Soul Meaning (A Seventeen Series Novel: An Action Adventure Thriller Book 1) (12 page)

The bartender pulled a cell from his coat and made a call.

Victor helped Anna and her grandfather into the van before looking at Reid 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 Reid 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.’

We took off a moment later, the Skoda following the Transporter as it sped west across the city. I looked at the skyline above the rooftops. A lightening edge on the horizon heralded the imminent arrival of dawn.

I stared blindly out the window, my mind abuzz with questions. Events had taken an unforeseen turn; from what I gathered, Reid and I had stumbled into the middle of a conflict between the Bastians and the Crovirs. Yet, despite the incidents of the last few days, I still had no idea how it all fit together, especially my role in the whole affair. My eyes moved to the Transporter. One thing I was certain of: the people inside that van had some of the answers.

Anna’s face rose in my mind. Something twisted inside my chest.

We had just passed a deserted park when a flash of movement caught my eyes. A black Honda Fireblade superbike gunned out of a side street and skidded alongside the Skoda. A second bike materialized on the other side of the car.

The two riders atop each of the sleek machines wore dark helmets and leather biker suits.

‘What the hell?’ muttered the red-haired driver. He frowned at the apparition in his wing mirror.

‘Watch out!’ shouted the bodyguard.

The figures riding pillion had pulled semi-automatic guns out of their jackets. They raised the weapons and fired at the Skoda.

Reid and I ducked a second before the windows shattered. Tempered glass rained down on our heads.

The Skoda swerved across the road, the red-haired driver cursing under his breath while he attempted to outmaneuver the two bikes. The roar of the Fireblades’ engines suddenly rose in the night. I raised my head in time to see the bikes disappear after the van.

‘Shit!’ said the bodyguard.

I couldn’t agree more. The Crovirs were after Anna Godard again.

‘Go after them!’ I barked.

‘I’m trying,’ the driver replied steadily. He glanced at a side mirror. ‘I think one of their bullets pierced our fuel tank.’

I leaned out of the window and smelled gasoline a second before I spotted the thin, dark trail splashing onto the asphalt behind the car. Something else caught my gaze. I stared at the road. My eyes widened.

I turned and lunged across the back of the driver’s seat. He swore as I grabbed the steering wheel from his hands and yanked it sharply to the right.

It was what ultimately saved us. The gray Humvee bearing down on us with its headlights off clipped the rear end of the Skoda and sent the car spinning uncontrollably across the road.

The red-haired driver hissed as the wheel twisted between his hands. Reid and I braced ourselves against the roof of the vehicle.

The Skoda crossed the center line, slammed sideways against the opposite curb, and rocked to a stop. I looked over my shoulder, heart thudding wildly.

The Humvee was heading straight for the van.

A sudden shout from the bodyguard made me look forward. Thirty feet ahead and closing on us was another Hummer. It did not look like it was intending to stop.

The Bastian driver shifted gears and slammed on the accelerator. The tires squealed shrilly. The acrid smell of burning rubber rose around us. The wheels finally gripped the asphalt seconds before impact.

The Skoda shot backward.

The bodyguard clipped a fresh magazine in his gun, leaned out of the passenger window, and fired a volley of shots at the vehicle. A bullet flashed against the Hummer’s side mirror. Another cracked its windshield. A third one thudded into the front right tire, causing it to slow down.

The Bastian driver spun the wheel of the Skoda. The car turned in a sickening lurch until we were facing the right way once more.

Up ahead, the Fireblades and the gray Humvee were closing in on Grun’s Transporter. Gunfire erupted in the night. Bullets thudded into the rear doors of the van.

The Bastian driver scowled and changed gears. The Skoda lurched forward and accelerated.

Sharp pings rose from the boot of the vehicle. I turned and looked out the rear window. The Hummer was back on our tail. Gun muzzles appeared alongside the behemoth. Flashes followed.

I lifted the Smith and Wesson and leaned out of the window. Reid’s Glock echoed the shots from my gun on the other side of the car.

‘Aim for the engine!’ I shouted. ‘They’ve got run-flat tires!’

