Soul Meaning (Seventeen)

by AD Starrling

  ‘It’s just a scratch.’ Despite her stern protests, the injured man slowly climbed to his feet.

  Victor’s frown deepened. He turned and studied the shadowy canal. ‘We need to get you out of here.’ He pulled a cell from his coat and dialled a number. A short and sharp exchange followed. ‘Help’s on the way,’ he said after he disconnected.

  The minutes unfolded slowly while we waited. Despite my best efforts, I found my gaze irrepressibly drawn to Anna. My eyes helplessly traced the contours of her features as I struggled with an emotion I would not put a name to.

  By the time a squeal of tires finally rose from the street above and grew closer, the last crows were leaving the canal and disappearing into the sky. One of Victor’s bodyguards stepped out of the shadow of the bridge and stared upwards. ‘It’s Oktav,’ he said gruffly.

  Victor straightened from where he leaned against the canal wall. ‘Let’s get you up these steps,’ he said to the old man and placed one arm around his waist. With Anna supporting her grandfather on the other side, they started up the stairs.

  ‘I can walk, you know,’ the wounded man protested feebly halfway up the stone steps. Blood had soaked into the waistband of his trousers and sweat beaded his pale face.

  A sigh of exasperation left Victor’s lips. ‘Will you stop being so stubborn?’ He turned to his men and indicated the fallen immortals who had been protecting Anna and her grandfather. ‘Get them.’

  At the top of the stairs, a car and a van stood waiting on the road alongside the canal: the doors were open and the engines running.

  Grun was behind the wheel of the Volkswagen Transporter. ‘Marcus betrayed us,’ the innkeeper gushed out without preamble. There was a dark light in the large man’s eyes. ‘He killed Josef and Ollana before he got away.’ He paused abruptly and seemed to struggle with his emotions.

  Victor stiffened, his eyes going wintry with anger.

  Reid and I glanced at each other.

  There was a lot more going on here than the immortals’ enduring attempt to kill me and their apparent newfound mission to capture or kill Anna Godard and her grandfather. The Crovirs had attacked the Bastians in an open and fairly vicious manner. My sense of foreboding was growing darker by the hour.

  ‘And the others?’ Victor finally murmured.

  ‘They’re heading for one of the hideaways,’ Grun replied.

  ‘Good.’ Victor’s jaws clenched rhythmically while he watched the unconscious immortals being loaded into the rear of the van. ‘We’ll deal with Marcus later. For now, we have to get Tomas and Anna to a safe house.’ He paused. ‘Send word to the First Council.’ While Grun pulled a cell from his coat and made a call, Victor turned to assist Anna and her grandfather onto a seat inside the van. He looked at Reid and me before indicating the Skoda parked a few feet away. ‘You two, get in the car.’

  The larger of Victor’s bodyguards took the front passenger seat of the vehicle while Reid and I climbed in the back. The driver, a man with red hair and a friendly countenance, gave us an amiable nod over his shoulder. ‘Welcome aboard, boys. Please fasten your seat belts ’cause this is gonna be a bumpy ride.’

  Seconds later, the vehicles sped off into the night and headed west across the city. I glanced at the skyline above the rooftops while the unfamiliar roads unrolled before us. A lightening edge on the horizon heralded the imminent arrival of dawn.

  I gazed blindly out of the window, my mind abuzz with a myriad of questions. Events had taken an unforeseen turn; from what I could gather, Reid and I had stumbled in the middle of a conflict between the Bastians and the Crovirs. Yet, despite the incidents of the last day, I still had no clear idea of how it all fit together, especially what my role in the whole affair was. My eyes shifted to the vehicle ahead. One thing I was certain of: the people inside that van had some of the answers. Anna’s face rose in my mind. Something twisted inside my chest.

  We had just driven past a deserted park when a flash of movement to the right caught my eyes. A black Honda Fireblade superbike gunned out of a side street and skidded alongside the Skoda. Another bike appeared seconds later on the left side of the car. The two riders atop each of the sleek machines wore dark helmets and leather biker suits.

  ‘What the hell—’ the red-haired driver started, frowning at the apparitions.

  ‘Watch out!’ shouted the bodyguard. The figures riding pillion had pulled semi-automatic guns out of their jackets. They fired at the Skoda.

