Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) (48 page)

“Jude Barrett.”

“Sure, and I’m Kate Middleton. Shall I give the queen your regards?”

She was spunky like Caro.

“We need to talk quietly so the camera won’t hear,” he whispered. “How is your mother? Is she safe?.”

“She’s fine.” Vivi chopped her hand in the air, as if indicating the subject was closed. Then she drew her knees to her chin. “How do you know my mom? Who are you really? One of those prophecy chumps?”

“No, of course not. I did everything I could to protect you from them. Oh, Meep. How can I convince you?”

“You can’t.” Her gaze flicked over him. “And don’t call me Meep.”

The backs of his eyes prickled. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. You were three when I left for Gabon. You had brown pigtails.”

“Why are you pretending to be my dad?”

He leaned closer. “Because I
am.
How can you explain the brown bits in your iris?”

Vivi shrugged.

“I’m your father, truly I am.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You’re a vampire. I can smell it on you.”

“I’m sure your mother explained.”

Vivi looked away.

“She did it to save my life,” he said.

She gave him a side-eye glance. “Why are you in a wheelchair?”

“I got hurt in Gabon.”

“But you’re a vampire. Why haven’t you healed?”

“We’ll discuss that later,” he said.

“I’m through talking.” Vivi put her hands over her ears.

How can I protect my daughter?
The issue wasn’t her skepticism. It was her safety. Mustafa would keep her alive until a serum was made from her blood. Jude could delay that process, but he was worried about something else. Level 2 containment was staffed by men, humans and vampires who seldom saw a woman. All of those wankers would have access to Vivi’s room. His daughter would be brutalized.

“I know you don’t want to talk,” Jude said. “But I’m curious. Does Raphael still have that bad-natured dog?”

Vivi lowered her hands. “What’s the dog’s name?”

“Arrapato. It means horny.”

“Anybody could have told you that.” Vivi looked past him, toward the door, then met his gaze.

“Your grandmother gave the dog to Raphael a long time ago,” Jude said.

Vivi gave him a searching look. “If you were my dad, you would’ve called me and Mom a long time ago.”

“Oh, Meep. I wanted to. I tried to escape from Gabon, but Mustafa’s men shot me in the back and brought me to South Africa. I’ve been his prisoner all these years. No outside communication was allowed.”

“Why would he want you?”

“I’m a biochemist. He forced me to work in his lab.”

She looked at the door again.

He followed her gaze. “Forget it, Meep. You can’t escape. You won’t make it to the elevator. They’ll catch you.”

She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m tired. That stupid medicine is making me woozy.”

Jude’s jaw tightened. They were drugging her? Goddamn their souls to hell. “Don’t take anything they give you. Spit it in your food.”

“They stuck me with a needle,” she said.

A burst of knocking came from the door. From the other side, Gabir called, “Thirty seconds, Dr. Barrett.”

Jude’s throat clenched. “Vivi, don’t let Mustafa trick you. Don’t mention your mother. He’s smart and egotistical. Get him to talk about himself.”

She shrugged.

The door opened, and Gabir appeared in the doorway.

“Be a brave girl,” Jude told her. “We’ll talk soon.”

She didn’t reply. As he wheeled out of her room, she called, “Wait.”

He swiveled the chair around, tires scraping over the tile. “Yes?”

“Before I was born, my mom saw something in a cave,” Vivi said. “Do you know what she saw?”

She’s almost over the shock
, he thought.
Now she’s starting to analyze what I’ve said.

“Let’s go,” Gabir called, stamping his feet.

Jude kept staring at Vivi. “We were in the Gilf Kebir. We saw cave paintings.”

“Of what?”

“Mermaids.” His voice sounded far away, as if it had come from that cave.

Vivi’s lips clamped together. Just before she turned away, he saw tears pooling in her eyes.

“Time’s up, Doc,” Gabir said.

PATIENT CONTAINMENT AREA—LEVEL 2

AL-DÎN COMPOUND

SUTHERLAND, SOUTH AFRICA

After Dr. Barrett left Vivi’s room, a redheaded guy in scrubs walked in, carrying a breakfast tray. Earphones dangled around his neck, music blaring out. Vivi recognized the music. Snow Patrol was singing “Run.”

Jeez, what an oldie.

“Good morning,” he said. As he put the tray on her bed, his body gave off a gust of acetone. Vivi darted a glance. He looked too young to be a vampire. And how had he ended up in this underground prison?

He held out a tiny white paper cup. “Here’s your meds.”

“What kind are they?” she asked.

“Benzos. They’ll calm you down.”

She took the cup, and two blue pills skated on the
bottom. The guy was watching her. He had pimples and green eyes.

“How long have you been a vampire?” she asked.

“Five years.”

“Then you know Dr. Barrett.”

“I guess.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Nothing to tell. He keeps to himself. I gotta get back to work. Take your meds.”

Vivi dumped the pills into her mouth and worked them under her tongue. Then she lifted the water glass and pretended to take a sip.

The guy glanced into the empty cup and walked out of her room.

Vivi looked up at the camera. How would she spit out the pills if Mustafa’s spies were watching? Ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth, she reached for her tray. She brought a teacup to her lips and spat out the pills.

Is Dr. Barrett really my dad?
she thought. She peered into the cup, as if the answers could be found in the melting blue pills. Bit by bit, the liquid took them apart. If a mighty benzo could be dissolved by something as ordinary as tea, then she shouldn’t give up hope.

Be water, Vivi.

