Soul Meaning (A Seventeen Series Novel: An Action Adventure Thriller Book 1) (10 page)

A door with the nameplate “Godard” affixed to it stood at the end of the passage. It was locked. Reid had just slipped the lock pick set from his coat when a voice called out behind us.

‘Can I help you?’

I turned and studied the speaker. It was a woman in a white coat. She stood in the doorway to the lab, a suspicious expression on her face. A tall man with blond dreadlocks came up behind her and blinked at us through thick bifocals.

‘We’re looking for Professor Godard.’ I held up the badge and took a few steps toward her.

The woman studied the ID. ‘And this is with regards to?’ she said, unfazed.

‘It’s a rather delicate matter, I’m afraid. We’re investigating the death of a scientist in France, a Professor Hubert Strauss. We believe he was a friend of Professor Godard.’

The woman glanced at the man with the dreadlocks. A troubled expression flashed in their eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We haven’t seen or heard from Anna in a fortnight.’ She bit her lip. ‘We know she had traveling plans, but she should have been back in the lab this week.’

Unease trickled through my mind at her words. ‘Is this normal behavior for Professor Godard?’ I said, keeping my tone neutral.

The woman shook her head. ‘No. Anna is very conscientious. This is most unlike her.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you think her absence is linked to the death of that French scientist?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ I replied truthfully.

A rumble rose behind the woman. I looked at the man with the dreadlocks.

‘Hmm, I just saw her assistant, Helena,’ he muttered.

‘Helena was here?’ the woman squealed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

The man flushed and pushed the bifocals up his nose. ‘I didn’t think it was important.’

‘When was this?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘Not that long ago. Ten, fifteen minutes maybe.’

‘Did she say anything?’

The man shuffled his feet and looked at the woman for reassurance. She nodded encouragingly.

‘She mentioned she was going to meet with someone at the Hauptbahnhof,’ he murmured. ‘She said not to tell anyone she’d been here today.’ The last words came out in a guilty mumble. ‘I think she took something from Anna’s office.’

Unease turned to alarm. ‘What does Helena look like?’ I said urgently.

‘She’s tall, slim, with long blonde hair. She was wearing a cream coat and hat,’ he replied. ‘And she had on her green scarf today.’

We bade our goodbyes and left the building swiftly.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ said Reid as we jogged across the park.

I nodded. ‘She’s probably meeting with Godard.’

We now had a name for the elusive “A”. The house in Riesbach had to belong to her.

It took us twelve minutes to get to the Hauptbahnhof on the tram. The clock face on the station’s stone facade read five minutes to noon when we entered the central hall.

The place was packed; visitors and locals milled across the crowded floor, some browsing the arcade that lined the vast space while most rushed to and from the tall archways that led to the platforms.

We were halfway across the concourse when Reid stopped and indicated the opposite end of the atrium. A blonde woman in a cream camel coat was disappearing inside a glass lift. There was a flash of green at her neck when she turned to face the closing doors.

We hurried over to the escalator. By the time we reached the bottom of the rolling steps, the woman had exited the lift and was heading briskly north along a wide passage in the shopping mall beneath the station. We fell into step behind her.

She stopped outside the window of a confectionary shop and looked around furtively before removing a cell phone from her handbag. She dialed a number and waited several seconds before starting to talk.

‘Can you make out what she’s saying?’ I said quietly as we strolled past.

Reid could lip-read. It was a skill that had come in handy in many of our past investigations.

‘Not in the language she’s using,’ he murmured after a while.

The woman ended the call. She stood frowning at the phone for a moment and slowly retraced her steps.

We followed her past the lifts to the other side of the shopping mall, where she turned at a junction. A flower shop came into view a short distance from the next intersection. She was about twenty feet from it when a figure stepped out from behind a pillar next to the boutique.

I caught a glimpse of soft, dark curls framing a pair of smoky eyes and felt a sudden tightening in my chest.

The woman in the camel coat lifted a hand and waved, her steps quickening. She reached inside her bag and removed a short, gray flask.

