The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One (48 page)

Kaslov tensed, readying himself to enter the fray but something stopped him. He caught a mental projection from the Peregrine, holding him at bay:
I can handle this. Just make sure the authorities don’t show up and give him the opportunity to get away.

As Leonid spotted several German soldiers hurrying to the scene, he made the decision to follow his friend’s desire. He moved towards the Germans, ready to stall them for as long as necessary.

The Peregrine saw his friend leaving the scene and threw up an arm to block another blow from Shinigami. The man was very fast and Max could feel him subtly trying to influence him by using a telepathic probe to lower his defenses. Max fought back tooth and nail, finally driving Shinigami away from him with a well-placed shove.

The Peregrine moved to take advantage of the situation but he was confused when Shinigami stared past him in surprise. “What are you doing here?” the German demanded.

The Peregrine started to turn around but something stopped him. A ghostly voice echoed loudly in his head:
Strike! Now!
The voice said in thickly accented German.

Going with the flow, Max plucked up his fallen knife and ran forward. Shinigami’s gaze returned to him but it was too late and the Peregrine drove the point of his blade through the other man’s chest until it protruded from his back.

The Peregrine let his opponent fall to the ground, sliding off the blade with a wet, sucking sound. He turned to see a man with a stern expression floating nearby. The stranger wore a thick overcoat and heavy boots, as if he were embarking on a trip through snow-covered mountains. That he was a ghost was undeniable for he possessed the same aura that Max’s own father did.

Under his breath, too low for anyone to hear, Lars Merkel spoke in German. “I shall see you in hell, my son. I shall see you in hell.”

“Who are you?” the Peregrine demanded, wiping at his bloodied nose with the back of a gloved hand. His dagger glowed more fiercely in the presence of the supernatural.

Lars looked up at him. “Your son is in danger, Mr. Davies. I would advise you to return home as soon as possible.”

Before Max could ask him for further details, Lars Merkel left the mortal plane for the last time.

Finally, he could be at peace, content in the knowledge that the hellspawn he’d helped birth would trouble the world no longer.

CHAPTER XII

Family Matters

January 30, 1940
12:30 PM
Atlanta, Georgia

McKenzie had been around a lot of heartache in his time as a police officer. He’d been forced to tell men and women, even children, that their loved ones were injured or dead… he’d often thought it never got any worse than looking into the terror-stricken eyes of an innocent and seeing their world crash down around them.

That was exactly the kind of emotion he saw in the eyes of Evelyn Davies right now. She sat on the couch in the family’s living room, gently rocking back and forth with her hands gripping her arms. Police officers were scouring the property for any clues as to where the Warlike Manchu might have gone but so far their attempts had been in vain. Flynn and Libby were in another room, both wracked with guilt over their own failures, while Nettie and Josh were pacing about wildly in the kitchen. Both of them loved little William with all their hearts… and even McKenzie had to reign in his emotions lest he snap entirely. The baby boy had been named after him, after all, an acknowledgment to the bond he’d forged with Max and Evelyn.

“We’re going to find him,” McKenzie said, standing in front of Evelyn, hat held tightly in his hands.

Evelyn’s face had a washed-out look to it and she ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head. “No. You’re not. There’s only way this is going to end and that’s with my husband facing this madman. You know it and I know it.”

McKenzie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “If you want,” he began, lowering his voice so that the other officers in the house wouldn’t hear, “We can always go off on our own. Maybe take Flynn and Libby with us… if we can find the guy, we can get William back ourselves.”

“That last time Max faced him, the Warlike Manchu could have killed him. He let Max live.” Evelyn stared into McKenzie’s eyes, the intensity of her hatred shocking the police officer. “That bastard wants Max to come to him. That’s what this is all about. That malarkey about taking William as his son was just that—malarkey! He wants Max. And nothing’s going to stop… we’re never going to be safe… until Max has killed him.”

* * *

January 31, 1940
2:45 PM
Atlanta, Georgia

The Warlike Manchu studied the crying child dispassionately. William Davies had done nothing but complain since being brought to the criminal mastermind’s lair, refusing all attempts from the Manchu’s female servants at consoling him. At last, the Warlike Manchu had set the child in the center of his private chambers, allowing the boy to cry himself to exhaustion.

