"Riker has connections in South America that supply him with contraband. Suspicions are that he's running more than just artifacts. Maybe drugs. The locals have no idea how big a bad guy they've got here."
"When did you find all this out?"
"After they came to the house," Edward said.
"How did you find all this out?" I asked.
"If we told you, we'd have to kill you," Olaf said.
I started to smile, thinking it was a joke, but I caught a glimpse of his face as the only car we'd seen passed by, flashing lights over us as it passed. He didn't look like he was joking.
Bernardo said, "This looks like a can of hair spray. You can even squirt out a small amount of cresol." He demonstrated. "But lift here." He did and revealed a second layer of metal. "This is the pin. This is the depressor. It's an incendiary grenade. You pull the pin, let up on the depressor, and you have three seconds to get a minimum of fifty feet away from it. It's got white phosphorus in it. This shit burns under water. If you get a tiny piece on your sleeve, it will eat through the cloth, your skin, bone, all the way to the other side."
He clicked the secret compartment shut and handed it to me. "Damned heavy for hairspray," I said.
"Yeah, but how many ex-navy whatevers are going to notice?"
He had a point. Next was a small thing of breath freshener that was really heavy-duty mace. A key ring that when you hit the button on it, a four-inch blade popped out.
There was a heavy ink pen that actually wrote, that if you pressed the little switch, a six-inch blade came out the end. There was real perfume with a higher than normal alcohol content. "Go for the eyes," was the advice. A disposable lighter, because you never know when you might need some fire, and a package of cigarettes to explain the lighter. There was a transmitter in the collar of the black shirt that would allow them to find me inside the buildings or at least find the shirt. I was beginning to feel like I'd been shanghaied into a James Bond movie.
I lifted out a hairbrush with a heavier than normal handle. "What's this?'
"It's a hairbrush," Bernardo said.
Oh. I looked at Edward. The only thing he'd changed was putting a white Kevlar vest under his undershirt and white shirt. He was even still wearing his cowboy hat. Olaf and Bernardo were both dressed in commando black, and backpacks that looked full. They were bristling with weapons, blacked so they didn't show up at night, but not hidden.
"I take it that the guys here aren't going in the front door with us," I said
"No," Edward said. He hit the brakes, and Olaf and Bernardo slipped out of the car and into the darkness. Because I knew what I was looking for, I could see them in a running crouch going over the hill. But if you hadn't been looking, you'd have missed them.
"You're scaring me, Edward. I'm not like a commando raid, James Bond kind of girl. Where the hell did you get a hairspray grenade?"
"A lot of female secret service now. It's a prototype."
"Nice to know where my tax dollars are going."
We were going down a long gravel driveway. There was a big house sitting; up on a hill. Lights blazed out of the windows as if someone had gone through and hit every light, as if they were scared of the dark. If Riker really thought the monsters were coming, the analogy was accurate.
Edward outlined his plan as we drove the last few yards. I was to pretend to do a spell of protection for Riker. While I delayed, Olaf and Bernardo would try to find the kids. If they couldn't find them or couldn't get them out, Olaf was supposed to find a man and kill him as messily as possible in a short space of time, leave the body where it would be found, and hope to make Riker think the monsters had already gotten inside. They might take us to the point where the monster kill had been found to get my expert advice, which would put us and whoever was with us, hopefully Riker, near where Olaf and Bernardo could help us kill them. If that failed, Bernardo would start blowing things up. Which would create panic and hopefully allow us to find the kids. Unless Bernardo decided the structure wasn't sturdy enough to blow up and not cave in around us. Then we'd need another plan.
Edward stopped the car at a gravel turnaround near the crest of the hill. Men armed with automatic submachine guns walked towards the car. None of them were Harold or Russell. They moved like Olaf and Edward moved, like predators.
"You don't believe they're going to give back the kids, do you?"
"Do you?" he asked. He'd put his hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, in plain sight.
