by R. D. Brady
But she had a feeling those secondary targets would be unnecessary. She felt it in her bones—she would find what she needed in the first group. And finally, this endless cycle would cease.
The movements of the targets and their guardians had been meticulously worked out. She knew which ones would fight and which would be too overwhelmed to do anything. And now finally, finally, she was ready to move.
But confident as she was, Elisabeta never placed all her eggs in one basket. There was one other possibility that could give her what she wanted. She frowned. For that possibility to pan out, the ring bearer must live. And that was not something Elisabeta was willing to tolerate.
She finished her walk, rounding the far end of the pond, and headed for the garage. A tall muscular man with dark hair and eyes, a tribute to his Spanish heritage, stood waiting for her next to a running Maybach. A tingle ran over her skin as she approached. He nodded at her, then opened the car door. Elisabeta slipped in without a word.
Hakeem got into the driver’s seat. They were heading to a charity event for homeless kids or pets or something. Elisabeta couldn’t remember. And didn’t really care.
Actually, that wasn’t true. She cared that it was taking her away from her work. But she had to maintain her appearance.
She glanced over at her aide, Hilda. Plain, with prematurely gray hair that was always pulled into a tight bun, the woman was ruffled by nothing. “Go,” Elisabeta said.
“It appears the US government is still deciding what to do with the residents of the SIA facility. A decision is expected later today.”
“What’s the holdup?”
“The optics. They crucified Matt Clark in the press for running a fiefdom. They can’t exactly do the same.”
Elisabeta grunted. She had no use for politicians. Ostensibly, they were put in position to help and serve the people. But she had yet to meet one who helped anyone other than himself or herself. “And McPhearson?”
“Still no sightings. She is completely off the grid.”
“How is that possible? I mean, she was grabbed by a Vegas entertainer, for God’s sake. The man doesn’t have any training, does he?”
“Nothing has popped up so far.” Hilda hesitated.
Elisabeta narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“I hired a new investigative agency, and they came up with something—but it doesn’t make any sense.”
When Delaney had gone missing, Elisabeta had ordered her tracked down. The last image seen of the woman was her being loaded into a plane unconscious by a Vegas entertainer named Drake. Her team had pored over the entertainer’s life, looking for something that would indicate where he had gone. Drake had been in residence in Vegas for nearly two decades. His physical appearance had changed little in that time, but very few Vegas entertainers aged naturally due to makeup, top-notch dermatologists, and plastic surgeons, so pinning down the age of any of them by sight alone was impossible.
According to the report she received, Drake was best known for sold-out shows, a lavish lifestyle, and a bevy of one-night stands. Not exactly the type who would be able to easily slip into the shadows.
And yet that was exactly what he had done. More perplexing, there was no record of the man prior to his Vegas stint. She had had three different teams investigate him. They had all come up empty. Drake simply did not exist prior to moving to Las Vegas.
But Elisabeta had known it was only a matter of time before her people uncovered his history. No matter how well people covered their tracks, they always left traces of themselves—high school yearbooks, old neighbors. People could always be found. It was just a matter of getting the right people to search.
“What have they come up with?” she asked.
Hilda handed Elisabeta a printout from the file in her hand. It was a picture from feudal Japan—one of the only shots taken of a samurai warrior tribe.
Elisabeta frowned as she scanned the shot. Two dozen men in ornate armor stood stone-faced, staring at the camera. “What does—” Then she caught sight of the person Hilda wanted her to see.
The man did look like Drake. He had the same sharp cheekbones, the same arrogant expression. Elisabeta’s gaze flicked to the writing in the top right-hand corner: Spring, 1854. She frowned.
“There’s this one as well.” Hilda handed her another photo. This one was from early Las Vegas, 1946. It was the same man, looking the same age. He wore a fedora and stood at the bar next to Bugsy Siegel at the Flamingo Hotel. The caption said his name was Hank.
Hilda nodded toward the photos. “I—I don’t understand how it’s possible. The team did a facial recognition search on the web looking for any hits. The program crawled through images across the globe with no hits—and then it spit these out. The program said it was him. But it has to be a relative or something, right?”
“Yes, that must be it,” Elisabeta said. She felt lightheaded, knowing there was one other possibility to explain the similarity. One that made it much more likely that McPhearson would be able to stay hidden.
Shit. She’s found an archangel.
She did not remember this particular one, but then again, she did not remember all the details of her past incarnations.
A vision filled her mind: a bloody battlefield, a warrior slicing through men with a roar.
Then the image was gone. But Elisabeta knew what it meant—she had run into this man before. She narrowed her eyes. But why are you involving yourself now? It bothered her not knowing.
She handed the pictures back to Hilda. “Have them dig into the background of these pictures. I want to know everything you can find about these men.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where are we with Project Genesis?”
“The subjects have been selected. The teams are just waiting for your go-ahead.”
“Send them.”
She smiled, settling back against the leather seat as Hilda made the call. The archangel didn’t matter. He’d hidden McPhearson away, and there had been no sign of her—which meant there was no one to stop her.
