Thanatos (Guardian Security Shadow World Book 4) Read online

  Thanatos

  Guardian Shadow World - Book 4

  Kris Michaels

  Copyright © 2019 by Kris Michaels

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Also by Kris Michaels

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Night settled around London, cloaking the city in darkness. His target would be returning shortly. Decreasing traffic, both on foot and in vehicle, slowed the punctuation of the night sounds on London’s Kensington High Street. The antique Victorian chair, covered in a tastefully woven silk brocade, protested mildly as he carefully leaned back, closed his eyes, and listened to the vehicles and the occasional talkative pedestrians pass by the front of the house. As was typical of all the men Thanatos stalked, Benjamin Wellington was a creature of habit. Every Thursday, without fail, the man smoked cigars and drank expensive brandy while talking with his compatriots at an exclusive gentlemen's club located near the Egyptian Embassy. The weekly habit provided the access that would end the man.

  He shook his head, silently decrying the miasma of intentional ignorance that swirled through society. Wellington had murdered hundreds if not thousands in a life-long effort to build the perfect biological weapon. For years, just as the designer labels that cluttered Wellington's upstairs closets fabricated a sense of respectability for the bastard, the “humanitarian” cloak the man wore had shielded his nefarious acts. Finally, that shroud had been yanked back and the monster revealed. For the crimes Benjamin Wellington had inflicted upon those who had no defenders, the international tribunal known as the Council had sentenced him to death. As the instrument of the man’s eradication, Thanatos awaited his prey.

  His surveillance and reconnaissance were complete. There were no holes in his plan, however, humans although predictable, could surprise a person. He didn’t anticipate Wellington changing his routine, but it might happen. Preparations were drawn for that eventuality, too.

  Headlights broached a small crack of the heavily draped window. He listened as Benjamin bid his driver good night. The guard at the front of the house opened the wrought-iron entry gate. Muted conversation between the two men could be heard. The front door opened and closed. His target hummed as he walked down the marble-tiled hallway. The click of his Italian leather shoes went from sharp staccato taps to muted reverberations as he stepped onto the luxurious carpet outside his office.

  The door opened and Benjamin headed straight for his bar. The heavy wooden door closed with a soft click. He watched from a darkened corner of the office as Benjamin stopped and flicked on a small lamp. The man moved to pour his drink. Motionless, Thanatos waited until the abomination in front of him settled behind his desk and opened his computer. The light from the monitor displayed the frown on the man’s face when his laptop didn’t activate. He reached for the phone.

  “All means of communication from this room have been disabled.”

  Wellington startled, sprang to his feet, and moved to face him.

  Thanatos turned on the table lamp next to him. His handgun and the suppressor on the end of its barrel made a deadly statement. A small movement of his weapon motioned Wellington backward.

  His mark’s eyes shifted to the duress button at the side of his desk. The man stood slowly and moved a few inches toward what he obviously believed was assistance.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” he quavered.

  “I am destiny. You have been judged and found guilty. Your sentence is to be carried out tonight.” Thanatos lifted a small straw and blew forcefully. A small silver dart nailed the man in the leg just above the knee.

  Wellington jerked and grabbed at the dart, pulling it free from his body.

  It didn’t matter. The effects would be almost instantaneous.

  “What have you done? Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I’ve seen the bodies. I’ve followed the money. My handlers have proof, and you have been judged. Tonight, you cease to exist.” He drew a deep, easy breath. This portion of his mission could prove difficult. Could. His specialty required the man to leave a note. Some were easier to convince than others, which necessitated the drug-laced dart.

  Once they understood their demise was imminent, his targets tried to bargain for their lives. Wellington was no different.

  “I’m a very rich man. I’ll triple whatever they’re paying you.” The quavering tone no longer existed. The man’s persona shifted, and his cloak of respectability fell as dust onto the ground.

  “The dart isn’t poison. It’s a drug called Devil’s Breath. Please, do sit down.”

  His target blinked several times as the chemicals worked. The chemicals stripped his free will. Suggestions, even from his killer, became commands. Wellington struggled, his eyes blinked rapidly and his muscles shook, but he finally sank slowly into his chair.

  “You will use the pen and paper in front of you to write your suicide note.”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t want to kill myself.”

  Obviously, a strong mind. Thanatos wasn't impressed. The Devil’s Breath always won.

  “I’m sure the thousands you murdered didn’t want to die, either. Pick up the pen.”

  The man reached forward and picked up the pen he had prepositioned on top of the desk. Wellington's hand shook as his mind fought the suggestion.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Consider me an avenging angel.”

  “Strange. I would’ve thought you’d have been sent by one of my competitors, not the Council.”

