Chapter 7: Trapped under ice

Bucharest, Romania, August 29th, 2016

Icy water pierced his skin like needles. It was soaking him, enveloping him in darkness, blinding, stinging in the cuts on his face. He was already starting to feel numb. Maybe that was good. At least it was better than the pain. Am I to die here? Just like that? The thought brought no emotion. All he felt was the darkness and cold and pain.

A brutal hand in his hair dragged his head back. There was a loud splashing. All of a sudden there was air again. He could breathe again. He could. If his lungs didn't refuse to work, that was.

"Don't you dare dying, Monsignore!", someone said. The man punched him in the rips. There was a small crack and pain shot through his body. The cramps hit him with full force. He started coughing, blinded, drawing air in agonized gasps. The Romanian let go of him and Enrico collapsed on the floor. He spat out the rests of the icy, metallic-tasting water. But his burning lungs filled with air. Breathing was a privilege people didn't appreciate enough.

The cramps lessened and went away after a while. He was still hurting all over but this was the worst part. A soaked strand stuck to a cut on his cheek. His hand was trembling so bad he needed three attempts at brushing it away.

"Do you have to say anything, Monsignore? Let's try something easier. Like what happened in 1999 at a certain small Canadian lake." What kind of question was that? Before it had been about the interrogations. What did the Vatican know about Millennium? A lot, but Enrico never said so. He wouldn't betray his Church, despite being an Iscariot – how ironic.

Enrico could hear the Romanian smile. This hurt the bishop more than the Romanian. The heathen didn't even have to move a finger. He had his henchman for that. The other man was tall and dark-haired. His face never betrayed any emotion. He hadn't spoken yet, not once uttered a sound. None of them had given any names, not even fake ones.

Enrico didn't attempt to answer. The Romanian had stopped threatening him yesterday. It was unnecessary. They knew what punishment followed on disobedience. Enrico somehow got up so he could at least kneel. In front of him was the basin, filled with water. Ice cubes faintly clacked sometimes. It was freezing in here, the more with his soaked hair and shirt.

Lisa was tied to a chair, forced to watch. Another of their little tricks. But as long as he didn't give in, she wouldn't either. Where were Anderson and the girls? He had made the track so obvious.

Maybe too obvious. If anyone had removed the clues... nobody would ever come to help them. The only thing left to do was pray. Lisa's eyes locked to his. Don't freak out. This is not just about you.

"No? Pity. You think I like doing that?"

"That doesn't bring you anywhere -" However the Romanian saw that, the silent henchman grabbed Enrico's hair and pushed his head under water again. He got water in the windpipe and started coughing. There was no air, just the cold biting into his wounds. Normally he didn't try to fight. Saving his strength was the only logical way. Not that it worked quite well. He had never been particularly good at standing pain.

The cramps were setting in again. They seized control of his body, punishing him with agony. His lungs felt like they were about to burst. Suddenly Enrico had to think about the novel of this blaspheme American. Angels & Demons. One of the cardinals had died in quite a similar manner.

But, in some way, Enrico was glad he was underwater. The pain became almost unbearable. If he had been able to speak, he would have told them anything. But when he could breathe again and looked to his sister, he was strong enough to withstand. At least for a little while longer. Only a little. Every time he told himself that it wouldn't take the others much longer to get there. That was what it had been for two days now.

Somehow, surprisingly, the pain began to subside. The water grew even colder, but maybe because he was colder. But the pain went away. Blackness swallowed the dull gray of the water.

Jesus.

They had been playing by a small lake near their home. Not the one with the drain, though. Neither of them had been near there for more than a year. This one was a bigger lake, used for ice fishing. Winter was almost over, but in the distance there were new clouds loaded with new snow to add to the two feet of it that was already lying everywhere. The lake was still frozen as well.

Or so they had thought. Now the ice didn't look so safe anymore. Enrico could see black water gurgling way too close under their feet. Both were standing completely still. Lisa was closer to the middle of the lake. There the cracks in the ice were worse.

She was close to crying. After all, she was only ten. He was already twelve, way to old for something so stupid. He needed to focus. Protecting her was his duty as her older brother.

