American Blood: A Vampire's Story (9 page)

“Do you know what happened to this stone?” Siri asked.

“It remained in the cave with the black rocks. It must still be there somewhere, buried.”

“The stone is significant,” Ryan said. “It was unusually heavy and warm to the touch . . . it may have been a radioactive source of some kind.”

“What you observed happening to the other colony members could have been the symptoms of acute radiation poisoning,” Siri added.

“The stone possessed a great power,” Calida said and she walked back to her chair and sat down. “Whether it was your radiation or something else no longer matters. I know what the stone did to me.”

“What did it do?” Siri asked.

“It made me a vampire.”  

“My good man . . . this committee is not going to hire a vampire to assassinate anyone, whether here or abroad,” Senator Pachy said.

The Director tapped his pipe on the oak conference table and looked at the republican senator. “She would give us a great advantage, Senator.”

Senator Pachy shifted his large bulk on the leather chair. “The fact that these creatures exist is disturbing enough—Jesus help us—but to start a policy whereby the United States government uses a blood sucking devil to solve its problems is something that our forefathers wouldn’t condone.”

“Yes, yes, Senator, but this female—”

“Mr. Director,” Senator Pachy lowered his double chin and stared at the Director over his bifocals, “if you take a close look at the U.S. Constitution, nowhere will you find anything about using the undead, if that’s what she is, to assassinate our enemies.”

“No, no, Senator, the constitution does not include such phrases . . . but this female is uniquely qualified for this work.”

“This female . . . she’s called Cli—” The senator lifted the dossier closer to his eyes. “Oh Christ, why is this type so damn small? Hmm, Clida. What kind of name is Clida?”

“Ooh, Senator, her name is Calida, with—”

“All right, it’s Kah-lee-duh . . . doesn’t sound very American.”

The Director said, “It was given to her by her parents when she was born.”

“Harrumph, is she even a U.S. citizen?”

“Well, not exactly, Senator,” the Director replied, amused. “Although she has been in this country for nearly three hundred years.”

“Three hundred years?” Senator Pachy muttered. “And she’s never thought to become an American citizen?” Senator Pachy shook his head. “So she’s not even an American vampire?”

“Oh, well, not as such, no, but this can be remedied.” The Director turned toward the man sitting across the conference table to his left. “Isn’t that correct, Senator?”

“If there was ever a case for naturalization, this would be it,” Senator Asinas offered, breaking his silence.

“How do you propose we legally grant her citizenship?” Senator Pachy demanded.

“We can use the Immigration Reform and Control Act.”

“And how exactly does IRCA cover a vampire?”

“The good Senator from Texas would agree that she’s an illegal alien. And that she’s been here for more than four years as required by the act, yes?”

“Go on.”

“Well, she has been in the United States since before January 1, 1982 and has resided here continually from that date forward. IRCA is controlling in her case because of the possible employment issue.”

“You’re telling me that you actually support this, and I’ll be kind here, this cockamamie proposal?”

“We have been given greater latitude as mandated by the Homeland Security Act, Senator Pachy. And your party has consistently defended the current administration’s overindulgences—”

“Now hold it right there,” Senator Pachy interrupted. “Protecting the interests and citizens of the greatest country on earth is not an—an overindulgence.”

“My good Senator Pachy . . . listening in on our citizens’ private phone conversations? Or using computers to analyze credit card purchases at Home Depot—”

“Senator Asinas, you didn’t bring me in here to argue about Home Depot. I’ve got a meeting with Vice President Dwicke in forty minutes. Can you get to the point?”

“Certainly. The left believes just as strongly as the far right that we need to be more proactive in our fight against threats to this nation’s security both within and outside of our borders, understand?”

“It’s about time the left opened their eyes.”

“I appreciate the good Senator’s attempt at levity, but it is my opinion that we should use all of the assets at our disposal to ensure the security of the American way of life.”

“And this includes using this Clida—oh damn—Kah-Lee-duh?”

“The reports on her strength, speed, intelligence. Her remarkable ability to change appearance . . . and how does one put it?” Senator Asinas asked. “Her unique sense of morality is perfectly suited for this type of delicate work.”

“And at what pay grade would her unique sense of morality be rated?” Senator Pachy asked the Director.

