"Ah, the important visitor who came with Master Tao," the old woman said, nodding. "Yes. he is to stay with us for a time. He is in the room at the far end of the corridor, but I was told he is not to be disturbed.•

"I was sent to see if there is anything he wants," Jasmine said. "I am to bring him whatever he asks for."

"Ah well that is different," the old woman said. "It is good that there will be someone else to look after his needs. I have more than enough to do. There is no end to work around here. You are one of the new servant girls, then?"

Jasmine nodded.

The old woman shook her head. "You will find it harder work than pleasing gentlemen," she said. "You will see. You may soon prefer working on your back to scrubbing on your knees. There is time enough for that. You should not waste your youth. I was young and pretty once, like you. Now I wash floors and empty chamberpots." The old woman cackled and waddled off down the corridor, carrying her pile of bedclothes.

Quickly, before she ran into anybody else, Jasmine made her way down to the door at the far end of the hall. She hesitated when she reached it. Now that the moment had arrived, she was suddenly afraid of declaring herself. What would he say? Would he be angry? What if he rejected her? There was no turning back now. She bit her lower lip and knocked on the door.

"Yes? Who is it'?" she heard him say.

She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside.

"Jasmine!" Moreau said, astonished. "Dear God! What on earth are you doing here? How did you get here?"

"Do not be angry, Dr. Morro," she said. "I had to come! "It all came spilling out of her in a torrent of impassioned words, words that tumbled over one another in her rush to get them out, afraid that if she paused for breath, her fear would paralyze her or, worse yet, that he would stop her.

Moreau stood there in astonishment, unable to get a word in edgewise. She finally ran out of steam and stood before him, looking down at the floor, stripped hare in all but the literal sense, her face flushed, her lower lip trembling, her eyes ready to flood with tears.

Moreau started to say a dozen different things and realized that each one of them would have been wrong. What was he to tell her'? That he was old enough to be her father? It was a cliche and he was not her father and, in any case, the only time age made any real difference to a woman was if a man was too immature for her, a factor that was more often than not measured emotionally and not chronologically. And Jasmine was a woman, naive, perhaps, certainly inexperienced, but a woman none the less. And just as one did not treat a girl as if she were a woman, one did not treat a woman as if she were a girl. Was he to tell her that he did not love her? What purpose would that serve? Besides, she had not asked him if he loved her. She had opened up her heart to him, imposing no conditions, asking nothing, offering everything. A gift like that was not rejected out of hand. It was accepted in the same spirit in which it was offered. Whether or not it was reciprocated was another, much more complicated matter.

"Are you going to send me away?" she said, drawing herself up proudly, prepared to accept rejection with dignity.

"No," he said. "Please, sit down. It seems that we have much to talk about."

Andre was having a hard time keeping track of all the bodies. It was difficult enough, shadowing the indefatigable Conan Doyle, now she also had Bram Stoker to worry about and the man that they were following and the people who were following them.

She had picked up Conan Doyle as he left the crime lab at Scotland Yard, almost missing him as he came hurrying out of the building, heading for a nearby pub. She had followed him to the pub, where he met Bram Stoker. As the two men left the pub together, Andre became aware that they were being followed by someone other than herself. She kept her distance, so as not to give herself away, and watched as the other shadower hopped on a bicycle and followed the coach taken by Conan Doyle and Stoker. She quickly hailed a hansom and set off in pursuit as well, wondering who else besides herself would be following the two writers.

There should have been someone from their team assigned to cover Stoker, but this was someone she had never seen before. A young Chinese man, dressed all in black, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, effortlessly pedaling the bicycle, even over cobblestoned streets.

They drove to the Lyceum Theatre and went inside. Andre lost track of the Chinese bicyclist inside the theatre. She had caught quick glimpses of him darting through the streets, following the coach, but he seemed incredibly adept at disappearing into the fog and shadows. Now she had no idea where he was. Conan Doyle and Stoker were nowhere in sight. She moved stealthily through the darkened theatre as the play progressed, but she was not able to catch sight of them until she sneaked backstage and saw them standing in the wings. She found a place to hide among the backstage clutter and kept an eye on them. They, meanwhile, were apparently keeping an eye on someone else, out in the audience. They kept glancing up at the box seats, but from where she was hidden. Andre couldn't see whom they were looking at. And if the Chinese man was still around, she couldn't see him, either.

However, she spotted him in the crowd during the intermission. when Conan Doyle and Stoker went out through the lobby and upstairs, to the box seats. She was unable to follow them into the box, where they spoke with someone for a short time and she was unable to get close enough to hear what was being said, because the Chinese man had already beaten her to it. She spotted him skulking just outside the box, eavesdropping on their conversation. She pulled back quickly, before he could spot her.

In the crush that followed the conclusion of the play, she lost the Chinese man once again, but she was able to spot Conan Doyle and Stoker leaving in their coach. Without waiting to try and hail a hansom amidst the bustle of the audience dispersing and risk losing them. Andre took off after their coach on foot, jogging through the streets, cursing the Victorian clothing which made running difficult and interfered with her breathing.

Fortunately, thanks to her being in superb physical condition and the coach having to drive slowly in the reduced visibility due to the fog, she was able to keep up without too much difficulty. But after several blocks, it became obvious that Conan Doyle and Stoker were following another coach, albeit at a distance, and there was another hansom following them, as well as the Chinese man on his bicycle.

"What the hell is going on here'?" she said to herself. as she paused on a street corner to catch her breath. "This is turning into a goddamned parade!"

The "parade" proceeded along the Strand, to Fleet Street, past the offices of The Daily Telegraph and St. Paul's Cathedral, winding along roughly parallel to the course of the Thames. They passed London Bridge and proceeded on a rough diagonal away from the river, towards Whitechapel Road and the London Hospital before plunging into the maze of Whitechapel itself. Finally, the lead coach stopped and a tall man in a high silk hat and opera cape got out and started walking rapidly down a narrow street, disappearing into the mist. Conan Doyle and Stoker followed after paying off their driver and the last hansom disgorged a single man, dressed in a brown tweed coat and bowler hat, who hurried after Conan Doyle and Stoker. Once again, the young Chinese was nowhere to be seen, but Andre had no doubt that he was there as well, hidden somewhere in the mist.

She wished she was not alone, that Delaney was with her or Steiger: There were too many people to keep track of and she had no idea what was happening. She was exhausted from the long run. She unbuttoned her dress and loosened her corset, cursing the ridiculous garment, wishing there was time to take it off entirely. Breathing hard from her very long run, her feet hurting from the high-button shoes, she quickly closed the distance between her and the shadowers, using the fog for concealment.

Who was the man everyone was following? Could he possibly be unaware that he was being followed by so many people and was it possible that they were all unaware of each other? In the thick London fog, it was more than possible. But the same fog that offered such good concealment also made it difficult to keep everyone in sight. Andre slipped around the corner of a building, into a narrow alleyway, and fell sprawling as her foot struck something soft and large.

She quickly got up to see what she had tripped over. It was the man in the brown tweed coat, lying face down on the cobblestones, his forehead bleeding. He

was alive. but unconscious. Andre quickly searched his pockets and came up with a badge. The man was a policeman, an inspector from Scotland Yard. He had been knocked out by someone. By the Chinese man'? Andre quickly looked around, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the fog-enshrouded streets. She had long since lost her hat, now she grabbed her dress and ripped it up the side, so she could have greater freedom of movement. She squinted hard, trying to penetrate the mist. She could see nothing.

Standing motionless, she strained to hear the sound of footsteps. In the distance, she heard the clatter of horses' hooves upon the cobblestone. Closer, she heard a baby cry; a man and woman's voices raised at one another in the dark; a chorus of far-off, drunken singing . .

And then another sound, close, too close, right behind her—

Linda Craven knew she was being followed. She tried not to show it as she walked down the street, waiting for an opportunity to lose the policeman. He wasn't very good. She had spotted him within two blocks of leaving Scotland Yard. It made sense that Grayson would have had her followed. He hadn't believed her for a second. But unlike some of the men under his command, such as the one now tailing her, Grayson was very good indeed. He had put it all together very neatly, only he had no idea what it meant. When he realized she wasn't going to tell him anything, he had put a tail on her, obviously hoping that she would lead him to Steiger and the others. Well, thought Linda, he was in for a major disappointment.

She had to lose this cop and do it quickly, so she could get back to Steiger and the others and let them know what happened. She was sick over the death of Dick Larson. It had been entirely her fault. He had argued that it was too dangerous to go back to the suite at the Metropole, but she had insisted, shaming him into going along with her, and now he was dead. And Scott Neilson was probably dead, too. Larson had been right. She had allowed personal feelings to get in the way of duty. to get the better of her professional instincts, and it had cost Larson his life.

"Professional instincts." she thought ruefully. What a joke. She wasn't a professional at all. She had no business being on this mission, which had turned into a complete disaster, a large part of which was her responsibility. She had cried back in Grayson's office and it hadn't been entirely an act. It was all falling apart and she felt utterly helpless to do anything about it.

At least there was one thing she could do right. She could lose the policeman Grayson had set upon her trail and get back to the command post, face Colonel Steiger and tell him what had happened. Own up to her responsibility. At least they got one of them. Perhaps it wasn't much, but it was something. If only the cost hadn't been so high.

