Second Sunrise

by Aimée Thurlo

  He tuned back in to what Diane was saying just in time. “Any other suggestions, Officer Hawk? Your command officers say you’ve got the investigative skills of a career officer already.” Agent Lopez was smart, covering all the bases in order to be on record as cooperating with all agencies involved. She seemed very career-oriented, like most of the FBI agents he’d met or heard about.

  “He may have had someone waiting nearby as a wheelman to pick him up after taking me out. My guess is that Blackhorse is going to need a replacement weapon if he intends to make any more attempts on my life. I’d check for any burglaries last night where weapons were reported missing, and monitor all the service vehicles that enter my apartment complex—everything from delivery people to gardening crews,” Lee suggested.

  “We’re already on that, but you have a point about the weapons situation. With you armed and alert, he won’t want to get close unless he can counter your handgun. I will have someone assigned to coordinate with the local burglary detail and patrol officers.”

  “Who is keeping an eye on my place? You or your partner, Agent Lopez?”

  “My partner, Burt Thomas, for today. Las Cruces PD has increased patrols in the area, too, but that’s all they can do. I’ll take over from Burt tonight. Meanwhile, I’m going to grab some sack time. You might consider doing the same. I hear from your state police associates that you’re a night owl anyway.”

  “Something like that,” Lee said. “Would you like me to contact you directly, or go through the local Bureau switchboard if I come up with something?” The question wasn’t an idle one. Lee wanted to know just how much she trusted him.

  “Call me direct, but if you wake me up for nothing, I’m going to kick your ass real good.” She hung up.

  From her response, he still couldn’t tell if she trusted him or not. He’d have to assume she didn’t. Trust wasn’t something he could really afford, because that would put her closer to him. And right now, that was the last thing he needed with a skinwalker on his tail and someone who might be the most dangerous person in the world as his next target.

  The FBI and local cops had the best chance of finding Darvon Blackhorse in the daytime, when skinwalkers couldn’t shape-shift and conceal their human identities. But being in human form didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. They could use weapons, place bombs, push someone in front of a bus, and mix in a crowded mall or an elevator. And they could track him by scent before they saw him, or he saw them. Darvon had attacked him as a human, like Johnny Tanner.

  Lee preferred to hunt at night, when his superior vision gave him an edge and he could use his strength and speed with less chance of detection. If he was attacked by a pack of wolves or a pair of mountain lions, he just had to make sure he was well armed. Lee was an expert shot with all the practice he’d been getting and his unique vision. And being a law-enforcement officer, especially a state policeman, he could wear a weapon virtually anywhere, anytime.

  Walking over to his closed-up roll-top desk, Lee unlocked the sliding cover and activated his powerful laptop computer, which was on sleep mode. One of the reasons he had selected this particular apartment complex was because they offered cable hookup that included speedy access to the Internet.

  Within a minute he was logged on to the state police server, checking on inquiries he’d made concerning Major Wolfgang Muller, the German pilot he believed to be Hans Gruber. The background check, which he’d begun after getting Muller’s vehicle tag number at Alamogordo, where the pilot lived off base, had required him to bend a few rules and imply that Muller had been involved in espionage or drug dealing, which had, of course, sent him to FBI channels.

  Muller’s background had to have been forged, stolen, or assumed, like Lee’s, and he was hoping it would lead to a confirmation, in Lee’s mind at least, that he was after the right man. If Muller had a twin or brother who was also a vampire and had survived all these years, or maybe somehow had fathered a son, this could lead things in another direction entirely.

  Lee would not take the risk of killing an innocent man. Now that he was a night walker, an investigation that took decades was no burden except to his conscience. He was willing to take time to make sure he’d found the right vampire.

  Wondering just how many bells and whistles he’d set off with his inquiries, Lee read the information made available to him, copied the file onto a floppy, then broke the connection.

