Dark Enemy Captive

by I. T. Lucas

  But what interested him most were the extensive security measures.

  There were the requisite cameras, though as well hidden as they were, it took someone who knew what to look for to find them.

  The reception slash guard station, as well as any point of entry into the building proper, was separated from the lobby by thick, bulletproof glass. And the only door to the other side had none of the standard key-card entry pads or even a handle. The only way for the thing to open was for a security guy to buzz you in or out.

  Clever.

  But it didn't end there. Besides the three elevators visible through the glass partition, Andrew knew there were three more on the other side. Though to get to them from the lobby, one had to not only be buzzed in but have a key-card to another inconspicuous door—labeled Maintenance.

  Waiting for his escort, Andrew didn't watch the bank of elevators this time, but the beautiful flower arrangement further away at the back wall, or rather the alcove to its right.

  The one leading to a short corridor and the door labeled Maintenance.

  He didn't have to wait long until a burly guy emerged from that alcove, but not one of the Guardians Andrew had met before. Still, the man, or immortal, had no trouble figuring who Andrew was. Though not necessarily because he knew who to look for, but simply because Andrew was the only one the other side of the glass.

  "Bhathian." The guy offered his hand.

  Apparently, no one here bothered with last names. Which kind of made sense for those hundreds of years old. Last names were, after all, a recent invention, evolving from the medieval naming practice which had been based on an individual's occupation, or where they were from, or the name of their clan.

  "Andrew." Shaking Bhathian's hand, Andrew omitted his own surname. When in Rome, do as the Romans do… and all that.

  The big guy wasn't one for small talk, and they made their way to the private bank of elevators in silence.

  After getting out on basement level three, Bhathian stopped in front of the first door that was made of glass as opposed to the solid metal of the other doors they'd passed by. "First, let me check if Kian is ready to see you."

  Behind the double door was a large, nicely kitted-out office, with a conference table in its center, and a desk at the back, where Kian was busy on the phone.

  He cast Andrew an apologetic glance.

  “Let's go." Bhathian pulled out his phone and lifted it up for Kian to see, then waited until Kian nodded. "You hungry?" he asked, heading down the same corridor.

  "It depends on what you're offering."

  The guy's scowl deepened. "If you like all that crappy veggie stuff, then you're going to love it, but if you were hoping for meat, you're shit out of luck."

  "I'm fine with the veggies."

  "Good, because that is all Okidu is cooking."

  "You have a cook?"

  "No, not really."

  Andrew waited to hear the rest, but evidently it was all Bhathian was going to say.

  Surly son of a bitch.

  The guy was built like a pro-wrestler and had the nasty disposition to match. Tall, he was about Kian's height, but probably outweighed Syssi's boyfriend by at least a hundred pounds.

  Still, despite his intimidating size and his bushy, dark eyebrows being clenched in what appeared to be a permanent scowl, Bhathian wasn't a bad looking dude. In fact, the ladies probably found him attractive, particularly those who were into the big, tough, silent types.

  "Take a seat." Bhathian motioned to a barstool as they entered the huge, commercial style kitchen.

  There was no dining table per se, only a long stainless-steel prep area with several barstools thrown in at one end.

  Bhathian pulled out a half empty pan of lasagna from a warming drawer and a couple of beers from the fridge, and brought the loot to the table, then went back for plates and utensils.

  "Dig in," he said after scooping half of the leftover lasagna onto his plate.

  As Andrew piled his plate with the rest of it, Bhathian wolfed down several forkfuls, then took a swig from his beer. "So, you're Syssi's brother…" he said.

  "Yeah?"

  "And you're some kind of commando or Special Ops as they call it today, right?"

  "Not anymore, retired. Now I'm a desk jockey. Though still in the same field."

  "Retired? At your age?"

  Andrew was starting to like the guy. "Too old for active duty."

  "Anandur told me he was impressed with your skills, you know, on both missions."

  The guy was either trying to make conversation or working up to something.

  "Old age has one advantage. It entails a lot of experience."

  Bhathian snorted. "Old age… you're forgetting who you're talking to. Compared to me you're an infant."

  Now, that was a tad offensive…

  "Yeah, well, I do have a lot of experience in particular kinds of situations, which makes me a valuable asset to my government even from behind a desk."

  "That you are, you're a valuable asset to us as well." Bhathian rubbed his neck, his eyebrows riding even lower. "I…" he started and stopped, "I need a favor…" he gritted, cupping the back of his almost shaved skull with his huge hand.

  Andrew waited for the guy to continue.

  Bhathian avoided Andrew's eyes when he spoke. "There is something I've been trying to find for nearly thirty years and reached a dead end at each turn. But you … you might have access to information that I don't know even exists…"

  He sucked half his beer on a oner, then faced Andrew. "I've never told anyone, and whether you can, or will help me or not, I need to know that this will stay between us."

  "No problem."

  Bhathian's grey eyes were trained on Andrew's for a long moment before he nodded.

  CHAPTER 29: SYSSI

  "Get out of here?" Amanda gasped.

  "I know, two weeks, crazy… right?"

  "Yeeeee…" all Syssi heard was the yeeping and the swish of wind.

