Eternal Samurai (33 page)

“Who you calling a moron, you mother—” Fist clenched, Phoenix rounded on the grinning blond. Galloway raised his hands, palms out, in a fake surrender.

“Stand down, gentlemen.” The Major’s quiet order stopped Phoenix’s next retort cold. “The Jiangxi-Dai Pharmaceutical Corporation opened a new research satellite in the old Olympic Hill Hospital. Their program starts next week with the first shipment of SAE-49. We have been hired to provide protection.”

“The Chinese have an entire army. Why they need us?” Bell asked.

“Unfortunately, a typhoon has delayed the Jiangxi-Dai teams. Until they arrive, we will protect the center.” The Major turned the large-screen monitor behind him. “The labs are on the ground floor. Only three access points—the front to the lobby and two rear doors for the loading docks and parking areas. The rest of building is sealed. Four teams of three, nine hours on, overlapping coverage. I do not see the necessity of automatic weapons for this job. Now, Mr. Cobb has a rather regrettable announcement.”

“
Gomen, gomen nasai
. I … I must leave the company right after this mission.” Tatsu bowed, held it a fraction longer than necessary, hoping to avoid looking anyone in the face. When he raised his eyes, Galloway stared at him with a look of hurt accusation, stood abruptly and stomped out. Tatsu prayed the blond would say nothing to the Major about Arisada. Not immediately, anyway.

On his last night as a Leper, Tatsu parked his bike beside the Humvee at the rear of the research facility. The tedium of the assignment left him with too much time to think. Already he had discarded several ideas to hunt in Tendai without the Major finding out. Even considered indenturing himself. Nothing seemed even remotely workable.

It didn’t help that his body surged with heat every time he thought of Arisada—his deep voice, the exquisite brush of his fingers, the fierce possessiveness of his mouth. Tatsu had come to Seattle to settle a blood debt not find a lover—a
kyūketsuki
no less—who had seduced him with gentle words and an amazing, cocksucking mouth.

And then dumped him.
Fakku
, maybe when he was done, he’d head back to New Mexico and look for Sage. The Indian can’t hide for—

An explosion followed by the ear-rending screech of alarms ripped Tatsu’s musings apart. Choking on smoke that filled the building, Tatsu raced along the corridor to the center to the laboratory. Utter carnage met him. A dozen scientists lay amid the smashed glass and broken instruments. Many were missing limbs. One had been decapitated.

Galloway burst into the room, followed by Passebon. The three men ran from body to body, checked each one for a pulse.

“This one’s alive,” Passebon crouched beside a man, curled against the scorched wall. A scarlet stain blossomed over his white lab coat. He stared around with glazed, uncomprehending eyes.

“Don’t move. Can you tell me what happened,
mon ami
?” Passebon soothed the dying man.

“Three techs … took virus.” Blood bubbled from his mouth. He coughed once and died.

With a jerk of his head, the Cajun indicated the receiving doors leading from the laboratory to the loading docks. Weapons raised, the three Lepers covered each other as they slipped toward the rear of the complex.

In the lead, Tatsu pushed one of the swinging doors ajar with the tip of his
katana
and glanced into the parking lot.

Three men, one clutching a steel container, scrambled into the back of a white panel van. Another man leaned out of the driver’s side door. There was no mistaking that curly black hair or the string of Irish obscenities spewing from his mouth.

“
Kuso
! It’s Bana.” Tatsu kicked the doors open and dashed through. He sheathed the
wakizashi
and charged toward the van.

“Bana, wait.” He pounded on the driver’s window. He twisted the door handle, tried to pull it open.

Bana snapped his head around and stared at Tatsu through the glass. An angry look flitted across his face.

“Boyo, get away from me,” he spat and stomped on the gas pedal. The van fishtailed, the back bumper knocking Tatsu to his knees. Before he recovered, the vehicle careened out the parking lot and skidded around the end of the street.

“
Fakku
, Bana stop!” Tatsu leaped to his feet, sheathing the
katana
as he dashed for the Kawasaki.

Galloway and Passebon scrambled into the Hummer. The roar of the Drifter’s engine drowned out Galloway’s, “Cobb. In the truck now.”

With a recklessness that bordered on stupidity, Tatsu full-throttled the engine, lifting the heavy bike on its back tire. At the gate, he dropped onto two wheels and screamed after the van.

“Cobb, what the fuck are you doing, man?” Galloway’s bark crackled through Tatsu’s dog collar.