She headed towards Charing Cross, at the junction of the Strand, Whitehall and Cockspur Street. It was the place where proclamations were once read, criminals were once pilloried in stocks and executions had been carried out. Now, in the late nineteenth century, it was one of the busiest intersections in London. A large cross stood atop an ornate pedestal with eight statues of Queen Eleanor of Castile, wife to Edward I, who had ordered the first crosses erected there in her memory at the close of the Thirteenth century. Linda quickened her pace, heading towards the Charing Cross Hotel.

She went into the hotel lobby, then quickly mingled with a group of people coming out, using their bodies to shield her from the policeman who was pursuing her. He ran into the hotel just as she was coining out. They passed within several feet of one another and he never saw her. Quickly, she hailed a hansom and jumped inside, directing the driver to take her to Mornington Place, near Regent's Park.

Having shaken the policeman, she leaned hack against the cushion of the scat and shut her eyes, feeling miserable. Her first assignment in Minus Time and she had made a complete mess of it. She had allowed Moreau to escape with Wells; she had been the only one of the entire team who had a shot at Drakov and she had flubbed it and now she had caused Dick Larson's death. She would not be surprised if she was court-martialed, assuming they ever made it back to their own time. It was a nightmare. Scott had told her about the pressure, about how he did not believe that anyone ever really learned to handle it, but she didn't see anyone collapsing under the weight of it, either, as she felt herself about to do. She simply didn't have anything left. She wondered whatever made her think she had what it took to be a temporal agent in the first place. She looked down at her hands and saw they were shaking.

She tortured herself with self-recriminations all the way to Regent's Park. She felt numb by the time the hansom reined up in front of H. G. Wells' house. She paid the driver and started towards the house, then saw the shattered window and the front door standing ajar.

"Oh, God," she whispered, "no. please . . ."

Without thinking of the danger, she ran straight up to the entrance and inside the house, where she was confronted by two uniformed policemen standing in the living room, talking to Amy Robbins and H. G. Wells.

"Wells!" she said, astonished.

"And who might you be, miss?" said one of the policemen.

"Linda!" Neilson said, coining in from the next room with Delaney, whose hand was bandaged.

"Do you know this young lady, sir?" said the policeman.

"Of course," said Neilson quickly. "She's my sister. It's all right, Linda. No need to be alarmed. We've just had a minor accident."

"It is all entirely my fault," said Wells. He turned to the policemen once again. "I can see that I have only managed to upset everyone, including my poor neighbors. I shall have a devil of a time explaining it to them. I must ask you to forgive me, Linda." he continued, looking at her apologetically. "I invite you all for dinner and instead, it turns into a veritable disaster."

"Now let me see if I have it all correctly, Mr. Wells." one of the policemen said. "You were showing this Colt pistol to Mr. Neilson here, believing that the weapon was unloaded; Mr. Neilson cocked the hammer, squeezed the trigger—

thinking the revolver was empty—and it went off, startling you and causing you to knock into that lamp there, which fell and broke the window, is that correct? And Mr. Delaney cut his hand upon a piece of glass, is that it?"

"That is correct, Constable," said Wells.

"Well, if you ask me, it's very fortunate indeed that no one was seriously injured," the policeman said. "You should always examine a firearm first to ensure that it's unloaded, Mr. Wells. It might stand you in good stead to remember an old adage, 'there is no such thing as an unloaded gun.' One can never be too careful."

"Yes, I have certainly learned my lesson," Wells said, sounding sincerely contrite.

"Well, at least no one was injured. Things could have turned out much worse. From now on, Mr. Wells, you will be careful around firearms, I trust?"

"To be sure," said Wells. "This entire unfortunate episode has given me a frightful turn."

No sooner had they gone than Delaney had unwrapped his hand and the ghostly figures of three men appeared out of thin air. Linda was astonished to see that one of them was General Forrester. Another was Colonel Steiger and the third, she realized, could only be the mysterious Dr. Darkness, the man who was faster than light. Darkness had an arm around each man's shoulder and as he released them, Steiger and Forrester stepped away from him and became substantial.

Darkness remained standing where he was, unable to move from the spot on which he had materialized, trapped by the immutable laws of the universe which his altered atomic structure violated. The only way Darkness could move from one spot to another was by translating into tachyons. He was incapable of taking even a single step.

"I hate it when you do that." Steiger said, rubbing himself as if to make certain he was solid once again.

"General Forrester!" said Linda. "What . . . what are you doing here? I don't understand, what's happened?"

"We were hit," said Steiger. He quickly told her what had happened. "The neighbors summoned the police when they heard all the commotion."

"I am still amazed that they believed us." Wells said.

"Police are inherently suspicious," Steiger said. "You tell them something that sounds reasonable and they're liable to think you're lying. On the other hand, you tell them an outrageous lie that makes you out to be a fool at the same time and they'll figure you've got to be telling them the truth, because no one would make up something like that."

"You have a fascinatingly devious mind. Colonel," Wells said.

"It comes of being a paranoid," said Darkness wryly.

And you. sir!" Wells said. "Just when i believed that I could not be astonished any further. you come along, a man who can become invisible! How is it possible?"

" I am afraid the explanation would be beyond you, Mr. Wells." said Darkness. "Besides, you know too much already."

"We can worry about that later." Steiger said. "Right now, we've got a much bigger problem on our hands. Drakov was able to snatch Ransome and Rizzo, transform them into hominoids, then turn them against us. Andre is still out there somewhere, all alone." He turned and stared pointedly at Linda. "And you've been unaccounted for several hours. Where were you? And where's Larson?"

"Larson's dead." she said flatly.

"How? What the hell happened?"

"We went back to the Metropole, looking for Scott. Scott didn't know that we had left the Metropole and I was afraid he might walk into a trap. So instead of Scott, we walked right into it. One of Drakov's creatures killed him. It was all my fault."

"I'm not interested in whose fault it was," Steiger said sharply. "I want to know what happened."

" I was hit with a stun dart. I didn't see what happened after that, but Dick must have shot him, only he survived long enough to throw Dick through the window before he collapsed trying to get to me. When I came to, the police were there. Inspector Grayson had me taken down to the Yard. The police took charge of the bodies. I guess they must have taken them to the crime lab, because while Grayson was questioning me, Dr. Holcombe came in. He told him the hair samples Conan Doyle took from one of the werewolf's victims matched the man who had attacked us."

"What did you tell Grayson'!"

"I stuck to my cover story," she said. "I kept insisting I was a member of an academic research group from America, but he didn't buy any of it. He's thorough. He had checked everything out. He wired Boston and found out the foundation doesn't exist. He also checked with the American embassy and found out they didn't know anything about us, either. He established that our passports were forged or at least that mine was and he made the connection between our British cover identities and our American ones."

"What tipped him off?"

"He questioned the hotel staff and they identified Dick as one of the researchers, but he already knew him as a reporter. He followed it up and established that Tom and Scott were with the research group, as well, so now he knows the whole setup was a fake. He put me through a pretty good grilling, but I said I didn't know anything about it. I said I'd been hired through the mail and if my passport was a fake, I had nothing to do with it, because you had gotten it for me. He was already convinced the research group was a front for something, so I tried to convince him I was just part of that front, a victim who'd been conned."

"Did he buy it'?"

She shook her head. "He let me go. but he had me followed. I ditched the tail and reported in. I'm sorry, sir, I—"

"Never mind that," Steiger said. "You're certain you weren't followed?"

"Yes, sir. I made sure."

“'There's a chance Grayson might find out about what happened from those two policemen who were here and make the connection," said Forrester.

"I don't think that's likely," said Steiger. "It's a real long shot. –

"I agree." Delaney said. "He'd have no reason to see their report and they'd have no reason to attach any significance to it."

"Neilson, how about the crime lab at Scotland Yard?" said Steiger. "It's closed now and there won't be anyone around, right?"

"I can give you the transition coordinates," said Neilson. "I computed them just in case . . .”

"Well done,” said Steiger. "All right, Neilson and Craven, you come with me. The rest of you stay here and touch base with Andre when she reports back in."

They quickly programmed the transition coordinates for the crime lab into their warp discs. Steiger gave Linda one of the two discs he had taken off Ransome and Rizzo, to replace the one Grayson had taken from her. Moments later, they were standing in the darkened laboratory at Scotland Yard.

"You're certain no one comes in here at night?" said Steiger.

"Yes, sir," said Neilson, speaking softly. "Dr. Holcombe always locks up when he leaves. He had me do all the cleaning up before we shut down for the night. He doesn't like to have people poking around his equipment when he's not here."

"Where would the bodies be kept if they were brought here?" said Steiger.

"They'd be stored in the next room, right through that door there," Neilson said.

Steiger handed him a disruptor pistol. "Go find them and get rid of them, right now."

"Yes, sir."

Steiger turned back to Linda. "Grayson has both warp discs, yours and Larson's?"

"Yes, but he tripped the failsafes and fused them." she said. "He also has the dart gun that was used on me."

"Where did you see them?"

"In his office, where he questioned me."

Neilson returned. "I found them." he said. "I destroyed both bodies."

