Hunting Daylight (9781101619032)

by Maitland, Piper

  He guided his chair past a row of empty beds. As he touched each mattress, he whispered a name.

  “Aiken, Turner, Griffin, Randolph, Yang.”

  Aside from Dr. Hazan, who was curiously exempt from Mustafa’s wrath, Jude was the last scientist in the Al-Dîn compound. The moment the daylight serum was finished, his cot would be just as empty as the others, stripped and sanitized, his remains thrown into the incinerator—or worse.

  How had Mustafa made the connection between Vivi and the antibodies? Jude had spent the last decade shifting the focus of his research from the antibodies to the bats’ daylight gene. He’d skewed results, contaminated the cell cultures, and sent countless mice to early graves.

  Never mind how Mustafa found out. She’s here, and I’ve got to find a way to save her.

  Ever since he’d returned from Vivi’s room, he’d worked on an escape plan. First, he would continue to delay the research. That would buy time. Then he’d have to find a way to put Vivi in the air duct. When she was safely inside, he could release the bats from their chamber. They would take out Mustafa, his staff, and the mercenaries. Then Vivi could climb up to the ground level, crawl out, and run like bloody hell. He wouldn’t come out of this alive, but he could save her.

  Where is Caro? Jude’s throat ached. Vivi had said she was alive, but where had she been during the kidnapping? How did Vivi know she was safe?

  His bed stood in the corner, a trapeze bar dangling over the mattress. He steered the chair toward it and angled next to his night table, which was piled with books and papers. He put on the brake, then leaned down and raised the metal footrest. One at a time, he lifted his feet to the floor. He didn’t bother to hide his movements from the security camera. Months ago, before Dr. Yang had died, he’d distorted the lens with Vaseline, and no one from central command had shown up to investigate.

  Jude slid his feet across the floor, his toes soaking in the coldness of the tiles. Numb patches were still scattered on the ball of his left foot, but his right leg was strong. He gripped the sides of the chair and stood.

  Three seconds went by. Five seconds. Ten. His knees wobbled, and he lunged for the trapeze bar. He caught it, and tendons bulged in his forearms. He worked out every morning in the gym, and his upper body had never been stronger. He eased himself onto the bed, then let go of the bar and stared at his hands.

  These are my only weapons, he thought.

  He’d almost gotten his legs back, and ironically Mustafa had been responsible.

  Ten years ago, shortly after Jude had arrived in Sutherland, the Turk’s leukemia had gone into a T-cell blast crisis, signaling the end-stage of the disease. Tatiana flew to Beijing and kidnapped Dr. Yang, a human geneticist, and ordered him to perform gene therapy.

  Yang had caused a disturbance when he’d arrived at the compound. His IQ was 180, and he used his intelligence as a tool of chaos. He was proud and feisty, prone to temper tantrums. Few scientists on Level 3 had dared to complain about their working conditions. If they didn’t cooperate, they were threatened with beatings, water-boarding, isolation, and starvation. The men always became docile after they realized that harm would befall their families.

  This leverage didn’t work on Yang. He complained about the frigid temperature, the reddish light, the Turkish food, the hardness of his mattress. He set off the fire alarm, opened the mice cages, and turned on the water valves in the restroom; it took a week to pump out the water. Every night he picked the lock to the employee’s lounge, where soft drinks and bottled blood were dispensed in a small Coca-Cola machine, and he stole Fanta, Sprite, and Coke, passing over the Coke Vanilla, his least favorite. On his last raid, he saw that the racks had been refilled with blood. Even the vanilla cans were gone. He leaped onto the machine and rocked it back and forth until it collapsed on top of him. He’d spent a week in the infirmary with a broken collarbone.

  He’d become a hero to Jude and the other scientists. When Yang eventually wandered into the main lab in the Biomedical Unit, everyone applauded. After a cursory inventory, he sent hourly memos to Mustafa, demanding and receiving experimental drugs and world-class equipment. Jude had never been talkative, but once he’d gotten to know Yang, everything rushed out: Caro, Meep, São Tomé, Gabon, the bats, the toothed fish, Tatiana, the monoclonal antibodies, his escape, his paralysis, his determination to protect his daughter, and his prevarication with the research. He even told him about the experiments he’d done during his human years. He’d discovered R-99, the Resurrection Gene, which exists in the immortals’ unique stem cells. True, his research had involved mice, but it had almost gotten him killed.

