Deep beneath the cobbles and paving stones of Vienna lay an extensive and intricate labyrinth of tunnels, halls, crypts, and cellars that had been in existence since before the late Middle Ages; some had probably been there from the time the original Roman fortress of Vindobona stood on the site. In more recent history, parts of this underground city had been used as bunkers by the Germans during the Second World War.
The last time I was down here, the Turks were trying to blow up the walls around Vienna.
The temperature dropped as we ventured deeper inside the tunnels. The water level gradually subsided.
I stopped at the entrance of a side passage. ‘I think this leads to the cellar under the tavern. If so, Grun would have come this way.’
Ashely directed the torch downwards. Fresh black scuff marks appeared on the dry stone floor.
Grun moved surprisingly swiftly for a large man; it was another ten minutes before we caught up with him. By then, we were in the catacombs of St. Stephen’s Cathedral.
Rooms stacked with bones and grinning skulls unrolled around us. We passed through crypts and vaults housing well-preserved, dusty caskets on low stone sepulchers. The air was cool but dry, courtesy of the ventilation shafts that had been built to create the steady underground climate necessary to preserve the ancient remains of those buried beneath the city.
An orange glow ahead finally alerted us to Grun’s presence. We turned a corner and glimpsed the figure of the bartender outlined against the light of the flame torch he held in his hand. Ashely directed the pen torch toward the floor and cupped the end in his palm to mask the beam.
Grun unlocked a grille door at the end of the corridor. He closed it behind him and started down a flight of stairs. We waited until his footsteps faded before moving forward. Ashely inspected the keyhole in the grille and inserted a fine pin inside. There was a faint click from the lock mechanism.
Narrow stone steps spiraled into darkness beyond the door. They ended two floors below and gave way to a passage that gradually broadened. We followed it to a junction.
A thin stream of water coursed along the shallow grooves in the floor where the tunnel branched out into three corridors. A light dwindled at the end of the one on the far right. We headed after it.
The passage twisted and split several times over. More grille doors appeared in our path. Had it not been for the fresh tracks on the floor, we would have lost Grun’s trail.
The footprints ended in front of an oak door along a stone corridor. A faded, double-headed eagle crest was engraved in the wall next to it.
I lifted a hand and slowly traced the shape with my fingertips, my heart sinking at the significance of the symbol.
‘What is it?’ said Ashely.
‘This is the coat of arms of the House of Habsburg,’ I murmured.
Ashely raised an eyebrow. ‘And?’
‘I think we’re under the Hofburg Palace.’
He frowned. ‘Judging from your expression, I take it that’s a bad thing?’
‘The Hofburg is the official residence of the President of Austria.’
‘Ah.’ A glum look dawned on his face. ‘That’s definitely bad.’
Chapter Ten
Ashely tried several lock picks in the door. There was a faint, undeniable clink after his fourth attempt. He pulled on the handle. The door refused to budge.
He scowled. ‘There must be a bolt on the other side.’
I looked down the passage. ‘Let’s keep going.’
A second door appeared in the stone wall a hundred feet later. It had no lock.
The wooden bar behind it gave away after a few kicks.
‘That’s going to be a bit hard to explain if we come across any guards,’ Ashely muttered as he followed me across the threshold.
‘It’ll be the least of our problems if we meet any.’
I inspected the room we had entered. It was a rectangular cell with pale limestone walls and no other apparent exits. I crossed the floor and moved my hands over the textured surface of the stone blocks.
‘What’re you doing?’ said Ashely.
‘Checking for a hidden door.’
His eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’
‘Buildings like these always had secret openings.’
A sigh left his lips. He joined me and started to run his fingers along the wall. ‘I feel like I’m in a bad spy movie,’ he muttered under his breath.
I smiled.
It took a few minutes to find the subtle oval depression in the stonework. I held my breath and pressed my fingers against the shallow indent.
A section of the wall swung inward with a low grinding noise.
