Blood Retribution

by Aimée Thurlo

  Elka had traced him to New Mexico after Rogers “retired” just a month ago—if CIA employees ever really retired. He had supposedly been hired as a security consultant at the labs and was living at the inn until work on his new home was completed. All this she’d learned from a listening device she’d placed in his rented car just yesterday. She planned to put one in his room as well, but the room had one of those electronic locks and she hadn’t been able to get hold of a passcard yet.

  She had plans for Rogers—big, dramatic plans that would be seen live around the world. While Bridget was taking care of the Navajo cop, either later tonight or before dawn tomorrow, she’d be here in Los Alamos studying the man’s activities and schedules. Then she’d know when and where to make the critical move.

  Lee and Diane were working across the table from each other on updated E-mail reports to their supervisors when Diane looked up from her laptop. She’d changed into a comfortable sleeveless T-shirt and slacks, but he still wore his dressy slacks and shirt, minus the jacket now. “You going to speculate in your report why Angela wasn’t at the meeting tonight?”

  “No. I’m also leaving out the fact that I recognized her.”

  “How do you think Angela will affect the outcome of what we’re trying to do?” Diane asked. “This whole thing gives me the serious creeps.”

  “It should. She’s a wild card. The other skinwalkers probably don’t trust her very much either, especially after she flirted with me so openly the other night.” Lee smiled at the memory; then, realizing that Diane was watching him, he became serious again.

  “So, is Angela really such a hottie?”

  “Yeah, and she’s not the least bit shy about using her looks to get what she wants.”

  “Be careful. You said she resembles your late wife, and that makes you vulnerable. If she attacks and you hesitate at a critical time …”

  “I’d thought about that,” he admitted, “but I think that when the time comes I’ll do the right thing without holding back.”

  “Maybe the ultimate choice will be mine and not yours,” Diane said quietly

  “Could be,” Lee answered, glancing back down at his computer screen and starting to type again.

  Diane was in the kitchen when her cell phone rang. She picked it up from the kitchen counter and looked at the caller ID. “It’s SAC Logan.”

  Diane listened for about ten seconds, then ended the call.

  “Must be important.” Lee saved his file and looked up. “We weren’t going to communicate directly unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “It’s crucial, according to him. He wants to meet tomorrow morning at six just inside the Truman gate at Kirtland Air Force Base.” She stood and stretched, then smiled when she realized he was watching her.

  “Did the SAC give you any indication what it’s all about?” Lee closed the top of his computer and placed it beside him on the sofa.

  “One thing. Logan mentioned that he’d just learned something that could pull us back to our last case.”

  “And that could mean more …”

  “Vampires,” she finished, looking around until she spotted her pistol and holster by the coffeepot.

  Lee nodded, then automatically looked toward the window, his hand reaching down to touch the butt of his pistol, which had never left his side.

  CHAPTER 11

  he Truman Street gate was one of the entrances on the north side of Kirtland Air Force Base. Here, base security screened civilian employees and military personnel before allowing them through.

  They’d been extra careful en route, checking for a tail, but the fact that they were going into a secure area made the meeting much less dangerous than in public.

  When Diane drove up in her car, a uniformed airman with a sidearm motioned her to stop. After a quick look at her Bureau ID and Lee’s state police badge, the airman glanced at a man in a long coat who was standing inside the doorway of the guardhouse to their right. It was Logan, who nodded back. “Pull into the parking area, ma’am, sir,” the airman barked, then stepped back to focus his attention on the next vehicle in line.

  A few minutes later, Logan, Diane, and Lee were seated on chairs inside one of the small rooms of the guardhouse, a holding and interview area containing little more than an overhead light, a wooden desk, and a fourth wooden folding chair leaning against a wall. Nods and one-or two-word greetings had been sufficient to this point.

