The Silver Strand Legacy, page 11
part #1 of Eritis Trilogy Series
The thought of her friend falling victim to a similar accident had changed her anger into distress.
“Please, Marie, you must swear,” he insisted.
“No, absolutely not,” she said, her voice louder than she had intended. “If your life is in danger, we'll put you under police protection. We’ll—”
“I told you, it wouldn’t do any good. Those people have connections high up in the government. Involving the police might, in fact, lead them straight to me."
“Then you’ll come live with me. At least you wouldn’t be alone. I’ll protect you.”
“That’s not an option. I’ve already put you in enough danger as it is. I was lonely … and you reminded me so much of my daughter … I didn't think. Anyway, it’s too late for regrets. All I can do now is try to keep you as far away from all of this as possible. So, you have to promise me.”
"I can't … I won't …” she said, her voice shaking. “I won’t just sit around waiting for something bad to happen to you."
"No one’s saying that. I don't intend to just give up. I've taken a lot of precautions over the years to make sure they wouldn’t find me. It's obviously been working so far, and hopefully it will continue to."
"Right, of course it will,” she said, trying to reassure herself.
“Don’t worry. I’ve gotten quite good at staying invisible.”
She forced a smiled. "Good. But what about the other man in the picture? Is he your other friend? Does he know where you are?”
"Who, Jerome? Yes, he’s my friend. But he doesn’t know where I am. And I don’t know where he is. This way, if either one of us gets caught, he won’t be in a position to compromise the other.”
“I see.” She picked up the photograph and examined it again. "Are those same people after him too?"
"Oh yes!"
"And you have no contact with him whatsoever?"
The old man shot an involuntary glance at the laptop on the table.
"What? Is there something on the computer?" Marie asked.
"Well, we do have a way of getting in touch, though we’ve never used it. An old friend of ours set up two anonymous email accounts for us; one for Jerome and the other for me. But he warned us to use them only in case of an emergency.”
Marie reached for the laptop and slid it closer. It was logged in to an email inbox. A new email was open, but its contents were empty. She took a long look at the destination address. "You were going to send him a message?"
"I considered it. But what would be the point? No doubt Jerome has heard the awful news. And after this, I’m not even sure he would respond. Living in hiding tends to make one paranoid, you know.”
"If you're not sure about it, then don't write,” she said. “You should continue to be as careful as you can."
"I know. Don’t worry. I'll be all right."
The old man noticed Marie’s gaze lingering over him.
"I'm sorry,” she said. “It's just … you look different … older somehow."
"I'm just tired,” he exhaled. “So very tired.”
"Well, you're not alone anymore. You've got me now."
Her words seemed to genuinely bring him some comfort. "Thank you, Marie.”
"All right, enough of all this sentimental stuff," she said. "I’ll help you clean up this mess."
"No need to trouble yourself. I'll do it."
"No, no. It's no trouble, Sch—" She stopped mid-sentence.
"What is it?"
"I can't call you Schmidt anymore, can I? It’d be too weird now that I know it's not your real name.”
“It was already weird using a last name.”
“It’s not the same,” she said. “Anyway, I can't start calling you Karpov, or Aleksandr."
"Never," the old man told her.
Marie tapped her index finger on her lips. "Hmm … how about Alex?"
"Still too risky, I'm afraid."
"Ha! I know. You said you used to be a scientist. Is that why there’s the title of professor before your name on the picture?"
"Yes."
"At the moment you’re teaching night classes, and your students call you Professor, right?"
"Yes, they do …"
"Then I’ll do the same. If I call you Professor, it'll be real, but it won't raise any suspicions because if anyone hears it, they'll think I'm one of your students."
He thought about it and agreed it wouldn’t pose a problem. "Okay, if you prefer. I don't mind."
They exchanged a warm smile.
The old man knew, in truth, Marie didn’t really mind continuing to call him Schmidt. But she sensed he had been carrying a great burden over the years. A burden made heavier by the secrets he kept, especially the one about his identity. And although his students called him Professor, they did so unaware of the word’s true significance as it applied to him. But from now on, when Marie used the same word, it would have a different meaning because she knew the truth about him. It would be a way for her to help him reclaim a small piece of his true identity, and to help him cope with his self-inflicted isolation.
In less than ten minutes, the apartment was back to its usual immaculate state.
"I still can't believe there was a safe behind the painting all along,” said Marie. “I never suspected a thing. Some detective …”
"Don't be so hard on yourself. You had no way of knowing. Besides, as you saw, there's nothing of value in it, just some old documents.”
"Well, I suppose it's one more thing I’m going to have to get used to.” Marie hesitated. “You sure you don’t want me to stay over? I can sleep on the couch.”
"Don’t be ridiculous. I told you, I’ll be fine. Off you go.”
"OK. But remember, if you notice anything remotely suspicious, call me."
"I will."
"Promise?"
He smiled. "Hold on, weren’t you the one who was supposed to make me a promise?"
"You're trying to change the subject. It's not going to work. Promise me you'll call at the first sign of trouble, even if you’re not sure.”
