Bloodlines (The Guardian of Empire City Book 1)

by Peter Hartog

  Someone with very cold hands shook my arm.

  “Doc,” Leyla cried. “Wake up!”

  “Go away,” I groaned, swatting feebly at Leyla.

  I lay face-first on a king-sized bed. Whoever had dumped my carcass there left me clothed.

  Lucky them.

  “C’mon, lazy bones!” She smacked my head with a pillow.

  I rolled onto my back and cracked open an eye. A boring, off-white hotel ceiling greeted me. I turned my head and regarded Leyla, who sat on the edge of the bed with her white hair tied in a ponytail. She wore a blue and white floral-patterned halter top, a black leather miniskirt and glossy thigh-high boots. We must’ve stopped at Abner’s on our way to wherever here was. The ensemble somehow made her appear younger, and more fragile.

  “You all right?” she asked in concern, noting my expression. With a start, I realized I wasn’t staring at her, but through her. “Who were you talking to?”

  “Uh, nobody,” I mumbled. “Was just a dream. Just give me a minute.”

  Behind her, I spotted an open doorway leading into a furnished sitting room. I caught the pleasant scent of brewed amaretto coffee with a hint of cinnamon. That was motivation enough for me. I washed up, then followed my nose from the bedroom.

  We were in a posh executive suite with a central sitting area and small kitchenette. I counted two more bedrooms across from the one I’d occupied, plus a full bar, complete with holo-entertainment center, another bathroom and a balcony overlooking the city. A full-length tinted window filled one wall, with a glass double door at its center. Colorful lights from holo-billboards and other buildings glinted outside.

  Elegant paintings decorated the walls consisting of surrealistic rip-offs, leaving the mind to decipher their hidden meanings. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling overhead, glistening as if freshly-cleaned.

  Besim rose from one of the sofas and handed me a cup, napkin and saucer. She was dressed in a loose violet blouse and a green and orange peasant skirt with a matching scarf around her neck. I also noticed she’d reapplied her makeup and removed the handkerchief from around her head. With her hair dry and free from the mist and rain, the Vellan almost looked human.

  I thanked her and plopped down in an adjoining sofa, savoring the aroma. Several plates of fruit, some sandwiches, and all manner of junk food were spread on the table. It was clear who’d done the ordering. I slid a turkey sandwich on rye closer to me and scooped a few chips and a pickle on my plate.

  “Nice place,” I remarked between mouthfuls of sandwich. “Where are we?”

  “The Lincoln Continental Hotel,” Besim replied casually. “I own the penthouse suite. It is useful for private meetings and other social engagements.”

  “About time you got up, Goldilocks,” Deacon said from the room’s virtual workstation, glaring at me with impatience. His lank brown hair looked unwashed, although he’d changed into a clean navy t-shirt and blue jeans.

  I downed half the coffee in one gulp before responding.

  “What time is it?” I yawned.

  “It’s Wednesday, Doc,” Leyla answered. “A little after seven.”

  “In the evening?” I sputtered.

  “Yeah, and you snore something awful,” Deacon growled, gesturing disdainfully at Besim and Leyla. “I wanted to wake you sooner, just to shut you the hell up, but the mother hens overruled me.”

  Nonplussed, I finished the coffee, found the beverage dispenser, and poured myself another cup. The dark liquid’s magic flowed through my veins, energizing me. The conversation with my subconscious (or whatever the hell it was) faded, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste that I drowned with a pull from my cup.

  “We heard back from Leyla’s ‘friend,’” Deacon continued, nodding at Leyla.

  “He’s not a friend, he’s a guy,” she responded primly, sitting down on the coffee table. “There’s a difference.”

  Deacon waved her comment away with a mutter. She looked at me, ignoring him.

  “He said the parts came from more than two dozen different electronics manufacturers, so there’s no way to pinpoint who made the bug.”

  “There’s a surprise,” I sighed, slouching into the cushions. “We’d have to investigate all of them, but we can’t spare the time or resources.”

