"How quickly can this be done?"
"Give me two weeks. The others will be ready before then."
"Excellent. I'll inform my uncle. What about the women? Will they be ready?"
"They are under careful scrutiny. Many of them failed to survive, as I told you before. Once the others are ready, they will be briefed on their new abilities. You understand that the life expectancy of the women will only be a few months, at most, and they will become incapacitated before the end comes."
"Then we'll kill them at that time while creating more. This synthetic process you've developed has quite the hint of genius about it. I and my department are very pleased."
"We're working on the synthetics for some of the others, and progress is good. We may have the breakthrough needed within a week."
"Very good. How is our supply of the powder?"
"It only takes a small amount sewn into the clothing to achieve the desired results," he said.
He couldn't measure that himself, and neither could any human. We had our own barometer, who called himself D'slay. He barely spoke Russian or English, and often cursed in a language I'd never heard.
Making the dust required lives, however, and more than sixty prison cells and mental ward beds had been emptied to provide them so far. It saved the government money in housing and other related expenses, so we were given permission to take as many as we wanted. We were instructed to make our selections from political prisoners first, so that is how we'd proceeded. We'd turn to the prison camps next, and empty them if we had to.
The rumor that the dust was ground-up bones failed to disturb me in the least. Besides, it took more dust to conceal a jet than it did a person, so it was carefully measured out to D'slay's specifications. "Continue with your work," I waved the scientist out of my office. "Keep me informed when everything is ready."
"Of course."
Dallas, Texas
Ivan Baikov
"The noose is tightening," I reported to my nephew. "We killed thirty-four initially. Two more died during the day. I'd say it was a good effort from our new recruits. They learned their lessons quite well. They still believe they must obey my compulsion, too."
"Too bad you couldn't capture the werewolf in all the chaos, but we understood it would be difficult when we made our plans."
"There was only a brief sighting before the mindspeaker who reported it was killed," I said. "I believe the werewolf was taken to a safer location after that. Once we begin sending the ransom notes, he will understand we have only toyed with him so far."
"Has anyone been back to the house?"
"We cannot breach the wall of security he has around it. I suspect some new, electronic shield which vibrates so much my people cannot pass through it. At least that is what they report when they come back to me—that something disrupts their thinking and shoves them back every time."
"Ah, another bit of technology to add to the long list of his inventions that we want for ourselves," Kornel spoke possessively.
"I agree. We will have these things and soon," I promised. "When will our newest recruits arrive?"
"I hear they'll be ready in two weeks or less. Once they arrive, they should be eager for your command."
"William Winkler won't have the stomach to face what we send against him; I'd bet my life on it," I said.
"He'll command anyone working for him to stand down," Kornel laughed. "And, if the first ones we send fail in their efforts to take him, we send in the females and see what he does with them. We'll have him, one way or another, Uncle, and the world will be ours."
"Hmmph. The world will belong to the one in charge of Russia. Will that be you?"
"I have no need to be President of the Russian Federation. Let him be blamed, if blame is leveled. We will control everything, with or without him."
Lissa
"You're not going to believe this," Winkler settled on a barstool at my kitchen island, still dressed in the suit he'd worn to Elliott Barnard's funeral earlier in the day.
"Believe what?" I asked, pulling out a bottle of beer and opening it with a tip of a claw.
"Thanks," he said, taking a deep pull from the bottle before setting it back down and shaking his head.
"The Austin Pack presented a proposition to Weldon today, right after the funeral. They all like Debra—a lot. At least all the ones who survived the sniping incident. They asked Weldon to put her in charge for now, because there's nothing she doesn't know about running the pack. She chose a Second, too, with the stipulation that when he's ready to take over, she'll step aside and leave him in charge. Anybody wanting to challenge will do so when that takes place—out of respect for Elliott and Debra."
"Seriously?" I blinked at Winkler in shock. "Wow. Democracy comes to the Austin Pack. Who'd a thunk?"
"Guess who she chose as her Second?"
"No idea," I said.
"Gabe. The wolves in the pack like him, too, and, as he's a CPA in his day job, he can keep the records and finances in line while Debra does the other stuff."
"Way to go, Debra," I slapped my hand on the island.
"Weldon says as long as the pack holds true to this pact they've formed, and everything is kept up the way it's supposed to be, he's fully in favor of it."
"So we just have to keep the Russians from attacking them again," I said.
"Weldon said the same thing. There's something else."
"What's that?"
"Bill Jennings says he's coming to Dallas to talk about all this. Word is that he wants to look into the killings at the bar in Fort Worth, too, but probably doesn't know they're connected. Yet. So far, only the Texas Bureau is investigating, but if they get wind of foreign influence in this, the FBI will show up and things could go south really fast."
"Damn. I hope Bill doesn't tell Tony anything." Winkler thought I didn't want to see Tony, and that was it. He had no idea that Tony's future depended on leaving him right where he was.
"I thought you could fix things like that when Bill got here."
"I suppose I can, although I don't like doing that to friends."
"Then wait and see what he says before doing anything."