Ashely’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, what’d you know?’
The opening was just about wide enough for one person to squeeze through, which was the way it had been designed; the cell was a safe room where the nobles who lived in the palace could hide if enemies ever attacked.
A corridor lay on the other side.
Grun’s footprints had all but faded on the stone floor. We followed the dwindling tracks and came to an empty chamber. I stiffened when I saw the fresh cigarette butts littering the floor. A gas camping stove stood in a corner of the room. A flurry of footmarks smudged the dirt on the ground.
My pulse quickened. We were close.
We passed a further two rooms before reaching a door. Yellow light flickered through the thin gap at the bottom. A low rumble of conversation rose from the other side.
I motioned to Ashely. He dipped his chin, drew the Glock, and stood to the side. I took a step back and kicked at the lock. It gave way almost immediately.
I crossed the threshold into the chamber beyond.
Oktav Grun turned and gaped. Two of the three figures seated at the small table behind him rose and reached inside their coats.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Ashely. The tip of the Glock appeared next to my left ear as he aimed the gun at the room’s occupants.
I registered the mattresses and camping gear against the wall on the right before directing a steady stare at Grun. ‘Where are they?’
The bartender glared. ‘How did you find me?’
I narrowed my eyes; I had just noticed the door in the rear wall. ‘You’re not the only immortal who’s used these tunnels.’
The third figure at the table finally stirred. ‘Oktav, who are these people?’
I studied the middle-aged man who had spoken. Piercing dark eyes dominated his rugged features. He was dressed in a sophisticated suit, and sported a trim beard and a mustache, both of which bore an elegant sprinkle of gray.
His tone, though slightly accented, was old-school aristocracy.
‘My name is Adam Carpenter,’ I said coolly. ‘I’m looking for a man and a woman who arrived in Vienna by train tonight.’
Grun gasped at my name; it was the first time he was hearing it.
Something flickered in the other man’s eyes.
‘The Crovirs tried to kill them at the Hauptbahnhof in Zurich earlier today,’ I added, wondering whether I had imagined the flash of recognition.
A taut silence followed.
‘Look, we just want to talk to them.’ Ashely lowered the Glock. ‘They may be able to tell us why the Crovir Hunters are after him.’ He cocked a thumb my way.
The man with the beard straightened. ‘The Crovirs are after you?’ he asked sharply, his dark gaze drilling into my face.
‘Yes.’
From his tone and words I concluded he was also a Schwatz immortal.
He exchanged a glance with Grun. ‘I’m sorry.’ He rubbed a hand down his face. ‘I wish I could help, but I’m certain Tomas wouldn’t want me to get you involved in this matter further.’
I frowned. ‘Tomas?’
A sad smile flitted across the older man’s face. ‘I’ve already said too much.’ He rose wearily from his seat. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.’
‘Hang on a minute—’ Ashely started.
The faint but unmistakable sound of gunshots suddenly shattered the stillness.
We froze.
‘Verdammt!’ swore the bearded man in German. A scowl darkened his face as he reached for the Beretta under his arm. ‘How the devil did they find us?!’
His bodyguards drew pistols from inside their coats and fell into step behind him as he strode to the door at the back of the room.
‘Oktav, warn the others!’ he snapped over his shoulder. He hesitated when his gaze fell on us. ‘You two, come with me!’
‘Gabriel—’ said Grun.
The bearded man glared at the bartender. ‘I know you want to fight. But right now, the safety of our other friends is paramount!’
A muscle jumped in the larger man’s jaw. He nodded grudgingly.
Ashely and I left him standing forlornly by the table and ran out of the chamber after the three men.
A maze of underground tunnels lit by flickering flame torches unfurled on the other side of the door. Our shadows danced on the walls as we raced toward the noise of the gunfight.
The darkness finally lightened ahead. We emerged under a bridge beneath the streets of the city.
Stars shone next to a crescent moon in the sky beyond. Lights from the overpass cast a muted glow across the canal at the bottom of a flight of stone steps.