  It was easy to picture Amanda pirouetting on deck with the phone in hand.

  Apparently, her friend, or rather her future sister-in-law, was cruising down the California coast on a luxury yacht.

  The deserter…

  "Yeah, I bet it's very exciting to hear about it, but planning a wedding that is supposed to be the most memorable event in the clan's history, not so much. I'm getting an anxiety attack like every five minutes."

  "Fear not, Amanda the great to the rescue."

  Syssi's shoulders sagged in relief. "Oh, thank you. You can't imagine how much I appreciate your coming back to help me."

  The long stretch of silence had Syssi tense all over again.

  "I can't, not yet. But I'm going to work on it from here. We can divide the tasks between the three of us, with you having the last say on all final decisions, of course." Amanda's idea sounded reasonable, but after Syssi had her hopes up, the disappointment stung.

  Still, she was being selfish, wasn't she. Amanda needed to be away just as much as Syssi needed her to be back.

  On the other hand, this wedding was a once in a lifetime affair, while Amanda could go on her vacation whenever. "Yeah, sure. But it's not the same. I need you here to keep me from falling apart."

  Amanda sighed. "Oh, sweetie, I know. I'll try to come back as soon as I can. But I need a little more time."

  Syssi chewed on her lower lip, debating if she should bring up the thorny subject. But Amanda needed to know. "Kian is finally going to talk to Dalhu, sometimes later today, and he asked Andrew to be there for when he does…"

  "That's good… Yeah…" Amanda whispered.

  "Talk to me. What's going on with you?" Syssi wanted to kick herself. Obviously, Amanda wasn't in a good place despite the cheerful confidence she was fronting. And all Syssi had been concerned with were her own petty problems and her needs. She hadn't paused to think that maybe it was Amanda who needed her help and not the other way around.

  Some friend you are…


  And Syssi's problems? What problems? Those were happy problems…

  "Hold on…" Amanda said. "Hey, Lana, go scrub some toilets, would you? I want to talk with my bestie without you eavesdropping." She shooed this Lana away.

  "Who is Lana?"

  "One of Alex's crew of Russian lesbos." Amanda snorted.

  Syssi chuckled. "That sounds interesting, Russian lesbians? How would you know?"

  "Well, the Russian accents give them away…"

  "The lesbian part, you witch!"

  "I'm just kidding, or maybe not, who knows? It's just that they are so butch. Same short haircut, like really boy short, and muscles that would put most guys to shame. Not to mention a complete lack of manners. Not that their peculiar social graces have anything to do with sexual orientation, it's just the cherry on top of this crew's overall feminine, ladylike bearing."

  "I see. But if they are so rude, what are you still doing there?"

  "I'm curious," Amanda whispered, though this time it wasn't a sad, choked up whisper, more like conspiratorial. "Tonight, I'm going to get them drunk and find out what's going on." Her whisper was barely audible.

  "Good luck with that…" Amanda had an impressive capacity for alcohol, but compared to the legendary Russians? She would be drunk way before them.

  "Don't worry. I got it."

  She probably did. After all, Amanda had some pretty nifty abilities in her bag of tricks. "Are you going to compel them? Or thrall them? Or whatever you call the thing you do?"

  "I wish it was that easy. But thralling and influencing work only on unsuspecting, receptive minds. Compelling people to do something they are actively resisting is nearly impossible—except for the really weak minded. And in the case of suspicious, stubborn Russians, I don't think even Yamanu is powerful enough to compel them to spill. But shitloads of vodka might do it."

  "Okay, Mata Hari. Now tell me where you're at."

  Amanda sighed. "I'm in limbo. I can't stand the sight of Dalhu, knowing he is responsible for Mark's murder, but I can't stand being without him either. Even the thought of getting it on with some random guy makes me want to retch. So yeah, I'm screwed, and not in a good way."

  Yeah, that was one hell of a conundrum. "You must've known he was associated with the murder, it shouldn't have been such a big shock."

  "I know. What can I say, I blocked it. And associated is not the same as being the one who ordered it."

  Damn. What was she supposed to say to that? What would’ve she done in Amanda's place? Probably the same thing… run as far and as fast as she could.

  "Maybe you should talk with your mother. If anyone has a chance to find a way to reconcile this, it is her."

  Way to go, Syssi, drop it at someone else's feet.

  But she had no words of wisdom to offer.

  "I suppose, though I don't think I'm ready to listen to anything one way or another."

  "I understand completely. Remember the night at the club? When Kian came to get me?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't think I've ever told you, but just before he showed up, I was convinced that you guys were mafia and that he was the boss…"

  "What? Why?"

  "Well, what do you think? You and Kri kept taking guys to the back rooms, and after you were done with whatever you were doing there, they just walked away without as much as a wave goodbye. I thought you were selling them drugs. Then Arwel and Bhathian show up, looking like bodyguards, saying that they came to keep an eye on us but couldn't sit with me because they didn't want to infringe on your turf. Combined with the attack at the lab, the secrecy… you get the picture."

  "Oh, wow, totally… So what did you do?"

