Ian and Desiree began to search the grounds for Rolf, sweeping the tennis courts and pool area. They cautiously approached the house. When Ian was within twenty feet of the patio’s sliding glass door a shotgun blast originated from inside the house. Ian’s instinct to instantly fall to the ground saved him from multiple pellet wounds. Ian crawled backwards away from the door and rejoined Desiree. It wouldn’t be easy to get the old man out of the house.
Kurt called out to Ian, “Maybe I can talk him out of there. Let me try.”
Ian, reluctant to allow Rolf to do any more harm, said, “Stay back where you are and call out to him if you think it will help.”
“Grandfather, please come out of there. There’s no need to get killed or kill anyone else. Please surrender.”
“Go away traitor. After all your father and I have done for you and you betray us.”
“I never wanted to be a part of your plan, and you have no right to make me live a life I don’t want.”
Another shotgun blast burst through the already ruined entryway. “Go away.”
“I will. Leora and I have a flight to catch. Goodbye.” Kurt took Leora by the hand and led her down the path between the house and the fence.
Ian felt relieved at not having to worry about Kurt and Leora, and considered what he had to do to capture Rolf without having to kill him. He handed his pistol to Desiree and said, “Fire a shot into the house every five minutes or so, and I’ll go in through an upper window.”
“Be careful,” she replied.
Ian noted a second story balcony overlooking the patio, but he couldn’t get close enough to use the balcony to gain access into the house with Rolf watching the patio, so he ran to the side of the building and studied the second story windows. Serena had somehow gained access to the second floor, but she was gone, and he didn’t have time to figure out what she had done. One window had a small balcony, but no door. Ian didn’t have a rope or ladder to climb up to the window, so he made his way to the swimming pool and took the line that marked a swimmer’s lane from the rest of the pool. Using the buck knife he had strapped to his ankle, he cut all the floats off except the one on the end of the line. He ran back to the window of interest with the line in hand.
Ian heard a pistol shot. Desiree was following his instructions. In reaction, another shotgun blast broke the still night air. The old man’s nerves were probably on edge. Ian tossed the float up onto the balcony. He wiggled the line until the float emerged through the balcony guard rail. He fed out more line and the float pulled the line down to where Ian was standing. Ian tied the two ends of the line together, entwined his feet in the line, and pulled himself up the rope with his hands and arms, then pulled himself over onto the balcony.
The window was half open, a large enough gap for Serena to squeeze through, but he would have to open it all the way without making any noise, lest Rolf suspect his intrusion. Ian slid the window up and clambered into the bedroom. He tiptoed across the darkened room to the doorway and slowly opened the door into a hallway.
Another pistol shot fired. Ian waited to hear if Rolf would respond in kind, but he didn’t. Rolf may have heard or suspected Ian’s intrusion into the house. Ian crept over to the stairway and tried to see Rolf in the gloom below. Ian had only his pistol and a buck knife to defend himself, and a seventy-plus-year-old man with a shotgun could be dangerous.
Ian crept down the stairs, hoping the boards wouldn’t creak and give him away. Once at the bottom, his choice to go right or left took him left, and led to the kitchen. He peeked around the kitchen door and scanned the room for Rolf. Although Ian didn’t spot him, didn’t mean he wasn’t close by, but where?
Ian considered throwing an object into the kitchen to draw Rolf’s fire and locate him, but stealth would seem the better part of valor, especially if he wanted to take Rolf alive. He wouldn’t have any regrets if he had to kill the evil old man if it weren’t for Kurt. The young man needed to have closure with his father and grandfather and the crimes they’d committed.
Maybe Rolf had left the kitchen. Desiree’s random shots fired into the kitchen may have spooked the old man, but where did he go? Ian heard a noise behind him and turned to see the shotgun barrel sticking out from behind a sofa in the family room. Ian dropped to the floor, crawled over to the sofa and grabbed the end of the barrel. The shotgun blasted a hole in the far wall. Ian jerked the gun out of Rolf’s hands. The old man scooted back away and fired a pistol shot narrowly missing Ian.
Ian released the hot barrel, turned the shotgun around, and fired a blast in Rolf’s general direction. Ian heard Rolf start to run from the sofa to the doorway. Ian fired another blast in Rolf’s general direction and heard him fall to the floor. Still dangerous if he had a pistol, Ian crawled to where Rolf lay motionless.
The pistol lay on the floor by Rolf’s left foot. He must have dropped it when he fell. Ian picked up the pistol, aimed it at Rolf’s face, and approached the prone body.
Rolf was still breathing. He had taken a few pellets in the back, but he could recover. Ian pulled a zip-tie from his ankle scabbard, cuffed Rolf, helped him to his feet, then half dragged him through the family room to the kitchen. He turned on the kitchen light and laid Rolf on the kitchen table.