BIOMEDICAL UNIT—LEVEL 3

DORMITORY C

AL-DÎN COMPOUND

That afternoon Jude wheeled into Dormitory C. He was the only resident. The others were dead.

He guided his chair past a row of empty beds. As he touched each mattress, he whispered a name.

“Aiken, Turner, Griffin, Randolph, Yang.”

Aside from Dr. Hazan, who was curiously exempt from Mustafa’s wrath, Jude was the last scientist in the Al-Dîn compound. The moment the daylight serum was finished, his cot would be just as empty as the others, stripped and sanitized, his remains thrown into the incinerator—or worse.

How had Mustafa made the connection between Vivi and the antibodies? Jude had spent the last decade shifting the focus of his research from the antibodies to the bats’
daylight gene. He’d skewed results, contaminated the cell cultures, and sent countless mice to early graves.

Never mind how Mustafa found out. She’s here, and I’ve got to find a way to save her.

Ever since he’d returned from Vivi’s room, he’d worked on an escape plan. First, he would continue to delay the research. That would buy time. Then he’d have to find a way to put Vivi in the air duct. When she was safely inside, he could release the bats from their chamber. They would take out Mustafa, his staff, and the mercenaries. Then Vivi could climb up to the ground level, crawl out, and run like bloody hell. He wouldn’t come out of this alive, but he could save her.

Where is Caro?
Jude’s throat ached. Vivi had said she was alive, but where had she been during the kidnapping? How did Vivi know she was safe?

His bed stood in the corner, a trapeze bar dangling over the mattress. He steered the chair toward it and angled next to his night table, which was piled with books and papers. He put on the brake, then leaned down and raised the metal footrest. One at a time, he lifted his feet to the floor. He didn’t bother to hide his movements from the security camera. Months ago, before Dr. Yang had died, he’d distorted the lens with Vaseline, and no one from central command had shown up to investigate.

Jude slid his feet across the floor, his toes soaking in the coldness of the tiles. Numb patches were still scattered on the ball of his left foot, but his right leg was strong. He gripped the sides of the chair and stood.

Three seconds went by. Five seconds. Ten. His knees wobbled, and he lunged for the trapeze bar. He caught
it, and tendons bulged in his forearms. He worked out every morning in the gym, and his upper body had never been stronger. He eased himself onto the bed, then let go of the bar and stared at his hands.

These are my only weapons
, he thought.

He’d almost gotten his legs back, and ironically Mustafa had been responsible.

Ten years ago, shortly after Jude had arrived in Sutherland, the Turk’s leukemia had gone into a T-cell blast crisis, signaling the end-stage of the disease. Tatiana flew to Beijing and kidnapped Dr. Yang, a human geneticist, and ordered him to perform gene therapy.

Yang had caused a disturbance when he’d arrived at the compound. His IQ was 180, and he used his intelligence as a tool of chaos. He was proud and feisty, prone to temper tantrums. Few scientists on Level 3 had dared to complain about their working conditions. If they didn’t cooperate, they were threatened with beatings, water-boarding, isolation, and starvation. The men always became docile after they realized that harm would befall their families.

This leverage didn’t work on Yang. He complained about the frigid temperature, the reddish light, the Turkish food, the hardness of his mattress. He set off the fire alarm, opened the mice cages, and turned on the water valves in the restroom; it took a week to pump out the water. Every night he picked the lock to the employee’s lounge, where soft drinks and bottled blood were dispensed in a small Coca-Cola machine, and he stole Fanta, Sprite, and Coke, passing over the Coke Vanilla, his least favorite. On his last raid, he saw that the racks had been
refilled with blood. Even the vanilla cans were gone. He leaped onto the machine and rocked it back and forth until it collapsed on top of him. He’d spent a week in the infirmary with a broken collarbone.

He’d become a hero to Jude and the other scientists. When Yang eventually wandered into the main lab in the Biomedical Unit, everyone applauded. After a cursory inventory, he sent hourly memos to Mustafa, demanding and receiving experimental drugs and world-class equipment. Jude had never been talkative, but once he’d gotten to know Yang, everything rushed out: Caro, Meep, São Tomé, Gabon, the bats, the toothed fish, Tatiana, the monoclonal antibodies, his escape, his paralysis, his determination to protect his daughter, and his prevarication with the research. He even told him about the experiments he’d done during his human years. He’d discovered R-99, the Resurrection Gene, which exists in the immortals’ unique stem cells. True, his research had involved mice, but it had almost gotten him killed.

Yang was less revealing. He had once played polo, but he’d become a workaholic. He lived in a luxury high-rise apartment and drove a BMW. His wife, Ji Li, had been six months pregnant with their child, a son, when Tatiana and her team had shown up at Yang’s lab in Beijing.

“Maybe if I save the Turk, I can go home,” he said.

“They won’t let you,” Jude said.

“Yes, they will,” Yang said. “You will see.”

They settled down to work, assembled the cutting-edge equipment, and reversed Mustafa’s blast crisis. In return, Yang expected a one-way ticket to Beijing, but he
was ordered to find a cure for the Turk’s leukemia, which kept edging toward the end stage.

Yang retaliated. His weekly lab reports were long and obtuse, crammed with arcane terminology and insulting descriptions of Mustafa’s blood and bone marrow. Twice, the guards put the doctor in solitary confinement. The hijinks resumed. Yang went through his repertoire—grievances, floods, fire alarms, mice running along the walls—but the results did not please him, so he shut down the compound’s computer network with the ILoveYou virus. Meanwhile, Jude kept working with monoclonal antibodies, distorting the research.