Christopher Farnsworth - Nathaniel Cade [01]

by Blood Oath: The President's Vampire

  Cade either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I’m Agent Cushing. This is Agent Lee,” he said, holding up the credentials he’d pulled from the glove box of the sedan. Zach fumbled in his pocket and came up with his own billfold, which somehow already had his photo above the phony name. It occurred to him that someone had been planning his transfer for a while.

  The male agent scanned their IDs, unimpressed.

  “Agent Cusick,” he said, and then tipped his head toward his partner. “That’s Hagan.”

  He had to raise his voice over the sound of the docks, which Zach was surprised to see were still busy, even this late at night. Cranes dipped down into giant tankers and freighters, and came out with containers that they stacked in big, rusting piles on the concrete docks. Semi trucks ground gears and waited in lines to pick up their shipments.

  The container they were here to see was cordoned off by the tape, and a wide space on every side. There was no one else nearby, and DHS had set up floodlights. It made the metal box look like it was on display.

  Cade looked at the container, its doors locked and sealed. He turned to Cusick.

  “Is there some reason you’re waiting to give me your report?” he asked.

  Cusick’s face curled into a snarl, but Hagan jumped in to answer before he could damage his career. Zach figured it was a pattern with the two of them.

  “The refrigeration on this unit apparently failed, and the smell attracted the attention of the inspectors,” she said. “They looked inside, called us. Then our boss got a call, and we were told to secure the scene and wait for you.”

  “Which we’ve been doing for seven hours and forty-nine minutes,” Cusick said, making a show of checking his watch. “Thanks so much for hurrying.”

  “You’re welcome,” Cade said. “Where’s the driver?”

  “Truckers here show up with their rigs and line up for cargo,” Hagan said. “We pulled him out of line and stuck him in the harbormaster’s office. He says he had no idea what was in the box.”

  “So what’s inside?” Zach asked.

  Cusick scowled. “You don’t know? Christ, that’s great.”

  “Open it, and we’ll see for ourselves,” Cade said.

  Cusick spun around, turning his back on Zach. “Hey, screw you, pal,” he said. “We’re not here to be your servants. I know you guys like to think we’re just rent-a-cops down at this level—”

  “Kirk,” Hagan said, a warning in her voice.

  “No, damn it, Ann, I’m sick of this shit—”

  Zach recognized the tone. It was the career government employee at the end of his patience. Fortunately, he had some experience with that.

  “Hey. Us too, buddy,” Zach said. “We’re all just doing what we’re told. The guys making the decisions are safe in their soft, warm beds.”

  Cusick snorted. That was progress.

  “None of us want to be here,” Zach said. “But if you just let us into the container, maybe we can get this done before daybreak, okay?”

  Cusick dialed back his anger. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. Been a long night.”

  “Nothing to apologize for,” Zach said. They walked over to the container. Cusick broke the evidence seals and unlocked the doors.

  Cusick looked back at Zach and Cade. “Might want to hold your breath now,” he said.

  Zach didn’t know what he meant by that. Then they swung open the doors, and the stench rolled out over them all.

  Zach turned and threw up his coffee, stomach acid burning in his nose and throat. Cusick and Hagan both stepped back, gagging.

  Only Cade didn’t retch.

  Hagan walked over to Zach, handed him a Kleenex from her jacket.

  “Thanks,” he croaked, wiping his mouth.

  “You never get used to the smell, do you?” Cusick said. Looking right at Cade.

  Cade looked right back. “No,” he said. “You never do.”

  Cusick gave his partner a look like, Can you believe this guy?

  Meanwhile, Zach got a good look in the container.

  Inside, hanging on hooks, like a cannibal’s meat locker, were rows and rows of body parts. Legs. Arms. Torsos. A chain full of hands, another of feet.

  All of them going purple and green with decay, buzzing with flies and maggots in the enclosed heat of the container.