“We would classify her as GS-15, off the books of course.”

“So we’re going to pay her one hundred fifty thousand tax free American dollars to do what the CIA and your agency are already paid millions to do?”

“Ah, yes, but Senator Pachy,” the Director began, “if you look at section five of your information package you’ll see the results of the financial analysis that we requested from the GAO.”

“Damn GAO would audit the Lord O’ Mighty.”

“Yes, of course, Burchard,” Senator Asinas said. “But if you look at the analysis you’ll be more than pleased, I think.”

Senator Pachy paged through the grey booklet for several seconds, quickly took out a red handkerchief from his dark grey suit, and blew a remarkably high note two octaves above middle C. “Uh, maybe if I had a magnifying glass . . . uh, yes, here it is . . . mm, two point three million per task? She could save that much?” he asked as he finished wiping his nose.

“Perhaps much more when you consider the monetary benefits that can be realized from certain, eh, eliminations,” the Director happily added.

Senator Pachy shoved the handkerchief back in his suit pocket. “All right, maybe this has some merit after all, but I still think she should be a contributing member to the fiduciary responsibilities of our country.”

“You want her to pay taxes?”

“Only her fair share.”

“Then is it settled?” Senator Asinas asked.

“What assurances can you provide this committee, Mr. Director, that this Miss Villena will stay under our complete control?” Senator Pachy asked.

“Her unwavering cooperation has been obtained, Senator,” the Director replied. “If she were, however, to deviate from my control I can terminate her at anytime from anywhere.”

“Very good,” Senator Pachy said.

“I move that the committee proceed with the vote on whether to grant citizenship to Miss Calida Villena and to secure her the government rating of GS-15.”

“I second the motion,” Senator Pachy said.

“Show of hands . . . all those in favor?”

The only two senators present raised their hands.

“The motion has passed and I will direct the proper channels to execute the final decisions of the committee.” Senator Asinas leaned across the conference table. “I’ll have all of the required documentation processed, Senator Pachy. I’ll personally administer the oath of citizenship to Miss Villena and have our favorite immigration judge stamp the certificate.”

“That sounds very proper, Senator Asinas. Now let’s finish up, I don’t want to keep the Vice President waiting . . . Mister Director?”

“Thank you, Senators,” the Director said. “If you turn to section three of the package, I’ll go over her initial tasking which would start the operational phase of our plans.”

Senator Pachy studied the requested section for a moment. “This here Manic . . . his God damn name is Manic Dee?”

“Yes, Senator . . . until recently he ran a small drug gang in south Los Angeles that pushed crack and heroin on the street.  This changed last year when he entered into a business relationship with elements of the Afghani opium trade.”

“How that damn backward country causes so many problems for us is unbelievable,” Senator Pachy said.

“Yes, Senator. Indirectly he’s been providing assistance to the Taliban and of course, al Qaeda.” The Director picked up a folder and leafed through it. “His front business is a recording studio which he bought and developed into his own label . . . ah, yes, the label is called ‘West Coast Dogs’ of all things.”

“I don’t give a dog’s ass what it’s called,” Senator Pachy said.

“Excuse me, Senator. The label mostly produces ghetto music from local Los Angeles’ rap and hip-hop artists.”

“What form is this assistance?” Senator Asinas asked.

“He’s been purchasing large quantities of Afghani opium and having it refined into an ultra pure heroin that is being smuggled into this country through the port of Long Beach.”

“Continue,” Senator Pachy requested.

“As you know, a growing number of gang elements on the west coast are forging these relationships with Afghani opium growers. This particular individual is now making seven figure purchases at least monthly and sometimes even more. He uses the high grade heroin obtained from this opium and compounds it with methylenedioxy—”

“Mister Director, please.”

“Beg your pardon, Senator . . . compounds it with ecstasy and further boosts with raw methamphetamine to produce a new designer drug known on the street as Manic Delight.

“So this Manic Dee sonuvabitch is helping the Taliban kill our boys over there while poisoning our kids here?”

“Yes, yes, Senator, that is our assessment.”

“And he has named this drug after himself?” Senator Asinas asked.

“His ego is excessive.”

“You believe that our newest U.S. citizen can resolve this problem?” Senator Pachy asked the Director.

“I have great confidence in her abilities.”

