Zach walked over to the creature and put the barrel of the gun to the wound. He didn’t take time to think about it.
He just pulled the trigger, over and over, fast as he could.
THE ROACH-SOLUAT reared up off Cade. The pressure slackened around his neck.
Dimly Cade connected it with the sound of a gun firing, but he didn’t dwell on the cause.
He had a chance now.
Cade pistoned one of his legs up, got his hands between the creature’s limbs and his neck and kicked as hard as he could.
The roach-Soldat flew into the air, smashed off a wall and bounced into the Treaty Room.
Cade regained his feet, stretched his neck side to side, heard the vertebrae crunch back into place. He pushed the loose flap of his cheek onto his face again.
Zach stood there, looking stunned as usual, a smoking gun in his hand.
Cade was a little surprised himself.
“Thank you, Zach,” he said.
He took the stairs in one leap and went into the Treaty Room after the roach-Soldat.
ZACH STOOD THERE STUPIDLY, watching Cade go after the thing, which was not dead despite the dozen or so bullets he’d pumped into it.
But that wasn’t what surprised him.
Cade had said “Thank you.” Even more amazing: he’d called him “Zach.”
DIRECTLY UNDERNEATH Cade and Zach, the Unmenschsoldat carrying the head of Corporal Garcia walked steadily past the White House theater, past the empty visitors’ foyer.
With the Secret Service and CAT teams dead, there was nothing to attract the Unmenschsoldat’s rudimentary senses. The offices were closed for the night. It was late enough that even the most die-hard staffers had gone home.
Garcia could feel, rather than see or hear, the commotion above him. But it didn’t call him the way the glowing light on the other end of the building did.
The light was life. He could remember that much.
He didn’t make any conscious decision to go toward it, but the Unmenschsoldat’s body went in that direction anyway. As if called.
Garcia was more or less just along for the ride.
THE ROACH-SOLDAT WAS WOUNDED. It cringed in a corner of the Treaty Room, scrabbling madly at the wall.
Cade wasn’t taking any chances.
He scanned the room and found what he needed.
The Resolute Desk. An authentic piece of history. Made from the timbers of the HMS Resolute, a gift from Queen Victoria to the United States. It had been in the Oval Office of a dozen presidents. Roosevelt had ordered it modified to hide his wheelchair. Kennedy’s children played under it. Reagan had it raised to accommodate his favorite chair. But Curtis had chosen a different desk, so it went back to the Treaty Room.
Of all the trivia about the Resolute Desk, however, Cade cared only about one fact: it weighed over a thousand pounds.
Cade hoisted it up, as high as he could balance it. He kicked a couch out of the way.
The roach-Soldat turned, limbs churning, trying for escape or counterattack, Cade didn’t know.
He slammed the desk down as hard as he could.
The creature went flat, with a hollow crunching noise as its bones shattered.
The Resolute Desk broke into pieces. There was still enough left of the surface that Cade could smash the roach-Soldat again.
This time the desktop shattered completely. The creature twitched one leg, then stopped moving forever.
CADE EMERGED from the Treaty Room, panting. He realized, in a distant way, that he was exhausted. He shouldn’t be this tired. Not even after all the punishment of the last few days. All he wanted to do was sleep.
He looked up.
He saw the answer in the skylight above. The night above was fading to a bright gray.
The sun was coming out.
Zach was still standing in the hallway, gun in his hand.
“Please tell me we’re done.”
Cade shook his head. “That’s three,” he said. “There’s still one left.”
Cade remembered he was still holding a chunk of the Resolute Desk. He dropped it, put his hands on his knees and fought the urge to sleep for a week.
“Cade, you don’t look so good.”
Cade had no response. He was running out of time, running out of strength. He’d used every trick he knew, and there was still one more Unmenschsoldat out there.
It was getting hard to think. He forced himself to focus.
“Cade?”
Like that, he had the answer.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
He was halfway down the hall when Zach yelled at him.
“What? Where are you going?”
“Go to the Oval Office,” Cade shouted back, over his shoulder. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Improvise,” Cade shouted, and then he was gone, down the stairwell.
ZACH STOOD THERE for another moment, watching the space where Cade had been.
“Oh, come on!” he shouted, when he realized Cade wasn’t coming back.
He heard something. Above him, at the entrance hall, the two agents stared at him. Candace was behind them.
“Zach?” she said. “Are you all right?”
Zach nodded. “Super.” He looked at the agents. “I need more bullets.”
They looked at each other, then one shrugged and tossed him a spare clip.
He caught it, ejected the empty clip and reloaded. Almost like he knew what he was doing. The boys from the NRA would be proud.
“Get her back in the panic room.”
The agents didn’t tell him to go screw himself Zach guessed that fighting a multilimbed horror bought him a little respect.
They took Candace’s arms, gently, and started pulling her back.
“Zach,” she said, “what are you going to do?”
“It’s okay, Candace,” he said. “I’m going to check on the president.”
She still looked unsure. But she let the two agents guide her away.
