Broken Ice (Immortal Operative Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

  My emotion at not losing him to that sniper crashed into the realization that the Agency will likely send us halfway around the world from each other for a while—and things rather rapidly escalated from conversation to oversharing to our clothes coming off.

  Making love to him inside his little ‘recovery room’ at the US Embassy in Berlin was probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. It likely ranks in the top ten most reckless things, but I’ve always been the sort of person to not fully appreciate consequences until after doing something. No one caught us, except for the people watching the cameras I’m sure are in there. Humans are still on edge around vampires and don’t trust us all the way. The CIA is paranoid about normal humans and doubly so about us, so they likely had cameras on Jake to observe how the change affected him.

  We’re probably making the rounds as a vampire sex tape right about now, though anyone desperate to see it for that name is going to be disappointed at the lack of blood, biting, or ‘weird’ stuff. There’s only one difference between normal garden variety human copulation and vampires doing it: we go about four times as long. And it’s mostly because of the guy. Human men don’t last long. Vampires, even night walkers, can go for a good two hours. A lot of newly-changed guys mistake the elongated time scale for some manner of dysfunction and freak out.

  Not so with Jake. He understood it for what it was and embraced it totally.

  Jake, I was beginning to suspect, could go with the flow with anything.

  Like... anything.

  Speaking of extended time scale, there is one thing about humans I am jealous of… they only carry babies for nine months. I waddled around with Chloe for forty-six months. She was a bashful baby and held on three weeks past due. Though, I suppose our healing abilities make up for that. An hour after the birth, no human doctor would ever have been able to tell I’d had a baby.

  Considering my phone isn’t already blowing up with fellow agents calling and teasing me, especially those I went through training with, maybe that room didn’t have cameras after all.

  One could hope... though, I doubt it.

  And since Jake’s still new to the change, he did the overly male thing and passed out soon after we finished. I left him to his sleep and decided to head out for a quick bite. Chances are high that I’ll be on a plane to Siberia sooner rather than later, so I might as well enjoy fresh blood while I can. I wonder if I can talk the Agency into using that Fang brand instead of Syn-X.

  Somewhere among the innards of former West Berlin, I prowl the streets looking for a person I can feed from. Hunting habits vary from vampire to vampire. Some of us grab and drag prey into an alley, some mind control them along on ‘dates.’ A few enjoy sex afterward (or before... or during). Even fewer look around for willing donors.

  And others—like the Origin I stumble across outside a club—specifically target junkies so they get high, too. I shake my head at him. Those vamps are no better than junkies themselves. My sister would call him a disgrace to our kind, falling prey to ‘human’ vices. I’m not so out of sync with her on that. What’s the point of being the more evolved species if we don’t act like it? I mean, vampires can drink booze or take drugs straight, though they have about a tenth the effect on us that way due to our rapid healing. Drinking blood laced with drugs or alcohol hits us about as hard as consuming it the normal way affects humans.

  That gets me wondering… did whatever planet we came from have different drugs that vampires could dose straight? Having to feed a drug to our food and then drink from them seems more like engineering than nature. Take marijuana for instance, a naturally occurring plant. There has to be something akin to that back on whatever planet we came from. But I still can’t accept the concept that ancient vampires had been star travelers.

  Anyway… my mind is wandering.

  A few blocks from the alley full of junkies, I spot a tall guy in a brown raincoat with a hat and briefcase. He looks well to do and fairly hardy. Brief eye contact lets me lure him into a shadowy alley, where I feed from him while he’s blanked out mentally.

  Wonder what the laws are like in Berlin regarding vampire feedings. A few cities in the US have passed ordinances considering non-consensual feeding as ‘assault.’ I’m not sure how anyone expects human police to do anything about it other than being compelled to go away and forgot they saw anything. Did the sponsors of those laws seriously expect vampires to allow themselves to be arrested? Maybe it’s one of those ‘for appearances’ situations to pass a law no one has any serious expectation of ever being used. And yeah, that does make me sound like Ayla, feeling above human laws, but I see it more like them trying to legislate where humans can eat hamburgers. Not like we feed to be cruel.

  My cynical side suggests it’s the makers of Syn-X—or other blood substitutes—lobbying in hopes that more of us will buy their crap. That’s probably at least partially true now that I think about it.

  Soon after I send this guy on his way, my phone chimes.

  I check the screen and find a text message from ‘Unavailable’ that contains a map pin and a short alphanumeric code. Hmm. That’s an authentication key from the Agency. The code checks out based on the current hour and day of the week, so someone legit wants me to go to—I tap the screen on the map link—to a sidewalk café a few miles from here. Or, a hostile party has compromised our system and stolen our codes. As soon as I told Andrew a Dominion vampire (my sister, but I left that part out) deep-dived Jake’s head, they reset all the security protocols. Chances are slim that they got the new information, and slimmer still that it happened without being noticed. A café on the corner of a five-way intersection isn’t the sort of place chosen by someone trying to cause problems.

  I send back a code phrase indicating message received and acknowledged, pocket the phone, and flag down the first taxi I see.

