by AD Starrling
‘—I repeat, Chancellor Dressler has been admitted to the UKB, the emergency trauma center in Berlin,’ the man blurted out in German, his pale face shining in the studio spotlights. English subtitles flashed at the bottom of the window. The background image showed the exterior of a large hospital. ‘The chancellor’s armored Audi A8 was damaged by a rocket-propelled grenade launched from an unidentified vehicle as it left Bellevue Palace, the official residence of President Hoefler. The two leaders had been holding an emergency meeting after reports that the US president had been injured during as assassination attempt—’
‘Oh God,’ whispered Donaghy, her hand rising to her lips. Lewis gripped the seat next to her with white-knuckled fingers. Petersen and Franklin walked through the door behind them and stopped dead in their tracks.
The third news channel broadcaster’s voice swelled above the frozen stillness that shrouded the chamber just as Westwood stormed inside the Sit Room with a horde of bodyguards.
‘—Russian President Gorokhov has been shot in the head by a member of his own Security Service,’ the woman was saying. She could barely mask the distress in her trembling voice. The camera feed behind her displayed pictures of the exterior of the Kremlin. ‘The officer, named as one Sergei Bortnik, took his own life seconds after the incident by ingesting a powerful poison that killed him instantly. President Gorokhov is currently having emergency surgery—’
‘Enough!’ bellowed Westwood. He placed his hands palms down on the table and leaned forward rigidly. ‘Mute them all!’
The communications analyst pressed a key on the remote control, his hand quivering. The news channels fell silent.
A muscle throbbed in Westwood’s cheek. ‘I’ve just heard from France and China,’ he announced in the sudden hush. ‘The French president and the general secretary of the Chinese Communist Party have just narrowly escaped assassination attempts on their lives.’
‘Holy shit,’ Anatole murmured, his eyes glued to the videos playing across the monitor. The information streaming across the remaining news channels confirmed the president’s words.
Westwood glanced at the immortal. ‘Yes, “holy shit” indeed,’ he commented darkly.
Connelly ran a hand through her hair. Her skin was waxy, her expression distracted. ‘What the hell is going on, James?’
Westwood ignored his Director of National Intelligence and turned to Conrad.
‘This investigation has just taken on a whole new meaning,’ he said. ‘The timing of these incidents cannot be a coincidence.’ His face grew shuttered. ‘Your people are going to be assisting the authorities on the ground in Europe and Asia.’
Conrad stirred, still struggling to come to grips with the events unfolding around the globe. His stomach dropped as the meaning behind the president’s words sank in. The immortal societies were being caught up in the conflict.
‘Under Victor?’ he asked Westwood.
‘Yes. And the head of the other group.’
Conrad frowned. He didn’t know whether to be pleased or alarmed at the news of the Crovirs’ involvement in the situation.
‘Who are you talking about?’ said the NSA agent. He flushed slightly at the president’s expression. ‘I mean, who is this…group you mentioned, sir?’
Connelly regained some color and glared at the man. ‘It’s nothing you should concern yourself with, Franklin!’
‘It’s all right, Sarah.’ Westwood scrutinized the members of the task force gathered in the room. ‘I’m truly grateful for all the hard work you people are doing. However, there are some things best left unsaid.’ He hesitated. ‘We have powerful allies working with us on this matter.’ His eyes flickered to Conrad and his voice hardened. ‘For the sake of our national security, their identity must remain a secret.’
The agents exchanged wary glances in the uneasy silence that followed. Conrad suppressed a sigh. The covert participation of immortals in the investigation would undoubtedly complicate things. Gaining his team’s trust after this was not going to be easy.
‘Sir, we think we’ve identified the assassin who shot you,’ said Laura.
Westwood stiffened. ‘Show me.’
Laura signaled to the communications assistant. ‘Pull up the feeds we sent from the FedEx Field.’
