It was a cold assignment, but at least no one had ever yelled at him for doing what he felt needed to be done, to get the job accomplished. He only wished it all hadn’t ended so badly.
He still remembered the event in San Antonio quite vividly. What a cluster that had been, Moonrise had attempted to break up a religious cult that kidnapped fifty college students.
They had severely underestimated the size of the cult. Thirty armed men turned into sixty, and, at least five of them were actually vampires looking to convert some college students into familiars. Ryker had to help, even though he hadn’t been cleared for field work.
By the end of the day, he’d taken out several cult members trying to gun down fleeing students in the back. Then he helped capture Lo Chang, the cult’s teacher or “sensei.” Which ended messily, as well, with Ryker blowing out the sensei’s kneecaps.
Ryker grimaced at the memories. Had San Antonio been the turning point, he wondered. Had that been when he became such a cold-hearted person? Was saving the likes of Heidi, Kelly and Jessie his way of trying to regain some of the humanity he’d lost with Moonrise? Was it why he chose to obey only some order with the Hunters, because he’d gotten so many conflicting ones with Moonrise?
Three years hadn’t been enough to dull the backlash. He was still a pariah, even after coming in from the cold. Why?
Man, he thought. This is weirder than the Isle of Blood. Of course, he realized, he couldn’t talk about that particular ordeal. The whole thing was still classified top secret.
Just then, he saw a fleet of limousines pull up to the hotel. Shoving his thoughts back into the deep recesses of his mind, he activated his miniature video camera. He wanted to keep a record of who he saw, so that, later on, he could check them out through Ian Hendricks.
When the first people finally came out, Cantrell Ryker blanched.
“What the hell?” he muttered, as he took a long, hard look. “Oh, my God.”
At one time, he wanted Jesus and Dolores to seriously reconsider their purpose for coming to Fort Worth to take on Riordan. He didn’t think they were organized enough for such a task. He’d warned them that their time to act was dwindling rapidly.
Now, as he watched Riordan’s guests – fifteen of North America’s most powerful clan masters – exiting the banquet hall, he realized they actually had no time at all.
He pulled out his phone.
Chapter 8
Louis Riordan made sure he was the first one to the front door as the reception broke up. He wanted to bid his guests farewell before they headed back to their hotel rooms or searched for more amorous action. Lin Tang had already excused herself earlier to meet with Diane Simmons, no doubt to begin her own investigation of Duke’s death. He fretted a little about that, hoping she would not let herself become so distracted by it that she forgot her role in the awakening.
Travis Pratt stood by him at the door and he merely nodded at the man. He found him, oddly enough, doing security at a local wrestling arena where Riordan had met with a man trying to get him to invest. He sensed that Pratt needed to handle something more than rousting drunken rednecks and had recruited him that very night.
“Limousines approaching now, sir,” Pratt said.
The line of limousines rolled around the corner into the valet parking lane of the reception hall. As each one stopped in front of the lobby, a master vampire and his ilk walked outside and got in. Riordan said his goodbyes and thanked them all for coming.
As they left, he noted their names and the cities from which they hailed. Mentally, he wanted to make sure he knew them all well enough to call them by their first names when they met for the negotiations. He’d learned decades ago that such a method made even the most nervous guest feel comfortable.
Nelly O’Roarke, a spry redhead from Chicago, was the first one outside, walking with a tall Latino that Riordan knew only as a local paid escort. The familiars, who couldn’t get into a master vampire’s clan, had gotten clever by hiring themselves out as escorts for visiting masters or important guests. Riordan didn’t mind it because it showed the kind of initiative he wanted from the people in his organization.
Beauregard Collins was next. He had arrived alone, but now left with two female familiars who hung all over him like a second skin. Riordan was impressed. He’d long held the impression that both women were hardcore lesbians. Then again, Collins had quite the reputation as a ladies’ man back in Atlanta.
The rest of the masters seemed to go by in a blur. Jake Lucabaugh, in charge of the Houston clan; Alexia Ciccione, from Minneapolis-St. Paul of all places; Mia DuMont, a dusky beauty representing the Caribbean; Luc D’Estaing, from Baton Rouge, Louisiana; Esmeralda and Alberto Lupo, former heads of drug cartels who had married and now controlled vampires in the northern half of Mexico.
The next group consisted of the ones who most concerned Riordan. They were the upstarts, clan masters who upset the balance of power just for the hell of it. Life was definitely a game to them, and, the biggest game was challenging the oldest, most established clans. Riordan had tabbed them the most likely to object to his quest for leadership of the new alliance.
The ebony beauty Nyrobi Kenya, who came from St. Louis, held huge sway in the American Midwest. Aguelo Munoz controlled Central America and, in many ways, was more powerful than the Lupos’ Mexican concerns. Elisa Fusco, another Italian-American like Giancarlo and Ciccione, was the group’s most reluctant member, as she had been forcefully turned by her own mother in Boston’s South End. But, she was strong on family and had been faithfully representing her clan’s New England interests for years.