"Good '• said Steiger. "Now—shhh!"

Nobody spoke or moved as someone walked past the lab in the corridor outside. They waited until the footsteps faded away.

"All right," said Steiger. "Neilson. I don't suppose you happened to compute the transition coordinates of Grayson's office when you went through his files before?"

"Yes, sir, I did," said Neilson. "I thought you might want me to break in there again, so I figured it would be a whole lot easier if I could just clock in there."

Steiger grinned. "I'm putting you in for a promotion," he said. "Let's hope Grayson's not burning the midnight oil in his office. See if you can find those two warp discs and the dart gun Drakov's creature used. Destroy them and get right back here."

"Yes, sir." He clocked out.

They waited tensely until Neilson returned.

"I took care of it," he said.

Steiger took a deep breath. "Okay, that leaves us with the question of what to do for our next move. Andre's still out there, tailing Conan Doyle. He may still be with Stoker, in which case she's got them both covered. I want to get back and see if she's touched base. If not. Darkness can home in on her symbiotracer and we can give her some back-up. Assuming her tracer's not gone out like mine has."

He sighed and shook his head. "Damn it! We still have no leads on Hesketh and we have no idea how many other people Drakov's creatures may have infected. Judging by what he did to Ransome and Rizzo, we can assume he's not only able to create more of them, but to control them, as well, undoubtedly through implant programming. We're down on manpower and we still have no idea where Drakov's new base is in this time period. And there's still Moreau."

"Moreau may be our best chance," said Neilson. "If what Wells told me is true, Moreau can provide us with additional manpower through Lin Tao."

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Steiger said. "I'm not taking anything on faith. Who is this Lin Tao?"

"The head of a secret organization known as the Green Dragon tong," said Neilson. "According to Wells, they're practically in control of Limehouse."

"I'm glad someone's in control of something," said Steiger wryly. "I think we'd better clock back and have a long talk with our friend Wells."

12 _________

Andre came to with a jerk. her body spasming as she regained consciousness. Whatever it was the Chinese man had done to her, he had reversed the effects with a sharp stab of his forefinger on a pressure point in her neck and she reacted as if electrically shocked. He stared expressionlessly into her eyes for a moment, then nodded once and moved back from her to sit on the opposite side of the coach.

Andre took quick stock of her surroundings. The windows of the coach were curtained off, so she could not tell where she was. The coach was not moving. She was not restrained in any way, but two young Chinese men sat on either side of her, both dressed all in black and wearing green headbands. The man who had rendered her unconscious and then revived her sat opposite her in the coach, dressed the same way as, the two on either side of her. Next to him sat a withered old man, also Chinese, with long white hair and a long, wispy white beard. He, too, was dressed in black pajamas, but unlike the others, he was not wearing a green headband. Instead, he wore a small black skullcap.

"You are the temporal agent. Andre Cross?" he said, in excellent English, albeit with a Chinese accent.

Startled. Andre stared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who are—imhhhh!"

The man sitting on her right touched her on the side, just below her kidney, and she felt white fire lance up her spine like an electric current.

"Please." said the old man. He held up her warp disc, holding the bracelet gracefully and gently between his thumb and middle finger. "You will he so kind as to reply, so that I may be certain whom I am addressing."

"Yes," she said, seeing no point in denying it. "I am Andre Cross. —

The old man nodded once. "You need have no concern over your warp disc. Miss Cross." he said. "It is undamaged. I have removed it carefully, so as not to activate the device which prevents its misuse. It shall he returned to you after we have spoken."

"Who are you?"

"I am Lin Tao, master of the Green Dragon tong.”

"You work for Drakov," she said bitterly.

"You are mistaken," Lin Tao said. "You were about to walk into a trap, as Mr. Doyle and Mr. Stoker have already done. They are in the hands of Count Dracula, the vampire Nikolai Drakov has created."

"I don't know where you've been getting your information," Andre said, "or even where you stand, but Drakov didn't create any vampires. A man named Moreau—"

Lin Tao held up his hand and she fell silent, fearing another nerve pinch or whatever it was the man beside her had done.

"Have the goodness to hear me out please," Lin Tao said. "It is not Phillips Moreau who has created this monstrosity, but his pupil, Nikolai Drakov, who has taken his work and carried it to a point beyond all sanity. However, Dr. Moreau does not deny that the responsibility is his, which is why he has pursued Nikolai Drakov to this timeline, to stop him even if it costs his life. I have undertaken to assist him in this task, as has Mr. H.G. Wells, who is at this very moment with your fellow temporal agents, informing them of this."

"Why should I believe you?" she said.

The man beside her moved, but Lin Tao shook his head very slightly and the finger withdrew from her side. Andre relaxed a little.

"Ask yourself how else I could know these things." Lin Tao said. "If I were not here to help you, what reason would there be for my attempting to deceive you? You are powerless to do anything against me and I could easily kill you. If Dr. Moreau and I were in league with Drakov, would you not now already be in Drakov's hands? Or dead? Or, perhaps, much worse than dead?"

He gave her back her warp disc.

"Go quickly and inform your fellow agents that Mr. Doyle and Mr. Stoker are in the gravest danger."

He nodded and one of the men opened the door of the coach for her. She stepped out into the street. at the entrance to a small courtyard.

"When you return with your fellow agents." said Lin Tao, "pay particular attention to the warehouse you will find at the far end of that courtyard." He pointed with a bony linger. "Please do not delay. Time is of the essence."

The driver whipped up the horses and the coach drove off into the fog.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Yes, who is it'?" said Moreau.

"It is Madame Tchu. Dr. Morro." said the mistress of the bordello. "Please to open door."

Jasmine glanced at him with alarm. "The old woman!" she said. "She mast have told her about me!"

"It's all right, Jasmine." said Moreau. "I won't let her send you away. But when your grandfather returns, remember your promise to abide by his decision."

"He will be very angry," she said. "He will send me home.”

"And with good reason," said Moreau. "But remember that you promised.”

The knock was repeated. "Dr. Morro!”

"

I think we had better let her in," Moreau said. He got up and went over to the door. "One moment, Madame Tchu," he said. He drew back the bolt and opened the door.

"You should have left well enough alone. Moreau," said Drakov, pushing the door open and shoving the woman in ahead of him.

"Forgive me, Dr. Morro!•" said the madame. "Forgive me!" Moreau bolted for his revolver on the nightstand by the bed, but Drakov was too quick for him. He shoved Madame Tchu hard into Moreau and they both tumbled to the floor. As Drakov reached inside his coat, Jasmine let out a ki-yai and came flying across the room, feet extended, and delivered a punishing kick to Drakov's chest. He staggered back, but managed to keep his balance. He blocked her next two kicks, which came like a blur in rapid succession, and deflected the third kick by turning it aside, adding his force to its momentum to spin her around, exposing her back to him. He moved in quickly and seized her from behind in a judo choke hold, jerking her up into the air, ready to snap her neck, when Moreau came up with his revolver.

"Nikolai. no!"

Drakov hesitated, maintaining the pressure, not allowing her to breathe. Jasmine thrashed in his grip and started making choking sounds.

"Put down the gun or else I'll kill her." Drakov said.

"If you kill her, Nikolai," Moreau said, "nothing will save you. I will shoot you where you stand."

"I have no doubt of that," said Drakov, "but she will be dead, too. If her life means anything to you, throw down the gun."

Moreau hesitated. His hand holding the gun started to shake. Drakov applied more pressure and Jasmine started to rattle in her throat.

"Damn you," said Moreau. He threw the gun down on the floor.

"And your warp disc, as well," said Drakov. "Take it off carefully and drop it on the floor."

Moreau complied.

Drakov dropped Jasmine and she fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and gasping for air. Drakov pulled out a laser pistol and trained it on Moreau.

"That is the difference between us, Phillipe," he said. "I would have fired."

Moreau got down on his knees beside Jasmine and held her in his arms. She started sobbing.

"That is a rather dangerous young woman you have there," Drakov said.

"She was much quicker than the guards downstairs." He prodded Madame Tchu with his foot. "Get up, woman. Go tend to your whores. Tell them to keep quiet if they know what's good for them."

She got up slowly and looked to Moreau, shaking her head with tears in her eyes.

"Go on, Madame Tchu," Moreau said. –Please go. There is nothing you can do.”

She ran out of the room.

"Somehow I never imagined I would find you in a whorehouse." Drakov said. "Really, Moreau. You disappoint me. Did you think I would fail to notice your Chinese thugs snooping about? Whom did you think you were dealing with? What did you hope to accomplish?"

"You know perfectly well," Moreau said.

"Why?" Drakov said. "What are these people to you? You are on opposing sides. Your superiors in the Special Operations Group would consider that I was doing them a favor."

"Perhaps they would condone what you have done," Moreau said, "but I cannot."

"I have only carried on your own work," said Drakov. "You should be proud. The pupil has surpassed his teacher."

"Yes, indeed you have," Moreau said, "and I will never forgive myself for the part that I have played in this. You may as well kill me now and get it over with. I no longer have any great desire to go on living. But if there is even one spark of human decency left in you, let her go. She is no threat to you."

