 
Special Smashwords Editions

### Bloody Bess

### And the Doomsday Games

by

### Nick Iuppa

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

BLOODY BESS AND THE DOOMSDAY GAMES

Special Smashwords Edition

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Copyright © 2014 Nick Iuppa. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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Cover Designed by Nick Iuppa and Telemachus Press, LLC

Cover Art:

Copyright © 2002, Ginny Iuppa

iStockphoto 8008499

Published by Telemachus Press, LLC at Smashwords

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Visit the author website: www.nickiuppa.com

ISBN: 978-1-941536-05-6 (eBook)

ISBN: 978-1-941536-06-3 (Paperback)

Version 2014.05.27

### Novels by Nick Iuppa

### Bloody Bess and the Doomsday Games

### Novels with John Mendoza

### Alicia's Ghost

### Alicia's Sin

(Coming in the summer of 2014)

### Alicia Bewitched

### Books on Technology with Terry Borst

### Story and Simulations for Serious Games

### Praise for Alicia's Ghost

" _Incredibly imaginative!"_

Chuck Reedy—Author

" _Who could have guessed that ghost sex would be so hot?!?!"_

Janey Baker—Actress

" _Funny & fun to read! Kept me wondering what would happen next."_

Eric Dueker—Filmmaker

" _The storytelling is excellent. Can't wait for the sequel."_

Elke Hitto—Writer/Journalist

" _I love the characters, and Alicia ... these guys have the Latina in her down to a science."_

Becky Escamilla—Constant Reader

### Praise for Alicia's Sin

" _One damn inventive thrill-ride of a story."_

Suzanna B. Stinnett—Author of _Starship Interlude_

" _Awesome!!!"_

Eric J. Wistrand—Software Engineer

" _A phantasmagorical picture of other worlds"_

Bram Druckman—Author

" _Carlos and Alicia battle the ghosts of the Spanish Inquisition, witches from the Yucatan, Mexican drug lords, an Asian slave-trade goddess, and the father of psychoanalysis. A hell of a story!"_

Janet Herrington—Constant Reader

" _Tiger Joy is back and as bad as ever, doing her worst to destroy Carlos and Alicia._ _I really loved the fast-paced storytelling."_

Carl Anderson—Author

" _Just loved it!"_

S. Jackson—Constant Reader

" _Great imagery! It's like being right there when everything is happening."_

Chuck Massick—Decision Consultant

### Dedication

For Irene Iuppa who taught through her example that reading a good book is one of the greatest joys in the world.

Thanks, Mom. We miss you.

### Acknowledgements

I'd like to thank all the people who helped with the creation of this book, especially Bob Gibbons, Bill Habeeb, Dr. Gershon Weltman, and Laurie Swanson. We appreciate the highly supportive, professional services we received from all the people at Telemachus Press especially Steve Himes, Terry Himes, and Lorraine Hansen. And, as always, Janet Grady for her great creative suggestions and editorial support.

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and not clothed.

Dwight David Eisenhower

They're in love. Fuck the war.

Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow

### THE MAJOR CHARACTERS

In the Middle Ages—in Murdenwald, Switzerland

Elizabeth Laskaar—(Bloody Bess) Duchess of Hungary

The Duke—her husband

Ferenc—her lover and second husband

Maria—her first maidservant

Katrina—her second maidservant

In the 1950s—in Rochester New York and Scranton Pennsylvania

Donny Vito—high school guitar player and football star

Vinnie Baltramo—Donny's friend

Marilyn Koslowski—prettiest girl in East High School—she's 17

Elli Capadonico—Marilyn's best friend

Margie Costello—Elli's friend in Scranton

Arnie Cudgel—obsessive young man

Mrs. Capadonico—(Mrs. C.) Elli's mother

Judge Donald and Irene Vito—Donny's parents

In Murdenwald—2011 & 2012

Ferenc—director of the ancient library in Murdenwald

At the International Simulation Center (ISC)

Dr. Tim Farson—chief scientist and director of the ISC

Dr. Thomas Withering—director of mathematical research

General Richard (Rick) Linden—military liaison to the ISC

Lieutenant Erin Roberts—Linden's aide

Major Charles Martin—Army officer assigned to the ISC

Leonard Hamilton—President of the United States

Chu Yun Trang—dictator of a rogue nation seeking to build nuclear weapons

The Doomsday Game Creative Team

Don Vito—(called Donny as a young man) Hollywood writer/producer/director

Pamela—Vito's secretary in Hollywood

Dr. Lucy Lee—Stanford Ph.D., expert in story-based simulations and Charles Martin's fiancée

Randy Gardner—background artist and builder of simulated worlds

David Montana—designer and animator of virtual characters

Assif Jahala—creator of personality models for virtual characters

Gerhard von Weltmann—Ph.D. consultant on story-based-simulations and vampire killer

Other ISC workers

Dr. Margot Johansson—Ph.D. mathematician

Dan Drearly—tech support geek

Suzie O'Hara—tech worker

Virtual Characters

Omar—an Afghani warlord

Fatman and Weasel Man—his henchmen

Vladimir—a virtual vampire

### Table of Contents

Prologue

1 Teasers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

2 The Doomsday Games

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

3 The Tribunal

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

4 Vampires and other Monsters

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

5 Dracula's Hoard

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Epilogue

About The Author

Read on for a preview of the new adventures of Carlos and Alicia.

### Bloody Bess

### And the Doomsday Games

### Prologue

NYÍRBÁTOR _,_ HUNGARY _—_ _1580_

The downpour beat like angry ghosts against the castle walls.

Lightning flashed across the surrounding snowfields of the Carpathian Mountains, giving the throng that lay siege to the castle a sudden glimpse of the massive door that blocked their way. Then the snowy mountains and the castle both vanished into the rain-drenched darkness.

At that very moment, a hidden entryway on the far side of the courtyard burst open, and a coach drawn by a team of black stallions bolted out into the wicked night. The driver cracked his whip above the beasts urging them on to greater and greater speed. The harsh rain drenched the horses in an instant. It flooded over the driver, the road, and the carriage, which carried the most notorious woman in all of Hungary.

Only a few stragglers at the very back of the throng caught sight of it. They turned at the last minute and directed their attention away from the siege and the soldiers who were attempting to batter down the castle door.

" _The witch escapes!" cried one._

But it was too late. By the time word reached the commander, she was gone; she and the duke and her maidservant had fled their ancestral home forever.

Within another hour the road would be impassable, the duke realized. He was counting on it. He'd sold all he had to purchase a castle in Switzerland, as far away from Hungary as he could get, away from the reach of the Emperor and all his damning clergy.

" _Ah, Elizabeth," the duke called to the beautiful young woman sitting across from him, "if we can reach the border, we may make it through Austria unscathed."_

Her mouth curled into an eager smile. She was a radiant beauty ... her eyes deep pools of frosty blue, her red-blond hair cascading in ringlets around a long delicious neck. The bodice of her scarlet gown lifted her voluptuous breasts invitingly. They rose and fell in rhythm with the pounding of the horses' hooves.

Beside the duchess, her maidservant Maria shuddered with each movement. She was being taken from her home, her family, and all she knew by a woman who, for all her youthful beauty, was as cruel and evil as the mountains that raised her. Would her mistress fare as well in a distant land? Maria wondered. Would she be able to continue her monstrous practices that had cost the lives of so many youthful virgins in the surrounding villages?

The horses thundered through the pass and up the steep hillside on the other side. It was rough going, and the driver showed no mercy. He had been promised a goodly reward if he could get them to Switzerland and safety.

" _Now, Maria, I think we're out of immediate danger," the duchess said at last. "Shall we have some fun?"_

" _Whatever you say, ma'am." the girl whispered reluctantly._

" _Then please remove your top."_

" _My what, ma'am?"_

" _Your top, child. Remove the top of your dress. Show us your breasts."_

" _But it's so cold?"_

" _You'll only notice it for a moment," the duchess answered as crimson spread through her cheeks; her eyes widened; her lips turned up into a cruel smile. Maria recognized the look and felt herself grow faint._

" _But I'm wearing so many layers," she whispered._

The duchess slapped her across the face so hard that it twisted the girl around and raised a harsh redness on her cheek.

" _Disrobe!" she screeched, and the girl, fearing more painful punishment if she did not obey, immediately began loosening her sleeves and the buttons on the back of her dress._

" _You're a sweet girl, Maria," the duchess said softly. "Don't you think so, my lord?"_

" _Yes, I do," her husband answered from across the carriage. He, too, was growing red, all over._

Maria smiled weakly at the compliment and continued to wrestle with her garments. She wasn't exactly a pretty girl. But she did have a friendly round face, full lips and jet-black hair. Now, as she pulled down the front of her dress, she displayed her true beauty: large round breasts and perfectly formed shoulders.

" _You look delicious, Maria," the duchess said hungrily, and she reached up and twisted the girl's nipple._

" _Thank you, ma'am," Maria said. Her voice now trembled. She had witnessed this ritual with so many of the younger girls of the village, and she was terrified of what came next. Her throat grew dry; her eyes darted around the interior of the carriage looking desperately for a way to escape!_

" _You make me thirsty," the duchess whispered. "Do you know that?"_

" _I thought I might," And then Maria broke into desperate tears. "Oh, please don't kill me, ma'am. I'm not pretty enough for you. I'm unworthy of being anything other than your servant."_

" _Now, why would I kill you?" the duchess asked. "You know, I only drink the blood of virgins, and you are so ... unclean, aren't you?"_

" _Oh, yes, ma'am," Maria sobbed, but still she felt the sharp nails of the duchess open a small slit in her breast just above the nipple. The duchess squeezed it and blood shot out._

" _Care for a taste, darling?" she cooed to her husband._

" _No, thank you. I'd much rather watch."_

" _Very well, then," the duchess sighed as she put her lips over the wound and sucked Maria's blood._

" _Oh, ma'am, I'm so unworthy; spare me!" Maria cried._

The duchess looked at the girl and laughed a wicked laugh that pierced the night, frightening the horses, and raising the howl of nearby wolves. Maria chose the moment to push the woman aside and dive for the carriage door. But the duke reached forward with the end of his cane, driving it into her chest and pushing the girl back into her seat.

" _Why would you want to do that?" asked the duchess as she grabbed the girl's neck. The duchess almost strangled her as she pressed her back against the seat._

" _Oh, dear," the older woman added as her razor-sharp fingernails suddenly pierced the jugular of her victim. "I'm afraid it's too late, isn't it?"_

Blood suddenly spouted from the girl's neck and out over her shoulder. The duchess caught it as though it were flowing from a fountain and smeared it over her hands, then onto her face. She grabbed at the shoulders of her own bodice and ripped it open, exposing large voluptuous breasts. She leaned forward so that they caught the flowing blood until they were covered with it. Then the duchess rubbed the blood over her breasts as though it were the finest lotion.

" _Oh, please," the weakening girl sobbed as she fell toward the duchess who hiked up her skirts so that the girl's blood could flow onto her thighs._

" _Spare me," the girl begged with her last breath. But the duchess was now rubbing the blood over her legs and up onto her belly. The duke looked on in absolute rapture. Maria, however, lay there lifeless, blood still pouring from her. The duchess luxuriated in the blood. Then, in one quick move, she grabbed the girl's corpse and pushed it out the carriage door._

" _You look so radiant, my dear," the duke cooed to his wife. And indeed she did. Somehow she had absorbed all of the girl's blood, and there was no sight or smell of it whatsoever. The evil woman now appeared younger and more radiant than ever. And as she sat half-naked above her crimson gown, she continued to pleasure herself, flirting with her husband until he could stand it no longer. He jumped across the carriage, fell upon her and made wicked love to her then and there ... and all through that long and terrible night._

### 1

### Teasers

### Chapter 1

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2010

Chu Yun Trang twitched as he watched the simple animation move across the HD screens that hung above the arena. Simple curved lines tracked the arc of missiles originating from points within his country and curving across the ocean. Their destinations flashed as simple red "x-marks" along the coast of North America. Then blasts of white abruptly terminated the paths of those missiles halfway to their goals. There were no sound effects, just the click of numbers tabulating. Trang thought it was an insulting choice of audio. Statistics crunched up on the screen at the spot of each encounter: info about the missiles, their speed, exact location, and their fate. In every case there was total destruction.

Trang was the power-hungry dictator of a vast and belligerent nation. Now he circled toward the back of the area, behind the table where his enemies' soldiers were congratulating each other on their success, beyond the grey-brown folding chairs where observers took in the scene. More than a few of them smiled in satisfaction. He looked back up at the giant HD screen, and his mouth continued to twitch as a wave of blue (his enemy's color) spread across his country. At first the blue forces met resistance. Far too little, Trang thought. And then the resistance, too, was terminated.

Flashes of annihilating white ahead of the wave of blue were not accompanied by the sound of bombs or rockets but only by that humiliating crunch of numbers and the scroll of statistics that spelled out the fall of cities, the defeat of armies, the total destruction of his world.

Trang turned. On the opposite wall, past another crowd of folding chairs and desks and scientists, another giant HD screen told the same story. Trang marched ahead now, not all the way to the far wall where his engineers and generals were staring goggle-eyed at the outcome of their plans. He stopped at the very center of the arena. There, a large riser supported a dozen or so scientists of various nationalities. They had their own set of computers as well as reams and reams of fact sheets that somehow proved this abomination.

Trang looked at Dr. Tim Farson: chief scientist Farson, hateful enemy Farson. The doctor pushed himself back from the workstation where he had been driving the simulation; his look was a mixture of exhaustion and delight, and then he made his way down the steps toward Trang. Just as quickly, Leonard Hamilton, the President of the United States, rose and rushed to head off the encounter. He almost made it in time.

"This proves nothing!" Trang hissed. He clenched his fists and stood on tiptoes as the six-foot-two-inch Farson made his way off the riser and down to him.

"Proves you don't stand a chance, Trang," Farson spoke like a gunslinger who had had just seen his adversary fire and miss.

"Let's be clear," Hamilton said as he reached the two, "Premier Trang, our purpose in bringing you here, allowing your subordinates to give us data to plug into this simulation, was to prove what folly it would be take on the whole world in some kind of suicidal nuclear adventure."

Trang pulled his hands behind his back and walked slowly toward the opposite side of the arena where his generals were sitting at their workstations watching him. Farson could see the terror in the face of Ho Chin Park, Trang's chief military advisor. So could President Hamilton, and so could Trang for that matter, as he suddenly turned and walked back to Hamilton.

"This proves nothing," he repeated. "I don't care what your damn computers say. I've got weapons aimed at four of your major cities. I can annihilate them."

"Mr. Premier," Farson responded dryly, "before your weapons could get half way to their targets, our early warning systems would identify them. We'd shoot them out of the skies. Then we'd come after you."

"Prove it," Premier Trang said bitterly.

"Christ almighty, man," Farson said, "that's just what we did. We proved that you're steering your whole country toward oblivion. And if we let you, you could take half the world with you. You have to stand down!"

Farson suddenly felt the firm hand of the president grab his arm. He turned to see those dark, insistent eyes telling him in no uncertain terms that he had said enough, more than enough, in fact. Farson's hands were trembling. God, he wanted a cigarette, better yet, a good stiff belt of scotch.

"Let's be frank," Hamilton said to Trang in a clear, non-threatening voice. "We brought you here to save your country. Members of seventeen international teams are collaborating with the United Nations on this simulation. They've worked for nearly five years to create software that can predict the outcome of a specific war with specific players. We let you supply the data about your weaponry and troop strength, and we've shown you what will happen before millions of real people, many of them your own citizens, lose their lives."

"Propaganda," Trang responded, "little blips popping around on a big TV screen, crazy bunches of numbers, who knows what they all mean. Did they impress you, General Park?"

Trang smiled as his chief military advisor walked slowly from the far side of the arena. The smile was threatening and terrible. Farson was sure Park had the look of a defeated man, but Park surprised him with a sudden smile.

"I did not give you real numbers," he said. "I misrepresented our strength just to see what would happen. Who presents real numbers the first time? If we were at the strength I indicated, of course we would be in difficulty, wouldn't we, Mr. Premier?"

Trang's smile turned friendlier. "We just wanted to see what kind of simulation you had," he said. "And what you have is nothing. Bleeps and blips, confusing numbers flashing by. I certainly didn't have any sense that it was real."

Trang now marched proudly and confidently in a figure eight around Tim Farson and the president.

"If you're going to simulate a war, Dr. Farson," he crowed, "get someone who really understands how to _dramatize_ it, certainly not the U. S. Military."

Farson looked at Hamilton in utter confusion. But the president was staring intently at Trang.

"Get someone from Hollywood," Trang continued. "Get Jerry Bruckheimer or Steven Spielberg. They know how to show us a war.

"Better yet," Trang suggested, "get Donald Vito."

### Chapter 2

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011—ONE YEAR LATER

Lucy scrolled down the list of Authors—K:

King, King, Stephen King, King, King, King.

" _Knowledge_ "?

Lucy scowled. What was a "Topic" like _Knowledge_ doing under "Authors"? And it was such a broad topic, too ... in a large set of books apparently. Lucy groaned. Some writer was definitely on an ego trip.

Lucy noted the location of the volumes she wanted including the ones on _Knowledge_. She was going to have a look at those books, she decided ... wasn't sure why, but that particular set was not on the ground floor or even in the shelves on the second floor. It was high in the stacks on one of the upper floors. And this was such a damn old (centuries old) library in the spooky Swiss village of Murdenwald. So who knew just how rickety and unsafe those upper floors might be.

Lucy picked up her glasses from beside the computer and slid them over her bright, hazel eyes. Then she looked up at the crazy staircase that led to the second floor. It seemed to be marching almost upside down from the main floor rotunda. Lucy raised her eyes higher and saw a spider web of stairways ascending almost out of sight. " _Knowledge,_ " apparently, was somewhere up there.

She grabbed her bright green backpack and slipped it over her shoulders, over the plaid flannel shirt she was wearing, over her simple white T-shirt. _Science is Golden_ it said in yellow letters across the front. The computer science Ph.D. candidates at Stanford had chosen it as their motto and had the shirts made up for friends and family. Lucy had nine of them crammed into the top drawer of her dresser. Most were a little ragged now. Not this one, though. It was brand spanking new. She brushed back her long black hair and pressed her index finger into the center of her thick bifocals pushing them onto her face. Yes, I am a nerd, she whispered to herself, a Chinese American nerd, and proud of it.

On the first floor Lucy could see individuals, couples, small cliques of teens, and little kids reading, sitting, and whispering to each other. Very friendly, she thought, not like up there, up in the spider web.

Lucy stuffed the list of book-locations into the back pocket of her jeans and headed for the stairway. No need to get her other choices first. No need to cart a backpack full of books up all those stairs. " _Knowledge_ " was apparently on the thirteenth floor. That might be too much of a hike, but she'd climb as many flights as she could and find an elevator to take her the rest of the way. She could use the workout, maybe walk off a little of the chocolate decadence that Charles had shared with her only an hour ago, just before he'd set off on his own great adventure.

Chocolate cake and champagne, three glasses. It was a wonder she could find her way to the library, let alone up to the thirteenth floor.

At the third floor, Lucy pulled off her plaid flannel shirt and stuffed it into her backpack. She took a small bottle of drinking water out of the side pocket and took a sip. Was this really a good thing to be doing on a full stomach? The fact that her bubbly head was clearing told Lucy that it might be. And so she swallowed a slight wave of nausea and marched on.

At these higher floors, the tables between the bookshelves were nearly deserted. Still, there were occasional readers between the stacks. They might look up and smile, warding off some of the creepy feeling that Lucy was beginning to get as she climbed. From the fifth floor on, things were even more dingy, with different kinds of tables: heavy dark wood, shelves that looked almost foreboding, and—what was this—a heavy metal gate blocking the entrance to the seventh floor?

"Shit!"

Lucy tumbled the backpack from her shoulders, grabbed the flannel shirt out of it and buried her sweaty face in the soft fabric for just a moment. She took another swallow of water noticing that she was really out of breath and more nauseated than ever. Leaning back against the railing she looked sorrowfully at the gate. It was one of those old brass and steel types from the 19th century, accordion style, so that you didn't actually open the gate, you folded it back, probably making a frighteningly creaky sound and pinching your fingers in the process.

"Locking in _Knowledge_ ," Lucy sighed shaking her head as she contemplated the return trip down all those stairs. She took another sip of water and heard the exact creaking sound she had just imagined. It made her jump. The door was squeezing open all by itself.

"Coulda sworn you were locked," Lucy said to the gate as she stuffed the water and shirt into her backpack and pushed the gate open all the way. She pinched her fingers in the gate's accordion action as she did so, but she didn't even notice, just stepped right on through the entryway, leaving a small trail of blood as she crossed the threshold.

The seventh floor was decidedly spookier. The lights were very dim; the tables were massive, old, and rough. A few shadowy figures occupied benches far back between shelves. The shadowy figures looked up and followed Lucy with their eyes. None of them smiled. Lucy started humming an old tune she liked, _"Hey, check me out. I'm the star of the show."_ Was this trip up into the stacks really such a good idea?

She spotted the door to an elevator, and that reassured her. It was on the far side of the seventh floor rotunda and seemed to be brand new, polished aluminum, set into the yellowing walls like the entry of a space shuttle pushed by some extra-terrestrials into the side of an ancient catacomb. Lucy smiled. "I'm coming, _Knowledge_ ," she called and hit the green "up" button.

The elevator came immediately. Its silent, modern doors opened, and Lucy stepped through them, feeling far more secure in the space age metal interior than out on the crazy, spider web stairways of the library. But as she turned, just before the doors closed, she saw the jumble of stairs sliding up, down, horizontally backwards; stairs from an E. M. Escher nightmare. Lucy hummed a few more timid notes: _"I'm in the spotlight."_

#

The journey from the seventh to the thirteenth floor happened in a flash. The lights dimmed, then flared; the elevator rocketed upward, and then skidded to a gentle stop.

The back door of the elevator suddenly opened behind her. Lucy turned to see a room that appeared even more ancient than the last.

" _I'm in the spotlight,"_ she whispered tunelessly.

Huge bookcases extended far above the floor. The spines of the books showed them to be more ancient than the room itself: Abelard, Aquinas, Archimedes. The shelves of "A" books stretched out almost into infinity. Between the bookcases, the floorboards were old, rotting, suggesting that they might not support her weight if Lucy were to step onto them. But, of course, she had to.

" _Hey, check me out. I'm the star of the show,"_ Lucy sang as she tip-toed out of the antiseptic space of the elevator. _"I'm in the spotlight."_

Her first step brought a decided groan from the flooring. Her second sent her foot completely through as the floor swallowed her leg all the way up to her thigh. Lucy felt a cruel hit in her groin, and immediately lay forward, pushed her free leg back behind her, hoping somehow to spread her weight. She stripped off her backpack, pulled it around in front of her, and leaned on it hoping to gain some leverage as she tried to pull her leg up through the opening.

Slowly, carefully Lucy pushed up on the backpack raising her leg out to her knee. Then she rolled toward the shelves pulling her leg further out, breaking through more of the brittle flooring as she did so, seeing nothing but blackness below.

Somehow, she had to get higher to pull her leg all the way out. The shelving seemed stronger than the floor, so Lucy reached for the edge of the bookshelf just above her head and began pulling herself up with all her might. That's when the whole front of the shelf collapsed, spilling dozens of books down onto her head and sending her entire body down through the floor.

#

" _I'm in the spotlight,"_ were the first words out of Lucy's mouth when she opened her eyes. She was lying on a thick oriental carpet. The floor below it felt firm enough, she thought as she struggled to her feet. Her whole left side felt like someone had slammed her with the back of a shovel. A half-dozen books fell away from her as she stood. She was actually holding an ancient copy of Aristotle's _Poetics_. Lucy looked at the volume, shivered and threw it across the room.

A mass of Lucy's hair was plastered to her face. She pulled it back, feeling the stickiness of her own blood as she did so.

"Eeeew," she groaned. Her stomach churned as the blood smeared onto her hands; she had to swallow hard.

Lucy's glasses lay several yards in front of her. Luckily, they were undamaged in the fall. She went to them, picked them up, put them on and began to survey this new room. It was decorated with rich rosewood paneling. A small ottoman sat comfortably in the corner. But there was no elevator, no stairway. Lucy turned completely around and finally saw a door at the very end of the room. It was closed, but light flickered out from under it.

Lucy moaned softly, almost a sob. She looked around the room for some other means of escape, an elevator perhaps hidden somewhere in the paneling, another door or maybe a window. There was nothing. She felt as though she were entombed.

Lucy swallowed a sob, and then made her way slowly to the doorway and turned the handle. It was unlocked. She froze for a moment not yet daring to push it open.

"Okay, just a crack," she murmured, as she stuck her head into the room and saw a mirror image of the one she was in: same paneling, same stool placed in the exact same position. But at the very far end of this room a hooded figure sat behind a desk, bending over a huge manuscript, reading it intently by the light of a candle. The candle's flame flickered sending crazy shadows across the robes of the reader and all around the room. Lucy stepped inside. The figure looked up, turned toward her, pulled back his hood. "Good evening," he said with only the lightest trace of an accent. "My name is Ferenc."

A smile flitted around the corners of his mouth. His eyes glowed with welcome. They were blue, a very dark, midnight blue.

He was young, very young, and the most _beautiful_ man Lucy had ever seen in her life.

### Chapter 3

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK—JULY 1958—FIFTY-THREE YEARS EARLIER

"Jeeze, what a cool car!" Marilyn said as she slid her hand along the fin and then down over the huge pod taillight.

Her eyes sparkled. They were pretty green eyes framed by flouncy blond hair. Marilyn wore a baby-blue cashmere sweater and a blue and yellow plaid skirt that came down well below her knees. Her bobby-sox were rolled down to her penny loafers. All in all, it was the perfect ensemble for a seventeen-year-old to wear to a Friday night dance.

"I like the Chevy better," Elli said. She was Marilyn's best friend, a short, thin girl whose face was almost beautiful because of her enormous brown eyes.

"Lotsa guys have Chevys," Marilyn responded. "This is so different, three colors: white, black and pink, very cool! Wonder who owns it?"

"One of the guys in the band, I think. The guitar player, probably."

"Donny?"

"Yeah, Donny," Elli's eyes gained an almost magical brightness, as though she were having a wonderful fantasy about him.

The two girls looked in through the broad front window of the rec hall where the dance was to be held. Up on the stage, a trio was unpacking their instruments, plugging into the power and the PA system.

"The drummer's named is Pete Federico," Elli said as she pointed to the boy who was working hard to set up his cymbals, "another dreamy guy."

"And I think _his_ name's Vinnie," Elli added as she gestured to the young man carefully lifting a keyboard from its case. Marilyn wasn't listening.

"But _he's_ the one, isn't he?" she asked.

"Vinnie?"

"No, the guy with the guitar. It's _his_ car, right?"

The guitar player was dead center in the group, plugging in, tuning up, adjusting the volume on his amplifier and looking very much like a 1950's rock star.

"He's a doll," Marilyn said. "Looks like the kind of guy who would own a ..." she looked down at the rear fender of the car and read its name: "... _Custom Royal Lancer_."

The guitar player looked back through the window and saw the two girls checking out the car and then smiling at him. He had seen them around: Elli Capadonico, a cute little girl with enormous eyes, Marilyn Koslowski (KosLOVEski to any guy she was really interested in), one of the prettiest girls at East High School. Both girls waved. He smiled and waved back.

"I can get him," Marilyn whispered to Elli.

Elli shrugged. "Lotsa girls say that, probably."

"Maybe so," Marilyn answered, "But I know I can." And then she reached up inside the back of her cashmere sweater, unhooked her bra, pulled her arms from it and slid it off.

"Marilyn!" Elli whispered with a naughty giggle.

"I can get him _tonight_ ," Marilyn answered eagerly now. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Back to the car. You don't think I want to carry my bra around all night, do you?"

"They won't let you into the dance like that," Elli answered.

Marilyn studied her own reflection in the car's window. You could see the tips of her nipples pressing out against the soft cashmere of her sweater. The boys would love it.

"We'll just hafta come in late," Marilyn said, "when it's darker and the chaperones are out on the dance floor keeping an eye on the kids."

"My bra stays on," Elli insisted.

"Your little boobs need all the help they can get," Marilyn laughed, and then she ran back through the parking lot to the hulking Ford station wagon that her mother had let her borrow for the evening.

#

From the behind the rec hall, someone was watching them. He had seen the whole thing: the talk of boys and cars, the wave to the guitar player up on stage, Marilyn slipping off her bra.

He turned and walked away from the building now, past the basketball and tennis courts to the edge of a small wooded park with a stream running through it. The park backed right up to the playground, and together they filled two city blocks in what was otherwise a dingy residential neighborhood in Rochester, New York.

The young man turned and sank down on one of the lonely benches at the very edge of the park. Some horny teenager wanting a little privacy one night had shattered a streetlight that should have been shining directly down on him. It had been nearly six months since then, but the light had yet to be replaced. Teenage couples had begun coming to those benches more and more often. They made out like fiends and renamed the little area the Passion Pit.

The man knew all about it. He had been visiting the spot for those many months watching the action. Standing back just beyond the trees, taking it all in and ... well, you know.

He sat there still, a hulking young man with huge hands resting on his thighs. His body was toned; surely he lifted weights: big pectorals, biceps, and triceps, veins raised in sharp definition as they traced the edges of his muscles. He wore a loose, black t-shirt and black chinos that disguised some of his rippling muscles.

His dark hair was unkempt, a shaggy mane framing a rather hungry face. His eyes sparkled a little at times; it was a dangerous, crazy kind of sparkle.

Almost no one knew the guy. He lived in a small apartment a few miles south of the Avenue D playground. He took care of his eighty-seven year old mother, clothed her, made her bed, and did what little housework he could. Every morning, he jogged up Clinton Avenue, over to St. Paul, and then all the way to the beach. Then he would return home, make breakfast for his mother if she wanted him to. Then he would go to the gym.

He would work out in solitude. There was almost no one in the gym in the early afternoon, and that was good; he liked that very much. If anyone tried to speak to him, he would almost never respond. If asked his name directly though, he would say that it was Arnie, which it was. Arnold Cudgel, to be exact. He had been spared military service because of his low IQ. It was very low, they said, barely enough to allow him to take care of his mother.

In the afternoons he would wander over to East High and watch the teenagers get out of school. He had never attended East High or any high school, for that matter. They said he just wasn't smart enough. Arnie would often sit in the bleachers and watch the football practices. The coaches and teachers had gotten used to seeing him there. Didn't question him. So he watched the pompom girls as they worked out in their sexy little uniforms. No one bothered him, not even when he decided to _get off_ (as he used to call it) during the cheerleader practices. He waited till no one was looking.

No one seemed to notice Arnie when he hung around the Avenue D playground after school either, or in the evenings when they held their dances. And besides, he was harmless, they all said.

Arnie was too big for people to pick on. No one challenged him when he went to special school ... even before he was a teenager; he was way too big.

One of his teachers, Miss Clare, did seem to like him, he thought. She suggested that he might work out, build his body. She thought maybe he could get a job as a guard or some kind of day laborer. And so Arnie had worked out, poured all his energy into building muscles. That was a turn-on, too, he realized. Miss Clare had suggested it and so he did, until the act of bodybuilding became an addiction. Arnie would think about Miss Clare as he worked out every day, and then, if he were ever alone in the showers afterwards, he would think of her some more and _get off_ on fantasies about her.

Bodybuilding and Miss Clare had been two of Arnie's greatest obsessions for a very long time. But eventually he saw less and less of her. He would visit her from time to time even though he said almost nothing to her during those visits. Then one day he came to the school and she was gone, had gotten married and moved away. That upset Arnie greatly. He wanted to do something terrible, something very cruel to show his anger and frustration, and he did ... lots of little things to a host of defenseless creatures. And he might have kept on with it, except that one day, as he was walking near the Avenue D playground, he saw a girl alone in the park. She was looking at a statue, and for some crazy reason she was talking to it. He watched her for a very long time, falling in love with her as he did, perhaps.

From his new vantage point now, Arnie could see that girl with her friend, hanging back from the entrance, laughing with other teenagers who passed her as they made their way into the dance. He knew that some time between ten and eleven thirty the local police would drive along the edge of the park and shine a spotlight into it. He knew that couples that wanted to be alone in the Passion Pit had better do it well before then. He knew it because he was always there to watch them. And he knew it for another very important reason.

You see, Arnie wasn't dumb at all. He wasn't challenged; he didn't have a very low IQ. He just pretended. He had done it all his life, was masterful at it. It made things so much easier for him—got him out of so much extra work.

He was fooling everyone, and he enjoyed that because he hated them. He might have tried to explain why he had come to hate Miss Clare after he had loved her for so long, but now he didn't have to even think about it because he loved this pretty new girl who talked to statues.

The moon was rising full. That was good and bad, he realized. Good because he could get a better look at the action; bad because if anyone looked up into the woods, they might catch a glimpse of him standing beyond the trees. Especially if he became a little too excited.

The band's first number suddenly blasted into the night. The entire crowd had pressed its way into the rec hall, past the chaperones who themselves had disappeared deep inside. Marilyn and Elli finally entered the building, too.

Arnie smiled, and his eyes sparkled.

"Pretty soon now," he murmured. "Soon now, Pretty."

### Chapter 4

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

Charles Martin found himself in the Afghan desert: wide open terrain, lots of it. His dinner with Dr. Lucy Lee had been only a few hours earlier; the champagne and the chocolate decadence were only a memory now.

In the distance he could see an American flag flying above rubble that had once been a small building. "Ah, the chapel," he said with a smile and set out in that direction. The sand shifted beneath his feet. "Not much traction," he said out loud as he looked down and saw himself sliding backwards with each step he took. The sand spilled over the tops of his boots. "Impressive!"

On the ridge above him Martin could see a small band of Afghani men approaching; they formed a single line. Even from a distance Martin could see that they were armed, every one of them. A single man stepped forward. He was wearing a black turban, a full beard, scarf, vest, and long, loose fitting pants that ruffled in the breeze. The man crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, watching Martin most intently now as the commander slogged through the sand on his way to the distant ruin.

Suddenly, the sputter of an Army Humvee called to Martin. The speck of the vehicle and the cloud of desert sand that it generated whirred slowly toward him. The men on the ridge stopped abruptly. Martin continued to struggle toward the chapel and the approaching vehicle. Finally it reached him, circled, and pulled up next to him.

"Commander," said the lanky driver as he pushed open the passenger door, "like the set-up?" Martin grunted and checked the men on the ridge once again. Several of them were pulling down their weapons and aiming. He jacked open the door, hopped up into the seat, and slammed the door behind him just as the first machine-gun fire spattered into the sand where he had been standing. Other shots ricocheted off the side of the Humvee, and the driver lowered his head and floored it.

"Bastards are gettin' good," the driver said with a laugh, "but we're better!" That was a second before a burst of machine gun fire flashed into the Humvee, exploded his head, and sent Martin ducking for cover.

Through the side window he could see the Afghani men advancing further down the hill, lugging their machine guns and mortar with them. "Motherfucker!" called Martin as he grabbed the steering wheel and tried to control the insane swerving motion of the Humvee as it careened across the desert floor.

The driver's body was hunched forward across the steering wheel, making it almost impossible to turn. His forward weight also pushed down heavily onto the accelerator, causing the vehicle to go even faster.

Martin kicked the driver's door open and pushed the headless body out from behind the wheel. The dead driver still held tightly to the wheel, and he jerked it as he fell, turning the vehicle sharply to the left, toward a deep ravine. Martin dove behind the wheel, grabbed it tightly, swerved in the opposite direction, and skidded toward the edge, barely gaining enough traction to keep the vehicle from going over. He slammed on the accelerator and powered the vehicle away from the precipice, back toward the attacking men. He was heading right for the leader. But just then a rocket hit his Humvee, turning it, Martin, and everything else in the vicinity into a raging ball of flame.

Martin jumped from the burning Humvee, his entire body ablaze. He screamed like a madman, fell into the sand and rolled wildly across it to put out the flames. The Afghanis were on him then.

He could see their smiling faces ... just beyond the pain of his searing flesh.

### 2

### The Doomsday Games
Chapter 5

HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA—MAY 2011—FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

"Christ, is _he_ here?"

Vito almost shouted it loudly enough for the man in the outer office to hear him. Fortunately, the walls of the Paramount Administration Building were thick enough to hold in any noise, especially the walls of the office known as The House of Pain.

"If you'd told me how you felt beforehand," Pamela answered in her crisp British accent, "I might have been able to get you out of this. But now he's standing right outside that door, and, if he has any brains at all, he knows you're in here. Just bite the bullet and give him a few minutes."

"Fuck you," Vito snapped.

"Not this afternoon, thanks," Pamela said as she scurried around the office picking up crushed Diet Coke cans and emptying ashtrays. "If we have time, maybe a little later."

She was an attractive woman in her early fifties with blond hair, blue eyes, and a very full figure. A recent arrival from the UK, Pamela delighted in bringing almost elegant British administrative assistance to Americans who were not used to it at all.

"At least there's one consolation," Pamela added.

"What's that?"

"He has a very attractive young assistant with him, and she seems quite taken with the whole Hollywood thing."

"Great," said Vito, "maybe I'll show her my whole ..."

"There's no need for that, Mr. Vito. Remember you'll be talking to a general."

"Last general I met had a filthier mind than I do. Anyway, as long as he knows I'm here, you might as well send him in."

#

General Linden looked like a man who could walk through walls, take on a Sherman tank and win, and yet he had been held at bay for nearly thirty minutes by an executive secretary. He stood outside Vito's office grumbling almost as loudly as the famed producer.

"I'm sorry," Pamela said when she returned, "Mr. Vito just got back from an important marketing meeting. He had to review the teasers for his latest film."

"Teasers?"

"You know, short scenes that give audiences a hint of what's to come."

Linden puffed up his chest full of medals and turned a darker shade of red.

"I've been here for half an hour, and I didn't see him come in!"

"There are two different entrances," Pamela answered.

"This _is_ Hollywood, after all," said Linden's aide. She was in her mid-twenties, African American, thirty years younger than Linden and even more buffed than he was.

"In any event," Pamela continued, "Mr. Vito is very sorry for the delay, and he's ready to see you now. Won't you please go in?"

She pushed a button on her desk, and it automatically opened the door to Vito's office.

"That's more like it," Linden mumbled.

Vito jumped to his feet as soon as the general entered. He smiled at Linden's aide and realized immediately that she could deck him in an instant if she wanted to.

"Sorry about the delay, General," Vito said. He was a short man, five foot six inches tall, but somehow he made up for his lack of height in raw energy. He was always bouncing around his office, gesturing wildly. His most annoying habit, other than backing his subordinates into a corner and screaming insults into their faces, was crushing every Diet Coke can he finished and then just leaving it wherever it happened to be.

Now in his mid-sixties, Vito was perhaps the most successful writer/producer in Hollywood. "It's all about telling stories," he would say when he was in one of his better moods. And it was. According to Bob Gibbons, critic for the _Los Angeles Times_ , a film written, produced, and directed by Donald Vito told such a compelling story that you were _"hooked from the very first shot."_

Vito had tried his hand at almost every genre: action-adventures, sci-fi, even westerns, comedy, and horror. But his most frequent subject was war and the damage it brought to the private lives of those who had to participate. People who knew him could never understand how such a short-tempered troll could create such sensitive work.

"You know," General Linden said as he walked in the door, "up until that long wait in your reception area, I would have said that you were the one person in Hollywood I admired."

"Sorry for the inconvenience," Vito responded, "but at least you like my films."

" _Hooah_!" the general's aide exclaimed. "Loved that one."

"Hell of a name for a military movie, wasn't it?" Vito added. " _Hooah_!"

The general decided to be cordial. "Call me Rick," he said, "and this is Lieutenant Erin Roberts."

The lieutenant nodded with a starry-eyed smile.

"Pardon my saying so," Vito said to Roberts as he took in the lieutenant's full military beauty, "but did anyone ever tell you that you have an absolutely magnificent ass?"

Linden bristled and was about to declare war on the little man, when he heard Roberts answer with the trace of inner-city twang she only used on special occasions. "Why, thank you, sir."

Linden groaned. "Let's just concentrate on the problem we've come to talk about, okay?"

The three moved into the seating area across from Vito's desk. There were huge leather chairs arranged neatly around a large oak coffee table.

"Where do I start?" Linden asked Roberts.

"D. M. S. O."

"Right, the Defense Modeling and Simulation Office or _dim-so_ as we like to call it. The military loves acronyms."

Vito nodded.

"Anyway, a scientist over at DMSO named Dr. Tim Farson came up with an interesting idea. He wanted to build a computer model that would simulate the firepower of all the nations of the world, present a complete picture of the military capabilities of every country. He said if we got the major powers to cooperate, they might share accurate data with each other. Then the smaller nations would have to follow suit.

"The U. N. spent a couple billion dollars building a facility, staffing it with engineers and programmers from all over the world. Set up sleeping quarters, labs, and staging areas for the simulation. Built it into the side of a mountain near a little town called Murdenwald; know it?"

"In Switzerland," Vito answered. "Shot one of my films there."

" _Bloody Bess_ ," Roberts squealed. "OMG, what a scary movie that was!"

Vito smiled. But the statement made him remember why he didn't want to talk to the general. He was used to having people gush over his work, and Erin Roberts couldn't be a more promising young conquest. But the general wanted something from him, probably a lot. And he had a very important project waiting. It was maybe the most important project of his life.

"Anyway," Linden continued, "an international team worked together for four years under Farson's direction, and they actually built the damn thing: a system that could calculate the outcome of any conflict possible today. They did it with charts and arrows and maps and such. They showed it to me at the end of last year, and I thought that it really proved the point: the world's defense-net is pretty damn strong, as long as the big boys don't start playing rough with each other."

Vito shook his head as though he were trying to clear away the cacophony of ideas that had just been blasted at him. "I'm just wondering," he said finally, "what the hell does any of this have to do with me?"

"The REAL goal of the project," Linden continued now far more loudly, "is to get those fuckers in the Middle East to see the consequences of their actions before they blow the shit out of everyone, including you and that old lady you got sitting out front telling people you aren't here."

Vito's winced, but Linden stayed on course.

"It all looked good, goddamn good; so we invited that nutcase dictator Trang over to take a look. POTUS even showed up for that one."

"POTUS?"

"The President of the United States," Roberts explained quickly.

"We asked that nut-fucker Trang to give us some numbers about the nuclear firepower he's always bragging about. He sent some generals over with mountains of data, we plugged them into the simulation, and then we ran it for him. Showed his country getting obliterated in two days.

"He was pissing purple by then. Claimed he gave us bogus numbers, but our intel said that the information was right on."

Vito's expression was shifting from confusion to concern to anger and back again. The general read it perfectly and decided on a new tactic.

"Lieutenant," he said, "tell Mr. Vito what happened next. You were there."

Roberts blushed with excitement. She hadn't expected to be given center stage with the world's greatest producer.

"A little warm in here, isn't it?" she asked to cover her embarrassment, and then she twisted provocatively up from her seat. Vito took in the action of that spectacular figure and then begrudgingly shifted his attention to her eyes.

"Trang didn't believe us," she began. "He said that there were too many numbers and arrows flying around on the screen. Said he couldn't buy into _any_ of it, wanted something that felt real."

"Felt real," Vito moaned. How many times had he heard that bullshit expression?

"Like a Hollywood movie," Linden added as he barked out another laugh. "He said get someone like Spielberg to produce it, or maybe Bruckheimer, Woo, Michael Bay—one of the guys who sells billions of tickets just by blowin' shit up."

So, Vito realized, this was what it was all about. He was being set up to run an enormous project (for the good of his country), probably without being compensated for it in any way. But compensation wasn't really the issue, was it? It was TIME, time to fulfill a commitment he had made to himself decades ago **.**

"What Premier Trang really said," Roberts added with that starry eyed smile, "was 'get Bruckheimer, Spielberg, or better yet, get Donald Vito.'

" _You_ can make it real, Mr. Vito."

"You mean dramatize the outcome? Stage a war?"

"We were thinking that you could create a simulation game," Linden said, "one that would grab Trang by the balls. Show him what happens when he fucks with the big dogs."

"First you use his bombs to try and blow up the whole world!" Roberts said. "Then you let him feel what it's like for the poor bastards he's attacking."

"Make _that_ into a game?"

"Oh, yeah," Roberts answered. "The U. S. military has technology that even James Cameron can't imagine. We _invented_ the Internet, the GPS, and all of it. We've got computers with the power of God!"

"Great ideas, great project ... sort of a Doomsday Game," Vito mumbled. "But look, I've got a big project of my own to complete."

"Mr. Vito," Linden responded, "your country needs a good storyteller. In fact she needs you to start on the 17th of this month. It's a two-year deal."

"TWO YEARS!"

Vito suddenly jumped to his feet and started to pace around his office. "I've got something I've needed to do all my life, and I'm running out of time."

"We need your enthusiastic involvement," Linden rolled on. "Lieutenant Roberts will be assigned as your full time aide. Murdinwald is a picturesque little village right up against the mountains."

"The place is haunted," Vito responded. "I filmed _Bloody Bess_ there, remember?"

"Not haunted," Roberts said. "It's just supposed to be the home of a beautiful vampiress. But our installation is miles from her castle. That thing sets on a mountaintop overlooking the valley. These days, the place is packed with tourists. A virgin hasn't bled to death there in centuries."

"No disrespect to Miss Roberts," Vito was shaking his head and backing away, "she's a gorgeous girl with the ass of a goddess."

Roberts tried unsuccessfully not to look offended. Vito ignored her.

"I have something I absolutely have to do, and it can't be delayed."

"Nothing is more important than serving your country," Linden insisted. "Men and women have been giving their lives ever since ..."

"CHRIST, WILL YOU FUCK OFF!" Vito shouted suddenly. His expression was deadly. "I SAID I HAVE SOMETHING I HAVE TO DO, AND THAT'S THE END OF IT."

There was a long silence. Vito walked behind his desk, picked up the can of Diet Coke that was sitting there, gulped down the remaining contents and then crushed the can flat against the desktop.

"Pardon me for getting off track," Linden said as he pointed to the large portrait of a teenage girl that hung over Vito's desk. "Would you mind if I asked who she is? I don't remember seeing her in any of your films."

Vito looked back at the portrait, stared at it for a second, and then turned to the general and his aide.

"Just a girl I knew," he murmured with a shrug. "A girl I was in love with once ... who died."

"Reminds me of a beautiful teenager from upstate New York," Roberts said. "She desperately loved a guy named Donny who played in a local rock band. I'll bet no one has ever loved him like that again. I'll bet he can't get over her, _won't_ get over her no matter how long he lives."

She walked up and stood directly in front of Vito. She stared at him with big, dark eyes that were slowly softening into sympathy. Vito found them absolutely seductive and totally hateful.

"The word simulation means to _represent_ something, you know, Mr. Vito, a system or even a _person_."

"A person," Linden repeated as he got to his feet and walked up beside her. "Mr. Vito, there are aspects to this project that you don't know about, aspects that could mean a lot to you personally."

"Perhaps we can make a deal," Roberts added as though she and Linden knew very much indeed about Don Vito and the girl in the portrait.

"Can we tell you more?" Linden asked.

Vito grimaced; his chest was suddenly feeling very tight, and traces of pain were working their way into his left shoulder and down his arm. He reached into his shirt pocket, grabbed a small pill, and slipped it under his tongue.

"Just get the fuck out of here," he sighed as he sunk into his chair and ran a trembling hand over his forehead. He was beginning to perspire heavily.

"Let's go," Linden said to Roberts as he took her by the arm and pulling her toward the door. Roberts took a few steps with him then turned and rushed back to the producer.

"Don't you get it?" she shouted.

"We can make her _real_.

"WE CAN GIVE HER BACK TO YOU!"

### Chapter 6

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

"More stairs to climb?" Lucy remembered asking Ferenc as they had tromped up the circular stairway leading above the 13th floor of the ancient library.

"Not a problem for you, I'm sure," he had answered, and if Lucy needed motivation all she had to do was glance back at him. Ferenc was tall, over six foot four at least, dark, with black hair not unlike her own, only his was tucked under that great hood again, showing just a tangle of black curls above his forehead, above those deep, penetrating, midnight blue eyes; above that sharp, angular, handsome jaw.

Oh yeah, Lucy whispered to herself excitedly, handsome as the devil.

The stairway was more than ancient, older than the stairs she had climbed going to the top of the cathedral in Florence, or St. Paul's. She didn't care; her step felt light, her backpack not the least bit heavy. Her companion was _so_ worth the effort.

And then she thought of Charles, dedicated, hardworking and cute. Wasn't he supposed to be her fiancé? Not really, she told herself, though he imagined himself to be. She was sure the engagement would happen soon enough. As soon as he finished his latest project and got the enormous bonus that came with it. The engagement ring would be spectacular; everything that Charles did was spectacular. He was a little too over the top for her sometimes, if the truth be told. But then she always felt safe with him, didn't she? In the end she wouldn't be able to say anything but "yes."

Lucy turned and looked back at Ferenc. He had been moving effortlessly up the steps. She was feeling just a slight tingle of fear, she realized. It was thrilling, and he was beautiful, but maybe she should be taking the situation more seriously. After all, he was directing her into the most remote parts of the library, places where the two of them would be alone together with probably no one else within earshot. Why shouldn't she be afraid? He was so damn big that he could certainly overpower her easily. And just because he was handsome didn't mean that he couldn't be some sort of ... she fought back the words that were spinning their way into her mind, but they came anyway _... serial killer._

Nonsense. This guy was a librarian, probably even a monk. He was helping her, nothing more. And he had been very much a gentleman. Lucy looked down at Ferenc for reassurance, and it was there. His face lit up with a boyish grin.

Damn, that boy's hot, Lucy thought to herself, but certainly any boy that hot was not to be trusted. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. A serial killer and his victim?

The meditation brought her face to face with the old concept of transference, _putting her desires into someone else and then being afraid of them_ —didn't it go something like that? In that case she was the rapist and he the victim—at least in her subconscious, she found that idea much more comforting. She looked back again. Those midnight blue eyes were staring up at her—eyes to die for! Just how did Charles stack up against this _librarian_?

Before she had a chance to consider the answer more carefully, she turned and saw a doorway up ahead.

Lucy strode through the doorway and saw that she was in a great, enclosed tower with massive windows sweeping all around her. Only an occasional, very narrow support pillar separated the window glass as it circled the entire top of the tower.

A thin curtain blocked the view surprisingly well, Lucy thought as Ferenc gained the top of the stairs, took her gently by the arm and led her directly to the windows.

"This is spectacular," Lucy whispered as she did a quick survey of the room.

"You haven't seen the best of it," he answered. Ferenc was so damn young, Lucy realized, barely in his twenties, younger even than she. And he had such an interesting smile.

"Would you like to take a look?"

Lucy nodded, and so Ferenc reached for the edge of the curtain and swept it aside.

"OhMyGod!" Lucy gasped as she took in the majestic sight: New York City at night, with its massive skyline, lights twinkling in all the buildings, street lights, traffic lights, headlights flowing in smooth ribbons around and through the thoroughfares. The Chrysler Building with its magnificent lighted spire dominated the foreground, but just behind it and slightly to the left stood the glistening Sears Tower. Beyond that Lucy saw other skyscrapers and beyond them still, bright lights illuminating the Golden Gate Bridge. This was no single city; these were a dozen cities spun together into one. In the skies above, lightning blazed now and again, revealing the summits of snow covered mountains that flashed brilliantly and then disappeared.

"All the kingdoms of the world," Lucy murmured in a state of absolute wonder.

"Do you like them?"

"Breathtaking!"

"Would you like me to give them to you?"

"Yeah, right?" she answered.

"Really, I'll give them to you, make them yours."

"Why would I want them?" she answered with a grin. "It'd be an administrative nightmare."

Ferenc smiled. "I see what you mean."

"You were kidding, right?"

He shrugged. "Isn't this the kind of knowledge you're looking for?"

Oh yeah, knowledge. She had almost forgotten. Lucy shook her head, "Not in the least."

"Sorry," her companion said as he stepped closer to her and looked down at her again. They were very close now. Lucy felt his sweet breath, looked into those hypnotic eyes. She sighed.

Ferenc saw that Lucy was quivering, with what? Desire, hope, anticipation, fear ... all of those things? They both froze for a moment, linked together somehow, breathing each other's breath, sharing each other's aura.

Lucy felt herself growing faint. The image of Ferenc shifted in and out of focus; he was at once very young and very old, beautiful and wild, comforting and terrifying. Her head was swimming. Did she feel his hands sweeping over her entire body, caressing her ever so sweetly, or was that just the movement of his eyes she was feeling?

His hands were on her breasts. Or were they?

He took a step forward and pressed himself between her legs revealing a massive excitement. Or did he?

Nothing was sure except his lips becoming full and sensuous, drawing very close to her neck. She felt his breath on the thin gold chain around her neck, the chain that held the little crucifix that Charles had given her. She pulled it from between her breasts, pulled it out so that she could adjust the chain on her neck and allow Ferenc's lips to touch her, but the moment the crucifix was up and out, Ferenc stepped back suddenly. He almost seemed to be shielding his eyes.

The spell was broken.

"What just happened?" Lucy whispered as the room spun around her and came suddenly back into focus. They had circled the top of the tower. She was right beside the stairs; she could rush down them if she needed to, she realized. But she did not. She only stared at the gorgeous young man who stared back at her with a look that suggested that virtually _anything_ was possible. She held her breath, felt faint again.

"I have someone," she whispered at last. "I'm in a committed relationship."

"Of course," Ferenc answered. He smiled as though he were amused by it all, not critical of her in any way, in fact still very willing, it seemed, to be whatever she wanted him to be.

"So, just what kind of knowledge are you looking for?" he asked after a moment.

"Not exactly sure," Lucy responded.

"Then maybe you should check the stacks," Ferenc said, "But not this morning."

"Is it morning already?" Lucy asked as she saw the first touches of red spilling over the eastern horizon.

"It is," Ferenc answered, "and I need to get back to my work. Can you come again ... very soon?"

"I can, I guess," Lucy answered, "but it is quite a hike to get up here."

"There's an elevator right behind you."

Lucy turned and saw another modern elevator built into the wall across from the vast expanse of windows.

"It goes directly to the main rotunda. No need to hike, you can fly right up to me."

"Then I will," Lucy answered, far more excited than afraid. "I promise."

"All you need is this key." Ferenc reached into his pocket and took out a small golden key, the kind Lucy had seen in many antique shops.

"Directly to the main floor?"

"Directly."

"But don't I need to call you, let you know I'm coming?"

"I'll be working here every evening." Ferenc smiled. "That's the time to come. I'll show you where you can find the books on knowledge. I'm certain they are what you're looking for."

"Then I will come," Lucy answered returning Ferenc's smile with one she hoped was as sweet and eager as his. "As soon as I can."

She spun around, inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and at once a wide, modern elevator door opened before her.

"I'll see you soon," Lucy said as she stepped into the elevator.

"Hope so," Ferenc's eyes sparkled with invitation. "Oh, one thing," he added, "I suggest you leave your religious artifacts behind."

"My crucifix?" Lucy asked. "But it was a gift. Why would I leave it behind?"

"Well, it doesn't really belong in a place of modern scholarship, does it?"

Lucy answered with a shrug.

"And besides," Ferenc said as the elevator door closed, "it might hurt someone."

### Chapter 7

HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA—MAY 2011

"Pamela?"

"Yes."

"This is Lieutenant Erin Roberts. Remember me? I was visiting Mr. Vito a few hours ago."

"Oh, yes, of course, with General Linden."

"Right."

"How are you?"

"Just fine," Roberts answered, "Could I please speak to Mr. Vito?"

There was a long pause at the other end of the line and then:

"I'm afraid he's very busy now. Could I take a message?"

Roberts took in a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and just blurted it out: "I was wondering if Mr. Vito would like to have dinner with me this evening."

Again there was a very long silence.

"Isn't it after nine o'clock?"

"Yes, it is, and I'm sorry it's so late. But if he hasn't eaten ..."

"And the general would be along?"

"Actually, the general isn't free this evening. I was hoping, since he and I will be working so closely together, that Mr. Vito would want to have dinner with me ... to get a little better acquainted."

"Oh, I _see_." Pamela voice offered the hint of amusement. "Please hold on a moment, won't you?"

Roberts didn't know what to think. She felt like kicking herself for making the call in the first place. Still, he might say yes.

Pamela was back on the line in only a moment.

"Mr. Vito says he'd like that very much."

"Oh, good."

"But he also says that he's a little put off by all that military gear you wear. He wonders if you could wear something a little more, I don't know ..."

"Feminine?"

"Perfect word!"

Roberts felt a happy chill tingling through her body.

"Okay then, sure, great! And where should I meet him?"

"We'll send a limo for you. When can you be ready?"

Lieutenant Roberts's heart was racing now. It was really going to happen.

"Right now," she said almost too eagerly.

"Great, the limo will be there in fifteen minutes."

"Cool!" _Yes, incredibly cool!_ "And tell Mr. Vito I'm looking forward to dinner."

"Yes," Pamela answered, "I'm sure you are."

#

When Roberts entered the exclusive _Room at the Top_ in downtown Hollywood, she was as feminine as any of the great stars that had graced Vito's productions. Every head turned toward her.

She wore a slinky dolman-sleeved dress with a plunging open back. The color, called _purple shock,_ complemented her chocolaty skin. Her patent leather Mary Jane pumps were anything but demure with their six-inch heels. They were a mistake, Roberts realized as soon as the waiter led her to the table and Vito stood to greet her. She towered over him; still, she could tell by the look on his face that the heels were very effective indeed. They did give her an impressive uplift in the places that mattered most.

"Lieutenant," Vito said bowing slightly and waiting for the maitre d' to seat her before he resumed his seat.

"Please, call me Erin."

"Erin it is, and you can call me Don, or even Donny."

"Donny," Erin said with a broad smile. "I like that."

The waiter arrived with a bottle of Dom Perignon. He showed it first to Vito and then to Roberts.

"Looks inviting." Roberts said batting her eyelashes at the great producer. _Why NOT flirt a little, who knows where it might lead._

"So you're going to be my aide," Vito said as the waiter poured the champagne. "And what does an aide do?"

Roberts crossed her hands under her chin, leaned forward across the table and smiled seductively, "Anything you want."

Vito smiled and reached for the champagne that the waiter had just poured for his approval. He brought the glass to his lips.

"Ummm good," he said to the waiter. But, of course, it couldn't be any more delicious than Roberts. He fumbled in his coat pocket and his fingers closed around the little blue pill, the one that would let him fulfill the request that Roberts was clearly making with her eyes. He brought it up above the top flap of his pocket and suddenly froze. _Nitroglycerin_ , he remembered, the chest pain in his office, the pill he'd slipped under his tongue, the directive from his doctor: "Don't play Russian Roulette with your heart." Hell, he shouldn't _ever_ take Viagra if he was taking Nitro, but certainly _never_ on the same day.

Vito grimaced. "Fuck me," he cursed under his breath.

Roberts studied him for a moment.

"Is that what you want me to do, hon?"

Vito looked up at her, all his muscles tensed as he got a stranglehold on his anger and disappointment.

"Guess not," he said trying to summon up a line from an uptight character he had created in some long ago script. He forced a smile. "Not this early in our relationship.

"Professional," he added as he felt his calm slowly returning. "It will all have to be very professional, of course."

"I see," said the lieutenant with a great deal of professionalism in her own voice, and just a trace of disappointment.

The waiter finished pouring the wine, placed it in the ice bucket and left the table shaking his head. The impotent old men always got the hot babes, didn't they?

Vito raised his glass toward Roberts.

"To her," the lieutenant said before Vito could launch his own toast.

"Her?"

"To the girl in the picture on your wall."

Vito thought about the toast for a moment and then pushed his glass forward.

"Yes, to her," he said.

"Tell me about her."

Vito sipped his champagne and stared at the lieutenant.

"I thought you knew all about her," he said.

"None of the juicy details."

"I never talk about her," Vito said abruptly as he shook his head.

"Look at you," Roberts said suddenly calling up her inner city voice. "Gettin' me all dressed up like this, and then you not doin' the simplest things I ask? Shame on you!"

Vito cocked his head inquisitively and smiled.

"So who are you now?" he asked. "Someone who just stepped out of the 'hood?"

"Ma talk fits ma situation, hon," Roberts replied. "Now, this is a lovely restaurant and all, but if these eyes and this dress cain't get me anything _else_ tonight, they should at least be able to pull a story outta you."

"I never talk about her," Vito repeated, "to anyone."

"Good," Erin Roberts answered, as she stood and shifted that glorious booty into the chair right beside him. "Then, when you talk about her ta _me_ this evening, it'll make me very special indeed, won't it? _Very_ special!" And then she softened into the lieutenant who had been so persuasive with Vito in the office that afternoon. "So please tell me about her. Okay? I have a digital voice recorder in my purse. The general wants me to carry it at all times ... so I do. I can record your story and then transcribe it for you later."

Vito fumbled nervously with the menu.

"Why would I want you to do that?"

"For the script you're going to write, the one you say you _have to write_? You're finally going to tell her complete story just as it happened."

Vito sighed heavily, shrugged, and shook his head. "Let's at least order first," he said. And sexy Lieutenant Erin Roberts smiled triumphantly.

