Free Kill Wilson (Petersburg Vampires) by R.G. Lawrence

sooner. Here, I don’t
know how you’ll get it on a plane, but I know your glamour game is pretty
solid. Stick it in your bag and check it through. A gift from
me. Use it to send the bad guys to hell.”
    Amp reached out for the ancient Samurai sword that had
hung in Silas’s home. It was the most beautiful weapon that Amp had ever seen;
a mixture of perfect craftsmanship and lethalness. Silas had explained to her
one night that he had defeated a Samurai warrior in a long ago battle, and the
warrior had requested Silas take his head with his own sword. It had been a
different world, and an act of extreme honor.
    “Thank you, Silas. I will care for it with my life.”
    “I know you will, Amp.   When you decide to go, would you please let me
know beforehand? Maybe talk over your attack plan, allow me to point out any
weaknesses?”
    Opening her door, she smiled at Silas, nodding her head.
“Sure, Silas, we’ll talk. Thanks for everything.”
    She was gone in the crowd, leaving the teacher wondering
if he would ever see her again.

 
    ------
    Changing planes in San Francisco, Amp had but 25 minutes
to catch her connection to Portland. As she jogged through the airport, wishing
she could use her vampire speed, she passed a well built good looking man with
a military buzz cut and the bearing of a soldier walking away from a gate, his
mind on locating the baggage claim, but his eyes constantly scanning the crowd
as if looking for trouble.
    Anrio Peron had just returned from a successful mission
in the Middle East, a freelance job funded by a group of anonymous Israelis.
The job had gone well, and the money was excellent, but the former Army Ranger
wasn’t sure where the next dollar would come from, although he knew there were
many mercenary jobs floating around out there for somebody of his particular
pedigree.
    His problem with this type of work was he wasn’t fighting
for a cause, unless one considered cash a cause. After eleven years in the
Army, he was more soldier than man, and his separation from the military had
left a huge void in his soul that mercenary work couldn’t come close to
filling. Grabbing his suitcase, he caught the shuttle for long-term parking, finding
his white SUV, and exiting the airport. He headed toward 580 east ,
on his way home to Sacramento.
    California had no sentimental value to the former soldier,
the house one his mother had left him upon her death. Rio had joined the Army
the day he turned 18, and now at 29 he felt lost and abandoned without the U.S.
Government telling him where to go, what to do, and when to do it. Living in a
tiny bungalow in Sacramento, waiting for the next phone call with a temporary
job offer only added to the depression that had started his final day of active
duty.
    He had come to terms with the anger that had consumed him
after the news that Congress was slashing the military budget. He hadn’t
thought for one minute that his unit would be affected, had expected all the
cuts to come from food and beverage, supply, maybe some base closings. The work
that Peron and his comrades accomplished protected America, and without men of
their particular bearing, the country would be vulnerable to the spreading
threat of Middle East terrorists.
    The only problem was that nobody bothered to tell the amateur
in the White House; or maybe he just didn’t care. For whatever reason, many
Special Operation units were decimated, the soldiers given opportunities to
learn a new skill, or face separation, and a life without the military.
    Peron could never have remained in the Army doing a
menial job, waiting for his 20 years to arrive. If he couldn’t make a
difference, he wanted none of their bullshit. He never regretted his choice;
only that the choice had to be made. His faith in the United States was still intact,
but his attitude towards the present administration, and the lame Congress was
a different story.
    That evening, sitting in a fake leather recliner in his
living