“What about these drug contacts he is using?” Senator Asinas asked. “Do they possess the information we need to gain a location on our final objective?”

“We’ve been able to trace the money transfers once they make the exchange with our rapper friend,” the Director replied. “These contacts direct the money to accounts outside of our reach. They know the money’s final destination. It’s the final piece of critical information we need to place our newest asset at the right time and place to rid the world of this terrorist once and for all.”

“Why don’t we just grab these bastards and interrogate them?” Senator Pachy asked.

“That won’t work, Senator,” the Director replied. “We’ve caught many of these contacts over the last few years but, they are fanatics and martyr themselves with cyanide pills during capture.”

“And once their leadership suspects any attempts by us to tamper with them,” Senator Asinas began, “they make immediate adjustments to their field elements anyway.”

“That’s correct,” Senator Asinas. “This group is resilient in many ways and can’t be taken for granted.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” Senator Pachy said.

“Then shall I give the go ahead?”

Senator Pachy removed his bifocals and placed them in their leather case. “Okay Milsten, are we in agreement?”

“Yes, Burchard.”

“All right, take care of this problem . . . and Mister Director?”

“Yes, Senator Pachy?”

“I hope she eats the bastard.”

“All science is either physics or stamp collecting.”

—
Earnest Rutherford
, New Zealand Physicist

“Laddie, there is the most delicate instrumentation within these crates,” the tall, lanky man said with an impatient Scottish accent. “Do try and show the requisite care.”

It was 10:00 AM, Tuesday morning, and Ryan confronted his darkest fear: an over-bearing, know-it-all physicist. It took all his self-control not to drop the crowbar and walk out of his own lab. Henry wasn’t in yet which meant Ryan had no buffer to place between himself and his guest.

“Doctor Balken—”

“
Professor
, I insist.”

“Yes, Professor Balken . . . I am more than capable of handling even the most sensitive equipment,” Ryan said. “This is a state of the art molecular biology lab as you can see.”

“T’is a nice little lab ye got here, Mister Ryan. You must provide me with a tour after we complete the unpacking. It shouldn’t take very long I suspect.”

“
Doctor
Ryan, would be appreciated,” Ryan said, and he wondered whether his guest referred to the unpacking or the tour.

“I see . . .
Doctor
Ryan it shall be. Now open the last crate so I can inspect for any damage,” Professor Balken ordered. “The men who delivered it were apparently illiterate and unable to read ‘Extremely Fragile Equipment’ marked on the crates.”

Ryan worked on the third crate as Professor Balken made a careful inspection of the contents of the other two. The man was somewhere comfortably beyond seventy, Ryan guessed, and he didn’t appear to suffer anyone outside of his particular branch of science. Ryan had his share of experience working with physicists, but this man represented the very worst that science had to offer: a 1960s era particle physicist right down to the unkempt white hair and old-fashioned sweater and bowtie. The fact that he was also from the British Isles did little to help Ryan’s opinion of the man.

“What exactly have you brought?” Ryan asked, looking at the two large glass globes that had been partially unwrapped from the second crate. Each was about three feet in diameter. “I’m not familiar with any of this.”

“Nor would ye be,” Professor Balken answered. “Although a first year university physics major would immediately recognize that these are cloud chambers that track subatomic particles.”

“And I thought they were space helmets,” Ryan offered.

“Obviously they are placed over an individual’s head,
Doctor
Ryan.”

“To what purpose?”

“The simplest explanation is these two detectors are placed over the heads of our subjects to reveal any quantum effects generated between the two individuals being tested.”

“By quantum effects you mean telepathy.”

Professor Balken shook his head. “I mean quantum effects.

Whether or not any observed effects are telepathic in nature requires confirmation. We don’t jump to conclusions in science without confirming our data.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“I shall expect it,” Professor Balken replied. “So what exactly does a molecular biologist do? It sounds very quaint.”

Ryan struck the crowbar with the hammer using some added force. “Well, in simple terms we study the instructions that living organisms use to perform the functions of life.”

“Such as that sheep cloning nonsense?” Professor Balken asked, his disdain clear.

“Exactly, that’s what we do.”

“No need to be defensive, Doctor Ryan. I’m sure I’ll be able to work with ye. Now when can I see this extraordinary young lass?”