Our next bullets entered the front grille of the Hummer simultaneously. There was a bang from under the hood. A cloud of smoke billowed out the front of the truck. It veered across the road, mounted the pavement, and crashed into the facade of a bank.

Flames erupted from the engine and licked the underside of the vehicle. An alarm sounded shrilly as we sped into the night.

Up ahead, the Humvee was half a dozen feet behind the Transporter. It accelerated sharply and rammed the van. The Transporter swung toward the center line. The Fireblades moved around and tried to overtake it. Bullets scored the side doors of the Transporter.

‘Hang on!’ yelled the Bastian driver. He shifted gears once more, stepped on the gas, and rear ended the Humvee.

The shock jolted us forward and buckled the hood of the Skoda.

The Humvee barely jerked on its suspensions. It picked up speed again.

‘Take out their tires!’ yelled the Bastian driver. ‘Just slow them down,
goddamnit!
’

Victor’s bodyguard grunted. He heaved his upper body out of the window, gun in hand. Just then, the Humvee’s loading door swung open.

We stared into the mouth of a rocket launcher.

‘Oh crap!’ The Bastian driver spun the wheel sharply to the left.

A flash bloomed ahead. The first grenade whistled past the hood of the Skoda and detonated on the road behind us.

The blast blew the rear window in and showered us with shards of glass. The Skoda shuddered and rotated uncontrollably across the blacktop. Its tailgate swung around and crashed violently against a fire hydrant. The engine sputtered and died.

We sat stunned for a couple of seconds. I raised my eyes to the Humvee.

It had slowed down. The grenade launcher was being reloaded.

‘Move!’ bellowed the bodyguard.

The Bastian driver turned the key in the ignition, his movements stiff. The car stuttered and stalled. He cursed and tried again. The engine sprang into life with a sharp, high-pitched screech. He shifted into reverse and started to pull away from the curb.

We were too late to avoid the second grenade. At the penultimate moment, gunfire from the Transporter caused the Humvee to swerve. The rocket-propelled projectile gyrated widely from its path and exploded several feet from the front bumper of the Skoda.

The world tilted as we were flung in the air. The car flipped twice. Metal crumpled and gave way against the asphalt. The Skoda landed on its roof and skidded some two hundred feet across the road in a shower of sparks, before finally grinding to a halt on the center line.

Buzzing silence resonated in my ears. The stench of gasoline was overpowering. I coughed and opened my eyes. My vision blurred. I blinked.

Blood dripped from a fresh wound on my scalp and obstructed my sight. I slowly looked around.

I was lying at an angle against the door. Reid lay heavily across me. He wasn’t moving. A crimson trail oozed from a gash on his head.

‘Reid,’ I said, dazed.

Low groans rose from the front of the car. The bodyguard and the Skoda’s driver shifted as consciousness returned.

Reid’s eyes fluttered open. Relief flooded my heart.

‘Are you okay?’ I slid to the side to give him space.

‘I think so.’ He winced and gingerly touched the wound on his head. ‘You?’

‘I’ll live.’

‘Oh crap,’ someone said dully from the front seat. It was the driver.

Alarm washed over me when I looked past him and saw what he had spotted. Smoke was curling up from the hood of the car.

‘I vote we get our sweet asses the hell out of here!’ shouted the Bastian immortal.

I twisted around and crawled through the shattered rear window of the car, broken glass and debris cutting into my skin. I pulled Reid out after me and reached for the driver’s hand.

‘Go!’ the immortal roared, pale eyes blazing.

‘Just give me your goddamned hand!’ I barked.

He mouthed something rude and grabbed my wrist. The bodyguard followed behind him.

We were twenty feet from the car when flames ignited the liquid trail to the fuel tank.

The resulting explosion knocked us to the ground.

We lay stunned for a moment, the heat from the conflagration scorching our backs. I sat up and stared at the blaze.

The Skoda was a giant fireball in the middle of the road. Pale light filtered down from the skies beyond it and illuminated the empty lanes ahead; the Transporter and its pursuers had disappeared.

