Thirst No. 1 (7 page)

I don't think she killed him. I like to think she didn't—the more I have studied her, the more I have come to admire her cunning and stealth. But perhaps this man learned things about her she didn't want known, and she had him killed. Certainly, she has the resources to hire whomever she pleases. When I meet with her I must ask her about her gardener. It will be another thing I can use as a bargaining chip. And I have decided I will see her soon. I have broken off all contact with Mr. Slim. In my last fax I told him that I was not able to verify any of my earlier claims about Miss Peme's personal wealth. I have since changed my fax number, so I do not know if Mr. Slim has tried to contact me again. I imagine he is not happy with me, but I am not going to lose any sleep over it.

How much should I ask from Miss Peme? A million sounds like a nice round number. I have no doubt she'll pay it to keep me quiet. What I could do with that much money. But in truth, I don't think I'll touch it. I'll just give it to Ray when he's old enough.

I will arm myself when I meet with her, just in case. But I am not worried.

That was his last entry. I am happy I have deleted the file in the computer. If the police had such information on me, they wouldn't leave me alone. It might not be a bad idea to burn down the entire office building, I muse. It wouldn't be hard to arrange. Yet such an act might draw Mr. Slim's attention to peaceful Mayfair, To young and pretty Alisa Peme.

Yet Mr. Riley was a fool to think Mr. Slim stopped watching him just because he changed his fax number. I am quite sure Slim observed him all the closer, and now that the detective has disappeared, Slim and company might even be in the neighborhood. Slim clearly has a lot of money at his disposal, and therefore a lot of power.

Yet I am confident in my own power, and I resent this unseen person shadowing me. I hold the Swiss fax number in my memory, and I contemplate what I would say to this fellow should I meet him face to face. I know that my message would be short because I do not think I would let him live long.

But I do not forget that Slim knows how dangerous lam.

That does not necessarily mean he knows I am a vampire, but it is worrisome.

I turn to my fax machine and press the On button.

Dear Mr. Slim,

This is Alisa Perne. I understand you have hired a certain Mr. Michael Riley to
investigate me. I know you haven't heard from him in a while—I don't know what could
have happened to him—so I thought I would contact you directly. I am prepared to meet
with you, Mr. Slim, in person, and discuss whatever is on your mind.

Yours Truly, Alisa

I attach my personal fax number and send the message. Then I wait.

I do not have to wait long. Ten minutes later a brief, and to the point, fax rolls out of my machine.

Dear Alisa, Where would you like to meet and when? I am available tonight.

Sincerely, Mr. Slim

Yes, I think, as I read the message, Slim and company are probably close by, the Swiss number notwithstanding. I figure the message went to Europe and was then sent back here—nearby. I type in my return message.

Dear Mr. Slim,

Meet me at the end of Water Cove Pier in one hour. Come alone. Agreed?

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Again, ten minutes later.

Dear Alisa, Agreed.

The pier is a half hour from my house, in the town of Water Cove, twenty miles south of Mayfair. I arm myself before I leave the house: a snub-nosed forty-five in the pocket of my black leather coat; another smaller pistol in my right boot; a razor-sharp knife strapped inside my left boot. I am handy with a knife; I can hit a moving target a hundred yards away with a flick of my wrist. I do not believe Slim will come alone, knowing how dangerous I am. Yet he will have to bring a small army to contend with me.

I leave immediately. I want to arrive before Slim does. And I do. The pier is deserted as I cruise by in my black Ferrari. I park two blocks down from the pier and climb out. My hearing is alert. I can hear the bolt of a rifle being pulled back from over a mile away. Slim would have to come at least that close to try to assassinate me outright, and that is a possibility I consider. But all is calm, all is quiet. I walk briskly toward the end of the pier.

I have chosen the meeting place for two reasons. Slim will only be able to approach me from one direction. Also, if he does arrive with overwhelming odds, then I should be able to escape by diving into the water. I can swim out a mile along the bottom of the ocean before having to surface. My confidence is high. And why shouldn't it be? In five thousand years I have never met my match.

Almost to the hour of our agreement to meet, a long white limousine pulls up to the entrance to the pier. A man and a woman climb out of the back. The man wears a black leather coat, a dark tie, a white shirt, smart black trousers. He is approximately forty-five and has the look of a hardened Navy Seal or CIA agent: the short crew cut, the bulging muscles, the quick shifting eyes. I see that his eyes are green even from two hundred yards away. His face is tan, deeply lined from the sun. There is at least one gun in his coat, possibly two.

The woman is ten years younger, an attractive brunette. She is dressed entirely in black.

Her coat is bulky, as are her hidden guns. She has at least one fully automatic weapon on her. Her skin is creamy white, the line of her mouth set and hard. Her legs are long, her muscles toned. She may be an expert in karate or some such discipline. Her mind is easy to read. She has a nasty job to do and she is going to do it right. Her promised reward is great.

