Thirty-nine
John Ashby got to work thirty minutes earlier than usual, feeling satiated and full of energy after his meal of a hapless tourist the night before. The young woman had made the mistake of hitching alone along Trans-Canada 1, after being told that Canada was much safer and less violent than the United States. Ashby had proven her advisor very wrong indeed.
“Hey, what’cha doin’ Ash?” Billy Andrade called from his desk when Ashby walked in early. “Bucking for a raise?”
“Naw,” Ashby replied nonchalantly, “I got a bellyache from something I ate last night so I thought I’d come on in to work. It beats sitting on the pot at home alone.”
“Just don’t stop up the septic,” Andrade joked before going back to the paperwork he was finishing up.
Ashby booted up his computer and immediately went on-line, searching for a list of rental properties in Banff. When he found it, he was surprised it was three pages long. “Damn, I didn’t know there were that many cabins out there in the woods,” he said to the screen. Like many computer nerds or hackers, Ashby had a habit of talking to his machine while he worked. He thought it made the computer perform better, much like those who sing to their plants to help them grow.
“Okay, time to start putting in parameters,” he mumbled. “I think I’ll try ten miles out to about fifteen from city limits, got to have electricity and indoor plumbing, and is probably a long-term lease if Pike’s on the run.”
He keyed in his choices and the number of cabins dropped by about half. “Ah, making progress,” he told the machine. “Now, I’ll print out those already rented and separate them from the still vacant ones. That’ll give me something to work on the next few days.”
Just as the computer finished printing out the list of rented cabins, Ashby had a thought. “Hey, maybe it’d be better if I got one of these for the guys from the States,” he mumbled, remembering how dumb Ed had said it was for him to book them in the same hotel as Pike. “That’d be a lot better for them than staying at the Springs, and they’d have less people around to see what they’re doing.”
He searched the list for a suitable cabin, one with at least four or five bedrooms and not too close to town. Finally, he found the perfect choice. It was seven miles out the Trans-Canada and not too far off the road, but was on a fifteen-acre plot of land so there wouldn’t be any nosy neighbors around to pry into the newcomers’ business. He put in a rental request and gave his own credit card number, figuring Morpheus would pay him back.
He’d just finished when the front door opened and Ed Slonaker walked in. Ashby heard Andrade joking with him about cracking the whip and making Ashby come in early. Oh shit, Billy, you big mouth, he thought disgustedly. Now Ed would be all over him wanting to know what he was doing coming in early.
Sure enough, Ed motioned to him to come to his office and stood there waiting until Ashby had cleared the screen he was working on and started toward him.
When he sat across the desk from him, Ed asked amiably, “What’s going on, John? You got something urgent working?”
Ashby shook his head. “No, like I told Billy, I got me a stomachache and since I was up I just came on in.”
Ed’s face showed immediate concern. “You don’t think it was Kim’s moose stew, do you? Neither of us got sick off it.”
Ashby held up his hand. “Oh no, Ed, I’m sure it wasn’t that. In fact, I was starting to feel bad even before I came over last night.”
“Well, if you’re not feeling good, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”
“I’m not that bad . . .”
“No,” Ed insisted, “go on and get out of here, pal. There’s nothing going on anyway so spend the rest of the day in bed with a bottle of Pepto.”
Ashby didn’t see how he could refuse without giving a good reason, so he thanked Ed and left the building. On the way home, as he was passing by the Springs, he decided to stop by and see if Pike was still there. If he were, he’d hang around and wait for him to leave. Maybe he could tail him when he went to his cabin and it would save him a lot of work trying to find it.
He went to the front desk and flashed his badge, asking the clerk, “Is Mr. Pike still here?”
The clerk punched some keys on his computer. “Uh, no sir,” the clerk replied. “Mr. Pike checked out last night.”
“Oh,” Ashby said, disappointed. He was about to turn and leave when the clerk added, “But his four friends are still registered.”
Ashby turned back around. “Oh?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Pike reserved two rooms for them before he checked out and those guests are still here.”
