“The party consists of only one person. You must get him to these spots.” Namche turned in surprise to his right as a three-dimensional image of Mount Everest suddenly appeared, hovering in the air. There were three red dots flashing. Namche immediately recognized the locations. The first was along the northeast ridge approach, a most difficult route. The other two were close together on the Kanshung Face, a place where no one went because it was not on either of the two approaches to the summit. It was hard to tell because of the flickering image, but Namche had to wonder what the dots represented, as he knew the Face was almost sheer for over a vertical mile. Among Sherpas, the top of the Kanshung Face was a place of legend where none he knew dared approach.
“Forty-eight hours is impossible,” Namche said, still marveling over the holographic image. He had been to the summit and lived in the shadow of the mountain all his life, but he’d never seen it presented like this. “Acclimatization takes at the very minimum two weeks at base camp or else—”
“There is no need for acclimatization,” the voice said. “My man is ready to climb. And you will get as high as you can using the most advanced helicopter in the world. This helicopter will drop you off at 17,000 feet right here.” A dot glowed on the image. “My man just needs you to lead him the last bit to these places.”
“Why?” Namche hadn’t meant for it to be so blunt, but it was all coming so quickly and the situation was so strange. He had no idea who he was speaking with.
“Because we are paying you one million dollars to do so.”
Namche wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was more than he could ever hope to make in a lifetime. And he knew he didn’t have many more climbs left. He had already cheated the fates too many times. He glanced at the image. The legends said there had been strangers who’d climbed Everest in the distant past and put something on the mountain at the top of the Kanshung Face. Something special. Namche’s curiosity was warring with his fear.
“And because my name is Tian Dao Lin and I am telling you to do it.”
Namche almost leapt off the chair in fright. It was a name mothers used to frighten their children to stay safe in their beds at night. A name that brought fear even as far away as Nepal and Tibet. The light level in the room increased, a dim glow coming from recessed strips around the top edge, and the bright light above his chair began to dim. Namche blinked, as his eyes slowly adjusted. Finally, he could see a large teak desk. The surface was covered with papers and scrolls. And behind the desk a tall chair. And in the chair what appeared to be a man, with liver spots on his bald head, but the face and eyes were unnatural.
It was the eyes that riveted Namche. He had been in the Himalayas all his life. He had met the old wise men who followed the path of Buddha, men who could do remarkable things. But he’d never seen eyes like these. They glowed with a red fire and fixed him to the seat with their stare. “Do you understand?”
Namche could only nod.
A door to Tian Dao Lin’s left rear opened and a man walked in. He was thin, his face like the edge of a knife. His skin was pale white. He went to the side of the desk and stood rigidly at attention.
“This is Tai,” Lin said. “He is the man you will guide to those three bodies.”
The last word barely registered on Namche for a moment, then it hit home.
“You may wait outside,” Tian Dao Lin said.
Namche got to his feet numbly and walked out of the door. Tai remained standing, still as a statue.
Tian Dao Lin turned his seat toward Tai. “You understand what you are to do?” “Yes, Father.”
Tian Dao Lin reached into a drawer and pulled out a small wooden flask. The exterior surface was intricately carved with many Chinese symbols, the interior lined with animal gut to make it waterproof. “I give you the gift of my own blood. It will allow you to survive the climb, but you must be swift.”
“Yes, Father.”
Tian Dao Lin handed Tai the flask. “Do not drink until you are ready to begin the climb.”
Kouros, French Guiana
With the decimation of the American shuttle fleet, the most active spaceport on the planet’s surface was no longer Cape Canaveral in the United States, but Kouros in French Guiana. Set on the coastline of the South American country, Kouros was originally the launch site picked by the European Space Consortium.
The reasons the European Space Consortium chose to locate their launch facility on a different continent were several and practical. Europe’s population density was too great to safely put a launch site there. Also, the politics of which country would get the site was a problem none had wanted to wrestle with. From the engineer’s point of view, there was also the question of latitude, as all of the participating European countries were rather high up on the planet, making a launch less advantageous.
Kouros was on the ocean, which meant a launch took place mostly over water. It was near the equator, making possible the use of centrifugal acceleration of the planet’s rotation, the so-called catapult effect, to help launch payloads. The ESA ran Kouros more as a business than a nationalistic endeavor like NASA and the American space program. As such, one of its goals was to try to make money; because of this, anyone who anted up enough cash had access to both the facilities and launchpads and even rockets if they paid enough. The Russians had even gotten in on the deal, providing Soyuz rockets as platforms for commercial satellite launches.
A state-of-the-art satellite preparation complex had been financed by Arianespace, the ESA, and GoStar, a private company that, unknown to most, was financed by Vampyr. The EPCU, Ensemble de Preparation des Charges Utiles, was a massive complex, covering over ten square kilometers, with buildings occupying four square kilometers of that area. It held three twenty-meter-high “clean” rooms connected by corridors eight meters wide by twelve high. Components moved along the corridors on hovercraft, ensuring smooth and efficient transportation.
