by Linn Chapel
Holt growled testily as he stepped from the apartment.
Out on the street, they strode quickly to Peter’s car and soon they were speeding out of town. As Peter drove, Holt asked for more information. Peter hesitated, feeling a momentary qualm, for he had kept the Operation’s methods a secret for so long. But he knew that Holt needed to be aware of the facts if they were going to help Tressa, and so he described in detail the various devices of the Operation, including the silver-barreled tranq guns and the small, efficient darts that were filled with a sleep-inducing drug.
“Do the operatives carry any weapons?” Holt asked at one point.
“No, only the tranq guns.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw his companion reach inside his jacket. “What’s that?” Peter asked, startled.
“This? Why, Peter, it appears to be a knife,” drawled Holt, holding up a wicked-looking blade to examine the point. Setting the knife onto his lap, he brought out a black pistol. “And this seems to be a gun. A real gun,” Holt added.
Peter was taken aback by the weapons. He was also more than a little annoyed by Holt’s condescending tone. “Do you always go around armed like that?” he snapped.
“Not often.” Holt stored the weapons back inside his jacket.
Despite himself, Peter was curious. “I know why you’re so good with a sword. Tressa told me how old you are. But why would you want to own any weapons after you were turned?”
“To use them, of course.”
“Out on the streets?”
“No, I carried weapons when I was in France during the World Wars, for instance. How did you think I spent my time while all of Europe was at war, Peter? Asleep both day and night? Or watching the blasted telly once it was invented?”
Peter was intrigued. “Tell me about the wars.”
“Alright, if you wish,” Holt grumbled irritably. “My human contacts would always begin by assuming that I was a spy for the enemy. Why else would I appear only at night, with no uniform and no officer to vouch for me? But before long, they’d grow used to my eccentric ways and welcome me,” said Holt dryly.
“Did you go on special missions?” Peter asked, feeling that the two of them might have something in common after all, for Peter had planned and executed more than a dozen missions himself during the course of his work with Operation M.
“Yes, and it was at night that I made my forays. I could pass through the shadows without detection, and I could run – well, like the wind. I often carried messages and ammunition under the noses of the enemy. It wasn’t always easy. Several times I took stray bullets, which hurt like the devil. But of course, I never died.”
Peter nodded. “The perfect courier. I suppose you carried out some secret assassinations, too.”
“Yes, several. A bit cold-blooded for a man of letters like myself, but necessary.”
“Were there any other vampires around?”
Holt laughed darkly. “There were always others of my kind at any battlefield. Some were my allies. Even more were my enemies.” He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “A number of my old allies have settled into positions of power in Europe, strange though that may seem. Within the night world of my kind, I am known to be well-connected.... Perhaps that’s why someone in your Operation wants to trap me.”
“You could be right,” said Peter, feeling his jaw tighten. If Holt could be drugged and controlled, a string of other powerful and influential vampires could be located. They’d make ideal subjects for the kind of experimental scheme that Luke suspected.
“When did you first notice anything odd about your organization?” asked Holt.
“Last summer,” Peter bit out.
He readied himself for criticism. Any jabs from Holt would be perfectly justified, Peter thought unhappily. Like a fool, he had assumed that his own hard work would be enough to keep things on track – but he’d been wrong, and now Tressa’s life was at stake.
But to his surprise, Holt made no comment at all.
The road wound through heavily forested mountains as they neared their destination. Stopping for gas in a small New Hampshire town, Peter purchased an array of snacks, for he was famished. Returning to the car, he rejoined Holt, who had been resting with his eyes closed.
Swinging the car back onto the road, Peter reached for a package of crackers and made short work of it. Next he opened a pouch of dried fruit.
“Want something to eat?” he asked, holding the pouch up.
Holt cracked his eyes open, shook his head, and turned his face away.
“You’ll have to eat something sooner or later,” Peter pointed out. “Anything in particular you’d like? I can stop at the next town.”
“No, nothing,” Holt snapped, sounding more irritable than ever.
“How does the daylight feel?” Peter asked. Clouds were still blanketing the sky, but the indirect light was brighter, now.
Holt replied in a strained voice, “I feel weakened, but not greatly. The real problem is that there is so much more to see. At nighttime, in the shadows, there are fewer sights. My mind is overcome by all of the colors and details.”
Peter shrugged in sympathy. “You should keep your eyes closed most of the time, at least for now.”
A long sigh emerged from Holt. “The necessity of such a measure has already occurred to me, Peter.”
Glancing over, Peter saw that his companion’s eyes were shut tightly against the light.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t seem thrilled about turning human again. Is it the mortality angle?” asked Peter cautiously. A sensitive counselor he was not, but maybe he could help Holt just a little on the psychological end of things.
“I do not regret becoming mortal again,” answered Holt.
“Then what is it?”
Holt did not favor him with a reply.
Peter finally ended the silence. “Just remember that I’ve see the transition before. Going too long without eating can make it stall.”
“I won’t require any sustenance for a few days,” replied Holt. “Tressa gave me an injection of her blood yesterday evening.”
