Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3) (6 page)

Then came that fateful night in London.

Shortly after taking the throne in the early 1700s, Queen Anne expressed her wish to bring about the union of two of her three realms, namely the Kingdom of England and that of Scotland, as well as their respective parliaments. Despite numerous failed attempts by her predecessors to achieve the same goal, the new queen was confident she could accomplish the impossible. There were many, both locally and across the Channel, who strongly opposed her plans and wished to see the consultation on the proposed unification fail. Most of the members of these rebellious factions were human. Some were not.

The Bastians supported the new queen’s political views and ambitions. By 1703, a year after her ascension to the throne, the Bastian First Council dispatched a small group of immortal covert agents to infiltrate the corps of Westminster police constables and keep a watch on the evolving state of affairs.

Three years later, in April 1706, a large contingent of English and Scottish commissioners gathered in London to start negotiations for the treaty that would see the Kingdom of England and that of Scotland become united under a single entity known as Great Britain. The talks went on for several months, under the personal patronage of Queen Anne and her ministers.

It wasn’t until July that rumors of an impending sabotage first reached Conrad’s ears, after one of his informants relayed a conversation overheard in an alehouse. At the time, it was clear the discussions between the English and Scottish commissioners were going well. At Conrad’s request, Victor Dvorsky increased the number of immortal operatives in London.

The final details of the enemy’s plan, which involved killing the main players in the negotiations and burning down the Royal Cockpit theatre, the scene of the crucial talks, only came to light at sunset on the day of the imminent attack, when two men broke into Conrad’s quarters at the inn where he was staying and tried to kill him. While the clouds of a thunderstorm gathered over the city, the immortal clashed swords with his assassins and swiftly eliminated them.

Before Conrad disposed of the second man, he extracted the identity of the traitor who had sold him out, and whom he later discovered had been responsible for the murder of two other members of his team. Stunned by the name his would-be killer revealed, Conrad rallied his squad in time to intercept the group of human and immortal assassins assigned to the murderous task of stopping the treaty. At his command, relayed by half a dozen messengers, they converged on the Banqueting House, the meeting place of the enemy, from all over the city.

Conrad did not tell his men that William Hartwell had betrayed them; he wanted to be absolutely certain of the facts before he made such an accusation.

The battle took place on the rooftop of the building, with the summer storm raging around them. Less than five hundred feet from where Conrad and his men made their stand against their adversaries, the English and Scottish commissioners were in the final stages of concluding the Treaty of the Union.

One look at William’s face was all it took to convince Conrad that the assassin had spoken the truth. Events unfolded too rapidly for the immortal to tell Laura of her brother’s treachery. By the time the two of them found a moment to be alone, they were kneeling on the ground by the body of the dying William Hartwell.

Although she had heard William speak to the enemy as if he knew them, Laura refused to accept that her brother had betrayed them. Even after one of the captured assassins related how they had convinced the young man to double-cross the Bastians, she still clung to the hope that it was all a huge misunderstanding.

Only when the reason behind William Hartwell’s deceit was revealed did Conrad see the truth start to register on her grief-stricken face. The young man’s motive carved yet another scar in Conrad’s soul. It had not been for money or power that William Hartwell had betrayed them.

It was for the love of his sister and the immortal he had come to regard as his brother.

Tears clouded Conrad’s vision when the prisoner admitted that a Crovir noble had promised William the gift of immortality. It had been an empty pledge; no one could make a human immortal.

The prisoner also disclosed that William Hartwell had been unaware of the assassination attempt on Conrad’s life and the other two immortals who had been executed. As far as the young man knew, the killers had been sent to keep Conrad and the others out of the way until the enemy’s plan had played out.

The knowledge that William had only been disloyal so that he could live with his sister and her lover forever made the couple’s subsequent breakup even more devastating. Laura Hartwell eventually came to accept her brother’s treason, but she could never forgive Conrad for not healing the dying man.

The atmosphere in the squad rapidly became toxic, with Laura’s resentment growing until she asked Victor to transfer her out of the team. Over the decades that followed, she refused all attempts at communication from Conrad; even when their paths would cross in the corridors of the Bastian First Council, she never spoke to or looked at him. Two centuries later, at the end of the Second World War, Conrad finally parted ways with humans and immortals alike.