“Bana’s driving that van.” Tatsu yelled unnecessarily. The dog collar screeched with feedback.

“Mon dieu
,” he heard Passebon in the background.

“Bana, gotta catch Bana.” The demented mantra pounded through Tatsu. Twisting the throttle wide open, he raced through the twisting, littered streets. No thought on his mind except intercepting his old partner.

He caught a glimpse of the van cresting a hill less than a block away, cranked the throttle wide open and felt the Kawasaki leap under him. He was close enough to see one of the thieves peering through the back window when a pack of feral dogs darted in front of him. Reflexively, Tatsu swerved. He heard one yelp as his front wheel clipped its haunches.

The impact sent the Drifter into a skid. Even his Leper reflexes and strength were not enough to save the heavy motorcycle. The rear tire screamed as it lost traction. The bike spun out from under him and slid several feet along the street. Man and machine crashed against a mountain of garbage covering the sidewalk.

Cursing, he scrambled to his feet, and hauled the bike up. The front fender lay crumpled against the tire. He tore off the useless piece of metal and tossed it. Breathed with relief when he kicked the starter pedal and the engine roared to life. Thanked all the gods for Japanese engineering. Thanked them again for TAC gear that had saved his ass from a world of hurt.

But when he looked down the street, the van was long gone.

“Cobb, what’s your ten-twenty?” Galloway’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Near the West Bridge. Harbor Island.”

“We’re about half a klick behind you. Wait there, copy?” Do. Not. Cross. That. Fucking. Bridge.”

Tatsu could not wait. The hell if he gave up on Bana now. He kicked the bike into gear and rode across the bridge. Keeping his speed down to a wobbly crawl, he rode through darkened streets. Derelict warehouses and factories lined either side. His eyes swiveled back and forth. The back of his neck crawled with the feeling that any second he’d be surrounded by screaming, out-for-his-blood monsters. Yet, he saw no sign of any life. No sign of a white van.
Kuso,
where the hell did it go?

Just as he was about to give up, he rounded a corner and spotted it entering the gates to a massive power plant. The van halted with a squeal of brakes. Bana and the thieves clambered out and headed toward the facility.

Tatsu cut the engine and pushed the Drifter behind a dumpster. He dug into his pocket.
Kuso.
No cell. He must have dropped it when the bike went down. Hoping it worked, he whispered into his collar for back-up.

Passebon’s welcome drawl rumbled into Tatsu’s ear. “Where the hell are you,
mon ami
?”

“Harbor Island. Bana’s here, at least a couple of dozen vampires.”

“Harbor fucking Island? Bad place Ninja Boy,” Galloway said. “Stand down. ETA about ten minutes. And Cobb? If you disobey me again, I’ll personally kick your pretty ass back to Japan. Do you copy?”

Tatsu ignored him. No time to wait, he had to get inside that plant. He wriggled through a tear in the chainlink fence and crouched beside a mountain of garbage. A thin, pale light from the moon filtered through the clouds, revealed every detail of massive complex.

Tangles of gas pipes, some larger than a man’s body, connected the oblong gas kilns to a tower that loomed hundreds of feet into the night sky. Conveyors ran up to a giant, smoke-spewing furnace in the center A dozen methane tanks sat around on the perimeter.

The whole assembly looked like a monstrous, angry spider surrounded by its eggs. Tatsu shuddered. He hated spiders!

Garbage piles, some fifty feet high, covered most of the lot. Tatsu wondered how the human workers moving the shit stood the stench. Even breathing through his mouth didn’t help. At least reek would hide his scent from any
kyūketsuki.

Steel ladders around each tank were bisected every twenty or so feet by landings attached to catwalks that ran into the plant’s bowels. Those catwalks were his way in.

Time was running out. Soon, daylight was going to put a stop to whatever the vampires were doing. He needed to get directly above the pack, hear what is going on, and get word back to his teammates before having to fight.

And he knew there’d be a fight. For one, he had to retrieve that virus. Two, he was going to save Bana’s ass.

In a crouching run, he dashed past a stinking mountain until he reached the nearest tank. Inched rung-by-rung up to the first catwalk. Belly-crawled along it until he was above the milling group, He peered through the metal grill at the scene below. Things looked like they were getting ugly.

Directly below him, vampires circled Bana and the thieves, cowering behind him. Bana drew his guns, and assumed a combat stance.

