by AD Starrling
Nadica moved restlessly at her words. ‘I think we should do it anyway. A preemptive strike will show them how serious we are.’
Ariana watched the young woman for a moment. Of the last two descendants of Mustafa’s bloodline, Nadica was the one who had inherited the sadistic savagery of some of the most fearsome Ottoman rulers. Ariana was confident she had made the right choice by selecting Zoran to be the first ruler of their new empire. He possessed the same coolness of head Mustafa and Branimir had been blessed with; Nadica would make an excellent general and second in command.
‘We shall see,’ Ariana murmured finally. ‘In the meantime, I think the trial run Ridvan suggested seems more than appropriate.’
‘What of Kadir and Sahin?’ said Zoran.
‘Our lawyers should be able to get them out of French police custody,’ said Ariana. She shrugged. ‘If not, they will be more than happy to sacrifice themselves for our cause. They are devoted to their ancestry.’
Ridvan Kadir and Volkan Sahin were but two of hundreds of descendants of the original members of Mahidevran’s court in Amasya.
Zoran rose from the couch and crossed the room to a desk holding a sleek laptop. He ran his fingers over the keyboard. A digital map of the world appeared on the wall monitor. Multiple dots flashed across several continents. A third were on yellow, indicating final preparations were still in progress at those sites.
‘The most suitable target would be location 10. Though small-scale, its destruction will have an impact in terms of political and economic disruption for Central Europe.’ His lips curved in a humorless smile. ‘It will no doubt shock and scare them.’
Ariana stared at the city in question. ‘What would the estimated death toll be?’
Zoran tapped a key and studied the table hovering over the map. ‘Inside the strike zone? About four thousand to six thousand. Maybe more depending on the extent of the damage.’
Ariana pursed her lips. ‘Make the arrangements,’ she ordered after a short silence.
Nadica grinned, her eyes gleaming with savage glee.
‘Maximilian Obenhaus just sent us a picture of the ex-company director who went by the name of Zoran Rajkovic. It was taken at a social event held in Berlin several years ago.’
It was seven thirty in the evening, and the Learjet was still parked on the tarmac at Orly Airport.
‘He believes someone hacked into the Obenhaus Group’s network and erased all photographic documentation pertaining to Rajkovic from their database, including his human resources file,’ Connelly continued. She was talking to them privately from a locked cubicle inside the Sit Room. ‘He managed to find this single snapshot through a friend at a German news agency.’ A grim smile crossed the face of the Director of National Intelligence. ‘I think you’ll agree it makes for interesting viewing.’
A JPEG file materialized on the computer display next to the video link. Conrad opened it.
‘Shit,’ Anatole muttered woodenly.
Three arresting figures dressed in expensive evening wear and holding champagne glasses stood next to each other in the middle of the frame. The man in the center was tall and striking, with bronzed skin and sharply defined Slavic features dominated by piercing, slate-gray eyes. He was smiling faintly.
The two women draped on his arms were equally stunning, with ivory complexions, ruby lips, and silver eyes. They could have been sisters.
The one on the left was their suspect from the FedEx Field, Crystal City, and more recently Paris. The second woman was the seated figure who had featured in Ridvan Kadir’s childhood photograph.
Conrad clenched his jaw as he stared at the screen. The enemy finally had a face.
‘Anyone hazard a guess as to who the immortal is?’ Connelly asked in a derisive tone. ‘’Cause I sure can’t tell. From what Victor told me, the human half-breeds previously encountered by the Crovirs visibly aged by about a year for every five to ten years of real time that they actually lived. Their aging process apparently slows from the onset of adulthood.’
Conrad studied the faces in the picture. ‘It’s the woman from Ridvan Kadir’s school picture,’ he said quietly.
‘I agree,’ murmured Anatole.
‘So do I,’ said Laura.
‘How can you be so certain?’ said Connelly, her tone skeptical.
‘Her eyes are old,’ replied Conrad. ‘Only an immortal who has lived through centuries of hardship could have that look. From her appearance, I would put her at 460 to 500 years old.’ He paused. ‘She’s in the prime of her existence.’
