Soul Meaning (Seventeen)

by AD Starrling

  I glanced at the man at the back of the room. ‘That’s not strictly within your jurisdiction now, is it?’

  Lacroix opened his mouth to reply. The Austrian officer interrupted him. A murmured exchange followed, during which the word “procedure” was repeated several times in German.

  ‘It seems we’re still waiting for the Zurich City Police and Swiss Interpol to get here,’ Lacroix finally murmured bitterly while the Austrian investigator gestured to someone behind the glass partition.

  The door opened and a couple of uniformed officers appeared to escort me back to my cell. I paused on the threshold of the interview room and looked back at the Frenchman. ‘Like I told your uncle, things are not as they seem,’ I said quietly before I was led out to the prison block.

  Ten minutes later, Reid was ushered into the cell opposite mine. ‘Yo,’ he said. There was a fresh dressing on his head. He winced and massaged the back of his neck gingerly.

  ‘Yo yourself.’ I studied his gaunt expression with a pang of guilt. ‘How’re you holding up?’

  Reid grinned weakly. ‘I’ve been worse.’ He patted the pockets of his jacket and sighed. ‘Damn, they took the cigarettes.’ He leaned against the wall and gazed at the ceiling. ‘So, you found out anything interesting?’

  ‘The FBI’s on their way from DC.’ A wave of weariness suddenly washed over me. I sat down on a bench. ‘You?’

  ‘They didn’t find any bodies in the Hummer or at the canal,’ Reid replied. ‘They were very interested in the amount of empty shells and blood found at the scenes, though.’

  Silence fell in the narrow corridor that separated our cells. ‘The Crovirs will come for us,’ I finally said in a low voice.

  Reid’s eyebrows rose. ‘Here?’ he said incredulously. I nodded. He scratched his head and grimaced. ‘You’re right. Considering what they’ve done so far, that wouldn’t surprise me.’

  The door at the end of the passage opened. There were sounds of a scuffle. Victor’s bodyguard and the driver of the Skoda came into view. They were pushed roughly inside the cells next to us.

  ‘Damn Stapos,’ muttered the bodyguard after the officers had left.

  ‘He means the Austrian State Police,’ I translated at Reid’s puzzled expression. ‘They’re kinda like the local secret service.’ I hesitated while I studied the two immortals closely. ‘It’s about time we got to know your names.’

  The bodyguard wiped his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand and moved his lower jaw sideways gingerly. ‘I’m Bruno,’ he muttered gruffly. He winced and indicated the driver. ‘That’s Anatole.’ The red-haired immortal nodded amiably.

  ‘Reid,’ said my partner from across the way.

  ‘Lucas,’ I murmured.

  ‘We know who you are,’ said Bruno. ‘The immortal who can kill other immortals.’

  Tense silence followed the bodyguard’s stiff words. ‘Well, he wouldn’t have to if you people just left him alone,’ Reid said with a heavy frown. I remained silent while I tried to gauge the two immortals’ moods. I would need their help if we were to get out of there.

  Anatole chuckled. He was grinning at the bodyguard. ‘Give him a break, will you? He could’ve finished you off if he’d wanted to. And, quite frankly, with that shitty attitude of yours, I wouldn’t blame him.’

  Bruno grunted and lapsed into silence.

  Half an hour later, the door to the cell block opened again. Several armed officers appeared. They were led by the Austrian investigator who had been in the interview room with Lacroix. ‘You are being transferred to the Staatspolizei headquarters,’ the man said stiffly while we were handcuffed and removed from the cells. ‘The orders have just come through.’ The lines around his mouth were strained. He avoided meeting our eyes.

  I glanced at Reid. He nodded slightly. This was probably going to be our one and only chance to escape.

  We were escorted out of the detention center and marched towards the front of the station. Moments later, I glanced to the right; we had just gone past a secured evidence room and the armoury. Another security door opened ahead of us. We entered the main reception.

  A voice from the past greeted me across the floor. ‘Hello, Lucas.’

  I stopped and stared at the man who had spoken.

  Mikael Olsson had hardly changed in the decade since I had last seen him. Steely grey eyes studied me coolly from beneath a familiar fringe of dark hair. His tall and lanky frame was slightly more muscular than I recalled.

