Jonathan Maberry - Assassin's code

It was the kind of grandiose threat that might have sounded corny in pretty much any other circumstance. Not now. Vampires with nukes. Yeah, they get to mouth off any way they want.

The best reply I could manage was a wheezy, “Yeah… well fuck you.”

Not original, but effective. The effect was, however, that he pulled me halfway out of the nest of splinters and then slammed me back in, deeper.

“When the bombs go off,” whispered Grigor, “your own stupidity and paranoia will drive the nations together into a war that will devastate the earth. When the skies darken with ash, your kind will cower. When the fallout spreads, they will sicken and die. In the coldness of nuclear winter, the Upierczi will rise up and claim dominance.”

“Not a chance,” I said, but that was defiant bullshit.

His plan was a pretty good one. The war would probably start as soon as the bomb in Pakistan detonated. That government was conflicted and paranoid, and ever since SEAL Team Six popped a cap in Bin Laden on Pakistani soil, political tensions have been high and hostile. They would never believe that the bomb was triggered by vampires. I mean… who would believe that? Sure, I was a true believer right now, but I wasn’t going to be there to testify to the existence of monsters. No, the bomb there, the bombs in Iran and Saudi Arabia, the bomb in Louisiana, these were going to be seen as acts of war, and war would be the result. By the time anyone ever figured out what the hell was going on, the whole world would have become a hell.

And the Upierczi could live in a radioactive world. They were perfectly adapted-and genetically modified-to live in the world they were making.

The fact that this was all becoming crystal clear to me right now was a pain in the ass. Would have been nice to have put this all together back at the Arklight camp, and then sipped a beer while Church called in a multinational airstrike on Grigor.

As Church said, “If wishes were horses.”

“I thought you believed in God,” I said, fumbling for something to use as a lever. “How does this serve Him?”

“Read the Old Testament,” he said. “Our God is the God of vengeance and warfare. We are the new chosen people. We were chosen by Father Nicodemus and blessed by him in God’s name. Your kind should worship us.”

I had no answer to that. I’m not a theologian. So I again fell back on my old favorite. “Fuck you.”

Another pull and slam. Hard enough to rattle the whole stack of crates. A whole new array of burning points of pain blossomed where my body was pressed into the splinters. He leaned in close-not close enough for me to bite his nose, though-and snarled at me to worship him, emphasizing it with another shake. I was getting chewed up pretty bad by the splinters and blood was pouring down my body. I could feel it running out of my hair and down my cheeks.

“The Red Order thought they were working to maintain the faith,” said Grigor, his tone full of mockery, “but they polluted their own mission. When the bombs go off, every human who survives will be on his knees. Not the first bombs-no, that will merely start the war-but the three we have placed on the altars of faith.”

“What… are you talking about? Where are those other bombs?”

Grigor leered at me and the other vampires laughed. This was the heart of their plan, and the delight they took in it crackled through the air like electricity.

“We will strike the very heart of the faiths whose stupidity and superstitions have made monsters of my people, and whose pointless holy wars have done nothing but drive people away from faith. When I have drunk your life, Captain Ledger, I will send the activation codes that will detonate high-yield nuclear devices that we have placed in tunnels beneath Jerusalem and Mecca and the Vatican.” He leaned close. “Do you think that will bring the faithful to their knees?”

Aghajari Oil Refinery

Iran

June 16, 6:23 a.m.

John Smith lay prone on a catwalk and tracked a dark-clad female figure with his scope. He had crosshairs on her the entire time. His finger lay along the outside curve of the trigger guard.

Without moving he said, “Company’s coming.”

In his earbud, Top said, “One of theirs or one of ours?”

Before he could answer, a second figure leaped out of a place of concealment and landed right in the woman’s path. The second figure moved unnaturally fast and he whipped out a long, curved dagger.

One of them.

John Smith slipped his finger into the guard, but before he could wrap it around the trigger, the woman ducked under the swing of the knife and there was a flash of silver in each of her hands. The Red Knight seemed to disintegrate into a cloud of bloody mist. Part of him landed on the catwalk, the rest fell into the steam below.

“One of ours,” said John Smith. “I hope.”

Aghajari Oil Refinery

Iran

June 16, 6:25 a.m.

I thought I had heard the worst, most shocking things I could hear. I was wrong.

Jerusalem.

Mecca.

The Vatican.

God almighty.

The King of Thorns sniffed the blood on my face and then suddenly darted his head forward, his tongue slithering out like a snake’s to lick fresh trickles from my cheek. It was a horrible thing, invasive, intrusive on a level I’d never personally experienced before, and deeply disgusting. He took a second, longer lick and I tried to squirm away from his hot tongue running over my jaw and cheek and all the way up to the corner of my eyebrow.

He pulled back for a moment, and his smile was truly horrifying.

I think I screamed.

His face wrinkled in disgust and he spat out the blood, but then he smiled. “Eating garlic is an old trick. You have to do it for years before your blood is poison to us.”

He laughed, stretching that mouth wider still. I recoiled and thrashed and kept screaming. Then Grigor bent closer still and pressed his cold lips to my ear.

“Hugo Vox gave me a very special list, my friend. Would you like to guess what is on it?”

My heart froze in my chest.

“There are Upierczi in America. Even now, even as you die here, my brothers are heading toward Baltimore. Shall I tell you who will die?”

He whispered the names of my father, my brother, my sister-in-law, my nephew.

“If your brother’s wife is still fertile, we may let her live. Our birthing cells are waiting. But she will see her husband and child torn to pieces and consumed. ”

I howled in fury and tried to tear myself free of splinters. All I accomplished was to drive the jagged points deeper into my own flesh.

Grigor was not done with me. His lips moved against the flesh of my ear. “I can spare her. She will still die, but she can die quickly… and whole. You can save her. I offer you a chance to assure an easy death for those you love.”

“Go to hell.”

He slapped me so hard that I felt a tooth crack. But the impact shifted me in the nest of splinters. I felt one shoulder suddenly slide free, greased by my own blood. The rest of me though, was still trapped.

“I’m offering you a chance to save your family. Are you too stupid or heartless to listen?”

“O-okay,” I wheezed. “Tell me…”

“Pray to me,” he said. “Fall to your knees and pray to the King of Thorns. Pray to the Upierczi. Be the first of your kind to worship us and you will earn my mercy. That’s all you have to do.”

Around me the Upierczi had fallen into an expectant silence.

I closed my eyes and thought of my sister-in-law. Jenny. Beautiful, sweet-natured. A schoolteacher and mother. I thought of my brother, Sean. A detective, a loving husband, and father. And Sam, his son. Cute, smart as a whip, and an expert on all things baseball. He wanted to play third base for the Orioles when he grew up.