very well, come nightfall, some people were going to get a nasty surprise. But nightfall was hours away. He had to spend the time wisely. There was one more line of enquiry he could follow to discover Sandra Edwards' weakness.
He could try to remember every little detail about their time together.
Author's Note: Please excuse my German.