Morvicti Blood (A Morvicti Novel Book 1) (24 page)

“I thought Michael would be here by now,” Angelique said.

Even though Austin was concerned, he tried to sound casual. “He’s an important man, Sis. That explosion might be keeping him busier than he thought, or someone else needed him. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” He wasn’t about to mention that Michael had decided to make a stop on a tip he received about The Ripper, hoping to find Commissioner Poole there, too. That would worry her even more.

“I hope you’re right, but in light of everything that has happened, I’m still worried.”

He put his arm around her. “Of course you are.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me. I would not want to face this by myself.”

Her words, though not meant to cut him, took him back to the day he left her alone after their parents’ funeral. He vowed in silence that he would never do that again.

Gita returned with a full tray. “I thought you might like some biscuits to go with your tea.”

“Thank you,” Angelique said.

“Cream or sugar for either of you?”

Angelique answered, “Just cream.”

Not being a frequent tea drinker, he didn’t have a preference. “Which do you suggest?”

“Sugar.”

“Then sugar would be fine, thank you.”

Gita filled one of the cups, passing it over to Angelique. She filled another and held it for him.

He reached for it, noticing Gita’s palm. “Your hands have the same coloring as my sister’s and mine do.”

Gita dropped the cup. She bent down to clean the mess.

Angelique knelt next to her to help. “I’ve never seen anyone with the same kind of hands as mine or Austin’s before. Ever. Where are you from?”

“The coloring of my hands and feet are a result of poor circulation. Nothing else.”

“Your feet, too.” Angelique looked at her, smiling. “Just like mine and Austin’s. Gita, we might be related.”

“I notice an accent,” he said. “What country are you from?”

“Poland. That’s my country.” She grinned. “And, yes, many do have the same pigment on their hands and feet. Perhaps you two are Polish. You do not know your heritage?”

“We were adopted,” Angelique answered. “This is exciting. Austin, what do you think about us being Polish?”

He shrugged, though he loved seeing Angelique so enthusiastic instead of worrying. “Gita, when you get a cut does it take a long time to heal?”

“Like most from my country, I heal quickly.”

Angelique smiled. “So do we.”

They heard the lift going down.

“That must be Dr. Wilson now,” Gita said.

“Or maybe my husband.”

He wasn’t about to correct Angelique that Michael would have had to ring the bell, knowing she was anxious to see him. Reaching into his jacket, he wrapped his hand around the gun.

The doors of the lift opened and an elderly man with a cane stepped into the room.

Austin released the gun, but kept his hand ready.

“Gita, who are these people in my home?” the man asked, clearly irritated.

She snapped back, “Your guests.”

Angelique stood. “Dr. Wilson, I’m Dr. Angelique McCord. You may not remember me, but I went to one of your lectures at King’s College, where I am now a professor.”

“I don’t remember you, but it is a pleasure to meet you again.”

“This is my brother, Austin. My husband, Michael, should be arriving any time. He’s with the U.S. Embassy.”

Wilson walked to the chair by the table, and sat. “I’m sorry for my rude behavior, Dr. McCord, but it has been a very difficult day. Please sit down.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wilson.”

His smile seemed genuine to Austin. Dr. Wilson didn’t seem capable of doing harm to anyone.

“What is this about, young lady?” The old guy turned to Gita. “Bring us some tea.”

“I already have.” She produced a cup and placed it in front of him. Out of sight of Dr. Wilson, Gita grinned.

Austin detected a deep fondness between the two despite their brusque behavior with one another.

Dr. Wilson took a sip of the tea. “Just the way I like it, Gita. Thank you, my dear. Before we get to the matters at hand, do either of you mind if I smoke?” He produced a pipe from his jacket.

“Not at all. Do you mind, Austin?” Angelique smiled. She liked Dr. Wilson, and so did he.

“Though I don’t smoke, I do like the aroma of good tobacco.”

“Austin, you’re a man after my own heart. If you ever give it a try, I am sure you would enjoy it as much as me. But I do not recommend it. This vice has been mine for many decades. My doctor wants me to quit, but of course that is out of the question.” Dr. Wilson lit his pipe. “Down to business. Dr. McCord, what brings you to my home? You said your husband is with the U.S. Embassy. I can’t imagine what they would want with me.”

He thought about trying to stall until Michael arrived. But this old man seemed trustworthy.
If not, I have my gun.
“My sister’s husband has another Ripper letter that is addressed to you. That’s why we’re here.”

Gita groaned, collapsing into a chair by the sofa. “Not another one.”

Dr. Wilson took a long drag on his pipe. The smoke billowed up to the ceiling. He turned to Angelique. “Why does your husband have this letter? The others came directly here to me.”

“Others, Dr. Wilson?” Angelique looked surprised. “The papers only talked about one.”

“I received a package just this morning from the killer with a note inside. But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

Austin appreciated the man’s directness. “The letter her husband has was found at another murder scene.”

“He’s killed someone else.” Gita’s eyes welled up.

Dr. Wilson’s hand trembled as he placed his pipe down. “Has the victim been identified?”

“Yes. Walt Turner.”

Gita gasped.

“You can’t be serious.” Wilson’s face was full of shock. “I was at Walt Turner’s offices this afternoon. Now I understand why he never came in to work.”

Austin leaned forward. “You knew him?”

The old guy shook his head. “I went to see him because I needed his approval to get tissue samples from the two mummies in the museum’s exhibit that ended today.”

“The Headless Mummies of Egypt?”

“Yes. Now, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“What’s important about these samples?” Angelique asked.