"Dammi la tua mano," he said. Lisa looked at him with the blank stare of someone scared out of his mind. She had still trouble understanding his Italian. "Take my hand," Enrico repeated. "We'll exchange places."

"No!" She shook her head violently. The ice crunched. She tensed.

"Sí!", he answered with determination. "This is an ice clod. We have to keep the balance." Lisa pressed her lips together and slowly raised her hand. He grabbed her. Enrico didn't dare to show his fear. She was already scared enough. He didn't want to die, but he had to be strong. Is this a test, God? "You go right, I go left, va bene?" First that guy, now this. Why? It's not right. We're... He broke off before finishing the thought. Wasn't this what he always wanted? To be treated like an adult? He had never thought this would be so hard.

"Lentamente, sí?" She nodded. He tried to smile. It felt horrible. Probably looked awful, too.

They carefully circled each other, their boots scraping over the ice. Only one foot set on the ground too violently and everything would go to hell. It was an agonizingly slow process, but then Lisa stood in Enrico's place. She held his gaze all the time.

He tried another smile. It felt a bit better now. Just a bit tense. "Go back to the shore. I'll wait here until Mamma or somebody gets me. I'm sure the ice will hold long enough." The cracking sound under his feet seemed to disagree. He let go of her hand. Lisa made a step back. The ice crunched, but held. Another one. More crunching. Another one. The noises were fainter.

Her feet touched the shore. Earth, grass and snow under her boots. She was safe. Enrico smiled, now a real smile, relieved. If God wanted him to step in front of him already now, he wouldn't want to have Lisa there as well. She was way too young.

Enrico looked down. The balance of the only partially broken clod had shifted towards him. The last ice holding it was giving way. All of a sudden, Enrico had a weird thought: If anyone would ask him what he regretted the most the answer would be dying without getting rid of his Italian accent.

The ice splintered under his feet and there was only cold water and darkness.

"ENRICO!" That voice again. She was crying. That wasn't right. She shouldn't cry, no matter for what reason. Her voice was distorted, like listening underwater.

It was cold, so cold. The cold was burning his skin, the wounds in his face. Somebody grabbed his hair. It should hurt, he supposed, but he barely felt it. There was a loud splashing sound and cold air rushed over him. Suddenly, he was aware of the metallic-tasting water in his mouth, the foul air and that he wasn't breathing.

He was pushed and hit something hard he lay on. The impact sent a bolt of red pain through his body. He started coughing, spitting out water. But as much as it hurt, every breath was liberating. How long had this been going on? He had lost track. It didn't matter anyway. Enrico had a better idea how close he had been to entering God's domain than he wanted to.

"Enrico!" Lisa's voice was full of panic. He wanted to tell her he would be alright, even if that wasn't true. But he couldn't talk. Breathing was all his exhausted body was capable of at the moment. He could thank God he was able to do even that.

"Idiot!", the Romanian barked at his henchman. "You could have killed him!"

Enrico blinked away the water in his eyes. He was curled up on the floor, instinctively trying to protect the spots that hurt most. Splashes of water had even reached his jeans. Despite the burning of his skin, he was shivering with cold.

Lisa was struggling against the ropes holding her. As if that would help them in any way. Despite a few bruises and cuts she was more or less unharmed. So far, he had been able to keep the worst away from her.

"I think that's enough for today," the Romanian said and threw him a towel. "Next time you might actually die. I won't risk that." He went over to Lisa and opened the knots. "You know how it works. You do something I don't like, your brother gets it." The silent man dragged Enrico to feet he barely felt. Nobody tried anything. Where was the point of wasting their strength?

They were pushed into the room Enrico had found Lisa on that first day. The door slammed shut behind them and draped everything in darkness. They sat down in front of the pipes, the only spot that was slightly warmer. There was water and also some food on a tray, but except for that, the room was empty. Nothing to fight with. All they could do is try to rest.

Enrico laid his arm around Lisa and she rested her head on his shoulder, despite the wet clothes and hair. God, it was cold. He had already draped the towel over his hair. Getting sick was the last thing he needed. What an idiotic thought.

"I'm sorry," Lisa suddenly whispered.

Enrico was startled out of his thoughts. "Che?"

