The Mortality Principle (25 page)

“Where, though? All we know is they went that way.” She pointed the way that the Ferrari had gone. From the end of the street the road connected with every possible destination in the world. Garin had a head start on them and a faster car. She checked the time stamp. He had the best part of an hour's head start. The top speed on the Ferrari was a little over two hundred miles per hour, but there was no way he could hit that kind of speed on tight country roads. But when they got to the freeways, he could be out of the country before they'd even started chasing him.

“We'll take a leaf out of that duplicitous bastard's book,” Roux said.

He fished his cell phone from his pocket and made a call, wincing at the stab of pain the movement drew. “Owen?” He nodded as though expecting the man on the other end of the line to see the gesture, then said, “I need you to track a car for me… Yes, it's a sports car. I don't know the model or the license plate… Yes, I understand there are a lot of sports cars in the world, and yes, I understand that I'm not giving you a lot to work with. I'm aware that a VIN would be helpful, but it's not my job to be helpful. I'm paying you so that I don't need to be. The car is either registered to Garin Braden, or one of the shell companies he has a holding in, or hired by him from one of the international brokers around Prague and the surrounds… Yes, I am aware that it's like looking for the proverbial needle, but you're an industrious
guy, and I'm sure you can do it. I believe Ferrari uses onboard trackers to help with finding vehicles after they have been stolen… GPS and GMS tracking? CobraTrak? I'm sure you are right, but it doesn't mean anything to me. Get back to me when you have found it.”

Roux killed the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “He moaned a lot, said it would take as long as it takes, but that he'd find it if it was there to be found, so now we wait.”

“I'm impressed,” Annja said. “He'd expect us to track his phone, not the Ferrari's security. That was smart.”

“I've lived a long time, Annja. You learn some tricks when you get to be a gray beard. What do you say we hit this road and see where it leads?”

Annja didn't need to be asked twice.

In her rearview mirror she could see the castle's manager standing in the street, gesticulating animatedly as he talked with a police officer. She could guess what he was complaining about. Time to get out of there. Turek wouldn't be happy, turning up to find them already gone, but there was nothing she could do about that. He was a big boy. Annja keyed the ignition, then gunned the engine into life. She pulled away without using the blinker, throwing a backward glance at the castle as she peeled away from the curb.

She might never learn the rest of the Benátky castle's secrets, but they had a killer to catch, and that took precedence.

It took a thief to catch a thief—that was the old saying. Did that mean it took a killer to catch a killer? Was that what Garin was doing? Putting himself in harm's way in order to bring down the killer? It was better than the alternative, but that wasn't as comforting as it might have been.

The call came through as she was driving.

Roux put his phone on speaker so she could hear what Owen had to say.

“It wasn't easy,” the hacker said, his voice a tinny crackle. “But because I'm a genius and specialize in making the impossible possible, I've got him.” Annja knew the voice. She couldn't say for sure who it belonged to, but she got the distinct impression she'd talked to the guy before—almost certainly on Garin's behalf. Roux had used one of Garin's hackers to track Garin. Not only was Roux using his own tricks against Garin, he was using his own people. This was a more devious Roux than she was used to. “I'll send you a package. All you need to do is click on it. It'll self-install and execute, giving you access to the Cobra system. You can follow him to your heart's content, and if you really want to mess with him, you can isolate his engine.”

“As in disable it?”

“As in exactly that. Did you know a few years ago there was even talk about putting thin metal threads in the seat fabric so you could theoretically send an electric pulse through the seat if someone stole the car?”

“You mean electrocute the car thief?”

“Yep, and get this, the doors would be on autolock so they'd keep getting shocked until the cops turned up.”

“That's twisted,” Annja said.

“I thought it was quite clever,” the hacker replied.

“We keep this between ourselves,” Roux stated.

“Absolutely, business is business. He who pays the piper calls the tune. Isn't that what they say?”

“That depends if you have rats that need getting rid of,” Roux said, and ended the call.

Annja had no idea if the other man had heard, or if Roux had intended for him to hear. Roux had called Garin a lot worse than a rat, but mention of getting rid of him reinforced the bad feeling she'd had earlier when he'd promised to finish him. She couldn't believe Roux really meant it. She knew they'd had their issues—issues that had lasted centuries and had culminated in duels and assassination attempts and a personal war that had raged all across the Theater of Europe, but neither man had actually gone through with it all the way to delivering the killing blow.

Would Roux do it now?

She didn't want to believe that he was capable of it.

The problem was that she knew he was.

The notion frightened her.

Annja kept her eyes on the road while Roux fiddled with his phone. There was a soft ping when the package came through. A minute later, Roux said, “Got him.”

“Where?”

“A long way from here. He's driving like the devil's on his heels. He's already out on the other side of Prague.”

“Where the hell is he going?” Annja asked, earning a smile from Lars.

“Hell sounds pretty appropriate if it's the devil chasing
him.” Roux grunted. “But it looks like Turek was on the money.”

“How? He went to the Polish border? That's the opposite direction.”

“He went to the border,” Lars said. “He just went to the wrong one.” He was looking at the red dot on Roux's phone. “If he stays on that road, it'll take him out of the country.”

“Germany? Or does it go south into Austria?” Her sudden grasp of European geography was due to the fact that she'd taken a glance at a map back at the hotel.

“Germany,” Lars said. “He'll cross the border at Waidhaus, and judging by the speed he's clocking, he'll be there inside the hour. The way Granny Annie here is driving, we'll be there in about three.”

That earned the Swede a withering look, but Annja took the point and pushed her foot flat to the floor.

“We have a problem, though. I don't have my passport with me,” the cameraman said. “We'll need to stop by the hotel so I can grab it.”