  “True, but there’s something else we can do instead,” Leyla said. “Deacon and I spent the last few hours working on a tracking protocol. We think we can tap into their signal and trace it back to its source!”

  I sat up, nearly spilling my coffee.

  “That’s brilliant!” I exclaimed. “What are we waiting for?”

  “Keep your pants on, Holliday,” Deacon warned. “It ain’t as easy as it sounds. Given the level of tech, I reckon the signal gets bounced around a dozen or more satellites, not to mention any other ghosts or traps lying in wait for people like us trying to do this kind of thing.”

  “And it doesn’t work fast,” Leyla added. “Deacon showed me how to alter the search scripts I use so the program is harder to detect. The program is very deliberate and methodical, inching its way along the virtual highway so as not to arouse suspicion. It pokes at any defenses until it finds a weak point, and then exploits it. That way, if our bad guys have sniffers, they shouldn’t catch our bug.”

  “Is that anything like a fluffer?” I asked innocently.

  “You’re sick.” She swatted my leg with a pillow. “No, it’s just another word for a watchdog or sentry program. Most networks have their own protections to safeguard against unlawful entry. The rich and paranoid employ sniffers because they’re like virtual bloodhounds and are good at tracking unauthorized hacking code. If their networks are ever attacked, they deploy countermeasures like sniffers and Cy-trackers to follow the intruder code back to the source.”

  “But they ain’t infallible,” Deacon added, giving me a calculating look. “As head of Saranda’s security, we’ve been on the receiving end of them fuckers from time to time.”

  I glanced from Deacon to Besim.

  “You’ve hacked other networks?”

  “I engage in business with individuals whose global interests contain very sensitive data,” the consultant explained. “I have built a great deal of equity with them, thanks in no small part to Deacon’s efficacy. My office and laboratory are safe havens as a result, protected from satellite intrusion and other prying eyes.”

  “So, you’ve hacked other networks,” I repeated.

  “Damn straight,” Deacon nodded with pride. “It’s either them or us. I prefer us.”

  “Who am I to judge?” I chuckled, finishing my coffee.

  “I’ve spent a shit-ton of time setting up a cloaking system to protect Saranda’s interests,” Deacon continued. “It didn’t take much to alter Leyla’s little tracking program by adding one of my own watchdogs to home in on the signal.”

  “In theory, it should work,” Leyla added.

  “Oh, it’ll work darlin’,” Deacon gave Leyla a wolfish grin. “Ain’t nobody can hide from me once I set my sights on ‘em.”

  “How long will it take?” I placed the coffee cup and saucer on the end table.

  “Probably an hour to finish altering the code, then maybe two or three more for the search program to do its thing,” Deacon answered. “Depends on how far they’ve bounced the signal. In the meantime, there’s something else you need to see.”

  Intrigued, I walked over to the virtual workstation. Several holo-screens filled with text floated above it.

  “What’s all this?” I asked, leaning closer to get a better look.

  “That’s from the micro-drive you found.” Deacon pointed at the screens.

  “When did I find a micro-drive?” I did a double take.

  “When you picked up that cat,” he grinned. “It was hidden on the collar you filched.”

  I turned back to Leyla.

  “It’s my fault.” She flushed, spreading her hands in a helpless gesture. “I watched you take off Oliver�
��s collar and put it in your coat pocket. You passed out before I could ask about it. When I took a closer look, I noticed the charm with Oliver’s name was big, like a bracelet. I poked at it, found the hidden catch, and out popped the micro-drive.”

  “What’s on the drive?” I asked, turning my attention back to the screens.

  “The dead girl’s diary,” Deacon replied. “Seems she’d discovered she was being watched too.”

  Chapter 17

  “Some weird shit’s going on, Holliday.” Deacon pointed at one window set aside from the others.

  I pulled it to the forefront, shunting the others behind it, and activated the feed. A moment later, Vanessa’s face appeared with the eggshell white of her home office as the backdrop.