"I'm a paladin," she said, her voice quivering with anger. Only there was no one to blame except for her. "They just caught us. No superior numbers, just a plain old, stupid trap. And we lost the fight."

She cuddled closer to him and he stroked her cheek. They hadn't spoken about what had happened yet. But who was he to criticize a fight? A bureaucrat like him couldn't judge this.

"It happened too fast. We were scanning the building and I got knocked out from behind. Next thing I know, Jack was screaming. They killed them and then brought me here."

"None of this is your fault. Jack was an experienced paladin. He should have made a better plan."

Lisa giggled. It sounded lonely and rough. "It's lovely how you manage to direct all blame away from us two. You can't confess mistakes and don't want me to." She laid a finger on his lips when he wanted to argue. "But I made a mistake and have to stand for it." There was a long silence. Enrico was almost drifting off when she spoke again. "You're a fool."

"What?"

"You're the biggest fool I ever met."

I'm not a fool! Stop saying that! I'm-

"All they wanted is capture you. And you are stupid or blind enough to do them that favor!"

"Should I just leave you? That's a sacrifice I'm not willing to make."

"You mean like Abraham and Issac? Wouldn't you do this for God?"

"This has nothing to do with God. Are you questioning my belief?"

She shook her head and sighed. "Are you cold?"

"A bit." Which was an outright lie. He was freezing, but what could he possibly do about that?

Lisa nudged him gently to keep him from falling asleep. "Why do they ask about that day when we were kids all of a sudden?"

"They are out of ideas," he replied wearily. "If they ask about that, they already know. It's just Millennium keeping us busy."

"But... How can they know? That was almost 18 years ago." Then, barely audible: "He was never found. Nobody even asked us, nobody was there. How?"

"I don't know. I thought it was about the interrogations."

Lisa stirred. She was angry. "Yeah. That. Why did you keep me out?"

"We involved as few as possible. It was a test for our people as well. That wasn't necessary with you, obviously." She laughed. It was good to hear that she still could. She sat up and looked at him. He knew that, although the darkness around was complete. "And what if I'm a double-agent?"

Enrico actually laughed now, too. "I really doubt that."

"You would have to kill me."

"You would never side with people like them."

"Just assume I did. Would you let me go?" She took his hands.

For God's sake, what is the point? "I can't answer that."

Lisa rested her head on his chest again. "Thought so."

He changed the topic. "All secrecy was for nothing if the camerlengo is working with them."

"You think he is?"

"The only one that would make sense. Ian Foster is one of the Holy Father's closest advisers. And that order had his handwriting all over it."

"I see."

Enrico stared into the dark. His body was tired, but his mind was caught in a loop of worries and scheduling he might never be able to actually hand over to anyone. "That's why Iscariots are not supposed to have families." The other bishops had sneered at him because he was so young when he was appointed. Hell, he still was the youngest bishop they had. But after Director Kerr's death he had been the only fitting candidate. Then, when Lisa came to Iscariot, they sneered at him, because the two of them were so close to each other. Nobody ever respected his hard work.

Enrico was painfully aware of the icy water, the hard and rough concrete, the pain in his body and Lisa's icy hand in his. They were frowned upon, rumors went around. Enrico pretended not to care. He had only his own conscience and God to answer to. His conscience told him he was not committing a sin. What God thought would remain to be seen. Why should he have given her to him then? That wouldn't make sense. It was His will.

Brother and sister, partners, best friends. Always and forever. Nothing more, nothing less. Obeying the rules of their Church they defended by breaking them.

Oh yes, they were true Iscariots.

Ventinove, Trenta, Trentuno, Trentadue...The counting helped fighting the panic that was already threatening in the background again. Normally it took around a minute until the demand of his body for air grew painful.

"Enough!" The words were blurry but their meaning could have been on a plasma TV and not been clearer. So fast already? The silent henchman yanked his head out of the water. He had been under water for barely more than thirty seconds, but it was still a relief.

An interruption meant something was wrong, making things unpredictable. He hated things being unpredictable. Nevertheless, Enrico could enjoy the feeling of not having to fight for every painful breath. The fist hitting his cheekbone kind of ruined that moment. He felt the crust on the same spot reopening. Blood trickled over his cheek and mixed with the water.

