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***
"Yes, I was thinking. He looked so much like his grandmother."
Gobler didn't understand anything. He was about to reach out to his demon again to follow him to Hell and pet the hounds of Hell, when he was brought back to this cursed city, where he had been sent after his failed attempt to find Hitler an ark.
"Hey! Why are you dressed up?" asked the dumbfounded German Svyatoslav.
"How?"
"What how?"
"How did you. you. I'm back?"
"That's it, you're a vampire now. Your people killed you, and this girl didn't recognize you and felt sorry for you. She shouldn't have."
"Is it noticeable?"
"Very much so. When your man was beating me, you could not hide the sweet pleasure of suffering in your gaze, especially physical suffering. I suppose you have never known the mental ones due to the absence of that very soul."
"Go on," Gobler squinted like a cat at a mouse.
"You are an upstart, you have served and are serving your superiors like a sycophant. You are ready to carry pots for them, just to be promoted and awarded a cross. You go out of your way just to be noticed by the Führer."
"Uh-huh," the Standartenführer continued to listen to his profiler.
"You would sell your own mother if she were alive," Jean persisted.
"Are you trying to hurt me?" Gobler said. "It amuses me to hear obvious things about myself. Of course, I love to watch torture. Otherwise, I could not sit in this chair for an hour. But you will not be able to provoke me. Olga asked me to cover for you, Johan. I will keep my promise."
"Olga? So familiarly? So she turned you?"
"She did."
"I see," Jean sighed and lowered his head.
***
Helmut did not expect that his first victim would be the very person he should have feared and liked so much. How did that happen? His mind shut down just when Heide cut her finger on the iron plate binding the papers in the cardboard folder.
"Ouch!" Fräulein shrieked and pressed her finger to her lips. "Who has arranged the papers in the cupboard so that it is impossible to take them out without putting one's hand through them?!"
The true German practicality had always admired him, but this time the smell of her young, tender blood made the German come so close to the girl that she involuntarily thought that the low-born officer wanted to get behind her and pull her off, bending her over the desk.
It almost happened that way, but much more prosaic. The officer straddled her shoulders from behind and sank his thin fangs so deep into her throat that Fräulein didn't even have the courage to cry out.
When Gobler woke up, the girl was hanging in his arms like a rag doll.
And then he was frightened.
"Fräulein Lause?!" he shook her docile body, already beginning to cool, but the girl did not move. "Something is wrong. What are they doing? I was brought back to life!"
But no matter how hard he tried, he failed. A couple of times he tried to open a vein with a penknife, couldn't even cut the skin on his wrist out of excitement.
The time for resurrection was lost. There was no life left in her when he came to.
"How will I report to the Führer? Once again I failed to fulfill a secret mission. In fact, I ate an important person myself."
However, remembering how tasty and sweet it was, Helmut threw bad thoughts out of his head and began to think feverishly about who to plant the corpse of his unfortunate victim.
Here we go. As soon as Helmut decided to leave the girl's corpse in his office, he had to think of a way to somehow make the guards outside forget that he was the last person to see Lauze alive. If he were an ordinary man, he would have had to think logically. But he was a sorcerer, and a vampire. The stupidest of all sorcerers and vampires, but he knew a thing or two about dark, mystical tricks.
He closed his eyes, looked into the corner of the room, and with a penknife he drew in the air the opening of the gates of the Realm of the Dead. Someone roared from the vortex that opened in the space. He knew who, but he tried not to think about it; if he did, the monster would hear his name, and Gobler would be in trouble. As it was, he'd let it decide whether to come out or not.
"I see you've fed your servants fresh blood? How did you get it so easily?" roared a furry beast with the head of a jackal and the body of a pumped-up German athlete. "Is that her?"
"Oh, My Lord, I couldn't help but kill her. How can I avoid paying for what I've done? Heide is a senior officer in the SS, and her father." the officer said ingratiatingly, turning to the deity. "Shall I revive her with your help?"
The god's red eyes flashed in his direction. The gold necklace on his chest jingled as if the Nazi's ears were rattling.
