Neblus the Assassin

	The phone in the front hallway was ringing. Neblus chose to ignore it. He 
didn't need to answer it. He knew who was on the other end, and he knew what they 
wanted. Well, they could just stew for awhile. Neblus wasn't moving until the ball 
game was over. The phone stopped ringing as he reached for the pretzels. Okay, so 
they hung up. Now count... 3 , 2 , 1 ... there goes the phone again. Same thing 
everytime. He really should talk to someone about modifying the phone so the bell 
could be turned off. It would make life easier.
	Besides, in a little while, the people calling him would give up and send 
some people to his door to pick him up. It was the same old routine. He even knew 
the guards by name. But of course, by the time they arrived, the football game he 
was watching would be over, and he would drop in on the agency on some pretense 
or another. Once they realized he was there, they would tell him what they wanted 
him to do. And of course, they always wanted the same thing:
	They wanted him to kill someone.
	Neblus wondered who the CIA wanted dead this time. Last time they had 
tried to get him to kill a Democratic Senator from the North.  Lately the agency 
had become more paranoid than usual, and had begun targeting enemies of the 
agency within the government.  Naturally Neblus would have nothing to do with 
that.  Not that he was afraid of discovery, but those people targeted were the only 
ones keeping the CIA in check. And the agency was far too dangerous now.
	Of course he didn't expect them to give up that easily. They would send 
some other assassin to do the job. But such a fool would possibly be caught, and the 
rotten people at the top found out.  The leaders of the agency would be exposed, 
and tried. Those who dared to try to command him would be brought to ruin for 
their crimes. And that of course was one of the things Neblus sought. And how 
would the other assassin be discovered? Simple. Neblus would make sure of it, 
that's all.
	And nothing that would happen would affect him and his comfortable 
lifestyle at all.
	That was the real trick. Gaining the advantage and revenge without 
destroying all that he had gained in the last 40 years. After all, while revenge may 
be sweet, living well was the best revenge. Once the top brass were incarcerated he 
would delight in taunting them with a few phone calls of his own, really letting 
them sweat the fact that he was free and they were not. He didn't have much to fear 
about them turning him in, because who would believe that he was a true Vampire? 
Besides, the brass knew that to betray him would mean death.
	It had all started back in the late 1940's. He had escaped the old country, 
now devestated by war, with his life and little else. He was glad to be gone, not 
because of some group of peasants storming his castle like they show on cheap 
horror movies. He fled because the communists had come into power in his 
country, and they were little better than the Nazis they replaced. Coming illegally 
to America, he found not only a land where he could move about as he pleased, but 
a population completely ignorant about his kind. He could hunt the humans as he 
wished, and even if someone did know the truth about him, who would believe it?
	He spent a few years like this. Moving from town to town. It was relatively 
easy. People in America then were much more innocent of horror than people in 
his old world. They were quite trusting. Nowadays he would not have been able to 
count on the innocence of his prey as he did then. It was a decent life. And he made 
a few dollars here and there. Nothing like the wealth he had had to abandon, but he 
took what he could. As always, survival came first. 
	Then he saw an article in the newspaper. The White House was having a 
showcase of art, saved from the ravages of the war in Europe. And within that 
collection was part of his collection. A painting of one of his ancestors, the first 
vampire to be exact. Neblus was amazed. He didn't know how, but somehow the 
painting reached the States. And since it was his rightful property anyway, he 
wanted it back. Naturally he was not going to expose himself by standing up and 
saying he wanted his painting back. He doubted they would give it up anyway, even 
if they did believe him. So he set up a plan to retrieve it. It was diabolically clever! 
So he got some string, some light oil, some tacks, 3 pounds of hamburger, and...
	It should have worked... Anywhere else in the world it probably would have 
worked. As he lay there with his mouth bleeding, being closely watched by 4 
guards with huge guns, he wondered what an electric eye was. He was then taken to 
the headquarters of the CIA for interogation. Since this was back during the very 
early fifties, they were not gentle.The Cold War was in full swing, and they seemed 
to think he was some sort of Communist agent. About the only thing that saved his 
neck was that someone somewhere figured out what he was. 
