American Blood: A Vampire's Story (23 page)

“You shouldn’t have been afraid of me last night . . . I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Calida broke away before Ryan’s next thought.

It was time to go.

Calida glanced up at the ledge that overlooked the pit. It was perhaps twelve feet above her. She kicked off her sandals, stepped backward, and sprang into the air. She landed on her feet with her heels hanging over the edge. She straightened her
burqa
and looked down the passage.

There was light coming from the far end and silhouetted in the light was a man.

A Taliban guard walked toward her.

T
he Rangers had been gone thirty minutes. Ryan hadn’t moved from his spot although he did catch himself pacing during his most recent mind-lock with Calida. All he could do now was agree with her last thought. His heart raced. Nearly a mile above sea level in freezing temperatures he was sweating beneath his clothes. Ryan couldn’t decide if it was out of fear or love. Deciding it wasn’t the time or place for self analysis, he split the difference.

He held the tracker up and scrolled through the screen options. He selected the signal log and brought up the frequencies that had been picked up by the tracker during the last twenty-four hours. The frequency for the newly implanted tracking sensor in Calida’s shoulder was listed as the default signal along with the VLF that piggy-backed the main signal. There weren’t any other frequencies logged as being received.

Ryan let out a low, frustrated moan. Something wasn’t right. Unless the device in Calida’s head had been tampered with, or reprogrammed, it should show up in the signal log.

Ryan placed the tracker’s strap around his neck and started after the two rangers. Every step was becoming more painful as his muscles began to cramp. He awkwardly crested the large stone pile and was on the way down the other side when a soft metallic click from somewhere close made him freeze.

Something hard pressed into his side.

“You make too much noise,” Sergeant Bob said in a low voice.

Ryan looked down at his side and composed himself. “You can remove your gun.”

“Okay, I didn’t want to come straight for you and find out you’re a good shot.”

“I’m not.”

Sergeant Bob stepped in front of Ryan and gestured toward where they were going. “We got all of them but one managed to get a shot off as he hit the ground.”

“I heard it.”

“You and everyone else in the valley.”

“So now what?”

“We get our asses moving. I want us out of this valley in the next thirty minutes.”

Ryan winced as another cramp threatened. He took a deep breath and looked at the tracker’s screen. “She talked to me again.”

“You’re sure?”

“What does that mean?”

Sergeant Bob pointed his rifle toward the ground and shrugged. “Look, if you’re attached to her your decision making might be compromised.”

“How about you take me at my word until proven otherwise?”

“All right, go ahead.”

“She’s seen the Sheikh, but hasn’t gotten any further than that.”

“What’s she waiting for?”

“There are armed guards everywhere.”

“Everyone’s armed . . . all right, move out. The longer we’re away the itchier Squall’s trigger finger will get.”

Ryan slowly followed Sergeant Bob for a few minutes and after navigating through a maze of rocky folds, they came to Squalls who pointed his rifle directly at Ryan’s chest, then quickly lowered it.

“I’d say they’re all men from the compound,” Squalls said.  “They’re not Taliban.”

Ryan looked at the five bodies lined up next to each other along the base of a low granite hump. Three of them had a single gunshot wound to the head while the other two had been shot in the chest, one of them twice.

Sergeant Bob nodded. “Yeah, not their night . . . probably just a loose patrol.”

“They had these . . . .” Squalls picked up two small military radios. “Both are PRC-148s, regular US Army issue, Sergeant.”

“Not surprised.” Sergeant Bob took one of the small black radios and looked at its display. “Half of the equipment these guys use is American.”

“These aren’t encrypted—they’re transmitting in the clear.”

“We’ll take them with us,” Sergeant Bob said and looked toward the end of the valley. “All right, the terrain gets easier from here so you better keep up.” He pointed at Ryan. “Keep that tracker screen in your sight at all times from now on. I want to know the second she’s out in the open.”

“We’ve been here too long, Sergeant.”

“Okay Squalls, let’s get moving. We’re about two klicks from the end of the valley and sunrise is in thirty minutes.”

Ryan again checked the tracker’s screen.