#

"I was only seventeen," Vito began, "playing with a rock band at the neighborhood playground. They had dances there every Friday night.

"God, I can still hear the embarrassing squeak of my shoes as I moved around on that polished hardwood stage, still smell the lilac perfume that all the Rochester girls wore back then."

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK—JULY 1958

"Wanna see me do the dirty boogie?" Marilyn had asked as she stepped to the corner of the stage. Donny's fingers were moving over the strings of his guitar. He stared back at the enticing blond the way a rock star should.

"I'll dance solo," she added. "Just for you."

"Yeah, baby," Donny answered with an Elvis shrug as he stepped back in front of the band.

Donny flashed a smile at Pete Federico who sat high up on his drummer's throne, ready to lay down the beat, watching the exchange. He rolled his eyes happily. Vinnie Baltramo looked up from his keyboard with a smirk.

"What a babe," Vinnie called. "She's yours, man."

Donny slouched into a low Elvis crouch, shoulders stooped, knees knocked together, tight black chinos riding high above his white sox and blue suede shoes. A curl drooped down from the huge pompadour he had cemented in place with his mother's hairspray.

He sneered, and a collective female sigh breathed across the rec hall at the Avenue D Playground. Somewhere a girl let out a high-pitched scream.

Donny peered up from under those heavy eyebrows, strummed a chord that dripped with musky tremolo, and soon, couple after couple moved onto the dance floor then stood there motionless staring up at the band in anticipation.

Front and center on the dance floor, Marilyn Koslowski was all by herself, almost motionless, barely breathing. Her eyes were locked on Donny, The King of Avenue D. Her blond hair curled around that drop-dead gorgeous face. She bit her lip eagerly for a second, and then:

" _Why don't ya do the dirty boogie?"_ Donny growled the opening line of the song.

Marilyn's hips began to twitch to the slow sensuous beat that Pete was calling from his tom-toms.

" _Come on, baby, dance the dirty boogie."_

Marilyn looked up at Donny, matched him twitch for twitch, hips grinding to the tempo.

" _Grind and shimmy, and do the dirty boogie!"_

" _Yeah do it now, yeah do it now, yeah do it now!"_

Suddenly Vinnie let out a wicked scream as his keyboard swept into the song, and just like that Marilyn was up, shoulders thrown back, breasts standing high and perky, shimmying wickedly, hips grinding to Pete's pagan rhythm.

Donny stepped forward and began a wicked chord progression that had taken him months to master. It cost him no small amount of blood and blisters, but looking at Marilyn told him it was all worth it. This time he got it absolutely right, and he could see the appreciative sparkle in Marilyn's eyes.

Donny ended his riff, and Vinnie picked up where he left off, shrieking a wicked series of keyboard runs that seemed to go right to Marilyn's hips. She shook it, baby. And as he stepped back up to the mike, Donny could tell that there was absolutely nothing between that long, tight skirt and her hot little ass. She had taken off her panties, too.

" _Well, she's the gal with the hips that move._

" _Yeah, she's the gal who's got that groove._

" _She's the woman that does it right!_

" _Dirty boogies every night!"_

Vinnie let out another blood-chilling screech, and Pete's drumbeat took over. He changed the tempo, built on his own jungle rhythms. His insistent beat grew softer and softer. Marilyn responded with slow, sexy energy, and as she did, the crowd began to circle her, clapping softly.

"Shake it, mama," came a catcall from the crowd.

"Oh, yeah," a feminine voice added.

Donny twisted out a low, slick, cautionary chord. Marilyn turned, threw him a kiss, and Vinnie suddenly burst in on them, sliding his fingers across the keyboard sending out another wild jungle call as Donny stepped back up to the mic.

" _Why doncha do the dirty boogie._

" _Come on, sugar, dance the dirty boogie._

" _Grind and shimmy and do the dirty boogie!_

" _Yeah do it now, yeah do it now, yeah do it now!"_

The crowd formed into couples again, rocking out to the music. Pete never missed a beat, nor did Marilyn as she spun her dirty dance into a wild jitterbug that ended with the crashing, pounding cacophony of wicked chords and drumbeats. Marilyn's eyes locked on Donny once again. She smiled, tipped her head toward the doorway and the Passion Pit beyond. Donny shrugged.

"Go with her, man," Vinnie called. "We'll cover for you." And as Vinnie slid into the opening chords of _Sleepwalk_ , his big solo number, Donny pulled off his guitar and rushed from the stage and down to Marilyn.

"That was sooo cool," Marilyn squealed.

"Course it was, babe," Donny answered.

"You must know I'm really turned on," Marilyn said as she bit her lip eagerly.

"Then let's go make out,"

"Oh, yeah, in your new car."

Donny looked at her blankly for a moment.

"Didn't bring my car tonight," he said. "Came with Vinnie in _his_ new ride."

"Vinnie's ride?" Marilyn bit her lip again, this time in disappointment.

"The hot Dodge out there."

"The Custom Royal Lancer?"

"Guess that's what it is," Donny said with a shrug. "I drive a Chevy."

"I see," Marilyn sighed.

"Excuse me," she said, turning and marching back toward the stage now waving to Vinnie as she went. Donny watched her go, felt frustrated as hell. He sighed and just stood there right in the middle of the dance floor, trying his best to show the world that it didn't matter. What dumb broad would pass up a make out session with a rock star just because she liked another guy's car?

"Sorry," a small voice whispered to him. Donny turned to see Elli standing very close to him, her enormous eyes looking up sweetly.

"For what?"

"Told her it was your car," she sighed, "thought it was."

"Thanks loads." Donny watched Marilyn glide back in front of the stage. The tune had shifted to _Let There Be Drums,_ and she was doing her dirty boogie for Vinnie now, the man with the _Custom Royal Lancer._

"Bitch," Donny cursed.

"Hey, I like Chevys," Elli said softly. She took a step even closer to him. He could feel her breath now. It was gentle and sweet.

"My car's a nothin'," Donny whispered so softly he thought no one could hear.

"Not when you're in it," Elli's eyes widened almost as though she'd just had a vision of the two of them riding in it together.

Donny fell in love with her at that very moment.

"Hey, babe," he said, "wanna go outside?"

Ellie just nodded.

They walked out onto the tennis courts where half a dozen teens were smoking. Elli coughed a little and fanned the smoke away from her face until they were halfway to the benches on the edge of the park.

"Let's go sit down for a minute, okay?" Elli said. Donny nodded, and let her take him by the hand and lead him to the first bench they came to. It was early still. No other couples were there.

"Know what they call this spot?"

"The Passion Pit?" Elli again gave him that secret look. There was a hint of magic in it.

"Feeling passionate?"

Elli turned her eyes down suddenly, looked away, and sighed. "Are you?"

"Sure. You like to make out, right?"

Elli sighed again, shrugged. She began to fumble with her hands. She was wearing a bulky brown wool sweater. Her shoulders trembled. Tears were forming in her eyes.

"Maybe."

"How about a yes?"

"Yes?"

"Yes, you like to and yes you wanta make out with me here and now, babe."

"I don't know if ..."

Donny reached over to her more gently than he had ever reached for any girl ever. He touched the tip of her chin, turned her face toward his and kissed her softly on the lips. Elli pulled away from him for a moment, looked at him pleadingly with those enormous eyes, and then grabbed him and began kissing him crazily, awkwardly. Donny didn't care. His hands were suddenly caressing that thin little body, but it was now strong and eager. Whenever Donny pulled away for a moment, Elli would pull him back, sliding her fingers up behind his neck, holding him to her. Donny thought he'd been a gentleman so far, but her kisses were so incredibly hungry he was ready to go over the edge, and so he pulled back from her just for a moment, looked into those dark angel eyes and Elli smiled magically again.

"Come with me," she said.

"Now? Where?"

"Into the park."

And she stood, took Donny by the hand, and led him there.

The moonlight twisted silver shadows around them as they walked; the breeze stirred the leaves to conversation. Beyond that, there was very little sound: no crickets chirping, no lonesome owl, just the lonely crunch of their footsteps joining the whisper of the leaves. Then suddenly, the trees around them seemed to moan, their silvery branches seemed to reach out as if to grasp the young couple. It spooked Donny more than just a little.

"Right over here," Elli said, and she led Donny to an opening at the center of the park. There was a wrought iron railing there and beyond that ... what?

It looked at first like a large rounded hunk of marble, just a mound without much form at all. And then Donny noticed that the edges of the shape were feathered and a spine ran down its center.

Elli led Donny around the curved railing until they were directly in front of the object. It was a huge sculpture, larger than life: an angel, a woman with enormous wings pulled back. Her hair was long and disheveled. Her face was pressed against the back of her hands. Donny could see marble tears frozen on her cheeks. She was kneeling over a tombstone, prostrate with grief.

Carved into the marble tombstone were ornate words that simply said, "Beloved daughter, Ellen Woodley, born 1842—died 1853."

Donny looked at the waiflike girl beside him. She was crying.

"What is this?"

"It's a memorial, Donny, dedicated to a girl who died over a hundred years ago."

"Her name was Ellen."

"Yeah, Elli, just like me."

"But it's not ..."

"Me?" Elli asked with a soft giggle, and again that amazing, magical look. "I'm not a ghost, Donny."

"I'd be after you even if you were," he said as he pulled her to him and tried to kiss her. Elli resisted.

"Not here. Not in front of my angel."

"That's _your_ angel?"

"Un huh. I come here all the time. Come to talk to her. I found her when I felt heartbroken, just like her."

"Why?"

"Cause of my dad, he ..."

"Died," Donny added. "He was Joe Capadonico, the radio guy."

"Yeah. He retired two years ago, and then it was just him an me, best friends. My mom worked, and he took care a me every day."

"What happened?"

"He just started coughing one day; they took him to the hospital, did X-rays and all that stuff; they never let him come home."

"What was it?"

"Acute leukemia, they said. In two months he was gone. I didn't even cry, you know. I missed him terribly though, and my mom wasn't very good about it, just seemed to feel so angry. She took a lot of it out on me for some reason, like it was my fault. And she's been super critical ever since. I sure couldn't talk to _her_. But one day I was walking through the park and saw the angel, and ..."

Donny smiled.

"So I talked to her. I cried with her for the first time since my dad ...

"And then I had a new idea." Elli smiled magically yet again. "I wanted to cheer _her_ up, you know. So, I tried to come by every day and tell her about the things I was doing. She knows all about my mom and dad and Marilyn and you."

"What does she know about me?" Donny asked as he pulled the girl closer to him. Elli's answer was so low that Donny couldn't hear her at all.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't ..."

"I said—she knows I love you." Elli said it slowly and deliberately.

"You fall in love pretty easily."

"No, I don't. I've been in love with you for a very long time. We used to ride the bus together, and I used to watch you. One day Marilyn and I were talking, and she was saying something crazy, and you started to smile. You tried to hold it in, but you couldn't, and I thought you were so cute. And I was so very sad that day that I just loved you for cheering ..."

She couldn't finish. Donny was kissing her whether the angel liked it or not.

"Thank you," she whispered when Donny pulled back to look at her.

"You should have said something to me on the bus that day."

"I couldn't. I was sure you liked Marilyn."

"Nah."

"Donny, I saw the way you watched her do the dirty boogie. I saw the way you looked at her on the bus. She's the kind of girl who should go with ... a rock star like you. I couldn't betray my best friend."

"I wish you had. I like you better."

"For sure?" Magic!

Donny nodded.

Elli led Donny back onto the path; they walked around behind the angel to a bench that was set back from the monument.

Donny kissed her again.

"You taste good," he said.

"Juicy Fruit; want some?"

Donny didn't answer, just threw his arms around her and kissed her much more passionately. Elli pulled back from the kiss, then, put her arms around him and began to kiss him again and again, and suddenly her lips were parting, her smooth white teeth opening, and her tongue came swirling into his mouth with a strong, talented motion that Donny could barely believe.

"Whoa," he said when he came up for air, "where'd you learn that?"

"Don't you like it?"

"Oh yeah, I do, but it's pretty sophisticated for a girl ..."

"Like me?"

"Oh, no, I mean ..."

Elli put her finger over Donny's lips.

"Marilyn taught me that kiss," she said. "We used to practice."

"Practice kissing?"

Elli smiled. "Yeah."

"Each other?"

Elli nodded.

"Did you _like_ kissing her?"

"A little."

"Did Marilyn like kissing you?"

Elli shrugged and once again put her finger across Donny's lips.

Then she reached behind his neck and pulled him toward her again, giving him an even longer, more passionate Marilyn kiss.

Donny heard her sigh again, and then he heard a moan, too: a soft, guttural, _masculine_ moan. It couldn't be Elli.

Suddenly Elli jumped up, looked back and forth in confusion and terror; then she started running down the path away from the statue.

"Elli!"

Donny watched her for a moment.

What the heck? What'd I do?

He turned around, looked up into the woods, but there was nothing there, no one. Or was there?

Yes, someone was out there in the darkness, a shadowy figure that Elli must have seen more clearly.

"Who are you?" Donny called. The figure didn't move. Terrifying thoughts flashed through Donny's mind.

A killer? A psychopath?

The figure seemed to disappear into the shadows. _Did he imagine it?_

Donny glanced back toward the playground. Elli had turned toward him again, seemed to be looking at him and beyond, into the park. She was still moving away, stepping carefully backwards.

Donny turned back toward the park, and the man was there again, probably hadn't moved, hadn't disappeared either. He was still there, standing in the shadowy half-moonlight several yards into the woods, a tall, muscular man with tangled hair, hollow cheeks, and dark eyes that sparkled madly. But the man wasn't even looking at Donny. He was watching Elli as she moved slowly back toward the hall.

And he was masturbating.

### Chapter 8

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JUNE 2011

"What a perfect place to simulate the destruction of the world," Vito said to Lieutenant Roberts as she led him down the main street of Murdenwald.

The little Swiss village was automobile free and required a ride up two different cable cars to reach. The streets were broad, the weather bright and sunny. The shopkeepers and restaurateurs seemed friendly. Vito noticed hardy, young farmers tilling the soil and planting vegetable gardens right up to the very edge of the sidewalk, within a few feet of the passing tourists. The farmers didn't look up from their work, not even to take in the parasailers who were launching themselves from the nearby hillsides.

"They're Swiss, after all," Roberts said with a smile. "Unlike the tourists, they're always practical and businesslike."

Vito looked up and saw that cow pastures stretched out around the town in all directions. He could even see huge milk cows standing in groups, lowing as they watched the tourists hike by. The cows had bells around their necks and the bells clanged loudly, echoing across the valley. Beyond the little village and the surrounding pastures and farms towered three massive alpine peaks: the Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau.

"Here we are," Roberts said cheerfully, and she led Vito past a life-size plastic cow outside the entrance to the Hotel Murdenwald. Several tourist children were gathered around the cow posing for pictures.

Roberts nodded to the receptionist as they entered the narrow lobby and then headed down a corridor to a small hotel room. She entered without knocking. The room was clean but Spartan by most European standards: simple white pine furniture, a small TV set, and enormous double windows that opened onto a balcony. And there was that incredible view of the mountains again.

Two people were standing on the balcony. One of them was General Linden, the other a tall, attractive Asian woman whose black hair was pulled back into a fashionably long ponytail. She had the toned muscles and erect posture of an athlete. She wore tight fitting jeans and a white T-shirt with the words "Science is Golden" printed across the front of it.

"Ah, Mr. Vito," Linden said as soon as he saw the great producer, "easy trip?"

"Confusing as hell," Vito grumbled. "Roberts did all the thinking, thank God."

"Not an easy place to get to," Roberts added. "Three trains, a bus, and two cable cars just to make it here from Zurich."

"Hope you got some shut eye on the train," Linden added.

"Your aide and I didn't have much time for sleep," Vito answered. "I'm tired, she may be a bit sore, but we'll get over it."

"He's does tend to wear a girl out," Roberts added with a grin.

"I see," Linden responded with a blank, non-judgmental stare. "Well, you can both rest up after this morning's meetings; they shouldn't take too long. Now, let me introduce you both to Dr. Lucy Lee."

"Big fan," Lucy said stretching out her hand to shake Vito's.

"I like a girl who's up front," Vito responded as he looked up from her small athletic breasts to her soft hazel eyes.

"Grab some coffee, and let's get down to business," Linden said.

"The sooner we start," Roberts answered, "the sooner I can get some sleep. Go ahead, Mr. Vito, I'll get the coffee for you. Cream and Equal, right?"

"Got me down cold already," Vito said with a little smile.

Linden gestured to a small table he had set up on the balcony. The air was warm; the view overwhelming, and the only sounds that reached them were those clanging cowbells.

"I wanted you to meet Dr. Lee before the others," he told Vito. "She's new to the project, too, and she brings a nice piece of technology that we really need."

"Always interested in a nice piece," Vito said to Lucy.

She rolled her eyes and groaned.

Roberts brought the coffee, handed Vito his cup and took a seat beside him. Lucy shot her a disappointed glance, as much as to say, so the great man is a womanizer, huh? Roberts just smiled. Apparently she didn't mind great men who were lecherous ... at least not this one.

"Dr. Lee is an expert in what we call ASG ..." Linden continued without missing a beat.

"Automated story generation," Lucy clarified.

"Right," Linden continued. "You see, in order to make our story believable we have to give the simulation participants some sense of free will, the ability to do what they want, and generally that means sooner or later they'll make choices that we can't anticipate. As you can imagine, that can really mess up our story."

Vito suddenly felt tired and exasperated. He was going to have to concentrate again. Shit!

"Can't trust the fuckers, can we?" he groused.

"Right on," Lucy continued. "Take one of your films, Mr. Vito, like _Final Gunfight_! If it was a video game and the person playing your hero decided that he just didn't want to have that gunfight and instead hopped on a horse and rode out of town, we wouldn't have much of a game, would we?"

"Guess not," Vito answered as he took a sip of very strong coffee. "But then I haven't had that problem."

"No, you haven't, because movies aren't interactive; the participants can only watch. But gameplayers are _involved_. If they think their choices are limited, the simulation doesn't seem real. That's what Trang was trying to tell us."

"In his own hysterical way," Roberts added.

"So, how do you tell stories in games," Vito asked, "and still let players think they have free will?"

"Well, we have some tricks," Lucy answered.

"I like a girl who's into tricks," Vito said to Linden.

Lucy just shook her head again. "How'd you enjoy your train ride out here with the class clown?" she asked Roberts.

"Actually, I thought it was pretty stimulating," Roberts answered.

Vito grinned like a spoiled little boy.

"Let's get serious," Linden interrupted. "The team that's in place here is made up of hard core number crunchers. They don't really buy into this story stuff. We have to show that we know what we're doing from the word go."

"So let's talk about what we have to do to make our part of the simulation work," Lucy said. "There is still some research that needs to be done, some algorithms that need to be tested and refined. We'll have to build some interesting prototypes."

"I bought you the time to do that," Linden added.

"So this system of yours doesn't really work yet?" Vito asked with a tone of annoyance.

"It will, Mr. Vito," Linden assured him. "And I think it will be the testing that you'll find the most ..."

"Rewarding," Roberts said quickly. "Remember the ideas we discussed before you finally agreed to join us."

"I do," Vito answered and he grimaced only slightly.

"Remember that we have to create models of characters," Linden reminded him, "and to do that we need people who have an intimate understanding of specific individuals?"

Vito nodded.

"And remember how the understanding ..."

"Obsession," Roberts corrected.

"I didn't want to use the word," Linden responded.

"Why not," Vito added, "it's true. Though I would have hoped that you'd be a little more discreet than to bring it up in front of the beautiful Miss Lee, here."

"That's _Doctor_ Lee," Lucy asserted. "But thank you for the compliment; coming from today's reigning Charlie Sheen, I'm flattered. However," she continued, "we did know all about you and your obsession with your dead girlfriend before we ever contacted you. A lot more people know about it than you think."

"Fuckers," Vito hissed suddenly pushing back from the table, turning from Roberts to Lee to Linden. "You assholes played me like a goddamn violin."

"You're charming when you're angry," Lucy said with a smirk. "But you're right. Your obsession was one of the things that made you such an attractive candidate."

"Dr. Lee," Linden cut in, "Why don't you give Mr. Vito a little background about yourself. What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"Certainly, General," Lucy answered. "I'd say that I'm willing to try just about anything. I like adventure. Jogging, hiking, reading, making little sketches."

"Sketches of what?" Vito asked.

"Little portraits of people, doodles really, I do them on napkins when I'm at lunch with my friends. They usually look better upside down then right side up. Sometimes I draw their faces, sometimes other parts of their bodies that interest me. My friends find them anatomically correct."

"Interesting," Vito responded softening toward her again. "There are parts of you that I find anatomically _exceptional_."

Lucy looked annoyed at first, then blushed. "I can't imagine what," she said.

Vito suddenly felt a hard punch to his kidney. He had to stop to catch his breath for a moment; then he turned to see Erin Roberts glowering at him.

"Well, come on, Lieutenant," he said to her. "I really do find the good doctor kind of a doll. Course she's not in your league in the booty depart ..."

Before he could finish the word, Vito took another punch.

"Don't be such a bore, boss," Roberts hissed. "Grow up."

"I'm fuckin' sixty seven," Vito groaned. "But okay, I get the message." Then, turning back to Lucy he asked: "so what is it you like to read?"

"Anything and everything," Lucy answered. "Right now I'm in love with the _Twilight_ novels. Know those books?"

"Teenage vampires," Vito answered with a nod.

"Sex with the undead," Lucy added. "Interesting things to think about when the sun goes down."

"So it's lots of vampires these days? And, we're in the right place for vampires, right by the castle of Bloody Bess?"

Both Lucy and Roberts nodded almost too enthusiastically.

"And are you personally entangled?" Vito asked Lucy.

"I'm seeing someone named Charles, if that's what you're asking. He's part of the project team. You'll meet him soon, I'm sure. As for the rest of it: born in San Francisco, Ph.D. from Stanford. Right now I have a teaching fellowship at North Carolina State. Been doing special work for the Army there on ASG, that's ..."

"I know, you told me," Vito responded holding up his hand to stop her from explaining, "Automated story ... what?"

"Generation," Lucy answered. "We've run hundreds of tests to try and find the best way to create that sense of free will in simulation games, and it boils down to two or three tricks."

"You love your tricks don't you, Lucy?" Vito asked and Roberts now began digging her fingernails into his arm.

"The most important trick is the one we told you about back at Paramount," Linden said, "using simulated characters."

"We call them intelligent agents," Lucy said. "They're programmed to have their own goals, emotions and directions; they know a lot. What we're trying to do is expand our ability to build these kinds of characters and develop techniques so that they can lead the players back on track if they start to exercise too much free will and mess up the story."

"How the hell can they do that?" Vito asked.

"Pretty much the same way real people manipulate others to get them to do what they want," Lucy said. "You know, argue, insist, _seduce_ , whatever it takes."

Vito glanced over at Roberts who was twirling her hair and consciously looking away.

"Never heard of such a thing," he said, and she laughed without looking back at him.

"We want to create a few powerful intelligent agents that we can use in this simulation." Lucy continued, "And to do that we need models of characters based on information that people don't usually have about each other."

"The kind of knowledge you would only have about someone," Roberts added, "if, say, you were obsessed."

"Like me."

"Exactly like you," Lucy said with a sympathetic smile.

Vito decided he liked her a lot, in spite of the sympathy.

#

An hour later Vito and Roberts were walking on from the Hotel Murdenwald. Vito had disdained the electric car that Linden and Lucy had chosen as a way to the simulation center. He wanted to clear his head a little more. All these new concepts were giving him a hell of a headache.

The surrounding countryside would help anyone think more clearly, he realized. It was spectacular. Roberts walked with him.

"So, do you ever do music videos?" she asked as they hiked along.

"Considered it once," Vito answered. "Michael Jackson and I had a long talk about a doing a rock vampire thing. We brainstormed the idea for a few days, wanted to do it. Our schedules just never meshed."

"I really did love your picture _Bloody Bess_ ," Roberts said, "even though it gave me nightmares for a month."

"Jackson started me thinking about vampires," Vito responded. "That actually led to _Bloody Bess,_ a real, historical woman who might just have been a vampire, too _._ I even asked Michael if he wanted a part in the production, but by then he was on to other things."

"I think vampires are sexy."

"Is _'sexy'_ proper military parlance, Lieutenant?"

"Depends on the mission, doesn't it? So, you did the project _without_ Michael then?"

"Had to," Vito answered. "He did drop by on the set once, though. He was doing a concert in Zurich and he took the train up to visit us."

"Right here in Murdenwald?"

"Right over there," Vito pointed across the village to the jagged cliffs of a mountain. There, the snow-white walls of the Castle Catrice shot up into the deep blue of the sky. They sparkled magnificently in the sun. It was a fortress indeed, with towers and parapets hanging out over the side of the cliff. It seemed impenetrable.

"Magical!" Roberts gasped.

"If you like _black_ magic."

They studied the imposing castle and then walked on through the village, past a few restaurants as well as the little train station, and now they were at the head of a trail that snaked up the mountainside. They began to climb. Roberts took her time, allowing Vito to rest frequently.

"You're not in bad shape," she commented.

"For an old man with heart problems?"

"For anyone. The altitude is high, the air is thin, and the climb is steep. I run every day and I'm feeling it."

"I try to go for long walks every day," Vito added. "My doctor tells me that if I don't, he's going to drug me like a horse."

"So, you can walk uphill and still carry on a conversation, then?"

"Usually."

"Even tell a story?"

Vito looked at Roberts suspiciously but still nodded his head.

"Good," Roberts answered with a grin, "then, tell me more about Elli."

"Christ, didn't I tell you enough the other night?"

"I want to hear the whole story. I've got my little recorder with me, so I can get it all down while we walk. Also," she added batting her eyes, "I'm willing to throw in a little free-trade as part of the exchange."

"Booty trade?"

"You know it, hon."

"But it's a long and tragic tale, believe me."

"So, tell me something that wasn't tragic," Roberts said. "It couldn't all be dark nights and misery. Tell me something that was fun."

### Chapter 9

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK—JULY 1958

"Mom, I've got someone for you to meet," Donny called as he ran into the kitchen dragging Elli behind him.

"Hi, Elli," Irene Vito said as she turned from a sink full of dirty dishes and smiled warmly at the young girl. "How's your mom?"

"Still struggling a little," Elli answered as she made her way into the bright, sunlit kitchen.

"God, I can't imagine losing a husband," Mrs. Vito said, and then immediately felt sorry she'd said it. Her smile faded.

"WAIT A MINUTE!" Donny called as he stepped up to his mother. "Why so glum, Mum? You've made a big mistake."

"I have?" Mrs. Vito grabbed a towel to dry her hands.

"You must have," Donny responded. "Who is this Elli person you keep talking about?"

Irene Vito smiled at her son. She knew what was coming next. It was damn annoying, but still kind of fun.

"Donny, I've know Elli's mother for years," she said. "We see her in church every Sunday."

"Uh-uh, mom, you're sadly mistaken."

Donny grabbled Elli by the shoulders and pulled her forward so that the afternoon sunlight was shining directly on her through the kitchen window.

"Take a look. Does this look like Elli Capadonico to you?"

Mrs. Vito took a good long look at Elli. She was glad, actually, to see Donny with such a sweet girl.

"Now that you mention it," Mrs. Vito responded, "I'm not quite sure."

Elli suddenly broke into that wide-eyed magical look of hers, the one that suggested she had a secret and very wonderful vision.

"Tell her who you are, Miss," Donny said to Elli who paused, wondering what to say next. God, she loved him.

"Why, I'm ..." Elli began clicking through a storehouse of fantasies, that didn't seem to apply.

"The lost Princess Elena," Donny proclaimed in the loud theatrical voice that had gotten him the lead in a half a dozen school plays.

"The lost Princess Elena," Elli repeated "Yes!" and she gave them both a look suggesting that perhaps her identity was the secret that had always thrilled her so.

"Soon to return to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, are you not, your majesty?"

"I'm considering it."

"Your faithful followers need nothing more than your word," Donny said, "and they will storm the vast Carpathian Mountains."

"Where the vampires are?" Elli asked. She'd just finished reading _Dracula_ in junior year lit.

"You can be queen of the vampires, too," Donny raved.

"Why not," added Mrs. Vito now caught up in the excitement that always came when Donny launched into _A Donny Vito Production_ , as he called them _._

"They do need me, don't they," Elli said, her eyes glowing with the realization of her destiny. The look lit her whole face, made her dark hair seem radiant.

"Just say the word, highness."

"I'm afraid I can't," Elli whispered, as she suddenly slumped dramatically into one of the kitchen chairs.

"But why not, Princess?"

"That's _Lost_ Princess to you," Elli said, "The lost Princess Elena!"

"Sorry."

"My heart and all my affections have been taken from me. There's a boy I love."

"You'd give up your throne for some _boy_?"

"But he's a rock star, has the lead in the school play, and he's the fairest in the land."

"Even with all that going for him, _you must be nuts_?"

Donny's mother giggled. Her son gave her a dirty look and then returned his gaze to the lost princess.

"You can't let love stand in the way of your duty, your magnificence."

"That's your _lost_ magnificence," Elli corrected again. "But I'll die if I have to leave him."

Mrs. Vito watched her son's little drama play out in the big mirror behind the sink as she plunged her hands back into the soapy dishwater.

"Perhaps the _boy_ is of royal blood," she suggested.

"I fear he's only a commoner," Elli added, and suddenly real tears began flowing down her cheeks.

"Then I'll find a way to bring you to him," Donny added.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course."

Donny went to Elli, pulled her to her feet and gave her a little hug. "I'll build you a cabin nestled by a stream in a beautiful wood; he'll be your love, always, give up all his ambitions for you and you can remain the lost Princess forever."

"I'd like that," Elli said, but then her face twisted into a playful frown. "Or maybe I'd rather go to Hawaii."

"Nope," Donny answered. "You're stuck in the woods with that drippy guy of yours. Unless you want to be _my_ girl, that is, in which case I'll take you to Hawaii as soon as I'm rich and famous in Hollywood."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" Elli giggled.

"Oh, he's got it all figured out," Mrs. Vito said as she continued with the dishes. "When he was five he decided he wanted to _be_ Walt Disney, and he's been writing scripts, and doing theater ever since."

"My stories will make me famous, Princess Elena."

" _Lost_ Princess, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

Irene Vito couldn't stop laughing. Of course, there was no way that Donny's father was ever going to let him go out to Hollywood and waste a good education trying to make it in showbiz. Donny didn't know that yet, of course. That was a confrontation that Donny's parents had been putting off for as long as they could. Whenever Donny got a little crazy and started talking about working in Hollywood, his parents would spend the whole night arguing between themselves. Mrs. Vito always took her son's side. What would it cost, after all, to let him try and pursue his dreams for a little while?

"So what do you think of the Lost Princess, Mom?" Donny asked as he walked up to his mother and put his arm comfortably around her.

"I think you've found the right girl," she said. "Anyone who would give up an empire to be with you can't be all bad. Especially if she likes Hawaii the way I do."

"But you've never been there."

"Your father and I'll go some day, I swear. In the mean time, you kids had better get out of here. I have to go to the store, and I don't want you two alone in the house with no one to keep an eye on you."

Donny smiled. "The Lost Princess does have a ravenous sexual appetite," he said, "don't you, Lost Princess?"

"I _hunger_ for you," Elli responded with a magical look that suggested so many possibilities.

Mrs. Vito burst out laughing. Somehow she found the incongruity of Elli's innocent face and that passionate phrase strikingly funny. Mrs. Vito's laughter was contagious, too. First Donny and then Elli joined in.

"Come on now, kids, gotta go," said Mrs. Vito as soon as she could regain her voice. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Lost Princess."

"The pleasure was all mine," Elli answered regally. "After all, I'm giving up my empire for _your_ handsome son."

### Chapter 10

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JUNE 2011

"I don't see why we need the guy, anyway," David Withering said rather loudly. Everyone turned and looked at him.

"How about the fact that the president wants him on the project?" Randy Gardner answered. Gardner, like almost everyone else in the room, was enjoying one of the many sandwiches that the International Simulation Center had laid out before the meeting. He gulped down the last bite and then surveyed the array of salads, veggies and cookies. They were spread out on a huge sideboard that ran the whole length of the conference room.

"Someone should have talked the president out of it," Withering grumbled.

"I've never seen anyone talk President Hamilton out of anything," Tim Farson called to Withering as he made his way through the conference room and up to the distinguished British mathematician. Withering was standing in front of the coffee urn mixing up a huge mug of joe, adding four packets of sugar substitute and a glob of creamer.

"I thought you folks were supposed to have a democracy, over there," Withering jabbed.

"We elected a decision maker," Farson answered, "and, as much as I disagree with him, the guy is making decisions. That's what we want." He snagged a large Spanish olive and popped it into his mouth.

"I'd say they're rather reactionary decisions," Withering continued, "in this case prompted by a recommendation by one of our avowed enemies."

Gardner moved closer to Withering and Farson.

"Our target audience are guys who want to blow up the world," Gardner said. "They're megalomaniacs."

"Good point," Farson added and patted Gardner on the back. It was the first positive reinforcement that Farson had shown the young man in months.

Randy Gardner was one of the premier "virtual world builders" in the United States. A twenty-five-year-old graduate of Cal Arts, his professional credits included the construction of the virtual city of Leningrad for the World War Two console game, _Final Siege_ , and the ancient Aztec capital for the massively multi-player online game _Tenochtitlan_.

When he was originally assigned to the simulation project, Gardner had been the one concession that Farson made to commercial game development. He was in fact the only professional game developer on the team. Gardner didn't want to admit it, but very early in the project he had begun to reach the same conclusion that Trang had voiced: too many numbers and arrows; you didn't really get a sense that any of it was real. It didn't scare you; it sure didn't move you to give up your plans. Gardner agreed with everything the president had decided. Of course, he had been hesitant to come out and voice his opinions with David Withering and his contingent of number crunchers dominating the team.

The Swedes were really obnoxious too, he thought, Margot Johansson especially. A stunning platinum blonde just about his age, she was so deep into the numbers that she and Gardner had absolutely nothing to say to each other. Besides, she only had eyes for Withering and his remarkable algorithms that could calculate the consequences of battle plans in seconds. Margot seemed to think that the idea of creating a realistic representation of battlefields and cities to underlie their statistical projections was a complete waste of time. She had argued vehemently (in Swedish no less) that Gardner's art should be kept to a minimum. She had carried the day with Farson and Withering, and the first version of the simulation showed very little of Gardner's work. Randy Gardner was marginalized, and damn well ready to quit on the day of Trang's visit. And then the madman made his amazing pronouncement:

Little blips popping around on a big TV screen, crazy bunches of numbers, who knows what they all mean. If you're going to simulate a war, get someone from Hollywood. Get Donald Vito.

Now Vito was about to enter the project and Margot and her cohorts might very well be the ones to feel marginalized. Gardner thought he'd like that. If she was a little more insecure and he a little more recognized, she might consider being friendlier.

"Take your seats, please!" General Linden said with explosive authority as he bounded into the room. The lead members of Withering's team took their seats at the huge conference table. Their lieutenants and assistants sat in the folding chairs behind them.

At that moment, the double doors to the conference room opened wide and in marched Lieutenant Erin Roberts, Don Vito, and several other new members of the team. Gardner recognized his old friend Dave Montana, the character designer and rigger. Dave had built all the main characters for _Tenochtitlan_ , and at least a dozen other million-seller games. His characters were among the most realistic and downright frightening in the game biz.

A tall, attractive Asian woman in her late twenties followed Dave. Her eyes were bright, her hair was black and pulled back into a ponytail. Gardner didn't think he had seen her at any of the Game Developers Conferences. He would have noticed her immediately. She wore tight fitting jeans and a blue blazer that partially covered a T-shirt with golden letters that crossed her chest. What did it say? Gardner wondered. The only word he could read was "IS".

Four other well-known game designers followed the woman in the mysterious T-shirt. Gardner knew them all. They were all experts in their fields: the best of the best. The ISC had spared no expense.

General Linden took his place at the head of the table, whispered a few brief words to Vito and then stood to address the assembled engineers and artists.

"Looks like everyone's had something to eat," he began. People nodded and smiled. "Now it's time to get down to work. You were all there for the exchange between Premier Trang and the president. I commend all of you who put so much work into making the simulation perform perfectly. Unfortunately, there was a conceptual flaw in our design."

He turned and looked directly at Margot who glared coldly back at him.

"The truth is," the general continued, "Premier Trang may be a tyrant and a madman, but even a madman has lucid moments, and in one of those lucid moments Trang made a suggestion that I happen to agree with. He said that we should dramatize our findings, present them in the context of a story, so that they will be more believable. As a result, we have contacted the best storyteller in Hollywood, a man famous for creating realistic representations of wartime. He has agreed to work with us, at no small amount of personal sacrifice.

"He and Tim Farson will be running the project jointly now, he on the creative side, Farson on the engineering. Together I'm confident they can help us build the kind of simulation that will fulfill the original concept of this project: the greatest non-combat tool for international peace the world has ever known. So, without further ado let me give you the head of our new creative team, Mr. Donald Vito."

Linden clapped; the creative people who were all sitting on the right side of the table beside Linden and Vito clapped. The entire left hand side—Withering, Johansson, Farson and the others—did not. Linden noticed and scowled at Farson who reluctantly added his applause to the chorus, as did Withering and a few of his people.

Vito stood and looked across the table. To his right, eyes were staring up at him in complete admiration. To his left, everyone looked at him as though he were Satan himself. The whole scene reminded Vito of an old Pogo Possum comic strip where the vultures, snakes and bobcats sat around a table plotting to eat little Pogo and most of his friends. The image was just too vivid for Vito. He suddenly burst out laughing. Everyone turned to him in surprise. Linden looked alarmed. He struggled to his feet.

"I'm afraid Mr. Vito has been under a lot of stress lately," he began. Vito shook his head and motioned for the general to sit down.

"I _have_ been under some stress," he answered. "And maybe that explains why some of the people at the table here look to me like they are planning to boil me up and have me for supper."

Gardner, who was sitting on the left, right next to David Withering, suddenly burst out laughing, as did Margot (surprise.) Soon, half the secretaries and lieutenants did as well until everyone was laughing except Withering, who at best could only muster an uncomfortable grin.

"That's better," Vito continued. "I'd like to come around and spend some time with every one of you, get to know you, and get your take on what we are trying to do. I know almost no one here, except of course for the general and Lieutenant Roberts," he smiled at the attractive aide. "Hopefully, we can fix that situation.

"I imagine, too, that many of you technical folks are skeptical about what a Hollywood creative type can add to an important scientific effort. I wonder a little about that myself, especially since I'm not really a gamer. I play a little Tetris now and then, but that's about it.

"The simple truth is that I know how to tell stories. And if this simulation needs a story to make it believable and convince the bad guys of the world that they ought to lay down their arms, then I can do that. But I definitely want everyone's input and ideas.

"I know I'm good at telling stories. I also hear that as a producer I'm good at getting the best out of people. Producers don't build things. They get other, more talented people to build them, and in the process, they usually let those people do it their own way. That's what I want to do here. We may not always see eye to eye. And if we don't, I'll let you know it loud and clear; that's just the way I operate. We will definitely have to make some compromises. But I will always let you have your say, and I will do my best to understand your point of view.

"Dr. Farson and I have not yet met. But I know him by reputation. I know he's done great work, and I know that we can forge the kind of relationship it takes to make this project a success.

"The important thing for all of us is to realize how much is at stake here. The whole world is headed for an apocalypse. And, having written and produced more than my share of post-apocalyptic films, let me tell you that I don't want to go there. So, let's work together to create a tool that will cause our enemies to lay down their arms and work with us, not against us. I've thought a lot about this. And I think that, just to make sure we're all going in the right direction, the project needs a new name ... something we can all focus on to make sure we never forget what this is all about. So, folks, we're no longer just building a military simulation. We're building a DOOMSDAY GAME."

Everyone in the room broke into applause. Vito took his seat and smiled broadly. General Linden gave him a thumbs-up. "Who wrote that?" he asked.

"I'm a writer, remember," Vito answered with a grin, and just as he said it, he suddenly felt a hand slide gently onto his thigh, fingers pushing forward between his legs. He looked over to his right and saw Lieutenant Roberts looking at him with big, inviting eyes.

"Just tryin' ta keep _our_ story on track, hon," she whispered. "Thassall."

### Chapter 11

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

Lucy Lee was distracted; there was simply no other way to put it. She sat behind her computer working and reworking lines of code, saving them, playing out the results only to see a garbled series of images that made no sense to her at all.

She turned from the computer, pulled a little pad to her, and picked up a pencil.

"What's going on?" she murmured to herself as she began to doodle aimlessly. Only the doodle wasn't aimless at all. It was the beginnings of a figure, a tall thin figure wearing a hood. Lucy recognized it at once. She grabbed the sheet and tore it from the pad. She turned back to the computer and looked back into the lines of code. A few seconds of that and her mind was as jumbled as ever.

Back to the tablet, picking up the pencil, she began to sketch a face. She'd actually become much better at drawing faces since she'd taken those art classes from Professor Kahn at Stanford. For some crazy reason her computer science degree required a course in figure drawing, and Lucy, who had never really tried to draw anything in her life, found that she was good at it. Good enough at least to create a likeness, and now she was creating a likeness that was very good indeed, she thought. It was the likeness of Ferenc.

She turned the pencil on its side, shaded the hollow of his cheeks, his black curly hair, and enigmatic smile. She had only roughed in those eyes, but now she turned the pencil point to them detailing the pupil, the iris, and especially the sparkle.

"Like trying to draw a soul," Lucy murmured out loud, and she absentmindedly clutched the crucifix still hanging between her breasts, the gift from Charles, a born-again Christian; Charles, whose religious fervor was driving her nuts. In times of temptation, he prayed! They prayed together; what kind of horseshit was that? It left her living in a state of perpetual horniness. Maybe that's why, even though she had pledged her heart to him, she was now sketching the beautiful face of a man she'd met only once in a library tower with an incredible view.

Hypocrite!

Lucy finished the drawing of Ferenc, looked at it and was very pleased. She immediately flipped over the page and began another one. This time she tried to capture that sensuality she felt in that one dizzying moment when he seemed to be so close to her, almost devouring her with his eyes. The curl of the lip was the trick, and those eyes, half closed in some kind of sensual rapture. She finished the drawing, got close to the look she wanted, and flipped to another blank page. Now she drew Ferenc as he was when he gave her the key and asked that she come back to him this night, THIS NIGHT!

"Oh, my God," Lucy gasped, it was nearly night now, time to go to the library, ascend the elevator, see the gorgeous man again and gain whatever Knowledge he promised her. She pushed the paper and pencil aside, powered down her computer, and reached behind her head to undo the golden chain that held the crucifix.

"No," she said aloud. "No, no." She'd give Charles that much; she'd wear the crucifix as a reminder. Hypocrite or not, she had pledged herself to him, and she'd be true to her promise.

Lucy checked herself in the mirror, pulled off the worn "science is golden" T-shirt and the rest of her things and dashed into the shower. It was nearly 8 PM. The sun had almost set. Time to see him.

She rifled through her underwear drawer, choosing a Victoria's Secret bra and panties that were decidedly meant to entice a man. She pulled a freshly ironed white cotton blouse from a hanger, the one that opened half way down the front. Then she grabbed her favorite jeans, the tightest ones, the ones she could roll up above the high-heeled boots that she liked to wear. She struggled into them and then spun round in front of the mirror. She liked the look, pulled on the boots, and then checked herself again.

My God, she gasped once more. What am I doing, making myself hot for a man who has all the power and the privacy to ... she blotted that thought out of her head. She had Charles's crucifix, which, regardless of what she thought of it, seemed to have kept Ferenc at bay during their last encounter.

"Old beliefs die hard," she murmured out loud. (Did she really want to keep him at bay?)

"Too many thoughts," she squealed as she grabbed the elevator key from her desk, checked the room quickly and ran out into the night toward the library, the elevator, and Knowledge.

#

When Lucy emerged from the elevator, Ferenc was standing there in that hooded robe, arms folded, staring at the floor contemplatively as though he might have been standing there for hours, maybe the entire day. The curtains were drawn back and the fabled city sparkled all around them.

"I'm happy to see you again," he said with an eagerness that matched her own. "I'm sure we'll learn a lot this evening."

Lucy swallowed hard, like a schoolgirl encountering her first serious sexual temptation.

"Well ..." she began and had no idea where to go from there.

Ferenc took her by the hand and led her calmly around the tower to the very far side, all the time letting her take in the magnificence of the view, and letting his musky aroma call to her.

When they reached the very opposite side of the tower, he turned Lucy gently away from the window to the wall behind it. There stood an immense bookshelf that matched the curvature of the tower. Thick books were crammed onto the shelves, each one bound in the same dark leather, each with bright gold lettering on its spine. And across the top of each one was the word Knowledge.

Lucy glanced at Ferenc who nodded to her in encouragement. And so she moved up to the bookshelf, walked along it, and ran her fingers gently over the back of the volumes.

"Somehow I felt this was the right part of the library for you," he said.

"How'd you know that?" Lucy asked, realizing that it was the first semi-coherent statement she had made since arriving.

"Science is golden," Ferenc answered with a chuckle and Lucy looked down at her shirt, reminding herself that she wasn't wearing her favorite T this night, seeing the opened whiteness of her blouse, the hint of a cleavage that her inviting bra managed to display. And there was the little crucifix nestling comfortably there.

"What am I doing?" she asked just a little too loudly.

"Acquiring Knowledge," he answered softly. "Isn't that what you're here for?"

"Hope so," she said meekly. "These are the 'S' books?"

"Yes," Ferenc confirmed.

"Science, Seduction, Sex, Sorcery," she said as she read off a few titles. "How current are they?"

The young man smiled. "They're complete."

"This is all there is to know about ..." she scanned the topics trying to find one that wouldn't get her into too much trouble. "... Society?"

He nodded.

"Hard to believe," but Lucy's eyes now sparkled with the possibilities the books presented.

"Is there something specific you want to know," Ferenc asked, "something that brought you back here again? It certainly wasn't easy to get here the first time, after all."

"You're right there," Lucy answered as she walked to the middle of the "S" shelf and then her eyes widened.

"My God, you have it?" she squealed. "All the Knowledge there is on SIMULATIONS!"

"Of course," Ferenc answered.

Lucy grabbed the book and flipped through the pages rapidly, seeing that they contained so much that she wanted to know.

"Take your time," Ferenc said. "There's a little reading room at the center of this floor. Why don't we go there?"

"You'll come with me?"

"Of course," he answered as he moved up to her, "I love watching you work, Lucy." And he slid his hand gently down her back and turned her toward the open doorway, to a room that was completely black. "Come," he said and touched his hand to the bottom of those tight-fitting jeans that she had selected so carefully.

Lucy nodded, as she looked back and smiled into the midnight blue eyes of her beautiful companion. She pressed the volume to her and felt a tingle as it touched her breasts.

She was getting intoxicated yet again, and very turned on. _Dangerous_ , she thought, but still she walked into the darkness with Ferenc.

#

Lucy sat there with the great book in front of her, her eyes sparkling as she turned from page to page. It was the most well written technical discourse she'd ever seen. She enjoyed the detailed diagrams and the full color examples of the technology. This was the Knowledge that she had been looking for most of her professional life, and suddenly it was right there in front of her. She never would have believed that it had all been worked out so carefully, written down in one place, organized neatly, and thoroughly explained. Table after table showed complete lists of everything she wanted to know, not ten or twenty or even a hundred examples. There were thousands.

She closed the book and looked up at Ferenc. "Do you know what this means?"

Ferenc looked back at her with such fascination it was as though he were drinking in her very soul.

They were in the small reading room behind the stacks on the 13th floor. Lucy sat in an upright chair next to a small light that only illuminated the book and their faces. Ferenc's robe and hood faded into the blackness, leaving just that handsome face looking at her while she read.

He stood now, moved around the table and sat beside her. He smelled of musky incense that Lucy decided she liked very much; in fact, she found it intoxicating. Her head had been swimming, but through the haze that was beginning to engulf her, one thought was clear.

It wasn't enough to come face to face with the Knowledge in the book. What was important was to copy it down, get the lists, the tables and whatever explanations came with them. There was just no way she could remember it all.

"Can I borrow the book?" she forced herself to ask in spite of the trance that was sweeping over her. Her words came out very, very slowly.

"Books can't be taken from this library," Ferenc whispered. "I'm sorry."

Lucy paused for a long moment. ( _What to say? What to do?_ )

"Can I copy it, then?" she asked.

Her companion gestured across the room to a large stack of paper and a crusty old ceramic cup filled with pens and pencils.

"Longhand?" Lucy murmured. "There's no copier?"

"I can do it for you. That's what I do; I copy manuscripts."

"But it will take days."

"Unfortunately," he whispered, and then he moved even closer to her. "I'm happy to do it for you, though." He was pressing his lips into her hair, very close to her ear. "But, of course," he whispered, "and this is very important, Lucy ...

"You will have to do something for me in return."

### Chapter 12

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

"So, let me get this straight," Farson said as he stood and marched back and forth behind the conference room table, the same table where Vito had made such persuasive opening remarks only a few months earlier. "You're building a series of rapid prototypes to test your technology."

David Withering gave Vito a sour look. "We are spending way to much time on this window-dressing of yours, Mr. Vito. Just what exactly are you prototyping?"

"Situations," Vito answered with a reptilian smile that his Hollywood colleagues knew very well, "synthetic characters."

"Military situations and military characters, of course," Farson added.

"Not necessarily, Captain Farson." This was a new voice, firm but very feminine. Farson turned to see Dr. Lucy Lee, speaking to him. She was another one of those damn "creatives types" who had come on board with Vito, he thought. Where in hell had Linden found her? The answer was printed right across her chest: NC State University.

Lucy sat to the right of Donald Vito, Lieutenant Erin Roberts to his left. Attractive company for such s nasty old man, Farson thought. Although, as good looking as she was, Roberts was clearly a mole sent to keep an eye on them all. When the POTUS was involved in the decision-making, the stakes became dangerously high for everyone.

"Traditionally," Lucy said, "we try to find a situation that we know well, one that has all the behaviors we are trying to replicate in our simulation, one that lets us get to the core of the intellectual challenge."

"The core of the intellectual challenge?" Withering responded, "Pardon my French, but just what _fucking_ intellectual challenge are you talking about?"

"Intelligent agents," Lucy answered sweetly, ignoring his crudeness. "Whatever it takes to give our players a sense of free will and still keep the story on track."

"I suppose you'll need complex personality models, synthetic speech, voice recognition, solid state holography?" Withering's quesiton was rapid-fire.

"In fact, we will," Lucy answered.

"Making situational _prototypes_ is slowing everything down," Farson grumbled as he moved toward Vito. "Especially if they're off-topic."

Vito stood and faced Farson. He hadn't wanted this kind of confrontation so early in the project. But what could he do but let his instincts take over.

"Get Linden on the line right now, you fucker!"

Vito said it in the hard mechanical drone of a trained assassin. "He told us we had the time to do this kind of work. And we _need_ to do it. Get him on the line. In fact, fuck it! Let's go right to the top. Get the goddamn PRESIDENT."

"He doesn't have time for this," Farson responded.

"I think he'll have time if we fucking don't deliver," Vito answered. "And pardon my fuckin' French, too, Dr. Withering."

Vito stood and walked directly up to Withering, the fire in his eyes burned though the mathematician and forced him to look away. Withering turned back toward Farson and gave him a helpless shrug.

"All right," Farson answered. "If you and Dr. Lee say we have to do it, we will. I'm aware of the added time General Linden bought for you."

"Damn straight," Vito said as he turned now and glowered at Farson, and even _he_ withered a little.

"But it's damn precious time," Farson said at last, "So let's find a way that we can work on other parts of the simulation ..."

"Doomsday Game," Vito corrected.

"Right Doomsday Game," Farson growled, "let's find a way that we can work on other parts of the simulation while you guys are off playing in your little sandboxes."

Vito stepped up onto his chair and then onto the top of the conference room table. He marched across the table top, directly up to Farson and stood right in front of him.

"We're not _playing_ , you scientific piece of shit!"

Lieutenant Roberts couldn't believe her eyes. She ran to the old man and reached for his hand, but he pulled it away, crossed his arms and continued to stare daggers at Farson.

"The cut scenes are all written," Roberts said quickly, and she grabbed a thick script and handed it to Farson. He took the script without taking his gaze from Vito's. The angry charge between men could have burned a small city to the ground. Then Farson turned away, walked to the far end of the table, sat, opened the script and began to read. Vito stepped to the floor all the while eyeing the scientists sitting around the table as though he had a gun in his hand and would blow the head off of anyone who so much as breathed heavily.

"What are cut scenes?" Margot Johansson whispered to Randy Gardner. The two hadn't said a meaningful word to each other ever. Gardner looked at her and smiled. He began to whisper and then noticed that all the other scientists and number crunchers in the room were waiting for his answer, too.

"Cut scenes," he said to the entire group, and then he looked at Vito for some kind of permission to continue to speak. The old producer nodded his head. "They're like little movies playing within a simulation game. We use them as transitions, when we need to show a conclusion or an outcome, or if we need a set-up scene before new action starts. There is no player interaction involved, so the cut scenes can be very elaborate. In this case, I imagine ..."

"These are great!" Farson suddenly interrupted with a laugh. "I like the way you end the world."

"Fuckin' A," Vito growled.

"Shit, why don't we just go with these? This is all we need to make things real."

"Uh-uh," Lucy responded. "The cut scenes work _between_ the action of the real simulation. There's nothing that the participant can do except watch them. We're trying to build experiences that people participate in. We need to keep building these prototypes."

"So," Vito added doing his best to force the tension from his body, "Why don't we let most of the team build the cut scenes, while I put a little creative group together to handle the prototypes."

"Sounds like a perfect solution to me," Gardner said, and he smiled at everyone.

Withering didn't smile back. "We've wasted enough time on this already," he finally said. "Let's just end this ridiculous meeting and get back to work."

"All right," Farson responded. "Anyone else have anything they want to discuss?"

Everyone sat silently and, after a long moment: Farson called, "Okay, everyone can go." There was a mad scramble as nearly all of the participants stood and moved toward the door, everyone but Randy Gardner, that is, and Margot Johansson, who remained in their chairs looking at each other with newfound interest.

### Chapter 13

Roberts and Vito sat at one of the little bars in Murdenwald talking about Lucy. She had been most effective in their meeting with Farson. Maybe not as powerful as Vito, Roberts thought, but then she didn't have a Napoleonic Complex either, did she?

Still, Lucy had seemed so tired afterward. It was almost as though she had been awake all night.

"Charles will be back soon," Roberts said. "He'll see to it that she starts getting regular rest."

"Let's hope so," Vito grumbled.

The waitress brought a Tanqueray on the rocks to Vito, and Roberts pulled a few Euros from her pocket to pay.

"Bribery, huh?" Vito asked Roberts.

"Of course," she said with a smile.

"Guess I know what you're after."

"The Donny Elli story ... I've become addicted," she answered.

"And you've got something I'm hooked on, too," the old man added.

"Good, then we're even." Roberts said. "Like Scheherazade, you'll have to keep tellin' stories all night long if you want me to keep _you_ alive, hon."

"So what part of the story do you want to hear now?" Vito asked.

"Some of the rougher stuff," Roberts suggested, "but not the worst of it. Not tonight anyway."

Vito thought for a long moment and then his face brightened. "Here's something I pieced together years later after talking to the few people who knew about Arnie Cudgel."

"The guy who was watching Elli at the statue?"

Vito nodded and when he saw that the suggestion bothered Roberts he added, "I'll scatter a few of my happier memories in with the rough stuff."

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK—AUGUST 1958

Arnie walked slowly along Clinton Avenue. On most mornings he would jog the whole distance to the beach and back again, but this was late afternoon when the streets were alive with people. The walk took him through the Negro part of town; that made him very uncomfortable. Arnie was big, toned, muscular, but there were too many of them, and if one of the Negroes took offense at anything about him (like maybe the look in his eyes) he would want to fight with them, and then they would come pouring out of the buildings and beat him to death.

It was nearly two miles from his house, through the Negro area, past the Avenue D playground, through Durand Eastman Park to the little strip along the shoreline that the kids called the submarine races. Of course, there were no submarines. Even Arnie knew that, not in Lake Ontario. It was just a place for kids to go and make out.

The full moon had come round again, he realized. That was very good. It was already creeping up over the horizon. _Moonlight all night long_ , he mumbled to himself, easier to see. He picked up the pace and almost ran into a tall, thin woman walking toward her apartment carrying a bag of groceries.

"Where you goin' in such a hurry, white boy?" she called. Arnie lowered his head and forged ahead even when he heard a man yell after him, "Watch your step, man. You don't belong here."

No, he didn't, and it would be even more difficult for him when he made his way home much later that night, but he had to get to the submarine races. The cute little girl would be there, the one who talked to the statue in the park. She would be there with her boyfriend. Arnie had heard them whispering about it. She wanted to make love, she had said. He wondered if she knew what that meant.

#

Elli leaned forward, adjusted the car radio and couldn't believe it when the song came on. It was just chords on a piano but she recognized it immediately.

"This is our song," she murmured to Donny as he sat across from her on the enormous front seat of the _Custom Royal Lancer_.

"Is it?" Donny asked with a smile.

"I picked it for us," Elli whispered. "Listen." And the vocal began:

God knows how I adore you.

I'll always be here for you.

And I will love you

Forever more.

"Forever more," Elli repeated breathlessly as she pulled Donny to her and kissed him. The song continued:

I'll always be beside you.

My love and prayers will guide you.

And I will love you

Forever more.

Vinnie and Marilyn had relinquished the front seat of the car so that they could have the darkness of the back all to themselves. Now, as the music spun through the car, a very serious Marilyn was staring deeply into Vinnie's eyes and pulling him closer to her. Soon they were locked in an embrace so deep that they looked more like a pile of clothes in a laundry basket waiting to be thrown into a washing machine. There was no sound coming from the back seat either, no conversation, just an occasional moan and something of a slurping sound that seemed quite naughty.

When I'm not near you,

My love will cheer you,

Till once again I'm

Holding you tight.

Elli had stretched out full on the front seat of the _Custom Royal Lancer_ and wrapped her arms around Donny. After a good twenty minutes of Marilyn kisses, Donny had begun to slide his hand up under her dress. She had come fully loaded: petticoats, nylons and all. Donny pushed her dress and all those petticoats up to her waist, revealing nylon stockings, garters, and soft, white cotton panties. The vision was every 50's school boy's dream, and Donny thought he could look at it forever: the softness of her stockings, her creamy thighs, those garters stretched down and hooked into the stockings; a whole lot of silk and lace that guys didn't understand at all but found absolutely intoxicating.

"You have very pretty legs," Donny whispered without taking his eyes from them.

"You think so?"

Donny's answer could have been words but only came out as gasps and sighs.

So, darling, please believe me.

I know you'll never leave me.

And I will love you

Forever more.

And I will love you

Forever more.

Arnie trudged across the gravel parking lot where rows of cars were parked facing Lake Ontario. All those horny teens were taking in the submarine races. He pulled a battered policeman's hat from his back pocket and put it on his head. Next he took out a little flashlight and shone it away from the cars just to see if it would work. It threw a strong beam of light across the street and into the wildness of Durand Eastman Park.

Arnie turned then, scanned the row of cars and found the one he was looking for, the black, white and pink one. Its windows were fogged up, and it was rocking more than a little. Arnie didn't like that at all; so he pulled his cap lower and marched toward the car.

In the back seat Marilyn's hair nearly covered her face as she devoured Vinnie's kisses.

In the front, Donny had slid his hand up to Elli's thighs and was beginning to sneak his fingers under the edge of her panties. He watched what he was doing with wide-eyed wonder. Elli, for her part, looked on, amazed at how fascinated he was with her underwear, not knowing how far she should let him go.

That's when Donny looked up for just a moment and saw the face in the window, that hollow face with the crazy eyes. Now it was wearing a policeman's hat. Arnie shone his light into the window and let it crawl over the crazy tangle of arms and legs in the back seat. Then he moved it over Elli as she lay in Donny's arms in the front seat. An angelic expression brightened her face. The beam of light flickered over Elli's legs, and then it tipped up to see Donny staring back in absolute rage.

Arnie grew angry himself. He began pounding on the window.

"Stop in the name of the law!"

In the back seat, Vinnie sat up quickly and banged his head against the ceiling of the car. Marilyn sat up too, stared at the cop, let out a gasp, and immediately grabbed her sweater to make sure that it was closed tightly around her.

Elli turned, saw Arnie in his policeman's hat, and screamed.

Arnie tried to say something, but all that came out was a harsh growl. Then the light of a police _cruiser_ flashed by him. The real police! He turned and ran before the light could find him again. The cruiser stopped. The cops saw the motion and moved in on the car. A policeman, nowhere near as big as Arnie, stepped from the cruiser with his big flashlight and peered into the Custom Royal Lancer.

"What's goin' on in there?" the officer asked.

"Just a little making out," Marilyn said with a frightened look. "Nothing serious."

"Didn't we see someone at the window of the car just now, looking in?"

Donny started to answer, but Marilyn cut him off. "No, officer, no one was there. We're all fine, honest."