Fear stabbed through my gut. ‘Did they make it?’

‘Don’t worry.’ The Bastian driver wiped blood from his face and grinned. ‘Victor Dvorsky is not one to let himself get captured that easily.’

The bodyguard nodded and rubbed the back of his head with a wince.

Sirens flared into life behind us.

The driver looked over his shoulder. ‘We better get out of here.’

We headed down the road and turned onto a side street. A screech of tires erupted ahead of us; a police car appeared at the next junction and skidded to a stop sideways across the asphalt.

The Bastian driver clenched his teeth. ‘Have I mentioned that this is turning out to be a shitty day?’

Two uniformed officers got out of the vehicle and unholstered their guns. They shouted a warning in German.

‘This way!’ yelled the Bastian immortal.

He turned and bolted for an alley on the left. We raced after him and emerged on a parallel road a moment later. Two police cars sat blocking the exits at either end.

The driver scowled. ‘Follow me!’

He dashed across the asphalt and entered another narrow back lane.

The sirens blasting through the crisp morning air stopped abruptly. Footsteps and shouts broke out behind us.

Someone yelled ‘Stop! This is the police!’ in German.

We turned a corner and staggered to a halt. A brick wall loomed in our path.

The driver pointed at the gray shape to the side. ‘The dumpster!’

We rolled the metal container to the wall, our grunts of effort punctuating the grating shriek of the wheels. We were over the top seconds later and landed in a dimly lit passage on the other side. We broke into a run.

A squad car braked in front of the mouth of the alley when we were fifteen feet from it. We stumbled to a stop.

‘That’s not good,’ said Reid.

Scuffling noises and thuds rose behind us as uniformed officers appeared over the wall.

‘Police! I repeat, put your arms behind your head and get down on your knees!’ someone shouted in German, then English.

‘Anybody see a way out of this?’ said Reid.

‘Nope,’ muttered the Bastian driver. The bodyguard frowned and shook his head.

My hands balled into fists and I gritted my teeth. I had been so close to Anna Godard and the answers that I sought.

Reid sighed. ‘Oh well. Better do as they say.’

We were rapidly surrounded by a group of policemen. They pushed us roughly to the ground, slapped cuffs on our wrists, and read us our rights before hauling us back onto our knees.

A shadow loomed in front of me. A pair of polished shoes appeared before my eyes. I looked up.

‘It’s irony, definitely irony,’ Reid muttered at my side.

‘Mr. Soul, Mr. Hasley,’ Christophe Lacroix said with a fierce smile. ‘We meet again.’

Chapter Eleven

T
he Headquarters of the Federal
Criminal Police Office, or the
Bundeskriminalamt
as it was known locally, was located on the Josef-Holaubek Platz, in the Alsergrund district of Vienna. It was close to the banks of the upper Danube Canal and across the road from one of the campuses of the city’s university.

‘That was quite a stunt you guys pulled back there,’ said Lacroix.

I remained silent.

We had been booked in and placed in separate interview rooms beyond the secured doors of the station. An Austrian Federal Police investigator stood near the back wall and watched the proceedings with a carefully neutral expression while the Frenchman interrogated me. I suspected there were others behind the glass partition to my right.

Lacroix crossed the floor and took the seat opposite mine. ‘Why don’t we start at the beginning?’ He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. ‘What do you know about the murder of Professor Strauss?’

I looked at him steadily. ‘Not a lot, I’m afraid.’

Lacroix’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would you care to elaborate on that?’

‘We were looking for him, but we never found any traces of his whereabouts.’

‘Were you at his address in the
11ème arrondissement
on Saturday night?’

I shrugged. ‘Yes. He wasn’t there at the time.’

The Frenchman raised his eyebrows, his expression incredulous. ‘So what are you saying? That his body miraculously reappeared in his apartment after you left?’

I suppressed a sigh. ‘I take it your forensic pathologist concluded he had been dead for several days?’

Lacroix did not reply.

‘You should be able to confirm that we were in the States at the time.’ I rested my arms on the table and leaned forward. ‘We did not murder Hubert Strauss,’ I stated emphatically. ‘The men who did are still out there.’