Tatsu felt a twinge of hope. Perhaps Bana was recalling his sense of duty, how he used to protect people not kill them. Or maybe he was just protecting his next meal. Regardless, Tatsu knew that even with vampire speed and strength, there was no way Bana could survive that many attackers.

Tatsu bunched his legs under him and braced himself drop into a fight. He ducked when brilliant light swept across the plant. A car came through the gate and stopped a dozen feet away. The driver climbed out, slammed the door and strode toward the plant.

The vampires grew silent. A few shifted away from. the figure walking toward them. Their sly, uncertain moves reminded Tatsu of a pack of coyotes waiting for a signal from their leader.

Although shorter than anyone else, the newcomer emanated an incredible power. The creature’s alabaster skin shone with an eerie translucent. Part of his silver hair was tied in a top-knot, the rest spilled over his shoulders. The classically Japanese face, with it flowing mustache, could have been noble. But the sneering arrogance of the lips rendered that face ugly.

As he walked, the vampire’s ankle-length coat blew back and revealed a full
hakama
bound with an embroidered
obi
that held a single, long sword.

With a sick certainty, Tatsu knew this was Ukita Sadomori, Daimyō of the Seattle Vampire Clan. And Arisada’s
Seisakusha
.

“You have something for me?” Sadomori hissed leveling his pitiless gaze on the three humans. He signaled a heavy-set bull wearing a hip-length leather coat who took the biocontainer from the frightened thief.

The bull popped the lid, examined the contents before tossing a canvas bag to the cowering man. “Quarter of a million, as agreed. You breathe a word, I’ll pay you with something different.” The monster cupped his crotch and thrust his hips out with a fang-filled smirk.

The thief gave a frightened bob of his head. Trembling, he opened the sack and pulled out a wad of cash. Greed flashed across his face. He grinned and waved the bundle at his partners It split apart and scattered. Shouting with dismay, the men scrabbled about on their knees, stuffing bills into their pockets. Several vampires jeered and showed their fangs. One of the men pissed himself. The pack roared with laughter.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Tatsu squirmed back into the deeper shadow of the tank. He pressed his dog collar against his throat, and whispered. “Found virus. Twenty or more hostiles. Ukita is here.”

“Sonofabitch. Copy that. ETA five, six minutes tops.” Galloway’s response was broken up.

Kuso
, five minutes was too long. Tatsu squirmed back along the catwalk. The pack was circling the thieves who jumped and skittered like terrified deer about to be eaten alive. Sadomori stood apart, staring at the tableau with a look of disdain.

Headlights flashed at the far end of the street and raced toward the refinery. Too soon for the Hummer. Tatsu’s throat went desert-dry at the sight of the sleek silver Audi pulling up outside the gate. Arisada climbed out of the car.

Scalding hurt filled Tatsu as for the first time in nearly a month, he beheld the one he loved.

Arisada’s gaze swept the scene—the quivering fearful men, the dozen slavering vampires, the smug satisfaction in his Daimyō’s face. He slipped his sword through his sash and strode toward the pack. The stenches of human fear and piss, coppery vampire tang, rotting garbage and old oil assailed him.

Then he caught the merest hint of Tatsu’s scent. His belly clenched.
Shimatta,
what in the name of the Buddha Amida was the boy doing here? He suppressed his reaction and continued his unhurried approach.

A few paces from Sadomori, he stopped and bowed. “
Seisakusha
, you sent for me?”

The Daimyō knew his Primary with an intimacy forged by centuries of fucking him. He immediately sensed that miniscule change in Arisada body. Fear coupled with arousal.

The Daimyō’s nostrils flared, and he peered up into the spider web of steel above. He separated the new, scent of life from the thick smell of blood-hungry vampires and cowering thieves. A youth—battle-ready, sexually aroused. A body filled with anger and grief. He could only be Arisada’s soulmate!

Stark jealousy flashed through Sadomori. His lips lifted in a snarl, fang tips flashing white. He greeted his Primary in a voice ladened with venom. “Saito-san, you show me no respect by arriving late.”

Arisada offered a sketch of a bow. “
Gomen nasai,
Daimyō. I only just received your message.”

“Take charge of this matter for me, Saito-san.” Sadomori nodded at the three frightened men. Relief flooded their faces. “I will deal with your disrespect later.” He knocked Arisada aside with his shoulder as he strode to his waiting Mercedes and tossed the container into the backseat.