The bullet struck the center of her right temple soundlessly. Her head jerked sideways. She dropped to the ground with a thud and lay still.

A trickle of blood coursed down the side of her face and spilled into her open, unblinking eyes. The flask fell out of her limp fingers and rolled a few inches across the polished floor.

The figure next to the pillar froze.

‘Helena!’ she screamed a heartbeat later. An elaborate, thick, gold sun cross pendant fell out from the open neck of her black coat as she lunged forward.

Bullets whined through the air and scored the ground around her.

She darted across the floor, grabbed the metal flask, and scurried backward, a wince distorting her features as she gripped her left shoulder.

Hunters materialized from behind the concrete columns and escalators that punctuated the mall. They raised their guns and fired at the woman crouching in the shelter of the pillar, raising a cloud of chips and plaster dust from the stonework.

Reid and I started to run.

‘I’ll take the left!’ he shouted, drawing the Glock.

I nodded and raced across the hall, the katana in one hand and the Smith and Wesson in the other. The sound of gunshots echoed to the roof of the shopping center. Shouts of alarm and panicked screams followed within seconds.

A harsh cry suddenly erupted from my right, drowning the background noise.

‘Anna!’

Another figure was making its way toward the wounded woman behind the pillar, an ivory-headed cane in hand. My eyes widened.

It was the old man from the daguerreotype.

A sharp sting suddenly bloomed on my face. I turned and fired at a Hunter on the stairs to my left. A volley of shots thudded into the floor next to me. I released the katana, grabbed the Glock 17, and raised both guns at the immortals on the opposite side of the concourse.

Smoke and the sour smell of gunpowder filled the air as we exchanged fire, empty cartridges clattering to the ground around me.

There was a flash to my right. I ducked and narrowly avoided the blade aimed at my neck. I let go of the guns and reached for the katana. I saw the Hunter’s sword swing down out the corner of my eyes.

I dropped and rolled, heart thudding against my ribs.

The tip of the blade struck the ground next to my ear, raising sparks from the floor. I leapt to my feet.

The immortal hesitated, the sword raised above his head.

‘The half-breed,’ he hissed, recognition dawning on his face.

My lips parted in a grim smile. I moved.

Seconds after I delivered the killing blow, something struck my left leg. I looked down. A bullet had grazed my thigh. I sheathed the katana and grabbed the guns from the floor.

‘Hey, I’m running out of ammo!’ Reid shouted urgently on my left.

I pitched a couple of magazines across the floor toward him and raced toward the flower shop. By the time I reached the pillar, the woman and the old man had disappeared. I looked around wildly and spotted them thirty feet from where I stood.

They were making their way swiftly toward the opposite side of the mall. A series of flashes erupted on the ground next to them.

‘Get down!’ I yelled.

They ducked as more bullets thudded into the polished floor inches from their feet.

I spotted the two Hunters on the other side of the concourse, took aim, and fired. The men jerked and fell against a wall.

‘
Go!
’ I shouted.

The pair straightened and started to run. The old man glanced over his shoulder. He froze in his tracks when he saw me and turned around.

‘Lucas?’ he said hoarsely. The figure next to him twisted on her heels.

I saw her face fully for the first time and felt heat flare inside my chest.

Even though pain clouded her features, there was no mistaking her; she was the woman from the black and white photograph on Burnstein’s computer. I closed the distance separating us, tension and that strange feeling of recognition coursing through my veins.

‘Do I know you?’

The old man opened his mouth to reply. Just then, more Hunters appeared from around the mall. Bullets crisscrossed the air between us. The gunfire drowned out his words.

The woman dragged the old man toward the escalator leading to the upper level. I followed on their heels, laying down cover fire while they struggled through the mass of people swarming for the exit. Daylight framed the opening to a bustling street at the top of the stairs. I yelled out a warning as they rushed through the doorway and merged with the teeming crowd outside.

I swore and raced after them, emerging on the thronged pavement seconds later.

The whine of an engine rose from the right. I turned and saw a black four-by-four pull out of a parking space. It maneuvered around the heavy traffic and headed for the running pair.

