The Immortalists (19 page)

Richard watched Xander squint down at the eight-by-ten photo of August Mason as the guards outside continued to brandish their guns and shout. As long as he and Carly didn’t make any sudden moves, they probably had a fifty-fifty chance of not getting their heads blown off. Until SWAT showed up, anyway.

“That’s a hell of a story,” Xander drawled between gurgling coughs. “Let me get this straight. August Mason is some kind of south-of-the-border Methuselah, and his little secret club is hot on your heels. Let me guess—in a flying saucer? I think I’ve got it. Are we through now?”

“What about Richard’s driver’s license?” Carly said, pointing to where it lay on the seat next to the old man. “That proves he’s who he says he is.”

“Do you have any idea how many cranks like you I’ve had to deal with over my lifetime?” He slapped the photo in his hand with more force than Richard thought he had in him. “Any six-year-old could get that license over the Internet in about a minute and a half. And as for the picture, I may not be as young as I used to be, but I have heard of Photoshop.”

Richard wasn’t surprised by the reaction and wondered for the thousandth time if this had been a huge mistake. Getting involved with Xander had a serious drawback—he was a ruthless, backstabbing, geriatric prick willing to do anything to escape the icy hands of death. But, from their standpoint, that was also his upside.

“I assume you have people who can check if the license is authentic and if Mason’s photo has been altered. When they tell you they’re genuine, my phone number is written on the back. In the meantime, if you could tell your bodyguards to put their guns down, we’ll be on our way.”

Carly pushed a button, and the back window next to Xander went down an inch. The old man ignored it, a glimmer of interest sparking in his wet eyes.

“That’s it? No ransom? No demand that I tell your story on one of my television stations?”

“Actually, we’d prefer you keep this to yourself,” Carly said. “Because of our daughter, we don’t have time for the government to get involved.”

“So you came to me instead?”

“We figured you’d be just as motivated as we are,” Richard said. “And you’re one of the few people in the world who can hold their own against a group this rich and powerful.”

“You’re very good,” Xander said. “I’ll give you that. Very convincing. But then, most insane people are.”

“Do I really seem insane to you?”

He ignored the question. “So you think I should help two people who just carjacked me?”

“The upside for you is youth and possibly a patent on the most lucrative technology in history,” Carly said. “The downside is that one of your assistants spends a few hours checking into our story and finds out it’s bull.”

“An interesting analysis. I’m ashamed to say it, but you two have piqued my curiosity.”

With great effort, he rose to bring his mouth even with the crack in the window. “Put your guns down. They’re leaving.”

His guards did as they were told, and Carly gave her husband a worried glance before easing the driver’s door open.

Neither of the two men moved as they got out, and Richard felt the knot in his stomach loosen a bit.

It didn’t last long. A siren—maybe more than one—became audible in the distance and he froze for a moment, trying to calculate which of their planned escape routes would be best.

His moment of hesitation was all they needed. The man closest to him lunged, slamming into him hard enough to lift him three feet in the air before they came crashing down onto the road. The impact robbed him of his senses for a moment, but Carly’s terrified voice finally brought him around.

“Don’t hurt him. I’ll shoot!”

His vision cleared as he was dragged to his feet by a powerful arm snaked around his neck. Carly had a gun aimed in his direction, but the barrel was shaking badly. The guard not using him as a human shield stood only a few feet away from her, his own pistol lined up with her temple.

“Quit screwing around!” Xander shouted from the limo. “Get ’em in the trunk before the cops get here.”

Richard walked to the window and looked out over Andreas Xander’s spotlighted property, now suspecting that contacting the old man would one day top the lengthy list of his life’s mistakes.

The window was unlocked, but they were on the third story with no way to climb down. And even if they could, they wouldn’t make it ten steps toward the gate. Security was everything he would expect from one of the world’s most controversial billionaires—mounted cameras, random patrols, dogs that seemed perpetually disappointed that there were no intruders to tear apart.

“Anything interesting?”

He turned toward Carly, who was sitting in one of the wing-back chairs scattered around the room. As prisons went, it was a comfortable one—an opulent suite with a bathroom almost the size of the backyard of the home he doubted they would ever see again.

“If there were a lake, it would be full of sharks.”

She was wearing a suede skirt and sweater selected from the expensive clothing that had been delivered shortly after they arrived. The sweater alone probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, and he realized how much he regretted that.

“Why don’t you come and sit down, Richard? Try to relax.”

“How the hell can I relax?” he said, snatching up the phone next to the bed. Dead. Just like every other time he’d checked. “We’ve been here two days and no one’s said a word to us. What’s Xander doing? Is he going to leave us here to rot until he finally keels over? This is kidnapping.”

A wry smile spread across her face. “As opposed to shooting out someone’s tire and holding a gun to their head?”