"I promise, I promise."
"Good. I meant what I said. I'm here if you need me.”
"I know. Thank you."
“And if you change your mind about staying with me, don’t hesitate. I’m told my sofa bed is quite comfortable.”
He waved her away. “Just go home already.”
Marie nodded and headed for the door. But half-way down the hall, she remembered something. "By the way, who’s Adam?" she shouted.
The professor’s eyes widened. "What did you say?" he asked in a low voice.
She returned to the living room. "Adam. I thought I heard you mention the name when I arrived earlier."
"Uh …no … I don't think I know anyone by that name. You must have misheard."
"Oh, maybe I did. Never mind then." She waved him goodbye. "Good night, Professor."
"Good night."
After she had gone, the old man dropped on the sofa like a deflated balloon. Lucky for him, she had not been in a position to see his reaction when she’d mentioned the name Adam. Otherwise, she would certainly have caught the fear on his face. He let out a deep sigh of relief. "Phew! That was close."
The next day, Marie went back to the professor's place to check up on him. It was unusual for her to stop by two days in a row in the middle of the week, but the events of the previous night had been most unusual. She still felt awkward about the whole thing. The professor, on the other hand, was back to his normal self. His grief had temporarily made him feel vulnerable, and he had confided in her. But now, it was evident from his demeanor he had no intention of revisiting the subject. The message was clear: We will go on as though nothing happened, and we will not speak of this again.
And they never did. Their relationship continued as before, except she never again called him Schmidt.
Marie was still lying on her bed, half-awake, holding the precious photograph against her chest. Her mind was jumping from one memory to the next, re-living the moments she had shared with Professor Karpov over the short years, until, at last, she fell asleep.
Chapter 14 – Beginning
By the time Kincade’s group arrived at their destination, day was breaking. The first rays of light were shooting up from the horizon, illuminating the stage in preparation for the concert of birds that preceded the morning sun.
The van pulled up in an isolated property about 16 miles from the town of Quimper, in Brittany. It had been a long drive from outside the south of Paris to the northwest of France.
"We're here," said Ashrem as he turned off the engine.
"And where exactly is 'here'?" Rock asked from the back of the van.
Arianne nodded at the black-hooded Stanwell.
Rock realized at once the foolishness of his question. Why bother to blindfold someone for an entire trip only to tell them where you are when you arrive. "Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about this guy.”
“Where are we?” Stanwell asked. “What do you plan to do with me?”
“Shut up,” Rock told him.
The assistant’s neck was still sore from his earlier run-in with the colossus. Not eager to repeat the experience, he wisely decided to hold off on asking questions.
"Let’s go inside," said Arianne.
One by one, the group disembarked from the vehicle. Rock was put in charge of Stanwell. He helped the assistant down and guided him by the arm.
Kincade paused to take a look around. They had parked inside a property surrounded by trees and green fields, and the air carried the scent of the nearby ocean.
In front of them stood a two-story house with white stone walls, slate roof tiles, and metallic shutters covering the windows. It was a nice and simple house in the quiet countryside.
Thirty feet to their right was a wooden shed with a dark blue car parked inside. It reminded Kincade of the barn at his grandparents’ farm. He used to visit them in the summer as a kid. He had always enjoyed spending time with the animals there—the horses in particular. It felt strange that a shed in this foreign country could bring out those fond, but distant, memories from his childhood.
As the group neared the house, Sonar moved close to Kincade and whispered in his ear. "Nate, you sure it’s wise to follow them like this? What if there’s a welcoming committee waiting for us in there?"
In response, Kincade coolly nodded to Ashrem.
The young man was carrying Lucielle on his back. The long drive had been too tiring for her, so she had asked him for a piggyback ride. Ashrem was walking at a relaxed pace, no more than a couple of steps ahead of Da Costa. His was not the attitude of a man on the verge of engaging in a violent confrontation. Besides, since the manor, it had been apparent that both Ashrem and Arianne cared a great deal for the young analyst. Kincade did not believe they would endanger her by starting a gun fight around her.
Arianne was the first one through the door, with Kincade right on her heels. He stepped onto the wooden floor and surveyed the entrance area. A long hallway stretched out in front of him. To the left was a small room with four chairs, a coffee table, and a liquor cabinet. To the right was a wooden staircase leading up to the second floor.
"Please, come in. Make yourselves at home," said Arianne as the others followed her inside.
"Hold on,” said Kincade. “Da Costa and I will do a quick check around the house first. The rest of you stay put."
Neither Arianne nor Ashrem voiced a single word of protest. Kincade’s caution was understandable under the circumstances. The mercenaries had already been more obliging than they had any right to expect.
“Of course,” said Arianne, “but I should tell you—”
The ceiling creaked, interrupting her.
The mercenaries swiftly drew their weapons and aimed them at their traveling companions, and at the floor above them.
A round older man appeared at the top of the stairs. "Ah, Arianne, Ashrem, you're back. I was beginning to worry." He was wearing bizarrely-matched clothes. But even more peculiar was his lack of concern at the sight of strangers pointing guns at him.
