He talks about it like he was there, Zach thought. Then he realized, he probably was.
“At that time, we discovered a scientist who was trying to create what he called Unmenschsoldaten—soldiers built from the parts of corpses.”
Cade looked directly at the president. “Someone has started that process again. These limbs were modified to be assembled into Unmenschsoldaten.”
He paused, as if to let it sink in. Everyone looked grim. Zach, on the other hand, sensed a chance to reset the agenda. He knew it was a risk, but hey, he didn’t get ahead without taking a few chances, and getting noticed. . . .
So he raised his hand.
The president noticed. “You don’t have to wait to be called on, Zach. Go ahead.”
“I know I’m new to this,” Zach said, “but . . . so what?”
Everyone in the room stared at Zach like his mother dropped him on his head. A lot.
“ ‘ So what?”’ Griff repeated.
“Well . . . yeah,” Zach said. “Maybe this is just thinking outside the box, but who cares if someone digs up some corpses and puts them back together? I mean, sure, that’s insane, and even kind of impressive, but we’re talking about a corpse here.”
Cade looked at him. Zach’s mouth went dry, but he managed to look back.
“Living humans can walk away from car wrecks, falls, even gunshots,” Cade said to him. “Now imagine a human body with all the human weakness removed. A corpse doesn’t feel pain. Doesn’t get hungry. Doesn’t suffer shock, or exhaustion, or remorse.”
“But it’s still just a dead body—” Zach insisted.
“All they remember how to do is kill,” Cade said. “Shoot them, they keep going. Burn them, they keep going. They do not stop. They do not rest. Given a day, an Unmenschsoldat can murder a thousand people with its bare hands. A dozen Unmenschsoldaten could quadruple that body count. A platoon—or an entire battalion—could increase that number exponentially.”
The smirk faded from Zach’s face. But Cade wasn’t about to let him off the hook.
“Do you understand? This is a weapon that literally kills cities—one person at a time.”
Silence.
“Is that far enough ‘outside the box’ for you, Zach?” Griff asked.
Zach looked down at the table.
“That will do,” the president said.
“How do we even know there’s more of these things?” Wyman piped up. “You only found the one container, right? Did you hit the panic button for nothing, Cade?”
The contempt in Wyman’s voice almost made Zach’s jaw drop. Didn’t he know what he was dealing with? He had to, if he was here—but he still talked to Cade as if he were any other subordinate, when the sane response would be to run screaming for the door.
Maybe that’s how vampires had lived so long, Zach thought, despite all the warnings in legends and folklore: the endless inability of humans to see past their own noses, to face what was right in front of them.
Griff spoke up. “Actually, sir, the same billing code was used for shipments that have already been in the U.S. for a while. A couple came through Baltimore, one through Long Beach, and then another one came to Los Angeles just last week. It looks like the one ICE intercepted was almost the last.”
“Which was the last?”
“That would be the one headed for Los Angeles right now. On another container ship. Due to arrive at the port in two days,” Griff said.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Wyman said. “Could be a coincidence. Could be nothing.”
Griff looked at Wyman with disbelief.
“I think what the vice president is asking is, do we have any idea who’s behind this?” the president asked. “Or are we just guessing at the intent here?”
“We don’t know. The container was shipped out of Kuwait City,” Griff said. “We’re assuming an Islamic Jihad splinter group or sleeper cell.”
“Still seems pretty far-fetched to me,” Wyman said.
“Who did it is irrelevant,” Cade said. “There’s only one person who actually knows the secrets necessary to create the Unmenschsoldat,” Cade said. “Dr. Johann Konrad. I would like to bring him in.”
“Wait,” Zach said. “This guy is still alive?”
The president looked at Griff. “Didn’t you give him the briefing book?”
“He says he skimmed it,” Griff said.
“Do you have any direct evidence Konrad is involved?”
Cade shrugged. “No.”
“He’s the only man who could be doing this,” Griff said.
The president looked at his file. “According to this, that’s not strictly true, is it? Other people have used Konrad’s discoveries, haven’t they?” The president read from the page. “Evans City, Pennsylvania, 1967. Camden, New Jersey, 1957 . . . ”
“We couldn’t prove Konrad was involved in those, but we suspected him,” Griff said.
“We made him a deal,” the president said, still looking at the folder. “Full pardon. Full citizenship. We may not like it, but I am bound to honor my predecessor’s wishes, based on that favor he did for us in 1981.”
“That was no favor,” Griff said.
“You might feel differently if it was your life on the line, Agent Griffin,” the president said sharply.
“He’s still our best lead,” Griff insisted.
The president thought for a moment. Wyman used the pause as a chance to jump in again.
“I have a question,” he said. “Why didn’t we know about this before?”
“We only made this discovery a few hours ago,” Griff said.
“That’s not what I meant,” Wyman snapped. “Soldiers who don’t need to eat, don’t need body armor and can’t be stopped. Why aren’t we using this technology ourselves?”
Zach was pretty sure Wyman didn’t see the president’s look of annoyance.
“CEO Number Thirty-Seven,” Cade said, his voice flat. “Signed by President Eisenhower in 1958. Expressly forbids the use of any of Konrad’s discoveries by any agency of the U.S. government.”
