“That we’re aware of. That doesn’t mean there isn’t another one. Stane is nothing if not clever.”
True. And given he dealt on a regular basis with some very shady characters, it wasn’t beyond the realm of
possibility for him to have some sort of panic room. It would also explain why his phone signal had so suddenly cut off. Cell services were notoriously unreliable when it came to anything underground, like the rail loop, or even sewerage tunnels. Not that I really had firsthand experience of the latter, but if Stane
did
have a bolt-hole, then he undoubtedly also had an escape route out of said bolt-hole. And there were plenty of decommissioned sewer and utilities tunnels running underneath most parts of Melbourne.
I glanced around but couldn’t immediately see anything that screamed “hidey-hole”—which was the whole point of a panic room, really. But knowing Stane’s love of technology, it was doubtful that he’d be anywhere without some method of knowing what was going on above him.
“Stane?” I said, voice loud. “It’s safe to come out if you want to.”
There was no immediate response, but after several minutes there was a soft hiss, and part of the floor under his computer desk dropped down an inch and slid to one side. Two hands appeared, and with very little ceremony, Stane hauled himself back into the room.
“Fuck,” he said, face red and beaded with sweat. “That was more unpleasant than I remembered.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve used your bolt-hole before?”
“Hell yeah.” He grabbed his desk with one hand and pulled himself upright. “You can’t play the black market game without occasionally hitting trouble. It’s been a few years, though, and I think I might have put on a bit of weight since I had it installed. Things were a little tight.”
“Better tight than you getting dead,” I said.
“Oh, definitely.” He plonked down on his chair, his expression grim. “So what did those bastards want with me?”
“Well, not you, for a start. They wanted
me
and were merely using you as bait.”
He glanced at the sprays and puddles of blood that decorated his living area. There were no bodies; even the vampire Azriel had decapitated had disappeared. I very much suspected Valdis’s fire had taken care of them while I was in the bathroom puking my guts out.
“It obviously didn’t go well for them,” Stane commented.
“No.” I glanced at the darkened bridge behind him. “How come you haven’t got a backup generator installed?”
“Oh, I have, but it only keeps the main computer system going, not the peripherals.”
“Peripherals being the light screens and keyboards?”
“No, they’re necessary and included. I just did a quick system shutdown when I saw the vamps entering. Didn’t want to chance them getting access to my baby.”
I snorted softly. He thought more of his computer’s safety than he did his own—anyone else would have disappeared into the panic room and let the computer fend for itself. I had no doubt it would take an exceptionally skilled hacker to access Stane’s system, even if he
had
left it on and running.
“I think you need to widen the net and include security in the systems it keeps going.”
“I think you could be right.” He swung around and splayed his fingers across a scanning pad on his desk. A second later, his bridge came back to life. “I guess the big question is, should I expect similar attacks, or will that be the last of it?”
“We don’t know,” I replied. “Azriel sent a warning to the council, but whether they’ll take any notice or not is another question.”
“And the would-be queen bee of said council?”
“Is another matter entirely.” My voice was grim. “But speaking of her, can I borrow your cell phone?”
“Sure, but why?” He dug his phone out of his pocket and tossed it over.
“Because I need to contact said queen bee.”
“Just as well I’ve enabled the scrambler for all but selected people,” he said. “I don’t want her getting hold of my number.”
“Stane, she’s Directorate.” I punched in Hunter’s number, and Space Invaders began to uniformly march across the screen as the phone connected. I smiled, then added, “She can get any number she wants anytime she wants.”
“Not this one, she won’t,” he said, amused. “When you get off the phone to her, I’ve got some information you might not want to see.”
“Oh, fabulous.” Things were obviously about to go from bad to worse—the thought had barely crossed my mind when the Space Invaders disappeared and Hunter came online. As timing went, it was pretty much perfect.
“Risa, dear,” she all but purred. “What a lovely surprise it is to see you.”