"I'll do that. What are the odds that we can keep him from informing the President and any other government agencies if he suspects Russian involvement? I figure Ilya's face may be on a secret, spy-wanted poster, somewhere."
"No idea."
"So we're back to compulsion."
"Maybe."
"When will he get here?" I asked.
"He's coming in late tonight and getting a hotel room. He'll call for an appointment tomorrow."
"How safe do you think he'll be in a hotel?"
"No idea. Why?"
"Fuck." I buried my face in my hands. Zaria? I sent mindspeech.
What do you need? she asked.
Bill Jennings is on his way, and planning to stay in a hotel tonight. Do you think he's safe?
I don't want to take that chance.
I think the same. I'll tell Winkler to bring Bill here. We can put him in the last bedroom.
I'll make sure it's ready.
Thanks.
"Get a message to Bill," I turned to Winkler. "He's staying here with us. I don't want them to target anybody else we know, and Bill's too important."
To the future.
Ilya
"Can you explain the shield around these homes?" I asked, following Zaria toward the stairs after checking the only remaining bedroom on the third floor.
"I have to make it appear to be something technological, rather than a spell," she told me as we took the first steps downward together.
"What does that mean?"
"A spelled shield only holds certain people back. I had to add something to it, making it appear more mundane. They'll feel a vibration when they get close enough, and hear a buzzing in their heads, like they're too near a high voltage electrical source or something."
"Something that Winkler could create, perhaps?"
"That's the idea—that he's holding them back with his own technology."
"Is something like that possible?"
"Not without affecting people on both sides of it," she said. "That sort of power grid would drive everyone inside the houses insane after an hour, so it isn't practical, and it would have to be turned off to allow anyone through it."
"And I suppose the power source could be compromised, leaving it open for invasion."
"Exactly. They don't know how it's powered right now, but they'll come looking soon enough. They just won't find anything."
"This means that some of their experts will come, once they fail to find the source," I spoke my thoughts aloud.
"I'm afraid that's true. Do they have anyone here in the States already?"
"They may have some embedded here and there. They will be Americans, perhaps, who have been won over or blackmailed. We must be careful to identify them before they get too close."
"All I need to do is look at them."
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. Come on, marinara boy. I want spaghetti."
Lissa
"Thanks for going to the funeral with me today," Winkler said when Ilya and Zaria walked into the kitchen.
"You're welcome," she shrugged. "Ilya's going to cook spaghetti. Want some?"
In two hours, we had spaghetti marinara, Bolognese, and alfredo, with crusty garlic-parmesan bread and salad to go with it.
Trajan and Weldon joined us for the meal, after informing us that Jimmy, the new werewolf cook at Winkler's, had made meatloaf for dinner. It was good meatloaf, by all accounts, but no werewolf ever turned down extra food when it was offered.
I ate with the others while Winkler stared at Zaria and shook his head. She merely smiled at him and kept eating.
As we were cleaning the kitchen, Bill called Winkler. Winkler practically demanded that he come here, first, and stay with us while in Dallas. "He's on the way," Winkler turned off his phone. "Any beer left in the garage to restock the fridge?" he turned to Trajan.
"Yeah—the fridge out there is still full."
"Let's bring some in. Bill may want a drink or three while we tell him what we know."
I let my shoulders sag—I really didn't want to place compulsion on Bill. He was one of the best people I'd ever met, although he'd been too by-the-book when I first met him.
He'd be a better Director than Tony ever was, when his turn came. We just had to make sure his turn would come. Not only for his sake, but for Ashe and Breanne's sake, too.
"He may want to arrest me," Ilya said, confirming my thoughts.
"Nobody is going to arrest you," Zaria shook her head at him. "How would you like to look? Temporarily, of course, so Bill and Baikov won't know you."
"Brad Pitt?" he joked, his subsequent smile very much on the wry side.
"Hmmph." Zaria glowed. In moments, Ilya looked like Brad Pitt's older brother, with thick blond hair going slightly gray, his eyes a lighter blue, and a dimple creasing his left cheek.
"Oh, yeah, Brad Pitt the elder," Winkler nodded in approval. "Nobody will know you, now."
"Can you leave this?" Ilya pointed to his face. "You know, to improve my street cred?"
"I knew it would go to his head," Zaria poked him in the ribs.
"He knows what street cred means?" Winkler asked. "I had to look it up six months ago."
Ilya bit back a laugh.
"Lissa, are you feeling itchy?" Zaria asked.
"I sort of am," I confessed.
"Let's go get Bill."
"I think you're right." I gathered her, Winkler and Ilya into my mist and flew toward DFW Airport.
This is about to get crowded, Zaria informed us as I dropped us neatly in the back of a shuttle van, which held Bill, one of his agents and a vampire driver.
I'll get the driver, I told Zaria. Can you handle the not-so-loyal agent? I could smell the treason about him, even while I was mist.
How about you handle the driver and I'll transport the rest of us to the house. We may want to ask agent-boy some questions before we hand him over to somebody else.
I think that's a great idea. You transport them the second the vamp's head comes off.
I can manage that.
Thank you.
You're quite welcome.
Don't mention it.
No worries.