  "I tried to make a run for it, but Alex—who by the way is a total creep—got in my way. I really don't understand how you can be friends with someone like that. Just saying. Then Kian showed up, and I was freaking out because being involved with a mafia boss felt like a death sentence. I was terrified. And yet, when he dragged me onto the dance floor and held me tight, I couldn't help wanting him like crazy. I was so confused. I couldn't understand how I could possibly feel safe in his arms while suspecting he was the worst kind of criminal."

  "Fascinating story, and I get what you're trying to say, but it's not the same. There is no denying that Dalhu is a murderer, and Kian isn't really a mafia boss."

  "Here is the thing, though, I'm not sure I would have been able to walk away from Kian even if he turned out to be a criminal. And as to Dalhu, if he is a murderer, then every soldier who has ever killed is a murderer too."

  After a long pause Amanda responded. "No, Syssi, you are wrong. I wish you weren't, but unfortunately you are. Soldiers fight other soldiers on the battlefield; it is ugly and sad and horrible, but not as horrible as the premeditated, cold-blooded murder of an unarmed man in his own home."

  Sadly, Amanda was absolutely right.

  CHAPTER 30: SEBASTIAN

  After the swarm of construction workers had left, Sebastian surveyed the job site. The plumbing and electrical in the basement were already in place, and the partition walls for the small rooms—each with its own bathroom—were up and covered in drywall.

  The building above was being repainted inside and out, and all the old bathroom fixtures were piled in a huge dumpster outside. Tomorrow, the new fixtures would get delivered and installed, first in the thirty-eight upstairs bathrooms, then once they were ready, in the twenty-one down in the basement.

  The only significant change Sebastian had done, besides the basement conversion, was to combine several rooms on the third floor for his own use, adding a luxurious bathroom and a balcony.

  In three to four days most of the place would be ready for furniture, except for his suite of rooms which would take longer to complete.

  After all, luxury demanded time and attention to detail.

  The speed with which things were being done could have never been achieved legally. The basement, full of rooms without windows, would have never been permitted, and the rest of the work, although not violating city codes, would have raised suspicion.

  Not to mention the time and money it would have taken to pull the countless permits or the delays caused by waiting for inspections.

  Still, even though the old monastery was isolated, with that many workers and material deliveries there was a good chance some city official would eventually show up at the site.

  Not that the inspector would have anything to report after meeting Sebastian.

  Thank Mortdh, he possessed a strong thralling gift. Influencing the minds of the over fifty construction workers at the end of each day would've been time-consuming and exhausting otherwise.

  It wasn't that he was concerned that they would report to the city officials. The illegal workmen his contacts had supplied could not and would not talk to the authorities. But without him planting a suggestion that they really didn't want to talk about their work, they were bound to gossip to friends and family.

  Tom thought Sebastian was being overly cautious, and that it would have sufficed to muddle their memories once the basement was completed, but Sebastian refused to take the chance of the workmen blabbering in the meantime about the underground facility he was building. And anyway, there was the issue of the electric fence, the new massive gate, and the surveillance cameras that were being installed not only all over the facility and its grounds, but also along the road leading up to it.

  Sebastian had no doubt that even the lowly workmen had figured out that this kind of security was excessive for an Interfaith Spiritual Retreat.

  CHAPTER 31:BHATHIAN

  "Okay, so here is the story." Bhathian sucked back the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle down.

  One beer would not cut it if he were to tell that shameful tale. He got up and came back with two more.

  "I see it's going to be a long one…" Andrew saluted with his mostly full bottle, a smirk catching one side of his mouth.

  Bhathian felt his glower deepen.
It was hard enough to get this story out without snide remarks. "You want to listen or not?"

  "Sorry, man, I was just making a joke."

  "Okay." Bhathian popped the cap off his second beer. "So, thirty-something years ago, on a flight from Edinburgh to LA, the flight attendant I was flirting with invited me to join her for drinks at this little-known bar next to the airport. As it turned out, the place was, still is, a favorite watering hole for many of the transcontinental flights' stewardesses and pilots."

  Bhathian took a swig of his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "The place was packed with beautiful women, and due to the nature of its transient clientele, unlike the other bars and clubs, there was a never ending supply of fresh lovelies."

  And the best part? None of the other males in his family had known about it.

  He had struck gold.

  His private hunting ground.

  Andrew saluted with his bottle. "Sweet, my kind of place."

  "That's where I met Trish." One of the most beautiful women he had ever met. "Patricia Evans, a first-class flight attendant on the now-defunct TWA."

  Bhathian palmed his bottle. "We went back to her hotel room." And she had been incomparable. In more ways than one.

  "Trish turned out to be one of those rare mortals who cannot be thralled."

  "Not at all? Or just resistant?" Andrew asked.

  "I don't know. I'm not great at it, but I had no trouble with anyone before or since. But anyway, luckily, I figured it out before biting her, otherwise… yeah, it would've been one hell of a fuckfest."

  "What did you do?"

  "What do you think? I didn't bite her. We said our goodbyes, and I thought it was the end of it, that I would never see her again."

  It had hurt, because for the first time ever, Bhathian had wanted more with a woman.