“I’m betting it is,” I all but snapped back. “Considering your fellow council members just sent nine of their finest to finish me off.”
All amusement fled, and her expression became very,
very
scary. “When did this happen?”
“About fifteen minutes ago. I take it, then, that my astral follower hasn’t reported the situation to you yet?”
“No, because
that
was something I did not envisage and, as such, was not in her brief.”
Meaning she’d asked for only key-related information to be relayed? If so, I very much suspected it was a situation that would now be rectified. “I’m also gathering the councillors didn’t seek your approval or even ask for your opinion of the action?”
“No, they did
not
.” And they would pay for that, if the icy, murderous glitter in her eyes was anything to go by. “It is hardly an action I would approve as yet.”
As yet.
It was a very telling slip of the tongue.
“Well, Azriel sent them a warning not to make another such attempt, but you might want to address the situation yourself.” Somehow, I managed to keep most of the anger out of my voice. If there was one thing I was certain of, it was the fact that I
didn’t
want her murderous fury aimed at me. I was in trouble enough with Hunter. “After all, you need me alive to find the damn key.”
“I’m well aware of what I do and don’t need,” she snapped. “I will take care of the council. You had best concentrate on finding the keys—especially given you only have ten hours left to produce that second one.”
And with that, she hung up. I blew out a breath and tossed the phone back to Stane. “Well, if there are any councillors left after she’s done chastising them, I’ll be very surprised.”
“That would be no great loss, from what I’ve seen of them,” Stane commented. “So that search you wanted on your accountant.”
I walked across the room, grabbed a chair, and sat down. I had a bad feeling I didn’t want to be standing when Stane told me the search results. “And?”
“And, as I said, it’s not good news.” He tapped the screen in front of him, then flicked some images across to the screen nearest me. Two were birth certificates, the other a passport document. The name on one of the certificates was Michael Judd; the name on the other two was not.
“Michael Greenfield?” I glanced at Stane. “Are you saying Mike is the missing Michael Greenfield?”
“It would certainly appear that way,” Stane said, voice grim. “And if he
is
, he was born in London over a hundred and twenty years ago.”
“What?” I stared at him in disbelief. “Mike
can’t
be
that
old!”
“If he
is
our shape-shifter,” Azriel commented, “then he can make himself appear whatever age he might wish.”
“I guess.” I frowned. “Although surely the strain of holding so many different forms
and
creating so much magic
should
show.”
“The Aedh was his partner in crime, remember, and more than likely responsible for much of the magic used against us,” Azriel said. “Besides, did you not note that Mike appeared to have aged somewhat when you met him in that restaurant?”
“Yes.” I shrugged and glanced back at Stane. “What makes you think he’s Greenfield?”
“Too many coincidences.” He tapped Michael Judd’s birth certificate. “There’s nothing untoward in Judd’s records until he hit the age of twenty-four. He took a year off university to ‘find himself,’ and promptly disappeared for several months.”
“That’s not exactly unusual,” I commented. “Lots of kids have a gap year before going to uni.”
“Yeah, but Judd disappeared in the
middle
of his courses. And certainly not all of those who take a year off so completely disappear that they don’t use their bank accounts or credit cards for six months.”
I raised my eyebrows. “So what happened?”
“His dad was a prominent—and well-connected—businessman, so his disappearance was given widespread publicity. As was his sudden reappearance.”
“How did he explain going so completely off the grid?”
“He simply said he was living off the land with a lady friend and didn’t need to access any of his accounts.”
I glanced at Azriel. “I wonder if the lady friend was our shape-shifting sorceress?”
“It would seem likely,” Azriel said. “And I would imagine that six months would provide ample time to learn someone’s mannerisms and habits.”
“I’d imagine so.” I glanced at the date stamped on the passport image and did the math. “His disappearance
happened a year and a half after Greenfield came into the country.”
“Yes, but the timing gets even more interesting,” Stane said. “Six months before Michael Judd went on a walkabout with a mysterious woman, Greenfield become acquainted with one Edward Judd—Michael’s father.”
