by AD Starrling
In that penultimate moment of consciousness, as his lips parted for what he presumed was his final gasp, something raw and hot exploded inside him. What followed was a singular moment of clarity and insight. Though it lasted seconds, the instant felt like hours to the immortal. And in that indiscernible period of suspended time, Conrad grasped what no one in his bloodline had likely perceived. He saw the unearthly lines of energy that mapped out the contours of his heart.
Before he realized what was happening, he felt his mind grasp one of the shimmering threads and pull. The next thing he knew, he was waking up on the forest floor, in the dark and the rain. Rocky was crouched on his chest and licked his face anxiously, his moist breath warming the immortal’s skin.
In the days and weeks that followed, Conrad came to understand and accept what had happened. He had no choice in the matter, for he could feel himself changing in ways he could never have anticipated. It was as if he had unlocked a door he never even knew existed. His powers were evolving. They were stronger, more focused, more...aware.
For one thing, he knew exactly how many pieces of his soul remained, not just through a normal death tally, but because he could feel them. It was as if they were extensions of his body, like his arms and legs.
The wounded jaguar was the first creature he healed after that fateful night. Conrad was amazed when he realized how much more he could sense about the creature’s injuries when he laid his hand on it. It was as if his fingertips provided a detailed 3D map for his mind, complete with directions and flashing danger signs. He also learned the precise degree to which he could fine-tune the energy he delivered into the injured jaguar’s body.
After that incident, he thought it wise to explore the evolution of his newfound abilities. With the abundance of wildlife on offer in the jungle around him, he took every opportunity he could find to practice his powers; be it sick or dying creatures, he trained until he had his skills refined to an art form, but never went as far as to give away another piece of his soul.
All this he now recounted to the attentive group inside the Roosevelt Room. He withheld the part about how he had originally attempted to end his existence. Judging by the haunted expression that dawned in Laura’s eyes, Conrad suspected she had an inkling about what had actually transpired that fateful night. Had his heart not already shattered a thousand times over in the last three centuries, he would almost have chuckled then. The one person in the world who knew him the best also loathed him the most.
‘Does this mean I’m different now?’ Westwood asked stiffly. He stared unblinkingly at Conrad. ‘I need to know if I can still carry on in my duties as Head of State. Otherwise, I’ll have to abdicate my—’
‘You’re fine,’ interrupted Conrad. ‘All I did was jumpstart your body. The piece of my soul is only there to keep you alive.’
‘Are you sure?’ demanded Westwood.
Conrad studied the president closely. He sensed there was more behind the question than a simple need for reassurance. ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’
Westwood hesitated. ‘Because I can feel you.’
Conrad went still. ‘What do you mean?’
Westwood looked like he was choosing his next words carefully. ‘I knew a set of twins when I was growing up. They always claimed to know exactly where the other was or if the other one got injured. It’s like that, except...different.’ His eyes never moved from Conrad’s face. ‘Before I came into this room, I knew you were here. Not because I was told.’ He faltered. ‘I could sense it. It was as if you were a radio beacon and I was homing in on your signal.’
Conrad blinked and straightened in his seat. The shock of Westwood’s revelation resonated through him.
‘I didn’t know that,’ he said slowly. He recalled the pain he had felt in his chest when he and Rocky had parted, and how the ache had slowly faded over the past two days. ‘It gets better with time, I think. Still, it should have no influence on your abilities to act as Head of State.’
‘A goddamned dog,’ Anatole muttered under his breath. ‘Un-freakin’ believable.’
Conrad ignored his old friend’s comment and studied the figures around the table. He caught the looks dawning on the faces of his former mentor and the president, and rose to his feet.
‘Well, I think my work here is done,’ he said briskly. He glanced at Laura and turned to Westwood. ‘Your agents have the envelope I retrieved from the plane. The bodies of the pilot and the third assassin are with the medical examiner in Manaus. I hope you find the people responsible for this.’