  “So,” Cusick said. “I hope to Christ you know what this is about. Because I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Cade didn’t answer him. Instead, he said, “Let’s talk to the driver.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  THEY ENTERED the harbormaster’s building, a collection of small offices and what looked like an employee lounge, with vending machines for soda and candy.

  They stood by the machines while Hagan gave them the trucker’s story.

  “He’s in there,” she said, pointing to a small office off the main hallway. The door was closed. “Guy named Andrew Reese. From Jersey. Said he was hired by a referral agency to make a pick-up here. And he says that’s all he knows.”

  She unlocked the door and they entered. Reese didn’t fit Zach’s image of a truck driver—an old guy, like a side of beef, in a flannel shirt and mesh-back cap. Instead, the trucker was about his age, wire-thin and wearing an OFFSPRING T-shirt. He glared at them from eyes that looked bruised from a lack of sleep.

  “About fucking time,” he snapped. “Do I get my cargo or what?”

  “Your cargo has been impounded,” Cusick said. “These gentlemen are the federal agents we were telling you about. Maybe you’d like to explain what we found to them.”

  Reese leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “I already told you: I don’t have a clue what was in the container. I was hired to pick it up. Whatever’s on the manifest, that’s what I know about it.”

  “You just pick up whatever you’re told?”

  Reese shrugged. “A job’s a job.”

  Cusick got in his face. “And we’re supposed to believe you don’t know why we’re here? This is all just a huge mistake to you, right?”

  Reese stared back. “You know, I’m a good citizen and all. I want to help fight the War on Terror like anyone else. But I’ve had enough of this shit. You either arrest me, or I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  He stood, nearly bumping Cusick on his way up. Cusick shoved him back in his seat.

  Reese smiled. “Nice,” he said. “Now I can sue you for brutality. I could use a new big-screen TV”

  “Shut up,” Cusick snapped. “Or we’ll test your blood for meth.”

  Reese’s smile vanished. “I want to talk to a lawyer. Right fucking now.”

  Cusick was about to say something else, but Cade interrupted. “I think we need to take a moment. Don’t you, Agent Cusick?”

  They all trooped out of the room again, behind Cade.

  “Hey! What about my lawyer?” Reese yelled. No one answered him.

  They stood outside the door for a moment, not saying anything.

  “He doesn’t seem very cooperative,” Cade said.

  “Screw you,” Cusick shot back. “If you’d been here earlier, we might have had more luck.”

  Cade ignored him, again. “I’d like to talk to him alone.”

  Cusick was instantly suspicious. “Why?”

  Cade’s expression didn’t change. “Because I’d like to talk to him alone.”

  Cusick gritted his teeth and stepped back with exaggerated courtesy. “Of course. Excuse the hell out of me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cade said, and went back into the room.

  Zach heard Reese talking, muffled through the door. He didn’t know what to say to the ICE agents, so he smiled.

  They looked at him like he was retarded.

  “Who the hell are you with again?” Cusick asked.

  Zach blanked. He couldn’t remember which division of the government was written on his fake ID.

  Then the screaming started.

  Zach had never heard anything li
ke it. It came from inside the small office. It sounded like an animal caught in a trap.

  It was Reese.

  Cusick moved before his partner did. He lifted his foot, prepared to kick the door down—

  Just as Cade swung it open gently.

  They rushed in together. Cade stood back.

  “What the fuck—” Cusick said. Zach looked down, noticed that Cusick had his gun drawn.

  “He wasn’t hired by a referral agency,” Cade said. “He got a call from a shipping company. KSM Holdings. Otherwise, he’s telling the truth. You can release him.”

  In the room, Reese wasn’t screaming anymore. He was trembling, and trying like hell to hide in the corner, as far away as he could from Cade.

  A stain spread at his crotch. The tiny office was thick with the smell of fresh shit.

  “What did you do to him?” Cusick demanded.

  “Nothing,” Cade said mildly.

  “Nothing? Bullshit. Look at him,” Cusick said. “What do you call that?”

