‘That doesn’t sound good,’ said Ashely in the taut lull that followed.
Godard sighed. ‘It isn’t. If the immortal war was to start again, millions of humans would get caught in the crossfire.’ A scowl clouded his features. ‘I’m not about to let six hundred odd years of peace end because of that damn woman!’
‘That won’t happen,’ said Gabriel with an adamant shake of his head. ‘Roman and the entire Order of Schwatz Hunters will be behind us. He’s talking to the rest of our Councils as we speak.’ He paused. ‘Besides, you forget we have friends among the Crovirs.’
Godard hesitated. ‘I hope you’re right, for all our sake.’
‘You should try and get some sleep,’ said Sheila. She walked around the desk and placed a hand on her grandfather’s arm. ‘This is going to take some time.’
While the others retired for the night, Sheila and I stayed in the study and pored over the information in Strauss’s journal. Despite cross referencing the encrypted paragraphs with online deciphering programs, including the ones used by the US National Security Agency, we hit a dead end time and time again.
‘This is impossible,’ Sheila finally murmured just after two am. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair, leaned back in the chair, and closed her eyes.
I lifted the journal from the desk and randomly leafed through the encrypted pages. ‘How did you usually come up with the ciphers?’
A sigh left Sheila’s lips. She opened her eyes and fixed me with a green stare. ‘They were mostly about things we had in common. Places we’d been to, work we had done together, even the music we both liked.’ A sad smile dawned on her face. ‘It was a bit of a game for Hubert. He loved nothing more than coming up with the most intricate of ciphers.’
I ignored the prickle of jealousy that darted through me. ‘Were the two of you involved in a relationship?’
Surprise flared in her eyes. For a moment, I thought she would not reply.
‘We were, in the past.’
I looked down at the journal to mask my relief. Something caught my eyes on the last page. It was a small diagram in the margin I had not paid particular attention to before. I pointed it out to Sheila.
‘What’s this?’
Sheila studied the sketch. ‘That’s a drawing of an Okazaki fragment,’ she said. ‘It’s a short section of genetic material created during DNA replication,’ she explained at my puzzled expression. A tired chuckle left her lips. ‘He liked to doodle.’
I straightened, unable to shake the feeling that I had just touched on something significant. ‘I think I saw something similar earlier.’
I thumbed back over the previous pages. Seconds later, my hands stilled on the journal. I tapped a finger over another drawing at the edge of the paper. ‘Here.’
Sheila’s eyes slowly widened. ‘It isn’t similar. It’s an exact mirror image of the other one!’
We looked at each other with rising excitement.
‘He drew them at the start and end of the encrypted pages,’ I said.
Fifteen minutes later, after carefully piecing together the twelve pairs of Okazaki fragments scattered across twenty pages of text, we had the first cipher. It took another half hour to uncover the other two.
‘He used a combination of a polyalphabetic substitution, a transposition, and a date-shift cipher based on the first, middle, and last encrypted pages,’ Sheila murmured in an awed voice.
We stared at the three algorithms scribbled on a sheet of paper.
‘Is that common?’ I knew a little about the art of cryptography from my previous involvement in wars over the last four centuries.
‘No. Even a professional cryptanalyst would have struggled with this. Had you not spotted the significance of the Okazaki fragment, we would have been at this for days.’ She looked at me gratefully.
I was suddenly aware of how close we sat. I rose to hide my unease and offered to make coffee while she deciphered the encrypted data.
It was well past four in the morning when Sheila reached the last page of Strauss’s diary. I watched her writing grow slower while she double-checked her work. She finally stopped and put the pen down carefully.
‘Dear God,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘No wonder he didn’t want to put this on paper.’
Anxiety knotted my stomach as I studied her pale face. ‘What is it?’
Sheila glanced at me with a distracted expression. ‘Remember the “off” switch I was talking about?’
‘You mean the one that can slow down cancer cell production?’ I said.
She nodded.
‘What about it?’
‘Hubert found an “on” switch,’ Sheila said flatly.
I frowned, unable to grasp the significance of her words. ‘What does that mean?’
Sheila’s eyes reflected the fear in her voice. ‘It means he discovered a way to control the cell cycle.’
‘When you say control the cell cycle...’ I trailed off as understanding began to dawn. I felt my blood grow cold.
‘If what is written here is true, he has uncovered the Holy Grail of science,’ declared Sheila. ‘He’s made a genetically modified cell that can never die.’
‘Immortality,’ I said numbly.
Sheila shook her head. ‘No, not just immortality as we understand it. At the rate at which this cell would be able to replicate, it means true immortality.’
I inhaled sharply. ‘You mean, beyond seventeen deaths?’
‘Yes.’ A frown clouded her face. She turned to the desk and rifled through the papers from the Zurich deposit box. ‘But there’s something I don’t understand.’
‘What?’ I mumbled, still trying to absorb the staggering implication behind Strauss’s research findings.
‘Hubert used a sequence of techniques both of us have worked with in the past,’ Sheila explained in a puzzled voice. ‘The only difference between the experiments would have to be—’ She froze. ‘Oh, no.’ The blood drained from her face. She stood abruptly.
