by Frank Morin
Tomas whispered, “Get your head in the game.”
Alter shook himself and his gaze locked onto the tiny display.
After five more seconds, Tomas lifted the grenade and took hold of the pin.
“Wait,” Alter hissed, leaning close to the display.
“No. We have to do it now.”
Tomas pulled the pin and cocked back his arm to throw.
Alter kicked Tomas in the side. The unexpected blow slammed him into the wall beside the door and knocked the grenade out of his hand.
Tomas didn’t have time to ask questions. He reacted with instincts honed through centuries of close combat, and managed to block a fast-flying punch as Alter leaped upon him. Wearing Carl’s body, his reflexes were slower than usual, and Alter’s second punch caught him in the jaw, rocking him back.
As he struggled to shed the effects of the strikes, he groped for the grenade. Alter kicked him again, then rushed out of the room shouting, “Hunter One, Caleb! Contact at my six!”
Tomas hated that sick feeling of betrayal, no matter how many times he tasted it.
The flash-bang exploded nearby and the thunderous boom tumbled him into the wall, while the blinding light dazzled his eyes, even though he’d closed them. He tasted smoke, and his limbs shook. He cursed that he was wearing such a pitiful form, but forced himself to roll out of the smoke. He didn’t have time to be weak.
Tomas staggered into the hall, all hope of surprise lost, but determined to make the traitor pay. The four-man hunter assault team was closing, assault rifles held ready. Tomas pulled his own MP5 around, but that slimy Alter had deceived him and waited on the opposite side of the doorway.
Tomas sensed the rush of Alter’s surprise attack a moment too late, and the young traitor clubbed him in the side of the head. Tomas stumbled again, triggering a three-round burst into the floor in front of the lead intruder.
He recognized the man. It was Alter’s older brother, Reuben.
Reuben shot Tomas in the chest three times.
The rounds struck close together and he dropped to the ground, groaning. He was glad all of Quentin’s bulletproof vests included polyethylene plates rated to stop rifle rounds. He still felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. In his own body, his enhancements would have shed most of that effect, but the one healing rune on Carl’s took a precious second.
Alter scooped up Tomas’ gun and pulled his pistol from its holster before turning to greet his brother. “I told you to wait.”
Reuben clapped Alter in the shoulder. “Well met, little brother.” Then he barked a laugh. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re the one who told father where the demons would be holed up today.”
“They’re not the ones responsible for the attack.”
“We’ll see.”
Tomas lunged off the ground and tackled Alter. Reuben might be the leader of the enemies, but betrayers needed to be punished first. He managed to land a solid punch to the throat before Reuben clubbed him in the side of the head with the butt of his rifle.
Tomas fell, head reeling, his body not responding to his demands to lash out at Reuben.
Reuben stood over him, gun pointed at his head.
“Wait,” Alter coughed. “He’s one of their enforcers.”
“Then we kill him.”
“No.” Alter pushed the gun aside. “He’s a captain. He might have information we need.”
“Very well.” Reuben gestured toward Tomas. “Bind him and remove his gear.”
Tomas shouted defiance and fought the hunters, but Carl’s body lacked the strength to shrug off the damage it had taken. He fought with every ounce of rage, but the three hunters held too much advantage.
They beat him with their rifles, every blow aimed at sensitive areas. He writhed under the beating, clamping his teeth closed against groans of agony he refused to let them hear. The beating continued until he couldn’t move, barely held onto consciousness. With blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, he tried to curse at Alter, but only managed a muffled groan.
A hunter clubbed him again and he fell back against the cool tile, thoughts drifting. He’d died on the battlefield more than once, although he’d been saved by Gregorios, Eirene, and even Asoka at different times. He knew the beating wasn’t life-threatening, and he allowed the pain to wash through him. He knew how to deal with pain, but he hated betrayers above all things.
He’d been betrayed before. As the hunters stripped off his tactical vest, then his bulletproof vest, his thoughts turned back to the four times he’d been betrayed by men he had thought he could trust. He’d hunted down every one of them, but the faces of friends and men under his command who had died because of those traitors played through his mind.
Alter would live to regret this night, but he wouldn’t live long.
“He doesn’t look like an enforcer,” Reuben commented, looking down at Tomas’ bruised and bound form.
“He’s wearing another’s body,” Alter said.
“Demons,” Reuben spat.
He shot Tomas in the chest.
The pain was as intense as it always was when shot there. Some things get better with repetition, but gunshots to the chest were not one of them.
“Why did you do that?” Alter cried.
“Because he deserves it,” Reuben said without emotion.
Tomas tried to speak, but couldn’t. He hovered on the edge of consciousness. The wound was serious, but it would take a while to bleed out.
He hated lingering deaths.
“Bandage it,” Alter said. “He’s no good to us dead.”
“Fine. You have ten seconds.”
