by D C Young
“Wow, that’s handy,” Maestro mused. “Your own private guard and army all wrapped into one! Aren’t you the clever one,” he said, meaning it as a gentle dig.
The older man didn’t take it as it was meant. He beamed with pride, then reached over and covered one of Maestro’s hands with his own thin, bony one. “Thank you for saying so, Son. You don’t mind if I think of you as mine son, do you? All of my relatives are long gone, you know. And although I care for my natives, they aren’t the same as we are, of course. They can’t be.”
Maestro got it. Of course the ancient Toban genealogy was nothing like that of the Aryans. Lucky for the Tobans, Maestro thought privately. Being the modern Californian that he was, Maestro didn’t care much for that kind of thinking but he’d never do or say anything to indicate otherwise to Mengele. Oh, no! He’d go along with it until the doctor managed to extract whatever he needed to make them both young again. That Mengele would succeed was never a question in Maestro’s mind. The only real question was how long it would take, once the right creature had been located and brought to the jungle.
***
Back in Fullerton, Maestro immediately hired several historians to comb through folk stories throughout Europe for tales of those who couldn’t die or had an eternal life. But nearly six months passed before there was a report of an old Russian folk story that seemed to be a perfect fit.
This ancient Russian tale had been around for more than 400 years. It was about the royal Russian Romanov family. A certain Alexei Romanov took power in the mid 1600s, when he was only 16 years old. Russia was at peace during his reign, something unusual for them. Rene, a historian who’d stumbled across the story, added that Alexei was known to have died at 46, though how he died remained a mystery. Russia was thrown into turmoil and war after Alexei’s death. From that came the Russian fable about a good and kind Tsar who vanished when Russia was finally at peace, and who would return at the time of the Motherland’s greatest need.
It was very close to what Maestro and Mengele had considered a good possibility in that Alexei Romanov had never officially died, so Maestro hired detectives to find any current Romanov descendants and their locations. He’d inform Mengele when he had real information to impart.
Results immediately began to pour in. It seemed that the Romanovs were prolific pro-creators and had been for the past 400 years! Members of the family were scattered all over the globe. Maestro had a bit of difficulty explaining his needs to the detectives, without admitting that he was looking for a Romanov who’d never really died. Ultimately he let on that he was researching a fiction novel, but he wanted as much veracity as possible. So he needed a Romanov who’d never been officially declared dead.
The results dried up to nearly nothing. Maestro was downhearted when two weeks passed without so much as a single email, but then it was Rene, the historian, who struck Romanov gold once again.
She was used to tracking down family members and creating family trees—of course she had resources that the detectives didn’t. One such was an official family tree site, one with tons of virtual data on nearly every family name. The Romanovs had their own entire section.
From forums linked to that site, Rene had learned of two very wealthy, very reclusive Romanovs who lived not 30 miles from Fullerton! They lived in the luxurious, exclusive hills above Los Angeles, to be exact. There were no tax records, utility bills, financial statements available; none of the usual things she could confirm an identity with. In fact, hardly any mail seemed to be delivered to the address. It was immigration records that led her to the mansion called Elysium House in the Hollywood Hills. Alexei Romanov and his sister, Anastasia lived about twenty miles from her employer’s Fullerton mansion. Rene promptly sent the information to Maestro, asking if that was the sort of thing that would work in his novel.
“Yes, Rene! It’s absolutely perfect. And the location is amazing. It’s only a few minutes by car from where I live. Thank you so much! But please don’t stop your efforts. Who knows, you may locate a Romanov better suited to my story.” He doubted that, privately.
This ‘Alexei Romanov’, who even sported the same name as his famous royal ancestor, seemed like a perfect match. He set one of his detectives on Alexei to learn more about the man. And the information he received was indeed a wonder.
Alexei had round the clock security provided by a company known to use any means necessary to protect their primaries. That alone sent up a red flag. Exclusive surroundings, seemingly limitless resources, excessive security? Where could such a nondescript man, with no obvious means of acquiring his wealth, be getting that kind of funding and protection from? And why? There was only one way to find out. The next afternoon, Maestro was ensconced in the back seat of a limo. His destination: El Cajon.
Chapter Thirteen
“First, accept sadness. Realize that without losing, winning isn’t so great.”
—Alyssa Milano
Both Samantha Moon and Veronica Melbourne quickly came to the realization that it would be best for all involved if they just agreed to work together to retrieve Alexei. Where Sam had her own version of an obligation to the Council, Veronica had her own responsibility as well. Julia Agrippina and the Immortal Council had given Veronica meaning and a direction in life when she’d needed it most. Truth be told, she had been spiraling out of control by the time she’d met Rand and her new ‘family’ had provided the stability and support she’d needed most at the time.
For a little over a year, she’d been almost fully assigned to Anastasia and Alexei. The two had bonded with her greatly during the episode with Set. In fact, it had been the siblings who’d delivered the golden gun to her that night at The Beast restaurant in Calabasas and that incident had incited a string of adventures for her.