“My father viewed me as the continuation of a great and noble line,” the Oriental said, kneeling before the child. “There was no room for sentimentality with him, however. I was trained to be the dutiful soldier from birth. My own daughter failed miserably to be the heir that I needed, but much of that blame must be attributed to her sex. But you… you have much of your father about you. In the eyes, the mouth, the spirit. You shall be strong and deadly.”

William stared at the Warlike Manchu, his wetly shining eyes glistening. Something about the man made him uncomfortable and he desperately wanted his mother or father, or even Aunt Nettie, to come and save him.

And then something peculiar seemed to appear behind the Warlike Manchu and William found his attention seized by this new arrival. It was a man who looked much like William’s father, but with several noticeable differences: a slightly different stance when standing, an older cut of clothing and a jaw that was slightly less impressive than the jutting chin of Max Davies.

The Warlike Manchu rose and turned away from the boy, pondering how best to begin the youth’s training. Despite the fact that he was less than a year old, there were still things that could be done to prepare William for the arduous path that lay ahead for him.

The spectral figure moved closer to little William, speaking directly into the boy’s mind.
I’m your grandfather
, the man said and William found himself beaming in reply.
And I’m going to make sure you’re okay. Daddy’s going to be coming for you soon… in the meantime, just do what the bad man asks you to. Okay?

William nodded dutifully, understanding everything perfectly.

The Warlike Manchu caught the movement and turned to stare at the child, wondering what had brought about such a sudden change in his demeanor. It was almost as if the infant was staring at something that the Oriental could not see.

“Kyoko,” he said, summoning a slim young brunette. The girl moved forward, head bowed. “Take the boy into the Chamber of Elders.”

Kyoko looked up in surprise. The so-called Chamber of Elders was actually a small work room in which the Warlike Manchu had set up a large brazier, with burning coals and several varieties of drugs that would expand his consciousness. To expose a baby to those drugged gases…

Seeing her hesitation, the Warlike Manchu backhanded her quickly across the face, splitting her lip. “I have given you orders!” he barked.

Kyoko hurried towards the baby, plucking him up against her breast. She bowed in apology and left the room, fearful of the retribution that might await her if she hesitated any further. The man she served was a great and terrible creature, one whose fury left her in both awe and fear.

The ghostly spirit of Warren Davies vanished back into the void, knowing that his son had to be told.

CHAPTER XIII

To Face the Demon!

February 1, 1940
9:10 PM
Atlanta, Georgia

“You have to remain calm,” Kaslov warned. The Russian superman knelt on the rooftop of the Stellar Night Theatre, located across the street from the hotel in which the Warlike Manchu had taken refuge. Leonid wore a dark suit, his smooth white skin and silver hair standing out in stark contrast. A full moon illuminated the scene perfectly, allowing Kaslov and the Peregrine to study their opponents at their leisure. The two men had been at their perch for over three hours now, hours in which Max Davies had been chomping at the bit for action.

“Every second we wait is another second that my son is in that madman’s clutches,” the Peregrine pointed out. Max was leaning over the side of the rooftop, binoculars held tightly against his eyes. His long coat whipped in the stiff breeze that was blowing, a harbinger of winter’s last gasp—a storm that promised chilling winds and the rare possibility of snow. “Who knows what he’s been doing to him?”

Leonid said nothing in reply, knowing the truth behind his friend’s words. The serum given to them by the Warlike Manchu’s daughter rested in a specially modified weapon now—a knife-like device that would immediately send the fluid into the enemy’s body upon impact. The Russian had the weapon strapped to his waist at present, ready to be accessed at a moment’s notice. “Even so, we’re doing this the right way… so far, we’ve counted half a dozen women through the windows. In addition to them, he might have as many as a dozen men on that floor, all armed and dangerous. If we’re going to stage a rescue, we have to be very precise in our actions.”