  His system had a firewall to prevent intrusions, but he recalled hearing of an FBI program used to read people’s E-mails that could penetrate his protection. He wondered if he was being monitored now and, if so, whether it was because of his inquiries into a foreign national’s background, especially one who was a military officer and a NATO ally? Or would it be because of the incident with Johnny Tanner? Diane Lopez was a go-getter, and sounded as tough as nails. He doubted she’d get such mileage over the Tanner shooting, but she might have thought to tap his computer.

  Lee decided it didn’t really matter much now, because he was finally convinced he’d found the vampire who had haunted his memories for nearly sixty years. The man calling himself Wolfgang Muller wore a cap, a long-sleeved airshow-style jumpsuit some military pilots called shit-hots (the assumption being that they looked like hot shit in them), and wraparound sunglasses. Leather driving gloves, boots, and probably a ton of sunblock rounded out the sun protection the vampire needed.

  The key factor in what he’d read that had convinced Lee he had the right man was a medical notation that Major Muller had a skin condition that was aggravated by intense sunlight.

  As long as Muller wasn’t tipped that someone was checking up on him—and especially that the someone was a Navajo state policeman—Lee was going to be able to make a hopefully lethal surprise move against the German pilot.

  World War II was long past, but neither he nor Muller were old, and their memories were nearly perfect because time didn’t seem to erode their minds at all. The vampire had killed those soldiers, murdered a shop owner in Albuquerque during his escape, and he’d killed Benny Mondragon, a rookie police officer with a teenaged bride and an infant son. Yes, it was during a time of war, but it was hardly honorable combat. And Muller had also condemned Lee to a life of loneliness and deception, forcing him to remain the perpetual prey of Navajo skinwalkers. Lee owed him, and collection time was near.

  Deciding that he needed some food and rest, Lee downed a mug of calves’ blood, followed by butter-pecan ice cream, then he stretched out on the sofa in his clothes. He was asleep within minutes.

  The sound of footsteps outside his apartment door woke Lee up. He relaxed a bit when he heard a light knock on the door. Looking at his watch, he noted it was nearly seven and the sun was setting. Scooping up his pistol from beneath the sofa cushion, Lee slipped across the room and took a quick look out the peephole. Because of his size, easily six feet six, Lee knew the identity of the visitor immediately. He was Lieutenant Richmond, his local supervisor, in uniform. The lieutenant was carrying a small envelope.

  Lee opened the door, and was forced to look up to acknowledge the blue-eyed, freckle-faced officer in his midforties. “Hey, Lieutenant. What brings you here tonight? Any news on Darvon Blackhorse?”

  “No, I was just bringing over some papers I need you to sign regarding the administrative-leave situation you’re facing,” Richmond said matter-of-factly, but the look in his eyes revealed something else was on his mind, and the ex-college basketball star for the University of New Mexico motioned for Lee to remain silent and follow him down the hall. “But I left some of the papers in my unit. Just walk on out with me so I won’t have to make two trips.”

  Lee slipped the small .45 into his pocket, locked his apartment door, and followed Richmond, who held his enormous hand up, a signal that Lee not speak yet. They continued down the hall, into a small foyer, and out the front door of the building.

  “My unit is over here, Officer Hawk.”

  As they walked across the gravel, which crun
ched under their boots, Richmond began to speak in a low voice. “My guess is that the feds are monitoring your apartment with a parabolic mike, or one of those laser jobs that picks up conversations off the glass.”

  Lee now knew why Richmond had picked the gravel to walk upon. Hopefully, it would confuse any listening devices. “It sounds like they’re after me instead of the nut who tried to skewer me with those crossbow bolts.”

  “What are you doing conducting a background check on some German Air Force major stationed at Holloman? The FBI is expressing concern, and they’ve been asking a lot of questions about you. I didn’t have an answer. Do you?”

  Lee was glad he’d thought to come up with a cover story. “I was trying to stay low profile on this. I noticed a man who looked military pushing the speed limit in his Porsche going through the mountains near Cloudcroft. A lot of the hotrod pilots like to race up and down those roads, testing their limits and placing civilians in danger. After running his tags through the DMV, and learning he was a German national named Muller, I decided to pull him over and give him a warning.”