"True," said Drakov, "but she seems to mean something to you, and I would hate to kill you now and deprive you of the opportunity to see just how far I have advanced your work. We will bring her with us.”

"Nikolai, please . . .

Drakov fired the laser and Moreau cried out as the beam grazed his shoulder, scorching the skin. Drakov grabbed Jasmine by the hair with his free hand and hauled her to her feet.

"I said, we will bring her with us. Pick up your warp disc and enter the coordinates I give you. Try any tricks and I will kill her

With a sick feeling, Moreau reached for his warp disc. He had no thought for his own welfare anymore. He only prayed Lin Tao would reach the temporal agents in time.

"Where the devil are we?" Brant Stoker whispered. "What happened?"

"I am not certain. Stoker,–Conan Doyle said, looking around, "but logic would seem to indicate that we have been drugged."

"Drugged!" said Stoker. "But I remember nothing!" "Precisely," Conan Doyle said. "What is the last thing you remember clearly?"

"Being in Whitechapel, following Count Dracula into that courtyard . . ." Stoker frowned and pulled at his pointed red beard absently. "And then it is all a blank!”

"As it is with me," said Conan Doyle. "The only possible explanation is that a drug was somehow administered to us and we were brought here senseless. As we neither drank nor consumed anything since we left the pub, I can only surmise that the drug must have been introduced through our lungs, perhaps through an airborne agent of some sort, such as a gas or powder we might have inhaled. Or through our skin, most probably from a distance, possibly by a dart fired from an African blowgun or some similar instrument. I would think the latter method, since the breeze would have rendered the former uncertain."

He reached out and took Stoker's chin in his hand, turning his face to one side.

"As I suspected," he said. ""There is a tiny wound upon your neck, slightly inflamed, little more than a pinprick. I would venture to say that I have a similar wound upon my own neck.”

"Yes, I see it," Stoker said. "Egad, Arthur. how do you know these things?"

"It is elementary my dear Stoker," Conan Doyle said. "Observation, logic and a great deal of reading. I also perceive that we are not in England anymore."

"What!" Stoker exclaimed. "Impossible!"

"I assure you that it is so." said Conan Doyle. "You have but to take stock of our immediate surroundings to convince yourself that I am right. Observe this room, the obvious age of these stone walls, the dimensions of the blocks used in the construction. Where in Whitechapel could we find such an edifice? We are in a sort of keep, Stoker, or a castle—"

"That we are not in Whitechapel, that I can accept," said Stoker, "but we must still be in England, on the Cornish coast perhaps—"

"On the contrary, Stoker. The architecture is of a style such as that employed by the knights of the Holy Roman Empire. This is not an English castle. Besides, if you will take a moment to smell the breeze coming in through that open window, you will notice that there is no smell of the sea, so we can eliminate the Cornish coast. No, Stoker, what I smell is pure. clean, fresh mountain air. Air which is not laden with the damp of English breezes. Observe, moreover, the tapestries hanging on these walls. They are Turkish, unless I am mistaken, and quite old, dating back to medieval days."

He walked over to the window, somewhat unsteadily, still feeling the aftereffects of the drug. Stoker sat up slowly, rubbing his head, and followed.

"Just as I thought." said Conan Doyle.

"Good God!" said Stoker.

They looked out upon a mountain view, with snowcapped peaks in the distance, covered by clouds. Below them was a sheer drop into an abyss. They were in a castle perched upon a cliff, overlooking a mountain pass.

"I must be dreaming!" Stoker said. "Where in heaven is this place?"

"Not in heaven, Stoker,”• said Conan Doyle, "but somewhere in the Alpine range, most likely one of the Balkan nations."

"But . . . how is that possible? How did we get here? Who could have done this?–Stoker said.

"As to how we came here, that remains a mystery," said Conan Doyle. "But as to the identity of our abductor, there can be little doubt."

They heard a key turn in the lock and the door slowly creaked open. Dracula entered, carrying a candelabrum.

"Count Dracula," said Conan Doyle.

"I see you gentlemen are awake," said Dracula. "How are you feeling? I trust there were no ill effects?"

"Beyond a slight dizziness and a lingering headache, no," said Doyle. "We are apparently little the worse for wear."

"See here, Dracula!" said Stoker. "What is the meaning of this? What gives you the right to have us abducted in such a manner? What do you intend to do with us? I demand an explanation!"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Stoker," the vampire said. "You are in my home. Here, I am the master. I will insist that you address me in a civil tone. As to what gives me the right to bring you here, allow me to remind you that it was you who followed me, skulking in the night like a pair of common cutthroats."

"Whereas you. Count Dracula, are a singularly uncommon one," said Conan Doyle. "It was you, was it not, who was responsible for the vicious murders in Whitechapell"

"In part, yes."

'`Then my suspicions were correct," said Doyle. "There was more than just one killer. You had an accomplice."

"In a manner of speaking. yes."

"Then you admit it!" said Stoker.

"Certainly." said Dracula.

"You are a monster, sir!"

The vampire smiled ruefully. "In more ways than you realize, Mr. Stoker. I am, indeed, a monster. I could no more help myself than you could contain your moral outrage upon hearing my confession. In order to survive, I must drink human blood and if I am to spare my victims the agony of an existence such as mine, it is necessary for me to kill them. I cannot always do so, but when I do, believe me. I am doing them a kindness."

Stoker stared at him, appalled. "You are insane!"

"I shall not debate the point with you." said Dracula. "Insanity, you might say, runs in my family. The very idea of a creature such as I am is insanity itself.”

"Then you truly believe that you are a vampire'?" said Doyle. In response. Dracula bared his teeth, exposing his fangs. Stoker gasped and recoiled, but Doyle stood firm.

"Merely a malformation of the canines," he said. "An unfortunate defect, but not even all that uncommon. Certainly no proof of a supernatural existence."

"How very curious that you should use that word.” said Dracula. "Ironic, Mine is indeed a 'super-natural' existence, although not quite in the sense you mean. Come, allow me to show you something."

"The man is a raving lunatic!” whispered Stoker as Dracula led them out of the room lighting their way down a long flight of stone stairs which followed the curvature of the castle wall.

"Unquestionably," said Doyle, "and highly dangerous, but he is nevertheless a man and not some reincarnated demon."

"He is only one and we are two," whispered Stoker. "We can easily overpower him—"

"Perhaps not so easily,” said Doyle. "Lunacy often tends extraordinary strength. I have seen grisly evidence of what this man can do in the bodies of his victims. Let us not be hasty. He has not acted alone in this. We must learn what we can and wait for a moment that is opportune, then we must make our move. But we must do it quickly. We can take no chances with this madman."

He led them down the stairs to the great hall of the castle and they saw that part of the huge structure was in ruins. Piles of rubble were on the floor where old mortar had given way and stones had fallen down, leaving large holes in the high ceiling. There was a gaping fissure in one wall and bats flew in and out of it, screeching, the echoes of their cries reverberating throughout the great hall. Huge cobwebs hung in the corners and rats scurried across the floor. Everything looked as if it had been abandoned for centuries. They continued downward, through a great wooden, ironreinforced door and down another long, steep flight of stone steps, the light from the candelabrum throwing huge, garish shadows on the walls.

"Where are you taking us?" said Stoker fearfully. He stopped on the stone steps. "These stairs lead down to the dungeons, don't they?"

"Yes. Mr. Stoker, they do," the vampire said.

"In that case. I refuse to go another step!"

"I have no objection," Dracula said. "You may remain here if you wish and wait for us. Mr. Doyle, I think, would be interested in seeing what I have to show him."

"Very well, lead on," said Conan Doyle.

"Wait!" said Stoker, hurrying after them. He caught up to Doyle and whispered, "Forgive me, Arthur. I am ashamed of myself. Whatever happens from here on, we shall face it together!”

"There is no shame in being afraid," said Doyle. "I can feel my own knees shaking, but we must screw our courage to the sticking point and see this thing through, come what may."

"Listen!" Stoker whispered harshly. "What in heaven's name is that?"

From below, as if from a great distance, came a keening wail, an inhuman chorus of animal shrieks that grew louder as they descended.

"My God, Arthur," Stoker said hoarsely, "what on earth have we gotten ourselves into?"

"Steady, Stoker," Doyle said. "Whatever it is, we shall find out soon enough. Be prepared for anything."

They reached the bottom of the steps and followed Dracula down a damp, narrow stone corridor with a low ceiling. Stoker uttered a sound of disgust as huge rats scurried past their feet. Soon they reached another large wooden door. The screams were louder now. Dracula drew back a huge iron bolt and opened it. The chorus of screams rose suddenly in volume, almost deafening them.

They were on a stone landing high above a large, underground chamber lit by torches set into sconces in the walls. In front of them was a steep flight of stone steps, leading down to the dungeon floor. There was no wall or railing, nothing to stop them from falling to the stone floor thirty feet below should they lose their footing and slip.

"May the saints preserve us!" Stoker said. "We have descended into hell!"

