Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3)

by AD Starrling

  ‘The third element of this investigation is the most complex,’ said Laura. ‘Despite what Director Connelly has stated about the lack of information from the intelligence community, we need to look at all the available data again.’ A low groan escaped the NSA guy’s lips. Laura glanced at him with a frown. ‘We’re looking for isolated events that may suggest a pattern of threat against the United States and, in particular, the person of the president. Spread the word to your individual teams. However insignificant a detail may seem to the analysts assigned to this task force, I want to know about it.’

  ‘Vassili and I are going to talk to the suspect,’ said Conrad. ‘Agent Hartwell will start looking at the surveillance data and the findings of the preliminary site investigation at the FedEx field. CIA and NSA, you’re on intel. FBI and Homeland have the bodies and the guns.’ His eyes shifted briefly to the Sit Room Director. ‘The president is allowing us to use this place as our command post. All incoming data is to be pooled here.’ He stood back from the table. ‘Meeting’s over. Let’s go, people.’

  The agents dispersed rapidly, their movements full of urgency and purpose as they headed out the room amidst a low rumble of conversation. Someone spoke quietly behind Conrad as he started toward the door with Anatole.

  ‘I may have underestimated you, Greene,’ said Sarah Connelly.

  Conrad stopped and turned to observe the inscrutable look on the face of the Director of National Intelligence. ‘Look, I don’t blame you,’ he said bluntly. ‘I would have reacted the same way if I were in your shoes.’

  A faint smile flashed across Connelly’s lips. ‘Agent Stevens will take you to the facility where the prisoner is being held.’ Her expression hardened. ‘Don’t disappoint me, Greene.’

  The two immortals walked out of the room and made for the flight of stairs at the end of the corridor.

  ‘I think she likes you.’ Anatole grinned and waggled an eyebrow. ‘You always did have a way with the ladies.’

  ‘Not all the ladies,’ retorted Conrad.

  Anatole sobered. ‘That’s true.’ He sighed. ‘It breaks my heart to see the two of you still like this. Christ, it’s been three hundred years already! Don’t you think it’s about time you kissed and made up?’

  ‘Some things are hard to forgive,’ said Conrad quietly. Following the earth-shattering discovery of his hitherto unknown ability thirteen months ago, the immortal had often reflected bitterly on how different his life and that of the woman he loved would have been had he possessed that wondrous skill at the time they both needed it the most.

  A sad light flitted in Anatole’s eyes. He opened his mouth for a riposte, thought better of it, and remained silent. They emerged through the West Wing basement entrance and crossed a sunlit car park to a stationary black Suburban. The US Secret Service agent who had been in the back of the president’s limo stood waiting for them in a fresh suit, his expression concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.

  ‘Stevens,’ Conrad acknowledged with a nod.

  The man turned wordlessly and climbed behind the steering wheel. Conrad took the seat beside him and Anatole got in the back. The agent guided the SUV to one of the West Executive Avenue security gates.

  ‘How far is this place?’ said Conrad.

  ‘It’s four miles southwest of our current location,’ Stevens replied in a clipped tone.

  They left the White House grounds and turned south on 17th St. Stevens drove toward Independence Avenue and took the ramp onto Interstate 395 South. The waters of the Potomac River glittered below them as they crossed the George Mason Memorial Bridge into Arlington County.

  Conrad studied the limestone facade of the Pentagon rising pallidly against the sky in the distance to their right, its walls foreboding in the brilliant daylight.

  Stevens took the exit toward Alexandria and came off the highway. He turned left at a busy junction and guided the Suburban through the network of high-rise buildings and avenues that made up the urban village of Crystal City. He took a couple more corners before entering a narrow service road. They slowed outside the back of a nondescript, multistory complex and entered the dark mouth of an underground tunnel.