He walked toward the exit and had just closed his fingers on the door handle when Westwood and Victor spoke simultaneously.
‘Stop!’ they barked.
Conrad closed his eyes. Shit. Almost made it.
Chapter Ten
Nadica Rajkovic climbed over the gunwale of the custom-made Zodiac RIB and stepped onto the side dock of a sleek super yacht. The two crewmen waiting to maneuver the inflatable back into its storage space on the upper level of the seventy-five-foot, diesel-powered vessel bowed their heads respectfully when she walked past. Nadica ignored them and climbed the passerelle to the port walkway. She followed the teak-laid passage to the main deck aft.
A woman dressed in a flawless, white pantsuit stood in front of the railing that overlooked the swimming platform at the stern of the yacht. Beyond it, foam-tipped waves rippled across the dark blue waters of Chesapeake Bay. She was gazing out over the estuary, her red-nailed fingers resting lightly on the steel bar. Nadica removed her sunglasses and studied the silent figure.
Ariana Rajkovic’s profile was a work of beauty that Nadica never tired of contemplating. With her pale complexion and natural rose-cheeked tint, the older woman’s face was as unblemished as in the first memories Nadica could recall of her. Long, curved lashes graced eyes she knew were an identical smoky gray to hers. Below the Grecian nose, her plump, bow-shaped lips could curve in a heart-stopping smile, or just as easily compress in a tight line of fury.
Nadica crossed the deck and planted a soft kiss on the woman’s velvety cheek.
Ariana turned. ‘It is done?’ she said, her fingers unconsciously clenching on the railing.
‘Yes, Ama,’ Nadica replied with a dutiful nod. ‘He’s dead.’
Satisfaction flared in Ariana’s eyes and her shoulders visibly relaxed. She raised a hand to the back of Nadica’s head, pulled her forward, and pressed her lips to her brow.
‘Well done, child,’ she murmured. ‘Come. Sit.’
Nadica removed her cap and shook out her hair. She shrugged off the Redskins jersey covering her running shorts and T-shirt, and curled up on one of the overstuffed, padded seats that lined the gunwale. Ariana joined her and wrapped her arm around Nadica’s shoulders. They leaned into each other.
‘No one saw you?’ Ariana asked.
‘No,’ Nadica replied. Her fingers rose unconsciously to touch the amulet at the base of her throat. To any onlookers, the two of them would have looked like sisters.
There was a noise from the opposite end of the deck. Nadica turned her head and saw the doors to the main salon slide open. A man walked out, a cell phone in hand. His face visibly brightened when he saw her.
‘Nadica,’ he said in a husky voice. He headed toward them.
‘Hello, brother.’ Nadica rose and hugged the man.
Zoran Rajkovic stepped back, his arms looped loosely around her waist. A smile broke across his tanned, sculptured face, and an amulet identical to hers gleamed at the opening of his shirt. ‘I’m glad to see you made it back safely.’
‘I will always return to you,’ said Nadica, her lips curving in an answering grin. An achingly familiar, age-old love blossomed inside her chest as she beheld her brother’s handsome features. There was no one else she cherished more in this world than her older sibling. She would do a
nything for him.
The sudden blare of a phone broke the comfortable silence between them.
‘Excuse me,’ said Zoran. He touched the screen of his cell and brought it to his ear. ‘Rajkovic here.’ A frown dawned on his face as he listened to words she could not hear.
Nadica went still in his embrace.
‘Okay,’ said Zoran finally. A muscle quivered in his cheek. ‘Find out where they took the prisoner and keep me updated.’ He ended the call abruptly.
‘What’s wrong?’ Nadica asked in the taut hush that ensued.
‘You said you killed him when you called.’ Zoran’s voice was smooth and controlled. His hand dropped from her waist.
Ariana straightened in her seat. ‘Nadica?’
‘I did,’ Nadica retorted, her voice hardening. ‘It was a perfect shot. There’s no way Westwood could have survived it.’