Peter uttered a wry laugh. “That sounds like something she’d do.”
Thinking about Tressa made Peter’s hands tighten on the wheel. He knew that it wouldn’t be long before they arrived at their destination.
The mountain road made one hairpin turn after another, ascending higher and higher in a series of switchbacks. The wind pounded at the exposed granite cliffs and blew inside the vehicle. Peter rolled his window up.
“A car could slip over the edge here,” Holt observed.
“I’m driving carefully,” Peter assured him.
“I wasn’t thinking of us.”
“What are you trying to say?” asked Peter, unsettled.
“Someone from your Operation has gone to a lot of trouble to bring Tressa to this spot in the mountains, where the roads are treacherous. Maybe they hope to arrange for an accident. For both of you.”
Peter drove on, every muscle taut. “We won’t let it come to that.”
“Pull over before we arrive. We must scout the place from a distance,” said Holt briskly. “Then we’ll return after the sun sets behind the mountains. I’ll be stronger and faster at night. I’ll approach through the trees, then, while you drive up alone and provide the distraction. You must be prepared to take cover without delay, though.”
“Don’t worry. I’m very quick on my feet.”
“So I have observed. We must hope that you’ll be just as quick tonight.”
It wasn’t long before Peter spied a small road branching off the highway. A large green sign stood at the corner, bearing the name of a mountain resort. Turning onto the little road, Peter bounced the car up the rugged slope a short distance before bringing it to a stop within a thick growth of evergreens.
Holt turned to Peter. “Drive up closer and scout the place, now. It’s alright if they catch a glimpse of you, Peter. We
want them to think you’ve come alone, remember.”
“Right,” responded Peter.
“Then turn the car around and retreat, as if you’re nervous and need some time to think. I’ll rejoin you here in the trees. When night has fallen, we’ll make our move.”
Holt stepped from the car and vanished into the shadows among the trees.
Nosing the vehicle back onto the lane, Peter drove upward toward the summit of the slope.
Sixteen
An hour later, Peter was driving back down the highway, having picked up Holt in the thicket of evergreens, as planned.
Peter was relieved that no one had seemed to spot him when he had parked in the underbrush just below the resort. From there, Peter had taken a good look at the cluster of modern wood-and-glass cabins, and then he had turned his car around in a little bend.
But he wished he could have gotten a look at the kidnappers, themselves. Who were they? Would he recognize them from the Operation, or had some thugs been hired for the job? As for the identity of the individuals behind it all, it wasn’t hard for Peter to narrow the field down to two names.
Although Peter had taken pains to memorize the layout of the cabins, he had not been able to tell where Tressa was being held. The resort had seemed utterly deserted. No one had emerged from one of the cabins or from the recreation hall at the top of the empty ski slopes. No one had passed along the wooden walkways or stopped to look out over the valley from one of the guard rails.
But it would be simple enough to pinpoint her location when he returned with Holt later that night. It would be dark then, and one of the cabins was bound to be lit up.
There was still enough time left to pick up the supplies they’d need in a small town. Thirty minutes later, Peter parked at a hardware store and went inside to purchase the items Holt wanted for a break-in.
Thankfully, there had been no need to convince Holt to wait outside in the car. With his black clothes and black hair, Holt would attract too much attention. He also had the kind of face people didn’t forget, and with the way he was scowling tonight, he’d be even more memorable.
Whatever happened later tonight at the resort, Peter knew they couldn’t risk calling in the local police, not with Tressa’s life at stake. And even if she weren’t in so much danger, contacting the local police department would probably breach the wall of secrecy surrounding Operation M, and then there’d be endless troubles and maybe even a media frenzy.
Peter exited the hardware store with a bag containing the rope and long-handled screwdriver Holt had wanted, along with a pile of snacks. Back in the car, he munched on them while Holt unwrapped and inspected the other items.
With a glance upward at the darkening sky, Holt said in an ominous voice, “It’s time for us to return.”
Peter swung the car back onto the highway, feeling chilled by his companion’s tone. “You’re not planning on killing anyone, are you? We need to leave them alive, unless there’s no choice.”
“Don’t fret, Peter. The weapons in my jacket are a last resort. I can make a man drop to the ground by means of a pressure point at the base of the neck.” Holt paused to flex one of his hands. “It requires strength, for the thumb must function like a piston. My hand is not as strong as it used to be, but I think it’s still capable of performing the trick. I’ll show you how to do it sometime, if you wish. With two hands, you’d have the strength.”
Peter laughed as his sense of humor resurfaced. “That could be just what I need in my line of work, Holt. I could use it on some of the double-dealing agents and promoters I know.”
“You’re quick and strong, Peter.” Holt’s voice was less arrogant than usual. “If you had lived two hundred years ago, you could have been one of the best swordsmen in England. When my transition is over, you might even be able to best me in a fight.”
“Maybe, but I’d have to work hard at it,” responded Peter. “Didn’t Tressa tell you? A bit of your old strength will remain after the transition. You won’t have nearly as much as you had before, but you’ll still be stronger than the average human.”