  Without preamble, Logan began. “We’ve been monitoring traffic to your business Web site and have had some hits with the links concerning your credentials and phony backgrounds—your legends. Somebody, probably your contacts, have checked up on you. I’ve already looked over the report from the meeting you had last night with the suspects. You think they’ll let you do business with them?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

  “We’ve got a chance, sir.” Diane shrugged. “There’s a fourth chair. Are we waiting for someone?”

  “He’s coming now, I think,” Lee said, hearing a car door slam somewhere close by. “My lieutenant?”

  Just then Richmond knocked on the door, entering at the same time. He was wearing his charcoal gray state police uniform and had to duck to avoid knocking off his cap.

  “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Long haul from Cruces and there was a rollover accident south of T or C. I stopped to help the locals for a little bit,” Richmond said with a slight southeastern New Mexico accent reminiscent of West Texas.

  Logan looked up at the red-haired officer with raised eyebrows. “T or C?”

  “Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Used to be called Hot Springs until that TV show got them to change their name,” Lee explained.

  “Before my time.” Diane shrugged, catching Lee’s eye to make sure he got the joke, which only he would appreciate.

  “Whatever. Okay, people, I’ve got some other intel you definitely have to hear. I received some reports from an agency that was curiously silent and seemingly uninformed during the entire German-terrorist episode last month. Now we finally know why they’ve been holding out on us.”

  “Not the U.S. Air Force?” Richmond asked.

  “No. I picked this site for security only.” Logan shook his head. “I’m talking about the Agency—the CIA.”

  Lee nodded. “Those rumors about Muller and his people being part of some mercenary group or terrorists must have some substance to them. The CIA knew about it but stonewalled. Am I close?”

  Logan looked at him curiously. “Real close. Muller’s group was in reality being led by someone else—another German named Jochen Pfeiffer, or his wife Elka. We know the other couple, the Plummers, were married, and the CIA says they were basically a small family group—closemouthed, well trained, and obviously very loyal to each other. They did freelance work, mainly black-bag jobs and assassinations for the intelligence services of what the CIA calls ‘friendly governments.’”

  Diane nodded to Lee. She understood how effective a group of vampires could be, given their physical abilities and night vision.

  “Well, something happened to finally motivate the CIA to come clean about what they know,” Logan continued. “A CIA case officer operating out of a Middle Eastern country managed to acquire Pfeiffer’s family as assets. The plan was to have them eliminate some of Iraq’s best generals and increase tension among their military by making it look like an inside job. It was hoped that would make it possible to manipulate the Iraqi leadership into replacing the dead officers with politically reliable but less capable men, reducing the effectiveness of their military.”

  Lee was beginning to suspect a deeper connection, considering what they’d already heard, but he remained silent and Logan continued. “Jochen Pfeiffer was captured southwest of Baghdad when one of the Iraqis he’d recruited blew the operation. The CIA denied everything and pulled out their man, leaving Pfeiffer on his own. But they didn’t count on Pfeiffer’s wife, Elka, who may really be the brains behind their operation. Elka cut a deal with Iraq, of
fering to procure some weapons-grade plutonium and trade it for Jochen’s release. Enter Fort Wingate, New Mexico.”

  “Wait a minute. That ‘enriched uranium’ in the cover story was really plutonium?” Richmond growled. “Did you know that?” Richmond looked at Lee, who shrugged.

  “Sorry, it was on a need-to-know.” Logan’s apology was automatic. “If word ever got out about how dangerous that stash was, half the citizens of New Mexico would be up in arms. The original storage box was placed in a more up-to-date container on-site and moved along with some of the soil that had surrounded it to a storage facility near here.” Logan motioned with his head in the general direction of the Manzano Mountains, at the eastern perimeter of the base. The area was known to be filled with deep bunkers that had been used to store nuclear weapons for decades.

  “So Muller and the Plummers came to New Mexico, somehow having learned about the plutonium that had been missing since 1945,” Diane added. “Any idea how they knew about it and where it lay hidden?” She could tell even without looking at Lee that he was also interested in the official story.