"Well," the officer grumbled, "better get home." He flashed his light around the car and spotted Elli huddled in the corner. He lifted his light to her face and took in those angel eyes and that terrified expression.

"How old are you girls anyway?"

"Seventeen," Elli answered nervously.

The officer flashed his light back onto Donny. "Son, do know what statutory rape is?"

Donny shook his head.

"You kids are way too young for this sort of thing. Go home, and if you have to neck, do it on the front porch, not out here where some nutcase can get hold of you."

"We will, officer," Donny responded and, without even knowing if he could, he pushed Elli up from his lap, slid the seat forward, started the car and turned on the head lights. The officer stepped back as Donny shifted the car into reverse and roared backward almost hitting the police cruiser as he did.

"Let me drive," Vinnie called from the back seat. But Marilyn wasn't through with him. She pulled him back onto her and began kissing him again.

Meanwhile, Arnie crawled up out of the bushes and watched, waiting for the police to drive off, waiting to see if Donny and Elli would come back.

Of course, they never did. And that made him angrier still.

### Chapter 14

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

Randy Gardner (the world builder) let his fingers crawl across the desk. Then they fumbled up the stack of pizza boxes, slid under the cover of the top one; touched the cold, hardened mozzarella, clutched the rectangular prize and pulled it out of the box and to his mouth. His eyes never left his computer screen; never left the lines of code that he was pumping out to integrate the world.

From across the infinite surface of his desk, tiled images of singer Taylor Swift watched him from the screen of his laptop. She was his model for Marilyn, she and the few images he could find of Marilyn herself, that is, the ones that Vito had given him. He had no model for Elli, except the few worn out photos that Vito had carried around in his wallet for most of his life. Did anyone who ever lived have eyes like that?

Dave Montana had built them both. Constructed them in Solid Form Maya, the character-building software. Gardner was just integrating them now, adding them to the background that he had created.

Tim Farson pushed his way into the room, knocking over the stack of books that Gardner had piled there to keep out intruders. Farson flipped on the lights, and the brightness almost blinded the young man.

"Christ!" he growled.

Farson grabbed the dimmer and brought the brightness down. Then he walked slowly to the desk, flipped up the top of the pizza box and snagged the last piece.

"Anchovies! Shit!"

"If you can't stand the toppings, stay out of the pizza box," Gardner called. He spun in his chair. "Whadup?"

"Progress?"

"A lot," Gardner answered, "the Afghan simulation's complete and we're already testing it. No problems there."

"So where _are_ the problems then, in the cut scenes?"

"Nah, got them almost finished. The big one that ends the world is done. It's really, really cool, too. Let me save this, and you can have a look."

Gardner spun back to his computer, pounded out a few more keystrokes. His work was saved and he had quit the program.

He slid the pointer along the left side of his Mac, drew out the dock and clicked on a little icon showing an atomic bomb blast.

"Just a second till it loads," Gardner said. A QuickTime window popped up on the computer screen.

"Shit, no sound," Gardner whispered as he hit the speaker key again and again until the volume was turned up all the way. Farson walked around behind him, looking down at the huge display screen. A spinning beach ball suggested that the program was just about loaded. Seventeen images of Taylor Swift seemed to be watching from across the room.

A flash of light blared out from the screen. Then the sound of a massive explosion rocked the whole wing of the building: the explosion of sound from Gardner's speaker system.

Cut to: Seattle—a powerful blast of energy topples the entire downtown area,

Close ups: downtown crowds turning, rushing forward, screaming wildly, their flesh melting from their skeletal faces.

Cut to: Los Angeles—another massive explosion. Windows at the Disney Concert Hall blast outward.

Close up: Individuals impaled on the flying glass seconds before a wave of heat strikes and melts their bodies completely.

Close up: A cute little girl in a building somewhere, wearing a look of sheer terror. Her cries of "Mommy, Mommy!" rise above the explosions and shattering glass. She crawls into her closet just as searing heat roars in through her windows. Within nanoseconds, the entire room is engulfed.

Cut to: San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge silhouetted against a monstrous downtown explosion; the bridge weaves as though it were made of silly putty; then its center collapses dropping hundreds of cars into the bay and dragging the towers down on top of them.

Close ups: People in the financial district, rushing everywhere, crushed like ants as the façades of downtown buildings tumble down on top of them.

Everywhere there are explosions, screaming, the rush of wind, and the crackle of fire devouring everything in its path.

Zoom out: to a satellite view of the world where the conflagration has become so massive that it is visible from space.

"Tremendous!" Farson cheered.

"Says Doomsday, huh?" Gardner answered with a grin.

"I'll say!" Farson slapped Gardner on the back. "Have you got the retaliation scenes yet?"

"Almost done," Gardner answered. He was as thrilled with the explosion cut-scene as Farson had been, and his enthusiasm fed off of Farson's.

"Should have it early tomorrow morning if we pull another all-nighter. I'd really like to get it done."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Just keep the fuel coming."

"Pizza?"

"Pizza is good, Cokes, candy bars, get another round of strong coffee going, maybe some salads for the health freaks."

"Will do," Farson answered. "I'll send Sally around to take everyone's orders."

"Good idea. Lotsa vegans here; some don't even eat cheese."

"How do they survive?"

"Caffeine, adrenaline, and M&Ms mostly. When you're building the end of the world, you need to be wired all the time."

"No pot," Farson cautioned.

"Would slow us down, man ... alcohol, too. Caffeine is the drug of choice right now. Maybe some coke later."

"Coca Cola?"

"I don't think so."

Farson shook his head in disapproval, but Gardner wasn't even looking at him. He was buried once again in the code, drawing together the elements for the retaliation scenes. What fun.

"Anyway, keep up the good work," Farson called as he moved toward the door.

"You gonna eat that?" Gardner said without even looking at Farson. He gestured in the general direction of the small crust of pizza that Farson held between his fingers. He had carefully piled all the anchovies up on top of it.

"Nope."

"Can I have it?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Farson delivered the crust with its mound of sloppy anchovies into the groping paw of his ace world-builder.

Gardner took the crust and chomped down on it, sending a stream of olive oil all over the front of his AC/DC T-shirt.

Farson cringed and exited, remembering to turn off the light as he did.

"Not such a bad guy, really," Gardner said to the seventeen images of Taylor Swift.

She smiled. She really did look exactly like Marilyn Koslovski.

### Chapter 15

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

Lucy had to fulfill her part of the bargain, and she knew it. It worried her more than a little, of course. But it was worth it, she decided. She patted the key in her pocket now. It was the key to the elevator that went directly from the library tower to the main floor and allowed her to return to Ferenc the same way.

As she walked along she hummed her favorite tune: _"Hey, check me out. I'm the star of the show."_

All her meetings with Vito and Farson, Gardner's building of the simulation, none of it could be farther from her mind now as she entered the sleeping quarters at the ISC and pounded on someone's door, someone who would be perfect.

There was no answer. So she rapped again.

"Christ, it's after midnight," came a sleepy call. And then, someone else asked, "Who is it?"

Lucy recognized the first voice. It was Randy Gardner's.

"Lucy," she answered, "Lucy Lee. I need to have a word with you, Margot."

There was a ruffling on the other side of the door, a whispered exchange that Lucy couldn't hear, then the slamming of another door (the bathroom perhaps), a dead bolt unlocking. The door opened slightly, and Margot stood there in a nightshirt with the word "Pink" scrawled in wild letters up its side.

"What is it?" Margot asked.

"I need your help," Lucy answered as she pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.

"In the morning, huh."

"No, tonight."

"But I have a guest."

"It's very important, critical to the project."

Randy Gardner was suddenly standing behind Margot, looking rather sternly at Lucy.

"Can't it wait till morning, Luce?"

"I wish it could, but I need Margot's help right away. It means everything."

Margot and Gardner looked uncertainly at each other for a long moment.

"I'll come," she said at last. "Just let me get into something presentable."

"Of course," Lucy answered and watched as Margot ducked back into the room.

Gardner just stood looking at Lucy rather uncertainly for a long time. Then he just shrugged and winked.

Margot suddenly appeared at the door; she had straightened her hair, added eye make-up and a little soft lipstick. She had slipped into a short turtleneck sweater-dress in some shade of heather and high-heeled sandals that displayed her perfectly polished toenails.

"Am I okay?" she asked.

"Great," Lucy answered, and she grabbed Margot by the arm and pulled her from the room.

"Lock up when you go," Margot called to Randy Gardner.

"Who's goin'?" he answered. Then he closed the door on both of them and went back to bed.

#

"I never knew this was here." Margot murmured as she and Lucy headed down the road toward Murdenwald. They had not quite reached the town, had turned up a little trail that went past the ski area where a sharp, rocky embankment came closest to the edge of the road. The front of the library was built right into the rock; the door was unlocked, the rotunda well lit, even after midnight.

Margot clicked along behind Lucy, her heels echoing across the rotunda. In the stacks above, visitors sitting at tables near the railing of the each floor shifted nervously in their seats.

"Here we are," Lucy whispered as she came to the sleek elevator that Ferenc had shown her. She inserted the key, turned it and the door slid open. They stepped in.

"Can't you at least tell me where we are going?" Margot repeated. It was the fifth or sixth time she had asked, and, as she had all the other times, Lucy answered, "Someone needs to meet you."

"But why _now_?"

"Because he is about to complete some very important work for me, and I want to get it before daybreak."

"But why _me_?"

"Because, you're the preeminent mathematician on the team," Lucy answered, "and he has questions that need answering."

"Dr. Withering is far more qualified than I."

"You don't believe that," Lucy responded.

Margot shrugged, and just then the elevator reached the top of the library tower, and the door opened. This was the tower that Lucy had hiked up to with Ferenc after she had tumbled through the 13th floor. This was the room with the curved window opening up on _all the cities of the world_.

"My God," Margot answered, as she took in the sight. "There's no city like this anywhere in Europe."

"Nor anywhere else on earth. I'm sure it's some kind of hologram or something."

"Or something," Margot repeated in wonder, and at that moment Ferenc entered from the far end of the room. He was carrying an old valise filled with the pages he had copied.

"Ferenc," Lucy said stopping a few feet away from him. Ferenc's hood was low, blocking most of his face. When he heard his name, he looked up and smiled at Lucy.

"This is Margot Johansson," she continued, "the mathematician I told you about."

Ferenc set the valise on the floor, pulled back his hood and looked at Margot. She drew in a breath. The man was simply gorgeous.

"Margot, the mathematician," Ferenc said extending his hand to her. She grasped it firmly and shook it.

"Quite a handshake," he said, "for such an attractive young doctor." And then he turned to Lucy. "I've finished your copies," he said. "They are in the valise. A lot of work."

"Great, thank you."

"Want to check it?"

"Won't be necessary," she said with a shrug.

"Then at least have a glass of champagne to celebrate the completion?"

"Mister Ferenc," Margo asked, "Why is it you wanted to see me?"

"Why, indeed," Ferenc said eyeing Lucy and smiling.

"I'll explain shortly," he said, "but first let's toast the completion of my efforts for Dr. Lee."

Lucy looked at Margot and smiled at her. Margot waited a moment, considered Ferenc and those midnight blue eyes, that strong heroic jaw, and then she smiled back.

"Now, Dr. Johansson," Ferenc continued as he walked to a small bar area that was set back between the bookshelves, "certainly you, too, are interested in knowledge, am I right?"

Margot nodded. "Of course I am ..."

"But not the same knowledge as Lucy, I expect."

"Not exactly."

"Of course not. Yours is a different discipline."

"Well, yes and ..."

Ferenc brought out a bottle of Dom Perignon, and 3 glasses. He twisted the cork quickly, tugged, and it released with a muffled pop. Sparkly fumes wafted over the lip of the bottle as he poured a small amount for himself and then a full glass for each of his companions.

"To finishing!" Ferenc said as he raised his glass.

Lucy and Margot raised theirs as well.

"Now come sit, and let's talk," Ferenc added. And they did.

Just across from the bar was a light oak table surrounded by swivel chairs that afforded an arresting view of the skyline.

"How did you create that view?" Margot asked.

"Like it?"

"I do," Margot answered.

"I'll give it to you, then."

"The view?" Margot asked, "or the software and hardware that create the view?"

"Actually, I meant the city itself."

Lucy giggled. "He's already offered it to me."

"Bet you say that to all the PhDs, Ferenc."

"Only the most beautiful."

Lucy giggled again, which was far from proper for a PhD scientist, she decided as she pushed her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. But by then she had nearly finished her champagne.

"And what book can I copy for you, Doctor?" Ferenc asked Margot as he gestured to the vast library behind him.

"My God," she murmured as she looked at it for the first time. "What's in there?"

"Everything," Lucy added enthusiastically. "And all the topics are complete, everything there is to know about a subject."

"Say, for example, mathematics," Ferenc suggested.

"But that's impossible."

Ferenc stood and walked to the stacks. He looked over the volumes for no more than a few seconds and pulled a book from the shelf. Then he returned to Margot and handed it to her.

MATEMATIK was printed on the cover of the book in big gold letters.

"In Swedish," she said as she opened the book and flipped through a few pages.

"You may want to study the book for a moment," Ferenc added. "See if there is something that you would like me to copy for you."

"There's so much," Margot responded. "I need time to go through it carefully." She looked down again, flipped through a few more pages and suddenly squealed, "My God! I never knew that!"

"Perhaps I should leave," Lucy said suddenly.

"But why?" Ferenc asked.

"She could be here for days, and I need to get these pages organized."

"I'll come, too," Margot answered, and she stood with the book as though she were about to take it with her.

"I'm afraid the books can't leave this room," Ferenc said. "So, please stay a little longer and chose any pages you wish me to copy."

Margot looked up at Ferenc. His smile seemed very reassuring. She turned to Lucy, who was also nodding her agreement.

"I have a lot of keys to the elevator," Ferenc said. "Take your time, and make the right choices. I'll help you."

"You will?"

"I know a little about the matimatica," he answered with a grin.

Margot giggled. "All right then. Sounds like fun."

"Have a nice evening," Lucy added as she took the valise and stepped onto the elevator.

The moment Lucy left, Margot turned and looked at Ferenc. He was sitting back watching her. His eyes seemed so attentive, so penetrating, almost as though he was caressing her as he watched.

Margot turned back to the book and felt wonderful warmth spreading through her.

"Enjoy," Ferenc said, and he continued to sip champagne and study the attractive doctor.

Margot breathed deeply. She felt perfectly at peace, and there was an intoxicating aroma everywhere, musk and incense and other things that were almost hypnotic.

### Chapter 16

"Things are going pretty well, don't you think?" Roberts asked Vito as they walked together toward the Simulation Building. It was nearly midnight, but they had gotten a call from two members of Vito's creative team telling them that they'd had a breakthrough.

"I hate to admit it but I'm actually feeling okay about this project all of a sudden," Vito replied.

"Goes against your nature to be optimistic, doesn't it?"

"Optimism is for dumb-fucks destined for failure."

"Whoa, listen ta you," Roberts said.

"Still, at this very moment—it ain't bad."

"No it ain't, hon," Roberts responded, "so why not tell me a little more about Elli."

"Right now, while we're walking?"

"Sure. I can record, walk, n' chew gum, too," she added as she pulled out the little recorder.

"Good," Vito answered.

"So, come on, tell me what happened next? After your adventures at the submarine races."

Vito's face froze for a moment. He shook his head. He hated to think of what happened next.

"Who _is_ this bitch who keeps digging into my private life?" he asked.

"A bitch who's helpin' your ass out a whole lot, hon. One who thinks that behind that gruff exterior is ..."

"Don't say it," Vito groused. "Christ, don't say it. The last thing I need is redemption. I'll tell you the story. But it's not pleasant, that's for damn sure. The next big thing that I remember was absolutely horrific."

"I'd gotten very close to Elli by then. Given her my school ring, even my letter sweater."

"You were a jock?" Roberts asked with a fascinated grin.

"Point guard—rock star! I had it all, baby," Vito said. "I was a damn good running back, too, until all the other guys got bigger than me."

"You grew fast?"

"Tallest kid in the eighth grade."

"Me, too," Roberts added. "It sucked."

"Not for a guy. Guys have most of their fights in the eighth grade, and if they manage to win them, people generally leave them alone for the rest of their lives."

"Wish it were like that where I come from. _After_ 8th grade was when all the fightin' started."

"Anyway, Vinnie and Marilyn were getting pretty close too just about then. So we decided to celebrate, go to Niagara Falls, which is only about 70 miles from Rochester. It was really run-down on the American side in the '50's. Hell, you could pretty much walk right into the Niagara River and ride on over the falls without anyone stopping you."

"No way."

"You could. Anyway, Arnie managed to be in the same burger joint we were in when we planned the trip, and he overhead all the details."

"Shit!"

"Yeah! That crazy mind of his began working overtime."

NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK—AUGUST 1958

Arnie had taken the bus to Niagara Falls. Using the complex thinking he hid so well, he had calculated the exact time and place that Elli, Donny, Vinnie, and Marilyn would arrive at the falls. It had cost him most of his monthly allowance to make the trip via Greyhound, and he would be very, very angry if somehow the group made his calculations incorrect.

It seemed to Arnie that they would visit the American side of the falls, that they would park that black and pink _Custom Royal Lancer_ in the parallel parking slots along the east side and walk past the falls so they could see the Niagara River before it plunged over its hundred foot drop. There were few barriers at this spot, he knew; you could actually wade out into the shallows along the side of the river, sit on a rock, and have your picture taken as only a few feet farther out the current rushed by. And out in that current you could be swept over the falls to your death.

Death, in fact, was exactly what Arnie was contemplating for that little girl he loved, the girl who talked to statues. She now belonged to a guitar player who had given her his ring.

Arnie sat on a bench across from the river overlook and took a bite of the sandwich he had brought along with him. It was bologna, butter, and mustard on Wonderbread. It wadded up into a ball and caught in his throat as he tried to swallow it. He washed it down with a gulp of milk from his thermos and then finalized his plan.

The group would be walking single file, he hoped, probably led by Marilyn, the girl who was most responsible for leading Elli to her new boyfriend. Arnie's action would be swift and simple. As the group walked along beside the river, he would rush them, snatch Elli, drag her into the river, and then go with her over the falls as they clung to each other in death.

Arnie waited patiently. There were very few people to watch on this particular Sunday. A little girl toddled along beside a river, too far out of her father's reach. She could easily have fallen into the river and been swept away. Honeymoon couples strolled hand in hand, kissed almost too freely, and drew smiles from older couples who had made the same stroll along the river in their youth. The newlyweds shared a love he would soon share with Elli; she was sweet enough to understand him, he felt. She might have even come to love him if he could have gotten to know her in the right way. But that wouldn't happen now. Marilyn had matched her up with Donny, and now there was only one real way to have her all to himself.

Arnie watched a pair of older women in their Sunday best as they made the stroll; suddenly the women stopped, looked ahead of them and shook their heads in strong disapproval. Arnie turned to see what they were looking at, and there they were, Marilyn and Vinnie, Donny and Elli each couple walking arm in arm, stopping to take in the scenery, just as often stopping to kiss and to hug right there in public as though they, too, were newlyweds. Their hands were all over each other, too; sometimes a boy would stroke his girl's backside or even brush against her breast. They were only teens and it was most improper in the eyes of the elderly ladies and in the eyes of Arnie, too.

He tensed. The moment was coming, his best opportunity to execute his plan. And almost as though he had scripted it, there was suddenly no pedestrian traffic at all. The old women turned and began walking the other way; no other tourists were in sight. At the same time the couples separated, walking individually as they looked out across the river and the falls.

Elli took off her shoes and held them in her hand as she waded into the eddies beside the raging Niagara. And that's when Arnie saw her more closely, saw that she was no longer the sweet little girl who talked to angels. Someone had put blush in her cheeks and heavy red lipstick on her mouth; her white cotton blouse was open and her breasts were large and firm as though they weren't her breasts at all, and of course they weren't; they were lifted, padded to entice her boy. Her wide pink skirt flared out above petticoats that gave her a shape that was all too provocative he thought.

How had it happened? Arnie asked. And then he knew.

Directly in front of Elli, Marilyn strode down the sidewalk in her penny loafers; that same blush colored her cheeks, that same dark red lipstick was smeared across her lips; her breasts were as full as Elli's had become; her white blouse was unbuttoned half way down inviting stares from the boys; her wide skirt with those petticoats rounded her hips, gave her the look of ...

Arnie realized suddenly that he had reached into his pocket and was stroking himself as he looked at Marilyn. And just like that, his well-made plans changed completely; she was the devil; she was corrupting his little girl; she was the one who brought her to Donny; she was the one who had to be punished, eradicated from Elli's life and from the world. And with a roar, Arnie lurched from the bench and went barreling across the street toward the beautiful blond. The four friends turned, but they were caught by surprise. Arnie lifted Marilyn into his arms and dragged her deep into the current of the Niagara. Vinnie saw and ran after them, tried to catch Arnie as Marilyn looked back at him in desperation. But Arnie was way ahead of the boy. He turned and flung the screaming Marilyn into the roaring rapids, caught the spray in his face as he watched her wave frantically above the waves for just a moment, and then she was sucked under and swept over the precipice.

Vinnie grabbed at Arnie as he struggled back to the shore, but the larger man pushed him aside easily. Donny rushed at Arnie as he marched from the river, rolling into him in a perfect tackle that sent Arnie sprawling. The large man regained his feet, turned and threw Donny to the ground, then knelt over him, grabbed Donny by his hair, and began pounding his head against the sidewalk.

"Stop it!" Elli cried as she ran at him. Arnie stood. He thought for a moment of rushing at her and delivering the same fate he had administered to her obscene friend. But just then Donny reached up, grabbed Arnie, and pulled him back down. The huge young man turned on Donny again, slamming him hard against the sidewalk again and again until Donny loosened his grasp and Arnie was able to regain his footing and run.

Donny felt blood spilling on the sidewalk behind him. Suddenly Elli was there, cradling him, tearing off pieces of her petticoats to form a bandage for him. Pressing his face to her breasts, feeling his blood pour over her shirt, sobbing. Frantic tourists began rushing toward them from everywhere; a policeman was among them. But over it all, Donny could hear Vinnie's hysterical cries as he gazed madly into the rapids hoping against hope that somehow Marilyn would emerge unharmed on the rocks below.

### Chapter 17

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

Dave Montana (the character builder) was an artist and probably a wizard, too. He had scanned-in several photographs of people that Vito and Lucy provided. He built out figures for them and then painted their features onto the shapes. It hadn't happened quickly, of course. It took many days for each character. Next he played with their actions, considering how each one moved; he gave them a basic walk, a run, different positions, sitting, standing, and lying down.

Vito watched as the characters marched across the screen, turned, did some action that was important. He patted Dave on the back, "Impressive," he said.

Then he moved back to the workstation of Assif Jahala, (the personality maker). A researcher from North Carolina State, Assif had added an emotion engine to each character. Now the characters were able to express different feelings, showing the expressions with their faces, their posture, the things they said.

The synthetic speech system that Jahala implemented was remarkable, light years beyond anything that other workers in the same field could ever have imagined.

"Very nice stuff," Vito said to the even smaller man from Mumbai. He turned to Montana and Roberts, who were looking over his shoulder. "We're definitely getting close," he said.

Montana gave him a big thumbs-up. Roberts smiled broadly.

"But we are not done with our demonstration," Jahala said to Vito in that proper English that they speak in India. "Please, go stand right over there."

The famed producer gave Lieutenant Roberts a wink and walked right to the spot that Jahala had indicated. An entire area in the corner of the lab had been painted a bright chromatic green. All around the top, bottom and sides of the area, small fixtures that looked like cameras pointed into the space.

"What are you going to key me over, the landscape of the moon?" Vito asked with a grin.

"This isn't green screen cinematography," Jahala answered with a little laugh. "But you never know. Ready?"

"Ready."

Jahala clicked a large button on his computer screen, and the hard drives connected to his super computer whirred up to speed. The lights surrounding the area flickered, and suddenly a figure popped into the space next to Vito, a small frail girl of about seventeen. Her hair was dark; her eyes were enormous, sparkling with a magical glow. They made her face radiant with happiness.

"Elli," Vito whispered. "My God!" He stood there for a moment, not believing his eyes.

"Touch her, Mr. Vito," Jahala called.

Vito reached forward and let his hand brush Elli's shoulder. It was solid; the heavy wool sweater that she always wore scratched against his fingertips.

"Amazing," he called to Jahala.

Elli turned toward Vito and raised her hand to his cheek. He felt her touch. She slid her fingers gently behind his head, drew him to her, and kissed him. It was that warm, lingering Elli kiss that he still remembered so well.

Vito held the kiss for a long moment, and then he heard Roberts cheering as she looked on. "You've done it, Assif!"

"Thought we might as well start with a character someone knew inside and out," Jahala answered. "The data on her personality feeds her actions and emotions. The fact that Mr. Vito was in love with her allowed him to give us great insights into everything about her. It helped us make her even more real."

"Cool, man," Montana said.

"Thanks," Jahala whispered. "There is so much more to do, of course. But this is certainly a nice start."

"I think it's spectacular," the lieutenant answered. "What do you think, Donny?"

Vito turned toward her, smiled a little, tried to speak, but couldn't. Tears filled his eyes. He was trying to hold them back and failing miserably.

Jahala looked on with a self-satisfied smile.

"Wish there was something else I could do for her," he whispered to Roberts. "I think I have the eyes right. But I'd like to give her something _special_ , something she never had before, something she needed badly in her real life."

Roberts shrugged. "That would change her, wouldn't it?"

"Not if I do it right," Jahala answered. He loved the attention he was getting from the beautiful African American. "I'd like to give her a gift, lieutenant. What would _you_ give your virtual character as you began a role playing game?"

Roberts thought for a moment, considered the times she played _Worlds of Warcraft_ and _Doom_ and then simply said, "Strength!"

"Very good," Jahala said. And he moved his mouse over the slider on the computer screen and pushed Elli's strength up as high as it would go.

Now she really did have a magical secret.

### Chapter 18

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

Lucy sat on the edge of her chair gesturing broadly to Vito. Her skirt kept riding up as she spoke, and whenever she noticed it she would pull down on it nervously. She didn't want anything to distract Vito from the points she had to make. Her starched white shirt made her look and feel very business-like, and that was good, she thought. These were older guys, after all, used to having everyone dressed up. She longed for a good form-fitting pair of jeans and her _Science is Golden_ T-shirt. But today she was selling ideas, so she was wearing a suit. What a drag.

Vito leaned across his huge U-shaped desk, every bit as engaged in the conversation as Lucy. His tie was loosened around his neck. His white button-down collar was open but it still dug into the soft edges of his neck. Funny how you get your baby fat back as you age, Lucy realized. In spite of the situation, the thought brought a wide smile to her face. The smile didn't stop Vito, didn't discourage him at all. Lucy decided it didn't matter what she did; ideas were all that _really_ mattered to Vito now that Elli was back.

The entire wall beside Vito's desk was covered with corkboard, and pinned everywhere on it were images of Elli Capadonico, enlargements of the few photos he had of her. Talk about an obsession!

There was a firm knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer, Tim Farson made his way into the office. He was eating an apple.

"How are those prototypes coming?" he asked.

"Thought you didn't give a fuck," Vito answered.

"I have to, don't I." Farson took another bite.

"We've tested the holy hell out of them," Lucy answered. "We've built sandboxes and run out every non-player character we can come up with. Used the most advanced AI we can buy, and there's still that problem."

"A bug?"

"Not a bug," Lucy answered, "a problem!"

"Look," Vito said. "We've got a world that's going to end. We can put people in it and blow them up, but we all know that's not enough. If we want them to feel any sense of realism, any sense of loss, we have to build lives that they can get sucked into for a while. We want them to feel that they're a part of the world. We want them to forget that it's a game and that they're going to die in it."

"Even that jerk Trang," Lucy added. "We want to stick him in and let him get lost in the experience."

"He's a megalomaniac," Farson grumbled.

"Good!" Vito answered. "We can take advantage of that, give him a megalomaniac job he'll never want to give up. It'll be better than running that shit-box country of his."

"With all those nukes," Lucy added.

"Immersion," Farson said as though he were trying out the latest buzzword.

"Exactly!"

"But in our current games, the players keep hitting the wall," Lucy said as she spun toward Farson on her chair. She could tell by the movement of his eyes that all he was interested in was in the way her skirt was hiking up on her thighs, and that pissed her off.

"Hitting the wall?" Farson asked raising his eyes up to her face at last.

"The wall of the simulation," she answered. "When they want to do something that goes against our story, our system just won't let them do it. The program crashes, or they can't complete the action, or some damn warning notice comes up and says, _'You are unable to continue.'_ It breaks the immersion. There are things they just can't do because it screws up the story. We've been trying to force them back on track by creating characters who hold them to the plot."

"Not exactly sure I follow," Farson responded as he munched the apple.

"Show him an example," Lucy said.

"Okay then," Vito responded standing and taking Farson by the arm, "Come on."

"Where?"

Vito pulled Farson to the back of the room, to a thick metal door with a large warning sign in front of it. The sign said: "Simulation in Progress." It was flashing rhythmically.

"We don't usually like to interrupt these things when they're in progress, but what the fuck, you're a tough guy, right, Tim?"

Farson scowled at Vito; he didn't like being baited.

Vito took out his keys and unlocked the door.

"Going with him?" Vito asked Lucy. She shivered at the thought.

"Don't think so. No. Really, can't!"

Vito winked at her, pushed the door open and gestured for Farson to enter.

#

Tim Farson stepped into the Afghan Desert and immediately felt the wind begin whipping cruelly against his face. Only a few yards to his left was a battered ruin, the remains of some ancient building that still might offer a little shelter from that piercing wind. Farson pulled his shirt collar up, pulled it forward so that it covered as much of his face and mouth as possible, and then he strode out strongly toward the place.

Through what seemed like a painful eternity, Farson fought his way to the side of the building and inched around to the door. That side of the building faced the wind and offered no protection at all. Farson pounded hard on the door. Through it he could hear two men arguing and cursing in Pashto. He pounded harder. The door opened, and, out of a haze that had to be hashish, came one of the ugliest faces Farson had ever seen. It was horrendously obese with a grizzled beard that grew unevenly out of the craters in the fatman's cheeks. Large moles and welts filled in between the craters, foothills to a mountainous nose as bulbous and disfigured as the face from which it rose. His eyes were small and beady. A narrow slit of a mouth with thin, cracked lips revealed the fatman's crooked, rotting teeth.

The fatman immediately assessed Farson's nationality.

"Get in here, American Pig," he rumbled in a thunderous voice.

Farson stepped back, tried to turn, but the wind slammed into him forcing him into the dilapidated ruin. As soon as he came through the doorway, the fatman grabbed his arms and swung them behind his back. Farson tried to shake himself free and would have succeeded, but at that moment the fatman's counterpart, a rather weaselly looking creature, grabbed an AK 47 and pointed it right into the middle of Farson's face.

"Kneeling down now, please," the weasel man said, and Farson immediately obeyed.

The fatman fastened Farson's arms behind him, and when the American was totally subdued, the fatman pulled him to his feet and forced him into the center of the room.

"American Pig," the fatman called again and spit into Farson's face. The spittle hung obscenely from his upper lip and then drooled down over his chin. Farson tried to raise a shoulder to wipe it away but the fatman punched him hard in the stomach and drove him to the floor.

"We deal with you later," the weasel man hissed.

A naked light bulb dangled from the ceiling casting harsh shadows all around. There were no windows and yet the wind shrieked through the edges of the structure as if it were made of straw. Farson slumped into a corner, and when he did, he saw that the Afghanis had already moved past him and were now closing on another American who lay on a cot in the corner of the room.

"Time for questioning, Commander," the fatman rumbled in deliberate but barely intelligible English, "Here you do not ask, you only tell."

The man on the cot raised his head. Farson gasped. It was Charles Martin, Lucy's guy, a volunteer for simulation training. Charles Martin was fifteen pounds lighter than he had been when Farson had seen him last.

"We need to understand your purpose here," the fatman said to Martin. "You must tell us everything."

Only a madman would challenge such an adversary, Farson realized, certainly not a well-trained soldier. The prudent thing would be to try and find some way to gain a feeling of sympathy and support from these captors, no matter how they treated him. But Farson could tell that Martin wasn't in the mood for that.

"Where the hell am I?" he cursed.

"Where are you?" the weasel man mimicked. "More foolish questions. Well, I can answer partly, commander. If you don't cooperate, YOU ARE IN YOUR TOMB."

The fatman rose to his feet at once, grabbed a large bucket of water and carried it over to the cot where Martin lay.

"You know the purpose of this, do you not, Commander?" the fatman asked.

Farson was sure that Martin did know, and yet he said nothing. The fatman went back toward the door and returned with a board about seven feet in length. Straps had been screwed into the board to hold neck, arms, hands and feet.

"Now, your mission, Commander, is?" the fatman asked.

Martin gazed at the board, and then at his captors. "It's a simple peace keeping mission," he murmured.

_Show no sign of fear_ , Farson urged silently from across the room, _show no sign of fear_.

"Commander," the fatman continued, "We have informations that tell us otherwise."

Charles Martin said nothing.

The weasel man returned from the back of the room with a stack of large towels. "Cooperation is required, Commander," the weasel man said, "because hurting you this way gives us joy."

"Peacekeeping mission," Martin repeated.

"So you've erected a barbed wire enclosure over a large part of our valley to do what?"

"Distribute food," Martin answered. ( _Show no sign of fear in your responses_.)

"Distribute food or conduct some kind of test?"

"Weapons testing?" Martin said sitting up in surprise. "Why in God's name would we do that here in Afghanistan?"

"You're good actor, Commander," the fatman said to him. "But you seem tired. You need refreshment. Perhaps a little swim might help you clear your head."

The weasel man pushed the end of his rifle into Martin's ribs, backed him off the cot and onto the board that had been placed parallel to it.

"Please to take your place," the weasel man said, again pressing the end of his rifle deep into Martin's ribs. "As you Americans say, 'You know drill.'"

"We have learned that you are planning some kind of testing, and you haven't even tried to evacuate the area, Commander," the fatman bullied.

"There are no tests!" Martin said summoning all his courage. "That's crazy. Why would we do that?"

Farson's body tensed. He knew that Martin had trained for this moment, had experienced the kind of torture they would be using on him, knew what he was in for. But at that moment even Farson wondered if the training was really such a good idea, for he could see the panic and revulsion rising in Martin. He'd never want to go through anything like it again.

"Lie down!" the fatman muttered.

Maintaining as much outward calm as he possibly could, Martin lay on the board and allowed the guard to strap down his hands and feet until he was entirely immobilized.

"Is not too late, Commander," the weasel man jeered. "I know you understand what we are about to do. Why not cooperate?"

"I am cooperating," Martin answered. And as soon as he said those words, the guard took a towel from beside the board, twisted it into a tight knot and pushed it into Martin's mouth. Martin's mind raced frantically. He was going to experience it again, not in the controlled environment of training run by experienced American military trainers, but by heartless butchers who would just as soon kill him as not, and probably would if they got even the least little bit sloppy. The fatman dropped his rifle, gathered up another towel and wrapped it over Martin's face.

Panic flamed in the commander's mind. He suddenly began to pull wildly at his restraints. Felt the bones in his left wrist nearly break against them.

"If you have answers for us, open and close your fists," the guard called to Martin. Martin opened his fists but did not close them again. He held them open, fingers wide apart challenging his captors with all his will.

"My God, stop this," Farson called. He struggled to his feet. "You can't do this to him."

The fatman waddled over to Farson, "It is only an exercise, you! Is virtual water, virtual waterboarding," and then he laughed a cruel rumbling laugh that exploded against the walls of the building and shook Farson to his very soul. He lifted Farson by his shirt and pushed him against the wall. Farson hung there for a long moment looking dead-on into those beady eyes and that pockmarked rubble of a face.

"We will proceed," the fatman cursed, "and when we finish you will be next." Then he dropped Farson against the wall and let him lay there as he returned to Charles Martin.

Martin felt the men lifting the foot of the board onto a small platform. He now lay with his feet above his head, his arms and legs completely immobilized, his mouth gagged with a twisted towel, his head wrapped in another thick towel.

"Time for your swim," the weasel man jeered, and suddenly Martin felt water sweeping over his face, pouring into his mouth and nose; his breathing passages were flooded, he was choking, gagging, coughing wildly. The water continued to sweep over him. He was drowning. He struggled in desperation, felt the restraints tear at his wrists and ankles, but that was nothing compared to the fact that he was suffocating; the water kept coming. Suddenly he knew he was going to strangle to death. And, at that moment of absolute horror, the flow of water stopped.

"Ready to tell us about your mission, Commander?" the fatman called into Martin's flooded ears. "Flex your hands for us. Let us know that you are willing to be reasonable."

It will be over soon, Farson told himself, as he watched Martin gasp and struggle for air. He knew that waterboarding did not kill people usually. There could be brain damage from lack of oxygen maybe, he was aware of that, damage to their lungs, broken bones if they struggled too hard. He knew Martin had to control his fear, limit his panic. That would minimize the damage. But then another thought struck Farson. The captors had to know when to interrupt the torture or they _would_ kill him!

The question that plagued Farson in that brief moment was how good were these virtual captors, how well had they been programmed to know the technique? Good enough to limit the torture and not kill the man?

Farson struggled to his feet once again; he was prepared to charge the fatman. He'd chance it, he decided. Martin might die otherwise. And then he saw something he couldn't believe: Martin flared his fingers out in defiance once again.

"I see," the fatman bellowed angrily.

"Your friend is asking for it," he said turning quickly to Farson, and then he immediately grabbed the water bucket, and just like that, water was flowing over Martin's face again, into his mouth and nose, eyes and ears.

Martin felt himself drowning once more.

That was it! Farson charged the fatman, slammed into his back, knocked him from his feet, was about to kick him squarely in the face. The weasel man grabbed the AK 47 then and raised it above his head, about to bring it down swiftly on Farson, ending his heroic effort once and for all.

"Enough!" A voice called suddenly.

And with those words the weasel man froze, grimaced in disappointment, then lowered his rifle, and stepped back. Their leader, the warlord Omar, made his way into the dark room, smiled an evil grin, and flashed his deadly blue eyes.

"And so, Dr. Farson," Omar began, "Just what made you want to join us this evening?"

Farson turned his hateful stare to Omar and clenched his fists.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Omar said, "but if you want to free yourself and your friend, you'll have to tell us something."

Farson said nothing.

"You realize, don't you, that water-boarding is not torture. Your own government says so. Of course, at this point your friend Charles Martin might not agree with them. I can see that he has learned to resist. That's unfortunate for both of you because we have more persuasive means."

He reached for Martin's hand, pressed the fingers open and grabbed a single finger. Then turning toward the weasel man, he nodded, and the guard's eyes lit up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vice grip. He clamped it onto the edge of Martin's finger and with one swift yank he pulled the fingernail from him.

Martin bellowed in pain.

"See, Dr. Farson, we can be very persuasive," Omar said softly. "Now, are you ready to tell us a little something?"

Farson froze.

"How about you, Commander, ready to talk? You have more fingers, but unfortunately we are running out of time."

Martin continued to stare at his enemy with all the fury he could find.

"Very well then," Omar said at last, "Get these fools into the truck and we will acquaint them with someone who can employ even stronger practices."

The two guards flanked Martin and Farson then. The fatman unstrapped Martin and pulled him to his feet; the young commander could barely stand. The weasel man blindfolded Farson and tied his hands behind his back. Then they did the same to Martin, and together the two guards led the Americans through the door and out of the building.

Farson could feel the cool night air and could hear voices around him: men, women and children jeering. He felt a series of sharp blows strike against his knees and heard the harsh yelp of children enjoying the game of hating him.

He heard a woman near him curse in English, "American Pig!" And then he felt her spit blow onto his neck and drool down into his shirt. He struggled with his captors and received a hard slam across the back for his efforts.

The guards brought Farson to a halt. Then suddenly he was yanked forward, pushed through another doorway, the blindfold was pulled from his face and he was staring into the cold inquisitive eyes of ...

Dr. Lucy Lee!

### Chapter 19

"My God," Farson called. "Do you know what they're doing in there?"

"Torturing Charles Martin," Vito said coldly.

"And you're letting them do it to him?" Farson said turning to Lucy. "Aren't you almost engaged, for Christ sakes?"

"I read Vito's script," she said.

"And it's okay with you?"

"Charles read it, too," Vito answered. "He knew exactly what he was getting into."

"Waterboarding?"

"He knew it was coming. That does skew the results, of course, but we had to make sure that the thing was safe."

"Safe?" Farson was screaming now.

"They're pulling his fucking fingernails off."

"Only one."

"And you're okay with that, Dr. Lee?"

"No, I'm not," she said, as a very troubled expression darkened her eyes.

"But Charles is okay with it," she continued, "and I respect his wishes."

"Jesus Christ!" Farson moaned. "I can't believe it."

"Anyway, you did get the point, right?" Vito asked.

"What fucking point is that?" Farson screamed.

"Free will," Lucy said. "You wanted to kill the guards and Omar stopped you, both from killing the guards and getting killed yourself."

"You could have done that a million different ways," Farson said, his voice only now lowering to something like a conversational tone.

"I know," Lucy answered, "and we have to identify as many as we can, because the next time Omar steps in and stops everything, it won't seem as real anymore."

"How can we give these players a sense of free will when we have a story to tell?" Vito asked.

"What difference does it make?" Farson asked. "Their damn world is going to end in a few hours anyway."

Vito jumped to his feet, and together he and Lucy advanced on Farson.

"That's just it," Vito said more loudly than he wanted to. "It's what happens in those hours before the world blows up that will determine whether or not Trang and the rest of the shit-mongers of the world believe the simulation."

"He was right in saying we had to give him more than numbers," Lucy said. "He has to _feel_ it. He has to care about his world and then, when he cares about it the most, we take it away from him."

"He'll lose everything just like that," Vito said snapping his fingers loudly, "and then he'll understand."

"You dumb bohunk!" Lucy shouted at Farson.

The scientist turned toward her with a look of absolute disbelief. "You said _what_?"

"Sorry," she said pulling nervously on her skirt as she sat back down. "Just got carried away."

"People need a sense of free will to make the game real," Vito continued. "It took Dr. Lee a long time to make me understand that. But she finally got through to me. If players don't think they're effecting the course of events, then they don't buy into the simulation."

"It's the God Problem," Lucy whispered shaking her head.

"The what?"

"How do you create a world people feel satisfied living in, if they don't have free will?"

"I hardly think that poor old Charles Martin had any sense of free will in that compound with those ugly bastards waterboarding him."

"Oh, but he did," Lucy answered. "If he found the right way to escape, we would have let him. But if he tried some others, we would have blocked them. Omar's appearance wasn't just to stop you from getting killed; it was to save Charles, too. He did have the chance to give in, didn't he?"

"Yes," Farson answered sarcastically, "but ..."

"And he did have the chance to die trying, but we wouldn't allow that," Lucy answered.

"So you just pulled his fingernails out instead," Farson said shaking his head. "You want me alive so you can blow me up later."

"We don't want Trang to take his private secretary and run off to some tropical island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean where he'll be safe with a supply of great wine, a gourmet chief and his own personal piece of ass," Vito growled, "we want to keep him in town so we can blast him into fucking mashed potatoes."

"It's the God Problem," Lucy repeated. "We build the universe and humanity, and we find that they won't be happy unless we give them free will."

"The God Problem," Farson mused, "And you're God."

"We're the gods of this world," Vito answered, "and let me tell you it's a genuine pain in the ass."

Farson sat down in a chair and just shook his head. "This is fucking unbelievable!"

"No, it's not," Lucy countered. "That's just the point. It IS believable."

"Tell me that desert and those guards weren't believable?"

"Christ, were they."

"What we want to make the most believable is the _gameplay;_ that's what counts."

"And you have to give the players a sense of free will for that to work?" Farson asked.

"Ka-pow!" Vito answered snapping his finger at Farson as though it were the barrel of a gun.

"So how long until you can come up with a fix?" Farson growled.

"How far up your ass is your head?" Vito asked in exasperation. "There is no fix, Tim. All we can do is try to fill as many holes as we can."

"We're working on it," Lucy added, "building these little prototype tests where we create a situation, go into it and then see how many different ways we can use intelligent agents to keep things on track."

Farson stood, paced back and forth across the floor. He didn't like the idea that there might be holes in THE DOOMSDAY GAME no matter how hard they worked.

As he walked back toward Vito's desk, he looked up at the wall, at all the pictures of Elli, at all the computer monitors wall-papered with her image.

"Is she part of some test you're running?" Farson asked pointing to Elli.

"She is," Lucy answered softly.

"Looks more like you've got your own little project going here, Vito, your own little fantasy?"

Vito jumped to his feet, fists clenched, eyes boiling, pain burning like fire across his chest and into his arms.

"Don't ..." Lucy said to both of them. "She's just a model we're using to develop another kind of intelligent agent. She's a girl Vito knew very well, so we have a lot of insight into her personality. Modeling her is helping our research."

Farson took a step backwards and studied Vito. A look of disgust crossed his face. "Sure she is," he said, and then he turned to Lucy.

"You're building a fantasyland for yourself here, too, Dr. Lee?"

"Just trying to solve the God Problem," she answered.

Farson shook his head as he glanced from one of them to the other.

"Stay on topic," he muttered as he walked from the room. He still felt the sting of the windblown desert sand in his face, still felt his stomach churning from the sight of

Charles Martin's waterboarding, still felt concerns that Vito was a loose cannon firing off in all directions, trying to solve a problem as mythical (despite what Dr. Lee had said) as God himself.

"Virtual characters, virtual bullshit!" he muttered.

### Chapter 20

It was the jostling that woke Charles Martin. He ached from the beating he had received at the hands of his captors, and the blow to the back of his head was especially painful. Martin felt himself thrown from side to side as the truck jittered across the uneven terrain.

In the next instant he heard shots being fired. Someone was shooting at the truck, and he heard the driver cursing back at the snipers.

"Pigs! Fucking animals!" Others in the truck were jabbering wildly, trying to advise the driver, who would have none of it.

More shots fired, more careening wildly across the desert floor, more rolling from side to side, slamming Martin's poor wounded arms and legs against the walls of the truck again and again.

Martin heard rounds of gunfire riddle the vehicle, heard wild cries from the driver. The road was now completely gone, Martin realized, because the truck was bounding even more wildly up and down as it raced forward. There was a yawning sound too, from the very rear of the truck, a swinging and slamming and swinging again like some rusty gate being opened and closed.

That's what it was! Martin realized. The door at the back of the truck had somehow managed to work its way open and now was swinging wide open, then slamming shut, then swinging wide open again.

When the door opened fully this time, Martin could make out the swirl of stars high above the blackness of the desert. They called Martin, but to where? Into oblivion, miles away from any village or American encampment. Martin slid carefully toward the back of the truck, tried to find something to hang onto so that he could see if there was any sign of life out there in the black.

The shooting had faded now. Martin was not sure if that was bad or good. Someone out there might have come to his aid.

The men in the cab of the truck were now arguing louder than ever. And suddenly the truck accelerated and began to climb. In that instant Martin was thrown backwards. His fingers reached desperately for the edge of the door but to no avail. He was thrown out of the back of the truck and into the wildness of the desert night.

#

Almost complete blackness everywhere, Martin realized, as he gathered himself and struggled to his feet. Every muscle in his body burned with pain. In the darkness, it was impossible to make out anything around him. He could tell direction by the stars, of course; maybe it would help.

"The nearest town was due west," he said aloud; he doubted that they'd traveled far enough to pass it. So that's where he headed.

He struck out hoping that the town was near enough to reach or that someone would find him along the way. And that _is_ what happened. As he trudged along through the desert, as the sun began to rise and he realized that he must find shelter from the heat that was already building around him, suddenly a door opened.

It was right near the edge of the mountains, not really against them, not really in any freestanding structure. The door was in the desert itself, sand, mountains, and sky. Martin, who was so caught up in the adventure, so trapped in the reality, had to jog his memory to recognize Donald Vito beckoning to him from the doorway. And there was Dr. Farson, all smiles. Others were there, too: Randy Gardner, Assif Jahala, all cheering. And in the very back of the crowd was the pretty face of his Lucy, hanging back, pushing her glasses up on her nose as she always did when she was nervous.

"Great work, Chuck Boy," Farson called as he grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of the virtual world, patting him on the back as he did.

"Thought they had you," Vito answered. He brushed the young man's arm gently and saw that Martin winced with pain.

Martin immediately headed to the back of the room, and everyone cleared the way for him. Lucy was there, trembling, looking nervously aside as though she wasn't fully aware of what had just happened.

"You made it," she said trying to hold back a sob. "You're a hero. The first person to make it though a complete ISC storybased simulation prototype."

"And I've got the bruises to prove it," Martin answered with a crooked smile.

Lucy laughed and then turned serious. "They'll want to debrief you, you know. They're planning a complete After Action Review."

"I've got quite a story to tell," Martin began and then raised his voice so that everyone could hear. "How about an AAR tomorrow morning, after I get a little sleep?"

"I think you're entitled to that," Vito answered before Farson could deny the request. But of course he wouldn't anyway. He alone had witnessed Martin's ordeal firsthand.

Lucy pulled closer to Martin and whispered, "mind if I spend a little time with you this evening?"

"I'm shot to hell, Luce," he answered.

"Just a little? Please, baby," she said as she kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Okay," he whispered. God, how he'd dreamed of her, wanted her; it was those dreams that kept him sane through the darkest nights of his torture.

"Just let me shower first, okay? Stop by in thirty minutes."

"You got it," Lucy answered, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and then ran from the room like a happy schoolgirl. Martin turned to the gathering, smiled sheepishly, and then staggered out the door toward the sleeping compound.

### Chapter 21

Thirty minutes later, an extremely horny Dr. Lucy Lee knocked on the door of Charles Martin's apartment and was amazed to see him greet her in his navy blue pajamas and white terrycloth bathrobe. He never dressed that casually around her. But tonight he was exhausted. She could see it in his face.

Lucy reached up, wrapped her arms around Charles and kissed him. Her tongue traced the edges of his lips, but he did not respond. Charles pulled back from her, shaking his head. "Remember your promise," he whispered.

He began twisting that damn ring he wore, Lucy noticed, the Promise-Keepers ring, the one that she (in a moment of absolutely unbridled stupidity, she later decided) had agreed to respect.

"Not tonight, Luce," he said, "I'm beat to shit."

Lucy lowered her arms from him. "Sorry," she murmured sadly.

"Hey, you wouldn't believe how much I missed you," he added as he pulled her to him and hugged her again. He was a good eight or nine inches taller than she and built like the US Army version of a Greek god. His huge arms and upper body smothered her.

"Missed you incredibly," he sighed.

"So then let me just sit with you for a while, okay?" she asked. _Why don't you just take me, damn it. I know you want it as much as I do. Do we really have to wait till we get married and you've kept all your stupid promises before we can have a good, long, satisfying fuck?_

She didn't say those things, of course. She knew Charles well enough to understand that no direct confrontation would ever work with him. But all her hours in the presence of Ferenc had made her understand something else.

There were other ways!

"Let's just sit and talk for a few moments, okay?" she asked.

Charles sighed and nodded, and she could tell he did want her as badly as she wanted him. He was having an incredible struggle with himself. Maybe she could take advantage of it.

"Mind if I use your bathroom for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure, yeah, go ahead. I'll be waiting for you on the couch."

Lucy nodded, turned and trundled off into the bathroom while Charles made his way toward the couch where he loosened the belt on his bathrobe and then collapsed in total exhaustion.

Inside Charles's sparkly-clean bathroom Lucy yanked off her boots and squeezed out of her tight fitting jeans.

"Where are they?" she murmured aloud as she rummaged through the drawers in the sink cabinet. "Where the fuck _are_ they?"

Charles was getting hard whether he wanted to or not. Lucy looked better than he had even remembered, clear complexion, beautiful black hair. He twisted the Promise Keepers' ring desperately on his finger. He'd stood up to Omar, and he'd stand up to _her_ if he had to, he decided. But the prospect made him feel very weak.

It was nearly dark in the living room now. A little table lamp on the bookshelf far behind him illuminated most of the space, giving the place a soft and sexy glow.

Lucy had been in there a damn long time, Charles thought. He began to fidget; he'd run out of patience long ago, way back when he was in that truck that carried him through the simulated desert night and back to the real world.

Suddenly, Charles heard music coming from the bathroom. What a girl, he thought, PhD computer scientist nutcase.

The bathroom door opened slowly, and the music cranked up louder. Lucy had plugged her iPod into the little speaker-set in the bathroom, and now she gave Charles a shot of her favorite tune.

Hey, check me out. I'm the star of the show.

I'm in the spotlight.

Time ta move, time ta dance, time ta let it all go.

I'm in the spotlight.

Lucy stepped nervously through the bathroom door, singing along with the music:

Spotlight's on, here's my cue.

Gonna bring it all on.

If you're scared, little boy,

Then you'd better be gone.

Charles's breath stopped completely, Lucy was wearing nothing but her "Science is Golden" T-shirt and a pair of bikini panties. More than that, she had taken his scissors and cut off the bottom of the shirt. It now stopped just below the lower edges of her small, shapely breasts. Born-again Charles had never seen them, of course, never even touched them. In fact, he spent a hell of a lot of his time trying to force himself not to think about them.

He tried to say something, but no words came out. He was captivated by her figure: that narrow waist, those hips, that beautiful belly. Yow!

Sure, he knew Lucy worked out all the time, and any girl who put in that kind of effort would have to be slim and trim. But damn ... LOOK AT HER!

Below her cut off T-shirt and that skimpy pair of panties, Lucy wore nothing else. Her feet were bare, her pretty painted toes moving stealthily toward him. She smiled, gaining confidence the closer she came.

Charles's body tensed. His bathrobe had come untied and now his pajama top fell open showing a set of ripped Army pecs and washboard abs that would have made a superhero jealous. Lucy's flesh tingled at the sight of him. God, she wanted to taste him and yet he pulled back from her as though he were afraid of her touch (maybe he was).

Lucy stopped right in front of Charles, her sexy knees touching his. She reached behind her neck and quickly unclasped the crucifix he had given her. Gently, respectfully, she set it on the end table beside him. Then she reached for his hand, pulled it toward her, gently took hold of his ring finger and his Promise Keepers' ring and tried to slide it from him.

She was weasel man all over again, Charles thought as he clenched his fist and looked at her with as much defiance as he could muster. It was a horny kind of defiance, she decided, from the curl of his handsome lips and the softness of the fire in those deep blue eyes—no real threat.

Lucy turned her head away from him and just kept singing.

Hey, check me out. I'm the star of the show.

Time ta move, time ta dance, time ta let it all go.

Spotlight's on, here's my cue.

Gonna bring it all on.

If you're scared, little boy,

Then you'd better be gone.

Charles's eyes moved carefully over the sweet curves and mounds of her body. Somehow there was something absolutely devastating about that shirt she was wearing, but what was it? After all, he'd seen the shirt a thousand times. It wasn't the shapes underneath it either, not that alone. And then he realized exactly what it was.

Lucy hadn't just cut off the bottom off her T-shirt; she had taken the scissors and cut tiny circles in the very front of it, right at the letters, just tiny openings, but now her nipples were peeking out through them.

It wasn't that her breasts were anything extraordinary, but her nipples were long, hard and unbelievably erotic. They were reaching for him, and Charles wanted to feel them rubbing all over his face, wanted to suck them into his mouth and then let them swim down over his chest, and further down still.

This was a new kind of waterboarding, and it was impossible to resist. His fist fell open.

Lucy saw Charles's eyes staring at her nipples in absolute rapture. She hadn't been sure of the effect they would have on him. She was fairly new to this seduction game, but his reaction went so far beyond her expectations that she had to giggle. Her giggle was sexy too, and decisive.

Lucy snatched the Promise Keepers' ring from Charles's finger, dropped it beside the crucifix, grabbed him behind his head, flipped her T-shirt over her head and off in one smooth motion, and then she climbed onto his lap, taking her left breast into her fingers and thrusting that long, hard nipple into his mouth. Charles took it gratefully.

Lucy was kneeling on his lap now, swimming to the music, loving the tingle in her nipples as he sucked one and squeezed tightly on the other. She felt his erection throbbing beneath her as it snaked its way wickedly out of those pajamas. She pulled her breasts back from him then, smiled sweetly as she saw his eyes follow them with a look of incredible hunger. His tongue reached out for one last, desperate taste, and at that precise moment she raised her hips and then thrust them down onto him as hard as she could, driving his manhood into her, filling herself with his monstrous erection, swallowing him up and doing to him in that one instant what neither the fatman nor Omar could do to him with all their hideous torture. She forced his absolute and complete surrender.

### Chapter 22

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JULY 2011

Bloody Bess in all her glory! She had a young, beautiful, innocent face, but somehow the corners of her lips hinted at her violent cruelty.

Her eyes were deep pools of midnight blue. Her neck was long and graceful rising above broad shoulders and large, shapely breasts that were lifted invitingly by the bodice of a gown that looked, except for its rather low neckline, as though it were right out of the movie, _Cinderella_. In fact she might have been Cinderella except for the red-blond hair that spilled in ringlets around her perfect neck.

"Kind of a steal from Disney, don't you think?" Lieutenant Erin Roberts asked as she eyed the cardboard cutout. Below the tiny feet of the figure were blood-red words:

The Monster of Murdenwald!

Visit Castle Catrice! Learn her bloody secrets!

"Actually, it's based on the only portrait of Elizabeth Laskaar that still exists," Vito said as he walked up and studied the image.

"She didn't look like that in your film."

"Hey, if you can get Michelle Peters to play the part, why would you mess with her looks?"

"She's gonna get wet though," Dr. Lucy Lee added. She seemed somehow very much at peace with herself and the world the day after she had taken control of her relationship with Charles. (That's how she decided to think about it, anyway.)

But with her words lightning suddenly flashed across the sky, its electric brilliance suddenly giving their Cinderella an almost bloodthirsty expression.

Roberts, who was standing closest to the cutout, jumped back and gasped.

"We should go in," she said as soon as she gathered her wits. "It's going to start raining any minute now."

"Well, until it does I'm damn happy to sit out here with you girls and have another drink," Vito growled. "Are you up for it? Or are you going to be a couple of pussies?"

"Sexist pig," Roberts said with an affectionate grin.

"And damn proud of it!" Vito replied. He motioned to the waitress and a young woman came to their table. She was wearing an outfit right out of _Heidi_ , complete with a little Swiss cap, white blouse and a wide red skirt.

"One more round," he said.

"A third double martini?" Lucy asked.

"You bet," Vito answered with only the slightest slur to his speech.

They were sitting at an outside café in Murdenwald. They had talked about the project and its problems almost all afternoon, all the way into the twilight that normally lingered for hours under the alpenglow of the high peaks. But clouds were moving in rapidly.

Sitting high on the crest of a huge precipice across the valley from them, the massive, white tower of the Castle Catrice rose abruptly, and when the lightning flashed, the tower glared ominously against the misty mountains.

"Wanta take the tour?" Roberts asked as she pointed to the castle.

"I lived there for four months while I was shooting the film," Vito answered. "I could _give_ the fucking tour."

"Then why don't you?" Roberts asked. "I'd love to learn more about her."

Vito shook his head. "She was a monster."

"Hey, here's an idea," Lucy said. "Why don't we create an intelligent agent based on her?"

"You want a blood thirsty ghoul to confront Trang when he decides to blow up the world?" Vito asked, and at that moment lightning fractured the sky again and gave a hideous brilliance to the otherwise innocent looking young woman in the cutout.

"I'm getting spooked," sighed Roberts, "can't we please go inside?"

"No chance!" answered Vito as he turned his attention back to Dr. Lee.

"I'm serious," Lucy continued. "We need to explore different kinds of personalities in the characters we create. Why not someone who's pure evil?"

"Aren't Omar and the fatman evil enough for you?" Vito asked.

"Sure they are, but here's a chance for a twist that might be even more useful."

Mist had begun to creep into the streets of Murdenwald. It dulled the storefronts, dimmed whatever light was left, and then swept up the hillsides to the base of the castle. Still the tower rose high and white above it all.

Heavy steps plodded along the street then, echoing through the growing gloom. A man in a tight wool jacket and dark slacks came toward them, gave them a somber look and trudged on past. His complexion was pasty white, as though he'd just come from an encounter with a vampire.

Lucy shivered at the sight. "Shouldn't we go inside?" she asked.

"I like it out here," Vito responded with a spoiled look that showed what a son of a bitch he really was. "We're dressed for it, girls, and here come our drinks." As he spoke the waitress arrived at the table with the next round.

"Why don't you come in by the fire," she asked.

"NO!" Vito said sternly as the lightening flashed again. The waitress scurried away. Lucy wished that she could do the same.

"How 'bout a man?" Roberts asked, suddenly.

"You want a man, lieutenant?" Vito laughed and took a deep swallow of his drink. "Ready whenever you are."

"No, I mean instead of Bloody Bess, how about a man: Dracula?"

"I'd love that," Lucy responded.

"He could be so, you know ..." Roberts began.

"I think the military term you're looking for is _smokin' hot_ , lieutenant," Vito slurred.

"And I've got a perfect guy to serve as a model," Lucy said. "I met him up in the library, high in the stacks. I even did a quick sketch of him."

