Doug knew he didn’t have time to articulate his thoughts. There was nothing more he could do now except follow his heart. Follow the path. Even so, his heart ached deeply. Nadia had saved his life, sacrificed so much in his name. She’d loved him unconditionally and he hadn’t been able to find room in his heart to love her in return. He hoped she’d find happiness wherever she went.
At the front door he peered out into the night. He knew that this was just the beginning. They would never stop hunting him.
They will never stop looking for your child.
These spoilers know about the future. They are dark and terrible souls who only wish to see harm come to your kind. They wish the object for their own greedy ends. They will not rest until the child is dead and the object is theirs.
In the study he lit a candle and set it on the fireplace mantle. Then he picked up one of the MAC-10s, checked the magazine and saw that it was mostly full. He retrieved several more full magazines from the dead gunmen’s belt clips and stuffed them, along with the Beretta in his belt. Holding the Mac-10, he moved through the house, peering carefully out through windows. Although it was still night, the moon was bright enough for him to see the entire yard. He saw no vehicles. He wasn’t surprised. These guys were pros. They would have been smart enough to approach the estate on foot. Doug was fairly certain more would be coming. How long did he have?
He stayed low, and as quietly as possible he opened the door that led from the house to the garage. He stopped and surveyed the garage carefully. It was empty.
He went to the rear door, unlocked it and slipped out into the night. Stealthily he made his way across the back lawn to the woods beyond. Staying close to the tree line he headed east toward the trail system, all the while watching the house.
Doug froze when he saw a series of stealthy shadows moving quickly toward the house from several different proximities. He had the darkness of the woods behind him as cover, and unless they were wearing night vision gear he was fairly certain they couldn’t see him.
He did not wait around to see what would happen but moved on into the woods and headed down the trail. He’d gone about fifty yards when a massive explosion shook the earth. A cone of brilliant white light blossomed behind him. Doug did not stop to look back but hurried down the trail until he spotted the vehicle parked exactly where Nadia’s note said it would be. He got in the car, started the engine and drove along the trail, mindful not to rev the engine or use the brakes, fearful of giving away his position. He knew these trails by heart and he knew that they were wide enough to accommodate a vehicle. There were some low wet areas, but this shouldn’t be a problem because the Range Rover was equipped with a four-wheel-drive transmission. He also knew that there were places where it was possible to leave the trail and cross to the main road. He would get as far away from the estate as possible before doing so. It wouldn’t be long before they figured out what he’d done.
They’ll never stop hunting you.
Chapter 67
“Okay, Rick,” Annie said. “Don’t you think it’s time you let me in on the little secret?”
Annie sat tensely in the seat beside Jennings as the small chartered turbo prop sped through the breaking dawn at 20,000 feet above sea level. The sky was clear all the way to the horizon and below them forests and fields crawled past at what seemed a snail’s pace.
“Yesterday I received a phone call from a private investigator out of Clearwater,” Jennings said. “Evidently he’s someone Doug met on the day he was supposed to have died in that crash. He asked the investigator to keep an eye on your father’s house and he gave him my phone number in case he heard anything. The guy said he liked Doug and decided to help him out. His name is Jeff Dean and from what I can gather he seems to be some sort of savant as far as electronic surveillance is concerned. He’s miles ahead of anything the government is capable of. He doesn’t trust the government so he just might be a useful ally. His methods are covert and for obvious reasons he would like to keep them that way. Anyway, he managed to pick up conversations from inside your father’s house. He heard enough so that your old man won’t be running for president any time soon.”
Annie sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. “What’s the investigator going to do with the information?”
“Nothing. But I might. He’s already sent the recordings to my office in Portland, and I’ll decide later what to do with them. There’s this federal agent that would like to get his hands on your father. He also wants Doug. I’m thinking a little deal might be in order. I’m sorry, Annie.”
“No, I don’t care. My father’s a monster. I’ve always known that. Actually I’m not surprised.” Annie heaved a deep sigh. “I just want Doug to be safe.”
“I know, Annie,” Jennings said. “We’ll find him.”
“Do you think he’s being held somewhere against his will?”
Jennings shrugged. “Possible. Maybe it’s why he hasn’t called me. Yesterday the surveillance guy picked up a conversation between your father and his security chief that gave away Doug’s location. I’m hoping it’s not a smokescreen but it’s the only lead I’ve got. They said that Doug was hiding out at a private estate in the Kentucky countryside. That he was being helped by members of that religious organization we talked about. I’ve done some digging into the Brotherhood of the Order. It’s hard to get a handle on them. They’re a very secret and slippery organization, sort of like a private CIA with religious and scientific overtones. There’s talk on the internet of them being directly descended from the Knights Templar.”
“That’s interesting,” Annie said.
“Yes it is, but I take everything I read on the web with a grain of salt. There are millions of conspiracy theories involving the Templars.”
“What if it’s true?”