‘Sheila?’ I rose from my seat as she ran from the room. Her footsteps faded on the stairs.
I was still standing there when she returned moments later, a metal flask clasped in her hands. My eyes widened. ‘Is that—’
‘Yes. From that day at the Hauptbahnhof,’ Sheila replied breathlessly. ‘This is what Helena was bringing me.’
‘What is it?’
Sheila opened the canister and carefully removed a vial from it. I stared at the crimson liquid inside.
‘Is that blood?’
‘Yes.’ Sheila’s gaze shifted to me. ‘I have to get to a lab.’ Her voice was edged with desperation.
‘Why?’ I said. Something was tugging at the back of my brain. A cold suspicion trickled through my thoughts as I examined the glass tube in her hand.
‘I need to test this sample,’ said Sheila.
I opened my mouth to voice another question.
She raised a hand and stopped me. ‘Please! I just have to do this. It’s the only way I’ll know for sure.’
I studied her stricken expression for some time before turning to the computer. ‘What kind of lab do you need?’
Chapter Fifteen
At five in the morning, the Prague Institute of Molecular Genetics was dark and deserted. We broke into the building through a side door and went in search of the Functional Genomics and Bioinformatics department.
Ashely and Bruno took up guard duty outside the room while Sheila and I entered the premises.
‘How long will this take?’ I said, flicking on the overhead lights.
‘An hour and a half, two at the most.’
Sheila crossed the room briskly, her face brightening as she studied the array of machines humming quietly on the countertops; already, her eyes held a faraway gaze. She slipped on a pair of gloves and removed the vial of blood from the metal canister.
She transferred a few drops into a smaller tube and turn
ed to me. ‘Can I have your sword?’
I stared at her, nonplussed.
‘I need a sample of my blood,’ she explained. I lifted the wakizashi from my waist and passed it across reluctantly.
She nicked the side of her thumb with the edge of the short blade and dripped several scarlet droplets into a second vial. I removed a Band-Aid from the first aid kit next to the sink and wrapped it gently around her finger. She stiffened slightly at my touch.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ I took a seat in the corner of the room and ignored the tingling heat in my hands while I watched her work.
Sheila moved from one complicated apparatus to another, her movements swift and confident. All the while, a tiny frown wrinkled her brow.
I looked out of the window, unsettled as always by the complex feelings her presence engendered; if Ashely had been in the room, he would no doubt have been wearing a sickening leer.
Forty minutes later, Sheila lowered herself onto the chair next to me.
‘Now we wait,’ she explained at my questioning gaze.
The next hour passed at a snail’s pace while the machines hummed quietly. The sun had just peeked above the horizon when Sheila finally lifted a sheet of paper from the printer attached to an instrument.
She stared at the data crowding the page. ‘It’s done,’ she said in a flat tone.
We exited the campus moments later and headed back to the estate.
Sheila remained subdued during the drive back, her green eyes staring blindly at the landscape outside the window. I remained silent by her side, certain my suspicions about the vial of blood would prove to be correct.
Gabriel and Godard were waiting for us when we entered the foyer of the mansion.
‘Well?’ said Godard anxiously. ‘What is this all about?’
Sheila had refused to answer any questions when we roused the rest of the household several hours ago to organize our expedition to the Prague Institute of Molecular Genetics.
‘You had better sit down,’ she said dully.
We gathered in the kitchen. Sheila took the seat at the head of the table and removed the metal canister out of the bag she had clutched with white-knuckled fingers during our return trip. Her hands shook slightly when she placed the container in front of her. She took a deep breath and started to talk.
‘Six months ago, I sent Hubert a sample of blood to use in his experiments. I am certain it’s this particular specimen that helped provide the last breakthrough in his research.’ She hesitated. ‘You see, Hubert’s discovery was…immortality.’
Shocked gasps echoed around the room.
‘What?’ Gabriel barked.
‘Hubert created a genetically altered cell that can replicate forever,’ Sheila stated.
‘You mean—’ Godard started.
‘Yes,’ Sheila interrupted with a somber expression. ‘He made a cell that can never die.’
A stunned silence ensued.
‘No wonder the Crovirs are stirred up,’ Gabriel finally murmured.
My eyes never left Sheila’s face. Although I knew the answer, I still had to ask the question.
‘It was your blood, wasn’t it?’
She met my gaze unflinchingly. ‘Yes.’
Godard stared at her, aghast. ‘Why on Earth would you—’ He stopped and swallowed convulsively.
A mirthless chuckle left Sheila’s lips. ‘Why did I give him a sample of my blood? Well, they do say the best scientists experiment on themselves.’
‘Hang on,’ said Ashely. ‘Surely, this isn’t the first time immortal blood has been used in some kind of research or another. Burnstein sounds like the kinda guy who would’ve tried something like this already.’
‘You’re right.’ Sheila sighed and rubbed her temples. ‘I’ve sent Hubert several samples of blood from other immortals in the last few years. I’ve even used some in my own research.’
‘But it never worked before,’ I said.
‘No.’
Gabriel grew still. ‘What are you saying?’