“Could you give me their room numbers, please?”
“Sure,” the clerk said and wrote down two numbers on a pad of paper and handed it to Ashby.
He glanced at the room numbers, and then he wrote his cell phone number down and handed it to the clerk. “Would you give me a call if they try to check out? Oh, and don’t say anything to them about my asking, okay?” Ashby said as he pocketed the paper. “Mountie business.”
“Of course, sir.”
Ashby headed for his car, not believing his stroke of luck. So, Pike was dirty after all. The four friends he’d gotten rooms for had to be the ones the man named Morpheus was looking for.
As soon as he was in his car, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number Morpheus had left him.
“Morpheus,” a deep voice answered.
“Mr. Morpheus, this is John Ashby, in Banff.”
“Yes, Mr. Ashby. You have news for me?”
Ashby figured he would try and make himself seem smarter by claiming he’d rented them a cabin only after he found out about the four people Pike had with him.
“Yes, sir. I think I’ve found your man. He’s going by the name Elijah Pike, and he’s got four other people who joined him while he was staying at the Banff Springs Hotel.”
“Excellent, Mr. Ashby,” the voice said, sounding pleased. “And do you have him under surveillance?”
“Uh, no sir. Pike checked out of the hotel last night and is staying in a cabin somewhere nearby.”
The voice hardened. “So you don’t know where he is, then?”
“Not him, but his friends are still in the hotel. I figure they’ll be going to join him later today, so I’ll follow ’em and find out where Pike’s cabin is located.”
There was silence for a moment before the voice continued, sounding less harsh. “Good man. We’re on our way to Banff from Calgary and we should be arriving some time this afternoon late. Are we still to meet you at the hotel?”
“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. If Pike or his friends were to see you, that would eliminate your chance to surprise them, so I’ve rented you and your people a cabin about seven miles out of town. It’s remote enough that you won’t be observed by anyone, and it’s close enough for you to use as a base of operations.”
“You are sounding better and better, Mr. Ashby. I wish all of my associates were as efficient as you seem to be.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ashby said, thinking to himself this stranger appreciated him more than his old friend Ed did. “Here are the directions to the cabin . . .”
Once he’d told Morpheus how to find the cabin, Ashby told him he would keep an eye on the people in the hotel and would be standing by on his mobile phone.
“Good. We’ll call you once we’re at the cabin and you can show us how to find this Pike and his friends. Our visit here may be shorter than we anticipated, thanks to your good work.”
“Thanks,” Ashby said and hung up his phone.
He pulled his car from in front of the hotel and moved it a block down the street, parking it so he could keep a close watch on the entrance. Though he didn’t know what the four people looked like, when they checked out the clerk would call him and he’d be able to follow them when they came out. He settled back in his seat, getting comfortable. It might be a long wait.
* * *
&nb
sp; After Ashby left, Ed sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on his blotter, thinking. Something didn’t ring true about John’s illness. He didn’t appear ill, and usually he could read John’s thoughts like an open book. But this morning, he’d found his friend completely blocked off, as if he had something to hide.
Ed got up from his desk and sauntered over to John’s work area. He sat in his chair and stared at his computer for a moment. Maybe he’d just see what John had come in early to work on. He punched the space bar to get rid of the screen saver. The CDU cleared and he found that John’s computer was still logged onto the Internet. He’d left so quickly he hadn’t turned it off.
Ed, who was no slouch on the computer himself, moved the pointer onto the History button and clicked the left button on the mouse. A list of all of the sites John had visited this morning popped up. The third one down caught Ed’s eye and he clicked on it.
After a moment, a list of rental cabins in the Banff area appeared. So that was it. John was still trying to find out where Elijah was staying, in spite of his orders for him not to pursue it any more.
“Damn it!” he exclaimed. It seemed that John was working on his own, going against Ed’s orders on some mission of his own, or more likely, he was still working with the vampyres from the States who were on their way up here.