Though far less combative, Samantha’s own investigations mirrored Veronica’s in nature. She attended to the matters of the undead as well as the living and her expertise was most useful when those worlds collided. Apparently, that happened a lot in L.A.
Must be the goddamn heat! Sam heard Veronica mutter under her breath.
Veronica held her head straight focusing through the windscreen of the minivan but Sam spotted a smile playing on her lips.
“I think what we need to do is start by having a talk with Ana,” Veronica finally said.
Sam agreed instantly.
“Yeah. The two of them have that telepathic bond. He called to her when he was abducted. There could be more in what he said than she realized if she doesn’t know how to interpret it or can’t tell if it’s even important.”
“Exactly, what I was thinking.”
“You know, from time to time, I get a link like that with someone and when we get to talking it can be very annoying to anyone else in the room who’s trying to get in on the conversation.”
“I know right.”
Yeah, it was true. Veronica did remind Sam of Tammy…just a little bit.
At Elysium, the two investigators took Anastasia downstairs into the vast library where they could be guaranteed some quiet and privacy. Veronica let her lay down on one of the long velvet-covered reading couches and placed a pillow beneath her head.
“Anastasia, Sam is going to give you some very specific instructions that I want you to follow. Just listen to the sound of her voice and concentrate on the things she tells you to. I need you to do what she says so we can try to find out what happened to Alexei.
At the sound of his name, tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks. Veronica lovingly wiped them away, then signaled to Sam to start the questioning.
It didn’t take long at all, Ana’s recollection was pristine. She remembered everything exactly as it had happened the day when her brother was taken and every word he said to her in their telepathic exchange.
She was calmly reciting the events and following Sam’s gentle probes to clarify or expand on certain parts when suddenly Anastasia jolted repeatedly as if she were having an epileptic attack.
&n
bsp; “Hold her down, Veronica! She’s making a connection right now but it’s too weak and she’s too determined. I have to help her.”
Sam shouted instructions to Veronica then took Ana’s hands in hers and began letting some of her energy flow into the vampire girl to boost her telepathy. Soon Ana was talking rapidly as if she were reading from a script. The information was patchy but it was promising. Soon Sam realized that she was actually reciting what she was being told.
They held on to the connection as long as they could and when it finally broke they had a bit of new, usable information: the man who’d kidnapped Alexei was called Maestro and he tracked them to L.A. from their retreat in the desert. He lived in L.A. too and he got his information about Alexei’s trip to Romania from the security guards one night in a bar in Fairway. He set up the ambush on the way to LAX and captured her brother.
The last thing that Alexei told Ana before they lost each other was a name. He told her who was hurting him, a man called Dr. Mengele.
***
The bar was filled with loud, raucous locals who were either drunk or well on their way to that condition. Maestro understood all too well. What else did they have to do? Get drunk, get laid, go back to work. What else was life good for in the desert? There was one other thing, of course, gossip. And nothing got the gossip gooses gaggling like more alcohol.
He settled himself in beside a man at the end of the bar. He seemed to be the kind of local patron that would be a staple in that kind of an establishment…and he was right. All it took was a hello and a round of drinks to get ‘Ol’ Petey’ talking.
“Seen any strangers… ummm, tourists come in here recently?” Maestro asked, picking his words carefully.
“Actually, now that you mention it. Yeah, I have.”
There was a pause in which Petey returned his attention to his beer.
“Okay. Ummm, what kinda tourists?”
“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Petey said as if he’d just been beaten awake. “Bout three nights in a row now there’s been twelve or so guys, all dressed in black, come in here for a drink.”
“You notice anything strange about these guys?”
“Yeah.”
There was another pause as Petey kept on drinking. Maestro sighed, on the brink of losing his patience with the old man’s drunken inability to keep up with the conversation.
“What did you notice, Petey?”
“That’s it. That’s what’s strange. They come in here and have a drink. Not a couple, nor a pitcher of beer. One drink each, then they’re gone.”
“Really? Twelve guys in black, huh?”
“Yup. How I heard it was they’s Secret Service or something; protection for some big honcho on holiday over at that fancy hotel in El Cajon.”
“Interesting stuff. You said they have been in here three nights in a row? When do you think they’ll get here?”
“Should be in anytime now! Here! Have another small shot while we wait.” A thin arm poured a shot so full it overran the glass and poured down the sides.
Never one to pass up good whiskey, Maestro tossed it back and bared his teeth.
When the door to the bar swung open several minutes later, Maestro struggled to see the men who entered amidst a blizzard of swirling sand. Once they were at the counter, though, he got a good look. Black jacket and pants? Check. White button down dress shirt and black ties? Check. Nice, big semi-automatic pistol popping into view whenever one of their jackets slid open? Check!