“No time,” Roux told him. “Whatever he's up to, he's got an hour on us and is making more time with every passing mile. Once he hits the autobahn, he can go twice as fast as us. We can't afford to give him any more of an advantage, sorry.”

“We can't just throw him out of the car,” Annja protested.

“Of course not,” Roux said. “I'm not suggesting that. We'll drop him where he can hitch a ride back to the city. He doesn't look like a serial killer. He should be just fine.”

“I am here, you know,” the cameraman said. “Don't I get a say in this?”

“Call Turek,” Annja told Lars. “Let him know what's happening. Get him to pick you up on the way. Stop off at your hotel and stay in touch. I'll text you directions.”

Lars sulked. “That's better than being tossed in the gutter. Marginally.”

“Don't be a drama queen,” Roux said. “You're not helpless. And this isn't a DMZ. You'll be fine.”

Annja eyed Lars in the rearview mirror. He didn't seem thrilled with Roux's idea, but there was no logical alternative. He was unhappy that he hadn't had the presence of mind to bring his passport to Benátky. That was amateurish. He'd worked with Annja enough to know exactly what the job entailed. The watchwords were
Go with the flow
.

“I used to like you, you know,” he said, shaking his head as he slumped back in his seat. He rested one hand on the camera case that sat beside him.

Annja gave him a warm smile, and then concentrated on the road.

A signpost indicated an upcoming tram stop.

It was as good a place as any to drop him.

Annja pulled over. Lars didn't try particularly hard to hide the sulk when he got out of the car. He hauled the camera case out after him.

“You'll miss me when I'm gone,” he said. “Keep me in the loop. We need everything we can get for the show. Remember that when you're off saving the world or whatever it is you do when I'm not looking.”

He patted the case before he closed the car door and waved her off.

Lars was right. She needed him if this segment was going to save the show, but short of someone dying live on air she couldn't see anything saving the show. It was
defeatist, she knew, but that was just how she felt right now. Maybe she should have listened to Doug and put on the bikini once in a while.

She barked out a short sharp laugh, earning a frown from Roux. “Let's go catch us a killer.”

She pulled away from the curbside and worked her way back to the road she had come off, putting her foot down as soon as they merged with the faster moving traffic.

“We've lost time,” Roux said bluntly.

Everyone in her life had suddenly become so wise.

“We couldn't have left him at the border when he couldn't produce his passport.”

“The Czech Republic is part of the European Union. Germany's part of the union. I doubt there's even a border patrol.”

“Then why make the fuss about dropping him off at the border?”

“I wanted him out of the car. This is about us. You, me and Garin. I don't want to be worrying about strangers getting in the way. This isn't going to end well, Annja. You know that, don't you?”

“What if you're wrong? What if Garin's not in on this whole thing?”

“You're too sentimental,” Roux said. “But then that's always been your problem. It's why you've never reached your full potential.”

“And what the hell is
that
supposed to mean?” she demanded, but Roux fell silent yet again. He was really starting to grate on her nerves.

“Just drive. I'm tired. My leg is killing me. And before the night is out I am going to have to kill—or try
to kill—my oldest friend. I don't feel like talking to you right now.”

“Come on, Roux, you can't lay something like that on me and just clam up. How have I failed you? Ever? How have I disappointed you? When have I never given my all for you? Done everything you've ever asked of me? Name one time. Just one. Tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” The old man shook his head. “What's the truth? What if we have different truths? What if there's nothing absolute about it. What if what is true to me is false to you? Whatever the truth is, you have to learn it for yourself, make your own decisions about who you are going to be, because your television show isn't going to last forever. This thing we've got going on between us isn't going to last forever. So, think about it, be the best
you
you can be. Don't let someone else force their version of the truth upon you.”

It made little sense.

“Fine. You don't want to talk about it, I get it. What about Garin? Why are you so sure he's in it up to his neck? You've got to have a reason.”

“I wish I knew,” the old man said. “A life of disappointment, maybe?”

Annja shook her head. “That's not it, and you know it. You're lying to me.”

“Truth and lies again. It's all subjective, Annja. Let that be today's lesson. It's all subjective. But perhaps we will get lucky this time. Perhaps Garin will deign to confess before I execute him. Or maybe winged bacon will be spotted over Paris.”

Despite herself, she half smiled at that.

“Every word that comes out of that man's mouth weaves part of an elaborate web of lies. He has been
weaving that web so tightly and for so long that he's absolutely forgotten what the truth ever was. All what remains is
his
truth. I doubt we'll ever understand why he does anything he does.”

“But we forgive him every time, don't we? It doesn't matter what he does. Sooner or later we let him back in.”

“Because he's like us. Because he's the only other one like us. All three of us may be different, but we have more in common than we would care to admit.”

He was right.

Annja knew that he was right.

And she hated that he was right.

There was loneliness in his truth. She didn't want to live in a world where the only two people like her were constantly at each other's throats, trying to kill each other. Where did that leave her? Alone.

She had no idea of how long her life would be, but she'd felt her body changing in so many subtle ways since that first time Saint Joan's sword fused under her grasp, whole again. Hers wasn't going to be a mortal span. It may not be as long as Roux's, but her old age wasn't going to be passed in a nursing home playing shuffleboard. The sword would make absolutely sure of that. She would be fit and strong as long as it needed her to wield it; that was the pact she'd made with the holy artifact. That was her legacy, the gift she'd inherited from Joan herself.

“Where are they now?” she asked when she caught sight of him looking at the screen of his cell phone again.

“They are still on this road, but we've closed the distance between us, which doesn't make sense. He should be moving considerably faster than us. Our top speed is
almost one hundred miles an hour slower than his. He should be leaving us trailing in his dust.”