by AD Starrling
‘It’s our mother’s birthday,’ the Obenhaus Group president explained. ‘He’s used that combination in the past for some of his other security details.’ Muffled sobbing echoed in the background. ‘Mr. Greene, please find the people who did this to my brother,’ he added in a hard voice.
Conrad hesitated. ‘I will.’
He ended the call and wondered whether he would be able to keep the second promise he had made to the German that day. He returned the phone to Laura, stepped up to the safe, and punched in the key. The strongbox clicked open with an electronic beep.
Inside were a wallet of documents and a stack of foreign currency. Peters carefully lifted out the folder. Something fluttered to the floor. Conrad bent and retrieved a small white card.
‘What is it?’ said the female detective curiously.
Conrad turned the card over in his gloved hand. There was a single, hand-drawn symbol on the front. It wasn’t one he recognized.
‘Would you mind if we take a picture of this?’ he asked the detective.
Peters hesitated for a beat. ‘Can’t see what harm it’ll do,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Let’s take a look at the rest of this stuff.’
They returned to a reception room overlooking the terrace at the rear of the property. Peters emptied the document holder onto a dining table and spread the contents across the polished surface. They studied the handful of files.
A whistle left Anatole’s lips. ‘Wow. The dude was in deep shit.’
Satisfaction flared through Conrad. Yet another piece of the enigma had been solved; he had been correct in his assumption that Luther Obenhaus had been in it for the money.
The paperwork inside the safe was a summary of the man’s financial accounts over the last five years. According to the figures, the former director of the Obenhaus Group had been in debt to the tune of ten million dollars, thanks to several poor investment choices and heavy gambling losses. His fiscal misfortune appeared to have started well before he stopped receiving income from his company shares.
Peters straightened and sighed. ‘Well, I think this is it for the time being. We’ll take a look at his banking transactions when we get back to head office.’
Schulze turned to Conrad. ‘I’ll call you if we find anything.’
Conrad gave him a brief smile. ‘Thanks, that would be—’
The sound of shattering glass came a second before a blue and white, antique porcelain vase exploded on a console table next to them.
‘What the—?’ Peters started, her eyes widening.
Another bullet punched through the terrace doors and smacked into Laura’s thigh. She gasped and jerked backward. Conrad slammed into her and carried both of them to the floor just as the third bullet skimmed inches past his temple and struck a chair.
The others dove to the ground around him and scrambled for cover as the glazing collapsed in glittering fragments.
‘Get down!’ Peters shouted at the shocked crime scene tech standing frozen near the window.
More shots whined through the air and thudded into the furniture and floorboards. A mirror disintegrated on the opposite wall and showered the room with deadly shards. Feathers from perforated cushions and upholstery filled the air with white down.
Conrad unwrapped his arms from around his and Laura’s heads, his pulse jackhammering in his throat.
‘I’m okay,’ she breathed, dark pupils dilating in a green expanse inches below him. Her heart thudded rapidly against his chest, while her breath warmed his cheek, sending a tingle down his spine.
Conrad pulled her to a sitting position. His eyes shrank into slits when he saw the blood staining her trouser leg. They shuffled back against the wall.
Anatole scuttled next to them. ‘They must be on the roof!’ he shouted as he reached for his gun.
Bullets continued to pound the room. Debris clouded the air. The fine art on the walls was being shredded to a pulp.
Peters grabbed the radio unit at her waist and barked an emergency alert in German as she staunched the bleeding from a cut on her head. ‘Control, we have one or more shooters at the following address! Please send backup! I repeat, shots have been fired at the following address!’
Conrad slipped Laura’s belt from around her waist and tied it swiftly around her bleeding leg. The bullet had travelled straight through muscle and exited the back of her thigh. Further shots struck the furnishings next to them, raising a billow of fluff and foam.
Laura’s hand closed on Conrad’s wrist. ‘I’m fine!’ she said between clenched teeth. ‘Go stop those bastards!’
His fingers stilled on her leg. ‘Okay. But let me take a look at that later.’
She bit her lip and nodded reluctantly. Conrad turned and grabbed a fragment of the broken mirror off the floor. There was a sudden lull in the hail of bullets. He put his arm out carefully and angled the glass toward the terrace. His eyes opened wide at what he saw.
He dropped the mirror, rose, and sprinted toward the French doors.
Chapter Eighteen
Conrad bounded through the broken, gaping frame and skidded to a halt on the stone terrace. He turned and looked wildly in the direction of the figure he had spotted in the mirror. The sniper was racing away along the rooftop of the building adjoining Obenhaus’s apartment block at an angle, a rifle strapped to his back.
A hiss of fury escaped the immortal’s lips. He scaled the metal table in the middle of the patio in one leap and jumped. His fingers closed on the edge of the flat overhang above the terrace. He swung himself up onto the roof with a grunt, climbed to his feet, and raced after the fleeing figure. He reached the adjacent complex in seconds, a cold wind whipping at his clothes and hair.
The sniper glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the immortal’s footsteps. He vaulted over the narrow gap to another building and slid to a stop. He reached under his arm as he spun, yanked out a handgun, and fired.
