Circe and Rudy gave me the bullet points of what they’d found. Church wrapped it up by saying that field agents were working to verify the four known targets, and to remind me that Echo Team was already inside Iran and heading my way.

“First good news I’ve had all day,” I said, and disconnected. I pocketed my phone and leaned against the wall for a moment.

“Vampires,” I said aloud. There was no doubt in my mind that, as Rudy observed, this was probably some freak of genetics. I believed in God, but, contrary to what Mr. Church said, I didn’t much believe in angels, demons, or monsters. Ghosts? Maybe. Vampires of the supernatural kind? Nope; and the word still didn’t fit right in my mouth.

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-One

CIA Safe House #11

Tehran, Iran

June 15, 1:14 p.m.

When I came back to the living room, Ghost was standing over Krystos, growling right in the man’s face. Krystos cringed back as far as he could but he was trapped by a hundred pounds of furious canine.

“Down,” I snapped.

Ghost stopped growling but he held his ground, the hair standing stiff along his spine.

“Down!” I said again, but this time my tone was quiet. Ghost glared at me and uttered another low, threatening growl. There was no danger left anywhere else in the house. The growl was aimed at me.

“Down,” I repeated a third time, and after another moment of hesitation he lowered himself to the ground, but all of his muscles were tensed as if he was about to spring. I deliberately turned my back on him, the way a confident pack leader would. At the moment I wasn’t feeling all that confident. Dogs are smart, but when they’re hurt and confused their thinking can get dangerously skewed. From Ghost’s perspective, his pack leader was leading him into one painful situation after another.

Once more I squatted down in front of Krystos. I interrupted him in the middle of a prayer. His color was bad and he sat in a puddle of his own blood. I reached out and felt for Constantin’s pulse. He didn’t have one, and I felt a weird flash of irritation that he’d managed to duck out before we could have a meaningful chat.

Krystos watched me do it and read the news on my face. He closed his eyes for a moment and repeated the dead man’s name several times. Greasy sweat ran in rivulets down Krystos’s face.

I poked him on the forehead with a stiffened finger. “Pay attention, sparky.”

“I am praying for the dead!” he snapped.

“Did you pray for the people upstairs?” I snarled.

He faltered. “Yes. I … I mean that the others would have done this.”

“Before or after they tore out their fingernails?”

He looked at me with eyes that were glassy and bright. “They are the enemies of God!”