Chapter 78

Taranto, Italy, early morning

Dawn was just beginning to break in the eastern sky. It would be a gray and cloudy day Reagan could tell… unusual for southern Italy this time of year.

"Must be storms on the Mediterranean," she said to Keith.

"Hmmm," he said, looking up sleepily. "Are we there? Where do we meet this immortal we're supposed to meet? Do you know him?"

"I met him once… long ago. He's no one you want to fool with Keith. He's very, very… very good. My friend Kyra knew him when she was young. If he asks you to jump, jump as high as you can. Don't even ask how high… just do it."

Keith nodded with a grin. "I'll keep that in mind. So what's his name?"

Reagan shook her head. "I don't know for certain. He was Gerard something or other in France when I ran across him a few hundred years ago."

"A few hundred years," Keith shook his and chuckled. "I wonder if I'll ever get to say that someday?"

"With heart, and courage, and steel, young grasshopper."

Keith snorted. "Cute… very cute. I'm waxing poetic and you're trolling for pop culture references."

Reagan shrugged as she pulled on to the via Roma. "Survival is all about learning to adapt to the time, the place, and the culture. It's important to be able to reference modern pop culture… it keeps people from knowing how old you are."

Keith laughed. He rather liked Reagan Cole. He'd not really spent time around other immortals… being far more into the "kill them before they kill you" frame of mind. Or the "let's pass by as this isn't convenient." Maybe it was time he got to know some other immortals once this was over. Of course that didn't mean he wouldn't be prepared… just in case. After all… keeping his head was his first priority.

"Here's the fountain we were told to look for." Reagan pulled over and parked. "Wait here." She climbed out, adjusting her long coat. Then she walked toward the fountain and stood there looking about in the early morning gloom.

"She looks like some dark avenging angel in that black leather coat," Keith mused as he slumped down in the passenger seat and peered out at her as she circled the fountain. Black against the pale stone of the street, the fountain, and the surrounding buildings… Reagan Cole made a tempting target. Keith felt the approach of another immortal from behind the car… and the sudden tapping on the window startled him even as he saw a pair of young people approach Reagan.

Glancing through the window, Keith saw the small face of an Oriental boy smiling at him… his dark eyes bright with amusement. Nervously Keith straightened and lowered the window a crack.

"Open up," the boy said in English.

Keith looked at Reagan speaking with the boy and girl at the fountain. The boy was about fourteen… the girl about the same. They held hands like a young teen couple out for a stroll… but so early? Reagan motioned toward the car and all three were coming.

"Open up," the boy at the window said once more. "We don't like being exposed right now."

"We?" mumbled Keith… waiting for Reagan's sign to open the door.

He heard a loud sigh from the boy.

Just then Reagan motioned and Keith leaned over to unlock the car.

"Well you're well-trained boy… I'll give you that!" the boy said as he climbed in beside Keith and slammed the door.

Reagan opened the driver's door while the young couple piled into the back seat… along with a small dark-skinned boy who'd suddenly appeared.

"Watch who's calling who a boy," Keith muttered to the one beside him.

The boy cackled merrily.

"So who are you?" Keith wanted to know.

"The fearsome foursome!" laughed the younger boy in the back seat, as he collapsed back in the seat holding his sides.

Keith rolled his eyes. "Great. We come looking to meet a wise old warrior and we get Les Immortel Enfants!"

The older boy and the girl joined the younger boys in their laughter. Then he met Keith's gaze and sobered. "I'm Micah. This is Madrigal… Denis… and Chou. We may be small… but there is more to us than you can imagine."

Reagan started the car. "So, where to?"

Micah directed her in which direction they'd need to go to meet the Swordmaster… and Reagan complied.

"So who is this swordmaster… exactly?" Keith asked as they drove off.

Chou grinned up at him. "Our swordmaster… what else?"

Keith crossed his arms in front of him. "Everyone's a comedian." He was surrounded by laughter once more.

Twenty minutes later, Reagan pulled off onto a dirt road that led through a vineyard.

"Stop here," Micah directed. "Now just turn the ignition off and let's get out."

"All of us?" Reagan asked nodding towards Keith.

"Well… he's young… but maybe we can use him," chortled the diminutive Chou once more as he alighted from the car. He motioned Keith out.

"Just watch it Short Round!" Keith shot back as he stood to tower over the boy.

The boy grinned at him. "Guess that means I call you Indiana!"

Keith slammed the car's door and accompanied the two smaller boys into the rows of grapevines. "We named the dog Indiana," he mumbled to the accompaniment of the boys. Maybe he should rethink his consideration of these four. They were obviously older than they looked… and likely older than he was. He'd heard tales of immortals who'd died as children… but he'd been told they seldom lasted very long, as they couldn't really compete. Keith had a sinking feeling if he did anything… it would be his head that would roll.

He felt someone ahead… someone powerful… and halted.

Not far ahead… examining the vines was a barrel-chested man with longish unstyled brown hair and a brown beard. He grinned at Keith. "Do we have a problem young one?" The man slapped his hands together to rid them of dirt as he rose and stood easily.

Keith sensed something in the man's movements that although they seemed absolutely benign, they were laced with danger. Keith shook his head.