Connelly observed him blankly for a moment. She blew out a sigh. ‘Jesus, Greene. There are times when I forget what you guys are. She doesn’t look a day older than you.’
Conrad hesitated. ‘I was born three years before Prince Mustafa’s death.’
Connelly blanched. ‘So Victor is—?’
‘A lot older and wiser than me,’ Conrad interrupted. He leaned impatiently across the table. ‘Put all their shots out to the media. Let’s see what we get. We take off for Washington within the hour.’
PART THREE: VELOCITY
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next piece of the puzzle came from an unexpected source.
Somewhere over the North Atlantic, Conrad awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and blinked groggily at Laura’s shadowy shape.
‘Hey,’ she said softly. ‘Donaghy just called. She’s got something for us.’
Conrad glanced at his watch. Three hours had passed since they left Paris. It was almost midnight, continental time.
Shortly after they lifted off, he had ordered the two immortals and the Secret Service agent to get some rest. Despite his strict instructions, it had taken him a while to drop off to sleep, his head too full of the day’s events to be able to relax. He stifled a yawn and stretched his shoulders.
Laura’s face grew thoughtful. She glanced furtively to where Anatole and Stevens slept at the rear of the cabin, grabbed the front of Conrad’s shirt, leaned down, and kissed him hard.
Conrad’s eyes slammed wide open before drooping half-closed. He made an inarticulate noise at the back of his throat, curled his fingers around her nape, and deepened the kiss.
Laura melted in his hold. ‘Okay!’ she gasped seconds later. She pulled back sharply. ‘I think you’re awake now!’
Conrad groaned and tried to quell the tide of lust sweeping through his body. ‘Shit,’ he whispered, knuckles whitening on the armrests, ‘I really want to—’
‘Trust me,’ Laura murmured, ‘nothing would give me greater pleasure than ripping your clothes off and testing out the tensile strength of this chair, but I’m afraid Harry might need therapy afterward.’ She smiled and leaned in. ‘You never were a morning person,’ she said in a throaty voice. ‘I recall having to do some terribly wicked things to wake you at times.’
Her breath in his ear raised goosebumps along his skin.
She has to be doing this deliberately, Conrad thought achingly. The playful light in her eyes was almost his undoing. He did his best to suppress the torrid memories her words evoked and crossed the aisle to the table holding the onboard computer. He brought up the White House link while she roused the two sleeping men.
‘Hi,’ said Donaghy on the screen. The CIA agent was in the seat usually occupied by the Director of National Intelligence. ‘Connelly’s upstairs with Westwood and the Joint Chiefs,’ she explained at Conrad’s questioning look. ‘Looks like DEFCON 3 is seriously on the table. The North Koreans are making some pretty aggressive tactical maneuvers in the Sea of Japan.’
Anxiety twisted through Conrad’s gut. This was the last piece of news he wished to hear.
‘Anyway, reason I’m calling is because of that little stunt Connelly and you decided to pull with the suspects’ ph
otographs.’ Donaghy grimaced. ‘You won’t believe the number of crazies coming out of the woodwork since we showed those to the media,’ the CIA agent continued in a faintly accusing tone. ‘One name came up that we felt warranted immediate attention.’ She cocked a thumb to something on her left. ‘From the big-ass digital flowchart on the wall monitor, I gathered the explosive engineering experts Connelly and you talked to earlier today mentioned a Professor Svein Hagen during their video call. Well, guess what? I have a Dawn Hagen on the line at the moment from London. She’s the professor’s only surviving child and is a physics undergrad at Imperial College. She says she has some important information for us. Seems she tried Homeland first and couldn’t get anyone to put her through. She called the White House directly in the end. We’ve run a background check. She’s the real deal.’
Conrad glanced at the two immortals and the Secret Service agent gathered around him. They looked as mystified as he felt. ‘Put her through,’ he ordered quietly.
