He cursed his luck again. How was he supposed to know that the lot where he’d parked was off-limits to trucks? He had to keep his mouth shut and stifle the urge to scream at every slack-jawed employee of the hotel. He couldn’t draw any more attention to himself
It wasn’t easy. The clerk took another forty minutes to find someone who knew where the truck had been towed. The city impound lot, halfway across town. A search through the phone book gave him a number, and a maddening voice-mail menu finally—after two disconnects—told him what he had to do. Show up, in person, with proof of ownership of his vehicle, and six hundred fifty dollars. Cash.
The recorded voice droned on, “Business hours are Monday through Friday, nine-thirty a.m. to five-thirty p.m....”
Dylan felt his stomach clench again. He checked the time on his watch, just to confirm.
It was 5:34 p.m. He was stuck here until morning. At least.
His phone kept ringing in his pocket. He didn’t answer.
SIXTEEN
As a result, at night, when fully nourished, subject has the strength of 20 men (bench press = 4,000 lbs.); can run at speeds up to 75 mph, and leap from a standing position roughly 24 feet into the air. Subject does not need to breathe, as long as he has fed recently. He can store oxygen in the blood he consumes for later use. In one test, subject stayed submerged underwater for over an hour.
—BRIEFING BOOK: CODENAME: NIGHTMARE PET
T
he doctor’s offices looked like an enormous Art Deco mausoleum. Cade and Zach walked through glass doors that swung between the statuesque legs of an idealized, sexless human form that was molded into the building’s façade. Tasteful pewter letters spelled out
THE PROMETHEAN CLINIC—DR. JOHANN KONRAD, M.D.
The lobby was empty, except for the high-gloss slab of a reception desk and the sculpted blonde behind it. She smiled at them as they approached.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“We need to see Dr. Konrad.”
Her smile disappeared at Cade’s tone.
“I’ll have to see if he’s in, Mr.... ?” She let the question hang there.
Cade flipped out the wallet with the DHS creds.
She only gave them a glance, then handed them back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “These could be faked. We can’t let just anyone back into the offices. We have a problem with the paparazzi, you know.”
Cade leaned closer to her. It was only a slight movement, but the receptionist rolled her chair back from him, her eyes widening.
Zach decided it was time to play good cop. “We thought it might be more convenient for him if we talked to him now,” he said. “You know. After business hours.”
That didn’t help. “Actually, we’re fully booked,” she said.
Zach looked around the empty lobby. “Right now?”
She nodded. “Dr. Konrad’s patients appreciate a certain flexibility in his schedule. Many people are still very judgmental about aesthetic enhancement.”
“You mean plastic surgery?”
She relaxed a little. “As the doctor always says, we don’t perform surgery on plastic. We allow human beings to reach their full potential.”
Zach gave her his best aw-shucks grin. “Well, clearly the doctor did his best work on you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Actually, I’ve never been a client.”
“Oh.” Zach didn’t know what else to say.
“Thank you both for stopping by,” she said. “If you gentlemen would like to call and make an appointment—”
“Enough,” Cade said. “Get him out here. Now.”
Again, Cade barely raised his voice, but she pushed her chair back even farther.
“Just one moment,” she said, and hurried through a door behind her desk.
“Smooth,” Zach said, as they stood there. “Couldn’t you hypnotize her or something?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“I thought vampires were all sex gods with the ladies.”
Cade looked at him. “What gave you that idea?”
“Uh ... late-night TV, mostly ...”
“Humans are our food. Do you want to have sex with a cow?”
“Touché. So what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
The door opened again. The receptionist was back, flanked by a massive escort wearing a dark suit over a T-shirt. Security.
“They showed me some phony badges,” she said, pointing at Cade and Zach. “Get them the hell out of here.”
The huge man came around the desk. Zach moved out of his way. Cade didn’t.
He looked down at Cade. He was nearly a head taller, and built like the door of a bank vault.