Lucy pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from her pocked and laid it out in front of her companions.

Lightning flooded the night with brilliance, and the crash of thunder that followed it actually shook the building. The image of Bloody Bess suddenly SHRIEKED wildly.

Roberts, Lucy and even Vito jumped.

"I'm so sorry," said the waitress as she ran to the cutout. She knelt down at its feet and turned a little switch. "It's timed to start letting out that horrible cry at eight o clock every night and then every ten minutes after that. I set it back to twenty minutes. We're paid to keep it running, I'm afraid."

Vito rolled his eyes. "Don't give a shit about your customers do ya, doll?"

"Can't we go in by the fire now?" Roberts pleaded.

"Absolutely not," Vito answered. "You girls are talking vampires, aren't you? You're supposed to be cold and frightened."

"But it's practically raining," Lucy added.

"When the real rain comes, we'll go inside," Vito insisted. "Now about your vampire, Dr. Lee?"

Lucy looked out into the street. The fog had obliterated the buildings on the other side and hid the mountains completely. Only the tower at Castle Catrice managed to stand out through the swirling mists.

Footsteps again came softly, carefully up the street. A man in a black suit stood looking at the trio. They sat there stubbornly as the damp flog crept in over the edges of the little balcony, sat there under the likeness of that evil woman.

Lucy looked at the man, then down at her drawing and back up at him again. It was Ferenc. He was standing right there. And then suddenly he turned and vanished into the darkness.

"Wait," Lucy called as she jumped to her feet and ran after him. But by the time she reached the spot where he had been, she was lost in the thick fog. She turned around feeling panic closing in on her. There was nothing but damp grayness in every direction.

"Mr. Vito!" she cried, but not a word came through the muffling mist. She held out her hand hoping to touch the side of a building or a railing or something. Nothing. She was totally, absolutely alone no more than a few yards from her friends, no more than a few more from the edge of a dizzying precipice.

A flash of lightening, a rumble of thunder! The cut-out of Elizabeth screamed.

Vito and Roberts were lit in that instant.

Lucy caught a quick glimpse of them and hurried back.

"This guy is fantastic," Roberts called as soon as she returned. "Boy, I'd let him sink his fangs into _my_ neck."

"I'm sure Lucy can arrange that," Vito laughed. But Lucy's expression was blank, almost as though she were in a trance.

"Where'd ya go, Luce?" Vito asked.

"I just thought I saw someone I knew," she answered eerily. "Him!" and she pointed to the drawing.

"Let's build this guy, Lucy," Roberts said. "He can be our Dracula."

Vito took the drawing and studied it for a moment and then he smiled. "I think it'll work. We'll probably all get shitcanned when Farson gets wind of it, but fuck it! Right, ladies?"

Roberts nodded enthusiastically.

"Only thing is," Vito added. "Why make Dracula. Why not someone more in keeping with our surroundings."

"Like?" Roberts asked.

"Like Elizabeth's second husband," Vito answered as he raised his nearly empty glass to the evil Cinderella.

"That could be good," Lucy said. "What was his name?"

Vito downed the rest of the drink and stared back at her as he wracked his brain for the answer.

"Frederick? No, not quite that. A weird Hungarian name of some kind."

Lucy looked out into the fog. The beautiful boy from the library was standing there again, barely visible but there, definitely there, staring back at her intently.

"I just can't remember it," Vito said at last.

"Too bad," Lucy murmured.

How right she was.

### Chapter 23

Lucy stepped from the library elevator and made her way past the wide windows that opened on all the nations of the world. The lights in the tower of the Chrysler building still twinkled at her, as did the lighting on the Golden Gate Bridge.

She walked ever so softly, past the bookshelves with the inviting texts on sex and sorcery. She snaked through the narrow passages between the stacks until she came at last to the little reading room where Margot still sat studying the book on matematiks as though she hadn't moved once in the days since Lucy had left her there.

"Margot," Lucy called, and the Scandinavian beauty looked up at her and smiled dreamily.

"What are you doing here, Dr. Lee?" she whispered.

"Never mind me," Lucy answered. "What the hell are _you_ still doing here? I had no idea you'd stay so long."

"I'm sorry," Margot answered, "but Ferenc is explaining the contents of this book to me."

"Explaining math to _you_?"

"Yes," Margot answered as she ran her perfect fingers over her long, lovely neck. "He seems to be quite an expert on the subject, far more learned than I."

Something weird as hell is going on here, Lucy thought to herself. Margot was taking Ferenc away from her, it seemed; not that he was hers to begin with. After all, she had Charles, and he certainly was man enough for her. So why did she want Ferenc so much?

Lucy reached to her own neck and began to adjust the gold chain she always wore, the chain with the crucifix on it.

"Don't," Margot said quickly. "Don't show that thing about here."

"The cross?"

"The crucifix," Margot answered. "It upsets him."

"That's right, it does." Lucy suddenly realized.

"Better go, Dr. Lee," Margot said suddenly.

"But I want to see him."

"Not while you're wearing that," Margot answered, "and besides, we have a lot of studying still to do tonight."

"Studying?"

"I'll be back at the ISC by tomorrow evening, I promise," Margot said as she practically pushed Lucy away from the table. "Better go now."

"All right," Lucy answered as a strange new set of feelings swept over her. Jealousy was certainly one of them. Lust might have been at the top of the list. Charles would have called Ferenc a near occasion of sin.

"Silly boy," Lucy murmured as she thought of Charles, and then she stroked his crucifix once again.

"Stop doing that and get the hell out of here," Margot insisted.

"Okay, sorry." Lucy answered. "Hope you get laid."

"What?"

Not a good cross-cultural expression, Lucy decided. And did she really mean it anyway? So, she just nodded, stood, and walked slowly through the stacks and back to the elevator.

She stuck the key into the slot, summoned the lift and heard the motor running as it worked its way up to her.

"I hope you get laid," she said again very softly. That's what was happening, wasn't it? Margot and Ferenc were _doing it_! Lucy giggled. She didn't like the idea at all, yet somehow it was exciting. That's when she decided that she had to see it. And so she let the elevator ride up to the floor, let the doors open, let them close, and then she moved slowly back through the stacks to the little reading room. And when she arrived, Ferenc was already there.

He was standing directly behind Margot with his hands on her shoulders. Margot turned up to him with a smile and asked him something. Ferenc responded and stretched a hand out over her as he pointed to the book. Margot's fingers traced the path of his. Then she looked up, smiled and nodded. They _were_ studying, Lucy realized. How disappointing was that?

Lucy shook her head, pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, and prepared to leave. Except she didn't leave! As she started to, Ferenc suddenly reached up to his shoulders, pulled back his hood to reveal that great shock of black hair, and then he dropped his entire robe to the floor.

Lucy gasped. Was there a pause in Ferenc's movement when she did? Was there a new smile teasing the corners of his lips as if he'd heard her? Lucy didn't know. She was too intoxicated by the muscles that rippled across his chest and down his abdomen. Margot and the damn chair blocked her view.

Margot leaned forward slightly so that Ferenc could unzip the back of her sweater-dress and pull it down in front of her. Her breasts were bare, and of course they were too damn magnificent for Lucy's taste.

"Come around front, damn you, Ferenc," Margot whispered under her breath, and almost as though he heard her, Ferenc stepped from behind her to reveal more of that Adonis body. The table still hid the parts that called to Lucy the loudest. He proceeded to stride around to the front of the table, muscles rippling down his thighs and flexing across his back as he moved directly in front of Margot and turned toward her.

"Nice ass!" Lucy whispered way too loudly. If Ferenc heard, he didn't stop.

Margot looked up, smiled eagerly, let out a gasp of her own as Ferenc raised his head above her, and then suddenly plunged down onto her long, delicious neck. Lucy pictured those gorgeous, sparkling, massive canine teeth driving into her jugular, and she nearly swooned. Margot shivered for a moment as though in delight, and then she gave a high animal shriek that pierced every fiber of Lucy's body.

Lucy reached instinctively for the crucifix. It might have been a very good thing she did, for in that instant Ferenc turned slowly away from his victim and looked directly at her.

His pupils were blood red, his lips swollen. Drops of Margot's crimson blood spilled from the corners of his mouth and down onto his chest. His muscles were taut, hands placed proudly on his hips as he leaned back. A monstrous erection longer and thicker than anything Lucy could ever have imagined rose from between his legs.

"Good God," Lucy screamed as she turned and rushed for the elevator. And as she did, she could hear Ferenc break into a wicked laugh that echoed through the whole library. Lucy clutched the crucifix and threw herself headlong into the elevator that was mercifully standing there, and within seconds had closed its doors and saved her.

### Chapter 24

"Where in Christ's name have you been?" Dr. Withering screamed at Margot as she walked slowly toward the demo room at the ISC.

"I'm sorry," she said softly as she reached the doorway, "may I come in?"

Randy Gardner pushed by Withering as he made his way to the young woman. "Of course you can," he answered. "Are you all right?" He took her hand and led her into the room. But it was clear that she was more than all right.

Margot's skin, which was always clear and beautiful, now had a rich glow about it. Her eyes sparkled with the brilliance of midnight blue. Her platinum blond hair curled softly around her shoulders.

"Looks like you've got a little bite," Gardner added as he stepped closer to her, "from a spider or something."

"It's nothing," Margot said softly pulling a ringlet of hair forward around the base of her neck, covering the bite to prevent further inspection.

"I feel wonderful," she said, and smiled broadly to reveal blazing white teeth behind lips that were somehow far more full and moist that Gardner remembered.

"Wait till you see what we've done," Randy said, pulling Margot to the door of the Simulation Room. The red light was flashing brightly: _Simulation in Progress_.

"We did it," Dave Montana added as he came up to them. "We built the damn vampire from the sketches that Lucy gave us."

"Where is Lucy?" Margot asked as she looked around the room for the woman who had been with her so recently in the ancient library.

"She's on her way," Randy answered. "Charles just finished the Afghan simulation, and she's been with him a lot."

"But look at this guy," Montana added, and he pushed the door open to reveal a very tall, thin man in a hooded robe looking down at his desk. As the door opened, he looked up; he was the image of Ferenc, just as Margot had left him only an hour ago in the library. He smiled and his huge, sparkling teeth protruded from soft pink gums. His canine teeth were monstrous. Margot gasped and then smiled.

"Is he a real vampire?" she asked.

"Well, he can't be real, can he?" Withering responded. "He's simply a solid state hologram."

"We call him Vladimir," Montana added. "You know, for Vlad the Impaler, the original Dracula."

"Actually," Margot answered, "the _real_ Dracula was a woman, I hear, a beautiful and sensuous woman. If you want to build a compelling vampire, she should be female."

"I think a lot of women would disagree with that," answered Gardner, "They love to fantasize about this guy."

"Who wouldn't?" Margot responded. "Can I take a closer look?"

"All right," Withering said moving up beside her rather suddenly, "but then get back into the lab. We have a lot of work to do this evening, and the games these people are playing have further delayed our project.

"You shouldn't be any part of this ridiculous effort," he continued. "You're a serious mathematician, not an actress in a horror movie."

Margot turned to him with a smile that blurred into a disdainful sneer.

"I've been studying mathematical formulae all day, Doctor," she said. "I'm sure you'll find my new calculations surprising and valuable."

"We'll see about that later, won't we," Withering snapped back, and he turned and marched from the room almost knocking over Don Vito as he entered.

"Sorry I'm late," Vito said as he greeted Gardner, Montana, and Jahala. The trio of engineers turned and came toward the famed producer.

"We have him," Jahala said proudly, "A perfect capture of Dracula with the face of Lucy's drawing; David did a marvelous job rendering the body."

"And the emotion engine Assif came up with is even more spectacular," Montana added.

Just then Lucy came running through the door. "I heard, I heard! God, you built him so damn quickly."

"Come on, Luce," Gardner added, "Gotta see this guy," and he stepped forward and took her by the arm.

"Where is he?" Lucy asked.

"Right inside the sim-room," Gardner answered, but as he turned he saw that the door to the sim room was suddenly closed, and Margot was nowhere to be found.

"My God," he said, "She's inside with him!"

"No worries," Montana added, "He's only a solid form hologram."

"Has no blood," Jahala added. "But the motivation is still there, very strongly."

Lucy suddenly ran past all of them and grabbed the handle of the door to the simulation room even though the sign was flashing wildly:

DO NOT ENTER: SIMULATION IN PROGRESS.

The door fought with her for a moment and then suddenly burst open.

And there, in the middle of the room stood Vladimir, his hood back, his face now waxen white, his eyes glowing blood red. His robe was undone revealing the broad expanse of his chest, his rippling abdomen, and below that a swirl of wild, black pubic curls.

Margot was on her knees before him, her hair pulled back showing the wound in her neck, two indentations, now opened wider, spilling blood over her snow-white blouse. Vladimir held her firmly by the wrist with one hand, and with his other he had opened a vein in his side and was now holding her by the neck, pressing her mouth into the gushing blood so that she must either suffocate or swallow.

### 3

### The Tribunal

### Chapter 25

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—AUGUST 2011

Ferenc pushed against the great shutters and watched them spring open; then he strode into the broad moonlight that streamed across his balcony. His blood was hungry for her, demanding her this very night. And so he bounded over the edge of the balcony, caught the ancient stones of the library's outer wall, sunk his nails into the eroded mortar between the stones, and scurried upward ... like a lizard.

When he reached the topmost parapet of the library he launched himself over the protruding edge of the tower and landed upright at the very pinnacle. The moon outlined his muscular silhouette. He was dressed not in flowing robes but in a form-fitting black suit that rippled with every movement of his body. His jet-black curls caught the moonlight. Silver brightened his handsome profile, hollow cheeks, strong chin, and midnight-blue eyes.

Ferenc turned to survey the magical land around him, no longer all the cities of the world; this was the tiny village of Murdenwald, backed by the massive spine of the Bernese Oberland with the great peak of the Eiger thrust obscenely above him.

Ferenc felt her body calling him, heard the wolves wailing in the mountains all around. They echoed his own longing, and so he launched himself into the blackness, turning in that instance into an enormous bat that sailed off to the hospital where his victim, his lover, his undead soul mate lay sleeping.

#

There was an ungodly banging at the shutters of her hospital room. Some enormous bird, a condor or a vulture or something, was trying desperately to get in. Margot sat up in bed; the noise rescued her from a dream so horrible that she dared not even think about it.

Brutal agents of a wicked queen had broken into homes that night, rummaging from room to room searching for young girls, youthful virgins, dragging them from their beds, rounding them up to be marched to the castle through ancient, muddy streets. And any father who tried to save one of them was butchered on the spot, within full view of his daughter. The girls were led into the great hall of the castle, lined up against a wall where an imperiously beautiful young woman strode among them, often asking that they be stripped naked, poking their soft flesh with her painted fingernails, tweaking a nipple or a cheek. Then she singled out the most attractive among them, had them taken away, while the other girls were sent scurrying from the castle as they listened to the haunting, unbearable cries of their sisters pleading for mercy. And, as each one of them left, they cast their terrified but somehow lustful eyes on the beautiful captain of the guards who was supervising these horrible events. Many girls recognized him. Margot did, too. It was Ferenc!

The banging did not stop. Claws caught at the outside latches of the shutters and raked over them, trying frantically to undo them. Margot stood. She was still weak and dizzy from the loss of blood, and yet she was drawn to the window, longing somehow to open it as if the creature on the other side of the shutters could mean anything but her own destruction.

She stood before the shutters, hearing the insistent banging intensified, feeling an incredible longing, and then she knew suddenly that it was Ferenc come to claim her, to rescue her. She reached for the shutters and yanked up the latch in one quick motion. She thrust the shutters open at the same time, and an enormous bat immediately swooped into the room. It soared blindly to the ceiling and then dropped quickly to the floor behind her. When Margot turned, she saw no one, and then from the darkest corner of the room he stepped toward her.

"Ferenc," she whimpered.

Her face, which had been so pale, immediately began to glow; her soft cotton robe which hung so loosely from her, pulled tight as she drew each breath more quickly and her breasts, shoulders, all of her began to quiver.

"Have they treated you harshly?" he asked with that enticing smile.

"I've missed you, Ferenc."

"You were attacked by my own image, I hear," Ferenc said with a grin. "How absurd, when there should rightly never be images. But, tell me, was it delicious?"

"Not as delicious as you," she sighed.

Ferenc stepped to her, pressed her back against the window so that the moonlight lit her hair and the curve of her shoulders.

"I'd like a little treat after all the effort of coming for you," he said with eyes that looked down and devoured her.

"Yes," she whispered softly, and with that Ferenc spun her around, grabbed her gown at the neckline and ripped it open. She felt his hands pressing hard against her belly, pushing her back into his hips; his monstrous need pressed hard against her. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder; his hands swam up onto her breasts, then spun down her hips and further down, for only a teasing moment, between her legs. She turned to him covering his face with kisses. Then she pressed his head to her breasts where the warmth of his thick, sensuous lips drew her nipples into sweet erection. His animal tongue swirled over them, thrilling her with its softness and skill.

"Have me," she whispered, and at that moment he spun her around yet again, seized her platinum hair, pulled it back abruptly as though it were the bridle of a horse, and then sunk his fangs into the rich fullness of her neck.

Margot cried out and shuddered as she felt the blood flowing from her, his hands once again on her breasts, squeezing her, pressing her belly hard so that her shape curved to his. She undulated against him as his fingers slid down between her legs, touching her softly, wickedly.

She was growing weaker now from the loss of blood; she felt her arms fall helplessly from her lover, felt her legs grow limp as Ferenc lowered her to the floor and then stood there above her. His smile was loving, as though she were the most cherished of all his possessions.

"I'll come for you again," he whispered.

"Please," she murmured and then lapsed into unconsciousness.

### Chapter 26

"So, come on. Tell me what happened after Marilyn's death," Roberts asked. She and Vito were sitting alone in the big conference room, waiting for a meeting to start, a critical meeting that would determine the fate of their efforts on the project.

"You pick the damndest time to ask about that story," Vito said as he opened his Mac Book and called up the complex PowerPoint he had prepared for the meeting.

"Thought it might break the tension," Roberts said with a smile.

"Or just give you another fix before we get into a meeting that will decide whether we ever see each other again."

"If we won't, then you'd better tell me the damn story while you can," she answered.

Vito sighed heavily, looked at his attractive companion and said, "Things got pretty bad, as you can imagine, especially for Elli, all that crap with the cops, answering questions, but worse than any of that was her mother."

"Elli's mother?" Roberts asked.

"We used to call her Mrs. C. She just about went nuts. She decided that she had to send Elli away to boarding school.

"Everyone thought that Arnie was after Marilyn, but not Elli's mom; for some reason she had an intuition that Arnie Cudgel was after her daughter. And, of course, she was right."

"They never caught him then."

"Never did."

"Never?"

Vito didn't answer. He just stared at Roberts for a long moment and then continued.

"My problem was that Mrs. C. didn't want Elli to see _me_ any more either. It was like the whole damn thing was my fault. So, she got Elli into this private boarding school in Scranton, Pennsylvania, hundreds of miles away. I might never have seen Elli again if _her_ mom hadn't come over to see _my_ mom to give her back my high school ring.

"My mom liked Elli, you know, so of course she told me about it when she passed the ring back to me."

"So did you see Elli before she left for Scranton?"

"Oh, yeah," Vito answered with a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately, I did."

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK—SEPTEMBER 1958

Elli Capadonico buried her face in her hands and sobbed openly. She was standing before the statue of the angel in the park, before the disconsolate image that seemed to express her feelings of loss so perfectly. First her father, then her best friend and now Donny had all been taken from her. And somehow she blamed her mother for all of it, even though deep inside she realized that none of it was really her mother's fault, not even her loss of Donny.

Elli was recounting the conversation with her mother to the statue as though it were a real person there to console her. She knew that the only reason she was allowed to be in the park at all today was because Donny had football practice. Her mother had at least condescended to allow her to say goodbye to her angel.

Elli felt that she was a pitiful sight and she was. Even to the dangerous pair of eyes looking on.

Arnie had somehow eluded the police as he made his way back from Niagara Falls. He had to hitchhike with a few truckers to get back to town. The fact that he was such a large man helped assure his safety.

He knew that he couldn't go back and see his own mother; the police would already have the house under surveillance. He knew he shouldn't go near the playground either or any place where he had been seen regularly. But he had to. He had to see if the girl was talking to the angel in the park.

He had been sleeping in the deep woods at the edge of Lake Ontario, knowing that if he kept a sharp lookout, he could stay ahead of the police long enough to finish his business with Elli.

He cursed himself for being foolish enough to change his plans at Niagara Falls. He cursed Marilyn, too. If the girl hadn't transformed Elli that day, he wouldn't have been so angered and distracted. He would have snatched Elli up then, rushed with her into the Niagara River and flown with her over the falls. He would have had his revenge and joined her in eternity at the same time. All of this would be over. The pain would end for both of them, and surely, as Elli fell to her death in his arms, she would have to hold him fast, embrace him in her death. Arnie liked that image very much. But now he had to create a new plan. Niagara Falls had failed; any attempt to talk to Elli and win her heart was impossible as well. What was left? The answer, Arnie realized, was a new death-pact ... with Elli as the unwilling co-conspirator.

As Elli sat on the bench in front of her angel, crying her eyes out, pleading with the angel to intercede in heaven in any way she could, suddenly someone touched her shoulder. She looked up, and there stood Donny (her Donny) smiling at her.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered as her eyes grew wide with that magical look.

"Me, too," Donny answered as he pulled her to him and kissed her again and again. Elli returned his kisses. They were tinged with a desperation that made them even more passionate.

"How can you be here?" she asked.

"I told the coach the whole story," he said. "He knew about Marilyn, of course, but I also told him what your mom was doing, sending you away and all. I told him I loved you, asked him to help me. And he said he'd cover for us."

"My God," Elli sighed in disbelief, "you got an adult to help you."

"Hard to believe, huh?" Donny said. "I'm afraid we're going to need their help if my plan is going to work."

"You have a plan?"

"For us," Donny answered as he pulled her back down onto the bench and put both hands on her shoulders. He stared into her wondering eyes. "I'm going to come and see you at Marywood, all the time. I'll never be away from you for long."

"How can you?"

"Not sure, but there has to be a way. Scranton, Pennsylvania isn't _that_ far from here."

Elli nodded. "Your Lost Princess wants to be with you all the time."

"Don't worry," Donny answered. "I'm working on that, too. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Good, then next year we'll just run away and get married at the end of school."

That magical look returned to Elli's eyes as though she could see the entire event spreading out before her.

"We'll come back here as husband and wife. I'll work on my parents in the meantime, get them used to the idea."

"I won't be the _Lost_ Princess Elena anymore," she said happily.

"More like the _Found_ Princess," Donny whispered, "never to be lost again."

Elli was nodding and sobbing and smiling and laughing with every other word that Donny said, so much so that when he finished, all she could do was grab him and hug and kiss him again.

"One more thing," Donny added and he pulled something from his pocket. It was his high school ring.

"Another one?"

Donny shook his head. "Somehow your mom got it back to me. So, here it is again."

"I'm not sure I should take it," Elli whispered.

"Are you turning me down?" Donny asked with a smirk.

"What do you mean?"

Donny suddenly got down on one knee.

Elli gasped when she realized what was happening.

"Will you marry me, Elli?"

"My God, Donny; are you serious?"

"Please say yes."

Elli buried her face in her hands and shook all over. Then: "YES!" she screamed at the top of her voice, so that everyone could hear.

"Just hide it till you get to school," Donny added.

"You've saved me," Elli sobbed, her magical eyes glowing brilliantly, lighting up her whole being. "I can't believe it, but somehow ...

"... And thank you!" She was talking to the angel suddenly. "Thanks for interceding. It's more than I could ever have hoped for."

"Time to start hoping for everything you want, Elli," Donny whispered to her. "You deserve it."

Donny put his arms around Elli and held her to him. They sat there for the rest of the afternoon, barely moving at all, feeling each other's bodies fitting together so perfectly. Breathing each other's breath, sharing each other's unspoken dreams. They did not look up. Even when, after a very long time, a large young man somewhere behind them among the trees, stomped away in anger, realizing now that he, too, had to visit Marywood School in Scranton, Pennsylvania.

### Chapter 27

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—AUGUST 2011

General Linden entered the same conference room where he and Donald Vito had such an amazing success only a few months before. Now, the cold stares of a Military Review Committee greeted him. More of a tribunal, Linden thought, or maybe a better word for it would be an Inquisition. The group had come from all over the world to find out just what the hell was going on at the International Simulation Center in Murdenwald.

Linden recognized Dr. Steve Golder, a longtime friend and associate from the Army Research Institute; Don Deforester was there from DARPA, and several officers represented various US military training units. There were also five dignitaries from the United Nations. The UN people were observers, Linden realized, but the military would still want to put on a show for them, and that complicated matters.

Vito was crouched behind his Mac Book now. He had finished telling Roberts the story and was currently checking the first slides of his PowerPoint presentation while Dr. Lucy Lee stood behind him offering advice. She looked worn as though she had spent more than a few sleepless nights recently.

Lieutenant Erin Roberts now sat in one of the metal folding chairs along the back wall of the conference room. Beside her were Randy Gardner, Assif Jahala and other members of Vito's "creative" team. A few empty chairs separated them from the mathematicians who clearly did not even want to get close to the creatives. Most notable among that group were Drs. Withering and Farson. Margot Johansson, of course, was still in the hospital.

She had undergone complete blood replacement therapy. Her blood had been filtered and monitored over and over again, had been analyzed and re-analyzed, and yet there was a strain in it that somehow could not be classified no matter what they did. Still, Margot was making some progress, the doctors admitted, although her recovery was far from complete.

Linden nodded at Farson, who nodded back sternly. Farson intended to present the most damning case possible, the general had been told. Farson's argument would be that under the direction of Vito and Dr. Lee, the project had taken a bizarre turn; research that focused on personalities that had nothing to do with the mission. They were modeling Vito's old teenage girlfriend who had died so tragically. Farson would even suggest that Vito was fascinated by the technology because it made him feel that he could somehow bring her back to life.

More bizarre even than Vito's effort was the fact that Dr. Lee had instructed the creative team to develop a virtual vampire, a creature modeled on a man she thought she had met in the stacks of the old library on the outskirts of Murdenwald. It was a building that was barely used now and in great disrepair. Still, with traditional Swiss precision it was operating on the same exact schedule that it had for hundreds of years even though large parts of the library were closed.

The general made the rounds, greeted the senior visitors individually, took his place at the head of the table, and then turned to address the group.

"Mister Chairman," he began with a nod to the head of the UN delegation, "distinguished visitors, colleagues and friends, almost three months ago now, we began an effort to enhance the simulation that Dr. Farson designed to project the outcome of future military conflicts. We wanted to make this enhancement so that anyone who experienced the simulation would feel a true sense of the tragedy and loss that a major international conflict would bring.

"I understood at the time that this effort might appear to obscure the brilliant statistical presentation that Drs. Farson, Withering, and their teams had developed. But that was never the intent. What we asked Mr. Vito and his creative team to do was to dramatize the findings of the simulation, create experiences in which participants would feel that they had real lives and real identities within the virtual world, and then those lives would be sacrificed, of course, as a consequence of the conflict.

"Today we hope to show you some of the work of the creative team and give you a sense of what they are trying to do in the project that they are now calling THE DOOMSDAY GAME. You'll see several virtual characters, rendered in our newest technology: solid form holography. The characters will talk to you, interact with you, let you touch them and hopefully give you a sense of how real they are.

"The creative team will also show you bits of a completed scenario that we all think has great reusability as a military training exercise. In that scenario you can see locations, characters and even interrogation techniques that have been simulated with amazingly realistic results.

"Mr. Vito and Dr. Lee will sum up their efforts and argue that they should be allowed to continue their work in spite of some complications that have recently occurred. Drs. Farson and Withering, on the other hand, are here to suggest that the creative work has not progressed as we expected it to, and that it has lost its focus. They feel strongly that this work should be discontinued.

"The president has been apprised of their concerns and feels that it is important that you hear them and take them under advisement before you see Mr. Vito's creations. After that he wants your advice on where to go from here.

"Any questions?"

The assembled diplomats, scientists and military officers looked back and forth at their colleagues, were surprised that there were no questions, and turned back to the general.

"Very well, then," Linden responded. "Let's start by hearing what Dr. Farson has to say about the project so far. Tim ..."

Tim Farson rose, nodded to the general and stepped to the front of the great conference table. He eyed Vito with a dislike that bordered on contempt. Then he turned to the assemblage, took a very deep breath and began.

### Chapter 28

"Distinguished Representatives, Members of the United States Military and honored guests," Tim Farson began, "You all know the history of this project. You all saw the successful demonstration of our technology last year, before Premier Trang induced the president and General Linden here to acquire the services of a group of Hollywood specialists to make our excellent statistical exercise _more compelling_."

Lucy Lee looked at Erin Roberts out of the corner of her eye. Both of them felt concern, not only for themselves, but also for Don Vito. They knew he was certainly going to be raked over the coals by a man who felt that his own work was being compromised by the producer's efforts. But Vito, for his part, didn't seem to mind; he looked at the two young women and smiled. Apparently this was the kind of thing that happened to him in Hollywood all the time. In fact, Lieutenant Roberts realized, this kind of public confrontation might just be something Vito actually enjoyed.

"I like a good Hollywood movie as well as any man," Farson continued. "And let's face it, Don Vito's movies are among the best. I mean when ninety percent of Hollywood was making anti war films in the 1970's, Vito made _The Soldier's Heart_ , didn't he? And bought the US military as much public support as we ever received during that conflict."

Lucy held her breath; here came the attack.

"That's why I was very pleased to hear that Mr. Vito would be joining our team. And I'm pleased to say that the work he has done on this DOOMSDAY GAME (as he calls it) has been both inspiring and valuable."

The review committee looked at each other in utter confusion. If this was the case, why had they been summoned halfway around the world to discuss problems with the simulation? Dr. Withering twisted nervously in his seat. Lucy Lee eyed Lieutenant Roberts with concern. Then she leaned over to Vito and whispered, "I don't trust him. Watch out."

"Premier Trang had said that he didn't _'feel'_ the reality of the simulation," Farson continued, "wasn't caught up in it enough. Well, I'd like to show you just one of five alternate endings that Mr. Vito has created for his version of the GAME. I'll let you judge for yourselves how successfully Mr. Vito has been at creating something we all can _feel_."

Randy Gardner began to understand what Farson was up to. The doctor had asked him to provide all the cut scenes he had made from Vito's script. Farson had uploaded each of them onto his computer, and now, as he stood at the podium, Farson pointed a remote control at the projector and suddenly an enormous freeze-frame flashed up onto the screen. It was downtown London on a balmy afternoon. Farson walked behind his laptop and hit the space bar and the image came to life.

Pedestrians march business-like before Parliament, rushing onto their next appointment; double-decker buses full of tourists speed by; cabbies, other traffic weave in and out along the highway. The view suddenly lurches back to a dramatic helicopter shot, looking over all of London, taking in all of Parliament, Big Ben, the Thames, Hyde Park, Saint Paul's. Then it zooms forward again, this time through the very window of an office building where a marketing meeting is in progress. An attractive account rep is on her feet doing her presentation, pointing to a graph of ever-increasing profits. The chairman of the meeting stands, walks up to her and pats her on the back; the other members of the team applaud. She moves to her chair, dizzy from the appreciation and success. A young man stands and hugs her, gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, holds her hand as they sit side by side. The camera moves closer still, to their clasped hands and the engagement ring on her finger, then it pulls back again, out through the window to a full view of the office building centered perfectly in the frame.

And then the entire building and the entire surrounding area EXPLODE INTO THE WHITENESS OF A NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST!

The camera dives into the blast, showing the pulverized structures at the epicenter, the twisted metal, streets and cars consumed in falling ash. It swoops away from the epicenter to the outskirts where buildings are still leveled, but here survivors crawl out of the collapsed structures, clawing over one another, some breaking free and running in desperate confusion. Bloodied parents cling to their small children as they stagger blindly through the debris. Then the camera jumps back yet again, showing the horrific mushroom cloud still building over London, then further back into the stratosphere where another mushroom suddenly blooms up over Paris, and then beyond, in Berlin, Moscow, and Tokyo.

The image fades out to white.

Then it fades in on the nuclear winter. The camera sweeps across a darkened, desolate planet; destruction is everywhere; small bands of people huddle together in the gloom. Many are scarred, others disfigured with great gaping sores festering on their faces, the victims of the cancers that have followed in the wake of the end of the world.

The image fades to white.

Then it fades up on absolute desolation, a dead planet. The camera sweeps across the barren landscape, no humans, no animals, no plant life. It zooms in on a tangle of debris along the side of a clogged highway. A single cockroach scurries up and across the twisted jumble of tin cans, battered cell phones and CDs. It scurries into a can, then out again. The camera zooms in even tighter to the disgusting hum of the insect. And then it freezes with the very head of the hideous bug now full frame in the middle of the screen.

Fade out.

The audience sat in stunned silence as the lights came up.

"Mr. Vito has produced five of these elegant outcome scenes," Farson said. "Personally I feel that they are so dramatic and engaging that they tell the story perfectly. I'd like to thank Mr. Vito for the wonderful work he has done for us, and wish him well on his next assignment."

Then Dr. Farson nodded to Vito with a sarcastic smile, turned toward General Linden, nodded again, and returned to his seat.

### Chapter 29

Pamela Wiggins stepped off the aerial tram at the little station in Murdenwald. She slung her garment bag over her shoulder and moved out into the evening mist. As she had expected, there was no one at the station to greet her. She'd received a very curt telegram from General Linden asking her to make all the preparations for Vito's immediate return to Hollywood.

It was a contingency plan the general had said, in case things didn't go well with the military review panel. But the prospects must have seemed dire indeed if he had gone so far as to bring Pamela all the way from Hollywood to Switzerland merely on the possibility.

Pamela looked down the long street that led through the heart of the little tourist village. She had a map that showed the Hotel Murdenwald just past the town and around the bend to her left. She hoisted the garment bag higher and headed off on her practical brown walking shoes, wiggling a little in a pants suit that was a little too tight for her hefty girth. Okay, so she was a little broad in the beam, but this was the best she could do. She had changed from sweats and tennis shoes on the train from Interlaken. Mr. Vito liked her in a business outfit and even though she might not even see him, she still wanted to make an effort.

Alpenglow lit the high peaks of the Bernese Oberland and would provide a twilight that lasted for the next hour or more. Still, all of the shops along Murdenwald's main street were closed. Pamela strolled down the car-free road, stopping to look into the shop windows. She liked the ski and sportswear, the sweaters, sweatshirts and tourist gear. A little drugstore had a rather sexy ad for skin cream that gave her interesting thoughts for just a moment. The bright little restaurant next door displayed its menus and showed a pair of wine bottles of excellent vintage.

As Pamela came round the corner on her way to the hotel, she suddenly saw a woman standing alone on the side of the street. She was looking into one of the shop windows. Her body was turned halfway toward Pamela, but as Pamela approached, the woman turned more fully toward her, looked up and down, and then stared at her.

The woman was very young, Pamela realized, perhaps only nineteen or twenty, and breathtakingly beautiful with red-blond hair that fell in ringlets around her long, handsome neck. Perfect eyebrows arched imperially over sparkling blue eyes. The young woman had high cheekbones, rich sensuous lips, and when she smiled, the whiteness of her teeth flashed brightly at Pamela and stopped her cold.

The woman was dressed most unusually, regally to be sure, but in clothing from hundreds of years ago. A great cloak with a hood parted to reveal an ornate gown and a massive necklace with an enormous diamond set at its very center.

"Going to a costume party?" Pamela called, but the woman didn't answer. Her eyebrows arched; her stare became chilling, her smile judgmental and almost cruel. Pamela gasped, stepped backwards, then turned and hurried away, looking back only after a full block to see that the woman was still there, still staring at her.

And that's when she ran into _him_.

He was almost as young as the scary young woman, dressed in a black silk suit of a more recent period. He, too, was drop dead gorgeous, but his expression was far more friendly and welcoming.

"I'm sorry—I didn't see you—how clumsy of me," Pamela babbled at the young man. His smile dazzled her.

"It was my fault," he answered. "I didn't look where I was going."

"Well, then it's both our faults," Pamela laughed nervously.

"If you say so," he answered. "May I help with your bag?"

Pamela sighed; she hadn't felt like a damsel in distress in a decade or more. But if there was ever a time for such a pose, this was it.

"Thank you," she said softly, and she pulled the bag from her shoulder and handed it to him. The young man took it and flipped it over his back with great ease.

"Where to?" he asked with an accent that could have been from anywhere in Eastern Europe, she thought.

"The Hotel Murdenwald."

"Just ahead, I'll show you."

The young man turned and took her gently by the arm, but Pamela stopped suddenly.

"That young woman, back there," she asked, "weren't you going to meet her?"

"Young woman?"

"The one just up the street, in the ball gown?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you mean," he answered. "I'm quite alone, just heading over to the library to drop something off. Maybe I'll bump into her some other day, if I'm lucky. This evening ..." and here he lifted Pamela's bag a little higher, "it appears that I have my hands full."

"But you were going to the library," Pamela added wondering why in the world she was stalling when her escort was so handsome and so willing to help her.

"Actually," he answered with a reassuring smile, "the library is almost on the way to the hotel, and I _would_ like to stop there for a moment if it wouldn't be too much trouble?"

Pamela was feeling fine and surprisingly untired from the flight and the train trip. Here she was, in the company of an amazingly handsome young man, knowing that Vito's meeting would probably not be over until very late that evening. Why shouldn't she have a little companionship? The next day or so could prove to be most unpleasant.

"Let's do it," she said.

And so the surprisingly handsome young man put his arm around Pamela and escorted her toward the ancient library.

And wolves began to howl in the distance.

Chapter 30

"Dr. Farson," Steve Golder asked as the scientist took his seat. "Tell me, if you are so pleased with Mr. Vito's work, why were we summoned? This is not a committee that is usually called in to give final approval. Frankly, we're usually hatchet men."

"In this case," Dr. Farson responded. "You can put away your hatchets. Mr. Vito has done masterful work for us. I think we owe him a vote of appreciation and the consideration not to intrude on any more of his time."

"Nice try, Farson," Vito said jumping to his feet in anger.

"Mr. Vito, you'll get your turn to speak," General Linden responded.

"Someone has to give the real answer to Dr. Golder's question," Lucy said suddenly. "It's important that he understand that Dr. Farson is suggesting that we end our work on the project by submitting this tiny fraction of our design. The entire DOOMSDAY GAME we're building, the virtual characters and all the rest, are only in their most formative stages."

Tim Farson raised his hand like a schoolboy asking permission to speak. The general acknowledged him, and so Farson made his way back to the podium.

"As much as I like Mr. Vito and the work I have shown you," Farson began, "I'm afraid I have to take exception to the efforts Dr. Lee is describing."

Lucy tensed, Vito smiled. Linden settled back for the part of the presentation he had expected all along.

"Mr. Vito," Farson continued, "has become a little too fascinated, I fear, with the ability to create virtual characters and virtual scenes, and as a result he has taken to recreating scenes from his own childhood, reminiscing on our tab, while the real project languishes, and our finest talent is drawn into this off-target effort.

"But more importantly, Dr. Golder, in the meantime Premier Trang and others like him continue their efforts to build weapons of mass destruction when we could use our simulation to convince them to do otherwise.

"General Linden," Farson said, addressing the general directly, "I know you're only trying to carry out the desires of the President of the United States. But in this case you've been too trusting. Dr Lee is a wonderful, highly intelligent young woman, but how could she ever convince anyone that an effective step in the development of a military simulation is to go off and create a simulated _vampire_ complete with a solid form and a behavioral model to go with it. I'm sure you gentlemen will agree when you see the demonstration that Mr. Vito and Dr. Lee have asked our programmers to create personal amusements, way off topic, way beyond the appropriate goals of the project.

"I'm not going to question their motives. But not only have these efforts proven to be wasteful and distracting, they have even shown themselves to be dangerous. Our own Dr. Johansson, one of the foremost mathematicians in the world, has fallen prey to one of the virtual monsters they have created. I have to tell you that it's only through the strongest efforts of modern science that she's still alive. It would have been best, in fact, if we had sent her back to her home country for treatment. But her dedication to the project has kept her here."

Farson surveyed his audience. He had them, he thought. He had set up Vito's demonstration so that every member of the review committee would see through it, understand it for what it was, useless sentimentality at best, dangerous and pointless experimentation at worst.

"For Dr. Johansson," he continued, "for the good of the project and the world, I urge you to abandon the insane effort that Mr. Vito and Dr. Lee are leading, an effort suggested by one of our arch enemies."

Here he stared angrily back at Vito once again.

"Let us get back to the real purpose of this project," he concluded, "and send our respected colleague back to Hollywood where he can continue to produce entertainment products. We're grateful for the part of his work that is really useful. But let's put an official end to the rest of his pointless and self-serving efforts. They can only disrupt and delay our important work from here on out."

### Chapter 31

Pamela walked through the streets of Murdenwald beside the young man in the black silk suit. He walked slowly, considerately, so that Pamela had no problem keeping up with him in spite of her rather broad frame and her too tight pants suit. The library seemed farther off than she imagined, down a street, behind the hotel, and then farther still. The afternoon mist had begun to curl around the mountaintops and had even made its way into the street reminding her of London at the start of a foggy evening.

Twilight was fading fast, but the young companion, Ferenc he said his name was, kept smiling at her as they trudged along, and that smile was so reassuring that it kept her going even though she knew that the hotel was now far behind them.

"Your first time in Switzerland?" he asked with that beautiful smile.

"In Murdenwald, anyway," Pamela answered. "Been to Geneva, of course."

"And you are English."

"Originally, now American."

"I thought you were a little too sophisticated to be born in America," he said.

"Yes, they are a little brash, aren't they?"

"I prefer Europeans," he said. "They're more tasty."

"Tasteful, I think you mean, don't you?" Pamela said. "You aren't going to eat them, are you?"

"Well, some of you do seem quite delectable," he responded. "But you're right. My English isn't all that it should be."

"I find it charming."

He stopped for a moment just to look at her. It was a hungry look, Pamela thought, as though he wanted to consume her very soul, and somehow she found that idea quite thrilling. She'd had many admirers, of course, especially when she was much younger than her current 53 years. But never had anyone looked at her with such interest and (did she dare think it?) desire! She stared back at him and hoped that she was returning the same expression. She must have been because her look seemed to make him nervous, and that was sweet.

"The library's right up ahead," he said at last, "will you come in with me?"

"Of course."

"My office is at the very top floor of the tower. There's a magnificent view. I'd love to show it to you?"

(Alone with this gorgeous man in his office? Was it something she dared to do?)

"I'd love to see it."

"Wonderful," he responded with a big cheerful grin. "Follow me."

#

Pamela followed Ferenc through the great doors of the library, into the vast rotunda where marble glistened everywhere. Floor upon floor of bookshelves and tables circled like a kaleidoscope above the rotunda.

"Quite a place," she whispered as though she were in a cathedral.

"It's one of the oldest libraries in Europe. This town was once a monastery; maintaining the library was its central work. The floors go on forever, and my office is at the very top."

Pamela looked higher at the puzzle of stairways that arched dizzyingly above her.

"But fortunately," Ferenc added, "there's an elevator we can take."

"Thank God," Pamela answered, now noticing the tables at the railings on each floor that circled above them. They were clearly occupied with avid readers. But on the higher floors, their character changed somehow, from happy couples and teens to far darker souls.

"The elevator will get us there in seconds," Ferenc said, and he led her to the side of the rotunda where a sleek, modern elevator door was embedded into the ancient wall. He pulled an antique-looking key from his pocket and slid it into the keyhole just beside the elevator. There was a cheerful ping and a whirring that told them that the elevator was on its way.

"It'll be just a minute now," Ferenc said as he turned to her once again. He still had her bag slung over his shoulder, didn't seem to feel its weight at all, as though it barely existed. He smiled again, and again those deep blue eyes lit with hungry energy, it was almost hypnotic, almost devouring, almost maddening.

God, he was young, Pamela thought. But somehow that made her feel younger too, as though she could somehow share his youth. Pamela felt eager to see his office, to see the view, to see if and how such a fine European gentleman would try and seduce her. God, she hoped he would.

The elevator door sprung open.

"After you," Ferenc said. And Pamela stepped eagerly out of it.

### Chapter 32

The whole review committee had adjourned for an hour, to reconvene in the simulation rooms across the hall. There, Charles would explain the Omar character and synthetic waterboarding.

Vito was straightening up his papers and looking like a man who was ready to step into a boxing ring.

"You don't need to be so concerned," came a soft voice.

"I don't?"

"I think Charles will carry the day," Lieutenant Roberts said with a smile.

"Hopefully," Vito sighed. "In the meantime where is he, and where's Lucy?"

"Probably slipped out for a quickie between presentations. Why don't we do the same?"

Vito looked back at Roberts in disbelief.

She matched his look playfully.

"You know what I mean: _my_ kind of quickie," she added, "a story quickie."

Vito just shook his head. "You're incorrigible," he said with a laugh.

"Nope, just hungry for a good story."

"We're a fucking hour away from being booted off the project."

"Nah, I don't think so, hon."

"Why not?"

"Maybe just because I know how good our stuff is and how badly I need to get your mind off of all this."

Vito paused thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. "Okay, let me tell you about Elli's bus ride to Scranton."

"She ran into Arnie?"

"Not at all," Vito answered. "It's more about the thoughts she had on the ride, thoughts that she explained to me a little later."

Vito slumped back into his chair at the conference table. The room was clear. He'd reviewed his presentation a thousand times. They had an hour. Why not remember his girl.

NEW YORK STATE—SEPTEMBER 1958

Elli slid into the seat of the greyhound bus, waited for the driver to pull out of the terminal, waited until it became very quiet and the bus lights were dimmed for the evening ride. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out Donny's ring ... her engagement ring. She slid it onto her finger and felt the warmth of Donny's love. She hadn't felt this kind of peace since she was with her dad.

She looked at the other passengers on the bus. A small grandmotherly woman sat at the very front, right behind the driver; a couple in their late thirties sat at the very back. Across from her and a few rows back two college girls sat gossiping. Midway up that same side a thin man in his forties read a book. That was all. Or was it?

Elli seemed to sense another person, or at least feel his presence. It was her dad.

"It's all gonna work out fine, kid," she felt him tell her in that rich announcer voice of his. "And please don't blame your mother for all of the bad things that have happened, okay? She loves you. She's just a little messed up right now. Leave her to me. I'll take care of her."

"Daddy," Elli sighed as she grasped Donny's ring and held it tightly. She looked out the window as the lights of the city gave way to the twilight glow of the countryside. She saw her own reflection in the window, and she smiled. How could she be so happy? Then she looked beyond her own image, beyond her reflection, into the past, to the beach where her whole family had been picnicking on a late August afternoon just a year ago.

She and her dad played Frisbee together, she a clumsy bundle of knees and elbows that tripped though the sand as she ran for each catch. He threw gently, so that the Frisbee was always directly in front of her. And she still tripped and fell giggling as she went after it.

They had walked far up the beach that day, just the two of them. She told him about her friend Marilyn and how the boys flocked around her.

"A boy magnet," he said. "But hey, kid, one of those guys might just notice how terrific you are and sweep you off your feet."

She wondered now if her dad was up in heaven arranging it all, bringing Donny into her life. She wished he could meet Donny face to face. He'd approve. Donny treated her just the way her dad would want him to. If her mom weren't such a poop, she'd like Donny, too.

The bus roared into the growing darkness, deep into the hills of central New York. Here and there lights from farmhouses offered cozy scenes that matched Elli's mood. She appeared to be looking out of the window into the blackness, but she was really with her dad again, at the beach in August.

They talked about so much that day; it was almost as though he knew that it was the last time they would really be alone together. She told him of her hopes for college.

Okay, so she wasn't a brain like Marilyn (she's too smart for her own good, her dad had said) but Elli got good grades and she loved science. That made her feel very cool because it was the one subject that Marilyn didn't get.

"I tutor her every day," she said to her dad. "I think I'm the one who got her that A+ in the chemistry final, even though I only got an A."

"An A is terrific," he said. "You know I'm really proud of you, kid; you're shaping up just fine, and there's a pretty nice chunk of cash accumulating in your college fund. So just keep getting those good grades and maybe you can go to Syracuse like your old man."

"Mom wants me to go to Vassar," Elli said.

"Vassar? What kind of place is that for a talented girl like you? Screw the ivy-league. You don't want to grow up to be like your mom, do you?"

"She's very beautiful," Elli said.

"And don't think you didn't get some of that beauty," he added. "Those eyes of yours could turn back the tide." He winked at her as he gestured to the water.

"Dad, its only Lake Ontario," she giggled, "there is no tide."

"Think you're smart, don't you." He grinned even more broadly and shook his head in wonder. "Let's see if you're fast, too," and he lit out across the beach running back to the picnic area and his wife. He slowed just enough so that Elli could catch him and even surge past him in the end.

Of course, Elli's mom was her nasty old self when they got there, wondering why they had been gone for so long, what they were doing way up at the other end of the beach while she had to stay behind and put away all the picnic things. Elli had rushed around picking up the last of the picnic supplies while her dad charged into the lake for one last plunge.

And that's where she heard it first, a cough that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, a cough that rattled his shoulders and would echo through the house all that night, a cough that landed him in the hospital by the end of the week. It sounded as though the great hollow of his chest (the one that created that deep announcer voice) was now an echo chamber for a deadly, raspy cough that was only the _symptom_ of the terrible disease that would soon end his life.

Elli turned away from the window. There was nothing to see out there anyway. The night was dead black. Her hand clutched Donny's ring. She pulled it up and kissed it. She was seventeen years old and engaged to the coolest boy in the world. But at that moment, she missed her father more that she could ever say.

### Chapter 33

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—AUGUST 2011

"Pleased to see you again, Commander," Omar said as Charles Martin made his way into the hovel where he had been so brutally tortured by Omar's men. "I see you've brought some friends."

Omar stopped and waited for a response while he eyed the new arrivals suspiciously.

"Dr. Golder, General Linden," Martin began, "this is Omar, and this is the story-based-simulation that Mr. Vito and Dr. Lee created to demonstrate a 3D world populated by characters generated by solid form holography. The renderings were done by David Montana, the world was created by Randy Gardner, and Omar's AI personality model was built by Assif Jahala."

"Is this some kind of joke?" Omar asked as he glanced at the newcomers nervously. "Why have you brought these people here?"

"To learn about your world, Omar," Martin responded.

Omar looked confused.

"You don't really expect me to believe that, do you, commander?"

He snapped his fingers, and the fatman and weasel man burst through the doorway. "Take them," he called, and the guards advanced on Martin and the others.

They grabbed Linden and Golder roughly and held them fast. A third guard raised the butt of his rifle above his head and prepared to bring it down full force across the back of Golder's neck.

Assif Jahala lifted a small remote control, pointed it at the ceiling, clicked it and Omar and his guards faded magically away. He clicked it again and the hovel itself, the flooring and the tea service that had been set out in the corner disappeared, too. The group was now standing in the open desert. Jahala passed the remote to Gardner and the young man simply said, "I built this world."

"Would you like a demonstration of weather, Dr. Golder?" he asked.

"Nothing too harsh," Golder mumbled.

"Wind?" asked Gardner touching a button on the remote and bringing up a gale that blasted the sand brutally against them.

"That's enough," Linden commanded as the building sandstorm pummeled his face and body. Gardner immediately shut off the wind.

"There's a caravan nearby," Gardner continued. "I hear they are having a feast this evening. They've moved on so we can't see them anymore, but the aroma from their meal is still in the air. See if you can pick it out."

Gardner chose another button, pressed it and the remarkable odors of an Afghani feast floated to them: Roast lamb, lentils, rice.

"Makes me hungry," Golder said.

"There's more," Gardner added.

"We get the idea," Golder answered. "So you can build a world with a realistic background, weather, smells, objects that can populate the world. You can add solid form characters that can grab you and handle you rather roughly. I suppose the bruise the guard just gave me on my arm is real though, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it is," Gardner answered. "Sorry about that."

"That's all right," Golder answered. "But tell me, did you plan to put Premier Trang into the middle of the Afghani desert and have Omar hold him hostage?"

"Of course not," Lucy answered. She had moved into the simulation room and was standing next to Charles.

"These are just sample situations," she said. "General Linden was good enough to give us a year to work with the simulation tools (the virtual characters, and locations and objects) so that we could assess their capabilities before Mr. Vito actually wrote the final simulation story."

"These characters and locations will never make it into the final simulation, then?"

"They're just pure research, tests of the system to see what it can do."

"And when you see what the system can do," Golder continued, "You'll come up with something completely different for Premier Trang?"

"I think so," Vito said as he moved farther into the room and stood beside Dr. Lee.

"Why all this research, why not just start building the final world," Golder asked. "Writer's block, Mr. Vito?"

"I wish it were as simple as that," Vito added.

"What is it then?"

"The God Problem," Lucy answered.

"Never heard of that one," Golder said with a chuckle. "Is it scientific or theological?"

"Maybe a little of each," Vito answered with a grin.

"Is that also why you've been fooling around with vampires?" Golder asked.

"Exactly," Lucy answered.

"And what do you hope to gain?"

"Knowledge," Lucy said enthusiastically. "We wanted to see what would happen if we created a creature that was pure evil. Could he be strong and intelligent enough to help solve the God Problem?"

"So, what in hell is this God Problem you keep talking about?" Golder asked.

"In two words," Lucy answered, "Free will."

"Dr. Lee has a two hundred slide PowerPoint presentation back in the conference room." Vito said. "She'll tell you all about it. Why don't we go back there now?"

"Good idea," Golder said. "But why don't you show us your virtual vampire, first."

"We shut it down last week," Vito answered. "It turned out to be too damn dangerous."

"I heard all about Dr. Johansson," Golder responded.

"It was a disastrous miscalculation on my part," Vito said as humbly as he had ever said anything in his life.

"That's all well and good," Golder said, "but it is in the best interests of this review board to see the work if we're going to assess the true status of the project. Farson tells us you've gone way off course, and we'd like to see just how far that is."

He turned back to General Linden. "So get the damn thing cranked up and let's have a look at it."

### Chapter 34

Vito and Roberts ducked out of the sim room for just a minute. Vito needed another bathroom break and Roberts another fix.

"So you've become a fucking addict," Vito said to his aide as soon as he stepped back out of the Men's Room.

"You know I have," Roberts responded.

"Guess I've known a few story junkies in my time. Is there any prep that we need to do for the Vampire demo?"

"Doubt it," Roberts answered. "Jahala will want to handle it all anyway."

Vito nodded, looking the lieutenant up and down. He let his eyes linger on that heavenly bottom of hers. Even that military uniform couldn't suppress it. He was getting to like telling her stories and seeing her excited response. He'd have kept it up even if she weren't letting him bang her endlessly in exchange for the favor. He even thought she was helping keep those chest pains at bay. After all, how could he have them when he needed repeated doses of Viagra to keep his performance up to par?

"So let's hear the story," Roberts pleaded.

Vito smiled eagerly and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the chairs in the hallway.

SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA—SEPTEMBER 1958

"Here ya go, Miss," said the driver as he pulled Elli's bags from the compartment under the bus and flipped them up onto the curb in Scranton.

"Now, mind you, go right to the cab stand, don't go talkin ta any a the derelicts around here."

"Yes, sir," Elli said softly. She was on the verge of tears. Scranton suddenly felt like prison or exile or something like that. The more she stood there, the more her world seemed to be crashing down around her. Everything she loved was so far away: Donny, her angel, Marilyn, her Dad. Instinctively she clutched Donny's ring. (Her engagement ring.)

" _Lost Princess!"_

"You all right, miss?" the bus driver asked.

"Guess so," Elli said sadly. "I just left my ..." She paused for a moment almost unable to say the word, and when she did, it sent a shot of desperate loneliness through her heart. "Fiancé ... I just left my fiancé at home so I could come to school."

"Well, that'd make just about anyone cry," the driver responded with a smile.

" _Paging the Lost Princess Elena."_

Elli flinched, but the words didn't register.

"Want me ta get a porter for ya," the driver asked, "ta help get your bags over ta the cabstand?"

"That's okay," Elli whispered, "But thanks for your kindness." And she pulled a quarter from her pocket and handed it to the man.

"Thank ya, Miss," he said with a little bit of a wistful smile himself.

Elli lifted both bags and turned away from the bus. She saw several cabs lined up at the very front of the station and chose to walk through the terminal and out the front door to get to them.

Inside, the terminal was bustling. There actually were a few derelicts, Elli realized, old men in tattered coats clutching paper bags that even she knew held whiskey bottles. They sat along the far wall of the terminal, often lolling half asleep, or snoring with their mouths wide open. In contrast, the center of the terminal was actually buzzing as dozens of wide wooden benches provided a temporary respite for college kids on their way back to school. They also welcomed businessmen, service men and women, and even happy young couples heading off to visit grandma with their kids. She and Donny would be doing that some day, Elli thought, and it helped a smile find its way through her tears.

" _Paging the Lost Princess Elena."_

Elli stopped for a moment. What were they saying? Could it be her imagination? She walked slowly toward the cabstand, now listening intently for the message. But there was nothing. She reached the front door of the terminal and waited for a moment. Nothing! So she pushed her way through.

"Let me help you, Miss," a cabbie said as he rushed up to her and grabbed her bags. He was tossing them into the trunk, and Elli was just about to get into the taxi when she heard it again.

" _Paging the Lost Princess Elena."_

Elli turned to the cabbie. "How do I answer that page?" she asked.

"You're the Lost Princess Elena?"

"I am," she answered feeling a wonderful excitement welling up within her.

"Right over there, Miss," the cabbie said pointing to a little booth just inside the terminal. "Want me to wait?"

"Sure," Elli called, and then she turned and flew back through the door across the dirty floors of the terminal and right up to the booth.

"You were paging me," Elli said to the pleasant-looking young woman behind the counter.

"Elena?" she asked.

"The Lost Princess Elena," said a voice from right beside Elli. It was _his_ voice!

"OhMyGod," Elli sighed as she turned and saw Donny. She threw her arms around him and pressed her body as tightly to him as her strength would allow.

"How did you get here?" she sobbed. She was crying again, but these were tears of pure joy.

"There are faster ways to get to Scranton than by Greyhound," Donny answered.

"But why are you here?"

"Cause I love you, maybe? That's a good enough reason, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," Elli answered as that magical glow swept over her.

"Because I want to make sure that you get to your new school safely."

"Donny!"

"So I could give you another goodbye kiss."

"The Marilyn kind?"

"My favorite."

Elli grabbed Donny by the arm and dragged him to the cab.

"Marywood School," Elli called to the cabbie as soon as she pulled Donny inside. Then she wrapped her arms around him and gave him kiss after kiss after Marilyn kiss.

"Take the long way," Donny called as he came up for air.

"Will do, chief," the cabbie answered. "But just no fornicatin' back there, understand? None a that fornicatin'."

"If you insist," Donny answered.

"Guess we can't do no fornicatin' back here," he said to Elli with a smile.

"But the Lost Princess _hungers_ for you," she giggled gleefully. And she pulled him to her again.

#

The little cab wound its way as slowly as possible through the streets of downtown Scranton, and it happened to pass a very large young man as he entered the employment offices of the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Mining Company. He was simpleminded, some people thought. But that was far from the truth, as you know. It was a role he played to make his life easier, and because he was full of such anger and hatred that he wanted nothing to do with people.

He had to formulate a plan that he thought would allow him to catch Elli Capadonico when she was alone. Then he could take her somewhere, somewhere new but every bit as spectacular as Niagara Falls. There they could be together at last ... together in death.

"Name?" asked the gruff foreman at the employment desk.

"Arnie," he answered. "Arnie Cudgel."

"So you want to work in the mines, boy?"

"I do, sir," Arnie answered, and he gave the man the most intelligent look he had ever given anyone in his life.

### Chapter 35

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—AUGUST 2011

Lieutenant Erin Roberts stared into the eyes of the vampire and suddenly felt very hot. She ran her fingers over the ridge in her neck and tugged harshly at the collar of her starched military blouse. Her breath came fast.

"I've been waiting for you, Lieutenant Roberts," Vladimir crooned as he pulled back his thick woolen hood to reveal his boyish grin and those amazing midnight-blue eyes.

"General Linden. Dr. Golder," he said with a bow in their direction, "what a pleasure to see you."

"I can understand how women would fall for this guy," Dr. Golder said as he looked at the beautiful young man. "Who was the model?"

"He's based on a sketch Lucy made," Gardner answered, "Some guy she met here in town."

"But his behavior," Assif Jahala added, "is modeled on Dracula himself, plus every bit of information about vampires I could dig out of the Internet."

"Lucy," the vampire continued, as he turned to Dr. Lee, "you must let me into your bedroom some evening."

Lucy pulled the little crucifix out from under her blouse and began to fumble with it nervously.

"Put that thing away," the vampire said shielding his eyes. "You might hurt someone."

"So, it's true about vampires and crucifixes," Linden said.

"It's true of _this_ vampire, anyway," Jahala responded. "Part of the classic behavior I programmed into him. I'm sure there are vampires in other cultures that don't respond to the stimulus, but a subject of the Holy Roman Empire? Of course he would."