He would have fallen, but the silent henchman still had his hair in an already painful grip. So all the punch did was snapping his head around and costing him another few strands. Pain bloomed on his cheek and he tasted blood. Fortunately, the cold water had already numbed the skin a bit.

"Really, Monsignore. What do your subordinates think, just going on hunting Millennium?"

"Did you think capturing me would stop us? We can't afford letting such little things put us off with the death toll Iscariot has." A fist hit his solar plexus. Enrico gasped, his whole body feeling like it would be turned inside out. He would have doubled over, but the silent henchman was still holding him. You'll pay for what you did to my hair.

"Your spirit is far stronger than expected. Let's see how she does." Just for a moment, Enrico's gaze flickered to Lisa. She was sitting there like a statue, not betraying any emotion. But the Romanian had seen it. Enrico cursed himself. Families are weaknesses.

The Romanian opened the knots holding her and pressed the tip of a dagger in her back. The moment she made a wrong move, it would pierce her heart. How old-fashioned. Just fitting for such an old weapon. Lisa didn't attempt to struggle. She just stood there, patiently waiting for a chance to strike. She was a trained fighter, for God's sake!

Lisa froze when she felt the Romanian grabbing her butt. This dirty pig. I should have known.

The silent henchman shoved Enrico in the chair and fastened the rope around his left wrist. The other hand was still free and he made no attempt to tie it to the other armrest. It had only been a few seconds, but the Romanian just whispered to Lisa: "Don't move, sweetie."

"Leave her alone!", Enrico roared. The Romanian stopped, looked at him in surprise and laughed. He let go. Casually, he strolled up to his hostage. Enrico's right hand was still free. Lisa was standing alone -

Lisa's jaw visibly dropped when the door opened. There was the sound of a crutch being set on the floor. Click. Click. The Romanian waved his henchman away, but Enrico didn't notice. He had turned around to look at the visitor. He had read water boarding could cause hallucinations, especially in combination with little food and water. It was the only possible explanation.

This can't be.

"Long time no see, Enrico, Lisa," Joseph Drake said. He had visibly aged, wrinkles cutting deep canyons in his gray face. His leg had obviously never really healed and was twisted under the fabric of his trousers. Putting it mildly, he didn't look healthy.

"You're still always protecting her. That's lovely." Drake nodded to the Romanian and suddenly a sharp pain shot through Enrico's left hand. He cried out, more out of surprise. Damn it. That better doesn't leave a scar. The pain subsided after a few seconds to make place for a dull throbbing. Drake didn't look too pleased. Enrico turned to see how bad it really was.

There was a knife sticking out of his hand. The blade had pierced it between the second and third bone – he didn't know the real name – and the tip was buried in the wood of the armrest. Blood trickled lazily over the back of his hand where the blade was coming out of the flesh.

Enrico stared at it, too dumbfounded to process what he saw. "Huh?"

Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?, he suddenly thought. Except it wasn't the handle pointed at his hand, it was the blade stuck in his hand. Never saw that coming, Shakespeare, right? He snickered, just couldn't help it.

"Even now you manage to piss me off," Drake said and limped over to a chair. He sat down with a heavy thud. The Romanian made a step forward. "Maybe we should just cut off the entire hand. Or a finger. See how long he laughs then."

Drake waved him away impatiently. "You're here to work, not to think." Scowling, the Romanian took a few steps back. Drake grinned at Enrico and Lisa. "You have no idea how wonderful this was. Seeing you suffer. The best days of my life, I dare say. How does it feel to drown? Painful, I bet? And you, Lisa, having to watch it over and over? Although I presume it would have been incomparably more horrible for your brother. He's always so passionate about protecting you. It's just hilarious. How can an Iscariot even care so much and still go on?"

"How are you still alive?", Lisa whispered.

Drake looked surprised. Then he barked an asthmatic laughter. "That's all? I crawled out of my wet grave, darling. You almost killed me, you crippled me and threw me down that drain. But I came out on the other side, waiting for revenge." He cackled. "I told you what I'd do with you. By now I'd say I'll be content with the beautiful lady only, though."

He turned to give his henchmen another order. Then everything went down very fast. Lisa spun, kicking the silent man's legs out under him. She grabbed the knife in his belt and a moment later he was dead.

