“Bout fekkin’ time boyo,” Bana bellowed. He yanked Tatsu into a decrepit lobby with such force the handle sliced Tatsu’s palm. He felt the cut close even as Bana, chattering non-stop, dragged him down a narrow corridor.
“Major Blenheim is a real combat vet, member of the elite British Royals. Twenty years with Scotland Yard’s vampire-control branch. Course that was before Limey vamps got citizenship. ‘Es cleaned up messes in more Quarantine cities round the world than you or I’ll ever see. So look sharp, me lad, and don’t fuck up.” Bana’s babble alternated between outright admiration for his boss and admonitions to Tatsu to “look sharp.”
The Irishman rapped once on a battered wooden door but did not wait for a reply before pushing it open. He winked at Tatsu as he pushed him into a windowless office crammed with file cabinets and cluttered bookshelves. “Meet Major Blenheim, our head.” Bana waved needlessly toward the room’s sole occupant sitting behind a desk.
The man, dressed in black tactical gear, glanced up as the two entered. Tatsu guessed the Major around sixty although his trimmed mustache and intense dark-grey eyes lent his weathered face a fierce vitality. This diminutive figure reminded Tatsu of Grandfather Shiniichiro—a warrior who could see into the true hearts of men.
“Major, this ’ere is Tatsu Cobb, the kid I told you about,” Bana grinned with smug satisfaction and waved at two chairs facing the desk.
“Hajimemashite,” Tatsu bowed, offering the formal greeting between business associates. He took off his jacket then his harness, and held them in his lap as he sat.
“Welcome Mr. Cobb. Mr. Murtagh tells me you are interested in joining the Leper Colony?” The Major nodded to Bana. “Ask Mr. Cooperhayes to bring tea, thank you.” Bana muttered, “Sure, Guvnor,” and ducked through a second door.
“I shall be with you in a moment.” The Englishman turned back to his monitor until Bana barged back in with a mug of coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other. A tall, gaunt man carrying a tray followed him.
“This is Mr. Cooperhayes, my adjutant,” the Major said. “Mr. Cooperhayes, this is Mr. Tatsu Cobb.”
Tatsu fought the ingrained urge to rise and bow at Cooperhayes’ nod of acknowledgement. In silence, the adjutant placed the pot on the desk, poured two cups of tea, handed one to the Major and the other to Tatsu. When Cooperhayes left the room, he barely disturbed the air as he closed the door. Bana slumped into the second chair and began gnawing on his food.
The Major removed a single sugar cube from its bowl and dropped it into his tea. He took a long sip, as he regarded his visitor. His immediate thought was, “Too young.” Still, as a seasoned combatant, the Major recognized the warrior in this particular young man. It was enough to intrigue him.
“Mr. Cobb, I do not have a great deal of time. Because you saved Mr. Murtagh’s life, you deserve my courtesy.”
“Domo arigatō gozaimasu.”
The Englishman glanced at his computer. “In the past two weeks, you have killed nine vampires including four the other night defending Mr. Murtagh.”
Tatsu felt trapped, hot and a little panicky. He stared at the Englishman then at Bana who just shrugged. “How did you know?”
“It is my business to know, Mr. Cobb. Now, please, tell me about your first kill.” The Major pinned Tatsu with a hard stare. The youth’s face blanched.
The question chilled Tatsu yet he knew everything hinged on his answer. Only moments ago, he was convinced he was making a mistake coming here. Now, sitting before the compelling authority of this small man, Tatsu suddenly wanted in. He shifted in his seat, hesitated, unwilling to share that single horrific moment when he crossed the irrevocable line that separated him from humanity.
Then the details of the hideous fight poured out in a disjointed slurry of words, Tatsu told about stopping at an abandoned park just outside Grand Junction, Colorado. It was nearly midnight, and he was exhausted. The Drifter was running rough, the engine sporadically cutting out. He needed to adjust the carburetor for the higher altitude. He dug out his tools while waiting for the engine to cool.
The vampire came screaming out of the night. Without thought, Tatsu whipped his katana from its saya. His first strike was clumsy, only cutting across the cheek. The vampire screeched with rage. Then, mouth stretched wide, it sunk its fangs through the leather sleeve of Tatsu’s jacket and deep into his bicep.