The final quartet were the masters he’d been standing with for most of the night. Edge Ringgold went to his limousine, a brunette from his native Toronto on his arm. Pratt had hired her to be a hostess, unaware of her Canadian roots. Tsukiko Matsutaka and Jewel Waterston left together and Riordan found himself actually surprised. He knew Waterston liked women but he thought that Matsutaka abhorred such sexual notions. Finally, Giancarlo and his date, Eva, stepped outside.
“A very delightful evening, Louis,” Giancarlo said, with a slight smile. “I might have to admit that such things are possible outside of New York and Newark.”
Riordan thanked him. Though, inwardly he hated the man’s conceit. He certainly did not want to have such a man in charge of the collective. That ego would only breed contempt among the others. If, however, that conceit was under his thumb, Riordan would find it far easier to control.
Riordan watched as Pratt closed the limousine door and the vehicle drove off. He breathed a sigh of relief and nodded at his chief of security. He bid him goodnight, just as Allison came outside, clad in a stunning burgundy gown. Riordan slid an arm around his secretary’s waist and ushered her back inside, to a private room.
Pratt put two men on the door, dismissing the rest of the special exterior detail for the night. Then, something caught his eye, a glint of light from the building across the way. He looked up just as one of his familiars came up to him. He ignored the man as his eyes scanned the twelfth floor.
More than likely, it was just moonlight hitting the building’s glass panels, but something still bugged him. He felt as if he were being watched. It was almost simple to guess by whom. Though he’d met with the master vampires’ security teams, he didn’t doubt at least one of them had brought along a few extras, of a more clandestine nature. He had suspected that from Giancarlo at least and, possibly, the Lupos with their old drug cartel connections.
“Something wrong, boss?”
Pratt looked at the familiar and shook his head.
“Probably nothing,” he said. “Thought I saw something.”
“It might be the building’s security guard getting curious,” the familiar offered. “Of course, that would probably mean he’d have to be awake. Should I take one of the boys and go see?”
“That’s okay,” Pratt replied. “We can’t chase every shadow. Besides, you’re off the clock
now. It’s your own time. Go have some fun.”
The familiar shrugged his shoulders and moved away to catch up with the other guards who had just gotten off duty.
“This is totally on you, Marcus,” Jesus snorted as he pushed back from the table and began to pace the floor. “Ryker has got to play ball with the rest of us, and, leaving the safehouse without letting anyone know doesn’t qualify.”
“He’s probably getting full service at one of his massage parlor hangouts,” Jessie suggested, derisively.
Ian gave her a dirty look and shook his head. He was used to that from her. She often berated and demeaned others to hide her own insecurities.
Michael Lee stood in the back, trying to shrink back out of the room. He was a computer expert, not a politician or spin doctor. He had no head for the kind of personal interplay that drove the group. Give him a computer or ask him to design a program and he was content.
His phone buzzed and he was glad for the distraction. Then, he saw the number on the caller ID and frowned. Nothing like a call from Ryker to kill a mood, he thought, as he answered.
After listening for a moment, his face grew ashen. It must have been noticeable for the room suddenly grew quiet. He looked up to see everyone staring at him. He told everyone who it was and passed the phone to Jesus, who put it down on the table after activating the speaker feature.
“We’ve got serious problems, guys,” Ryker’s voice came out.
“No, muchacho,” Jesus retorted. “You’ve got serious problems. Like where you’re going now that you’ve gotten on my last nerve.”
“If that would make this situation go away, I’d gladly do it,” Ryker replied. “But, it’s not, so shall we can the attitude and just listen for a change?”
Jesus started to go off on Ryker’s insolence, but Dolores touched his arm and shook her head. It was enough for her husband to stifle himself. She moved the phone closer to her.
“Both of you need to can the attitude,” she said, curtly. “Now, please tell us why you left the safehouse? And, why this phone call is so important?”
Dolores listened intently. As she did, she grew more alarmed. When the call ended, she was only able to say four words.
“Mary, mother of God.”
Ryker wanted to give out a lot more information, but he had his own problems. He heard the distinct bell of the elevator echo down the hallway. The freight car had arrived at his floor. Even worse, he was sure he heard the click of one of the stairwell doors, so he had at least two visitors. The fact that one had come by elevator and the other by the emergency stairs meant they knew something was amiss.
He couldn’t figure how he might have given away his presence, but that was not the most important thing right now. He stuffed his binoculars into his backpack and moved to the door. He peeked out quickly and saw that the immediate hallway was empty. He stepped into it and disappeared into the nearest open doorway.
Joachim Danforth had only been a familiar with Travis Pratt for six months, but had been moving up steadily in the ranks, gaining more responsibility. He had a knack for acting on his instincts and that gained him much favor. It had also gained him some enemies among his fellow guards. Which is why he had only taken one other familiar with him into the building. Gina Golightly was the type of person who jumped on the coattails of fast risers like himself.
He looked over at the building’s security guard, who was as nervous as a cat. The man was just a low-level familiar, but Danforth needed another body. The man wasn’t worth much, but he could, at least, watch both the elevator and the nearby door to the stairs, while he and Golightly searched the floor.
Pratt said it wasn’t necessary to check the building. But, he had also said that the guards were off-duty. So, Danforth had opted to check the building, knowing that he could always claim to be acting on his own initiative should things go wrong.