Desiree entered the kitchen through the glassless patio sliding door and asked, “Is he alive?”
“More or less. He caught a few pellets, but nothing fatal. Let’s put him in my car and take him to jail. I’ve had enough fun for one day.”
“Me, too.”
Ian helped Rolf to his feet and half dragged him through the house. As they passed through the front room, Ian noticed a painting not flush with the wall. Ian lowered Rolf to the floor and walked over to the painting. He pulled on the picture frame and the painting swung out, revealing an open safe hidden behind the painting.
“Desiree, look for a light switch.”
Desiree switched the lights on.
Ian peeked into the safe and noted the safe was empty except for a black felt lining. He shined his nine LED flashlight into the empty space and noticed indentations in the felt, as if someone had recently removed the contents. The felt lining had two line indentations, probably made by a three-ring binder standing on its edge, and two other indentations approximately the size of Euro bank notes. Ian opened his wallet and placed the only 100 Euro note he had in the smaller rectangular indentation, and it fit exactly, the other slightly larger rectangular indentation appeared to be the same size as a 200 Euro note.
“What do you make of this?” he asked Desiree.
“Looks like someone cleaned out whatever they kept in the house safe.”
“I don’t think it was Rolf or Karl . . . maybe Kurt,” Ian said.
“I think you’re right. He had enough time to get in here while we were hassling with Rolf.”
Ian pulled Rolf up to a sitting position and asked, “Who cleaned out the safe?”
Rolf spit at Ian.
“Have it your way.” Ian took out his cell phone and called Serena. “Serena, are you going to return tonight?”
“We can, if you give us another hour.”
“We’d rather not stick around here another hour. Rolf Brandt tried to kill Desiree and myself, but we have him in custody. We’re going to bring him in.”
“Good. Did you and Desiree find anything interesting?”
“We did. Someone cleaned out the house safe. I’m guessing it held a lot of cash and a three-ring binder. You need to check it out. Bring your electronic sniffer to confirm my guesses.”
“Jacques and I will return as soon as we can. You can wait there with your prisoner or bring him in now. If you bring him in, take him to the Agency House and ask for Agent Jones. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Desiree, Serena, and Jacques spent the next few days collecting evidence, examining the contents of the laboratory, the house, and the grounds looking for clues leading to the co-conspirators. Ian left after the first two days.
He had to return to the life of a Navy Seal, but he enjoyed the time he was able to spend with his friends even under adverse conditions
Several agencies interested in gathering data on the Brandt’s conspiracy and terrorist attacks came and went during those days. Desiree’s CDC co-workers showed up two days after the capture of Rolf, Karl, and Heinrich to collect the pathogens, the few available cures, and the laboratory notebooks. Karl’s, Rolf’s, and Dieter’s notebooks incriminated them in terrorism and crimes against humanity that spanned over eighty years.
Forty-Eight
The four met for an afternoon of socializing and comparing notes three weeks later at Serena’s home in McLean, Virginia. Serena, the ever the gracious host, laid out a sumptuous lunch. “I guess you’re all wondering why I called this meeting,” she said with a grin while spooning out baked beans onto Chinet paper plates. Serena wasn’t a fan of mundane household chores, including washing dishes. Her house was always immaculate as if no one lived there.
“For the beans, I presume,” joked Jacques.
“No, bonehead, to make sure you would all be here for the award ceremony at the White House tomorrow morning.”
“We can’t do that,” added Ian. “We’re supposed to be invisible.”
“We will be. There won’t be any reporters, and the ceremony will only be attended by the President, the Chairman, and a couple of our co-workers, like Desiree’s boss at the CDC, Ian’s Seal commander, and Jacques’ boss from Ameridi.”
“What about you?” asked Desiree.
“Oh, my boss from Mossad will probably show up. He wouldn’t miss having a little limelight shine his way.”
“What medal will they give us?” asked Jacques. “I want to find out how much I can hock it for,” he joked with a devilish grin.
Serena punched Jacques on the arm, hard.
He winced, pretending to be in pain.
The four sat at the patio table and Ian offered Grace. They began to eat in quiet. After a few minutes, Ian said, “This is the most delicious filet mignon I’ve ever eaten.”
“You can thank Omaha Meats and Jacques for that,” Serena said.
“Seared three and a half minutes on each side and basted with rosemary butter. Any knucklehead could do it,” Jacques mumbled, pretending to appear humble.
“Any knucklehead did, but my compliments on the roasted corn, anyway. Garlic butter basted?” Ian asked.
“Of course.” Jacques held up his glass of red wine and said, “To the four of us.”
“And our next adventure,” added Ian.
“Cheers,” said Serena.
“Forever friends,” said Desiree.
“Did everyone get all the steak and beans, corn and salad they wanted?” Serena asked.
