Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) (22 page)

The door opened, and Tatiana Kaskov stepped into the treatment room, leaning on a cane. She wore camouflage shorts, and a bulky bandage covered part of her thigh. Her gaze went to the intravenous machine. “How are you feeling?”

“Stronger. But you’re limping.” He fed another piece of meat to Bram, then cut his gaze back to Tatiana. “What happened to your leg?”

She sank down in a chair. “A crazy Australian shot me a few days ago.”

“Be more careful,” Mustafa said.

“I won’t let it happen again.” She reached out to pet Bram, and the ferret snapped, barely missing her thumb.

“Have you found the girl?” Mustafa asked.

“We almost had her in Scotland. She and her mother have dropped off the grid.”

“Any leads?”

“Not yet.”

“Keep looking.” Mustafa scratched the ferret’s chin. “Bram and I want to feel the sun on our faces before we die.”

“I’ve found a lab that’s selling black market equipment,” Tatiana said. “They might have hybrids. We can breed our own quarter vampires.”

“That will take months. But go anyway.”

She got to her feet, leaning on the cane. “I’ll call when I get to Romania.”

“Romania?” Mustafa cried, and Bram slunk back.

“That’s where the lab is.”

“No.” Mustafa shook his head. “I want nothing to do with the Romanians.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No problem. I’ll redouble my efforts to find the Barrett girl.”

A man with grizzled hair strode into the room, his lab coat whiffling around his ankles. He wore blue scrub pants and paper booties covered his shoes. A white badge was clipped to his coat pocket. D
R
. J. H
AZAN
was printed in black letters. He carried a thick medical chart.

“I’m feeling stronger today,” Mustafa said. “The chemotherapy must be working.”

Dr. Hazan’s topaz eyes moved from Mustafa to Tatiana, then down to the ferret. “I wish I had better news,” he said, opening a metal chart. “Your white blood cell count is a hundred and ten thousand.”

“Could it be a mistake?” Mustafa asked.

Hazan tilted his head from side to side, as if considering
the matter. “The machine might not be calibrated properly. I will check and run another test. But these values are too high. It looks like the methotrexate isn’t working.”

“Use another drug,” Mustafa said.

“It’s not that simple. Your cancer cells have become resistant.”

“Try something else,” Mustafa said. “I need more time.”

Hazan faced Tatiana. “What about that doctor you brought from Beijing? Why hasn’t he made progress with Mustafa’s gene therapy?”

“He is working diligently,” Tatiana said.

“No, he isn’t,” Hazan said. “Yang isn’t pulling his weight. He doesn’t seem knowledgeable about gene therapy.”

“He’s an expert,” Tatiana said.

Hazan closed the chart. “He’s a troublemaker.”

“I don’t like your attitude,” she said.

He smirked. She lunged across the room and grabbed Hazan’s throat. The chart fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. He began wheezing. The ferret dove up Mustafa’s pant leg, and the bulge moved to his knee.

“Enough, Tatiana,” he said. “You’re scaring Bram.”

She let go of Hazan and pushed him against the wall. He rubbed his throat.

Mustafa’s gaze flicked over Tatiana. “Bring Dr. Yang to me.”

“Right away.” She gave Hazan a venomous stare, then hobbled out of the room, her cane thumping on the tile.

After the door closed, Hazan stepped away from the
wall. “You need to rein her in,” he said, his voice tight. “She’s out of control.”

“Her emotions are strong when it comes to me,” Mustafa said. “I turned her into a vampire.”

“You?” Hazan blinked. “But when? You’ve been ill for so long.”

“Right after the Soviet Union collapsed. She needed something new to believe in.”

“She is Russian?” Hazan’s eyebrows went up. “Her accent isn’t Eastern European.”

“That is intentional. She is a talented linguist. Her father wanted her to dance in the Moscow Ballet. He was a physician like you. A doting father. But he died when she was young. Her mother was a bitter woman. She squashed Tatiana’s dream.”

“How did she get from ballet lessons to the Al-Dîn compound?”