‘Are these the same men who allegedly tried to kill you in Boston?’ Lacroix retorted.

I sat back in the chair. ‘I see you’ve been talking to Detective Meyer.’

Lacroix snorted. ‘Not just him. The FBI in Washington is also keen to have a little chat with you and Mr. Hasley.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘They should be here in about nine hours.’

I looked down at my hands, struggling to mask my anxiety and anger. Our time was fast running out.

Despite the reassurances of Victor’s bodyguard and the Bastian driver, I had no idea whether Anna Godard had fallen into the hands of the Crovirs. That lack of knowledge alone made me want to tear down the walls of the station and go on a rampage.

One thing I was certain of: the Crovirs would come after me again.

‘The people you’re dealing with will not wait that long to intervene,’ I said.

Lacroix stiffened. ‘Is that a threat, Mr. Soul?’

‘It’s a friendly warning.’

It was Lacroix’s turn to be silent. ‘What about Gif-sur-Yvette?’ he finally said.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. ‘We went there to look for information on Strauss.’

‘And the gunfight?’

A hush fell across the room.

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me it was those “invisible” men again?’ Lacroix added cynically.

‘You found the four-by-fours?’

Lacroix shrugged. ‘They were empty.’

‘Well, you did say they were “invisible”.’

The Frenchman glared at me before looking at the papers in front of him. ‘You were also involved in the incident at the Hauptbahnhof in Zurich.’

I looked to the man at the back of the room. ‘That’s not strictly within your jurisdiction now, is it?’ I murmured to Lacroix.

The Frenchman opened his mouth to reply. The Austrian officer interrupted him. Lacroix rose and strode to the other side of the room. A murmured exchange followed, during which the word “procedure” was repeated several times in German.

‘It seems we’re still waiting for Zurich City Police and Swiss Interpol to get here,’ the Frenchman spat out.

The Austrian investigator gestured to someone behind the glass partition.

The door opened and a couple of uniformed officers appeared to escort me back to the detention center. I stopped on the threshold of the interview room and looked at Lacroix.

‘Like I told your uncle, things are not as they seem,’ I said quietly before I was led to my cell.

Reid was ushered in the lockup opposite mine several minutes later.

‘Yo,’ he said. There was a fresh dressing on his head. He winced and massaged the back of his neck gingerly.

‘Yo yourself.’ I observed his gaunt expression with a pang of guilt. ‘How’re you holding up?’

Reid grimaced. ‘I’ve been worse.’ He patted his jacket, paused, and sighed. ‘Damn, they took the cigarettes.’ He leaned against the wall and crossed his legs, hands jammed in his pockets. ‘So, you found anything interesting?’

‘The FBI’s on their way from DC.’ A wave of weariness washed over me. I sat on the bench. ‘You?’

‘They didn’t find any bodies in the Hummer or at the canal. They were very interested in the amount of empty shell casings and blood they found at the scenes, though.’

Silence fell in the narrow corridor that separated our cells.

‘The Crovirs will come for us,’ I said in a low voice.

Reid cocked an eyebrow. ‘Here?’

I nodded.

He rubbed his chin and made a face. ‘You’re right. Considering what they’ve done so far, that wouldn’t surprise me.’

The door to the cellblock opened. The sounds of a scuffle followed. Victor’s bodyguard and the driver of the Skoda came into view.

They were pushed roughly inside the cells next to us.

‘Damn Stapos,’ muttered the bodyguard after the officers left.

‘Austrian State Police,’ I translated at Reid’s puzzled expression. ‘They’re kinda like the local secret service.’ I studied the two immortals. ‘It’s about time you told us your names.’

The bodyguard wiped his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand and carefully moved his lower jaw from side to side.

‘I’m Bruno,’ he said gruffly. He indicated the driver. ‘That’s Anatole.’

The red-haired immortal nodded amiably.

‘Reid,’ said my partner from across the way.

‘Lucas,’ I murmured.

