West Berlin

1986

6:35 a.m.

From a mere fifty yards, Lyn obliterated the silhouette target with her handgun. Her pistol locked to the rear, signaling an empty chamber. Lyn swapped the magazine, seated it with a smack and resumed firing. Her shots resounded around the concrete walls enveloping the firing range, hot brass clattering on the floors.

She exhaled, adjusting her ballistic goggles and earplugs. Then she continued firing, unaware of Kalen coming from upstairs. He stopped a few feet behind her and crossed his arms, gaze drifting to the paper target downrange. Her arm muscles tensed with each shot from recoil and relaxed as she realigned her sights.

Click. Click.

The pistol ran dry, and she reached for another magazine. When she turned, Kalen’s sight made her blanch.

He raised his hands, a sardonic smile on his face. “Whoa! Remind me to never piss you off!”

Lyn formed a scowl. “What are you doing down here?”

“Meeting upstairs, we need you there.”

She holstered the pistol on her waist and slung a gym bag on her shoulder, plowing past Kalen. “Fine…” she said, her voice curt.

Gunpowder lingered in the air, adding zest to a usually anosmic room. Lyn stopped by a bench, grabbed a bottle of water, and sipped.

“We found a way into East Berlin,” Kalen prompted.

Lyn lifted the bottle from her lips, turned toward him. “How?”

“Through the subway maintenance tunnel. Lightly guarded, maybe a few Stasi patrols at the most…”

Lyn scoffed.

Kalen shrugged. “You know that damn wall is guarded like a fortress. God only knows how many people have been shot trying to climb over it to the west.”

“And we’re dumb enough to sneak into East Berlin.”

“If we want to find Faust, then yes.”

They walked upstairs to the garage of the safe house. Like the range, concrete walls without windows surrounded the garage with a few archaic bay doors. Auto parts scattered the floor, with oil stains and scuff marks. To the side, Godfrey sat on a rim welding some mechanical contraption together, sparks flying accompanied by flashes of blue light.

Automobile engines suspended from heavy metal hooks attached to the ceiling and parked in a corner were two cars: a black Volkswagen and a red Mercedes 560Sl with its roof removed. On the other side of the room settled rows of gun racks, every shelf filled from pistols to assault rifles. The work benches beside them piled with throwing knives and plastic explosives.

Near the chalkboard, amid the room, was a desk housing a computer and a ruby red telephone. A woman stood by the chalkboard earnestly invested in the photos and notes attached to the board. Lyn recognized the Palestinian twins from the night before, tacked onto the board; above them a picture of Faust. Above Faust, a photo of Melchior, nothing more than a black silhouette. Red cords connected each photo, all converging to Melchior.

Lyn yawned, stretched her arms. “Hey Chess, how’s it going?”

Chess’s eyes never strayed from the board. “Oh, hey Lyn,” she said, voice resigned.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Chess reached for the coffee mug sitting on the computer desk, continued her task. She took a sip and made a face, turned the coffee mug upside down.

“B — Blood…”

Lyn snatched the mug and strode to the coffee machine hidden in a corner among a pile of junk and other detritus. She found the machine devoid of coffee as well. Kalen placed a hand on Chess’s shoulders, plopped her down into a seat by the computer. He returned with a bag of blood, its package lined with frost.

Her eyes twinkled, the corner of her lips rising as Kalen poured the bag into her mug. Lyn sat beside her, held out a small mirror before her. Chess took the mirror and tilted her head, blood seeping from her full lips. Her hair was a voodoo blue that fell to her shoulders with dark amber eyes and a unique gray complexion. Centered on her forehead, rested a red jewel.

She sighed relieved and jumped from the seat, a spring to her steps as she strolled. The sparks ceased and Godfrey removed his welding mask, sauntering back to the group. “Glad to see you’ve returned Lady Lyn.”

Lyn smiled. “Thank you, Godfrey.”

Kalen stood at the board, cleared his throat. “Alright, since we’re all here let’s get down to business shall we?”

Everyone took their respective seats.

He turned to Chess and Godfrey. “We have two corpses in the trunk of the Volkswagen, both a million dollars each. We need them turned in and classified at the bounty station before necrosis makes them unidentifiable. Can you two handle that?”

“Yes,” Godfrey and Chess said.

“Good. Tonight, at 2300 hours, Lyn and I will infiltrate East Berlin and hopefully…”

Nervous glances exchanged across the room.

“... hopefully, we’ll find information regarding Melchior. Which, of course, will lead us to Drake.”

“Ulysses won’t be happy when he finds out about these extra-curricular activities,” Chess said.

“Which is why you two are turning in that bounty,” Kalen riposted. “As long as we do that, I doubt Ulysses will pay attention to anything else we do.”

Lyn lowered her head, face absent. She thought of that day in ‘73; the last time she'd seen Drake. His words echoed in her head. His last words before his eternal banishment to Tartarus. She remembered his punishment; their bond allowed her to share his torment vicariously through Drake himself.

“Lyn, you really are… the leaves bathing in the sun.”

Kalen’s voice sounded as if being underwater. She rubbed the pearl necklace’s glossy surface, awed by its beauty.

She muttered: “Blood... Steel... Iron…”

Drake appeared in her mind, his body succumbing to the weight of steel and ice engulfing his body. She saw a stone sarcophagi being submerged in a pool of silver. Embedded in its stone was a carving of a devilish beast with a Chiropteran like appearance.

Blood… Steel… Iron…