The Peregrine nodded, knowing the wisdom in Kaslov’s words. They’d elected to eschew aid from McKenzie’s men, instead choosing to have Flynn stationed below in the alleyway, ready to follow anyone fleeing the building with the aid of the Peregrine’s roadster. Evelyn and Libby were in the backseat of the roadster, helping keep an eye out for danger.

Upon returning from overseas, the Peregrine had received messages from both his father’s spirit and his wife. William was gone, they reported, but the site of his imprisonment was known.

“I’m ready to do this,” Max whispered.

Leonid sighed but did not disagree. He took the serum-filled dagger and passed it to the Peregrine, who stood up and faced him. “I will rescue your son and get him to safety. That leaves the Manchu for you to deal with… I assume that’s the way you’d prefer it?”

“I trust you to take care of William.” Max sighed, shaking his head. “I’m feeling old, Leo. Did you know I’ll turn 40 this year? Forty years old and I’m running around in the dark, wearing a bird beak on my face.”

Leo rested a hand on Max’s shoulder, sensing how close to the breaking point Max really was. “When the Warlike Manchu is defeated, things will take a turn for the better. You have a lovely wife and a bright young son… I envy you.”

Max found himself smiling at the sincerity in the Russian’s eyes. “Sometimes it’s good to hear that from someone I respect, Leo. Reminds me to stop feeling sorry for myself and enjoy what I have.”

“That’s something that your enemies will never understand.”

The Peregrine moved to the edge of the rooftop, coat billowing out behind him. For a moment, it looked like he would jump into the air and take flight. “I’m coming for you,” he whispered, both to his son and to the man who had stolen him. “I’m coming for you.”

* * *

The Warlike Manchu was growingly increasingly vexed. The young child continued to prove resistant to the gases emitted by the Chamber of Elders, adopting none of the glassy eyed stare so associated with the drugged air. The Manchu had hoped that it would make the child more pliant, as well as possibly opening the boy’s soul to a visitation by an elder entity. Such a thing had happened on several occasions with men and women forced into the room by the Warlike Manchu but here it did not seem to be possible. With an Elder inside the boy, he would grow faster than normal and take on supernatural power. Without him, the Warlike Manchu would have to undertake a prolonged period of intensive training with the boy as he grew.

At his side, unseen by the Manchu, was the source of William’s strange immunity to the gases. Warren Davies had used every bit of his spectral power to shield the boy from the potentially mind-altering effects of the drugs, hoping that his own son would arrive soon enough to do what had to be done: that the Warlike Manchu would be struck down in a spreading pool of blood.

“Master, there is a problem.”

The Warlike Manchu looked up from the meal of noodles and chicken that he was having. The boy, William, was sleeping in the next room, so the servant was whispering as he knelt on the floor before the Manchu. The servant’s name was Rai and he was Japanese with a deadly talent for knives. He stood just over five foot six, with jet black hair that was cut short above the ears. His eyes were perpetually sad, the result of a difficult life, one filled with violence and death.

“Tell me what troubles you so,” the Manchu said, setting aside his food and rising gracefully from the floor. Though he was very, very old, he retained the vitality of a man in his thirties, thanks both to the life-extending serum he regularly ingested and a vigorous training regimen.

“Our security has been compromised,” Rai stated. “One of our men has informed me that the lower levels of the hotel are now empty. Apparently, a man named Leonid Kaslov has evacuated the building.”

The Manchu’s face did not change expression. He had expected his enemies to come to him eventually. “Is Kaslov here now?”

“We don’t know. We only know that he was here earlier—several of the men and women who have been evacuated are now down the block and are conversing about having seen him.”

“He is quite famous,” the Oriental mastermind said sagely. “Bring your men to the child’s room. That will be their goal.”

“Do you wish for me to assign someone to guard you?” Rai asked.

“I am capable of taking care of myself,” was the terse reply and Rai bowed low, hurrying from the room lest his words be taken as an insult.

The Warlike Manchu put his hands behind his back, standing where he was for a long moment. Soon, sounds began to reach him… sounds that spoke of combat and men in tremendous pain. He reached up finally and began stroking his long moustache. “Welcome, my student.”