  “Speculation abounds,” Logan answered, “but the best answer is that the Germans had somebody on the inside way back during the days of the Manhattan Project. One of the few scientists still alive who was part of the project remembers their first batch of plutonium was lost in transit to Los Alamos. But that was so deeply covered up he never found out what happened.”

  “You still haven’t told us why the CIA finally spilled the beans,” Lee said.

  “I’m coming to that. The CIA’s ‘asset,’ Jochen Pfeiffer, was killed by the Iraqis when they failed to get the plutonium. After stonewalling about Muller and his cohorts, the CIA finally contacted the Bureau in Washington about a new problem that has cropped up as a result of their fiasco in Iraq. This problem leads straight to New Mexico.”

  Lee looked at Diane, who had a definite “oh shit” expression on her face. “You mentioned Elka Pfeiffer. Don’t tell me she’s managed to find her way to New Mexico and is looking for whoever is responsible for killing her people.”

  Logan cursed, and nearly stood, glaring at Lee. “How did you know that? Your sources always seem to be better than mine.”

  Lee nearly laughed. “My sources are between my ears. Muller was in contact with them, according to the NSA or whoever it is that bugs everyone’s E-mail. Muller must have told her about us. After all, he carjacked Agent Lopez.”

  Diane nodded. “It all fits. But I have two questions. Do you think a mercenary would risk everything just for revenge, and secondly, did she come alone?”

  “And how did she get into New Mexico, and when?” Richmond piped in.

  Logan grumbled. “I’ll tell you what we think we know. Elka Pfeiffer entered the country at Dallas, via Mexico City. Her name was flagged when she used her passport. An image was captured on camera and compared with a photo the CIA case officer managed to take of her when he was recruiting Jochen.

  “That was when the CIA finally, as Officer Hawk put it, spilled the beans.” Logan glanced from Lee to Diane, then to Richmond. “Except they moved just a few hours too late to pick up Elka Pfeiffer.”

  “The final destination for Elka Pfeiffer was Albuquerque, New Mexico?” Lee asked.

  “Right. Her position as a Mercedes sales rep has allowed her to travel all over the world, including the Middle East. Mercedes sells a lot of vehicles in that part of the world,” Logan added.

  “Any idea where she is now?” Diane asked.

  “We just don’t know,” Logan said. “But we have people looking for her.” He handed them each a photograph. “Here’s what she looked like in Dallas.”

  Lee quickly memorized the image. Elka looked a lot like Hans. “Was Elka related to the man we knew as Wolfgang Muller?”

  “I see it too, Lee. Maybe his sister?” Diane looked at Logan.

  “I’ll ask the Agency and find out what they have on that.” Logan took out a small notebook and wrote it down.

  “I suppose you have special agents questioning airline employees, including the flight crew, and checking to see if she rented a car or took a cab or shuttle?” Diane asked. “Or maybe she had a Mercedes waiting for her from a local dealer?”

  “All of that is in the works,” Logan said.

  “If she wanted to make it tougher, she might have stolen a vehicle right from the lot. People often keep their parking-lot tickets in the vehicle, and she could have found one in a few minutes. With the skills she probably has, getting into the car wouldn’t be too hard,” Lee said.

  “I’ll check the stolen vehicle reports,” Richmond said.

  “What else should we know?” Lee asked Logan.

  Logan scowled and, after pausing to collect his thoughts, added, “The CIA case officer who recruited Pfeiffer and his group of mercenaries retired as soon as he returned to the States. He knew his career had ended, probably, once Jochen Pfeiffer was killed by the Iraqis.”

  Lee said nothing. He’d already known about Jochen, who’d apparently chosen to live out his life as a mortal instead of having his wife turn him. The fact that he’d been able to go out in the daytime, unrestricted by the limitations of sunblock, had served his family well.

  “Who is the CIA man, and where is he now?” Diane asked.