Still nothing.

C
alida pressed herself up against the smooth, hard wall of the passage. The guard was twenty feet away and paused. He reached up toward something on the wall and the lights came on.

Calida jumped forward and covered the distance between them just as the guard turned towards her. In one motion, she grabbed the back of his neck with her left hand and with her right shoved his head backward.

A sharp crack echoed down the passageway as the guard’s neck vertebrae splintered under the terrific pressure.

The guard’s legs went limp and she let him drop. She had severed his head from the spinal column, but the skin of his neck remained intact. Calida listened close. His heart was still beating and she uncovered his left arm, extended her fangs, and sliced deeply into his wrist. She quickly fed, careful not to stain her
burqa
with his blood. After swallowing several mouthfuls, she finished, picked up the body, and after carrying it back to the pit, she tossed it over the ledge.

Calida felt for the sun. Twenty minutes. Even if she stayed inside the cave within thirty minutes, her strength would be nearly gone.

She breathed in deeply and picked up Nafisa’s scent. The girl’s sweat, laden with the markers of fear, provided a clear trail to follow. Calida again projected her awareness. The girl’s mind was a frantic jumble of broken thoughts.

Calida fully extended her fangs and grew her fingernails into inch long pink daggers with razor edges.

She moved down the passageway following the scent trail and came to a roughly chiseled tunnel that led southward from the main east-west passageway.

Calida entered the poorly lit tunnel and after forty feet, she stopped and listened. She could hear music along with faint, erratic squeals from somewhere up ahead. She could also sense the presence of several men just beyond where the tunnel made a bend to the right.

Calida placed the veil of her
burqa
over her face and continued up the tunnel. She followed the bend and immediately came into view of three men.

They saw her and raised their AK-47s.

“Do not come closer,” one of them shouted; his agitated voice struggled to be heard above the loud music coming from behind him.

Calida bowed deeply and placed both hands over her veil. “I ask forgiveness, I have become lost in the dark ways of this place.”

“Becoming lost here is asking for death,” the same man said as he stepped closer to her. “Why are you not in your hole?”

“The Talibi had me come up and find him water.”

“This is the place of our Sheikh. The water here is only for him and his men.” The man came even closer to Calida, his movements were those of someone trained in the highest arts of suspicion and distrust. “Raise your
burqa
. I must see if anything is hidden.” He aimed his rifle directly at her chest.

Calida with deliberate care did as ordered and revealed her legs and torso to the man. “I have nothing for any of you to fear,” she said. “I am only a Pashtana brought here to serve.”

The man studied her for a long moment and then lowered his rifle. He grimly laughed. “Then you may serve us.” He stepped up to Calida and grabbed her by the arm. “Let me see how pretty you are. Are you pretty enough for us?”

The other two men relaxed, lowered their rifles, and joined their comrade.

Calida allowed the man to pull her veil off her head revealing her face.

She looked at him and the smile on his face vanished.

Calida shot out her right hand, buried her extended fingers into the front of the man’s neck, and just as quickly withdrew her hand. Before the dead man hit the hard floor of the tunnel, she crushed the throat of another with an unseen kick and as the third man raised his gun, she deflected the weapon away from her and slapped him across his face with her open left hand. He crumbled to the floor. His lower jaw had nearly been sheared away from his head and now hung by a flap of skin and tissue still attached to the left side of his face.

Calida looked over at the man she had kicked in the throat. His larynx was crushed. He now silently writhed about the floor, unable to make any sounds. There wasn’t an open pathway to bring air into his lungs.

She picked up her
burqa,
placed it back over her head, and took a moment to straighten her veil. A dozen feet in front of her several large panels of red satin material hung down from the ceiling forming a curtain that blocked her view of what was on the other side.

She recognized the music coming from behind the curtain. It was American. A song by a famous female singer who had an occasional cocaine habit and had also married poorly. Calida tightly focused her hearing and through the music heard words being spoken. She recognized a high-pitched voice. The Sheikh and Nafisa were on the other side of the satin curtain. She stepped over the suffocating man whose body had gone into a series of terminal convulsions.