I raised my hands in the air where they could be seen. "No," I said.
"If the kids are okay, we'll do as little killing as possible, but if the kids aren't okay, it's zero survivors."
"The police are going to find out about this one, Edward. You will blow your Ted 'Good ol' boy' Forrester image all to hell."
"If the kids don't make it out, I don't give a damn."
"How will Olaf and Bernardo know whether to kill or not?"
"There's a wire worked into my vest. They've both got ear pieces, so they'll be able to hear."
"You're going to tell them to kill," I said.
"If I have to."
The machine-gun-toting men were at either side of the car. They made motions for us to get out. We did what they wanted, being sure to keep our hands in sight. We wouldn't want any misunderstandings.
55
THE MACHINE GUN GUY on my side wasn't that tall, five foot eight or maybe shorter, but his arms were corded with so much muscle that veins stood out against his skin like snakes. Some people vein up if they lift even a little, but most of the time you don't get that much popping up without some major effort. It was as if he was trying to make up for the lack of height by being obscenely strong. Most muscle-bound guys are slow and rarely know how to fight. They rely on sheer strength and just being a bully. But this one moved smoothly, almost gliding on his feet, sort of sideways, which hinted at some martial art training. He moved well, and his bicep was bigger than my neck. He was also pointing a very modern looking submachine gun at me. Muscle bound, trained fighter, and better armed than me -- weren't there rules against that?
"Lean on the hood, assume the position," he said.
I put my hands on the hood and leaned. The engine was still warm, not hot, but warm. Muscle man kicked my legs. "Further apart." I did what he asked. I looked across the hood and met Edward's eyes. He was getting the same treatment on his side from a taller, slender man who wore silver frame glasses. Edward's eyes were at their empty, pitiless best. But somehow I knew he wasn't pleased. When I realized that, I realized I still had the sunglasses on, and my vision was still good through dark lenses at night. Funny, how neither Olaf nor Bernardo had asked in the car. There hadn't been time for many questions.
The vampire vision had toned down, but it was still there or I'd have been night blind with the glasses on. Wondered what Muscle Man would think of the eyes.
He kicked my right leg again, hard enough that it hurt. "I said, lean!" He had that drill sergeant voice going.
"If I lean any further, I'll be lying down."
I felt him move behind me and had my head turned to the side when he slapped me in the back of the head, hard enough that my cheek hit the hood. It would have hurt if it had been the front, nose, mouth. He'd meant it to hurt.
"Do what you're told, and you won't get hurt."
I was beginning not to believe him, but I leaned, cheek pressed to the hood, arms out flat like I was being nailed down, feet spread so far that one good foot sweep would have dumped me to the ground. But it was nice and unsteady, the way he wanted it apparently. In a way it was flattering. He was treating me as a dangerous person. A lot of bad guys don't. Usually, they live to regret it, but not always. If muscle man died tonight, it wasn't going to be because of carelessness.
He searched me, top to bottom, even running his fingers through my hair, He'd have found Bernardo's stiletto hairpins that the others had missed at the house. He took the sunglasses off and looked at them as if
looking for things that I would never have thought to find in a pair of sunglasses. He didn't really look at my face, didn't catch the eyes, or maybe they weren't glowing black anymore. Muscle Man found everything but the transmitter that was sewn somewhere in the shirt and the contents of the purse. He did dump it out on the ground and shine a flashlight on every item. He made sure the ink pen wrote, that the hairspray sprayed, and took the breath freshener mace as if he recognized it on sight. But that was all he took out of the purse, though once it was empty, he kneaded it with his left hand, the right still holding the submachine gun.
"This wouldn't be one of those with a compartment for a gun, would it?"
I'd raised my head enough to watch him empty the purse, so we could look at each other while he held the gun on me and glanced down at things. "No, it wouldn't be."
"I was betting it would be," he said.
"Nope," I said.