  A group of black-clad men stood silently behind him, their eyes calmly studying the space around them.

  ‘You know this guy?’ murmured Reid.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, struggling to maintain my composure. ‘That’s Olsson.’

  The Austrian investigator was speaking to the sergeant behind the desk when a door slammed open to the far left of the reception. Lacroix stormed out of the passage beyond and marched up to the Austrian officer. ‘What’s going on here? Why are the prisoners being moved?’ he said sharply, glancing at us.

  The Austrian investigator’s expression grew shuttered. ‘I have received orders from my superiors,’ he said coldly. ‘These men are to be placed in the custody of the State Police.’

  ‘Why?’ barked Lacroix. ‘And by whose authority, exactly?’ The Frenchman had gone red in the face.

  Olsson took a step forward. ‘I’m afraid that information is on a need to know basis only,’ he said smoothly.

  Lacroix turned and studied him from head to toe. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Olsson smiled and held up a badge. ‘Like he said, we are Staatspolizei,’ he drawled.

  I stared at Reid. His eyes narrowed. Behind him, Bruno and Anatole caught my glance and tensed. ‘These men are not from the State Police,’ I said loudly. My voice rang across the marble floor. I looked at Lacroix. ‘They are the ones who tried to kill us.’

  A strained silence fell across the reception. Frowns appeared on the faces of some of the uniformed Austrian officers.

  A low chuckle escaped Olsson’s lips. ‘Come now, these men are desperate. They’re obviously lying.’ The laughter did not quite reach his eyes.

  I frowned. The handcuffs at my wrists jangled as I pointed to three of the men behind him. ‘Check their guns. The one on the right should match ballistics from Gif-sur-Yvette. The other two were at the Hauptbahnhof yesterday.’

  Olsson scowled. ‘Enough of this nonsense,’ he said icily. ‘We have a letter here from the Federal Ministry of Interior with instructions for you to transfer these men into our custody. Just kindly hand them over.’

  It was the wrong tone to take. The Austrian investigator’s eyes narrowed. Lacroix stiffened. ‘What’s the rush?’ said the Frenchman.

  A faint smile replaced the frown on Olsson’s face. I tensed and lifted myself slightly on the balls of my feet, ready to move. ‘Oh, there’s no rush,’ the immortal said calmly. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a gun.

  I threw myself against Lacroix and carried him to the floor: the bullet from Olsson’s semi-automatic pistol missed him by inches and thudded into the solid oak counter above us. I grabbed the stunned Frenchman’s weapon out of his shoulder holster, twisted and fired a volley of rounds. Olsson grunted and jerked backwards.

  I did not wait to see him fall. A second later, I was behind the desk, Lacroix’s gun still gripped firmly in my hands. I was joined by Reid and the two Bastian immortals.

  The crack of bullets rose around the reception as the Crovirs and the Austrians started to exchange fire. From elsewhere in the building came distant crashes and the thud of approaching footsteps as other police officers raced towards the noise of the gunfight.

  ‘We need to get to the evidence room!’ I said urgently. Reid had grabbed a paperclip from the desk and was working his way through our handcuffs. ‘My swords are in there.’

  The sergeant behind the reception had been shot in the chest. A young man in uniform cowered under a table next to him; he looked to be about ei
ghteen.

  ‘If you want to live, give me your gun!’ I ordered harshly in German above the noise of gunfire. The young officer stared at us, petrified. I extended my hand brusquely. He gulped and passed his firearm across with a shaking hand. I grabbed the weapon and tossed it to Reid. ‘On the count of three?’ I said tensely. Reid and the Bastians nodded.

  We rose from behind the counter and raced for the security door on our right. I glanced over my shoulder. Several Austrian officers lay dead or wounded on the floor of the reception. The Crovirs had fared better in terms of casualties, although I suspected they wore bulletproof vests under their suits. I gritted my teeth, rage surging afresh through my veins.

  Rounds scored the floor behind us. Anatole grunted and staggered slightly. A second before we reached the security door, it slammed open and a dozen officers in combat gear spilled out from the passage beyond. We dropped, flattened ourselves against the wall and slipped inside after the last man had crossed the threshold.