Calida reached forward, pushed one of the satin panels aside, and passed through the curtain.

“I have sworn to only live free. Even if I find bitter the taste of death, I don’t want to die humiliated or deceived.”

—
Osama bin Laden,
Terrorist

“H
er time to be retired will come,” the Director said. “But if she is successful and survives this operation, she would remain a useful asset.”

Senator Pachy shifted his weight and looked at his colleague sitting to his left. “We all know that Vice President Dwicke is calling the shots here. This young fellow for the Dems is too popular for my side of the aisle right now and if your party takes Pennsylvania Avenue and both Houses, Homeland Security will go under a magnifying glass.”

“What do you propose?”

“Well now, Milsten, we all want this country to come out with a win here, don’t we?”

“Of course.”

“According to this latest update from our Director here we’re still in the game.” Senator Pachy cleared his throat and coughed. “All the administration wants out of this matter is a successful end to the mission’s target—with proof, of course.”

“And what is to become of the agency?”

“Now don’t get yourself going four different ways about this. We’ve made our fiduciary responsibilities to this here agency and funded its operations for the next four years. We just need to make sure that the 2012 elections prove to be, eh, sympathetic with our committee’s efforts.”

“How can we be sure of that?” Senator Asinas asked.

“The Vice President has given a lot of thought to this peculiar stone situation,” Senator Pachy replied. “And it’s his opinion—which I share—that this stone, when found, would allow us to protect this great country from its enemies and enable us to shape future elections.”

“Shape future elections?”

“Oh damn, Milsten, only those candidates that meet our standards would be allowed to run for office.”

“Whose standards?” Senator Asinas asked and took a sip from his drink.

“You do see that your party is going to be in control for the next four years, don’t you?”

“And my party thanks the . . . administration . . . .” Senator Asinas paused and blinked. “. . . What do you mean by ‘shaping of future elections.’?”

“It has been decided that anyone running for high government office needs to be sympathetic to a certain set of values.”

“—Those of the far right?”

Senator Pachy frowned. “Well now, to be honest, yes.”

Senator Asinas put his drink down and momentarily looked confused. “I . . . I have no intentions of agreeing to this. Power must be shared . . . by both parties.”

“Ooh no, Senator, I believe you have missed Senator Pachy’s point.”

“Seems clear . . . enough.” Senator Asinas began to slowly sway back and forth in his chair. “The point . . . the Senator’s point is . . . is clear.”

Senator Pachy gave the Director an inquisitive look.

“No more than another minute I should think.”

Senator Asinas began to blink and shake his head. “What is wrong . . . have you . . . you’ve done something . . . .” He looked at the bottle of Scotch that their drinks had been poured from. He tried to focus on the bottle, but his eyes wondered around. “But you were drinking . . . from the same bottle.” And a desperate fear cut through the confusion on the senator's face.

“I would never waste such a glorious bottle of scotch by poisoning it,” The Director said and picked up the bottle on the tray, refilling both his and Senator Pachy’s glasses. “It is your glass that has been treated. Well, it really isn’t glass at all, Senator Asinas. It’s actually a hard cellulose based material doped with one of our newest formulas.” The Director took a quick draw from his smoldering pipe and blew out the smoke. “The alcohol from the scotch has been slowly leaching the poison out.”

The democratic senator reached for his glass and missed. He tried to stand, but only managed to slump halfway out of his chair.

“Now I am sorry about this Milsten,” Senator Pachy said. “But you don’t have to worry about things. You’ve provided for your family and have been an excellent servant to this country.”

The Director raised his glass. “To a great Senator.”  He and Senator Pachy tilted their glasses toward each other in a symbolic toast.

With an unsteady effort, Senator Asinas pushed himself up to his feet, but he wobbled for a second and collapsed forward like a puppet having its strings suddenly cut. His chin came down hard on the edge of the Director’s desk flinging his head backward. He came to rest on the floor with his head against the front of his chair.

Senator Pachy looked over and down at his former colleague, took his glasses out of his suit pocket, and put them on. “Looks like he spit something out.”