“Gina, see anything?” he asked into the mouthpiece of his headset.
“Nothing yet,” came the reply.
“Move down the hall, check all doors,” Danforth ordered. “Note the unlocked ones and meet me at the window where Pratt thought he saw the light. Don’t go into any rooms by yourself. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Just then, the lights went out. The whole floor was cast into complete darkness, save for a couple of emergency lanterns. Danforth gripped his gun tighter and looked back at the elevator. The indicator lights were still on.
“What gives?” he asked the bewildered security guard. “How could anyone have gotten to the power box in the basement so fast?”
“The building has been redesigned,” the guard said. “Each floor above the tenth has a separate way to cut power only to that floor. For safety reasons, in case electricians or engineers have to cut out circuits to make changes. We couldn’t have power to the whole building cut out for every little modification.”
That made sense to Danforth. It also meant that they were dealing with a real intruder, not just a figment of Pratt’s imagination. He thought about calling for additional help, and stopped himself. It would be a real feather in his cap if he could catch the intruder with just himself and Gina.
“Gina, meet me at the central point,” he ordered.
He told the security guard to stay put and moved down the hall. He never made it to the meeting place. Somebody stepped out of a side door and hit Danforth in the genitals, causing the man to drop like a sack of flour.
The shadow reared back and hurled something at the security guard, who was trying to make a call on his cell phone. The man dropped the phone and clutched at the stiletto buried, just barely, in his chest. It was painful but not fatal.
“Relax, you’ll live,” Ryker said as he stepped into the light of an emergency lamp on the wall, a cattle prod in his left hand.
The guard saw the cattle prod that Ryker had used on Danforth’s genitals and fainted. He dropped to his knees and fell face forward to the floor. Unfortunately, he landed on the knife and drove it into his chest deep enough to kill him.
“Oh, great,” Ryker muttered. “One of these days, I may actually kill someone intentionally.”
Gina Golightly knew she should have brought her phone with her. Instead, she’d left it charging in her car while she helped Danforth. Now, she had no way of calling for help. She hadn’t been able to get Danforth on the radio. And, like a fool, she’d used one of his earpiece units, meaning she could only communicate with him. He obviously wanted more glory for catching the intruder and she had idiotically tagged along.
By rights, she should have been heading home to a nice warm bed. If her luck held out, she might have caught either her friend Sally or Eric in time for them to come over and keep her company in bed. Instead, she was facing off against an intruder who had neutralized Danforth, who was a much better security guard than she.
Peering around the corner, she took in the entire hallway and then pulled her head back. This was bad. Danforth was prone on the floor and the security guard was on his back, by the elevator, with what had to be a knife sticking out of his chest.
Steeling herself, she moved into the hallway and stopped by Danforth’s body. She knelt down to check it, hoping to find his cell phone. She then noticed that his submachine gun was missing. That was because the barrel of that gun was now pressed to her right ear and the sound of the safety being released echoed down the hall.
“P-please, don’t shoot,” she stammered.
She was no fool. Being a familiar had its rewards, but it also held great dangers. Ironically, she wasn’t in it for the rewards. She was paying off a serious gambling debt she’d incurred at one of Pratt’s rigged parlor games.
No shot came.
“I’m going to ask you for a favor some day,” a deep voice said to her. “I’ll expect you to honor it, no matter what. In return, you’ll live. Do I have your word?”
Golightly was speechless. She didn’t know what to say. However, the person pressing the gun barrel harder against
her skull brought her back to reality.
“Y-yes,” she blurted. “I’ll honor it.”
She suddenly felt a hand come down over her shoulder and press against her left breast. She caught her breath and thought the worst. However, her mind tried to convince her the indignity was a small price to pay for her life. Just then, the hand lifted the flap of her tunic pocket and slipped what felt like a business card inside.
“Get the hell out of town,” the voice said. “Call the number on the card. They’ll take care of you. This city is about to explode. I need you alive if you’re going to keep your word.”
It took almost two minutes before Golightly realized the gun barrel was no longer by her ear. It took another minute to gather enough courage to look back and see no one was behind her. In a flash, she was on her feet and heading down the emergency stairs. By the time workmen discovered the bodies of Danforth and the guard late the next morning, Gina Golightly would be halfway to St. Louis.
Ryker watched Golightly disappear down the stairs. He waited a moment and took the staircase on the opposite side of the building. He really hadn’t wanted to kill anyone if he could help it. The last thing he needed was for police to find dead bodies that didn’t turn to ash.
And he really didn’t consider Gina Golightly another of his “pretty strays.” Though she really did fill out that uniform that she wore, she was worth more as a future asset. He had survived three years on the run by using such contacts to stay out of the crosshairs of law enforcements and vampire enforcers. If things went the way he hoped they might against Riordan, he figured he might have to go underground again and he would need even more help this time around.
And if things actually got worse, something that was entirely possible with sixteen master vampires in town, he would need protection more than ever. These were the days he wished he’d never left the Navy. Sitting off the coasts of Iraq or Libya seemed to be a much safer way of making a living.
Dark Tidings: Volumes I & II Page 18