Thirst No. 4 (6 page)

“A big if,” Seymour grumbles.

Matt holds up his hand. “Let’s not go there yet. I want to know if the vaccine works, period. If it doesn’t, then there’s no point in trying to get help to spread it globally.”

“T-11 is definitely effective on Telar,” Charlie says. “It was designed with them in mind. After personally vaccinating five hundred Telar with T-11, I exposed them to the virus and nothing happened. They were immune.”

“So Telar and vampires like me are safe,” I say. “What about the other seven billion people on the planet?”

Charlie stops pacing and shrugs. “It must work to some extent on humans. Otherwise, Seymour and Shanti would
be dead. It just has to be tweaked to accommodate a mortal immune system.”

“That’s the bottom line,” Matt says to Charlie. “Can you alter it to protect everyone?”

Charlie hesitates. “Yes.”

“But . . . ,” Seymour says, letting the word hang.

“But I’ll need a state-of-the-art laboratory and time,” Charlie says. “A few brilliant chemists and microbiologists helping out wouldn’t hurt.”

“Can you make up a list of human scientists that can help you?” Matt asks.

Charlie considers. “I have Telar friends that would be more helpful.”

Matt’s face darkens. “Who can you trust?”

“Those close to me. They’re not fans of Haru or anyone connected with the Source,” Charlie says.

I recall that Numbria, the Telar woman I interrogated and murdered, referred to the Telar high command as the Source. I got the impression there were only a dozen or so people on their high council.

“But they still fear the Source,” Matt says.

“Of course,” Charlie says. “We all fear them.”

“I want to stick with human scientists for now,” Matt says. “It will be safer. Later, if you’re not making progress, we can consider contacting your Telar friends.”

“How do we approach these scientists?” Seymour asks.
“We can’t run around saying the world is ending. We need proof that the Telar exist and we need proof that they intend to release X6X6.”

“The contagious effects of the virus are easy to demonstrate,” Charlie says.

“In a lab, sure,” Seymour says. “But how are we going to get these brilliant men and women into your lab?” He turns to Matt. “You’ve been kicking around forever. You must have contacts in the government.”

“I know important people in this country and across Europe. They’ll take my calls if I contact them. But the moment I do, the Telar will know about it and they’ll come after me and whoever I talk to.”

“Then we’re screwed,” Seymour says.

Matt gives him a hard look. “That’s helpful. Give up at the start.”

“I’m just being pragmatic,” Seymour says. “Charlie’s told us that he and his Telar buddies have been working on the X6X6 virus for over twenty years. Do you seriously think he’s going to be able to modify it in two weeks so that it works on mortals?”

Matt turns to our resident scientist. “Charlie?”

Charlie is so hyped, he’s close to pulling out his hair. “I don’t know. I could stumble on a cure in an afternoon. Or it could take six months.”

“When does Haru plan to release the virus?” Seymour asks.

“No one knows for sure,” Matt replies.

“We heard it was going to be soon,” Charlie adds.

“We’re screwed,” Seymour repeats, not afraid to look Matt in the face when he says it. Yet it’s Charlie’s last remark that deflates the room. Our timetable for stopping the virus appears to be a fantasy.

It’s time for me to speak what’s on my mind.

Time for me to sound dangerously like Sita.

“We can’t stop the Telar without the IIC’s help,” I say.

“I disagree,” Matt says. “We have vials of T-11 and X6X6. We have Charlie, who helped create the virus and the vaccine. The IIC has nothing.”

“Then we should give them what we do have,” I say.

Matt studies me closely, alert to my tone, my choice of words, my way of thinking. There are so many ways for him to penetrate my disguise. But I’m careful; I’m good at mimicking Teri.

“Explain,” he says.

“The IIC and the Telar are already enemies. When it comes to power and influence, they’re about equal. More important, the IIC already know about the Telar. We don’t have to prove to them how dangerous they are, or their virus. The IIC will take one look at X6X6 and understand the threat it represents.”

“They’ll also immediately take it out of our hands,” Matt says.

“Maybe they should. They have resources we can’t imagine. I say we warn them about the coming plague.”

