2 Galipán (Caracas, Venezuela)

I talked to my editor in New York. My last book, The Dark Side of the Vatican, was a best seller since its release in the United States. My work received excellent critics, especially considering that I am a former agent of the Interpol. Around me, the cold of these latitudes ran through the rustic wooden windows of my little house located in a quiet forest area in the north of Caracas.

From my windows I could see the Caribbean in all its fullness. Behind me there was the multifaceted and busy city of Caracas, my home for nearly 14 years after I suffered the biggest tragedy that a man could live through: the loss of his family. Suddenly, the serenity present in that gentle breeze that was blowing among the trees was broken with the noise of a couple of engines approaching through the road at full speed, heading to my house.

I saw some jacket-clad men getting out of two armored SUVs. I immediately supposed that they were federal agents or, even worse, Interpol agents. The past was coming back, and probably carrying bad news... These agents formed a security perimeter, observing and scanning everywhere as I walked to the kitchen to get some hot water in my teapot, one of the few things that I brought from my native city, London.

They knocked on my door, as expected. They knew that I was there. I looked at the small closet near the door, where I kept my two 9mm Glock pistols, well-oiled and ready to kill the Duke if he entered through that door. I sat down in the small living room and sipped my hot tea. They knocked again, harder.

"Come in, officers."

A beautiful woman, holding up a CIA-agent credential, entered. She was young, slim, with Asian features and was wearing an executive suit that fit her body perfectly. Her white skin contrasted with her peculiar deep-

blue eyes. Charles, one of the best computer analysts that I remembered from my time at the Interpol, was beside her, carrying a heavy silver briefcase in his hands. He looked the same, skinny and young, his albino complexion a perfect match for his shyness.

"Did the Duke escape?" I asked, while I set down the teapot and its silver cups on the coffee table in my small living room. The tea set was the last tangible memory of Migdalia, the only thing that had miraculously remained intact from the fire.

The beautiful agent aimed her gaze at her skinny companion who spoke with a trembling voice.

"Inspector."

His voice trailed off as he ducked his gaze. He held the briefcase in front of me and automatically, three mechanical legs punched out. I studiously ignored what the pair of agents was saying or doing, focusing instead on blowing my steaming cup of tea. Charles opened the briefcase, revealing a liquid screen showing the CIA's emblem. He put his hand over a digital readout and then he stepped aside. Then the agent got close and wrote something.

I realized that whatever tech this device employed, it was cutting edge. I was the only person who could see the images displayed; when I moved my head the CIA letters lost their sharpness.

"Twenty-one hours ago," began the Agent, "while the wife of one important American ombudsman in the United Kingdom was visiting, a terrorist attack took place and their two children died. The kids were protected by safety protocols but the terrorists breached all of them."

While she spoke, familiar, painful images of a completely burnt room passed through my head. What the Agent was describing was the same modus operandi of the last case I worked in, a case that destroyed my life. I put back the cup on the table.

The screen was showing now the remains of two burnt beds. Then the horror was intensified when I saw ashes outlined in chalk identified

with yellow marks by forensic experts. Those were the little burnt bodies of the prominent White House ombudsman's children. It reminded me of the endless deaths executed by the Duke of Von Wolves, the same serial killer who was, thankfully, in life imprisonment in a maximum security prison in Siberia, Russia.

After having seen these images, I sat back and wiped my tears away. I was filled with anger and pain after having my past once again just in front of my eyes. The Agent sat right next to the briefcase and poured herself some hot tea.

"Seven hours ago, after arduous negotiations, an extradition was issued by the Russian Supreme Court after it was ordered by the Judiciary of that federation. The extradition was made to transfer the Duke within forty-eight hours back to his castle with the intervention of a multinational force. His castle is now completely under control of the Special Forces of the US and the UK. We want you to join us. We need your help to get into the psyche of this criminal in order to obtain the names of the leaders of his international network, so we can determine the way in which they execute the attacks."

Avoiding her gaze, I glared at Charles, who seemed to fold into himself under the force of my stare.

"Agent Chang, you are wasting your time. I am not going back."

"Inspector, we know the theories you had about the murders executed by the Duke. We know you were ridiculed by senior officials of the Interpol because of those theories, but actually, the President of the United States and the British Prime Minister clearly requested your help with to get all the information out of this terrorist!"

"Agent Chang, I don't have the slightest intention of leaving my home. You're making a mistake if you let the Duke go back to his castle. I lost my family because I went after him. I could have avoided the accident in which my two children and wife died. I could have avoided the fire that killed them and burned down my house."

"Inspector, you must come with us," repeated the agent as she stood up.

"No, Agent Chang! I'm not willing to even lift a finger to help you!"

"Inspector, I ask you on behalf of the United Kingdom. The world is in danger!" replied Agent Chang, raising her voice.

"The world?! Don't make me laugh! My whole world ended when my family died! Nothing and nobody will make me change my mind!"

Agent Chang left the cup of tea on the table, walked right behind the briefcase and nodded at Charles, who worried his lip and looked at her, as if waiting to see if she changed her mind. Instead, she nodded again her blue eyes glinting with determination. Trembling, Charles set his cup on the table and started to type quickly.

I could feel my eyes bulging out of my face as new images appeared on the screen. My heart was beating hard. I fell over my knees, blinded by the tears and gave up to the deep, intense pain I was feeling. In front of my eyes hell itself was displayed. I sobbed, feeling like my soul was being torn apart, and screamed. Then several agents entered and suddenly I lost consciousness.