He flicked another image across to my screen. Shock rolled through me, and for several seconds I couldn’t even speak. All I could do was stare at the screen and the all-too-familiar figure standing with the much younger Mike and two other men I didn’t recognize.
“The Aedh,” Azriel growled. “More and more I regret my decision not to kill him the very moment I met him.”
“More and more I’m regretting the very same thing,” I muttered. I glanced back at Stane. “Who is the fourth man in that picture? I take it the one with his arm around Michael’s shoulder is Edward Judd?”
Stane nodded. “The article that pic was attached to said Lucian and Judd were partners in an importing business. The other man is, according to this particular newspaper article, James Bentley.”
“Who is?”
“The article didn’t actually say, so I did a side search on the man. He was a long-term friend of the family and was also Edward’s business adviser.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Was?”
Stane nodded. “He disappeared not long after Michael Judd’s reappearance. His family had him declared dead via a court order nine years later, though his body was never found.”
“If he’d known the family for so long, maybe he suspected the Michael that reappeared was not the real deal.”
“It’s more than possible,” Stane agreed. “Especially given Michael was the last person to see James alive.”
Considering there was a very good chance Michael Greenfield had become Michael Judd, it was more than possible that not only was he the last person to see James alive, but also the reason he disappeared. “Did the police ever question him?”
“According to the newspaper articles, yes. I tried to track down the official police interview report, but I’m afraid they just don’t keep records that far back anymore. Not for people who have been declared dead, anyway.”
“When did Greenfield—via Pénombre Manufacturing—purchase that warehouse?”
“Not long after he’d arrived in Australia, apparently.”
I frowned. “Why buy it, then not use it? That makes no sense.”
“But he was using it,” Azriel commented. “He might not have had his dark altar there, but he
was
doing magic in the caverns under that place.”
That was certainly true. And, given that, maybe it was also true of other buildings. “Did Greenfield or Pénombre purchase any other buildings?”
Stane smiled. “Pénombre didn’t, but Greenfield certainly did.” He flicked another image over to my screen. It was a list of about half a dozen locations. “He actually bought more than these, but they’ve either been sold to legitimate people, or the buildings were razed, apartments built on the land, and then sold.”
“Legitimate meaning you’ve checked them out?” I said.
He nodded. “I’m still in the process with a couple of them, but I can’t immediately see or find a link back to any of our sorceress’s known identities.”
“And Michael Greenfield? Is he still in existence?”
“According to the tax department, yes, though it took some time to track him down, as he hasn’t actually filed a return for a few years now.”
“Define a few?”
“Eleven years.” He grinned. “He’s racking up some big fines to the tax man, I can tell you.”
They could only fine him if they could find him, and I somehow doubted they ever would. Mike had obviously ditched that persona. I waved a hand at the list of six. “And these?”
“Have all been sold, but most of them have, at one point or another, been in Lauren’s hands.”
“So definitely a connection.” I studied them for a moment, then frowned. “That place out at Altona North—who’s that registered to now?”
He glanced at his screen for a second, then said, “A Mrs. Margaret Kendrick.”
“A name I’ve seen before,” I said, voice resigned. “Mike had her folder on his desk one time when I visited him. He told me he was just updating her records.”
“He keeps paper records?”
I frowned. “Yeah, and I’ve already told you that.”
“Did you? Sorry.” He grinned. “Maybe the shock of someone doing it the old-fashioned way just erased it from my memory.”
I snorted softly. “I’m gathering the Altona North place is still a working warehouse?”
He nodded. “Kendrick is an importer, and interestingly, many of the companies she uses are the same ones Lucian and Judd used in their import business.”
“So we have a likely connection.” I glanced at Azriel. “And one possibly worth checking out.”
He nodded. “Although it would depend on whether or not we have a workable list of possible key sites. Hunter’s deadline approaches far too fast, and we need to concentrate on our main quest rather than be sidetracked by a rogue sorceress.”