I think I was giggling mentally the moment I decapitated the vampire. I know I was laughing the moment I materialized in my driveway with Winkler and Ilya.
Ilya already had a choke-hold on the agent while Bill, a look of shock on his face, reached for his shoulder holster.
"It's okay, Bill," I held up a hand to reassure him. "Your driver was a vampus non gratis, and this guy may have sold you out." I narrowed my gaze on the agent, who swallowed uncomfortably in Ilya's grasp.
"I hope you can get to the bottom of this and fast, then," Bill walked forward until he was facing his agent. "I'll need to make a report and decide what to do with him afterward."
"He's had compulsion laid, so it may not be totally his fault," Zaria joined Bill in front of the agent. "I'll have to look into the matter."
She disappeared, making Bill and the agent gasp.
"She'll be back," I shrugged. "Bill, we have food and beer in the kitchen. Agent-boy needs to tell us what he knows."
With Winkler's help, Ilya marched the agent into the house, Bill and I close behind. "Lissa," Bill said softly, "I thought you were in England."
"I'm supposed to be. Everybody else thinks that, including most vamps. I needed to handle something going on here, so don't tell Tony anything about this. Not only am I pissed at him, he needs to stay right where he is."
"All right," Bill said, as if he were accustomed to keeping things from Tony all the time. "I need a beer while we have a conversation with my agent, there."
"He sold out before compulsion was placed this time," Zaria reappeared, a tub of movie popcorn in her hand.
"Oh," she said, looking down at the tub. "He met his contact at a movie theater. Got paid for his time, too. I have the bank account info if Bill needs it."
"Tell me who she is," Bill frowned at me.
"Zaria," I said, and smiled as she offered me popcorn.
Chapter 7
Lissa
This is better than the movie they picked, Zaria said as she and I ate popcorn with our wine. Bill ate leftover Italian and the others had a beer while the agent sweated on a kitchen barstool. I'd told him to sit there and answer all of Bill's questions honestly, after Zaria gave the name of his Russian handler.
Bill recognized the name when he heard it. Things went downhill for his agent after that.
What were they watching? I asked.
A cheerleader movie, and it was kinda awful.
Not surprised, I said.
"What is the most sensitive information you passed to your contact?" Bill demanded.
"That William Winkler designed the recognition software we use."
"That's fucking above your clearance and paygrade," Bill snapped. "How did you come by that? Only a handful of people know."
"The White House knows," the agent laughed hysterically. Bill, anger suffusing his body, rose from his seat and stalked toward the living area while pulling his cell phone from a pocket.
"Fucking hell," I sighed.
"So, you're the source of all my troubles, then?" Winkler's face was now inches away from snitchy-pants agent.
"I-I was only a go-between on that," the agent babbled. "I read the information passed to me from a White House staffer, but I wasn't supposed to. My guess is that it came from someone higher up."
Probably a bit too high, I sent to Zaria.
Possibly. I can think of two who might be involved. Either one spells treason. Neither are the President, but in his inner circle, so to speak.
Just what I was thinking. I didn't find anything out of the ordinary for this one—I've met him, actually—more than once.
"We were hacked," Bill pocketed his cell phone as he walked back into the kitchen. "I think they're screwing around with Winkler, now, because they couldn't get past his firewall to steal the program months ago. This is very similar to when they attempted to get it while he was developing it."
I didn't realize Bill and Tony knew about that, but it made sense. Somebody had offered Phil quite a bit for Winkler's program—and his head.
"So they found out my software wasn't a failure, and they've come back to me, then," Winkler growled. "And people have died because of it—just like last time."
For Winkler, that hadn't been very long ago. For me, it had been centuries. "We need to actively hunt vampire Baikov; he's the closest threat," I said.
"I agree. Where do we start?" Bill turned to me.
"Easier said than done," Zaria said. "Unless I miss my guess, he's clothed up to his neck in Sirenali bone dust."
"You'll forget you heard that," I pointed a new obsession at snitchy-pants. "Bill, has the President hired any upper level staffers recently? I don't keep up with the news much."
"He has a new Chief of Staff—the one you've met decided to retire."
"Under heavy persuasion, no doubt," I grumped.
"You know, now that you mention it, I did find that unusual for him, but people cave under the pressure of the oval office all the time."
"Anybody else?" I asked. "That has access to the President and is relatively new?"
"Couple of assistants, maybe."
"Good. We may need to have a conversation with all those people."
"I can get us on a plane in an hour."
"Winkler?" I turned to him.
"I sure as hell want to put them on the hot seat," he rumbled. "And we can drop this fucker into the Mississippi River when we fly over it," Winkler breathed into snitchy-pants' face. "Weldon is heading home tomorrow, though, so he won't be with us."
Snitch-agent pressed his back against the chair he sat on, turning his head in an attempt to escape Winkler's snarl. He knew Winkler could tear him to shreds without expending much effort.
"Baikov will likely figure out where we're headed," Zaria offered. "Winkler, we need to get everybody out of both houses, Kellee included, then send Weldon home and put the others somewhere safe. I'll leave the shields up, but we need to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for Baikov to follow, rather than causing more mayhem in Texas while we're gone."
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