Legacy

by A D Starrling

  The black SUV was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter Eight

  Jonah Krondike stared through the glass containment wall separating his office from the research lab some fifteen feet below.

  ‘Are you absolutely certain it was them?’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes sir,’ replied Scoleri on the flatscreen monitor affixed to the wall on his left. ‘They fit the profiles.’

  An ugly wound marred the middle of the immortal’s forehead, a testimony of his recent engagement and death at the hands of an enemy who had eluded them for decades.

  Despite the irritation coursing through him, Jonah could not stop himself from smiling.

  Mark Scoleri started working for the cause twenty years ago, well after Asgard Godard and Ethan Storm escaped from the army facility in New Mexico. The Crovir Hunter had proven to be one of Jonah’s best agents ever since and had been placed in charge of the team of immortals and pureblood immortal-human half-breeds who now worked for Jonah at the facility. Although he had read Godard and Storm’s case files, this was the first time he had engaged in direct combat with either immortal.

  Rage at having been bested burned brightly in the Italian’s dark eyes. ‘We sent men to all the possible stops for the next one hundred miles of that freight train’s journey. So far, there’s been no sign of the targets.’

  ‘And the police?’ said Jonah.

  ‘They’re still buying the story we told them: that Godard and Storm were seen leaving the abbey in the middle of the night, after multiple gunshots were fired. The witness is one of our men. He lives close enough locally to justify doing some night-time hunting in those mountains and his credentials are above suspicion. Godard and Storm’s descriptions and composite drawings are in the FBI’s National Crime Information Center database. They’ll have to watch their backs from now on, wherever they go.’ Scoleri paused. ‘The authorities are treating the nun as a hostage.’

  Jonah turned and studied the busy scene in the lab beneath the office. His team was getting ready for the next stage of their experiment.

  ‘Locating and capturing Olivia Ashkarov and Ethan Storm is your number one priority from this moment forth,’ he told Scoleri. ‘Use as many men as you deem necessary. Our friends in the US Army will be more than happy to provide us with the bodies and firepower you need.’

  Scoleri hesitated. ‘If I may ask, what’s so special about that woman? She seemed pretty ordinary to me.’ He grunted. ‘Storm I can understand. That bastard’s got some unique moves.’

  The Crovir Hunter shifted uncomfortably under Jonah’s flinty stare.

  ‘Olivia Ashkarov is quite likely one of the most powerful immortals who exists today,’ Jonah finally said. ‘From the description of your encounter with her, she doesn’t yet know the extent of her abilities. Because of the mark she bears, I suspect hers are even more remarkable than her mother’s. Had she been in full control of her powers, you and your men would not have walked out of that abbey alive.’

  Scoleri’s expression sobered.

  ‘Natalia Ashkarov slipped from my grasp when I was days from taking her captive. She found her escape in her final death,’ Jonah continued. ‘With her gone, her daughter is the only one left in the immortal world who carries their family’s formidable bloodline.’ He knitted his brow. ‘I need that girl. She is the perfect experimental subject for what we’re trying to achieve. So is Storm. I don’t care what you do to him as long as you leave him a few lives to survive what we’ll put him through.’

  ‘And Godard?’ said Scoleri.

  ‘You can dispose of him. He is no longer of any use to me.’ Jonah smiled thinly. ‘And I want proof of his ultimate death. Bring me his ashes.’

  Scoleri nodded, a satisfied grin flashing across his face. The video link blinked to black.

  Jonah walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He downed it neat and hissed air between his teeth as the liquid scorched a fiery trail down his throat. One thing that had definitely improved over the last eight centuries was the alcohol.

  A beep sounded from his desk. He crossed the floor and pressed the answer button on the digital monitor sitting in the middle of the mahogany table.

  ‘Yes?’

  One of his scientists spoke through the interface. ‘Sir, Subject 505 is ready for Phase Three.’

  ‘Good,’ said Jonah. ‘And this time, have the dart guns ready. The last test subject made a mess of the place. The clean-up alone put us back a couple of days.’ He grunted. ‘You should all know by now how the general feels about his precious facility. I can’t afford to have him kill any more of you just because you’ve pissed him off.’