“Oh my,” the Director said as he stood up from his chair and leaned forward. “Most unfortunate. I just had these carpets cleaned last week and now all of this blood.”

“What is that? Looks like a piece of raw Texas steak.”

“Ooh, it’s not steak. The senator appears to have bitten off the end of his tongue when he struck the desk.”

Senator Pachy removed his glasses and placed them back in his pocket. “Poor Milsten, if he’d learned the right way to bite his tongue Vice President Dwicke might have spared him.”

The Director sat back down in his chair. “He spoke with the reflex of a long time politician. We gave him the opportunity but he didn’t see it. The fault lies with him.”

“Harrumph, now in case this Kah-lee-duh affair leaks out all trails will point to him going rogue?”

“Of course, Senator.”

Senator Pachy took a final sip of his scotch and stood up. “Take care of Milsten here. And you do understand that neither Miss Villena nor our scientist friend are to be heard from again?”

“An accident site has already been prepared for the Senator,” the Director replied. “Once I have confirmation either way regarding her mission I shall send out a termination signal for agent Villena.” The Director reached into his suit pocket and took out the transmitter linked to the implant.

“And this Doctor Ryan?”

“One of the rangers on the insertion team has been individually briefed . . . a recent graduate of the Agency.”

“Very good, now you take care of Milsten and do be sure to pay your respects at the service.”

“I shall see you there.”

R
yan doubled over and tried to vomit. Only a yellow, foul smelling liquid came out. His heaves quickly turned dry and painful.

A small canteen was pushed against the side of his head.

“Take it,” Sergeant Bob said. “Keep this up and your throat will bleed.”

Ryan took the canteen, swallowed several mouthfuls of cool water, and felt his body settle down. “Those damn stimulants are catching up to me . . . tricked my body into thinking it could handle this. The jokes up.”

“I’m surprised you’re still with us.”

“If this keeps up I won’t be for much longer.”

Sergeant Bob nodded and looked at the large plain opening up at the bottom of the
Sardar’s
valley. “See that large extrusion of granite over to the east?  That’s where our girl is.”

Ryan straightened up and handed the canteen back. “She’s keeping quiet. Do we just stay here and wait?”

“Sunrise is in fifteen minutes. It’s already lighter to the east and sunlight will kill her, right?”

“She’ll burn. It’s actually a slow process. Maybe five minutes.”

“I don’t know Sergeant,” Squalls said. “She’s probably not going to make it.”

“See that group of boulders next to the lake? That’s where I want us in ten minutes. We’ll be able to see who comes out of that cave and we’ll have a straight path to our ride out of here.”

The three men set off again and as he stumbled here and there on the loose rocks underfoot, Ryan kept the tracker’s screen in view. He brought up the signal log and shook his head. There should be signals from both devices implanted inside Calida, but only the shoulder sensor was listed. Ryan struggled to keep up with the two rangers as he worked on the tracker. The device was in the “Active Track” mode. The tracker was designed only to track a single frequency. It was a limitation of the design.

Ryan came to an abrupt stop. He looked at the screen and cursed his own stupidity. He changed the unit’s receiving mode from “Active Track” to “Listening” and again displayed the signal log.

“We have to keep moving,” Sergeant Bob called back to him.  “Stop playing with that thing and get moving.”

Squalls came back toward him. “Did you find something?”

Ryan rapidly tapped the screen for a few seconds and again brought up the tracking display. “Still nothing,” he said.

Squalls stopped next to Ryan and peered at the display. “Then why do you keep fiddling with it?”

“It’s what I do.” Ryan allowed the tracker to hang down against his side. He walked past the Corporal who paused behind him for a moment and then followed.

“No more stops,” Sergeant Bob said.

The ground became easier to walk on as they came to the end of the valley. The rangers led Ryan onto the plain toward several large boulders that had rolled down from the valley wall. Two hundred meters to the west of the boulders a forty foot cliff dropped into a small glacial lake that was devoid of any surface movement. Its calm surface reflected the waning night sky.