Below them in the dungeon, behind thick iron bars set into the stone, were scores of creatures bearing only a passing resemblance to men and women. Their clothes were torn and filthy, stained with blood. Some were completely covered with hair, looking like rabid, snarling beasts. They hurled themselves against the iron bars and howled like wolves. Some attacked each other, jaws snapping, claws slashing, and a few had fallen and were being greedily devoured by others in their cells. Still others looked almost normal, except for their emaciated appearance, their hollow, staring eyes devoid of any sanity, and their abnormally long and pointed canine teeth, visible as they opened their mouths to emit throat-rending screams and thrust their hands out through the bars.

There were manacles set into the Wall and, in the center of the chamber, there was a smaller room partitioned off by steel-framed glass, inside of which they could see a bizarre array of laboratory equipment, among which were a number of large standing lamps, metal cabinets with trays holding surgical implements and a long operating table with strong restraining straps.

"Here is the solution to your case, gentlemen!" Dracula shouted over the uproar. "The dawn of a new race! The new breed brought forth by my creator!"

Both men stood frozen on the steps as Dracula descended to the floor of the chamber. He looked up at them, eyes blazing. "Here is true insanity for you!" he shouted over the din.

You wanted to learn the truth? Well, gaze upon it! Allow me to introduce you to my family! My brothers and my sisters! My creator's legacy!"

He hurled the candelabrum at the iron bars with all his might. sending sonic of the creatures scampering back.

"Shut up!" he screamed. "Shut up. damn you all. SHUT UP!"

As Conan Doyle and Stoker stood motionless, staring in stunned disbelief, the vampire slumped down, brought his hands up to his face and wept.

"For God's sake, Arthur!" Stoker said, grabbing Doyle's arm and spinning hint around. "This is madness! Hurry, we must get out of here before—"

He saw the expression on Doyle's face as Doyle looked past him and quickly turned around, expecting some new horror. Standing on the landing behind them was a beautiful young woman dressed all in white, with long black hair hanging loose down around her shoulders.

"My God!" said Stoker, "Violet!"

"Mr. Stoker!" she said, coming down towards them and holding out her arms. "Help me! Please! Take me away from this dreadful place!"

Stoker started towards her, but Doyle suddenly grabbed him and pulled him back. "Look out. Stoker!"

She snarled as Stoker was yanked out of her reach, revealing sharp, elongated canine teeth. She lunged at Doyle, but he twisted away from her and she screamed as her momentum carried her over the side of the long stairway. The scream was cut off abruptly as she struck the stone floor below, breaking her neck.

Dracula stood over the creature that had once been Violet Anderson, staring down at her broken body. "Forgive me, Violet," he said softly. "I could not help myself."

Slowly, he raised his head to look up at the two men above him on the stairway, his eyes glittering. Then he turned and walked over to the wall, taking a ring of keys down from a hook.

"Run, Stoker!" Doyle shouted.

As they sprinted back the way they came, the vampire threw open the first of the cell doors.

. . .

The lock on the warehouse door yielded to the laser easily. Steiger slowly pushed the door open while the others covered him.

"I think it would be best if you were to remain out here. Mr. Wells," said Forrester.

"Absolutely not," said Wells. "I will ask you to remember our agreement. General."

"I do remember it." said Forester, “and I appreciate your cooperation more than I can say, but my concern is for your safety."

"So long as Jane remains safe with your people at the Charing Cross Hotel, that is all that matters," Wells said.

"Mr. Neilson and Miss Craven will take good care of her." said Forrester,

"and with Dr. Darkness there as well, she will he more than adequately protected. I'd feel much better if you were with them. If anything should happen to you—"

"You need have no fears on my account." said Wells. "I have no intention of indulging in any foolhardy heroics. But you will need me to deal with Lin Tao and Moreau. They trust me, whereas, I am sorry to say, they do not trust you people at all."

"I guess that makes us even," Steiger said. "I don't trust Moreau. And I don't know anything about this Lin Tao character."

"What is it you wish to know, Colonel Steiger?" said a voice from directly behind them.

They turned quickly to see the old Chinaman come walking towards them slowly out of the mist. He stopped a short distance away front them.

"It's him," said Andre.

The old man bowed. "I am Lin Tao."

"Stay right where you are," said Steiger, covering the old man with his disruptor, but Wells immediately stepped in front of him.

"Put that away!" he said. "Is that any way to treat a man who's trying to help you?"

"Stand aside, Wells," Steiger said, reaching out to shove Wells to one side, but Wells batted his arm away.

"General," he said, "I insist that you honor the terms of our agreement!"

"Steiger . . . Forrester said.

"Sir, I really don't think —"

"Put it away." said Forrester.

Reluctantly, Steiger holstered his disruptor.

"A wise decision, Colonel," Lin Tao said.

"Never mind that," Steiger said. "Where's Moreau?" "Regrettably, I have just now learned that he has fallen into the hands of Nikolai Drakov." Lin Tao said.

"How convenient. More likely they've been in this together from the start," Steiger said.

"It's a trap,” said Delaney.

"No!" said Wells. He turned to Forrester. "General, you must believe me—"

"Take it easy, Mr. Wells," said Forrester.

"If I had truly led you all into a trap," Lin Tao said, "then it would already have been sprung. Observe."

He clapped his hands once, sharply, and dark figures seemed to materialize out of the fog all around them. They moved noiselessly, carrying clubs and hatchets and various other weapons. They were all Chinese, wearing loose black pajamas and green headbands. There were at least fifty of them.

"Damn!" said Steiger, quickly unholstering his sidearm. Andre and Finn already had theirs out.

“Wait!" said Wells.

"Steady, people." Forrester said. "There's too many of them. We could never get them all. Besides, they could have nailed us as we clocked in."

"Quite so,” Lin Tao said, nodding slightly.

"Why?" said Steiger. "What's your interest in this?"

"Phillipe Moreau is my friend." Lin Tao said, "and Nikolai Drakov poses a danger to us all. And now there is a still more personal reason. Drakov has abducted my granddaughter, Ming Li. I am anxious for her safety. And I am concerned that we are wasting time." He spoke quickly in Chinese and the men who had appeared in answer to his summons moved quickly past them through the warehouse doors.

"This is crazy," Steiger said. "These people aren't trained troops. And we've got no idea what we're going into."

"There's only one way we're going to find out." said Andre.

"Hell, don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Delaney said, clapping Steiger on the shoulder. "We wanted reinforcements, now we've got 'em."

It was almost pitch black inside the warehouse. They moved slowly, waiting for their eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. The men of the Green Dragon tong had fanned out once they entered and now they moved like wraiths among the stacks of dusty wooden crates. Suddenly someone screamed.

There were shouts and more screams and over them, the sounds of bestial growling. A werewolf had dropped down from a stack of crates on one of the Chinese men and the victim had time for just one scream before his throat was torn out by the beast. Several of Lin Tao's men brought the creature down, only to be thrown violently aside as if they didn't weigh a thing. Three more men leaped upon the werewolf, brandishing their tong hatchets, and the creature howled as the sharp blades sank home, but even though mortally wounded, it continued fighting, killing all three of them before others jumped in to take their place.

Another creature had been spotted crouching atop a stack of crates and as it leaped, a dozen lethal throwing stars went spinning through the air, striking it in the chest, face, and head. With a doglike squeal of pain, it fell to the floor of the warehouse and died, but there were still others.

Hatchets rose and fell as the men of the Green Dragon fought with Drakov's creatures and human screams mixed with animal roars as both men and hominoids died. Delaney brought one down with his disruptor and the werewolf fell howling through the air, wreathed in a blue glow. It disintegrated before it hit the floor.

Andre stayed close to Wells, protecting him, firing at the creatures as they rushed at them out of the darkness. One landed on Forrester's back, but Forrester dislodged the creature and threw it into a stack of crates, then shot it as it came charging back at him. Lin Tao avoided a rush by one with a movement that was almost imperceptible. He seemed to lean to one side slightly at the very last moment and then his hands shot out in a blur of motion and the beast flew past him, its own momentum added to the force of Lin Tao's throw, so that it landed in just the right manner to break its neck,

It was over quickly. There had been about a dozen of the creatures, but their assault had been so furious that nineteen of Lin Tao's men had died. They stood over the corpse of one of the creatures, watching in mute fascination as, in death, itslowly reverted to its human form. Moments later, instead of a fearsome man-beast, they were looking down at the crumpled, bleeding body of a teenage boy, not yet even old enough to shave.

"What manner of man could do such an awful thing?" said Wells hoarsely.

Forester looked away.

"This warehouse can't be Drakov's base of operations," said Delaney, "but those creatures were here protecting something."

There was a cry from the other end of the warehouse, someone shouting in Chinese. They rushed in the direction of the shout and found several of Lin Tao's men gathered around a large, glowing circle on the warehouse floor. The men of the tong drew back from it fearfully, pointing at it and talking excitedly among themselves in Chinese. The man who had first discovered it had stepped within the peculiar-looking borders of the ring: it had started to glow brightly and he had disappeared. Now, as they watched, its glow slowly faded once again.

"And that's what they were guarding," said Delaney, staring at the border circuits laid out in a circle on the floor.

"What is it?" said Wells.

"A chronoplate," said Andre. "Sort of an earlier version of the warp disc, obsolete now, but nevertheless, quite functional."