  A security barrier appeared in the Chevy’s headlights. It was manned by an armed guard in a booth. Stevens braked and lowered the window. He flashed his Secret Service ID at the sentinel and indicated Conrad and Anatole cursorily. ‘They’re with me.’

  The two immortals held up the temporary badges they had been granted by the White House security staff. The guard scrutinized the cards closely before operating the barrier. Stevens drove down the ramp and parked the Suburban at the end of a large underground garage. The immortals exited the vehicle after the agent and followed him across the concrete floor toward a lift.

  Conrad glanced around the sub-basement as he walked in Stevens’s steps. The parking lot was full of government cars and SUVs. The agent punched a code into the biometric security display in the wall next to the elevator and pressed his hand against the electronic window on the screen. A beep sounded from the panel and the lift doors opened. They entered the metal cage.

  ‘Have you got similar security on the ground floor entrances of the building?’ said Conrad as the steel panels closed with a metallic whoosh.

  ‘Bar the main reception and the fire exits, yes,’ replied Stevens. ‘There’s a private medical center on the third level. It’s where the suspect’s injuries got treated. The holding cells and interview rooms are higher up.’

  The elevator opened on the top floor. They exited the cabin and walked out into an airy lobby. A glass wall overlooked the George Washington Memorial Parkway and the Ronald Reagan National Airport to the east.

  An armed woman in a suit sat behind the security station at the far end of the foyer. A pair of metal doors framed the wall on either side of her.

  Stevens removed his sunglasses and strolled toward the desk. ‘We’re here to see the prisoner.’

  The woman wordlessly passed them a digital tablet. They scanned their badges across the ID reader at the top. She checked the data that came up on the monitor in front of her and entered a code on the keyboard.

  ‘Go through,’ she said in a crisp tone. ‘He’s in the last interview room.’ The door on the left swung open with a faint pneumatic hiss.

  Conrad and Anatole headed through the opening after Stevens. A wide, windowless corridor lit with fluorescent strips lay on the other side. Touch-sensitive keypads guarded the locks on the doors lining the passage.

  Anatole eyed the security system with a grin. ‘Cool. I kinda feel like I’m in a spy movie.’

  Stevens gave him a look.

  ‘What? It’s a compliment,’ said Anatole, shrugging at Conrad’s expression.

  A door opened near the end of the corridor. A woman in gray nurse’s scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck stepped out with a digital blood pressure monitor in hand. She acknowledged the three men with a dip of her chin and started to walk past them.

  Stevens moved into her path. ‘How’s he doing?’

  The woman stopped and looked up with a small smile. ‘He’s a bit woozy from the pain meds, but his obs are stable.’

  A man in a suit appeared in the doorway of the room the nurse had just exited. ‘Oh. It’s you,’ he said when he spotted Stevens. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ murmured the nurse. She sidestepped around them and headed for the security door they had come through.

  The assassin Conrad had overpowered at the FedEx field was slouched in a metal chair behind a table in the middle of a stark interview chamber. His right foot was shackled to the floor and his left hand had been cuffed to the armrest. His other hand and leg were in casts.

  His expression changed when he saw Conrad. The ugly bruise and swelling over his fractured nose and around his eyes distorted
with his scowl.

  The female agent on the near side of the desk looked over. ‘Gee, that’s the first reaction we’ve had from the guy since he got here,’ she drawled. ‘You the one who beat the shit out of his sorry ass?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Conrad, his gaze shifting from the prisoner.

  The agent grinned. ‘Swell.’

  Conrad joined her and took the third chair at the table. He leaned forward with his hands folded together and watched the assassin for a long, silent moment.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the immortal said finally.

  The man returned his look blankly.

  ‘Who are you working for?’ asked Conrad.

  Silence followed his question.

  ‘When were you hired for this job?’

  The assassin absentmindedly scratched at his cuffed arm with his free hand, his expression clearly disinterested.

  ‘Where did you get the gun we found on you?’ Conrad persevered.

  The man remained resolutely mute.