"Never underestimate Iscariot," Enrico stated. Content his sister would handle this, he needed to think about freeing himself. He avoided to look at the dagger while he tried to undo the knot. But with only one hand that was as good as impossible. Cutting it would be easier. And he had to attend to the blade sooner or later anyway. There was still only a bit of blood and next to no pain, compared to his face and torso. He'd like to keep it that way. But there seemed no way around it. Enrico hesitated, looking at the dagger – it was an actual dagger, not a modern knife – like it was a poisonous snake. God, he hated pain so much.

"Get over it, princess!", Lisa yelled. She faked a punch and ducked under her opponents' fists. As much as she loved him, Enrico could be such a pussy. He went through all that without even complaining and now he hesitated.

Drake was trying to get to his feet. Lisa dodged and kicked the crutch away. "Oh, no, don't hurry to make yourself useful!" She needed backup, and soon. The Romanian wasn't some civilian, not even a hobbyist. She had to throw in all of her military-like training to even match him.

Enrico of course was sitting on his throne. He never fought himself, but was overprotective to a point it became ridiculous when it came to her. Lisa never understood how this paradox worked. She dodged another punch, recognizing the feint too late.

The Romanian wrestled her down. Drake was hovering there, leaned on his crutch, with a broad grin. "You're a pain in the ass, darling. You two brats caused me so much trouble-"

If there was one weakness of any villain, it was talking forever. Lisa kicked his bad leg. Drake shrieked like an army of demons and fell to the ground. "You bitch!"

Enrico stared at the dagger. He heard Drake shriek. The sound of Hell. A scream like that had haunted him for weeks after they thought they had killed Drake for the first time. Others would laugh at me. Nobody has the right to do so!

He grabbed the handle and pulled with all his strength. The blade shifted. When the tip came out of the wood, the angle changed and cut even more into his flesh. He screamed when the pain finally arrived. Hot blood was flowing over his hand. This was not his job. Politics were dirty, but somebody had to do it and he was good at it.

He got the dagger between his hand and the rope. The blade was very sharp. Good for him. A dull blade would have caused a lot more damage, he figured. But really, what did he know about fighting?

The torture of the last days wouldn't leave any marks. But this? Me, an Iscariot, bearing the mark of Jesus himself. Oh, the irony. He carefully moved the hand. It hurt like hell and he could see muscles and tendons move through the gash. But it seemed to be fully functional.

I'm glad I'm not left-handed. He wanted to get up, but of all times now his body refused, rather concentrating on the pain.

"RICO!" Lisa! He jumped to his feet, only to trip over the Romanian, the dagger in his still unhurt hand. The blade slid into flesh without any resistance. The Romanian gasped, eyes bulging in their sockets, trying to choke out a word or something. "Bastard." Blood splashed on the floor. A lot of blood. Enrico hadn't expected that much blood. The room stank of it. Then the Romanian collapsed, almost ripping the dagger out of Enrico's hand. He staggered, but stayed on his feet. It was very quiet now, like in a crypt.

Lisa stood over Drake, holding him down with her foot on his crippled leg. Drake was breathing heavily, staring at her, but didn't move. Enrico stepped up to them. Lisa tried to take the dagger, but he refused to let her. "What?", she eventually snapped.

"Don't kill him yet."

Glaring, she let go. "Your hand."

"I'll survive it." He could feel hot blood flowing over his icy skin, accompanied by a sharp throbbing. That couldn't be good. "Never call me princess again."

He hunkered down. Lisa laid a hand on his shoulder. Otherwise he probably would have fallen to his knees. Drake tried to spit him in the face, but only hit himself. "You self-righteous brats think you're special. Millennium will rip you to pieces!"

Enrico nailed Drake's hand to the floor. The dagger pierced through the skin between thumb and index finger, hit a few tendons and sought its way between the bones. Drake shrieked like a whole clan of witches burning on the stake. It didn't make the pain any better, of course. Still felt good. Lisa's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"That was that," he said.

"I should have killed you!", Drake raged.

Lisa and Enrico looked at each other. "Yes, you should have," she eventually said spitefully. "But you couldn't. Two kids were able to defeat you. A loser like you should be long dead."