  Hagan tried to reach over to Reese, to calm him down. He shrieked and huddled down even farther.

  “Enhanced interrogation techniques,” Cade said. His mouth twitched as he said it.

  “Enhanced?” Cusick looked like he could spit. “I don’t know how you do it, but we don’t allow that kind of Jack Bauer torture shit here—”

  “The United States doesn’t torture,” Cade said.

  “That’s it,” Cusick said. “I’m putting you under arrest, pal.”

  Zach noticed that Cusick still had his gun out.

  Cade’s expression never changed, but Zach wondered if Cade’s oath to protect the citizenry of the U.S. would prevent him from putting Cusick through a wall.

  He decided not to take the chance.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Tex, wait a second,” he said, holding up his hands.

  Cusick spun back around to him, his face red.

  “Come on. We’re all on the same side here, right?”

  Cusick nodded, a little. Like moving his head would cost money.

  “Let’s just . . . step outside and discuss this.”

  Another fractional nod. Then, pointing at Cade: “But he gets the hell out of here.”

  Cusick told Hagan to look after Reese. They stepped out of the office.

  Zach and Cusick moved to one side, to talk. Cusick, thankfully, put his Sig back in its holster.

  Cade seemed profoundly uninterested in whatever they had to say.

  “I’ll be at the container,” he told Zach. “Join me when you’re done here.”

  “Asshole,” Cusick said, loud enough so Cade, walking away, couldn’t miss it.

  Cade didn’t turn around as he went through the outer door.

  Once he was gone, Zach lowered his voice and leaned in. Cusick did the same, in order to hear.

  “Look, I gotta apologize for my partner. He’s a little . . . intense.”

  “He’s fucking psychotic.”

  “Point taken,” Zach said. “Look. Do you really want to make a thing of this? You really want to get your career wrapped up in whatever god-awful mess we’ve got here?”

  Cusick gave Zach a look. “So I should just go along like a good boy, is that it?”

  “If I could just walk away from this, I would,” Zach said, meaning it. “Believe me.”

  The office door opened and Hagan came out. “How is he?” Cusick asked her.

  “He’s fine.” She saw his face. “No, really. Not a mark on him. Just whatever that guy said . . . scared the shit out of him. Literally, I’m afraid.”

  Cusick couldn’t accept it. “He didn’t touch him?”

  Hagan shook her head. “Guy doesn’t want to press charges or anything. Just wants out of here.”

  Cusick and Hagan looked at each other, then at Zach.

  “So what now?” Cusick asked.

  “Go home,” Zach said, trying not to make it sound like a guess. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “What do we put in our report?” Cusick asked. The look of suspicion was back.

  Even Zach knew the answer to that. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not a thing. Classified. Nobody ever hears a word about this.”

  “We can handle sensitive information,” Cusick insisted.

  “We’re counting on it,” Zach said. “Something like this gets out, causes a panic . . . then, next week, we’ve got congressional hearings, and we’re both out of work. You know how it is.”

  The agents nodded. Like Zach, they knew how the Washington blame game worked. Someone had to be a scapegoat, and it was usually the person dumb enough to have his name written down somewhere.

  They got Reese out of the office, sent him to a bathroom and then escorted him to the door. His legs were still shaking, but he walked away under his own power. Hagan and Cusick each shook Zach’s hand and left. Cusick looked over his shoulder once. Hagan didn’t.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Zach sucked in a deep breath and headed back to the container.

  Even though he really, really didn’t want to.

  ZACH FOUND CADE near the back of the container. It was almost too dark to see. Cade wasn’t having any trouble, though.

  Zach was trying like hell not to touch any of the body parts. He stayed as close as he could to the wall.

  “That was good,” Cade said, without looking up from what he was doing. “You got them out of here, and you kept them from getting too suspicious.”

  Zach was surprised. “It’s nothing. Just standard government bureaucrat mentality.”

  “You handled it well,” Cade said. “I’m not always good at dealing with people.”