Jennings shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if Doug isn’t being held against his will then it’s my guess that they’re keeping radio silence so as not to alert anyone to his location. I think they’ve been protecting him.”
“Then how did my father find him?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. He seems to have a lot of resources.”
“He’ll come after me, you know. And he’ll kill Doug. I know that now.”
“Let him try,” Jennings said. There was a tone of resolve in his voice that gave Annie comfort.
Jennings had no sooner spoken when he got the sense that the plane had started a wide turn toward the west in a gradual sweep that would take them back toward a southbound heading.
“What the hell’s going on?” Jennings muttered. He got up out of his seat and went forward, leaned into the cockpit and said, “Why are we changing course?”
The two pilots exchanged glances. “We just received a communication that there’s a fugitive on board and have been ordered to turn around,” explained the pilot.
“Who gave the order?”
“FAA.”
Jennings pulled out his badge and showed it to them. “I’m a cop,” he said, “and I can assure you there’s no fugitive on this plane.”
“FAA trumps local police,” said the pilot. “Besides, the message originated at Homeland Security. I have to do what they say.”
Jennings nearly screamed in frustration. “Did they give you any details?”
“Only that it has something do with that Delta crash last spring. Supposedly either you or the little lady there has information about it.”
“This is bullshit,” Jennings said. He knew he had to make a quick decision. No way was Spencer getting his hands on Annie.
“How far is the nearest airport?” he said.
Again the two pilots exchanged glances. “Our orders are to take it back to Atlanta,” the pilot said.
Jennings pulled his nine millimeter from the holster beneath his jacket. “Your orders just changed,” he said.
“Wait a minute, man,” the co-pilot said. “I thought you said you were a cop?”
“I
am. And I told you there’s no fugitive on this plane. Now turn around.”
The pilot began a slow bank back toward the north. “Okay, but this is going to mean big trouble for you.”
“Yeah, it won’t be the first time. Just do it.”
“You realize they’re tracking us,” said the pilot. “They know exactly where we are.”
Jennings looked out the cockpit window expecting any minute to see that they were being escorted by a squadron of fighter jets. “How far are we from Lexington?” Jennings asked.
“About half an hour.”
Annie came up behind Jennings. “What’s going on?”
Jennings explained.
“You’ve got to be kidding. How did they know where we were?”
“Good question.”
He turned back to the pilot. “Where’s the closest place to put this thing down?”
“Madison County Airport, Richmond, Kentucky.”
“How far?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Okay, land there.”
“I can’t just land—”
“Do it!”
“Okay, but I’ll have to radio for instructions.”
“Do what you have to do. Just get us on the ground.”
“And I’ll have to report that I was coerced with a gun.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn what you have to do,” Jennings said. “Just put this thing down.”
Chapter 68
“So, you’re telling me that they both escaped and they took out nearly your entire team in the process?” De Roché said.
“That is correct,” answered the voice on the end of the line. “But do not worry. I have two more teams in pursuit as we speak.”
“I want to know how this could have happened, Isaac.”
“They must have known we were coming, although I cannot understand how. We learned of their whereabouts only twelve hours before the raid, as you well know, sir.”
“This is totally unacceptable. I want them found and I want them both dead. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir. It will be done.”
“It had better be.”
Isaac felt betrayed. He’d done everything De Roché had asked him to do, beginning with the destruction of his daughter’s house (careful not to harm her in the process. It had been a very delicate and strategically planned operation) and ending with the betrayal at the Ohio church. Unfortunately the Collector had been aware of his deceit and had nearly destroyed him in the church fire. He’d barely managed to escape. Thankfully De Roché’s team of burn specialists had brought him back from the brink. It had been a grueling recovery. He was still scarred and weak, but able to work and eager to jump back into the game.
De Roché had seduced him away from the Order with promises of immortality. What man would not go to the ends of the earth for such a reward? And who better to offer such a gift than one who possessed immortality? Now Isaac was having serious doubts that De Roché would or could ever deliver on such a promise. Worse, he was beginning to question his own judgment. The Order had been good to him and he had betrayed them. He would like to run and hide. But of course he would never be able to run far enough or hide well enough. If De Roché’s people didn’t find him then she certainly would. He should have killed her when he’d had the chance. Isaac gazed blankly at the floor and pondered taking his own life. I have failed everyone, including my God, he thought.
“Do you know if they escaped together or separately?” De Roché asked, bringing Isaac back to the moment.
“The woman escaped first,” Isaac replied. “A gun battle ensued between her and my forces. Somehow she managed to elude them. She is smart, extremely adept.”
“I know her and I am well aware of what she is capable,” De Roché said.
“When the remainder of my team stormed the house they engaged the young man,” Isaac continued. “But he escaped before destroying the house and trapped all but one of my team inside.”