Yet it is clear the man is the leader. His smile is straight and thin lipped, more chilling than the girl's frown. This is Slim, I know.

Four blocks down the street I can hear another limousine parked, its engine idling. I cannot see the second car—it is hidden behind a building—but I am able to match the sound of the engines. The cars could hold maybe ten people each, I estimate. In all the odds might be twenty to one against me.

The man and the woman walk toward me without speaking. I consider escaping over the side of the pier. But I hesitate because I am a predator first and foremost; I hate to run.

Also, my curiosity is high. Who are these characters and what do they want with me? Yet if they reach for their weapons, I will jump. I will be gone in the flick of an eye. It is clear to me that neither of these approaching creatures is anything but mortal.

The woman stops walking thirty yards from me. The man approaches to within ten yards

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) but comes no closer. They do not reach for their weapons but they keep their hands ready.

Down the street I hear three people get out of the second limousine. They spread out in three different directions. They carry weapons: I hear the metal brush their clothes. They take up positions—I am finally able to see them out of the corner of my eye—one behind a car; another next to a tree; the last crouched behind a sign. Simultaneously three people inside the limousine at the pier level high-powered rifles at me.

My hesitation has cost me already.

I stand in the sights of six sets of cross hairs.

My fear is still manageable. I figure I can take a bullet or two and still escape over the side. As long as they don't get me directly in the head or heart. Still, I do not want to run.

I want to talk to Slim. He is the first to speak.

"You must be Alisa."

I nod. "Slim?"

"In the flesh."

"You agreed to come alone."

"I wanted to come alone. But my associates didn't think it would be wise."

"Your associates are all about. Why so many soldiers for one girl?"

"Your reputation precedes you, Alisa."

"What reputation is that?"

He shrugs. "That you are a resourceful young woman."

Interesting, I think. He is almost embarrassed by the precautions that have been taken to abduct me. He has been told to take them—ordered. He doesn't know that I am a vampire, and if he doesn't know, then probably no one with him knows since he is clearly in command of the operation. That gives me a huge advantage. But the person above him knows. I must meet this person, I decide.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Just that you come with us for a little ride."

"To where?"

"To a place not far from here," he says.

That is a lie. We will drive a long distance if I get in his limousine. "Who sent you?"

"You will meet him if you come with me."

Him.
"What is his name?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that at this time."

"What if I don't want to come?" I ask.

Slim sighs. "That would not be good. In fact, it would be very bad."

They will shoot me if I resist, without question. It is good to know.

"Did you know Detective Michael Riley?" I ask.

"Yes. I worked with him. I assume you met him?"

"Yes."

"How is he?"

I smile, my eyes cold. "I don't know."

"I'm sure you don't." He gestures with his hand. "Please come with us. A police car might be along at any moment. I'm sure neither of us wants to complicate matters."

"If I do come with you, do I have your word I will not be harmed?" I ask.

He keeps his face straight. "You have my word, Alisa."

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) Another lie. This man is a killer. I can smell the blood on him. I shift slightly on my feet.

The rifles aimed at me all have telescopic sights. They move as I move. I estimate at least one of the shooters will hit me before I can get over the pier rail. I don't like being shot, although I have a few times. I have no choice but to go along, I decide, for the moment.

"Very well, Mr. Slim," I say. "I will come with you."

We walk toward the limousine, Slim on my right, the woman on my left. As we are almost at the entrance to the pier, the limousine down the street suddenly appears. Without picking up the' men it deposited, it drives until it is parked behind the first limousine. Four men jump out. Their clothes are all similar—black sweatsuits. They point automatic weapons at me. My fear escalates. Their precautions are extraordinary. If they decide to open fire now, I will die. I think of Krishna, I don't know why. But he did tell me I would have his grace if I listened to him. And in my own way I have not disobeyed him. Slim turns in my direction.

"Alisa," he says. "I would like it if you would slowly reach in your coat and remove your gun and toss it on the ground."

I do as he asks.

"Thank you," Slim says. "Do you have any other weapons on you?"

"You will have to search me to find out."

"I prefer not to search you. I'm asking you if you have any other weapons, and that you surrender them now."

These are dangerous people, highly trained. I have to go on the offensive, I think, quickly.

I stare at Stim, my eyes boring into him. He tries to glance away but
is
unable to. I speak softly, knowing he hears my words as if they were whispered between his ears.

"You do not have to be afraid of me, Mr. Slim," I say. "It does not matter what you have been told. Your fear is unnecessary. I am nothing more than I appear."

I am planting a suggestion deep in his psyche, pushing buttons he already feels. But the woman takes a sudden step forward. She speaks. "Don't listen to her. Remember."

Slim shakes his head as if trying to clear it He gestures to the woman. "Search her," he orders.