"Set in the active mode," said Steiger. "No Wonder we were never able to find any trace of the creatures. They were clocking in, killing, and then escaping through time, using this place as a transition point. There's got to be another plate mated to it on the other side ... wherever in hell the other side is."

"And that is where Count Dracula has gone," Lin Tao said, "along with Mr. Conan Doyle and Mr. Stoker."

Forrester glanced at Lin Tao and spoke to the old man in rapid Chinese. Lin Tao raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear such fluency, then nodded once and bowed. He gave a quick, soft-spoken command and two of his men came up to stand on either side of Wells, taking him firmly by the arms.

"What?" said Wells, "Lin Tao, what is this?" Then realization dawned and he started to struggle, but it was useless. "No. wait!" he shouted. "Let me go!"

But it was already too late. He stood watching helplessly, unable to follow as the others stepped into the glowing circle and disappeared from view.

"Show me exactly where it happened," Grayson said.

Inspector Tremayne walked forward several yards, then backed up four paces and stood looking at the ground uncertainly. "Right here, I think." he said. "I had just turned the corner there and the blighter coshed me from behind, neat as you please. My head is still ringing like a bloody bell."

"And you saw nothing?"

"Not a blessed thing until I woke up just now and ran into you just down the street. How on earth did you know where to find me?"

"I received an urgent message at my home, delivered by a Chinaman," said Grayson. "He ran off before I had the chance to question him. It was a note directing me to find you here and with it was a ribbon of green cloth, a head scarf such as those worn by the members of the Green Dragon tong. Would you believe it, he even brought a coach for me to use."

"Then the Green Dragon is behind these murders!" said Tremayne.

"No," said Grayson. "Strange as it may seem, it would appear that they are trying to aid us."

"Well, they've got a damn peculiar way of going about it!" Tremayne said, rubbing his head.

"You still have your revolver?"

"Blimey, I didn't even think to check!" He slapped the pocket of his coat.

"No, it wasn't taken," he said, pulling it out and checking it to make sure it was loaded.

Grayson pulled out his own revolver, a Webley, and looked around at the fog-shrouded street. "You say both Doyle and Stoker were following the Count as well?"

"All the way from the Lyceum," said Tremayne. "Left their coach when he did and followed him on foot. Damnedest thing, I thought at first they were together and merely traveling by separate coaches, but it soon became clear that they were dogging him just the same as I was."

"Which way did you last see them go?"

"Straight down that street there, into that courtyard."

"A cul-de-sac," said Grayson. "Nothing down there but an old warehouse. Hmmm . . . strange. How long would you say you were unconscious?"

"Damned if I know," Tremayne said. "Why? Does it make a difference?"

"It does if you were struck over the head after I was informed of it," Grayson said. "It took me perhaps half an hour to drive here by coach. If we assume that your assailant coshed you, then immediately took a coach straight to my lodgings to inform me of it, and allowing for the time it took me to arrive here, then we would have to be dealing with a time span of something over an hour at the very least and one has to wonder how they knew you would remain unconscious for so long. No, Tremayne, I do not think it could possibly have happened that way. Our friends in the Green Dragon are orchestrating these events in a most singular and peculiar manner, a manner that suggests complex organization."

"I don't understand," Tremayne said.

"Don't you?" said Grayson. "It seems obvious to me. They knew that you were following the Count because they were shadowing him themselves. You must have been spotted following him from the Lyceum, whereupon our friends in the Green Dragon sent word to me that you could be found unconscious here, long before you were actually assaulted. They planned to take you down right here, on this very spot, and they must have used some means to do it whereby they would know with some certainty how long you would remain unconscious— undoubtedly one of those strange Oriental fighting tricks of theirs—which can only mean that they knew Dracula would come here because they had trailed him to this place before. But why did they knock you out and then make certain I would be present on the scene a short while later? Because they wanted us here, but only at a specific time."

Tremayne stared at him, utterly confused. "I can make no sense of that, sir.”

"Can't you? There is only one possible answer to it all. The Green Dragon has been deeply involved in these events, possibly since their very beginning, and they have known far more than we have all along."

"What does it all mean?" Tremayne said.

"I wish to God I knew," said Grayson, frustrated. "Almost from the beginning, I have had the certain feeling that there was a great deal more to this case than met the eye. I continually had a sense that there were other presences involved. First these American scholars, who are clearly not involved in scholarship, but something far more complex and mysterious, to the extent that at least three of them were posing as British subjects—two as newspaper reporters and one right under our very noses in the crime lab! And now we learn that the Green Dragon is involved!

Why? We have stumbled onto some sort of fantastically complicated plot, Tremayne, but to what end?"

"Perhaps we need more men,” Tremayne said nervously.

"I wish I had an entire regiment with me," said Grayson, "but I fear there is no time to summon any reinforcements. Clearly, it was intended that I should be here now, in this precise place and at this very moment, but for what reason has yet to become apparent."

He looked around uneasily.

"The streets appear unusually deserted," he said, "even for this desolate part of town and for this late hour. Yet, I have the strongest intuition that we are not alone. There are unseen forces all around us. I can almost feel it. as a palpable tension in the very air!''

'

Tremayne glanced at him fearfully. "What are we to do, then?"

"You have your watch?" said Grayson.

"Right here."

"Good. Wait here for me. And watch yourself. If you hear me blow my whistle, you had best come running. Otherwise, if I have not returned within ten minutes, go for help."

"Where are you going?"

"Where it is apparently intended I should go," said Grayson. "To have a look around inside that warehouse."

13 __________

They ran through the narrow subterranean corridor, stumbling in the dark over soft, furry shapes that squealed in protest and snapped at their shoes, but neither man gave any thought to the rats as they fled. They ran blindly in the dark, their hands held out before them, hearing behind them the howling of the creatures released from their dungeon cells and the crashing of glass and equipment as they destroyed the underground laboratory.

Stoker grunted with pain as he fell forward onto the stairs leading up to the great hall of the castle and Conan Doyle dragged him to his feet, hooking his arm around him.

Hurry, man! We must flee for our very lives!"

They half ran, half stumbled up the damp stone steps, feeling their way along the slimy wall in the darkness. Behind them, the inhuman screaming sounded terrifyingly closer. At last, they reached the door at the top of the steps and threw it open. Gasping for breath, they lunged through it and then slammed it shut, throwing their weight against it.

"The bolt!" said Doyle. "Quickly, throw the bolt!" "It's stuck!" said Stoker.

Doyle added his strength to that of Stoker's and the iron bolt shot home.

"That should hold them!" Stoker said.

"I would not wish to stake my life on it." said Doyle. breathing hard. "I shall not feel safe until we're gone from this accursed place!"

"But how?" said Stoker. "How do we get hack home?"

"Steady, old friend,” said Doyle. "One problem at a time. We are not safe yet. Quickly, we must find our way out of this place."

They started to run across the great hall when a deep, reverberant voice cried out. ''Stand where vou are!"

Startled, both men stopped in the center of the great hall. Drakov stood above them on the curved stairway, with Jasmine and Moreau.

"Who are you?" said Conan Doyle.

"The question, sir, is who are you." said Drakov, "and how did you get here?"

Before they could reply, the door to the stairway leading down to the dungeon splintered and broke and the hall became filled with the howling screams of the creatures from the dungeons. Drakov's head jerked towards them as they streamed out into the great hall and in that moment. Jasmine's foot whipped out and kicked the laser from his hand. They grappled for a moment and then Drakov shoved her away from him. She fell into Moreau and they both tumbled down the stairs.

“STOP!” S houted Drakov.

The creatures all fell silent instantly and stopped where they were, staring up at him fearfully.

"My God. Arthur," Stoker said, as they backed slowly away from the suddenly immobile creatures. "Look how they watch him!"

"With the manner of whipped dogs," said Doyle. "Whoever this man is, he is obviously their master. And our fate is entirely in his hands.”

"Dear God, Nikolai," Moreau said, staring at the creatures who cowered before Drakov. "What have you done'?"

"I would not advise anyone to move," said Drakov. "Moreau, I will thank you to retrieve my laser and return it to me, otherwise I will have them tear those men to pieces right before your eyes. Remember. I am all that protects you from them now. One word from me and they will attack without mercy."

"Arthur, what do we do?" said Stoker.

"For the moment, it appears that we must stand very still and do whatever that man tells us." Conan Doyle said. "If we tried to run now, they would bring us down before we had run twenty feet.”

"The laser, Moreau," said Drakov. "Now!"

Moreau felt Jasmine tense and he took hold of her firmly. "We must do as he says. he told her.

Together, they went over to where the laser pistol had fallen and Moreau bent down to pick it up. Drakov remained where he was, on the long stairway leading down from the upper floor. Doyle and Stoker stood close to one another in the center of the great hall, between Drakov and his creatures.

"Look at them!" said Stoker, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "They cannot possibly be human!"

"No. Stoker, Doyle said, staring at the creatures, "I am afraid they are. Only something terrible has been done to them, something beyond all reason. Their minds have snapped, poor devils, and vet this man controls them with a word. He has them mesmerized. It appears that we have found the guiding intelligence behind these awful crimes and he is without a doubt a madman."

"And who are you, sir, to call me mad?" said Drakov. "I repeat my question. What are you doing here and how did you get here?"