Zach was glad she was gone before the adrenaline shakes started. He ran like a spastic toward the West Wing, with 99 percent of his brain totally convinced he was going to die.
Still, that remaining one percent—the idiot part of him, probably—knew that if he wanted to, he could have Candace back in the Lincoln Bedroom anytime he wanted.
He’d just have to survive this first.
SIXTY-EIGHT
There are times when the defense of liberty requires the unleashing of monsters.
—President Andrew Johnson, private journal
It had been quiet in the Oval Office for several minutes now. They heard the explosion, muffled by the heavy steel panels. Then nothing.
Griff stood at the door, listening, gun drawn. He wasn’t sure what was going on. It could be the fight was over already. Could be that Cade had lost. He didn’t know.
Wyman, on the other hand, appeared to have reached a decision.
He stood, trying to straighten his blazer and pajama shirt as well as he could. He walked over to Griff.
“Agent Griffin,” he said. “Open the door. I’m leaving.”
Griff didn’t think anything could make him laugh at this point. As usual, he underestimated Wyman.
“You’re not serious,” Griff said.
Wyman nodded. Of course he was. Griff could see now his chin was trembling. Wyman was barely holding it together. Somehow, he’d decided this was the plan. He’d just walk out.
“Mr. Vice President—”
Wyman cut him off. “I’m giving you an order, Agent Griffin. You will follow it. You will follow my order and open that door.”
The president looked over, puzzled. “Les,” he said. “Sit down.”
Wyman ignored him. “Agent Griffin, I am not supposed to be here. I am not supposed to be here and you will open that door.”
His voice pitched toward screeching at the end.
“None of us should
be here, Les,” the president said, his voice calm. “Just sit down.”
“You don’t understand, I am not supposed to be here! Now, open the fucking door!”
He rushed Griff. Griff stopped him easily, even as weak as he felt. He stiff-armed the vice president, holding him away.
Wyman struggled as hard as he could. Griff kept him back.
“Open the door!” he shouted.
Griff was sick to death of him. He pushed him back into his chair. Hard.
“Sit down, Lester,” he ordered.
Wyman’s eyes shone with tears, but he stayed put.
That’s when they felt the impact of the first blows against the door.
DOWN THE STAIRS, into the P-OCK and through the tunnel. Underground, Cade’s full speed returned. The wound on his cheek healed as he made the mile back to the Smithsonian in record time.
Cade opened the locker where Griff had secured the metal case from Kosovo. He flipped it open, wincing slightly.
In the gloom of the Reliquary, the object glowed softly with a gentle white light.
This was not an object from the Other Side. The Vukodlak had grabbed it from the U.S. Embassy, where it had resided since being saved from an Eastern Orthodox monastery bombed during the Kosovo conflict.
It was a human hand, perfectly preserved, encased in a metal gauntlet. The gauntlet dated from at least the fourteenth century. The hand was much older.
It was the hand of John the Baptist. Supposedly. The hand that had been touched by an angel and then touched the head of Christ. The relic was believed to have the magical ability to heal, even to return the dead to life.
Supposedly.
All Cade knew for sure was that it hurt him, more than the cross on his neck. It had power.
He just hoped it had enough.
He slammed the case shut and ran back into the tunnel that led to the White House.
ZACH FELT THE WALLS SHAKING. He rounded the corner, and saw the last Unmenschsoldat pounding at the door of the Oval Office.
He stopped.
The door began to crack, to tear free of its frame.
The thing kept pounding.
Zach aimed the gun and fired.
Stupid. Without a convenient open wound, the bullets didn’t have any more effect than on the other creatures.
He emptied the whole clip, and nothing happened.
Zach screamed in frustration. He flung the empty gun at the creature’s head.
It bounced off, again with no effect.
Actually, there was some effect.
The creature’s head spun 180 degrees and stared at Zach.
It stopped pounding on the door. Its body swiveled to face the same way as its head.
It began walking toward Zach.
Oh, good, Zach thought. I’ve managed to piss it off.
CORPORAL GARCIA DIDN’T KNOW why he was trying to get inside the locked door. It seemed pretty urgent, but it wasn’t up to him. It was the body, moving on its own. And the body hated whatever was on the other side of that door. It was like there was a high-pitched dog whistle in there, and the body under him would do anything to shut it off.
There was a slight feeling at the back of his head. Garcia turned, the first thing he’d done for himself in this nightmare.
He saw a young guy in a suit. The kind of wiener he never liked in high school, actually. Student-government, college-bound, stuck-up, rich prick.
He didn’t decide to move. The body spun around and started for the little jerk. Garcia could feel it now, the high-pitched whistle. It was coming from the guy in the suit.
It was annoying as hell. And he understood, suddenly, the impulse to snuff it out completely.
INSIDE THE OVAL OFFICE, the sudden silence was more unnerving than the steady pounding, or the splintering of the door.
President Curtis stood. Agent Terrill moved between him and the door, but the president edged the young man out of the way. He wanted to see for himself.
