Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3) (32 page)

She did not speak to Branimir of her increasing resentment after they reached their home in Bursa, although she suspected her husband knew the truth of her feelings from the anxious way he often looked at her. While Branimir had been outraged for a long time about the way Suleiman Sultan had treated Mustafa, the passage of time had eased his ire. Knowing that he would not approve of the scheme blossoming in the core of her soul, Ariana approached Mahidevran and requested her counsel.

The former concubine of Suleiman the Magnificent listened attentively to the outrageous idea that had preoccupied Ariana’s every waking moment since her return from Europe. The older woman studied her in silence for some time before asking her to leave and come back the next day. Ariana departed Mahidevran’s residence uncertain of the older woman’s intentions, and spent a restless night wondering whether the dream growing inside her would ever come true.

She returned as requested the morning after, her heart full of trepidation. After closing the doors of her chamber to watchful eyes and curious ears, Mahidevran went to her writing table and produced several sheets of paper from a drawer. On them were written the names of everyone Mahidevran knew would be faithful to Mustafa’s heir and Ariana’s cause. Half were former members of Mahidevran’s court from Amasya. The rest were officers of the Janissary army.

In the year that preceded Mahidevran’s death, the former Sultan accompanied Ariana and Kader on their campaign across the Ottoman Empire, where they secured the allegiance of more than four hundred men and women.

Though it was not enough to lead a campaign against the ruling Sultan, Ariana was not disappointed by the size of the devoted following they had gained. For it was only the beginning of her plans.

By the time Branimir passed away, it was evident that two of his children and Kader had inherited traits of her immortal bloodline; all three had outstanding fighting skills, accelerated powers of healing, and delayed aging. Although a strong fighter, Branimir’s second son recovered from his injuries and aged like other humans. All had married and had offsprings of their own.

Over the next eighty years, Ariana secretly tested the mettle of her growing troops against the Sultans of the Ottoman Empire, beginning with her support of the Janissary uprising of the 1620s, in which the ruling emperor was captured and killed.

Other Sultans rapidly took the throne in the decades that followed, and Ariana could only watch in growing frustration as the beloved empire of the two loves of her life started to crumble around the edges under the increasingly ineffective and weak rule of the Ottoman government. By the time the Great Turkish War ended at the dawn of the eighteen century, large territories previously seized during long and bloody battles had been reclaimed by their European enemies.

Kader died in 1710, after falling from a horse and breaking his neck. When Ariana realized he would not wake again, as she so easily could, she wept for weeks; the realization that she had fifteen lives remaining and would likely be walking the Earth well after the deaths of all her children felt like purgatory. But Kader left behind a son and a daughter, and one grandchild. Two of them inherited the powers of her immortal ancestry.

After the fall of the Ottoman Empire, Ariana sat down with the progeny of Mustafa’s and Branimir’s bloodlines, as well as the generals of her flourishing army, all of whom were descendants of those who had pledged their loyalty to her and Mustafa’s heir almost one and a half centuries previously. They spent months analyzing the changing landscape of power, politics, and economics across Europe, Asia, North Africa, and the Americas before finally deciding on a master strategy.

The next hundred years saw her lineage and that of their faithful followers expand their reach across six continents and gradually accumulate the wealth, knowledge, and influence they would one day need to take back the lands that had been lost, and build a greater and more formidable Ottoman Empire—one that would have the world quaking in fear.

But it wasn’t until the technological and scientific advances of the latter half of the twentieth century that the last pieces of their battle plan could be finalized. By then, they had enough assets to buy off several African countries, and their army counted almost a quarter of a million in number.

At the birth of the twenty-first century, only Zoran and Nadica remained of Mustafa’s bloodline. Though they were cousins, they had been raised as siblings from an early age. They were the seventh generation to be born after Kader, and their thirst for power and justice more than matched Ariana’s.

She looked up from her silent contemplation when Zoran spoke.

‘If the immortals are helping the Americans, then they are likely to become a problem,’ he observed.