Instinct took over. I bolted across the sidewalk, slid over the hood of a passing car, landed on my feet in the middle of the road, and raised both guns. A clang of bells erupted behind me. I looked over my shoulder. My heart stuttered in my chest.

I caught a glimpse of rising panic on the face of the driver of the tram heading inexorably toward me and dove over the safety barrier on my right. A grunt left my lips as my hip struck the metal railing.

The four-by-four shot past me, mounted the pavement, and turned right into the ‘No Entry’ zone on the Bahnhofstrasse, on the heels of the old man and the woman.

The crowd on the busy strip scattered, panicked shouts soaring toward the sunny skies.

Bullets suddenly shattered the rear window of the vehicle and drew sparks from its bumper. It swerved sharply, its wing mirror grazing a lamppost. I glanced to the left.

Reid had emerged from another escalator and was racing after the four-by-four, Glock in hand.

I vaulted over the handrail, darted across the road, and kept pace with him along the opposite pavement. Blood pounded in my ears and my breaths came in short, sharp bursts.

The old man and the woman dove out from the pavement and barely missed the front bumper of the four-by-four as it weaved toward them. A second engine gunned into life behind me. I turned.

Another SUV was racing up the packed avenue toward the couple. Tinted windows rolled down and two men leaned out of the vehicle. Muzzles glinted in the sunlight.

Time slowed. I skidded to a stop, leapt over a bench, rolled into the middle of the strip, and rose to my feet. I dropped the Glock and lifted the Smith and Wesson in both hands. Bullets flashed past my head and shoulders as the Hunters fired. I squinted, aimed, and squeezed the trigger twice.

The front right tire of the SUV blew out. The vehicle veered wildly in a squeal of burning rubber and flipped. A gasp left my lips. I threw myself to the ground.

The dark shape of the SUV passed a couple of feet above me before crashing onto the asphalt some dozen yards away. It slid on its roof in a shower of sparks and ground to a halt against a lamppost.

I pushed myself to my feet, turned, and rocked back on my heels as a hot gust of compressed air blasted down the avenue. The ground trembled beneath me. I stumbled and leaned against the bench.

One of Reid’s bullets had pierced the tank of the first four-by-four. I ignored the burning wreck in the middle of the Bahnhofstrasse and scanned the crowds through the blood dripping past my eyes.

The old man and the woman had disappeared.

There was movement beside me.

‘Whoa.’ Reid gazed into the muzzle of the Smith and Wesson, hands raised defensively.

I lowered the gun and fought to control the tremor in my hands.

‘I think we got most of them.’ He holstered the Glock. ‘On the other hand, seeing as we’re dealing with supernatural beings here, they’ll quite likely start to pop up like daisies some time soon,’ he added with a grimace. Sirens rose in the distance. ‘What say we get the hell out of here?’

My heart pounded dully inside my chest. I turned and looked in the direction of the train station. I started to run.

‘Hey, where’re you going?’ Reid shouted behind me.

I entered the main hall of the Hauptbahnhof seconds later and darted through the crowds toward the main tracks.

I found them boarding a train on the last platform.

It was pulling away when I reached it.

‘Stop!’ I shouted, banging on a window.

The old man turned at the sound. His eyes widened. He crossed the aisle and pushed the window down.

‘Don’t follow us!’ he ordered harshly.

I heard Reid call out behind me. I stumbled and almost lost my footing.

‘Why are the Hunters after you?’ I yelled, struggling to keep pace with the moving train.

The old man did not reply immediately.

I sprinted along the platform, the gap separating us growing larger by the second.

‘Please, for your own good, don’t come after us,’ he said finally, his words almost inaudible above the noise from the tracks. ‘I could not bear to lose both of you.’ His blue eyes glistened brightly in the light filtering through the glass atrium overhead.

Then, he was gone.

Chapter Nine

W
e left the chaos at
the Hauptbahnhof and headed swiftly back to the Limmat Quai. The blare of sirens filled the air behind us. Emergency vehicles raced past on the Bahnhofstrasse, flashing lights reflected in the shop windows. We kept a low profile and stayed inside the crowds.

