Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3) (13 page)

Conrad tensed at the expression in the Bastian noble’s eyes.

‘I have already conferred with the other members of the Bastian First Council on this subject, and we’re all in agreement,’ Victor continued, confirming the reluctant immortal’s worst fears. ‘We want you on the investigation team.’

Conrad felt his last hope slip away. He silently cursed the fate that had brought the dead pilot of the Cessna and his passenger to his doorstep. ‘And if I refuse?’ he challenged grimly.

Victor’s lips curved in a thin, humorless smile. ‘Technically speaking, you’re a deserter, Conrad. I know you’ve been away for a while, but you remember what happens to deserters, don’t you?’

Conrad glared at the Bastian leader. He knew all too well what immortals did to those they deemed to be traitors. ‘I didn’t run away from the Bastian ranks, I just—’

‘Left your home one day and disappeared without telling your superior officer of your intentions and future whereabouts?’ Victor interrupted coldly. ‘Did you seriously think I’d count the last six decades as an extended leave of absence?’

‘You know exactly why I left!’ Conrad spat.

Victor’s eyes flickered to Laura. He remained visibly unmoved. ‘Still not good enough.’

Conrad’s hands curled into fists under the table. He had known Victor long enough to realize that his former mentor was going to use every single trick in the book to get his own way; the immortal noble’s reputation as a silver-tongued, bull-headed bastard had preceded him through the ages.

‘If I do this, we’re even,’ he finally ground out.

He felt a searing stare on his skin and looked around in time to see Laura pale. She flinched when she met his gaze and steeled her features into an aloof expression once more.

Before Conrad could fathom what the emotion was that he had glimpsed in her eyes, a knock sounded at the main door. Westwood signaled at Laura. She crossed the floor and opened it.

Connelly walked in with Woods and Sullivan in tow. The two men looked gray under their skin. They stopped just inside the room and watched the immortals guardedly, a hint of fear evident in their posture.

Woods masked his apprehension and turned to Laura. ‘Is that why you always refused the promotions I offered you?’

Laura gave him a pained look. ‘Sorry, Clint. It would have been impossible for me to accept. Only the president, the VP, and Director Connelly were aware of my background.’

Sullivan startled at her words. He turned to Westwood. ‘The vice president knows?’

‘Yes,’ acknowledged Westwood.

‘How long have there been…immortals in the service?’ Woods asked after a short lull. He could not completely disguise his distress at the magnitude of the deception that had been played out.

‘Ever since President Kennedy’s assassination,’ Laura replied in a low voice. Her eyes moved briefly to Victor. ‘Both the Bastian and Crovir First Councils offered their protective services to the US government’s commander-in-chief, as well as other important heads of state around the world.’

‘Are there many of you working as agents?’ said Woods gruffly.

Laura shrugged and gave him a tired smile. ‘A few. We rotate out of the law enforcement agencies every ten years.’

‘Agen
cies
?’ said Woods. Laura winced.

Westwood broke the ensuing silence.

‘I want Greene on the primary team investigating my assassination,’ he told Connelly and Sullivan. He checked himself and muttered, ‘Christ, I can’t believe I just said that. Let’s call it my
attempted
assassination from now on, shall we?’

Connelly’s expression grew thunderous. ‘What?’

‘Honestly, James, what the hell’s gotten into you?’ snapped Sullivan. He turned to the Director of National Intelligence. ‘Sarah, we should talk to the Cabinet about invoking Section Four of the 25th Amendment and—’

‘And what, Bill?’ interrupted Westwood. He rose and leaned forward with his palms down on the table. ‘On what grounds are you going to invoke the 25th? The Senate and the Speaker of the House will clearly see that I am more than capable of performing the duties of my office. The vice president and I will deny all knowledge about the existence of the immortals, and you will only end up looking like a goddamned fool. And don’t even think about telling them you saw me come back from the dead. That will
guarantee
your confinement to a psychiatric hospital.’ He stopped and straightened, his posture rigid. ‘Bill, I want to get the bastards who did this. By attacking me, they’ve declared war on the United States.’ He looked at Conrad briefly. ‘If not for Greene, I wouldn’t be here right now, and this country would be shot to hell. He’s the only one who picked up on the threat. And he traveled halfway across the world to stop it.’

‘To be fair, I didn’t know this was about killing you until I got to Washington,’ Conrad admitted.

Woods’s expression fell at the president’s words.

‘I’m not blaming the Service, Clint,’ said Westwood. ‘But I still want Greene on this investigation. In fact, I think he should lead it.’