‘That’s why we have a contingency plan,’ Ariana said in a deadly voice. She had not come this close to achieving her dreams to have them snatched by the immortals. ‘If they will not listen to reason when the time comes, then I will bury them so deep into the ground it will take them months to climb out of the hole.’

Nadica moved restlessly at her words. ‘I think we should do it anyway. A preemptive strike will show them how serious we are.’

Ariana watched the young woman for a moment. Of the last two descendants of Mustafa’s bloodline, Nadica was the one who had inherited the sadistic savagery of some of the most fearsome Ottoman rulers. Ariana was confident she had made the right choice by selecting Zoran to be the first ruler of their new empire. He possessed the same coolness of head Mustafa and Branimir had been blessed with; Nadica would make an excellent general and second in command.

‘We shall see,’ Ariana murmured finally. ‘In the meantime, I think the trial run Ridvan suggested seems more than appropriate.’

‘What of Kadir and Sahin?’ said Zoran.

‘Our lawyers should be able to get them out of French police custody,’ said Ariana. She shrugged. ‘If not, they will be more than happy to sacrifice themselves for our cause. They are devoted to their ancestry.’

Ridvan Kadir and Volkan Sahin were but two of hundreds of descendants of the original members of Mahidevran’s court in Amasya.

Zoran rose from the couch and crossed the room to a desk holding a sleek laptop. He ran his fingers over the keyboard. A digital map of the world appeared on the wall monitor. Multiple dots flashed across several continents. A third were on yellow, indicating final preparations were still in progress at those sites.

‘The most suitable target would be location 10. Though small-scale, its destruction will have an impact in terms of political and economic disruption for Central Europe.’ His lips curved in a humorless smile. ‘It will no doubt shock and scare them.’

Ariana stared at the city in question. ‘What would the estimated death toll be?’

Zoran tapped a key and studied the table hovering over the map. ‘Inside the strike zone? About four thousand to six thousand. Maybe more depending on the extent of the damage.’

Ariana pursed her lips. ‘Make the arrangements,’ she ordered after a short silence.

Nadica grinned, her eyes gleaming with savage glee.

‘Maximilian Obenhaus just sent us a picture of the ex-company director who went by the name of Zoran Rajkovic. It was taken at a social event held in Berlin several years ago.’

It was seven thirty in the evening, and the Learjet was still parked on the tarmac at Orly Airport.

‘He believes someone hacked into the Obenhaus Group’s network and erased all photographic documentation pertaining to Rajkovic from their database, including his human resources file,’ Connelly continued. She was talking to them privately from a locked cubicle inside the Sit Room. ‘He managed to find this single snapshot through a friend at a German news agency.’ A grim smile crossed the face of the Director of National Intelligence. ‘I think you’ll agree it makes for interesting viewing.’

A JPEG file materialized on the computer display next to the video link. Conrad opened it.

‘Shit,’ Anatole muttered woodenly.

Three arresting figures dressed in expensive evening wear and holding champagne glasses stood next to each other in the middle of the frame. The man in the center was tall and striking, with bronzed skin and sharply defined Slavic features dominated by piercing, slate-gray eyes. He was smiling faintly.

The two women draped on his arms were equally stunning, with ivory complexions, ruby lips, and silver eyes. They could have been sisters.

The one on the left was their suspect from the FedEx Field, Crystal City, and more recently Paris. The second woman was the seated figure who had featured in Ridvan Kadir’s childhood photograph.

Conrad clenched his jaw as he stared at the screen. The enemy finally had a face.

‘Anyone hazard a guess as to who the immortal is?’ Connelly asked in a derisive tone. ‘’Cause I sure can’t tell. From what Victor told me, the human half-breeds previously encountered by the Crovirs visibly aged by about a year for every five to ten years of real time that they actually lived. Their aging process apparently slows from the onset of adulthood.’

Conrad studied the faces in the picture. ‘It’s the woman from Ridvan Kadir’s school picture,’ he said quietly.

‘I agree,’ murmured Anatole.

‘So do I,’ said Laura.