	And so, once they were satisfied that he hated the communists in a sufficient 
manner, they made a proposal: Work for the agency and he would be well treated 
in this country. Refuse, and he would be buried under it.
	Well, how could he refuse such an offer?
	Besides, he could live well on their payroll, then stick it to them when they 
least expected it. He had no more love of them than he did of the bastards that took 
his ancestral home. Difference was, the people here did not fear him. He would 
have to take great pains to see to it that they never did. That way he could strike out 
of the blue, taking them totally by surprise. He accepted the position.
	It was quite a life he was given. He was made immune to prosecution for any 
deaths that would happen "in the line of duty". He was advised who was not to be 
killed for any reason, like senators and judges and the like. No problem. There 
were enough people in the area for him to devour that he never needed go that far. 
He was set up in a Gothic looking home overlooking the bay, and given his choice 
of furnishings. He chose some very old and familiar 16th century European pieces, 
and began his hobby of collecting usable antique furniture, and creating a very dark 
atmosphere for his home. It was beautiful.
	But it was then time to earn his pay. His first target came as no surprise to 
him. He was to kill Stalin. In Moscow. Right away. And as if that were not enough, 
he was to make the death look natural. Getting into Moscow was not a problem. 
Neither was reaching Stalin. He took his time setting him up, then drained him well. 
Stalin was killed by a stroke, they said. Neblus had done it, and done well. The 
agency was pleased. And since Krushchev was so inept, the agency decided that 
Neblus could let him live. Krushchev could destroy the Soviet Union quite well by 
himself.
	His next assignments were in Eastern Europe. He was to eliminate anyone 
who was improving conditions in the Communist Bloc. Neblus secretly loved these 
missions, because it allowed him to visit the very people who ran him out of his 
lands. He enjoyed whispering to them "Remember me?" over and over while his 
victim slept. Eventually the person would awaken, and the terror in the eyes... ah, 
the eyes. He killed most of them, but he had a special reward for the army colonel 
that was directly responsible for his departure. He slowly drove the man mad, 
awakening him in terror, then disappearing. Night after night. The man's wife then 
died next to him. Then his daughter passed away in her sleep. Neblus even killed 
the dog. The Colonel's life ended in an insane asylum, about ten years later. 
Revenge was indeed sweet.
	During the 70's, he wasn't given very many assignments. In fact he was 
allowed to spend quite a lot of time in his new home. He was well on his way to 
making it as comfortable as his old home. In fact, he brought back certain pieces 
from his old place during one of his missions. Life was good in the seventies. Most 
of the action those days was in Latin America, and his visage stuck out there like a 
watermelon in a bin of oranges. The CIA simply didn't need him in central 
America like they did in Europe. The only real thing he had to worry about was 
who he killed then. Those psychedelic drugs that the youth were experimenting 
with really screwed him up .
	But then the 80's came. And whether it was the radical new president or just 
that someone somewhere decided that enough was enough, his life was turned on 
it's ear. Apparently it was decided that his skills were not being used to the fullest. 
He was once again sent into the Soviet Union, this time with standing orders... Kill 
everyone in power. And as always, make it look natural!
	Neblus wondered what it must have looked like here in the West. It must 
have been amusing, watching the Soviet leadership dropping like flies. Brezshnev, 
Andropov, Gromyko, he had killed them all. And no-one, not one person in the 
Soviet Union, knew it was a CIA plot. Which for him was probably just as well. 
Even though he had grown tired of the job after spending so much time in Russia, 
he did not want to be caught. He simply wanted to go home. After Gorbachev came 
into power he returned to the States by civilian means, despite direct orders from 
the agency not too. Apparently they wanted him to stay and kill Gorbachev as well. 
Upon his return, he was chastised for abandoning his post. Neblus decided that the 
time was right to begin paying back certain people.
