Biting the Bullet (9 page)

“They’re monsters,” Adela snapped.

“Keep thinking that,” I told her. “Pretty soon you’ll find yourself scrubbing toilets in some veteran’s hospital. And you know what?

When I bring my dad in for his colonoscopy, I’m sure he’ll have to take a piss right before, and I’m not going to remind him to lift the lid.”

“Jaz!” Dave didn’t need to say another word. I knew by his tone I’d gone too far. Again. But, dammit, I was getting so sick of this shit! Most of these bigots had never met a supernatural being in their lives and were operating either from family-held superstitions or media-hyped fears. To be fair, lots of vamps and weres and witches were scary bad. Otherwise I’d be out of business. But then, so were plenty of humans.

With nowhere to go but backward, I joined my crew on the road and let Dave’s team say their goodbyes. It had been an emotional parting for them, tough to watch by its very lack of tears and bear hugs. Vicelike handshakes with the second hand clutching a shoulder or elbow. Tight-jawed promises to “See you as soon as we get back” and demands to “Take care of yourself.” And from Terrence, Ashley, Ricardo, and Otto, of all things, apologies. “Sorry I let you down.” “I hate like hell to miss this.” “I’m so sorry, man.” I finally had to turn away.

“It is not your fault these men are hurt,” Vayl told me as we walked back to the truck. When I didn’t reply, his hand, startlingly warm on my shoulder, stopped me. He turned me to face him. “Jasmine?”

“I could say it’s Uldin Beit’s fault,” I told him miserably. “Or Desmond Yale’s. I could mention the fact that these guys knew the risks when they signed up. And maybe I’d even be right. But
I
feel responsible for their wounds. Their pain. If I’d just —” Vayl ran his thumb across my lips. Usually I’m not that easy to silence. But suddenly I couldn’t think of a thing to say. “They will be all right,” he whispered.

He’d leaned in to speak the words. If I rose up on my toes, my lips would just brush his. And why in the world would I think that would be okay right here, right now?
Because you want it that bad. Admit it, at least to yourself. If you thought your heart
could handle it, you’d lay this vampire down.

I took a deep breath. Focused on the job. Let it pull me back from the edge yet again. “Maybe we should send them all back. Do this thing ourselves, like we should have all along.”

“Their unit would still be compromised.”

“You think the mole is still with us?”

“I would say the chances are excellent.”

“About that. Did you see anybody signal from the farmhouse before the second attack?”

“No.”

“Me neither. But those zombies didn’t just come out of nowhere. And the mole wouldn’t have known they’d be needed until after the first attack.”

“I agree. Therefore, they must have set up quite an imperceptible means of communication.”

“I’ll ask Bergman about it. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.”

That proved difficult, however, since the semi, and then the apartment building, provided hardly any privacy. And when we did split up to sleep, we’d gone boy-girl, so Cassandra and I shared a room with Grace. Her wound had turned out to be superficial.

Where was the fair in that?

Exhausted from our battles and a long night on the road with hardly any shut-eye, we’d slept until two, when Dave had mustered his troops and my crew. The exception, of course, was Vayl. He remained in his light-impervious tent, which he’d pitched on top of an ornate, gold-rimmed bed upholstered in blue and white fabric that looked to have been designed for a queen. Or, um, a king.

Who happened to be a vampire. Anyway.

For the past hour we’d taken turns showering and eating, each of us finally wandering into the high-ceilinged living room, which had been plastered and painted a cheery buttercup. Recessed lights pinpointed a modern fireplace, forget the mantel, and a chocolate-brown floor with a large triangular inlay that was probably cheaper than it looked. In this room the rugs had been hung on the walls, with thinly cushioned chairs lined up underneath like hotel lobby afterthoughts. The center of the room had been left empty in case, I don’t know, we wanted to play a quick game of shuffleboard?

“Cassandra,” I said to my friend, who was pretending not to notice Dave was pretending not to notice her. Ick. “This room sucks.

Let us lay some rearrangement on it, shall we?”

She nodded hard enough to make her braids bounce, making me realize this little mutual crush between her and my brother might actually have its humorous points, and we set to work. With six bored guys only too willing to jump in and help, we turned the place into a passable representation of an American family room in no time. Of course, we had to steal some rugs off the floors of other rooms. And a couch out of the guys’ bedroom. But we felt a lot more comfortable afterward.