Cade glanced at the man’s hands. Knuckles distended. Layers of scar tissue. Mallet fingers, the third joint flopping dead and nerveless, the result of too many bad breaks.
The man was a boxer. A brawler. He was already half into his fighter’s crouch, ready to bring his dukes up and go ten rounds.
He was no threat.
“Time to go, little man,” he said, putting a hand on the vampire’s shoulder to march him out the door.
Zach blinked, so he missed it.
Cade reached over and gave an effortless tug, and suddenly, the goon was on the floor, screaming in pain, his shoulder dislocated and twisted.
Cade looked back at the receptionist. “Dr. Konrad. Please.”
Zach turned to see the big man get up on one knee, his face now full of rage.
“Stay down,” Cade said, without looking.
The man reached inside his jacket pocket, gripped something there. Cade still wasn’t looking, and Zach figured it out—
He was about to say the word “gun” when Cade moved. Zach saw it this time.
A casual sweep of Cade’s hand before the weapon could clear the man’s holster.
The plateglass window, shattering as the big man flew through it.
The receptionist screamed, but she was late to the party. Cade stood calmly. The big man was an inert lump on the pavement outside. Her wail died away almost comically. There was only the sound of the broken glass falling out of its frame.
The receptionist huddled against the door.
“I’ll call the police,” she said, nearly shrieking.
“That’s not what your master instructed you to do, is it?” Cade said.
She looked at him, and Zach recognized the panic in her eyes. He’d felt it himself. She was about to start gibbering and crying.
The intercom on her phone beeped to life. A voice—deep, cultured, very slightly accented—came through the tiny speaker.
“That’s enough, I think,” it said. “Laura, please show our guests back to my office.”
Cade looked around, then up. Zach saw what he was looking at: a camera, set into the corner of the ceiling.
“Hello, Konrad,” Cade said.
“Good evening, Cade,” the voice on the intercom replied. “You could have called first.”
THEY LEFT the security man outside. The receptionist led them back into the clinic, casting nervous glances over her shoulder.
They passed a number of doors to private exam rooms.
“How did you know he was here?” Zach asked.
“I could smell him.”
Ask a stupid question, Zach thought.
They were at a set of double doors at the end of the hall. The receptionist opened them and hurried out of their way.
Konrad sat behind a steel slab of a desk with nothing on its surface but a computer that looked like a sculpture.
Despite snow-white hair, he didn’t look much older than Zach, with handsome features set in a welcoming smile.
If he was nervous about them being here, he didn’t show it.
The receptionist, however, danced from foot to foot like she had to go to the bathroom.
“You can go, Laura,” Konrad said. “Please have someone fix the window. Tonight. Thank you.”
She rushed out, pulling the doors closed behind her hard enough to slam them.
Konrad shook his head. “I hope this was necessary. You frightened the poor girl half to death.”
“I have questions for you, Konrad.”
The doctor rolled his eyes and smiled at Zach. “He’s always like this. No social graces whatsoever. I am Johann Konrad. A pleasure to meet you.”
He stepped from behind the desk, hand extended to Zach.
Zach moved to take it, more reflex than anything else. Cade blocked him.
“You don’t need to know his name,” he said to Konrad. He turned to Zach. “And you should know the first time we met, Konrad was working for the Nazis, spreading a fatal variant of the flu virus by handshake.”
Zach put his hands behind his back. Konrad laughed.
“What can I say? I was young and impressionable.” He looked at Zach. “We all make mistakes.”
“Oh, sure,” Zach said. “You were just experimenting with Nazism.”
Konrad’s smile faded.
“What do you want?” Konrad asked, returning to his seat.
“Unmenschsoldaten,
” Cade said. “Have you been working on them again?”
Konrad looked genuinely surprised. “What? No, of course not. You know the terms of my agreement. I am forbidden from ... ‘experimenting’ anymore, as your friend puts it.”