The hotel receptionist stared when we entered the lobby a short time later; although I had done my best to clean the blood on my face, there was no masking the dirt stains on our suits.

Our room was as we had left it. I dressed the wound on my leg and we checked out moments later.

‘The cops won’t be far behind,’ Reid warned as we drove away from the hotel. ‘There were CCTV cameras all over the place.’

I remained silent and pulled into the heavy afternoon traffic.

Reid’s heated gaze drilled into the side of my face. ‘So, you wanna tell me what that was about back there?’

I maneuvered the car around a coach. ‘The old man at the station was an immortal. I think he’s a Bastian.’

Reid raised an eyebrow. ‘And you know this how?’

I reached inside my coat and handed him the daguerreotype.

He studied the photograph for several seconds. ‘You mean, he’s the guy in the picture?’

‘Yes.’

A short silence followed.

’He acted like he knew you,’ said Reid. ‘Have you met before?’

‘No.’ I hesitated. ‘Most of the immortals who know of me are Hunters.’

He mulled this over. ‘You think he’s one of them?’

I recalled the tears in the stranger’s eyes. ‘I honestly don’t know,’ I answered truthfully.

‘What about the woman?’

I glanced at him. ‘I think she’s the little girl in the picture.’

‘Which would make her an immortal as well,’ Reid stated after a beat. ‘Does this mean Strauss was also an immortal, or at least aware of their existence?’ He drummed his fingers on the antique photograph. ‘The Crovir Hunters are after you and this woman. What’s the link?’

I shrugged, a wave of lassitude washing over me.

The same questions had been going round in my head for the last half hour. I was still nowhere near grasping the possible answers.

Reid looked up from the daguerreotype and gazed out the window. ‘Where’re we going, anyway?’

‘Vienna,’ I replied. ‘That’s where the train was heading.’

He frowned. ‘What makes you think they’ll be there? They could have gotten off anywhere.’

‘There’s a large population of immortals in Vienna. There will be safe houses where they can hide.’

He studied me for several seconds before pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘All right, Vienna it is then,’ he muttered under his breath and struck a match.

‘Look at it this way. It’s been a while since we’ve been on a road trip.’

He looked less than impressed with this statement.

We drove east along the Alps, past Munich and Salzburg, and reached our destination in the late evening.

As one of the oldest cities on the continent, Vienna had been a popular settlement for immortals since Roman times, when it guarded the frontier of the Empire against the Germanic tribes of northern Europe. It was the capital of the Holy Roman realm in the fifteenth century and became famous for being a center of international espionage while occupied by the Allies at the end of the Second World War.

I had only been to Vienna once before. Unfortunately, my visit coincided with the Ottoman Empire’s second attempt to capture the city in 1683, which ended with the Battle of Vienna following a siege that lasted two months. It was there that I first learned how to use a pistol and suffered two of my deaths in somewhat gruesome fashions. Despite its breathtaking beauty, the place still held unpleasant memories for me.

We checked into a rundown inn in Landstrasse under our fake passports and caught up with international news in a small internet cafe around the corner. The Hauptbahnhof gunfight had already made the headlines.

‘Following the incident at the main railway station in Zurich today, which resulted in two deaths and several minor injuries, the City Police are searching for two male suspects in their late thirties to early forties who left the scene shortly after the disturbance,’ said the evening newscaster. ‘One of the victims, a female in her late twenties, has been identified as Helena Baschtanhaus, a research assistant at the FGCZ, the Functional Genomics Center of the University of Zurich. Miss Baschtanhaus died from a single gunshot wound to the head. The local police and Interpol are currently studying CCTV images from the station and from around the city close to the time of the incident. So far, there have been no official comments made on rumors that this event may be linked to yesterday’s brutal attack on innocent students at the CNRS campus in Gif-sur-Yvette, in France.’ The screen filled with a grainy video clip of the inside of the Hauptbahnhof. ‘Another aspect of today’s incident that is said to be baffling all involved in this investigation is the collection of images captured by the public on their camera phones. These show several men who had fallen after apparently suffering multiple fatal gunshot wounds rise again minutes later and walk out of the station. One source suggests that the men may have been wearing bulletproof vests, although this theory does nothing to explain the amount of blood found at the scene. And lastly, to add even more mystery to this already puzzling affair, a flock of crows seemed to have invaded the Hauptbahnhof minutes following the incident and disappeared just as rapidly moments later.’

