Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3)

by Greg Mongrain

  With a golden glow, the shallow slice knitted together in a seamless ripple.

  Both men made the sign of the cross.

  “Now that you know my secret, you are part of my family. I will always watch over you and provide for you as long as you live. Your wives will have prosperous husbands, and your children will never know hunger. But you must always keep my secret.”

  “Are you a demon?” Esteban asked.

  “I don’t know. If I am, I’m a benevolent one.” I gave each man a frank look. “Do I seem evil?”

  They shook their heads.

  “I don’t know why my body is different. But I know I’m human. I had a mother and a father, and a brother and a sister. We shared a family resemblance, so I know I was not adopted. I didn’t even know what my body could do until I was six or seven. When I discovered how different I was, it terrified me.”

  “I can understand that,” Esteban commented.

  Ramon plucked a blade of grass. “Your family. They died?”

  “Yes. Long, long ago.”

  “Maybe you’re an angel,” Ramon said. His face shone pale behind the dark stubble of beard.

  “Perhaps.” I did not think so, but most of my men believed my existence had biblical significance. The insinuation occasionally made me uneasy. It smacked of blasphemy. I am no angel.

  The best thing to do was to let them think about it.

  “Rest for a moment.” I climbed to my feet. “I won’t be long.”

  A large oak stood nearby. I walked around the ponderous trunk, knelt in the spongy loam beneath the majestic tree, bowed my head, and prayed for the souls I had sent beyond.

  No one would take me to task for my actions this morning. The young groom who had taken Perseus might be able to identify me if he saw me, but he did not know who I was. The sentries on the towers had been too far away to see me clearly. Santella was dead and so were the other men who knew me.

  Karina was safe.

  ***

  Ramon, Esteban, and I arrived at my estate two days later, in the early afternoon. We had only made one stop for food and drink. There, I purchased unmarked clothing from the proprietor, discarding my bloody doublet and tunic in the forest.

  “Take the next two days off,” I told them. “Thank you for your work.” They trotted off to their homes, both men drooping over their mounts, too tired to talk. I had been impatient to arrive and had pushed them hard.

  I turned Perseus toward the main building.

  Francisco, my headman, stood just off the path. When he saw me coming, he whistled. His nephew Peter came running out of the stables. I cantered up to them and dismounted, tossed Peter the reins.

  “Soften his mash with beer. Have Giovanni help you massage him.”

  The ten-year-old gave me a half-salute. “Yes, Señor Montero.”

  “Good lad,” I said, tipping my hat. “Off you go.”

  The stables swarmed with the children of my men, all of them working hard in the warm sunshine. The boys and girls served as grooms while they learned to ride, earning their own horses at thirteen. Most remained in my employ, tending my vineyards. Families often stayed together, many generations living in the same large residence. The community of relatives on the Montero estate comprised a tightly-knit conglomeration of all ages, each utterly dedicated to the other, bound by blood and purpose.

  Only a carefully selected few knew my true nature.

  “You made the journey quickly, Sebastian,” Francisco said. “The Lady arrived only two hours ago. I had no idea it was your intention to marry on this trip. May I offer my congratulations?”

  “Thank you. Don Alejandro and Karina’s parents?”

  “The small manor house. The Calderas vacated the place as soon as they heard.”

  “They deserve a reward.”

  “Yes. About your marriage…I understand there were complications.”

  My men had obviously informed Francisco where I had gone. And had probably told him I might not be coming back this time.

  “Nothing that need concern us now.”

  “What happened?”

  “Haven’t you heard? Count Santella and his chief lieutenants all died from food poisoning at breakfast two days ago.”

  “Food poisoning,” he repeated. “Did anyone see them get sick?”

  “No, they died suddenly—together.”

  Francisco clapped me on the shoulder. “Only you, Sebastian! As long as you’re safe.”

  “Thank you, Cisco. How is Mrs. Montero?”

  “The Lady is greatly distressed.”

  “Ah?”

  “She gave Carlo the devil of a time,” he replied, grinning.

  Carlo reported to Francisco that they had been on the road only a few minutes when Karina insisted they return to the inn. Unsatisfied with Carlo’s evasive replies to her questions about my whereabouts, she had come to the conclusion that I had gone after the Count and she wanted to send more of my men to join me.

  This revelation touched me. She had a fiery will, as I had thought, and a keen mind.

  “Carlo swore to her you were safe and that you would be home with her soon after they arrived.”

  “In that case, I had better see the Lady immediately, or she will never believe Carlo again.”

  ***

  I walked along an outside corridor, my boots clicking on the pink adobe tiles. Turning into the family room, I stepped through the archway. My breeches and riding boots were dirty, but I saw no blood. I had left my coat and sword at the door.

  The vast, airy room was my favorite. Dozens of violets and roses stood in vases on the tables. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, wondering where Santella and his men were now.

  I strode onto the veranda, turning into the open-air corridor that stretched past the heavy doors of the master bedroom.