“Uh, the young woman is asleep right now and she won’t wake up for about another seven hours.”

“She sleeps during the day?” Professor Balken asked, mortified. “I must have her mental faculties at their sharpest. How is this possible if she’s been allowed to sleep away the day?”

“This won’t be an issue with her, exactly.”

“Exactly what is going on here?”

“You’ve been briefed, and paid, I’ve been told. Can you finish up with your equipment so I can get back to my work?”

“Please return to whatever it is that you do,” Professor Balken said. “You’ve labored enough and the final unpacking requires great care.”

Ryan ignored the Professor’s last comment and took full advantage of the welcomed reprieve by heading off to one of his workstations at the rear of the laboratory. Not that he wanted to intentionally show disrespect to the man’s years, but if the Professor needed anything he would just have to stroll to the back of the lab to ask him.

Satisfied with his exit, Ryan sat down at the workstation. He brought up the electron micrograph images of Calida’s skin sample, split the screen, and opened the data file with the preliminary mass spectral data on the cylinders. He studied the results for several minutes. The data indicated that the cylinders were primarily composed of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, which was nothing unusual. He was about to exit out of the data file when he noticed something odd at the far right of the data graph. A series of peaks were spaced closely together and the largest of these peaks had been assigned an atomic number of one hundred thirty-six by the analysis software. Ryan couldn’t make sense of that since the highest naturally occurring element on the periodic chart was uranium with atomic number ninety-two. Anything higher either had too short a half life to still persist in the Earth’s four and a half billion year old crust, or could only be created in high-energy laboratories. Even then, these elements would flash out of existence in milliseconds, or less. Ryan accessed the National Mass Spectrograph Library and performed a search to see if this mass pattern had been previously reported by other researchers.

“Tis’ interesting, Doctor Ryan.”

Jolted, Ryan turned from the screen and looked to his left. “Huh?” Professor Balken was standing right behind him. Ryan turned back to the screen and asked, “Do you always sneak up on people?”

“My apologies, of course,” Professor Balken answered. “I learned to be a quiet walker back when I was administering university exams.”

“No, it’s okay. Is your equipment unpacked and undamaged?”

“Everything seems to have made the journey intact. So I decided to take a little walk and ended up here.”

“So it would seem.”

“I shall say again . . . that is extremely interesting.”

Ryan reflexively reached for the mouse to close what he had been looking at on his screen, but he stopped himself. “Why do you say that?”

“First, it is interesting because I wasn’t aware that molecular biologists employed mass fragmentation techniques, and secondly, because this is an unusual graph. You would agree with that assessment, of course.”

“Mass spectrum analysis is just one of the tools we molecular biologists use, Professor. We’re not as quaint as you seem to think. And yes, this is unusual data—in fact I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Of course ye haven’t,” Professor Balken said.

“Why?”

“Simply because an element with such a high atomic mass does not exist.”

“I’m aware of this. Anything else?”

“What more would you like? Such an element would be a super-heavy element. Its properties and specific radioactivity are totally unknown. It has been conjectured that it would be metallic, but even that is merely a guess.”

“Does it have a name?”

“One-thirty-six is tentatively called untrihexium, which merely stands for its atomic number. The name shall most likely be changed by the discoverer when it is finally made. The naming of a new element is a great prize.”

“I’m not following . . . are you saying that this element might really be discovered?”

“Why don’t ye Google it?” Professor Balken instructed. “It seems to be the only way young folk learn anything these days.”

“You’ve heard of the internet then?”

Professor Balken made a cackling sound that Ryan understood to be laughter. “Yes, I’ve heard of the internet. Now you’ve heard of untrihexium.”

“So this hasn’t even been synthesized?” Ryan asked.

“I would predict within the next twenty years or so a few atoms of it will be manufactured,” Professor Balken replied as he rubbed the back of his left hand with his right which appeared to be a persistent mannerism. “But looking at your little graph, ye may already have found one-thirty-six. This is remarkable if it be true.”

“Why? Because I’m a molecular biologist?”

“T’would be remarkable because finding this element in nature would turn the world of nuclear physics on its head.”

“At this point it’s just a few small peaks on a graph. I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”

“I must insist that you provide the details of how this sample was obtained, Doctor Ryan. These little peaks of yours, if corroborated, would represent a fundamental change in our understanding of elemental physics.”

