Thirst No. 1 Read online

  “This special cell where Joel is being held—how does the door to it open?”

  “There is a button on a control panel just outside the cell. Push it and the door swings aside. But it is a long way from my car trunk to that button. It is a longer way back outside the compound. To escape with your friend, you’ll have to become invisible.”

  I nod. “We can go over, point by point, the security of the camp. But for now, answer my earlier question. Is there another vampire in the place?”

  He hesitates, lowers his head. “Yes.”

  “How long has he been there? A month?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he captured in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes. He’s a black youth. He lived in South Central L.A. before he was changed.” Andy looks up. “But he never said anything about an Eddie. The person who changed him was someone else. I forget the name right now.”

  My theory was correct. “That other person was changed by Eddie. Trust me—I know the ultimate source of this other vampire. Where is he located in relation to Joel?”

  “In the cell beside Joel’s. But he’s virtually comatose. He has the same disease as your friend—cramps and fever.” Andy shakes his head. “We didn’t know what to do for him. He never asked for blood.”

  “Your people must have captured him right after he was changed. No one told him what he is now.” It isn’t pleasant to contemplate the pain this poor soul is going through. “I’ll have to take him out as well.”

  “You’ll have to carry him then.”

  “I can do that, if I have to.”

  Andy studies me. “You say you are so old. That must mean you’re smarter than we short-lived mortals. If you are, you must know how the odds are stacked against you.”

  “I have always managed to beat the odds. Look how well I do at the dice tables.”

  “You will probably die if you do this.”

  “I’m not afraid to die.”

  He is impressed. “You really aren’t a monster. You’re much braver than I am.”

  I take his hand. “I was wrong a minute ago when I said your helping me would not put you at risk. It will take a brave man to sneak me inside the compound in the trunk of his car.”

  He squeezes my hand. “What’s your real name?”

  “Sita.” I add. “Few people have known me by that name.”

  He touches my red hair. “I was wrong only to say your blood scares me. It fascinates me as well.” He pauses and a sly grin crosses his face. “Sex is not enough to make me immortal?”

  “It hasn’t worked in the past. But these days are filled with mysterious portents.” An unexpected warmth for him flows over me. His eyes—they have me hypnotized, with their uncanny depth, their gentle kindness. Smiling, I lean over and hug him and whisper in his ear, “The dawn is at hand. In ancient times, it was considered a time of transformation, of alchemy. I’ll stay with you, for now.” I pause. “Who knows what may happen?”

  TWELVE

  I dream a dream I’ve had before. A dream that seems to go on forever. It takes place in eternity, at least, my idea of such a place.

  I stand on a vast grassy plain with a few gently sloping hills in the far distance. It is night, yet the sky is bright. There is no sun, but a hundred blue stars blaze overhead, shimmering in a long nebulous river. The place feels familiar to me. The air is warm, saturated with sweet aromas. Miles away a large number of people walk into a vessel—a violet-colored spaceship of gigantic proportions. The vessel shines from the inside with divine radiance, almost blinding in its brilliance. I know it is about to depart and that I am supposed to be on it. Yet I cannot leave until I have finished speaking with Lord Krishna.

  He stands beside me on the wide plain, his gold flute in his right hand, a red lotus flower in his left. We both have on long blue gowns. He wears an exquisite jewel around his neck—the Kaustubha gem, in which the destiny of every soul can be seen. He stares up at the sky, waiting for me to speak. But I can not remember what we were discussing.

  “My Lord,” I whisper. “I feel lost.”

  His eyes remain fixed on the stars. “You feel separate from me.”

  “Yes. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to go to earth.”

  “No. You misunderstand. You are not lost. The entire creation belongs to me—it is a part of me. How can you be lost? Your feeling of separation gives rise to your confusion.” He glances my way, finally, his long black hair blowing in the soft wind. The stars shimmer in the depths of his dark eyes. The entire creation is there. His smile is kind, the feeling of love that pours from him overwhelming. “You have already been to earth. You are home now.”

  “Is this possible?” I whisper, straining to remember. Faint recollections of being on earth come to me. I recall a husband, a daughter—I can see her smile. Yet a dark film covers them. I view them from a peculiar perspective, from a mind I can scarcely believe is connected to me. In front of them many centuries stretch out, choked with endless days and nights, suffering people, all awash in blood. Blood that I have spilled. I have to force the question from my lips. “What did I do on earth, my Lord?”

  “You wanted to be different—you were different. It doesn’t matter. This creation is a stage, and we all play roles as heroes and villains alike. It is all maya—illusion.”

  “But did I—sin?”

  My question amuses him. “It is not possible.”

  I glance toward the waiting vessel. It is almost full. “Then I don’t have to leave you?”

  He laughs. “Sita. You have not heard me. You cannot leave me. I am always with you, even when you think you are on earth.” He changes his tone—he becomes more of a friend than a master. “Would you like to hear a story?”

  I have to smile, although I am more confused than ever.

  “Yes, my Lord,” I say.

  He considers. “There was once a fisherman and his wife, who lived in a small town by the ocean. Every day the fisherman would go out to sea in his boat, and his wife would stay behind and care for the house. Their life was simple, but happy. They loved each other very much.