Zach finally recognized something Cade was talking about; he’d gotten that far in the briefing book. The CEOs—Classified Executive Orders—were how the presidents left instructions for their successors after they had been introduced to the big secrets, including the existence of Cade. The formal numbering only began with Roosevelt, during World War II. Before then, the presidents had merely written things down in a leather-bound journal that stayed in a safe in the Oval Office.
Wyman waved Cade off. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m sure Ike didn’t know all the threats we’d have to face in the twenty-first century. He probably didn’t intend to tie our hands like that.”
“Actually, he did,” Cade said. “I was there.”
Wyman’s scowl deepened, and he turned to the president.
“This is exactly what I was talking about before,” he said, his voice creeping close to a whine. “When I see these things just going to waste, under glass in that little secret hideaway he sits in . . . These aren’t artifacts. These are weapons. We should use them.”
Griff made a noise, deep in his throat.
“Something to say, Agent Griffin?” Wyman asked.
Zach hadn’t seen Griff’s face like this before. The veep had done something Zach hadn’t managed with all his needling. He’d pissed the old guy off.
“Yes, sir,” Griff said. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Wyman’s mouth dropped open. The president suppressed a smile.
“You are out of line, Agent Griffin,” Wyman hissed.
“I’m not finished,” Griff said. “Haven’t you been listening? Those things aren’t weapons. That’s just the promise they dangle in front of the people stupid enough to use them. They’re keys, and they open a door that has to be kept closed, at any cost. This isn’t a policy debate. You haven’t a fucking clue as to what I’ve seen, and you damn sure don’t want it walking the
Earth. Sir.”
Wyman’s face went red. “We’ve already let evil inside,” he said, looking at Cade. “Some might say we’ve let it get far too close.”
Griff looked ready to fire back, but the president held up his hand.
“That’s enough, Agent Griffin,” he said.
“What about a missile strike?” the chairman of the Joint Chiefs asked. “Conventional or nuclear, those bastards can’t walk away from that.”
“No, they can’t,” Griff agreed. “Neither will anyone else in the target area.”
The chairman made a face. “In other words, the only way to stop them from killing thousands of people is by dropping a bomb that will kill thousands of people.”
“Maybe we could get some Predator drones into the air,” the director of the CIA suggested.
“In domestic airspace?” Wyman shot back. “Are you insane?”
“And who would be at the trigger?” the chairman asked. “CIA or DOD?”
The men began talking over one another. Cade walked away from the table. The president noticed.
“Are we boring you, Cade?”
“Yes,” he said.
A short, shocked laugh from someone. “Unbelievable,” Wyman muttered.
“You have something to add, let’s hear it,” President Curtis said.
Cade looked at the ceiling, then back down at the men at the table. “Very well. Small words. If we are right, there will be dead soldiers walking down the street of an American city. Killing everything they find. Made of the pieces of men who died to protect this country. Mothers will see their dead sons’ faces on television, doing horrible things. And people will believe in the things in the dark again. Every time this happens, the Other Side gains ground. Its borders expand with fear. It feeds on our pain. And every corpse that is piled in the street will tell the world you failed to protect this nation.”
That shut everyone up. Even Wyman.
The president looked at the photo of the tattoo, still on the screen.
“So what are our options?”
“We stop them before they are activated,” Cade said. “That is the only option.”
Zach knew he probably shouldn’t say anything. But now he was scared, too. “Maybe it’s too late for that,” he said. “How do we know they haven’t been fired up already?”
“Because no one is dead yet,” Cade said.
THE PRESIDENT DIDN’T TAKE long to reach a decision after that. He ordered Griffin to stay in Washington and find out where the shipment came from and who sent it. Cade, he ordered to talk to Konrad, to treat him as a suspect, but not to do anything without proof.
“Like it or not, the man is a citizen now,” he said. “You hear me, Cade?”
Cade nodded.
“Zach, you’ll go with Cade,” the president said. “Nothing like starting in the deep end.”
He closed the folder and left the room, the Secret Service men right behind him. Wyman was up like a jack-in-the-box, already complaining as they walked to the elevator up to the White House.
Without a word to Griff or Cade, Zach hurried out the door after them.
CADE AND GRIFF WATCHED them go. Griff, still seated, let out a huge puff of air; to Cade, his breath smelled of frustration.
“You know we should bring him in,” he said.
“No,” Cade said. “I should have killed him years ago.”
Griff nodded. “But we have our orders,” he said.
“We have our orders,” Cade agreed. He was busy wiping the hard drive of the laptop, running a program that would scour it to the bare metal. No records of these meetings were ever kept, and the digital images from Zach’s phone could never be allowed out of the P-OCK.
“What was that, with Wyman?” Cade asked.
“It’s not like I’m worried about losing my pension.”
Another uncomfortable silence. Cade really thought he’d be better at watching people die by now.
Griff nodded in the direction of the door. “Looks like the kid is going to try to quit.”
Cade gave Griff his ghost of a smile. “I wish him luck.”