Roaring with pain, Tatsu slammed the hilt of his sword into the vampire’s temple. The creature opened its mouth to scream, releasing its bite. Tatsu twisted the razor-sharp blade against the vampire’s nape, sliced once. The spine separated with an odd snicking. The body collapsed onto the carpet of pine needles littering the ground. It was only after the vampire’s head came to rest against the rear tire of his bike did Tatsu realize he’d killed a woman. He spent the next hour vomiting against a tree.
To the Major, there was no mistaking the horror of that defining moment, the tremor in the young man’s voice, the stare fixed inward to that irrevocable time and place. All good signs. Cobb may have thought he was a cold-blooded killer, but the Englishman could tell the boy was not hardened—not yet anyway.
The Major coughed once, a commanding sound that snapped Tatsu back to the present. He indicated Tatsu’s swords with a wave of his fingers. “May I?”
Tatsu realized the man was giving him time to compose himself. With a look of gratitude, Tatsu placed his sheathed weapons on the desk.
The Major slid the katana from the polished scabbard, admiration for the blade clear in his eyes. “These are ancestral, I presume? But no longer the original steel composition. It appears the metal has been altered.”
Although reluctant to reveal the blades’ secret, Tatsu’s respect for the Englishman compelled him to reply. “My grandfather had them treated with aggregated diamond nanorods. They won’t break no matter what I strike.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cobb.” The Major handed the swords back to Tatsu with a visible show of reluctance. “Your background?”
“Entered NMU at fifteen, accelerated program, plan was to finish my doctorate next year.”
“A doctoral program in what?”
“Urban-environmental engineering.”
“Quite impressive to obtain a Ph.D. at twenty-four.” Major Blenheim’s initial doubt began to dissolve as he considered the young man sitting before him. A deep determination reflected in that young face. Intelligence and integrity. That Japanese code of honor clearly driving the boy. And according to Mr. Murtagh, the youth killed with unparalleled efficiency.
“Military experience?” the Major asked. Tatsu hesitated.
“Go on boyo, open yer gob. Now’s yer chance.” Bana drove his elbow painfully into Tatsu’s arm.
“One year, Pueblo Border Militia. Before I started my doctorate,” Tatsu answered with a visible show of reluctance.
“Christ on a crutch, why’d would ya volunteer for that?”
“It was my duty,” Tatsu glared at the Irishman, did not feel he had to explain how there was no question about disobeying his grandfather’s wishes. Ojii-san said Tatsu needed the training to redeem their family honor. But Ojii-san died before revealing the mystery behind his words.
Already feeling his reservations about this young man dissolve with each reply, the Major hid his surprise.
Bana interrupted. “Jaysus, boyo, the PBM? That’s only one of the bloodiest military units on this continent. All them arse-fired-up, isolationist politicians from New Mexico, Texas and Arizona banded together and forming their own army fer one purpose—shoot any idjit trying to cross the border without papers. Harsh fekkin’ duty. Heard some soldiers crack up, commit suicide, even—”
“How long were you in?” the Major cut off Bana’s rambling.
“Normal tour, twelve months.” Anticipating more questions, Tatsu steeled himself.
“Engaged in any combat?” The Major’s eyes riveted on Tatsu’s face. If the boy indicated any enjoyment of killing, he would end the interview right then.
“Not much.” The tick at the corner of Tatsu’s mouth gave away the lie. He had seen a lot of death in that brutal year but none by his hand. He licked his lips, craving a cigarette, but even if he had one, he could not imagine asking permission to smoke.
The Major rarely changed his mind, but Tatsu Cobb was exceptional. “Mr. Cobb, if I employ you, your personal agenda must not affect any mission. Understood?” As the Major spoke, he pulled an ashtray, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his desk drawer and pushed them across the desk to Tatsu. He noted the gratitude flicker across the young man’s face as he lit up.
Tatsu relaxed with the first deep lungful of nicotine. “Domo arigatō gozaimasu. Thank you very much, sir. But Bana was not really clear about what you do. I mean, are you a government agency, law enforcement?”