“No, she didn’t tell me,” said Holt slowly. His mood seemed to become darker as he added, “Maybe she would have, but I left too quickly last night. It’s my fault that she was captured, Peter.”
“Your fault? What do you mean?”
“We went to a city park last night. She wanted to tell me about the Operation without being overheard. When she was finished with her explanations, I left her there, without a single thought for her safety.”
Peter felt his temper rising, but he took a deep breath, willing himself to stay cool. The two of them had to rescue Tressa, not fight about something that couldn’t be changed.
Peter then pointed out an obvious fact. “If ever anyone became determined to kidnap her, it’d happen sooner or later. She has a lot of night shifts at the hospital, after all.”
Holt’s mood seemed to remain low. In the passenger seat, he stared in stony silence out the front windshield as Peter drove back to the mountain resort and parked the car in a hidden spot within the evergreens at the bottom of the slope.
Tressa could hear the sound of voices nearby. Two men were talking to one another. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy.
Then a soothing voice came to her, a woman’s voice, asking her questions. Margot.
Tressa turned her face away.
Margot’s voice rose higher and higher in anger, but Tressa’s mind was too fuzzy to make out the words. Then a door slammed nearby, making Tressa flinch.
Outside somewhere, a car engine roared to life and the wheels sprayed gravel. The sound of the engine grew fainter and then disappeared altogether.
Silence surrounded Tressa, thick and oppressive, broken only by the voices of the men as they murmured together.
Peter slipped from the trees and silently made his way through the mountain resort. All of the modern cedar cabins were dark, except one. He made his way to its front door.
Near the door, a tall, thin window glowed with light. As Peter stepped closer, he knew that Holt was silently creeping up to the rear of the cabin, ready to pry open one of the rear windows. Peter just had to provide the distraction.
He rapped on the front door, hard.
The silhouette of a head appeared in the window. Satisfied that he had been seen, Peter drew swiftly back into the shadows and pressed himself up behind a tree.
The door opened and a burly man stood there in the light, holding an Operation tranq gun. He lifted the silver barrel and darts hissed through the air as he shot the gun in a wide arc.
But Peter knew that the gun could carry only six darts when fully loaded because of the size of the fluid sacs. If the barrel wasn’t empty of darts yet, it would be soon.
Cautiously he reached down for a handful of stones and threw them at the neighboring cabin, where they rattled against the cedar siding.
The armed figure raced from the doorway of the first cabin. His heavy footsteps pounded in the night. Peter grabbed another handful of stones and moved from his hiding spot, ready to draw the man even further away. But when a second man emerged from the cabin, Peter came to a speedy stop, still clutching the stones.
His new adversary spotted him at once in the light of the open door and raised the tranq gun. Peter reacted instinctively, throwing the stones at the man’s face before he could fire.
With a shout of anger, the man stumbled sideways just long enough for Peter to rush forward and wrestle the gun from his hands. Quickly Peter shot him with a dart, then he cast the gun aside as the man fought on for several moments, grunting and heaving against Peter before he finally teetered and fell to the ground.
Turning quickly, Peter scanned the darkness for the first man. Suddenly, he felt a sharp sting in his thigh, and he knew that his adversary’s gun had not been empty of darts.
Peter’s vision began to blur from the tranquilizer. He took a step and his leg shook badly underneath him, th
en his head drooped and he fell.
Tressa’s senses were still muffled and her eyes wouldn’t open, but she could hear the sudden shouts of anger and then the thudding footfalls. A door crashed open nearby.
She felt herself being slung over a man’s shoulder and carried outside, where the air was cold. As her captor jogged with her over rough ground, she noticed for the first time that there were ropes binding her hands and feet. Suddenly terrified about what was coming next, she sent forth her psychic ability as best she could in her hazy state.
With effort, she was able to see a shape in the distance. Painstakingly, she brought it into focus. It was a large black orb that sparked fitfully with dull points of light.
Absorbing the intention within, she learned that she was to be placed in her own car and pushed over a rocky cliff to her death. The intention was hard and calculating and devoid of any compassion for her.
Knowing that she would soon be faced with a deadly drop from the heights, she fought against the lingering effects of the drug and was able to crack open her eyes at last. With all the physical strength she possessed, she struggled against her bonds, but the ropes had been wound too tightly and they held her fast.
She was lowered roughly onto the rear seat of a vehicle and then a car door slammed. In the darkness, she ran her fuzzy gaze over the interior of the car and recognized it as her own – they must have taken her keys from her pocket and used her vehicle to bring her here. Considering the accident that was about to occur, that made perfect sense.
With a burst of desperate energy, she shifted herself across the rear seat, but before she could slide her body to one of the doors and attempt to reach the latch, she heard the driver’s door opening.
Breathing shallowly, she wiggled and inched as quickly as she could without making a sound so that the man who was entering wouldn’t hear her efforts. Her bound hands touched the door and ran weakly over its surface as she searched for the latch in the dark.