Shit, he thought, this whole thing with Pike and his vaccine was turning into a real cluster-fuck. If it weren’t for Kim and her desire to try the vaccine, Ed would just wash his hands of the entire mess and let the chips fall where they may.
Of course, that wasn’t possible now, for he’d promised Kim he would do what he could to help Pike, and since Kim was the most important thing in his life, he’d be damned if he was going to let a bunch of assholes from down under take away her chance at a normal life.
Well, there was nothing else he could do; he was going to have to have it out with John, friendship or no friendship. John, like Ed and Kim, was going to have to make a choice, and God help him if he made the wrong one!
He switched off the computer and went back to his office. He picked up the phone and dialed John’s home number. After it rang twenty times with no answer, he hung up and called his cell phone number.
John answered on the third ring. “Hello.”
Ed gritted his teeth and tried to keep his voice normal. “Hey, Johnny,” he said, “I tried calling you at home to see if you were feeling better and you didn’t answer.”
There was silence for a moment, and then he spoke, “Uh, no, Ed. I . . . uh . . . I ran out of Pepto Bismol and I’m on my way to the store to get some.”
Ed shook his head. The bastard was lying to him. He was as transparent as winter ice. “Well, John, I hate to bother you when you’re sick, but could you swing by headquarters on your way home? Something’s come up and I need to talk to you about it.”
“Couldn’t it wait, Ed?” Ashby answered. “I . . . I really need to get back home before the cramps start again.”
Ed let a little steel creep into his voice. “No, John, it can’t wait. I’ll expect you here shortly,” and he hung up the phone without waiting for an answer.
Ashby stared at the dead phone. He thought for a minute about what to do, and then he shoved the phone in his pocket. Maybe it’d be okay. He could run over to the office and see what Ed wanted, and with luck, the four people he was waiting for wouldn’t check out until he got back on watch.
As he pulled out into the street, he made a mental note to stop somewhere and pick up some diarrhea medicine, just in case Ed asked.
Forty
The group of four made their way to the checkout desk, Shooter suffering from a hangover from the prodigious amount of wine he’d drunk the night before.
As they approached the desk, Shooter rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Hey, Matt ole’ pal, if I ever pick up another glass of wine, just pull out my service revolver and shoot me, would you?” he asked.
Matt looked at him. “Jesus, your eyes look terrible,” he said.
“You should see them from this side,” Shooter moaned, holding his head.
When they got to the desk, Sam told the clerk, “We’d like to check out, please,” and she gave the man their room numbers.
He consulted his computer and smiled up at her. “I’ll take care of it, Miss, and don’t worry about the bill. Mr. Pike has already taken care of it. Shall I get the bellman to call you a cab?”
“No, thanks,” Sam said, “We have a car.”
“You got any aspirin behind the counter there, friend?” Shooter asked, wincing as if the sound of his own voice hurt his head.
The clerk smiled, as if he’d seen it all before. “No, sir, but our gift shop has a full supply of painkillers and Alka Seltzer.”
Shooter handed Matt the keys. “Here, you bring the car around. I need something for this headache.”
Surprisingly, both TJ and Sam appeared none the worse for wear. Both had rosy cheeks and bright eyes and looked as fit as they ever had—another benefit of the vampyre bug circulating in their veins.
As the group moved toward the front doors, with Shooter breaking off and heading toward the gift shop, the clerk picked up a phone and dialed the number John Ashby had left him earlier that morning.
By the time the group arrived at Elijah Pike’s rented cabin, the aspirin and Alka Seltzer had worked their miracles and Shooter was feeling, if not great, at least human.
The last hundred yards up the front drive to the cabin went slowly, with snow piled to almost three feet deep. The Jeep’s four-wheel drive managed to keep them on the road, though just barely.
“Look,” TJ said, sounding relieved as she pointed at Pike’s Tahoe parked next to the cabin. “Elijah must have survived his dinner with the Mountie and his wife last night.”