  “No. You must be joking,” Zach said, deadpan.

  Silence.

  “So what did you do to the trucker?” Zach asked.

  More silence. Then Cade asked, “You have your phone?”

  “Yeah,” Zach said.

  “It has a camera function. Get a photo of this. Close as you can.”

  Zach pulled his phone out of his pocket, stabbed at buttons until the camera function appeared.

  Meanwhile, Cade peered intently at the shoulder joint of an arm, swinging on one of the chains.

  Zach squinted, trying to see what was so interesting to Cade. Then Cade moved, and light from the floods outside reached the arm.

  At the shoulder, glinting slightly, was a metal fitting, somehow welded into the flesh and bone. It almost looked organic itself And it appeared to have ridges and slots.

  Zach realized where he’d seen stuff like that before. On computers, and office equipment. Metal joints, used to snap things together, Tab A to Slot B.

  “What the hell . . . ?”

  “Photos,” Cade reminded him.

  Zach pointed and shot. The camera came with its own flash, which lit up the interior of the container like day.

  That was when he saw the other thing on the arm that Cade was looking at: a tattoo.

  AIRBORNE FIRST BATTALION, it said, with the squad’s mascot just underneath: 508TH RED DEVILS.

  This was the arm of an American soldier.

  Zach suddenly felt like vomiting again, but his mouth was dry.

  “Jesus Christ, what is this?”

  Cade walked out of the container. “Come along.”

  Zach got out of the container as fast as he could, without touching anything hanging from the chains.

  As soon as Zach was out, Cade took the handles of the doors in his hands and slammed them shut.

  “Call Griff. It’s the first number in your phone book. Tell him we need a dental appointment.”

  “That’s really cute, but—”

  “Do it. Now.”

  The vampire’s placid expression was gone. He looked pissed.

  That scared Zach, even as he fumbled with the phone to make the call.

  “Cade. What the hell is this?”

  He thought he was being ignored again. Then Cade spoke.

  “
This is quite a week for you, Mr. Barrows,” he said. “First you meet a real vampire. Now you’re going to meet Frankenstein.”

  EIGHT

  In addition to his greatly amplified motor neuron transmission, subject’s IQ, particularly in strategic and problem-solving functions, ranges from exceptionally gifted to genius level (161 to 174, Stanford-Binet scale). MRI and CAT scans suggest his neural function has become more efficient over time—with greater and greater communication throughout his cortex enabled by increased folds and wrinkles through the brain matter, causing more connectivity between neurons. It has been theorized that this enables the subject to “parallel-process,” which is to say, work several angles of a problem at once, greatly reducing the time required for a solution.

  —BRIEFING BOOK: CODENAME: NIGHTMARE PET

  Dylan had no trouble clearing Customs. His shipment remained one of the 97 percent of freight containers not inspected on their way into the U.S.

  Dylan only knew this because Khaled knew this and repeated it endlessly to reassure him.

  It didn’t work. Dylan picked up his cargo and soaked through his shirt with flop sweat. Once he’d cleared the gates of the shipyard, he took the truck out on the highway in a blind panic. Every five seconds, he checked his rearview for Delta Force commandos about to drop out of the sky and shoot him dead.

  He was a hundred miles away from the port by the time he realized that no one was looking for him. No one cared.

  Khaled would have said this was God’s way of testing him, of preparing him for the holy mission they were about to undertake.

  Dylan was sick of hearing it. He had already done way too much work for Khaled’s science project. He wanted to get paid. But there was always just one more thing, just one more thing.

  At first, it was nothing too demanding. Khaled had him make a little trip. A short hop on a plane to Dubai. During a weekend stay at a super-luxury hotel, Dylan delivered a briefcase full of cash to some other Arab guys. No big deal. When he got back, he found out the money was for the widows and orphans of the “brave warriors killed in the struggle against the Zionist occupation,” but Dylan wasn’t stupid. He knew what that meant: the cash went to pay guys to strap on suicide belts and blow themselves up.