  ***

  At a little past the dinner rush, the café still has a fair number of people, mostly friends hanging out or couples on dates from what I can overhear.

  I spend a little while observing the area from the opposite corner, looking for signs of Dominion activity or other threats. Nothing strikes me as alarming, so I cross the road and head inside, taking a table near the rear corner that puts my back to the wall and gives me the best field of view.

  While waiting, I order a cappuccino and cupcake from a young waitress who’s probably still in high school, and completely thrilled to be working here. And yes, I’m being sarcastic. She’s not impolite, but one doesn’t need to have psychic abilities to tell she’d rather be anywhere else.

  Twelve minutes after my coffee arrives, a man in a blue turtleneck sweater and khakis walks in. Despite the brown dye job on his hair and recent latex cheek augmentation, I recognize my boss, Andrew Carson, with little difficulty. That I can pick up his scent helps. Cosmetics have subtracted ten years and added twenty pounds. His gaze goes right to the opposite corner for a second, then straight to me. A hint of a smile forms on his lips as he hurries over.

  “Maybe we should sit up front with our backs to the door just because no one would expect that,” I say, winking.

  He takes the seat facing me, smiling. “Well, if anyone could get away with that, it would be you. Not so much me.”

  “After what happened with Jake, I’m not so sure I trust my intuition as much.”

  “Your intuition’s designed to keep you alive. Don’t beat yourself up too much. It looks like he’ll be staying with the Agency. As tempting as it is to have the two of you work together, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  “That room did have cameras.”

  He smiles.

  “Shit.”

  “Can I get you anything?” asks the girl waiting tables.

  “My dignity,” I mutter in English.

  “Hmm…” Andrew looks over the folded card menu on the table. “Number four, and a small strudel if you’ve got any.”

  She smiles, trying not to laugh at his iffy German. It’s pr
etty obvious he’s an American tourist. Been a while since he did field work. She nods. “Be right back.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” says Andrew to me in English, his voice low. “Only a security officer saw it.”

  “Only?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Well, the officer, his partner, their boss, the liaison officer, my boss, and me.”

  “I’m famous.”

  “Hardly.” He chuckles. “Agent Bishop had a word with the security team. He’s a quick study at picking up how to be a vampire… already wiping out memories.”

  “So it’s only you and your boss who know all my secrets.”

  Andrew attempts a suave look, but it only makes the latex on his cheeks stand out as fake. “Agent Barrett, I’ve known all your secrets for years.”

  I know he’s referring to actual secrets as opposed to anything sexy, so I laugh.

  “Speaking of secrets.” He switches to Russian, which he’s much better at than German. “I’ve gone over the information about that device in Siberia. Our guys also want it. And when I say ‘our guys,’ I’m talking my bosses. Off the record?”

  “Hence the meeting in person?” I ask, also in Russian.

  He nods. “Off the record?”

  “All right.”

  Andrew leans back as the teen drops off his coffee and strudel, going back to German. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She nods and walks off to another table.

  Andrew’s coffee smells like a hot Snickers bar. He takes a sip, and both eyebrows go up. “Wow. That’s tasty,” he says in English before switching again to Russian. “So, off the record.”

  “Yes. We’ve established that part.”

  He sets the cup down. “A device of that type, in our opinion, is too dangerous for our enemies to have control over. Officially, your orders are to secure it for Uncle Sam.” Andrew thinks it’s too dangerous for anyone to have, even ‘our guys,’ and would rather I blow it up, but he can’t legally say it out loud. He knows I’m picking up his thoughts, and nods. I nod too.

  “Yes, sir. I understand.” I sip my coffee, which tastes much plainer for having the overly sweet fragrance of his chocolate-peanut-concoction in front of me. “I’ll do my best to ensure that nothing unforeseen occurs.”

  He appears to get my meaning, and relaxes back in the chair with a smile. “So, what’s the story with the Dominion agents we found in the basement?”

  I grin. “I’m guessing the night walker didn’t get herself loose before the team arrived?”

  “Nope, though she did shock the crap out of them.” Andrew winces.

  The mental image of Talia trying to mind control a clean team all wearing the interruptor devices makes me laugh. I can just picture her screaming at them to cut her loose, each time the agent she tries to mind control jumps and yelps with a mild zap. Even though she knew it wouldn’t work, she probably kept doing it just to make them dance. I certainly would have in her place. Bet those guys wish they had the Russian devices that supposedly wall off the whole brain. Of course, that’s merely a theory of the Dominion’s. They didn’t have any proof such a device exists, only the panicky messages of one night walker. That said night walker disappeared without a trace does, however, lend some credibility to the idea.

  “She’s just a computer tech,” I say, “though she has a lot of access to information. Probably a valuable resource. The other three are foot soldiers as far as I know.”

  “Other three?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Wait, they only found the woman in the chair?”

  “Yep. Whole lot of blood though. And someone erased the consoles, so the only information we got was what you brought back.”

  I whistle. “Wow. I didn’t think she was that annoying.”

  “Come again?”

  “Another Origin showed up while I was there, brought three night walkers along for help. I left the three of them out cold on the floor and the one still strapped to the chair. Not sure what to make of them leaving her there for us to find but dragging the three other ones out.”