The man grinned and spread his arms, "Little Reagan… look at you!" He took three steps toward Reagan and gave her a brotherly hug… then held her away. "You haven't changed! As lovely as ever!"

Reagan ran a hand through her hair. "Well my hair is a different color."

He laughed.

"What name do I call you this time?" she asked.

After thinking a moment he asked her, "What name did I use last time?"

"I'm not certain… Gerard something or other."

He shrugged. "Call me Phillip. It's the name I'm using these days." He peered again at Keith. "And what do you go by these days."

Keith grinned and told him.

Phillip nodded. "Yes… I heard about you. Word is you could go either way."

Keith met his gaze. "I'm just trying to survive."

Phillip smirked, "As are we all. Come then. We need to get under cover again so we can discuss a raid on this place I found. It apparently matches up with a set of coordinates Katya sent."

"I didn't realize you knew Katya," Reagan asked as they walked through the vineyard. She glanced back at the car.

"I don't and the car will be fine while we talk."

"Then how?"

"Duncan MacLeod," he said with a laugh. "A name I know you are familiar with."

"You know Duncan," Reagan smiled teasingly.

"Don't get ideas, little girl he's not my type." With that Phillip roared with laughter.

The one thing Keith was certain of was that this group of immortals despite everything… seemed to have a unique outlook on their existence and maybe on the game itself. If this guy was as good as Reagan had indicated… maybe that was the reason. He had no fear of any of them… and thus felt no need to exhibit his prowess. On the other hand… Keith wondered if his reputation was over-rated and did he really want to find out.

As if reading his thoughts, Phillip turned toward him and winked. "Yes, lad… I am that good… and no… you don't want to test me on that."

Keith swallowed. "Ho… How… How did you know that's what I was thinking?"

"All of you do, lad."

Chou pulled at Keith's sleeve. "He was the swordmaster of Alexander the Great… Ever hear of him?"

With a sudden realization, Keith stared at Phillip. "You're thousands of years old."

"If you say so," Phillip replied with a shrug of his shoulders. He motioned toward a small white stucco house, which the seven immortals entered.

Inside, Keith noted the plain whitewashed walls and the dark wood beams around the doors, windows, and across the ceiling. A massive fireplace covered one wall. A table of the same dark wood stood in the center of the room, surrounded by two mismatched chairs. A full bed with a rolled up mattress that had seen better days was to one side. The room held little else.

Phillip snorted, "One of my safe houses. I have some all over the world. There's seldom little of value in them… They're just a place I can stay if necessary if I'm in the area. You two take the chairs." He gestured to them. On the table Keith saw a map spread out, and some surveillance photos. "We need to make plans," Phillip added. The four children stood around the table, the two small boys… Chou and Denis… leaned their elbows on the table's surface.

"Now then… Let's see what we have," Phillip said and began to sort through everything.

-----

Paris

It had been a restful and cleansing night… what there had been of it. Avril Michkov felt more than ready once again to do Henry Rawlins' bidding. Whatever his boss wanted… no matter how distasteful or how dangerous… Mischkov would do it. He'd kill, torture, and kidnap… anyone and everyone. He'd relied too heavily on subordinates lately instead of seeing to things personally. It had been an unfortunate by-product of their early success.

Now that Rawlins wanted all the older ones brought in… before word could spread… Mischkov had opted to coordinate rather than tend to things personally. No longer! He would be hands-on once again and no more immortals would vanish from his grip.

First off… he intended to personally interview… one Joseph Dawson, former Watcher. The old man knew more than he was telling even his protégée, Amy Meyers. Mischkov was tired of waiting for answers.

He pulled into a parking space and waited for the old man to leave his rooms on Rue de Montcalm. Dawson was usually regular as clockwork… and Mischkov knew he'd be out momentarily. His activities yesterday had made Mischkov realize that he needed to deal with the former Watcher now… rather than later. If nothing else… he might know where MacLeod or others were hiding. As soon as Dawson appeared… Mischkov would seize him… and get some answers. He was tired of playing nice… and he would have answers. Rawlins wanted Duncan MacLeod… Mischkov would find him.

Avril Mischkov tugged slightly at the immaculate white cuffs of his shirt, feeling the Egyptian cotton tighten across his back. He ran his hands through his thinning hair and calmly made a minor adjustment to the knot of his silk tie. Appearance was everything. Look like a gentleman… and no one gives you a second glance. It had served him well over the years… even long before he'd ever met Henry Rawlins.

Once Mischkov had Dawson… everything else would fall into place. Inside his coat he could feel the cold bulge of his Luger. In an outside pocket he knew was a syringe and a vial of another brand of persuasion… one that would not be as apparent to people who found the old man afterwards. Mischkov grinned in anticipation.

Across the street, Dawson's door opened and the old man came out, leaning heavily on his cane as he maneuvered slowly. Even as he turned to lock the door… Mischkov was on the move… his Luger already in his hand. Reaching Dawson, Mischkov rammed the muzzle into Dawson's back.

"Re-open your door… Mr. Dawson. We need to have… a discussion," he hissed quietly as the old man tensed.