Replica(67)

“This is a crap plan,” he said.

“I know. Think of a better one and I’ll entertain it.”

But he didn’t. He remained remarkably stoic instead as he followed me down another hallway my map said led to the garage.

It was quiet when we got there. Quieter than I had expected it would be if they were loading a truck for a mission. I had learned enough from hanging around U.S. military missions to tell something was terribly wrong here.

“Hands in the air,” a deep voice said behind us.

Antonio’s face was expressionless as he prepared to turn. He gave me a look that suggested we fight like hell, but the minute we turned, I knew it wouldn’t be easy to slip out of this one. Eight men had machine guns pointed on us.

“Bind them,” someone said, and before I could react, my arms were jerked down and bound behind my back with a zip tie. Shit. A quick glance to Antonio confirmed he was in the same situation.

“Come with us,” the leader said and turned, his long legs moving quickly down the hall.

My stomach was in knots and I re-examined my decision to try to stop the extermination of the village. But I couldn’t be sorry, even if we didn’t survive. Doing something honorable—even if I failed—was far better than doing nothing at all.

The man led us down several halls before finally opening a door into what looked like a large control room. It was dimly lit, with multiple TV screens spread along the back wall.

“Ah, Ms. Sambrook. Welcome,” a dark-haired man called out from the front of the room. His tall, lanky body was dressed in khaki pants and a polo shirt under a long white lab coat, and his eyes were a steely blue. “I had hoped you would bring your new friend Lea with you.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize the plus-one required a specific guest. Maybe next time.”

He gave me a patient smile. “Please, introduce us to your friend.”

“You know Lea, but you don’t know Antonio?” I asked. “That tells me you’re not someone of importance.”

He released a short laugh, but I could tell I’d offended him. Good.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” he asked.

“No, and I really don’t care.”

He advanced toward us with a grace that revealed him as a vampire. So it surprised me he didn’t know Antonio. All the vampires seemed to know Lea, or know of her.

“You really should care.” He leaned close and sniffed my neck, his fangs extended. “I’m sure you’re quite delicious.”

My face held contempt and indifference, but there was nothing I could do to hide my now-rapid pulse from a vampire. He lifted his eyes to mine, a menacing smile on his lips. “I can smell your excitement. Do you want me, Rachel? Maybe you’ve enjoyed a bite or two already from Lea?”

“You still don’t know who I am,” Antonio said, nonchalantly.

The man straightened and turned his attention to Antonio. His eyes narrowed. “No, but you aren’t like most weasels I meet. I’ll admit, I’m intrigued.”

I wasn’t sure it was a good idea for Antonio to tell this sick bastard he was a Cazador. After all, we were both bound with our hands zip-tied behind our backs. I suspected it would be a death sentence for at least one of us.

“Are you the man in charge?” I blurted out before Antonio could speak. We were short on time. We needed to figure out a plan and fast.

“And if I were?” he asked.

“I’d ask you why you’re wiping out an entire village. How can you live with yourself?”

He released a short laugh. “I’m not killing anyone.”

My eyes narrowed. “How can you deny you’re murdering two hundred and thirty people? We overheard your plan about spraying them with toxins.”

“I’m not killing them. I’m re-creating them.”

“What does that mean?” Antonio asked.

But I already knew. I’d come face to face with his creations several times in New York—both loose in the city and tucked away in his secret lab. I sucked in a breath. “You’re Stravinsky.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m sure Lea has told you about me.”

This guy had quite the ego trip going on. “Nope. I think I read your name on a few files in the Rikers lab. In the failure pile.”

He snarled, but a door opened just then and several men in military uniforms walked in. One in particular caught my attention.

“What do you mean re-creating them?” Antonio repeated.

But Stravinsky, apparently bored of taunting us, turned his attention to his visitors. “General, I trust you’ve accommodated the change of plans?”

The man I recognized nodded. “As long as it works this way, I prefer it. This type of weaponry won’t be sanctioned, and it would be too easy for the airplanes dropping the packages to be tracked. It’ll much better to use ground transport—easy in and easy out and no one’s the wiser.” He grinned. “Because the monsters aren’t going to talk.”