“That’s great,” Shooter mumbled, almost as if he’d wished for a different outcome for TJ’s ex-lover.
As they slipped and slid toward the cabin in the Jeep, its transmission whining under the strain, Pike stepped out of the front door and waved.
When they stopped, he came down the porch steps and helped them unload the car and carry their baggage inside, where they were greeted by a roaring fire in the stone fireplace.
“Wow, that feels good,” Sam said. “It’s getting a mite cold out there.”
Pike showed Matt and Shooter the bedrooms they were to use and then he said, “Yes, I’m told it sometimes gets colder than fifty degrees below zero up here, though not until much later in winter.”
“That’s just great,” Shooter groused as he carried his and TJ’s bags into the bedroom. “Not only do we have to worry about getting killed by monsters, but if we survive we get to freeze our balls off.”
Pike laughed. “I can see Shooter is a bit under the weather this morning.”
“Too much wine last night,” TJ explained, giving Shooter a glare he always described as her freeze-your-testicles-off look.
“I was just about to cook up a late brunch,” Pike said, moving toward the kitchen. “How do scrambled eggs, sausage, and home fries sound?”
Both TJ and Sam smiled. “Oh, that sounds great,” TJ said.
“Have you got some coffee ready?” Matt asked, following him into the kitchen. “My caffeine level is at an all-time low.”
“Sure,” Pike said, pointing toward a coffeepot on the counter. “Help yourselves.”
* * *
After everyone except Shooter had eaten a full breakfast—Shooter eating only toast and coffee in deference to a stomach he said felt like it was full of glass—Pike led them down into the basement.
The basement was a large room equipped with medical equipment piled on makeshift tables along one wall and what looked like a complete workshop along another wall, with a number of power tools, sticks of dynamite, kegs of nails, and a shotgun, scope-equipped rifle, and several swords lying on the long table. In a corner next to the stairs was a cot covered with blankets and a pillow.
“Jesus,” Matt said, look
ing at the array of weapons on the bench, “it looks like you’re getting ready to fight a war.”
Pike’s face was serious when he replied, “That’s just what I am getting ready for, Matt.”
TJ and Sam went to the table with the medical supplies. “This is amazing,” Sam said, fingering some of the equipment. “You’ve got a complete medical lab set up here.”
Pike nodded. “Yes, and the laptop over there is equipped with a phone line and modem so we can communicate directly with Professor Wingate in Toronto to coordinate our work on the vaccine when we’re ready.”
He looked at Shooter and Matt. “But first, the men and I have some work to do to get ready in case Morpheus manages to find us.”
He moved to the bench with the weapons on it. “Shooter, would you bring me the guns from the bedroom upstairs, please?”
While Shooter went to fetch the duffle bag Pike had left with them the day before, Pike picked up one of the shotguns lying on the table and began to cut the barrel down with a hacksaw. Once the barrel was cut down to about twelve inches from the loading chamber, he took a battery-operated drill and drilled a hole in the wooden stock. By the time Shooter returned with the duffle bag, he’d strung a cord from the stock to the barrel and fashioned a sling for the weapon. He hung it over his shoulder, demonstrating to Matt how it could be worn under a coat where it could quickly be pulled out and used if an attack were imminent.
“I’ve removed the plugs so the guns will hold five shots, six if one is left in the chamber,” he said.
“With the barrel cut down like that, it won’t be good for more than ten or fifteen yards,” Shooter observed.
“I know,” Pike said. “For longer ranges, I’ve got the rifle with the scope on it.”
“But Elijah,” Matt said, “we all know bullets don’t kill vampyres. How is that gonna help us against Morpheus and his cohorts?”
“The rifle isn’t meant to kill them, Matt,” Elijah answered, holding up the rifle. “But, a hit to the head or the eyes will incapacitate them for a while, and will give us time to either run away or to attack and finish them off. A head injury takes more time to recuperate from than a shot to the body or limbs,” he explained. “And with this nine-power scope, we should be able to hit them just about any place we want to, assuming we have good light.”
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