There was a long silence on the line before De Roché spoke again. This time his voice was hoarse with barely controlled rage. “I fear that your injuries and long recovery have affected your judgment, Isaac. I have decided to send Theo to lead the hunt for my daughter. I want her brought back to me unharmed.”
Isaac did not like it when De Roché got this angry. And he certainly did not care for his security chief. He was a cruel and abusive man, and in Isaac’s opinion, more a thug than anything else.
“Annie is on a chartered aircraft that just landed at a small airport in Richmond, Kentucky,” De Roché said. “It is possible that she and her husband have been in communication and that they plan to meet. I have learned that she is with a police lieutenant from Portland, Maine. His name is Jennings. I want you to locate them and keep your distance until Theo arrives. Do you understand?”
“Very well, sir.”
“Now, this is particularly important, Isaac. Federal agents are also looking for my daughter, and I do not want her falling into their hands. Understand me, if they take her, or if she is harmed in any way, the consequences will be grave.”
“If she is with her husband it could be . . . well . . . delicate, sir.”
“Again, you will wait for Theo before making a move. He knows my daughter. He will see that the operation is handled . . . let’s say . . . in a delicate manner. In the meantime I want Nadia Zeigler found and I want her eliminated.”
“As you wish, sir. May I ask how you managed to elude federal agents?”
“They had no reason to hold me. They found the body they were looking for on my property. She was mauled by dogs. A building was also destroyed.”
“A building, sir?”
“Correct, but it is of little consequence now. What is important is my dog handler. He was taken into custody. It is presumed that he covered up the woman’s death. It does not matter what he says. He will never live to testify.”
“I see, sir, but how will the publicity affect your . . . presidential aspirations?”
De Roché sighed as if he’d become bored with the conversation. “Being president does not matter now. Once I have the child and the artifact I will have all the power I need. As soon as my daughter is returned to me we will be gone far away from here where no one will ever find us.”
“Very well, Sir. But . . . what about . . .?”
“What about what, Isaac?”
“Your promise, sir.”
“I have not forgotten my promise. You must first deliver what you promised and only then will we talk about immortality and its possibilities.”
“Very well then, sir.”
Édouard De Roché put down the phone and stood looking out over the grounds of his estate. Exhaling noisily, part sigh, part groan, he moved from the window to the antique table in the corner where a bottle of Asla T’ Orten Scotch Whiskey complemented two crystal tumblers. He poured three fingers of the scotch into one of the glasses and brought it to eye level, gazing at the rich amber liquid inside. Asla T’ Orten was one of the most expensive scotch whiskies in the world, aged 105 years. Older than most humans on earth. But not as old as him, he thought. Not even close.
The old man raised the glass to his lips and sipped the whiskey, pausing to savor its richness, appreciating the smooth burn as it trickled down his throat. He turned and retired to the brown leather chair he’d had specially made for his large frame. His was the body of a warrior. He’d been born into a warring family and war had been his destiny. But he was no longer a warrior, at least not in the conventional sense. It had been more than seven hundred years since he’d killed with sword or hand. Seven hundred years since he’d found the object of his immortality on a muddy battlefield in France. That’s where he’d made the bargain with the entity. Or rather, the entity had made the bargain with him. It had been a simple bargain; in exchange for a rich future and a long life he had turned over the object and promised that when the time was right he would father a child who would then deliver a savior for
the human race. He’d fathered many children in his long life, but he’d had to wait more than seven hundred long years for his beloved Annie to be born.
What the collector had not realized, however, was that De Roché did not care a wit for the human race; he’d been around long enough to see the flaws in the human species and thought most were not worth saving. De Roché cared only for his own continued existence and for those select few he could mold to his own design. He cared only for those who could serve his grand purpose. The human species would continue, but it would be a much different species than what had come before it. In the future, warriors would be legendary; men of science would transform civilization. Everyone would be genetically perfect. Inferior genes would be eliminated from the pool.
Amazing what one could learn in nearly a millennium of life. De Roché’s battles had once been fought on bloody fronts. Now they were waged in financial boardrooms and in some of the most sophisticated scientific laboratories on the planet. His empire spanned the globe. He had people inside nearly every government lab on the planet. His employees were involved with such organizations as NASA and CERN, and JPL. He had research people in the medical labs of some of the greatest universities, and of course he had his own secret facilities where all of this extraordinary knowledge melded together like the parts of some cosmic jigsaw puzzle. His scientists were secretly building a new human race and subsequently a new human future.
His researchers had already mastered the art of brain transformation and gene manipulation. Thanks to the study of his own immortality some of the most brilliant minds on the planet had discovered how to regenerate the human brain and keep it alive indefinitely. Subsequently they had learned how to build new healthier and stronger bodies in which to place these regenerated—and in some cases—genetically altered brains. And the laugh of it was, there was nothing magical about any of it. It was just a question of fundamental science, and mostly of resources. Anything could be accomplished with the proper amount of resources. And De Roché’s resources were limitless.
Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) Page 42