“She worked in East Berlin for the KGB. Then the Wall fell, and she went to the United States. After Gorbachev stepped down, she came to Istanbul. We met. And for a while, there was no East or West. Only me. And her. She is dear to me. Do not provoke her again.”

“No, sir.” Hazan swallowed.

Mustafa gently pulled the quivering ferret out of his pajama leg. “You have scared Bram. Leave us alone.”

Dr. Hazan averted his gaze and slipped out of the room, his lab coat sweeping behind him. After the door clicked shut, Mustafa gave the ferret a piece of meat. The door opened again, and Bram dove under Mustafa’s arm.

Tatiana led Dr. Yang into the room. Two Turkish guards walked in behind them, carrying AK-47s.

“Come closer, doctor,” Mustafa said.

Yang took a mincing step forward. He was a middle-aged Chinese man, and pockmarks covered his face. His white lab coat was neatly buttoned, showing the top edge of a blue scrub shirt. He brushed his dark, straight bangs off his wide forehead.

“Dr. Yang, how long have you been a guest in my compound?” Mustafa said.

A flicker appeared in Yang’s eyes. “Nine months, sir.”

Mustafa frowned. He hated the Eastern mindset, but he understood it. Yang’s goal would be to “save face” at all costs. His dignity and pride would be more important than the truth.

“Is my treatment ready?” Mustafa asked.

“Not yet,” Yang said.

“Another delay?” Mustafa said.

“I am having trouble programming your T cells. The mice are not responding to the treatment.”

“You said this in January. And you said it again three months later. Now it is July, and nothing has changed.”

“I’m culturing more T cells. They will be ready in a few weeks.”

“But I might not be here to listen to your excuses.” Mustafa glanced at Tatiana. “How much has this project cost so far?”

She walked toward Yang, pulling out her smartphone. A few moments later, she said, “Almost three hundred thousand dollars.”

“Such a waste,” Mustafa said.

Yang’s gaze moved from Tatiana to Mustafa. “I did not know money was an issue.”

“No, but time is. And I do not like to fund bad investments.” Mustafa waved at Tatiana. “Is he the best you could find?”

“The very best,” she replied.

Yang clenched his hands. “I was one of Beijing’s leading pioneers in gene therapy. I have published dozens of papers. I have a Ph.D. and an M.D. I
am
the best.”

“You were,” Mustafa said. “Hubris has been your undoing.”

“Please, I need a few more weeks,” Yang said, his voice rising.

“Tatiana, find me another geneticist,” Mustafa said.

“But he’s close to a breakthrough,” she said.

“I am.” Yang gave Mustafa a pleading look. “Sir, may we speak alone?”

Tatiana grabbed Yang’s arm. “Mustafa needs to rest.”

Yang’s gaze was latched onto Mustafa. “You don’t understand what’s going on.”

Mustafa signaled his guards. “Tatiana, please help the guards escort Dr. Yang to the animal laboratory. Lock him in the bat chamber.”

“No,
no
.” Yang dropped to his knees. “I can tell you things.”

“If he speaks again, shall I cut out his tongue?” Tatiana asked.

“Slowly,” Mustafa said.

The guards hoisted Yang to his feet and dragged him
out of the room, his legs kicking, his screams punching through the crimson air. Tatiana followed them. The yelling ended after the door clicked shut.

Mustafa leaned back in his chair, enjoying the sudden quiet. He lifted Bram and smiled. “You are a prince among ferrets,” he told him. “Act like one.”

ZERMATT, SWITZERLAND

Vivi and I walked out of the Zermatt railway station, flanked by Gillian and Fielding. Four new bodyguards pressed in around us, men with shaved heads and sunglasses.

Vivi tugged my sleeve. “Will we be safe here?”

“Vamps don’t like Zermatt. The high altitude bothers them.”

“What about Raphael and Arrapato? Will they get sick?”

“We’ll know tonight.”

A red horse-drawn carriage waited outside the station.
Seiler Hotel Mont Cervin
was painted in gold above the door. The driver held up a card that read, Della Rocca.

“We’re the Della Rocca party,” I said. I gave him my plaid bag, grateful that Raphael had arranged this ride.

“Mom, I don’t know about this,” Vivi said, her face pinched and wary.