‘How can you be so certain?’ said Connelly, her tone skeptical.

‘Her eyes are old,’ replied Conrad. ‘Only an immortal who has lived through centuries of hardship could have that look. From her appearance, I would put her at 460 to 500 years old.’ He paused. ‘She’s in the prime of her existence.’

Connelly observed him blankly for a moment. She blew out a sigh. ‘Jesus, Greene. There are times when I forget what you guys are. She doesn’t look a day older than you.’

Conrad hesitated. ‘I was born three years before Prince Mustafa’s death.’

Connelly blanched. ‘So Victor is—?’

‘A lot older and wiser than me,’ Conrad interrupted. He leaned impatiently across the table. ‘Put all their shots out to the media. Let’s see what we get. We take off for Washington within the hour.’

PART THREE: VELOCITY

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
he next piece of the puzzle came from an unexpected source.

Somewhere over the North Atlantic, Conrad awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes and blinked groggily at Laura’s shadowy shape.

‘Hey,’ she said softly. ‘Donaghy just called. She’s got something for us.’

Conrad glanced at his watch. Three hours had passed since they left Paris. It was almost midnight, continental time.

Shortly after they lifted off, he had ordered the two immortals and the Secret Service agent to get some rest. Despite his strict instructions, it had taken him a while to drop off to sleep, his head too full of the day’s events to be able to relax. He stifled a yawn and stretched his shoulders.

Laura’s face grew thoughtful. She glanced furtively to where Anatole and Stevens slept at the rear of the cabin, grabbed the front of Conrad’s shirt, leaned down, and kissed him hard.

Conrad’s eyes slammed wide open before drooping half-closed. He made an inarticulate noise at the back of his throat, curled his fingers around her nape, and deepened the kiss.

Laura melted in his hold. ‘Okay!’ she gasped seconds later. She pulled back sharply. ‘I think you’re awake now!’

Conrad groaned and tried to quell the tide of lust sweeping through his body. ‘Shit,’ he whispered, knuckles whitening on the armrests, ‘I really want to—’

‘Trust me,’ Laura murmured, ‘nothing would give me greater pleasure than ripping your clothes off and testing out the tensile strength of this chair, but I’m afraid Harry might need therapy afterward.’ She smiled and leaned in. ‘You never were a morning person,’ she said in a throaty voice. ‘I recall having to do some terribly wicked things to wake you at times.’

Her breath in his ear raised goosebumps along his skin.

She has to be doing this deliberately
, Conrad thought achingly. The playful light in her eyes was almost his undoing. He did his best to suppress the torrid memories her words evoked and crossed the aisle to the table holding the onboard computer. He brought up the White House link while she roused the two sleeping men.

‘Hi,’ said Donaghy on the screen. The CIA agent was in the seat usually occupied by the Director of National Intelligence. ‘Connelly’s upstairs with Westwood and the Joint Chiefs,’ she explained at Conrad’s questioning look. ‘Looks like DEFCON 3 is seriously on the table. The North Koreans are making some pretty aggressive tactical maneuvers in the Sea of Japan.’

Anxiety twisted through Conrad’s gut. This was the last piece of news he wished to hear.

‘Anyway, reason I’m calling is because of that little stunt Connelly and you decided to pull with the suspects’ photographs.’ Donaghy grimaced. ‘You won’t believe the number of crazies coming out of the woodwork since we showed those to the media,’ the CIA agent continued in a faintly accusing tone. ‘One name came up that we felt warranted immediate attention.’ She cocked a thumb to something on her left. ‘From the big-ass digital flowchart on the wall monitor, I gathered the explosive engineering experts Connelly and you talked to earlier today mentioned a Professor Svein Hagen during their video call. Well, guess what? I have a Dawn Hagen on the line at the moment from London. She’s the professor’s only surviving child and is a physics undergrad at Imperial College. She says she has some important information for us. Seems she tried Homeland first and couldn’t get anyone to put her through. She called the White House directly in the end. We’ve run a background check. She’s the real deal.’