by Gary Jonas
Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
About the Author
IMMORTAL ASCENDANT
A Jonathan Shade Novel
by Gary Jonas
CHAPTER ONE
Word on the street was that Richard Class used black magic to secure himself a seat in the House of Representatives, and he wasn’t above using it to land himself in the White House should the need arise. The man had some serious pull because not only did the folks at Dragon Gate Industries manage to track me down, they paid me twenty grand to fly to Washington and take a meeting with the congressman.
I’d never heard of him, but I’d never lived in New Mexico, so there was no reason he should have been on my radar. He didn’t lead any committees, and had no interest in being Speaker. He was closing in on forty years in office, and had never been involved in a scandal. That set off a bunch of red flags in my head. A politician who didn’t appear to be corrupt? I’d gone through Alice’s looking glass. I had to look him up online to even know what he looked like.
As you might expect, he was in his seventies, but he looked like he was younger. When I stepped into his office, his secretary, a middle-aged woman with glasses and hair tied back in a librarian’s bun, announced me. He rose from his desk, and light glinted off the American flag pin on his lapel. He crossed the floor, and gave me a solid handshake. He carried himself like a man in his thirties, and his grip was firm, but not crushing. His professional smile and strong gaze impressed me. He knew to suggest power without being overpowering.
“George, give us the room, please,” he said to the man seated in front of his desk.
George pushed himself to his feet. I recognized him from a news interview I’d seen last year. He was another member of the House, and while he was as old as Richard, he actually looked his age. He gave me a nod, then touched Richard’s arm.
“I’ll be in touch tomorrow about the agriculture bill. If we can get that amendment on there, it will add jobs to both our states.”
“I’ll look at it tonight, George. Thank you.”
George gave me a once-over, and his look said he didn’t know if he should dismiss me as irrelevant or if I was someone he should know because I was important enough to interrupt his meeting. I wore a suit for the occasion, but I didn’t wear a tie. I’d rather wear jeans and tennis shoes, but if you’re going to Capitol Hill, you dress up a bit.
George closed the door as he left. Richard gestured to the chair in front of his desk. I glanced at the bookshelves, which were loaded with law books and framed pictures of Richard shaking hands with every president going back to Ford.
“Can I get you a drink?” Richard asked.
“No thank you,” I said, and sat down.
He didn’t bother to pour himself a drink. Instead, he walked around his desk, sat in his black leather chair, and moved a few files off to the side. He placed his hands in his lap and gave me a slight grin.
“Back in the day,” he said, “we used to always have a glass of scotch or whiskey in our hands. Deals were so much easier back then. Perhaps being drunk made us more amenable to compromise. We were more civil then, too.” He waved a hand. “Sorry, I long for the old days. You look like a man who gets right to business.”
“It’s your meeting, sir,” I said.
“Meaning you won’t be so rude as to force an old man to get to the point. I had Martha pencil us in for two full hours, Mr. Shade.”
I nodded. I hoped he wouldn’t take two hours, but the check had enough zeroes before the decimal point that I wasn’t going to complain too much.
“May I ask you some questions?” His gaze was steady. “And will you give me honest answers?”
“I always aim to be stalwart and true,” I said. “It’s a character flaw.”
“Yes, well, this is Washington,” he said. “People lie to your face and smile as they stab you in the back.”
“I didn’t hear a question in there,” I said.
“My point is that I always know when they’re lying unless magic is involved.”
“Are you telling me Congress has more than one sorcerer?”
He laughed. “Always. Only, we used to have the courtesy to not use magic on one another.”
“Civility’s end will bring about the death of the nation,” I said.
He tilted his head. “Is that a quote?”
“Just something I made up.”
“Just now?”
“Yes.”
“May I steal it?”
“Knock yourself out,” I said.
He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a leather journal, turned to a blank page, and took a pen from his pocket. He wrote down the line, jotted my name beneath it, then tucked the pen away, closed the notebook, slid it back into the drawer.
He looked up at me, smiled, and said, “You don’t trust me.”
I pointed at him. “Politician.”
“I take it you’re saying all politicians are corrupt.”
“Only the successful ones.”
He smiled. “Palms get greased, ethics get compromised, but most of us try to do right by the country.”
Now it was my turn to laugh.
He joined me. “All right,” he said, “we all try to do right by the country provided it doesn’t hurt our chances of reelection.”
“Substitute party for country and I might believe you.”
“You looked me up before you came here,” he said. “You’re worried that I seem too good to be true. Fifty years in politics at the local, state, and national level, and no scandals.”
“And the man is psychic, too,” I said.