“Someone else lives here,” Arianne said, finishing her sentence.
The old man came down the steps. "I see you've brought back friends.” He was smiling and cheerful.
Arianne made the introductions. "Everyone, this is Professor Jerome Fournier. Professor, these are the men sent by Leicester to capture us."
"I see … well, it’s nice to meet you all," he replied, untroubled.
"Anyone else up there?" Doc asked, peeking up the stairs.
"No, it’s just me, young man."
Doc gave Sonar a quick tap on the chest. "Let's go make sure."
As Professor Fournier watched the two men make their way up the stairs, a child's voice called to him.
"Hello, Professor."
The old man spun around and scanned the group. "Lucielle?"
The young girl had asked Ashrem to put her down and had been hiding behind Rock to surprise the professor. She stuck her head out and giggled before running to him.
He knelt down to hug her. "Oh, my dear girl. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. How are you? Have you been treated well?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Good. I’m so happy to see you." He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back slightly. "Let me have a look at you. My, you've grown. I can't believe you're eleven now."
"And a half," she corrected.
Rock rolled his eyes. "Argh, not again! Look, I hate to break up your little reunion, but we had a deal. Now I don't care who, but somebody better start explaining just what the hell happened back there."
The professor looked up at the hulk. “Did something happen to you, young man?” That was when he noticed the man in handcuffs with a hood over his head. “Why is—”
"Never mind him,” Rock interrupted. “From now on, we will be asking the questions."
Kincade turned to Arianne. "He's right. We had a deal.”
"Yes, we did," she said.
Doc and Sonar returned.
"All clear,” said the redhead.
“All right, you guys wait here,” said Kincade.
He and Da Costa proceeded down the L-shaped corridor, checking behind every door. Straight ahead, at the end, was a dining area with a long table and eight chairs arranged around it. To the left was a good-sized living room with two sofas, a big chair, two tall shelves, and a fireplace. On the other side of the house was the kitchen, a couple of bedrooms, and a door leading to the cellar.
Having completed their inspection, Kincade and Da Costa re-joined the group.
“OK,” said Kincade, “we’re good for now.”
“Good,” said Arianne. She invited everyone into the living room. “This way, please.”
Da Costa discreetly tugged Kincade by the sleeve. He waited until the others were far enough away and whispered, "There’s something off about these people. The old man didn't even flinch when he saw our guns, or when the girl told him who we were.”
“I know what you mean,” said Kincade. “They're acting a bit too carefree given the situation.”
“That's what I'm trying to tell you, Nate. It's not an act. They don't feel threatened by us at all. Not even the kid.”
Kincade rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Hmm … It’s true we agreed to follow them here, but … they do seem a bit too trusting.”
“Trust, eh? I guess that's one explanation.”
"Why, you got another one?"
“Like I said … they don’t see us as a threat.”
Kincade thought about the events at the manor. He still had trouble believing that the frail-looking Mitsuki had been able to wreak such havoc. His carelessness had almost cost him his life. “I get your point. They may look harmless, but at the very least some of them aren’t. We underestimated them once. Let’s not make the same mistake again."
Da Costa nodded.
“Come on,” said Kincade, “let's join the others.”
“Ah, there you are,” said the old man as Kincade and Da Costa walked into the living room. “I was just asking your friends if they wanted something to drink.”
“No, thanks,” said Kincade.
Da Costa shook his head.
Arianne sensed a change in Kincade’s demeanor. "Is something the matter?"
"It's nothing.”
“Yo, Nate. What should we do with this guy?” Rock asked as he tapped Stanwell on the head.
Kincade glanced at the captive. “There’s a cellar across the kitchen. You and Sonar can stash him down there. And don’t forget to take off his hood once he’s tied up.”
Ignoring Stanwell’s complaints, Rock and Sonar escorted him to the cellar.
They returned shortly afterward and, rather than sit down, posted themselves by the doorway.
“Hehe, he’s comfortable down there,” Rock chuckled.
“All right, we’re all here,” said Kincade. He turned to Arianne. “Let’s hear it. Who are you guys?”
“I suppose I should be the one to explain,” said the professor. He stood in the middle of the room and began, "Back in the late 1970's, not long after the Vietnam War—”
“Hey, Pops!” Rock cut him off. “You can skip the history lesson. Just answer the question.”
The giant had reached the limit of his patience; a sentiment shared by his comrades.
Sonar squinted at the old man with suspicion. “Are you trying to stall us or something?”
“If you could be a patient just a little bit longer,” Arianne pleaded. “What we are about to tell you will make more sense if you hear the story from the beginning.”
“Come on, guys,” said Doc, “let's hear them out. And you, Professor, try to get to the point.”
“Young people these days … always in a hurry,” Fournier lamented. “Anyway, as I was saying, after the Vietnam War, an unofficial branch of the American government, let’s call it ‘the Agency’, put together a team to work on a special project. The team was led by a woman named Michelle Brainsworth, one of the world's most prominent scientists at the time. They were tasked with the development of new drugs to enhance soldiers.”