"You? You dare to disturb me for fear of humans?!"
Helmut opened his eyes, Thank God it was business as usual. How to sleep now, he didn't know. Well, if Olga will not allow, otherwise Anubis will be waiting in the mental with his hordes of dead.
There was nothing to do, so he left the office and approached the guard standing like an upright mummy against the wall. Trying like Olga to get into the young man's head, he realized that he was failing. Then he touched the boy's hand, and feeling the strong heart pumping blood, he heard his soul.
The boy is only eighteen, he misses his mother, he loves a girl, a brown-haired girl, very full and ruddy. That's right, Helmut had succeeded in messing with the guard's mind, suggesting that Gobler had not been in his office all day. Only she had been there, and he, a young German guard, had come in at her request, had sex with her and accidentally bitten her, pretending he was a vampire. Role-playing had always been honored in his country.
Leaving the guy standing there until he woke up from the realization that he was a murderer and did something stupid, Gobler got into the car and drove to the hospital, where the new doctor, Ivan, was squeamishly looking at the wounds of the Wehrmacht soldiers.
"How was it?" grinned Standartenführer, turning to Jean. "Have you had enough already?"
"What is there to be satiated with? They all have gangrene and blood loss, it's time to give our own," the surgeon dismissed.
"So give it, you will help Hitler in creation of immortal army voluntarily," the SS man thought. "Now I don't know what to do. To help my own people means to break the secrecy of your clan. To go to you means to be executed by the Guardians. They'll be back."
"Continue to mimic, Gobler. You're already working for our intelligence, feeding your command's plans to Olga. Russia will not forget you."
The German wasn't amused. He was really confused.
"Get out if you can," the doctor added, grinning into his moustache.
"What do you mean, get out?"
"We are on the offensive. They are deceiving you to stay where you are and not to run away," Deschamps enjoyed the Major's confused look. "Do you think I would tell the enemy, which, despite the relative brotherhood of souls, you are to me? I assure you. A week, and our troops will take Smolensk. How long? They're already in Vyazma. They're halfway there. They'll start bombing tomorrow, I'm sure. All thanks to what Olenka dug up in your stupid head, Herr."
"Fucking hell," the German reached for a packet of cigarettes, but remembered that he couldn't stand them anymore. "Well, then I'm leaving without saying goodbye."
"Where to, if it's no secret?"
"Canada, mate. Say hello to our people."
The SS Standartenfuhrer was feverishly considering his plan of retreat. The first thing he took was his civilian belongings, Heide's jewelry and the fake documents he'd long ago made in case of a fuck-up. Hijacked the plane at Smolensk airport. He landed with a parachute near Norway, leaving the Messerschmitt to perish without a pilot, walked through the snow, almost repeating Maresiev's feat, to the nearest village. There he was warmed by local fishermen.
A month later Gobler was on the shore of the New World.
EPILOGUE
The liberation of Smolensk was met with a gramophone and a decanter of German soldiers' blood. The Guardians arrived, gave medals to everyone, one extra for the SS man, but he was already sunbathing in Rio de Janeiro in white trousers, as Ostap Bender, his second cousin on his Russian grandmother's side, had dreamed.
"How can we give this 'devil' a medal for the liberation of Smolensk?" Svyatoslav lamented.
"Yes fuck him, dumb as a valenok. In fact, this is also my medal," said Olenka, looking at Jean, who missed so much. "It was me who siphoned information out of him and passed it to Stalin's headquarters."
"We have an eternity ahead of us, he will be announced by some president of the United States, and then we will hand it over," answering Olga with a mutual-pohotlichnymi look, Jean reassured his grandfather.
"Me? A vampire? Why?"
"I don't know why. You can go and give your blood to your Hitler now. And leave us alone," Krivich opened a jar of blood, took a greedy sip. "You want some? You won't get it. Get out of here, you fascist scum!"
Gobler sat down in confusion.