Cassandra, Cole, and I landed on the couch with me in the middle, facing the fireplace and David. Bergman took one of the two chairs to our left. Cam and Jet, who absolutely refused to hate me, took the next-largest piece of furniture, which we’d placed across from the chairs. A love-seat-sized brown leather piece that had been stuffed until it looked ready to pop, it held five white furred pillows that turned out to be quite popular with the guys.

Natch, who’d kept up a dialogue with Bergman during the entire semi trip that ran the gamut from night-vision equipment to deep-sea diving, took the chair to Bergman’s left. At the moment he was entertaining Miles with a story that seemed to involve Harleys and topless biker chicks. Grace hung to the back of the room. I didn’t like that I couldn’t keep an eye on her, but I noticed Bergman glancing at her every so often. For once, I thanked my lucky stars for his natural paranoia.

Dave launched into his speech. It was supposed to be a morale booster. We needed it after losing four guys and our medic. So it was a real shame I missed the vast majority of it. About all I caught was “The good news is Ricardo, Terry, Ash, and Boom are going to be fine. As soon as this mission is over we’re headed back to Germany. Yeah, we’ll be training like new recruits during the week, but the weekends will be ours. And we won’t leave that country until our unit is whole again.” It had come on me without warning. And, really, what would I have done if I’d felt queasy? Or faint? Are you kidding? Surrounded by some of the toughest people on the planet? I’d have probably sat right in that spot if a meteorite had burst through the ceiling and landed on my lap. And that’s what my body did. Sat there, breathing, blinking, looking like it gave a crap about Dave’s message while the Magistrate sucked my soul straight to hell.

Dave had nearly finished talking when I returned. His audience looked somewhat cheered. Except for me. I seemed pale. Slightly blue around the lips. Cassandra had begun to look at me with concern. Time to dive in.

I managed not to yell. Just barely. Couldn’t help sucking in my breath though. I buried my fingernails in my thighs. God, it felt like all my organs had jumped a foot. And, folks, those puppies are not meant to riverdance.

Cassandra leaned toward me, reaching out, whispering, “Are you all right?”

“Don’t —” I hissed.

Too late. Her hand landed on mine, just a moment, before it jerked away. Wide, horrified eyes stared into mine. I imagine I looked a little peeved. I wanted to jump up and down, toddler-style, and yell, “Stop touching me!” Dave was too good a commander to interrupt his speech to confront us just then, though his glance told us we’d been had. “So let’s review the plan,” he continued. “As soon as it’s dark we’ll scout the location. Remember not to speak to anyone. With Otto gone, only Cole knows Farsi well enough to pass for a native. And even disguised, he looks foreign enough that most folks won’t be fooled.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cam interjected, motioning at Cole with mock disgust. “He looks like his high school drama teacher went nuts with the spirit gum and the sheep wool!”

“I’ll have you know this is the real deal!” Cole said, tugging at his beard. Then he grinned. “I do look like I should be selling pot out of the back of my love van, don’t I?”

Even Dave laughed at that one. “If you are cornered,” he went on, “remember you’re Canadian students with relatives living in Tehran. You all have your passports and ID papers to prove it. Don’t lose them. Natch, is your camera ready?” Natchez patted the pocket of his brown plaid shirt. “Yeah.”

“Good. We’ll want as many pictures as possible. We’ll be recreating the interior of the location on one of the upper floors so we can practice the takeout when we get back.” He didn’t need to tell them they’d only have one chance at this. They couldn’t make any mistakes. However, with a mole in the unit, he also couldn’t tell them they’d be scouting a false location and practicing the wrong moves for a bogus meeting. Only Dave, Vayl, and I knew the real time, date, and spot of the Wizard’s rendezvous with destiny. If we unearthed the mole before that time, Dave’s unit would join our hunt. If not, Vayl and I would be on our own.

Once the meeting disbanded, I gave Dave and my crew the come-hither nod and they followed me to the bedroom where Vayl slumbered. Without breathing. Helluva trick, yeah? One of the reasons I find him so fascinating.