The derisive laugh bursting from the Englishman surprised Tatsu. Bana, who had been lounging in his seat, snorted and muttered something that sounded like “fekking coppers.”
“Not quite. I founded this operation to provide solutions for maximum-risk situations, primarily involving vampires. We contract with local governments and private clients. Occasionally, the work falls outside the definition of legal.”
“Yeah, but legal or no, we’re the ones who get the job done,” Bana declared.
“As long as vampires confined themselves to the ghetto, feed only from the indentured, they are tolerated. Most Quarantines run somewhat peacefully under that arrangement. All very civilized, what?” A tightness around the Major’s mouth indicated his disapproval of that last social development.
Bana muttered something about, “Arsehole bleedin’ hearts, living with a bloodsucker.” He hunched lower in his seat with a muttered “Sorry Guvnor” following the Major’s sharp look.
The Englishman stepped over to a huge map of Seattle tacked to the wall. He traced an area delineated by a thick red line. “Everything west of the Duwamish to the Sound is the vampire ghetto. Paralleling the river is the Pipe, our red-light district. Many of the bars, brothels, pawnshops, are vampire owned. The Pipe is the only area where vampires and humans mix legally.” The Major returned to his desk and poured another cup of tea, took a sip and grimaced.
“Bloody hell. Mr. Murtagh, please ask Mr. Cooperhayes to bring a fresh pot.”
“Sure, Guv, need a coffee refresher anyway. Want some Cobb?” Tatsu refused. Bana slipped from the room.
“Ten years ago, Ukita Sadomori killed the former Master, abrogated the Quarantine agreement, and eradicated any opposition including all human gangs. Before that, things were fairly peaceful. We now have an epidemic of vampire attacks, There’s also been a dramatic increase in human abductions mainly from the Pipe.”
“So Seattle hired you?” Tatsu interrupted.
“One might say that. The local police force is vastly under-equipped to handle this rise in crime. The country has no military force. And by law, the population is unarmed. Even if a few die-hard souls still have firearms, ammunition is impossible to get. Unless you have the right connections.”
Bana returned with Cooperhayes, who with silent efficiency placed a fresh pot of tea and cream on the desk. The tall, angular man placed a paper in front of the Major before gliding from the room.
The Major glanced down at the sheet. “Mr. Cobb when were you infected by the virus?”
The question jarred Tatsu. “Never,” he stammered.
“This report says otherwise.” Major Blenheim stared at Tatsu for a long moment letting the prolonged silence push against the boy.
What the hell? The cut from the door handle? They had tested his blood. Anger was quickly followed by apprehension. The scars on his throat. He had them since he was ten. Uncle Ray said they came from a dog bite during the time Tatsu’s mind was shut down from grief. But there was that other bite from his first vampire kill.
He took a delaying drag on the cigarette as he recalled when he had hidden in a motel outside Grand Junction while he waited for the puking and shitting to run its course. “Maybe in Colorado. Was sick for a couple of days, nothing serious.”
“Yes, quite.” The Major took a long sip of tea. He set the cup down with deliberate care. “Mr. Cobb, I hire only the best and only those with integrity. There is another quality I require. You must be a Leper.”
“Leper?” The confused look in Tatsu’s face made him appear about twelve years old to the Major.
“In medical terms, vampiral sanguine positive, one who recovers from the virus without turning. Rarely happens, still a medical mystery. People have a pathological fear of V-positives, even more than they fear vampires. Absolutely irrational, but prejudice is always irrational. We are outcasts. Ergo, Leper. You are one according to this DNA report.”
Tatsu shrugged. Perhaps he was a Leper, perhaps not. He did not like the idea.
“From what Bana says, you are a formidable fighter, albeit somewhat unconventional. You have a code of honor. In addition, you are a Leper.” A slight smile creased the corners of the Major’s thin lips. “On your honor, will you set aside your personal concerns while working for this company?”
“Hai, hai. I promise.” Tatsu nodded his agreement and his thanks.
“Any concerns about taking Cobb as your new partner, Mr. Murtagh?”
“Fuck no, guvnor.”