"My name is Arthur Conan Doyle and this is Mr. Bram Stoker. As to how we came here, we were rendered unconscious and abducted, brought here against our will by Count Dracula. And now you have the advantage of me, sir.-

"Indeed I do," said Drakov with a smile. "I admire your composure, Dr. Doyle, but then I would expect no less from the distinguished creator of Sherlock Holmes. My name is Nikolai Drakov. Forgive nit for not having recognized you, but I hardly expected to find you here, of all places. I had heard that you were working with Scotland Yard. Allow me to congratulate you for having come so far. And as for you, Mr. Stoker, your presence here is an exquisite irony. Where is Dracula?"

"It was he who released those wretches from their dungeon cells." said Stoker.

"And has doubtless been torn to pieces for his trouble, the sentimental fool," said Drakov. "What a pity. What a criminal waste. He was my prize, my greatest achievement! You should have seen him, Moreau!”

Moreau raised the laser pistol, but Conan Doyle shouted,-Don't do it, man!

Don't be a fool! He is all that holds these murderous creatures in check!"

Moreau hesitated.

"Well, Moreau," said Drakov, smiling down at him, "go on, shoot. You wanted to kill me. You will never get another chance. But kill me and you condemn yourself and the others to a decidedly unpleasant death."

With an air of helpless resignation, Moreau started to lower the weapon.

"Wait, Mr. Moreau!" said Doyle, his voice ringing out in the great hall, echoing off the ancient walls. "So long as you possess that weapon, we still have a chance. Kill him, and the creatures will be freed from his will, released to butcher every one of us. But so long as you possess that weapon, you still have the threat of death over him. And that, I assure you, is undoubtedly all that is keeping us alive!

We are at a stalemate."

Jasmine ran to Moreau's side and clutched his arm. Moreau raised the laser once again and pointed it at Drakov.

"Very good, Dr. Doyle," said Drakov. "Moreau was always spineless, but I had not counted on you to bolster him up. Between you, the girl, and his newly awakened sense of morality, he is becoming a veritable pillar of masculine vigor.”

"Don't let him rattle you. Moreau," said Doyle. "He wants to make you angry. Anger makes people's hands shake, their aim becomes unsteady."

"Time does much the same thing. Dr. Doyle," said Drakov. "How long do you think we can all stand here before his arm starts to become tired?"

"However long it takes for us to resolve this stalemate and leave here safely," Doyle said. "If his arm should become tired, he can pass the pistol to the girl. She seems capable enough."

"As are you, apparently,” said Drakov. "What happens now? Even if I were to let you leave, under the threat of being shot, how far do you think you would get before they ran you down? Look at them. They need but one word from me and they will tear you apart. They have been down in the dungeons for a long time. And they are hungry.”

"We could take you with us as our hostage," Stoker said. "I do not think so, Mr. Stoker. I have no intention of moving from this spot. Perhaps you would try taking me by force?" "Stay away from him!" Moreau said. "He has at least three times your strength and he is an expert in the art of unarmed combat. You would have no chance against him."

"At the risk of sounding immodest," Drakov said, "he is quite correct. Your position is untenable. Dr. Doyle. I am not sure how long I can hold them back. They are quite difficult to control, sometimes. Personally. I do not wish either you or Mr. Stoker any harm. I never intended that you should become involved in this."

"Precisely what did you intend?" said Doyle. "These poor creatures have obviously been the victims of some sort of brutal and perverse medical experimentation. Leaving aside the despicable act itself and the question of morality, it took the skills and knowledge of a genius to accomplish this. How could a man of such obvious intelligence do such a horrifying thing? What possible reason could there be to justify such cruelty?"

"Cruelty. Dr. Doyle'?" said Drakov. "You speak to me of cruelty? What do you know of cruelty, you who have enjoyed a life of pampered indolence and taken it for granted, your facility with words netting you sums of money that would feed entire families for months? Your trade is that of obfuscator! You weave pretty little spells to entertain the masses, or at least those privileged enough to have one shilling to spend for a copy of Lippincott's Monthly Magazine. Spells meant to distract them from the squalor of reality; stories meant to entertain them so there will be no necessity to think! Lord forbid that they should think, for thinking is dangerous and most of them do not do it very well! Let them think and they will devise new ways to further degrade themselves and despoil the world, a world they look upon as nothing more than property to be used, bartered and developed!

"The beasts of the jungle have more ethics than they do," Drakov continued.

"When the tiger makes a kill, it consumes enough to satisfy itself, but it leaves something behind for the hyena and the hyena in turn leaves something for the rodents and the insects, each—by instinct—taking only what is needed to survive, each leaving something for the others. And what does your noble species do, Dr. Doyle? They kill for the sake of pleasure and they consume for the sake of greed, leaving nothing behind for anyone! Their instinct is only for rape and domination, their drive towards self-destruction!”

"I have had generations in which to study cruelty, Dr. Doyle, to experience it firsthand! I have seen humanity spread out over the world like maggots on a carcass, breeding on it, choking it, all in the name of progress, when their true motives were gluttony for wealth and lust for power and their only progress was the progress of decay! You call what I've done cruelty? No, Dr. Doyle, it is a kindness, the last kindness that anyone can give to a beast in its dying agonies, the kindness of the coup de grace!”

"The man is hopelessly insane!" said Stoker.

"He is worse than insane," said Doyle. "He is a cynic. For a madman, it is at least possible to feel pity. For a cynic, one can feel nothing, because the cynic does not suffer. He does not feel. He has enclosed himself within his armor of disdain; his buckler is contempt and his shield is bitterness. His lance is sarcasm and his sword is pessimism, but they are blunted weapons, dulled by hopelessness. Yes, Mr. Drakov, I do have a facility for words, as you put it, not unlike yourself, yet the words I live by do more than merely entertain. They set forth the principles by which I believe we can avoid those dying agonies you speak of. There are things worth living for, worth dying for, and it is that which separates us from the jungle beasts, that the best of us will live for honor and die for an idea. If I die here today, I die knowing that I have done my best and that even if I ultimately failed, the struggle was worth it even so. I will have died for something. You, on the other hand, seem to have nothing left to live for and your death, when it comes, will have no meaning. In these poor, tortured creatures, you have not recreated humanity stripped of its pretensions, as you might believe. Rather, you have made them living mirrors of yourself. I shall pity them, even as they kill me, but I shall never pity you, because you are not deserving of it."

"I could not have said it better," Forrester said.

Drakov spun around. “You!"

Forrester fired.

The plasma blast took Drakov in the chest and blew him back against the wall as he exploded in a ball of fire. The creatures howled and surged forward, but the time commandos opened up with their disruptors on a wide spray pattern, laying down a deadly stream of neutrons. Moreau tackled Doyle and Stoker, knocking them off their feet and shielding them with his body as he yelled at Jasmine to get down. Creatures wreathed in a blur aura of Cherenkov radiation staggered forward for a step or two before their atoms were disintegrated. Forrester added the firepower of his plasma pistol to the disruptors of the commandos and creatures erupted into flames, flames which consumed them before they even had the time to scream. With all of them bunched up the way they were, there was no chance for any of them to escape. It took less than a minute.

"All right, Moreau," said Steiger, aiming his weapon down at him. "Get up and stand away from them."

"No!" said Jasmine, throwing herself in front of Moreau. Doyle and Stoker slowly got back up to their feet, stunned by what they had just seen.

"You made an agreement, Colonel Steiger," said Lin Tao from behind them. "I will expect you to honor it."

He stood just behind Andre, pinching her with his thumb and forefinger at the base of the skull, exerting tremendous pressure. She stood stiffened, paralyzed, trembling slightly. With his other hand, he plucked the disruptor from her grip, then released her. She collapsed to her knees with a gasp of pain.

"Rest assured, she has not been seriously injured," said Lin Tao, aiming the disruptor at Steiger. "However, I perceive that the extent of injury given by this device cannot be controlled quite so precisely. I have closely observed its use. It does not seem to require much skill. Please lower your weapons."

As they complied, Delaney, who stood closest, launched a kick, but Lin Tao's aim didn't even waver. In one smooth motion, he stepped back and used his free hand to impel more motion to Delaney's foot, so that Delaney was carried off balance by the force of his own kick and straight up into the air. For a fraction of a second, he seemed to hang horizontal in midair, then he crashed to the floor, flat on his back.

Moreau took advantage of the distraction to grab Jasmine and quickly activate his warp disc. Doyle and Stoker stared in disbelief as Moreau and Jasmine disappeared.

"Did you see it?" Stoker said. "I cannot believe my eyes! They simply vanished! How . . ." He shook his head, unable to go on.

"I do not know how, old friend." said Doyle, "but wherever that man has gone, he could have escaped in such a manner at any time. It seems he stayed for us. Whoever he was, we owe him our lives."

"We promised not to kill him. Lin Tao," said Forrester. "but we can't let him go free. We're grateful for your help, but you know we'll have to hunt him down. He's a dangerous man."