Some hundred feet to the right, a group of dark-clad men chased after five fleeing figures. Muzzles flashed in the gloom. The gun blasts echoed against the walls of the water duct.
We were at the bottom of the stairs when two of the figures fell.
The man called Gabriel cursed. His steps quickened.
The Hunters at the rear of the pack turned at the sound of our footfall. Gunfire erupted around me as Ashely and the three immortals engaged them.
I left my guns in their holsters and pulled the daisho from its twin sheaths, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Moonlight glinted on the edge of the katana as it hissed through the air. Two Hunters fell beneath the blade. A third man pulled a German longsword from beneath his coat.
He was good but nowhere near as skillful as Gotze had been.
I pulled the bloodied katana from his still figure just as a scream tore through the night, the sound piercing my carpenter like a blade. I looked up, stomach knotting in fear.
The man from the daguerreotype had fallen to his knees. He clutched at his side and tried to rise to his feet.
‘Grandfather!’ shouted the woman I now knew as Sheila.
She ran back to the old man, her eyes wide with horror, and wrapped an arm awkwardly under his shoulders. They stumbled forward.
My heart stuttered in my chest.
Two Crovir Hunters closed in silently thirty feet behind them.
‘Go!’ yelled Gabriel. ‘We’ll cover you!’
I raced toward the running figures, my boots splashing through bloodstained puddles. Bullets thudded into the Crovirs who blocked my path. Black-clad bodies fell around me.
My eyes never shifted from the retreating backs of Sheila and the wounded man.
They had just entered the shadow of another bridge when they stumbled and fell next to a stone buttress. One of the Hunters raised his gun and aimed at the old man’s back.
I released the wakizashi, drew the Smith and Wesson, and fired.
The immortal cursed and clutched at his bleeding hand, the weapon falling from his grip. I reached him a moment later and swung the katana across his arm, carving a slash from elbow to wrist. He screamed and stumbled to the ground.
The second Hunter turned, pistol in hand. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Sheila look around wildly. She grabbed a piece of driftwood from the ground and hurled it at the Hunter.
It struck him on the shoulder just as he fired. The bullet hissed past my ear.
The Hunter took aim once more. A gasp left his lips. His eyes widened before dropping to the blade in his chest.
I yanked the katana out. He fell with a thud.
‘Behind you!’ shouted Sheila.
I twisted on my heels.
The other Hunter was back on his feet, gun in his uninjured hand. Blood dripped down his wounded arm as he took aim.
I was already running when the first bullet grazed my left cheek. The next two shots missed my head by inches. I jumped, pushed against the stone buttress, spun backward in the air, and kicked the weapon out of the immortal’s hand.
He staggered backward and went to reach for the gun in his ankle holster. A soft grunt left his lips as the bloodstained katana slashed across his neck. He dropped to his knees, fingers clutching at the crimson jet spurting from the wound at his throat, before collapsing to the ground.
I snarled and stabbed the sword savagely in his chest. Blood roared in my head as I leaned over the still body, my breaths coming in rapid pants. There was a noise behind me.
‘Help me,’ said Sheila.
Her voice cut through the fog of rage clouding my mind like a knife. The clamor of the ongoing battle finally registered.
I removed the katana from the Hunter’s body and walked to where she knelt by her grandfather. The old man grunted when we lifted him under his shoulders and guided him to the flight of steps next to the bridge.
His eyes opened as we propped him against the canal wall. He looked at me blearily. ‘Adam?’
I hesitated, an eerie feeling of familiarity stealing over me once more as I studied his face. ‘Yes.’
He blanched. ‘What are you doing here?’ He grabbed my hand and shifted as if to rise.
‘Don’t!’ snapped Sheila. She pressed her hands against the wound in his flank, a grimace crossing her face as she favored her right arm. Blood seeped between her fingers where they lay on the old man’s clothes.