  The female agent sighed. ‘We’ve been asking him the same questions for the last two hours.’

  ‘And?’ said Anatole.

  ‘Zip. Zilch. Nada,’ she replied. ‘The wall’s got more personality than this guy.’

  Conrad leaned back in the chair and studied the tight-lipped prisoner with a critical eye. He doubted the man would talk so easily.

  ‘If you cooperate with the authorities, your sentence will be reduced,’ he stated in a passionless voice. ‘If you don’t, there are ways and means to make you talk. They will be painful and unpleasant. After that, you will disappear. I will personally see to it that no one finds your remains.’

  The assassin blinked. He glanced at his left arm where it lay restrained to the chair. Conrad followed the path of the man’s eyes with his gaze.

  The female agent suddenly straightened in her seat. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ she said sharply to the prisoner.

  Conrad looked up. The assassin’s eyes bulged in his skull, his pupils growing black circles in a sea of reddening white as blood vessels popped in his sclerae. Sweat beaded his skin and his features contorted in an expression of shock and pain. He swung his injured arm to clutch violently at his chest and collapsed face down on the table, his forehead smacking the surface with a thud.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Shit!’

  The metal chair rattled and fell on the floor as Conrad sprang to his feet and moved around the table. He heaved the man upright in his seat and felt frantically for the pulse in his throat as the female agent joined him from the other side. The killer’s head lolled backward on his neck, and he stared unseeingly at the ceiling. Alarm shot through the immortal.

  ‘Get a medical team here! We have a man down!’ the male agent at the door shouted into his radio unit before storming across the room toward them.

  Conrad swore when he felt the absence of the steady heartbeat he had been expecting. ‘He’s arrested! Let’s get him on the floor!’

  Anatole and Stevens helped the female agent undo the prisoner’s restraints and lower him to the ground.

  Conrad kneeled by the unconscious man and placed his hand on his forehead. ‘Start CPR!’ he ordered grimly as he cast his healing energy down his birthmark.

  The female agent pinched the prisoner’s nose and blew air into his mouth. Anatole put his interlocked hands over the man’s breastbone and started to pump vigorously.

  ‘Let the White House know we have a situation!’ Conrad barked at Stevens. The agent took out his cell phone.

  ‘What the hell is that on his arm?’ grunted Anatole, his upper body moving rhythmically as he compressed the killer’s chest.

  Conrad looked down and saw a small, round, red blister on the killer’s left bicep. His alarm turned to fear.

  ‘Don’t touch it!’ he shouted when the female agent reached out with her fingers. She snatched her hand back millimeters from the dead man’s skin.

  A door opened in the distance. Footsteps pounded the concrete passage outside the room. The male agent strode out into the corridor. ‘In here!’ He beckoned the people running down the hallway.

  Conrad’s gaze focused on the discolored circle of skin on the prisoner’s flesh. ‘Did that nurse give him any pills?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘No!’ replied the female agent. ‘All she did was measure his blood pressure!’

  Conrad went still. ‘On his left arm?’

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed. She froze and stared wide-eyed at the blister, realization dawning on her face.

  Beneath his fingertips, Conrad could sense the presence of a strange chemical in the assassin’s blood stream. The damage to the man’s heart muscles and nerve fibers had been done. Though he could reverse the physical effects of the toxin, he would be unable to bring the killer back to life without giving away a piece of his soul. He clenched his teeth.

  Fingers closed around his wrist in a steely grip. He looked up into Anatole’s scowling face.

  ‘I hope you’re not thinking of doing what I think you are?’ the red-haired immortal muttered as a group of doctors and nurses rushed inside the room. ‘He’s not worth it.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’ Conrad was aware of Stevens’s uneasy stare on the side of his face. ‘And no, he’s not.’ He rose and started toward the door as the medical team took over resuscitating the dead man. ‘Shut down the building!’ he called out to the two agents who had been with the prisoner. ‘We need to find that nurse!’