“You haven’t been approached by anyone for the methods?”
“Absolutely not.”
“No one has accessed your records here at the clinic, or spoken to you about the process?”
“I don’t even keep those records anymore. The only place they exist is with your government. And we both know that’s not as secure as it should be. What was the name of that man in 1957? Carlton?”
“We dealt with him,” Cade said. “Who else has access to your files?”
Konrad laughed. “Who doesn’t? This is the age of the Internet, Cade. There are no secrets anymore. I have seen all of the Nazi archives displayed on conspiracy sites. It’s only the public’s disbelief that keeps any first-year medical student from reproducing my work.”
“That’s not true,” Cade said. “Your creations only really work with the Elixir. Which only you know how to create.”
“We’re going in circles here. I gave the formula to your government as part of our agreement. You know this.”
“And you still know how to make it.”
Konrad looked frustrated. “But I wouldn’t. That’s my point. I have not broken our deal. I am a man of my word.”
Cade looked at him for a long moment. Stalemate. Even Zach could see it. They had no way of disproving anything Konrad said.
“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Cade finally said. “It’s pounding like you just ran a marathon. Ever since I walked into the room.”
Konrad’s face flushed. His urbane demeanor dissolved into a scowl.
“That’s very impressive, Cade. And I should care ... why?”
“Just to let you know I can hear your heart, Konrad. And I could end that sound without too much effort at all.”
Cade turned and started for the door. Zach guessed they were finished.
“Cade,” Konrad said. “Whatever else you think of me, you should know I am grateful for my new life. This is the land of second chances, after all.”
“It wasn’t up to me,” Cade said. “I wanted to kill you.”
Konrad smiled at Zach, seemingly calm again. “You see what I mean about him having no social graces? Honestly, who says things like that?”
Cade turned and faced the doctor.
“I know you,” he said. “I know that whatever else you say, you will never give up playing God. You don’t even want to. Someday, you’re going to overplay your hand. And I will be there.”
Konrad gave Cade the ugliest look Zach had ever seen.
“It must be so frustrating for you,” Konrad said. “To always be sent on these little errands. And to know they will never let you touch me.”
Cade didn’t respond. Zach followed him out the door.
SEVENTEEN
1981, LEE FEDERAL PENITENTIARY,
JONESVILLE, VIRGINIA
C
ade stalked down the corridors of the penitentiary. Ordinarily, the presence of a visitor would have brought shouts, catcalls, even feces and flaming toilet paper from the cells. Not this time. This time, the prisoners simply watched until Cade passed by, and then they breathed a sigh of relief.
The guards escorting Cade gave him a wide berth as well. There was no outward sign of his anger. But you could feel it, coming off him like heat.
In the pocket of his coat, orders for a full pardon. Immediate release, citizenship privileges and a sizable check drawn on the U.S. Treasury.
Everything the prisoner had asked for, in other words.
A few hours earlier, Cade had watched it happen from a TV screen. He saw the gap in the Secret Service’s line, the perfect angle for the camera. The president used to be an actor. He could never resist a good shot.
Leaving an opening for the cameras also left him open to a bullet. He never thought it would happen.
You could see the surprise on his face, captured on video, as the fire-cracker sound of the little handgun snapped away.
Six shots. At least one direct hit. Out there in broad daylight, where Cade was useless. It was 1963 all over again.
Before long, the phone rang in the Reliquary. It was still an old-fashioned landline then, directly wired to the Oval Office.
The president’s chief of staff was on the other end. The bullets were Devastator rounds. Lead azide, designed to explode on impact. The press secretary was standing nearby, and half his head was gone. “One was right next to the president’s heart,” the man said.
He had an assignment for Cade.
Cade was flown to Jonesville in a special Air Force transport and then driven in a limo with specially tinted windows.
The press had heard the president was in bad shape. The White House got a lock on that, spun a story about the man joking with the surgeons. “I hope you’re all Republicans.”