"How did you get out of there anyway? And why wait so long?", Enrico inquired.

"Crawled out of the drain like the rats you are! You brats smashed my leg, but I don't give up that easily! Not me, the greatest killer of all time, Joseph Drake!"

Enrico forced himself not to roll his eyes. Some people never learned. "Why now? And how?"

Drake was gasping by now. Even if they didn't kill him, he might just die of his generally ill health. But they wouldn't take chances anymore.

Drake began laughing, which turned into a coughing fit soon. "I was just waiting on a chance and then – then the great Major came to me and made an offer I couldn't refuse." He howled with laughter. Enrico felt Lisa's hand tightening. This was just freaky. Drake was out of his mind for good. "He promised he would let the Doctor fix my leg, you know! Of course he never planned it. But I didn't care." He giggled and began to sing: "All the promises we make from the cradle to the grave. When all I want is you..." He cackled again. "The Major promised me any help, as long as I could capture Enrico and Lisa Maxwell! And what a joy, I did! Seeing you bleed, hearing you scream, that was all I wanted!"

"What about Millennium?"

Drake just laughed harder. "What could I know of them? The Major is not an idiot! He'll rip you to pieces and feed them to the dogs! Your Iscariot can do nothing! You're going to be shredded, and that very soon." He flung wild glances around as if he was waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows. Lisa gently took the blade out of Enrico's hands and buried it in Drake's neck. He continued to spasm for a few seconds, then lay still.

"You think we can keep that?", Lisa asked, looking at the blade. It was quite old, yet well-preserved. Pretty, actually. Probably stolen, too. But throwing it away would be a sad waste. It wasn't really stealing, right? I'm starting to think like them.

Enrico stood up, visibly shaking. It was easier counting the parts of his body that didn't hurt. God, he just wanted to go home. Though running around like that on the street would only raise suspicions. "You okay?", he asked automatically.

Lisa stopped staring at the blade and looked at him instead. "Sorry?" That got to be a joke. Nope, just his way of thinking. This was getting ridiculous. She uttered a somewhat helpless laugh. "If I'm okay?" She hugged him as hard as she dared. He was still wet and shaking. "They tortured you and you as me if I'm okay?"

"I'm your brother. That's my job."

"Well, then are you okay?"

She received a little shrug and half a smile as a reply. "I'll survive it. Though I might not go swimming for a while."

Lisa took a step back. "Your hand. Wait a sec." Somewhere here she had seen a first aid kit when she first arrived with Jack and Pablo. They had wondered why something like that would be in an abandoned building. Not that it helped them a lot. That Major! He'll pay for this!

She eventually found the kit in a corner. It was almost brand-new. She found pretty much everything form bandages to hydrogen peroxide. She carried the first-aid-kit back to her brother still standing in the same spot and laid it on the chair. Lisa took the peroxide and took care not to show it too obviously. She took Enrico's wrist. This looked even worse than she thought. It wasn't bleeding much and she could see muscles and tendons working.

"Hold still. If you want to play hero again, try to keep your mouth shut."

"What are you – OW!" He drew back his hand, the liquid foaming and falling to the ground reddened. Some of it was actually falling through the gash. Lisa didn't want to imagine how much that hurt. She had always been lucky enough not to get bad injuries throughout her life.

"You trying to kill me, mate?", Enrico snapped, his voice shrill. Lisa had to smile despite herself. She rather would have expected Italian words from him. Meaning it was just pretend. The world is full of paradoxes.

Lisa got the bandages and wrapped them as tight as she could. It was a tricky spot that didn't really want to work. Somehow it reminded her of an adventure movie. "Brother?" She laid a hand against his cheek. His skin was icy. She didn't like how pale he was. With his smart-ass attitude it was easy to forget he was no paladin. After something like that pretty much every average person would have a shock. "Rico? Don't pass out yet, okay? You're too heavy for me to carry."

"Huh?" His eyes flickered, then focused on her face. "Who's passed out?" That provoked a little smile. He looked at the improvised bandage. The pain had dulled to a faint throbbing again. "I wonder what the others think where we are. I mean, also the other sections. I've got officially a few days off."

"Hopefully Anderson and the others didn't make a fuss. Section Thirteen could do without its chief getting into a scandal, eh?"