He ignored her. “I can’t stay here any longer, Carly. We need to get in touch with—”

He caught himself before he said “Burt,” looking around the room for the listening devices that he was sure were there. “We need to get in touch with Susie.”

“I’m worried about her too, Richard. But she’s in good hands. There’s nothing you or I can do right now but sit here and wait. We’re not dead, and we haven’t been turned over to the police. That must mean something, right?”

“Don’t give me that goddamn Zen crap,” he said, finally losing the fight to stay in control.

She refused to take the bait. “Who would have thought that I’d end up the reasonable one?”

“Shit,” he muttered and then let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Carly. It’s not you…”

“I know.” She stood and crossed the room, pulling him close enough that her lips brushed his ear. “I’m afraid for her too. I’m afraid for all of us.”

Richard finished tucking his shirt in and went back to watching his wife blow her hair dry in a thick, white robe. How had he managed to find a woman like her? A woman who wasn’t just smart and beautiful, but could stand unwavering in the face of a sick child, an obsessed husband, and now all this.

She turned off the dryer and faced him, smiling when she saw him staring. “What are you—”

The sound of a key in the door silenced her, and they both looked at the clock by the bed.

Their contact with the world outside that room had been governed by its illuminated numbers since they’d arrived. Breakfast had been delivered promptly at eight, as it always was, and lunch wasn’t due for another hour and a half.

Carly pulled the robe tighter around her neck and took a position next to him, watching nervously as Andreas Xander rolled in.

“Not morning people, huh?”

The guard pushing his wheelchair retreated into the hallway and closed the door, leaving the three of them alone.

Richard straightened in an unsuccessful attempt to conjure a little confidence from his height advantage. “Why are you holding us here?”

“That seems like a stupid question for a man with your education.”

“We haven’t been able to talk to our daughter in three days. How long could it possibly take you to find out we’re who we say we are? Like you said, a six-year-old could do it on the Internet in a minute and a half.”

Carly squeezed his hand. “Calm down, Richard.”

“You should listen to your wife. She’s giving you good advice.”

Xander didn’t look any younger or stronger than the day they carjacked him, but he carried a menacing air that was magnified now that they were trapped on his playing field.

“So you know now,” Carly said, her distaste for the man bleeding through her effort to hide it. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Xander? You know who we are?”

“Oh, I know a great deal more than that. My people have gone through all the available information about the plane you were supposed to have gone down on, and they’ve retraced your steps in Argentina—”

“They were in Argentina?” Richard said. “Did they see him? Did they see Mason?”

Xander shook his head. “The house on that property burned to the ground the day after you were there. Everyone’s gone, and the owner turned out to be a maze of bullshit offshore corporations.”

“What about Chris?” Carly asked.

“He’s dead.”

“You mean he disappeared? They—”

“No, I mean he’s dead. My people have seen the body. It’s in a morgue in Eastern Europe.”

“What happened to him?” Carly said. Her tone suggested that she hadn’t yet been able to completely dismiss their friendship with Graden. It was easier to make the intellectual disconnect than the emotional one.

“The early talk from law enforcement is that he was developing designer narcotics with a group in Belarus and that it was a professional hit,” Xander said, focusing on Richard. “Maybe you and Mason are involved too. It’s a hell of a lot more likely than the story you fed me.”

“What about the photo?” Richard said. “Have you had someone look at it?”

“Three different expert opinions and for once they all agree. They say it’s genuine and taken where and when you said.”

“What’s the problem, then?” The cracks in Carly’s carefully constructed patience were getting wider.

Xander shrugged his crooked shoulders. “The point of contention is whether or not it’s Mason. Could just be someone who looks like him or someone you disguised to look like him.”

“Why would we—” Richard started, but Xander talked over him.

“Mason’s a fascinating guy. I have to admit that when he kept refusing to come to work for me I got pissed off and started looking into where he went when he disappeared back in the nineties. I figured he was off screwing little boys in Thailand or something.”

“And was he?” Richard said, ignoring the fact that Xander had been looking for blackmail material.

“That’s what’s fascinating. I don’t know. Despite all the money and effort I put into finding out, I came up blank. And that means someone was helping him stay underground. Someone more sophisticated than a bunch of gook pimps.”

“They hid him while he was developing his treatment.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Carly said, the volume of her voice rising. “What more evidence do you need? We’re wasting time. You have to help us. Please.”

“It’s OK,” Richard said. “He’s going to.”

Xander tilted his head a bit to the side. “Am I?”

He nodded. “The way I see it, you have everything to gain by helping us and nothing to lose but a bunch of money and power that pretty soon you won’t have much use for.”

The old man tossed Richard the prepaid phone he’d been carrying when they carjacked him and then rapped on the door with arthritic knuckles. A moment later, a guard entered and wheeled him out.

