“So what the hell were we doing back there, ditching those cops? I thought you wanted to stay clear of that.”

“I needed to get the diary first. Let me tell Gilbert about the murder when I see him.” I caressed the damp cover of the diary. Instead of drawing assurances that my investigation into the nymphomania was definitely closed, I felt a twinge of doubt. My fingertips tingled to alert me of danger. But of what? And from whom?

“I’m not so sure this investigation is over,” I added. “There’s more to the conspiracy than what’s in this diary.”

Bob pulled the Buick to the curb and jammed the transmission into park. He turned to me. His tapetum lucidum glowed hot in the reflection of the street lamps. “And so what? That book explains the outbreak, and that’s all that you were hired to do. Our priority now is the vânätori. I’ll inform the Araneum and call for a council of the nidus. You’ll testify about what you know.”

“Not yet, Bob.”

“Your investigation is over.”

“Sorry. This investigation is far from over.” I held quivering fingertips before him. “I can feel it. You and I, all the vampires in Denver, are in greater danger than ever because of this. Something’s been set in motion, and the more we try to ignore it, the worse it will get for everyone.”

CHAPTER 19

LIKE THE LAST TIME when I’d seen him in his office, Gilbert Odin put his telephone inside the credenza behind him, along with a boom box playing heavy metal turned up full volume. He closed the credenza door, muffling the screaming of guitars and the hammering of drums.

Gilbert folded his hands on his desk and gave me a genial smile. “It’s safe to talk now.”

“Couldn’t there be any more bugs? In that, for example?” I pointed to the lamp on his desk.

“Oh no. I know exactly what listening devices Security has. I’m on their budget-approval committee. A Seven-Sigma telephone eavesdropping microphone is all they’re authorized to use on me.”

I suppose the logic made sense to a professional bureaucrat, but it gave me a headache. I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease the pressure.

“How’s the investigation going, Felix?”

The investigation. That word alone worsened the headache. When I handed Wong’s diary over to Gilbert, I wanted him to kiss me in gratitude, then write a check and send me on my way.

“Well, Gilbert, for starters, Dr. Wong is dead.”

“We all know that.” Gilbert tapped the newspaper on his desk. Page one of the Metro Section showed a picture of the doctor under the headline ROCKY FLATS NUCLEAR SCIENTIST MURDERED. Gilbert added, “The police say it was a botched robbery.”

The cabbage smell swirled from him, not as strong as before but enough to make me think he needed to vary his diet.

“It was no robbery,” I said. “I know who killed him.”

“Who? Terrorists?”

“No. Enemies of mine.”

Gilbert held a hand up. “Whoa. Back up. What enemies?”

I couldn’t tell him the truth, that they were vampire hunters. “Enemies with a vendetta from a previous assignment. Wong got shot by mistake.”

“A vendetta?” Gilbert asked. “The Mafia’s after you?”

“No,” I answered. “I have enough enemies, thank you.”

Enemies savvy enough to ambush me. I had the mysterious gunman and the vânätori after me, a lethal double threat. Suddenly I realized that Wong had been shot only moments after I arrived at his condo. How did the vampire-hunter marksman set up his rifle so soon? Unless he had the place staked out. Which meant he, and his companions, knew I was going to see Dr. Wong. But only I knew about the visit. A chill ran up my spine and out to my hands. My fingertips tingled as my vampire senses went on alert.

“Hey. Hey,” Gilbert snapped his fingers. “You okay?”

I rubbed my hands together to calm the tingling. I wished I didn’t have to hide my eyes behind contacts-I needed the reassuring ability to read auras, even my friend Gilbert’s.

“I’m all right,” I answered.

“I thought you were having a seizure.” He gestured to my face. “Something related to that Gulf War Syndrome of yours.”

“I appreciate the concern. The question now is, what should I tell the investigators?”

“About what?”

“What I know about Wong’s murder.”

“Let the police worry about it. You said it wasn’t terrorists, so there’s no threat to Rocky Flats.”

“Only a threat to me,” I replied.

“And you can’t handle it?” His question was a dare. “You said that it was enemies from a previous case. Should I be concerned?”

“No. It’s my problem.” I didn’t want the cops to find the vânätori until after the nidus had torn the vampire hunters to pieces. “You don’t want anyone to know that I’ve been talking to Dr. Wong, correct?”

Gilbert nodded. “That’s right. Keep this between you and me.”

“You’re saying this investigation into the nymphomania is more important than Wong’s murder?”

Gilbert focused his gaze into my eyes. “Yes. Even more important than Wong’s murder.”

Or mine for that matter. What kind of a conspiracy was this? “Why?”

Gilbert shook his head. “Because if you go blabbing that you were with Dr. Wong when he got killed, then you’re likely to be locked up as a person of interest and forgotten. The wall of security around the conspiracy will only grow more formidable and I’ll be SOL forever.”

People with guns had already tried to stop me, so I appreciated Gilbert’s well-grounded concerns.

I pulled out a Ziploc bag containing Wong’s diary. “The doctor didn’t have the chance to tell me much. He did mention”-I paused to gauge Gilbert’s reaction-“red mercury.”

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “Red mercury?”

I laid the Ziploc bag on his desk. “It’s all right here. Dr. Wong kept a diary.”

Gilbert’s face reddened. “A diary? With classified information?”

“According to him.”

Gilbert sighed. “What the hell did he do that for?”

“Wong was convinced that safeguarding the secrets behind the outbreak would serve as insurance.”

“For what?”

“His safety.”

“Bullshit. This was about Dr. Wong and his inflated opinion of his own work.” Gilbert used a mechanical pencil to slide the diary out of the bag and flip it open. The damp, filthy pages clumped together and exuded a disgusting smell. Gilbert stifled a gag reflex. “Where did this come from? A toilet?”

“I hid in a Dumpster to escape.”

“I suppose that is better than a toilet.” Gilbert adjusted his spectacles as he studied Wong’s notes. “Red mercury, huh? Anything else?”

“EBEs.”

Gilbert shrugged. “Got me there. I’ve never heard of that.”

I homed in on Gilbert’s expression as I asked, “Project Redlight?”

Gilbert rocked back into his seat. “Sorry, Felix, I’m drawing a blank on that one.” His expression matched the flat tone of his statement.

“Area 51?” I asked.

“Nevada?” Gilbert set his hands on the armrests of his chair and sat up straight. “That I can answer. Here at the Flats we generated waste streams of classified material. Dr. Wong was our liaison with the U.S. Air Force in Area 51 to make sure that we didn’t inadvertently release sensitive information about these materials during our clean up. Secret? Yes. Mysterious? No.”

I tapped the inside cover of the diary. “Look. It gives the dates. From two years ago to last week. Wong started making entries long before the outbreak.” Carefully, I turned to the middle of the diary. The damp pages tore. “The writing’s smudged but you can make out his comment about twenty-three kilograms of Hg-209, red mercury, moved from Building 707. That’s the curious thing. There’s no mention of red mercury in the historical discharge reports.”

“Of course not. The only mercury we’ve used was quicksilver in instruments. And perhaps some mercuric-oxide, in minuscule amounts, for laboratory analysis. That’s all.”