  “The wife had only one complaint about her husband—he would eat only fish. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he would eat only what he caught. It didn’t matter what she cooked and baked: bread or pastries, rice or potatoes—he would have none of it. Fish was his food, he said, and that was the way it had to be. From an early age, he had been this way, he had taken a vow his wife could not understand.

  “It came to pass one day that his wife finally got fed up with his limited diet. She decided to trick him, to mix a piece of cooked lamb in with his fish. She did this cleverly, so that from the outside the fish looked as if it had come straight from the sea. But hidden beneath the scales of the fish was the red meat. When he returned home that evening and sat down at the table, the fish was waiting for him.

  “At first he ate his meal with great relish, noticing nothing amiss. His wife sat beside him, eating the same food. But when he was halfway through, he began to cough and choke. He couldn’t catch his breath. It was only then he smelled something odd on his plate. He turned to his wife, eyes blazing with anger.

  “‘What have you done?’ he demanded. ‘What is in this fish?’

  “The wife sat back, scared. ‘Only a little lamb. I thought you might enjoy the change.’

  “At these words the fisherman wiped the plate from the table and onto the floor. His anger knew no bounds. Still, he could not catch his breath. It was as if the lamb had caught in his windpipe and refused to shake loose.

  “‘You’ve poisoned me!’ he cried. ‘My own wife has poisoned me!’

  “‘No! I only wanted to feed you something different.’ She stood and slapped him on the back, but it did not help. ‘Why are you choking like this?’

  “The fisherman fell onto the floor, turning blue. ‘Don’t you know?’ he gasped. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’

  “‘You are my husband,’ the wife cried, kne
eling beside him.

  “‘I am . . . ,’ the fisherman whispered. ‘I am what I am.’

  “Those were his last words. The fisherman died, and as he did, his body changed. His legs turned into a large flipper. His skin became covered with silver scales. His face bulged out and his eyes became blank and cold. Because, you see, he was not a person. He was a fish, which is what he had been all along. As a big fish, he could eat only smaller fish. Everything else was poison to him.” Krishna paused. “Do you understand, Sita?”

  “No, my Lord.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You are what you are. I am what I am. We are the same—when you take the time to remember me.” Krishna raises his flute to his lips. “Would you like to hear a song?”

  “Very much, my Lord.”

  “Close your eyes, listen closely. The song is always the same, Sita. But it is always changing, too. That is the mystery, that is the paradox. The truth is always simpler than you can imagine.”

  I close my eyes and Lord Krishna begins to play his magical flute. For a time, outside of time, that is all that matters. The music of his enchanted notes floats on a wind that blows from the heart of the galaxy. Overhead the stars shine down on us as the universe slowly revolves and the ages pass. I do not need to see my Lord to know that he is present everywhere. I do not need to touch him to feel his hand on my heart. I do not need anything, except his love. After a while, that is all there is—his divine love pouring through the center of my divine being. Truly, we are one and the same.

  THIRTEEN

  I lie flat on my back in the trunk of Andy’s car. My hearing is acute—up ahead I hear the noises of the compound, the guards talking at the gate. The blackness in the trunk is not totally dark to me. I clearly see the white lab coat I have donned, the fake security badge pinned to my breast pocket. The badge is an old one of Andy’s. I have cleverly put my picture over his, and changed the name. I am Lieutenant Lara Adams, Ph.D., a microbiologist on loan from the Pentagon. Andy says a large number of scientists have arrived from Back East. My makeup makes me look older. I should be able to blend in.

  We stop at the security gate. I hear Andy speak to the guards.

  “Another long night, Harry?” Andy asks.

  “Looks like it,” the guard replies. “Are you working till dawn?”

  “Close. This night shift is a bear—I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.” Andy hands something to the guard, a pass that must be electronically scanned. He has to have one to leave the compound as well. I have one in my back pocket. Andy continues in a natural voice, “I just wish I could do a little better at the tables, and quit this stupid job.”

  “I hear you,” the guard says. “How’s your luck been holding out?”

  “I won a couple of grand last night.”

  The guard laughs. “Yeah, but how much did you lose?”

  Andy laughs with him. “Three grand!”

  The guard hands the pass back. “Have a good night. Don’t piss off the man.”

  I hear Andy nod. “It’s a little late for that.”

  We drive into the compound. Andy has promised he’ll park between two sheds, out of sight of the manned towers. From my earlier examination of the place, I am familiar with the spot. As the car moves, I feel confident we are heading straight for it. Especially when Andy turns to the left, stops, and turns off the engine. He climbs out of his car, shutting the door behind him, and walks away. I listen to his steps as he enters the main lab. So far so good.

  I pop open the trunk and carefully peer out.

  The car sits in shadow. No one is around. After slipping out of the car, I silently close the trunk. I smooth my lab coat over my slim body, adjust my red hair. My thick glasses make me look almost nerdy but smart.

  “Lara Adams from Back East,” I whisper. Back East means the Pentagon, Andy said. They never called the place by name.

