As Long As (2 page)

Time came to a halt. Sound joined in, leaving a void. Unreality colored the scene, warping it. Geena clutched the satchel to her chest and waited. And the world went back to normal again. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. Items became distinct. Recognizable. The view included body parts. Entrails. A stream of blood dripped off the table. It didn’t even turn her stomach. She’d seen carnage on this scale several times, starting with a barely escaped death by a suicide bomber. She’d been almost ten years old at the time. Attending an open market in Jerusalem. A stranger’s body had landed atop her, saving her from the worst of the blast. Her parents and little sister hadn’t been as lucky. That’s what had changed her. Numbed her sensibilities. Hardened her heart. After the debris had been cleared, her leg and arm bandaged, and the remains of her family taken away, she’d made a vow. And done everything since to make it true.

She’d never be a victim again.

Ever.

“Give me the
ushabti
.”

An immense voice filled the boardroom with bass tones. The wall at her back trembled. Pictures rattled next. The display stand tilted into the corner and then collapsed. The lamp atop the sink counter started flashing intermittent surges of light. She didn’t question that she was the addressee. There wasn’t anyone else left alive. The intruder possessed quite the voice. But it wasn’t a specter wrapped in mummy bandaging. Nor was it a walking curse with a man’s body and the head of some animal. She slid up the wall to her feet. Lifted her chin. Gradually made out the proportions of an extremely large form standing just inside the doorway. He spoke English with the vaguest accent.

And he looked very human.

“No,” she finally answered.

“I will not ask again.”

Geena licked her lips before answering. “For clarification purposes, you didn’t ask at all.”

“I will rip your head off.”

“You can try,” she countered.

“I do not make war on women.”

Oh. This guy was really asking for it. The slightest tremor in her voice gave away the adrenaline surge. She hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Please. Don’t let that hamper you.”

“What?”

“My gender.”

“The fact you are female is the lone reason you still live.”

“And the fact you’re over there and out of reach is why you do.”

“You speak riddles. I do not wish to kill you. I will give you one more chance. Put down the
ushabti
. Step away.”

“You ever heard of
Krav Maga
?” she asked.

“This person is unknown to me.”

“It isn’t a person. It’s—forget it. This is a waste of time. Come closer, big guy. Let’s see whose head leaves their shoulders.” But for that, she was going to need her arms free. Geena eased the satchel to the floor.

“You have made the right decision. I thank you.”

“For what?”

“Placing my
ushabti
on the floor. Now. Step away. I will fetch it and leave. And I will let you live.”

His
ushabti
? Son of a—!
Geena stopped the rest of it as a waste of mental energy. She’d suspected the artifact was stolen. She just hadn’t expected such violence when it was retrieved.

“You have proof of ownership, maybe? Aside from show of force and lack of personality?”

“You are beginning to wear on my patience, woman.”

“You know...despite your obvious misogyny and the little display of temper, you really don’t scare me.”

“What display?”

“Your entrance. All these dead bodies.”

“Truly?”

“Come closer. I’ll prove it.”

A moment later, he was in front of her. Without any time lapse and no sensation of movement. A rush of air reached her a second or two later. She’d been off a bit on his size. This guy was huge. He stood at least a foot taller than her. And he was covered in lean muscle. It wasn’t possible to disregard it. The lamp atop the sink had decided to survive. Its golden glow illuminated one side of a bare torso. He wore a knee-length off-white skirt belted to his hips with a long gold sash. His only other attire was a large golden collar about this shoulder. It looked heavy. Real. It was inset with a king’s ransom in semi-precious stones. She recognized lapis lazuli. Turquoise. Bits of colored crystals. Onyx.

“I am closer,” he said.

Geena looked up and immediately wished she hadn’t. The bombing had changed her. She didn’t consider herself normal. She didn’t believe in lust. Passion. Or love. She didn’t have fantasies. She didn’t consider men to be anything other than a means to an end. She used them when necessary. Or targeted them.

Until now.

He wasn’t just handsome. The guy was gorgeous. And major sexy. It wasn’t possible to ignore that, either. She didn’t need to be an aficionado of the male gender to rank him. The guy was a solid ten. On anybody’s scale. He had a mass of black hair that could use a combing. A scuff of dark whiskers. Perfect nose. Nice lips. And some riveting, light-colored eyes. She couldn’t tell exactly what shade at the moment. It was enough that one look sent a sliver of sensation threading through her belly. It sent little sparks as it leached outward. Her breasts got a dose of stimuli. Her nipples hardened without one signal from her. And then the shiver flicked into her lower belly. Sending all kinds of warmth.