Griff didn’t know what it meant. He’d heard gunshots, but there was no way bullets had brought the creature down.
Wyman was a great deal more optimistic.
“It’s gone,” he said, a grin breaking out on his face. “We can get out of here.”
“Not a good idea,” Griff said.
Wyman turned to the president, a petulant look on his face. “Sam, we have to go now. We have to get out. This could be our only chance.”
The president looked at Griff.
“Agent Griffin. Is there any way to tell what’s happened?”
Wyman rushed toward the president, blocked at the last moment by Terrill. “Damn it, listen to me,” he pleaded. “Don’t waste any more time. Open the door.”
The president looked at him, then back at Griff.
“Don’t do it,” Griff said. “We have to stay here, sit tight until—”
Wyman lunged past Griff and yanked at the lock. Steel bolts slid back.
Griff wasted a precious second on pure shock.
Wyman had opened the door.
ZACH STOOD THERE, trying to figure out something to do. Maybe if the thing chased him, it wouldn’t go into the Oval Office. Maybe he could sacrifice himself to save the president.
There had to be a better plan than that.
But he couldn’t think of one, and the Unmenschsoldat kept walking right toward him.
He heard a thudding noise. The door to the Oval Office popped open. The creature’s blows had mangled a steel bolt, so it stuck in the frame, but there was a good foot or so of clearance.
Wyman came struggling out.
Zach almost couldn’t believe his eyes. Wyman was squirming hard, pressing his body as flat as possible to get out of the jammed door. He was so frantic he didn’t even see the creature.
But it saw him. It rotated its head again, locked onto the furious movement of the vice president.
It hesitated. Zach knew it could get inside the Oval Office now. The door would fly open with one good blow from that thing.
He didn’t relish the thought of dying to save Wyman, but he supposed it had to be done.
He picked up a piece of broken wood from the floor, ran at the creature and swung with all his might.
CADE ENTERED the West Wing hallway in time to see the whole thing, frozen in perspective. First Zach, with his makeshift weapon. Then the Unmenschsoldat, already turning back to the Oval Office. Then Wyman, stuck in the door, wriggling, his eyes wide with fear.
Cade didn’t have time to open the case. He dropped it, grabbed Zach by the collar and yanked him out of harm’s way.
Then he leaped on the creature himself.
GRIFF GOT HOLD OF Wyman’s jacket and began hauling him into the room. Wyman kicked and braced himself against the toppled furniture on the barricade. It would have been funny, pure slapstick comedy, if only Wyman hadn’t effectively just killed them all. Griff pulled harder.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terrill move to help him.
“Stay with the president,” he ordered, and the kid stood fast. Finally, Griff thought, someone who does what he’s told.
Suddenly, Wyman stopped pulling and began pushing back. He was stuck. And he was trying to get back inside the office.
Griff took a look through the space in the door. He saw Cade grappling with the creature. And both of them stumbling and smashing their way down the hallway, right toward the door.
He pulled Wyman free just in time.
CADE AND THE MONSTER smashed through the door, the remaining bolt snapping cleanly.
They shattered the furniture in Griff’s makeshift barricade, wood breaking like toothpicks, and hit the floor of the office, right in the middle of the presidential seal woven in the rug.
Agent Terrill shoved the president out of the way. To Cade, he looked as if he was frozen there, stuck in time. The creature’s fist cocked back to throw another punch at Cade, and its elbow connected with the young man’s head. Terrill’s neck snapped with a hollow po
p. His arms and legs went rag doll as he fell to the floor.
Another pointless death. For a moment, Cade saw nothing but rage, even as he dodged the creature’s fist.
He bared his teeth and raised both hands above his head, jumping, bringing his arms down as he fell, using every bit of his strength, everything he and gravity could muster, and slammed his fists into the creature’s skull.
It paused, shrugged, then kept coming at him.
Cade could see the first light of dawn. He had only minutes left.
One chance.
“Zach,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Throw me the case.”
ZACH HAD JUST GOTTEN UP from the floor where Cade tossed him. He could see clearly down the corridor into the Oval Office.
He heard Cade’s command and saw the case sitting in the hallway, just a few feet away.
He ran forward, picked it up and hurled it through the door.
It pinwheeled through the air toward Cade’s outstretched hand. Griff knew: Cade wasn’t going to make it.
In the moment that the vampire turned and called for Zach, in that second Cade had his back turned, he had left himself open.
That was all the creature needed. It was already reaching for Cade, prepared to rip his head off with one inhumanly strong hand.
Griff knew the president’s life rested with Cade.
It wasn’t a very hard decision to make, when you came right down to it.
He put every last ounce of his strength into his legs and pushed his way between Cade and the creature.
CADE SNATCHED THE CASE out of the air. He turned in time to see the creature put its hand through Griff’s chest.
Griff’s face was lined with pain, his eyes full of shock.
The creature flicked its wrist, like it was removing something distasteful from its fingers, and Griff went flying across the room.
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