“This may come as a surprise to you, but while I used magic to get elected, it’s allowed me to help people in ways I never could have before. I’ve used my influence to build medical facilities, get funding for stem cell research, programs to feed the poor, and so many other things.”
“Spare me the campaign trail talk.”
“Very well. Long story short, sometimes magic is the only way to convince politicians to do anything that benefits their fellow man.”
“Can’t argue with that logic.”
“And sometimes I rely on men like you to handle some of life’s bigger problems.”
“Men like me?”
“Magic flows through your veins, Jonathan Shade. Dark and light magic in perfect measure. You are so perfectly balanced that you can’t use magic, but magic can’t use you.”
“Somebody read my Facebook page,” I said.
“You don’t have a Facebook page, Mr. Shade. But I didn’t ask you here to discuss social media.”
“Good,” I said.
“I’d like to discuss history for a moment.”
“Nobody told me there’d be a test.”
/> He smiled. “I’ll keep it nice and simple to start. How do you feel about Nazis?”
“Like Indiana Jones, I hate those guys.”
“When did Hitler die?”
“This really is a test,” I said.
“Just answer as best you can.”
“Officially? April 30, 1945?”
He smiled. “The Soviets claimed they had part of Hitler’s skull. Did you know that?”
“I do now.”
“In 2009, researchers performed autosomal DNA tests on a fragment, and, spoiler alert, it showed that it belonged to a woman in her thirties.”
“And now Boris and Natasha say it was switched by a moose and a squirrel?”
He sighed. I guess my humor wasn’t to his taste.
“I need your help, Mr. Shade. I want you to bring me Adolf Hitler’s skull.”
CHAPTER TWO
“You’re kidding.”
“Hitler didn’t die in the bunker, Mr. Shade. Of that I’m sure. I need his skull, and I need it yesterday.”
“Time out. Are you saying he’s still alive? He’d be more than a hundred years old.”
“One hundred twenty-eight at this point.” Class shook his head. “We’ve had him killed a few times over the years.”
“Please tell me you’re talking about doubles. The idea of Hitler being immortal is more than I can wrap my head around.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, yes, Hitler had doubles. Some people claim he had two, but I believe he had six. One of them might have died in the bunker, but I doubt it. After every Hitler sighting, we sent a team to find and kill him. We killed him three times in Argentina alone. Was it Hitler each time? Was it different doubles? I haven’t a clue.”
“Who’s we? It can’t be you. According to Wikipedia, you were born in 1945. The very year Hitler allegedly shuffled off his mortal coil.”
“By we I mean the United States. The C.I.A. mostly. The last mission was in January 1970.”
“But now you want his skull. Why?”
He grinned. “If I said it was for my personal collection, would you believe me?”
I studied his face. He gave away nothing. “I was paid to take this meeting, Mr. Class. I wasn’t paid to play fetch with a dead dictator’s skull.”
“I’d pay you to destroy it if I could verify its authenticity. Alas, to do that, I need to hold it, and I’m a bit too old to go gallivanting around the globe.”
“You look like you’re in pretty good shape,” I said.
“If I stay close to my source, I’m fine.”
“Source?”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just say it’s work for a younger man. One who is immune to magic. As for the reason to go after it now, well, there’s another player after the skull.”
“Of course there is.”
“His magic is greater than mine.”
“Of course it is. Do I dare to ask?”
“If I speak his name, he’ll know.”
“Write it down,” I said. “That way I won’t forget.”
“I’m not going to do that. His magic precludes me from directly identifying him to anyone without him knowing about it. I can tell you that he was a prominent Nazi, thought to be dead, but in late 1958, he was at a secret German base in Antarctica. Also in late 1958, President Eisenhower, Queen Elizabeth and her Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, and Nikita Khrushchev conveniently decided to test nuclear weapons over that base in Antarctica.”
“This guy lived through atomic blasts?” I asked.
He nodded. “His magic is great. He’s damn near immortal.”
“No one is immortal,” I said.
He grinned. “And that is why I requested you, Mr. Shade. You’ve got a bit of a reputation. You defeated the Men of Anubis. You’ve faced gods and lived.”
“Not my favorite pastime.”
“Be that as it may, I need that skull. Bring it to me, and I’ll compensate you to the tune of two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“Considering the danger involved, that sounds like a bargain basement price.”
“DGI looked into your finances, Mr. Shade. You somehow managed to go from being a billionaire to being flat broke and busted.”
I grinned at him. “So they found one of my aliases.”
“One?” He took the top file from the stack, opened it, and flipped through a few pages. He held up a sheet of paper. “Jon Easton. James Rockford. Thomas Magnum. Phil Marlowe. Samuel Spade. And for some reason, William Rogers.”
“What’s wrong with Buck Rogers?” I asked.