  Reid and I ducked a second before the windows shattered and showered us with shards of glass. The Skoda swerved across the road, our driver cursing viciously under his breath while he attempted to outmanoeuvre our attackers. The roar of the Fireblades’ engines suddenly rose in the night. I raised my head in time to see the bikes disappear after the van ahead of us.

  ‘Shit!’ said the bodyguard.

  I couldn’t agree more. The Crovirs were after Anna Godard again. ‘Go after them!’ I barked tersely.

  ‘I’m trying,’ the driver replied steadily. He glanced at a side mirror. ‘I think one of the bullets pierced the fuel tank.’

  I leaned out of the window and smelled the gasoline at the same time as I spotted the thin, dark liquid trail splashing onto the asphalt behind the car. Something else caught my gaze. I stared at the road. My eyes widened. I turned, lunged across the back of the driver’s seat, grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it sharply to the right.

  It was what ultimately saved us. The grey Humvee that had been bearing down on us with its headlights off clipped the rear end of the Skoda and sent the car spinning uncontrollably across the road. The red-haired driver swore as the wheel twisted between his hands. Reid and I braced ourselves against the roof of the vehicle and the headrests of the front seats.

  The Skoda crossed the center line and came to a screeching halt facing the other way against the opposite kerb. I glanced over my shoulder, my heart thudding against my ribs. The Humvee was heading straight for the van.

  A sudden shout from the bodyguard made me look forward. Thirty feet ahead and closing on us was another Hummer. It did not look like it was intending to stop anytime soon.

  The Bastian driver shifted gears and slammed on the accelerator. The tires squealed shrilly while the acrid smell of burning rubber rose around us. The wheels finally gripped the asphalt seconds before impact and the Skoda shot backwards.

  Victor’s bodyguard clipped a fresh magazine in his gun, leaned out of the passenger window and fired a volley of shots at the vehicle. A bullet zinged against the Hummer’s side mirror with a flash. Another cracked its windshield slightly. Finally, one thudded into the front right tire, causing it to slow down.

  The Bastian driver spun the wheel of the Skoda. The car turned in a sickening lurch until we were facing the right way again. Up ahead, the Fireblades and the grey Humvee were closing in on Grun’s Transporter. Gunfire erupted in the night. Bullets thudded into the rear doors of the van.

  The driver of the Skoda frowned and changed gears again. The car lurched forward and accelerated. Seconds later, sharp pings rose from the boot. I turned and looked out of the rear window. The Hummer was back on our tail. Gun muzzles appeared along the sides of the behemoth. Flashes followed.

  I lifted the Smith and Wesson and leaned out of the side window. Reid’s Glock echoed the shots from my gun on the opposite side of the car. ‘Aim for the engine!’ I shouted. ‘They’ve got run-flat tires!’

  Our next bullets entered the front grille of the Hummer simultaneously. There was a bang from under the hood of the truck and a cloud of smoke suddenly billowed out of the front. It veered across the road, mounted the pavement and crashed into the front facade of a bank. Flames erupted from the engine and licked the underside of the vehicle. An alarm sounded shrilly in the night as we sped away.

  Up ahead, the Humvee was a scant few feet behind the van. It accelerated sharply and collided with the rear bumper of the Transporter. The van swung towards the center line. The two Fireblades m
oved around and tried to overtake it. More bullets thudded into the sides of the Transporter.

  ‘Hang on!’ said the red-haired driver. He shifted gears once more, accelerated and rear ended the Humvee. The shock jolted us all forward and buckled the hood of the Skoda.

  The Humvee barely jerked on its suspensions. It accelerated again.

  ‘Take out their tires!’ yelled the Bastian driver. ‘Just slow them down, goddammit!’

  Victor’s bodyguard grunted and leaned out of the window, gun in hand. Just then, the Humvee’s loading door swung open. We stared into the mouth of a rocket launcher.

  ‘Oh shit!’ The Bastian driver spun the wheel of the car sharply to the left.

  Flames erupted ahead. The first grenade flashed past the hood of the Skoda and detonated on the road behind us. The blast blew the rear window in and showered us with broken glass again. The car shuddered and spun uncontrollably across the asphalt. Its tailgate finally swung around and crashed against a fire hydrant. The engine sputtered and died.