Geena did the only thing she could think of. She delivered a series of blows as rapidly as possible. First was a maneuver guaranteed to immobilize. She brought her right knee up for a quick, brutal blow to his groin. He deflected it as if swatting at an insect. The next instant she lunged upward, to smash the base of her hand into his nose. To incapacitate. He smacked her hand aside with little effort and no expression. She sent a blow toward his esophagus next, her knuckles bent to do the most damage. He snagged her fist, lifted her off the floor with it, and then he shoved her against the wall behind her.

Pictures fell. Something creaked. Geena was momentarily surprised. Pinned. She was changing that. She wasn’t staying in anyone’s control. But she’d never been up against anyone so incredibly fast. She didn’t even have time to kick before he filled the space before her, using his body and weight to restrain. She hammered toward his side with her free hand, seeking to bust a rib or two. Gain her freedom that way. A hairsbreadth before she connected he snagged that fist too, and slid it up the wall to join her other hand. And then he added unnecessary insult. He actually wrapped the fingers of one of his hands about both her wrists, effectively locking her in place.

And that was that.

For the moment.

She wasn’t breathing especially hard, but he didn’t appear to be breathing at all. She’d never failed this ignominiously. But she wasn’t afraid. She’d stared at death too often. Her upper lip lifted. She didn’t even bother shutting her eyes. But he just held her above the floor, her hands above their heads, her body pinned by his. He leaned close, bringing his nose to within an inch of hers. He didn’t blink. She hadn’t been off on her earlier assessment of his looks. The guy was beyond gorgeous. Now that she knew how extraordinarily lethal he was, there was an edge to his already loaded package.

The guy was large. Fit. Muscled. And something else. Something worse. He was dangerously sexy. Almost feral. His light-colored eyes even seemed to have a yellowish tint.

“You cannot harm me, little girl.”

Little girl?

Oh
.

Nobody had ever called her that. Then again, she’d never given anyone a chance. The entire episode should be insulting. It should spark anger. Renew her need to attack. Regain the ability to retaliate. Getting called such a condescending term should have done anything other than what happened. Her body got hit with another dose of unfamiliar sensation. It held pleasure. Interest. It might even carry desire. She didn’t know what. Or why. Or how. It could be his voice. The swiftness of his reflexes. His proximity. Their locked gazes.

She ceased trying to decipher the reason for her reaction. She had enough to do with stopping it. And when that failed, she had to do her damnedest to make certain he wouldn’t know. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin, giving him a non-verbal answer with her look.

“Do you want to know why?”

Did she?

He tipped his head down slightly. Glanced downward before looking back into her eyes. The whisper of his breath touched her cheek. Tormented her lips. Chin. His voice had softened to a teasing sound. Extremely pleasant to hear. It started another rash of goose bumps she couldn’t prevent. They originated at the nape of her neck and raced outward from there. It was a delicious feeling. Intoxicating. Liberating. Exotic. And she was going insane. She wriggled against him. Squirmed. She probably resembled a butterfly stuck on the end of a pin in some Edwardian gentleman’s insect collection.

“I believe I shall tell you anyway. Before I kill you. And why? Because you are so brave. Even now. When you are in my complete power, you still fight me. How...extraordinary.”

He called it bravery? She was actually feeling all sorts of different reactions. Everywhere. All at once. To an increasing degree. She was starting to shake. And then he said something so ridiculous, it stopped everything.

Except mirth.

“You cannot harm me because I am already dead.”

Her expression must have mirrored her inner reaction, because he clarified his statement with an even more ludicrous one.

“You see...I am a vampire.”

Bubbles of laughter infiltrated the scene, altering it. She lost every vestige of fear. Unfortunately, she also lost her strength. She hadn’t known amusement was a debilitating force. But the timing was horrible. His declaration changed things. Crazed people were known for possessing extraordinary strength. If he’d gotten into mind-altering drugs, too? Well. That could also explain his abilities. She needed to play this along...work with his declaration. Geena swallowed, but a snicker still made it out of her throat. And then it turned to a gasp as shock took over.