"Gentlemen," the vampire said smoothly, "would you please excuse us; Lieutenant Roberts and I would like to be alone together."

The men in the room laughed. Lucy did not; she just eyed Roberts, who was moving up from the very back of the crowd, making her way slowly toward the creature, now loosening her tie, unbuttoning the collar of her military blouse. Her eyes stared at the vampire as though she were hypnotized.

"Kill it, Randy!" Lucy called loudly, and the young man immediately hit the button on the remote and the vampire vanished into thin air.

Lucy pulled Roberts to her and turned her around so the others couldn't see her. "Pull yourself together, for Christ's sake," she whispered harshly.

Roberts shook herself; she looked into Lucy's eyes. "Where am I?" she asked.

"He was working on you, calling you to him, and you started undoing your blouse."

"No shit?"

"Come on, straighten up before anyone notices."

Fortunately, Golder had begun pontificating at the front of the room and everyone in the crowd had focused their attention on him. As a result, they had their backs to Roberts as she buttoned her blouse and straightened her tie.

"Mr. Jahala," Golder said, "I'd like to see the behavioral models you've put together for this creature. And I'd like you, Mr. Montana, to show us some of the graphic elements you used to build him. You've certainly shown us the most advanced example of an intelligent agent I've ever seen."

The members of the committee agreed and there was even a smattering of applause.

"Dr. Lee," Golder continued, "if you can explain how all this technology, not the vampires, of course, but everything else fits together into Mr. Vito's story-based simulation, I think we may very well have no choice but to approve a continuation of the effort."

"I'd be happy to do that, Doctor," Lucy said as she moved to block everyone's view of Roberts. The young lieutenant had straightened herself up nicely, but a hungry look had suddenly come into her eyes, and it was almost alarming.

"Please follow me," Lucy said as she led the troop from the simulation room.

"You okay?" Vito asked Roberts as everyone was leaving.

"Oh, yeah," she said eagerly. "But I do need to come back here and spend some time with this guy."

### Chapter 36

"All the countries of the world," Pamela signed looking out at the grand vista from the library tower.

"You can have them all," Ferenc murmured as he drew close to her. "I'll give them to you."

Pamela cocked her head. A quizzical expression curled the corners of her lips. "You'd make me Queen Victoria, then?"

"You'd be a great ruler."

Ferenc was beside her now; she could smell the musky incense of his body. It was intoxicating. So were those midnight-blue eyes, those broad shoulders, and the muscular chest that rippled with every move he made.

"There are other things I'd much rather rule," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like you!"

"I think that can be arranged."

Ferenc took her hand and led her to the very back wall of the tower where enormous bookshelves formed a rich dark background. He removed his suit coat and cast it carelessly aside. Pamela smiled as she stepped up to him.

He let Pamela reach forward and unbuckle his belt, unzip his trousers. She hadn't even kissed him yet, she realized, and yet she was taking off his pants. Her hands trembled. He took her by the wrists and steadied her as they forced his pants to the floor. He was wearing nothing underneath.

"I'm yours," he said.

Pamela giggled, but she was trembling as she slid her hands across his chest and over his shoulders. He took her face in his hands, held it for a moment so that he could study her. His look seemed to be one of pure adoration, as though they were lovers who had wanted each other for centuries. Then he pulled her to him, kissed her gently on the lips, then more forcefully, then wildly. He spun her around. Pamela closed her eyes, swallowed hard. She felt herself pulled backward onto the steps, her too tight pants suit and underthings jerked down around her knees as she fell back onto him. She closed her eyes and held them closed as he drove himself into her.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw her own reflection in the window. Strange, he was somehow hidden from her view, but her own lustful image was erotic enough. She rode him, and as she did, at the very far end of the tower, a door opened.

Even through her lovemaking Pamela watched as the beautiful woman from the twilight streets (that imperial girl of twenty with the curled red-blond hair and those bright lovely eyes) made her way toward them. The girl's nostrils flared with passion. She moved smoothly, almost floated until she was right before Pamela.

Suddenly Ferenc exploded within Pamela setting off a chain-reaction of shudders, gasps, shooting stars, and fireworks in both their bodies.

And at that very moment, at the height of Pamela's ecstasy, at the moment of Ferenc's climax, the lovely young girl in the Cinderella gown pulled a dagger from behind her back and slit Pamela's throat.

### Chapter 37

Dr. Lucy Lee couldn't remember when she had been more frightened, not in recent memory, anyway. She stared out at the generals and other dignitaries waiting patiently for her to bring her presentation to the screen. Charles was scrambling around under the front of the table, trying to make sure that all the wires were connected, all the settings were right.

"Remember your bright red panties?" he whispered softly to Lucy.

That made things worse, or did it?

She suddenly did remember that she and Charles had decided to follow the advice of her old professor at Stanford. It's the oldest public speaking trick in the book, he had told the class. Wear bright red underwear on the day of your big presentation, then think of it just before you get up there in your spiffy new business suit. Remember that all those dignitaries may think you're prim and proper, but underneath it all you're absolutely outrageous.

"My red skivvies helped me," Charles whispered as he grappled with the wiring under the table. He pulled the corner of his shorts just above the top of his pants, flashing a little of his own bright red silk and giving her a thumbs up. Lucy had to move her hand in front of her face to hide the giggle. The shorts had helped him; it was true. His presentation was masterful.

Things were going well, Lucy thought, and here she was, poised to put the finishing touches on it all.

So why am I so nervous? Lucy asked herself as she pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose for the four hundredth time that day: because, if everything goes to hell right now, it will be my fault.

"You're all set to go, Luce," Charles said as he pulled himself up from under the table. "Oh, and by the way, did I mention that I love thinking of you in those bright red panties?"

"You're a hypocrite, Mr. born-again Christian," Lucy whispered as she gave him a quick jab to the shoulder. Then she smiled at Vito and saw that her first slide was already on the screen: _Story Driven Simulations_ , it said.

"Why story driven?" Lucy asked the crowd. "Why put a story into a simulation, and how do you do it anyway?"

Farson grunted; he didn't like the way things were going. The committee seemed to be falling for this crap, and pretty little Lucy was the perfect person to get them to swallow the rest of it.

Lucy called up the second slide, a picture of Premier Trang. "Premier Trang seemed to know why story driven simulations were important," she said as that old feeling of confidence returned. "That's why he asked that we get Donald Vito, a world renowned storyteller, to run the project.

"Now granted, Trang was probably stalling for time so that he could keep working on his nuclear arsenal, but in spite of that, maybe just maybe, he inadvertently gave us the piece of advice we needed to get this thing right. Look ..."

She advanced to the next slide with its embedded video. It showed the straight statistical presentation Farson had shown to Trang; then she advanced again, this time showing Vito's DOOMSDAY GAME: Armageddon with realistic people having their lives destroyed by the cataclysm.

"That's what it's all about," Lucy said, "Immersion! We want the people who could possibly cause the end of the world to move into the _real_ world first, not the rarified existence that they inhabit.

"'You'll just play a little game,' we tell them. 'Here's your role, here's your life. Engaging, isn't it?'

"They're loving the game we give them to play, and because it's a story, they get engrossed."

She flipped to the next slide: story sketches from one of Vito's tentative scenarios.

"In this example Trang plays the game as a wealthy banker," Lucy said. "Things are going swimmingly, getting better and better. He accumulates wealth, builds an empire, amasses great power, and is ready to gain all the rewards of playing the game well. Then suddenly, BLAM! (Next slide)

"Trang's engaging new world ends in the kind of destruction he is planning to unleash."

Lucy flipped to the next slide: a graphic representation of a story arc with the events of the simulation pictured in little sketches along the arcing line. It was the game that Trang would be immersed in. The path to his success was clear, except that at the climatic moment, a rather dramatic sketch indicated that bombs would begin to fall.

"But what happens," Lucy asked, "if, in the course of his game adventure, Trang decides to do things differently? What if he wants to move off the path of the story we've laid out for him? What if he decides to get on a plane and fly away from downtown Los Angeles where the bombs will soon be falling? We want him to stay in LA. How do we keep him there?"

"It's the God Problem, folks," Vito added.

"The God Problem?" Golder asked.

"That's right, Doctor," Lucy replied, "It's a technical term in the game biz. If we want to play God as game builders, than we have to deal with God's problem, which is how do you accommodate free will? Or, to make a long story short, how do we keep Trang in LA to become a victim of the destruction, when he wants to fly to Barbados for the weekend?"

"You tell us!" Golder commanded.

"We block him, of course," Lucy said. "We create events like bad weather that keep him in LA. If that doesn't work, we bring in a simulated character whose job it is to stop him, and if that doesn't work, we invent a new part of the story."

Golder nodded and smiled. Farson frowned.

"I get it," Golder said. "You can't invent millions of story paths to go along with every possible choice Trang could make, so you have ways to block him."

"Right," Lucy answered, "so that Trang feels that the simulation is real. He's not running into big computer pop-up signs that say, ' _sorry, you can't do that. We haven't made that part of the story yet.'_ "

Golder nodded. "But then why the vampire?"

"We had to experiment," Lucy answered, again pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. "We had to try out all the tools and all the possibilities. We wanted to see if we could make virtual characters that were so complex that they could do all the things we needed them to do. We needed real insight into various personalities. That's why Vito created a virtual character based on a young woman he was in love with."

"Obsessed with," Vito acknowledged.

"You can't find greater insight than that," Lucy said.

"So again," Golder asked, "what about the vampire?"

"Well, what if the character we needed had to be damn evil?" Lucy asked. "I felt that building an experimental character like that would teach us a lot."

Lucy checked the crowd. For the most part they were right with her, everyone but Farson and Withering, who sat there with looks that bordered on hatred. It made her smile. Wonder what color underwear they're wearing? she asked herself.

"So to sum up," Lucy said flipping to the last slide of her presentation:

"1. The president felt that the simulation would benefit from an engrossing story.

2. We hired a movie producer to provide that story.

3. The technology we wanted to use was untried so we were granted a year to run a series of experiments.

4. The experiments involved building virtual characters that would enter the story and steer it in the right direction.

5. The virtual vampire was one of those characters, an experiment in building someone who was really evil so they could do really evil things to keep the story on track. And no one would say what's his motivation because we understand the motivation of really evil characters.

6. And of course we also made a really evil character because that's how our target audience tends to be. You know, they're megalomaniacs."

The committee sat there nodding their heads in silence for a moment; Golder was smiling. Lucy smiled, too, and then just for a minute tried to imagine the whole damn committee sitting there in red silk underwear. It made her giggle and blush as she walked from the head of the table to the back of the room.

"Nice job," Vito said as she passed him. Charles blew her a kiss.

"Okay then," Golder said to the entire crowd. "This has been most enlightening, and we'd like to thank all of you for participating. We need to break for a few minutes now. I could damn well use the john myself. Then we'll want to compare notes and discuss things. After that, General Linden and Dr. Farson, we'd like to talk with both of you privately. The rest of you can leave, and thank you all again for the presentations."

Vito and the rest of his team began pulling their papers together and making their way from the room.

"Oh, and Mr. Vito," Golder suddenly called as the producer was leaving. Vito turned and saw that Golder was holding out a pad and a shiny, new Mont Blanc pen.

"Could I have your autograph please?"

Vito nodded. Farson overheard the exchange, rolled his eyes and cursed to Withering under his breath.

"We're really fucked now!"

#

In two hours Vito, Lucy, Charles, Dave Montana (the character designer), Randy Gardner (the world builder), and Assif Jahala (who built such believable personality models) were all sitting at one of the picnic tables outside the Simulation Building downing soft drinks, eating pretzels and peanuts, and waiting for the verdict.

Suddenly Farson came tearing out of the door. He didn't look at them at all. His face was drawn into a disgusted scowl. He rushed toward the sleeping quarters, entered, and slammed the door behind him.

"That may tell us all we need to know," Vito said as he crushed the little Coke can he had just finished. Charles reached for Lucy's hand and held it tightly.

"Good news," Linden said as he emerged from the Simulation Building and strode proudly up to them. "Golder thinks we're on the right track. He did commend Farson for calling the meeting, what with the vampire business and all. But in the end, he decided that you guys can contribute a great deal to our endeavor. The project goes on!"

Vito's creative group let out a cheer. Lucy hugged Charles. Montana, Gardner and Jahala high-fived and clapped each other on the backs.

"Time to move this party into town for some serious beverages," Montana said.

"I'm buying," Vito called. "I owe you guys a lot."

"One more cheer for the boss," Gardner called, and the others responded happily.

Unfortunately, the cheer wasn't quite loud enough to reach the library tower in Murdenwald. There, a bloodied Pamela was now cleansing the murderous gash in her neck and preparing to set out into the night in search of the blood she had lost.

### 4

### Vampires and other Monsters

### Chapter 38

INNSBRUCK, AUSTRIA—1600

The young women gathered at the carriage stop and waited for their ride. It was a gloomy morning, and a fine mist drizzled onto their heavy coats.

Sprinkling us with little diamonds, Katrina thought. She was cheerful in spite of the weather. And why shouldn't she be? She was setting off on a new adventure, new employment in Switzerland at the castle of beautiful duchess who had paid her family handsomely for her services.

There had been rumors, of course, that the woman was evil. Sandra, one of Katrina's friends, had believed them and tried to persuade the rest of them not to go, even managed to convince her mother and father to turn down the duchess's rich offer.

How foolish, Katrina thought, as she looked at the other young women. Surely, she was the most beautiful of them all, with long blond hair that her mother had braided and then pinned up in ringlets, in the style of Innsbruck, the mountain stronghold of the Empire.

Katrina grinned. Prettiest, yes, she thought, and the best schooled, the most athletic, the most talented of the whole group. She'd stolen boys' hearts from every girl there, bested them at ice-skating, cooking, letters. Her mother had fought hard for this position, and she hoped to become the personal maidservant of the duchess. Elizabeth was her name, Elizabeth Laskaar, and her castle was high in the Alps.

With the loud crack of a whip, a carriage materialized out of the heavy mist and approached. Huge black horses circled into the stop and came to a halt right in front of the young women. The beasts were massive and terrifying, pawing the ground with their enormous hooves, blasting steamy breath into the drizzly air.

" _Come now, girls," the driver called as he stepped down from the ominous looking rig. He began hoisting their bags up onto the top of the carriage._

Katrina caught the sparkle in his eyes (they were midnight blue). His face was young and ruggedly handsome. Black curls peeked out from below his cap. He smiled especially at Katrina, she thought, and chose her bag first. (How appropriate.)

" _Into the carriage with you then, beauty," he called, and fetched her a hard wallop on the bottom that nearly drove her headlong into the carriage interior._

Katrina smiled. Things were off to a good start, and they only got better when she look up into the carriage and saw opulence she would never have believed possible.

" _It's like a queen's bedroom in here," she called to Susana, her best friend. The dark-haired girl with the big lips and enormous eyelashes giggled wickedly as she clamored into the warm, inviting interior._

" _This is going to be so much fun," Susana said. "We'll be servants to an elegant duchess."_

" _I hope to be her personal maidservant," Katrina added._

" _I'll recommend it, beauty," the coachman said as he pushed the last of the young women into the carriage, then he stuck his head in and looked into the coach to make sure that they were all in their places._

" _Ready, ladies?" he called. The young women nodded their assent, and he ducked back out into the mist, climbed up into the seat, took the large whip and cracked it harshly above the mighty team of horses. With a sudden lurch they were off, to Castle Catrice, to Switzerland, to Bloody Bess ..._ and their doom.

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—1600

It was only forty days later when the duke came riding into the courtyard of Castle Catrice, dismounted in one swift move, and was immediately seized by his own men.

" _Mutiny!" he bellowed as the men held him fast. "You'll all be in the dungeon by morning, I swear it."_

" _That's exactly where we're going," muttered one of the men._

" _And what have you done with the duchess?" the duke screamed._

" _She's already there, my lord."_

" _Has she been harmed?"_

" _You'll see soon enough."_

Six soldiers pushed, pulled, and otherwise manhandled the duke across the courtyard and into the dungeon. They wrestled him down twisting flights of stairs, through narrow passageways and into the central holding area of the keep. And she was there: his beloved Elizabeth, but not in chains. She wore a ball gown in the latest high fashion, a Cinderella blue but open at the bodice so that it lifted and exposed her breasts completely. Her face was powdered, her lips painted as were her nipples, her hair combed out. She looked like an obscene bride on her wedding day.

The duke was shocked when he saw her in all her finery. He might have been excited by it, were he not suddenly in fear for his life. He knew his wife only too well.

" _Is this some kind of a game?" he called as soon as she came into his sight._

" _Indeed," Elizabeth sighed as she strode up to him and kissed him._

" _Making love in the dungeon?"_

" _Yes, I do intend to make love here."_

The duke smiled and felt himself growing aroused in spite of the men still holding him.

" _But not with you," she added with a sneer as she drew a dagger and slashed it across his throat. The duke gargled helplessly for a moment; his look of excitement gave way to confusion and finally to horror, and then he fell backwards into the arms of his men. In a few moments, he was dead._

" _Well done, Duchess," said the captain of the guards, as he stepped into the open rotunda of the keep. His name, of course, was Ferenc._

" _Get this piece of trash out of here," Ferenc called to his men as he pointed at the duke, and they immediately gathered up the body and lugged it up the stairs and into the courtyard where they stripped it naked and burned it._

Meanwhile Elizabeth ran to her new lover and fell into his arms.

" _Ready for your reward, my love?"_

" _I am," Ferenc answered with the same boyish grin that had intoxicated Katrina and her friends in Innsbruck._

" _To our baths and then our marriage bed," Elizabeth called, and she led Ferenc even deeper into the keep._

#

" _Katrina, you've got to save us," Susana whispered to her friend._

She and all the other young women had been chained naked in the center of the room, bound to large iron rings that hung from the great domed ceiling. The place was dungeon-dark, lit only by flickering torches that gave scarce illumination.

" _I don't know how to save you," Katrina sobbed. She was perhaps more terrified than any of them, although unlike them, she was fully clothed and free to move about the room._

" _Get the key, unlock us and we can run from this hellish place."_

" _I can't," Katrina answered, "I don't know where the key is." She began to run back and forth frantically looking for it._

In truth, she would never find it, because she knew exactly what was to happen that night and what her role would be.

Across the floor in front of the young women, a large trench ran to a deep cistern near the far wall. It was already half full, though only Katrina could see its contents.

" _The drawers of that chest! Look there!" Susana called frantically. And Katrina moved to a huge chest standing upright and open near the far corner of the room. She immediately began rummaging through the drawers._

Suddenly the sound of high-pitched laughter echoed through the room.

Katrina pushed in the drawers and turned her back to the other girls.

Susana and her sisters looked to the doorway, their expressions falling into utter hopelessness.

" _Katrina!" Elizabeth called, "time to set about your work, girl."_

" _But ..."_

" _No buts, maid! Do you want to join your sisters?"_

Katrina whimpered. She reached into her pocket and took out a silver dagger with a stag horn handle. She proceeded to the first of her friends and made small, clumsy cuts across her wrists, her calves and her throat.

" _Katrina! No!" cried Susanna as she saw what was happening. "You can't!" the other girls began screaming hysterically. "God, Katrina! NO!"_

" _Hush, ladies," the countess called. "It's a very pleasant way to die, you know, just fading away as you see your blood flowing from you to those so much more worthy than yourselves."_

Katrina had slashed the wrists of half the young women and was finally getting it right, doing it in a way that was deft and swift and causing only a small amount of pain, if it were possible for them to bleed to death and not feel the pain as blood drained from them into the trench and then flowed toward the cistern where Elizabeth and Ferenc now stood.

The couple undressed each other, caressing and kissing as they did. They stepped from their clothes and into the cistern where the warm blood from the dying girls did wonderful things to their wicked bodies.

" _Come now, my love," Elizabeth said at last as she led Ferenc up and out of the cistern. She took a great towel and dabbed the blood from her beautiful body, seeing as she did that it wiped away easily leaving skin that was rejuvenated and tingling. Next she stepped into an ornate satin robe and offered another to her lover. He smiled and took it gleefully. Then together they moved to a hidden bedroom in the keep, leaving behind the blooded bodies of six young women and a hysterical murderess, who still clutched the dagger and babbled madly to herself over the deeds she had been forced to commit._

### Chapter 39

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—SEPTEMBER 2011

Vito stared across the table at Lieutenant Roberts; she had a distracted look in her eyes. One that had been there ever since Vladimir had spoken to her so seductively.

"Earth to Roberts!" Vito called. The lieutenant turned to him and smiled, but it was a vacant smile as though she hardly knew him at all.

"Want a little more of the Elli story?" Vito suggested.

Roberts' eyes brightened a little.

"Something to get your mind off your new stud?"

Roberts winced. Was that a look of jealousy in the old man's eyes?

"I'm so sorry," she said. "Yes, tell me more about Elli. It'll help me get my mind off of ..."

"The size of his cock?" Vito grumbled. "Look, we can't afford to lose another hottie to the call of the vampire!"

Roberts smiled. "You don't have to worry about me, hon," she said, but it was clear from the look in Vito's eyes that he was very worried, indeed.

They were in _Johan's_ , the best bar in the village of Murdenwald. The place had a few pool tables, a jukebox and a small dance floor. Lucy and Charles were dancing to some romantic '50s rock, and Montana and company were shooting pool. So it was just Roberts and Vito at the table. He was sipping his second martini of the evening while Roberts nursed a glass of merlot.

"Go ahead," Roberts said. "Tell me more." She pulled out the recorder she always carried with her.

Vito's expression of serious concern morphed into the troubled look that always crossed his face when he talked about Arnie Cudgel and Elli.

"This is stuff I pieced together years later," he said. "All about what Arnie was doing when he first got to Scranton."

"So tell me," Roberts repeated, and a look of real fascination suddenly filled her eyes. She forgot about Vladimir for perhaps the very last time in her life.

SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA—SEPTEMBER 1958

It was a bright silver dagger with a stag horn handle. Arnie had been staring at it every day since he'd first seen it in the pawnshop window. The price, hand-lettered on a small card at the base of the dagger, said one hundred and fifty dollars. That was about all that Arnie had left of the money he'd brought with him, and now he decided that there was no better purpose for the money than to purchase the beautiful dagger. And so he had made his way into the pawnshop, jumped when the little bell over the door rang out to call the owner, and jumped again when the door slammed shut behind him.

"Coming, coming!" called a balding old man who made his way up behind the counter from the back of the shop. "So, what is it you'd like to see?"

"The dagger in the window," Arnie answered.

"Are you a buyer?" the man asked.

"Yes, I hope so," Arnie whispered.

The man looked Arnie up and down. He was a somber young man with a very troubled look on his face, dressed almost completely in black. But there was coal dust under the young man's fingernails and in his hair, and that made a statement to anyone who lived in that part of Pennsylvania.

"Work in the mines, then?" the old man asked.

"Uh huh."

"Okay, you can have a look. It's a lovely piece, an heirloom brought over from Switzerland, should be charging a lot more for it than I am." And he went to the window and fished out the dagger.

Arnie gasped when the old man placed it in his hands. His calloused fingers caressed the handle. He slid his thumb crosswise over the blade and felt its sharpness. It was a short dagger, barely eight inches long, but it was perfect. His eyes grew wide. He began talking softly to himself.

"Whatter ya sayin'?" the old man asked.

"How much is it?" Arnie responded, though that was not what he was saying at all.

"The sign says a hundred and fifty; can't you read?"

"I can," answered Arnie and felt a touch of anger. He couldn't argue with the man or he would certainly lose control. He had to have the dagger. He knew it. So why not just buy it and get out of the store and away from the old guy before something violent happened?

"I'll take it," Arnie answered and immediately pulled a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket and began fumbling through them.

"Want it wrapped?"

Arnie stopped for a moment as though the question completely baffled him.

"No, thanks," he said at last and pushed the bills across the counter.

"Here's your receipt," the old man said after he had rung up the sale and counted out the change. "And here's the scabbard that comes with it."

Arnie grinned when he saw it, a beautiful, black leather scabbard, ideal for a dagger that would be part of a ritual sacrifice.

Arnie took the dagger, thanked the man and headed out into the dreary Pennsylvania evening.

#

Arnie had moved into a rooming house about a mile from Marywood and had immediately fallen into the routine of shadowing Elli on his days off. He'd catch her as she came out of the house each morning, check her out on the front steps of the main building during the morning break, and watch her during gym class when she and the other girls played softball in the big lot behind the field house. Elli seemed happier now, talking eagerly with new friends, especially with her roommate, a tall, tough-looking redhead named Margie.

Arnie had managed to find a hiding place right outside the window of the home where Elli and six other girls lived together off campus. There was a hedgerow where he could hide from the street. From behind it he had a clear view into the dining and parlor areas of the house, and could even glimpse into the windows of Elli and Margie's little first-floor bedroom. Getting behind the hedges without being seen took quite a bit of doing though, and there were days when Arnie would wait across the street and never feel there was enough of a break in the traffic to give him access at all. On those days he would head back to his room in absolute frustration, there to plan out an event that was becoming clearer and clearer in his mind, the _moment of consummation_ , he called it, when he and Elli would be united in death.

Arnie had a little notebook in which he drew crude diagrams of locations where the event could take place. The abandoned coalmine below the city was one. If only he could find a way to get Elli down there alone. He'd take her deep into some long-forgotten mineshaft where no one could hear her screams. Then he would slowly and carefully end her life ... and his.

Arnie had made his way back to his room. He took off his coat and tossed it across the bed. Then he unsheathed the dagger and fell back into an old overstuffed chair. His fingers traced the outline of the stag horn handle. And, as he did, he saw himself carrying Elli deep into the mine, explaining his plans, watching carefully as she realized what he was saying.

Yes, Marilyn's death was an impulsive mistake.

Yes, he had intended to die with Elli.

Yes, he loved her and wanted to be with her forever.

Yes, this was the moment when he would take her life and then his.

He imagined himself listening as she pleaded desperately. She would acknowledge his power over her. She would beg for her life. But he would be implacable as he explained clearly and rationally why it was far better for her to die and be with him through all eternity than to go on living in a fantasy world with Donny.

He'd then press the silver dagger to her neck; the tip of the blade would slowly pierce her flesh. Elli would catch her breath as the first droplets of blood trickled down her neck and onto her chest. He'd watch the blood begin to pulse slowly from her neck; then he would grab her wrists and slit them too, his as well, co-mingling their blood as they became one. Then Arnie would watch lovingly as Elli became weaker and weaker, screaming at first, crying, cursing, becoming at last too weak to hate him as the blood drained her life away. She'd fall into his arms then and surrender to him, kissing him softly as she bled to death. He'd clutch her close at last as they died in each other's arms. And when they were finally found in the depths of that deserted mineshaft, Arnie knew, they would surely appear to be lovers.

And Donny would be cursed with that knowledge for the rest of his life.

### Chapter 40

SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA—SEPTEMBER 1958

"Fer-sure," Margie Costello said as she sat on the floor eating popcorn and drinking Orange Crush, "The safest place to make out is the cemetery."

Margie was a big girl, attractive in a tough kind of way; she wore heavy lipstick, tight sweaters and slacks all the time, even in locations they were never allowed.

"Yucchhh," Elli responded.

"I know it sounds yucky, but the cops never go there till way after midnight. Plus there's a huge parking lot."

"I don't know," Elli responded shaking her head. "What's the name of the place?"

"Sorrowful Angels, or something like that," Margie answered, "There's this big statue of an angel in the middle of it. She's in mourning, you know, bending over a headstone with tears in her eyes."

"My God! That's _my_ angel!" Elli cried as she sat cross-legged on the bed, looking down toward Margie.

"Whatda ya mean?"

"Listen," Elli began. "There's a park in my hometown dedicated to a girl who died there about a hundred years ago. In the middle of the park is a statue of an angel, probably the same kind of angel they have here.

"Right after my dad died, I felt so, so lonely that I used to go and ..." Elli paused, not sure if she should continue, and then she just blurted it out. "I used to talk to that angel and tell her all my troubles. It made me feel a lot better."

Margie kept shoveling popcorn into her mouth as she looked up at Elli.

"You talked to the statue of an angel?"

Elli nodded and giggled a little.

"I took Donny there to see the angel, and he really liked her."

"What a guy."

"Yeah, but there was this other kid, well not actually a kid, more of a man, great big dumb kind of a stalker guy who came after us."

"Whatda ya mean?"

"I mean he was watching me first, I guess, and then me and Donny, and then when we went to Niagara Falls this one time, he ran up out of nowhere, grabbed my best friend Marilyn and threw her over the falls."

"What! Are you kidding?"

"No, honest," Elli said as the story just gushed out of her. "He grabbed her, waded out into the shallow part of the Niagara River, and threw her into the middle of the current. She got swept away. They never found her body."

Margie gasped.

"That's why I'm here," Elli continued. "My mom thinks the guy might be after me, too. Plus she wanted to break up me and Donny."

Margie's mouth hung open.

"A maniac threw your best friend over Niagara Falls? I don't believe it."

"He did! Marilyn, my best friend ..." and with those words Elli suddenly stopped, realized what she was saying and fell silent. After a long moment her little body began to quiver with sobs.

"My best friend," Elli murmured.

Margie stood and came over to her. She gathered Elli up, put her arms around her and let her cry on her shoulder.

Elli let Margie console her for a very long time, and then she got down from the bed, walked into the bathroom, ran the water, and splashed some of it onto her face.

"I'm sorry," she said when she returned. "I haven't cried in so long."

"I'd say you have a right to," Margie answered. "Losing your dad and then your best friend, being sent away to school. Cripes! Has anything _good_ ever happened to you?"

Elli thought for a moment. "Donny," she answered softly.

"And you're engaged."

Elli nodded holding up her hand with Donny's ring on her finger.

"Your mom doesn't know."

"But my dad does. I told him."

"Thought you said he was dead."

"Doesn't matter. He told me he'd help."

"Jeeze. And Donny'll be here next weekend?"

Elli smiled eagerly.

"Now, where's Donny going to stay when he gets here?" Margie asked as she hopped up onto the bed beside Elli and stared at her intently.

"Don't know," Elli answered, "Does it matter?"

"Well, there's only one place in town that's clean and comfortable and won't call the school if you want to spend the night with him."

"There is?"

The thought that this was possible seemed shocking and wonderful.

"The Excalibur Motel," Margie answered as she took out a cigarette and lit it. "That's where I lost my virginity, Elli, and that's where you should lose yours."

### Chapter 41

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—SEPTEMBER 2011

General Linden sat at the outdoor café in Murdenwald drinking scotch on the rocks and congratulating himself. The presentation for the review committee had been a splendid success. He had just finished entertaining his friend Steve Golder, and between the two of them they had put away almost a fifth of Jamison's. When the time came, Golder had lifted his bag, bid farewell and hiked the few yards over to the aerial tramway, leaving Linden to finish the bottle under the cardboard cutout gaze of _Bloody Bess_.

A heavy evening mist had begun to settle into the streets by then. The mountaintops had become obscured, and now the few passersby who ventured along the way seemed like ghosts appearing out of the fog for just a moment and then marching back into it again. Their footfalls were the only sounds on an otherwise silent evening.

Bloody Bess let out a sudden scream that almost gave Linden a heart attack.

"I'm so sorry," the waitress said as she scurried up to the cardboard advertisement and reset the timer. Just as she had explained to Vito, Roberts, and Lee only a few weeks before, she now told Linden the café was paid to display the figure to promote tours of the Castle Catrice.

"She's set to scream every ten minutes," the waitress told Linden. "I've reset it to twenty now. Again, I apologize. Can I get you something more to eat?"

Linden shook his head. For all the drinking he had done, he was amazingly sober, thanks to the classic Swiss roastie he had consumed after Golder had departed. Fried potatoes and pork cutlets, it was so filling that even a man as big as the general couldn't finish it all.

"Some chocolate pudding?" the waitress suggested.

"Maybe just a cup of coffee." Linden didn't want to seem drunk when he made his way back to the sleeping quarters.

"I'll be right back, sir," the waitress said, and she headed into the kitchen to get his coffee.

"Happy to see you here," General Linden heard a sexy voice whisper, and he jerked around quickly to see Vito's secretary Pamela suddenly standing at the far corner of the outdoor café.

"You startled me," he began. "I didn't hear you coming."

"Sorry 'bout that," Pamela answered in her clipped British style. "Care if I join you?"

"Of course not." Linden stood and pulled the chair out for her. Pamela sat and looked back at Linden appreciatively. But her appearance was absolutely terrifying.

Pamela's face was now quite pallid, as though she had been very, very sick. She had a scarf wrapped around her neck and over her head. Her grey flannel pants suit seemed to fit rather loosely too. It suggested that she had lost a great deal of weight rather quickly. Linden decided not to mention any of it.

"Can I get you something to eat?" he asked instead.

"No, thanks," Pamela answered, "I'm really not very hungry just now."

"Nonsense," the general responded. "Have a little of this roastie; it's delicious."

He pushed the plate toward Pamela, and she picked up a fork and poked at the food, but she did not eat it.

"We've been looking for you ever since you arrived," Linden said.

Pamela laughed. "Before I checked into my room, I met a perfectly wonderful gentleman who helped me with my bag."

"Spent some time with him?"

"Quite a bit, actually. When I learned that Mr. Vito wouldn't be needing me, I decided that I could just sort of drop out."

"And why not," Linden said barking out one of his laughs. "Vito made his own arrangements to go to Sicily ..."

"Sicily?" Pamela smiled. "He does that."

"So I hear, and it pretty much turned your business trip into a free vacation."

"An especially wonderful one now that I've found a great companion."

"Would I know the man?"

"He works in the library."

The general suddenly felt a sense of fear spinning through him. It was a feeling he hadn't had for years.

"Works in the library?" Linden asked. "His name wouldn't happen to be Ferenc, would it?"

Pamela nodded with a broad smile that revealed an amazing set of perfect teeth. They were very white and hungry looking, with huge canines that were especially prominent.

"He didn't ..." Linden began and then stopped cold.

"Of course, he did," Pamela answered as she unwrapped the scarf from around her head and let it fall loosely into her lap.

Linden gasped as he saw a huge gash across her throat that had only now begun to heal. There were also two large puncture wounds in her neck.

The hungry smirk on her face was even more arresting.

Linden bolted from the table and out into the fog. He could see almost nothing, but he had to get away from the woman; he knew that much. He turned down a side street stumbling headlong into the white oblivion.

The mist cleared for a just a moment; he stopped, turned, and she was there. He spun around, ran in the other direction until he was panting like on overworked racehorse. He stopped for a moment and a hand reached out of the mist and touched him. It was Pamela. He yanked away and tore on into the whiteness again ... sensing that she was right beside him, passing him, in fact, zooming on ahead of him like a super villain in a teenage ninja flick.

Linden couldn't go on. He staggered to a halt, felt his heart pounding too hard. He clutched his chest as an explosion of pain tore through him, and at that moment Pamela came to him out of the mist. She touched his face, kissed his lips and buried her fangs deep into his neck.

### Chapter 42

SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA—SEPTEMBER 1958

The mists that swirled around the Cemetery of the Sorrowful Angel were not unlike those that often hid the mountaintops in the little village in Murdenwald so many hundreds of miles (and almost 60 years) away.

Arnie trudged up the sidewalk to the memorial that formed the centerpiece of the graveyard. It was an enormous statue of an angel.

"Elli's angel," he said reverently. He was grateful that he had overheard the girls' conversation the previous night as he crouched outside their window. He knew that Elli would visit soon.

Arnie looked up at the fog-shrouded mountains that surrounded the cemetery. They weren't mountains in any real sense of the word, just rolling hills, mixed in with slag heaps that seemed almost as massive. These were remnants of former coal mining operations nearer to Scranton.

When viewed from the cemetery heights in 1956, the city looked old, dirty and broken, very much like the vast system of mining tunnels that honeycombed the earth underneath it. Occasionally, one of the old mineshafts would collapse under the weight of a passing tractor-trailer truck, and the vehicle would plunge into the mine, injuring the driver and closing the street for weeks.

Arnie coughed; he wasn't feeling well. After only two months in the mines he could hardly breathe. Still, he knew he had to stay, had to keep working, had to be near Elli.

He checked his watch; only a few more minutes before he had to catch the bus that would take him back to the mines. If he hadn't felt the need to be so close to Elli, he could have made his life easier by living right near them. Hell, if he hadn't cared so much about Elli, he wouldn't be in Scranton at all, Marilyn would be alive, and he would still be living with his mother.

Arnie thought of his mother at that moment: Muriel Cudgel. There was another tragic story.

The most tragic moment of it all was embedded below the surface of Arnie's memory in a way that shaped everything he was and everything he did.

He was an infant, laying on his back, his mother changing him. He had a little erection, a baby erection, and his mother was fascinated by it. She had been snuggling up to him, squeezing her lips against his cheek, blowing a burst of air against his face and making him giggle. Then she had spotted that little penis and thought it was bigger and firmer than usual.

"How kin that be?" she murmured. And she tickled it. Arnie gooed and giggled. "Ya like that, huh?" she asked and tickled it again. Arnie chuckled and kicked his feet. She grabbed his legs together, lifted them, reached for the baby powder and splattered great poufs of it over his behind. Then she lowered his legs and applied another goodly amount to his front, this time reaching down and smearing it over his penis, and noting just how damn hard it really was. It all felt good to baby Arnie, who kicked and giggled as he lay there wanting more.

Was there a knock at the door? Must have been because his mother moved quickly to it.

"Coming," she called as she straightened her hair, wiped the baby powder from her hands and pulled the door open.

A man in a military uniform stood outside. His expression was grave.

"Mrs. Cudgel," he said, "I'm from the War Department." There was a long pregnant pause while both of them caught their breath. "I'm sorry to have to inform you that your husband has been killed in action."

Muriel flinched as though the man had just slapped her across the face.

"That can't be," she said. "The newspapers say that the war is practically over. There must be some mistake."

The soldier shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "there's no mistake. The body has been recovered. We'll be returning it to you for a proper burial. Your husband is dead."

The soldier stood there then looking at the tragic woman who did not seem to realize what he had said.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked at last. Muriel shook her head and closed the door. There was a distant look in her eyes as she returned to her baby.

Little Arnie was gooing happily when his mother picked him from the bassinette and held him to her, cuddled him. And then she broke down and cried hysterically. Her grip on the baby grew more intense. She was holding him much too tightly. She kissed him on the cheeks, then on the lips and those weren't baby kisses, they were deep, desperate, passionate kisses like those a woman might give her lover. The pressure of her hands was too great now. She was hurting him. Arnie began to cry.

Muriel started pacing around the room, bouncing the baby in her arms, but they were wild, desperate bounces that scared Arnie with their height and intensity. He cried louder.

"Hush," Muriel said over and over again, but the words were frantic, her steps were pounding now as though she were marching, bouncing the baby up and down wildly. Arnie cried louder. Muriel's words became harsher.

"Quiet, damn you!" she said loudly. That made Arnie cry louder still. Muriel spun and rushed to the bassinette almost throwing little Arnie onto it. "Shut up!" she yelled, but Arnie wouldn't.

She slapped him hard across the face.

Arnie roared in pain. She punched him. Arnie cried louder still. She pounded his little body with desperate fists that beat into his little chest and stomach, and might have killed him except that his mother suddenly saw the redness in his body and the terror in his eyes.

She snatched him up again and began parading around the room again, pounding her feet, again clutching his cheek tight to hers.

"Hush, baby," she called, "hush, baby, hush." But Arnie only cried more and more frantically until his mother stopped dead in the middle of the room and pulled the child away from her so she could look him in the eyes. Her look was hysterical.

"He's gone, damn it!" she screamed. "Don't you get it? We're alone!"

Arnie responded with another wail.

"I'm all by myself, and I'm stuck with a goddamn, screaming baby and ..." she suddenly pitched little Arnie halfway across the room. He landed fortunately on the cushions of the couch and bounded backwards up onto the pillows. It stunned him, and there was a long, terrible moment of silence before he started wailing again.

"Damn you!" Muriel screeched. "God damn you to hell! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" but Arnie would not. At last Arnie's mother ran from the room slamming the door behind her, leaving the baby there screaming into the night. It was nearly two hours later when he finally cried himself to sleep.

The parade of lovers that Muriel found as Arnie grew gave him a sick, sordid image of her, an image made up in equal parts of faded lingerie, cheap perfume, the smell of booze, and the loud laughter of rough men who would often beat him harshly when he cried. The more he cried, the more he was beaten. And those beatings instilled a terrible fear in him, a fear that arose whenever he felt as though he was sad or unhappy. But the fear became sublimated, didn't it, into a wicked anger, one that eventually erupted into acts of cruelty aimed especially at weak and defenseless creatures, as defenseless as an infant on the day his mother received the worst news of her life.

But these were secret, hidden acts of violence: catching butterflies and tearing their wings apart, finding little birds and squeezing them to death, setting cats on fire. Once when Arnie was five, a passerby caught Arnie terrorizing the much smaller boy down the street. He was yelling at the little boy, threatening to beat him because he didn't like the way the boy looked at him.

The man who caught Arnie wore an undistinguished brown suit and an ugly striped tie. He saw that Arnie was about to hit the smaller boy with a stick, and he caught Arnie by the arm.

"Is that how we treat our neighbors?" the man asked. The question might have been inane, but Arnie's response was amazing and very lucky. He went dumb. For some reason he closed his eyes and did not respond to the man's question at all.

"Is he retarded?" the man asked the other little boy's mother as she ran up to save her son. "Must be," she answered, "or just God-awful mean."

"No, there's something very wrong with him, something serious," the man said. "Should we call the police?"

"Heavens no," the woman answered clutching her five-year-old to her.

Arnie said nothing. And so the man issued a stern warning to the silent boy and sent him away. Arnie was wise enough even at five to realize what had just happened. He'd found a role to play. And so he began not responding whenever he was in trouble, and then all the time, staring off into space more and more whenever anyone asked him anything. When people wanted him to perform a task, he would just mess it up. The results were always just what he hoped for. No response? No responsibility.

As he stood in the center of the cemetery now, Arnie turned slowly around to take in the full, 360-degree view. And when he did, he noticed an old mausoleum, built to look like a small Greek temple. It was sitting at the end of a long path that snaked past a row of trees and away from the statue. He pulled his collar up around him to keep out the morning chill and made his way toward it.

The marble of the mausoleum seemed almost sacred in its texture, and the once-grand edifice, now covered in vines and caked with the coal grit that was in the air, felt otherworldly to the troubled young man. The doors were huge, not seven or ten feet high but maybe twenty, soaring all the way to the very crossbeam. Arnie pushed to see if the doors were open and was surprised when they were.

Inside, the mausoleum was even more like a temple. Round openings in the ceiling let in widening shafts of light. A huge vigil light brightened a distant corner. A riser beside it supported a bare altar where religious services must have been held. The walls were almost white with only the lightest marbling, and set into them were column after column of small golden plaques indicating the names of the dead whose ashes were buried within the walls.

"This is it!" Arnie said aloud, and he heard his voice echo throughout the mausoleum as though in affirmation of his thought. This was the place where his union with Elli could be consummated. This was the place where they could die together.

#

Arnie checked his watch, realized the hour, and ran off to catch the bus to the mines. Only minutes later a taxi pulled into the parking lot. "Wait here," the waiflike girl said to the driver, and she slowly walked up the sidewalk to the memorial in the center of the cemetery.

Elli circled the angel. That magical glow filled her eyes as she realized it was the same angel, perhaps carved in the same studio that had created the angel in her hometown.

"Hi," she whispered softly. "You followed me here, didn't you? Or is that your sister back home?"

The angel looked down on her with such sadness in her eyes. Elli knew it well, knew it was not aimed at her.

"Whoever you are," she continued, "I've come to cheer you up. Just do one thing for me, okay? Intercede with, you know ... on my behalf. And I promise I'll come and thank you, and I'll be so happy that even _you_ will smile."

Again that sad but somehow reassuring look from the marble creature.

"It's just Donny, that's all," Elli said. "All I want is what he's praying for, that we can get married and be together. We'll give my mom the year she wants. But after that we have to be together, forever. Okay?"

Elli smiled up at the statue. "Please," she whispered, and then she turned and walked down the sidewalk, got into the taxi, and rode back to school.

### Chapter 43

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—SEPTEMBER 2011

Assif (the personality builder) watched as Lieutenant Roberts turned, gave him a little wave, and then stepped into the chamber of the virtual vampire. He couldn't stop smiling. Roberts had pleaded with him to start up the simulation and let her explore it. Assif had resisted, but she had convinced him with cold, inviting logic that there could be no danger to her or anyone else.

Lieutenant Roberts and Dr. Lucy Lee had discussed the incident that had initiated the military investigation, and they had become convinced that (as unbelievable as it might seem) Margot had actually become a vampire _before_ she entered the chamber. The shocking scene that everyone witnessed when they opened the simulation door and saw her in the arms of Vladimir was not the result of the vampire attacking Margot, but of Margot sinking her vampire teeth into him. Vladimir had been nothing more than a virtuality until that very moment.

That was the part of the logic that convinced Assif to go against Dr. Farson's orders and restart the simulation for Roberts. The inviting part was just the way she asked him, making Assif feel that he alone could do it for her, making him understand that she appreciated and valued his talent and liked him very much. That was really all the invitation that Assif needed.

He couldn't see inside the simulation once Roberts had closed the door, but oh, how he wanted to. Assif suddenly realized that he could look at the run-time programming and see how changes in the code reflected what was happening. He could even read the interpretation of Robert's speech and the responses that the computer selected for the vampire.

Assif went to the computer's keyboard and called up the program. He watched as the code scrolled up before him. He read the code and visualized the events that were happening just as a well-trained musician might look at pages of music and hear the symphony playing in his head.

The symphony Assif was reading was sexy as hell. The player (Roberts) had entered what was essentially a crypt. Blackness was all around her except for a small, simulated torch burning in the far corner of the room. Across the far wall a dozen or so coffins rested on marble pedestals.

"Hello," Roberts had called into the darkness, and Vladimir immediately stepped toward her out of the depths.

"I knew you'd come back," he said with a smile. He was the image of Ferenc just as Lucy had drawn him.

"How could you know?" Roberts asked warily. "I wasn't sure myself."

"I could sense that you, above all the others who came here last, wanted to stay with me."

"That's right," Roberts answered. "But I thought it was just a momentary infatuation."

"It was more than that," Vladimir answered as he moved to her and took her hands. Roberts swallowed hard as she looked into those midnight blue eyes. The boyish smiled was somehow more devilish ... and hungry.

"I think you'd like to give yourself to me?" the vampire whispered as he drew closer.

Looking at the lines of code that flashed by him on the computer, Assif could see that the program was ratcheting up the vampire's good looks, adding a sharper sparkle to his eyes, and doing its best to brighten his pallid complexion. A list of new facial expressions scrolled up on the screen and that naughty, boyish look was automatically confirmed once again.

"How would I give myself to you?" Roberts asked in hypnotic wonder.

The program sent a disarming grin to Vladimir's face.

"I've become quite thirsty," he whispered so softly that she had to step toward him to hear.

"Is that how I can help you?" Roberts asked almost breathlessly. "Quench your thirst?"

Assif was getting so turned on by the conversation that he almost missed the new lines of code that suddenly scrolled into view. They seemed to be created by the program itself. The software was part of the automated story generation system, but this code wasn't dealing with the story; it was affecting the physical being of the simulated character. The code recognized a new chemical that was now circulating through Vladimir's body. It analyzed it, and intensified an addictive need to find more of it. Assif suddenly recognized what the new chemical was.

"Blood!" he screamed, "Roberts's blood!" and he immediately began pounding on the keyboard to shut down the simulation.

"Escape! Terminate! Terminate!" Assif cried out loud as he hit keys, pulled down menus, and finally grabbed the computer's power cord and yanked it from the wall. The screen went blank. The "simulation in progress" sign flashed wildly outside the chamber for a moment and then died completely as the door to the simulation sprung wide open.

And there was Lieutenant Erin Roberts standing in the doorway.

"May I come in?" she whispered in a way that was far from military.

"Of course," Assif whispered.

She seemed extremely weak. Her skin had grown pallid in only a few moments; her dark eyes were half closed as though she were in a state somewhere between ecstasy and a deep, deadly trance. Her black hair was disheveled. Her blouse was ripped open at the top exposing one beautifully muscular shoulder. And there, above it on her neck were those marks, the deep penetrating wounds from the fangs of the vampire.

Roberts made no effort to straighten herself as she made her way to Assif, who was both terrified and thrilled at the same moment. If this gorgeous African American officer wanted to bite his neck and turn him into a vampire, it would be the high point of his life.

"Vladimir is real," Roberts whispered as she reached for Assif and drew the little man to her.

"I know," Assif murmured. He had the hypnotized half-smile of a small bird caught in the coils of a cobra.

"He can leave the simulation now."

"I understand," Assif sighed. "Your blood and Margot's have made him real."

"He took so much from me," she sighed, "that now I'm drained and hungry for more."

"Let me help you," Assif insisted in a moment of heroic insanity.

"I'm a vampire too, you know," she said, and she gave a sexy little laugh as though she were sharing a schoolgirl secret. "Would you care to become one of us?"

Assif glanced for a moment at the chamber doorway and saw that Vladimir was now moving slowly to it.

"I think so," Assif murmured as he swallowed hard. "Yes, I would."

And so Lieutenant Erin Roberts, dressed in a rather disheveled military uniform, parted her full, red, vampire lips to reveal enormous, sparkling canine teeth. She lowered them lovingly to the neck of the small man from India, sunk them deep into his jugular and quenched her thrust with his blood.

### Chapter 44

Assif the personality maker had become a vampire.

And, as a vampire, he needed a safe, dark place to sleep during the daylight hours. The sunlight, he knew, could be deadly. Not that it wasn't dank and cloudy in Murdenwald much of the time, but there were also days of blinding sunlight, when the whiteness of the mountains gleaming all around was absolutely unbearable. He had learned that the hard way, setting off, the morning after his encounter with Roberts, on the short walk from his sleeping quarters to the lab. Outside in the blinding sunlight, halfway between the two locations, his flesh began to sear as though the sun's rays were laser beams focused on it. He felt the mountain brightness burning into his eyes, setting them to boil almost, cooking his hair, raising huge welts on his cheeks and forehead. He broke and ran desperately into the lab, barely making it.

When Assif came through the doorway to the lab that day, he realized that he could no longer be anywhere during the daylight hours other than the dark recesses of an area that blotted out the sunlight completely. Perhaps the best solution of all was for him to find a place in the lab where he could sleep all day long.

He had time to find such a place, Assif realized. In the wake of the military review, the members of Vito's team were taking a short break. The master had decided to go to Sicily to write the story for Trang's simulation. Gardner and Montana had taken the train to Vienna for a long weekend. Lucy and Charles had decided to follow Vito to Sicily. The place was pretty much deserted, except for Assif, Roberts, Margot, and a few administrative types. Assif decided he liked that very much.

So now, to the issue of where he could live his new vampire life? The answer came suddenly to Assif as he made his way into the lab and stared into the chamber created for Vladimir. It was there, in the virtual world Gardner had modeled for the vampire. The space was big enough and as dark and gloomy as any vampire could ever need. It was in fact a virtual crypt, cold marble, lit only by torches. It was also filled with coffins, not just Vladimir's great sarcophagus, but dozens of smaller ones as well. It was as though, by some impossible coincidence, Gardner had known that there would be other vampires joining his initial creation.

Assif entered the chamber now and went from coffin to coffin opening them, feeling the soft plush of the interiors, selecting a rather modest one for himself, but still marveling at the detail that Gardner had put into each of them. One coffin was made of highly polished rosewood with a pink satin interior that Assif thought would be perfect for his undead companion, Margot. Another coffin was stark, utilitarian, military, with a hard metal case and crisp white cotton bedding, the perfect resting place for Lieutenant Erin Roberts.

Assif would see to it that the women knew that they were welcome to sleep there beside him, but how? Did virtual vampires visit the Internet or get instant messages? Assif decided that they probably did, and so he sent a quick text to each woman:

Erin—

Found a perfect place for you to sleep

Come to Vladimir's chamber

Assif

Margot—

Very pretty coffin reserved for you in Vladimir's chamber

Come sleep with us?

Assif

Assif was pleased with the phrasing. He wasn't sure Margot would understand that he too was a vampire, but he hoped she would.

Now he went back to the computer console, pulled the keyboard to him and logged into the control program. He began to modify Vladimir's virtual space. He didn't dare do too much though. This wasn't his area of expertise.

Assif added a vase of blood-red roses beside the coffin he had selected for Roberts, and he moved her coffin a little closer to his. He added a small nightstand beside the posh rosewood coffin he'd picked for Margot and scattered rose-petals across it. He'd found the nightstand, vase full of roses and even the rose petals included in a gallery of objects, part of the software program that Gardner had used to build the world, so he didn't have to create them from scratch. Still, by the time he had scaled them and placed them into the world, several hours had passed.

When he finished saving the changes he had made, the young women, his undead sisters, were standing at the door.

Both Roberts and Johansson were extremely pale, with an almost blue pallor. Still their lips were huge and inviting. Their teeth protruded in hungry smiles. Assif knew that they would have to feast again on human blood very soon.

"What a lovely place you've prepared for us," Dr. Margot Johansson said as she approached the open coffin with the pink satin interior. She was dressed only in a wispy little white nightshirt and slippers. "I'm sure we'll have to reward you properly when the daylight passes."

"Oh yeah, girl," Roberts giggled as she slid up beside Assif and began to glide her hands over his chest and shoulders.

"I knew this little man was a genius his first day on the job," she said.

For the first time since Assif had known her, Roberts was not dressed in a military uniform but in a tight-fitting pair of jeans and a thin black t-shirt with the words, _"Shall We?"_ outlined in rhinestones across her chest. She pulled him to her and let her tongue caress the inside of his ear.

"You'll get your reward when we awake," she whispered.

Assif was in heaven. It was all worth it. He was certain. He climbed into his own coffin, closed the lid, and headed off into what he was sure would be pleasant dreams.

He was wrong!

#

The world was a raging, seething nightmare of blood. Thunder hammered against the sky, seeming to shatter it ... crack it wide open releasing torrents of rain that poured non-stop onto the already flooded streets of Murdenwald. Throngs splashed through the darkness then, past the great library, past anything that existed in that village so many hundreds of years ago. They marched to the very gates of the Castle Catrice with scythes and pitchforks raised above their heads, demanding the death of that she-monster, Elizabeth Laskaar.

" _Fools," the duchess roared with the voice of a thousand villains. "Don't they know what they're up against?_

" _Release them, Ferenc!" she cried with hideous laughter, and her handsome new husband did her bidding. He raced into the crypt, raised the lid of one coffin after another and from them called up the undead bodies of the daughters of Switzerland. Elizabeth had wanted to spare the virgins of her new homeland, but her thirst, when added to the insatiable desires of her new husband, had just been too great. They had seized the local virgins, violated them, bled them nearly dead, gave each enough of the kiss of the vampire to extend their lives forever ... and in the end confined their bodies to coffins in the great castle crypt._

Now this hideous army of undead girls rose from its sleep and rushed against the thundering crowd outside the castle. A strange mix of vampires and zombies all, the young women flew into the angry mob screeching as they came. They yanked pitchforks out of the hands of burly farmers, spun the prongs around, and then buried them in the farmers' chests. The girls grabbed axes from woodcutters, scythes from field hands, raised those weapons high in the air, and brought them down on the necks arms, legs, faces of the unbelieving, horrified, rain-drenched crowd. The slaughter was unstoppable.

Then, not having yet satiated themselves, the vampire girls rushed into town, through the rain soaked streets ... from building to building, sinking their hungry claws into anyone they found alive, sucking the lifeblood from every person there, consuming the population, and changing them in turn into more vampires.

When at last the girls had their fill, they looked at each in the driving rain. They were drenched in darkness, and yet they began to see changes in their appearances. They began to feel stronger. Carina (daughter of the Lord High Mayor of Murdenwald) looked at her twin sister Chloé and gasped at the girl's appearance. Chloé stopped, wiped the blood from her lips, looked back at Carina, and giggled. She touched her own face and felt firm young flesh pushing away the rot.

The rain washed their hideous corpselike features away and restored them beyond their most hoped-for self-images. If only their parents and loved ones were here to see them. If only they hadn't murdered them all.

Still, what a glamorous troop of ghouls harkened to the sunrise that split the heavens as it does so often after a great night of rain and debauchery.

_If the girls had only understood about the sun and its effect on vampires, but they did not. As she stood there in the open, Carina felt her reborn flesh began to sizzle and pop; the sunlight seared into_ her _eyes, Chloe's, the eyes of every girl there ... blinding them. Chloé screamed as her newly restored hair burst into flames. She turned to see other girls' breasts and thighs exploding from the heat. They had all turned in a matter of hours from ghouls to glorious maidens and then to boiling masses of molten flesh until each and every one of them, and each of their victims (who were now all vampires too) burned and melted under the brightness of the sun._

Their hellish conflagration caught the brush, the wooden walkways of the town, the storefronts and homes as well. Soon nothing was left of Murdenwald but the great library, built as it was into the rock wall of the mountains, and the Castle Catrice where a disconsolate Elizabeth mourned endlessly over her babies, her victims, her lovers, her army of undead protectors.

" _Restore them to me," she shrieked. "Bring me back my children!"_

And hundreds of years in the future, a most obedient Assif heard _this_ call as he rose from the chill of his coffin.

And he was willing to do her bidding.

#

Assif had an idea, a strange idea that was born of the dream but from somewhere else as well. It called to him from the blood he now shared with the other vampires ... that devil strain that had passed from Ferenc to Margot to Vladimir to Roberts and then to him. And that evil blood was telling him to open the chambers, let the vampires loose into the Doomsday Game, let them possess _all_ the virtual characters. Make every one of them vampires: Omar and his men, the Afghan armies from the hills, Arnie Cudgel, and yes, even Elli Capadonico. They would be the beginnings of a new army, all in the service of the queen, the goddess: The Duchess Laskaar.

And then they would conquer the world!

### Chapter 45

Vito slid into the airplane seat and sat back happily.

The whole project was on a short break after the trauma of the military review, and he was heading to his favorite haunt, Taormina, Sicily, where he had booked himself into his favorite hotel for two solid weeks.

Vito had left the international Simulation Center immediately after the little celebration with his creative team. He'd tossed a few clothes into a bag and headed down the aerial tramway out of Murdenwald.

Now at Zurich International Airport, he was looking forward to the flight to Catania, a little time all by himself, to think.

Vito had called Roberts and asked her to join him in Taormina. She had sounded distracted at the time, as if she had other plans. Somehow they involved Assif, she had said. Wow! Roberts and Jahala, the lieutenant and the personality-builder! Could they be a couple? Maybe the plan involved Roberts, Jahala, and access to the tomb of that fucking virtual vampire! Vito felt a pain shoot across his chest and toward his left shoulder. Son of a bitch! But that couldn't be right; Jahala was level headed. He'd never participate in anything that dangerous. Vito plunged a hand into his pocket, grabbed a pill bottle, shook out one pill and popped it into his mouth. Nitro!

He pushed his head back and waited for the pill to take effect and the chest pain to subside. In the meantime, he took Roberts's recorder out of his coat pocket. She had left it on the table in _Johan's_ ... just walked out of the place and left it sitting there.

Thank God for Lucy, he thought. No worries there. She had been far more cooperative. She said that she and Charles could come to Taormina, would like to be with him for a few days in Italy. His hoped that they would be on the same plane. They just hadn't made the proper connections; too bad.

Vito adjusted the seat belt, took a glass of water from the matronly flight attendant and sipped it. He was feeling much better now. No Viagra tonight, though, no matter which Italian beauty walked into his life.

He turned on the recorder and started adding his favorite memory. It was so well worn that he was surprised that his brain could even play it again. Like a beloved old DVD that he'd carried around in a plastic sleeve for years until it was all thumb-printed and warped, he still kept watching and loving it over and over again.

"Elli," he murmured as he heard the engines roaring up to speed somewhere in the distance. The flight attendant slipped the glass out of his hand for take off, and Vito closed his eyes and found himself in another world.

SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA SEPTEMBER 1958

Elli had brought her little 45-RPM record player to the Excalibur Motel that night. It was the place Margie had recommended, one that let the college kids spend the night together, even back in the 50's.

Elli had set the player on the corner of the end table and lowered the needle onto their song. A few quick piano chords sounded from the little speaker, and then it began:

God knows how I adore you

I'll always be here for you

And I will love you

Forever more

"I've missed you so much," she said to Donny as she moved toward him. She was dressed in a starched white cotton blouse, and a full pink skirt. Margie had urged her to use Kleenex to fill out her figure, and now Donny stared at her breasts in wonderment.

"I didn't know you were so ..."

"I'm not," Elli answered. "I just wanted to look good for you."

She reached to him, put her hand gently on his neck, pulled him to her, and kissed him. It was a Marilyn kiss from the moment their lips touched.

"I love you," Donny whispered.