“I have instructions as to what I can provide to you in terms of data.”

“Doctor Ryan—”

“I can’t tell you where this sample came from, but I can tell you
what
it came from.”

“And what exactly did these peaks come from?”

“From these,” Ryan said, and with his pen he tapped the electron micrograph of the cylinder sitting next to the mass data graph.

Professor Balken moved closer to the screen until his chin hovered inches over Ryan’s right shoulder. He studied the image for a moment. “It’s fairly large then,” he said. “Actually it’s quite large.”

“I wouldn’t call something the size of a virus large,” Ryan said.

“To my eyes they are monumental,” Professor Balken said as he straightened up. “I have spent my life studying the subatomic realm . . . these structures are planet sized by comparison.”

“Well, the one-thirty-six mass peak was obtained from a sample prepared by isolating these cylinders from the surrounding tiss—the surrounding matrix,” Ryan said.

“So this element is stable enough to be incorporated into these tubes?”

“It appears that’s where it came from.”

“There is a theoretical island of stability for super heavies, but one-thirty-six is outside that range. Such an element should be extremely unstable. This is an unexpected turn of events.”

“Unexpected how?”

Professor Balken silently examined the screen for an awkward moment and then asked, “What is the connection between this graph and the young lass I am here to test?”

“Why would you think there’s a connection?”

“Even a botanist could draw that conclusion,” Professor Balken replied and he stepped back from the workstation. “There is something very strange going on here, Doctor Ryan. Something very strange indeed.”

Ryan shrugged. “No argument here.”

“Now please come with me so I can demonstrate my equipment to you,” Professor Balken requested. “I’ll require your assistance setting up the chambers once were over at this clinic of yours. It’s all very simple. Ye shouldn’t have any difficulties.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Ryan said.

“—T
hat I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic—that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same—that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law—that I will perform noncombatant service in the Armed Forces of the Unites States when required by the law—that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law—and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion—so help me God.” Senator Asinas finished delivering the oath and looked at Calida who held up her right hand. “How say you, Miss Villena?”

“I say I don’t have a choice.”

“Now, now, my dear,” the Director said. “Considering your age I would expect greater wisdom before speaking.”

“I find it comforting that I don’t meet your expectations.”

“Please state your intentions regarding this oath of citizenship, Miss Villena,” Senator Asinas said, impatiently.

“I swear allegiance to the Constitution of the United States of America,” Calida replied, playing her part in the charade.

“Very well, Miss Villena, please sign the certificate,” Senator Asinas instructed, and handed the document to her, which she signed in English. “Excellent, you are now a citizen of this country with all of the rights and privileges therein.”

“And what rights do I have trapped in here?” Calida asked.

“You do not have the right to kill whomever you please, Miss Villena.”

“But I do have the right to kill whomever you please?”

“Now let’s have none of that nonsense,” the Director said, standing by the door to the cell. “Senator Asinas has traveled here to administer the oath personally. Your gratitude is expected.”

Calida looked at the Director for a moment then smiled. “We shall see whom your God helps . . . but thank you, Senator.” And Calida allowed her fangs to be seen. “Please come and visit again.”

“You have an intoxicating presence,” Senator Asinas said.

“Does it please you?”

“It pleases me that you are now a citizen of this country and you’ve taken an oath to protect it. If you perform your responsibilities well you can expect to be rewarded. If you fail your citizenship will be,” and Senator Asinas smiled back at Calida and said, “revoked.”

“Oh yes, yes, very good,” the Director said. “Now if you will come with me, Senator Asinas, I have some procedural developments that I would like to discuss with you in my office before you return to Washington.” The Director then turned and addressed Calida. “As we discussed prior to your oath taking, there will be someone accompanying Doctors Lei and Ryan, tonight. You are not to divulge anything to our new guest concerning your . . . condition. You will cooperate fully with all instructions. In fact, they are outside waiting right now, so be a good little girl.”

“Good bye, Senator,” Calida said. “I look forward to the day when I’ll be able to properly repay you.”

Senator Asinas paused at the door and gave Calida a slightly confused look. “Uh, well, goodbye then Miss Villena, and good luck.”