He finished by standing on the purse and stomping it flat. Glad it wasn't really my purse. "I guess there's no gun," he said.
"Told ya."
He took three big steps back, out of reach. He was treating me like I was dangerous. Darn. I sometimes counted on passing for harmless, but I guess I'd been packing too much hardware to pass for anything but dangerous.
"You can stand up."
I stood up.
He tossed the sunglasses to me. I caught them. My eyes were in the light from the house now, but he never flinched. Apparently, the glowy stuff had faded. He motioned with the gun for me to pick up the contents of the purse. I put everything back inside and almost put the sunglasses in, but decided to put them back on. Two reasons: one, when the night got too dark to wear them, I'd know the vampire stuff had left me completely; two, knowing Edward, they were probably expensive, and I didn't want to get them scratched up.
He motioned with the gun, and said, "Just walk slow, straight to the house, and it'll be all right."
"Why don't I believe you?" I asked.
He looked at me with eyes as dead and empty as a doll's. "I don't like smart mouths."
"You'll have to wait until I do the spell before you can shoot me," I said.
"So they tell me. Get moving."
The slender guy with glasses who had Edward at gunpoint was waiting for muscle man to get me moving. When I started walking, Glasses moved Edward forward. They kept us walking side by side, telling us to stay together. They kept us together so that if they had to start shooting they could kill us both with one spray of bullets, True professionals. I hoped Olaf and Bernardo were as good asthey were supposed to be. If they weren't, we were in deep trouble.
The house was one of those nouveau architect homes that people with more money than taste are always hiring people to build. It looked like a giant had dumped white concrete in a free form slide putting windows and doors here and there like raisins in an oatmeal cookie. A nice surprise, but never where you expect to find them. The mismatched windows made the house look deformed. The door was off center but round, like a wide open mouth. The windows were not only round and mismatched, but the number of windows didn't seem to match the floor plan as if some of the windows looked into blank walls where no room could possibly be.
White steps led up to the round door like one of those cartoon tongues that spill out of mouths and go tumbling downstairs. The steps weren't wide enough for us to walk side by side, so Edward moved a couple of steps ahead. Neither of the men behind us protested, so we kept moving.
It had been so long since I carried a purse instead of a fanny pack that it felt awkward on my shoulder. I had to keep a hand on it to keep it from swinging around. I'd put it on the left shoulder, leaving my right hand uncompromised out of habit. Not that I had anything left to draw or pull or whatever. But it was always good to have your strong hand empty, just in case. So Edward and Dolph had always told me.
At the top of the porch in a spill of bright yellow light, they told us to stop. We stopped. They moved up to flank us and move a little back to either side. I didn't understand what they were doing at first, until the door opened and another man pointed the same kind of submachine gun at us. Muscle Man and Glasses had moved out of his line of fire and moved so they wouldn't catch him in their fire line. It is not easy to use three submachine guns in that small a space without crossing your own men, but they made it look easy, very smooth. The other men had carried an extra clip for the sub guns in a thigh holster, but this one had two clips at his waist.
The man in the door was African American and tall, like Olaf's height, very six foot plus. He was also completely bald just like Olaf. If they ever met, they'd look like light and dark versions of each other.
"What took so long?" he asked; his voice matched the body, deep.
"They were carrying a lot of hardware," Muscle Man said.
The new guy was smirking at me. "From the way Russell talked I expected you to look like Amanda. You're just a little bitch."
"Amanda the Amazon that came to Ted's house?" I asked.
He nodded.
I shrugged. "I wouldn't believe much that Russell said."
"He said you broke his nose, kicked him in the balls, and beat his head in with a piece of wood."
"Everything but the last bit. If I'd beaten his head in, he'd be dead."
"What's the hold up, Simon?" Muscle Man asked.
"Deuce is having some trouble locating the wand."
"Deuce would have trouble keeping track of his head if it wasn't attached," Muscle Man said.