‘It’s my blood!’ Sheila snapped. ‘There must be something in my blood that—that finally made the experiment work, somehow!’
Godard went pale at her words. He glanced at me with an unreadable expression.
I frowned. ‘That’s why the Crovirs are after you. Burnstein must have found out Hubert used your sample in his research.’
Sheila shook her head vehemently. ‘Hubert didn’t know it was my blood. Even if he knew, he would never have betrayed me.’
‘I’m not saying he did. That information could’ve been somewhere in his lab.’
‘If the Crovirs don’t know the blood was yours, then they must be after you to find out whose it was,’ said Gabriel. He observed Sheila guardedly. ‘Did Strauss know you were an immortal?’
‘No,’ Sheila replied, her tone adamant. ‘But I’m sure he must have suspected something. After all, I’ve hardly aged in the last twenty-five years.’
‘What now?’ said Ashely after a while.
‘We need to determine exactly what the Crovirs are intending to do with this knowledge,’ said Gabriel in a hard voice. ‘Burnstein must be working directly with Santana. Only she or Amos could have rallied so many Hunters in such a short time.’
Godard’s gaze shifted from Sheila to me. ‘It doesn’t explain why they’re after Adam though,’ he said in a troubled voice.
Chapman’s words suddenly rose in my mind. I had been puzzled by them at the time and still was to a certain extent.
‘Mikolo said I was the only one who stood in their way.’
‘In the way of what though?’ said Gabriel. A frustrated sigh left his lips. ‘Enough of this! Let’s see what the First Council has for us.’ He rose and strode out of the room, cell phone in hand.
The back door opened. Anatole strolled in.
The immortal was no longer limping.
‘Right, we got eggs for breakfast, and look what I caught us for lunch.’ He grinned and lifted a pair of dead pheasants. The grave mood permeating the room finally made an impression on him. ‘What’s with the gloomy faces?’ His smile faltered. ‘Did someone die?’
Bruno sighed. ‘Just give me the goddamned eggs.’
Gabriel returned moments later, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘I just spoke to Oktav. They caught Pinchter in Suben. He was trying to cross the border into Germany.’
‘That shifty bastard,’ Anatole muttered.
‘They’re taking him to Linz.’ A dark smile curved the Schwatz noble’s lips. ‘I’m sending the two of you to collect him,’ he told Bruno and Anatole.
The bodyguard and the driver exchanged meaningful glances.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not allowed to rough him up.’
Anatole sighed. ‘Jeez, you really take all the fun out of this job.’
Gabriel patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop you from doing so once he’s here.’
Sheila straightened in her seat. ‘You’re going to torture him?’ she said stiffly.
Gabriel grimaced. ‘Not exactly. But we need answers.’
Godard scowled. ‘They’re trying to kill you and Adam. I wouldn’t mind having a go at the man myself.’
‘That’s the spirit, Gramps!’ Anatole punched the air with his fist. He sobered at Gabriel’s expression. ‘Sorry, boss.’
The two immortals left the manor a short while later. The sound of the Transporter’s tires grinding across gravel gradually faded in the distance.
I studied the dark circles under Sheila’s eyes. ‘You should get some rest.’
‘So should you.’ A guilty expression flashed across her face. ‘I should check your wounds first though.’
I nodded.
We left the kitchen and headed upstairs to my room. I sat on the edge of the bed and shrugged out of my shirt. My bruised and torn muscles were mending fas
t. The fiery pain of the day before had turned into a dull ache.
Sheila knelt before me and gently took down the dressings that covered my ribcage.
‘They’re almost healed,’ she said, surprise evident in her voice.
Her fingers fluttered over my skin while she examined my injuries. She paused over a faint scar next to my birthmark and looked at me questioningly.
‘That’s from last week,’ I explained stiffly. A different kind of heat was spreading through my body at her touch.
Her gaze shifted. ‘And this one?’
I glanced at the recent bullet wound she indicated. ‘Last week as well, I’m afraid.’
She smiled. ‘You’ve been busy.’
The now sweetly familiar and intoxicating scent of oranges wafted from her hair and the skin on her nape inches from my face. Something tightened in my gut. I bit back a groan, muscles clenching under her hand.
Sheila looked up. Whatever she saw in my face made her rise abruptly to her feet. ‘There’s no need for further dressings.’ A dark flush tainted her cheekbones. ‘Just be careful you don’t reopen your wounds.’
I stared at the door long after she had gone as I waited for my racing pulse to slow. Finally, I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.
I now knew what the emotion was that I felt for Sheila Godard.
It was desire.
The fact that we were related through our lineage should have made this feeling an aberration. Yet, nothing had ever felt as right in any of my lives as the startling connection between us.
I thought of the long history of immortal and human nobilities and how close relationships had been common practice for millennia to preserve the bloodlines of dynasties and maintain bonds between sovereignties.
Even though I was bone-tired, sleep proved elusive. A dozen questions still raged through my mind. What did surviving my seventeenth death mean? Would I survive my eighteenth death? And the ones after that? And who had Chapman meant when he said the man who killed his father held me dear to his heart? Was that man Tomas Godard? What were the Crovirs planning to do with Strauss’s research findings?