The Undead Kama Sutra (23 page)

M
y crew and I
pushed laundry carts filled with fresh linen and towels out of the panel truck. We arranged the carts on the right side of the service bay. The left side of the bay had rows of carts piled with soiled laundry. We hustled those carts into the truck. I had the privilege of pushing a cart heaped with damp towels that reeked of stale perfume and the nastiest body odor I had ever imagined possible from a living human. If rich people thought their money made them smell better than the rest of us, then they ought to get a whiff of this.

Pablo joined two other workers pushing a train of carts with clean laundry out of the bay through the swinging doors into the hotel. I ran up to him and helped shove the last of the carts. We guided the carts down the hall to a storage room and sorted the towels and bed linen onto shelves.

Angelo came by and put me to work running a vacuum cleaner in one of the conference rooms.

I kept reading my watch. Finally it said two
A.M.
Time to move.

I pushed the vacuum cleaner down the hall close to the side exit where I would meet Jolie. I hid the vacuum in a closet and went out the door.

At this time of the morning, anyone moving on the grounds would look suspicious. The guards watching the monitors would be bored and certainly notice me. But in this uniform, I was just another of the workers tending the property.

Outside, I stopped in the blind spot between the video camera and the corner. Where was Jolie?

A Gator drove up the road toward the guardhouse. I took out my contacts and scanned for auras. Other than the two guards in the Gator, nothing.

I stripped out of my uniform and disguise. Underneath I wore black sweats. I rolled the uniform and wig into a ball and stashed it behind a hedge.

Two fifteen. Antoine should be on the way. What about Jolie? She was supposed to be here. Knowing her, I should expect an entrance. Like a meteor crashing. I told her this operation had to be stealthy. We’d get plenty of fireworks before the night was done.

I couldn’t waste more time. I had to get on the roof and scope the grounds. Two guards waited up there. I wouldn’t have a problem dealing with them.

I set my fingers and the toes of my shoes against the wall. I looked up and around again. A light illuminated the side door and another the front corner of the building. The path on the wall above me was in shadow.

I climbed up, as sure-footed as a spider. I stopped short of the roof and listened.

I expected to hear footsteps or conversation. Where were the guards? Why were they so quiet?

I
couldn’t be too careful.
What if the instant I poked my head over the wall, a searchlight nailed me and volleys of machine gun bullets clawed my body to pieces?

I raised my head and looked.

Jolie sat on the prone bodies of the guards piled on top of each other. “Hey there. In another minute I was about to do my nails.” Her aura glowed with triumph. “It’s showtime.” She stood, her lean body clothed in a trim black jogging outfit. She showed me her cell phone and tucked it back into a pocket. “Antoine’s on the way. We got a half hour.”

We surveyed the grounds. Sprinklers on the fairway to the right whooshed. Something heavy splashed in one of the ponds, probably an alligator lunging for its prey. A minute later, the sprinklers to the right fell quiet and the sprinklers
on the left whooshed on. The red auras of tiny, nervous animals flitted underneath the brush.

Jolie and I walked across the roof toward the corner overlooking the annex. We levitated so that our feet barely scraped across the surface.

A video camera was fixed to the corner and swiveled to pan the annex and surrounding area.

“This has to go.” Jolie knelt behind the camera. She grasped the cable and yanked it from the camera housing.

We waited for a moment, to see what happened. The gate to the annex enclosure opened. A golf cart with two guards rolled through.

“That’s your cue,” I whispered. “They will be going through the basement entrance.”

Jolie stepped to the edge of the wall. She dropped and glided down, silent as an owl.

She landed on the grass between the hotel and the annex, where the guards couldn’t see her.

The cart rumbled toward the access ramp. As they turned to drive down the ramp, Jolie bolted around the corner and jumped into the cart behind the guards.

The cart disappeared from view. The door rattled open, then rattled again to close. Jolie was inside. My turn.

The annex roof had two lattice microwave antennas, five dishes pointed upward, and half a dozen whips arranged around a circular dish mounted flush with the roof. This dish sat right over the pedestal in the floor below. What was the purpose of this dish? It didn’t look like a hatch. Was it
an antenna? Did it have something to do with the cylinders inside?

I spotted a large square hatch. From its position along the center of the northern wall I knew it lay over the freight elevator that connected the lab to the lower floors. This was my way inside.

