The Ancient Breed

by David Brookover

  Lurdene had no lingering memories of her obsession to murder Janet. She had bigger fish to fry today. And that fish was named Neo Doss, and she knew just where to find him.

  48

  T

  obias Simpkins sat at the head of the conference table and scrutinized the fourteen purebloods seated before him. They were all attending a clandestine meeting in an isolated, rural chateau overlooking St. Denis, France, just outside Paris. Tobias called the international board meeting to ascertain whether his organization’s carefully orchestrated plans for capturing the European governments was being effected without a hitch. Each pureblood reported the progress in his respective country, and after the last one had spoken, Tobias managed a spirited smile.

  “I’m very pleased, fellow Klundzeans. Our meticulous preparation has minimized our errors. As you reported, more government heads will be assassinated according to our timetable, and shortly all of Europe will be in chaos. The Euro has already plunged in value against the weak dollar and Japanese Yen, adding financial panic to the mix,” Tobias emphasized. “When our chosen purebloods replace each of the assassinated government leaders, we’ll be in complete control of this continent. The United States and Great Britain will fall into our hands any day now.”

  The Swiss agent raised his hand. “Will the new Aspirations cosmetic line be offered internationally?”

  Tobias nodded. “The first batch is being processed for the wealthy half-breeds in the United States, so that we can quickly raise large amounts of cash for our cause,” he responded. “Within six months, the product line will be made available to the wealthy European market through one of our wholly owned, Euro subsidiaries.”

  The French agent cleared his throat. “Do you have any long-range plans to distribute these products to the middle- and lower-class half-breeds?”

  Tobias grinned widely. “Without letting the cat totally out of the bag, yes we do. But, it’ll be a little stronger blend of elixir and cosmetics.”

  There was quiet laughter from the agents.

  “Strong enough to alter the bastards?” the German agent asked.

  “That would be our goal, yes,” Tobias answered coyly. “Let’s just say that modern man may regress into the ancient breed, and leave it at that.”

  His comment was met with enthusiastic applause and an excited buzz. Tobias was about to give the group their final instructions when a knock sounded on the door. Tobias strode to the door and pulled it open. A curvaceous brunette stood apologetically outside, gripping a satellite phone.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir. You have an emergency call from Mr. McGrath,” she advised him.

  He excused himself from the meeting and closed the door as the young woman retreated to her office down the hall.

  He was visibly irritated by the interruption. “Yes, what is it, Sloan?” he snapped.

  “We’ve got a major problem here, and I need you to return to New York immediately,” Sloan burst out excitedly.

  Tobias scowled. He despised everything about the excitable Sloan McGrath. Knowing McGrath, the problem was no more important than a stopped-up toilet. “Calm down, Sloan, and tell me what the hell’s wrong.”

  “It’s Grant. Some hick sheriff’s department in Ohio called here a few minutes ago to report that Grant’s been murdered.”

  Tobias’s heart leaped to his throat. Impossible! There was no one besides himself and Sloan powerful enough to accomplish such a feat. “Obviously, it’s a case of mistaken identity,” Tobias retorted. “Grant can take care of himself.”

  Sloan bristled at Tobias’s cynical attitude. “Look, the sheriff’s department faxed me photos from the crime scene, and I made a positive identification. If you don’t believe me, then you can check it out when you arrive.”

  Tobias remained silent for several moments. Who could have killed Grant? And why? Nick Bellamy’s name shot into his thoughts. Could Bellamy be that powerful? Bellamy’s extraordinary heritage made him an unknown factor, but if he did possess the magical powers necessary to defeat Grant McGrath, what possible reason could he have had for murdering Grant except in self-defense? If Tobias was a betting man, he would hedge his bet by betting on someone else.

  Alarm gnawed his stomach. Could the Zyloux be the murderer?

  “Was Grant’s body mutilated?” he finally asked.