"Me, too." Elli said as she sat on the bed and pulled Donny down beside her. She pulled off the pale blue sweater he was wearing and, smiling eagerly, she began to unbutton his shirt. At the same time, Donny began to undo her blouse. It fell open for a moment revealing the pretty lace bra that Margie had let her borrow. The Kleenex pressed upward on her breasts and made her look almost voluptuous. Elli removed her blouse as Donny pulled off his shirt. They stared at each other's bodies for a moment and then into each other's eyes. Elli's eyes widened into that magical look, as though she could foresee all the wonderful love that was to come.

Donny reached up and began to pull his T-shirt up over his head. Elli helped him.

They stood. Elli unzipped his pants and pushed them to the floor. Donny did the same with her pink skirt and a half dozen petticoats.

I'll always be beside you

My love and prayers will guide you

And I will love you

Forever more

They stood there facing each other. Donny in his tight white jockey shorts, Elli in her pink cotton panties. She smiled sweetly and reached behind her, unfastening her bra. It hung loosely on her shoulders for a moment until Donny reached for the straps and pulled them forward lowering the bra, letting the wads of Kleenex fall to the floor. But her breasts were beautiful anyway, he thought, small, sweet and ripe. Donny sighed, reached forward and cupped them in his hands. Elli bit her lip and closed her eyes for a long wonderful moment. Then she reached down, slid off her panties and pushed Donny back until he sat onto the edge of the bed.

So darling, please believe me

I know you'll never leave me

And I will love you

Forever more

And I will love you

Forever more.

Elli knelt in front of Donny; he raised his hips so that she could reach up and slide off his shorts. Donny's erection bounded up and stared at her. Elli put her hand over her lips to hide an anxious giggle. Then she turned toward the end table, flipped a switch that re-started the record, then took a condom, and brought it to her lips. Donny reached for it, but Elli gently blocked his hand. She tore open the condom wrapper as he looked on. Then she slid the condom into her mouth, lowered her face toward him, let him enter her mouth and did the magic that Margie had told her was so important. In a moment the condom was in place and she was spreading sweet kisses over her lover, pushing him back onto the bed and climbing up onto him.

Donny rolled her over, slid on top of her, looked into her angel eyes for a long moment, and then he thrust himself into her. It was like driving into a solid brick wall. Elli gasped, Donny thrust again, and this time she was his.

Elli grasped the sheets, closed her eyes, sighed with each thrust, whimpered softly and cried loudly as Donny's thrusting became frantic. Then, with a wild explosive sigh, it all ended suddenly.

They lay in each other's arms for a very long time. Then Donny pulled back, kissed her lips again, and ran into the bathroom. Elli was still trembling as she gathered up the mound of bloodstained towels that they had made love upon.

Margie thought of everything, didn't she? Elli realized.

She carried the towels into the bathroom. Donny was in the shower. She dumped the towels in the corner of the room and climbed in with him.

Donny reached for her, kissed her passionately, more of those Marilyn kisses. Elli fell to her knees and took him into her mouth, doing all those things she had thought about doing for him. He was hard again and now pulled her up to him. Elli grabbed him and stuffed him into her, feeling the deep, thrilling penetration of his love.

"No protection!" he called.

Elli reached up, pressed her fingers over his lips to silence him, and then she pulled him tighter, felt his unrelenting love drive into her, closed her eyes, and felt loving warmth spin through her body as he penetrated over and over again, until at last she felt him come inside of her, filling her up with his passion ...

And hopefully, Elli thought, with their child.

### Chapter 46

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—SEPTEMBER 2011

Dr. Tim Farson entered the simulation rooms in search of Lieutenant Roberts. He just wanted to have a word with her, see if she could help heal the rift that had developed between Linden and himself. He didn't want any bad intel making its way back to the POTUS ... none of it, thanks.

And he found Roberts all right, didn't he? Inside a coffin! He rushed to another, opened it, and there was Jahala; another, and there was Johansson!

Farson went wild then. He slammed the coffins shut, began pummeling the hard mahogany with his fists in absolute and utter rage.

So this was what Vito and the rest of the creative assholes had done with his brilliant peacekeeping simulation ... turned it into a horror show, one that was devouring the best and most beautiful of his people and then regurgitating them as monsters.

Farson turned and wrenched a huge, unlit, wrought-iron torch from its stand and began pounding it against the coffins in uncontrolled anger, first one then another, slamming the torch into the walls, swinging it wildly overhead at the chandeliers that held hundreds of candles in dangerous suspension. He wheeled out of control, across the floor of the simulated crypt, swinging the torch at everything in the place and calling at the top of his voice.

"YOU FUCKER! VITO!

"YOU INSANE, MEDDLING FUCKER!

"ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

"IS THIS THE KIND OF _DOOMSDAY GAME_ YOU WANTED FOR MY SIMULATION, YOU UNGODLY SON OF A BITCH?"

He ran to the huge sarcophagus occupied by Vladimir himself and began pounding at it with the torch, hammering at it wildly over and over again until his shoulders felt like lead and he could barely stand. And when he was finally unable to raise the torch over his head any longer, he fell against the tomb and wept bitterly.

That was the moment he decided he would shut it down, _all of it_. And when word reached the decision-makers, they'd probably give him a goddamn medal for it.

Still, the question was how to do it. He wasn't quite sure. This wasn't his area of expertise. He knew it had to be done before nightfall, before the creatures could begin to move out in search of their prey.

A morning jog would be the best thing to clear his head, Farson decided. That would help him find some answers.

Farson staggered back to his quarters to put on his jogging gear. A good hour long run was all he'd need to get the blood circulating and put together a plan. No rush, really. The vampires weren't going anywhere.

"They're all fucking dead," he said aloud, and he laughed realizing as he did that he sounded almost insane.

#

It was only fifteen minutes later when Farson headed out into the bright morning sunshine. He jogged up the half mile to the compound gate, let himself out and headed into the streets of Murdenwald. He broke into more of a run then. There was no one in the streets yet. The shops were all closed; the tourists were all asleep. Only the occasional farm couple could be seen tilling the little plot of land near their home.

Farson made his mind as blank as possible; that was part of the process. Just erase every thought. Then, after maybe a half an hour of running, the ideas would come pouring in, and among them would be the answer: how to kill these crazy vampires as they slept.

"Plenty of time," he reminded himself, "They all so fucking dead."

At the far end of town Farson chose a trail up into the hills, one that led directly to the Castle Catrice. Why not go up there? he asked himself. He'd never been there before, and the sinister place might just put him in the mood for some vampire slaying. The climb was very steep, of course, but he was up for it. The sun was invigorating, and he was in perfect physical condition.

Within another half an hour he was at the entryway to the castle. The little ticket booth outside the drawbridge was closed tight, but the drawbridge was down and the gate was open. _Let's jog back into history_ , Farson said to himself.

He trotted inside the very courtyard where Elizabeth's husband had been seized and later cremated. To the right of the courtyard, a door stood open.

"Not a very good way to run a business," Farson mumbled to himself. "Hell, anyone could waltz right in here and give themselves a tour for free."

Why not do it, Tim?

And so he turned and jogged through the doorway and into the dungeon.

Only torches lit his way as he snaked slowly through the narrow dungeon corridors. The place was damn moldy, and the dankness caught in his chest and made him cough again and again _. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, Tim boy._ But it was, and he knew it.

At last he found himself inside the great central chamber where Elizabeth had slit her husband's throat. Farson felt the horror still lingering in the air so many centuries later. He felt his chest tightening. He gasped for breath and caught a good lungful of mold that set him coughing, gasping desperately for air. There was precious little of it.

Farson pushed his way through the chamber and on into still more narrow passageways that led who knows where? He stumbled on the uneven pavement, twisted his ankle, hobbled ahead anyway, still somehow maintaining a semblance of that jogger's pace, still breathing in deeply the deadly mold from the walls, mold growing out of the blood of ancient victims. He began to cough again, and this time it was out of control. He grabbed at his throat as though he could loosen it by merely squeezing. His eyes were watering; he was drenched with sweat. Farson turned back to look at the passageway he had come through ( _get out if you still can_ ), but it seemed to have closed up behind him. He had to forge ahead ( _there was no other way_ ) hoping that there would soon be an opening with a little more air.

The opening came, the wretched opening onto the bleeding room. Farson gasped and came to a sudden halt as soon as he was inside.

Huge metal rings hung from the ceiling. The chains and handcuffs attached to them gave ample evidence of their purpose. Directly below the chains, trenches were cut into the floor as if to direct the flow of water or something far more horrible into two large cisterns that stood at either end of the room.

Farson was drawn, almost against his will, to the one at the farthest end of the room. He staggered toward it, reached it, peered over the edge and looked in.

The cistern was full of a deep crimson liquid. Full of blood! And floating just below the surface was the naked body of a beautiful woman. Her hair drifted softly around her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth curled into a peaceful smile as though she were enjoying pleasant dreams.

The woman was so lovely that Farson had to take a closer look. He stepped over the lip of the cistern, into blood up to his knees. He peered down into the bloody pool, his face within inches of hers.

Suddenly, she lunged up at him, grabbing at his shoulders, flashed her blazing, hungry eyes, opening a mouthful of huge teeth and nearly burying them in his arm as he lurched away from her. Farson tumbled over the lip of the cistern and fell backward onto the floor. He gathered himself quickly and rushed toward the opposite end of the room.

Ferenc was waiting for him there. Mired in his own bloody bath, Ferenc's hand reached out and seized Farson around the ankle. Farson fought mightily but to no avail. The grip was like a vice.

Farson put up a wild but useless struggle, tried desperately to unwrap the fingers, pounded against the hand to release it. The grip of the vampire was like that of a stone statue, unrelenting, unbreakable.

After nearly an hour of struggle, Farson was so weak that he now lay gasping on the dungeon floor. And that's when the girl came to him. Katrina of Innsbruck, still young and beautiful, though her sweet face had turned hard and her strength had grown incredibly.

Katrina approached Farson.

"Help me," Farson croaked.

Katrina smiled. "Can you stand?" she asked.

"I think so."

"Then, come, get up on your feet," she said, and at that moment the vampire loosened his grip.

Katrina lifted Farson to his feet, flipped his arm over her shoulder and helped him hobble to the center of the room.

"How do I get out of here?" Farson asked the pretty maidservant.

She smiled up at him and then swiftly grabbed his wrist and slammed a manacle onto it.

"You don't," she said coldly. "When night comes, we'll bleed you. We need buckets of blood to help maintain the beauty of my mistress."

Farson looked at her in astonishment.

"This is some joke, right?" he asked, "some reenactment that's part of a grizzly castle tour?" He gave her a bit of that hysterical laugh he'd been using all morning.

"Oh no, sir," Katrina answered firmly. "The dungeons have never been part of the tour. They're too filled with deadly mold for the tourists. And besides, the master and mistress still live here."

Farson's expression faded from amusement to horror. He began to writhe and kick wildly, but Katrina grabbed his other hand, jerked it up to the manacle and slammed the handcuff around it.

"Witch!" Farson cursed as he continued to struggle.

"No, sir," she replied. "Just a humble servant who's grateful to her mistress for all the favors she's been given." Katrina's face twitched as she said those words, as though even she didn't believe them any more.

"Relax, sir," Katrina continued. "There's nothing you can do. Evening will come, we'll drain all your blood, and you'll die. It's as simple as that."

### Chapter 47

As Tim Farson's body hung lifeless in the bleeding room in Castle Catrice, an oblivious Don Vito drove the wide highway from Catania to the tourist village of Taormina. There was still time to do what he did best: remember ... remember what was the most hopeful day of his life. But it didn't start out that way, did it?

ROCHESTER, NEW YORK—MAY 1959

"I don't care how you feel or who she is," his father had said. "You're not getting married at seventeen!"

"But she's sick, Dad. I just got a letter from her today," Donny answered, "And she's pregnant with my baby!"

Judge Donald Michael Vito grimaced.

"Well, that's her family's problem, isn't it?" he said after a moment. "I've got a reputation to protect. I'm up for re-election. If it's money she needs for ... for a ... so that she can go off somewhere and _have_ the baby ... then that's still her problem. We can't get mixed up in it." He marched halfway out of the room and then came rushing back and leaned into Donny's face.

"Think of your future, _daddy-o_."

Then he stormed out of the living room again ... and up the stairs.

Donny buried his face in his hands, lowered himself onto the couch, and began to sob. "Elli," he called desperately.

"You love her, don't you?" came a small voice from the corner of the room.

"Of course, I do, Mom," Donny answered.

Mrs. Vito came slowly up to Donny and sat beside him on the couch. She was a small woman in a family of small people. But her bearing was proud and strong, making even her simple housedress seem quite dignified.

"I'll help you," she said softly. "I've got a little money set aside. My mother left it to me, just a few thousand dollars, but I want you to have it. It'll be my wedding gift to you and Elli."

"Mom!"

"No, I want to do it. I've always thought that Elli was a sweet girl. She was so crushed when her father died. I don't know how she was able to bounce back from that. You helped her, didn't you?"

Donny nodded.

"You're a good boy, Donny," she said. "I like her very much. So does your father, though I doubt that he'll ever admit it now. But that doesn't matter. You'll be eighteen in a few months and you can marry her then whether we like it or not."

Mrs. Vito took her son's hands and looked into his eyes.

"Besides, when your father thinks it through, he'll realize that it's not just her family's problem, it's ours, too."

"I love you, Mom," Donny whispered and kissed her softly on the cheek. "Thank you." And suddenly all the possibilities of a life with Elli came tumbling into his heart, and he lit up with a broad grin.

"Better avoid your father for the next few days though," Mrs. Vito said with a knowing smile. "If you're anything but miserable, he'll know something's up."

"I don't think I can stop smiling ever again," Donny said running to his mother and kissing her one last time. Then he turned and practically floated up to his room.

### Chapter 48

SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA—MAY 1959

At seven thirty in the morning, only two days later, Elli slipped out of the passenger-side door of Margie's old beat up Mercury and ran into Donny's arms. She took his face in her hands and kissed him hungrily. As much as Donny wanted those kisses, he knew that they had to get away quickly.

"Our folks could send the police after us," Donny said grabbing Elli by the arm and escorting her to the passenger side of the Dodge Custom Royal Lancer.

"God, I hope not," Elli called. She got into the car and suddenly:

"Wow! How'd ya get this?" She slid across a seat that was as wide as a living room couch. She was excited and thrilled with everything this morning, especially with the realization that all her dreams were actually coming true. By the end of the day she would be Mrs. Donny Vito.

"Vinnie let me borrow it," Donny answered as he got behind the wheel and started the car. "He'll fly out to California and pick it up as soon as we're settled."

"He's so great."

"He's pretty much destroyed over losing Marilyn," Donny said. "I think he'd do anything to help us stay together."

The Lancer jackrabbited forward, and Donny spun it northward toward the Pennsylvania turnpike.

"No!" Elli said suddenly.

"Elli, we have to get out of Pennsylvania as quickly as we can."

"I have to see my angel," she said almost hysterically, "have to say goodbye. I have to thank her."

"But we're going to the city of angels."

Elli cuddled up to him. "I know," she said with a sweet sigh, and she kissed him on the cheek. "But I don't know any of those angels. Please!"

"For you, Lost Princess," Donny said, "anything!" And he spun the car around and headed for the cemetery.

#

Arnie was there before them, huddled in the bushes beside the statue. He had been outside Elli's window the night before, had overheard her conversation with Margie:

"My God!" Elli had squealed moments after getting a phone call from Donny. "Margie, he's coming for me. He'll be here tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Margie asked in disbelief.

"Yes, his mother's given him money so we can elope; he's got a car; he's coming to the motel you told us about, you know where we ...

"He'll meet me there tomorrow morning!"

"Oh, thank you, God," Elli babbled as she began to dance around the room. "Thank you, angel; thank you, Mrs. Vito; thank you, Donny! Margie, by this time tomorrow I'll be a bride. Donny and I will be ..."

Right, Arnie thought to himself, as he crouched in the bushes. Today was going to be a wedding day: his and Elli's. They were going to be joined forever. And she didn't even know it.

Arnie had calculated that if Elli and Donny were trying to get out of Pennsylvania, she would still insist on seeing her angel first. Now he heard the throaty exhaust of the Lancer climbing the hill to the cemetery. He crouched down. Donny would be with her. No problem, Donny was a little guy, a football player, yes, but only five foot six. He could crush him in an instant. Arnie felt for the dagger; it was there. Excitement tingled though his body. Today, he and his love would be together in paradise.

He could hear them now, getting from the car. Elli was laughing, so was Donny. The door slammed and the couple made their way along the sidewalk that led up to the statue. The mists were still heavy that morning, and the two lovers only came into Arnie's view slowly, like an apparition suddenly materializing onto the walkway.

Elli ran ahead suddenly, "Oh, thank you," she cried to the angel as soon as she saw it. "You've made me the happiest girl who ever lived; you've given him back to me, and I'll never let him go."

Donny caught up to Elli, put his arm around her and in his own way thanked the angel, too. He looked down at Elli, soon to be his bride, but still almost a little girl. She smiled up at him, pulled him to her, and kissed him again and again.

"We'd better go," Donny whispered. "Save those kisses till after we cross the state line."

"I don't need to save them," Elli answered. "I've got enough stored up for two lifetimes."

Donny pulled her away, but still she turned back to the angel.

"Thanks again," she said to the angel as Donny led her back to the car.

That's when she suddenly felt a harsh tug on her arm. She grabbed Donny's hand tightly but she was suddenly wrenched away from him. Elli was down, thrown into the bushes, and when she turned, she saw the monster, the man who had killed Marilyn, now slamming Donny to the ground. He moved over Donny, but her future husband lashed out wildly, sending punch after punch into Arnie's face. Elli screamed as she struggled to her feet. Arnie leveled a punch at Donny, sending his head ricocheting against the sidewalk. Blood erupted from Donny's mouth, spilled over his chin and down his neck.

"GOD NO!" Elli screamed. "You're killing him. Stop it, STOP IT!"

"No, Elli," Donny cried as Arnie pounded him in the face again slamming his head back against the concrete, spilling his blood onto the pavement. Donny lifted his head upward for a moment, then fell back; his eyes closed suddenly; he didn't move. Then Arnie grabbed a large rock, almost bigger than Donny's head, lifted it over him with both hands, grinned wickedly, and prepared to bring it down crushing Donny's face completely.

"STOP IT!" Elli screamed. And Arnie froze.

"Don't hurt him, take ME," Elli called.

Arnie smiled, still holding the rock above his head.

"Will you die with me?" Arnie called.

"Die? With YOU?" Elli gasped. Her mind was racing. She trembled.

"I'll have sex with you, if you want," she answered at last.

"Yes," Arnie said lowering the rock to the walkway beside him. "And then be mine for eternity."

"For eternity?"

"Die with me, Elli." Arnie said it almost poetically. And he smiled.

"Die with you ..."

"Or else!" Arnie picked up the rock and held it in his hand.

"Yes," Elli answered. "I'll love you, _and I'll die with you_."

Arnie smiled. He was the one whose dreams were coming true. And so he pulled himself off Donny's still unconscious body and moved to Elli.

He took her hand and led her into the mausoleum.

Elli followed, her steps slow but her mind racing wildly. Her eyes darted everywhere looking for something, anything that she could use as a weapon to lash out and kill this monster. But there was nothing, was there? He was enormous, strong, and absolutely insane.

As the realization moved into her very soul, her steps grew slower. There was no way that she could kill him, no way to prevent him from going back and finishing the job he had started on Donny except to give herself to him, play out his hideous drama, die with him.

Despair closed on Elli, shut down her senses and sealed her in a trance. Donny's only hope was for her to let Arnie take her life and his together.

Behind her the huge statue of the angel looked on helplessly and wept.

Arnie closed the mausoleum door behind him and pushed Elli toward the altar. She reached it and turned to face him. Elli stood passively as the monster pulled her clothing from her, her pretty pink sweater, and her broad skirt with the petticoats, worn for her lover on what was to be the happiest day of her life.

Arnie disrobed, revealing those powerful muscles built so carefully in the gym, tightened and strengthened in the mines. Elli might have admired that body, if he wasn't going to be her executioner.

Arnie took the dagger from the belt of his jeans, pulled it from its scabbard and then tossed the scabbard and the jeans across the marble floor. The vigil light flickered from the motion, sending a crazy set of shadows swimming over Arnie's face. He wasn't smiling now, simply gazing at Elli intently, eyes half closed in solemn anticipation. He kissed the blade of his knife. Then held it out for Elli to kiss. She did.

Arnie placed his enormous hand over her neck, let his thumb press lightly on her windpipe telling her that in an instant he could snatch her life away with a simple squeeze. But that was not his plan. Instead he lingered for a moment, looking at her, let his fingers slide down her body over her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Then he took her by the hand, turned her wrist to him and sliced it with a quick stroke that brought no pain at all. Elli didn't make a sound.

Arnie grabbed her other wrist and slit it just as deeply, watching for a moment as the blood flowed from it. Then he let go of her, turned to his own wrists and slit first one then the other.

"We'll die making love," he said reverently. And he scooped Elli up and placed her on the altar. Elli looked at him passively as she felt the life flowing from her. He crawled up onto the altar and moved toward her.

"Making love into eternity," Arnie sighed as he raised himself up to move between her legs, and ...

Just then, with a horrible smashing sound, he jolted violently to the right and fell beside her. Blood splattered from his head. Crushed rock was plastered into his hair and over the side of his shattered face. He twisted for a moment trying to sit up, and then he fell on his face. He was dead.

"Donny," Elli called weakly as she turned to him.

Donny pushed Arnie's body aside, tore into Elli's petticoats and fastened bandages over her wrists and his own head. Then he lifted her gently to her feet and let her lean against the altar for a moment. He slid her skirt up onto her hips and then pulled her blouse over her shoulders.

"We've got to get you to the hospital," he said as he lifted her and cradled her to him. And then he carried Elli though the mausoleum and out to the car.

"I'll love you forever, Donny," Elli sighed as soon as they were both inside the car. He pulled her to him and held her tightly. Then he turned the key, slammed down on the accelerator, and sped down out of the cemetery. Behind him the angel shed those unending marble tears, and Arnie's crimson blood poured from his wrists and his shattered face and seeped down into the altar stone.

"We'll get you taken care of first, Lost Princess," Donny whispered, "then we'll figure out what to do next."

"We won't be married tonight," Elli murmured sadly.

"Maybe not tonight," Donny answered. "But very soon, I promise. No one, and I mean no one, is going to stand in our way now."

"I'll love you, Donny, always."

"Of course," he answered. "I'm your guy, and I intend to be with you for the rest of my life."

"Me, too," Elli sighed. She snuggled up to him and closed her angel eyes tightly. A blissful smile formed at the corners of her lips.

When Donny reached the hospital only ten minutes later, she was dead.

### Chapter 49

TAORMINA SICILY—SEPTEMBER 2011

Vito sat in the sidewalk cafe in the little village of Taormina, Sicily. He was sipping grappa and listening to the mandolins playing at the Wonderbar across the town square. Across the blue waters of the bay he could see Mt. Etna's snow-covered cone sparkling in the twilight. He breathed in the warm, moist, evening air and smiled. It had been a wonderful week, hadn't it: vindication at the hands of the military, Farson grousing angrily at his inability to get Vito off of the project. What could be better?

"We did it," he said to Dr. Lucy Lee, and she smiled at him, took a sip of her Campari and squeezed his hand. She had traded in her _Science is Golden_ T-shirt for a sexy little black dress with a bit of a plunge to the neckline. Charles Martin sat beside her drinking iced tea and smiling in agreement. His presentation of the Omar simulation had definitely helped win the day.

"Care to go for a stroll?" Lucy asked.

Vito shook his head.

"This is the place for me," he said, and he crushed the little Coke can that he had ordered along with his grappa. He had downed the Coke in a few swallows and then began sipping the clear, potent Italian liquor.

"Sitting and sipping, that's all I want to do," he continued. "Tomorrow morning I'll get up early, take a long walk through the village, then come back to the hotel and write the whole damn script."

"Trang in the simulation?" Lucy asked.

"Damn straight," Vito answered. "So why don't you kids just go on, have a nice stroll, buy some Italian shoes or a wallet or something, and have a gelato on me. I'll see you at breakfast."

"Love the hotel," Charles said as he stood to go.

"San Domenico Palace?" Vito responded, "one of the great ones."

"I understand that it used to be a monastery," Lucy added, and then she smirked. "Those monks apparently lived pretty well."

Vito nodded.

"Thanks for bringing us along."

"Hell, we needed a celebration, didn't we?" Vito asked. "You guys saved the project. It was the least I could do."

"Too bad we could only make it for a few days," Lucy added looking at Charles wistfully. "We'll definitely have to come back again."

"Come on your honeymoon," Vito said. "Hell, get married here. Elizabeth Taylor did."

"Maybe we will," Charles replied with a wink.

Vito's expression suddenly turned a little more serious. "Gonna destroy the vampire, Luce?"

"Definitely not," she said. "Let Farson give all the orders he wants. That kind of personality will come in handy as we get into the real story."

"But you don't want me to write a vampire into the simulation?"

"Not as a vampire, just someone really evil." Lucy answered. "Trang is kind of a vampire anyway, isn't he? We don't need two."

Vito laughed, "Shows what you know about vampires. If you've got one ... pretty soon everyone's a vampire."

The comment gave Lucy a nervous chill; she shook it off.

"Enough of the scary stuff," Charles responded as soon as he saw the look in her eyes. "See you later, okay?"

"Arrivederci," Vito answered as he watched the young man take his attractive friend by the arm and lead her back into the shopping area of Taormina.

"Trang, you bastard," Vito called into thin air as soon as they were gone. "What kind of story can I use to infatuate you, you prick!" He was almost shouting now and more than a little drunk. "I'll get you so lost in my world that you'll hate me when I blow it up around you."

Couples at several nearby tables turned toward Vito as he babbled on. There was a very attractive Italian pair sitting at the table right next to his.

The young woman must be an actress or a model, Vito thought. She was beautiful enough. Her companion was captivated with her, and yet they were both looking at him.

Vito raised his glass in a toast.

"Mi scusi per favore," Vito said. "Salute!"

"Salute," the young man responded raising his own glass. He turned to the woman and gestured so that she would do likewise, and she did with a sweet smile that somehow reminded Vito of Elli Capadonico. "Sono stato in amore come te," he whispered. "I've been in love like you."

Suddenly image after image of Elli came tumbling into his heart. Elli with her eyes full of magical wonder, Elli and her angel, Elli joking with his mother, Elli's lovely, dying face leaning against his shoulder as he drove her to the hospital. He somehow felt compelled to add the last chapter of her story to Roberts's recorder as soon as he'd gotten into his hotel room.

She was the reason he'd never married, never had children.

Vito buried his face in his hands. What had happened to his life, anyway? So many successes, so much happiness and understanding given to others, all because of the miraculous sacrifice of a girl who loved him, a girl who died for him.

Vito remembered the days after Elli's death only vaguely now. He was a hero for ridding the world of a monster many thought would go on to murder many other young women. That wasn't the case, and Donny knew it. Arnie was obsessed with one girl, wanted to die in her arms. And in a way he had. Just as Donny wished he could.

SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA—MAY 1959

Mrs. C. had been hysterical, blaming Donny for her daughter's death. Donny had been too numb to care, or to care about the stern lectures about college and responsibility his father had leveled at him. He simply spent weeks on end answering every question that the police and reporters directed at him. Then, when the ordeal was over, he kissed his mother and thanked her for her help, got into Vinnie's car, and drove off to Los Angeles, where he found success in spite of his father's dire predictions. In ten years he had won his first Academy Award for writing and directing _Sorrowful Angel,_ a film about a girl who died for her fiancé at the hands of an obsessive stalker. But it wasn't really Elli's story, was it?

"Scusi, signore," said a sweet Sicilian voice.

Vito looked up to see a handsome Italian woman of about forty standing at his table. She wore a summery, pastel dress with a fine silk shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled. Angel eyes, Vito thought.

"May I join you?" she asked.

"I'm working," Vito grumbled.

"So am I," she said. "Maybe we can help each other."

Vito smiled then, "Maybe," he said as he downed the glass of grappa and motioned for the waiter to bring two glasses and a bottle.

"You do like grappa?" he asked.

"Love it," she answered with a sexy growl.

The woman pulled her chair next to Vito's and sat so close that they were almost touching shoulders.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

"Know anything about stories?"

"I like them," she answered, and he noticed how sweet her breath was. She gave him an unwavering stare. Her eyes were deep. They _were_ Elli's angel eyes, weren't they?

"Can I know your name?"

"Angelina," she answered.

"Little angel."

"Si."

"I knew a little angel once," Vito responded with a sigh, "a little angel of Sicilian descent. She died."

"Want to tell me about her?"

"I thought you were going to help me with my work?"

"Of course," Angelina answered fluttering those angel eyes again, "just tell me how."

"It's simple really," Vito said. "I'm writing a story about a guy named Trang, a very evil man, and I have a problem. Actually it's the kind of thing you might know something about."

"Certainly, signore," she answered. "I don't think I know this person Trang, but I've known more than my share of evil men."

"That's fine," Vito answered. "So tell me, could Trang ... no, make that _any_ man who is totally corrupt, totally addicted to power ... could he ever fall in love?"

Angelina laughed; it was a sweet laugh that matched the music of the mandolins and the gentle buzz of the crowd. "Of course, he could," she answered. "Any man can fall in love."

"With any woman?"

"I didn't say that," she responded. "I think he would need a woman who would partner with him in his evil schemes. Such a woman would be entranced by his power, and he would see it in her eyes. It would feed his ego and before long ..."

"Yes?"

Angelina laughed loudly. "Before long she would _enslave_ him!"

Their lips were very close together now. "May I enslave you?"

Vito mumbled nervously and backed away. He grabbed the crumbled Coke can and mashed it together even further. He shook the last few drops of grappa into his glass and took a long hard swig.

"How would you enslave an evil man?"

"As I would any man," she answered. "A man's ego has a direct pipeline to his ... his ... manhood, no? Build one up and the other grows with it. I keep it up, always tingling on the verge of explosion, and he's my slave. Everything he does, he does for me. He only lives to please me so that I can continue to stroke his ego and his manhood. It's really very simple."

"I'll bet it is," Vito answered as he felt her fingers creep onto his thigh.

He pushed her hand away. In spite of the sexy conversation, his recent memories of Elli were still with him, still too overpowering for him to answer the call of another woman. It happened to him sometimes, less and less often, actually, but it was happening now.

The waiter brought the new glasses and the bottle of grappa and poured for each of them. Vito downed his immediately and noticed that Angelina took a discreet sip and smiled back at him.

"Tell me," he began, his speech now slurring just a little, "why would you have to be _like_ him ... that evil guy?"

"To appreciate his work," Angelina answered. "I suppose, I could lie about it. But to be really successful, I would have to be as inventive as he, offer suggestions, have insight into his ideas, and that would take an appetite for the very evils that excite him."

Vito felt those fingers sliding over his thighs once again.

"I do have an appetite for evil," she whispered in his ear. "Do you?"

Vito shook himself violently. ELLI!

She rephrased the question.

"Or maybe you have an appetite for love, signore, is that true?"

Vito nodded, and she cocked her head as the hint of a smile traced her lips.

"What is your hotel?" she asked.

"The San Domenico Palace."

"May I accompany you there?"

"I'm afraid not, signora," he sighed sadly. "You're very beautiful and all but ..." he gestured crazily trying to find the words, finally he blurted out:

"Il mio amore mi sta aspettando il."

Angelina looked perplexed, confused, disappointed, angry. "Your lover is waiting for you there?"

Vito nodded sadly.

"Then that would be most inconvenient, wouldn't it, signore?"

Vito nodded again, his face contorted with painful conflict.

The beautiful woman watched for a moment, then stood.

"Perhaps another time," she whispered with a slight smile.

Vito shrugged and shook his head sadly.

Angelina nodded and walked slowly away from the tragic producer.

### Chapter 50

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—SEPTEMBER 2011

Lieutenant Erin Roberts made her way into the simulation of the Avenue D playground. It was an exact replica Gardner had made of the place where Donny and Elli met. Roberts was following the plan that she and Assif had laid out so carefully. She and the other vampires would attack all the virtual characters, giving them blood and turning them too into living, breathing vampires.

The greatest task, of course, would be to take on the key members of the Afghan simulation. Margot had set her sights on Omar. Having witnessed his creation at the hands of David Montana, she knew that he was rough, handsome and desirable.

Assif and Vladimir would go after the most attractive Afghan women, knowing that when they became vampires, they would spread the curse to their husbands and children and eventually to all the members of the Afghan simulation. Assif's goal was to transform all two hundred virtual characters into vampires within the next few days. Then, he knew, he would have the core of the army he hoped to build for Elizabeth Laskaar.

Roberts had other plans. She wanted the pretty young girl she had heard so much about. She wanted Elli Capadonico. And now she made her way down the path, across the basketball courts and into the park. The moon was bright this evening. Fireflies buzzed in crazy circles along the pathway. The smell of spring lilacs was everywhere, even at the midnight hour.

Roberts wore her tight fitting jeans and her little black T-shirt.

Shall We?

The words were spelled out across the tips of her nipples now as they pressed visibly against the fabric. She had gotten rid of her bra; no need to be trussed up like a horse any longer. And the truth was, her body was so ripped that she didn't need one. She was absolutely radiant, full of blood now from a recent encounter with Dave Montana.

The master character builder had come back from Vienna early and had stopped in the lab to download some extra work into the simulation's main computer. He wasn't surprised when Roberts stepped out of Vladimir's chamber and came to him ... until it was too late.

He hadn't recognized her now-classic vampire features, the rich full lips, huge canine teeth and deathly pallor. In the glow of the computer screen, almost everyone had that coloring.

"Lovely evening," Lieutenant Roberts had begun.

"Hi, lieutenant, what brings you out at this time of night?"

Montana was always so damn cheery.

"I just felt a little thirsty," Roberts answered with a smirk.

"Me, too. Want to head over to the commissary and grab a soda?"

Roberts looked at Montana with great amusement.

"I thought I'd just get something here," she said.

"Got some Cokes stashed away somewhere?"

"Don't need them." Roberts answered.

"Really?"

Montana looked puzzled. Then he stepped back and took in the whole view of his companion.

"How do you like my new look?" Roberts asked. She stepped back and began to strut across the room and back again like a runway model. Montana looked her up and down, gave her a boyish grin and a positive nod.

"Nice! Never saw you without your uni before. Kinda sexy."

"Thank you," Roberts answered with that look of amusement still on her face. He was such a naive young man. "It's much more comfortable."

Montana turned back to the computer and Roberts moved up behind him and looked over his shoulder. The computer's glow lit their faces making them both appear rather ghoulish.

Lieutenant Roberts slid her hand up onto Montana's shoulder, then down over his arm and onto his belly. She ground her hips forward into him.

"Ummm," she sighed.

"What're you up to, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing, just thirsty." She began to nibble his earlobe. Montana brushed her away the way he might shoo a bothersome fly.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Not enough."

"Just let me finish this up, okay?"

Roberts rested her chin on his shoulder and slid both her hands up onto his chest. He was rather buffed, she thought, and she liked that.

Montana finished the transfer and then turned toward her. "I've got a full bottle of Bacardi back in my room. Want to come up and have a nip?"

"That won't be necessary. I think I'll just have a little nip right here."

Montana stared at her for a long moment. Her gaunt beauty was absolutely hypnotic.

She parted her lips then, bared her long, canine fangs. If horror or terror or anything like that was on Montana's mind at that moment, it didn't show. He merely smiled as Roberts opened her mouth, pulled back her lips and slammed her teeth down onto his neck, sucking his blood viciously. He struggled for only a moment, a quick twist this way and that, and then he surrendered, growing weaker and weaker, eventually slumping to the floor unconscious ... another new vampire for the cause.

#

"That was nice," Roberts remembered as she made her way down the simulated path of the Avenue D Playground. The great, marble bulk of the statue loomed in front of her. Around the corner, sitting in front of the sorrowful ivory image sat a seventeen-year-old girl: Elli Capadonico.

Elli jumped a little as Roberts stepped up to her.

"Oh, sorry," Elli began. "I thought you were someone else ... Donny, maybe. I've been waiting for him."

Roberts' smile was friendly.

"Mind if I sit for a moment?" she asked.

"Oh, sure," Elli answered sliding over to the edge of the bench even though she took up very little room to begin with.

"Donny's your boyfriend."

"Yeah."

"You miss him, huh?"

"Like crazy."

"Where's he been?" Roberts took in the simple beauty of the girl, that slight figure, those huge, angel eyes, that long inviting neck.

"I don't know. He's at work or school or something. Maybe he's practicing with his band. But I miss him."

Those wide eyes were tearing up. Vampire or not, it broke Roberts' heart to look at the sweet girl, to know what had really happened to her and how Vito longed to be with her.

"He misses you, too," Roberts whispered. "And he loves you."

"You know him?" Elli asked with a suddenly flash of excitement.

"I do. He's a wonderful kid."

"What's he doing right now?"

"He's off in Italy somewhere, writing a script."

"A script? Yeah, he could do that."

"He's all grown up now, Elli."

"I know," the girl said with a sigh. She moved closer to Roberts. "And I'm so lonely."

"That's why I'm here," Roberts answered.

"What do you mean?" Elli pulled away from Roberts to look into her eyes.

"I mean I'd like to help end your loneliness."

Elli's look was so sweet, so loving. Roberts leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. Elli returned the kiss softly, then pulled away, tucked her hair back behind her ear, stood, knelt on top of the bench and then threw her arms around Roberts and began kissing her wildly, desperately, passionately.

Roberts pushed the girl away with alarm.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get close to you, is all," Elli answered as she pulled back from the lieutenant. "I'm sorry. I just really _need_ someone."

"I understand," Roberts answered. "But there's a better way."

"What do you mean?"

Roberts didn't answer; she simply reached for Elli's little pink blouse, ripped it open, and looked up wildly at the moon for a moment, baring her fangs.

Elli screamed just seconds before the vampire sunk her teeth deep into the girl's jugular, not drawing her blood this time; the virtual girl didn't have any. Roberts was merely initiating contact, knowing that her saliva alone would turn Elli into a real vampire. It worked.

The scrawny girl responded immediately. Rising above Roberts with a ghoulish cry, she buried her teeth into the lieutenant's neck. Roberts could almost feel Elli's fangs growing as they dug into her and began sucking her blood, the blood of David Montana, of Assif Jahala, of Ferenc, and perhaps of other vampires from centuries past.

Elli cuddled up to Roberts and sat nursing at her neck, hungrily drawing so much blood that Roberts fell back weakly; everything was turning white. She could hear Elli's heavy breathing but couldn't see the girl anymore, or anything else for that matter. The vampire lieutenant knew that she would need another victim very soon.

Just as images of the world swam back into focus for a moment, a huge man stepped in front of Roberts, and Elli let out a terrified scream.

"Arnie, you bastard," she called, "go away! Leave us alone. Haven't you hurt me enough?"

"I won't hurt you," he mumbled, "I just came here to be with you, to love you ... AND TO KILL THIS BITCH!!"

He drew back his fist and punched Roberts hard in the face. It snapped her head back against the back of the bench. Then he began to move directly over Roberts, pulling his fist back yet again, but Elli moved more quickly. She seized his wrist with power that neither of them could believe. She spun Arnie around, lifted him off the ground and threw him into the trees. Elli flew across the space between them in an instant and tossed Arnie to the ground.

"You murdered me, you, bastard!" she yelled, and she fell upon the monster, straddling his chest, raking his face with her fingernails. Again, she could not believe her own strength. It was the strength that was maximized by Assif Jahala when he created her personality.

Arnie grabbed her wrists and began to buck like a madman, but vampire Elli was too strong for him. She grabbed his hair with both hands and began pounding his head against the ground. Arnie fought her, but he was overmatched.

"You killed Marilyn!" she called loudly. "You took Donny away from me!"

She was sobbing now, raising Arnie's head high and driving it into the ground with all her might. Arnie's eyes flashed at her for just a moment. He mouthed something that Elli didn't want to understand. She slammed his head into the ground again, this time dragging it backwards just enough to pound it into a rock that protruded along the edge of the walkway.

She split Arnie's head wide open, sending any semblance of his soul to virtual hell. Then she fell forward on top of him, gasping for breath.

Roberts struggled to her feet; she was so very weak. Still, she lifted the shuddering girl off of Arnie's body, put her arm around her and led her back to the bench. They sat together in silence for a moment, looking up at the great marble angel, wondering what thoughts it had of the vampire strength Elli had received and the use she had put it to.

"Forgive me," Elli whispered to the angel. Her voice was so low that Roberts could barely hear it.

Roberts put her arms around Elli and hugged her tight.

"Drink from me," Elli murmured, understanding Roberts's need. And the lieutenant once again lowered her lips to the neck of Elli Capadonico, sunk her teeth deep into her and drew back a little of the life-saving blood she had provided to the girl.

There was no sense drinking from Arnie. He was a virtual character; he had no blood, not even vampire blood. Elli had killed him without turning him into a vampire, without making him real.

How appropriate, Roberts thought.

### Chapter 51

When Roberts staggered from the Avenue D simulation hours later, the first rays of dawn were pulsing just below the horizon.

Dan Drearly, the ISC's six-foot three-inch, three-hundred-pound maintenance geek, was at the computer preparing the early morning routines.

He wore the scraggly stubble of an unsuccessful beard that didn't match his bushy black eyebrows and hair. A broken, unlit cigarette drooped slovenly from the corner of his lips. His belly hung out like an over-rich soufflé. He wore faded jeans and a tattered Goo Goo Dolls T-shirt.

"Mornin', dollface," he groused.

Of all the workers in the compound, only Drearly refused to call Roberts by her title. The lieutenant really disliked him for that, as well as his look and his nicotine smell. Enough of the noxious chemical was pouring from his body to equal three rooms full of second hand smoke. He was a walking health hazard.

Still, Roberts mused, there was a lot of blood in the big, fat pig, wasn't there? And the slight amount she had drawn from Elli was not enough to sustain her for very long.

She approached Drearly and smiled.

"Morning, Danny," she sighed. "Care to join me for breakfast?"

Her eyes were big and inviting.

"In a minute, dollface," Drearly responded with the confident smile of a disgusting man operating under the delusion that he's attractive to women.

Roberts didn't care; she needed his blood.

"Let's have some fun, Danny," she said as she looked into his eyes "in the simulation."

"What kinda fun?" he asked, and he flipped the unlit cigarette upward between his lips as though it were an erection.

"Maybe a little nip before breakfast, Danny, okay?"

"Whatda ya got?"

"Something intoxicating."

"Cool, in which simulation?"

"The vampire one, of course."

Drearly looked back at Roberts. She smiled showing her complete set of vampire teeth. Drearly missed them completely.

"Would be kind of sexy, wouldn't it?" he said.

"Oh, yeah."

Drearly slammed in the last few keystrokes. Then he activated the door to the vampire sim, got to his feet, and followed the luscious shape of Roberts through the door and into the crypt.

The moment the door slammed, she was on him, her huge fangs sinking deep into his neck, drawing out the human blood she so desperately needed. It strengthened her, revitalized her. But still somehow in the process she couldn't help but feel revulsion, fearing that she was creating the biggest, rudest, ugliest vampire who had ever lived. Roberts couldn't have been more wrong.

As Roberts slid back into her coffin and waited for the daylight hours to pass, an amazing transformation was already taking place in Dan Drearly. The intense loss of blood weakened him, yes. But the vampire strain entering his bloodstream did something else. It began to alter his appearance within minutes, thinning him on the spot, melting away pounds as he lay unconscious on the floor of the virtual crypt. His complexion changed from a pimply pasty-white to a gaunt, mysterious grey-blue. His cheeks became hollow, his lips more full. His teeth grew, too, especially his canines, giving him a pronounced overbite that seemed somehow to complement the narrowness of his face. His eyes darkened, not into the small red pinpricks they would become whenever he spotted desirable prey. They were now a deep midnight blue. The truth was that, in his own undead way, Dan Drearly was becoming handsome.

A clanging sound suddenly shattered the stillness of the crypt. Drearly heard it and struggled to his feet. Someone was coming. He panicked, turned, and tried to run away from the door, but his jeans still had a fifty-inch waste, and they immediately dropped from his narrow frame and fell around his ankles. Drearly tripped and was barely able to catch himself on the edge of a large ebony coffin. In desperation he dared to lift the top of the coffin, feeling an uncontrollable sense that some undead creature would suddenly leap out at him.

The coffin was empty.

The warning clanged again, and the door to the simulation opened slightly. A shaft of light cut into the crypt and struck Drearly, burning his arm with its intensity. Drearly dove into the coffin head first, then flipped over onto his back and let the heavy lid fall shut. There was comforting blackness within, and he was soon lost in the deepest sleep he had ever known.

Drearly could not hear the footsteps that trod softly across the floor of the virtual crypt, nor could Roberts, Montana, Jahala, or the others. They could not hear the gasps that were uttered as one after another of the coffin lids were raised and the vampire corpses were recognized and accounted for.

They could not follow the footsteps through the other simulations where Omar and his friends and enemies were found wrapped in dark cloths and buried in the depths of caves. They could not hear the bitter curse as Elli Capadonico was found huddling under a mountain of black garbage bags in a dumpster at the edge of the Avenue D Playground.

They could not know that someone had taken stock of the undead that now populated the International Simulation Center, and intended to do something about it all.

### Chapter 52

Now it was Gardner's turn, Randy Gardner the world builder. He came to the simulation room just before twilight, as naive perhaps as any of the others. He opened the door to the vampire simulation and stepped inside. He wanted to check the integration of the figures and the surrounding objects. He'd done a lot of thinking about it on his trip to Vienna, and he knew how to make the interior images much stronger.

Gardner was surprised when he entered to find a table with a vase full of roses sitting next to one of the coffins. Another coffin had rose petals strewn all across it.

"What the hell's going on here," he murmured to himself as he walked up to the first coffin. He opened it and slammed it shut immediately.

Lieutenant Roberts lay inside the coffin, her face pale, her mouth distended by her huge vampire's teeth.

"My God, Lieutenant," Gardner whispered. "He got you, too?"

He walked to the second coffin and opened it. There lay Margot Johansson. The woman he had finally been able to get close to, Ferenc's first ISC victim. She, too, possessed that deadly pallor of the undead.

"Babe," he murmured to his recent lover as he caressed her cheek. "No recovery from the vampire, huh?"

Gardner heard a stirring in one of the other coffins. It was twilight now, he realized, Vampire Time! He backed slowly, carefully to the door, stepped backward through it and slammed it shut. Then he turned and ran to the computer so that he could destroy the entire virtual world, hopefully trapping the monsters inside.

He pounded on the keyboard and waited as the hard drives began to spin slowly up to speed.

He heard a scratching at the simulation door then, and the great handle began to turn from the inside.

The damn hard drives weren't up yet, he realized. The computer was frozen. There was nothing he could do.

Gardner grabbed for his cell phone, and frantically began texting a message as the door opened and Margot stood there in that sexy white nightshirt.

"You've come to see me," she cooed. "How thoughtful."

Her complexion was pallid, her lips full. She smiled showing those huge vampire teeth. Her breasts heaved with hunger.

"Was it you who gave me the rose petals?" she asked.

Gardner backed away from his lover shaking his head. Unfortunately his move allowed her to step between him and the hallway that led out of the simulation area.

"My coffin's big enough for two, you know," Margot sighed. "Would you care to join me?"

She was nearly on top of him now.

Gardner froze, punched a few more letters into the text message, and hit the send key just as Margot fell upon him ... and began to feast on his blood.

**Vampires everywhere! We have to ...** was all he was able to type before Margot buried her fangs in his neck, drawing out his life and his humanity.

### Chapter 53

TAORMINA, SICILY—SEPTEMBER 2011

Vito couldn't believe it. Angelina walked right up to him and gave him a great big kiss.

"Today may be our day," she said, "am I not right, signore?"

Angelina was wearing another of those gossamer-thin flower print dresses that rippled invitingly about her in the late afternoon breeze. Her hair once again cascaded in ringlets around her perfect neck.

Vito was at his usual table on the Piazza in Taormina, drinking his second glass of grappa in the warmth of the late afternoon and feeling quite contented to bask in the progress he had made on his script.

"Your ideas were a great help to me," he said.

"So, the evil Mr. Trang falls in love, then?" she asked.

"With a perfectly evil woman," Vito answered. "You helped me understand her motivation. So, come have a drink ... as a reward."

"If my ideas gave you such great understanding, signore," Angelina answered, "my reward should be more than a drink."

"What then?" Vito asked with an eager smile.

"Well," she said sliding into the chair very close to his and letting him take in the sensuous aroma of cinnamon, rosemary, and pure unadulterated sex, "I've always wanted to spend a night in the San Domenico Palace."

She reached over, lifted his glass, and brought it to her lips. She took a sip of his grappa and fluttered her eyes at him.

"But the script's almost done," he responded, "no night-long consultation necessary."

"That's too bad," she said with a pout, "but maybe we could spend the evening coming up with an alternate ending."

"Unnecessary."

"Is it?" she wondered. "I'll bet I can come up with something much more exciting than yours."

"And what would that be?" Vito asked with a leer. Memories of Elli were far from his mind _this_ afternoon.

"You decided that your hero must fall in love with a beautiful woman?"

Vito nodded.

"Then as an alternative, why not have him fall in love with something even more intoxicating?"

"Power?" Vito asked.

"Well, yes, if you want him to be a movie producer."

Vito smiled knowingly.

"But actually," Angelina continued, "I was thinking of wealth, and not just a little of it, an immense fortune, a legendary hoard, hidden somewhere in the desert, guarded by an incredible throng of villains."

Vito's eyes suddenly grew wide with excitement. "Are you an author ... a playwright?" he asked.

"If you only knew," Angelina answered.

"How about a treasure that is ... Dracula's Hoard!" Vito shouted.

"Did he have one?"

Vito had done enough vampire movies to know the story.

"In the novel, Dracula was transporting all his wealth from London back to Transylvania," Vito answered, taking another swig of grappa and enjoying the conversation. "Jonathan Harker and Van Helsing, the vampire slayers, intercepted and killed him just as he was approaching his castle."

"Maybe he sent his wealth somewhere else," Angelina said. "Isn't it just possible that he might in fact have sent it out across Afghanistan on the way to the Khyber Pass and India?"

"There's nothing to suggest that in the book," Vito said without losing the feeling of excitement. _But what an idea!_

Who was this spectacular, brilliant, and astoundingly sexy woman?

"Fuck the book," Angelina answered. "Just make up whatever you want. It's your story; come up with something that will captivate Mr. Trang, then just let the excitement suck him in."

"So you're a game designer now too?" Vito asked with a laugh.

"Is that what we're doing, designing games?"

"Of course."

"I wish you had told me earlier. I am very good at designing games, and even better at playing them. Would you like to play?"

"I'm kind of tired of playing the same old games," Vito answered.

"So am I, actually," Angelina said as she leaned toward Vito and kissed him softly on the lips. "So, why don't we go back to your hotel room and invent some new ones?"

Vito's eyes sparkled. _Please God, don't let those chest pains start again_ , he prayed silently. Still, he felt fine, more than fine, in fact.

"I know almost all the games there are," Vito said as he began to enjoy the first spontaneous erection he'd had in years. "And there are a few I'd like to show you."

"I'd be happy to see them, and maybe try to find ways to _improve_ them."

Vito swallowed hard as Angelina leaned into him and gave him a long and passionate kiss, and it was at that exact moment that Lucy and Charles made their way up to the table.

"The girl of the hour?" Lucy asked with an uncharacteristically judgmental look in her eyes.

Vito got to his feet nervously and gestured to Angelina.

"My cousin from Catania," he mumbled.

"A _kissing_ cousin, I see," Lucy answered with the accusation now passing from her eyes to her voice.

"I think you'd better go now," Vito said to Angelina.

"I would never leave you, Cousin," she said, and she wrapped herself around his arm dragging him back into his seat and holding him fast.

"Listen," Charles said lowering himself into one of the chairs and moving much closer to Vito, "we need your help _now_ , man. Things have gone to absolute hell at the ISC."

"You really have to leave now, miss," Lucy said to Angelina.

"Assolutamente no!" Angelina answered firmly, and she tightened her grasp on Vito.

"This is very confidential stuff," Lucy said more forcefully.

"Angelina," Vito said as he turned toward her, "meet me at my room in two hours, okay? If you can expand on some of your story ideas, I'll pay you for them."

"I _do_ want something in your pants, cousin," she answered with a naughty smile, "but it is not your wallet."

"YOU _CAN'T_ BE A PART OF THIS FUCKIN' CONVERSATION, OKAY?" Vito shouted angrily.

"You'll compensate me in your room, then?" Angelina asked.

"Cold hard cash for your ideas."

"Something _hard_ —yes," Angelina answered, "something _cold—NO_."

Angelina turned and stared at Lucy for a long moment. The beautiful, young Chinese American pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose and returned her gaze evenly.

"Benissimo," Angelina said to Vito. "Don't keep me waiting."

"Of course not," he answered as Angelina leaned toward him and gave him another kiss on the lips.

"I love my family," Vito said to Lucy with a nervous giggle as Angelina got to her feet, and then sashayed off across the piazza.

Lucy watched her leave and then turned those accusing eyes back to Vito.

"Come on, Luce," Charles interrupted. "Get off it, will you? We have some life and death matters to discuss here."

"Sorry," Lucy answered.

"Tell him about the text message from Randy Gardner," Charles said.

"Okay, yeah," Lucy began as she adjusted her glasses yet again.

She pulled out her iPhone, flipped it toward Vito and showed him the message:

" **Vampires everywhere! We have to ..."**

"And that's not the worst of it," Lucy continued. "I got this e-mail from Dr. Withering last night."

She tapped the screen of the iPhone and brought up an e-mail, which she immediately passed to Vito.

Dr. Lee:

She's at my window again. Pounding at the shutters, begging to be let in. Driving me crazy with her cries. But I can't do it. Margot Johansson is a vampire now.

She and your creation Vladimir have taken many of the others. Gardner, Jahala, even Roberts, they have all been transformed into vampires, Tim Farson is nowhere to be found, and I fear the worst has happened to him.

This is what you get for playing God. You've turning perfectly normal people into monsters? Even the virtual characters have gone that way. And now they're alive, too, coming out of the simulation at night, wandering through the compound, looking for blood.

I've tried to notify everyone I can think of. I've e-mailed those on holiday telling them not to return. But I'm afraid that I've missed many of them.

You and Vito started this, God damn you. Now find a way to end it.

David Withering

Vito stared at the iPhone screen in disbelief.

"We've barely been gone a week," he said, "and we've lost ... Roberts? Oh, my God!"

It was as though he couldn't comprehend it at first. "Lieutenant Erin Roberts?"

Vito got up from the table and walked back to the marble balcony that looked out over the warm Mediterranean. The sea swelled endlessly, mysteriously. It had ebbed and flowed for millennia, hadn't it, he thought, while crazy, stupid human life came and went while you weren't even looking.

"Elllliiiii!" he called out in anguish as though the dead girl could save him from the pain of losing another woman who had come to mean so much to him.

Lucy suddenly went to his side and put her arms around him.

"You did care about her, didn't you?" she sighed.

Vito just stood there.

"Come on," Lucy whispered after a moment, "We have to do something about this before it gets any worse."

She led him back to their table, dumped a shot of grappa into his glass, and handed it to him.

"I think I know the one man who may be able to help us," she said finally.

Vito was still in a daze, still staring off into the sea. Lucy took his hand and spoke directly to him.

"My old computer science professor at Stanford knows more about story-based simulations than anyone else on earth. I've already contacted him and asked if he can come out here. He tells me he can."

"Is his name van Helsing?" Vito was barely able to say.

"Von Weltmann," Lucy answered. "He's Jewish."

Vito just shook his head. "What's he gonna do, wall off the crypt with matzo?"

"Help us, Mr. Vito," Lucy said. "Please!"

Vito turned back to the sea until Charles squeezed his arm.

"I've read Dracula, too," he said, "I understand all the tricks that van Helsing used to destroy the vampire. A lot of them fit right in with traditional Christian beliefs ... my beliefs. But some of these creatures are aberrations, halfway between vampires and holograms. I'm not sure how much of the vampire belief structure Assif was able to program into Vladimir or how much was passed on to the others. These beings may be very different."

"That's where Professor von Weltmann can help us," Lucy added. "He can look into the code, see how the virtual vampires are supposed to function and how we can use them to our advantage. Then, and this will be most important of all, he can modify the code to make it work for us."

Vito reached across the table and took Lucy's hand. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For?"

"I don't know—for whatever made you mad," he said. "For not being true to Roberts, I guess."

Lucy stood, walked around the table to Vito and kissed him.

"For being human," she said. "It's really not my place to judge anyone. Is it? Now, better get some sleep tonight. The next few days may be almost unbearable."

Vito just lowered his head and sat silently for a moment.

"I've booked us on a flight to Zurich first thing tomorrow morning," Charles said. "We've already contacted Dr. von Weltmann, and he's going to meet us there. A couple hours on a train and we can get to Murdenwald by noon. That will give us plenty of daylight to look at the code and come up with a plan."

"We may have to spend one or two nights in the place before we can accomplish everything we need to do," Lucy added. "There will probably be vampires stalking us every night. It'll be a hell of a risk. But I think we have to take it, don't you?"

The great writer/producer poured a final shot of grappa and passed it to Charles who waved it off. Lucy took it, sipped a small taste, grimaced, and passed the rest back to Vito, who downed it quickly.

"There's no other way," he said with a heavy sigh. "Guess there's no point in finishing the script for Trang, is there?"

"Guess not," Lucy answered.

"Fuck! I was just thinking that the guy is such a megalomaniac that I could make him into a movie producer," Vito said. "He might actually make a great one."

The three sat in silence together for a long time.

"I'll get my stuff together and see you guys in the morning," Vito was finally able to say.

Lucy smiled up at him and remembered that beautiful Angelina would be waiting for the old man back in his room. _Enjoy your whore_ , she suddenly wanted to whisper. She didn't, but, in her heart, she actually hoped that he would.

Chapter 54

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—SEPTEMBER 2011

Sexy little Suzie O'Hara and two of her gal pals walked through the doors of the ISC sleeping quarters. They had gotten in from Paris earlier that evening, then donned their hottest outfits and headed to _Johan's_ , the Murdenwald bar with the pool tables, jukebox and dance floor. The younger members of the team usually went there at least twice a week when they wanted to get away from the simulations, lines of code, and their slave-driving bosses.

Four-foot-eleven-inch Suzie knew that she'd had at least one drink too many that evening, but she didn't care. She'd done some serious flirting with just about every guy in the place, even the really tall ones. She was trying to decide if any of them were worth bringing up to her room for the evening. They were a good-looking but disappointing lot in the end. And Suzie wasn't the only one in her crew that felt horny and frustrated as they made their way back into the sleeping quarters.

"I think I'm going to fuck the first decent-looking guy I see tonight," Kathy Mulroney slurred as she staggered in beside little Suzie.

"I'm with ya, girl," Tanya North added. Her long, African American legs were ready to straddle just about anyone who showed any real interest.

"What's wrong with these assholes, anyway," Suzie sighed. "Don't they appreciate good wholesome American womanhood?"

"Guess not," Tanya added, "I think it's the _American_ that scares em."

"Way down deep, they just don't trust us," Little Suzie added, and then she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.

"Hello, Handsome," she murmured under her breath. Suzie had just caught a glimpse of the guy sitting right inside the reception area.

It was the new, improved Dan Drearly, every inch of excess body fat melted away, his face gaunt and mysterious, his lips thick and hungry. He wore a black, silk T-shirt and tight black jeans: the uniform that Randy Gardner had created for the virtual vampires. There were plenty of outfits inside the sim. Drearly had just appropriated one of them and hoped that it would make it out of the simulation and into the real world intact.

It did.

"Hi, ladies," he said with a bright, eager smile that was more interesting than anything the women had seen all evening.

"Danny, is that you?" Tanya said, hoping that it wasn't.

"Danny who?" he answered. "No Danny here."

"So, just who are you then?" Suzie asked.

"Name's Siegfried," Drearly lied.

"No way," Little Suzie responded. "You could never be a Siegfried. That's a name we would have heard from one of those assholes back at the bar."

Danny smiled flashing all of those brilliant, white teeth for just a moment.

"Ouch!" Tanya squealed in response.

"Waiting for someone, Siggy?" Suzie asked.

"Not really," Drearly answered.

"In that case, wanna party?"

"Yes indeed, babe."

Suzie reached for his hand and recoiled as soon as he touched it. "You're _ice_ , big guy."

Drearly looked puzzled for a moment, then thought of an answer. "Just need someone to warm me up, babe, that's all."

"I like the way you think," Tanya said, "an I got plenty a warm places that will work for ya." She grabbed him by the hand, and led him on into the sleeping quarters.

#

Two hours later, short sexy Suzie was backing away in terror as the blood drenched form of Drearly moved toward her. The lifeless bodies of Tanya and Kathy lay slumped over the bed.

"I think you'll enjoy being a vampire," Drearly cooed as he stalked her. She had retreated to the window and was leaning back up against her desk. He caught her by the arm then, spun her around, slid his hands up to her shoulders, and ripped away the skimpy little tank top that she wore. Suzie screamed as she caught her reflection in the window.