A second link blinked open on the display. The woman occupying the center of the frame looked to be in her early twenties and sported shoulder-length blonde hair streaked with red, and a solid, blue-eyed stare. Science posters dotted the stark walls of the university lodging behind her.
‘Hi,’ said Conrad.
Dawn Hagen blinked. ‘Hello,’ she responded curtly. ‘Are you the man the CIA lady wanted me to talk to?’
‘Yes. My name is Conrad Greene.’
Dawn Hagen narrowed her eyes at the camera. ‘I saw the photographs the US government put out an hour ago. I recognize one of the women.’
Conrad’s pulse ratcheted up a notch. He leaned forward tensely. ‘Which one?’
‘Your FedEx Field suspect. I remember her from the day my family had the accident in Hawaii, eight years ago.’ Dawn Hagen’s cheeks flushed with color. ‘I was supposed to go with them on the trip we had scheduled that day, but I wasn’t feeling well and stayed back at the hotel. Bridget was going to keep me company. I insisted she go.’ A haunted look rose on her face. ‘I knew how much she wanted to see the national park.’
‘Bridget?’ asked Conrad, puzzled.
‘My twin sister,’ she replied huskily. ‘We were sixteen at the time.’ Her expression slowly hardened. ‘From the bits of conversation I heard between my father and that woman, it seemed it wasn’t the first time he had spoken to her. They had a terrible argument outside the restaurant, when we were having breakfast.’ Her lips pressed into a grim line. ‘My father was not a man who lost his temper easily, Mr. Greene. I had never seen him so angry in my life. He shouted at her to stop harassing him or he would call the police. She left the hotel right after.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘She looked like she wanted to kill him.’
Conrad studied the grave young woman for silent seconds while he recalled what Professor Akihito Itaka had said about the Strabo Corp. data.
‘Did anything related to your father’s work ever go missing at the time?’ he said finally. ‘Were there any break-ins at his lab or disturbances at your home that might have suggested somebody had tried to—?’
‘No,’ she cut in. A troubled expression clouded her features. She chewed the inside of her cheek.
‘What is it?’ Conrad prompted gently.
Dawn Hagen hesitated for a moment. She appeared to come to a decision.
‘I’ve already reported what I’m about to tell you to the authorities in the US, but they chose to ignore it,’ she said in a brittle tone. She stared unflinchingly into the laptop’s camera. ‘I have always felt that my family is still alive, Mr. Greene. Don’t ask me how; I just know they are. The psychologists who counseled me after the accident said this feeling was survivor’s guilt. A couple of years later, I was prescribed antipsychotics because they believed I was crazy.’ A muscle twitched near her jawline. She took a deep breath. ‘Thirteen months ago, I received an email from an account I didn’t recognize. It went to my junk folder and I almost deleted it. But something made me stop and open that message.’ Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Call it a sixth sense.’
‘What was in the email?’ said Conrad.
‘The first part was pretty self-explanatory. It said “We’re alive, SH, Morocco.” It was followed by three numbers.’ Dawn Hagen frowned. ‘The message was incomplete. I believe it was sent in haste.’ A bitter expression twisted her features. ‘I gave this information to the FBI and Homeland Security. They promised they would look into it. They never did.’ She moved closer to the monitor at her end, her eyes gleaming in the light reflecting off the screen. ‘That email was sent by my father, Mr. Greene. I would bet my life on it.’
Conrad stared at her, his mind racing with the possible implications of this fresh revelation.
‘I believe you,’ he said at last, his own conviction crystallizing as the words fell from his lips.
Dawn Hagen paled. Tears pooled in her eyes. She bowed her head and whispered, ‘Thank you.’
‘Can you forward that email to us?’ Conrad requested in a soft voice.
She jerked her head in a nod. Five minutes later, they were staring at the email Dawn Hagen had received.
‘She’s right,’ muttered Laura. ‘Without the complete information, we have nothing to go on.’
Stevens started pacing the cabin.