	By this time most of the people who originally held him were old and 
decrepit. They were hardly the fierce warrior defenders of democracy they had 
imagined themselves to be. Killing them would be too quick. No, he wanted them to 
suffer for their arrogance. He had learned quite a bit about different ways to bring 
a person to the edge of death, and no further. He would then leave the person there. 
Alive, yet not alive. Unable to speak or act. He brought them to a vegetable state, 
and naturally they would be kept on life support for a very long time, conservative 
as times were. 
	He gave several of his 'bosses' just this kind of stroke. It was quite easy. Just 
drain the victim so that the brain hemorrhages, but no more. The autopsies never 
showed anything unusual. Other times he would simply have his fill, and take the 
blood from the wrist. Then he would leave the still bleeding corpse in a bathtub of 
water. Suicide, everyone said. Too much pressure at work for such an old man they 
said. Missed his departed wife they said. And of course the wife was another one of 
Neblus's victims. Nice touch that.
	And of course, the new people taking over did not even realize that it was 
his doing all along. Just a few old people dying, that was all. Yet the new leaders of 
the agency were not as understanding of him as the old leaders were. Perhaps that 
was because the older group knew about his escapades, and respected him for those. 
Since those missions were state secrets, all the new bosses knew was that they had a 
vampire on the payroll who could kill anyone, anywhere. And he supposed they got 
a little greedy, stupid mortals. They began to have him kill people inside the United 
States. Anyone the new director Casey didn't like or suspected was game. Political 
leaders, liberals, opponents in internal politics. 
	He did this for a while for two reasons. One, it allowed him to stay close to 
his new home, and enjoy his existence. After all, he had done more travelling in the 
past 40 years than in the previous 400. He decided that he had done enough for 
them. Also by doing the dirty deeds now and then, he got the agency accustomed to 
killing anyone they wanted to. And when he stopped doing it for them, they would 
use other more fallible assassins to do the jobs. Assassins that Neblus would make 
certain got caught. And then those who tried to be his master would spend the 
remainder of their lives in stir.
	Naturally, when he stopped killing on the agencies orders, director Casey 
was furious. There was some Congressional investigation into the activities of the 
CIA in Iran, or one of those desert countries out there. Casey wanted the person 
spearheading the investigation terminated. Neblus refused. Casey then ranted and 
raved about what it was to be an American and that he had a duty and so on. When 
Neblus decided that Casey had nothing constructive to say, he got up to leave. Casey 
then threatened to fire him, and then expose him and all of his doings to the world. 
He would have enough time to hide all the papers tying Neblus to the agency, Casey 
said. Neblus had heard enough. He killed Casey on the spot. 
	And Neblus made sure to do it in such a way that no reason for death would 
ever be determined. It would serve as a warning to the others that followed Casey, 
Neblus answered only to Neblus. And if the CIA needed something done, they could 
hire him freelance. The new director didn't care much for that idea at all. But when 
Neblus then said that unless he was put on some sort of financial retainer, then he 
would also be available for hire to other governments. He had heard that the 
Libyans paid well. Neblus was put on retainer then and there, and allowed the 
privilege of accepting or passing assignments as he saw fit. 
	Well, that was a few years ago. Since then he had been asked to perform 
several murders of political rivals. The new bosses seemed to lack any longer term 
vision than their own immediate careers. Typical for mortals, but Neblus had hoped 
that he would meet a better breed of men. Still, he would go about things in the 
usual way... he would let them progressively stick their necks out further and 
further. Then if it suited his plans, Neblus would chop it off, figuratively of course. 
	But the targets he was getting were becoming odder and odder. Last time the 
CIA had wanted him to kill some religious leader who was stirring up some anti-
technology sentiment in the country. Some fundamentalist named Nefron. And 
while Neblus couldn't quite put his finger on it, there was something eerily familiar 
about him. Almost like a family resemblance. It was an odd message the man was 
preaching, and the guy was getting very popular, but that was not the sort of thing 
to kill someone over. Neblus refused that assignment. But who would they want 
done away with now? Well, the game was over.  Time to go and find out...