Assassin's Code (55 page)

My instinct was to hot-foot it out of there and find them; but that was poor thinking. Just because the bomb wasn’t active at the moment didn’t mean that it couldn’t be activated by one of the Upierczi here in the refinery. The only way I could prevent that would be to remove the entire triggering system, and that was going to take ten careful minutes. Inactive or not, it was still a nuke and there was always the possibility of booby traps.

Ghost suddenly looked past me and barked. Loud, angry, and scared.

I spun, bringing the pistol up.

Red Knights.

And I didn’t have nearly enough bullets.

Chapter One Hundred Fourteen

Arklight Camp

Outskirts of Tehran

June 16, 6:15 a.m.

Church closed his phone and thought about what Alexander Chismer—Toys—had told him. Much of it was information he already had. Some of it was Toys’s guesswork whose accuracy Church doubted. Some of it, though …

Hugo’s cancer.

Upier 531. Dr. Hasbrouck.

The disease and its possible cure explained two key parts of this puzzle. The viciousness was born out of frustration as a narcissistic megalomaniac lashed out from his deathbed. Vox wanted to light a nuclear pyre to mark his own death. Very dramatic, mused Church. Very Hugo.

Then there was the improbable amount of useful information on Rasouli’s flash drive. Vox had used Rasouli to provide the DMS with virtually everything it needed to hunt for the nukes. Why would he do that?

It made no sense unless Dr. Hasbrouck’s treatment had worked.

Hugo no longer wanted to burn the world because he intended to live in it.

Toys had not said any of this in plain language. The young man was more than half crazy with guilt and self-loathing—both for past actions and for betraying Vox with this call—but the essence of Vox’s plan was buried within Toys’s rambling confession.

One element remained obscure, however. Nicodemus. No matter how this thing was turned, the old priest—if priest he was—leered out at them.

Church called Joe Ledger, but there was no signal.

The most crucial thing was the leverage Vox had used to stall Grigor long enough in order to receive the full set of Upier 531 treatments.

The code scrambler. Without that, the nukes were dangerous, but they were sleeping dragons. He called for Lilith and briefed her and then used the team com channel to call Top Sims.

“Deacon for Sergeant Rock.”

“Go for Rock.”

“Sit rep.”

“Cowboy is at zero point. We’re converging on his location. No fuss, no muss upstairs.”

“Proceed with utmost haste. High probability that the nuke is not yet armed. Grigor may be on the way there with the code scrambler. Unknown if other activation codes have been sent. Regardless, obtaining that scrambler is now priority one, superseding all mission objectives and restrictions. Confirm understanding”

“Copy that.”

“Sergeant Rock, listen to me. The Red Knights are the hostiles. That is confirmed. All other combatants are secondary.”

“Copy that, too. We’re ready for them.”

“There are no time-outs, no rematches in this game. We win this or we lose.”

“Hooah. Rock out.”

Church made similar calls to the other teams. It was only Toys’s guess that Grigor would be coming to Aghajari. It was closest; Grigor’s Kingdom of Shadows was a mile below Tehran. However, all of the teams had to be prepared to encounter Upierczi.

When he was done he called the president.

As he ended that call, Bug rang through.

“Okay, Boss,” said Bug, “here goes. Oil refineries by nation are as follows. For
I
we have Iran, Iraq, Israel, and Indonesia, Ireland, and Italy. By ‘J’ we got Japan, Jordan, and Jamaica. And for
S
we have South Africa, Sudan, Singapore, Sri Lanka, South Korea, Serbia, Slovakia, Spain, Switzerland, and Suriname. But like you said, this mixes things from the order of the codes.”

Church pursed his lips. “Give me all the countries that start with those letters.”

“For
I
we have nine countries: Iceland, India, Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Israel, and Italy. For the ‘
J
s’ we have six: Jamaica, Jan Mayen, Japan, Jersey, Jordan, Juan de Nova Island. And the big list is ‘
S
’: Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Samoa, San Marino, São Tomé and Principe, Saudi Arabia, Senegal, Serbia and Montenegro, Seychelles, Sierra Leone, Singapore, Slovakia, Slovenia, Solomon Islands, Somalia, South Africa, South Korea, Spain, Sri Lanka, Sudan, Suriname, Swaziland, Sweden, Switzerland, and Syria.”

“Did you run it through the CT package?”

“Got it, sending it to you now.”

There were multiple potential targets on the list from the counterterrorism software package, but MindReader was designed to look for patterns and probabilities. It weighted its choices, and at the top of each list was the most likely target, the one that would have the greatest economic, social, cultural, or political impact.

Church scanned the list.

“My God,” he said.

Lilith saw it too. And then Circe.

Rudy and Bug said, “What?”

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.

I flew backward into the stack of packing crates, splintering the side of one that was the size of a refrigerator.

In the movies, these crates fly apart like they’re made of balsa wood. In the real world they become a network of sharp splinters and jagged edges that gouge into you, tear your skin and your clothing, and pin you like a butterfly on a display board. I was stuck fast, my shoulder caught as surely as if an alligator had its jaws clamped around it.

I couldn’t free myself. Couldn’t escape.

Smiling, Grigor stalked toward me as all around us the vampires howled in the darkness.

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen

Aghajari Oil Refinery

Iran

June 16, 6:18 a.m.

Violin felt a small vibration in her earpiece and she tapped it.

“Go,” she said very quietly. The sound of the refinery in full operation was like thunder. Two sentries walked along a catwalk twenty feet below her.

“Daughter,” said Lilith, “listen to me. We have new intelligence. We’ve cracked the
Book of Shadows
. It has everything the Order has ever done. Names, places, dates. Everything. Mr. Church is going to coordinate a worldwide police action against the members named in the most recent entries. We are going to tear the whole thing down!”