  “Write the following. To whom it may concern, I can no longer go on living as I have been. I am haunted by those I have harmed. Forgive me my sins.”

  He watched the man scribble the note on the paper and instructed him to sign it. The vague note, written in Wellington’s hand, would lead to an investigation into the bastard’s crimes. He'd positioned that proof where the investigators would find it.

  Thanatos stood and the man’s eyes rose to meet his. “Will you kill me now?”

  “I believe you understand you will be killing yourself.”

  The statement didn’t necessitate an answer. The man nodded and licked his lips. “I have heard of you. The Angel of Death. I thought you were a myth. The others… nothing was proven.”

  Of course, nothing had been proven. He was the best in the world and his scenes were pristine. A fact, not a point of pride.

  “May I make a last request?”

  “You are hardly in a position to ask for anything.”

  “The request is not for me. I have no regrets about what I have done. When I started experimenting years ago, my goal was to develop a vaccine against Ebola. Through experimentation on human subjects, my researc
h developed several strains of the virus more effective and far safer to handle than Ebola. Money can be made with these altered viruses, but no bioweapon is useful without an antidote or vaccine, which is another lucrative side business.

  “Bioweapons are radically unpredictable. The demand for specific antidotes arose and my team determined the best way to produce the required counteragent was by in-vitro gene manipulation to produce an inherently immune individual. That work years ago provided a viable birth. Throughout her infancy, we tested and exposed her to various strains of common diseases. She survived them all. The tests grew more aggressive as she aged. Almost ten years ago there was a demand for materials that could wipe out villages. We had more demand than product. She lived through a year-long research program that should have killed her.

  “The woman is remarkably normal. The researchers who raised her told her she was a carrier of a rare cancer and testing on a routine basis was a requirement if she wanted to live. She is quite compliant.” Wellington chuckled. “We make new bioweapons, we expose her to them, and using her immunized blood as the basis of the remedy, I make vaccines. The entire spectrum of the war machine is an endless source of profit.”

  “You sick fuck.”

  Wellington shrugged as if his opinion was inconsequential.

  That man had exposed infants and the unborn to the worst nightmares known to man. Wellington mentioned one living, but there must have been many more who died. He rarely wished for latitude in the way his kills were dictated. Tonight, if it wouldn’t compromise every intrinsic value he’d managed to hold on to, he’d gut the motherfucker and watch him bleed out.

  He narrowed his eyes. The man almost sounded… proud? “And what does this have to do with your request?”

  “My, how shall we say, customers, will actively seek my research vaults and the treasures they hold. Unfortunately, once I’m gone, the truth about my experiments will eventually be revealed. Capturing and regulating this woman and her unique immunities are in my competitors’ best interests. If they can’t control her they will kill her.” The man’s words slurred toward the end.

  “So why are you telling me?”

  “I have no desire to wholly destroy the population of the earth. Without this woman and the antibodies she produces, if found and released, two of the diseases we manufactured have the potential to end all human life. I have taken measures to ensure they are destroyed should I die, but there is always a chance my preventative measures could fail.”

  “What is her name?”

  “Eve Salutem.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Somewhere in the States.”

  Thanatos narrowed his eyes. The bastard or his researchers had a sick sense of humor. Eve, the name of the first woman in the Christian Bible, and salutem, the Latin word for health. He weighed the conversation. The gasped words of a dying man could very well be a lie to pull Guardian into a trap. On the other hand, if the bastard was telling the truth, an innocent woman would be in the crosshairs. Additionally, if her blood did in fact provide an antidote to such horrendous diseases, the world needed her. A conundrum. One he’d deal with, after his work here was finished.

  “It is time.” He opened the small bottle he’d earlier placed on the side table and dropped the tablets it contained into his palm. He crossed to the tumbler of brandy and slipped them into the liquor. “Drink it all. It’s quick, effective, and relatively painless. Unfortunately.”

  This method of execution was rarely satisfying. Only the target and he knew of the emotion, the regret, the struggle at the end of life. The biological weapons this bastard had produced had slaughtered over a thousand men, women, and children, a thousand souls who deserved retribution.

  The man lifted the glass and drank. Benjamin choked and gasped, his survival instinct trying to override the drugs that already coursed through his system.

  The empty tumbler hit the desk awkwardly and rolled away from the man’s hand. His eyes closed and his breathing became shallow pants.

  Thanatos carefully unscrewed the suppressor from the barrel of his weapon, and holstered his gun, closing his jacket to hide the weapon. The suppressor slipped into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Finally, he retrieved the small silver dart and placed it in a plexiglass vial in his pants pocket. It was a waiting game now.