“Check your accounts, Mr. Shade.”
Something died in the pit of my stomach. The folks at Club Eternity took everything from my biggest account. They didn’t know about the others. But if DGI knew about my accounts, they could certainly drain them. They really wanted me to get this skull.
“I have cash and artwork stashed in various places, too,” I said.
He grinned at me. “Your accounts are fine right now. I want you to bring me the skull or those accounts will be making large donations to my Super PAC. Lose money or make money, Mr. Shade.”
“I’m not an assassin,” I said.
“Your associate, Kelly Chan, is.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I said. “I was going to say that if Hitler is still alive, I’d cut off his head for free.”
“I believe he’s dead. We haven’t had a confirmed sighting since January 1970.”
“You keep saying we, but you weren’t involved back in 1970. You’d have been twenty five years old.”
“My father was C.I.A. Before that, he was in the U.S. Seventh Army’s 45th Infantry Division.”
“And?”
“They’re the ones who liberated Dachau on April 29th, 1945.”
“Your father has my respect,” I said, and meant it.
“If he were alive, he’d appreciate it. Now, let’s finish this up. I lied about giving you two hours.”
“Good,” I said.
He grinned at that, and I found that I almost liked him. I didn’t trust him, of course, because politician, but at least his sense of humor occasionally allowed him to be human.
He took a photograph from the file and slid it across the desk to me.
“You’ll start by meeting this woman.”
I looked at the picture. The woman was a beautiful blonde with her hair parted in the middle, sweeping down behind her ears. The look on her face suggested she’d seen the darkness in the world, but knew that the powers of good would prevail.
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Yes, she’s stunning,” Class said. “She’s a talented medium, and she has her grandmother’s looks. Her grandmother was Maria Orsic.” He slid another photograph across the desk. This one was old and in black-and-white. It could have been the exact same woman.
“Wow, are they clones?” I asked.
“No, but they do share the same first name. Maria Merchant will meet you at The Next Whisky Bar.”
“Is she a Doors fan?”
He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her. Are you familiar with the bar?”
“I know the song, but we’re in D.C., not Alabama.”
“It’s at the Watergate Hotel.”
“How appropriate,” I said. “Do you want me to wiretap anyone for you?”
“Very funny. Ms. Merchant will help you locate the skull.”
Mr. Class’s secretary knocked on the door before opening it. “Delivery, sir,” she said.
“Excellent. Bring it in.”
She pushed the door open all the way, and a delivery man wheeled in a stack of boxes on a dolly.
“Right over there is fine,” Class said, pointing to a spot by the wall.
The delivery man parked the boxes, and slid the dolly free.
“Thank you, Jim,” Class said.
“Any time, sir,” the delivery man said, and left the room.
Class got up and went to the boxes. He took out his keys and used
one to slice the seal on the top box. He opened the flaps and took out a bumper sticker. He turned to show me. The sticker was red, white, and blue, of course, and it read, “Put some Class in the White House.”
I shot him a thumbs up. “Catchy,” I said.
He admired the sticker for a moment, then held it out to me. “For your car,” he said.
I accepted the sticker. There was no way I’d put it on my car, but I tucked it away in my pocket. “What time will Ms. Merchant be in the bar?”
“Eight o’clock tonight,” he said, moving the top box to the floor. He sliced open the next box, and pulled out a T-shirt with the same slogan. “Would you like a shirt?” he asked.
“I’ll pass.” I got up to leave.
“Wait,” he said. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a business card. He pulled a pen from another pocket and jotted a number on the back. “My private cell number in case you need anything.”
I took the card. “Thanks.”
“Today is Monday,” he said. “I need the skull delivered by next Monday.”
“Why?”
“Because next Monday is April 30th.”
“And?”
“Walpurgisnacht,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He meant the occult holiday, of course, and the anniversary of Hitler’s alleged death, the date being significant because Hitler and so many of his cronies were obsessed with the occult.
“You’re not a witch,” I said.
“I need the skull for a ceremony, and it has to be performed at midnight on Walpurgisnacht.”
I gave him my best Ace Ventura and said, “All righty then.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Next Whisky Bar at the Watergate Hotel was mighty impressive. Walls comprised of thousands of whisky bottles glowed with amber light and reflected off the dark floor. I recognized Maria Merchant seated in a soft contoured red chair with a cocktail glass standing before her on a short round table. She wore a white dress with a blue belt. Her shoes matched her belt. The dress was short, but not too short. Maria had one leg draped over the other, and I admit my first thought was of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, but I didn’t see an icepick in range, so I figured it was safe to make my approach.
I maneuvered my way through a small crowd to get to her table, where she’d saved me a chair.