“I’m not going to be able to eat everything that’s already on my plate,” said Desiree.
“I’ll split another filet with you, Jacques,” Ian offered.
“Give me the smaller half, buddy.”
“You got it.” Ian stabbed a filet with his fork, cut it in two, and shoveled the smaller half onto Jacques’ plate. Ian started in on his half with gusto.
Jacques sliced off a man-sized bite of his steak and asked, “Do we have any new Intel on Kurt?”
“We do,” replied Serena. “I planned on telling you what we’ve learned from Moira, who’s been keeping tabs on him, once we’re all through eating.”
“Well, go ahead,” Ian said.
“If you insist. Kurt and Leora are married. She’s due in five months. Kurt has turned the running of the company over to the board of directors and doesn’t seem to want to take an active participation in the day-to-day running of the company. For now, he seems content to complete his internship and enjoy his life with Leora.”
“What about the Brandts and Heinrich?” Jacques asked.
“Well, the trials for Rolf, Karl, and Heinrich will begin in another couple of months and may drag on for a long time. It’s not even clear how many crimes they’ve committed,” added Serena. “When we’ve had a few more days to wrap up this operation, I have the names of a few possible co-conspirators we need to look up.”
“We’re with you, Serena; just let us know,” Ian replied over his last bite of filet mignon.
Epilogue
The Ancient, originally named Elymas, ordered his followers to address him as Maximilian. He became a sorcerer when he ran away from Herod to Cyprus. Paul the Apostle temporarily blinded him when he tried to block Paul’s access to the deputy of the country, Sergius Paulus. As near as Maximilian could estimate, he was aging at a rate of approximately five years per one thousand years, making him approximately 2049 years old in calendar years, but only forty-six years in physical age.
He stood close to the balcony rail of his palace’s third turret and looked down over the rolling green Romanian landscape below. He lifted a cranberry juice and vodka drink to his lips and sipped the cool, tangy liquid. He took in a deep breath of the brisk evening air, which invigorated his 2049-year-old body. A body that would be the envy of the average thirty-year old. He was not prone to great reflection and confided very little to his lieutenants or women. He knew his loner existence was a personal choice. He felt torn by his lack of love and friendship, but was not willing to show love nor friendship in return.
He was bored. He had his estate, gold, silver, jewels, historical artifacts and artwork worth many millions. He had minions and women at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, and potions didn’t satisfy him anymore. He needed new conquests and adventures to make him feel that life was worth living. He needed people to worship him. Adoration could fill the hole in his soul. Power could be his primary aphrodisiac.
What could he do? The Middle East was in constant turmoil. The European Union was in tatters. If he were to exert himself, he could figure out a way to take over the power vacuum in leadership. With Europe under his control, he could take over all the countries that were in their control, and where to go from there. He thought, it all seems like too much work. Is it worth my effort?
He’d been following the activities of the Neo-Nazi group that called themselves the Select. They appeared to be trying to take over the world, but Maximilian doubted they could succeed with their nihilist agenda. They were more like modern day Nazis than world leaders. Maximilian had observed Hitler’s rise and fall with interest, but disdained him, even at his peak of power, as a neurotic psychopath with myriad physical ailments.
Maybe he could allow the Select to pursue their grandiose schemes until they’re on the threshold of success, then step in and take over. He hadn’t been approached to join their elect group because, as a Persian, he didn’t fit their criterion, so to hell with them and their cause, but he might make use of them to further his own objectives. After all, their futile search for an immortal potion would never be realized. He was already superior to them because he was already immortal.
Some day he must go to Palestine and Egypt and find Achmed, the third Journeyer. Achmed was probably long dead, since Maximilian hadn’t seen him for over two thousand years. The cup was lost, which was both a good and bad event, all things considered. He alone should be an immortal.
What should be his path? World domination was a messy challenge in a world full of terrorist organizations, petty tyrants, and unruly countries. He needed to figure out a way to unify the world under his control. He had read and reread the Bible, the Koran, the Torah, and the teachings of the Buddha; not for religious purposes, but to gain an insight into the mental processes of religious people, not to gain empathy for them, but to learn how to manipulate and control them. Hitler pretended to stand for Christianity; not because he was a believer, but to rally his people against the Jews.
Maximilian intended to reduce and even eliminate the influence of religion upon his followers once he completed his domination of Europe. The idea of being the anti-Christ, or the anti-anyone, or anti-anything did not appeal to Maximilian. He was a power unto himself. He had never tried, and h
ad no intention of, conferring his power of semi-immortality onto anyone else, not on a wife, a child, or a friend. When he finally rises up to dominate the world, all the lesser mortals will worship him as a god, because the proof would be borne out in the passage of years, since he would outlive generations of his worshippers.
The End
The Honorable Knight Page 36