Zoran’s hand tightened around the cell. ‘That was our source. Although it’s yet to be officially announced, the president was discharged from the hospital an hour ago.’ His slate-gray eyes glittered dangerously. ‘He walked out of the building.’
‘That’s impossible!’ snapped Nadica. ‘I saw the bullet strike him. It was a lethal wound!’
‘Are you sure, child?’ interjected Ariana. The older woman’s lips were pursed in a pale line.
‘Yes, Ama.’ Nadica’s nails dug into her palms. ‘I swear on our bloodline,’ she hissed.
The yacht’s twin diesel engines rumbled into life in the frozen stillness.
‘If that’s the case, then something is very wrong,’ Ariana finally said, her features set in a steely mask. ‘We need to find out how the president survived Nadica’s shot.’ She glanced between the two siblings. ‘We cannot let this interfere with the rest of our plans.’ She focused on Zoran. ‘Is everything else proceeding according to schedule?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Our operations are almost complete. The agents in Europe and Asia should be reporting back to me in the coming hours.’
‘The devices will be ready in the next few days,’ added Nadica. ‘I’ll personally be taking delivery of them.’
‘Good.’ Ariana turned and looked out over the water. The yacht was underway. White backwash foamed in its wake as it powered smoothly toward the Atlantic. ‘It would have been better if President Westwood had died today,’ she said stonily. ‘Still, if we are successful, he will be more vulnerable in the days that will follow. We’ll have another chance to get rid of him.’
‘Yes, Ama,’ said Nadica through gritted teeth. ‘I will not fail you again.’
Lines creased Zoran’s brow. ‘We should take care of our hired help. Even if he doesn’t know enough to implicate us, I don’t like loose ends.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ said Nadica.
‘Take the helicopter,’ ordered Zoran. ‘I’ll phone the location through to you.’
Nadica went to her cabin for a change of clothes and headed toward the super yacht’s landing pad.
A hundred miles away, Conrad froze with his hand on the door of the Roosevelt Room.
‘Get back here,’ commanded Westwood.
‘Sit down,’ ordered Victor.
The immortal hung his head and examined the fine wood grain in front of him. He contemplated the likelihood of evading the hordes of US Secret Service agents currently inside the White House.
Laura could still read him. ‘Your chances are zero, Greene,’ she scoffed.
Conrad cursed under his breath and returned to the table. Westwood waited until he sat down before he dropped his bombshell.
‘I want you to find out who’s behind this,’ the president declared. He observed him unwaveringly across the polished surface.
The immortal bestowed a blank look upon him in return. He wondered fleetingly whether giving the man one of his lives had done something to his brain.
‘You have a whole army of law enforcement agencies on the task right now,’ Conrad pointed out. ‘Never mind the half dozen international organizations they’re presently coordinating with. I don’t see what else I can contribute to this endeavor.’
‘You’re the one who uncovered the plot,’ said Westwood, his tone uncompromising. ‘You’re one step ahead of everyone else. Dammit, Greene, you saved my life!’ He banged his fist on the table. ‘No, you gave me back my life!’
Conrad watched Westwood steadily in the hush that followed. ‘If you really want to thank me, I’ll accept a case of beer.’
A strangled sound escaped Anatole’s lips.
‘You seem to be forgetting something.’ Victor’s dark gaze swung from Westwood to Conrad. ‘The immortals also have a vested interest in this matter. As the representative of the Bastian First Council at the UN, albeit secretly, I have a responsibility to assist the head of state of the most powerful nation on Earth, if I feel this is the right path to follow.’ His tone hardened. ‘The death of the president would have resulted in huge political unrest across the world, especially with the current volatile situation in the Middle East and with North Korea. Whoever is behind this needs to be stopped.’
Conrad tensed at the expression in the Bastian noble’s eyes.
‘I have already conferred with the other members of the Bastian First Council on this subject, and we’re all in agreement,’ Victor continued, confirming the reluctant immortal’s worst fears. ‘We want you on the investigation team.’