  The corridor was blessedly empty. I headed for the evidence room and shot through the security lock on the door.

  The katana and the wakizashi were on a shelf in the second aisle. Our guns, holsters and Bruno’s cell were in a box next to them.

  ‘We could escape through the back,’ the bodyguard muttered as he pocketed the phone. Anatole looked up from tying a piece of cloth he had torn from his sleeve around the bullet wound on his thigh. Blood was already seeping through it.

  I frowned. ‘The Crovirs will slaughter everyone in this building if they don’t find us in the next few minutes.’

  Reid came back into the room. ‘Armoury door was wide open.’ He threw us a Kevlar vest each and magazines for our guns. ‘And look what else I found.’ He grinned as he held up a couple of Steyr AUG assault rifles.

  ‘Nice,’ said Bruno. He caught the one that Reid tossed at him.

  ‘It’s like Christmas come early,’ Anatole said with a weak grin.

  I finished loading fresh magazines into my guns and glanced hesitantly from the bodyguard to the driver. ‘Look, there’s no need for all of us to stay. The two of you could—’ I started to say.

  Bruno held up a hand. ‘Stop right there. Dvorsky will have our heads if we abandon you now,’ he said gruffly.

  Anatole nodded. ‘He’s right. The boss gave us strict orders to look after your sorry asses. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve seen this much action,’ he said with a shrug. ‘We can’t let you guys have all the fun.’

  I returned his smile grimly. ‘Just try and keep up.’

  The gunfire was still going strong when we emerged in the reception seconds later. I spotted Lacroix behind a wall to the left. Blood was dripping down the Frenchman’s arm; he had found a gun from somewhere and was shooting at the Crovirs.

  Four of them lay on the floor, apparently dead from shots to the head. I knew better.

  I left the guns in the holsters on my thighs and drew my swords as I headed towards the fallen men. Behind me, the stutter of the Steyr AUGs filled the room.

  Two of the Hunters groaned and sat up slowly. Horrified shouts erupted from the Austrian officers when the pair started to climb to their feet. There was a gasped ‘Nom de Dieu!’ from Lacroix.

  By then, I was already halfway across the floor.

  The katana hissed through the air with a silken sound. The first Hunter fell again. I twisted and drove the wakizashi into the chest of the second Hunter. He folded silently at my feet, a look of stunned surprise on his face.

  ‘Lucas!’ Reid shouted. There was movement behind me. I ducked.

  The tip of Olsson’s longsword missed my neck by inches. He swore when the katana carved a deep cut on the underside of his arm.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a swordsman,’ I said steadily as I drew myself upright. Blood dripped from the edges of my blades. I moved and blocked a bullet with the katana.

  ‘There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me.’ A cynical smile dawned on Olsson’s face.

  ‘You’re right.’ The sword shuddered in my hands when further bullets struck it. I had to know. ‘Why, Mikael?’ I said quietly.

  Olsson hesitated. ‘Because you’re the only one who stands in our way. And because the man who killed my father holds you dear to his heart!’ he hissed and brought his sword around in an arc.

  My eyes widened. I broke his move with the daisho, my mind reeling while I struggled to understand the meaning behind his words. Olsson grunted; his knuckles whitened as he pressed down with his sword. Bullets sang through the air and thudded into my left flank. Though they hit the vest, I still gasped at the stinging pain. My knee gave way beneath me. Olsson grinned coldly as I was slowly forced to the floor.

  There was a flash at the corner of my vision. I glanced sideways. By the time Olsson turned, he was already too late. Reid levelled the Glock and shot him point-blank in the neck.

  The longsword clattered onto the polished floor. Olsson’s eyes widened in shocked surprise as he desperately pressed his hands against the wound at his throat. Blood spurted between his fingers. He collapsed to the floor.

  ‘Let’s get the hell out of here!’ Bruno shouted by the exit. He held a bleeding Anatole under the shoulders; the Bastian driver had acquired a second gunshot wound to his abdomen.

  I looked around the station’s reception. The Crovirs were down. Already, I could hear the sharp calls of crows coming from the rooftop of the building. The Austrian officers still standing stared at us hesitantly, uncertain as to how to proceed. Reid and I stepped towards the exit.