By the time the door clicked shut, Richard was already dialing. It rang long enough that he started to feel nauseous, but finally a familiar voice came on.

“Hello?”

“Are you all right?” Richard blurted. “Is Susie OK?”

“We’re both fine,” Seeger said, a hint of suspicion audible in his voice. “I called yesterday, and someone I didn’t recognize picked up. I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.”

“What happened?”

“The plan worked right up to the part where they grabbed us,” Richard said, moving the phone far enough from his ear that Carly could listen in. “They’ve been checking out our story, and we just got our cell back. Can you put Susie on?”

“She’s asleep. I can wake her up, but she’s exhausted. This has been really hard on her. She doesn’t look that good, Richard. I’m not sure what to do.”

Carly’s expression turned a bit panicked.

“It’s OK,” Richard said, trying to keep his voice even. “Don’t wake her up. You’re giving her meds, right?”

“Hell yes, I am. Just like you told me.”

“Then there’s nothing else anyone can do. Just make sure she gets as much rest as she can.”

“Maybe I should bring her there. Xander can protect her and she could settle into a routine.”

Richard looked over at his wife. She chewed her lip nervously for a few moments before shaking her head. Obviously, she felt the same uncertainty about their host as he did.

“I’m not sure it’s safe yet,” he said. “We need you to keep her for a little longer.”

Oleg Nazarov gave the steel and bronze sculpture a wide berth. It had always struck him as a bit grotesque, but after not sleeping for more than forty-eight hours it was vaguely threatening.

He had completely lost the luxuries of prioritization and delegation—he had to personally scrutinize every piece of evidence. Nothing was irrelevant, and he couldn’t trust the judgment of others knowing that the next mistake would probably be his last. It was vividly clear that the only reason he wasn’t floating along the sea floor with Chris Graden was that it would be impractical to replace him when things were unraveling so quickly.

“You bring me good news?” Karl said as the Russian approached. “You’ve found them?”

“No. I’ve come to tell you that someone is looking into our organization.”

“I don’t understand. We already know that the Dramans—”

“It’s not the Dramans. Questions are being asked about the offshore charities and accounts we’ve used to transfer money as well as about Chris Graden’s death. We also have reports of unidentified men going through the ashes of Mason’s house in Argentina.”

“Who?” Karl said. His voice was even and calm, a monotone that was so much more intimidating than the flashes of anger and frustration he’d displayed over the past weeks. So much more inhuman. “Is it the soldier? Seeger? He would have contacts—”

“No. This is at a level far higher than he would have ever operated,” Nazarov said, trying to find the courage to say aloud what he’d discovered. “It appears that the Dramans found a way to contact Andreas Xander.”

The deathlike façade that Karl had managed to regain slipped slightly. His face flushed and the muscle in his jaw twitched visibly. “Xander? Are you certain?”

Nazarov nodded. “I discovered his involvement less than an hour ago.”

In truth, it had been a bit longer than that. The old bastard was doing nothing at all to hide his involvement, but there was little reason to tell Karl this. Nazarov knew that his usefulness was under constant scrutiny and that he couldn’t afford to pass up an opportunity to demonstrate competence.

“And have you made an assessment of the threat he poses to us?”

“It’s significant. He has almost limitless resources that he can use without our overriding concern about maintaining anonymity. And he has so little time left, that we have to assume he will use those resources without reservation.”

“Then we need to get to him.”

Nazarov let out a long, quiet breath. “It would be extremely difficult. The security on his estate rivals—perhaps even exceeds—your security here. Short of aerial bombing or gas, I’m not sure what we can do to penetrate it.”

“He has to leave it sometime.”

“He drives in a heavily armed motorcade, but I agree that it’s our best opportunity. Having said that, there is no way to do this subtly. If we succeed—or even if we fail—it will be on every channel of every television in the world.”

“And if we do nothing?” Karl said. “What happens to our anonymity then?”

“Xander systematically dismantles it.”

“Then we have no choice. We’ll deal with consequences later.”

“I’ll start working on a plan immediately,” Nazarov said with a respectful bow of the head.

“And the Dramans?”

“With Xander dead, they’ll be more or less defenseless. Putting an end to that problem should be a simple matter.”

“Will it? Will it really, Oleg? Are you telling me that one day you’ll walk in here with an issue resolved instead of another disaster you weren’t able to prevent?”

Karl’s meticulously constructed serenity continued to crumble, displaying a glimpse of the man inside—something that made even the old KGB man want to step back.

Containing the Dramans had been feasible—likely even. But Nazarov knew that his ability to control Xander was nonexistent, and his ability to get to the old man was, at best, limited. It was time to start planning for the likelihood of future failures. And how he was going to survive them.