And once Project Genesis was completed, no one would ever be able to stop her.
CHAPTER 5
ADDISON, WEST VIRGINIA
The hall of the SIA facility in West Virginia had added a few more unfamiliar faces since Patrick’s last visit. Of course, there always seemed to be new faces lately, since the FBI had overtaken the day-to-day activities. He and SIA agent Mustafa Massari walked together down the hall. They passed yet another unfamiliar guard in black tactical gear, but Patrick didn’t say anything. He knew there were ears everywhere.
The SIA facility, or actually the former SIA facility, had been established to contain Fallen and nephilim who could not be held in regular prisons. With their abilities, regular prisons had no chance of keeping them contained.
As the existence of the Fallen and nephilim had been a secret when the prison was created, the prison itself had long been a well-kept secret within a very small circle in the US government. But after Laney’s unmasking, the world of the Fallen and nephilim had been thrust into the spotlight, and so too had the prison. There were cries of dismay across the country at the lack of constitutional protections for the inmates incarcerated there. And Patrick understood those concerns. Truth be told, he agreed with them. But at the same time, he knew why the facility had had to be kept secret. And from what he knew personally of some of the inmates, this was exactly where they belonged.
Patrick and Mustafa walked past yet another guard that Patrick did not recognize as they stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed, Patrick turned to Mustafa. “Have they let the former guards go? I don’t recognize these men.”
Mustafa shook his head. “No. But all SIA agents have been moved to the office. None of them are allowed near the cells.”
“Why?”
“They aren’t trusted.”
Patrick shook his head. He’d seen this before. The drawing of lines between former allies. Us versus them. It ha
d happened during the Civil Rights Movement and again after 9/11. And it never ended well.
The door opened, and they stepped out, turning right before Mustafa buzzed them through a security door.
“Any word yet?” Patrick asked as the door closed shut behind them with a thud.
“No,” Mustafa said. “But the ruling should come down today.”
The prison had remained largely the same since the federal government had taken over, but the decision of what to do with the inmates housed there was a current topic of discussion over at the Department of Justice. The first group that had arrived had opened one cell and had lost half their team before Mustafa and his men had been able to take the inmate down. That inmate had been one of Amar Patel’s men. Amar Patel was a particularly reprehensible Fallen. He had been gathering Fallen, sometimes just teenagers, together for Samyaza.
That incident had slowed the government’s approach. And it had let them know that the world was so much more than they realized. Patrick hoped it had also opened a few eyes to the dangers of the Fallen, so that perhaps they would look at Laney a little differently.
“A group of politicians flew in yesterday to see Cain,” Mustafa said.
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “How’d that go?”
Mustafa grinned. “Fine. Until Cain took off his sunglasses.”
Cain, the biblical Cain, was another guest of the facility. The Bible stated that Cain would bear the mark and all would know not to kill him—but it never described what that mark was. Turns out, it was pitch black eyes without a drop of white. It would halt anyone in their steps.
In addition, anyone who tried to harm Cain would receive sevenfold that injury in return. Patrick had seen the devastation of that curse first-hand.
“This is where I leave you. But I’ll be back in two hours to see how it’s going,” Mustafa said.
Patrick glanced at the FBI agent at the end of the hall. “You’re still not allowed near the cells either?”
“No. I don’t know what they think we’d do. Let them out? No one would be that stupid.”
Patrick wasn’t so sure that was true when it came to politicians. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
CHAPTER 6
ADDISON, WEST VIRGINIA
Three hours later, Patrick was still in Cain’s cell. He wanted to stay with Cain until the decision about the inmates came down. He had a feeling Cain might need the support.
The chess table was set up in its usual spot. Patrick sat across the board from the immortal. He moved his pawn and looked up.
His adversary quickly moved his queen, a small smile on his face. Patrick knew he was no challenge for the man. But Cain didn’t finish a game too quickly; instead he drew it out. Patrick knew these matches, and Patrick’s visits, were a break in Cain’s monotony, a taste of normality. And the immortal seemed to enjoy his company.
And to Patrick’s surprise, he felt the same way. When Laney had asked him in her letter to visit with the world’s first murderer, he hadn’t known what to think. But lover of history that he was, he had thought it would at least be an opportunity to perhaps learn of times long past. He had never expected that he would enjoy the conversations as much as he did. Laney had told him that Cain was not what he seemed—that there was a peace to him now. Patrick had thought he had just fooled her.
I should have trusted her, he thought, studying the board again.
“How is Cleo doing?” Cain asked.
Patrick looked up. The sight of Cain’s black eyes no longer jarred him. “Not good. She misses Laney. It’s taking a toll on her.”
“I think it’s taken a toll on all of you.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“So I take it there’s nothing new?”
Patrick shook his head. “No. Every Fallen we’ve run down has been cleared.”
“So you’re still thinking Drake is linked with Samyaza? That he grabbed her for Elisabeta?”