He lifted his upper lip, opening his mouth. And he had fangs! Big ones. Sharp. White. Extremely real-looking. He lowered his head and closed in on her throat. “Wait!”

The word limped out, sounding ineffectual and harmless. Completely unlike her. It didn’t stop him, either. She felt him stab into her throat. Heard his groan as it filled the boardroom. And then all sorts of things happened. The room shifted. Went sideways. Re-righted. Fancy captain chairs crashed onto their backs. The table slid into the countertop with a bang. Something else crashed to the floor. The room had been darkened. But now, it seemed to fill with pale yellow light. Geena’s eyes slammed shut as her entire form did something completely out of character, and yet absolute perfect. She flung herself against him. Her legs even betrayed her, moving without conscious volition up his legs to clasp about his hips. Gripping.

Tighter.

Closer.

She’d never felt such ecstasy. Experienced such pleasure. She’d denied either could have existed. A wellspring erupted deep within her belly, washing heat through her. Cleansing. Purifying. The feeling intensified. Grew warmer. Almost hot. Making her slacks and shirt feel restrictive and cloying.

And then everything stopped.

With a groan, he yanked up from her neck, the move lifting his head, breaking contact. Her legs slid down from him. A thin trickle of blood escaped his gapped lips as he stared at her. His eyes were wide. The pupils large. She got a clear view of them this time. The color was light blue in the center, green tones in the middle, and yellow toward the edges. His expression was impossible to verify but he looked fairly stunned.

“My heart is beating,” he told her.

Loss slammed into her. It rapidly changed. It became anger. Then it went to rage. Red-hot and heated. Impossible to contain. It galvanized her. That’s when she head-butted him, followed by a swift knee to his groin.

And this time, he dropped.

He hadn’t left the area around the ancient fortress of Buhen in fifty years. Maybe longer. Tourists made easy meals when he needed them, and he didn’t ask for assignments from the league anymore. He had a tomb full of precious objects, more funds than any man could spend, and no desire.

Fifty years.

The world had changed, but for some reason the pace of things seemed slower. The flight had taken too long. The drive was annoyingly lengthy. Even the desk clerk appeared inept and clumsy, taking entirely too much time before she gave him a large package from the safe and a flat plastic card. And she’d made him wait for the computer to verify something before she did that much. Sokar smiled at her before turning away. He heard a thudding sound. He hoped she hadn’t swooned or something as silly.

He slid a thumbnail beneath the seal on the packet as he approached the elevators, his long burnoose robe swaying about him. The package was still sealed with cellophane tape. It had darkened with age. It crumbled at his touch. The outer layer held an ordinary-looking key. He palmed it. This building was a rich man’s haven. A place for the rich and famous to be seen. Or maybe, to hide. He’d purchased the top floors sometime in the middle of the last century. Back when smoking cigarettes was in vogue and swimsuits covered more than a strip of skin.

Speaking of...

Two barely-clad nubile-bodied females entered the elevator behind him. One wore what might be a full piece swimsuit, although the back was a bit of string between her buttocks, and the front was sliced open, nearly reaching her haven of paradise. The other wore a series of strings that held little triangles of cloth in place, barely shielding her intimate parts. And the sun had just been rising as he’d arrived. Sokar shook his head slightly as he secreted the still-wrapped package in his robe. He’d never seen women put so much on display. Not even in the harem when trying to catch a prince’s eye. One girl took a recognizable flat plastic square from somewhere in a breast section of her attire and stuck it into a slot on the elevator wall. A green light came on. The panel lit up a number six. Her card came back out.

Ah.

Things had certainly changed. He should have risen from the tomb at Buhen sooner. Looked into things. Sokar leaned forward and put his own card in the slot. Three rows of numbers lit up, taking up the top section of the panel. There was an audible gasp from both ladies. Sokar retrieved his card. The one who was wearing more material per square inch spoke first. The other’s words were right behind.

“Are you that sheik everyone talks of? The reclusive one? The one nobody ever sees?”

“Oh! You are, aren’t you? Please say you are!”

Sokar glanced down at them again. If he wasn’t in a whorl of tension and chafing at each delay, these ladies might be worth a quick bite. Maybe. “Possibly,” he finally answered.

“You are! You have to be! Oh! This is so cool!”

“You interested in a threesome?”