  Conrad exited the room and sprinted up the corridor. He emerged in the security lobby with Anatole and Stevens on his heels. The woman behind the desk looked up, a phone receiver tucked against her ear; she was speaking urgently in the mouthpiece while typing on the keyboard of her computer.

  Conrad strode around the station and studied the security monitors. ‘Can you see the woman who came through that door a few minutes ago?’

  ‘You mean the nurse?’ said the agent sharply. She placed the phone down on its cradle.

  ‘Yes!’

  She clicked on a mouse and brought up more feeds from the security cameras in the complex. ‘The building’s in lockdown. If she’s still here, she won’t be able to get out.’

  ‘There!’ Anatole exclaimed. He stabbed a finger at the bottom left corner of the screen.

  A slim figure in gray scrubs was disappearing swiftly down a flight of stairs.

  Anger blazed through Conrad. His nails bit into his palms. ‘Where is that?’

  ‘It’s the northwest service stairs,’ said the female agent. ‘She’s on the fourth floor!’

  ‘How do we get to it?’

  ‘There’s a shortcut through there!’ The woman’s fingers clattered on the computer keyboard. The security door on the right popped open. ‘Go straight down and take a left. I’ll override the fire door!’

  Conrad ran for the opening and heard the woman bark instructions into her radio as he disappeared over the threshold. Another passage dotted with harsh light strips stretched out in front of him. Curious faces appeared in the narrow, glass windows of some of the holding cells lining it.

  He skidded round the corner at the end and bolted for the fire door ahead. It clicked ajar just as he reached it. Conrad pushed through and entered a narrow stairwell. He staggered to a halt and peered over the metal banister. Eight floors below, a shadow was moving swiftly down the stairs.

  The immortal’s pulse ratcheted up a notch. ‘Shit! She’s almost at the bottom!’

  He started rapidly down the concrete stairs, Anatole and Stevens following in his footsteps.

  ‘She’s trapped!’ shouted the agent. ‘There’s no way she can escape!’

  ‘Tell me that when we’ve got cuffs on her!’ retorted Conrad.

  The sharp staccato of gunfire sudden
ly rose from the stairwell. The immortal stopped and looked over the handrail.

  A couple of agents had cut off the woman’s exit route on the ground. She shot at them steadily as she raced back up toward the upper floors of the building. One of the men cried out and fell.

  Conrad swore. He braced his hands against the wall and the banister, and swung down the stairs three steps at a time. Shots sounded one level down; it was echoed by the sharp pings of bullets striking metal. He jumped to the next landing, turned the corner, and spotted the woman on the floor below just as she kicked down a fire door.

  Conrad scowled and vaulted onto the railing. The woman looked around when she glimpsed him sliding obliquely toward her. She glared and disappeared over the threshold of the fire escape. The immortal’s feet struck the ground a couple of seconds later. He went after her.

  The door opened onto a corridor at the back of the medical center. He raced past a couple of operating rooms and emerged into a recovery area. A couple of startled nurses in gray scrubs shrank back against one of the beds lining the walls, where an unconscious man lay with an oxygen mask on his face.

  Conrad scanned their faces, heard a clatter on his left, and saw a pair of doors flutter close. He ran toward them and pushed through the panels. There was a faint click to his right. He dove to the ground.

  Bullets slammed into the metal door above him, raining sparks on his head. Conrad whipped out his gun and aimed it toward the slim figure racing down the length of an open wing. His finger froze on the trigger when he registered the patients and staff in the bay. He swore, rose to his feet, and bounded after the fleeing woman.

  Panicked screams shattered the air as he chased her through the clinic. She turned another corner and disappeared from view.

  Conrad made a low, guttural noise in the back of his throat and accelerated. He skidded around the bend, bounced off the opposite wall, and saw her vanish inside a cleaner’s supplies closet at the end of a narrow corridor.