Its not often that I am completely tongue-tied, especially after over 400 hundred years of talking at all opportunities. This was one of them. I stood there with my mouth open and my brain in a whirl. Here he was, alive, my god more than alive. "He still looked incredible", remarked the part of my brain that never seemed to sleep and always noticed these things.
"They told me you were dead," Myron said quietly, his eyes not leaving mine.
Oh, boy. I couldn't figure out to break the news to him 30 years ago and I still don't know how to do it. After all, they weren't lying to him, after a fashion. However, someone had certainly lied to the both of us.
"I was told the same thing," I answered him. I don't think I managed to keep my voice as steady as his.
"I suppose it had something to do with your job. Your real one, I mean. Not the UPI one. Nor the one that had to do with entertaining lonely Lieutenants far from home."
If he had slapped me I don't think I could have been more surprised. Or more hurt. I know that I actually flinched at his calm, cold words and probably would have flushed had I been physically capable of such an action. What had brought that on? I knew that the Company, to use an old euphemism, didn't always play well with the Army. But what had I ever done that caused him to act like this?
Regardless, this was not the time to deal with this. I could be just as calm as he was. I smothered my Irish temper and in a voice as cold and as controlled as his, I restarted the conversation.
"Colonel Goldman, if possible, I need to brief a select group of officers and NCOs concerning an extremely unusual threat they may be called on to assist with. I understand there is a conference room here in this building that would be perfect for my purposes. Would it be possible," I handed him a list of names, "To have this group of men available at say, zero nine hundred hours?"
Whatever reaction he expected from me, this was apparently not it. He blinked several times and jerkily nodded.
"Thank you. With your permission I will go there now and set up. Without waiting for an answer I turned on my heel and walked out.
At the appointed time, a group of officers and sergeants filed into the briefing room. Fortunately for me it was windowless, for security no doubt. I waited until everyone had taken their seats. Myron sat at the back of the room, his face expressionless.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for coming on such short notice. My name is Bridget O'Brien and I am an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency. Before I proceed, I need to verify that all present have a V21 endorsement to their security clearance. Would anyone who does not have that endorsement please leave the conference room at this time."
No one moved. "Okay then, I'm going to pass out a profile and description of an individual that the government wants. Not dead or alive. Simply dead. Maybe 'deader' is the proper word, as in 'deader than hell'. This is a serial killer who could possibly rival the worst ones of all time. For purposes of this type case, the provisions of the 'Posse Comitatus' Act have been excluded by a secret Act of Congress."
A murmur swept through the room as I walked down the center aisle, passing out folders containing all the details we had so far. I returned to the stage in the front of the room. "Please look over this and then ask questions. This is exactly what that security endorsement I mentioned is for. Gentlemen, you may be need to help us, me, take down a vampire."
A powerfully built captain in the third row snorted. "Oh, come on now, Ms. O'Brien. I know that the government, and the spooks in general, come up with some very oddball notions, but this is too much. Vampires? Do you seriously expect us to accept such a ridiculous concept?"
Gosh, if I had planted him in the audience to ask this I couldn't have asked for a better opening. I walked down to where he was seated, on the aisle, even. I smiled at him.
"Captain, how big are you?"
A bit uncertainly, he replied "Six-two, 210 pounds."
"And what would you guess about me?"
"Five foot, three inches maybe. Right around 100."
"Right on the money." I reached down, caught the bottom of his chair with my left hand, and lifted him over my head. I turned and walked slowly back towards the platform, being careful not to drop him. I set him down, still in his chair, on the platform's edge. I looked at him and he turned pale. I knew the effort had caused my fangs to drop. I summoned up my courage and turned to face the rest of the troops. A gasp ran through the audience at the sight of my face.
"And I'm right handed." I refused to let my eyes settle on Myron, although I desperately wanted to study his reaction. Instead I resumed my place behind the podium. "Thank you Captain." Amazement written on his face, he stood, took his chair and went back to his original place.
"Any more questions on that subject?" I guessed there weren't. The silence was overwhelming.
"There myths and there are realities when dealing with a killer such as this. First, they are extremely strong and extremely fast. You all saw that," I gestured towards the captain and at the same time flashed him a smile. "Let me tell you, the killer we are seeking is as much stronger than me as I am stronger than any of you. I'm quite frightened of him, having already met him at close range."
"Shit," came a low comment from the back of the room.
"A lot of what you think you know about vampires are folk tales. We're not deterred by crosses." I reached inside my blouse and pulled out the old silver cross I always wore around my neck. "We can cross running water. We don't sleep in coffins that we must be back to by daylight. We don't have to be invited into a house."
"As against that, we don't have mesmerism as a power to compel people to do what we want. I generally try flashing my legs for that." A chuckle ran through the group and I felt them relax slightly. More importantly, they were paying rapt attention now. "We can't change form. We can't summon other worldly creatures to our aid."
"Killing a vampire is pretty much what you think you know. A stake through the heart. I don't know why it has to be wood. Decapitation. The wounds caused by fire don't heal, so a flamethrower works just fine. And not at all least, exposure to direct sunlight does indeed cause us to end up as a pile of ashes. Indirect sunlight causes weakness and pain. I can't simply throw a blanket over my head and run around without harm."