The three men finally made the cover of the boulders and Sergeant Bob using his night goggles, studied the base of the large granite extrusion that was now directly east of them several hundred meters across the plain. “There’s two men sitting where this cave must be and there’s only one tent up. It looks like they’re breaking camp and loading up an old Soviet military truck.”

“We’re not going to keep up with that on foot,” Squalls said.

“Maybe we won’t—”

The tracker made a short electronic beep.

Ryan held the unit up and looked at the screen. “It’s picking up a faint, intermittent signal.” He pointed the small directional antenna directly at the granite pillar. “It’s probably picking up a signal reflection from inside the cave that’s leaking outside through the opening.”

“We’re more or less line of sight with the opening then. Turn the audio off. I don’t want it beeping at the wrong time.”

Ryan disabled the audio output and rapidly entered a series of instructions into the tracker. The word “SEND” highlighted by a black box flashed in the middle of the screen. Ryan tapped the screen once.

“What are you sending?” Squalls asked. He had come up behind Ryan and was looking over his shoulder.

Ryan turned around and looked at the corporal for a hard moment. “I’m just trying to boost the signal of the sensor that’s implanted in her shoulder.”

“That capability isn’t part of the sensor’s design.”

“How would you know that?” Ryan asked.

“I’ve seen the specs.”

“You have?”

“Give me the unit.”

Ryan looked over at Sergeant Bob who shrugged and again turned his attention toward the cave. “Okay, here, take it.” Ryan pulled the strap over his head and handed the tracker to the corporal who expertly navigated through the screen commands.

“Something wrong?” Ryan asked.

“Not at all,” Squalls replied. After another moment he handed the unit back to Ryan. “It’s picking up a transient signal . . . not enough to send or receive. We’ll just have to wait for her to come outside.”

“If she comes outside.”

Ryan nodded at Sergeant Bob, slung the tracker at his side, but kept it pointed toward the cave.

“We’ve got sunrise in seven minutes,” Squalls said.

“I don’t know, Corporal, whatever is going on inside that cave she’s cutting it too close.”

Ryan looked to the east past the granite pillar. The night sky was rapidly becoming lighter. He closed his eyes and began to ask the same urgent question repeatedly within the seclusion of his mind:
Where are you?

C
alida stood on the other side of the curtain but she didn’t move. The Sheikh stood twenty feet away pointing his heavily used AK-47 directly at her chest. She glanced at a lump on the ground next to her target. Nafisa was huddled in a naked ball on the floor, weeping.

“I have not asked for you,” the Sheikh said, his voice calm yet threatening.

“I was told to—”

“Do not speak unless I allow it.”

Calida nodded and silently waited.

The Sheikh stepped closer but kept his rifle pointed directly at her. Calida observed that his finger was pressed against the trigger.

“Why are you so eager?” he asked at last. “Why do you not show fear like your sister?”

Calida remained silent and looked directly at her target.  Although he was holding the rifle and aiming it at her he looked frail. His walking cane lay next to Nafisa as if he had used it to beat the frightened girl. He still wore his plain white turban, but his army jacket was on the floor a few feet away from the curtain. Calida held no delusions that even with her great speed she could get to him before taking several shells in the chest.

“So why have my men allowed you inside my private chamber?  Speak.”

“I am only doing what I’ve been told,” Calida replied.

The Sheikh narrowed his eyes as he looked at her face. “Your lips . . . what is wrong with them?”

Calida retracted her fangs too quickly and felt sharp pains shoot up both sides of her skull making her wince. She forced her lips to relax and said, “I am frightened by your weapon.”

“I don’t see fear in your eyes. Pain perhaps . . . and something more.” The Sheikh grasped the barrel of his rifle even tighter.

Calida lowered her gaze toward the ground. “But I am afraid.” The first wave of day weakness passed through her body. The sun had begun to rise in the east. Calida knew she had at most ten minutes of her night strength left.

“That is as Allah wishes, Praise and Glory be to Him.”

“May I go to my sister?” Calida asked, and tempted a step forward.

The Sheikh lowered his rifle an inch. “She is unharmed, but I am finished with her for now.” He then gave Nafisa a sharp kick. “Get up and go over to your sister. You shall learn your service.”