  He closed the communication channel while the scientist was still stammering and walked over to the glass wall.

  The man who had called him turned to stare up at the window, his face pale. The glass was lined with a privacy film for one-way viewing; the scientist had no way of knowing that Jonah was watching him. He jumped at a sound and turned to watch a couple of guards walk through the main door of the lab, their weapons prepped with a dart syringe containing a powerful narcotic and anesthetic agent.

  One of the other scientists approached the terminal and spoke to him. The ashen-faced man nodded slowly and squared his shoulders before joining the group gathered in front of a wide console filled with computer monitors and digital control panels.

  Fifteen feet in front of them, on the other side of a secured containment chamber with a thick, reinforced, ballistic-resistant glass window, a colossal figure with dark hair lay strapped to a metal gurney. Bar the army-issue boxer shorts that covered his groin, the man was naked. His eyes were closed and his chest moved slowly and steadily with his breaths. An IV line pumped an infusion into the tube-like vein at his elbow.

  Jonah glanced at one of the multiple screens lining the walls of his office. Subject 505’s vital statistics looked excellent.

  He touched a communication switch at the bottom of the window. ‘Begin.’

  The sun was a low, hazy, yellow sphere in the sky to the west when Ethan exited San Fernando Valley. The undulating peaks and basins of the Santa Monica Mountains stretched out around him, slopes covered in a tapestry of greens, yellows, and reds dotted with large, traditional, Spanish-style homes and modern, concrete-and-glass constructions.

  The engine of the fifteen-year-old, gold-colored Volvo station wagon rattled and creaked beneath the hood as he negotiated several miles of hairpin twists and turns. Asgard sat quietly beside him, his gaze focused blindly on the rolling scenery. Never the most talkative person in the world in the first place, the older immortal had been more taciturn than usual since they left Wyoming. Ethan suspected he knew what lay so heavily on his friend’s mind. His eyes moved to the rearview mirror.

  Olivia sat glued to the window in the rear seat, her face reflecting curiosity as she drank in the landscape. A mile after they left the Topanga State Park, they crested a slope and caught their first glimpse of the sea. The nun inhaled sharply. Ethan hid a smile.

  After their escape from the motel in Lincoln County, the three immortals hid in an empty boxcar on the train for some eighty-odd miles before jumping off on the outskirts of the city of Rock Springs. Three hundred feet south of where they alighted, they came to a chain-link fence surrounding part of a large industrial estate. The parking lots were crowded with the empty cars of employees toiling away in the warehouses and buildings inside the grounds. Ten minutes later, they were in a stolen vehicle headed west on Route 30.

  They swapped license plates with cars in Green River and Evanston. By the time they reached Utah Lake and parked outside a small airport serving Springville and Spanish Fork, Ethan was certain the cops and Jonah’s men would not find their trail. It didn’t take them long to track down the owner of a Piper PA-28 Cherokee light aircraft stored in one of the hangars. Although the man was initially reluctant, a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills convinced him to let Asgard pilot his plane to a private
airfield in Los Angeles County.

  Considering how wary the older immortal had been of the combustion engine when he came out of the ice in the 1950s, Ethan was surprised at how fascinated he became with flying. Asgard got his pilot’s license five years after their escape from the army facility in New Mexico. He used every opportunity to practice his skills and insisted on flying the Cherokee despite the wound on his thigh.

  They left the pilot fueling up for his flight back to Utah and hitched a ride to Palmdale, where they bought the second-hand Volvo from a used-car dealership. To minimize the risk that they would be placed by a curious bystander, Asgard and Olivia waited for Ethan at a coffee-shop down the road while he completed the transaction with one of his counterfeit IDs.

  The station wagon juddered as it struck a crack in the blacktop. Ethan blinked, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He saw Asgard glance at him out the corner of his eye.

  They had been awake for more than thirty hours. Exhaustion was starting to set in.

  Canyons opened around them as the road snaked toward the Pacific shoreline. The houses became scarce, most of them invisible behind tree-shrouded, secured drives and high fences.