‘We know who you are,’ said Bruno. ‘The immortal who can kill other immortals.’

An awkward hush followed.

Reid frowned. ‘He wouldn’t have to if you people just left him alone.’

I remained quiet while I tried to gauge the two immortals’ moods. We would need their help if we were going to get out of there.

Anatole chuckled. ‘Give him a break, will you?’ he told the bodyguard. ‘He could’ve finished you off if he’d wanted to. And quite frankly, with that shitty attitude of yours, I wouldn’t blame him.’

Bruno grunted and lapsed into silence.

I came to a decision.

The door to the cellblock opened half an hour later. Several armed officers appeared. They were led by the Austrian investigator who had been in the interview room with Lacroix.

‘You are being transferred to the Staatspolizei headquarters,’ the man stated while we were handcuffed and removed from the cells. ‘The orders have just come through.’

The lines around the Austrian investigator’s mouth were strained. He avoided meeting my eyes.

I looked at Reid and the two Bastian immortals. They acknowledged my stare with brief nods. This was going to be our one and only chance to escape.

We were escorted out of the detention center and marched through the building. We passed an evidence room and an armory before reaching the security door to the station’s main reception.

A familiar voice greeted me across the floor. ‘Hello, Lucas.’

I stopped and stared at the man who had spoken.

Mikael Olsson had hardly changed in the decade since I had last seen him. Steely gray eyes studied me coolly from beneath a familiar fringe of dark hair. His tall and lanky frame was more muscular than I recalled.

A group of men crowded silently behind him, hooded eyes calmly observing the officers around them.

‘You know this guy?’ murmured Reid.

A muscle twitched in my jaw. ‘Yes. That’s Olsson.’

Reid stiffened.

The Austrian investigator was speaking to the sergeant at the desk when a door slammed open on the far side of the lobby. Lacroix stormed out of the passage beyond and marched up to the desk.

‘What’s going on here? Why are the prisoners being moved?’ barked the French detective.

The Austrian investigator’s expression grew shuttered. ‘I have received orders from my superiors. These men are to be placed in the custody of the State Police.’

‘Why?’ said Lacroix. ‘And by whose authority, exactly?’ The Frenchman had gone red in the face.

Olsson took a step forward. ‘I’m afraid that information is on a need-to-know basis.’

Lacroix turned and studied him from head to toe. ‘Who the hell are you?’

Olsson smiled and held up a badge. ‘Like he said, we are Staatspolizei.’

‘These men are not from the State Police.’ My voice resonated across the marble floor. I looked at Lacroix. ‘They are the ones who tried to kill us.’

A strained silence fell across the lobby. Frowns appeared on the faces of some of the uniformed Austrian officers.

Olsson chuckled. ‘Come now, these men are desperate. They’re obviously lying.’ The laughter did not quite reach his eyes.

The handcuffs at my wrists jangled as I pointed out three men behind him. ‘Check their guns. The one on the right should match ballistics from Gif-sur-Yvette. The other two were at the Hauptbahnhof yesterday.’

Olsson’s smile faded. ‘Enough of this nonsense,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘We have a letter here from the Federal Ministry of Interior with instructions for you to transfer these men into our custody. Just hand them over.’

It was the wrong tone to take. The Austrian investigator frowned.

Lacroix straightened. ‘What’s the rush?’

Olsson sighed.

I tensed and rose slightly on the balls of my feet.

‘Oh, there’s no rush,’ my former partner said calmly. He reached inside his coat and whipped out a gun.

I threw myself against Lacroix and carried him to the floor just as the first shot rang out.

The bullet from Olsson’s semi-automatic missed the Frenchman’s head by inches and thudded into the oak counter above us.

I grabbed Lacroix’s weapon from his shoulder holster, twisted, and fired a volley of rounds at Olsson. He grunted and jerked backward.

I was behind the desk a second later, Lacroix’s gun still gripped in my hands. Reid and the two Bastian immortals dropped down beside me.

The crack of bullets rose around the lobby as the Crovirs engaged the Austrian policemen. Distant crashes rose elsewhere in the building as officers converged on the noise of the gunfight.