  “No, there was no mutilation. But, from the pictures, his body appeared badly twisted, as if he’d struggled with someone pretty damn strong.” Sloan paused. “There was one curious aspect, though.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “His face was deformed . . . contorted like he’d seen something horrible when he died.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Tobias said quickly, and hung up.

  An hour later, Tobias barged into Sloan’s office without the courtesy of a knock, but Sloan appeared to be expecting it. He motioned Tobias to a black leather chair and handed him a slim folder containing the crime scene photographs taken by the Highland County Sheriff’s Department in Ohio.

  “You decided to teleport rather than fly the friendly skies, I see,” Sloan said flatly.

  Tobias grunted as he studied each photo. Finally, he glanced up, and slid one of the pictures across the desk to Sloan.

  “What do see besides the body?” Tobias asked sharply.

  Sloan leaned back and held the picture under his desk lamp. He rotated the picture at different angles before he sat forward and slapped the photo on his desk.

  “I see a rather large hole in the floor if that’s what you’re driving at,” he commented matter-of-factly. “Other than that, I see nothing unusual except for Grant’s corpse.”

  “No, no, you found it. I don’t believe it was a coincidence that his body was found next to it. It almost appears as if he was defending whatever was in there.”

  “I wholeheartedly agreed, but I don’t have the faintest idea what it could have been.”

  Tobias yanked the phone off its cradle and punched in a series of numbers. His call was answered on the first ring. “Hey, Simpkins here. I want you to check both of the special tanks in security storage.” He listened for a moment. “Yes, those tanks. I want the contents verified by our head chemist. Yeah, Walters is fine. I want it done yesterday. Call me at Aspirations.”

  Sloan drummed his fingers atop the polished desktop. “You’re thinking that one of our stolen elixir tanks was in that Ohio warehouse?”

  “Not just any fleapit,” Tobias replied, worry lining his forehead. “That warehouse is part of an old dairy plant outside Duneden.”

  “Duneden—you’ve got to be joking!”

  “I wish I were. I bet those damn witches are involved in this somehow, and we’ve got to find out what they’re up to real fast.”

  “Okay, for argument’s sake, suppose one of our elixir tanks was down in that hole, and those witches took it, who knows what they’ll do if they discover what was inside? We’ll be the first place they’ll look for answers,” Sloan surmised. “I’m certain they’ll be concerned about the dangerous elixir’s proximity to Duneden.”

  Tobias raised a hand. “Don’t waste your breath jumping to conclusions before we get the chemical analysis from Walters.”

  “Who’s jumping? I’m just trying to prepare us for any and all scenarios.”

  “As long as you’re speculating, slip Nick Bellamy into the equation.”

  “I have. Bellamy’s chief bloodhound is scheduled to pay us a visit later tomorrow morning.”

  “Which one?”

  “Neo Doss.”

  “Jesus! How did you find out about that?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on Bellamy for weeks now. I figured it would just be a matter of time before he tracked Walkingman and the elixir theft to our front door,” Sloan replied.

  Tobias’s eyes narrowed. “Grant was supposed to take care of Bellamy,” he said, and then immediately regretted it.

  “Really? Then I must have been left out of the loop – your loop. Any p
articular reason?” he pressed.

  “Yeah, well we thought you were too busy running the operation here to be distracted by such trivial matters,” Tobias responded coolly.

  “Bellamy, trivial?” He laughed humorlessly.

  “Grant had it covered.”

  “I see. It appears to me that he did a pretty piss-poor job. Maybe it was Bellamy who murdered our late partner.”

  Tobias bristled but refrained from fanning the flames he’d already ignited under Sloan. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Were you now? That’s interesting,” he declared smugly.

  “What’s so interesting about it?”

  “You and I rarely think the same way about anything.”

  Before Tobias could react to Sloan’s unexpected arrogance, the phone rang. He snatched it off the desk and listened to Walter’s frantic report. Without uttering a word, Tobias replaced the receiver.

  “Well?” Sloan demanded.

  “We’re up shit creek.”