The man punched some keys on the computer in front of him. One of the sidewall monitors lit up. The recording from a security camera started to play across the screen. It showed a crowded concourse inside the FedEx Field.
‘Roll forward to six minutes before the president was shot,’ Laura ordered.
The monochrome images blurred and the time on the film counter accelerated. It soon dropped back to normal.
‘Zoom in on the top left corner,’ said Laura.
The image closed in on a large, curved, advertising banner next to a safety rail overlooking the road encircling the stadium. Standing next to it was a young woman in an usher’s uniform. Though the picture was grainy, Conrad made out long, dark hair framing her face and spilling past her slim shoulders. She was handing out what looked like pamphlets to the Redskins fans strolling past her. A minute later, she turned and disappeared around the banner.
The counter ticked down the time. Though the camera feed carried no sound, Conrad could tell exactly when the fatal shot was fired by the way the people on the concourse suddenly froze in their tracks and hunched over protectively. He saw Westwood blanch out of the corner of his eye.
Half a minute passed before the woman stepped out from the cover of the stand. She had a sports cap on her head and had changed into running shorts and a Redskins jersey. There were several tubular, pale objects in her hands. She joined the mass of people fleeing down the concourse and tossed the items she was holding on the ground.
‘Freeze it!’ barked Laura.
The camera stilled on a relatively clear shot of the woman’s face. Anatole swore and took an involuntary step forward.
‘What?’ said Laura.
‘It’s her,’ Anatole said in clipped tones.
Conrad’s nails bit into his palms as he stared at the picture of the president’s killer. His instincts had been right.
‘It’s who?’ Laura asked with a puzzled frown.
Anatole indicated the opposite wall, where a screen portrayed the still of the woman captured by the security camera in the motorcycle store in Arlington.
‘That’s the suspect Conrad and I just chased from the holding facility in Arlington,’ the immortal responded darkly. ‘We think she poisoned the assassin Conrad captured at the stadium.’
Shocked murmurs erupted around the room.
‘It’s the same woman.’ Anatole’s lips thinned in a grim line. ‘She got away from us.’
Westwood’s troubled gaze swung between Anatole and Conrad. ‘Is the prisoner dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Anatole’s eyes darted to Conrad for a split second. ‘We couldn’t help.’
‘Damn,’ muttered Lewis.
‘That’s a pity,’ said Petersen. The Homeland Security agent shook his head ruefully.
Anger clouded Westwood’s features. ‘We have got to find these people!’ he spat. He looked at Connelly. ‘I’m raising the National Terrorism threat to imminent and ordering the FAA to ground all domestic and international flights. The US Border Patrol is being placed on high alert. As of now, the United States is in lockdown.’
Several of the assembled agents inhaled sharply at this news. The Director of National Intelligence rose and leaned across the table, her palms flat on the polished surface as she faced down her commander-in-chief.
‘James, do you realize what this will do to the country?’ Connelly asked in a strained voice.
‘She’s right,’ Conrad told the president. The immortal masked his growing anxiety behind an even tone.
‘You’re playing right into their hands if you do this.’
Westwood looked between the two of them. ‘Do you see any other option?’ he challenged.
Conrad and Connelly exchanged troubled glances.
‘No,’ the immortal muttered at the same time that the Director of National Intelligence shook her head in a defeated gesture. ‘They’ve set the rules of this game—for the time being,’ he added.
Westwood exhaled sharply. ‘Let me know if you find anything that could be useful to the other governments who have suffered at the hands of these criminals. Although some of them are not our NATO allies, we appear to have a common enemy at present. It’s in all our interests to bring down this adversary.’ He pulled a face. ‘I’m returning to the Oval Office to field the queue of calls no doubt awaiting me.’
Everyone breathed more easily once the president left the room with his retinue of guards.
Conrad ran a hand through his disheveled hair and turned to Laura. ‘Did you find anything else at the stadium?’ he said, irritation sharpening his voice.
