Immortal (29 page)

I almost pulled the trigger, mainly out of spite. He was right though. I hadn’t been careful for a very long time. It used to be it wasn’t a big deal to spout off in a tavern somewhere, because odds were, nobody of consequence would be within earshot. But, it also used to be true, that a boat trip across the Mediterranean would be an effective way to disappear and that it was possible to change your name just by deciding to call yourself something different. The world had changed, and I’d lost track again. Eventually something like this was bound to happen.

“Okay.” I slipped the gun into my bag. “You can live.”

“Geez, thanks,” he muttered. I started to walk away, toward the air field.

“Hey, Adam,” Jerry called out after me.

“What?”

“Why’re you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“The girl. You were already done with her. Why do you even care?”

I smiled. “Because I’m the hero.”

I’m a little worried. I deliberately led Ringo closer to the second cell this morning. The last two times we did this, the creature in that cell hit the door hard. Since Ringo hates it when that happens, I can only do this once in a while because otherwise he’ll figure out it’s intentional. Anyhow, it’s just about the only way I can check to make sure it’s still alive in there. And today, nothing. The door didn’t rock at all. And the late night booming noises stopped some time ago. Hope it’s not dead. That would mean it’s not what I thought it was, which would screw up everything.

*
 
*
 
*

I followed the snow-covered dirt path the rest of the way to the airfield. It wasn’t much of a walk. Had I waited another thirty seconds to pounce upon my driver, it might have been too late. One does not want to get into a life-or-death struggle in a careening minivan on a landing strip with multiple witnesses and multiple gas-filled and grounded airplanes for targets. This much I have learned.

Actually, the multiple witness part was something I just made up. It turned out this was a very small airfield, clearly privately owned, with a total of three airplanes standing in front of a hangar that looked barely large enough to accommodate two and a single plowed runway. (I would love to tell you what kind of planes they were, but I’m only just past the “man was not meant to fly, Mr. Wright” phase.) So rather than there being a gaggle of potential witnesses, there was exactly one.

Sitting in a Jeep next to the building was what I at first took to be a smallish man with short hair in a bulky flight jacket, but who, on closer inspection, turned out to be a normal-sized woman. She had flight jockey-type mirrored sunglasses on. As she was facing me, I could only assume she was also watching while I made my way close enough to hold a decent conversation.

“Hello,” I said.

“Good morning,” she answered, unmoving.

The hangar behind her was attached to a small, windowed office. I could see a radio inside and gathered that if one wanted to take off from this airfield, one must first radio in one’s intentions using this. (I learned this by watching movies, so who knows if it was true. Sounded good though.) The door was padlocked and on the door was written the legend “Patti’s Chartered Flights.” I made an inferential leap.

“You must be Patti,” I said.

She nodded. “You must be my twelve-fifteen.”

“I must be.”

“Except,” she went on, “You can’t possibly be my twelve-fifteen.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because I was contracted to take two men.”

“The other guy couldn’t make it,” I said.

“Uh-huh.” She looked over my shoulder at the road I’d just emerged from. “Must have been a long walk from the highway.”

“I like walking. Very healthy.”

“It’s thirty degrees out, there’s snow on the ground, and you have no coat.”

“Well, sure,” I agreed, “it’s a little chilly.”

Patti repositioned herself uneasily in the Jeep. I wasn’t winning her over with my world-class charm. “Sounded like there was some kind of accident up the road there,” she said. “Should I call an ambulance? Or just skip on ahead and phone the police?”

“That depends,” I said. “What’s your position on guns?”

“Pardon me?”

“Let’s say I have a handgun in my bag here. Would you take my word for it, or do I have to pull it out and show it to you?”

She thought about it. “Honestly, I think you’d have to show it to me.”

“All right.” I produced the gun from the bag. “Do you need for me to point it at you, too, or shall we just proceed to the next step?”

She stared at the gun for a few seconds. “No, that’s fine. What can I do for you?”

“You were chartered to take two men?”

“Yeah.”

“By whom?” I asked.

“Guy named John Filcher. Blond, moderately handsome, forgettable personality.”

“Sounds like the right guy. Where were we going?”

“He said he’d file a flight plan before takeoff. I usually don’t do business like that, but his money was good and there was a lot of it.” She seemed remarkably unconcerned about the gun, all things considered.

I looked at one of the planes. “What’s the range on these?”

“Full tank, I could take you as far as the Keys.”

“Florida?”

“Yes, those Keys.”

“How about Seattle?”

“Maybe halfway with a tailwind.”

So, provided Grindel was my man—and he was still in the Seattle area—John had planned a multi-leg trip. He’d probably lined up two or three private flights through other charter companies so no one pilot would know he’d begun the day in Jersey. That’s what I would do. “Did he pay in advance?”

“Sure did.”

“How bright of you,” I said.

“I like to think so.”

I slipped the gun back into the bag. “As it turns out, I may just need an airplane.”

Patti looked at me skeptically. “Drugs?”

“What?” Was she offering me some?

“Is this about drugs?”

“Ah. No.”

“Are we doing something illegal, illicit, or otherwise immoral?”

“No, no, and I don’t think so.”

“Yet, if I drove a few hundred yards that way I would find what? A dead guy in a wrecked car?”

“You just might, yes.”

“Care to explain that?”

“I’d love to,” I said, “but I honestly think I don’t have the time right now.”