‘What?’ barked Conrad.

‘You can’t be serious, James!’ snarled Connelly.

‘Christ, this is just so—’ said Sullivan.

‘I know,’ Westwood cut in. He observed his National Security Advisor with a steadfast gaze. ‘Bill, I
need
you with me on this. You too, Sarah,’ he added, glancing at the Director of National Intelligence.

Despite the anger thrumming through him, Conrad had to admire Westwood. He was as devious a bastard as Victor Dvorsky.

Tense seconds passed. Sullivan’s shoulders finally sagged. ‘I can’t believe we’re asking a complete outsider to lead on this,’ he murmured. Connelly remained silent, her expression stony.

Conrad stared down the man opposite him. ‘I seem to recall agreeing to assist you on this matter, not be at the helm of the entire goddamned investigation,’ he said icily.

Westwood’s headstrong expression never wavered. ‘Think of it as a promotion.’

Conrad inhaled sharply and was about to launch into an angry tirade when Victor cut in.

‘I agree with the president,’ the Bastian leader interjected. ‘You should lead.’

Conrad stared aghast at his former mentor. ‘Have you lost your mind? I’ve not been in the field for decades!’ he roared.

‘That didn’t seem to stop you today,’ Victor responded calmly.

Conrad’s knuckles whitened on the table. It didn’t take a genius to realize he didn’t have any options left. He closed his eyes briefly, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. There were no two ways about it. He was going to have to see this whole damn thing through to its bitter end.

‘Is he even capable of overseeing such a large operation?’ said Connelly. The Director of National Intelligence still appeared unconvinced by her commander-in-chief’s decision.

Victor shrugged. ‘If not for Conrad, the United Kingdom of Great Britain may not have come into existence.’ He ignored the shocked expressions and gasps around the room. ‘He was my best general and the greatest team leader I’ve ever had in my section. I trust him implicitly.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Conrad said bitterly. A last surge of defiance made him straighten from the table. ‘I do have a couple of conditions.’

The Bastian leader cast a slow, appraising look his way and arched an eyebrow. ‘And those would be?’

‘I want Anatole on the team,’ Conrad demanded.

The red-haired immortal startled where he leaned against the wall. ‘Huh? Me?’ he exclaimed, his eyes round.

Surprise darted across Victor’s face. His expression grew shuttered.

‘Yeah, you,’ scoffed Conrad. He directed a mocking smile at his old friend.

Anatole’s eyes shrunk into slits. ‘Oh, you son of a—’

‘Agreed,’ Victor interrupted. He ignored Anatole’s choked protest and considered Laura and Woods. ‘I believe the US Secret Service would appreciate having one of their members on the team. Hartwell should be in as well.’

‘What?’ said Laura.

‘No,’ Conrad stated adamantly.

She glared at him. ‘Oh yeah? Why not?’

A wave of lassitude swept through Conrad. The events of the day were catching up with him.

‘By your reaction just now, I deduce you weren’t exactly craving the role,’ he said in a worn-out voice. ‘Besides, I thought you never wanted to have anything to do with me again.’

Stony silence fell between them.

‘That’s beside the point,’ Laura stated frostily.

Westwood looked pointedly between them. ‘Is there some history between the two of you I should be aware of?’

Conrad caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in the president’s eyes. He was starting to wish he’d never revived the stubborn bastard.

‘Yeah,’ Anatole said, his tone sullen. ‘They used to get on like a house on fire.
Literally
.’

Westwood’s face grew grave. ‘I hope you won’t let your personal feelings interfere with this investigation,’ he told Laura.

She bristled at the president’s words. ‘No, sir.’

Conrad ran a hand through his hair, too exhausted to argue. He turned to Westwood. ‘My second condition is that you provide me with Top Secret clearance to national security and counterintelligence data. On a need-to-know basis, obviously.’

This time, the hush that followed was short-lived.

‘James, if you agree to this—’ Connelly started in a strained voice.

‘How vital is it that you have this access?’ said Westwood, his eyes not moving from Conrad’s face.

‘Very,’ replied the immortal. ‘I need to use all the available resources at my disposal if you want me to have a shot at finding these people.’

Westwood mulled this over for several seconds. He turned to Connelly. ‘Do it.’

Connelly’s lips tightened in a grim line. ‘Jesus, James, the background investigation itself takes about a year—’

‘Just get it done, Sarah!’ Westwood barked. ‘We don’t have a goddamned year. I want these bastards found yesterday!’