  Yang was less revealing. He had once played polo, but he’d become a workaholic. He lived in a luxury high-rise apartment and drove a BMW. His wife, Ji Li, had been six months pregnant with their child, a son, when Tatiana and her team had shown up at Yang’s lab in Beijing.

  “Maybe if I save the Turk, I can go home,” he said.

  “They won’t let you,” Jude said.

  “Yes, they will,” Yang said. “You will see.”

  They settled down to work, assembled the cutting-edge equipment, and reversed Mustafa’s blast crisis. In return, Yang expected a one-way ticket to Beijing, but he was ordered to find a cure for the Turk’s leukemia, which kept edging toward the end stage.

  Yang retaliated. His weekly lab reports were long and obtuse, crammed with arcane terminology and insulting descriptions of Mustafa’s blood and bone marrow. Twice, the guards put the doctor in solitary confinement. The hijinks resumed. Yang went through his repertoire—grievances, floods, fire alarms, mice running along the walls—but the results did not please him, so he shut down the compound’s computer network with the ILoveYou virus. Meanwhile, Jude kept working with monoclonal antibodies, distorting the research.

  A decade later, every scientist was dead except for Jude and Yang. They referred to themselves as Robinson Crusoe and Friday. When they weren’t in the lab, they played poker, Angry Birds, and solved word puzzles.

  This past year, Yang began amusing himself with T cell trials, supposedly for the Turk’s benefit. That was when it got interesting. T cells were supreme cutthroats, the immune system’s equivalent of British MI6 assassins; these cells had a license to kill, so to speak, but they had to be programmed. Mustafa’s T cells had to be taught how to kill his cancer, and then they became “natural” killer cells, as scientists called them.

  But Yang cultured his own T cells, knowing these “natural” killer cells would be destroyed by Mustafa’s immune system. Yang would gleefully transmit photographs up to the Turk, showing off his “progress,” then was unapologetic when the treatment failed.

  Escape dominated his thoughts. He believed that Mustafa’s obsession with daylight was the only thing that held the compound together. When the Turk died, Yang would walk.

  “You can walk with me,” Yang said.

  “They’ll kill us. Or make us work,” Jude said.

  Yang made a fist. “We will get out. Even if the bastard Turk does not die, we will escape.”

  “I’d just slow you down,” Jude said.

  Yang shook his head. “I’m going to help you walk again.”

  He rubbed Vaseline over the lenses of the security cameras, and then they waited for someone in CC to show up. A week went by. Two weeks. A month.

  “Mustafa’s men are asleep at the wheel,” Yang said. “But we are awake.”

  He jammed the lock on the laboratory doors, then harvested stem cells from Jude’s bone marrow. He induced them to grow into long strands of glial neural cells. At three-week intervals, he injected them into Jude’s spine. After the first treatment, a splotchy feeling returned to his groin. His bum itched during the second, and by the third, he felt the coldness of the tile floor beneath his feet. “Three more injections,” Yang said, “and we’ll be home with our families.”

  But Jude never received those treatments. One day in July, Mustafa’s men took the scientist away, and he
never returned. Jude had heard screams rising from the large animal containment center, which was just in the next corridor. The janitor had told Jude what happened—Yang had been taken into the bat chamber.

  Now, Jude heard footsteps outside his dormitory, and he cleared his mind. His door opened, and Tatiana walked in. “You decent?” she called, her voice echoing. “Because I’m not.”

  “Get out of my dorm,” he said.

  “Don’t be territorial.” Her hand fluttered over her hair, sweeping back her bangs. As she stepped forward, her short, black chiffon dress stirred above her knees. She wore black ballet slippers, and they made a scuffing noise as she moved over the tile.

  “Why are you here?” he said, his voice cold. “Shouldn’t you be clubbing baby seals?”

  She smiled coyly. “Speaking of babies, your daughter is beautiful. She has your eyes.”