A flicker of what looked like concern darted in her eyes before she nodded. Conrad blinked and wondered whether he had imagined the emotion.
‘We think we caught another picture of the woman when she was leaving the grounds,’ said Laura. ‘We lost all traces of her beyond that, although we did find her FedEx Field ID and uniform.’ A trace of bitterness underscored her voice. ‘The badge was a fake.’
She turned to the communications assistant at the Sit Room console. ‘Bring up the next feed.’
The clip that appeared on the monitor showed a panicked crowd fleeing across a parking lot to the west of the stadium. Laura guided the agent controlling the video to zoom in on a quadrant of the screen.
The shot closed on the back of a hazy figure wearing a Redskins jersey, running shorts, and a cap. They followed the silhouette’s convoluted path through the press of bodies until it disappeared from view.
‘We haven’t worked out how she got away yet,’ said Laura, her frustration evident in the creases of her brow.
Conrad stared at the clip. His eyes unfocused slightly as he recalled the map he had seen on the student’s tablet in the coffeehouse on H Street NW earlier that day. He couldn’t help but feel that they were missing something.
‘Where is that exactly?’ he said.
The communications assistant turned and typed on a keyboard. A satellite image of the FedEx Field appeared next to the frozen image.
Conrad tilted his head. ‘Zoom out.’
The man pressed another key. The stadium shrank until D.C. appeared on the screen.
The immortal studied the monitor for some time. His heart sank when he spotted their mistake. ‘We were watching the roads, airports, and train stations, right?’
Laura straightened at his dismayed tone. Her eyes swung between his face and the map. ‘Yes. You heard Woods give the orders.’
‘We missed something big,’ said Conrad leadenly.
‘What?’ she demanded.
He sighed. ‘It’s staring us right in the face.’
They all scrutinized the screen.
‘Ah,’ said Anatole. His face brightened. ‘The river.’
‘Yes, the river,’ Conrad concurred amidst a storm of perturbed murmurs.
Laura gripped the back of a chair tightly, her nails digging into the leather. ‘Shit! She must have jogged the five miles to the Anacostia!’
Connelly blew out an angry sigh. ‘How the hell did we miss that?’
Conrad looked at the Director of National Intelligence. ‘Any chance our satellites may have captured a shot of a boat on the water?’ he asked in clipped tones.
Connelly’s scowling gaze switched from the monitor to him. ‘It’s worth a shot,’ she said with a curt nod. ‘Get the NGA on the line and see if any of the satellites covering the area around Washington this morning caught something,’ she instructed the Sit Room communications assistant. The agent picked up the telephone receiver and started to dial a number.
Conrad turned to the other agencies’ leads as they waited. ‘You got anything for us?’
‘Homeland is flying the body of the guy from the plane crash across from Manaus as we speak,’ said Petersen gruffly.
‘Good,’ the immortal murmured.
‘We’ve got our people at the FBI’s forensics lab in Quantico examining the guns and bullets the killers used at the FedEx Field,’ said Lewis. ‘The weapon Agent Hartwell retrieved from the stadium is en route to Virginia.’
Laura made a face. ‘Chances are they won’t find any prints on it.’
Conrad arched an eyebrow questioningly.
‘It looks like she wiped down everything at the scene,’ Laura explained. She shrugged. ‘Even if there are any, they’re bound to be fakes.’
Conrad looked at Donaghy.
‘NSA and CIA haven’t detected any obvious patterns in the intelligence data we’ve gathered so far,’ said the CIA agent, glancing at Franklin. ‘Nothing that’s screaming assassination plot at us yet anyway.’ The woman hesitated and bit her lip. ‘However...’
‘What is it?’ said Laura with a frown.
Donaghy ran a hand through her hair, her face projecting unease. ‘I picked up on something strange.’
Conrad turned to face her fully, his curiosity aroused. ‘Strange how?’