‘We need to get to the evidence room!’ I said urgently. ‘My swords are in there!’

Reid grabbed a paperclip from a table and started to work his way through our handcuffs.

The desk sergeant had been shot in the chest. A young man in uniform cowered next to him, hands clamped over the bubbling wound.

‘If you want to live, give me your gun!’ I ordered harshly in German.

The officer stared at me, petrified. I extended my hand brusquely. He gulped and passed his firearm across with a shaking hand.

I grabbed the weapon and tossed it to Reid. ‘On the count of three?’

Reid and the Bastians nodded.

We rose from behind the desk and raced for the door to our right. Half a dozen Austrian officers lay dead or wounded around the reception. The Crovirs had fared better in terms of casualties, although I suspected they wore bulletproof vests under their suits.

I gritted my teeth, rage surging afresh through my veins.

Rounds scored the floor behind us. Anatole grunted and stumbled.

The security door slammed open a second before we reached it. A dozen officers in combat gear spilled out from the corridor beyond. We flattened ourselves against the wall and slipped inside a second after the last man crossed the threshold.

The hallway was blessedly empty. I headed for the evidence room and shot through the security lock on the door.

The katana and the wakizashi were on a shelf in the second aisle. Our guns, holsters, and Bruno’s cell were in a box next to them.

‘We could escape through the back,’ said the bodyguard as he pocketed the phone.

Anatole looked up from tying a strip of cloth he had torn from his sleeve around the bullet wound on his thigh. Blood was already seeping through it.

I frowned. ‘The Crovirs will slaughter everyone in this building if they don’t find us in the next few minutes.’

Reid came back in the room. ‘Armory door was wide open.’ He threw us a Kevlar vest each and magazines for our guns. ‘Look what else I found.’ He grinned and held up a couple of Steyr AUG assault rifles.

‘Nice.’ Bruno caught the one Reid tossed at him.

‘It’s like Christmas come early,’ said Anatole with a weak grin.

I finished loading fresh magazines into my guns and hesitated, my gaze swinging between the bodyguard and the driver.

‘There’s no need for all of us to stay. The two of you could—’

‘Stop right there.’ Bruno held a hand up. ‘Dvorsky will have our heads if we abandon you now.’

Anatole nodded. ‘He’s right. The boss gave us strict orders to look after your sorry asses. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve seen this much action.’ He snorted. ‘We can’t let you guys have all the fun!’

I returned his smile darkly. ‘Just try and keep up.’

The gunfight was in full swing when we emerged in the lobby seconds later. I spotted Lacroix behind a concrete pillar to the left. Blood dripped down the Frenchman’s arm; he had found a gun from somewhere and was shooting at the Crovirs.

Four of them lay on the floor, apparently dead from shots to the head. I knew better.

I left the guns in the holsters on my thighs and drew my swords. The stutter of the Steyr AUGs filled the room behind me.

Two of the fallen Hunters groaned and pushed themselves up. Horrified shouts erupted from the Austrian officers when the pair slowly climbed to their feet. There was a gasped ‘
Nom de Dieu!
’ from Lacroix.

By then, I was already halfway across the floor.

The katana carved the air with a silken sound. The first Hunter fell again. I twisted on my heels and drove the wakizashi into the heart of the second Hunter. He folded silently at my feet, a puzzled look on his face.

‘Lucas!’ Reid shouted.

There was movement behind me. I ducked.

The tip of Olsson’s longsword missed my neck by inches. He swore when the katana carved a deep cut on the underside of his arm.

‘I didn’t know you were a swordsman.’ I straightened. Blood dripped from the edges of my blades. I moved and blocked a bullet with the katana.

‘There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me,’ said Olsson with a twisted smile.

‘You’re right.’ The sword shuddered in my hands as further slugs struck it. I had to know. ‘Why, Mikael?’

Olsson hesitated, guilt flashing across his face. It was replaced by a sneer. ‘Because you’re the only one who stands in our way! And because the man who killed my father holds you dear to his heart!’

He brought his sword around in an arc.