  Richmond nodded, and Lee continued.

  “I’d just reached over to switch on my emergency lights when he pulled to the shoulder and stopped behind another vehicle parked off the road near a picnic ground. I pulled over immediately, and kept watch from a distance. He was acting squirrelly, checking up and down the road before handing the other driver a package or large envelope. The driver gave him something back, then took off. Rather than follow the second vehicle and have to pass the German pilot, tipping my hand that I might have seen something, I turned around and went back down the mountain ahead of him.”

  “I don’t remember reading anything like that in your reports,” Richmond grumbled. “Why not?”

  “I didn’t want to put something down on paper that might get the pilot or myself or the department in hot water if I was misinterpreting the incident. So I decided to see what I could find out about Major Muller before I made any moves. If he turned out to be a former East German or had a shaky background, I would have let the Bureau and you know about it.” Lee hoped his lie sounded reasonable.

  “From your point of view, I can understand. But now that the attempt was made on your life, the Bureau is looking for a connection between your background request on the German and this attack. Is there one?” Lieutenant Richmond had parked all the way at the other end of the parking lot, probably on purpose to give them longer to talk.

  “Not that I can think of.” He paused. “You think Agent Lopez also bugged my apartment?” Lee looked around casually, realizing that his hunch about Diane Lopez was on the money.

  “I don’t know if it was her, or someone else in the FBI, but they’re behind it. I trust you, Officer Hawk, but make sure you don’t get yourself invoked in any FBI entanglements with espionage and the German unit training at Holloman. It could set back international relationships an entire generation and destroy all our careers.’

  They reached the lieutenant’s vehicle, and he unlocked the door, reaching inside to pick up an envelope from the seat cushion. “Here’s the paper you need to sign.” He wrote something down on a sheet of paper, then handed it to Lee along with the envelope.

  Lee read the note. “You’re getting twenty-four/seven surveillance. Northwest corner of Building G. They have a nightscope, too, I think. But I only had a quick look. I drove through the complex, then checked the windows across the grounds with binoculars.”

  “Stay sale,” the lieutenant said.

  “Thanks, Lieutenant.” Lee shook Richmond’s hand, a sign of gratitude, in particular coming from a Navajo. The Dineh generally avoided touching strangers, though they did shake hands occasionally with relatives and friends.

  “Stay out from under the lights,” Richmond warned, looking up at the lampposts, which were just coming on with the gathering darkness. The officer nodded a good-bye, then got into his unit and drove away.

  Lee walked back quickly to his building, jamming the wadded-up note into a half-full trash can just inside the lobby by the mailboxes. He was nearly to his own apartment when he heard someone behind him call his name. It was Special Agent Lopez . . . Diane, hurrying up the hall in his direction.

  “Hi, Officer Hawk.” Agent Lopez smiled a little stiffly. “That was your lieutenant, wasn’t it? I noticed him driving away as I arrived. Didn’t he used to play basketball for the Lobos?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Richmond made all-conference his senior year. He had papers for me.” Lee wasn’t going to volunteer any more information than that. Agent Lopez wasn’t showing all her cards, so he didn’t feel obligated to do so either.

  “Come on inside. Have you eaten dinner yet?” Lee offered. He was nearly always hungry, a small price to pay for being basically immortal and self-healing.

  She accepted his invitation and he prepared two thick steaks, broiling them on his portable electric grill as Agent Lopez prepared salad from greens in the refrigerator. Despite her congeniality, Diane seemed to be watching him when he was turned away and avoiding his gaze whenever he looked back.

  Something was different now, and he tried to recall anything he’d done that might have changed her opinion of him. He doubted that the skinwalkers had been caught and informed the authorities that he was a vampire. It wasn’t the kind of story that could be believed without being seen, and even then, you might have to see it three or four times to be convinced.