  The luster of her long red hair struck me first. It shone with a vibrancy so unlike the dull and faded corpse I’d seen earlier, silent and still in death. Her eyes were gray-green and clear, the color of springtime. She spoke in a pleasant, husky contralto, and her face was expressive and lively. Seeing her like that reminded me of something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Vanessa’s first few entries ran like a typical diary. She chattered about work, a couple of boring dates that didn’t go anywhere, her opinions on art, her cat, wine, music, politics, and her neighbors. However, as the diary progressed, I noticed worry lines forming around her eyes, and her customary vivaciousness disappeared.

  That’s when it got interesting.

  “It’s July 10th, and last night I had a very strange dream. I’m lying on a table, and the lights were in my eyes, so it was hard to see. Then two people appeared, a man and woman, and they were wearing blue surgical clothes with white masks. The man had gold-rimmed glasses because they reflected the light. Anyway, they hovered over me, and it was really creepy. They just stood there, studying me, and there was no sound.” She laughed nervously. “Better lay off the vino next time Natalie wants to come over and complain about guys!”

  The recording shifted to the next with a buzz of audio and a flash of broken images.

  “It’s July 22nd, and I had that weird dream again,” she said, a nervous bite tingeing her tone. “It was so vivid! This time, I heard a beeping sound, you know, like the kind in hospitals. Same people, same light. And then I woke up.” She frowned. “I only drank one glass before I went to sleep. Better talk to Nat about this one.”

  Leyla came over to stand beside me, folding her arms as she watched the video stream move to the next installment.

  “It’s July 23rd. I spoke with Natalie. She’s the best.” Vanessa wore a wan smile. “She thinks the stress at work is getting to me, and the dream is just my subconscious trying to work things out. Maybe the man in the dream is Mr. Hughes?” Vanessa paused to consider it, then shook her head with a laugh. “No, he’s too thin. I think Nat’s right, though. I have a lot of accounts I’m working on, and they all have tight deadlines. I need some time off! Maybe go to that club Nat’s been talking about. She also suggested I visit Doctor Ettelman and have her prescribe a sleep supplement. It couldn’t hurt, right? Anyway, time to curl up with some pinot and a good holo!”

  I paused the feed and looked to Deacon. “Did you interview Hughes?”

  “Yeah, I met that fat fucker,” Deacon growled. “He was too busy staring at his assistant’s tits to care. Hell, he barely knew who Vanessa was, let alone she worked for the sonofabitch.”

  I nodded, then tapped the window again to resume the recording.

  “Today is August 3rd. I finally went to see Doctor Ettelman today. She told me everything looks fine but wants to run a few more tests just to make sure.” Vanessa absently brushed away her hair. She looked exhausted.

  Oliver pushed his way across the screen, blocking my view.

  “Hi, buddy,” Vanessa laughed fondly, stroking the cat’s tail. “He’s the only man I need in my life. Right, O?”

  I exchanged a glance with Leyla, who smiled and shrugged.

  “She’s right, you know,” she said.

  “About?” I arched an eyebrow.

  “Just shut up and keep watching.”

  The recording skipped to the next entry.

  “It’s August 18th, almost a month since the last dream.” Vanessa’s eyes were round with anxiety. “Well, it’s back, except this time it was different. A lot different. In it I felt small, like I’d been shrunk or something. I heard the steady beeping too. The man with the glasses was holding a syringe. He spoke, and I could tell because I saw the white mask moving, but I couldn’t hear him. And I was cold. But worst of all was the fear, like I was swimming in it and couldn’t get away.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “What’s happening to me?” she whispered. “And the really weird thing? I felt connected to something, or someone. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. Like there’s someone else sharing the dream with me. But I can’t turn my head to look around. I’m frozen in place, but I know they’re there. And then I wake up.”

  Vanessa pressed her fist to her mouth and scrunched her eyes closed.

  “What’s worse, I think I’m being watched! When I was painting last night, I swear there was someone behind me, watching everything I did! And when I went to work today, it felt like everyone was looking at me, studying me, like I was an animal at the zoo.”