Alter dropped to the floor beside Tomas, who managed to focus on the betrayer’s face as he shoved a wad of bandage into position and slapped a couple strips of medical tape over the top. Alter never met his gaze, and Tomas wasn’t able to summon the strength to bite him.
As he faded to darkness, Reuben’s voice echoed as if from a great distance. “Where are the demons?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
No, Shakespeare never understood the full scope of Agincourt. I always thought Harriett a fool for facilitating activation of that unique rune of his. Still, he put it to productive use like Archimedes before him, and Harriett will never let me forget the one time I mentioned that this speech moved me, despite its inaccuracies.
~Gregorios
Sarah and Quentin crouched behind the rail at the top of the grand staircase. A group of black-clad intruders were making their methodical approach toward the stairs from below. In a moment, they would emerge from a hall at the very base of the stairs and pass directly below where Sarah and Quentin crouched.
It was hard to hide her nervousness. The shotgun felt heavy in her hands and she couldn’t seem to get enough air. Quentin had twice urged her to breathe more slowly.
“What are we going to do?” she asked softly.
Quentin leaned close and his whisper barely made it the two inches to her ear. “Stall them, of course.”
Eirene’s voice spoke loudly through Sarah’s earpiece, and she jumped. “Quentin. Tomas. Be advised, we’ve made contact and the forces are hunters.”
“Roger,” Quentin said softly as the soldiers began to move into the open beneath their location.
After a couple of seconds, Gregorios spoke. “Tomas. Respond, over.”
Silence.
He was with Alter.
Dread as de
ep as the fear she had felt facing Paul chilled Sarah to the bone.
Alter’s voice spoke over the channel. “Tomas is injured, but alive. If you want to keep him that way, meet me at the pool and surrender to my family.”
“We are not your enemy,” Eirene said.
Gregorios added, “Well, we weren’t.”
Alter said, “Then act as friends and come out and surrender.”
“Friends don’t let friends take their guns,” Gregorios said, his tone cold enough to make Sarah shiver with dread.
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. What had Alter done? How could he have betrayed them?
“You have five minutes,” Alter said. “Do it for Tomas.”
Sarah started to speak, but Quentin clamped a hand over her mouth, his expression grim. He looked ready to kill as he pulled from a pouch the anti-heka burst grenade he’d shown them during that dinner conversation.
He dropped it over the rail.
It landed right in the middle of the strike force and exploded in a blue-white flash that seared Sarah’s vision. She rolled away from the rail, hands pressed against her eyes. She knew better than to look at an explosion, even a beautiful one.
On the floor below, the intruders cried out, but their shouts were replaced by grunts, then silence. It took several seconds for Sarah to blink away the after-images of the flash. When she could distinguish the railing through the rainbow halos, she realized Quentin was gone.
A fresh wave of fear drove her to her feet, gripping the shotgun. She looked down, ready to fire upon the hunters, then blinked a couple times. Quentin was down there, in the process of binding the last of the unconscious hunters. He noticed her standing and waved.
“Come down and help me with these, my dear.”
She hurried down, still blinking away the effects of the burst. It had worked as well against hunters as it had against heka. “Weren’t you worried it’d affect your enhancements too?”
“I was thumping skulls thicker than these lads long before I bonded my first enhancement,” he told her. “Hunters start bonding runes young, so they forget how to live without them. I held the advantage, never you fear.”
One soldier started groaning and Quentin slugged the man in the jaw, knocking him back to the floor. “As I said, effects wear off quickly.
Quentin removed the helmets from the hunters and tossed them into a closet concealed under the stairs. “That burst fried all their electronics, including comms, so their other teams won’t have heard what happened to them. Come, let’s go find Gregorios.”
“What about Tomas?”
“We’ll see.”
He extracted a gray metal box the size of a lighter from a vest pocket. It bore a tiny LCD display and he fiddled with it for a minute.
“What’s that?” Sarah asked.
“Changing to a different tactical network,” he explained. He took her earpiece and tapped the power button several times. “There. You’re on.”
She set the earpiece and he spoke. “Gregorios, Eirene, are you switched over?”
“Roger,” said Gregorios. “Alter doesn’t know this frequency.”
“Sometimes it’s a good thing we don’t really trust anyone,” Quentin said. “Did you kill or capture the strike team on your end?”
“Captured.” Gregorios sounded like maybe he was rethinking that choice.
“Second strike team is in custody,” Quentin reported.
Gregorios said, “Good. We’ll need them.”
“We’ll approach this like we did Richelieu,” Eirene added.
“Cardinal Richelieu?” Sarah asked, grateful for something to focus on other than Tomas’ predicament.
“Remind me to tell you the real story of the musketeers later,” Gregorios said.
“Before my time,” Quentin said when she gave him a questioning look. He gestured down the hall. “Sarah, will you run down to the pantry and fetch the pastry cart?”
“What are we going to do?”