Sokar lifted an eyebrow. Things had definitely changed in the world. “My abject apologies, ladies. I’m here on business.”

“We can come to your place. Hang around until your business is over.”

“Some other time, perhaps.”

The door opened to their floor. Sokar folded his arms and regarded them without expression.

“Fine. Come on, Mim. He’s probably gay, anyway.”

“Yeah. Or lacking some meat where it counts, if you know what I mean.”

They flounced out of the elevator, which was an interesting view, given the lack of clothing on either derriere. The doors shut. And the women disappeared from contemplation and importance.

The elevator slowed to a snail’s pace once the ladies had vacated it. Or something that felt close. He’d have been better off jumping to the rooftop of the building and accessing his apartment from there. The elevator finally opened on a three story-high vestibule. Thickly carpeted. With floor-to-ceilings murals of black and red, and a lot of gold. A set of double doors faced him. They didn’t look familiar. Nor was there a place for his key.

There was a slot on the wall beside the door, however. It had a little light above it. Sokar inserted his plastic card. The light turned green. His card slid out. He snagged it back. With a click, one of the doors moved inward an inch. This access thing was interesting. But he wondered what happened if the electrical power failed. The thought was answered when he pushed the door open. There were handles on the inside.

And then he ceased caring about that, as well. He pulled the packet from his robe, shrugged the burnoose from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He stepped out of it while freeing a large portable phone with a section of line wound about it. Sokar started unwinding the cord. Then he had to scan the walls for a phone jack.

He should have asked the pilot for a new model phone. He’d been flown in his private jet by a pilot who’d introduced himself as Stanislaw. If Stanislaw knew Sokar wanted to call Akron, he probably wouldn’t have been interested. But Sokar hadn’t recognized the man. He mulled it as he searched the rooms. One of his names was Amun-Kamose. That was the name only his mother and
Isis
knew. It meant ‘the hidden one is born’. It fit him, too...perhaps better than the name Sokar. He didn’t trust anyone. He didn’t reveal anything to anyone. He was definitely hidden.

Finally!

There was a phone jack on the wall in the music loft, secreted behind a large harp with the form of
Nut
, goddess of the sky, as she held up the top with an outstretched arm. And he was in luck. There was an electrical outlet right beside it. Sokar knelt, pushed the phone jack into place, plugged in the phone, and watched the front light up.

He pressed his number. Three. And then he had to wait another seemingly endless span of time before it started ringing. He was on edge. His mouth open. Ready to speak the moment it was answered, but was forestalled by a young male voice.

“Hello! You’ve reached VAL Headquarters! Where every person has a number and we excel at cancelling them. Name your poison, please.”

“Poison?” Sokar asked.

“Perhaps I could interest you in the chat line?”

“We don’t have a chat line, Nigel.”

Akron chided the young male, his voice sending a boom through the receiver as Sokar recognized it. He snatched the phone away and rubbed at his ear. This was one part of reanimation he could do without. He held the phone gingerly back to his head.

“I know. But we should. It would be so cool.”

“A chat line is notoriously easy to hack. It would never be secure.”

“Trust you to have a ready answer, Sir.”

Akron sighed. Sokar pulled the phone away an inch.

“Glad to have you back, Nigel. I missed you. I really did. I’m even finding that surprising. Would you find out who is calling now? While we still have some time?”

“Oh. Yeah. Who is calling, please?”

“Sokarhotep.”

“So. Car. Hoe. Tepp. Sokar...hotep. Sew-car. Hoe-tep. Hmm. No matter how I say it, and try to spell it, I do not see it on the list.”

“Sokar isn’t on that list.”

“There’s a list I don’t know about? And it’s not on the Abyss Link? What kind of outfit is this? And...wait a sec. Didn’t he say Sokarhotep?”

“Sokar is the short version. And he’s not on the list because he’s one of the ancients.”

“Really? How ancient?”

“I’m going to say...from around 1800.” He paused before adding, “B.C.”

“Oh, wow. He must be the oldest associate we have!”

“Ahem.”

“Except you, of course, Sir. What was I thinking?”

“Sokarhotep is Egyptian. His name loosely translates to ‘a god of the dead is pleased’.”

“Oh, balls! What a fantastic name for a vampire assassin! I had no idea. Is he a mummy? Where’s Lizbeth? She’s got to hear this.”