  “Maybe that chair was really heavy?”

  “Your sense of humor is only slightly inferior to your German accent.”

  He laughs. “Either she’s no further use to them, they think she might be a double agent, or they wanted her to be taken into custody for some as-yet-undetermined reason.”

  “If she’d run afoul of the Dominion, they’d have destroyed her.” I smile to myself, picturing Ayla’s frustration with that woman. My sister can be petty like that. She clearly did not expect me to take out three guys in a second and a half, which means she still thinks of me as ‘kid sister’ and not a highly trained agent. “It might simply be a sort of punishment for failure. Escape if you can, if not, oh well.”

  “Well, technically, she hasn’t violated any laws we’re aware of. If she proves not to have any further intelligence value, they will probably cut her loose.” He tilts back the last of his coffee. “You should try one of these if you like peanuts. It’s quite delicious.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “You’re not allergic are you?”

  “Um, no. Not to peanuts. Not to anything, as far as I know except garlic.”

  He chuckles. “Time for me to go. Got a flight waiting for me at Ramstein. You do as well. Need a ride?”

  “Sure. Might as well. One of these days, I will get in a plane that actually lands before I disembark.”

  Andrew grins, waves the waitress over, and requests the tab. “I got it. Least I can do.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “For the peep show earlier?”

  He chuckles. “For going to the middle of nowhere on short notice. You think I watched the entire thing?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Only a moment or two… I’m a busy guy, Mina. Couldn’t spare the... two freakin’ hours.” He shakes his head. “Does everything take longer with vampires?”

  “Pretty much. Hopefully, they never let us run the DMV.”

  Andrew cringes. “That would be a crime against humanity.”

  I wag my eyebrows. “The DMV already is.”

  “Touché,” says Andrew… with a passable French accent.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Dig Site

  Satellite recon of the coordinates mentioned in the Origin memory fob showed a modest gathering of military equipment on Severnaya Zemlya, an archipelago at the northern end of Siberia. It’s a lovely place with the largest permanent ice sheet in Russian territory.

  Oh, joy.

  Technically, it consists of three separate islands, though up until a few years ago, they’d been connected to the mainland via glacier. Nowadays, open water appears in the summer months. I can’t come up with any reason why my ancestors would’ve built a permanent installation way the hell up here in the middle of nowhere. Unless they wanted privacy. Siberia, after all, isn’t the most populated region, and on top of that, this specific region can hit temps as low as fifty below in the dead of winter. Considering it’s late August, maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll be a nice steamy hot twenty degrees.

  My long-ass flight left Ramstein AFB and headed north for a refueling stop in northern Finland before cutting east and going over the ocean. It seems the brass feels this mission is pretty important since I’m flying first class: a modified B2 airframe used by the CIA for personnel insertion rather than carrying ordinance. Usually, it’s special forces guys pulling HALO out of this thing.

  No, not the video game. HALO, as in, a high altitude jump, with lots of free fall, and a low chute opening, meant to get in unnoticed and avoid radar.

  As I expected, my flight won’t be landing… at least not until I’m no longer on board. For the second time in a month, I’m going to be jumping out of a plane, but at least this one won’t be in the process of crashing… and I’ll have a chute.

  While wandering around the bay surrounded by twenty small empty fold-down seats, I ponder my approach. My mission is offic
ially to gather intelligence about the site, determine if the information we have is accurate, and if possible, claim the telepathic amplifier for the USA. Whoever came up with that mission objective is on the high-grade drugs. Both because giving any government mass mind control power is a really bad idea, and second: how the hell do they seriously expect me to move an eight-ton machine that’s buried under a giant glacier by myself while surrounded by the Russian Army?

  Unofficially, my mission objective is to blow it the hell up… assuming it turns out to be real and I can even get inside. Some of the eggheads back in Langley have joined ‘team spacecraft’ and think there’s an Origin starship stuck under the ice here. Whether it crashed or landed on purpose, they haven’t been able to make up their minds. Does the ‘bring the device home’ genius think I’ll just hotwire the starship and fly it back to the States?

  I changed my mind about the Pangaea theory upon finding out it would’ve been something like 175 million years ago that the supercontinent broke apart. If we are colonizers from another planet, we got here way after that point. Neanderthals supposedly vanished on the order of 40,000 years ago. Signs of interbreeding with modern humans occurred between that and up to 60,000 years ago. The appearance of modern humans might signal the point when we arrived, though it could’ve been as long as 450 thousand years along with the oldest Neanderthal fossils. Either way, it’s much more recent than the mega-continent splitting apart.

  And… any of these numbers means this freakin’ device is gonna be super old.

  Also, I’m still not sure I believe all that space crap anyway. Maybe vampires were simply an older civilization from this planet that possibly created humans and then for some unknown reason mostly died off and the humans evolved and took over. We have been living in the shadows for a damn long time. Some of the relatives on my mother’s side also don’t believe in the space idea, thinking that we’re ‘fallen angels’ or some such thing like that, hence why humans outnumber us so much.