  Karina sat on a bench overlooking a section of our vineyards. Her dress shone iridescent blue, her sunshade pale orange. Briefly, Santella’s threat to invade my estate filled my head. He and his men would have come around this same corner as I was doing and caught her sitting out in the open. Simple to grab her roughly and carry her into the bedroom. There, he and his men would have raped and beaten her. After burning my estate—killing dozens of my people in the attack—the Count would have taken an unconscious Karina back to his castle, where no one questioned what he did. Karina could have lived in terror for years, never knowing if the next drunken rape and beating would be her last.

  Noting the elegant curve of her neck for the first time, a feeling of protective love filled me, and I thanked God my body had survived the Count’s attack.

  When Karina heard my boots on the terrace, she turned. The shade dropped from her hand.

  “Sebastian! Dieu merci!”

  Returning from an arena filled with death creates an exquisite sensitivity to physical contact. For every soldier, at that time nothing surpasses holding his girl in his arms.

  She stood. I rushed to her and lifted her off her feet, pulling her to me, covering her face with hot kisses.

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, oh…”

  Our mouths locked together. I scooped her into my arms, carried her to my bedroom—our bedroom—and kicked the door shut.

  Karina and I spent the rest of that afternoon rolling around the great bed, tangled in each other’s arms, whispering, groaning, and giggling with delight. Our happiness at being together magnified our joy at putting Count Santella out of our lives forever. In Tarragona, on my estate, which included the surrounding lands, we could live in peace. We both felt all those emotions that cool afternoon, without talking about them. The thrill in her voice when we made love showed clearly how much her situation had weighed on her spirit. Now she was safe and happy as Mrs. Sebastian Montero.

  Nine months later, she gave birth to our first child, my darling baby girl Laurena.

  Chapter 22

  Saturday, February 14, 10:14 a.m.

  Detective Elliott drove to Spellman’s Studio City res
idence ahead of Hamilton and me, leaving a few minutes before my arrival. I didn’t take it personally.

  Hamilton, dressed in a dark blue suit, met me outside the Van Nuys station. After he climbed into the car, I handed him his coffee.

  “I was going to bring a cup,” he said, “but I figured you’d already have one for me. You’d make a good wife.”

  “Good husband, good partner, good—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He took a sip. “Nice suit.”

  I turned onto Sylmar Avenue.

  Hamilton drank his coffee, not saying anything. He kept on not saying it for seven blocks. But I could feel it coming.

  He took a sip. “Interesting that Bork turned up dead in an alley in East LA,” he said.

  “Yes.” Bork had killed Hamilton’s previous partner, Alfred Gonzales. I witnessed his death. At 49, I had watched Bork die from two holes in his neck. “Did you ever figure out what happened?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question,” he said.

  “Me?” I feigned astonishment. “How would I know?”

  “I have no idea.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But for some reason, I’m sure you had something to do with it.”

  “Based on…?”

  “Call it a gut feeling. He was a man we were all looking for, especially you and me. And the last I heard, you were sending Aliena and somebody named Marcus to get the guy. How did that play out?”

  “They found Sally’s little brother, as you know, and took him away safely. But there was no sign of Bork.”

  “I suppose you also don’t know how Bork was drained of blood,” he said.

  “Again, why would I know?”

  “No reason.” Hamilton shook his head. “It still seems like you’re lying to me.”

  His gut feelings were extremely accurate.

  I was tempted to reveal the truth—divulge the secret of my seven-hundred-year existence—and tell him the reality of the things he had seen. He deserved to know that although I had not killed Bork, I had witnessed it, and knew the responsible party.

  I had grown weary of lying to him, and it hurt me to continue doing so. He was a good man, a person I trusted, and I enjoyed being with him. He was important to me.

  Though sorely tested this time, my centuries-old habit of keeping secrets prevailed. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “So you’re saying you know nothing about how Bork died,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m saying. Why are you asking me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  How could I tell him about Bork’s death, but leave out the fact that a vampire killed him? Should I tell him about vampires? He already considered Aliena a mysterious person, and might believe she was a creature of the night. And if I couldn’t convince him, she could always show him.

  I knew she would love that.

  Chapter 23

  Saturday, February 14, 10:36 a.m.

  When I pulled the Ferrari to the curb in front of the Whitsett address this time, yellow crime scene tape surrounded the front yard. Hamilton and I ducked under and crossed to the front door. After signing the log, we donned examination gloves and entered the residence.

  “Nice,” Hamilton said when he saw the bikes. He glanced around, noted the empty spaces. “Looks like some of them are missing.”

  Elliott came out of the dining room. He had obviously been in the back of the house. He didn’t look excited. He walked at a normal pace.

  “A bare office set-up,” he told us. “Motorcycle parts. Medieval weapons.” He surveyed the four bikes that remained. “Another weirdo.”

  “Was there anything unusual in the office?” I asked.

  “Unusual how? Like a UFO?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Like a UFO.”

  He turned away.

  Intrigued, I walked through the room of weapons, turned down the hall, and entered the office. The desk, computer, monitor, and other furniture were the same as I had seen earlier.

  The interdimensional corridor had disappeared.