"Nice cleavage, though," she murmured incoherently as she felt the vampire move his hands onto her Victoria's Secret push-up bra. He cupped her breasts through the fabric for just a moment, and then slid one hand down onto her belly. He pushed her ass hard into him and she felt just how aroused he really was.

He must be lowering his fangs onto my neck right now, she thought. But she couldn't see him as she stared into the window. He had no reflection.

Suzie reached down onto her desk; her fingers crawled desperately over the surface searching for any object she could use to fight him off. She touched a silver letter opener, considered it for a moment and moved on. His lips were on her left shoulder now, kissing it, tasting it. She could hear the wild sound of his tongue as he licked his lips like a hungry animal.

"Ohhhh," she sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, pushing out tears of desperation. Then her fingers touched it, a gold chain with a little crucifix attached to it. She had wanted to wear it this evening, but it didn't seem to match her outfit. Now she clutched the cross tightly as she wrestled away from the vampire, turned quickly and thrust the icon into his face.

Drearly cowered in front of the object for a moment, then raised his hands before his face to block his eyes. Suzie circled around him moving steadily toward the door.

"Wait a minute," Drearly called as he straightened up and seized the cross out of her hand. "I'm a goddamn atheist. I don't believe in this shit." And he tossed the cross behind him, letting it fall uselessly to the floor.

"And _you_ don't believe either, dollface," he said to Suzie. Then he lunged for her, grabbed her by the shoulders and held her so tightly that she couldn't move a muscle. Suzie whimpered as she felt herself being drawn forward to her doom. She looked then into his deep midnight blue eyes. There was a hypnotic sparkle to them. They called to her. Suzie became lost in them, and that's the moment she surrendered, gave in to that hypnotic gaze, that gaunt handsome face and those strong immovable muscles that were drawing her ever closer. He smiled at her, opened his lips, and showed those blindingly white teeth for just a moment before they suddenly descended upon her neck and took her blood.

#

Before morning came, Drearly led his new sisters to the virtual crypt and saw that each was entombed there. Then he, too, sought rest. He knew that he and the others would return to the barracks every night to seduce and suck the blood of anyone remaining.

In fact, by the time Vito, Martin and Lee returned, nearly every resident of the International Simulation Center had become a vampire.

And they were all _very_ hungry.

### 5

### DRACULA'S HOARD

Chapter 55

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—SEPTEMBER 2011

The aerial tram carrying the latest load of tourists from the valley floor to the heights of Murdenwald took a sudden lurch and swayed wickedly for a moment over the great chasm. Vito and half the other passengers let out a loud collective groan. He felt his head begin to spin a little, and he tried to steady himself by staring out the large window at the countryside.

"I hate flying," Vito mumbled to himself, "and this is worse."

From the height of the tramway he could look directly down at the bright red farmhouses and barns scattered here and there among the pastures. The cows had long ago learned to ignore the strange contraptions swinging from the cables overhead, and so they went about their business, munching the early fall grass, letting their bells clang loudly, bellowing from time to time with a volume that reached all the way up to the tramway.

As he dared to look down, Vito could make out pens, fences, feeding troughs, irrigation systems, and even an occasional tractor, all of which basked in the glare of those snow-white mountains with their sparkling glaciers and craggy cliffs.

Vito felt a little steadier now, and so he turned back to von Weltmann, who had been holding forth with a non-stop monologue.

"Even better than locking out the vampires with matzohs," von Weltmann continued with a knowing grin, "would be to invite them in for a meal of cholent, the famously delicious but very dense Jewish casserole."

Lucy nodded and smiled. Von Weltmann was a tonic if only because he was upbeat in every situation, even the most deadly.

"Cholent is traditionally cooked for 24 hours in the village baker's oven," he said. "That way housewives can serve a hot meal on the Sabbath without having to cook. So, here's what we do. We go to the local Jewish bakery, have them cook up a large batch, and the vampires won't be able to resist. After they've been immobilized by _overeating_ , we drive stakes through their evil hearts. But at least they'll expire with full tummies and smiles on their faces."

Vito shook his head and began to laugh. "The only problem with your idea," he said, "is that vampires don't eat."

Von Weltmann frowned for a moment and then his eyes brightened.

"So we just invite them over as guests. A typical Jewish dinner conversation will drive them mad, making them just as vulnerable, especially if my whole family's there. Cousin Sophie, Gabriella and little Delilah could send the monsters over the edge all by themselves."

Dr. Gerhard von Weltmann was a true renaissance man. He had a PhD. in electrical engineering from UCLA, as well as a Masters in Fine Art. His father had been a fairly successful costume designer for the movies—had designed gowns for Marilyn Monroe, in fact. And young Gerhard inherited the old man's artistic skills.

Gerhard's first major job had been as a graphic designer for Westinghouse. One of the best-looking toasters ever made came from the talented mind of Gerhard von Weltmann.

Of course, when he saw the great career opportunities associated with the big Westinghouse defense contracts, von Weltmann made an abrupt change in career direction. He went back to school and got that Ph. D. in double E.

"That's when I reinvented myself, for the first time," he liked to say.

Von Weltmann soon formed a major defense modeling and simulation company all his own. He called it von Weltmann Concepts, later shortened to WellCon. He managed it successfully for over thirty years, and then he re-invented himself once again. He went into semi-retirement so he could paint, write interesting books, ( _500 Yiddish Jokes You'll Never Hear in Mama's Kitchen_ ) and teach the art of simulation building. He did this first at UCLA and then later at Stanford.

Dr. Lucy Lee had been his most prized pupil at Stanford, and after a few drinks he would readily admit that he had come close to falling in love with her, at least as close as his conscience and his lovely wife would allow. The engineer in von Weltmann admired Lucy's intelligent mind, while the fine artist liked her pretty Chinese-American face, in spite of those geeky glasses.

When Lucy called him only a few days earlier and told him about the virtual vampires, his first response was that Jews know nothing of vampires.

"We don't have vampires," he proclaimed. "But we have dybbuks; they're malicious spirits, and I suppose they come close enough." And so he gave himself a crash Ph. D. course in vampires, reading into the early morning hours every night: twenty thick, scholarly tracts and hundreds of Internet articles.

This was his chance to reinvent himself yet again, von Weltmann realized, as a fearless vampire slayer, and he intended to take full advantage of the opportunity.

#

The little electric car approached the gates of the ISC compound now and everyone grew suddenly quiet. Even though it was well before noon, they knew what they had to do, and understood that there was precious little time to do it in.

Lucy jumped from the car, entered her card into the reader at the head of the private road, and heard the spooky-looking gate creak slowly open. The car motored forward then, and the gate closed solemnly behind it.

"No way to turn back now," Lucy whispered.

This might have been the first time she realized that they had essentially escaped. They were in no real danger unless they were foolish enough to return to the compound to try and set things right.

"We have to do this, Luce," Charles Martin said as he squeezed her hand gently.

"I know," she whispered. "But it's gonna be hell."

"Tonight, maybe," von Weltmann said. "But not until then. Vampires have to stay out of the sunlight, so they hide in their coffins from sunrise to twilight. I think it's critical that we find as many vampires as we can before the sun goes down, kill them, make a list of all we've missed, and then come up with a creative plan to get rid of the rest of them. I'm looking to you, Mr. Vito, for some creative thinking here."

Vito sat with a very troubled look on his face. "Creativity isn't a problem, and the listing doesn't sound too bad," Vito said making it clear that he wasn't prepared to discuss the other part of the task.

"A lot of them should be in the virtual crypt," Charles said. "For some lucky reason, Gardner built plenty of extra coffins in there."

"We'll go to the crypt as soon as we check out the sleeping quarters," Lucy said, "then on to the Omar simulation."

"Can you check the Avenue D world?" Charles asked Vito.

The producer grimaced. "Just Elli, right?"

"Elli and Arnie, too," Lucy added. "They may both be there, and they may both be vampires by now; be ready for that."

"If so, then one of them has probably killed the other already," Vito responded grimly, not knowing how very right he was.

"So what other possible vampire hangouts are there?" von Weltmann asked.

"The hospital, the entire compound, in fact," Lucy answered. "But most likely we'll have to widen our search, go into the village, the library and even ... the castle."

"I've got the list of all the workers right here," Charles said as he patted his jacket pocket. "We know the names of the people who did not return to the compound. Thirty-eight people answered the e-mails we sent out."

"So that leaves fifty-four others, and they may all be vampires by now," Lucy answered. "Fifty-four we need to find."

"Including Tim Farson and General Linden," Charles said. "We haven't been able to locate either one of them."

"Fifty-four possible human vampires and about two hundred virtual ones," Lucy added, "including Elli, Arnie and all of Omar's troop."

The little electrical car had pulled up in front of the housing compound at The International Simulation Center.

"We'll need to do a full search of every room," Lucy said. "I was able to get a couple of master keys from the central HQ in New York. Had to lie like hell, but they came through for me."

"Let's search in teams," Charles suggested. "We need to get through the whole place and then the rest of the sim center before nightfall."

"No stakes through the heart today though, right?" Vito asked as he climbed reluctantly out of the vehicle.

"If we have to, we will," von Weltmann answered. "If we have an honest opportunity to decrease their numbers, we have to do it while we can."

"Does that mean I have to kill Elli then?" Vito said backing away as though from a horrible premonition.

Lucy put her hand on his. "She's only a simulation," she whispered. "You can do it."

### Chapter 56

A thin shaft of light cut into the dull grey darkness of the room, illuminating of all things, a huge oil painting of a railroad locomotive charging full speed out of the picture frame. No doubt, the guest himself had hung it there above the bed.

The windows of the room were covered with a thick Mylar film that kept out much (but not all) of the afternoon light.

Von Weltmann pushed the door farther open so that he could take in more of the space. On a valet-stand beside the bed, General Linden's uniform hung smartly, its array of medals sparkling in the brightness of the light.

Further across the room, Pamela's pantsuit lay draped over a chair.

Von Weltmann pulled Charles Martin after him as he stepped inside the door and closed it behind him. At the very last minute he pulled a little penlight from his pocket and turned it on; then he spun the light around and shone it onto the bed.

The bedding was drawn up all the way to the headboard, but underneath it the shapes of two people were clearly visible. The man was tall, perfectly proportioned; the woman was short, busty with wide hips but at this point a very shapely waistline.

"Got the bag?" he asked Charles.

"Right here," the young man answered, and with a clattering that sounded like lead pipes banging together, he swung the bag around and dropped it in front of the old professor. The sounds made both of the creatures on the bed stir for a moment; then they became as motionless as they had been before.

"We do it now?" Charles asked.

"We do it now," von Weltmann affirmed.

The two men advanced on the bed and pulled back the coverlet.

Charles grimaced and turned his eyes away when he saw the creatures they uncovered. General Linden was stiff and proud as always but with a grey pallor he had never possessed in real life. His cheeks were hollow, his canine teeth so huge that his lips could not contain them. The teeth stuck out below his upper lip like the fangs of a werewolf.

Charles looked down at the hollow-cheeked apparition lying on the bed before him. He'd never met Pamela, but that's who she was: lips full and blood red, complexion grey like dirty winter snow. Her breasts were firm and stood up proudly from her now rather emaciated body. Store-bought, Charles thought with distain. But her beautiful blond hair was real, rich and luxurious, fanning out around her head in enticing ripples.

Charles moved more closely to her to take in that strange, unholy beauty, when she suddenly popped open her eyes and looked up at him.

"Thank you for coming," she whispered hungrily.

Charles looked across at von Weltmann. The old man could only respond with a shake of his head that suggested that Charles had better beware.

Suddenly her breath grew short, her mouth opened, and her lips drew back to show teeth that were even larger and more vicious then the general's.

"Kiss me," she sighed and Charles, as though giving in to a post-hypnotic suggestion, began to do just that.

It was then that von Weltmann jumped to his feet, grabbed the young man by his shoulders, and threw him back against the wall.

"Never," he called as he stood between the two of them.

Pamela's teeth clamped together harshly. A look of rage flared in her eyes, and then she suddenly slumped back in her bed as though the whole event had never occurred.

"Let's be about our work," von Weltmann whispered to Charles, his eyes still staring almost accusingly at the young man. "And keep your goddamn wits about you!"

Charles approached the sleeping vampiress, took a crucifix from around his neck and placed it over her lips. Then he took a little golden box from his pocket, unscrewed the top, and lifted two Eucharistic wafers from it. He placed them over her eyes.

Von Weltmann looked on in interest then nodded his approval. "Whatever she believed in," he whispered.

Von Weltmann now turned to the general. He reached into the bag and took out several cloves of garlic. He wrapped these in a silk handkerchief forming them into a kind of necklace, which he placed carefully about the general's neck.

"This is the time," the old professor said. He reached into the bag and pulled out not one but two silver spikes. He passed one to Charles and took the other himself. Likewise, he took out two short-handled sledgehammers, handed one to the young man, and kept the other.

"We must do this together," he called, "and we cannot falter. Place the spike directly above the heart and drive it home. No matter what you see, no matter what she does, you must DRIVE IT HOME!"

Charles nodded as he took the spike and placed it as he was instructed to, letting the point of it press into the cold white flesh of the vampiress. Von Weltmann did likewise.

"Now!" The professor called and together the two men raised their hammers and began to drive the spikes into their victims' hearts.

A wicked blood-curdling SCREEEE came from Pamela and then from Linden. Their arms reached high into the air, clawing at it as though they were grasping for life itself. They writhed and pitched wildly on the bed, and at that moment Charles's desperate voice cried out:

" _Father, receive the spirits of our beloved brother and sister."_

Sharp teeth chattered together viciously chewing at their own lips, their cheeks, their tongues, until the vampires' faces, necks, and shoulders were drenched in their own blood. Still Charles and von Weltmann continued to drive home the soul-saving spikes as the young man continued his prayer:

" _They now leave this sorrowful life and come to you, to share in the communion of saints ..."_

Blood from the vampire's heart shot up from the wound and struck von Weltmann across the forehead. It drooled down over his cheeks, but the old man kept pounding away, driving home the salvation that these poor unfortunates needed to escape their curse. Charles continued:

"... _the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting, Amen."_

Charles looked over at von Weltmann, who delivered the last blow with such ferocity that even the writhing, flailing monster that had been Linden was no match for him.

With that final blow, the spike was driven entirely through the vampire. Blood then gushed downward from his back, soaking the sheets and drenching the bed below him. At the same moment Charles completed his work. And Pamela's bed, too, became sodden as the blood of vampires flowed from her.

Charles then yanked the bloody spike from the woman, pulling with it bits of her very heart that clung to the spike along with that thick, horrid blood. The young man fell away in exhaustion, collapsing back onto the floor not knowing till moments later that both Pamela and General Linden had each dissolved into a small pile of dust.

### Chapter 57

Lucy used her passkey to unlock the door to Dr. Withering's room even though she felt certain that he was inside. No sooner had she begun to push it open when a strong force slammed the door against her.

"Professor," Lucy called, "is that you? It's me, Lucy; I'm here with Mr. Vito. We want to help you."

"I don't believe it," came the ragged voice from the other side of the door, "and anyway, I'm all right. There's no reason to bother us ... me. I'm fine. Just go away."

Lucy turned to Vito. "We can overpower this old guy," she whispered as softly as she could. "On three let's just ram the door!"

"One, two, three!" Vito called out quickly and, as Lucy turned the handle, she and Vito threw themselves against the door. It slammed open gaining them admittance to the dark, horrifying quarters of Dr. Withering.

The same Mylar sheeting had been applied to his windows turning the early afternoon sunshine into a dim amber light. It made the place look like a tomb. Withering staggered out from behind the door. He had been thrown backwards by it, almost into the bathroom. Withering's appearance was terrible; pale and gaunt, he trembled as he moved. But his lips showed no signs of the protrusion caused by vampire fangs.

"He hasn't been bitten," Lucy whispered to Vito in amazement, "at least not yet."

"You have to leave us," Withering called, "get out of here before it's too late, before she wakes."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Vito asked. "Before _who_ wakes?"

"She!" Withering moaned and he raised a trembling hand and pointed across the room to a large black coffin sitting open just under the darkened windows.

Lucy made her way to the coffin and looked inside. There lay Margot Johansson, or what had _been_ the young mathematician. She was now a fully evolved vampiress. Her hair was still that rich platinum blond, but her complexion was snow white as though the vampire pallor that had been there had given way to an ice cream richness that only enhanced the beauty of her huge crimson lips.

Margot still wore that soft white nightgown; the neckline scooped enough to reveal the tops of her breasts.

"I'd almost like to climb in there with her," Vito sighed. Lucy punched him hard in the shoulder.

"How'd you get this thing in here?" she asked pointing to the coffin.

"I didn't," the gaunt professor answered. "It just appeared somehow.

"I had tried to stay behind closed doors, locked in here, even though she battered at the windows every night, calling to me, pressing that unbelievable body up against the glass. My hunger for her was almost as great as my need for food. I hadn't eaten in days. I didn't dare go out and I was growing very weak.

"Did you actually invite her in then?" Vito asked.

Withering lowered his eyes and stared at the floor. After a moment he began shaking his head. "That very first night she flew to my window and banged on the shutters, she said she'd give me everything I ever wanted, everything I'd ever dreamed of. Somehow she knew that my dreams had only been about her. She might have known that even before she ever became a vampire. So at last I ..." his words were muffled now. Tears began streaming down his face. "At last when she came to my window again, I gave in. She stood on the window ledge pressing that evil body against the glass, pressing her ... her ..."

"Doctor," Lucy said reaching for him.

"I INVITED HER IN, 'YES!' I SAID, 'COME IN; PLEASE, OH PLEASE, OH PLEASE COME IN.' I begged her, if you can believe that. And then she disappeared. She goddamn disappeared! And I was left with a hunger, for food, for her, for everything. At last, in the afternoon I reasoned that it was safe to get some provisions. I had studied vampires on the Internet, read how they could not be abroad during the daylight hours. So I left the place at noon. It was locked down solid."

Withering moved cautiously away from them now. He found the chair in the far corner of the room and slumped into it.

"When I returned," he continued, "this was here. I have no idea how it got here in the middle of the day, or who brought it."

Withering was trembling now, somehow chilled by the events that had occurred here in this very room.

"Finally," he continued, "I opened the lid to the coffin even though daylight had almost passed. Twilight was upon us and yet I opened it. What a fool!"

Withering shook his head and buried his face in his hands. Lucy went to him then, knelt down beside the chair and took his hand in hers. "Please go on," she whispered.

"SHE WAS IN IT!" he screamed the words. "It was twilight then and she sat up; I pulled back in horror. Though I have to tell you that she was more beautiful at that moment than anything or anyone I've ever seen in my life.

"I was beside myself with—I don't know what—joy, fear, confusion, lust, probably all of them. And then Margot slipped out of the coffin."

"Did she attack you," Lucy asked.

"I feared she would," he answered, "but that's not what happened. Instead, it was as though she were teasing me. She moved up to me as closely as she could, so close that she could have leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. I couldn't have resisted. I could feel her breasts pressing against me. She brushed her hair back carelessly as though she might do something, and then she just said, 'I think I'll make you wait.' And she turned and danced away, danced over to the window, opened it, and pitched herself out into the evening, and was gone."

"Bitch!" Lucy murmured. She stood and walked away from the professor now, moved slowly to Vito and looked him in the eyes. Her expression held more resolve than Vito had ever thought possible.

"Get the good doctor out of here, will you," she hissed. "I'll handle Ms. Johansson."

"DON'T HURT HER," the doctor screamed at Lucy. "She'll be my lover yet."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," said Vito and he pulled the much younger, but far frailer man to his feet and wrestled him out the door, slamming it behind him as he went.

"YOU CAN'T HURT HER," Withering screamed at Vito as the old man pressed him up against the wall. "She's promised to be my lover!"

Vito slammed his fist into that blubbery face of the hysterical mathematician, bounced his head against the wall, and knocked him unconscious.

At almost the same instant a chilling wail cut through the air accompanied by the heavy sounds of metal hitting metal, a hammer driving a spike through the heart of yet another vampire.

"She's dispatching the soul of probably the most beautiful mathematician who has ever lived," murmured Vito, both to himself and to an unconscious Professor Withering.

### Chapter 58

"So now we move to the next phase," von Weltmann whispered as they entered the simulation building. There had only been three vampires in the sleeping quarters and these they had dispatched with absolute resolve. That resolve and the strength to carry on the endeavor that day had already begun to wane as the band approached the doors leading to the major simulation rooms.

They stopped before the virtual crypt and von Weltmann turned to them and spoke, hoping that his sense of purpose would give them strength.

"We find the vampires, virtual or otherwise," he said, "as many as we can, and kill all we're able to. If the task is too much for us this afternoon, we at least _identify_ those who are still here. That way, we will know who is accounted for and who is not. We must track down every one of these beasts and put an end to them. Vito and I are formulating a plan for the mass execution of the remaining monsters. And we intend to carry it out."

"It's going to be so hard," Lucy sighed heavily and in that moment she seemed to have lost all the strength she had shown earlier.

"These are my friends," she sobbed, "Dave Montana, Roberts, Assif, Gardner."

"These are not your friends," von Weltmann, countered immediately. "These are monsters possessing the bodies of your friends, doomed to live only at night time, only on blood, propagating their evil strain through continued crimes of murder."

He glared at Lucy, as much to challenge her as to reprimand.

"No more of this. Do you hear me? Do your duty!"

Von Weltmann walked directly up to Vito then and handed him a small, cloth bag containing _the spike and hammer of redemption_ (as Charles had begun to call them).

"Set an example for your friends, Mr. Vito," he said to the famed producer. "You are a great man, a great artist; do what has to be done."

Vito looked at Lucy realizing that she needed him to be strong at this moment. He realized also that he was concerned about a _virtual_ lover whose real persona had been murdered decades ago. Von Weltmann was asking Lucy to drive a stake through the hearts of people who were real living, breathing human beings. He at least would only be killing an avatar.

Still his heart cried out: _She was taken from me once, how can you ask me to do this?_ But he did not say it. He did not allow the tears that were welling behind his eyes to show themselves. He took the cloth bag and its clattering contents, turned his back on von Weltmann, Lucy, and Charles and moved as purposefully as he could toward the doorway to Elli's simulation. And then he stepped inside.

"An amazing man," von Weltmann said to Lucy.

"Now let us find the vampires and kill all we can. But, again, if the murderous task is too great for today, or if you have no more stomach for it, child, then at least identify them. Let us know who they are. Because I swear to you that, even though they may not die by our hands today, they will all perish in the end."

Lucy sighed and nodded her head like a disciplined pupil.

"Yes, Professor."

#

Vito walked down the familiar pathway in the Avenue D Simulation, breathing in the sweetness of the lilacs, feeling the gentle touch of the breeze. He passed the statue of the angel and even said a little prayer to her as he moved along. ( _Please let me find her safe_.)

Birds were singing; the virtual sun shone brightly.

"Still probably deadly to vampires," Vito murmured aloud, "virtual vampires anyway."

Just past the statue, in front of a clump of rather large trees, he saw a dark shape that almost looked like a huge man lying on the ground. His clothes were a dark fabric visibly streaked with blood. Vito approached cautiously not able to make out who it was until he drew very near. And then he recognized the torn, dead body of Arnie.

"Whoa," he called aloud. He stepped back abruptly, turned his eyes away, then saw the broken branch of a tree, lying nearby ... as dead as Arnie. He picked it up, went back to the body and poked it. Flies buzzed away from the putty-like face, which had already begun to decompose into green-white goo. (When Randy Gardner built a virtual world, it was complete, wasn't it? He'd even added the old decomposing routine.)

Who the hell could have done this? Vito wondered. Not Elli; she'd never have had the strength for it. Was it a whole new villain he didn't know about?

That line of thought sent a tingle of fear scurrying up his back. Vito could almost feel someone stalking him, moving silently through the forest behind him. Vito waited, listening as intently as he could, then he spun around.

No one was there. He scanned the edges of the park, looked into the dense underbrush. No, no one was there at all, but far off at the corner of the park there was something that didn't seem quite right.

At first it was no more than a large black shape setting out there, looking like some rusty old Buick abandoned on the side of the Jersey turnpike, already stripped of all its parts, wanting nothing better than to rust away into oblivion. A lot of those old parts seemed to be sitting out around it too: a dead battery, the bald old spare tire, maybe even one of the old worn bucket seats. But as Vito looked harder at the object, he could see that it really wasn't a stripped down car at all. It was really a dumpster, a big black one, and the battered old parts that appeared to surround it were really several large, black trash bags pulled from the container and left there beside it.

Vito slowly moved away from the dead body and over to the dumpster. There were four of those large trash bags that had been tossed carelessly on the ground around the dumpster. One bag was split open and something (a raccoon or a dog) had gotten into it and strewn its contents all over the nearby ground. Vito stepped through the slimy mess of broken eggshells, wads of Kleenex, and rumpled waxed paper with partially eaten sandwiches still inside them. Smears of ketchup and mustard added brightness to the gunk. Flies buzzed away in annoyance as Vito made his way past the bags and up to the very edge of the dumpster.

He peered into the ugly depths. There was yet another layer of trash bags in it, but these were pulled together as though they were meant to provide a complete covering for something underneath them. Vito reached forward to see what it was, and as soon as he tried to move one of the bags, something or someone grabbed it from below and held it forcefully in place.

"Elli?" Vito murmured.

There was no sound.

"Do I dare?" Vito whispered as he wondered aloud if he should disturb a vampire in its sleep.

"Let sleeping vampires lie, I guess," he muttered. But of course, he didn't.

" _Hail Mary full of grace_ ," Vito prayed as he grabbed the edge of the dumpster and gradually lifted himself up and over it. His bones creaked as he did. Apparently long walks were no preparation for something much closer to gymnastics: the good old dumpster vault.

Vito did everything he could to land far away from the bags that he had tried to move, so that he wouldn't step on whoever or whatever was lying there. Suddenly he envisioned Count Dracula himself rising up in front of him and reaching for his throat. But that didn't happen. Nothing happened through the long terrible moments as Vito froze waiting for some sign of life (or even un-death) to come from the other side of the dumpster.

Vito thought he heard someone outside the dumpster, someone coming toward him, someone who could grab him and murder him right there in the middle of that crazy 50s virtual world, someone who had already attacked and mutilated Arnie. He dared to peer out for a second and then he laughed; it was only the breeze twisting the fallen leaves across the ground, making strange scuttling sounds that might be mistaken for footsteps.

"Fuck it!" Vito grumbled to himself and plunged his hand down past the bags in the far corner of the dumpster. He used his body to block the sunlight so that whatever or whoever was in there was protected from those rays. What he touched was something soft and very cold, a human body. Was it a child or a very small woman perhaps? (Elli?) YES!

Vito gradually pulled the girl above the trash bags she had used to bury herself. She was curled into a fetal position, her thumb almost in her mouth. In spite of her pallid complexion and the way her enlarged vampire teeth were pushing out against her lips, the virtual character looked more like his Elli than she ever had before.

"Donny," she murmured in her sleep.

He could see the bite marks on her neck, see the blood that had been smeared onto her shoulders. He could see that her fingernails were now long and curved almost into little claws, and they still contained bits of flesh and hair that must have come from one of her victims.

Arnie! Vito realized. She _had_ killed Arnie!

Elli suddenly stiffened as a shaft of sunlight struck the edge of her arm. She wrenched herself away from Vito with strength he would have expected from a sumo wrestler. She opened her eyes then for just a moment, smiled enough to show those small, sharp, vampire fangs.

"Donny," she sighed, closed her eyes, and cuddled back into his arms.

Vito pulled her to him then, slid back down under the trash bags with her, adjusted them to make sure that they provided total coverage for the girl, and then he just held her as she slept, loving the feel of her body against his.

He held her for hours it seemed, till long after the virtual and the real suns had set.

### Chapter 59

Lieutenant Erin Roberts, the beautiful African American vampiress, was jolted awake by the sound of voices in the hallway.

" _Goddamn it!! Where the hell is Vito?"_

" _Don't know, but we've got to find him."_

" _It's too late! The vampires are waking. He must have gone back to his room."_

" _He'd never do that. He's still in the Avenue D Simulation, and someone has to go in there and get him."_

Roberts pushed back the lid of her coffin to listen.

"No, Lucy! Wait!" came the voice of Charles Martin.

That was followed by the sound of footsteps running toward the door of the Avenue D simulation. And then the door opened.

"At least let me come with you!" Charles shouted.

"Dr. Lucy Lee," the vampire Lieutenant mused as she listened to the discussion, "the delicious Dr. Lee." And then she floated up out of her coffin and landed square on the floor of the crypt. She turned around and gazed back into the virtual room, at her brothers and sisters still sleeping in their coffins. But an unexpected horror met her eyes. Half the coffins were open, and there was nothing in them but small, horrible-smelling piles of dust.

"Bastards!" Roberts cursed, and with quick lizardlike moves she scaled up the granite walls of the crypt and raked her claws against the ceiling tiles as she pushed them out of the way. Then, scurrying deftly on all fours, her nails clattering above the metal tiles, she moved from one simulation to the next.

"Sons of bitches," she murmured as she reached the ceiling directly over the virtual Avenue D playground. And then she dropped silently behind the trees surrounding the sorrowful angel.

Lucy was there (she could see her), as were Charles and some old man she had never seen before. The trio was confronting Vito, who at that moment was sitting on the bench across from the angel, still clutching the virtual personification of Elli Capadonico, who was now also a vampiress.

"Let's get the hell out of here before they come after us," Lucy was pleading, but Vito seemed to want to stay with Elli.

Amazingly, Vito was not yet a vampire, Roberts noticed. The girl had not attacked him. Instead she clung to him lovingly as though all she wanted was to be with him, even though the tantalizing smell of human blood filled the air.

Roberts found that _Elli_ may have been able to resist the aroma, but she could not. She had to taste it; she needed their blood, perhaps all of it. She especially wanted to sink her teeth into the sweet jugular of Dr. Lucy Lee who, just as she, had insisted on the creation of the first virtual vampire. Lucy had taken Margot up into the tower, introduced her to Ferenc and thus launched the strain of human vampires who now filled the compound. Lucy was an unwitting contributor to all of them, wasn't she?

"Ummmm," the lieutenant hissed as she stepped boldly into the moonlight, causing the trio to turn toward her in surprise.

"Dinner is served," she said with a sexy little laugh. "Where shall I start?"

Horror spread across the human faces as she slunk toward them, her teeth chattering hungrily now, her long, talon-like fingernails suddenly spreading wide, flashing out as though to dig into the first human she could catch.

And, just like that, Elli jumped forward in a single cat-like bound and positioned herself between Roberts and the others.

"Elli, my love," Roberts responded, as she assessed the situation. "You have your delectable little prey, let me have the others."

Elli hissed and flashed her claws at Roberts, bared her fangs, and prepared to strike out at the lieutenant.

"I see," Roberts cooed. "You want them all. How greedy of you."

Elli hissed more loudly and began advancing slowly on the lieutenant. Her back was arched, her face contorted into a wicked leer. Her fangs were bared, eyes narrowed, each step a deliberate menace as she moved inextricably toward her adversary.

"Let's get out of here," Von Weltmann called as he saw the battle shaping up.

"Please, no," Vito moaned, but it was a weak, desperate moan, and it gave Charles the cue to run at him, gather the old man up in his arms and carry him onto the pathway that lead out of the simulation.

"They're getting away!" Roberts called in sudden desperation, taking her eyes away from Elli for just that moment. That's when the girl threw herself at Roberts, claws flying, monster teeth flashing, tearing into the lieutenant's flesh as she landed with all fours upon Roberts and knocked her flat on her back. Roberts fought mightily to defend herself against the little demon.

"Elli, oh Elli," the lieutenant called as the girl used the amazing strength she had displayed in her vicious destruction of Arnie Cudgel.

As the women twisted and writhed in their death struggle, Lucy, von Weltmann and Charles, who was now carrying Vito, made their way out of the simulation, knowing that in the process they were stepping into a compound that would soon be seething with a host of hungry vampires.

Chapter 60

"In here," Lucy called as the entry to the virtual crypt sprung open and half a dozen vampires stalked toward them. She had pushed back the door to Tim Farson's administrative office and quickly led the others into the room slamming the door behind them, locking the deadbolt from the inside. There was no way that they were going to make it back to the sleeping quarters. This was the best they could hope for.

The door to Farson's office was solid oak with a small vertical window beside it. Even that window had wire mesh embedded in it as though Farson had intended to create a fall-out shelter for himself in case of a hostile attack. Still, Lucy was certain that he never imagined his office would serve as a refuge from vampires.

Through the window the small band could see vampires moving across the floor toward the office.

Sexy little Suzie O'Hara was the first to reach the window, and she began calling to Charles in a sweet seductive voice.

"Charlie, baby," she cooed, "you want me, don't you?" She buried her long fingers in her hair, lifting it above her head with a sexy grin. "Please let us come in," she signed as she stared intently at Charles through the narrow opening. "Pretty please?"

Charles swallowed hard. He did want her.

Suzie began swaying to some imagined tune, her hands still tangled in her long blond hair, her hips grinding invitingly, calling to Charles. He turned away, and that angered Suzie very much. With a sudden jolt she slammed her body against the glass, forcing Charles to turn back to her. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the glass, sliding them back and forth, letting her nipples grow hard and pointed as she rubbed them across the pane. Charles looked at the others, but they were all caught up in this pornographic spectacle that Little Suzie was using to entice him. Now, she was grinding her hips into the window obscenely, leering at Charles with blood-red vampire eyes. She pressed her thick lips against the glass leaving kisses, and then licking them off with her long tongue. "Ohhh, Charlie."

Charles buried his face in his hands for a moment, then pulled the crucifix from around his neck and walked to the window, holding it up before him. Suzie's expression changed at once; she cowered, tried to shield herself with her hands, and suddenly rushed away from the window.

"Good Catholic school girl," Vito grumbled. "Once the good sisters get into your head, you can never get rid of them."

Lucy turned toward him and smiled. Thank God that was over, she thought, and that's when she heard her own name being called.

"Lucy, love!" It was Dan Drearly now, stepping before the glass, doing his best Chippendales routine (how had he ever learned it?). He yanked his shirt off above his head and pressed those well-rounded shoulders and rock-hard pecs against the glass. The muscles in his arms flexed tightly. He lifted an expressive hand up before his eyes and then slid it down over his neck, across his chest and his rippling abs. The hand moved invitingly down his left hip, then slid behind his ass pushing it forward against the glass while that huge thing in his jeans squirmed wickedly trying to rip through the denim and smear itself all over the window.

Lucy felt breathless; her hand reached gently for her neck, and her slender fingers began to caress it absent-mindedly. She slid them down then, across the curve of her breast as she marveled at the rippling body that was gyrating outside the window, calling only to her.

"Lucy, love, let us in," Drearly called as he continued to hump the window glass, hands hard against his ass, pushing his hips forward with greater and greater force. Lucy suddenly marched toward the door and reached for the deadbolt.

Charles grabbed her wrist.

"No vampire is getting in here, Luce," he cried, and he seized her by the shoulders and spun her toward the back of the room. He threw his body in front of her, blocking her view of the vampire.

"Pray," he suggested. "Find some strength, will you?"

Lucy wilted then. "Forgive me," she murmured as she slunk back into the corner. Hadn't she been responsible, after all, for bringing the vampires here, by _trusting_ Ferenc when he asked her to bring someone to him in the library?

Drearly eyed the others in the room and decided that there was no other worthwhile victim. And so he staggered from the window, headed out of the hallway and up the stairs to prowl the night.

The parade of vampires continued, though. Some pounded at the glass, others used their wiles to try and convince von Weltmann and company to open the door and let them in.

"No more eye contact," the professor called. "We have to listen to them, but we don't have to look at them." And he pulled Vito by the arm and turned him away from the little strip of window.

"Hey, no problem," the producer said. "Just reminds me of one of my old casting calls. I can look at this kind of show all night and not give in."

"Don't be a fool," von Weltmann responded. "They have their ways. Besides, we have serious matters to discuss, and it's not going to be easy with their incessant chatter."

"So, let's talk," Vito said as he moved into Farson's chair, the one behind the desk, the only one with a view of the window.

Von Weltmann sat down in one of the three guest chairs across from the producer. All of these chairs had their backs to the window. In a moment Lucy had recovered enough to join them.

"Didn't you think it was interesting that Elli didn't attack you?" Lucy asked as she approached the desk and slid into one of the other guest chairs.

Vito shrugged, "She loves me."

"Yes," Charles agreed as he moved into the third chair. "But she loves you as a _virtual character_. As a _vampire_ , all you should mean to her is another bloody feast."

"Is it possible that the character models that Assif created are more powerful than the vampire blood itself?" Lucy asked.

"Maybe in Elli," Vito answered.

"But it does suggest something, doesn't it?" Lucy added.

"What's that?" von Weltmann asked as he turned to his prized pupil, struck as always by the sheer geeky beauty of the young woman as she pushed those heavy glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. Von Weltmann sighed and remembered once again that she had repeatedly proven to be much more perceptive than he.

"The job of the virtual characters is to keep the story on track," Lucy continued. "If we write a story that leads all the vampires to their death, the human vampires will try to escape, but just maybe the virtual ones just might keep the story working the way it was written and drive all of them to their destruction."

"Not sure we can tell if that would work just by looking at the code," von Weltmann replied.

"Great theory, though, Luce," Charles added. "I just don't think we want to bet the bank on it."

Lucy bit her lip sadly for a moment. Then her eyes began darting back and forth as though she were searching for the answer in the room around her. Then:

"Hot damn!" she cried.

"Hot damn?" Vito responded with a laugh. "Where the hell are we, back in the 60s?"

Lucy didn't even answer. She simply ran to the corner of the room, to the old valise that Ferenc had given her. She had passed it on to Farson, and miraculously, it seemed, he had left it in his office.

She pulled a handful of papers from the valise. They were written in that perfect hand of Ferenc.

" _Calm, be calm, be calm,"_ she murmured to herself. "Oh Christ, please be here!" And it was. She pointed at the topic in the index and then flipped through the pages until she found it.

"Hot damn!" she repeated. "Look at this!" And she passed the pages to von Weltmann.

The old professor scanned through the first few pages of text, and then scanned them again.

"Where in God's name did you get this?" he asked. "What's the name of the document?"

"KNOWLEDGE!" Lucy announced ecstatically.

Vito peered over the professor's shoulder. "What does it mean?"

"It means," Lucy said, "that if _you_ can come up with a story that will destroy all the vampires, _we_ can make it work!"

Vito stared into her hazel eyes for a moment, and then beyond them into whole new creative worlds.

"My God," he said suddenly. "I know how to do it! I know what all of us have to do!" And he began pacing back and forth around the bunker with the focus that had made him such a monumental success.

"Professor," he said turning to von Weltmann, "I hear you're an artist, is that right?"

"A designer, but I have some art training, yes."

"And you know the character building software, don't you?"

"Of course, but ..."

"You're no Dave Montana, but you might be able to come close."

"I'll come more than close," von Weltman said rising to his feet and puffing up his chest. Then he raised the pages Lucy had given him, "Besides, there are secrets in here I never would have imagined, all about rapid prototyping, building virtual characters quickly; hell, according to this I can make you an army in a few hours."

"Great," Vito said patting the professor on the back and turning toward Charles.

"Are there any explosives in the compound?" Vito asked.

"Of course, there are. If the US Army is involved in anything, there are always explosives around."

"The UN people didn't know about them, of course."

"Course not," Charles responded. "Still, we reserve the right to blow things up. Although I doubt that you could blow up a colony of vampires without drawing international attention."

"Wouldn't work anyway," Vito answered. "They're already dead. Besides, we want to be as secretive as we can, at least until the job is done and the White House and the Army are notified. But anyway, a small controlled explosion might not cause too much of a stir."

"Right on," Charles answered.

"Good," Vito went to the small fridge in the corner of Farson's office and pulled out a can of Coke. "Shit," he said immediately, "no Diet." Still he downed the drink in a series of quick gulps. "Want any of this?" he asked the others as he swallowed a very large burp. Charles nodded, so he tossed a can to him and then crushed the Coke can he'd just finished.

"Wait a minute," von Weltmann called suddenly. "There's a page missing. Here in the documents you gave me, Lucy, they're not all here!"

"It has to be there," Lucy answered as she ran to the professor and took the document from him. She paged through it carefully. It had to be there, she thought, exactly how von Weltmann could create a hundred new characters in a matter of hours. Bu the professor was right. The last, most critical part of the text was missing.

"He didn't want me to have it," Lucy said as she looked sadly up at the others. "He knew we could use it against him, so he didn't copy it."

Charles came up to Lucy and put his arms around her. "It's okay, Luce," he whispered. "We'll figure out another way."

"We don't need another way," Lucy answered. Her eyes were blazing. "I gave Margot to Ferenc in exchange for these goddamn pages, and he cheated me!"

"It's okay," Charles repeated holding her tightly but feeling her muscles stiffening as she pulled away from him.

"I'll just have to go back to the library and get it," she said defiantly. "It will be daylight. How hard can it be?"

"You'd be nuts to go back there," Charles said, "even in daylight."

"Don't care," Lucy answered, "the son of a bitch cheated me."

"So, where are we then?" Vito asked.

"As soon as it gets to be daylight, I'm going to go into the library tower and get the last page of that document, then bring it back to the professor."

The men in the room all looked at each other with concern, but none of them was willing or probably even able to stand up to Lucy.

"Good girl," Vito said at last. "Now, let me ask you something else."

Lucy nodded.

"Is there much money around here?"

"In the office," Lucy answered. "The same passkey that opened the rooms should open that office. I can probably get at it."

"Good," he answered. "As soon as you get back from the library ..."

Lucy sighed heavily and that made Vito laugh. "That's the easy part, right?"

Lucy giggled and rolled her eyes, "Going to the library and getting the paper? Easy as death," she murmured.

"Hey, death's easy," Vito laughed again. "Comedy's difficult; didn't you know that?"

Lucy shrugged. "I guess."

"Anyway, when you get back, I've got another little errand for you to run, okay?"

"Sure," Lucy answered with another shrug, but the enormity of going back to the tower and facing Ferenc again was suddenly sweeping over her.

"Come on, have a seat," Vito said. "All of you sit down, and let me explain how this is going to work."

### Chapter 61

Vito clicked the print button, and the machine next to Farson's PC began to whirr. It was soon spewing out Vito's entire night's work: the scenario he had envisioned in that one quick moment of brilliance.

The professor now pulled himself up off the floor where he had been sleeping (how the hell could he do it with vampires pounding on the door all night long?) and reached for the pages.

Lucy pulled away from Charles; they had been huddling together on the couch at the very back of the room, trying desperately to ignore the vampires' incessant cat calls, getting no sleep whatsoever. Now, wiping the weariness from her eyes, she came up behind the professor, peered over his shoulder and began reading Vito's scenario.

"Dracula's Hoard," chuckled von Weltmann. "Yes, great title. Well done, sir."

"It's great," Lucy added, "just what we need."

Charles staggered to his feet and took the sheets of paper that Lucy had already read.

"Wow!" he said pushing his fingers back through his tangled hair.

Vito slid the document icon onto the image of the little memory stick he'd inserted into the computer's port and quickly copied the document for von Weltmann. Then he put the computer to sleep, pulled out the stick, and got painfully to his feet. He'd been sitting at the machine for eight straight hours. The bursitis in his left hip burned like a son of a bitch.

"You're the best," Lucy said, coming up to him and giving him a little kiss. Vito seemed dizzy and confused as he stood there rocking back and forth, rubbing his hand over his sore hip.

"Glad you like it," he responded wearily. "Oh, and before I forget, hang onto this for me, will you?"

"Sure," Lucy answered as she took the half sized manila envelope that Vito pulled from his jacket pocket. Across the front of it he'd written these words:

"Terry Best—writing partner—WGA"

"Now if it's okay with everyone," Vito said, "I need to get some sleep."

"By all means," von Weltman answered with a smile. "I think our neighbors have retired with the sunrise, and it's safe to head out."

"Wait, I'll walk with you," Lucy called to Vito. But when she turned toward the door, she saw that it was open and the little man had already left.

"Good luck, Luce," Charles said coming up to her and putting his arms around her.

"Yes, young lady," von Weltmann agreed, "May God go with you."

"Now, Charles," he continued, "You and I have to get Vito's story into the main simulation computer. When Lucy returns with the rest of the instructions, I'll have to build a shitload of characters."

"We also have to get our hands on some dynamite," Charles added.

"And," von Weltmann whispered so that only Charles could hear him, "we have to _murder_ some of your colleagues."

#

An hour later, von Weltmann lifted the coffin lid and looked at the body of Assif Jahala. Some people looked more and more handsome when vampire blood filled their veins, and Jahala was such a man. His body, which had seemed so frail, was now strong and muscular. The enthusiastic smile that had been his trademark all through the project was now sardonic: evil, yes, but deadly handsome. Those hollow cheeks, those dark eyebrows made him look almost like something from the portrait of a Hindu deity.

"It helps that Lucy's not here," Charles said as he handed the spike and hammer to the professor. "This would break her heart."

"I know," von Weltmann said as he lowered the spike onto Jahala's chest and saw it almost penetrate the young man's thin black T-shirt. _Creativity Rocks_ , the shirt said in letters of various typefaces and colors. The point of the stake was resting directly in the center of the letter "V".

"We're killing all her best friends," von Weltmann sighed, "members of Vito's team, but we have to. They're leaders, and Vito's plan will never work if they're still alive to counteract it." And with that, he raised the hammer over his head and slammed it against the top of the spike driving it into and through Jahala in one swift and deadly stroke. The vampire writhed in agony for a moment, reached out clawing at Von Weltmann's coat but then his hands fell away weakly. His face turned, seemed to look back at the two men gratefully, the words "thank you" almost seeming to form on his lips. And then he disintegrated suddenly into a pile of dust.

"And unto dust thou shalt return," Charles whispered.

"Who's next?" von Weltman asked harshly.

"The other leaders were Randy Gardner and David Montana," Charles answered.

"Only two then?"

"Yes, only two."

"I think I can handle them," von Weltmann said with another heavy sigh. "You go get the explosives and set them in place. I'll finish up here, get the story and characters into the system, and then I'll get everything else ready for our late night encounter."

Before he left, Charles lifted the lids of Randy Gardner's coffin. He held Gardner's hand for a long moment and stared at what was now the most magnificent specimen of a vampire he'd ever seen. But it wasn't the vampire Charles was talking to.

"You did such beautiful work," he murmured, "almost too beautiful."

Charles reached into his pocket, took out the container with the sacred wafers and placed one of them on each of Gardner's eyes.

"Requiem aeternam dona eis," he said softly, and then left before the professor could see the tears in his eyes.

### Chapter 62

Vito didn't go back to his room to sleep. That would have been too easy. Instead, he began to execute his own personal plan, the one he had not mentioned to any of the others. He made his way once again into the simulation of the Avenue D playground. It was morning now, and the virtual sun illuminated the seething mess that had been the body of Arnie Cudgel. The virtual worms and maggots were having their way with what was left of him, driving a stench into the air that was almost unbearable.

Meanwhile, another victim lay at the very feet of the angel. It was Lieutenant Roberts. Her dismembered body was strewn across the pathway in front of the monument. The morning sun was already at work on her, boiling the body-parts, setting them to smoldering and popping. Vito's stomach churned as he came upon them, smelled the frying flesh, and heard the disgusting crackle as they hissed and sizzled.

"Christ," Vito whispered as he shook his head. "In another world I could have loved you."

He sighed and moved on quickly. He couldn't bear to look at her.

Vampires were vicious creatures, he knew, but Elli somehow had become something much more powerful. No one other than Assif Jahala (the personality maker) and Lieutenant Roberts knew that the little man from India had given Elli superhuman strength with the simple slide of a lever on the interface. Yes, he was operating outside of his assigned responsibilities, but Assif didn't care. And Vito wouldn't have cared if he had known.

Elli was the personification of the girl he loved, and he was going to save her from the annihilation that would soon be let loose on the all others. The problem was that he had to do it quickly and in secret.

Vito went to the dumpster at the back of the park, climbed over the edge of it, and lowered himself down below the wall of trash bags that were protecting Elli from the morning sunshine.

He found her easy enough, a small body, but now her muscles were taut, her grasp bone breaking. She reached for him as soon as she realized his presence and pulled him to her. Vito went to her willingly, cradled her in his arms.

"Elli," he whispered, "I'm going to save you, but you have to trust me."

Elli curled closer to him and relaxed that terrible hold, giving total assent to whatever he wanted to do.

Vito kissed her on the forehead. He cradled her in his arms for as long as he thought he possibly could, and then he began to move.

He reached up above the wall of trash bags, and ripped one open. Then he pulled the bag down to him, doing his best not to let the sunlight penetrate the barrier. And yet it did. Elli let out a piercing howl when it touched her arm, but that only made her clung to him tighter.

Vito brushed the contents off the inside of the bag and wrapped it lovingly around the little vampire. Elli sighed, felt some mustard caking to her hair, brushed some broken eggshells away with her fingertips, and then relaxed again.

Vito repeated the procedure yet again. He reached to the outer surface of the bin and tore open another trash bag shaking it in the air, trying to dislodge whatever disgusting contents might have been there, and then he yanked it down to him and wrapped it around Elli, creating another protective layer against the harsh sunlight.

Now he stood up amid the trash bags in the dumpster. He found yet another bag, ripped it open, emptied its contents, and plunged it back to the bottom of the dumpster and his beloved. He wrapped it around her too, providing a third protective layer from the deadly sunlight, and then he dared to lift her through the other bags and bring her to the surface.

She looked like a mummy wrapped in black plastic. But he had done his work well, and every inch of her was covered. Still the black plastic absorbed the heat, didn't it? And so he needed something white, something to reflect the sun, something that would let him take Elli out of the simulation and into the actual daylight.

For now his faded light blue sport shirt would do, he realized, and he pulled the shirt off and immediately wrapped it around Elli's head, shoulders and torso. His undershirt was white, so why not that too? And so he stripped it off, and used it to tie the light colored sport shirt around her waist. "It's a start," he murmured, and he jumped from the dumpster, pulled the little vampire's body up and out of it, and then headed off across the entryway to the simulation rooms. He hoped that Charles, Lucy, and von Weltmann wouldn't spot him, because he knew that there would be no sympathy on their parts; Elli would have to die again, and he would probably have to be her executioner.

Charles was nowhere to be seen. Von Weltmann was in the crypt clanging away with hammer and spike. Vito broke for the door, a half naked, sixty-seven-year-old man carrying a full-grown woman out into the light of day, a woman who was a vampire.

As soon as he stepped into the full light of the morning, Vito could feel the heat boiling against the black plastic bags that were still exposed around Elli's legs. "Gotta do something," he murmured. "Gotta get something to cover the damn bags."

It was when he heard a popping sound and smelled Elli's burning flesh that he realized how desperate the situation was. He glanced around and saw a great broad pine tree standing halfway across the compound, offering some semblance of shade. He rushed for it with all his might, hoping against hope that he could reach it before Elli was too badly burned.

A hissing sound came from within the black plastic around her legs. Elli moaned softly. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Vito ran harder and tripped ... fell down headfirst, sending Elli's body rolling forward and out of his arms. He jumped to his feet, gathered her up and charged toward the tree, finally gaining its cooling shade, laying Elli down under it, using his own body to block whatever sun was seeping through the branches above, feeling the cool returning to the black plastic around her legs, hearing the hissing and popping subside.

"But I've got so fucking far to go," Vito cursed as he felt pain shoot across his chest and into his shoulder. He reached into his pocket found a Nitroglycerin pill, and popped it into his mouth. Then he lowered himself beside the body.

"It's all right, Elli," he murmured, "I'll save you," realizing as he did that the real girl he wanted to save had died five decades ago, that this was only a representation of her, a representation that was a monster as well. And yet this symbolic act of saving this virtual Elli might somehow make up for the years he had been without her, for the guilt that still hung over him for even going up to visit that damn angel on the day she was killed, for not getting to the hospital quickly enough, for not just telling their family to go fuck themselves and marrying her immediately.

"And just what have you got there?" someone said.

Vito spun around. Von Weltmann? Charles? Who the hell was it?

"I asked what you have there?"

Vito looked up into the haunted face of Professor David Withering.

"It's one a them, isn't it?" Withering continued. "You're trying to save that Elli of yours?"

Vito shook his head, tried to block the body from Withering's view. But it was no use. The shape of the woman was unmistakable.

"Just like Margot. And you let Lucy kill her!" Withering slid down beside Vito, buried his face in his hands and trembled all over.

"I'm sorry," Vito whispered.

"Of course, you are, because now you're in the same damn boat, dragging your girl across the compound just as I dragged mine."

Vito turned and looked at the professor curiously.

"That's right," Withering said. "How do you think she got into my room?"

"You said ..."

"I know what I said," Withering answered. "But what happened was that I got one of those coffin carts that are standing around in the crypt, I pushed Margot's coffin onto it, and then I dragged her across the compound in broad daylight hoping that no one would see me or try to stop me."

"That was after your e-mail to Lucy?"

"Just after it, when I could no longer stand to see Margot posing and strutting outside my window, when I knew I would do anything in the world to be with her.

"I wanted her, no one else. So I stole her, brought her into my room fully expecting her to take me, to have her sink her fangs into me the very first night. But she didn't. She teased me, knowing that I was her captive, that she could have me any time she wanted."

"And then Lucy killed her."

"And then you both killed her! You son of a bitch!" Withering moved toward Vito and began beating at his shoulders, slapping him across the face, pounding his fists against his head. And Vito just bent forward and took it.

"Now you understand," Withering said. "Now you know what I've lost." And he fell against Vito and sobbed.

His pain seemed so intense that Vito joined him. He put his arm around the professor who was in fact younger than he, and held him for a moment.

"I'll help you," Withering said at last.

"What?"

"I'll help you save her," and with that, Withering pulled off the suit coat and tie that he always wore, yanked off his white dress shirt and wrapped it around Elli's legs.

"Stay here," Withering said.

"I'll go get Margot's coffin and the coffin cart and bring them to you. Then we'll transport your Elli to wherever you want to take her."

Tears were streaming down Vito's face now. All he could do was nod at his good fortune and the generosity of this man he had hated so.

"Where do you want to go?" Withering asked.

Vito leaned close to him and whispered the destination into his ear.

"Good God, man! Are you nuts?"

Vito shrugged. "She'll be safe there," he said.

"Of course, she will. But will we? Even _taking_ her there will risk our lives."

"I really don't care at this point."

"Neither do I," Withering responded. And then he ran off to get the coffin and the cart.

### Chapter 63

Hey, check me out

I'm the star of the show

I'm in the spotlight!

Gonna move, gonna dance,

Gonna let it all go

I'm in the spotlight!

Lucy couldn't believe it. Here she was, stepping into the elevator that would take her all the way up to the library tower. Had to go there, of course, she realized, had to recover the page that Ferenc had failed to copy, a page that would explain how to end the madness of the vampires forever.

Of course, Ferenc hadn't copied it because he didn't want her to have it, and he'd surely do everything in his power to prevent her from getting it now.

It's daylight though, Lucy thought, no problem. He's a vampire, so he'll be asleep in his coffin or wherever he goes during the daylight hours.

But in spite of those thoughts, she still felt a slow terror gripping her. She shook it off.

" _Hey, check me out,"_ she sang nervously _._

" _I'm the star of the show."_

Somehow her mood didn't match the attitude of her words. And then suddenly, the elevator, which had been rising at a terrific speed, slammed to a hard, terrible stop. Lucy rocked with the jolt and fell to the floor, her glasses flying off her face and disappearing into the darkness.

Yes! At that moment, the entire elevator went pitch black.

" _Time ta move, time ta dance, time ta let it all go."_ Lucy sang timidly if only to keep from thinking about the fact that the vampire could suddenly appear out of this new and terrible dark.

Spotlight's on, here's my cue.

Lucy got to her knees and began to feel around the floor in front of her. She was trying desperately to find her glasses and not finding them at all.

Lucy crawled slowly forward then with one hand reaching out in front of her and that's when she came to the edge of the elevator wall.

_Gonna bring it all on,_ she whispered not wanting to lose the tune as she realized how very vulnerable she was.

Lucy ran her hand along the edge of the wall until she came to a corner. She shifted her body gingerly praying that she wouldn't kneel on her glasses and crush them in her search. But she didn't, and so she moved on even more carefully, one hand sweeping the floor in front of her, the other supporting her as she moved forward, until at last, when she knew she had made a complete circle and felt an almost desperate sorrow filling her, she brushed against the top rim of her glasses. They had tumbled into an indentation in the floor.

Lucy grabbed the glasses and pushed them onto her face; then she reached forward and found the spot where the two elevator doors came together. There was a growing space between them now. They were opening!

The world outside the doors was every bit as black as the interior of the elevator.

_I'm in the spotlight,_ Lucy whispered as she reached for the side of the elevator and attempted to pull herself to her feet.

"Let me help you, Lucy," came a soft, velvety voice.

"Ferenc?" Lucy asked with a start. And she realized that her voice, like all the rest of her, was suddenly trembling.

"Of course, Lucy love," the voice answered. It was almost a sigh. "I'm so glad you came back to me."

"Not to you," Lucy said. Her head began swimming as Ferenc's intoxicating aroma began to sweep over her. She still could not see at all, but she felt herself being drawn out of the elevator and toward the beautiful young man.

"Bring your crucifix, Lucy?" Ferenc asked.

"Of course. It's right here," she answered clutching for the chain around her neck. But it wasn't there!

FUCK!

_Don't tell him, don't,_ her brain buzzed. But of course she did.

"Must have forgotten it," she said before she realized that she had spoken the words aloud.

"I'm so sorry," Ferenc responded gleefully.

Now that Lucy's eyes had a moment to acclimate to the darkness, she could just make out his muscular form standing there right outside the elevator door. He smiled, and the whiteness of his teeth brightened everything. His eyes glowed; his smile seemed so innocent and welcoming. He seemed truly thrilled to see her.

Behind Ferenc Lucy could see miles of bookshelves it seemed, all the books on _Knowledge._

"What do I do now?" she murmured to herself.

Ferenc heard her. He laughed softly, a sexy kind of giggle.

"You give in, Lucy," he said, "and be what you were meant to be ... _a vampire!_ "

"No fucking way!" Lucy yelled suddenly, and she yanked herself away from the monster's velvet hands and darted out into the room toward the one small touch of light that she could see in the distance. In that same instant Ferenc swept his cloak about him and spun into a huge bat that flew at her, diving into her hair, chattering wildly as it came. She felt its claws tangling in her hair, riding her now as she rushed toward that spot of light. It was a slight opening in the heavy curtains that closed off the tower room from the morning sun. She felt the bat yammering above her, crawling down the back of her neck, now over her shoulders, moving toward her jugular.

"Noooo!" Lucy called as she pounded at the hideous creature, hitting it with both fists and knocking it from her. She lunged for the drapes then, pulled them open to let the sunlight pour in through the windows. It sizzled down on the enormous bat, forcing it to hobble away into the shadows.

"Oh shit, oh fuck!" Lucy gasped as she raked her fingers through her hair trying to sweep out any remnants of the disgusting creature. "Urrrrrrrrrhhhhh!" She shuddered and felt herself grow dizzy; anything that was left in her stomach was climbing up her throat to force its way out. "Can't, damn it!" she cried aloud. "Can't faint, can't barf, can't be weak. If I do, he's got me."

"I've got you anyway, Lucyloo," Ferenc called happily, and she turned to see him once again restored to human form. He stood across the room smiling at her in that boyish, inviting way. Christ, he was handsome. And how she wanted him, wanted to wrap her legs around him and just ... But then she saw what he was doing there in the shadows in front of the elevator; ramming his key into the elevator controls, turning it and sending her only real means of escape plummeting to the floors below. Then he broke his key off in the slot.

"You're trapped now, Lucy," he said with a smile. "Sorry."

"No," she whispered as she pulled back the curtains as far as she could, throwing a great swath of brightness across the room and the bookshelves.

"See you, Luce," the vampire called as he ducked into the exit.

"I'm fucked now," Lucy murmured as she realized that Ferenc was now on the stairway, waiting for her to try and descend through the darkness. She'd have to do it while there was still daylight, wouldn't she? Because when nighttime came, there would be nothing on earth that could save her.

#

Finding the book was easy enough, that and pulling out the page that von Weltmann needed. She folded it neatly, crammed it into her back pocket, and then made her way to the door to the stairway.

Lucy pulled her Science is Golden T-shirt out of her jeans and tied it tightly into a knot just below her breasts. No need for any extra cloth that the beast could grab onto.

She ran her hand down over her belly. It was damn firm she thought. She was tall too, thanks to the spikes of her favorite high-heeled boots. Lucy took in a deep breath and grasped the handle of the door to that terrible stairway. Now came the hard part. Now came near suicide.

The stairway was every bit as twisty as she remembered; what she had not remembered was the small window-slits cut at the top of every landing, illuminating some part of the stairway at least. These little islands of safety, as she immediately thought of them, were broken by deep recesses in the landings, completely cut off from the light. They were places where a vampire could hide, then reach out and take her in an instant. This was the gauntlet she had to run.

Lucy stepped into the darkness, closed the door behind her and moved toward the first island of light shining onto the landing below. Her first step was awkward; she twisted her ankle and limped dangerously close to the edge of the second step.

"Pray, Luce," she heard Charles's voice calling in her head.