Chapter Eleven

A
n hour later, Conrad stood at the head of the White House Situation Room, in the basement of the West Wing. He studied the sea of hostile faces in front of him while Sarah Connelly spoke by his side.

‘Conrad Greene is a special operative assigned by President Westwood to lead the investigation on the assassination attempt that took place at the FedEx Field today,’ announced the Director of National Intelligence in a stilted voice. ‘He has been given emergency TS clearance for the duration of this mission.’

Although it was evident that Connelly begrudged having had to violate internal regulations to grant him the classified information access Conrad had asked for, the immortal sensed she would cooperate with him as long as he did nothing to threaten the interests of the president and the United States government. She had introduced him briefly to the chief National Security Staff and the Sit Room Director ahead of the meeting of the special, multi-agency task force that had been put together to tackle the crisis.

‘Why an external investigator, Connelly? And a civilian at that,’ said the FBI National Security Branch Special Agent in a hard voice. ‘Does the president think this is an inside job?’

‘No,’ retorted Connelly. ‘Greene was the one who identified the threat.’ She hesitated. ‘Had it not been for him, the assassination attempt would have been successful. He saved the president’s life, Lewis.’

Despite her inscrutable expression, Conrad detected the flicker of tension in the woman’s posture; the Director of National Intelligence could hardly announce that the enemy’s mission had been a positive success.

‘The floor is yours, Greene,’ Connelly said curtly. She stepped aside and took a seat at the head of the table dominating the crowded conference room.

Conrad ignored the palpable resentment permeating the air. He recalled the last assignment he had spearheaded for the Bastian First Council. Although he never sought the admiration and deference the immortals under his charge so readily showed him, he was used to his commands being obeyed to the letter. This was going to be a completely different ball game.

He waited until the low mutters died down. ‘Three things. First, I’m sorry the Service lost two men today. I wish their deaths could have been avoided,’ he said in a cold, clear voice. ‘What is done is done. Dwelling on it won’t achieve anything.’ He observed the guarded glances being exchanged around the room.

‘Second, I’m just as pissed as you at my having been put in charge of this investigation. Trust me, I don’t want to be here.’ Conrad felt the animosity level drop a notch. ‘However, now that I’ve committed to this mission,’ he added, his tone hardening, ‘make no mistake, I
will
give it my all. And I expect no less from you.’

The FBI lead agent grunted, his irritation plain to see. Conrad ignored him.

‘Third and final point.’ The immortal looked to the two figures standing silently behind him. ‘Agent Laura Hartwell of the US Secret Service and Special Operative Anatole Vassili will be my seconds in command for the duration of this assignment.’

The red-haired immortal lifted a hand in a small wave and grinned. ‘Hi. Call me Anatole.’

Laura rolled her eyes. Conrad stifled a sigh. Angry murmurs rose from the men and women crowded in the room.

‘Connelly, what the hell is going on here?’ snapped the CIA representative, a woman with auburn hair and gray eyes. ‘Who
are
these men?’

The Director of National Intelligence straightened in her seat, her eyes glittering with thinly veiled anger. ‘This is what our commander-in-chief has dictated, Donaghy. As to who they are, I’m afraid that’s classified information for which none of you have clearance.’ She faltered for a beat. ‘Although I have similar reservations on the subject, I’ve seen Greene in action and I trust Westwood’s judgment. Squabbling amongst ourselves is only wasting precious time we do not have.’

Conrad watched the assembled agents closely in the taut silence that followed. ‘Hartwell, Vassili, and I have worked together in the past. Although we have suffered casualties along the way, our squad has had a one hundred percent mission success rate.’ He frowned. ‘Let me be clear on one thing.
You
are now part of
our
team.’ He paused. ‘Any questions?’

Grudging respect appeared on some of the faces in the room. There was a general shaking of heads. Although he knew it would take time to win the agents’ trust, Conrad saw the lack of queries as a good sign.

‘Good,’ he said with a curt nod. ‘Let’s get down to business.’ He looked at the communications technician standing at the head of the room. ‘Bring it up.’

The man typed on the keyboard in front of him. One of the large wall monitors flashed on.

‘This investigation will have three stems, all of them targeted at finding out who was behind this assassination attempt and apprehending them,’ Conrad explained. ‘Number one: we need to identify the individual who shot the president and killed the two bodyguards at the FedEx Field.’ Satellite images and photographs of the stadium appeared on the screen. ‘Despite the emergency closure of all transport routes out of Maryland, state and county law enforcement have yet to locate a possible suspect. We can only assume the killer got away. Finding out the who and how will give us information about the organization responsible for this.’