“That’s insane,” Matt snaps.

“It sounds reasonable to me,” Seymour says.

Matt stands and the force of his presence seems to fill the room.

“Are you forgetting the IIC is every bit as evil as the Telar?” he asks. “They have the Array. They have even used it on us a few times.”

“So?” Seymour says. “If they force us to jump off a building, what does it matter as long as they’re able to neutralize the virus?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” I say quietly.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Teri,” Matt says. “If Sita was here she’d agree with me. The IIC may have the means to alter the vaccine and manufacture enough of it to save the world. But they’re the last group we should put in charge.”

“Why?” Seymour asks.

“Because we can’t trust them,” Matt says.

“You don’t like them because they forced you to shoot Sita,” Seymour says, in a slightly mocking tone. I wonder at his motives. Throughout the meeting, I have felt he’s trying to push Matt’s buttons. I know Seymour well enough to realize he must have a reason. But I fear for him. Like his father, Matt has a temper.

Matt stares at Seymour. “Maybe you’re right. Until you’ve
had your free will ripped from your grasp, you can’t imagine what it’s like. Trust me, if it had happened to you, you’d want nothing to do with them either.”

Seymour meets his gaze. “How did they get their hooks in you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did they have a sample of your blood?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt says.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Seymour says. “Let’s move on. The danger of this virus is too big for us to handle. If we have to make a deal with the IIC or the devil himself to make it go away, then so be it. No offense to Charlie and his pals, but we can’t rely on them to alter the vaccine and spread it all over the world in time to stop this plague. It’s not going to happen, not in the real world.”

“Seymour,” Matt says, “the vials of virus and the vials of the vaccine all represent power. We can’t just hand that power over to the IIC when we have no idea what their ultimate goals are. We would just be strengthening their position while we weaken ours.”

“Will that matter if millions start dying?” Seymour asks.

It’s my turn to stand and speak. “Matt does have a point, and so does Seymour. I still think we’re going to be forced to appeal to the IIC to help us stop the Telar but we may as well use what time we have to gain a better understanding of what the IIC’s up to. I know Sita was anxious to explore their background.”

“How do we do that?” Shanti asks.

“By researching how the company came to be,” Paula replies. “I wouldn’t mind helping in that area.”

“Really?” I ask, astounded. It’s hard to imagine Paula taking an active role. “Can you talk John into helping?”

Paula catches my eye. “Let’s not bring him into this.”

“Our time would be better spent helping Charlie build and stock a laboratory so he can alter the vaccine,” Matt says. “Let’s not take our eye off the immediate threat. X6X6 is what will destroy humanity. It’s all that matters. We have to discover how to stop it.”

“It’s just as important to stop the people who invented it,” Seymour says. “Your focus is on the virus, Matt. That’s good, you should follow your heart. Stick with Charlie. The girls and I can go after the IIC.”

Matt shakes his head. “I don’t want Teri getting near those people.”

“That’s Teri’s decision to make,” Seymour says.

Again, doubt appears to flicker across Matt’s face as he studies me. His gaze is so intense, I feel as if he literally peels away layers of skin, tissue, and bone until he reaches my psyche. I feel him inside, probing, and I can only pray that our lovemaking the previous night has deflected any misgivings he has about me.

“Teri?” he says.

I lower my head. I don’t have the strength to look him in the eye.

“I want to go with the others,” I say.

I
call several of my old-time associates in the detective field to help research the origins of the IIC. To my surprise, they are not enthusiastic to hear from me. The problem is simple; I should have anticipated it. They’re not sure it’s me they’re talking to. Teri and I look more alike than we sound. As a result, on the phone, I’m far from convincing. A couple of my trusted allies actually threaten to investigate me instead of the IIC. I’m off to a great start.

But with Paula’s help, we start to make our own progress. The IIC is controlled by a board of directors made up of five people: Thomas Brutran; his wife, Cynthia Brutran; Noel Brent and his wife, Wendy Brent; Fredrick Wild. These five have been with the company since its inception, forty years ago.