"They just want to keep us busy."

The door was slammed open. "HANDS UP, EVERYONE!"

Enrico and Lisa just looked at the newcomer. Heinkel had barged in like she was expecting hordes of enemies. Now she stopped dead. Yumie bumped into her. They could have kept their balance, if not Anderson had followed up close, knocking both to the ground before he could stop. He stood in the doorway, bayonets drawn and ready for battle.

The three paladins stared at the expected damsels in distress. Heinkel and Yumie exchanged a glance. "Uh...", they said in unison.

"Does that go for us, too?", Lisa asked. "There's really no one else to do so, really. Those fellas definitely not." She motioned to the three corpses. "But we can, if you feel better then."

Slowly, the two paladin girls got up and stashed away their weapons. So did Anderson after looking around warily, seeing nothing remotely human but the Maxwell siblings, three dead heathens and two very confused paladins. Maxwell looked worse than his sister, which was not a big surprise. He seemed to have been beaten up a bit. The hand, though almost professionally bandaged, could be a bigger problem. And he had obviously been soaked in the past, fitting to the water basin at the far end of the room. Hell, they got into quite a mess there.

"Nice entrance," Enrico said. "Though a bit late."

"Bit difficult to all get days off," Heinkel scoffed, resting her hands on the butts of the twin Desert Eagles. It was her typical pose, even off duty. Lisa and Enrico exchanged a glance, unsure if that had been a joke.

"Ye twae got us intae ae wee bit o' trouble there," Anderson said as he stepped forward, towering over the siblings. Despite being an adult, Lisa couldn't help but shift an inch closer to her brother. It was a well-learned reflex, formed by years of partnership.

"Renaldo could call in a favor of an old friend in Section Eight before all this became public. He removed all videos they sent," Heinkel said.

"Videos?" Lisa looked around for something useful, trying to ignore the giant looming over her. Anderson would never hurt her, she knew that. Didn't make him less scary.

"Aye. They wanted tae blackmail first Iscariot and then the Vatican."

"That was merely to distract us from Millennium. They have spies everywhere," Lisa repeated Enrico's judgment from the previous night. Speaking of which, why didn't he say anything? Enrico was the director. He would have to stand up for all of this. The Pope would be so pissed.
"Uhm... Chief?", Yumie asked.

Lisa turned around, just to see her brother lying unconscious in Anderson's arms.

September 5th, 2016

Six days. Six. Freaking. Days. And his hand still sang Hallelujah when he moved it too much. The wound was closing, but only very slowly. Not that Enrico had any time for recovering more than the last six days. As expected, he had spent five of these almost exclusively on the sofa, trying to distract himself from what felt like he was burning up. Most of the time he had slept, his cat Alex as a silent sentry. His doctor said he had been incredibly lucky. The blade had not severed any tendons, not hit the bone, just gone through. Hurt like hell, but he would not have any follow-up damage. Could cause scars, though.

His throat was still rough, the coughing wasn't gone yet, and he got a headache when he worked more than two hours straight, but he was better. That was one of the worst colds he ever had. Quite similar, actually, to the one he got after their neighbors fished him out of that lake. At least Lisa had been alright. Though they both had been grounded for two weeks after he was well again. The similarities were so big it was ridiculous.

As expected, the Holy Father had been angry. "I had never expected you, Maxwell, of all people, to just abandon your work like that, even for only a few days. And not just you, even our best weapons. I'm disappointed." The latter information had probably been leaked by Section Eight, John. Their director, Bishop Reinhardt Cornelius, had his people everywhere, too. And he didn't like Enrico Maxwell. He had been one of the biggest objectors when the choice had not been made yet.

Maxwell is too young. He cannot handle this. Which, in truth, meant: He's too independent. Cornelius wanted a puppet he could easily control for his means.

Enrico had humbly bowed his head, ignoring his still hurting body. "It won't happen again, your Holiness." His voice, barely returned yet (he hadn't been able to say anything for three days, so this was actually an improvement) seemed to put the Holy Father into a more reasonable mood.

"We're in a difficult position, Maxwell. I put my full trust in your ability to defend our church. Do not disappoint me again."

