And then they saw it.
“This isn’t about the Holy Agreement,” murmured Circe in a small, shocked voice. “They may have wanted the bombs for some purpose before 9/11, but this has nothing to do with that.”
“No,” said Church. “This is about the Upierczi. They are without doubt the ones with the bombs.”
“But why?” demanded Rudy.
“They were monsters and slaves for centuries,” Lilith said in a hollow voice. “They had become weak and almost died out. Now they are stronger than they ever were. Much, much stronger.”
“But-”
“We are about to go to war with a new nuclear power. The vampire nation.”
Chapter One Hundred Fifteen
Aghajari Oil Refinery
Iran
June 16, 6:16 a.m.
There were thirty or forty of them standing at the edges of the spill of light, but I could see indistinct shapes moving in the darkness. More of them. Many more.
Their ranks parted and one of them walked toward me. He was taller and more muscular than the others. His skin was milk white, his eyes the color of bright blood. He wore black clothes and a crystal teardrop on a silver chain. In the center of the teardrop was a brilliant ruby.
I aimed my gun at him, but I heard soft, furtive footsteps on either side of me. And behind me.
The lead Upier studied me for a moment. Around him his people were whispering to each other: “White dog… white dog!” They all made their protective signs, touching hearts and tracing lines on their eyes.
Their leader half turned and silenced them with a growl like a wolf. The silence was immediate. He turned slowly back to me, and a slow, broad smile spread over his hideous face.
“I know who you are,” he said in a voice that was every bit as cold as a Halloween wind. “You are Captain Ledger.”
And I said, “Oh shit.”
It is never going to be good news if a vampire knows your name.
“You are a traitor to your own people,” he said, “and an enemy of mine.”
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“Our friend told us,” he said, smiling so that I could see his teeth. Those teeth were scaring the living hell out of me. “He said that you conspired with Rasouli and the Red Order to keep us in chains.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, pal. I’m here to keep this bomb from going boom. When I’m done with that, we can sit down with a latte and talk about it.”
I’ve always marveled at my own ability to be a smart-ass when there is neither a good reason to be one or time to screw around. It’s way high on my list of character flaws.
“Do you know who we are?” asked the leader. The other vampires had me completely surrounded. Ghost whimpered and shivered beside me.
“At a guess? Grigor, chief bloodsucker of the Upierczi,” I said.
He didn’t blink, just gave me a nod of approval.
“Then you’ll know what an honor it is to die by my hand.”
“That’s actually not on my day planner.”
His eyes cut left and right. “Bring him to me.”
The Red Knights closed on me.
“Ghost- hit! ” I yelled, but Ghost simply stood there. Trembling, drooling with terror. His bladder let loose and he peed all over the floor. Again.
Not exactly the response I was hoping for.
The Upierczi stared for a two count, and then they all burst out laughing.
“Oh shit,” I breathed.
The closest Upier darted in and kicked Ghost in the side. It looked like a light kick, but it lifted Ghost’s hundred pounds and flung him against the side of the bomb case. Ghost slammed into the hard metal with a terrible yelp of pain, rebounded, and fell. He lay whimpering on the floor.
The vampires laughed and laughed at Ghost, but they were looking at me. Red eyes and red mouths surrounded me.
I pivoted and shot the Upier who had kicked Ghost. I hit him in the balls because I wanted him to suffer. He screamed and fell, and the bullet punched all the way through him and hit another Upier in the thigh. Two down. Their screams were so high, so shrill that it wiped the leering smiles from every face.
I liked the effect, so I kept shooting.
I wanted Grigor, but two Upierczi threw themselves into the path of the gunfire and died for their king.
I shot the gun dry, and in the confusion I swapped out the magazines.
But I never had a chance to fire the gun. A pale figure moved toward me with such insane speed that I couldn’t bring the barrel to bear. Grigor. He swatted the Beretta out of my hand and it went spinning away.
He grabbed a handful of my shirt and pulled me toward him. I used the impetus to hook a palm-heel shot across his temple. It turned his head but it didn’t drop him with a sprained neck like it should have. All that I accomplished was to shake loose of his grip, though as we staggered apart the whole front of my shirt tore away, exposing the Kevlar vest beneath.
With a snarl he darted forward and punched me square in the center of the chest. The blow slammed into me like a cruise missile and literally plucked me off the ground and hurled me ten feet through the air. I hit the flat front of the bomb housing near where Ghost had struck, and a twenty-one-gun salute burst along my spine. My feet landed flat but my knees buckled and I went down hard on my kneecaps and then fell forward onto my palms.
One punch.
He was unbelievably strong. Far stronger than the one I’d fought at the hotel.
Jesus Christ. It was all I could do to suck in half a lungful of air. Kevlar stops bullets, not foot-pounds of impact.
Move or die, bellowed my inner voices. Cop and Warrior, both of them shouting at once.
As the king of the Upierczi came at me I launched myself from hands and knees and tried to drive my shoulder all the way through his midsection. I’m two hundred pounds and six feet tall buck naked, and that’s a lot of PSI to absorb.
Turns out, not only was he strong as a bull, he could fight. He caught my charge and with both hands and a pivot of his hips sent me flying again. I collided with a line of Upierczi and we all went down. The impact tore a cry of pain from me; they merely grunted. They were laughing as we hit the ground and cold fingers were suddenly plucking at me.
“No!” bellowed Grigor. “Leave him be. This one is mine.”
Disappointment flickered on their faces, but that was quickly supplanted by evil smiles. They shoved me to my feet and one of them even steadied me and slapped dust from my clothes. He gave me a friendly grin and a wicked wink.
“Thanks,” I said, then I flicked my rapid-release folding knife from my pocket and whipped the blade across his throat. It wasn’t my best cut, not even that deep, but the whole knife had been soaked in garlic oil. Mr. Friendly staggered back, clutching his throat while he gurgled a wet scream.
Everybody watched him fall, watched the blood geyser from his throat and then fade to a trickle. Then every set of red eyes shifted to stare at me.
I moved away from them and dropped into a fighting crouch, blade ready for Grigor.
“Garlic,” he observed. “Clever trick.”
“Come over here and let me show you how it works.”
We all had a good laugh over that.
The other Upierczi began circling me again, laughing, taunting me, pretending to lunge at me. Some-friends of the dead, I guessed-told me how I would die and what I would feel. Not really necessary-Grigor was about to show me firsthand.
He lunged in and swatted at my knife. I evaded but only just. He was wary of the garlic on the blade and his hesitancy allowed me some seconds of breathing room. I pressed that advantage, leaping at him, slashing and hacking with a dozen overlapping cuts. But all I really cut was air.
Then he faked high and came in low and wickedly fast. He punched the bicep of my knife arm and the whole arm went dead. The knife clattered to the floor. Grigor rose from his crouch and hit me again in the chest. Same place. Same effect.