It’s interesting that, before founding the company, the board members attended a graduate program at the University
of California, Berkeley. Their curriculum was taught by a Professor John Sharp. On the surface it seemed to be connected to the psychology department. But a closer examination reveals that it was focused almost exclusively on parapsychology, on proving the existence of ESP, or extrasensory perception.

That was pretty much all we could learn about the program, other than the fact that it had lasted three years before suddenly being canceled when Berkeley decided Professor Sharp was performing studies of “questionable moral value.”

The four of us, Seymour, Paula, Shanti, and myself, are intrigued. We find an address for Professor Sharp online. He appears to be living in the Bay Area, in San Mateo. He’s retired, and based on how long ago he taught, we assume the man must be in his eighties.

We decide to visit without calling ahead. If he’s still friendly with Ms. Brutran, she might invoke the Array before we can reach him, and God only knows what will happen to us. Yet it’s not a big worry. Professor Sharp appears to be living in a modest apartment, and if he’s connected to the IIC in any way then they are not paying him.

Before leaving Denver for the Bay Area, the police question me about the disappearance of Ken. They come the afternoon after our war council, when I’m alone in the hotel suite and feeling the first stirrings of my
thirst.
The police are lucky to show up in pairs, or else I might have had one of them for dinner.

They knock on the door as if they would prefer to kick it in.

I answer wearing the sweats Teri wore in the Olympics, and leave my gold medal on the living room table. I’m shameless, I know, but the glint of the shiny medal has a powerful effect on them. Their eyes are immediately drawn to it and they smile when I invite them inside. Already, I believe, I’m halfway home.

They sit on the couch across from me and talk about how they saw my world-record race on TV. They’re detectives; they have on sports coats rather than uniforms.

“How did you feel going into the last lap?” the taller and older of the two cops asks. His name is Lieutenant William Treach. He’s close to forty, with a thin build but a wiriness that projects strength. He’s friendly but alert, very much in charge. I may have made a strong initial impression, however, I quickly notice that the man prefers clear answers.

“I was hurting and I was at the rear of the pack. Plus I was boxed in. It looked pretty hopeless. But in running, there’s a burning pain and then there’s a weak kind of pain. The burning kind can actually feel worse than the exhaustive kind, but it means you’ve still got something left. You can still go for it, and that’s what I did. I had to shove two women out of my way to get out of my box. If the race had been in America, I would have been disqualified. But European runners treat races like soccer matches. When it comes to the metric mile, they see pushing and shoving as part of the race.”

“It must have been a thrill to hit the straightaway and know the gold medal was waiting for you if you could just get in front of that Russian,” Lieutenant Sean Astor says. Short and stout, ten years younger than his partner, he has a boyish innocence that tells me he’ll be easy to fool. He adds, “What was her name?”

“Olga Stensky. I’m never going to forget Olga. She elbowed me and cut me off in the last eighty yards. I was lucky it backfired on her. As she swung into the second lane to try to block me, I moved inside. She lost a stride trying to stop me, and I won by a stride. Most track experts say if Olga had just ignored me and run her race, she would have won.”

“How did it feel to stand on the winners’ podium and hear our national anthem?” Treach asks.

“I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. I still haven’t come down from the high.”

“I imagine you’ve received a ton of endorsement offers since the Olympics,” Treach says. I notice how he studies the room.

I shake my head. “Not as many as you would think. I just won one gold medal. Sure, it was in a big event, but it’s like I had my fifteen minutes of fame and now it’s over.”

Astor is sympathetic. “A lot of Olympic athletes say that. One week they’re getting invited to the White House and the next week they’re back home and bagging groceries.”

Treach clears his throat, signaling that he wants to get
down to business. “What brings you to Denver, Ms. Raine?” he asks.

“Teri, please. I’m here with my boyfriend. We’re bumming around the country. Taking a break after all the stress of the Olympics.”

“That’s Matt Fraiser, isn’t it?” Treach asks.

“Yes.”

Matt signed in under a fake name to hide us from the Telar. A minor strategic move that has swollen in size and danger now that the police are looking at me. Treach takes out a tiny notebook and jots down a few words.