His thin lips curled in a humorless smile. "That is precisely what must not happen," he said. "You must not survive this night. . . ."

Nor must you, I thought, matching my smile to his.

I had to walk back to my room with the blanket draped about me like a vastly oversized toga: try as I might, I was unable to return to my room by the so-called dreampath. Ba.s.sarab refused to discuss the matter further. Time was short, he said, and we would continue that particular conversation after Kadeth Bey was utterly and irrevocably destroyed. If either of us survived, that is.

So we discussed the Plan. And before we were done, we not only knew that we would both have to die, but we also knew when and how, as well.

The sun was already down before I could join Smirl in the drainage ditch that ran along Atkinson Road. The runoff from the storm churned around his boots as he crouched against the angled embankment and studied the ruins of the old hospital and the field around it through a pair of Brunton infrared binoculars.

"You're late," he said as I slid down into the water beside him. Unlike Smirl, I wore tennis shoes, and the icy water leeched the feeling from my lower legs in seconds.

"Any movement?"

"They left ten minutes ago." He capped the field gla.s.ses and scrambled up and onto the shoulder of the road.

I looked down to where my shins disappeared into the roiling water and my jeans were wicking the water up toward my knees. Then I looked up at Smirl's waterproof Magnums that were already beading dry. "How many?" I grunted, climbing back up to join him. Water dribbled from my laced eyelets as we walked across the road.

"Three. Just as you said."

"That should be it, but I'm going inside to make sure."

He reached inside his trenchcoat and produced two Tracker headsets, handing me one. "How muchtime do we have?"

"Minimum of forty-five minutes," I said, adjusting the earpiece and microphone arm. "Maybe two hours at the other end." I clipped the control box and battery pack to my belt. "a.s.suming they don't change their minds on the way over and come back without picking up Bey."

"Then we'd best hurry," Smirl murmured, his voice crackling in my earpiece.

I nodded and jammed my fingers into the old hospital's ancient mortar. I began climbing.

The tunnel would have been easier and my wet tennis shoes made this ascent harder than the last. But it would have been entirely too logical for Bachman to b.o.o.by-trap the pa.s.sage against my premature return, and the fewer who knew about the back door, the better.

This time I managed to cross to the trapdoor without punching any new holes in the roof. I slid down the steel access ladder, unclipped the Sabrelight from my belt, and switched it on. I worked my way down the stairs, making a cursory sweep of all the rooms on each floor before descending to the next level. I found nothing of import: trash, broken plaster, and archeological evidence of furniture from the premodern era.

The only significant finds were the dead rats.

I'd seen dead mice before: you don't grow up in the country, with a cat, without experiencing a parade of feline gifts on your doorstep.

But rats are a good deal larger. And these particular rodents had been gutted so that little remained but their furry rinds. Some had their heads bitten off; others, their legs torn out. I tried to not speculate whether that had happened while they were still alive. About the kind of hungers at work here.

And then I was down in the bas.e.m.e.nt and easing my way into the furnace room.

It was darker now. The myriad candles had burned lower and many had gone out, reduced to shapeless puddles of wax, dark smears marking the grave of each wick. The area seemed deserted.

Nothing stirred. No one was in sight.

Then I heard breathing.

Gasps, actually; sharp intakes of breath, followed by explosive exhalations. A sigh. A sob. Soft, slithery sounds.

I moved to where I had last seen Suki. She was gone. A smeary trail of blood led away from the area where she had been dropped. I followed it. Found her trying to wedge herself beneath one of the workbenches. She had used the failing strength in her arms and shoulders to pull herself across the concrete floor, leaving a spoor of blood and displaced debris in her wake. Now she was propped up on her forearm and using a piece of sc.r.a.p lumber in her other hand, trying to push her unresponsive legs between the heavy wooden supports of the bench and toward the rear wall. Before it disappeared into the dark, dusty depths, I noticed small, b.l.o.o.d.y wounds on the back of her left leg.

Bite marks.

Larger than a cat's, lacking the elongated pattern of a canine muzzle.

Smaller than a human adult's bite radius. . .

"Oh, dear G.o.d," I whispered.