Conrad felt his last hope slip away. He silently cursed the fate that had brought the dead pilot of the Cessna and his passenger to his doorstep. ‘And if I refuse?’ he challenged grimly.
Victor’s lips curved in a thin, humorless smile. ‘Technically speaking, you’re a deserter, Conrad. I know you’ve been away for a while, but you remember what happens to deserters, don’t you?’
Conrad glared at the Bastian leader. He knew all too well what immortals did to those they deemed to be traitors. ‘I didn’t run away from the Bastian ranks, I just—’
‘Left your home one day and disappeared without telling your superior officer of your intentions and future whereabouts?’ Victor interrupted coldly. ‘Did you seriously think I’d count the last six decades as an extended leave of absence?’
‘You know exactly why I left!’ Conrad spat.
Victor’s eyes flickered to Laura. He remained visibly unmoved. ‘Still not good enough.’
Conrad’s hands curled into fists under the table. He had known Victor long enough to realize that his former mentor was going to use every single trick in the book to get his own way; the immortal noble’s reputation as a silver-tongued, bull-headed bastard had preceded him through the ages.
‘If I do this, we’re even,’ he finally ground out.
He felt a searing stare on his skin and looked around in time to see Laura pale. She flinched when she met his gaze and steeled her features into an aloof expression once more.
Before Conrad could fathom what the emotion was that he had glimpsed in her eyes, a knock sounded at the main door. Westwood signaled at Laura. She crossed the floor and opened it.
Connelly walked in with Woods and Sullivan in tow. The two men looked gray under their skin. They stopped just inside the room and watched the immortals guardedly, a hint of fear evident in their posture.
Woods masked his apprehension and turned to Laura. ‘Is that why you always refused the promotions I offered you?’
Laura gave him a pained look. ‘Sorry, Clint. It would have been impossible for me to accept. Only the president, the VP, and Director Connelly were aware of my background.’
Sullivan startled at her words. He turned to Westwood. ‘The vice president knows?’
‘Yes,’ acknowledged Westwood.
‘How long have there been…immortals in the service?’ Woods asked after a short lull. He could
not completely disguise his distress at the magnitude of the deception that had been played out.
‘Ever since President Kennedy’s assassination,’ Laura replied in a low voice. Her eyes moved briefly to Victor. ‘Both the Bastian and Crovir First Councils offered their protective services to the US government’s commander-in-chief, as well as other important heads of state around the world.’
‘Are there many of you working as agents?’ said Woods gruffly.
Laura shrugged and gave him a tired smile. ‘A few. We rotate out of the law enforcement agencies every ten years.’
‘Agencies?’ said Woods. Laura winced.
Westwood broke the ensuing silence.
‘I want Greene on the primary team investigating my assassination,’ he told Connelly and Sullivan. He checked himself and muttered, ‘Christ, I can’t believe I just said that. Let’s call it my attempted assassination from now on, shall we?’
Connelly’s expression grew thunderous. ‘What?’
‘Honestly, James, what the hell’s gotten into you?’ snapped Sullivan. He turned to the Director of National Intelligence. ‘Sarah, we should talk to the Cabinet about invoking Section Four of the 25th Amendment and—’
‘And what, Bill?’ interrupted Westwood. He rose and leaned forward with his palms down on the table. ‘On what grounds are you going to invoke the 25th? The Senate and the Speaker of the House will clearly see that I am more than capable of performing the duties of my office. The vice president and I will deny all knowledge about the existence of the immortals, and you will only end up looking like a goddamned fool. And don’t even think about telling them you saw me come back from the dead. That will guarantee your confinement to a psychiatric hospital.’ He stopped and straightened, his posture rigid. ‘Bill, I want to get the bastards who did this. By attacking me, they’ve declared war on the United States.’ He looked at Conrad briefly. ‘If not for Greene, I wouldn’t be here right now, and this country would be shot to hell. He’s the only one who picked up on the threat. And he traveled halfway across the world to stop it.’