Before anyone could talk I held up my right hand, pointed my left at Bergman. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, slid an item the size of a credit card from it, and replaced the wallet. Holding the card flat in one hand, he slid his thumb along its length. A whirring sound preceded the release of small wings that unfolded from each edge of the card, making it resemble a miniature saw blade. He flung the card into the air, Frisbee style. It flew on its own power, circling the room in ever-tightening circles. When it had completed its scan, it zipped to a spot next to the bed, where a white-shaded lamp sat on a round golden table.

I nodded to Cole.
Check it
. While he looked for the bug, the card moved on to a cherry valet with a built-in seat. It dropped to the floor there, so we must only have two devices to worry about. I found what I was looking for in a hollow inside the leg.

I motioned for Bergman to come and deal with the bug. He pulled a small tool kit from his back pocket. It contained an eye dropper with a plug on the business end. He pulled off the plug and bathed the bug in the liquid it contained. Cole had found his nasty, so he did the same lamp side. “Okay,” Bergman sighed as he replaced the plug, the dropper, and the bug snooper. “We’re good to talk.”

“Won’t the mole find it suspicious that his bugs died just while we were in the room?” David asked.

Bergman shook his head. “I just doped them with” — he glanced at me, his nose and upper lip pinching in his nunya-bizness-Jack look — “let’s just call it a robotic component that makes it seem as if the bug is picking up conversation. The listener will think he’s picking up words and snatches of phrases, but it’s all preprogrammed gibberish. The fault will be blamed on technical difficulties, not us.”

“You’re good.”

Bergman beamed. I hated to cut off his ego-feed, but, “So’s our mole,” I cautioned. “We’ve made it a point to keep an eye on Vayl all day, since he’s an obvious threat to the Wizard. Nobody’s been in here without one of us. But I guess we knew we were dealing with a smooth operator. And right now, that’s not at the top of our priority list.” I described the incident with the Magistrate. “He said he could find me anywhere as long as I had this Mark on me.” I resisted rubbing my forehead. Barely. “I’m sure the same is true of the reavers. And Raoul and my” — I stole a glance at Dave, noticed the way his brows were lowering, and decided to omit the fact that we might have a close relative in hell — “well, Raoul said I needed to get it off. So. Anybody have any idea how you remove a demonic Mark?”

Bergman looked at Cassandra. “Do you want me to get the Enkyklios?” Everybody took a second to stop and stare. I think for all of us that was the moment we realized his desire to break out, be more, was genuine. Was, in fact, going to take him places he’d never dreamed of going before. Three weeks ago he wouldn’t have touched Cassandra’s library with a welder’s glove. But even he was willing to admit that if any information existed that could help me, the Enkyklios probably held it. Cassandra shook her head.

“Thank you, no, I . . . I already know what to do.” Biting her lip, she walked to the window and pulled back the heavy blue drape.

A sliver of sunshine framed her hands and face, highlighting the droop of her lips, the crinkling between her exquisitely arched brows.

Cole and I, having witnessed that expression before, understood the drill. He grabbed a pillow from the bench that sat at the base of the bed and handed it to her. I put my arm around her shoulder and patted gently. As she held the pillow to her chest, struggling with memories that might, or might not, bring on a torrent of tears, we stood close enough to speak privately if we all chose to whisper. Everyone did. At least to start with.

“You look pretty spooked,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I have lived a hundred lives. I suppose it’s inevitable there would be a few I’d prefer to forget.” Bergman entered our circle. “You don’t have to whisper, you know. My bug stunners aren’t prototypes.” Bergman’s new innovations tended to fizz out or blow up unexpectedly.

Cassandra sighed. “That’s not —” She shook her head and smiled at him. “You are an original.” She looked over his shoulder at Dave, standing alone and somewhat forlorn in the middle of the room. “Come,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Join us.” He nodded, melded with our little group as if he was the last kid to find base in a game of tag.

Cassandra looked deep into his eyes. When her own filled with tears, she dropped her gaze. “During the fifteen hundreds I lived on an island near Haiti. It was small. Privately owned by a merchant farmer named Anastas Ocacio.” Her jaw jutted, as if her teeth must shovel the words over her tongue. “Ocacio fancied himself an aristocrat. Despite the heat he wore stockings with garters and a floor-length gown. He oiled his hair, which was thick with dandruff and stank so badly we used to draw straws to see who would serve him supper. The first time I came to his table he pulled me down and whispered in my ear, ‘I must have you.’ The stench of his rotting teeth nearly made me faint.”