  The private lane materialized in the middle of a stretch of deserted woodland. Had he not known its exact location, Ethan would have driven past without giving it a second glance. Constructed out of sandstone to mimic the yellow dirt, it started out narrow and blended in perfectly with its surroundings, as the designer had intended. He followed the widening track for a thousand feet and over an artificial rise made of compressed earth to a pair of thick, twenty-foot-tall wooden gates framed by white concrete pillars. Walls topped with barbed wire disappeared between towering trees on either side.

  Ethan looked to where hidden pan-and-tilt cameras were mounted atop the barrier and punched a code in the call box on the metal post rising on the left side of the road. A panel slid open on top. A small camera appeared and rotated to scan the interior of the car.

  ‘An unidentified female has been located in the rear of the vehicle,’ said a male voice from an invisible speaker a couple of seconds later. ‘The facial recognition software cannot place her on any known database, sir.’

  Olivia startled and looked around.

  ‘Apply security protocol fifteen, Bernard,’ Ethan ordered.

  There was a small pause. ‘Applying security protocol fifteen, sir. Please supply the password.’

  ‘Perseus,’ said Ethan.

  ‘That password is incorrect, sir,’ said the invisible Bernard.

  Ethan glared at the metal post. ‘Did he change it again?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Bernard cleared his throat. ‘Mr. Titus wishes me to inform you that as the major shareholder in the business, he has modified all passwords to the default once more.’

  Asgard said something rude under his breath.

  Ethan’s shoulders drooped. ‘Howard is standing right next to you, isn’t he?’

  Bernard hesitated. ‘Yes he is, sir.’

  ‘That son of a—’

  Ethan became aware of Olivia’s gaze on his face and swallowed the rest of the curse.

  ‘The password is H-O-T Rod Forever,’ he said in disgust.

  ‘Password accepted. Welcome home, Mr. Storm, Mr. Godard.’

  The electromagnetic locks disengaged and the gates swung open on hydraulic pumps to reveal a pristine asphalt road. A line of steel bollards dropped into the ground as the Volvo rolled onto the smooth surface. Seconds later, the gates closed behind them.

  ‘What’s a “hot rod?”’ said Olivia.

  Ethan’s foot slipped off the clutch. The engine stuttered. He caught Asgard’s warning look, turned the key in the ignition, and changed gears.

  ‘It’s an acronym for the guy who owns half this place,’ he muttered.

  The nun seemingly satisfied with this answer, Ethan followed the access route for a mile as it wound through a wooded gorge. Sycamore and oak trees brushed shoulders with eucalyptus groves on the vertiginous slopes. Low-lying sage scrub and chaparral crowded the gaps between them and revealed the underlying ochre-tinged sedimentary rock that made up the mountains. Shadows moved across the valley as dusk started to fall.

  A decorative driveway made from stamped concrete replaced the blacktop. A hundred feet later, they reached the summit of a hill. Olivia gasped.

  The land fell away dramatically around them, giving rise to a sweeping vista of a hazy, salt-spray-dusted Pacific Ocean. The setting sun painted the sky and sea with dazzling hues of pink and orange fusing to dark purple. Lights twinkled faintly along the distant Pacific Coast Highway. On the far left, Santa Monica was a bright constellation against the darkening landscape.

  A sigh left Ethan’s lips. However many times he drove up this road, he never got tired of that view. He could tell from the way Asgard relaxed beside him that the older immortal was also glad to be back home.

  The driveway angled around gently to a wide, circular forecourt fronting a stunning mansion that spilled down a series of beautifully landscaped, artificial terraces carved into the side of the mountain. Set in three hundred and fifty acres of private land, the structure was an ode to modern architecture, with sleek, simple lines, flat roofs, and a clever blend of stone, concrete, wood, metal, and glass. It was also a hive of some of the world’s best technologies and host to an extensive security system that incorporated the entire estate and several miles of underground tunnels extending to the ocean and neighboring valleys.