  “His name is Paul Rogers, and he’s a security consultant at Los Alamos. We’ve contacted Rogers via a secure line and he now knows Elka Pfeiffer is in the area,” Logan answered. “The Bureau offered to provide him with twenty-four-hour protection, but he declined, saying that the lab security around him should be enough.”

  “Confident bastard,” Richmond muttered.

  “That was my impression too, but we’d rather use our resources tracking down the German woman than babysitting ex-spooks,” Logan said, then stood. “To add another complication to this situation, the President of the United States is coming to Albuquerque for a brief ceremony and photo op at the airport. The visit highlights funding for high-tech research, so lab honchos from around the state will be here. Security will be really tight, and because there’s always a chance that Elka is targeting the President instead of Rogers, we’ve clued in the Secret Service. Naturally we have to commit most of our resources to protecting the President, though, more likely, Pfeiffer is gunning for Rogers or you two. Watch your backs.”

  “Always,” Diane responded. “One more thing? Can you give us a number for Rogers, and maybe an address?”

  Logan looked at his notebook and read them the information. All three, including Lieutenant Richmond, wrote it down.

  “Okay, then let’s get to it, people,” Logan said, shaking hands with everyone, including Lee, who’d become used to the Anglo custom despite old Navajo taboos about touching strangers.

  Five minutes later, Lee and Diane were on Girard Avenue heading west toward the valley. Within another ten minutes, they were inside a fast-food restaurant, ordering breakfast. Diane picked up the food while Lee stood back, keeping watch. They had decided against drive-up windows, where it would be too easy for ambush vehicles to trap them front and rear. Thickly coated with sunblock, even a full vampire might risk leaping out of a car or van for a hit.

  The advantage they had, Lee knew, was that Elka Pfeiffer and anyone who might be working with her didn’t know where they were and what they were doing. It was doubtful that Elka would even know for sure what they looked like, though she’d probably read a description given to her by Muller. All things considered, the biggest danger they were facing at the moment was from the Silver Eagle group, who knew where their office was located and what they looked like.

  Intending to eat breakfast at their office, they drove on and approached from the rear of the building. Lee examined the back door and the locks. He’d placed a thin piece of clear plastic by the door hinge and that was still in place. The trace of dust he’d placed on the doorknob hadn’t been disturbed with a handprint either. They had an internal zone alarm system which required an entry
code to disarm, and that too was undisturbed.

  “If anyone came in, it wasn’t through this door,” Lee announced.

  Diane turned off the alarm by punching in a number code, and Lee entered first, flipping on the lights for Diane’s benefit as he made a quick sweep of the place.

  “Someone slipped a note under our door,” Diane called from the front room. “Let me put on some gloves before I open it up.”

  “I’ll bring in the food,” Lee replied, then carried in the sacks containing the breakfast burritos, orange juice, and blueberry muffins. Diane joined him in the back office with the note, holding it gingerly by the edge as he was setting the food on the desk. He locked the back door while she stepped into the rest room and fished out a pair of latex gloves from a small box.

  “Still smells like bleach in there,” Diane grumbled as she reappeared, closing the new door Lee had installed.

  “It was a good idea to spray the place down. The bleach will denature any DNA enough to disguise whatever blood might remain unseen,” Lee said, looking at the folded piece of lined paper, identical to that used in spiral notebooks.

  Diane unfolded the paper. It was a typed list of silver-smithing and jewelry-making supplies with a price-per-unit given. At the top of the paper were the words “Write down how much of each you want to buy. The price includes your discount. Someone will come by today to pick up this paper and tell you when your order will be delivered.”

  “If we check for fingerprints the Silver Eagle people will know when they pick up the note,” Diane pointed out, setting the paper on the counter, then removing her gloves.

  Lee started to set out their breakfast. “Then forget the fingerprints. Well make a copy of the note after we fill out the order. That’s all well have.”

  “How long do you think it’ll take us to deplete their current stock so they’ll have to make another smuggling run?” Diane asked, turning to add water from the small sink to their office coffeemaker.