Conrad swore and dove to the ground. Bullets winged past him and chipped the bitumen roofing. He rolled, reached behind his back, and came up with his gilded staff in hand. The sniper took off again.
The immortal followed and crossed the next apartment block after the retreating gunman. His eyes narrowed as he gauged the distance separating them. He twisted one of the rings on the staff, raised it behind his shoulder, and hurled it through the air.
The weapon whistled through the night, the twin spear blades gleaming in the moonlight as it sailed straight and true. It impaled the sniper’s right calf a heartbeat later. A gurgled scream escaped the man’s lips. He staggered down to one knee and looked at the spear embedded in his leg in disbelief. He reached for the shaft, pulled, and released the weapon almost immediately with a yelp of pain.
The sniper rose and lurched forward. Alarm tore through Conrad when he saw the man reach inside the utility belt at his waist. The immortal came up behind him and kicked him in his good leg just as the latter placed something inside his mouth.
The sniper started to fall to his knees. Conrad hooked a forearm around his throat and yanked sharply. The man gagged. A tiny capsule flew out from between his lips and landed on the roof. Conrad glanced at the pill with a scowl and maintained his chokehold.
The sniper twisted and bucked beneath him, hands scratching and pulling desperately at the immortal’s unmoving arm. A moment later, the man’s eyes rolled backward in his head.
Conrad stepped back and let the limp body fall to the ground. Running footsteps rose above the whistle of the wind. Anatole, Schulze, and Stevens appeared in the moonlit gloom and stumbled to a stop around him.
‘You killed him?’ panted Schulze. He stared at the motionless figure on the ground.
‘I just knocked him out,’ Conrad replied darkly. ‘He was about to take a poison.’ He indicated the clear gel cap a few feet from the
sniper’s head.
Anatole glowered. He kicked the unconscious man lightly. ‘Bastard!’
Schulze’s eyes followed the pool of blood beneath the sniper’s leg to the spear. ‘Er, did you always have that with you?’
‘Yes,’ said Conrad.
‘Ah,’ the German agent uttered diplomatically.
Conrad bent and retrieved the weapon from the gunman’s leg. It exited broken bone and torn flesh with a wet crunch that made Stevens pale.
Schulze slapped cuffs on the sniper’s wrists after they divested the man of his weapons. They lifted the limp figure between the four of them and carried him across the rooftops to Luther Obenhaus’s apartment building. A squad of armed police officers swarmed inside the suite just as they lowered the body to the terrace.
Peters spoke to the officer in charge of the assault team before coming out to meet them. She glared at the man lying still on the ground. ‘Was he the only one?’ she snapped.
‘Yes,’ said Conrad.
The sniper moaned and opened his eyes. Panic flared in the brown depths when he saw the ring of menacing figures surrounding him. He tried to sit up.
‘You’re not going anywhere, asshole,’ said Peters as several officers moved in to restrain him. She watched the struggling man disappear inside the apartment.
‘You’re gonna want to get this analyzed quickly.’ Schulze removed the carefully wrapped capsule from his pocket and placed his handkerchief in Peters’s hand. ‘We think it’s a potent poison.’ He hesitated. ‘It might be the same one used by the bodyguard who killed the Russian president, so this is for your eyes only,’ he added in a low voice.
Peters’s eyebrows rose. She called one of the crime scene technicians over and passed him the pill with strict instructions for its priority evaluation by their forensic toxicology department.
Conrad entered the condo and looked past the officers milling across the floor until he found the figure he was looking for. Laura was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. Blood had soaked her trouser leg down to her knee. He headed toward her.
‘Let me take a look at that.’
Laura flushed. ‘You don’t have to. It’s only a scratch. It’ll heal just fine in a few—’
‘You told me you’d let me examine your wound,’ Conrad cut in impatiently. ‘Besides, I need you in good shape if you want to stay on this investigation team.’
It was a weak threat and they both knew it. Irritation flickered in the hazel gaze. Laura sighed and allowed him to guide her to a bullet-riddled couch. Conrad sat next to her and placed his hand on her thigh. Her muscles tautened beneath his touch. He ignored her reaction and released his healing power.
Heat flared under his hand as he concentrated on the tense flesh beneath his fingertips. It took but a moment for him to repair the damage caused by the bullet. Conrad exhaled slowly, looked up, and went still.
High color darkened Laura’s cheeks. Her eyes were focused on his lips, and her chest moved rapidly with her breaths. This time there was no mistaking the naked desire in her gaze.
Conrad’s mouth went dry. An unconscious sound left his throat. He moved toward her. Laura leaned in, as powerless as he to resist the magnetic force pulling them together.
‘Er,’ someone interjected above them.
They froze and blinked at each other.
‘Not that I dislike seeing all this simmering, sexual tension. Honestly, it brings back wonderful memories of the two of you going at it like—’ Anatole stopped and cleared his throat at their expressions. ‘All I’m saying is this is not really the place to be exploring those feelings. You know, think of the innocent children.’ He gestured vaguely at the busy crime scene, and the agents and police detectives looking curiously their way.