The loss of his soulmate was the primary reason behind his decision to seclude himself from the rest of the world.

The sound of fingers drumming a slow beat on the wooden countertop brought Conrad back to the present. Gordian was staring at him, lips pursed as he absentmindedly rapped on the bar.

‘What kinda trouble?’ he said with a grunt.

Conrad hid a smile as he extracted the envelope from his backpack; Gordian never could resist a challenge. He spilled the contents on the counter and related the circumstances under which he had acquired them.

‘A plane crashed into your house?’ said Gordian, eyebrows almost touching his hairline.

Conrad shrugged.

‘Christ, you really do have the worst luck,’ Gordian muttered. He moved the liquor bottle aside and leafed through the papers. A frown marred his brow. ‘You weren’t kidding.’ He picked up the sheet with the puzzling quartet of passages and studied it. ‘“
On Freda’s Dark Day, For the Rightful Blood to rise, The Falcon must fall.
” What the hell does that mean?’

‘I think it’s a message,’ said Conrad.

‘Still doesn’t explain what it means,’ countered Gordian. ‘Or who it’s intended for.’

They spent the next hour going over the rest of the encoded sentences, the maps, and pictures. Conrad realized then how much he had missed engaging in a discussion with another intelligence operative. The giant arrived at the same conclusions that he had.

‘Whatever’s going down, Laura’s in the middle of it,’ said Conrad. He put the papers back inside the envelope. ‘If I talk to her, we may be able to unravel the meaning behind these documents.’

Gordian grimaced. ‘You’re willing to get involved in this, even after the way she’s treated you? There’s no guarantee that she’ll even talk to you.’

Conrad shrugged. He had never had seconds thoughts on the matter; he would rather have his soulmate alive and hating him than in harm’s way.

Gordian sighed. ‘Wait here. I’ll go make a call.’ He left the room.

Floorboards creaked above Conrad’s head a moment later. The low rumble of voices soon came through the ceiling. He helped himself to another shot of cachaca while he waited for Gordian’s return.

‘Who’d you ring?’ he said curiously when the tawny-haired immortal strolled back into the bar.

‘Who else?’ replied Gordian with a derisive snort. ‘Anatole, of course.’

Anatole Leon Vassili was Gordian’s cousin and a close friend of Conrad’s, as well as his second in command to the team of intelligence operatives he had once led. Shorter and thinner than Gordian, he had the same pale eyes and red hair that matched his fiery personality. At times known as ‘The Maniac,’ ‘The Mad Immortal,’ or simply, ‘That Crazy Bastard Who Must Not Be Messed With,’ his temper had been legendary in the Bastian ranks.

‘What’s he up to these days?’ said Conrad with a faint smile.

He had always had a soft spot for Gordian’s cousin. The immortal was undoubtedly a hothead, but he was also an excellent fighter and a great tactician. Strangely enough, aside from Conrad and Gordian, Laura Hartwell was the only other person who could pacify Anatole when he was in a foul mood. While Conrad and Gordian resorted to booze, a locked room, and the occasional female companion, Laura could actually talk him down. It was like watching a wild horse being tamed by a cheetah.

A scowl darkened Gordian’s features. ‘You’ll never believe it. That crazy bastard became a bodyguard.’

‘Oh.’ Conrad was surprised. It was the last role on Earth he would ever have expected his old friend and fighting partner to take on. ‘Who’s he protecting?’

Gordian mumbled something unintelligible.

‘What was that?’ said Conrad.

‘The Head of the Order of the Hunters,’ Gordian admitted.

Conrad’s eyebrows rose. ‘You mean Roman Dvorsky?’

Gordian gawked at Conrad as if he had actually grown a pair of horns and a tail. His shoulders sagged. ‘Christ, I forget how much time you spend in the jungle,’ he muttered. ‘Roman retired last year. It’s Victor who’s the current Head of the Order.’

Conrad drew in a sharp breath. That his old mentor was now the leader of the Bastian race came as another shock. Victor Dvorsky had always been destined to take over from his father one day; as far as Conrad was concerned, there was no other Bastian immortal better suited to the role. Still, he had not expected it to come about for at least another century.