The scent of oranges drifted from her hair, drowning out the musty odor of mold coating the banks of the canal and the rank smell from the thin line of water coursing along its floor. It was too dark to discern the color of her eyes.
‘I’ve been looking for you,’ I said, dragging my gaze from her face.
The old man bit back a curse. ‘I told you not to follow us!’
I clenched my teeth. ‘The Crovirs are after me. I think it has something to do with you.’ My eyes shifted briefly to Sheila.
The old man froze. Horror clouded his features.
I raised an eyebrow when a stream of colorful Czech left his mouth.
‘Damn that Santana woman!’ he hissed.
Footsteps sounded behind us. I rose, fingers gripping the handle of the katana.
Gabriel and his men rounded the corner of the buttress.
Ashely followed behind them. He handed me the wakizashi and indicated his left cheek wordlessly.
I wiped away the trickle of blood coursing down my face.
‘Is everyone all right?’ Gabriel demanded.
‘Grandfather’s hurt,’ said Sheila. Though anger darkened her tone, I was the only one close enough to see the tremor in her fingers as she pressed them against the old man’s wound.
‘It’s just a scratch,’ her grandfather mumbled. Despite her stern protests, he slowly climbed to his feet.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the older man before studying the shadowy canal. ‘We need to get you out of here.’
He pulled a cell from his jacket and dialed a number. A short exchange followed. ‘Help’s on the way,’ he said after he disconnected.
Minutes unfolded slowly while we waited. Despite my best efforts, I found my gaze irrepressibly drawn to Sheila time and time again. My eyes helplessly traced the contours of her features while I struggled with an emotion I could not put a name to.
I had never been so aware of another being in all of my lives.
Judging by the tense glances she cast my way, Sheila was just as conscious of the electrifying vibe floating between us.
By the time a squeal of tires ro
se on the street above, the last crows were leaving the canal and disappearing in the sky.
One of Gabriel’s bodyguards stepped out of the shadow of the bridge and stared up. ‘It’s Oktav.’
Gabriel straightened from where he leaned against the canal wall. ‘Let’s get you up these steps,’ he told Sheila’s grandfather.
He placed an arm around the older man’s waist, Sheila supporting her grandfather on the other side.
‘I can walk, you know,’ the wounded man protested weakly as they started up the steps. Blood had soaked through the waistband of his trousers and sweat beaded his pale face.
Gabriel sighed. ‘Will you stop being so stubborn?’
He turned to his men and indicated the fallen immortals who had been protecting Sheila and her grandfather. Some had started to stir. ‘Get them.’
A car and a van stood waiting on the road alongside the canal, doors open and engines running.
Grun stepped out from behind the wheel of the Volkswagen Transporter.
‘Marcus betrayed us,’ the bartender blurted out. ‘He killed Josef and Ollana.’ He broke off, his breath leaving his nose in sharp bursts.
Gabriel went still, eyes turning wintry with anger.
Ashely and I exchanged glances.
There was more going on here than the immortals’ enduring attempt to kill me; the Crovirs had attacked the Schwatzs in an open and vicious manner. My sense of foreboding was growing darker by the hour.
‘And the others?’ said Gabriel finally.
‘They’re heading for one of the hideaways,’ Grun replied.
‘Good.’ A muscle jumped in Gabriel’s cheek as he watched the semi-conscious immortals being loaded into the rear of the van. ‘We’ll deal with Marcus later. For now, we have to get Tomas and Sheila to a safe house.’ He narrowed his eyes at Grun. ‘Send word to the First Council.’
The bartender pulled a cell from his coat and made a call.
Gabriel helped Sheila and her grandfather into the van before looking at Ashely and me. He indicated the Skoda parked a few feet away. ‘Get in the car.’
One of the bodyguards got in the front of the vehicle while Ashely and I climbed in the back.
A man with red hair and a friendly countenance sat in the driver’s seat. He gave us an amiable nod over his shoulder. ‘Welcome aboard.’
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