Time was wasting. The longer the delay, the greater chance of losing them. America was a big place. Hell, New York was a big place. There were a million and one little nooks and crevices the vamps could hide in, and even Farthingale, with his uncannily accurate source of intel, might not be able to pinpoint their whereabouts. On arriving back at Red Eye headquarters, however, he had to acknowledge that his team was in no fit state to turn and burn. They were all exhausted and, in the cases of Berger, Lim and Abbotts, in pain as well. They could hardly be expected to go haring off on another mission straight away. The first order of the day—or rather, of the night—was rest and recuperation. Technicians were ready for them in the basement levels of the house on East 84th. The remedy for Team Red Eye’s fatigue and injuries was a fresh course of treatment—another dose of the Porphyrian process. In a large, antiseptic-smelling chamber, all six soldiers stripped to their underwear and allowed themselves to be strapped to gurneys by means of Kevlar restraints round their wrists and ankles.