I stand perfectly still while the woman works her way down into my boots and discovers my remaining pistol and knife. I consider grabbing her and holding her as a hostage. But a study of the eyes of the men assembled tells me that they will kill her to get to me, and lose no sleep over the act. The woman disarms me and jumps back from me as if afraid she will catch something from me. All of them, without exception, are confused about why I have to be treated with such caution. Yet all of them are determined to follow orders. Slim removes two pairs of handcuffs from inside his coat. They are gold colored, and don't smell like steel—probably some special alloy. They are three times thicker than normal cuffs. Slim tosses them toward me and they land at my feet.

"Alisa," he says patiently. "I would like you to put one pair of these around your wrists, the other pair around your ankles."

"Why?" Now I want to stall for time. Maybe a police officer will come by. Of course, these people would just kill the officer.

"We have a long drive ahead of us, and we want you safely tucked away before we allow you in our car," Slim says.

"You said we didn't have far to go?"

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"Put on the cuffs."

"All right." I put them on, marveling once more at their preparation.

"Press them together so that they lock," Slim suggests.

I do so. They click. "Happy?" I ask. "Can we go?"

Slim removes a black eye mask from his pocket, similar to the kind people wear to bed.

He steps toward me. "I want you to put this on," he says.

I hold out my cuffed hands. "You'll have to put it on me."

He takes another step toward me. "Your hands are free enough to put it on."

I catch his eye again; it may be my last chance. "You do not have to be so afraid of me, Slim. Your fear is ridiculous."

He hurries toward me and covers my eyes. I hear his voice.

"You're right, Alisa," he says.

He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the limousine.

We drive south on the Coast Highway. All is dark, but I still have my sense of direction.

All my senses with the exception of my eyes are very alert. Slim sits on my right, the woman on my left. Four burly men sit across from us; two up front. I count the breaths.

The second limousine follows a hundred yards behind. They picked up their three marksmen before we hit the road.

There are no incidental smells in the limousine. The car is new. There is no food in the limousine, but there is drink in the bar: sodas, juice, water. There is a faint smell of gunpowder in the air. One or more of the guns in the vehicle has recently been fired.

Everybody has his gun out, in his hands or resting in his lap. Only the woman keeps hers aimed at me. She is the most afraid of me.

Several miles go by. The breathing of the people around me begins to slow, to lengthen and deepen. They are relaxing, except for the woman. They think the difficult part is over.

Careful, I test the strength of the cuffs. The metal is incredibly hard. I will not be able to break it. But that doesn't mean I can't get around. I can hop, even bound, far more quickly than any mortal can run. I might be able to grab one of the automatic weapons from the lap of one of the men across from me and shoot and kill most of the people in the limousine before they can shoot me back. Then again, the woman might put a bullet in my brain first. Also, I know the car behind us is operating under strict instructions. The pattern in the abduction is clear. If they see me attacking, they will open fire without hesitation. Everyone in the first limousine will die, and I will be one of them. This is why there are two cars, not one.

I must try another way.

I let another thirty minutes go by. Then I speak.

"Slim. I have to go to the bathroom."

"I'm sorry, that's not possible," he says.

"I have to go bad. I drank an entire bottle of Coke before meeting you."

"I don't care. We are not stopping."

"I'll pee all over the seat. You'll have to sit in it."

"Pee if you must."

"I will do it."

He doesn't respond. More miles go by. Since Slim carried the cuffs, I decide he must be the one who has the key to open them. The arm of the woman beside me begins to tire.

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) She lowers her weapon hand: I hear the rustling of her clothing. I estimate our speed to be sixty miles an hour. We are maybe fifty miles south of Water Cove. Seaside is approaching; I can hear the town up ahead; the two all night gas stations; the twenty-four-hour doughnut shop.

"Slim," I say.

"What?"

"I have a problem besides having to pee."

"What is it?"

"I'm having my period. I have to get to a rest room. I need only two minutes. You and your lady friend can come with me into the rest room. You can point your guns at me the whole time if you want, I don't care. If you do not stop, we will have a mess here and we will have it soon."

"We are not stopping."

I raise my voice. "This is ridiculous! I am bound hand and foot. You are armed left and right. I just have to go to the bathroom for two minutes. For God's sake, what kind of sick person are you? Do you like piss and blood?"

Slim considers. I hear him lean forward and glance at the woman. "What do you think?"

he asks.

"We are not supposed to stop for any reason," she says.

"Yeah, but what the hell." He adds a line, and as he does so, I hear my implanted suggestion. "What harm can she do?"

"She must be guarded at all times," the woman insists.

"I already said you two can follow me into the rest room," I say.

"So we have your permission?" the woman asks sarcastically. The sound of her voice is aggravating. She is from Germany—the east side. I hope she follows me into the bathroom. I have a surprise for her. "I have no sanitary napkins," she says.