  “We’re missing a tank of the elixir.” It wasn’t a question; it was a simple assertion.

  Tobias sighed. “Yeah. One tank’s filled with the elixir, and the other with water.”

  Sloan folded his hands. “Someone has a whole tank of that stuff and obviously plans to use it. A competitor maybe?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’m going to track down that elixir myself.”

  Sloan shrugged. “Good luck. Meanwhile, we have more important things to worry about.”

  Tobias’s eyes widened in surprise. “Such as?”

  “Money. We sold our newly processed, age-reducing products to the first humans while you were in France. So far, the results have been amazing. Grant did an excellent job formulating them. So far, there haven’t been any side effects.”

  “Did the old farts balk at the cost?”

  Sloan smiled. “Not after they witnessed the results. All of the wrinkled prunes walked out of here looking like thirty-five-year-olds.”

  “No kidding? With results like that, word of mouth is sure to spread the good news. At a million dollars a pop, we can raise the cash we need fast.”

  “That’s the idea. We’ve got twelve more lined up today.”

  Tobias frowned. “That’s great, but what about Neo Doss?”

  “I’m planning something special for him. I think he’ll enjoy it . . . for a while, anyway,” Sloan explained, a sly grin creeping across his face.

  “Just get rid of him,” Tobias snapped impatiently and stood. “I’m going to get cracking on that missing elixir.”

  “Did Grant leave you any information about Bellamy’s whereabouts or what he was up to before you hopped a broomstick for France?”

  Tobias ignored Sloan’s sarcasm and simply replied, “No.”

  “I’ll check with my people and keep you in the loop for any information that comes my way.”

  It was all Tobias could do to keep from exterminating Sloan with a single spell. The pompous ass! What happened to the mousy Sloan McGrath who Grant and he loved to hate? Tobias was, after all, the senior partner, and he wasn’t about to let Sloan gain the upper hand.

  Tobias turned toward Sloan before leaving. “You do that.”

  As soon as his partner closed the door, Sloan swiveled his chair toward the expansive window that afforded him a panoramic view of Manhattan. He allowed himself a small victory smile. He had humiliated Tobias for the first time, and it felt damn good. He looked out over the immense metropolis. Somewhere in that scurrying mass of half-breeds, his people were preparing a lethal reception for Neo Doss.

  And that felt damn good, too.

  49

  “L

  ord of the range, what’d I say?” a voice exploded from the Cherokee’s back seat.

  Nick caught Lisa’s limp shoulders and head before they hit the console. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder or in the rearview mirror to identify their unexpected intruder. It was Crow.

  “Did you ever hear of phoning ahead before you drop in on friends?” Nick barked as he turned on the air conditioner full blast in an attempt to revive Lisa. He directed the rush of cold air toward her face. Within a minute, she slowly regained consciousness.

  “Who . . .”

  “Shhh,” Nick breathed quietly in her ear. “Relax for a few minutes before you try anything strenuous like thinking.”

  Her lips curled at the corners. “I can walk and chew gum at the same time, you know?”

  “When you’ve got full command of your faculties,” he added. He handed her a bottle of water. She sipped it slowly and stuffed it back into the console beverage well.

  “It’s Crow,” Nick replied before she could ask her question. “He dropped in from who knows where and is in the backseat now.”

  She turned and frowned. “Damn you, Crow, you nearly gave me a coronary,” she grumbled, and then smiled wanly. “How did you manage that trick?”

  “Grandfather’s wind-walking chant worked like a charm,” he replied with a shrug, “but to tell the truth, I don’t know why the chant worked this time and failed the others. Every time Grandfather tried to teach it to me, I fell flat on my Injun noggin.”

  “You’ll have another lump on your Injun noggin if you ever pull a stunt like that again,” Nick admonished him. “So why’d you choose tonight to go wind walking, anyway?”

  “We’ve got a new player in town, and he ain’t pretty.” Crow immediately detailed his run-in with the strange pedestrian.

