Thirst No. 3 (22 page)

Teri—or is it me?—accelerates through the two women in
front of her. The fact they are inches apart doesn’t matter. They are in her way, and they had better get out of her way. Teri thrusts her arms forward to widen the crack, and then pushes the women apart. She accelerates, moving from eighth place to fifth in a single stroke.

It’s not enough. There’s only half a lap left. I see that Teri must return to the outside, to the second lane, to be able to pass everyone left in front of her. Teri sees what I see—maybe she reads my mind. Without hesitating, she jerks to the right and accelerates sharply and comes up on the shoulder of the woman in third place.

There are two women directly in front of her: Radhur Jamur and Olga Stensky from Russia. Jamur runs like a sleek gazelle. Olga has legs as thick as a shot-putter. If she’s not injecting herself with steroids in the off-season, then both her parents were weight lifters and forced Olga to haul boulders on her back when she was in grade school.

So far Teri has run on nerves and fear and excitement. Now she enters the realm of real pain, the type even I have to respect. Her lungs feel as if they fill with molten lead. Steaming cramps radiate from her shoulders down into her chest and arms. Her legs, the most crucial part of her anatomy for what she must do next, keep jarring. The muscles are stiffening up, and she can’t let them. Somehow, she must will her legs to move faster no matter how much they hurt.

They enter the final turn. Olga pulls up on Jamur’s shoulder,
and Teri crowds Olga. Teri knows Olga will wait until the final straightaway to make her move. To try to pass Jamur on the curve will be foolish. It will cause her to run farther and use up the last of her reserves.

Yet Jamur stumbles, and like a true warrior Olga pounces. To hell with the extra distance, the Russian thinks. Olga swings out and passes Jamur and begins to pull away from Teri and the world-record holder. Teri freezes for an instant—she doesn’t know what to do. But I know, and I mentally push Teri to go after her.

Olga and Teri hit the straightaway. The gold medal waits at the end of the orange track—eighty meters away. Olga has cut back into the inside lane to block a possible spurt from Jamur. But she sees Teri out of the corner of her eye in lane two and recognizes her as the final threat.

Olga’s legs are riddled with scars from wounds caused by countless encounters with spikes. She is used to the trenches; she probably prefers them. As Teri stretches forth with her magnificent stride, throwing the last shreds of her strength into an agonizing sprint, Olga suddenly moves into the second lane and bumps Teri with her right hip. Then, to finish off the cocky American upstart, she rams her elbow into Teri’s side.

Teri falls back a step. Olga runs for the gold.

“Destroy her,” I whisper quietly in the stands, knowing the words, the idea, is flying across the track faster than either of the women can run. Teri catches my meaning, and the
five-thousand-year-old blood I secreted into the marrow of her bones finally ignites. She burns with hatred, with revenge, and most of all she burns with the desire for glory.

Teri lets loose the full length of her beautiful stride and begins to eat up the gap. The finish line is twenty meters away when Teri draws even with Olga. The Russian sees her victory slipping away and does the only thing she thinks can save her, never mind that it’s against every rule in the book and might get her disqualified. She swerves into the second lane again, trying to either trip or block Teri before she can reach the finish line. But Teri sees this impending disaster through either my eyes or her own. Teri swings to the inside lane, and Olga misses her by inches and loses a full stride.

Teri flies like an eagle toward the finish line.

The victory tape breaks across her chest.

The board flashes a new world record.

Teri collapses in Coach Tranton’s arms twenty meters beyond the finish line. She didn’t know to stop running. In the stands, Matt, Seymour, Shanti, and I all hug for a long time. I’m glad they hold on to me. I’m filled with joy, but like Teri I’m ready to collapse.

The president of the United States wants Teri to come to a party he’s having for the Olympic gold medalists. The message comes in the middle of a party I’m holding for Teri. I’ve rented out a small ballroom at the hotel where I’m staying, and Teri has invited two dozen friends from the American track team.

But the presidential invitation changes everything. It says that he loved her race and wants to congratulate her in person. The invitation also says she can bring a guest, but just one. Shanti and I beg off, and her old coach is wise enough to know that this moment belongs to Teri and her true love. Yet our star feels guilty about leaving. As is often the case, she turns to me for advice.