“Everything.” Dr. Wilson turned to Angelique. “You said you attended one of my lectures.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then you might recall my hypothesis about living hominids.”

“Every word, sir.”

He smiled. “When I was studying for my PhD I came across some evidence of their existence during an archeological dig in Guatemala. But the local government, even though they had given us the authority to be there, destroyed the two mummies we’d discovered along with the documentation we’d recorded.” Dr. Wilson sighed. “I was the lone survivor of that tragic expedition. Despite my best efforts, nothing was ever returned. In fact, to this very day, there is no record that the dig ever occurred.”

Austin could see on the man’s face that the incident he spoke of had left quite a mark on him.

“Terrible times.” Dr. Wilson sighed. “Five years later, I had a breakthrough in my research, or so I thought. A colleague wrote to me about another headless mummy that had been unearthed in China. He’d witnessed the same result with his tissue sample that I had in South America. A fire in his laboratory killed him and destroyed his findings.”

“Do you believe that someone was trying to sabotage the work?” Austin asked.

“Most definitely I do. And six years ago, one of my technicians collected a saliva sample from a neighbor of his. The woman’s genetic markers came out twenty-five percent of an unknown hominid species. He tested the sample three times to make sure before asking me to take a look at it. When I came down to the lab, the sample and his materials were gone. When I tried to locate the woman and found there was absolutely no record she ever existed, I thought the whole thing was a practical joke, so I sacked him. Now, I’m thinking I made a big mistake.”

“So you believe those three events are connected somehow?” Angelique asked.

“Doesn’t that sound like sabotage to you? Someone or some group does not want this information exposed.”

Since Dr. Wilson was sharing, he decided it was time to put all the cards on the table. He told him about waking up in the building on Murphy Street. Every detail.

Dr. Wilson continued to suck on his pipe, taking his words in. Gita sat back quietly, but seemed just as interested.

He and Angelique provided the details from his arrival at her flat, to being followed by Commissioner Poole, to the explosion at the safe house, to being chased by the masked men, and to getting this address from Dr. Vickers.

“Are you certain the man who followed you from your home was Commissioner Poole?” Dr. Wilson asked.

“Absolutely,” Angelique said. “My husband has been trying to locate him all day. Do you mind if I use your phone? I lost mine in the explosion. Michael should have been here by now.”

“Of course you may.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a mobile phone.

“Thank you.” She dialed Michael’s number. “Voicemail. I’m even more worried now.”

Austin was, too.

CHAPTER 42

6:20 PM

David Bathry sat in the nearly empty Internet café staring at the frozen image on his laptop of Austin McCord. He was desperate for a way out of this impossible situation.

If he had been at his office, logging back into the facial recognition system would have been simple. Any new hits on McCord through the closed circuit cameras around the city would have been picked up. But he could not take the risk. The Morvicti could easily trace him that way.

He knew he was running out of time and could not stay here much longer. Octavian’s soldiers would be coming for him. He needed an answer, a plan, something.

Trembling, he held his mobile. There was one contact he had but he dreaded ringing him.

For the first time in his life, he felt real fear. The continued existence of his bloodline was at stake. More importantly, so was his life.

I don’t have any other choice.
The number was not contained in his contact list. That was forbidden. But being Morvicti, he would never forget it.

He punched in the digits.

“Hello?” The voice sent a chill down his spine.

“This is David Bathry.”

“I was expecting your call. Seems you’ve created quite the stir.” A menacing laugh followed.

“I’m sorry to ring you, Your Grace.”

“Are you? The Brotherhood has been good to you, David. We have supported your bloodline for centuries since the reprehensible act, but this particular mission was your father’s construct. Not ours.”

The reprehensible act had pitted the Bathry Bloodline against the Drakes. The act occurred immediately after the uprising of the poor, doomed bloodline, the Stalcucs. If they had triumphed, Bathry imagined the world would be a much better place than it was now. The Stalcucs had followed the old ways, believing not only that the Morvicti were the superior species, but also that humans should know that they were.
And fear them.

“Your Grace, I beg you, have mercy on me. I need your help in this matter.”

“David,” the leader of the Brotherhood said in a parental tone, “We have helped you. Your decision to send our soldiers to Coach and Horses was a disaster. We are now exposed. May I remind you of the chaos and havoc we suffered after the uprising of the Stalcucs?”

“But, Your Grace, there were some victories during those years. The unrighteous Drakes, the most royal of all, were at the brink of extinction.”

“And so was every other bloodline. David, you, like your father, are a hammer. But what the Brotherhood needs in this age are scalpels.”

“Please, Your Grace. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“You Bathrys are all alike. Ready to cast your lot with whatever side you believe is winning. While your father prized loyalty above everything, your bloodline as a whole believes survival trumps other virtues. I know that until a clear victor emerges, few Bathrys will dare swear fealty to the Brotherhood. I’m sorry, David. You’re on your own.”

The line went dead and Bathry’s hope vanished. “Damn him. Damn him to hell.”

He closed his eyes, recalling how his bloodline’s hate for the Drakes began.

His grandfather, then head of their bloodline, recognized that there were innocents in the war between the Stalcucs and the noble bloodlines. He agreed to hide the Drake royal children in The Sanctuary of the Forgotten, knowing that no one would choose to look there if they didn’t have to.

Roxanna Drake had lived among the Bathrys for ten years. She lived in the darkness of the sanctuary for that entire time, not allowed to come and go like the Bathrys. She learned to navigate the labyrinthine passageways. She supposedly even helped with the prisoner feedings, although Bathry had trouble believing the fair princess would dirty her hands.