Morvicti Blood (A Morvicti Novel Book 1) (19 page)

Shock swept over her face. “We’re going to
leave
London? What about my job and my students?”

“It will be taken care of, honey. It’s too dangerous for us to stay here.”

Angelique stared at her hands. “This is my home. I love this city.”

Michael took both of her hands in his. “But I’ll be with you. No matter where we are, we’re home if we have each other.”

Angelique nodded. “I hate to leave, but I’m glad I finally know the truth. Now we have no more secrets.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His friend, who Austin now knew was his brother-in-law, kissed Angelique. “My superiors aren’t thrilled.” Remington shrugged.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to smooth things out with them just fine, Professor. Or should I start calling you Mr. Bond. Mr. James Bond.”

The three of them laughed.

“I prefer ‘Professor’ or ‘Michael’ if you don’t mind. But we’re still in the dark about you, Austin. Doesn’t make any sense. I’m not a medical expert, but wouldn’t someone who had been under for so long need time to recover to get their strength back?”

Austin finished his drink and sat the empty can down on the table. “Doesn’t make any sense to me either. None of it.”

Angelique spoke up, “I might know why you woke up from such a long coma and seem just as vital as you were years ago.” She turned to Michael. “You constantly tell me that I look the same as the day we got married. Is that true or just a lie?”

“Of course, it’s true.”

She ran her hands through his hair. “Austin and I are twins. I’m sure he heals just like me. You remember when I sliced my hand last November. The wound was gone in two days. I didn’t even scar.”

“That’s not the same thing as taking a bullet to the chest, sweetheart.” Michael clearly wasn’t convinced. Neither was Austin. “But there’s no denying your brother looks identical to when I last saw him in Iraq.” Michael looked at him and shook his head. “He hasn’t aged a single day.”

“I don’t know about that, but you are right about one thing, buddy. I should be dead. That bullet went into the center of my chest, but there is no scar.” He pulled up the sweater to show them.

“My God, how is that possible?” Michael looked stunned.

Angelique came over and touched him where the wound should have been. “I’m sure our genetics have something to do with why you’re still with us.” She nodded. “That has to be the answer.”

Angelique started pacing around the room.

“Are you okay, Sis?”

“Give her a second, buddy,” Michael said. “That’s how she thinks when she has a big problem to solve.”

After three laps around the room, she stopped. “We don’t know who our biological parents are, Austin, but I have an idea their DNA is different from most. There’s a hypothesis that I heard about when I first came to London that might be the answer to why our bodies heal so fast. Dr. Thomas Wilson believes—”

“Dr. Thomas Wilson?” he and Michael said together, jumping up from their seats.

Michael grabbed Angelique by the hand. “It’s his hypothesis you’re talking about? The man in the papers?”

“Yes. And I can see by the looks on both your faces you’ve discussed Dr. Wilson and his connection to that serial killer. According to Scotland Yard, he is not a suspect in the case at all. Why the killer is interested in him is still a mystery. Dr. Wilson is cooperating with the investigation in every way.”

“Do you know Dr. Wilson personally?” Austin asked her.

“I don’t, but Kelsi does.”

“Dr. Vickers?” Michael asked.

She nodded.

Austin didn’t like that his sister was connected to a serial killer by just a couple of acquaintances.
Six degrees of separation, my ass.
“Who is Dr. Vickers?”

“She works at the British Museum. She’s a friend of Angelique’s.” Michael put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Are you sure you’ve never come in contact with the man, honey?”

“I did meet Dr. Wilson once a long time ago in my first year of university. Why the intense interest in Dr. Wilson? Does it have anything to do with what happened to Austin?”

Michael brought out the note. It was wrapped in a clear evidence bag. “Because this was found in one of the pockets of the overcoat your brother was carrying. It’s another Ripper letter to Dr. Wilson.”

Angelique read the letter, and her eyes widened. “Do you think what happened to Austin might be connected to the murders of those women?”

“We just don’t know,” Remington answered. “Still trying to piece it together. The team checked this letter out and didn’t find a single fingerprint, partial or otherwise. But we think the overcoat could be the killer’s.”

“Angelique, tell us about the doctor’s hypothesis,” Austin said, his curiosity piquing.

“Dr. Wilson believes that there are large percentages of other hominids’ DNA that still exist in a single group living in the world today, maybe even direct descendants. He’s spent his entire life trying to locate them.”

“I thought the other hominids died out tens of thousands of years ago,” Remington said.

“Not entirely true. In fact, it’s been proven recently that modern day humans carry a small percentage of Neanderthal genes, especially those of European and Asian descent. Wilson’s hypothesis is that an unknown hominid group continued to evolve alongside
Homo sapiens.
”

“And what does that have to do with you and me, Sis?”

“We don’t know who our biological parents are, Austin. Who’s to say we aren’t carrying a large percentage of Dr. Wilson’s unknown hominids’ DNA in our blood? He believes that the modern day descendants of this species might have a leg up on the rest of humanity with their immune systems. His whole search for this hominid gene is to help find cures for the diseases plaguing mankind, like cancer, heart disease, and more.”

“So you think that you and I might have this unique DNA?”

“Yes.”

“One question,” Michael said. “If you believe that why haven’t you reached out to Dr. Wilson to have him test you?”

“Until now I didn’t believe it. Actually, I wouldn’t let myself believe it.” She sighed. “Because Dr. Wilson isn’t regarded highly in academic circles.”

Austin knew in his gut that this Wilson character was connected in some way to all that had happened to him. How and how much, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was determined to find out. “Maybe we should visit this Dr. Wilson fellow.”