  Vanessa took several short, sobbing breaths. She fell back in her chair, shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

  “I’m going to call Nat. Maybe we’ll go to back to the club and dance the stress away. Hopefully, that slimy guy and his girlfriend won’t be there. At least they have good taste in wine. So glad they recommended it! Aunt Jen said she’ll ship some more in a couple of days. I’m not turning into an alcoholic, am I?”

  She laughed nervously.

  My brow furrowed, but I continued watching as the feed shifted to the next recording.

  “It’s September 12th, and I was followed today.” Vanessa’s complexion was several shades lighter than normal. Her hair was stringy, as if she hadn’t washed it in days. “I went to the store for a few things. A man wearing a trench coat followed me for about four blocks. I kept looking over my shoulder, but he kept his distance and I couldn’t see his face. When I got to my street, he was gone.”

  Vanessa stared at me with pleading eyes.

  “Should I call the police? Can they even do anything? What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”

  She sobbed uncontrollably, but the feed cut off as another edit led into the next entry. Leyla reached over, taking my hand in hers. Her touch chilled me, but I clasped it anyway, glad for her company. Vanessa no longer had that luxury.

  “It’s October 1st, and something amazing happened!” Vanessa could barely contain her excitement. “It was so surreal, like looking in a mirror! I still can’t believe it! It was her, the one from my dreams! I know it was her. I could feel it. It’s impossible to express in words, but we’re connected. We’re going to meet again tomorrow. But I’m afraid. What’s happening to me? I know they’re not dreams now. They’re memories. But I don’t remember any of it, so it must’ve happened a long time ago. I need answers. I need to paint. I need wine. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Last one coming up,” Deacon broke in solemnly.

  A haggard Vanessa stared at the camera for several long seconds. The fear was there, but also resignation.

  “It’s October 21st. I’ve removed the bug they put in here, so they know I know.”

  Sunday. This was recorded Sunday. My eyes turned flinty as I caught the time stamp: 6:22 PM.

  Three-and-a-half hours before her murder.

  “I’ve left the others,” Vanessa continued. “What’s the point, right? They’ve listened and seen everything about me, my life, for years. So, this will be my final recording. I’m sure they’ll come looking for this diary. Hopefully, you’ll find it first.”

  Vanessa sobbed. My heart broke at the sight of her. I wanted to reach across and hug
the distraught young woman, protect her from whomever it was that had done this to her. She settled down after a few moments.

  “I found one of the cameras in my shower head! They were watching me while I…while I—" She cried again. “I feel so…so violated! How could they have done this? I can’t trust anyone, not at Hughes, not at the store, no one. Well, except for Nat. But I can’t tell her. That would put her in danger. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her.”

  Vanessa’s harsh laugh skirted the edge of hysteria.

  “They’re coming for me. I don’t know who they are, but they’re coming for me. I know too much.”

  She paused, shaking her head.

  “No, that’s not right. I’m remembering too much.”

  Vanessa’s phone rang in the background. Her eyes narrowed, and she hesitated before moving from view. It was faint, but I could just make out the conversation.

  “You! What do you want?”

  A few beats passed.

  “Fine, fine, I’ll meet you there. But you damn well better tell me what’s going on.”

  I heard muffled footsteps approach as Vanessa appeared and resumed her seat.

  “Well I didn’t expect to hear from her. She actually made it sound like she wants to help me.” Vanessa frowned and looked away. “It’s probably not a good idea, but I’ll meet her at Armin’s tonight. Maybe I’ll finally get some answers.”

  The young woman gripped the sides of her head with both hands and scrunched her eyes closed.

  “Okay Vanessa, you can do this.” She took a deep breath, lifting her head, and we locked eyes.

  “I hid a portrait inside the unfinished sketch by my easel,” she instructed, her cheeks flushed. “Once you see it, you’ll understand. I don’t know what else to say except find her. Save her.”

  Vanessa bowed her head.

  “And whoever they are,” she whispered. “Please, stop them.”

  The recording ended, and the screen went dark.

  I stared at the blank window. Half of my body had grown numb while gripping Leyla’s hand. I let go, and staggered against an end table, my legs unsteady and shivering.