The men were friendly enough, especially to two old men getting plastered at a bar, especially, when one was just passing through the village. It didn’t take much effort from Maestro to have the men relaxing a little more than they ought to and eventually drinking a lot more than they should. The conversation became light and flowed easily the more the men slipped into the moment and soon he had the answers to every question he asked.
A few hours later, he’d gotten everything he’d came looking for, but just so he didn’t draw too much attention to himself, he finished his beer and then poured one last shot of whiskey. He paid the bill, said his goodbyes to Petey, then walked out of the bar and got back into the Jeep.
Before he started the engine, he took out his phone and pressed the ‘Redial’ button. The call was to Mengele to inform him that Alexei Romanov was presently wrapping up a desert holiday but he was due to leave California on a flight to Romania in just about eleven hours.
***
It was hell trying to get all of the Romanov’s security detail together in one room, it was even more difficult to get them to talk. And from the guilty looks on their faces, it was going to be even more difficult to get the truth out of them.
Veronica sat on the edge of the table at the front of the room and looked down at the twelve men seated in front of her.
“Boys,” she started, “I’m going to make things very clear and very simple, because that is how I like things. Very clear and very simple. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in chorus.
Samantha leaned in and whispered in Veronica’s ear. “It looks like you’ve got this under control so I’m gonna go outside and make a call to our girl-in-blue. See if we can’t get the cops to track this asshole down.”
“Good idea. I’ve got this.”
Veronica turned back to look at the security guards and after a long silence she asked them one question.
“When you were in El Cajon, who did you meet that seemed a little too friendly and what did you tell him?”
Outside the room, Samantha pulled her cell phone from her pocket and looked up Detective Hanner’s number. When the police woman answered the phone, Sam quickly explained to her what was going on and ran down the events that had led them to coming up with Meastro’s name as the prime subject.
Hanner seemed satisfied with what she’d heard. It was going to be a difficult situation to navigate, but she promised that she would get the A.P.B. out, somehow.
Samantha was grateful; she more than anyone, understood the fine line Hanner had to walk everyday being both a vampire and an officer of the law. There were just always going to be situations where it wouldn’t do to sit on the fence. On those days, you had to make the hard choices.
Chapter Fourteen
“Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.”
—Thomas A. Edison
Mengele leapt into action. They’d never be able to find him again if he got to Romania, so he decided they would have to intercept the target somewhere between the Hollywood Hills and LAX. He would leave that decision to his team’s commander. The team of hand-picked Indians would have to pluck Alexei out of the grasp of his security detail and get him into containment without being detected.
As the Indians hopped a flight to California, Mengele was making plans for their return. This wouldn’t be an easy snatch; not in a city like L.A. and more so in such a large, busy airport; most definitely, not when the target was surrounded by a crack security team. But he had laid out a flawless plan and he knew it, the only variable was where Jorge would decide to make the attack. That choice was solely his as he was the one who had to decide what would work best in the situation.
All he had to do was to wait for his team to land in Los Angeles, conduct the route sweep, then they would call him to let him know the location of the attack and he would give them their orders. They would have nearly more two hours to further prepare before Alexei would depart the house for the airport.
Finally, the expected call came in, and Mengele delivered his orders as rapidly and concisely as possible. His team leader grunted assent and hung up.
If Mengele had had any other team on the ground in LAX he’d have been legitimately worried about their success, but not this team. He’d hand-picked these kids before they were 8 years old, and their training had begun then. They were highly-trained adults, their bodies capable of performing at peak efficiently.
As he
paced, awaiting that all-important call, confirming or denying their success at snatching the elusive Alexei, Mengele realized exactly how important that one step was to the overall success of their plan. Without Alexei, nothing could be accomplished. With him, everything would finally become, not only possible, but well within their reach. Mengele and Maestro would both have what their hearts most desired. That went without saying. Now, all of it was riding on that one damn call that never seemed to come!
What in the hell were those guys do…
Suddenly, the phone rang again. Mengele glanced at the screen and took a deep breath before answering.
“Speak.”
“We got the fucker, Chief!” The voice was ecstatic, and the stress left Mengele’s body so quickly that he nearly collapsed.
“Good work,” was all he said. “Did it all go as planned?”
There was a nervous laugh.
“Not exactly, but that’s not important at all. It’s done and Maestro has already re-wrapped the package and is having it shipped immediately to its final destination.”
“Jorge, you haf done vell,” Mengele said with rare feeling. “Your story can vait until you are all safely home.”
“Sooner the better,” the nervous voice said and hung up.
Mengele grinned and made one last call, to Maestro, of course. Without him, they’d not have come so far. The man was due a word of thanks and much more. Mengele’s blue eyes softened at the thought. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Maestro had become like a son to him. The son he’d never had, and would surely never have. He made the call brief.
“Maestro, I’ve just received confirmation from Jorge that everything went well. Even though you’re sending it off tonight, it should still be a few weeks before it arrives. But then, the real work will begin.”