"God help me!" was the best she could come up with. It might be better to sing, she thought. And so she did.

Hey, check me out

I'm the star of the show

I'm in the spotlight.

As Lucy moved through the first patch of total darkness around the far corner of the tower stairs, she felt certain that Ferenc would loom up in front of her with those midnight blue hypnotic eyes. She raised her arm across her face and peered under it, ready to protect herself should he reach out and try to take her. But he wasn't there.

Or was he?

It wouldn't be so bad actually, she began thinking, to feel those soft sexy lips caressing the corner of her ear, gliding gently down her neck, licking the very spot where her blood ran so close to the surface. To have him drive his fangs into her neck, to become one of his, how very nice that would be.

Lucy was moving now as though she were in a trance, being drawn down the stairway, in and out of the darkness, in and out of the light, drawn almost against her will to the 13th floor where she had first encountered Ferenc in his study. Those deep midnight blue eyes were calling to her, she realized helplessly, that boyish smile, tousled black hair half hidden under his hood. It wouldn't be so bad, she repeated to herself as she trudged on down the steps through the darkness, just a brief moment of pain, perhaps feeling like nothing more than a pinprick and then a quick charge of sexual excitement.

I'm in the spotlight.

"Snap out of it, Luce!" Charles called to her from a million miles away. Lucy jumped, stumbling forward on the broad landing just outside of the little room where she had first met Ferenc. She landed on that twisted ankle again and the pain that shot through her was all that she needed to come back to her senses.

"My God, what's happening to me?" she called as she began charging down the stairs through the darkness again, wincing with pain every time she came down on that left foot with the twisted ankle. The high heels were definitely not helping either. She wanted to stop and pull them off, but there wasn't time or place. Rumbling down the steps in four inch spiked heels! What the hell was she thinking?

Lucy spun through another patch of light, then darkness, and then light again, then great consuming darkness that reduced her to blindness. She stopped and waited for a dangerous moment; slowly her eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light and there was that little accordion-style gate, the one that bit Lucy when she climbing up to the tower on a night that seemed centuries ago. The gate was closed now and locked. Lucy turned from it desperately, and there, standing beside the gate on a small outcropping that faded back into total darkness, was Ferenc.

He was dressed not in his flowing robes but in that black silk suit that she had seen him wear when he was abroad in Murdenwald.

"Come, Lucy," he said, and he took her hand as she tried to move away from him. The gate blocked her escape anyway, didn't it?

"I thought I'd never catch up with you," he said. "I didn't want to become a bat again. I knew how much that frightened you."

Lucy didn't know whether to be soothed or terrified by his soft, seductive voice; she was a little of both. As she breathed deeply of Ferenc's sweet, musky odor, she began to feel weak again, ready to be taken. Ferenc could see it in her eyes. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she thought, as did her captor.

He smiled now. It was a hideous vampire smile, no longer cute, no longer gentle. Huge gleaming teeth sprang from his parting lips and chattered wickedly as though he were some kind of rabid wolf. Ferenc threw his head back and howled wildly there on that dark landing beside the little gate, and the wolves in the mountains all around immediately echoed his call.

"Ohhhh," Lucy moaned and cast her eyes down from that horrific vision, down to something even wilder. As Ferenc prepared for the kill, to drink the blood of his victim, a monstrous erection suddenly swelled between his legs. Lucy had had a glimpse of it as he was about to take Margot. It was massive.

Lucy felt Ferenc's lips on her shoulder now, felt his tongue licking softly through the fabric of her T-shirt. But that was nowhere as important as the THING, monstrous, long and THICK, inviting her to reach out and touch it.

Lucy giggled in sheer terror and delight. She stretched out the palm of her hand and slid it down along Ferenc's monstrous shaft. At the same time, she felt Ferenc's tongue now sliding up onto her neck, preparing the perfect place for his bite.

Lucy giggled again nervously and stroked him.

The beast threw his head back then and wailed with pleasure.

Spotlight's on

Here's my cue

Lucy sang brazenly as she looked up into Ferenc's blazing eyes. _Gonna bring it all on._

Lucy had more than surrendered, Ferenc decided. At that moment she had consented to become his lover. Ferenc's midnight blue eyes devoured her. He sniffed the lust pouring from her body the way a hungry dog tosses his head in the air as he catches his first scent of raw meat.

"I can make you immortal," he whispered as he moved his lips down toward the perfect spot on her neck.

Alarms went off in Lucy's head. "Immortal?" Then Charles's voice screamed into her consciousness: "Eternal life, Lucy, the promise of eternal life, our promises to God!"

Christ, what was she doing? Lucy gathered herself and turned into the face of her beautiful lover.

If you're scared, little boy

She spit the words into Ferenc's face.

Then I'm gonna be gone!

And at that moment, Lucy slid her fingers down Ferenc's shaft and squeezed his balls with all her might.

Ferenc bellowed in pain and pushed her away from him. Lucy turned and kicked her high spiked heel, RIGHT INTO HIS CROTCH. Ferenc fell far back into the darkness, clutching himself and bellowing in pain.

"You cheated me!" Lucy yelled as she turned back to the stairs, "you didn't copy it all. You made me come back!"

Miraculously the gate was open now. She raced through it, pounded down the stairs then, into the light of the rotunda, seeing the creatures on the high balconies standing at their tables glowering down at her. They slammed their fists violently on their high, wood-slab tabletops, jumping up and down in anger. They had _wanted_ to see her sacrificed.

"Tough shit, neighbors," she called to them.

She had the page she needed; she had walked into the lion's den, petted the deadly beast, and then kicked him right in the balls.

"How do you like me now, Ferenc, you prick!" she crowed as she burst through the library doors and out into the blinding sunlight of the alpine summer. "Never been a _victim_ —NEVER WILL BE!"

### Chapter 64

Charles grabbed onto the edges of the false ceiling above the Omar Simulation Room and yanked himself up through it. Then he reached down and pulled up the large box of plastic explosives that von Weltmann handed up to him.

Even though the building was fairly new, the floor of the false ceiling was covered with a thick layer of dust and decaying rat droppings. Charles slung a protective mask over his nose and mouth, brushed the dust out of the area directly in front of him, and set the box down in the middle of it all. He leaned forward and began crawling on his belly across the ceiling, making his way onto the area that covered the simulation of the Afghan desert.

Charles pushed the box in front of him as he crab-walked up to the first of six headers that supported the structure of the Afghan simulation roof. He reached into the box then, took out the first explosive charge and molded it into position. He stuck the fingers of one glove into his mouth (bad idea) and yanked it off so that he could attach the wiring to the explosive. Then he moved on shoving the box of explosives in front of him as he crawled on to the next header.

A family of rats that had built their nest around the base of the central roof-support scurried away as he slammed the box into the smelly conglomeration of twine, bits of cotton, chewed up cardboard and straw that the rats called home. It was a one-bedroom charmer liberally drenched in rat urine and covered with feces. One of the rats turned on him as though to guard the place, but then thought better of it and scurried away.

Charles could hardly breathe in the presence of all that filth, and yet he managed somehow to put the next package of explosives in place and connect it securely to the wiring before he scrambled on.

After half an hour of crawling through rat shit and spider webs, breathing in the cancerous dust that his movements stirred, almost tasting the stink of rat piss, he had positioned an explosive package at the base of each of the arches that supported the ceiling, wired all the explosive charges, and then connected those wires to a timer set to release the charges at 1100 hours.

Charles lifted his head and smiled. All he had to do now was get out of the place. And then a huge wolf spider fell onto his hair from the rafters above.

It crawled down his neck, under his shirt, and onto the middle of his back where it bit him severely. Charles screamed, wanted to throw up as he felt the huge hairy thing still crawling all over him. He trembled now as he moved to the opening at the edge of the false ceiling, dropped his feet out and then lowered himself to the floor. As soon as he touched down, Charles ripped off his shirt and slammed his back hard against the wall smashing the huge spider into a gnarly blob. Charles spun and saw the beast plastered to the wall with its great hairy legs mangled and bent.

Charles let himself slide onto the floor of the entryway then, fought back the revulsion that swept up out of his belly, wiped his sweaty face in his shirt, and lay on the floor his arms and legs outstretched, gulping in the good, clean air at last.

#

"Vito's a multi-millionaire writer for a reason," von Weltmann called to Charles from the central area of the simulation rooms. He was transferring Vito's story into the simulation from the little memory stick the master had given him.

"Dracula's Hoard," von Weltmann cackled, "That ought to get the virtual vampires up out of their coffins and scurrying out into the desert."

Charles got to his feet, walked up to von Weltmann, and stood watching over the professor's shoulder as he integrated the story into the rest of the simulation system.

"Get Lucy on the phone and have her come over," von Weltmann said with a grin. "Get Vito in here, too."

Within an hour, as the first fingers of twilight had reached across the sky toward the mountain snowfields casting them in soft pink alpenglow, Lucy made her way from the sleeping quarters toward the sim building. She could still feel the touch of the lingering sunset even though the wind had kicked up bringing with it a nasty chill and the portent of harrowing adventures ahead. Lucy shivered as she ascended the steps of the sim building and headed in through the main doorway. Still shivering, she entered the simulation control room where von Weltmann stood studying the read-outs from the main computer.

"Couldn't find Vito," she said as she let her wool sweater fall from her shoulders, gathered it up, and tossed it onto a chair. Then she pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose. "He should be here for this."

"You know it," Charles added. "Besides, he shouldn't be out there when the darkness takes over and the vampires start to prowl."

"Won't matter," von Weltmann muttered, making yet another fine adjustment to the system. "If all goes well, every vampire in the compound is going to be in the Afghan desert looking for Dracula's Hoard."

"Cool," Charles whispered.

"Unless things don't go as well as you've planned," Lucy added.

Von Weltmann ignored the comment, just kept tuning the code.

"If they don't go well," Charles said with a heavy sigh, "he's fucked, and so are the rest of us!"

Lucy turned to Charles and gave him a smirk. He had never used that word before in his entire life, she thought.

"Anyway, we'd better get out of here," von Weltmann said opening his laptop and calling up the shared screen with the main computer. "Come on, we can watch this in Farson's Bunker."

"Vampire-proof," Charles said with a grin.

"But what about Vito?" Lucy asked.

"He's a big boy," von Weltmann answered, "And he's on his own."

Moments later, from the apparent safety of Farson's secured office, the professor clicked the start-up button on his remote laptop, and the main computer launched the new story-based simulation. In a second the main title screen came up with these words:

Donald Vito Presents Dracula's Hoard

#

Omar moved into the crypt and slowly began opening the coffins there: first Gardner's; then Jahala's. In both cases, he pulled up the lid and then slammed it shut quickly. The sight of vampire ashes collapsed onto the blood-drenched coffin lining chilled him.

" _We can't let our brothers see this," he murmured to the fatman, his heavyset assistant. "We want enthusiasm, not fear."_

The fatman, the very same one who had so enjoyed waterboarding Charles Martin in the early days of the simulation, moved beside Omar and opened the coffin that held the remains of David Montana.

" _Same bloody mess," he cursed and slammed that coffin shut as well._

Omar moved along the row of coffins now, selecting one slightly to the side of all the others; it was deep rosewood with golden handles. He yanked it open, and the chiseled body of Dan Drearly sat bolt upright among the shrouds. He studied Omar for a moment and then smiled a gaunt but silly smile.

" _What's happenin', bro?" he asked._

Omar did not return the smile, but his eyes did light up as he spoke.

" _We need your help."_

" _Mine?"_

" _Yours and all of your colleagues."_

" _What for, man?"_

Omar smiled. "Help us rouse the others, and then I'll let you all in on an amazing secret."

Drearly climbed from his own coffin and went directly to the coffin of Suzie O'Hara. He had placed her in it himself, and now he pulled open the top and stared hungrily at the hot little vampiress.

" _Sexy Suzie, better get up, babe."_

_Suzie fluttered her eyelashes, sat up in that ornate silk bedding and stretched into one of those steamy yawns that seemed right out of a Donald Vito retro comedy_ (Hometown Honeys Take Broadway) _._

" _What's up, dreamboat?" she buzzed._

" _The man with the plan is here."_

The fatman pushed Drearly aside for a moment, reached in, and lifted Suzie from her coffin.

" _Women will not play a part," the ugly pile of fat grumbled._

" _Indeed they will," Omar said as he came up to his helper and narrowed his eyes. He stroked his chin for just a moment and watched the fatman turn rather anxious as he mumbled, "But lord, it is written ..."_

" _That all will play a part," Omar insisted, "THAT_ ' _s what is written. ALL WILL PLAY A PART. Come now, let us rouse the others."_

And so Drearly, Suzie, Omar and the fatman moved among the coffins, awakening all who slept there.

And they all came out of their coffins then: the bookkeepers, the statisticians, the admin assistants, the programmers, and the executives, all gaunt and grey-faced and yet somehow muscular and beautiful. Omar drew them forward to the far right side of the crypt, and then suddenly he jumped in one quick bound to the top of the sarcophagus of the very first virtual vampire, Vladimir. And from that evil pulpit he began to speak:

" _Jonathan Harker was wrong!_

" _Abraham Van Helsing was wrong!_

" _Count Dracula was not hastening back to his castle in Transylvania when those cursed Christians intercepted his carriage and struck him dead._

" _He was heading to India, over the Khyber Pass, over the road that leads through our country._

" _He had accumulated far more wealth than they could ever have imagined, and he sent it on ahead of him, guarded by the fiercest warriors he could muster: Slovacs with huge wolves as their accomplices._

" _They carted the great treasure across the desert._

" _And what happened to that fortune, that great hoard that legends say exceeded five hundred million pounds?_

" _It is still out there, in the desert! On the road to the Khyber Pass, still guarded by those immortal wolves and warrior Slovacs. It hides in the ancient ruins of a fortress so desolate that no one has ever been able to find it ... until NOW!"_

" _What's that to us?" Drearly shouted from the far side of the crypt. "We have all that we want."_

" _Do we?" Omar asked. "Locked in this wretched compound, having exhausted all the living blood there is to consume? Knowing that our mistress, Duchess Laskaar, the woman we were all created to serve, is endangered by the new technologies that this place created?"_

" _I don't know any mistress," Drearly shouted back._

" _You don't?" Omar responded. "Can't you feel the blood of her husband coursing through your veins?"_

As Omar spoke, many more of his men came into the crypt carrying large logs, kindling, the tools of fire-starting, and something else: the stalks and flowers of virtual Afghan poppy plants. They stood at the corners of the crypt, and now one after another of them started their small fires on the marble floor, fires that soon filled the air with the seductive, mind numbing smoke from the plants.

" _You will join us, my brothers and sisters, will you not?"_

There were thirty-five human vampires clustered in the crypt; they were circled by a small band of virtual Afghani vampires who were all delivering the lines that Vito had created for them. The human vampires were not immune to the powers of the drug, and now their eyes began to glaze over, their stance grew wobbly; they bunched slowly together as the Afghani vampires pushed them toward each other.

" _For the glory of our mistress," Omar cried suddenly as he raised an AK 47 high into the air, blasting a round of virtual ammunition into the roof of the simulation._

" _For her glory," Drearly cheered slow and sloppily as he felt the fatman pushing him into the center of the throng. Drearly turned with an angry look in his eyes. He wanted to fight back (sort of) but he found that he had neither the will nor the energy to do it. He tried to raise his fist; it floated dreamily up into his view and then floated back down again, and so he simply turned and went reeling in the direction that all his cohorts were moving._

" _Very cool," Little Suzie slurred half heartedly as she managed somehow to take a loose hold of Drearly's arm. Together they joined all the human vampires who were now being driven like cattle toward the far right wall of the crypt, which fell away suddenly revealing the great expanse of simulated Afghanistan._

Chapter 65

A great wolf bounded in front of the ancient fortress and snarled. The piercing howl of the members of its pack joined in, and soon all the air around the ruin was filled with the sounds of their warning.

Omar, now a monstrous bat soaring over the virtual desert terrain, swooped in on the wolf. "We've come to relieve you of your burden, brother," he said to the wolf as he resumed his human form. "All of us." He swept his arm back to reveal a throng of vampire bats now filling the nighttime sky, fluttering frantically, stirring up a dust storm the way a squadron of helicopters might bring winds and swirling sand as it lands on the desert floor.

The human vampires were no longer under the influence of the drug. The flight had transformed them into clear-eyed, hungry beasts that certainly could have fallen on the wolf and taken his blood in an instant. But he was their brother, their kin, and they would not harm him unless they absolutely had to.

" _What's this?" called a great burly man dressed in tattered rags who made his way out of the rubble. Omar recognized his kind at once: one of the warrior Slovacs who, together with the wolves, were part of the retinue guarding Dracula's Hoard._

" _Vampires, here? Now? Be off with you!" the Slovac called. And from the ramparts that were left standing above the rubble, other Slovacs raised their heads and stared out at the throng that kept arriving from the skies._

" _We've come for the treasure," Omar said to the Slovac as he raked his claws over the man's face, digging deep gouges into it. Then he licked the rich blood from his hands._

" _We are Dracula's descendants," Omar called. "We claim his hoard as our own."_

The crack of a rifle stung the air, and the fatman spun and fell to the ground. He had just resumed his human form, after swooping down beside his master.

" _He's dead," Suzie screamed._

" _Impossible," Omar cursed, but it was true. The virtual fatman suddenly melted into a pile of dust, leaving only a silver bullet resting amid the specks._

" _I think it's best you leave," the Slovac muttered as he walked slowly up to Omar. More men with rifles popped up on the broken-down ramparts of the ruin._

" _All armed with silver bullets?" Omar asked._

" _See for yourself," his adversary sneered._

Omar looked back at the remains of the fatman. "So, we have a standoff," he said.

" _I think not," answered the Slovac as he drew even closer to Omar._

" _Leave, vampire, before we turn you into dust, the way we did your brother."_

Omar stared at the man for a long moment, then he squatted in the sand and began drawing circles there. He was humming a slow dirgelike chant. The band of vampires, now numbering over two hundred, began to murmur, then they joined in. The Slovacs looked at them uneasily. On the rampart, guns were cocked. The vampires swayed unevenly to the chant. It was a vampire cantata that built from barely a whisper to a gentle march, to a shrieking anthem that suddenly launched the vampires into attack.

Omar lunged at the Slovac and buried his fangs in the man's neck. As he feasted on his victim, others joined him. They bit into the Slovac's legs and arms, ripping his face, raking their claws across his chest, sucking out the blood.

His cohorts on the ramparts began firing down on the vampires, who now returned to their bat forms and flew up into the air. Feeling the bullets blasting through their wings, watching their brothers and sisters fall, still they chanted their anthem as they flung themselves onto the top of the wall and began attacking the Slovac gunmen.

Ravenous little Suzie O'Hara was the first to get there. Resuming her human form, she seized the rifle out of the hands of a large Slovac who was taking dead aim at Dan Drearly. She broke the rifle across her knee and then lunged at the man. For a moment his eyes were alive with the excitement that only a beauty like Suzie could arouse, but then he cried out as she drove her fangs into his neck, sinking her claws into his back and chest, pulling the screaming, flailing man to her, sucking the life from him with vicious passion.

Drearly was beside her now, attacking like a seasoned warrior, knocking down Slovac gunmen all around, allowing other vampires to feast on the blood of the fallen as he moved toward the topmost rampart where a single sniper sat aiming at the throng of vampires that came swooping and diving onto the wall. The Slovac sniper had downed a dozen vampires in mid-flight, and now he trained his sights on Drearly, pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed. In that instant the huge vampire launched himself at the sniper. He knocked the rifle from his hand, lifted the sniper over his head, and threw him hard against the rubble. Then Drearly fell upon him, buried his fangs into his neck, and sucked out his blood with such ferocity that the writhing, screaming sniper seemed to shrivel before him in an instant.

In front of the ruin, the great wolf jumped back and forth growling and hissing at the action all around, yet somehow it chose not to engage, not even to nip at the vampires who by now had nearly annihilated the Slovacs. Those brutal warriors had spent centuries guarding the treasure. But where was it?

In their thirst for blood, the vampires had destroyed the very beings that could have led them to Dracula's Hoard. Or had they? As the hours passed and the bloody feasting went on, the Slovac victims twitched and rose to their feet. Their eyes grew vacant, their faces drawn; the Slovacs were becoming vampires themselves.

" _SHOW US!" Omar bellowed as he walked over and picked up one of the rifles that had fallen from the rampart above. It was loaded with silver bullets._

" _You can see it from here," the Slovac leader called as he pointed out across the far horizon to the speck of something that might have been little more than rubble itself._

" _At last," Omar called to the throng of vampires. "Who'll help me retrieve our treasure?"_

" _I will," little Suzie was the first to answer. Flushed with the blood of her victims, she was almost glowing, her eyes gleaming a deadly blood-red._

" _I'm in," added Drearly, brandishing the sniper's magnificent rifle over his head. The Slovac sniper had transformed into a vampire himself. He lunged for the gun, but the much bigger Drearly swung it out of his reach and pushed him away. The sniper flinched. But it wasn't from the shove or the defiant look he was getting from Drearly; it was from the very first rays of sunlight that now sparkled up over the horizon._

" _Ohmygod!" Suzie screeched, "Gotta get outta here!" She bounded from the rampart and turned to run inside the scarce shelter that the rubble provided. But the wolf was there, snarling at her, and this time there was no confusion at all. The wolf meant to kill her if she tried to enter the rubble._

" _Goddamn it, man," Drearly yelled at Omar, "we gotta get outta the sunlight."_

" _The treasure awaits," Omar called._

" _Doesn't matter. We're gonna fry when that sun comes up."_

" _Let's find a cave," another vampire called, a vampire who was born human. In fact, all the human vampires now began to stir nervously. The virtual vampires focused only on Omar and his challenge._

" _So what'll it be then?" Omar shouted to the throng._

" _To the treasure!" "To the caves!" came the jumbled responses._

" _To the treasure then," called Omar as he winced at the pain of the first strong touch of daylight._

" _We're getting out of the sunlight," Drearly said as he grabbed Suzie by the hand and sprang into the air. And at that moment their forms changed into something half human—half bat_ , _living gargoyles that retained the faces and figures of men or women with hands that had become vicious claws. Huge batwings grew out of the muscles in their shoulders and back._

Drearly and Suzie soared toward the caves, but half a dozen virtual vampires (also in the form of living gargoyles) blocked their way. Drearly turned in mid-air, and twenty virtual vampires flew up to block his escape.

" _To the treasure!" Omar called, again feeling the piercing sting of sunlight._

" _We're dying!" Drearly screamed._

" _It doesn't matter," Omar responded, "we MUST find the treasure!"_

" _Damn you," Suzie called as she pulled away from the throng and headed toward the caves that honeycombed the mountains all around. The other human vampires took off to follow her, all becoming living gargoyles as they did._

With wild swooping calls the virtual vampires followed them, attacking them in mid-air, driving the human vampires to the ground.

" _WE MUST FIND THE TREASURE!" Omar kept calling just as von Weltmann had programmed him to do. Above him the gargoyles were now locked in mortal combat, diving at each other, biting, chewing, tearing off wings. Then sunlight suddenly flashed over the mountain peaks and flooded the desert. Fifty gargoyles fell at that first stroke, but the others, over two hundred of them, continued to fight on. And whenever one would break away and try to rush toward the caves, the others would follow, attack, and tear it to pieces ... in mid air._

Omar's face was breaking out in broad blisters, as was the face of the Slavic leader who stood beside him.

" _We must find the ..." Omar called dutifully as his eyes began to boil and his hair burst into flames._

One vampire after another dropped from the sky, popping and boiling from the sun's heat as it fell.

AND THEN THE ENTIRE CEILING OF THE SIMULATION ROOM EXPLODED,

FALLING IN ON THE VAMPIRES,

LETTING BRILLIANT, ACTUAL SUNLIGHT

FLOOD INTO THE SIMULATION,

KILLING EVERY ONE OF THE MONSTERS WITHIN SECONDS.

### Chapter 66

"Is it safe to come out?" Lucy asked von Weltmann.

"It is, dear girl," the professor answered.

And so the trio unlocked Farson's bunker and strode out into what was left of the simulation room. The virtual desert had given way to antiseptic walls painted the perfect chromakey green. The fixtures around the perimeter of the room that had produced all the solid-form virtual images had been shattered when the roof fell in.

"Did we really need to blow up the place?" Charles asked.

"Vito thought we did," Lucy answered.

"Safe's better than sorry," the professor added as he kicked at a little pile of vampire dust that lay on the antiseptic floor.

"The blood was a master stroke," Charles added, "injecting the blood Lucy bought from the hospital into the Slovac characters we created ..."

"So that the vampires wouldn't just kill them," Lucy said.

"They would attack them and suck out their blood turning the Slovacs themselves into virtual vampires in the process," von Weltmann added.

"How'd he ever think of that?" Lucy wondered aloud.

"It all grew out of the story, didn't it," von Weltmann answered. "He knew he had to keep the vampires out in the open when the sun came up, so he invented a story that was so compelling that they'd have to stay in the sunlight."

"He solved the God Problem," Lucy said with a smirk.

"He used the virtual characters to block the human vampires when they wanted to take the story off track."

"When they wanted to head for the caves to save their own lives ... they couldn't."

"Who knew they'd turn into living gargoyles and try and fly there?"

"Mr. Vito did," von Weltmann said.

"So where is he anyway?" Lucy asked. "Shouldn't we go and look for him?"

"He's probably sleeping somewhere, maybe drunk," Charles answered. "Guess he really didn't want to see this, anyway."

"I hear he never goes to his own movies."

"Vito will turn up pretty soon, I'm sure." von Weltmann said. "In the meantime, let's get some rest ourselves."

### Chapter 67

By the time Vito and Withering dragged the coffin containing Elli's vampire body, through the gates of the Castle Catrice, the daylight hours were waning. Dark shadows were already spreading across the courtyard, and the only way into the castle was through the little side entrance that had led so many sorrowful souls to Elizabeth Laskaar's dungeon.

"We're certainly not going _in_ there," Withering said. "Are we?"

Vito surveyed the various castle entrances. Many of them were within clear sight of the courtyard. He knew them all from the days he had spent shooting his epic movie.

"Looks like the only way in," Vito said, and he began pushing the casket toward the doorway.

"You'll never get it in there by yourself," Withering grumbled. "Once you get it to the doorway you're going to have to pull it off the cart and carry it."

"Whatever it takes," Vito sighed as he finally got the casket and cart as close as he could to the dungeon's entrance.

"Just take her out of it," Withering called as he ran up to Vito and flipped up the lid of the coffin. Vito reached in and lifted Elli's body. She was still wrapped in all that black plastic.

"Thanks for all your help," Vito said doing his best to smile at the man who had been his greatest critic on the project. Then he turned and started into the dungeon. And, like someone obsessed with things that are far beyond his understanding, a terrified Withering followed him.

With the well-wrapped body slung over his shoulder, Vito struggled through the narrow passageways that led to the heart of Elizabeth's dungeon. Withering stayed close behind knowing that with every step he was committing to stay with Vito even though twilight was now settling over the skies. Within the dungeon the little slits that served as windows would soon let in no light at all.

"What do you know about Laskaar?" Withering asked if only to maintain communication.

"Everything," Vito answered as he ducked under the first of the low overhangs. "I wrote and directed a movie about her, remember?"

"Did she actually kill virgin girls and bathe in their blood?"

"According to our research."

"Do you think she still haunts this place?" Withering failed to duck deep enough and took a rather severe blow to his head.

"We were here for three months and never really felt her presence."

Vito took Elli down from his shoulders and pushed her forward through a passageway that just could not accommodate both of them together. Then he crawled after her, shouldering her once he made it through.

"Did you shoot in that famous blood chamber?" Withering asked as he squeezed through the narrow opening himself.

"Only got in there for a couple hours one afternoon," Vito answered. "Took a lot of stills and then constructed the whole place on a sound stage at Paramount."

"Were there really ponds full of human blood?"

"I'm afraid there were."

Vito put his hand over Elli's head to protect her as he turned a rather sharp corner and ducked under another low overhang. Ahead of him the corridor stretched out straight at last. It now led directly to the rotunda where Elizabeth had betrayed her husband so many centuries before.

The darkness grew in the narrow windows. Elli began to stir. Vito lowered her to the floor and began to unwrap the shirts and plastic bags he had used to protect her from the sun.

"Hi, Donny," Elli whispered as Vito uncovered her pretty face and those wide angel eyes. Even her vampire nature could not take them from her.

"Where are we?"

"Your new home," Vito answered. "Like it?"

Elli looked around at the dungeon rotunda.

"Kinda miss my angel," she said nervously.

"I'll have it brought here for you, from Rochester or Scranton or wherever you want," Vito was desperate to please the girl. "Maybe I'll commission a new one, set it up right outside in the ..." Elli put her fingers over Vito's lips to silence him. Then she smiled, and she kissed him. This time it was a long, sexy Marilyn kiss.

"I think I'd best be going," Withering mumbled as he watched. Elli jumped up suddenly at the sound of his words, hissed like a cat, and began moving on him.

"He saved your life, helped bring you here," Vito called. "Don't hurt him." But bloodlust began to glow in Elli's eyes. Her lips pulled back to reveal those huge canine teeth, her fingernails extended into claws. She continued to move on Withering as he backed away from her and into the hallway.

Elli flashed past him suddenly and blocked his exit. Withering gasped and took off running in the other direction, past Vito and into the depths of the dungeon, toward the bleeding room where Elizabeth and Ferenc were only now beginning to awake from their daytime slumber.

Elli was about to charge after the man, but Vito grabbed her by the wrist and stopped her. He pulled her to him, held her close. Elli stared at him accusingly and then she just melted into his arms, becoming his once again.

"Do you always have to attack people?" Vito asked with a sigh. "Do you have to create more and more vampires?"

"If there's another way, I don't know it," Elli said softly.

"You never read _Twilight_ , huh?" Vito asked.

"Twilight Time, the song?"

"No," Vito said with a little grin, " _Twilight_ , the novel. It's about vampires who have trained themselves to hunt animals not humans. They live on animal blood."

"Get me a copy, I'll read it," Elli whispered, "and I'll do whatever you say." Then she curled up in his arms and sighed happily as she felt the warmth of his love.

A desperate cry filled the rotunda!

"Withering!" Vito called. He lifted Elli and set her safely against the far wall. "Stay here," he said as he began moving along the passageway that Withering had taken. He looked back for Elli after only a few steps, but she was already gone.

Vito marched along the dark passageway into the bleeding room; light no longer passed though the narrow window-slits that opened every few yards. All that came through them was a chilly breeze that set the torchlights flickering. They cast Vito's shadow frighteningly in front of him as though he were some kind of monster hobbling along the passageway to attack poor innocent victims up ahead.

And when Vito finally made his way into the bleeding room, he did see a poor innocent victim: Withering, now chained to the great ring in the center of the room, already bled, already feeding the trench that poured into the cisterns. Standing behind him cowering against the wall was his murderess, Elizabeth's assistant Katrina, who had done her evil work once again. She had opened Withering up so completely that he had already bled to death in the few short minutes before Vito arrived.

Vito charged toward the man who had helped him save Elli, grasped his arms and tried to find a way to release him. It didn't matter; the remaining light in Withering's eyes had gone to nothingness.

Vito ran at Katrina then. She was still the prettiest girl in the village, wasn't she, but centuries of evil had hardened her face, and the guilt of those deeds now burned in her eyes.

"She's not the one you want," called an imperial female voice. Vito swung around to see Elizabeth Laskaar, Bloody Bess, dressed once again in her Cinderella gown standing across from him. She was overwhelmingly beautiful, radiant in her regal attire. She smiled cruelly and arched her eyebrows.

"Hang the old man up beside his friend and bleed him," Elizabeth commanded. Katrina backed away shaking her head as she always did, until she recognized her plight and obeyed.

"I don't think I can this time, mistress," Katrina called for the thousandth time.

"Again, girl?" Elizabeth answered as she glided across the floor and right up to Vito. She looked at him with a sneer. "He's just an old man. He hasn't long to live. I'm sure he'd welcome the chance to give his life as a contribution to my beauty." She toyed absently with the ringlets in her hair, and her face lit with a conceited smile.

"No more," the girl called, "Oh please, no more, mistress, I can't ..."

Elizabeth went to Katrina and slapped her hard across the face. "You'll do what I say or die!"

And then she thought for a moment. "But why not? I've grown tired of you after all these centuries! Your beauty is hard, girl. Your precious virginity is worthless in the face of your sins."

She turned to the cistern at the far end of the room and uttered one simple call: "Ferenc!" And the beautiful body of Ferenc, her lover and friend, the killer of her first husband, now rose.

Blood from the cistern drenched his hair and sheeted off his body. His muscles were taut, as though they were those of a god. His arms and shoulders rippled with each movement. He strode across the floor and came directly up to Vito.

"It appears our little Katrina has picked a rather odd time to make good on her idle threats of disobedience," Elizabeth said. "I've grown tired of her protestations, haven't you?"

Ferenc nodded, and his face brightened with the boyish grin that had seduced almost every woman he had ever met.

"I think it's time to draw out what little human blood she has left in her."

Ferenc nodded once again. He reached out for the face of the girl and ran his thumb across her chin. Then he leaned forward and pressed his teeth against her cheek as though he were about to bite into an over-ripe peach.

"But first," Elizabeth called before he could actually sink his teeth into her, "hang up the old man and let him donate his blood to our worthy cause ... and be sure you get EVERY LAST DROP OF IT!"

Ferenc reached for Vito, but before his hand could even touch the old man, the flash of Elli's claws raked across his face, taking one of his eyes with them. He spun but by then Elli's other claw had already opened a great gaping wound across his chest.

Elli's movements were catlike. She'd pounce, attack, tear at his flesh and then fall back staring at him, daring him to try and take hold of her. Ferenc's boyish grin was giving way to a look of harsh anger as a girl who'd never been coordinated enough to catch a Frisbee had been transformed into a spinning, hissing demon.

"Do something!" Elizabeth screeched, as she watched her Adonis being teased and torn to shreds by this little waif.

Vito took Elizabeth's single moment of desperation to charge at her, knocking her backwards onto the ground. He climbed on top of her, but Elizabeth's strength was so great that she threw him from her with ease. Vito fell back and nearly blacked out as he jumped to his feet. Pain shot across his chest and into his arm. Still, he charged the evil Cinderella again, driving her backward into the trench this time, splashing Withering's blood back up onto her face, revealing for just an instant the monster she had become as her tongue snaked out across her lips to lick the blood into her hungry mouth.

Elizabeth must have gained great strength from it, as she easily threw Vito from her and onto the floor of the bleeding room. She fell upon him then, her vampire fangs suddenly swelling within her mouth, her hungry lips parting, her eyes glowing blood red with rage and lust as she lowered her lips toward his jugular. And then ...

A monstrous hammer struck her full across the side of her head, splitting it, launching a torrent of blood and brains, forcing her body off of Vito's until it sprawled across the dungeon floor.

"Now, you both die forever!" Katrina called as she lugged the huge hammer with her, flung herself across Elizabeth's body, and pressed a great silver spike against the monster's chest.

"I've needed to do this for centuries," the girl panted as she lifted the hammer above her head and drove the stake into Elizabeth's heart.

"I hate you!" she called as she slammed the hammerhead against the spike again and again. "You've made me a murderer!"

"Elizabeth!" Ferenc called desperately as he tried to move to save his wife, but the devil body of Elli would not let him advance. Elli flung herself at him yet again, buried her fangs into his face, sucked out the one eye that was left, chewed up his mouth, tore his hair and scalp from the back of his head with her claws.

Elizabeth bucked wildly under Katrina, pushed her nails against the girl's face, tore into her shoulders. Katrina didn't care. She had centuries of hatred to draw upon.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" she screamed as each blow of the hammer drove the spike home in spite of the flailing hands, the bucking body, kicking legs, and the endless stream of howls and curses that poured from Elizabeth's mouth.

"My love!" Ferenc bellowed as he grabbed Elli around the waist and tried to throw her from him. The girl's fangs and claws were so deeply embedded in his face and head that he could not pull her free.

Elli's claws now raked across his neck, opened his jugular and launched a river of vampire blood. She sunk her claws deep into his skull and tried desperately to split it in two. The scalp had been ripped from it, and Ferenc's skull was now almost fully exposed. The demon-girl tried to pierce it with her claws, open it so she could sink her mouth into his evil brain and suck it out of him.

Ferenc staggered blindly around the dungeon. "Elizabeth!" he tried to call, but he had no mouth to form the words, he had no eyes to see where he was going, he had no blood left in his body to keep him alive, and as he tumbled beside Elizabeth's dead body, Elli jumped from him allowing Katrina to move over his body and slam a spike into his heart as well. This time the vampire did not call out; he did not put up a fight. He only lay there, his beautiful face gone, his midnight blue eyes consumed by the new Duchess of Castle Catrice: Elli the vampire, angel-eyed Elli who sat in the corner licking her claws like a satisfied cat.

She purred then as she crawled to the battered body of her lover, Donny Vito.

Still caked with blood, she cuddled up to him. He reached for her and held her, in spite of the horrible, coppery blood smell that rose from her clothing.

"Saved me again, babe," Vito whispered to the virtual vampire as he held her tighter.

"I love you, Donny," she murmured. "And I'll never let anyone hurt you. Not even me."

### Chapter 68

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—JUNE 2012

Dr. Steve Golder sat in the conference room at the International Simulation Center and stared across the table at his old friend Gerhard von Weltmann. He grimaced. Von Weltmann matched his look. Both men were familiar with these kinds of meetings, though this was a far cry from the last military review that had been held in this very spot. Hell, almost all the ISC workers who had been in attendance were dead now.

Golder coughed nervously. Dr. Lucy Lee had survived, at least. She was the most gorgeous geek he had ever seen, he decided, as he watched her push her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and reach nervously for her husband's hand. She and Charles had abandoned all their plans for a big wedding in Taormina in favor of a quick trip to the altar in Murdenwald itself. The military review was coming quickly, and they wanted to face it together.

Vito crushed an empty Diet Coke can in his hands, pushed it aside, reached for a pencil, and began drumming it on the table nervously. He had a whole folder full of notes in front of him. The military reviewers had copies of them and had read them all. More important than even Vito's notes, though, or the copy of his film _Bloody Bess_ they had screened, or even the still photos of Elizabeth's dungeon that Vito had had sent over from Paramount, was the documentation from the project itself.

Vito's team had been meticulous in documenting their programming. They detailed the formulation of each simulation story, the building of each background, and the creation of every virtual character. Assif's personality grids showed how he had created the emotion and motivation of every one of the characters, including Vladimir.

In addition to the documentation there were printouts of the actual computer code that was generated as the simulation ran. These included the code for Vito's story about Dracula's Hoard and von Weltmann's programming of the destruction of the vampires.

The reviewers, one from each branch of the US military as well as two reviewers from the United Nations technical team, had pored over the documentation for two solid weeks and had interviewed all the survivors of the ISC disaster. They also talked to historical experts on vampires, Dracula, and Elizabeth Laskaar. Even actress Michelle Peters agreed to put in an appearance and describe what it felt like to play the part of the monster-woman who bathed in the blood of her servant girls.

Perhaps the most amazing witness of all, however, was Katrina, Elizabeth's murderous maidservant who had been her undoing in the end.

Katrina had spent hours behind closed doors, telling of the centuries of slaughter in which she had participated. She had been terrified, it was true, terrified from the moment she had left the confines of the dungeon after centuries of darkness. As soon as the sunlight touched her skin, sunlight that nearly blinded her, the woman began to age. By the time the tribunal convened, she had progressed from a girl of about 18 to a middle-aged woman. By the time she was interviewed, she was comparable in age to a woman of 55. And by the time of this final meeting, those passing her outside in the courtyard felt that she appeared to be nearing 90. The changes were striking and added credence to her story.

The committee, of course, took her at first for a madwoman. How could anyone live for four hundred years? DNA testing confirmed her story. Psychiatric evaluation made it more believable. Medical evaluation suggested that somehow the dungeon, and especially the bleeding room, acted as a kind of hothouse, which slowed the aging process to an almost imperceptible crawl. No one wanted to discuss the possibility that it was all that blood, blood that must have spilled and spurted on her constantly, blood that must have been hanging in the air she breathed, that had, as with Elizabeth and Ferenc, kept her young for centuries.

#

General Joe Right of the US Army entered the room now, followed by the rest of the committee. He approached the head of the table, waited for the others to take their seats, continued to stand facing the crowd, and then began.

"Drs. Golder, von Weltmann and Lee, Mr. Vito, Captain Martin, and distinguished colleagues, this is not, as you know, a military _trial_ ; in fact, it is not a trial of any kind. Our purpose here is to look at all the events that have occurred over the past year and determine if a trial is necessary. The question has always been simply whether or not anyone participating in the operation of the ISC committed a crime, especially since murder, manslaughter, and other crimes did occur.

"After considering all the scientific evidence and talking with each of you as well as a great many experts in all fields related to this case, this committee feels that while it may be true that many people died here, the actual events are so bizarre and so unbelievable that it would be a mistake to expose the rest of the world to them. Moreover, we find no evidence that any surviving person acted in a criminal way. In fact, I can say that the committee feels, Dr. Lee, Captain Martin, Dr. von Weltmann, and Mr. Vito, that your actions were quite heroic.

"As a result we have concluded that the best course of action open to us is to seal all documentation on this case for a hundred years. The world at large doesn't know anything about this project, but a great number of military men and women do, as do the families and friends of people who worked here, as do the workers who did not return to the compound after the vampires— _scratch that_ —after the final events occurred.

Tomorrow at 0500 hours, we are going to blow everything that's left of this place to kingdom come. By that time I want a sworn statement from each of you that what happened here will not, I repeat _will not_ , ever be divulged to the press or the public. I've prepared a set of legal statements to that effect, and I want all of you to read and sign them. If word of this gets out, the world may very well be faced with the kind of spiritual hysteria that occurred during the Middle Ages. I assure you that the action resulting from such disclosure will be a military murder trial, which will look at your behavior during this crisis in an entirely different light.

"Are there any questions?"

Von Weltmann raised a confident hand. He had just been called a hero, and so he acted like one.

"Just what story are you going to tell to 'cover up' this incident?"

"I don't like that phrase," the general responded.

"All right, then. What's the spin gonna be?"

"Terrorist act," Right said. "But we'll tell those people we _have to_ tell, that we want to cover up the terrorist act as well. At this point it's best that the world not know anything about the ISC and its work, let alone its creation of virtual vampires."

"So you'll just blow the whole place up and say that terrorists did it?"

"That's right."

"Isn't that kind of dangerous?"

"You don't know terrorists," Right said. "If word of the alleged terror attack ever gets out, and eventually we assume it will, I'm sure some crazy dictator somewhere will step forward and take credit for it."

Von Weltmann laughed. "Still sounds risky."

"Of course it is, but it's not like we haven't done this kind of thing before." The general coughed, eyed the other members of he review committee, and shrugged. "Are there any other questions?"

Vito raised his hand, and Right nodded to him.

"What about the castle?"

"The Swiss won't let us touch it. Apparently it's a bigger moneymaker than it appears to be, and there's the damn historical preservation bureaucracy. Know what I mean?"

Vito nodded and smiled. He had not mentioned Elli's attack on Ferenc in his testimony, and no one else knew anything about it except ... Yes. There was one other person, wasn't there?

Vito's heart sank. He felt a touch of panic.

Just then a young lieutenant handed him one of General Right's statements ... the one with his name on it, so he pulled it in front of him and focused on it.

"Now, let's everyone review these papers and sign them," Right continued. "If any one of you has any more questions about this, questions that you don't want the others to hear, please call me on my cell later this evening, and we'll discuss them. Otherwise, please sign the papers and turn them in now."

No one said a word. Vito saw Lucy and Charles reading quickly through the document and signing. Von Weltmann on the other hand was plodding through the material, underlining words here and there as though he were a lawyer looking for loopholes.

Vito smiled for just a moment. Paramount would never let him sign anything like this. But then they'd never know about it, would they? Vito flipped to the very end of the document without reading it and signed his name with a flourish. Then he hurried up to the general and pushed it in front of him. As he did, General Right took him by the arm and pulled him aside.

"Mr. Vito, the president wishes to extend his deepest appreciation for the work you've done here."

Vito didn't expect those words; still they were very flattering. "I'm sorry we couldn't have gotten it right," he responded.

"I'm sure," the general said. "But it is important that you understand one thing."

"What's that?"

"Well, we know you're a creative man and there are a lot of ways that you can take an experience like this and twist it into something different, a new kind of story maybe."

"I wouldn't ..." Vito began.

"Of course, you wouldn't, Mr. Vito, because if you did ..." The pregnant pause hung in the air for a long moment.

Vito read the general's eyes perfectly. The military was hoping not to take the next step, the step that would permanently silence those who understood the secrets of Murdenwald. The general just wanted to make it clear that they could, and they _would_ if necessary.

"I can keep a secret," Vito said. He patted the general on the shoulder, went back to the table, shook von Weltmann's hand, gathered up his gear, and moved slowly from the room.

Lucy and Charles were waiting outside the doors of the conference room. When she saw him, Lucy ran to him, threw her arms around him, and started to sob. Charles came up behind her, pulled her from Vito, and welcomed her into his arms.

Vito patted Lucy on the shoulder and began to leave, but she grabbed him by the arm and held him fast.

"That was the most horrible thing I've ever been through in my life," she murmured.

"The review?"

"The whole damn thing, everything. I don't know how I'll ever get over it."

Charles hugged her tighter.

"You've got a pretty great guy who loves you," Vito answered. "Hell, we know he stood up to waterboarding. You and he can get through this together, I'm sure."

Lucy wrapped her arms more tightly around Charles and nodded her head. Charles gave Vito a gentle smile.

"Besides, you're a hero. Didn't you hear the general?"

Lucy turned to Vito with a little smile of her own. Then she moved to him and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"If you're ever in L.A., look me up," Vito said, "I'll lay the whole town at your feet."

"We just might take you up on it," Charles responded.

_Cliché, after fuckin' cliché,_ Vito thought to himself. What else do you say when your feelings are too intense to put into meaningful words?

He turned from them and headed off into the compound. Across the far side of the space, he saw the figure of an old woman, now hunched over a little, beginning to look almost witchlike in the afternoon haze. It was Katrina.

He tried to turn away and then realized that he had to speak to her one last time. There was something important that he had to ask her.

"Katrina," he began and saw the light in her eyes, the kind of look one might give to a person who had done much more than save her life. Vito had saved her soul.

"Did you ..." he began, but Katrina put a finger to her lips as though to silence him.

"Shhhh," she whispered. "I never mentioned her, the girl who saved us, your vampire lover, I never said a word. And I never will."

Vito looked at her gratefully.

"But beware," she whispered. "She's still a vampire, and the lust for blood can be overwhelming, no matter how much she loves you."

Vito stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled, leaned forward, and kissed the withered old face. "I don't care," he said.

"I thought not. Good luck."

### Chapter 69

Vito turned from Katrina and ran across the compound and out the gate. He felt like a schoolboy as he charged through the streets of Murdenwald and up the long ascent that led to the Castle Catrice.

Twilight was once again enveloping the skies as Vito rushed into the courtyard and clamored through the crazy narrow passageways that led to the bleeding room where he prayed he would find his Elli.

"DAMN!" he cried as he smashed his head into one of the overhangs that dropped down along the passageway. He felt blood starting to bubble up from the gash. He didn't care; he felt like a kid in love, a kid who was on his way to meet his girl, driving a sparkly new pink, white, and black Custom Royal Lancer.

"DAMN!" Vito smashed into the wall again and was feeling dizzy now as he finally spun into the rotunda of the castle dungeon. Here Elizabeth had betrayed her first husband and sealed her union with Ferenc. Here Elli had come out of her wrappings to look at Donny and tell him that she loved him.

Vito felt a sharp pain blast into his chest and tingle out over his shoulders, through his arms, and into his fingertips. "DAMN!" he repeated. But he knew the pain would fade just as it had so many times before. It didn't matter. And so he didn't stop to catch his breath; he just charged on toward the bleeding room. He felt his own blood pouring down his face now. Spilling into his eyes. He bounced against the wall, ricocheted against the other, and kept on running. The world was spinning; he could barely stay on his feet.

"Elli!" he called. Then, "DAMN!" another pain exploded in his chest and flashed out into his arms. He stumbled into the bleeding room, fell to the floor, felt the blood pouring out of the cut in his head and down over his face. "ELLI!"

And she was there, kneeling beside him, cradling him in her arms, her angel eyes looking down on him lovingly.

"I'm here, Donny," she whispered. "I love you. I'll take care of you."

Another blast of pain shot through Vito's entire body. He felt as though he were being electrocuted.

"Elli, I love you," he gasped, and then a sudden horrible realization swept over him. "I'm dying, Elli."

Elli held the old man close to her.

"It's all right, Donny," she said softly as her vampire tears spilled onto his face and mixed with his blood.

"But I want to be with you now," he said. "It's what I've dreamed of all my life."

Another massive jolt of pain flashed through him, seared along his blood vessels, scorched into his hands.

He stiffened; his eyes met hers. "Elli ..."

She looked down at him then, at the boy she had given her life to save when she was only 17 years old.

"Oh, God, please, don't take him from me," she called desperately.

Donny lifted himself on one arm. "I'll be all right," he murmured as he raised his hand and pulled her face to his.

Tears flooded into her angel eyes.

"Kiss me," she sighed.

"A Marilyn kiss?" he asked with as much of a grin as he could give her.

She leaned forward then touching his lips, sending a bolt of lightning flashing into him, burning him, and setting off another shockwave of deadly pain.

"It's all right, Donny," she sobbed as she ran her fingers across his cheeks over his lips and down his neck.

"I'm dying."

He whispered it this time.

But, at the moment that death was about to take him forever, Elli opened her blood-red lips.

"The Lost Princess _hungers_ for you," she whispered with a sudden and very magical smile, and she buried her vampire fangs deep into his jugular.

"You're mine now," she cooed as she kissed the blood from his face. "You won't die, Donny, and we _will_ be together. Forever."

THE END

### Epilogue

HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA—MARCH 2015

Anna-Maria Jardan waited for the applause to die down. The camera cut to a long shot revealing her gorgeous, grey-purple Armani gown, and then it cut back to her wide-eyed smile as she called:

"And the Academy Award for best picture of the year goes to ..."

The picture on the world's television screens formed a multiple image of the contenders for the prize with Anna-Maria occupying an extra space as she announced the winner:

"Elli's Story—Chu Yun Trang, Lucy Lee, and Charles Martin, Producers!"

The audience gasped and cheered. The other recipients tried to hide their disappointment as the winners stood and slowly made their way to the stage.

It was an unbelievable ride for Lucy, absolutely unbelievable.

She now led the way to the stage, turning every now and then to glance back at her husband, Charles, who had always been there for her, hadn't he? Even when the military discovered that she had disobeyed their directive to return all documentation relating to the ISC project. Even when General Right had dragged her into that star-chamber designed to scare her into abandoning her plans to create a film of Vito's most important story.

The military might have scared her, but not with Charles there: Promise Keeper Charles—who had reminded General Right that their story never mentioned the ISC or the bloody events that went on there, Charles—who had withstood every trial thrown at him except for those tiny holes cut into the front of her Science is Golden T-shirt, Charles—who, when every studio in Hollywood had turned them down, had remembered something Vito himself had said and advanced the idea that Premier Trang might make a perfect producer.

Terry Best stood and gave Lucy a hug as she walked by him. Vito's writing partner had taken the notes that Roberts had transcribed and turned them into the kind of script Vito knew he would, one true to the spirit and memory of Elli.

_Lucy ascended the stage and turned to the audience. For the first time in her life she actually felt_ glamorous _. She took the Oscar from Ms. Jardan and immediately passed it to Premier Trang. The nutcase dictator had abandoned his country and his dreams of world domination for an even more impossible dream: to be a successful producer in Hollywood. It was Trang's agreement to participate in the project—in return for certain military concessions, of course—that led the U.S. Government to finally back off and let Lucy complete her film._

" _I can't believe this," Lucy began as she turned toward the audience with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Charles, it's real!"_

Charles stepped up to her and whispered in her ear. "Hope you wore your red undies tonight, doll. I know I did."

_Lucy burst out laughing. But it was all right; the audience was still applauding wildly. At the last minute, Paramount had launched a fierce ad campaign in the trade press that emphasized the legacy of Donald Vito and even the peacekeeping implications of the fact that the picture's funding came from monster-turned-entrepreneur, Chu Yun_ _Trang._

Lucy nodded to the studio heads now, acknowledged the major stars sitting in the front row. She blew a kiss to Terry Best and then began.

"What seems like a hundred years ago, I met the most wonderful man. He was strange, little—really, but with a talent bigger than anything I'd ever known in my life. Charles and I were fortunate to be his friends. When he died tragically in an accident in Switzerland, I promised myself that I would honor him by making his last story outline into the kind of film he would have wanted to make himself. It was a tall order. I mean, how do you make a Donald Vito Production, without Don Vito?"

Laughter rippled through the audience.

"Anyway, with the help of the Hollywood creative community and Premier Trang, we were able to succeed. And this award is proof of our success and the power of Vito's storytelling. I know that somehow, somewhere he will see this film, and he will be pleased.

"Thank you."

Charles followed Lucy to the microphone and gave the customary and required acknowledgements to the director, performers, studio execs, agents, and publicists. Then came Trang, whose speech was broken, crazy, and quite endearing.

Soon thereafter, the master of ceremonies stepped to the mic, closed the show, and the partying began.

MURDENWALD, SWITZERLAND—2015

_Two days later the curators of the Castle Catrice began daily screenings of_ Elli's Story _there—in rotation with the other Don Vito picture they showed continuously:_ Bloody Bess _. The crowds visiting the castle increased exponentially, making the castle tour one of the premier attractions in all of Europe._

_But there are those who say that, on more than one occasion, projectionists coming in early in the morning found the Super Panavision film played through to the end and in need of a rewind, as though one or two people had somehow crept into the castle's theater late at night for a_ very _private screening._

### About The Author

Nick Iuppa has forty years' experience as a production executive, writer, and interactive designer for entertainment and industry. Recently Nick completed an eleven-year stint with Paramount Pictures where he served as Vice President and Creative Director of Paramount Digital Entertainment. There, Nick led research and prototyping efforts in interactive television, managed the development of entertainment websites, and spearheaded a multi-million dollar effort (with the Department of Defense, USC, and the United States Army) to bring the power of Hollywood storytelling to military simulation training. Nick is co-holder of two patents on the story drive technology that was developed as a result of that effort. This is Nick's third novel.

### From Nick Iuppa and John P. Mendoza

### Alicia's Ghost

Alicia Maria Mejias Mann has ended her modeling career in Mexico City, married the love of her life, helped pay his way through college, settled into a comfortable life in Los Altos, California, and now she's dead ... MURDERED.

Her husband, Professor Carlos Mann, has wrapped himself in an obsessive-compulsive disorder to hide from that fact. But when Amy Joy, one of Carlos's students, is sold into slavery by a Chinese mob that traffics in Asian girls, Alicia returns with a vengeance to save her man, foil the human traffickers, and most of all punish and destroy her murderer.

### Alicia's Sin

To avenge her parents' death, sadistic sex trafficker Tiger Joy sends deadly assassins after Carlos and his beautiful ghost wife Alicia. The pair escapes to Cancun where they battle witches and drug lords to help their friend Señor Popcorn win the love of his life. But the Afterlife Judges aren't happy with Alicia's temper, and they send her off to anger management therapy with the ghost of Sigmund Freud. In old Vienna, the spirit of a seductive crown prince tempts Alicia, and then she's captured by gypsies who put her on display in the Ghost Chamber of their traveling carnival. Alicia commits an unforgivable sin, which finally gives Tiger the perfect opportunity for revenge.

### And coming this summer

### The Third Carlos Mann Adventure

### Alicia Bewitched

Logic Professor Carlos Mann sets out to murder Tiger Joy in her prison cell. Unfortunately, the gorgeous queen of human traffickers captures him and ships him off to the Yucatan, where the evil witch, La Bruja, uses all her powers to try to weaken and destroy him. Meanwhile, Alicia calls on friends both living and dead to help save her husband, and in the process she learns many terrible secrets that were born in the days of the great Mayan Empire ... secrets that could save or even destroy Carlos and Alicia.

### Read on for a preview of the new adventures of Carlos and Alicia.

### ALICIA BEWITCHED

### PROLOGUE

I'm standing in a prison cell that looks like a suite at the Ritz Carlton Hotel. Two years ago I stayed at the Ritz in London when I won the Seaforth Prize for an article I'd written. I was alone then just as I am now, because I can't have Alicia with me. Not here, not tonight ... not with all the deadly work I have to do.

On the wall opposite the cell bars hangs an enormous painting of a tiger. The big cat is drawn realistically enough to be a photograph. It seems to want to stalk right out of the painting and attack me. I tense my muscles ready for the cat to lunge and then feel stupid when I remember that it's only a painting.

Just below the image of the tiger are couches and chairs upholstered in blue velvet. They form a large sitting area around a rosewood coffee table. Across from them is a 72 inch flat-screen TV. Beside it, a large rosewood bookcase holds famous novels and stacks of anime comics. Beyond the bookcase is a king-sized bed.

The lights outside the cell have been dimmed. Still, their soft glow casts the shadow of iron bars over the bed, over the pink silk sheets and pillowcases, over the slight form of the young woman who lies curled up under the covers.

Her long black hair fans out on the pillows as if some glamour photographer arranged it, but her face is turned away from me. It doesn't matter. I can tell who she is by the six-inch stiletto heels placed neatly together at the edge of the bed, and by the leather jumpsuit slung over the dragon-carved hope chest just below it. She's sound asleep, doesn't know I'm here. More importantly, she doesn't know that I've come to kill her.

I'm not good at any of this, I know, not the bribery that I had to use to get myself into this place and certainly not the cold blooded murder that I've been planning for over a year.

Still, I have to do it. It's only logical.

I think back to a conversation I had with Marty Marinara of the FBI. We talked about the fact that the agency had actually captured Tiger Joy, the CEO of the Joy Lum Slave Trade Empire, the girl who now lies sleeping in front of me. Marinara told me the government's case against Tiger would unfold slowly: They'd charge her with human trafficking; there'd be preliminary hearings; Tiger would get out on bail ... no matter how high the cost. But eventually she'd be tried for everything _except_ the hundreds of murders she'd commissioned. If convicted there'd be more appeals, more trials; she'd be in and out of jail for years, and when she was behind bars she'd have this kind of cell: velvet furniture, plush carpeting, a private bathroom. (I can see the door to it standing open on the far side of the cell. There's even a Jacuzzi in there.)

Given her underworld connections, her undeniable beauty, and ravenous sexual appetite, I figure that Tiger Joy just moved her kingdom in here, started running things from her cell and having a great old time. I'm sure the guards treat her like the empress that she is.

See what I mean? By the time Marinara and I had worked our way through the possible scenarios, I knew there was only one logical way to see that justice was done. I'd have to find a way to kill Tiger myself.

I guess you know that I was a prizefighter when I was younger. I'm not a violent guy by nature, but I had a great boxing instructor, and I became very good at it. Once Alicia attended one of my bouts. The guy I was fighting started teasing her from inside the ring. She was humiliated, and it made me so angry that I almost killed the guy. They had to drag me off of him or I might have. So, I have the chops to take a life, I guess.

Except, this isn't quite the same, is it? This is premeditated murder, and no matter how logical it is, I actually have to _do_ it carefully and rationally. Tiger's a small girl really, and I know I can just snap her neck if I want to, but still ...

I close my eyes, and the first face I see is my beautiful Alicia, last year ... in Death Valley. A horde of crazy monks were tying her to a stake so that they could burn her as a heretic because she was a ghost and wanted to marry me again ... while I was still alive.

" _The dead shall not marry the living,"_ the monks chanted over and over again.

Tiger sold Alicia to the ghosts of the inquisitors so that they could burn her out of existence. That's the kind of bitch Tiger is.

"I'll get you, Carlitos," she mumbles in her sleep.

Yeah. She's vowed to murder me too. She knows that I helped the FBI kill her adopted parents in a mammoth sting operation. Tiger and her infamous "Mother and Father" had captured Alicia and were holding her in some obscene ghost trap. My attempts to rescue her led to a shootout. Mother and Father were gunned down. Somehow Tiger escaped, took over her parents' business, and made it even more successful than it had ever been. Now Tiger wants revenge ... on me and everyone else. So, this is self-defense, really: assassinating a true sociopath, sort of like killing Hitler early in his career.

I stand and move as quietly as I can, past the bookcase and up to the head of the bed. I grab those pink silk sheets.

"You can do this," I whisper to myself.

For just a minute that great painting of the tiger catches my eye, and I'm distracted by the pattern of the brushstrokes that make up the image. Then I feel the girl on the bed begin to stir.

"I'm going to torture you before I kill you, Carlitos," she says joyfully.

I throw the covers back, grab Tiger by the shoulder, and spin her around. She's wide-awake instantly, looking up at me with those dark, dangerous eyes.

"Why, Dr. Mann," she coos. "How nice to see you."

I reach for her throat. She doesn't pull away, doesn't even blink.

"Naughty, naughty," she says.

And just then a heavy hand falls onto my shoulder.

*****

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