“Nigel. Please. Sokar can’t be mummified. He’s a vampire. And you’re missing the point. He called us. He hasn’t contacted us in decades.”

“So?”

“My point exactly. You want to find out why he’s calling?”

“Okay, but I’m going to guess it’s because he found his mate.”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, come on, Sir. Why not?”

“You have to be supremely lucky, Nigel. As you were. Sokar has been luckless for a long time. A very long time.”

“Yeah. Three thousand – no. Four thousand years. Holy pickled hogtie. That’s hard to fathom.”

“Holy pickled what?”

“Four
thousand
years. Wow. That’s mindboggling, Sir.”

“Sokar? Forgive the conversation on this end. We are almost out of time. I will call you back on your landline, since your phone will be inoperative. Before that happens, someone should enquire. Why
are
you contacting us?”

“I have found my mate.”

“Ah ha! I told you so! Score one for the kid!”

There was another heavy sigh from Akron before the connection died. Sokar was on his feet and looking for another phone as it started ringing. He raced to the water closet and ended up sitting atop the commode in the bathroom. Akron was speaking when the call connected.

“Nigel, please. Could you try not to be so jubilant?”

“All right. I’ll try. But it’s not going to be easy.”

“We have a limited amount of time on this line. Sokar? You there?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in Monaco? Your apartment?”

“Yes.”

“How the heck did you know that, Sir?”

“I know the origin of every number when the call comes in. I need you to focus, here, Nigel. We have a finite window of opportunity, as I already made mention.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Let me handle it, okay? Please? Since I was right, and...well, you were not. And that’s gotta rate a ten-point-two on the shock-o meter.”

“Very well. Proceed. But talk fast.”

“Got it. Sokar? You found your mate. And now you need our help. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess again. It’s a she.”

“Yes.”

“So. You found your lady. Then you lost her. And now you need us to help find her again.”

“Yes. That is it exactly. How do you know?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. What’s her name?”

“I do not know.”

“Occupation?”

“Unknown. Although I would guess it is something with ancient artifacts.”

“Height?”

“Um.” Sokar thought for a moment. “You want cubits?”

“Cubits?”

“Three. Perhaps.”

“Uh—”

“If I could intrude?” Akron asked.

“Yeah. I mean, sure. Go ahead, Sir. I’ll man the search function. Just give me a word.”

“You were in Istanbul, Sokar?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. How did you know that, Sir?” Nigel asked.

“He got to Monaco somehow. Stanislaw happens to have landed an hour ago. His passenger came from Istanbul. I haven’t just been sitting here listening. What were you doing in Turkey, Sokar?”

“The tomb was found. Robbed.”

“Tomb? As in...ancient Egyptian pharaoh tomb? Oh man. How rad can this get?” Nigel asked.

“And she has one of my
ushabtis,
” Sokar explained.

“One of your what?” Nigel asked again.

“Excellent,” Akron responded. “Gives us a chance. Does she have any skills? Anything...odd?’

“Yes.” Sokar looked inward. Smiled. Shook his head to stop the recollection. “I would say she’s probably Hebrew. She possesses very good fighting skills. Said something about
Krav-
something
.
”

“I’ll just find stuff out myself over here. Okay?
Ushabti
. That is a personal servant statue. Good thing I can type fast and this thing auto spells. And...look.
Krav-
something is
Krav Maga.
It’s a fairly vicious form of martial arts,” Nigel inserted. “Wait another sec. Why would she tell you something like that?”

“I was going to kill her.”

“No way! Seriously? Sokar. We have to talk, man.”

Akron interrupted Nigel. “And she escaped you? Sokar. Do not move from your apartment. I’ll have a pack of cell phones delivered. Some new attire. This is going to take some searching. And we will have to be very lucky.”

“How so?” Sokar and Nigel asked it in concert.

“She might be a member of the
Mossad
. If so, it’s going to be difficult to identify and locate her.”

“Oh. We can locate anyone, Sir. You know that.”

“Start with the easiest bit of this. Search for Pharaoh Sesostris the Fourth. Middle Kingdom. Twelfth Dynasty.”

“Searching...and...no. Getting nothing. There wasn’t a Sesostris the Fourth, Sir. There’s a Sesostris the Third. Does that help?”

“Oh. Wait. That is the Greek translation. Try Senusret the Fourth.”