ZACH CAUGHT UP with the president and Wyman at the elevator doors. The Secret Service stepped forward slightly. For a split second, Zach was flattered that they considered him a threat. Hanging with a vampire was raising his street cred.
The president made a small gesture, and they stepped back again. He shook Zach’s hand.
“Zach,” he said. “How do you like the job so far?”
You bastard, Zach thought. Out loud, he said, “Sir, I think you’ve made a mistake.”
“I gave you my orders, Zach. You and Cade will question the doctor—”
“That’s not what I meant, sir.” Ordinarily, Zach would never interrupt the president, but he had to talk fast. The elevator down into the P-OCK took a while, and that was all the time he’d get. “I don’t think I’m right for this job.”
“I disagree,” the president said.
“Sir, with all due respect, you’re wrong. Unbelievably wrong. I am not the guy for this. You need a Navy SEAL or someone from the CIA. For God’s sake”—Zach lowered his voice here—“when I met Cade I wet my pants.”
“He has that effect on people,” the president said.
“Sir, please, if you want me to say I’m sorry about your daughter—”
The president took Zach around the shoulders and walked him away from the others. “Zach—you really think you’re here because of what you did with Candace? I know you’re smarter than that.”
“Then why?”
The president looked him in the eye. “Because you are smart. You’re resourceful. And you’re loyal. Those are qualities that are hard to come by these days.”
Zach might have imagined it, but he thought the president glanced back at Wyman.
“Believe me, Zach,” the president said, “this is the most important job you could possibly have in my administration. Trust me when I say I need you to do this.”
The elevator chimed softly. The president turned, and he and Wyman and the agents got on board. He looked at Zach. Then the SOB actually winked at him.
Zach just stared dumbly back as the doors closed.
ELEVEN
1967—So—called Night of the Living Dead incident, Evans City, Pennsylvania—Unintentional release of experimental compound based on the work of Dr. Johann Konrad (see “Baron von Frankenstein”) causes recently deceased humans to regain metabolic function, i.e., “return to life.” Revived humans attacked a farmhouse where non-affected residents of the area sought safety. The compound broke down after approximately eight hours, and the deceased “died” once again. No survivors.
—BRIEFING BOOK: CODENAME: NIGHTMARE PET
The next few hours were strangely dull for Zach—the usual hurry-up-and-wait of preparing for a trip. They took the car to Andrews Air Force Base. A man in a suit took the keys from them after they parked, and drove off fast in the direction of the runways.
Zach didn’t have time to ask what that was about. The sky was getting light. He had to hurry to keep up with Cade as he entered a small hangar marked EVERGREEN AVIATION.
Inside, the space was mostly empty, aside from a few spare tires for landing gear, and a long, aluminum case.
Cade got inside the case and snapped the lid shut, without a word to Zach.
Zach didn’t know what to do. He waited.
Everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours began to pile up. He tried to assimilate all he’d learned by holding an imaginary press briefing in his head. He’d done a few while at the White House, and he found nothing focused his thoughts like fending off the jackals of the media.
Q: Mr. Barrows, you say you’ve been selected to assist a vampire? Are you quite sure you haven’t had a psychotic break with reality?
A: Well, when I see him, my guts turn to water, and I have to clench everything I have just to keep from screaming in raw panic. And he’s got fangs. So, yeah, I
’m going to go with vampire.
Q: Does he feed on human beings?
A: He says not.
Q: And you believe that?
A: I’ve got no reason to doubt him. So far. Yes, Helen?
Q: What other supernatural elements is the U.S. government employing? Are there werewolves at the State Department?
A: You’d have to ask them. For all I know, they’ve got zombies at the IRS. All I can tell you about is the vampire.
Q: The material you handed out says he’s vulnerable to sunlight and fire. What about garlic? Or silver?
A: Search me. I haven’t bought him any pizza or jewelry yet. [Laughter]
Q: This Unmenschsoldat threat—it sounds like a lot of people could die if you screw up.
A: That’s not a question.
Q: What’s this “Other Side” we keep hearing about?
A: I’m afraid that’s classified.
Q: You mean you don’t know.
A: And that’s all we have time for.
Q: Mr. Barrows, is this really what you wanted to do with your life?
A: Thank you all for coming.
Zach thought it over. He was stuck. The president had made that clear. But maybe there was a way back into a real power position. If he did the job, went along with this madness . . . maybe he could get promoted. Or a transfer.
Two maintenance personnel entered wearing grease-stained coveralls. They picked up the case and walked out with it. Zach figured he was supposed to follow.
They loaded the case into a jeep and then drove out to a runway where a C-130 cargo plane was waiting, engines idling.
Inside the huge mouth of the plane, Zach saw the sedan parked, with more men in jumpsuits strapping it into place.
The maintenance men hopped out of the jeep, grabbed the case, and hustled it on board. Zach jogged after them.
The pilot—who wore coveralls without any insignia or patches—waited by the car. The plane was as big inside as an elementary school gym. He yelled something Zach couldn’t hear over the engines, and turned for the head of the plane.
Up in the cockpit, the copilot was already seated. He pointed to a free pair of headphones. Zach put them on.
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