"Perhaps General, in an earlier life. he was," Lin Tao said, "but he is no longer. He has left behind his work, his world, indeed everything he knows. I understand how he must feel. I know what it means to become cast adrift in a new world. All he wants is to find a small, insignificant place for himself in it. He may have nothing left of his old world, but in this new one, he has at least found friends and that, I have learned over my long years, is priceless and most valuable. He has suffered more from his own conscience than from any punishment you could inflict upon him. Have you never made a mistake, General, for which you could not forgive yourself?"

Forrester held the old man's gaze for a long moment, then he looked away.

"You will have much to do here," Lin Tao said. "And you have your warp discs to take you back to where you came from. The passage through time which leads here from the warehouse shall be destroyed. And this weapon I have taken shall be delivered to your friends at the Charing Cross Hotel. I give you my word that you have nothing to fear from myself or Phillipe Moreau. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. All I ask is that you honor yours. I do not think that we shall meet again. Goodbye."

He bowed very slightly, never taking his eyes off them, and backed away towards the room at the far end of the corridor on the upper floor, which contained the mate to the chronoplate hack in the warehouse. The moment he was out of sight. Steiger lunged after him.

"Steiger!" said Forester.

"Sir, if we hurry, he won't have time to—"

"As you were."

Steiger looked as if he were about to say something, but he clenched his fists and took a deep breath, let it out slowly and said, "Yes, sir."

Forrester glanced at Finn and Andre.

"You think I'm making a mistake?" he said.

Delaney shrugged. "If you did, we'll probably find out about it sooner or later. I do know we never would've gotten here without their help."

"I don't know if I could ever trust Moreau." said Andre. "But I think I can trust that strange old man:*

"He does put that out, doesn't he?" said Forrester.

Steiger shook his head. "If you ask me, I think you're all crazy," he said. He glanced down at Doyle and Stoker, who stood looking up at them like two lost little boys. "And I'd hate to ask them what they think."

Andre looked at Doyle and Stoker, then turned back to Forrester. "I think we've got a problem, sir."

Delaney snorted. "So what else is new?"

Grayson smelled the smoke as he came into the courtyard. He blew several sharp blasts on his whistle, then broke into a run as he saw the flames start to lick up from the warehouse roof. In a moment, he saw that putting out the fire would be impossible. By the time the fire department arrived, it would be all that they could do to save the neighboring buildings. And then he froze when he saw what was nailed to the warehouse door.

Smoke streamed from the cracks around the wooden warehouse door. framing the body of Tony Hesketh, which was nailed to the door by an iron railroad spike driven through its chest. The corpse's head lolled grotesquely on its neck, blood and from the corner of its mouth, open to reveal long, protruding canine teeth.

Tremayne came running, up to stand beside him, " Jesus. Mary and Joseph!" he said. And then words failed him.

Sparks shot high into the air, swirling like swarms of fireflies. The building groaned as the flames destroyed it and wood cracked as the roof started to fall in. The door started to burn and as the flames licked at the body, Grayson stood and stared at the dark green ribbon tied around the end of the iron spike.

E P I L O G U E

They sat around the table in the dining room of Number 7 Mornington Place. Amy Robbins. soon to be Mrs. Wells, brought in the coffee and biscuits.

"And so that is where we stand, gentlemen," Forrester was saying. "And, of course. Miss Robbins. I have the means to compel you to forget the parts you played in this incredible experience, but there are certain complications associated with the process—think of it as a sort of hypnotism, if you will—risks I would prefer not to incur or even to discuss with you at length. Such a radical. . .

'enforced forgetfulness,' for lack of a simpler way of describing it to you, could have certain unforeseen effects upon the personality. Since you are all highly creative individuals, that is a chance I would not wish to take. However, I hope I have made you see the importance of never revealing what you know to anyone, not under any circumstances."

"I quite understand, General," said Doyle, "and you have my word. Even if we were to tell anyone about what we have seen, who in their right mind would believe it? Although, I must admit, the idea of pitting Holmes against a vampire has a certain charm to it."

"I thought you had grown tired of him'?" Stoker said. "Don't tell me you now plan to resurrect him from the dead?" he added with a grin.

Doyle cleared his throat. "Well, who knows?" he said. "Perhaps the old chap never really died. Watson was never the keenest of observers, after all. And even if I were to write such a story, it would necessarily stress the rational over the supernatural, the truth over the fanciful. And as I knew right from the beginning, there was a rational answer to this perplexing case. An answer, perhaps, that is impossible for those of us in this time to fully comprehend, but a rational answer nonetheless. We were not confronted with the walking dead. There was a scientific explanation."

"Still," said Stoker, "there is something compelling about the notion of a dark, Satanic afterlife, a living hell on earth."

"I will leave such musings to your somewhat overly romantic soul." said Doyle dryly. "For my part, I am content to have seen this nightmare brought to a conclusion. Grayson believes that he has found his killers with the help of the Green Dragon tong and if he is puzzled by the riddle of the mysterious American scholars who have disappeared without a trace, then it will give him something to dwell upon in his retirement someday. The one mystery which he could never solve."

"Unlike Holmes, who solved them all, is that it?" Stoker said.

"Well ... perhaps that yet remains to be seen. And as for Moreau, well, good luck to him, I say."

"You've been very quiet, Wells," said Stoker. "You've hardly said a word all evening. I don't know about you, but for my part, I do not know if I would object greatly to this process of 'enforced forgetfulness' the general has spoken of. I will have nightmares about this experience for years to come."

"I suspect I will have dreams, as well," said Wells, "but of a rather different sort."

"Will we see any of you again?" said Amy Robbins.

“I trust that you will not misunderstand and take offense, Miss Robbins, if I say that I sincerely hope not?" Forester said.

She smiled. "No offense taken, General." she said. "Thank you all for all that you have done. Especially you. Miss Craven, and Mr. Neilson, for looking after me."

"It was our pleasure. Miss Robbins," said Neilson.

"And please give my thanks and my regards to that strange, invisible man," she said.

Wells frowned slightly and looked thoughtful.

"There yet remains one final question to which we do not have an answer," Doyle said. "We know about the poor creatures who were killed back at the castle and we know about their victims who had died, but what of their victims who survived? If they had attacked people and failed to kill them, will they not also develop the same blood-craving disease?"

"We will remain on the alert for any further murders of this nature, Dr. Doyle," said Forester, "as, I trust, shall you. You could be of invaluable continued service to us in this regard. We will not rest until we have established to our satisfaction that this threat has been eliminated once and for all."

"I will, of course, be glad to help in any way I can “said Doyle. "I will never forget the sight that greeted us when we descended once again into those dungeons. The way those creatures tore several of their own number apart in their frenzy of destruction, it was like a slaughterhouse!"

"Parts of bodies scattered everywhere." said Stoker, "the remains unrecognizable. I cannot help but wonder, how can we be certain that among them were Count Dracula's remains? The idea haunts me. He could be there still, somewhere in those labyrinthine dungeons, still alive and waiting."

They all stared at him uneasily.

"I just cannot help but wonder," Stoker said, "if we have truly seen the last of him."

The bell rang over the door and a sallow, thin-featured, clean-shaven man dressed in a dark tweed overcoat and howler hat entered the apothecary shop. He smiled at the young woman behind the counter. She was several months pregnant and just beginning to show.

"Good afternoon, sir." Jasmine said.

"Good afternoon, Madame," Grayson said. "I wonder, might I speak with your husband?"

"Certainly, sir," said Jasmine, not thinking that there was anything odd about the man's request. There were many times when gentlemen had problems of a very private nature that they were reluctant to discuss with a woman. "One moment please and I will bring him."

She stepped through the curtains leading to the back rooms and a moment later, a slightly built man with prematurely grey hair came out, wiping his hands on a leather apron. Grayson was surprised to see that he was not an Oriental.

"Yes, sir." said Moreau. "My wife said you wished to see me? How may I assist you?"

Grayson frowned. "Perhaps I have made some sort of mistake." he said.

"I was expecting someone else, an older gentleman, a . . . that is, well ... excuse me, you are the proprietor here?"

"Ah." said Moreau, "you must mean my wife's grandfather, Lin Tao. One moment, I will ask him to come in.”

Moreau disappeared behind the curtains and came back a moment later with Lin Tao.

The old man gave him a slight bow. "Good afternoon,” he said. "Excuse me, perhaps my memory fails me. but I do not recall that we have met before."

"No. we have never actually met," said Grayson. "But you might say that our paths have missed on numerous occasions."

He reached into his pocket and took out a length of singed, dark green ribbon. He held it out across the counter to Lin Tao.

"I am Chief Inspector William Grayson of Scotland Yard," he said.

Lin Tao regarded him steadily. "Yes," he said. "I know."

"It took me a very long time to find you." Grayson said, putting the ribbon down on the wooden countertop. "I did not come here in an official capacity I believe I owe you a great debt of gratitude and I have come to thank you. And also to ask a favor, I have had difficulty sleeping these past few months."

"Perhaps a preparation of tincture of opium and belladonna would be the solution to your problem," Lin Tao said.

Grayson smiled. "No, I do not think so. However, I think the answers to some puzzling questions which have kept me up at night for weeks on end might do the trick."

The two men held each other's gaze for a long time. Then the ghost of a smile appeared on Lin Tao's face and he gave a slight nod.

"In that case Inspector Grayson, perhaps you would like to join us for tea?"