"I'm not going. I don't know where to go now. Fräulein Heide is there. If she finds out, I'm definitely kaput. She'll tell the Führer. She'll do experiments. I can't take it. I'm barely used to all this spirits and mysticism the first time round. The nightmares are so horrible. I don't know what's real and what's not. The men I shot every night wanted to drag me somewhere in my dreams."
"Don't whine, I won't regret it! You think you can shoot everyone with impunity like your scumbag soldier just because you're stronger? Ooh!" Grandpa swung. "If I could, I'd drive you back to hell."
The German sobbed. Something he is completely confused in this life. Olga turned away squeamishly and went to her corner.
Krivich knew that it was impossible to leave such a person unattended. He would get hungry and give them all away. Either he'll start eating ours or his own. We should have switched on the psychology. How does Exupery put it? We are responsible for those we turn.
***
Grandfather Slava grimaced, looking at the German trembling in his first fit of thirst. At last his true face came out from under the mask of an Aryan with a Nordic character. He looked at the jar of blood as at a precious Indian cut diamond.
"Answer me, ignoramus, ignorant of your great missions, why shoot the mentally ill?" asked the old man to the German. "What are you using to decide who should live? By nationality or by what the lunatics have done to you, you fucking fascist? If you answer the truth, I'll give you a sip."
"I'm a National Socialist. Non-partisans don't serve in the SS. Fascists are a bit of a different subject, Italian," Gobler replied, stammering like a junkie in withdrawal. "I didn't decide to kill the mentally ill. They were removed as ballast, there was nothing to feed them."
"And now they've taken you away like ballast. Because you're an arsehole, Fritz."
"Helmut."
"Fuck it. You're no different from those sick people who were shot. You put on a woman's rag, a whistle on your lips, a false hump. Going after them, didn't even think that your own dogs might slap you. You're a degenerate. Notice the difference, Vorontsova the vampire took you as a victim and tried her best to save you. You called her a monster. You're a human being, but you're so soulless! Ah, drink up."
His fangs nearly split Gobler's lips at the sight of blood. He drank the whole glass, and his eyes stopped glowing in the semi-darkness of the room.
"Here's the deal. There's a lot of your uniforms here, pick your size. You're going to your room. Not a word about us. We'll get it from under the ground. Well, you've got it all figured out."
Grandpa showed him a warehouse of soldiers' uniforms to choose from. He and Olga caught them here one by one, drank them, took off their clothes and threw them into the Dnieper.
Partisans.
"And what am I to do now?" quietly asked the recruit, buttoning up his leather coat and putting on his skull cap. In the best traditions of the Gestapo.
"What you did, you do. Catch us. As if. Try not to bite too hard. You know, you give away the office, you'll be the first to feed your Fuhrer's super-soldiers, maybe even him. You got your lady distracted. Tell whatever lies you want, but don't mention us."
"Yavol, mein.Russian transcription," clacked his heels in his boots and wanted to stretch out his hand to the sun Gobler, as his grandfather stopped him.
"Stand down! You've ruined the greeting of the Roman legionaries with your Führer. And don't you dare call me that. I may be a vampire, but I am honored." he shouted loudly. "Speak Russian to me!"
"My bad, I'll make it up to you, Mein General!" he said, making his grandfather angry again.
"Go on, you sycophant!"
***
The officer left in total confusion, he could be said to be disarmed for now, unless Fräulein, pretending to be a nurse, sings something new into the fool's ears. Or maybe their new spy will get it wrong. But Vernidubovich could not afford to sit and guess at coffee grounds. Svyatoslav missed his old cozy flat and coffin made of Lebanese cedar.
"You're a good girl, Countess," laughed his grandfather. "Cleverly handled the German. Before he woke up, he was already ours."
"Yes," she sighed sadly, "To sit in the cinema without cinema. How tiresome is such a humiliating life. Why do I have to hide and live in such a dilapidated crypt?"
"So send our Kraut a morse message, tell him to set up a cinema here. We're like his mum and dad now. Let him worry."
The Countess smiled. She liked to drive the rabble crazy with her obsessive thoughts.