“Very well, Mr. Cobb, you will be issued tactical gear and communications equipment, full access to our files and the DataNet, such as it is. Most of the team prefers small arms, like Mr. Murtagh’s Beretta. We have a couple of exceptions, but these men are no less effective. You can of course, use your own weapons. Although for a high-risk operation, I would prefer you carry a firearm. Will you have a problem with that?”
Tatsu balked at the idea of using a gun. He detested them, had seen the horrible results of quick-tempered idiots who fired first and never bothered with the questions. But then the words of Grandfather Shiniichiro slid into his ear, “Koketsu ni irazunba koji wo ezu.” Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Tatsu bowed. “Wakatta, but I decide if and when I carry a gun.”
“Fair enough. I will allow some accommodation for that.”
Two hours and a tour of the vast facility later, Tatsu signed the papers that made him a member of the Leper Colony.
“You will meet the rest of the team tomorrow night at sixteen hundred hours. Oh, by the way, Mr. Cobb, I need not remind you of your agreement never to enter Tendai without authorization,” the Major said.
“Hai, wakarimashita,” Tatsu replied, saddened that eventually he’d break that promise.
Bana slapped him on the back. “Come on partner, let me treat you to a celebration.”
The Irishman’s idea of a celebration was great slabs of genuine beef served almost raw in a pool of juice alongside mountains of fried potatoes. He surprised Tatsu by ordering coffee instead of a beer. “I’m too old to get pissed every night. ’Sides the team don’t like it much. Anyway, welcome to the Leper Colony, boyo.” He clinked his coffee mug against Tatsu’s water glass. “What’s up? Havin’ second thoughts about rollin’ with us? Hell, laddie, look on the bright side. You get paid fer doing what you did fer free. Plus, the Colony provides us with all the readies,” he laughed.
“Iie, no. I have no doubts. I’m impressed. It looks like the place has everything you’d ever need for a war. Jigoku! Hell, you even make your own ammunition.”
“Yeah, we got it all. As long as it remains a secret from the bloodsuckers.” Bana stabbed a piece of meat, shoveled it into his mouth, the juice dripping down his chin.
“So, how long have you been with the company?”
“Goin’ on twelve years. I used to be one of New York’s finest, was a fekkin’ hero. Got medals ta prove it. Then got the virus.”
“When?”
“Shite, boyo, nineteen years ago. ’Cept I didn’t turn. Really bollocked my life. The fekking bastards down at One PPD gave me my walking papers. Said I was dangerous, too unpredictable. No pension, no Bob’s-your-arse fer a gre
at job. Just booted. Wankers!” He speared another chunk of dripping steak and crammed it between his teeth. Around the mouthful of meat he continued, “What was I gonna do, become a night watchman guarding some fat cat’s warehouse? Sod that. So, I did what any red-blooded Irishman would do, went home and offered my services in aid of the Troubles. Five years watchin’ me own kind slaughter each other got old, so I came back here. Major found me, and here I be, an arse-kicking Leper.” He finished his narrative with a wave of his bloody fork.
“Leper, huh? I’m still not sure I am one.”
“Sorry boyo, yer blood says you are. You met our medic, Doc Wyckes. He’s been researching this Leper thing fer years. He explained some of the scientific mumbo jumbo one time. Lost me. He makes us sound like we’re more vampire than human. What I do know is we can turn without warning. People don’t trust us. On the plus side, we can see in the dark, we’re stronger and faster than the average bloke, don’t catch diseases, sun don’t turn us to charcoal. But don’t get to live fer centuries. Seems that is the Universe’s fekkin’ joke, bloodsuckers get hundreds of years longer than us mortal men.”
“Telomerase enzymes.”
“Huh?”
“It is an enzyme on a branch of the DNA helix. Regulates aging in living things.”
“Still don’t follow ya, boyo,” Bana said shaking his head. “Where do you come up with that shit?”
“Just means vampire’s DNA lets them live longer than us. That longevity is why they lose pigmentation in their skin, hair, eyes, you know.” Tatsu shrugged and picked up his drink. “Immaterial, they’re an aberrant species.” He forced away the memory of the feel of the lips of one aberrant species, Saito Arisada.
Eternal Samurai Page 12