  “You have to get to the general. You have to control him.”

  Seymour’s advice remains with me. Resisting the temptation to follow Andy into the main lab—where I know Joel is being held captive—I turn instead in the direction of a small house located behind the lab. This is the general’s private quarters. I move onto his front steps, then pause. I don’t press the doorbell; I know without knocking that there is no one at home. Andy warned me of this. In fact, he said the general was seldom at home. Andy wants me to get Joel and get the hell out of the place, as quickly as I can. He doesn’t, of course, know I need to control the general in order to blow the place up. But I have warned him that when the fireworks start, he should get out of the compound as quickly as possible.

  For a moment, I stand undecided.

  “The general knows you’ll come for Joel.”

  Seymour is wise, but I still think he overestimates the intelligence of the man. For example, I tell myself, look how easily I entered the compound. The general couldn’t know that I was on my way. Certainly, I can’t search the entire compound for him.

  I decide to have a peek at Joel. After seeing exactly where he is, I’ll be in a better position to figure out what to do next. I head back to the front entrance of the lab, where Andy disappeared.

  The interior of the lab is a complex maze of halls and offices. It seems clear the real work of dissecting and analyzing is done downstairs. Men and women in lab coats mill about. There is an occasional armed soldier. No one pays any attention to me. Listening for an elevator, I hear the sound of people going up and down steps. I prefer a stairway to an elevator. The latter can be a death trap for an invading vampire.

  I find the stairs and go down a couple of flights. Andy told me Joel is being held two stories below the surface, and that his cell is at the east end of the building, farthest from the main gate. On this lower floor there are fewer people. They speak in soft tones. Moving like the sharp professional I’m supposed to be, I make my way down a narrow hall toward the rear of the building. Faintly, I smell Joel’s scent. But I cannot hear his heart beating, his breathing. The walls of his cell must be thick. The scent is my compass and I follow it carefully, sensitive to the way it is spread by the ventilation ducts, the passage of people.

  I come to a security center, equipped with monitors and two armed soldiers. I hear everything inside the closed room. Cracking the door, I peer inside and see Joel on one of the screens. He sits in the corner of a brightly lit cage, pinned to the corner by a metallic wrist chain.

  I do not see another vampire on a separate monitor. Odd.

  I close the door and knock. One of the guards answers.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Yes. My name is Dr. Lara Adams.” I nod to Joel on the screen. “I am here to talk to our patient.”

  The guard glances at his buddy, back to me. “You mean, over the speaker, right?”

  “I would prefer to talk to him in person,” I say.

  The guard shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but no one talks to the—to the patient directly. Only over the speaker.” He pauses, glances at my badge, my breasts. Boys will be boys. “Who gave you clearance to interview this guy?”

  “General Havor.”

  The guy raises an eyebrow. “He told you himself?”

  “Yes. You can check with him if you like.” I nod to the interior of the room. “May I come in?”

  “Yes.” The guard stands aside. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Dr. Lara Adams.” I gesture to the monitor. “I see this guy but where is he really? Nearby?”

  “He’s just around the corner,” the other guard answers, while his buddy reaches for the phone. “He’s in a box so thick an atomic bomb couldn’t blast through it.”

  “Oh,” I say. That is useful information.

  My hands lash out, my fingers cutting the air like knives.

  Both guards crumple on the floor, unconscious, not dead.

  I hang up the phone. Around the corner I go.

  I push the large red button to open the cage.
<
br />   There is a hiss of air. A door as thick as a man’s body swings aside.

  “Joel,” I cry softly, seeing him huddled in the corner, chained to the wall, burning like a dying coal as he shakes. I rush toward him. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “Sita,” he gasps. “Don’t!”

  The door slams shut at my back. Locking me in.

  Overhead, a TV monitor comes to life.

  Andy stares down at me. Behind him stands the cruel-faced General Havor, wearing a barely disguised smirk. Yet there is no joy in Andy’s expression as he slowly shakes his head and sighs. It is strange, but it is only then that I see my adversary clearly. The many years have reshapen his face, dulled his eyes, bruised his soft voice. Yet it is no excuse, not for a vampire as supposedly careful as I am. Right from the start I should have known who it was I was dealing with.

  “Sita,” he says sadly with a faint Italian accent. “E’passato tanto tempo dall’ Inquisizione.”

  “Sita. It’s been a long time since the Inquisition.”

  In a single horrifying instant, I understand everything.

  “Arturo,” I whisper.

  FOURTEEN

  Several hours have elapsed since my capture. I have spent the majority of it sitting on the floor with my eyes closed, like a meditating yogi. But I enjoy no blissful nirvana. Inside, I seethe with rage: at General Havor, at Arturo, and most of all at myself. Arturo left signs for me everywhere, and I missed them all. Again and again my mind forces me to review the list.

  1. When Joel was captured, he was brought before Andy. It was Andy who confirmed the special nature of Joel to General Havor. But rather than stay to examine Joel, Andy left the compound and went gambling. What an odd thing to do right after the catch of the century! Of course Andy was not out for fun. He knew I would be watching. He knew I could be lured in.