‘They don’t seem to care that they’ve been caught on camera,’ said Reid in a hard voice. ‘Are immortals really that much above the law?’

‘Yes, they are,’ I said after a short silence. My hands were fisted tightly on my lap and my jaw ached from clenching my teeth.

Reid put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You can’t undo what’s been done. Let’s just get to the bottom of this thing before those bastards kill any more people.’

We left the cafe and boarded a rapid transit metro into the city. Moments later, we got off at Schwedenplatz.

The plaza was abuzz with activity, the street lamps and lights from the nearby bars and restaurants casting a bright glow on the waters of the Danube. A large crowd of revelers strolled along the pier, raised voices echoing in the crisp evening air.

I crossed the square and led Reid down a nondescript side street. We reached a junction and took a left into a cramped passage a few hundred feet from the canal’s edge. Pockets of darkness populated the alley. The upper tiers of the buildings crowded the skyline on either side, adding to its claustrophobic feel.

Halfway along the path stood one of the oldest pubs in the city. I stopped outside the establishment and studied the oak sign above the lintel; bar a lick of paint, the facade had not changed much in the last three hundred years.

I pushed open the thick, iron-plated door and stepped across the threshold. The hubbub inside died down.

Soft lighting painted the interior walls of the tavern in muted shadows. A walrus of a man stood polishing glasses behind the bar, his head bent toward a pair of wizened figures hunched on low wooden stools. Smoke wreathed the air and hovered in a pale blanket near the low ceiling. Dozens of pairs of eyes watched us through the yellow haze.

‘Are they always this friendly?’ Reid muttered as we crossed the floor to a corner table. The low murmur of conversation resumed around us.

I shrugged. ‘Last time I was here they used to shoot first and ask questions later, so I guess this is an improvement.’

A woman came over to take our order. ‘What will it be?’ she said, tucking a lock of hair impatiently behind her ear.

‘Two Stiegl, please,’ I replied. The level of noise dropped fractionally so that my next words practically echoed across the tavern. ‘The original beer.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘The original Stiegl? I’m afraid it’s no longer in production.’

‘Really?’ I smiled. ‘How strange. I happen to know the owner of this place can still get his hands on them. An old stock of sorts?’

A tense silence had fallen across the tavern. Reid shifted in his seat and placed his hand lightly on his leg, inches from the Glock.

The waitress scowled and had just opened her mouth for what was likely going to be a sharp riposte when a shadow suddenly loomed behind her.

I looked up into the large, bearded face of the bartender.

‘It’s okay, Maria,’ the man said in heavily accented English.

The woman pursed her lips and stormed off.

The bartender waited until she disappeared from earshot before turning to us with a grin. Gold teeth glinted in the gloom. ‘May I help you, gentlemen?’

I studied him while the chatter of the tavern’s patrons started up around us once more. ‘Like I said to your barmaid, we would like two bottles of the original Stiegl.’

The man’s smile did not shift. ‘I’m afraid that beer is no longer in production, sir.’

Although his tone remained pleasant, I detected the flash of wariness in his gaze.

‘That’s strange.’

‘What is it that you find strange, sir?’ said the bartender politely.

‘I seem to recall a substantial collection of the stuff hidden in your cellar in 1683.’ I smiled. ‘I believe even Commander Starhemberg knew of it.’

Count Ernst Rudiger von Starhemberg was the army commander who held Vienna with a garrison of a few thousand men against the much larger and more heavily armed Ottoman contingent during the famous siege. In acknowledgement of his accomplishments in saving the imperial capital, Leopold I, the Holy Roman Emperor at the time, promoted him to field marshal and made him a Minister of State.