For the first time in its short history, the EPCU was being used for only one task. In three of the four buildings were specially designed components that had just finished their final testing. They were part of a revolutionary concept from GoStar that had been in development for over eight years and finally neared completion.
From Building 4, a maneuvering-and-thruster assembly was loaded onto a hovercraft and floated down the corridor to Building 1, where it was set on the center platform. From Building 3, an environmental-and-shield assembly was finished and also moved to Building 1 and fitted to the M&T assembly. And most important, in Building 2, the crew compartment had just been finished. It had been hovered to Building 1 where, like the last piece of a puzzle, it was connected to the other two assemblies.
The X–Craft was ready.
Technically the first flight was scheduled to be launched in two days and was labeled simply a test flight to make sure the craft was functional. It was to be anything but that.
Moscow
At the knock on his office door, Adrik looked up from his computer screen. “Enter,” he called out.
The man who entered was short, wiry, and impeccably dressed. Petrov had traded his military uniform and the blue beret of the Spetsnatz, the Russian Special Forces, for tailored suits over six years earlier and had never looked back.
“Sir.” Petrov may have traded camouflage for suits, but his manner was all military as he stood ramrod straight in front of Adrik’s desk.
The office was dark, lit only by recessed lighting above rows of bookcases that lined all the walls. They were on the first level of the most modern office building in Moscow. The books on the shelves would have made a collector weep with envy. First editions dating back hundreds of years, they were an eclectic gathering for a mind that had grown bored with the world around him many centuries earlier.
Other than the recessed computer screen, the desktop was clear. Adrik sat in a high-backed, black leather chair. There were two halogen lights behind the desk that pointed forward, fixing Petrov in their glow, while Adrik wa
s hidden in shadow.
“Have you ever been in Lubyanka?” Adrik asked. “Yes, sir.”
Usually Adrik liked Petrov’s lack of verbosity. He detested those who spoke and said nothing. At the moment, though, he needed a little bit more from his subordinate. “When?”
“Several times in my career, sir. During my time in Spetsnatz we worked closely with the KGB and SVD’s paramilitary people.”
“Have you ever been in the tunnels underneath Lubyanka that connect with the Kremlin?” “No, sir.”
“You will be. There’s something down there I need you to get for me.” “Yes, sir. And that is?”
“Blood.”
Airspace, Polar Region
Vampyr’s jet was taking the shortest route from Seattle to Moscow, flying over the top of the world. He sat in the rear, with only the glow from a large flat-screen display illuminating the cabin. Through one of his defense contractor companies, he had access to the United States military’s secure Interlink system. He also had the proper code words to bring up data from just about anywhere in the system.
Vampyr accessed Space Command, headquartered underneath Cheyenne Mountain outside Colorado Springs. That was the unit responsible for tracking all objects, man-made and otherwise, in orbit around the planet. He brought up the data on the derelict mothership. He projected its orbit and was pleased to see that it was stable.
He stared at the image of the Earth floating on the screen with the mothership’s orbit projected in red for a few seconds. Then he accessed the Space Command database and checked to see if the mothership’s orbit would intersect at any time in the near future with the orbit of any other object.
On the screen the paths of anything that would come close to the mothership flashed, then disappeared as the computer determined that there would be no collision until the screen froze showing a green track intersecting with the red one of the mothership. Green indicated a future orbit for something not yet launched.
Vampyr ran the code for the orbit.
TL-SAT-7-7//MISSION-COMMERCIAL//GOSTAR//KOUROS
It was as he had expected. GoStar was a company that was under Nosferatu’s control through various other holdings. When he tried to find out more about the specific payload, he discovered that Space Command didn’t have that information. As Kouros was a privately run launch site, it had no obligation to provide it. Vampyr could guess well enough without it, having tracked Nosferatu’s development of the X–Craft for years. He’d even covertly steered a few scientists in his fellow Undead’s direction to aid in the research and development.
Satisfied that all was going as he’d projected in that area, Vampyr shifted his attention elsewhere. A contact in the Hong Kong police department who kept tabs on Tian Dao Lin for him had reported the arrival of the Sherpa and his departure on Tian Dao Lin’s personal jet with one of the Chinese Quarters. Destination: a staging area close to Mount Everest. Again, as expected.
Last, he decrypted the latest message from Adrik. The youngest Undead had only gone to the meeting at the Haven because Vampyr had told him to. Vampyr smiled coldly when he thought of the Russian. Another fool who fancied himself quite cunning. Adrik owed his very existence to Vampyr. After all, it was Vampyr who had rescued him from his stone coffin underneath the Kremlin so many years ago, less than a week after the palace guard had dumped him into the shaft.
What had apparently never occurred to Adrik was how Vampyr had been able to find him. The Russian had accepted Vampyr’s explanation, that he had heard of Adrik’s rule and wanted to join forces with him. The Russian had never entertained the idea that it had been Vampyr who had enticed the palace guard to revolt — not that they had needed much enticement — so that Vampyr could be lurking in the shadows to rescue him, and thus have him in his service.