  His stomach muscles tensed. Tatiana had seen Vivi? She’d probably orchestrated the kidnapping. “Did you bring her to the compound?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve been in London.”

  “She’s got a bruise on her cheek. Who hit her?”

  “One of the mercs. I executed him.”

  Jude stared past her, toward the empty cots. The red light reminded him of an aggressive vine, twisting down from the ceiling, forking through the air, rooting into the floor. How had Mustafa connected day-walking with the genetics of a quarter vampire? Jude remembered that long-ago briefing in Gabon when Lenny had told the scientists about the monoclonal antibodies. His paradigm for Project Daylight had been unassailable, but Jude wanted no part of it. He hadn’t known how, or if, he would make it out of Gabon, but he’d never guessed that he would end up in an underground lab, quashing and obfuscating the research. His lab partners were dead. Who had revealed the deception?

  He brought his gaze back to Tatiana. “How did Mustafa find my daughter?”

  “It was an accident.” She assumed a ballet position, her heels pushed together, toes pointed outward.

  “Accident?” Jude said.

  “Vivi wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t confided in Yang,” she said.

  A grinding sound echoed inside Jude’s head. “What does a dead scientist have to do with my child?”

  “Everything.” She swished her dress. The gesture made him think of kudzu tendrils slithering across a field, stealing up power lines, and squashing mature trees, an insatiable force that coveted every object in its path. “What about Yang?”

  “He betrayed you. You’re lucky that he told me what you were doing. If he’d gotten to Mustafa, you’d be dead. Even I couldn’t have saved you.”

  Her words coiled around him, looping around his chest, squeezing out his air. “I don’t understand.”

  “Yang approached me with a deal. He would reveal your secrets—including vital information about Project Daylight—if I’d let him return to Beijing. Of course I wouldn’t have allowed it. But he never doubted my word. His naïveté was greater than his intelligence, which was exceptional. He told me about your daughter’s monoclonal antibodies—and that’s what Mustafa needs to block the reaction to sunlight. Yang had a theory that your daughter would have the RH1 gene.” Tatiana paused. “Just like the bats.”

  More vines knotted around Jude’s ribs, forcing him to exhale. “When did Yang cut this deal?”

  “You’re really asking how long Mustafa has been looking for Vivi, aren’t you? Here’s the timeline. Yang cut the deal in June. He died in July. Now it’s August.”

  “It didn’t take you long to find her.”

  “Me? No, I refused to get involved. But before Yang died, he tried to tell Mustafa what you’d done. I saved you—again. Mustafa believes that Yang deceived him.”

  Jude’s mouth went dry. Yang’s need to escape had set off a catalyst.

  “Not many people fool Mustafa,” Tatiana said. “I have, but I’m a woman. You’re the only man who conned the great Turk.”

  “Yang did.”

  “He was an amateur.” She laughed. “He was weak. He offered to have sex with me. He wasn’t my type. I like integrity and toughness in a man. What a combination. It turns me on. You turn me on.”

  He didn’t want to hear it. “Why did you betray Mustafa? I thought you cared about him.”

  “I do. But I love you. Besides, he wasn’t the same after he got sick. All those drugs put a veil over him. He talks to a ferret. I’ve kept his company going. When he’s gone, you and I will run Al-Dîn. Until that happens, I can protect your daughter the way I’ve protected you.”

  “I won’t run the company. And I never asked for your help.”

  “Haven’t you wondered why no one came to investigate your security cameras? Or why Mustafa let you take your time with the research?”

  Jude rubbed his eyes. Any second now she’d tell him what she’d done for him and what she hoped to do.

  “Think about that a minute, Jude. I kept you alive. And I will get you out of that chair. I’m bringing in a stem cell specialist. Your treatments will resume, and you will rise in all kind of ways.”

  He lowered his head. “It makes me sick to look at you.”

  “I can give you so much love.”

  “You don’t know what that word means.”

  “Go ahead. Hurt me with words. I will go on loving you.”