‘Do you guys really believe this stuff?’ The agent’s eyes reflected his growing incredulity. ‘That the accident in Hawaii eight years ago was somehow a fake? That this professor and his family didn’t die? I mean, why go that far? Also, what happened to his wife and daughter?’ He blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘Christ, what’s to say this girl’s not actually making this stuff up like the authorities probably suspected. She could be leading us on a wild goose chase!’
Donaghy pulled a face in the silence that followed. The CIA agent had stayed online while they spoke with Dawn Hagen. ‘He’s kinda got a point there, Greene.’
Conrad observed the two agents for silent seconds. The more he thought about it, the more what Dawn Hagen had asserted made sense. A professor in chemistry and macromolecular science with expertise in explosives engineering would be the ideal person to create a new bomb.
‘Considering what these people have done to date, it wouldn’t surprise me if they orchestrated that car crash,’ said the immortal finally. ‘Svein Hagen’s research into explosives was obviously of great interest to them. If they couldn’t persuade him to join them of his own free will, it seems logical they would resort to kidnapping him.’ He pulled a face. ‘We are after all talking about some seriously deranged minds here.’
‘From the way his daughter described his interaction with that woman, I doubt Svein Hagen would have helped them if he was on his own,’ Laura concurred. ‘But if they were holding his wife and child hostage...’
‘Still, that’s a helluva speculation,’ said Donaghy. ‘And eight years is a long time. Even if we assume your supposition to be correct, what’s to say they’re still alive?’
‘We believe the enemy we’re facing has been around for some time,’ said Conrad. He chose his words carefully; the only members of their team who knew of the immortals were Connelly and Stevens. ‘What we’re currently seeing are the key stages of a plan that may have been set in motion several decades ago.’ He bit back a sigh. ‘And you’re right, Donaghy. Dawn Hagen’s family could very well be dead. But I think they will be kept alive until the final act plays out, whatever that may be. It’s what I would do if I were in the enemy’s shoes.’
Stevens’s shoulders drooped. ‘Jesus,’ he murmured in a dejected tone. ‘Do we really have a chance against these—?’
‘Don’t give me that bullshit, Harry!’ snapped Laura. ‘The Service trained you better than this!’ She glared at Stevens. The latter flushed a dull red.
Anatole patted him on the shoulder. ‘Hang in there, kid. You haven’
t really seen us in action yet,’ the immortal said with a dangerous glint in his pale eyes.
‘Did you get any other leads from the pictures we put out?’ Conrad asked Donaghy.
The CIA agent shook her head. ‘Nope. None that seem relevant at the moment, anyway.’
Conrad rubbed his chin reflectively. ‘How about the email Dawn Hagen sent through? Think you could trace the source?’
Donaghy looked doubtful. ‘We can try, but I’m not promising anything.’
‘Okay,’ Conrad said. ‘Let us know if anything else comes up.’
‘Will do,’ Donaghy replied. Her gaze shifted. ‘Vassili, we still on for that drink?’
Conrad blinked, nonplussed.
‘Honey, if the world hasn’t ended in the next few days, I shall take you to this little place I know in New York and treat you to the most delicious Cosmopolitan you have ever tasted in your life,’ Anatole drawled with a wicked grin. ‘I’m hoping it will rob you of more than just your inhibitions.’
Claire Donaghy shook her head and chuckled. ‘You’re such an ass.’ She grinned. ‘I’ll bring the gun in case you don’t deliver on that promise.’
Anatole laughed. The window winked close. Stevens stared at the immortal, slack-jawed. Laura looked amused.
‘Since when do you go out with CIA agents?’ Conrad blurted out.
‘Since none of your beeswax,’ Anatole replied. The tips of his ears reddened.
Conrad gazed silently at his friend. Though he had never lacked lovers in the centuries that Conrad had known him, Anatole had yet to find his soulmate, a common state of affairs for many immortals since the plague that decimated their numbers in the fourteenth century and rendered most survivors infertile. Conrad had never known him to date a human. Claire Donaghy’s forceful personality had obviously made an impression.