The bartender went still at the mention of the commander’s name.

‘You’re an immortal,’ he said after a short silence.

I nodded.

He glanced at Reid. ‘He’s not,’ he stated, matter-of-fact.

‘It’s the eyes, isn’t it?’ said Reid. ‘There’s something about the eyes.’

The bartender grinned. ‘Oktav Grun, at your service.’ He offered his hand.

I shook it and stifled a wince at his bear-like grip.

‘We don’t often see new faces around here,’ the man continued in the same light-hearted tone. ‘Why, this place is normally only full of old
schlingels
.’

‘Rogues,’ I translated at Reid’s puzzled expression.

Raucous laughter rose from the shadows around the tavern.

‘Maria, bring us three bottles of Stiegl!’ Grun barked over his shoulder. He grabbed a chair and dragged it across the floor to the table. ‘So, you were here during the Ottoman siege?’ he said, sitting down heavily. The wood creaked in protest beneath his bulky frame.

‘Yes, I was,’ I replied with a faint smile.

Oktav nodded. ‘Those were tough times.’ He rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and showed us a faint, jagged scar that ran almost all the way around his biceps. ‘That was from a Turkish saber. And this,’ he extended one leg, ‘was from the sappers during the first siege.’

The Turkish soldiers had dug extensive tunnels under the city’s walls during the Ottoman siege. These underground passages had subsequently been filled with gunpowder mines and detonated in an attempt to destroy the extensive fortifications that surrounded Vienna at the time.

I observed the shallow indentation in the bartender’s calf. ‘You were here during both sieges?’

The Ottoman Empire’s first attempt to capture the imperial Roman capital took place in 1529, well before my birth; it lasted less than a month and became known as the Siege of Vienna.

‘For my sins,’ the bartender said with a hearty laugh.

The beers arrived. I took a sip of the cool liquid and closed my eyes briefly while I savored the familiar, bitter taste. It brought back old memories, not all of them bad. The faces of dead friends rose in my mind.

Reid cocked an eyebrow. ‘This is good.’

Oktav laughed. ‘Better make the most of it. Mortals rarely get to enjoy this.’

Grun and I spent several minutes reminiscing about events during the siege. Despite the bartender’s subtle questioning, I remained vague about my origins and whereabouts following the battle.

Grun finally leaned back in his chair and studied us with a thoughtful stare. ‘I have a feeling you’re not just tourists passing through, my friends.’

Reid and I exchanged glances.

‘You’re right,’ I murmured.

‘Why are you here, really?’ said Grun.

I removed the daguerreotype from my coat and pushed it across the table. ‘Do you know this man?’

The bartender’s face grew shuttered as he inspected the faded picture.

‘No, I don’t.’ He shoved the frame back toward me.

‘He’s a Bastian immortal,’ I said in a low voice. ‘I believe he’s in Vienna tonight.’

The bartender’s expression did not change.

‘There are Crovir Hunters after him and his female companion,’ I continued, unfazed. ‘I suspect he’ll be seeking shelter with his friends in the city.’

The chair rocked back on its hind legs as the bartender rose to his feet. ‘I think you should leave,’ he said coldly.

‘Look, we’re only trying to help,’ Reid protested.

Grun frowned. ‘You don’t act like Hunters. On the other hand, I don’t quite know what you are.’ He indicated the door. ‘I’m afraid I have to insist.’

We exited the tavern under the bartender’s hooded gaze.

‘He knows something,’ said Reid.

‘Yes, he does.’

‘What d’you wanna do?’

I inspected the narrow lane. My gaze landed on a low building huddling in the gloom some fifty feet away. A faint light shone through the thick lead windows at the front.

‘Fancy some coffee?’

The cafe proved an ideal place from which to watch the tavern. At two in the morning, the last patrons finally left the bar. Grun stood on the threshold and studied the street carefully before locking the door. Lights came on behind the windows on the first floor. A shadow moved across the glass. The lights went off moments later. Darkness shrouded the tavern. We waited ten minutes.

The door remained resolutely closed.