  “Your wants aren’t the same as mine. I don’t want you. I never have and never will. I love my wife. Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  “You were the only man who wouldn’t sleep with me. That intrigued me. You had honor.” She lifted her arms above her head and moved her fingers in delicate patterns. “But that is a facile explanation. The truth is serpentine. You remind me of someone I once knew. A good man. A human. He had blue eyes with little copper specks. Not quite like yours, but close. All my life I have been looking for those eyes.”

  “Then cut them out of me. Put them in a jar.”

  “I want every piece of you. I know you feel something. You’re in denial.”

  “What I feel for you is the opposite of attraction.”

  He looked away before she could read the expression in his eyes. A decade’s worth of guilt and regret welled up inside him. He was responsible for his choices. He’d gone to Gabon, trusted Yang, and divulged secrets about Vivi and Caro. He felt helpless.

  “I have known you ten years, Jude. Longer than you knew your wife. Longer than you knew your daughter. Yet you love them more.”

  She paused, watching his face.

  More? He rubbed his forehead, weary of her persistence. She heard what she wanted and discarded the rest. Or did she have a type of OCD?

  “If you make love to me, I will get your daughter away from Mustafa.” She smiled.

  “I know what your promises are worth.” He leaned toward his night table and swept everything to the floor. Books and papers tumbled down.

  Her smile dimmed. “You don’t even know your daughter.”

  “I know what love is.”

  “She’s dangerous. A mutant. You don’t know what I know. You won’t love her when you find out what she can do.”

  What did that even mean? Tatiana was trying to keep him in the conversation. “She’s my child.”

  “And she probably has the RH1 gene. No human has it. Just some stupid bats. You’ve got to know this won’t end well.” Her smile snapped back into place. “See? It hurts when we don’t get what we want. You’re my kind of guy, Jude. The patron saint of hopeless causes.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Vivi

  MAIN FLOOR—LEVEL 1

  BANQUET HALL III

  AL-DÎN COMPOUND

  Vivi’s mind felt clear and sharp as Fadime led her through the second-floor corridor. She stepped into the elevator, wondering if the benzos had cleared her system. One way to find out. She stared at the back of Fadime’s head. She’d give him a little Inductive push. No blood or anything gross. Nothing that would alarm him.

  The elevator doors closed, and he pushed
the top button: 1. So they were going to the main floor? She glanced around for the camera. It was near the ceiling, aimed at the control panel. She pulled in a breath, felt her lungs expand, and sent out a thought.

  Fadime, laugh.

  She kept breathing until a smile cracked across his mouth. Vivi smiled, too. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. As they stepped out, she saw a floor directory:

  The Al-Dîn Corporation Research Facility & Compound

  LEVEL 1 LOBBY

  Accounting

  Medical Records

  Security

  Conference Room

  Banquet Halls

  LEVEL 2 DORMITORIES 200–250

  Patient Treatment Area

  Spa/Gym

  LEVEL 3 BIOMEDICAL LABORATORY

  Stem Cell Research

  Dormitories A–C

  Quarantine & Animal Containment

  Fadime strode into a corridor. “You walk too slow,” he called over his shoulder.

  “I’m hurrying.” Duh, didn’t he know she was supposed to be drugged? If she acted too alert, Dr. Hazan would pump her full of mind-numbing pills, and then she wouldn’t be able to Induce. And even that might not help her escape.

  At the end of the hall, two massive wooden doors stood open. A brass plaque on the wall read, BANQUET HALLS.

  Fadime guided her into a colorful, Byzantine chamber. The walls were tiled, and hectic patterns swarmed out. Grecian columns supported archways that led to other, exotic rooms.

  She walked past a café-like room, where uniformed men sat in booths, shoveling food into their mouths. In the next chamber, she saw a long gilt banquet table, and Mustafa sat behind it. His chair resembled a throne, and his IV pole stood nearby.

  “Vivienne, so nice of you to join me,” he called. “Fadime, I want her to sit across from me.”

  Fadime led her to a gilt chair. Her gaze passed over platters of food, china, and silver flatware. Every piece of cutlery but a knife, she noticed. A forest of goblets spread out above and to the right of the plate.

  “Say hello, Bram,” Mustafa said. The ferret perched on Mustafa’s shoulder, chewing a piece of raw meat.