"True, but we still wait." He was looking at both of us, the gun held easily in his big hands. "What's with the sunglasses, bitch?"
I let the name calling go. They had all the guns. "They look cool," I said.
He laughed then, a warm growly sound. A nice laugh if he hadn't been armed.
"What about you, Ted? I hear you are a bad dude."
Edward transformed into Ted, like a magician deciding he was going to have to perform after all. "I'm a bounty hunter. I kill monsters."
Simon looked at him, and there was something about the way he did it that said the Ted act wasn't fooling him. "Van Cleef recognized your picture, Undertaker."
Undertaker?
Ted smiled and shook his head. "I don't know anybody named Van Cleef."
Simon just looked at Glasses. Edward had time to turn his head so he took the blow on his shoulder. He moved a step, but didn't fall. Simon gave another look. Glasses hit his knee, and Edward collapsed onto one knee.
"We only need the girl up and running," Simon said. "So I'll ask you this just once, do you know Van Cleef?"
I stood there, not sure what to do. We were so totally covered by the guns, and the priority had to be getting the children out. So no heroics until they were safe. If we died, I wasn't a hundred percent sure that Bernardo and Olaf would risk their lives to get them out. So I stood there and looked at Edward kneeling on the porch, waiting for him to give me some kind of sign what I was supposed to do.
Edward looked up at Simon. "Yes."
"Yes, what, asshole?"
"Yes, I know Van Cleef."
Simon smiled broadly, obviously happy with himself. "Boys, this is the Undertaker, the man that still has the highest body count of anyone Van Cleef ever trained."
I felt, rather than saw, the two men twitch. The information not only made sense to them, but it scared them. It made them afraid of Edward. Who the hell was Van Cleef, and when had he trained Edward, and for what? I wanted to know the answers, but not badly enough to ask. Later, if we survived, I'd ask Edward. Maybe he'd even tell me.
"I don't know you," Edward said.
"I came in just after you left," Simon said.
"Simon?" Edward made the name a question, and the big man seemed to understand what was being asked.
"As in whatever the fuck Simon says, you damn well better do."
How colorful, I thought, but didn't say out loud.
"Can I get up now?" Edward asked.
"If you can stand, th
en help yourself."
Edward got to his feet. If it hurt, it didn't show. His face was empty, eyes like bits of pale blue ice. I'd seen him kill with that face.
Simon's smile faltered around the edges. "You're supposed to be one mean son of a bitch."
"Van Cleef never said I was mean." He sounded very sure of that.
Simon's smile disappeared altogether. "No, he didn't. He said you were dangerous."
"What would Van Cleef say about you?" Edward asked.
"Same thing," Simon said.
"I doubt that," Edward said.
They looked at each other, and there was a weight and a testing like something nearly visible in the air between them. Muscle Man's nerve broke first. "Where the hell is Deuce with the wand?"
Simon blinked, and switched very cold brown eyes to the man behind me. "Shut up, Mickey."
Mickey? It didn't have quite the ring to it that the other nicknames did. Of course, Simon hadn't sounded too tough until it was explained.
"Van Cleef didn't recognize her picture."
"No reason he should," Edward said.
"The newspapers call her the Executioner."
"That's what the vampires call her."
"Why do they call her that?"
"Why do you think?"
Simon looked at me. "How many vampire kills you got, bitch?"
If I had a chance tonight, I was going to teach Simon some manners, but not right now. "I don't know exactly."
"Guess."
I thought about it. "I stopped keeping track around thirty."
Simon laughed. "Hell, every man on this porch has more kills than that."
More kills than thirty? Who the hell were these guys? I shrugged. "I didn't know it was a competition."
"Did you count the human kills?" Edward asked.
I shook my head. "He asked about vampire kills, not human."
"Add those in," he said.
That was harder. "Eleven, twelve maybe."
"Forty-three," Simon said, "you got Mickey beat, but not Rooster." Apparently, Rooster was Glasses.
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