"What if he turns on his jammer again?" she asked.
"Turn it off. You have the power."
"And indeed, why should I?" Olga laughed, her eyes sparkled with demonic fire.
All the rest of the night Herr Gobler lay with his eyes open and listened to 'Katusha' in his head, performed by Countess Vorontsova and an orchestra of balalaika players from the Urals.
'When will this torture end, Frau Olga?' he whispered.
'If you sing once without error or accent, if you hit the beat exactly, we'll finish the remote music lesson and move on to ditties.' came the voice of the Siren in the German's head.
'An elephant stepped on my ear! That's enough! А?! I'll do everything as I promised. And the delivery of the blood right to the entrance, and the new chairs to-morrow, and the rack in the foyer, and the orchestra of violin and piano. It'll all be there tomorrow, if you'll let me sleep a wink.'
'Katyusha' was replaced by Chaliapin with his 'Hey, dubinushka, whoop!'
***
Languidly picking at his omelette, the Standartenführer listened to Fräulein Lause. When she asked him something for the fifth time, he stared into her grey eyes, trying to remember what they had just talked about.
"Come on, how did it go last night? Did you find out where they were hiding?" The German said. "I have to report to the Abwehr."
"Don't I already have to report?" The officer did not like to serve the young lady who had set him up by making him dress up as a grandmother.
"You have to act. So, what do you want me to pass on?"
"She reached Lopatinsky Park and disappeared into the fortress wall. I'm not going in there alone. My predecessor only followed the road unaccompanied, he and his adjutant were shot."
"Why don't you eat anything?" The girl is concerned. "Pale."
"I have a lot of things to do today, Fräulein. I'll have to leave you now," Helmut got up from the table and put aside his napkin, hoping to run to the toilet before the swallowed piece of Bavarian sausage asked for a more aggressive way out.
Heide gave him a long, suspicious look. She sensed the deception, but didn't show it.
Gobler cleaned himself up and went down to the torture chamber where Hans Schliemann, the man who had shot him the day before, was already being beaten.
The face of the handsome blond man with the true Aryan shape of his head, emphasized by his short sporty haircut with long fringes, did not look as attractive as before. His nose was swollen, his blue eyes were swollen, and his front teeth were knocked out.
"What's he saying?" Gobler asked the executioner, sitting down on the corner of his desk and pointing his desk lamp at the soldier.
"He says he did nothing on Cashen."
"Right, he should have been at the railway station. Who made you cross the viaduct on a motorbike? You left your post, soldier. Did you assist the partisans? Passwords, identities. Why did you shoot a civilian aunt?"
Hans didn't expect it. No. Of course he knew that his commander was out of the world, and that he had been talked about. That he had given his soul back in Cairo to pay off some Ark to stay in the land of his ancestors, that he had been resurrected to destroy Nazism, or vice versa. But to bring him out like this? Did his partner give him up?
"Herr Standartenfuhrer, she was a dirty gypsy, I assure you. And we are authorized to shoot gypsies on the spot without trial," the unfortunate man babbled.
"So." Gobler tilted his head to the side, he had not expected such a comparison of his make-up and choice of female clothing with belonging to the lowest tribe. "But you didn't leave the facility to track down a tabor of gypsies through the city, did you?"
"No, I swear, we-we wanted to buy moonshine from the local peddler."
"Why?"
"It was cold."
"Abwehr soldiers don't drink alcohol on guard duty." Gobler seemed to ponder for a moment, then turned to the executioner, "Go on."
"Please, I've said it all!" screamed the arrested man, but the Standartenfuhrer did not hear him. It was important to him that he did not survive the torture. And that Fräulein Heide could not ascertain from the soldier that the old woman he had killed was in fact the new vampire Helmut Gobler, who had been seen by quite a few patrols that evening. Thus the German covered his tracks.
***
Nevertheless, he kept his promise to Olga. Within a day, the cinema was transformed into a small oasis of art. Everything was cleaned, whitewashed, there was a palm tree in the foyer, a piano, and she was eager to put together a theatre program for the hated German soldiers, but she could not live without poetry and beauty, so she decided to put on Goethe's Faust in German.