I flexed my legs and leaped for the annex. I spun my arms to keep the momentum. As I approached the roof, I summoned my powers of levitation so that I landed on the roof as softly as a pair of women’s silk panties falling against a carpet.

I continued to levitate, and my feet barely touched the roof as I walked to the hatch.

It was made of steel, with two big hinges and a simple handle. No lock was visible. The hatch must be secured from the inside and rigged to the alarm. I knew the moment I pried the hatch open the circus would start.

Voices carried across the hotel roof. A guard called out: “Tom? Jerry? Why aren’t you guys answering the radio?”

Tom and Jerry? Who else was up there? Woody Woodpecker?

From this angle I couldn’t see the guard, but I could hear his boots creep across the roof.

I grasped the handle of the hatch.

He whispered, “Uh-oh.” Then he shouted, “Command Group, two guards down on the roof. Code 116.”

An electronic horn sounded and red lights flashed throughout the compound.

They know we’re here.

I gave the hatch a mighty tug. The handle bent. I pulled again. Something inside snapped and the hatch swung open.

A red light flashed in my face. The alarm shrieked. The hatch opened to a shaft that dropped to the basement four stories below. A wire dangled from inside the hatch. The guards would know I had come through here.

I floated down the shaft and landed on the edge of the elevator door to the third floor, to plan my next move.

I looked across the shaft and stared into the lens of a video camera. The elevator doors opened behind me. A hand emerged and dropped a grenade.

N
ice move, if I
were human. I swatted the grenade back through the door and slid it closed.

The voices on the other side yelped in terror.

Anticipating the explosion, I braced myself against the jamb of the door and rode out the blast.

The plan had been to get Clayborn first and then come back to this floor and free Carmen from the cylinder. But the guards knew about me and that I was after Carmen. I had to see if she was okay.

I slid the door open and sprang inside. Acrid smoke from the explosion billowed around me. Peltier and Krandall stumbled about, their faces ashen, and dust settled on their black SWAT garb. Surprise and pain rippled through their auras.

I snatched Krandall’s submachine gun from his hands. I
squeezed a burst into his neck and torso. He flopped onto his back. I fired two shots into Peltier and she fell. Krandall had no psychic cloud around his supine body. Peltier’s aura quivered like the flame of a pilot light struggling to stay lit. These two got off lucky, compared to what I could’ve done vampire-style.

A third man wearing SWAT gear stumbled backward from me. He clutched his throat and coughed. I knew the man.

Goodman. He was as good as dead.

The overhead lights flickered, then went dim. The sudden darkness worked in my favor. I had the advantage of night vision, and the loss of power would have also disabled the security system. A couple of seconds later, an electronic hum reverberated through the annex and the lights flicked on again. A generator must have switched on. So much for that advantage.

The humming stopped and the lights went out again. Excellent. Jolie had disabled the annex’s power.

The emergency lights above the door flickered on. I aimed the submachine gun and blasted the lights. Let’s keep it dark.

Goodman stumbled like a drunk. His aura sizzled with confusion and pain. Blood dotted his face. He crashed against a desk and knocked a stack of notebooks to the floor.

Peltier’s aura brightened as she rallied against her wounds. She fumbled for the submachine gun that lay by her side. She lifted her head toward me and struggled to aim the weapon. The laser pointer illuminated and the thin red light slashed through the smoke.

Stubborn, murdering bitch. Taunt the bull and expect the horns. I leveled my submachine gun and squeezed the trigger. The bullets tore the fabric of Peltier’s chest armor and then chewed her pretty face apart.

Goodman’s head jerked from left to right in confusion. Blood clotted his eyes.

The magazine empty, I tossed the submachine gun aside. “In case you’re wondering, your matched set of killers is dead.”

His expression darkened when he recognized my voice. He snatched a Glock pistol from his thigh holster. “You again.”

“Expecting someone else?”

His aura signaled surprise but not fear. Goodman remained cold as steel.

He panned the Glock in my direction.

“Don’t bother,” I said.

Goodman fired anyway. Blinded, he was only wasting ammunition. The bullet punched into the wall.

I crept toward him, moving as silently as a shadow.

Goodman’s breath escaped from his mouth in ragged gasps. His pistol trembled. He wiped the blood from his eyes and squinted at where I’d been.

I smiled at the futility of his efforts. “I’m right here.”

Goodman swung the pistol at me, fired, and missed again.

I slapped the Glock from his hand. My talons sliced his fingers, and the pistol clattered across the floor.