His expression turned grim. “We’re going to remind Alter’s family why they haven’t attacked us in three centuries.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Such as are thy habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of thy soul-for the soul is dyed by the thoughts. Dye it then, with a continuous series of such thoughts as these-that one life is sufficient to establish the character that will define all the lives to come, and that where a man can live, there if he will, he can also live well.
~Mark Antony
Sarah and Quentin met Gregorios and Eirene three minutes later in the south wing, near the exit leading to the pool. They stayed well back from the windows. Sarah’s nerves were so tightly wound she felt like her chest was clamped in a vise, but seeing Eirene and Gregorios looking unruffled helped a little.
Four bound and gagged hunters lay propped against the wall nearby. Quentin dumped his captured squad off the pastry cart into a pile next to the others. Then he leaned over each man and pressed softly-glowing ear plugs into their left ears.
“Disrupts their inner ear,” Quentin explained. “Even though they’re well bound, this renders them ineffective.”
Sarah rushed to Eirene, who gave her a reassuring hug.
“What are we going to do?” Sarah asked. She could barely believe Alter had turned on them.
“I’m starting to get annoyed,” Gregorios muttered, pacing past the motionless prisoners, as if hoping one would start struggling so he could kick them.
“Contain it for now,” Eirene said, her voice calm. “At least until we’ve secured Tomas.”
“The pool is a good choice,” Quentin said. “Alter did his homework during his time here.”
“They’ll have snipers in the windows upstairs,” Eirene said.
Quentin nodded. “On it.”
He left at a trot and Sarah moved to follow, but Eirene held her back. “He’ll be fine, dear. You’d just slow him down.”
She glanced after Quentin, not entirely sure. He had taken out those soldiers with amazing ease, but he wasn’t exactly young any more.
“This is his house,” Gregorios said. “That was Alter’s first mistake.”
“What was his second?” Sarah asked.
“Not starting to run yet.”
Their confidence eased her terror that the hunters would kill Tomas, but didn’t help the powerful, conflicting emotions she felt toward Alter. He’d been their friend, a trusted member of the team. He knew the truth, and they’d taken him in, had confided with him. Part of her hated him for the betrayal, but part of her wanted to find him, to talk with him, to ask him why.
“It’s almost time,” Eirene said, and the next minute passed quickly as they checked their weapons.
Sarah fingered her shotgun, not sure if she could really shoot Alter. If he hurt Tomas, she would, no matter how much she liked him.
She wanted to scream with frustration. Paul was out there somewhere, and they were fighting each other when they needed to unite against him.
Alter’s voice called from outside. “Time’s up, Gregorios. What’s your decision?”
Gregorios slammed a magazine home in one of the hunters’ assault rifles. “Time to teach.”
Eirene placed a hand on his arm. “I’ll try to talk sense into him.”
“I think he’s beyond reason,” Gregorios said.
“I don’t want you killing that boy,” Eirene warned.
“That’s up to him,” Gregorios said. “What about Reuben?”
Eirene hesitated. “He is family, technically.”
When Gregorios scowled, she added, “He is wearing your favorite battle suit. If you have to destroy it, I want his soul preserved.”
Sarah wasn’t sure what to think. Even though she lived with these people, sometimes she struggled to feel like she was really a part of their world.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Come with us,” Gregorios said. “You check on Tomas. When the discussion tur
ns unpleasant, stay down.”
He led the way out the door.
Chapter Fifty
Don’t show me gold and plunder. Victory is hollow, and secret enemies hound my steps. Find me a facetaker to grant me a second life, or bring me a rune of power. But alas, all is folly, for the facetakers are gone and the Quirinal priests are all murdered.
~Genseric, King of the Vandals, sacking of Rome in 455 A.D.
The pool was Olympic sized, set in a wide courtyard nestled between the wings of the mansion. To the west, it overlooked the manicured grounds and spectacular views of Rome. Sarah loved to swim laps after working out, but after tonight she doubted she’d ever go again without thinking of this confrontation.
Only Alter and his brother stood together in the open. The two looked a great deal alike. Reuben was a little larger, his face a bit longer, and his hatred burned fiercer than Alter’s ever had.
Tomas lay on a reclined pool chair. His shirt was gone and a bloody bandage covered part of his chest. Bruises stood out angrily against the pale skin of Carl’s body. The one healing rune, which she’d marked there after Mai Luan stabbed him, glowed blue-white in the early morning dimness. His eyes were closed and he lay unmoving.
The sight infuriated Sarah. She advanced a quick step. “Is he alive?”
“He lives,” Alter said, sounding defensive.
“How could you?” Sarah demanded. “We trusted you!”
Alter had the gall to look crestfallen. “If not for me, he’d already be dead. Don’t judge before knowing the facts.”
“Advice you and your brother should have taken,” Gregorios said. “You know we aren’t responsible for the attack on your home.”
“We saw one of your council members.” Reuben’s voice rang with conviction. “He mentioned your name.”
“I didn’t send John on that mission,” Gregorios said, advancing a few slow steps.