"I- We will not fail, your Holiness." The Pope never found out what really happened in these roughly five days. Not even Cornelius knew. Renaldo had saved the day again.

Enrico had actually wanted – because now he really didn't feel well enough to do much – to wait longer. This whole Millennium business he could also handle from his warm and comfortable sofa.

That had been before Section Eight reported Hellsing mansion had been attacked. Their whole staff was killed, except for the Convention of 12 and Sir Hellsing herself.

Adding to that, the Holy Father expected a solution to the Badrick problem. And he had left no doubt how he imagined this solution to be.

Enrico had everything from the old files at hand. With the help of Lisa and Heinkel, he had leafed through everything that even had a splinter of information about Millennium. That had been before this dreaded episode in Romania. Before all of this started, actually. Unlike Hellsing, Iscariot was well-informed. No matter how secret something was, the Vatican kept their reports in perfect order.

It couldn't hurt sharing a bit of this information for settling the score. Especially if Hellsing dug their own grave with it. Now he sat at his desk, wearing jogging trousers out of sheer principle, the feet on the more or less cleaned up surface, a cup of steaming hot chocolate on the desk. No more typing for him today. Despite being curious what the attack looked like, his hand made it clear that would not happen today.

Instead, he had a writing pad on his lap and a pencil. In these modern times a letter seemed a bit old-fashioned, but everything else would be inappropriate. Besides, it was the only way he could still write that letter today. Painkillers always made him dizzy and so his hand felt like it was filled with lava after working on a few minor details in his subordinates' reports. Business as usual.

So, he had to settle with a pencil for the draft and an old-fashioned pen for the final version. On the desk already lay an envelope, addressed to Hellsing and his name on the sender. For a secret organization, Iscariot was working in plain sight a lot, Enrico mused. But that was what made it a secret organization, he supposed. Hiding in plain sight was always best.

It was one of the most difficult letters he ever wrote. He didn't know Caitlyn Hellsing at all – not counting the rumours; he didn't take them into consideration - and that made it difficult determining how to play her. He had found literally nothing on her, not even a photo. Politics were a bit like a puzzle. The less you knew, the more tricky it became. Besides, about women only other women knew. That seemed to be a law of nature. But when he asked, Lisa had just laughed and told him he should be able to handle this. Everybody else he didn't want to ask.

In the end – after brooding over it for almost an hour - he had settled for something casual:

Dear Sir Hellsing,

how would you like to enjoy the Imperial War Museum together this fine autumn?

We shall meet on September 10th on 3 pm. in the following location:

He had decided on a painting depicting a battle somewhere in Africa. The corridor was broad and they should be close to the crowds, but alone to talk. The last thing Iscariot could afford was yet another fight on enemy territory. Despite that, Enrico was determined to bring Anderson to London. Just to be sure. Who could know if that heathen didn't decide just erasing him with the help of her vampires would be a good idea? He wondered what the Hellsing woman's reaction would be upon reading his letter. Iscariot couldn't have much of a good reputation in their godless country.

He read through the draft again. This shouldn't pose a problem. Even if the heathen would react with hostility and suspicions – that was pretty much what he expected – he would have done nothing to provoke a fight. In this situation, that meant having an advantage.

Hopefully, the bruises on his face would have disappeared until their meeting. The laceration on his right cheekbone just didn't seem to heal and it looked gruesome.

He frowned. His hand still hurt, although the feeling had disappeared into the background, and the bandage was clean. Besides, he was fortunately right-handed. But somehow a tiny drop of blood had found its way on the paper anyway. He needed to watch out in the final version of the letter.

Enrico exchanged the sheet from the writing pad with a stationery. He didn't feel the need to threaten Hellsing by using paper with the crest of the Vatican. Sentence after sentence, he copied his draft, now looking a lot more official. He tried to write more or less readable (it was always readable, at least for him, but Lisa – she of all people – said his handwriting was an ornate catastrophe). Writing letters was such an outdated thing to do.

After about half an hour he was done. Also, no blood anywhere on his hand. Weird.

He added the last line of the letter, and the biggest lie he had told in a long time:

I look forward to meet you.

Sincerely,

Bishop Enrico Maxwell

Director of Section Thirteen, Iscariot Organization