Goodman retracted his wounded hand, cradling it against his chest, and slid against the desk away from me.

I stared into his eyes, the irises gray and dull, the whites bloodshot. They registered nothing.

Blinded, Goodman posed no threat. I would finish him later. My priority was to rescue Carmen from the cylinder.

The computer monitors presented their blank faces. Without power, the machines lay dormant.

The twenty capsules were still here, sixteen on the floor and four on the pedestal. But I didn’t see any auras. My
kundalini noir
stiffened in alarm. I rushed to the closest capsule and looked inside. The padding showed the form where a human would be. It was empty.

I dashed down the rows. All were empty. I bounded onto the pedestal and checked out the rest of the cylinders. They were all empty. I pressed my face to the glass and looked up and down, as if there was another place in the capsule to hide a body.

Despairing and then enraged, I grabbed the sides of the capsule. It remained fixed in place. I might as well have tried shaking a mountain.

I turned toward Goodman and shouted: “Where is she?”

Goodman’s aura brightened with defiance. “You mean your friend, the other freak?”

“Where is she?” I grabbed a desk and flung it at Goodman. The desk whirled through the air, the drawers opening and spilling pens and papers. The desk crashed against the wall beside Goodman.

His aura flashed with fright. He jumped, lost his balance on the floor debris, and staggered back to his feet. His aura dimmed to a fearful glow. Good, the bastard needed to be afraid of me.

His face searched for me. “Clayborn took her. And the others.”

“Where?”

“Away from here.”

“Goodman, I’m way beyond pissed off. Give me a straight answer. Now.”

“Clayborn sent the women up there.” He pointed to the sky with his thumb.

“You mean outer space?” The hairs stood on my arms. I didn’t want to know the answer.

Goodman replied, “Of course.”

The aliens. This had grown worse beyond belief. “When?”

“Yesterday. Right after you got away from us.”

“How?”

“Using more of that alien hocus-pocus.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, you stupid fucking bastard, that I don’t know and I don’t care. Clayborn doesn’t share everything with us. I don’t trust him but that’s not my job. I only follow orders, like I’ve done my entire life.”

“How do I get Carmen back?”

“My guess is that you hitch a ride to Pluto and start there.” Goodman straightened and squared his shoulders. He chuck
led. “In other words, Felix, go back to your home planet and fuck yourself.”

I stepped in front of Goodman. I grasped his upper arms and held him tight. He squirmed to escape but my grip was like iron.

“Goodman, listen to me. I got news for you. I am on my home planet.” I stared into his eyes, the whites now gray and marred with clots of red. His irises dilated in the effort to focus on me. I gave him an ultra dose of hypnosis, and still nothing.

“I’m no alien. In fact, I’m a veteran and every month I collect a disability check for what happened to me in Iraq.”

He squirmed again.

“Goodman, do you believe in the supernatural? You should.”

“What the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you to die knowing the truth. I am a vampire.”

Goodman shook and howled. His spit splattered on my face. “Vampire. Alien. I don’t give a shit.”

I wrapped my arms around him and nudged his head aside with mine. He smelled of burned ammunition and explosive, sweat, and my favorite, raw fear. My fangs rasped against the nubby beard growing from his throat.

I sank my fangs into his flesh. His blood spurted into my mouth, a delicious male nectar flavored with testosterone and adrenaline from his terror.

I pumped enzymes to hasten the healing process and hide my marks. Then I stopped the other enzymes that deadened pain. I’d kill him the way Carmen would have, al dente.

Goodman howled in agony. He wrestled to get free. His face and neck became livid and red. The tendons pressed against the inside of his throat. His hands clutched my side and his boots thumped against my shins.

I let him go and he crumbled to the floor, grasping his throat. He retched and convulsed. Drool seeped between his teeth, over his lower lip, and down his chin. Pain surged through his aura, the penumbra becoming as turbulent as waves in a storm.

He dropped to his side, still retching. His eyes bugged out from their sockets, big as peeled eggs. Blood dribbled from his ears and tear ducts. His legs kicked and his back arched. His aura flashed and dimmed, fading until it disappeared. His corpse lay with his limbs splayed in a death dance.

Goodman was dead, yet I felt empty, unsatisfied. Another death on my slate and what had I accomplished? My friend Carmen was still on her way to another solar system.

I grabbed a desk and hurled it against the computers.

“Where is she?” I screamed at no one. I seized another desk and continued my rampage through the lab, wrecking as much as I could to vent my fury.