  But there were other secrets in his life, and because he’d spent most of the past century in the Southwest, it was possible that one of his past identities was catching up to him. The curse of computers was that they could make connections it might take years, or forever, for an investigator to discover on his own. He’d been photographed several times since 1945, though he had always tried to avoid it without being conspicuous, and there were a few photos that had been taken when he was young and in school. Vampires could be caught on film, not like in the movies.

  Finally, halfway through his steak, he decided he’d had enough of her strange behavior. “I know that you suspect me of something—you’re keeping close tabs on me for a reason. But let’s put our cards on the table, shall we? What’s this really about? Does your interest in me have to do with that German Air Force pilot I cheeked up on through the Bureau? I’m not a spy or a terrorist.”

  “Then why did you run the check on him? And what are you hiding from me? Is there a connection between the attempt on your life and your interest in that foreign national? I find it hard to believe that you just happened to be following him when he passed secrets to some spy or made a drug deal.”

  So she’d heard that much. It was time to rattle her a bit. “The listening device you have over in the upstairs apartment of Building G must be pretty good. I guess it filtered out the crunch of the gravel despite the lieutenant’s big feet?”

  She stared at him for a moment. “How did you . . . Never mind. Just answer my question.”

  “Can your partner hear us now?”

  She shook her head. “The device doesn’t work when the curtains are closed. Some technical reason I don’t care to know. Go ahead, talk, if you have something to say.” Diane poured herself another cup of coffee. “You’re not a spy, are you, like that poor Marine at the embassy in Moscow several years ago?”

  “Put your tape recorder on the table.”

  She stared at him, then pulled it out.

  “You can keep it running if you want.”

  She nodded once. “Okay. Now talk to me.”

  “I’m not a spy. What could I possibly know that would serve our country’s enemies? A few Navajo cultural secrets? My war name? The perfect fry bread recipe? The governor’s defense plans in case Utah attacks? Even as a state police officer, I haven’t done any undercover work. Sorry if you’ve been wasting your time searching for a leak that isn’t there. That German pilot is probably innocent, too.”

  Lee took a sip of coffee, added a spoonful of sugar, then stirred it b
efore taking another sip. “Or maybe he was looking to get high outside of his airplane. That’s my guess.”

  Diane sat there for a few minutes, taking sips from her coffee, looking around the room, but never at his face. Finally she looked him in the eye. “I have several questions, but I’m not interested in verbal sparring. Will you tell me the truth, or are you going to make jokes about it or change the subject?”

  “I guess that all depends—are they personal questions, or do they have to do with any of the cases I was involved with, like the Johnny Tanner shooting?”

  He started to walk across the room toward the sofa, thinking of possible answers to her possible questions, stalling for time.

  “Stay away from there. The microphone might pick up sounds close to the window, curtain or not. This is between you and me now.” Diane started to sit back down again, then changed her mind, turned off the tape recording, then leaned against the kitchen counter, facing him. He stood right across from her, less than four feet away.

  “Well?” He believed she was the type to play things close to her chest, so laying her cards on the table wouldn’t come naturally to her. Her abrupt change of tactics intrigued him.

  “First of all, I want to know what happened with that arrow—what you called a bolt. It hit you in the chest and should have left a hell of a bruise and a sore spot, in spite of the vest. Yet, when I touched your chest, not ten minutes after it happened, you didn’t even flinch, though I think I embarrassed you. And don’t tell me it misfired. One of the lab people tested both crossbows, and they each shot a similar test bolt all the way through a one-inch piece of oak.”

  “I’m an alpha male. We don’t recognize pain.”

  “Right. But I’m an alpha bitch, and I’m not convinced. From the holes in your sweater, I could swear that second bolt passed right through your upper arm. And you lost a bunch of blood, based upon what I saw on your sleeve. A scratch? I don’t think so. I saw you pull the damn thing out as I was running up. You really had to yank at it. Can I see your arm and your chest?”