Gobler came to see the renovated cultural center in person. He got out of a black Mercedes Benz G5 (W152) and left the guard at the car, showing that he has his own people in the building and does not need a bodyguard.
The Countess looked refreshed and happy. She had already been to Svyatoslav's flat and had taken a bath, though the hot water had to be heated in a large tank. Grandfather stayed there to lie in his coffin, which he had made himself. Straighten his old bones.
Vampires stopped fearing the round-up once they realized the power they had over the Gobbler. Like cats who know they are loved and owed.
"Frau Vorontsova," Gobler bowed to her hand gallantly, just like last time. "You certainly torment me with your nightly lullabies. I understand, the mother syndrome is not realized, but, believe me, it prevents me from covering you from my superiors. According to the latest reports from the front lines, your husband--"
"What about Vanya?" For some reason the officer didn't like the anxiety with which the woman said those words. It was clear that she loved, and loved passionately. At that moment he wished that the same beautiful and proud woman was worried about him.
"He is a prisoner of war, he will be taken from one day to the next with an echelon to Smolensk." he replied irritably. Why should he, a German officer, empathize with her? But she continued to torture his thoughts, forcing him to say more and more new information about her husband.
"He's not a Jew! He's a doctor! Why is he being transported in bestial conditions?!"
"Because he's a captured soldier, that's enough to be shot on the spot if the escort doesn't like it. However, being a surgeon will allow me to get him out of the concentration camp he's facing. I will arrange for your husband to work at the hospital under my own responsibility."
Her eyes lit up happily, causing Gobler to feel wild jealousy. He already hated Jean. Why is he digging his own grave?
"But you will stop haunting my brain at night!"
"It's a deal," Olga smiled. "Except that I need actors. A few soldiers for the play."
"What play?" The German was afraid of a trick.
"Goethe."
"Oh, all right, I'll allocate."
He saluted the lady in a military manner, turned round and walked briskly out.
"A pet Nazi," she yawned in the palm of her hand, "I've never had such a pet before."
***
"Ivan Ivanovich, I've been instructed to give you your wife's fiery kisses. Imaginary ones, of course." grinned the German, looking at the Frenchman. "Olga Anvarovna wishes to visit you, but, you understand, not in this place. I offer co-operation. You can work in the hospital and treat German soldiers. Under my responsibility."
"Why such tutelage?" Jean raised his eyebrows ironically. "Are you Olenkin's lover?"
There was a long pause. Helmut wanted to say 'Yes' very much, very much, and bit his lip. He was torn to do so, but he remembered what torture the owner of Vorontsova's power of suggestion had subjected his brain to, so he decided not to pull the cat's whiskers.
"Are you in an open relationship? Can I count on the Countess's attention? Will you allow it?" inquired the German.
"Cute." Jean leaned back in his chair in Gobler's office. "I know Olga very well. She can manipulate men brilliantly. I will not desert for her."
"But this is not treason, but the work of a prisoner," tried to convince the Frenchman German. "Otherwise you'll end up in a concentration camp in Germany. Do you know what they'll do to you there? No? I do. They'll lock you in an iron box. They'll put a needle in your neck and drain your vampire blood to supply the immortal soldiers of the Wehrmacht. No, you will not be beaten, perhaps you will even be fed to your battle comrades, with whom you entered the Smolensk railway station today. You will not suffer from hunger, but you will do much more serious harm to your . I don't know how to put it, you seem to be French, how did you get here? Are you a Napoleonic soldier?"
"As well as you probably will be," Jean grinned. "You think I don't see that you've already been turned by old Krivich. I don't understand, I was a surgeon, but why would he need an Aussie?"
"To save your gang, I suppose," replied the German. "Your big secret, which, if you break, your Guardians will execute you. Or whatever it is they do?"
"Are you here for a vocation? Do you like suffering? Sadist?" the Frenchman continued his small talk unperturbed.