Vampyr had let Adrik suffer in the stone coffin stuck in the shaft for a week, stopping by occasionally to hear his screams — enough time to make the gratitude for rescue that much stronger. Certain of Adrik’s secret loyalty, Vampyr had gone his own way, traveling to the West, first to England, then on to the New World to make his fortune, while Adrik had reincarnated himself once more in Moscow, now heeding Vampyr’s advice not to seek obvious power, but rather to gain it in the shadowy world of the criminal.
Vampyr read Adrik’s report. He was disappointed but not surprised that Adrik had delegated the mission into the tunnels under Moscow to recover the blood. After Adrik’s experience, not even the lure of eternal life could bring him to enter those tunnels again.
Vampyr sent a message back to Adrik with further instructions. Satisfied, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
The Skeleton Coast
Nosferatu walked into observation room and looked through the one-way glass at the sterile blood lab. It was getting more and more difficult to obtain clean blood from the continent. The AIDS rate in South Africa was closing on 50 percent of the adult population, a number the rest of the Western world had yet to comprehend in its horrific totality. Elsewhere in Africa it fluctuated between 25 and 40 percent. The best scientists were projecting that at the current rate the continent would be close to being depopulated in two generations.
Nosferatu had to admit that Adrik did have a point. Left to their own devices, humans could be extremely destructive and horrific in their treatment of their fellow men.
Drug companies in America and Europe had the medicine needed to keep most of the infected people in Africa alive, but they made the cost so prohibitive that few could afford it. Profit over life. It was an equation that Nosferatu had seen many times before. On the other hand, though, he had also seen human behavior that defied such cold logic and showed the best of the species.
Inside the lab, the specialist that Nosferatu had hired at an extravagant wage was checking each bag of fresh blood flown in from Cape Town. Each pint cost Nosferatu over five thousand dollars and though it was supposed to have been screened at a hospital in South Africa, almost a third had to be discarded either because of the HIV virus or other infectious problems.
The equipment in the lab was the best available on the current medical market for screening blood, but Nosferatu knew from the data that it wasn’t good enough for what he needed to achieve once he acquired the Airlia virus.
There was one place where such equipment had been designed, based on Airlia machinery in the mothership: Dulce, New Mexico, where Majestic-12 had sent part of its classified programs, the ones having to do with biological and chemical operations. Dulce had also been pulverized by foo fighters. The Americans had begun excavating the rubble, but that effort had been sidetracked by World War III. Nosferatu’s informants had reported that excavation had been put on hold, while America focused on rebuilding and helping other countries devastated by the recent war, particularly South Korea.
Nosferatu stirred uneasily. When the other two fulfilled their parts and brought the blood to him, he needed to be ready. He was concerned about Vampyr. The second Eldest was angry — he had been angry as long as Nosferatu had known him. His actions throughout the ages had been horrific at times. Nosferatu still remembered the forest of impaled Turkish prisoners. That was the last time he had encountered his comrade from the cells along the Roads of Rostau. He had heard rumors of the others’ actions over the years; but Vampyr had faded into the shadows, becoming a legend among the humans, especially after one of the humans penned a book about their kind. Nosferatu had always suspected that some of the information about vampires was leaked by the Watchers, as within the myth there was quite a bit that was accurate.
Nosferatu picked up the secure satellite telephone and made two calls. One to Kouros, confirming the time and date of the launch. The second was to the United States to a contact he had used there before.
Nosferatu desperately needed the plan to succeed. Because it was the only way to bring back Nekhbet.
CHAPTER 14
Moscow
Yellowing architectural plans covered the tables in the warehou
se. Some dated back as far as a hundred years, when the tsars still ruled in the Kremlin. Many were from 1939 to 1945, when a flurry of digging for protection against the invading Nazis had occurred. The vast majority, though, dated from the beginning of the Cold War through the end, over forty years of burrowing deeper and deeper under the capital city in response to America’s development of increasingly powerful nuclear weapons targeting Moscow.
Petrov was wading through the plans, reading, making notes, and searching for a room that existed only in rumor so far — where the KGB had stored a large supply of blood taken from the SS at the end of the war and done its own blood work.
The warehouse was surrounded by guards under Petrov’s command, mostly ex-Spetsnatz men, enjoying the fruits of capitalism that the Mafia had to offer them. In addition to having large legitimate holdings, Adrik was one of the most powerful of the Mafia bosses in Russia. Petrov didn’t quite understand why his boss still dabbled in crime when so much money came in from the legitimate side of the house, but he knew better than to ask questions. Adrik was an enigma to start with, a man who had been on the scene as long as Petrov, and anyone he had met, could remember. Old-timers with white hair who had fought in the Great Patriotic War knew of Adrik and described him exactly as he appeared now. It was as if the man never aged.
Petrov had heard other rumors about his boss. That Adrik never went out in the daytime. That he brought in young girls every week or so who were never seen again. Sometimes young boys. Virgins, it was whispered, with medical tests to prove their health. Petrov didn’t particularly care about the rumors. He cared that he was paid well for his work and that Adrik obviously had the power to keep other Mafia groups and the government at arm’s distance.
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