‘He’s right,’ Laura murmured. Her eyes darted to Conrad’s, a chagrined expression washing across her face. ‘But still, this doesn’t make me want to shoot him any less.’
‘I might kill him first,’ said Conrad.
‘Hey, you guys are hurting my feelings here,’ Anatole protested.
Conrad sighed. He rose to his feet and offered his hand to Laura. She allowed him to pull her up and let her fingers linger in his grasp for a moment. His skin burned where they touched.
It took all of Conrad’s willpower to step away from her. If they remained in close proximity for another second, not even a stadium full of avid spectators was going to deter them from doing what they so desperately wanted to do.
He cleaned the gilded staff in one of Luther Obenhaus’s bathrooms before they left the apartment. Schulze insisted on driving them back to Erfurt. They were nearly at the airport when Bauer rang them on the German agent’s cell.
‘I just heard from Peters,’ said the policeman over the phone’s speaker. ‘The financial crime section found fifteen million dollars deposited last year into a Swiss account belonging to Herr Obenhaus.’
‘Wow,’ said Stevens, wide-eyed. ‘That would more than cover his debt.’
‘We’ve also identified the sniper as a Moroccan national by the name of Isaac El Ifrani,’ Bauer continued. ‘He’s wanted by Interpol for the assassination of several prominent business and political figures around the world. He’s refusing to talk.’
Lines creased Stevens’s brow. ‘Why would they send him after us?’
A mirthless smile lifted the corners of Conrad’s mouth. ‘They’re getting anxious.’
‘Which means we’re getting close,’ said Anatole thoughtfully.
Unease suddenly dampened the rush of excitement coursing through Conrad. How had the enemy known they were going to be in Leipzig?
‘Can they trace where the bank transfer to Obenhaus’s account came from?’ said Laura, interrupting his troubled thoughts.
‘They’ve already tried,’ said Bauer. ‘It looked like it could have come from at least a hundred separate servers located in China, Russia, and the US. There’s no way of pinpointing the exact source.’
Conrad concentrated on the conversation at hand. ‘How close are you to getting a result on the poison?’ he asked the policeman.
‘Our forensic specialists are examining it as we speak,’ replied Bauer. ‘They’ll liaise with your guys in Quantico, as well as the Russians, to see if it’s the same stuff you’ve both come across.’
‘That’s great,’ said Conrad.
‘No problem,’ said Bauer. ‘Oh, and Greene?’
‘Yeah?’ said the immortal.
‘Thank you,’ Bauer murmured. He disconnected.
The policeman’s tone reminded Conrad of their conversation before they departed the Thüringer Forest earlier that evening.
‘Did you do something to me?’ Bauer had asked him hesitantly.
‘What do you mean?’ Conrad responded in a neutral voice.
‘Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that I should be dead,’ the policeman said with a small frown.
Conrad had watched him for a silent moment. ‘You were lucky, that’s all.’
Bauer had still looked unconvinced when they drove away from the ruins of Luther Obenhaus’s lodge.
Schulze bade them goodbye on the airport tarmac in Erfurt and drove off. Conrad checked in with the White House as soon as he entered the Learjet. Connelly had stepped out for a few hours, and he got the Sit Room director instead. There had been no further developments on the US end; their hunt for the mole was still ongoing. He briefed the man about the Leipzig incident and told him to give Lewis and the FBI forensics labs a heads-up. He called Victor Dvorsky next.
‘How did Westwood and the UN Security Council take it?’ Conrad asked after they greeted each other.
‘Considering the circumstances, better than I thought they would,’ the leader of the Bastians replied over the cabin speaker
s. ‘The Head of the Order of Crovir Hunters provided details about the sect Dimitri Reznak came across last year. He went to great lengths to explain how the matter had been dealt with internally by the immortals. The Security Council got pretty twitchy when they realized what would have happened had that sect achieved its goals.’ A guarded pause followed. ‘The humans are willing to give us the benefit of the doubt for the time being, but I don’t know how much longer this state of affairs will continue if we don’t stop the group behind the current debacle. The two immortal societies have plenty on their plates as it is without making more enemies.’
Conrad frowned at the noble’s words. He was aware of the heavy burden they both shared. The responsibility for this mission lay as much at Victor’s feet as it did his.
‘We should have another lead by the morning,’ Conrad said quietly. He glanced at the others. ‘We’re going to stay put and see where it’ll take us next.’ He ended the call.
Stevens shifted restlessly. ‘Is that likely ever to happen? A war between humans and immortals?’ he mumbled after a short silence.
Conrad shared impassive looks with Anatole and Laura. ‘I doubt it,’ he replied. ‘The current human population exceeds the immortal one by a factor of several thousand.’
Relief flashed in the agent’s eyes.
‘However, we can die up to seventeen times, have superior healing abilities and combat skills, and own more than half the world’s wealth,’ Conrad continued.
A wave of weariness suddenly washed over the immortal. He had seen more than enough battles during his existence to last dozens of lifetimes. He didn’t think he could stomach one as terrible as an all-out war between humans and immortals.
‘The physical numbers won’t match on the battlefield, but the immortals would likely still win,’ he told the suddenly despondent agent.
A stilted hush followed. Anatole broke it a moment later.