“What do you think?” Teri asks. “I feel guilty leaving all my friends. You’re the ones who made this all possible.”

“The president will meet with you for a few minutes and send you on your way. You can always come back here. This party has plenty of life in it.”

“All right.” She hugs me and turns to leave, but something keeps her by my side. “Alisa?”

“Yes, Ms. Olympic Champion?”

“Thanks for that smile at the start of the race.”

“I’m amazed you saw us in the crowd.”

“I knew where you were sitting. But it’s not that. When you smiled at me, it’s funny, I felt everything was going to be all right. That I was going to win.”

“You had faith?” I tease her.

She smiles. “Maybe.” She turns serious. “It was deeper than that. I felt you ran the race with me. At the end, when the pain was overwhelming, I had this moment of doubt. I thought, I can’t do it. Then I saw your face again in my mind, and my doubt vanished.”

I brush her long hair from her eyes, a habit of mine.

“We were all with you, Teri. But you were alone on that track, and you faced that fear alone. Don’t forget that. It will give you a special kind of strength that will stay with you for the rest of your life.”

She hugs me. “I feel like I’ve changed inside.”

I squeeze her in return but stay silent.

Teri and Matt leave the party and go off to Matt’s room to change. Teri is famous for taking forever to dress and fix her
makeup. Seymour, of course, acts like he should get to meet the president.

“He’s a fan of my books,” he says.

“Under which pen name?” I ask.

“All of them.”

Shanti goes off to bed. Seymour and I sit alone in a corner and drink wine and smoke cigarettes. I’ve taken up the habit to keep him happy, but only smoke in his company. He nods in the direction Teri disappeared.

“How does she feel?” he asks, and I know what he means.

“She’s going to be all right.”

“You’re sure?”

“She pushed herself to the limit but not beyond it.”

“You know you have a problem now.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Her coach is already talking about the next Olympics. Between now and then Teri expects to break the world record a dozen times. How’s she going to feel when the magic wears off ?”

“Disappointed. But she’ll never forget tonight.”

Seymour shakes his head. “I think that ‘fifteen minutes of fame’ bullshit is overrated.”

“How would you know? You’re afraid to come out of the shadows.”

“So says the world’s last vampire.”

I touch my wineglass to his. “Touché.”

Then I feel it. I hear it. I sense them.

Seymour sees my face change and asks what’s wrong, but I gesture for him to be silent. However, he follows as I hurry from the party out into an empty lounge area. There I sit cross-legged in a leather chair and close my eyes. My subtle hearing spreads out into the night, like a vast fishing web thrown over a dark sea. I cannot see the predators that await me, but I’m suddenly convinced they are there.

Four powerful heartbeats. Four pounding pulses—of a type I have only heard once before in my life, the night the assassin Claudious Ember came for me. They approach from four separate directions. They’re still miles away and appear in no hurry to reach me, probably because they’re confident they already have me.

Opening my eyes, I explain my dilemma to Seymour.

“How can I help?” he asks when I’m finished.

“Get out of here. It will only distract me if I have to protect you.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“Then give me a brilliant idea that will allow me to stop them. Make it quick.”

“Are you sure there are only four?”

“Four in a ten-mile radius. Beyond that, I can’t tell.”

“Are you armed?”

I gesture to my leather coat. “I have a Glock .45 semiautomatic.”

“How many spare clips?”

“Three.”

“Can you tell what they’re carrying?”

“I hear their weapons banging into each other. They’re carrying some kind of bags. We have to assume they’re more heavily armed than I am.”

“What if you run as fast as you can in one direction? Can you kill one of them and keep from getting boxed in?”

“I doubt it. They increased their pace the moment we came out here. That means they must have me under observation, in this hotel, by a normal person. If I try to flee from this trap, they’ll just spring it that much faster.”

“How many do you think you can take?”

“Based on the last guy, maybe two. If I’m lucky.”

Seymour suddenly holds up a hand. “Wait a second.”

“I hope what you have is extremely good.”

