The President's Vampire by Christopher Farnsworth

desk.”
    Prador gave Zach a smile that was barely room temperature. “Always nice to see you, Zach.”
     
     
    PRADOR AND GRAVES didn’t speak for several minutes after Cade and Zach left. They knew just how good the vampire’s hearing was.
    They also didn’t have a lot to say to each other.
    A moment later, the door opened and Vice President Lester Wyman entered.
    Wyman hadn’t been around the White House lately. Although he had an office in the West Wing, relations between the VP and the president had been strained ever since the terrorist attack on the White House. Once the remodeling was done, Wyman spent most of his time in his offices in the Eisenhower building, next door.
    Nobody missed him much.
    “You fucking idiots,” Wyman said. He’d been listening the entire time on the White House’s recording system.
    “We did our best,” Prador said. “You heard Cade. He’s not going to leave it alone.”
    “Sloppy,” Wyman said. “And disappointing. I expected better from you, Will.”
    A half dozen good replies went through Prador’s head. Maybe you should have told me what was happening in Africa. Maybe you should have kept me in the loop. Maybe you shouldn’t come crying to me for help after things go down the toilet. Maybe you should stand in front of a fucking vampire who’s threatening, not very subtly, to tear your heart out.
    Out loud, all he said was, “I didn’t see any way around it. They already know too much.”
    “You weren’t terribly impressive, either,” Wyman said, turning on Graves. “I thought this was your specialty.”
    “Shut up,” Graves said, his voice as stark as a slap across the face. “Take that tone with me again and you’ll be pissing blood for a week.”
    Wyman’s face flushed and he took a step back. “You said they’d never find out.”
    Graves sighed. “No. I said I’d handle them. And I will.”
    “Then what are you going to do about it?” Wyman demanded.
    Graves stood, and Wyman cringed again. “I’m just curious. That’s all.”
    The unamused little smile returned to Graves’s face. “Think of it this way. We’ve got them close. We can monitor their investigation. Lead them where we want them to go. We would have had to deal with them sooner or later. Now we deal with them sooner. The end result is the same.”
    Wyman stewed in silence for a moment. Graves waited him out. Prador knew Graves would get what he wanted. He had them both by the short hairs.
    “All right,” Wyman said. “But I don’t like this.”
    “I suppose we’ll just have to live with that.”
    He crossed to the door, clearly done with this meeting.
    “It’s time to show some sack, boys,” Graves said. “They came to us. When you think about it, it’s almost a gift.”
    As soon as Graves was gone, Wyman stood up straight again. He pointed at Prador. “I want to make sure you understand what’s at stake here. This isn’t just your career. This isn’t getting hauled in front of Congress to testify, then moving on to a book deal and a talk show. You screw this up, and the next time you see your name in print it’ll be in an obituary.”
    Prador just nodded. Wyman glared a few more seconds, and then left as well.
    Alone once more, Prador opened his desk drawer and grabbed the first bottle he found. He popped it open, but nothing came out. He checked the label. Out of refills on the Xanax. He’d have to call his doctor again. And while he was at it, he needed more Klonopin, and Ativan. He was almost out of Zoloft, too.
    This job was getting more stressful every day.

FOUR

    MYTH #8: There is a subterranean archive center underneath the National Mall.
     
    FACT: The Smithsonian’s storage facilities are mostly located in Suitland, Maryland.
     
    BACKSTORY: The notion that a labyrinthine network of storage space exists beneath the Smithsonian museums, under the National Mall, may have started with Gore Vidal’s novel The Smithsonian Institution and was most recently