Patrick shrugged, but he felt himself tense up. He hated not knowing where Laney was. “We’re trying all angles. I mean, there’s no reason for Drake to involve himself in this. From what we know, his focus seems to be on enjoying himself above anything else. I can’t see how this fits that pattern.”
Cain watched Patrick for a long moment before he shrugged. “I suppose.”
Patrick frowned. “You have a different idea?”
“Hm,” Cain said, studying the board.
“Hm? What does that mean?” Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Do you know why Drake would involve himself?”
Cain sighed. “I should not have said anything.”
“Well, you did. So keep talking.”
Cain studied him for a moment before speaking. “Drake—this is not his first time on earth. He has been here before. He has known Laney before.”
Patrick was stunned. “He has? When? Where?”
“When she was Helen.”
Patrick’s mouth fell open and he tried to imagine who Drake could have been. He didn’t know much about the flamboyant archangel except that he seemed to enjoy life, if not its responsibilities. But was he just watching, or was there some greater purpose to his existence on earth?
“He’s been around since the Bronze Age?”
Cain shook his head. “No. As you know, he is on a type of sabbatical. He’s one of the Guardians of the tree. But no, when he knew Helen—Laney—he was not an archangel. He was human.”
“Human? Is that possible?”
“Drake was a special case.”
“So he was mortal? Did he know what he was?”
Cain shook his head. “No. He had the abilities of the Fallen, but he had no idea he was more than even that. He was born, he lived, he died—like every other human.”
Patrick felt his jaw falling open and slammed it shut. Drake was an archangel. From his canon, he knew archangels were the elite of the angels—the strongest, the most powerful. Ralph had been an archangel—loyal, compassionate, powerful, and Victoria’s right-hand man. But Drake was the exact opposite.
“Were they close?” he asked.
“Very,” Cain said softly.
Patrick’s jaw dropped again. “He wasn’t Menelaus, was he?”
“No.”
Relief swept through Patrick. At least there wasn’t an old romantic relationship to worry about. “Who was he?”
“Achilles.”
Patrick shook his head, thinking of The Iliad. “Helen and Achilles didn’t know one another.”
Cain gave Patrick a smile. “As you know, the reports of history are written by the victors and rarely tell the full story—or even the true story. Achilles and Helen knew each other. And I can say, without equivocation, that if Drake is the one who has taken Laney, he will make sure absolutely no harm comes to her.”
Patrick stared at Cain for a long moment before shaking his head. “Somehow, that does not make me feel better.”
CHAPTER 7
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
Lunch with Henry and Yoni had been good. They’d gone to a brewery near the estate, and Yoni had sweet-talked the waitress into giving them a free round. That man would never change. Now Henry and Jake were in Henry’s office waiting on the Japanese delegation. Jake had agreed to run security reviews of a plant they were building in Ohio.
Jake stretched out his legs. He needed a run. After this business was completed, he’d run a few miles and then hit the bag for a while. Henry was right. They needed to get back to life. As much as hated to admit it, Laney coming back was not in his control.
Across the room, Henry’s desk phone rang. Absentmindedly, Henry picked it up, his eyes still on the file on his desk. “Yes?”
Henry sat up, his face still. “What? No, they— But—” Henry stared at the phone before placing it back on the receiver.
Jake got to his feet. “Henry?”
“Hold on a second.” Henry dialed the phone and paced, but no one answered on the other end of the line. Henry punched the disconnect button bef
ore striding toward the door. “We need to go. Now.”
Jake hurried along next to him, practically running to keep up with Henry’s long strides. “What is it? Is it Laney?”
Henry shook his head, not slowing down. “No, no. It’s the SIA facility. The government has decided to take all the prisoners to their own facility.”
Jake shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet he was. When the world found out about the SIA facility, there had been a public uproar; it was cast as an extra-government entity subverting a fair and just legal system. And now, apparently, they weren’t concerned about that anymore.
“What? What about civil rights? Trials? Due process? All that flag-waving they’ve been doing?”
“Apparently they think the Fallen are too dangerous to let the public know they exist. A force arrived at the facility ten minutes ago. They’ve already started to transfer the patients.”
“What? Do they even know what they’re doing?”
“I don’t know. I tried to reach Mustafa. He’s not answering.”
Jake felt a pit open in his stomach. “Patrick’s there. He was visiting Cain.”
“There’s more. The inmates are no longer under the control of the FBI.” Henry pushed through the door leading outside.
“Who’s in charge now?”
“The ETF.”
Jake’s jaw dropped open. Oh shit.
CHAPTER 8
ADDISON, WEST VIRGINIA
Patrick stretched, feeling a twinge in his lower back. The game had been good. He’d lost of course, but the conversation had made it more than enjoyable. They had discussed the Peloponnesian War—the ancient Greek war that began in 420 BC between the Athenians and Spartans. The war had shifted power so much that the vital city-state of Athens had been reduced to rubble and Sparta had become the leading city. Helen’s legacy, Patrick thought.