Suki stopped pushing and tried to look up. As she twisted around, her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she pa.s.sed out.

I reached down and gently extracted her from beneath the workbench. And then, because there was no other way and time was running out, I lifted her in my arms. She groaned but didn't wake or stop breathing. I was counting on her inhuman physiology keeping her alive despite the damage that would accrue in moving her. I turned around and started toward the stairs.

Smirl was standing in the doorway, holding a cordless, electric drill. "Is this smart?"

"Smart?" I echoed."Removing her as a hostage from the equation," he said quietly. "Will it put you in a stronger negotiating position? Or will the others call the whole thing off when they return and find her gone?"

"I can't leave her here."

He stared at me. "No, I don't suppose you could." He replaced the drill in the valise and walked around the room, studying it from the floor up. Finally he sighed and slipped a Glock 19 auto pistol out of the shoulder holster under his coat. "If you'll give me a few more minutes, I have some things I need you to carry back to the motel for me."

He slipped out of his trenchcoat, folded it neatly, and slid it into the valise. Then he sat down and began tugging at his left boot.

It was midnight when I finished the last of my errands and returned to my room. My clothes were stiff with drying blood and clotted here and there with masonry dust from a bricked-up window I had kicked out in the back of the old hospital, on the first floor. Though I had done a fair job of restacking the bricks, there was no chance they'd pa.s.s muster in the light of day. I had to hope that darkness and other distractions would camouflage my makeshift exit until it was too late.

I stripped off my clothes and cranked the hot water in the shower up into the lobster zone. I stood under the scalding spray until the water heater recycled and the temperature began to drop. My skin steamed as I toweled off, but inside my chest was a coldness that continued to grow. That felt as if it would never be warm again.

I lay on the bed and tried to relax. I couldn't.

I closed my eyes and tried to find my way onto the dreampath. I couldn't.

Thought about Suki and tried to feel rea.s.sured about the way I had left her.

I couldn't.

I lay there, as the hours pa.s.sed, ignoring Lupe's occasional, tentative knock at my locked door, and thought about monsters and fear and death.

Of how my greatest fear was of what I was becoming.

And the madness that seemed to be creeping closer.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Jenny whispered.

I was tired. My eyes didn't want to open.

"Come on, Chris, it's sunup." Her hand grasped my shoulder, shook it. "If you don't get up, you know what I'll do!" she teased.

"Nooo," I finally moaned. "You're cruel woman. . . ." But I knew I had to get up: I couldn't let her- My eyes snapped open and I grabbed for her wrist. She wasn't there, of course. I was alone in an empty room. Sometime during the wee hours, I had drifted off to sleep only to be roused from my dreams by yet another dream.

I rolled out of bed and began dressing. My tennis shoes were still damp: there was no help for it but to pull them on over dry socks. I buckled on a Bianchi shoulder rig, but discovered the Dartmaster pistol didn't sit the holster properly. I pulled the harness off and rummaged through Smirl's valise for something more suitable. The best I could come up with was his trenchcoat. A bit loose, but the pockets were large and serviceable.

I sorted through the hypodermic darts, loading one into the gun, placing two more in my shirt pocket, and dropping the rest into the left coat pocket. Then I shrugged into the coat, hoping Smirl wouldn't mind, and dropped the Dartmaster and the extra CO2 cartridge into the right pocket. Then I clipped the radio set to my belt and adjusted the headset so that the microphone and earpiece were positioned properly. The detonator was next, and I used four rubber bands to hold it snug against my left wrist.Special Forces. . . . I smiled grimly. All that training, largely gone to waste these many years. If the major could only see me now. . . .

Last of all, I considered the piece of papyrus on the floor by my bed. I had dropped it there when I had dozed off, trying to memorize the text.

"O! Amon Ra, oh!" I murmured, picking up the paper and folding it into the front pocket of my jeans.

I picked up the pocketed vest, now devoid of half of its volatile adornment. "G.o.d of G.o.ds. . . ." I picked up the Sabrelight on the dresser as I crossed the room. I reached down and twisted the doork.n.o.b.

"Death is but the doorway. . . ."