  Ethan parked the Volvo opposite a wide marble porch. He removed the duffel bags from the trunk while Asgard secured their weapons. Olivia got out of the car and stayed close to her uncle, her wary gaze inspecting their impressive surroundings.

  The front door opened. A tall gray-haired figure in a suit appeared. Soft light streamed around him from the interior of the building.

  ‘Hi Bernard,’ said Ethan. He nodded to their solemn-faced butler.

  The man dipped his chin. ‘Mr. Storm. Mr. Godard. Will you be staying long this time around, gentlemen?’

  Ethan glanced at Asgard as they climbed the steps. The older immortal’s slight limp had all but disappeared, his latest injury healing at its usual supernatural pace. ‘It depends.’

  The butler scanned Olivia with the barest flicker of his brown eyes, bowed regally, and took the bags from Ethan. The nun blushed.

  They followed Bernard inside an elegant foyer and past several airy openings and glass walls that offered tantalizing glimpses into the rest of the labyrinthine property. Olivia’s eyes widened when they reached a floating, spiral staircase spanning three levels of the building. She was still staring at it when Asgard touched her arm and halted her steps before she walked into the back of the butler.

  The man had stopped on the edge of an enormous, sunken living area with a south-facing glass wall overlooking the canyon and the ocean beyond. Steel, concrete, and bare stone were the principal building blocks of the multileveled, luxurious room. Cedar floors and textured marble columns added warmth to what would otherwise have been a clinical space, while ingenious lightning showed off splashes of color here and there in the form of canvases and beautiful flower arrangements.

  A fire crackled in a large slate hearth to the left. A figure rose from the white, L-shaped suede couch next to it.

  ‘I have instructed Rosa to prepare some light refreshments,’ said Bernard.

  The butler turned and disappeared through an archway to the right.

  Asgard regarded the man by the couch with a frosty air. ‘I thought we made it clear that your password was idiotic.’

  He headed down the wooden steps to the sunken floor.

  Howard Orson Rodney Titus grinned and jammed his hands into the pockets of his designer shorts. A Rolex gleamed on his wrist, the metal glittering against his tanned skin.

  ‘Seriously, you’re such a pain in the ass,’ Ethan murmured.

  His oldest friend rocked back on his heels, unabashed. ‘Oh, come on, you guys nee
d to learn to relax! ’Specially you, Asgard. I swear you’re living on the edge of a coronary. You should let me hook you up with one of those hot chicks from Santa Monica.’ He winked. ‘Let off some of that pent up steam, you know what I’m saying?’

  ‘You’re pushing your luck,’ said Asgard between gritted teeth.

  Howard chuckled.

  Ethan sighed. The twinkly-eyed, grinning blond man who looked like a preppy Harvard-graduate was in fact a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Crovir immortal, master crook, hacker, and insanely savvy entrepreneur.

  Ethan had known him for nearly one hundred of those years and was a major shareholder in the ventures that had seen Titus propelled onto the list of the world’s twenty richest tech tycoons. The fact that the money Howard used for his first start-up was spoils from decades of a professional thieving partnership with Ethan was not something either Crovir immortal readily advertised.

  Asgard was their second-largest investor and the other silent partner in the business besides Ethan, having come on board after the two Crovir immortals helped him retrieve the gold and precious stones he stowed in Europe in the course of his two-hundred-year quest to find Jonah Krondike. Some of the treasure hunts had proven to be challenging, considering the monuments and buildings of historic significance that now stood over Asgard’s old hideaways. Digging beneath the Louvre and Vatican City had been sheer torture for Ethan and Howard, with the Bastian noble forbidding the two Crovirs from going after the priceless masterpieces close to hand on pain of death.

  These days, the official dealings of their multi-billion-dollar corporation were well above board. Their other private endeavor, and the main focus of their energies for the last forty odd years, wasn’t.

  Appreciation dawned in Howard’s blue eyes. ‘And who do we have here?’

  He stared at Olivia.

  Ethan made the introductions in a tired voice. ‘Olivia, this is Howard Titus, our friend and business partner. He’s also the one who alerted us to Jonah’s mission to hunt you down. Howard, this is Olivia Ashkarov.’