  ‘Stop!’ Lacroix yelled behind us. A warning shot was fired above our heads.

  I paused and turned, struggling to hide my impatience. ‘I suggest you let us leave,’ I said curtly, staring at the Frenchman. ‘They’ll come after us again. If we stay, all of you will die.’

  Lacroix studied me with a frown. Blood oozed from a cut on his face and the shallow wound on his shoulder. Just then, one of the fallen Hunters coughed and blinked. Another groaned on the floor next to him. Lacroix and the Austrian officers were still staring at them incredulously when we walked out of the building.

  ‘You could have finished him off,’ said Reid as we raced down the steps of the police headquarters.

  I knew he was referring to Olsson. ‘Yes, I could have. But first, I need answers.’ I still didn’t understand what Olsson had meant, nor did I know who he had alluded to. I had already dismissed Pierre Vauquois as a possibility. To my knowledge, that left no one else.

  We crossed the road and followed the bodyguard and the wounded driver into the dimly lit interior of a parking garage under one of the university buildings. We had just entered the shadows when the sound of gunshots erupted behind us once more. We started to run.

  Fifty feet ahead and to the left, an elderly gentleman was locking the door of his Volvo estate. He looked up in surprise at our footsteps. Surprise turned to alarm when Reid lifted the Glock and pointed it brusquely at his face. ‘The keys, please,’ he said sharply.

  The old man’s eyes widened in confusion. Bruno barked the order again in German. Anatole lay heavily against him; the immortal had turned an ashen colour and was bleeding profusely from his wounds. The Volvo owner’s hand shook as he slowly passed the keys across. They dropped from his grasp. Reid cursed and leaned down to pick them.

  The bullet missed him by an inch and thudded into the old man’s shoulder. The latter cried out in shock and fell to the ground. I turned and fired at a pair of figures some hundred feet away. A scream of panic rose from elsewhere in the underground car park.

  Reid unlocked the estate and threw the keys at me. ‘You’re the better driver!’ he shouted. While I helped Bruno load Anatole into the back seat, he propped the injured car owner against a concrete pillar. A young woman cowered behind a parked van a few yards away. ‘You, come here,’ Reid beckoned curtly. Her eyes widened. She stared at the gun in his hand and reluctantly crawled across the narrow gap between the vehicles. ‘Her
e, apply firm pressure.’ He grabbed her hand and pushed it against the wound in the old man’s flesh. She nodded tremulously, tears spilling over and coursing down her face.

  Shots pinged across the hood of the Volvo. I started the engine and engaged the transmission. ‘Reid!’ I said urgently. He turned and dove inside the car. I didn’t wait for the door to close and stepped on the gas. The wheels spun madly before gripping the asphalt. The smell of burning rubber filled the air as the car shot forward.

  A Crovir Hunter suddenly stepped in our path. Flashes erupted from the muzzle of his gun. ‘Hang on!’ I said grimly and jerked the wheel sharply to the left.

  The Volvo’s bumper caught the immortal across the legs. He landed on the hood with a sickening crunch and slipped off to the side. Further shots thudded into the side of the car. The passenger window cracked.

  ‘Get us out of here!’ said Reid.

  ‘I’m trying,’ I muttered between gritted teeth. The Volvo skidded around a corner, grazed a row of cars in a shower of sparks and barrelled down an empty lane. The exit finally appeared in a flood of daylight at the other end. A second later, several black clad figures emerged from the shadows on either side of us. I frowned and floored the accelerator.

  We crashed through the security barrier in a hail of gunfire. Bullets slammed into the boot of the car. A spider web crack appeared in the rear window.

  A tortured squeal of brakes rose unexpectedly from the left. I looked around. My eyes widened.

  A tram had materialised on the road. We were directly in its path.

  I swore and twisted the driving wheel to the right. A loud shriek of metal followed as the Volvo scraped along the flank of the carriage. The left side mirror crumpled and disappeared under the tramcar. A couple of feet above, half a dozen shocked passengers gaped open-mouthed through the windows while I pulled away.

  The Volvo swerved around a fire hydrant and juddered back onto the road. A trio of black sedans appeared in the rear view mirror seconds later. ‘Reid,’ I said with a dull note of urgency, my gaze shifting to the busy traffic ahead.