‘It’s to do with some unusual disappearances in the criminal underworld. Several prominent warlords and cartel leaders have vanished off the face of the planet in the last twenty months, along with the substantial troops under their command,’ the CIA agent explained. ‘We’re not just talking South America here, but also Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. We have no idea as to why or how this has happened.’ She sighed. ‘The whole thing has been a goddamned puzzle for the international intelligence communities. We’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘It’s true,’ Franklin said with a nod. ‘Intel on the ground has been unusually slow as well. We’ve lost contact with several of our sources.’
Conrad furrowed his brow as he digested this enigmatic information, uncertain whether it bore any relevance to their current predicament.
Footsteps sounded at the door. An FBI agent rushed into the room.
‘I’ve got some news!’ the woman announced breathlessly. ‘We found a strand of hair in the helmet the suspect abandoned at the airport.’
Excited murmurs broke out among the assembled agents.
Conrad tried not to let the sudden thrill get to him. ‘Good work,’ he said tersely. ‘Get it analyzed straightaway.’
The woman made for the bank of phones on the other side of the room; with stringent Sit Room restrictions in place, none of them were allowed to use mobile devices inside the emergency operations center.
The immortal stilled as another thought came to him. ‘Speaking of which, I would get your forensic examiner to look at the blood chemistry of the prisoner who died in Arlington,’ he told Lewis with a tiny frown. ‘The poison used to kill him was pretty unique.’
Lewis raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘I’d bet my life on it.’
He ignored Stevens’s perturbed expression and looked at the monitor at the head of the room. International news channels were still playing across the screen.
‘It might be interesting to compare notes with the Russians,’ Conrad added reflectively. ‘The bodyguard who shot their president also used a poison to kill himself.’
A phone rang loudly, startling everyone. The communications assistant took the call. He listened for a couple of seconds and looked over at Conrad. ‘It’s for you.’
Surprise shot through the immortal. He crossed the floor and took the receiver from the man’s grasp. ‘Hello?’
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‘You guys got anything yet?’ said Victor Dvorsky at the other end of the line.
‘We have a couple of leads,’ Conrad replied. He turned to face the wall and cupped the mouthpiece in his hand. He briefed the Bastian leader on the events of the last three hours in a low voice. ‘What’s going on at your end?’ he asked finally.
‘The Bastian Councils just met,’ said Victor.
Conrad frowned at the noble’s somber tone.
‘There are some in our ranks who feel our enemies of old may still be behind this,’ Victor continued. A sigh travelled over the connection. ‘The Crovir First Council has vehemently denied any involvement in these incidents. I believe them.’
Conrad rubbed the back of his neck. He was aware of Anatole and Laura hovering close by, their faces puzzled. ‘You talked to Reznak,’ he murmured into the mouthpiece.
Dimitri Reznak was a Crovir noble and a member of the Crovir First Council. Along with a small group of influential Bastian and Crovir immortals which included Victor and Roman Dvorsky, he spent several decades of the latter half of the fourteenth century instituting an aggressive campaign to end the war that had consumed the immortal races for several millennia. Since he hated being in the limelight, he had chosen to keep the instrumental role he played in the final talks that resulted in the peace treaty a secret. It was therefore hardly unsurprising that Victor Dvorsky and he were good friends.
Conrad thought back to the couple of occasions when he had met the man. Whereas Victor projected a visible aura of strength and authority that marked him as the natural-born leader he was, Dimitri Reznak had come across as relaxed and amiable. Conrad had not been fooled; he suspected the Crovir noble was a sleeping lion who would bare his fangs if the situation called for it.
‘Yes, I did,’ Victor admitted presently. ‘Dimitri is convinced the Crovirs have nothing to do with this.’ Tension lowered the pitch of his voice. ‘I’m attending a special meeting of the UN Security Council tonight, along with the current leader of the Crovirs. We have to convince the humans that the immortals are not behind this. Both the Bastians and the Crovirs are sending agents to assist the local investigators in Europe and Asia.’