I walked out the door.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

I knocked on the door to Ba.s.sarab's room just as Mooncloud and Garou rounded the corner and started down the hallway.

Wren opened it after a moment with an expression of mild surprise. "Too late," he yawned, "he's already asleep."

"Good." I pushed Wren back into the room and crossed the threshold.

"I didn't invite you in," he said, half-puzzled, half-annoyed. His eyes widened when he saw the gun in my hand. "Hey, there's no need for that."

"I'm afraid there is," I said, hearing the others pause at the open doorway. "Lupe, shut the door."

I heard them enter behind me and, as the door clicked shut, I pulled the trigger.

"Ow-s.h.i.t!" he said as the dart caught him in the shoulder. Garou grabbed my arm as Wren pulled the projectile out of his flesh and looked up at me, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Too late." I pulled my arm free and tucked the gun back into my coat pocket. "The tranquilizer is already in your bloodstream. It's extremely fast-acting, I'm told."

It would seem I was told correctly: he took a couple of uncertain steps toward me and then seemed to misplace his equilibrium entirely. He staggered, sank to his knees, and then keeled over onto his left side.

"You probably won't lose consciousness entirely," I said, picking him up and depositing him on the bed, "but you won't be able to move about under your own power for the better part of the next hour or so."

"Are you mad?" Mooncloud wanted to know.

"What is the problem, Doctor? It wasn't very long ago that you wanted my allegiance in just such a betrayal. Now I'm doing your work for you."

"Wha-yoo-wan?" Wren slurred, head lolling on the pillow.

"Your master and I have a little business to conduct," I answered. "He may prove somewhat reluctantand I would prefer to not have to address your reluctance, as well. You should spend the next hour contemplating a career move. I think you're about to become unemployed."

The packing case that served as Ba.s.sarab's daybed was under a blanket and pushed up against the inside wall, blocking the closet. I yanked the blanket aside and opened the valise.

"I think it's time you filled us in on the rest of your plan," Mooncloud said, a touch of fear tingeing her voice.

I shook out the pocketed vest containing the plastique charges. "As I said before, Doctor, the less you know the safer we all will be. It's time to choose: you can follow my orders, or return to your room now."

"What if I change my mind halfway through?"

"I can command your obedience," I said, giving her a mental push. "Remember?"

Her mouth tightened. "Tell me what to do."

"Pull the shades."

She did, the room darkened, and Garou switched on a lamp in the corner.

"Help me get this open." They both came over and lifted the lid while I knelt by the midpoint of the camouflaged coffin.

Just like some Hollywood cliche, Ba.s.sarab lay in repose, flat on his back, with his arms folded across his chest so that his fingertips were pointed toward opposite shoulders. His eyes were closed, his face a study in hardened wax.

"Now what?" Lupe wanted to know.

"Help me sit him up."

"What?" they both chorused in shocked whispers.

"Help me sit him up!" I tugged on his arms. At the last minute they joined in and we managed to bend the old vampire at the waist until we bore a pa.s.sing resemblance to the historical tableaux on Mount Suribachi. "Now we have to dress for success." I unfolded an arm and slid it through the appropriate opening in the vest.

"Pretty flexible for a sleeping vampire," Garou grunted. "They're usually pretty rigid when we pop them during the day." She had to change her grip as I brought the vest around and behind. "Of course, once the stake goes in, they're total stiffs."

Mooncloud didn't smile at the pun. "We've never dealt with anyone half as old. And since we stake them as soon as we open the coffin, we really don't know how much handling it would take to actually wake one."

"Or how much talking," Ba.s.sarab said, just as I got his other arm though and pulled the vest closed across his chest. The vampire's eye were open now, and I slapped the Velcro closures shut. "What are you doing, Christopher?"

Mooncloud and Garou, staggered back, clutching their heads; I suffered no personal discomfort. I held the remote detonator up before his eyes and sent him a mental picture of just what he was wearing and what I would do if he didn't cooperate. Then, for the benefit of Mooncloud and Garou, I explained it again, out loud.

His lip curled. "You can't be serious."

"On the contrary," I replied, "I've never been more serious in my life."

"And you'd detonate these explosives, knowing that you will be killed, as well?"