She stared at me for several seconds, until it felt like she was the one with the gun and not me. Finally, she said, “Okay, so where are we going?”

“I’m not sure yet. I could use about an hour. I have my own phone.”

*
 
*
 
*

Safely tucked in the corner of Patti’s office—away from the window and in front of the space heater—I reached into my bag and pulled out the one-button mystery phone.

The display on it read “
EN
RTE
.”

It occurred to me that Robert Grindel—or whoever would be on the other end of the phone when I used it—had done something extremely foolish. He’d taken the simple task of picking me up and having me delivered, and turned it into a contest. All the soldiers of fortune that had come after me had been working independent of one another and, more to the point, against one another. It was like a Bruce Lee movie, where everyone attacked two or three at a time instead of just bum rushing the guy. And Bruce always came out on top. (When I watch his movies, I wonder what Bruce would have done if he’d faced a Mongol horde. Those guys knew how to use overwhelming force.)

I checked outside the window. Patti was busy prepping the airplane and had not yet done something unpleasant like contacting the police, so far as I could tell. I could have made her stay in the office where I could keep an eye on her, but something made me think she was trustworthy. Don’t know what, but then I never do. She just didn’t seem like the type. Also, given the circumstances, it must have made more sense to her to be able to claim she was in the air when the man on her private road turned up with a broken neck.

Enough stalling. I flipped open the phone and hit the button.

The phone didn’t ring. Instead I was treated to about ten seconds of white noise, followed by a recording of a woman’s voice telling me to “please stand by” followed by another ten seconds of white noise. I remembered how impressed Tchekhy had been when he looked at the device and how I’d been told it was a satellite phone, and that it was probably an encrypted one. I had to remember to send it to Tchekhy when I was done with it so he could check out the insides. He’d probably accept that as full payment for services rendered.

Finally a man answered.

“Hello, Adam,” he said. “Or is that not what you’re calling yourself now?”

“That’ll do,” I said. I shouldn’t have been surprised he knew who was on the other end of the line, but I was. “And you must be Robert Grindel.”

There was a slight delay on his end of the call. “Touché,” he said. “How is the man I had assigned to bring you here?”

“Dead. Sorry about that.”

“Well,” he said. “One in Boston, four in Central Park—plus the one you crippled—and now this. You’re leaving quite a trail of bodies behind you, Adam.”

You ever talk to someone and think, his voice just isn’t that deep? That was the impression Robert Grindel was giving me.

“Whose fault is that?” I asked.

“Mine, I suppose. Can’t guarantee law enforcement will see it that way. Should I call them? Tell them who they should be looking for?”

“You wouldn’t do that, Robert.”

“No. I guess I wouldn’t,” he agreed. “Killing the demon was particularly impressive. He’s been quite a mystery for the local coroner.”

“Has he?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been reading their files. Nobody protects anything properly any more, you know. The lack of security is really amazing. They say half his body had disintegrated before it even reached their office, and the entire thing dissolved completely overnight. I don’t know about you, but I find that fascinating.”

Actually it was sort of fascinating. The idea that demons had a self-destruct mechanism would explain how a creature that large could go virtually unnoticed by the modern scientific community. “What do you want, Robert?” I asked, getting back to the point. “Why have you been doing this?”

He laughed, temporarily straying into a more natural higher octave. “I want you to come visit me.”

“And this is how you go about asking?”

“I couldn’t have you saying no,” he said.

“I might not have,” I argued.

“Your instinct is to run, Adam. I think that’s been firmly established. Look at what you did to my man in Boston before you even understood what was happening.”

“I suppose you read that report, too?”

“I did. And I understand. I really do. Underneath that veneer of modern sophistication, you are still the feral ape man lashing out instinctively when cornered.”

“Gosh, you make it sound so romantic.”

“It is,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Your brutality is a marvel. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”

Zeus, was he going to ask me out on a date, or what? “Look, Robert, let’s skip ahead. Is the girl with you?”

“Not yet, but I expect her here very soon. I look forward to meeting her.”

“Great,” I said. “Listen, I probably don’t need to tell you this, but if you hurt her you’re going to get an up-close look at that brutality thing you find so marvelous.”

“Of course. But I highly recommend haste on your part. I can’t guarantee her safety forever.”

“Two days,” I said. “And you’d better call off your hunters. I’m coming in on my own.”

“I’m glad. Once you’re here I’m sure you’ll appreciate what I’m trying to accomplish.”

I didn’t think so. I was planning on going in, getting the girl, and leaving. “What might that be?”

“Something historic. But I can’t go into details now. You understand. Now, let me give you the coordinates.”

He dictated a series of numbers to me, which I dutifully wrote down despite not having a clear idea what they meant. He assured me anyone with a basic understanding of navigation could figure them out. He was kind enough to give me a hint. It was somewhere in Arizona. Guess he’d left Seattle.

“Don’t be late,” he recommended before hanging up. “I don’t want to hurt her, but . . . you understand my position.”

I hung up by pressing the button a second time. As soon as the call was disconnected the digital display blinked out. The phone was a one-use-only device, as I’d thought. Which was okay, because I really didn’t relish another conversation with Mr. Grindel. But I had two days to worry about that.

Tossing the device back into my bag, I retrieved the cell phone I’d taken from John in the minivan. I checked my watch. It was six in the evening in Zurich. They’d take my call anyway. Money buys lots of things.