“It’s perfect. We’re not vulnerable at all. In fact, we’ve never been so invincible.”

“I’m dying to hear what you have to say.”

“The president’s hotel. It’s down the block from here. Teri and Matt just left to go there, but you know how long she takes to get ready. They won’t get there for half an hour. You won’t have to worry about exposing her to harm.”

“I’m not following you.”

“I’m talking about the secret service. The president will have at least a hundred agents with him. More like two
hundred. This is the Olympics, a prime terrorist target. If you can get inside his hotel, you’ll be surrounded by a wall of the best-trained guards on earth. If these monsters try to attack you, they’ll be cut to pieces. If they just try to sneak weapons into the president’s hotel, they’ll be arrested.”

“You can’t arrest creatures like these.”

“Then they’ll be killed. But you’ll be safe.”

I consider, then nod. “Clever. I like it. But what if the four surround the hotel and try to take me hostage? In that case Teri and Matt would be in danger.”

“I doubt it will come to that. Whoever this group is, they’ve sent four superhumans to get you this time. They want you. They’re not going to leave without you. Trust me, they’ll do whatever it takes to get inside that hotel.”

I stand and kiss him on the lips. “I owe you.”

“Make me a vampire. That will make us even.”

“You’re perfect the way you are. I hate to ruin a good thing.”

He kisses me. “We’ll talk about it later. Run, Sita, and kill them. Kill them all. It’s what you do best.”

I’m outside a moment later. I walk briskly toward the president’s hotel, but I don’t break into a run. My pace appears to determine the speed of my assailants. Since I know they cannot hear as well as I can, I must assume their human spies still have me in their sights. If I increase my pace even slightly, they do likewise.

The night is warm and humid, London in August. Although it’s late, a party atmosphere fills the city. I hear people drinking and carrying on. The Brits love track and field, and many are still celebrating Teri’s race, among others.

The president’s hotel is a five-star Hilton. Even before I catch sight of my first secret service agent, I dispose of my gun in a tree. I’m sure I’ll have to go through a metal detector. I can get the weapon later, if need be.

Two hundred yards from the Hilton, I see my first wave of agents—the outer perimeter. A few are dressed as athletes, others as tourists. It’s their job to stop anyone who looks remotely suspicious. I guess I pass the first test.

At the door to the hotel, I successfully go through a metal detector, but then I’m stopped cold. I don’t have an athlete’s badge, and I’m not on their list. I don’t have time for subtlety. From each direction, I hear my assailants accelerate. They now know what I’m up to, and they don’t like it. I hear them break into a run. They must be a blur to people out for a late-night stroll.

“My name’s Linda,” I say to the secret service agent who stands before me. He’s of Asian descent, and I can tell by the way he holds himself he’s an expert in martial arts. His neck is thick and his fingers are blunt. Ordinarily I would say he has intense eyes, but they melt as I focus on them. I continue, “Let me inside. It’s important I see the president.”

He begins to perspire. He checks his list again, hoping it
will bring relief. “What did you say your name is?” he asks.

I move beside him so I can read the list. There’s a Lindy Addage near the top, who works for the
LA Times
, and I point to her. “That’s me. Now please let me inside.”

He shudders under the assault of my burning blue eyes and powerful suggestions. He must have remarkable self-control. He should have caved in the instant our eyes met. Finally he nods and steps aside.

“You must see the president,” he mumbles.

“Thank you. You have been most kind.”

I pass inside and find the president’s party on the second floor in a ballroom twenty times larger than the one I rented for Teri. A few people have on tuxes, but overall the dress is casual. Many athletes wear the national suits they were issued when they made the team. Since the purpose of the affair is to celebrate American victories, there’s plenty of red, white, and blue. I have on black pants, a white silk blouse, and a gray jacket.

The president has yet to arrive.

There is no sign of Teri and Matt, either. Good.

I focus in on the secret service and the four who are converging on the hotel. Seymour was confident the latter would try to break in, but I have my doubts. Like I told my friend, they can bide their time, lay siege to the hotel, and wait for the agents to leave. If I was them, that’s what I would do.