  I crossed the brown carpet to the wall. Thank goodness Preston’s app had captured video of the event. I pressed my hand against the cool hard surface. Darius said his phone activated the portal. But it had been activated after his death. Had the killer taken his phone?

  “What’s up with that?”

  I jumped at Hamilton’s voice, dropped my hand.

  “Nada.”

  “You know, you really piss me off sometimes.”

  “Yes, I know,” I admitted.

  “You—you ass. Why were you touching the wall like that?”

  Hamilton and I were alone. I decided to tell him.

  “I was here earlier.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, raising his arms and letting them fall to his sides. “Do I have to arrest you for breaking and entering?”

  “You want the info or not?”

  He choked, cleared his throat. “Dammit, Sebastian. You really push it, man.”

  “I’m on your side.”

  “That is not the fucking point, and you know it,” he said in an intense whisper. He paused for a moment. “How did you know to come here? You didn’t see the vic’s driver license.”

  “As you know, that information was forwarded to Preston.” I couldn’t tell the truth about everything yet.

  Squinting, he placed his hands on his hips. “Pretty tight timing. Don’t the two of you ever sleep?”

  “He does, sometimes.” I slid my gloved hand along the wall again.

  Hamilton exhaled explosively. “I’m not going to give this to Reyes, but I want your word. No more B and E. You could have contaminated this scene.”

  That was a difficult thing to promise. When events broke loose, waiting for permission could result in disastrous consequences.

  “I want your promise.”

  “Steve, I can only promise that I will contact you before I do anything like that again.”

  “I suppose that’s the best I’ll get.” He gave me a bleak look. “I know I’m going to regret asking this one. Were you alone when you were here earlier?”

  “Yes.” Again, I felt an overwhelming urge to tell Hamilton my secret. His keen mind forced me to lie constantly. It was killing me.

  “Feel free to amend that statement in the future.”

  The click and whir of the crime scene photographer’s camera filtered down the hallway.

  “All right, then,” Hamilton said. “Tell me why you were touching the wall.”

  “When I was here earlier, this section looked like a river of blue gel from floor to ceiling. I took readings and transmitted them to Preston.”

  He didn’t blink. Although that was not a good sign, I plowed on.

  “According to him, the EMF data indicated there was an interdimensional intersection here.”

  Hamilton threw his hands toward me in a strangler’s motion. They hung in the air, poised for homicidal work. Instead, he ran them over his head. “Great. Perfect. This I need.”

  “I’m not making it up.”

  He shot me a murderous look.

  I looked at the champagne flute-shaped speaker on top of the desk. The blue light was no longer flashing. Was it part of the mechanism that activated the doorway? “It’s possible Spellman’s murderer passed through here to another dimension,” I told Hamilton.

  I clammed as large footsteps approached. Elliott sauntered in.

  “Whoever this guy was, it doesn’t look like he lived here. The kitchen cupboards are empty and there’s no refrigerator and no trash can. Some clothes in the closet of the master, but no bed, just a couple of tables and lamps and more weapons.”

  I stepped away from the wall and walked to the desk. “Have you found a cell phone?”

  “No.”

  Three drawers. The top one contained letter-sized white bond paper. The middle and bottom were empty.

  “We already went through the place,” Elliott said. “But knock yourself out.”

  I closed the
bottom drawer, sat back.

  “Well?” Hamilton asked me.

  “I don’t know.”

  “A surprise,” Elliott muttered. “I’ll talk to the neighbors.” He left.

  The computer sat in a marble tray under the desk. The elegance of its construction impressed me again, the mirror-like silver exterior shaped like a small, square couch cushion.

  When I had copied the hard drive during my first visit, I noticed it was a custom machine with no markings and no wires. Four of the six USB ports contained micro-transmitters.

  The bats fluttered around the perimeter of the monitor. The system time read 5:14. I was the last to touch the mouse. So using the computer was not necessary to shut the portal down. Spellman’s phone opened it. Did it close the door, too? Or did the event last a preprogrammed amount of time?

  An idea began to form in my mind.

  Someone had interacted with this system after Darius’s death, but prior to the arrival of Marcus, Ron, Aliena, and me. The killer? If he had returned here, it was logical to assume he did so in order to travel through the portal. But to where? Atlantis? And was that where he came from?

  Perhaps I was using the wrong gender for my pronoun. Our naked witness had identified a woman in the alley with Darius. A woman with blonde hair.

  “Mind telling me what you’re thinking?” Hamilton said.

  “Not at all. The answer is not much. I’m wondering if the killer came through the portal from…wherever it leads.”

  A woman from the Scientific Investigation Division entered the room. “Computer?” she asked Hamilton.

  He gestured at the desk. I moved out of the way as she approached.

  “Thank you,” she said. Kneeling, she looked around the shining pillow, searching for power cords. Finding none, she gave a surprised whistle. “I’ve never seen a computer like this.” She hoisted it. “My goodness, this thing is heavy. What is this metal, anyway?”

  “It looks like platinum to me,” I said.

  She smirked. “Nobody makes computers out of precious metals. Do you know how much this would cost if was made of platinum?”