“Absolutely we should,” Remington said. “He’s involved, that’s for certain. I’m still not convinced that you and Angelique aren’t fully, uh…human.”

Angelique grinned. “Honey, just because Austin and I might not be one hundred percent
Homo sapien
doesn’t mean we aren’t the same species. Whoever took my brother after he got shot made sure he was cared for. Given the extent of his injury, most would have died.”

“Austin wasn’t breathing. The medic could not detect a heartbeat.”

“He recovered because of his supercharged metabolism. Dr. Wilson’s hypothesis on hyper-hibernation might explain that, too.” She went on to tell them both about the man’s ideas on extended reparative dormancy in hominids.

“Even with that, it is still hard for me to accept how your brother can be standing right in front of us. No man comes back from the dead.”

“Have you ever heard of CPR? Near death experiences? People being shocked back to life after their hearts stop? There’s something special inside our bodies that helps us recover. I’ve never been sick a day in my life, have you, Austin?”

“No colds or flu. Never. The picture of perfect health,” he said. “Until I got shot.”

“If what Angelique is saying turns out to be true, that means this conspiracy goes all the way back to our last mission,” Remington said. “Someone very high up made sure you and I thought Austin was dead. Why?”

“Whatever the reason, honey, Austin is here with us now,” Angelique said.

Michael’s eyes landed back on him. “But let’s not get sidetracked. Is there any more that you can tell me?”

“No,” he answered. “I’ve told you everything.”

“So who, exactly, did Angelique and I bury?”

“Hell, I don’t have a clue. Like you said before, whoever is behind this has access to a ton of resources.”

“That’s an understatement. Whoever hid and cared for you for so long must have had a reason. We just need to learn their identity to figure out why.”

“Hopefully, your guys will have some answers for us when they get to Murphy Street.”

An officer rushed in carrying a cell phone. “Sir, it’s Harris.”

Remington took the phone and clicked on the speaker. “What did you find?”

“The building on Murphy Street was wiped clean, Sir.”

“What about the body or the other people on beds in the inner room?” Austin asked.

“It was vacant. No body, fibers, hairs, fingerprints. Nothing. It’s completely sterile. Very professional. Someone was expecting us.”

CHAPTER 33

2:15 PM

David Bathry watched Octavian Drake’s limousine arrive at the car park. He plastered the best smile he could muster on his face and walked out to greet him. “It’s so good to see you, Your Majesty.”

“And you, Sir Bathry.” The bastard extended his hand, which of course he shook. “Thank you for meeting us on such short notice.”

Lowering his gaze as the bile came up his throat, he answered submissively, “Your will is my duty, Your Majesty. Always.”

“We don’t stand on formality these days.” Drake smiled. “That is only for ceremonies, which I could do less of having to attend.”

“David.” Poole offered his hand.

“Belisarius.”

They shook hands.

“What’s the status on that APW you told me about?”

“Still trying to get it taken down, as you requested,” Bathry lied. “But it isn’t so easy.” To question them more was a risk, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Jack was still on the loose. “I’m not sure what is important to the Morvicti about this particular man. Do you, my lords, like the Met, think he’s the copycat Ripper?”

Drake answered sharply, “McCord is not The Ripper, Bathry.”

He had struck a nerve with the noble, which only added to his curiosity.

McCord? Now I have a name.
“Yes, Majesty.”

Even more than before, he wanted to pin The Ripper slayings on this McCord fellow, whose location he now knew after studying hours of video feeds.

His orthodox brethren were about to end McCord’s life.

Bathry had forged a suicide note that denoted McCord was The Ripper. It would be arriving at Scotland Yard within the hour, complete with the address where McCord’s corpse could be found. The police and the Morvicti would come to the conclusion McCord was The Ripper.

The news would ring out from London to the nine seats of the Imperial Morvicti Council.

With both the police and council’s attention on Coach and Horse Street, he would have more time to locate the real Ripper.

If in any way McCord was tied to Octavian, so much the better. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

“Of course,” Drake said.

He led them through the front door and into a non-descript room. The first of many doors and stairs opened after he finished the sequence of codes. Rapidly, he went through the safeguards at each checkpoint as they descended into the secret passages.

At the lowest level, he led Drake and Poole to the gates, etched with the inscription from their ancient tongue, which translated as: “Those who pass these iron gates have been forgotten and must pay Kharon’s fee.”

Kharon, the ferryman, and the very first of the Bathry Bloodline.

Albert stood on the other side of the gate. “My lords.” He bowed. “Have you a coin?”

Drake and Poole each produced a gold piece, the ceremonial tribute required to enter, whether born noble or low.

Albert took the coins and placed them in the black satchel. He brought out a giant iron key and unlocked the gates. When he swung them open, a piercing shriek of metal filled the cavern.

Bathry grinned.
I love that sound.

Drake and Poole grimaced.

“This way.” He didn’t wait for them, but headed through the gates and down the main passageway. This was Bathry domain. Here, he was king, not Octavian Drake.

Drake and Poole caught up to him. Their narrowing eyes and thinning lips were clear signs of the men’s silent revulsion at having to enter The Sanctuary of the Forgotten.

Their discomfort gave him such pleasure. “We do not have guests often, Majesty. And never any of your standing. This is quite an honor to my bloodline.”

They walked silently through the long hallway, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Bathry was quite used to the smell, a combination of the dampness and the hundreds of bodies resting here, but he knew the royals would literally be turning up their noses to it. He nonchalantly glanced back and stifled a grin at what he saw. The two nobles seemed to be doing their best to hold their breath.