  We sat stunned for a couple of seconds. My gaze shifted to the truck a few hundred feet in front of us. It had slowed down. The rocket launcher was being reloaded.

  ‘Move!’ bellowed Victor’s bodyguard.

  The Bastian driver turned the key in the ignition: the car stuttered and stalled. He cursed and twisted the key again frantically. A heartbeat later, the engine sprang into life with a sharp, high-pitched screech. He shifted into reverse and started to pull away from the kerb.

  We were too late to avoid the second grenade. At the penultimate moment, gunfire from the Transporter caused the Humvee to swerve slightly. The rocket-propelled bomb spun widely from its intended path and exploded several feet from the front bumper of the Skoda.

  The world tilted as we were flung into the air. The car flipped twice, metal crumpling against the asphalt and giving way with a grating noise. The Skoda landed on its roof and skidded two hundred feet across the road in a shower of sparks before finally grinding to a halt on the center line.

  Buzzing silence surrounded me. The stench of gasoline was overpowering. I coughed and blinked. My vision blurred. I blinked again and dimly realised that the dark shadow obstructing my left eye was blood trickling from a fresh wound on my scalp. I was lying at an angle against the door. Reid lay heavily against me. He was unconscious. A crimson trail oozed from the gash on his head.

  ‘Reid,’ I murmured in a dazed voice. Low groans rose from the front of the car. I glanced ahead. Victor’s bodyguard and the driver of the Skoda shifted slowly as consciousness returned. I turned back in time to see Reid’s eyes flutter open. ‘Are you okay?’ I said anxiously, shifting to give him space.

  ‘I think so,’ Reid grunted and winced. ‘You?’

  ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘Oh crap,’ someone murmured dully from the front seat. It was the driver. My eyes widened when I looked past him and saw what he had spotted. Smoke was curling up from the hood of the car. ‘I vote we get the hell out of here now!’ the immortal shouted.

  I twisted around and crawled out of the Skoda through the shattered rear window, broken glass and debris cutting into my hands and arms. The others followed behind me. Seconds after we started running, flames ignited the liquid trail to the fuel tank. The resulting blast knocked us all to the ground. We lay stunned for a moment, the heat from the conflagration scorching our backs, before slowly rising to our feet.

  The Skoda was a fireball. Pale light filtered down from the skies and illuminated the empty road ahead: the Transporter and its pursuers had disappeared. Sirens blared in the distance behind us. ‘Did they make it?’ I murmured almost to myself.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ The Bastian driver grinned and wiped blood from his face. ‘Victor Dvorsky is not one to let himself get captured that easily.’ The bodyguard nodded and rubbed the back of his head with a wince. The driver glanced over his shoulder. The sirens were growing close. ‘We better get out of here.’

  We started down the road and turned into a side street. Barely fifteen seconds passed before a screech of tires erupted ahead of us: a police car appeared at the next junction and skidded to a stop sideways across the asphalt.

  ‘Have I mentioned that this is turning out to be a shitty day?’ the driver of the Skoda muttered. Two uniformed officers got out of the vehicle and unholstered their guns. They shouted a warning in German. ‘This way!’ said the red-haired immortal. He turned and headed towards an alley on the left. We ran after him and emerged on a parallel side road moments later. Two police cars sat blocking the exits at either end. The driver frowned. ‘Follow me!’ He dashed across the road and entered another alley.

  The sirens that been blasting through the crisp morning air stopped abruptly. Footsteps and shouts broke out behind us. Someone yelled ‘Stop! This is the police!’ in German.

  We turned a corner and staggered to a halt. A brick wall loomed in our path. ‘The dumpster!’ The driver pointed at the grey skip to the side. Grunting with effort, we heaved and pushed the heavy metal container across the alley. Seconds later, we were over the top of the wall.

  We landed heavily in a dimly lit passage on the other side and started to run. We were twenty feet from the mouth of the alley when a squad car suddenly braked in front of it. We skidded to a stop.

  ‘That’s not good,’ said Reid.