  “You’re saying the guy just stood in the middle of the road and didn’t make an effort to get out of your way?” Lisa was amazed and a little frightened.

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “That would place him in front of the old dairy plant,” Nick said pensively. “I wonder what he was doing there.”

  “Waiting for me to run him down,” Crow retorted.

  “Then that leaves us with two questions. Why was he hanging around Duneden in first place, and why did he ambush you?”

  “Ambush!” Crow and Lisa cried together.

  “I don’t know what else you’d call it. It explains why he didn’t try to avoid your car. He knew that the collision wouldn’t hurt him, so it was the perfect setup. You get out of your car to check if he’s all right, and then he . . .”

  Crow scowled. “Then he kills me and hides my body inside the dairy plant.”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Lisa asked.

  “Whoever’s behind the assassinations,” Nick returned. His sat phone rang, and he promptly answered it. He mouthed “Rance” to Lisa and Crow, as he listened to the FBI director’s urgent news. After a couple yeses, he closed the conversation with, “We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  “Well?” Crow queried expectantly.

  “We have our connection to Aspirations,” he announced excitedly. “Nothing that would hold up in a court of law, but . . .”

  “Enough with the Perry Mason, already,” Crow implored. “What’s the news?”

  “Geronimo intercepted an international phone call from Aspirations to Paris concerning the murder of one of their principals and forwarded the information to Rance’s computer.”

  Crow growled. “That renegade computer chief bypassed me!” he huffed.

  Nick chuckled. “Geronimo told Rance that you were unavailable to receive the information.”

  “Still . . . ,” Crow wasn’t about to be appeased so easily.

  “Will you guys stop with the Abbott and Costello routine,” Lisa insisted, her patience wearing thin. “Nick, will you just fill us in?”

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “The murder victim’s name is Grant Donovan, and he’s one of the three principal owners of Aspirations. Or was. The sheriff faxed crime scene pics to Aspirations’ headquarters in New York, and Geronimo intercepted those, too. Rance got a good look at the body and said that it wasn’t a pretty sight. The corpse’s face was horribly distorted as if he
was scared to death, but his badly twisted body indicates otherwise,” Nick explained.

  “Must have died fast then,” Lisa commented.

  They stared at her.

  “For his face to freeze like that,” she appended quickly. “Normally, the facial muscles relax during a slow death.”

  Nick recalled Alick Tobhor’s horrible expression during his remote viewing episode inside the fortress. Was it possible that Donovan saw the same thing as Tobhor?

  “Listen to the squaw woman, Nick. She knows her shit,” Crow teased with a cocked grin.

  He nodded. “I do, Crow. At any rate, Rance wants us back in New York to help Neo on the Aspirations investigation. He now believes it’s too dangerous for just one agent to tackle,” Nick stated.

  “You planned to let Neo go it alone?” Crow rebuked his friend.

  “Just for the preliminary work, like planting bugs and cameras,” Nick replied defensively.

  “Under the noses of those ruthless bastards? Custer’s last stand sounds like a day in the park compared to . . .”

  “Stop it!” Lisa shouted. “Look, we’re all a little tired and frazzled at the moment; so I suggest that we just turn this car around and hightail it to New York without this senseless bickering. Do I make myself clear?”

  Nick started the car, turned the Cherokee around at the next exit, and sped along Interstate 68 East. Silence descended on the SUV like a shroud. Lisa folded her arms like a mother who had scolded her children and stared straight ahead, thankful for the respite.

  Suddenly, her arms dropped, and she stiffened. “Did you see that?” she asked breathlessly.

  Both men became instantly alert.

  “See what?” Nick asked.

  “That road sign back there. It read State Route 62 South.”

  “Route 62? That can’t be right. We’re on Interstate 68 West,” Nick exclaimed.

  “Oh yeah? Well, the shape of the state around the number was Ohio.”

  “Ohio?” It was Crow’s turn to be skeptical. “That can’t be. We’re in Maryland.”