JOHN DEVLIN WHO had been drinking heavily all day and had finally succumbed at twilight woke with a start. For a moment he thought he was back in Manila, then he remembered bitterly that he was still in the Villa dEste. The money he had been offered to be there was beginning to seem less important as the days unfolded and tedium set in. Voice lessons, the lack of females, and serious, sombre men were beginning to take their toll.
As he lay there in the semi-darkness contemplating his lot, he heard the curtains rustle and felt a gust of wind play over his face. The moonlight filtering through a gap in the curtains cast eerie shapes on the floor and his imagination began to take over. He listened intently and thought he could hear someone breathing, ever so faintly. Was there someone in the room with him, he wondered?
“Who’s there?” he growled but only silence greeted him.
Getting out of bed, he was about to walk over to the window and shut it when he heard a scraping noise.
“Who’s there, I said?” he asked again but with far less conviction in his voice this time.
Someone chuckled in the darkness and he became rooted to the spot as something rose from the armchair in one corner and came towards him. He wanted to run but his feet were made of lead. Then it was before him and he went to scream as he smelt the foul breath on his face, but he could not because the talons that gripped his throat had crushed his voice box. His brain exploded with the pain as his chest was ripped apart and his body flayed by razor-sharp claws.
At that moment in another part of the Villa, Doctor Nieuwhof, accompanied by two guards, made his way to the room where the body of Lechaim was being kept. The two men that escorted him could smell the alcohol on his breath and were disgusted by it. They were part of Oscar Bar's new schutzstaffel, the original corp being founded in 1925 by Adolf Hitler as a small black-uniformed bodyguard. Oscar Bar's new SS no longer wore the black uniforms that would have aroused suspicion but were instead dressed in grey uniforms with 'Bar Security Services' insignias to mask their real intent. One of the auxiliary services that the holding company, Bar Industries, provided was surveillance and security for private enterprise; another infiltration method Oscar Bar employed with ever-increasing success.
The members of this elite body prided themselves on their fitness and physical prowess, so the doctor's obvious bodily degeneration was repugnant to the big burly men that now watched him as he swung the bookcase back.
The doctor himself was oblivious to their contempt. After all, they were there merely to carry the body down to the cellar and merited no more consideration than one gives any servants.
The room was cold and the doctor shivered as he stepped forward.
Both men removed the straps of their Heckler and Koch USP .45 pistols, with their snap-on lasers and lights, from their shoulders and placed the weapons on the table. They would only get in the way when they carried the body down.
“He’s gone!” Nieuwhof exclaimed and he stood back. Both men checked for themselves but there was no body.
“Get everybody up! The body has been removed. Search everywhere! Someone’s penetrated our security!”
“Well! Move!” the doctor urged as the two men stood looking at him. “There’s no time to lose!”
They ran from the room leaving the doctor alone. Reaching for the wall phone, he waited for a response at the other end.
“Rubin! Security has been breached! The Captain’s body is missing! Get your men up and keep your eyes peeled! Anything showing up on camera?”
The doctor listened but it was not the answer he wanted. “Okay! If something does, let me know immediately! I’ll be here in the Bishop’s study.”
He then replaced the phone and walked over to the door, locked it, and turned around.
“Uhh!” he exclaimed in fear as he saw him standing there. “But you're dead!”
“Am I?” The other man said and gave a little laugh which sent a wave of fear through the doctor. “But then I could have told you that!”
The doctor did not hear him, however, because his eyes were fixed on what the other was holding in one of his hands, the blood dripping from it onto the carpet.
The man approached and held it up to Doctor Nieuwhof’s face.
“John Devlin was always a heartless man, don’t you think!”
Two men, guns drawn, part of the group searching the house for intruders, were walking by the study door when the screaming began.
“Christ! What’s that?” one exclaimed as they looked towards the door. They tried opening it but found it locked. Others appeared in the hallway and then the screaming stopped and there was a heavy silence.
They stood aside as a man pushed his way through.
“What’s going on!” Rubin demanded. Then he remembered that Doctor Nieuhof was in the study. “Well!” he said turning to one of the men. “Do you need an invitation? Shoot the fucking lock off!”
“Shit!” a man behind him exclaimed and Rubin, turning around, saw that he was staring down.
When he looked down on the floor he saw the reason for the man’s consternation. A heavy flow of blood was seeping under the door, staining the thick white carpet red as it did so.