  Scrambling noises and thuds rose behind us as uniformed officers appeared over the wall. ‘Police! I repeat, put your arms behind your head and get down on your knees!’ someone shouted in German, then English.

  ‘Anybody see a way out of this?’ said Reid.

  ‘Nope,’ muttered the Bastian driver. Victor’s bodyguard frowned and shook his head slowly.

  Frustration gnawed at me. My hands unconsciously balled into fists. I had been so close to Anna Godard and the answers that I sought.

  Reid sighed. ‘Oh well. Better do as they say.’

  We were rapidly surrounded by a group of uniformed policemen. They pushed us roughly to the ground, slapped cuffs on our wrists and read us our rights before hauling us back onto our knees. A shadow loomed in front of me and a pair of polished shoes appeared before my eyes. I looked up.

  ‘It’s irony, definitely irony,’ Reid muttered at my side.

  ‘Mr Soul, Mr Hasley,’ Christophe Lacroix said with a fierce smile. ‘We meet again.’

  Chapter Eleven

  The Headquarters of the Federal Criminal Police Office, or the Bundeskriminalamt as it was known locally, was located on the Josef-Holaubek Platz, in the Alsergrund district of Vienna. It was close to the banks of the upper Danube Canal and across the road from one of the campuses of the city’s university.

  ‘That was quite a stunt you guys pulled back there,’ said Lacroix.

  I remained silent. We had been booked in and placed in separate interview rooms beyond the secured doors of the station. An Austrian Federal Police investigator stood near the back wall and watched the proceedings with a carefully neutral expression while the Frenchman interrogated me. I suspected there were others behind the glass partition to my right.

  Lacroix crossed the floor and took the seat opposite mine. ‘Why don’t we start at the beginning?’ He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. ‘What do you know about the murder of Professor Strauss?’

  I looked at him steadily. ‘Not a lot, I’m afraid,’ I said truthfully.

  Lacroix’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would you care to elaborate on that?’

  ‘We were looking for him, but we never found any traces of his whereabouts.’

  He studied me with a frown. ‘Were you at his address in the 11ème arrondissement on Saturday night?’

  ‘Yes. He wasn’t there at the time.’

  The Frenchman stared at me incredulously. ‘So what are you saying? That his body miraculously reappeared in his apartment after you left?’

  I suppressed a sigh. ‘I take it your forensic pathologist concluded he had been dead for a few day
s?’

  Lacroix did not reply.

  ‘You should be able to confirm that we were in the States at the time.’ I rested my elbows on the edge of the table and leaned forward. ‘We did not kill Hubert Strauss,’ I said emphatically. I paused and carefully considered my next words before uttering them. ‘The men who murdered him are still out there.’

  ‘Are these the same men who allegedly tried to kill you in Boston?’ Lacroix retorted.

  I gazed at him for silent seconds. ‘I see you’ve been talking to Detective Meyer,’ I murmured.

  Lacroix snorted. ‘Not just him. The FBI in Washington is also quite keen to have a little chat with you and Mr Hasley.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘They should be here in about nine hours.’

  I stared at my hands while I struggled to hide my anxiety and anger. Our time was fast running out. Despite the reassurances of Victor’s bodyguard and driver, I had no idea whether Anna Godard had fallen into the hands of the Crovirs. That lack of knowledge left me cold. One thing I was certain of: the Crovirs would come after me again. ‘The people you’re dealing with will not wait that long to intervene,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Is that a threat?’ said Lacroix.

  I looked up. The Frenchman was frowning again. ‘It’s a friendly warning,’ I said evenly.

  It was Lacroix’s turn to be silent. ‘What about Gif-sur-Yvette?’ he finally said gruffly.

  I sat back in the chair and forced myself to relax. ‘We went there to look for information on Strauss.’

  ‘And the gunfight?’A hush fell across the room. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me it was those “invisible” men again?’ Lacroix added cynically.

  ‘You found the trucks?’ I said steadily.

  Lacroix’s frown deepened. ‘They were empty.’

  ‘Well, you did say they were “invisible”,’ I said drily.

  The Frenchman glared at me for several seconds before looking at the papers in front of him. ‘You were also involved in the incident at the Hauptbahnhof in Zurich,’ he said abruptly, having evidently decided to switch tactics.