“It’s all right, Meep,” I said in a soothing tone. “Zermatt doesn’t allow motorized vehicles. The driver works at the Mont Cervin. That’s where we’re staying, okay?”

“Okay.”

Gillian set down two Louis Vuitton bags, then looped her arm around Vivi. “Isn’t this the darlingest carriage you ever saw? Aren’t we lucky?”

“I guess,” Vivi said.

A minute later the four of us were seated, and the carriage was moving toward the sunny main street, the guards hurrying behind us. I looked out my window at the crowded Bahnhofstrasse. Hotels and restaurants lined the street, their balconies overflowing with flowers, and flags stirred in the crisp morning breeze. Snow-tipped mountains rose up into a pale blue sky. Ahead of us, a group of tourists spread apart and an electric taxi glided forward, emitting a faint hum.

“Oh, the air smells so clean.” Gillian folded her hands. “This is a storybook town.”

Fielding reached across the seat and tweaked her ear. “With a happy ending, I hope.”

“Honey, if you don’t stop pestering me, I’ll have no choice but to tar and feather you.”

“Good luck finding tar,” Fielding said.

“Pancake syrup will work just fine.”

The carriage slowed as goats trotted down the middle of the street, their bells tinkling, the wind ruffling their black-and-white fur. Vivi’s face split into a grin as she leaned against the window. I caught myself smiling, too.

We checked into the Mont Cervin Palace.

Our suite had a view of the Matterhorn. The porter set Raphael’s luggage in one bedroom, my plaid bag in another.

Vivi ran her hand through her hair, making it stick up in tufts, then flopped down on the sofa. “I guess we can’t go outside, huh? Look around? Grab some fondue.”

“Maybe later.”

“Like when I’m fifty years old.”

For a moment I saw myself through her eyes—my arms always open, ready to catch her before she tripped. I loved this child so much, I’d sucked the life right out of her.

I moved to the window and opened the yellow curtains. I stood in a puddle of light facing the Matterhorn.

“Here we are in another cold place,” Vivi said.

A rap at the door made me turn around. “It’s just us,” Gillian called.

Vivi leaped off the sofa and let them in. Gillian had changed into a chocolate cashmere sweater dress that darkened her eyes. On her feet were cream stilettos. She was loaded down with shopping bags. A rough, red spot covered her chin, and she covered it with her hand when she saw me gawking.

Fielding walked in behind her, smelling of soap and toothpaste, his cheeks flushed. He wore a purple velour jogging suit and tennis shoes. He stopped beside Vivi. They were exactly the same height.

“I saw a game room at the end of the hall,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “Let’s check it out.”

“I’m so over games,” Vivi said.

“You’ve never played air hockey?”

“Get real. Momster won’t let me go anywhere with you.”

Gillian edged closer to me. “It’ll be all right.”

I felt dizzy, as if I were at the top of a Ferris wheel, and Gillian was beside me, rocking the seat. But I knew my daughter would be secure with Fielding.

Everyone was staring at me, so I walked to the door and opened it. “Have fun,” I said, forcing myself to smile.

“For real?” Vivi blinked.

Fielding steered her into the hall. “Let’s go before she changes her mind.”

Gillian shut the door. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “That I slept with Fielding. Well, I did. And let me just say, he knows how to play my xylophone. But we’ll talk about men later. We’ve got to get cracking. We don’t have much time.”

“For what?”

“You need to teach me how to be you. See, I’m leaving for Italy day after tomorrow. And I’ll be posing as you. Just to throw off those vampires.” She opened one of her shopping bags, lifted out a U.S. passport, and flipped it open. “I’m you.”

Caroline Barrett
was printed beneath Gillian’s smiling picture. She ran her finger over the laminated photo. “I wonder how much this fake passport cost Raphael?” she said. “It looks real. It’s got a hologram and everything.”

I looked up. “How much will it cost
you
? Gillian, you can’t be my decoy.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“Yeah, Fielding told me.” She waved her hand. “I know
about Keats, your husband’s ring, the prophecy. But I just don’t believe that Vivi is a thirteen-year-old harbinger of death.”