‘Did something happen?’ he said.

Gordian leaned against the shelving behind the bar. ‘Anatole mentioned an incident last year that resulted in a showdown between the Bastians and the Crovirs. I don’t know all the details, but we were apparently on the verge of another immortal war.’ He paused. ‘Agatha Vellacrus and her heir, Felix Thorne, both died during the battle.’

‘
The
Agatha Vellacrus? As in the Head of the Order of Crovir Hunters?’ said Conrad, stunned.

‘Yep, the old witch herself. And that bastard son of hers.’

Conrad gazed blindly at the empty glass in front of him. He had met Vellacrus and Thorne on a couple of occasions in the past and had not liked either of the two Crovir nobles.

A lot had happened in the immortal world in the thirteen months since he had last been to Rio. Although it had been his decision to distance himself from that circle, it felt odd to be so out of the loop.

‘So, what did Anatole say?’

Gordian crossed his arms and pulled at his beard. ‘You’re absolutely sure you want to get involved in this?’ he repeated.

Conrad sighed. ‘Yes, Hor. I am.’ He could tell from Gordian’s troubled expression that the news was not good.

The giant ran a hand through his disheveled hair. ‘She’s in Washington, working in President Westwood’s security detail.’

A sinking feeling pooled in the pit of Conrad’s stomach. ‘You mean, she’s a bodyguard?’

‘Yes,’ said Gordian. ‘She’s US Secret Service.’

Chapter Six

T
he red-eye flight from São Paulo landed at Dulles International Airport in Washington, D.C., just after six thirty a.m. the next day. Conrad went through airport security without a hitch, collected his two pieces of luggage from the conveyor belt, and went in search of a mobile phone shop. He walked out of the main terminal building with a prepaid cell in his pocket.

Fiery orange streaks raced across the horizon to the east as dawn broke over the land. At that time of the morning, the air was still chilly, a brisk wind blowing from the north helping keep temperatures down.

The immortal hailed a cab and helped load the bags in the boot. The driver, a short Hispanic man with a round face and toffee-colored skin, smiled at him curiously in the rearview mirror once they were inside the car.

‘You here to play some golf, bro?’ he said in a light tone.

Conrad shrugged and smiled back. ‘Something like that.’

The previous day, he had made several purchases in Rio. First on his shopping list had been a small Pelican case for the Heckler & Koch handgun, which he bought from one of Gordian’s contacts. Next had been a suitcase and a golf bag.

Conrad had the private jet take him to São Paulo, where he booked a direct commercial flight to D.C. Although he could have paid the charter company to make the trip to the States, he decided it was an unnecessary expense. He zipped the staff weapon inside the golf bag, locked the Pelican case containing the gun and his magazines inside the suitcase, filled in a declaration form for the weapons, and checked everything in. The flight had been uneventful, and he had even managed about six hours sleep.

As the taxi rolled east onto State Route 267, Conrad instructed the driver to drop him off in Chinatown.

The man pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Man, that’s a bad idea.’

Conrad raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

The cabbie gave him an incredulous look via the mirror. ‘Bro, where you been? It’s Columbus Day weekend. Most of downtown is still in lockdown.’

Conrad sat back in the seat. Lines puckered his brow as he contemplated the speeding motorway traffic and tower blocks dotting the landscape outside the window. He had not realized it was a federal holiday in the States. Survival in the rainforest did not exactly require a personal organizer. Although he was aware of the change of the seasons and important days like Christmas and New Year, he had not kept a calendar since he started living in the jungle more than half a century ago.

He recalled first seeing the Columbus Memorial Fountain outside Union Station in Washington a few years after it was erected. Twelve months later, he was on the Western Front in Europe, part of a five-thousand-strong regiment of Bastian immortals who joined the Allied Forces in their efforts to defeat the Germans and their associates in the First World War.

Conrad had never attended the Columbus Day celebrations in D.C. or any other city. From the stories related to him by his father and other older immortals, Christopher Columbus had not exactly been a saint.

It wasn’t until they entered Arlington that blue and white bunting, interspersed with the star-spangled banner, started to appear on the roads. The national flag was up atop every government building they drove past.