  Benjamin’s guards had retired for the evening. The duress button at his desk and the phone lines to the den would be reconnected when he slipped out the back after Wellington took his last breath. The lovely garden hidden behind the house was a perfect escape route. There were no motion detectors, cameras, or dogs to hinder his departure. Strange how a vile and evil person such as Benjamin would assume a wrought-iron fence, an outdated alarm system, and a complacent guard on the premises, provided safety.

  The man’s hand waved without any control and then hit the desk blotter with a thud. He stood in front of the desk and waited as the man drew his last breath followed by a rasping, strangled release of air with no inhale. The suicide note, the dead man, and the manufactured setting were perfect, as usual. He placed the emptied bottle of prescription painkillers beside the crystal tumbler that had held the man's brandy. The prescription was written by a doctor who had recently passed away. Wellington’s fingerprints were on the bottle and the date on the script was falsified, but all suicides needed an established means of death. The opioids from the vial, which were now in Wellington's system, checked that box. Thanatos gave the office one final sweep. Suicide note, overdose, and evidence. Yes, two plus two equaled four, and pointed to obvious conclusions.

  He strode across the room and pressed his ear to the door. Nothing moved, no sounds. He opened the door, slipped into the hall, and after he restored the office's connectivity, disappeared through the small garden. As he emerged on Kensington-High Street near Royal Albert Hall, he smiled and acknowledged a passing couple. He gazed up at the bright moon and drew a deep breath of cool September air, his assignment complete, and another monster slayed. Warding off the chill of the evening, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his wool overcoat and slowly began to stroll down the avenue.

  His hotel bar was packed. The stale smell of alcohol, mingled with a confusion of perfumes and colognes, twirled throughout the forced air of the establishment. The murmur of voices reached a moderate din that resembled a flock of babbling geese. The posturing, preening and pretending people went through to construct social contacts reeked of desperation. He'd never fit in with the living. The charged energy of people trying to be what they weren't disgusted him. He'd stripped that veil of pretense long ago. Where he went, death followed. The dark trail he left absorbed the filth of the world. His purpose, his curse.

  The unsuspecting people who laughed and drank around him were blessed by their ignorance. If they knew the evil he embodied, they'd run in terror. He was a driven man, but not for the justice he dispensed tonight. No, his motivation was revenge. Vengeance for horrendous deeds perpetrated decades ago against unsuspecting innocence. Yet, here he was, acting normal after once again sweeping the filth of humanity down the sewers of polite society. He literally flushed human waste away from the people who sat in this room. Hatred for those who preyed on the weak had become a constant companion long ago. That emotion fueled his need for revenge. He lived in the filth and cloaked himself in respectability. Thanatos glanced at his reflection in the mirrored surface near the hostess stand. The defining line that separated what he did from who he hunted had diminished to the finest thread. Recently he'd reminded himself he was a specialist who was called on when needed. Not necessarily a redeeming quality.

  He took possession of a table near the front window which overlooked the street below. London’s double-decker buses stopped across the way, emptying and gaining passengers, as the city’s public transit pulsed through its streets.

  Life moved on, people went about their routines, clueless about the atrocities who lived in their midst. He ordered a drink and pulled his phone from
his pocket to send a text. Carefully considering the words he fed into the phone, he tapped out a message. He never spoke of his conversations with the dead. The shrinks didn’t know about them and he'd never volunteer the information. Yet each dying word of the people he was responsible for extinguishing engraved themselves into his mind. He could recall each threat, plea, and bribe, that had ever been thrown at him. Never had any of the abominations he’d terminated asked for something to benefit another human. It was an anomaly he couldn’t disregard. No, strike that, wouldn’t disregard. So, he hit send and waited for the message to be delivered. Once he received notification of receipt, he powered down his phone and returned it to his pocket. Its weight, coupled with that of his suppressor, felt familiar and grounded him in his reality, one of action, of justice.

  He leaned back in the plush baby blue chair and stared out the window. Benjamin’s words rolled through his mind again, unwanted and unbidden. He lifted the scotch the harried waitress had deposited in front of him and took a sip. With determination he flushed the night’s activities from his mind. He had a flight in the morning. His work here was finished. Regardless of the dead man’s plea or the actions taken by Guardian, his mission was complete. He was an enforcer, not a caretaker. The woman's future was not in his hands, and neither was her demise, because he didn’t exist. He was a Shadow. His life was spent as a faint memory, a nondescript association that most people couldn’t recall with clarity. He was a ghost, and the Angel of Death. His job here was finished, but the world was full of abominations like Mr. Wellington. It wouldn’t be long before he was called on again. Until that time, his obsession and his reason for still walking on this planet would fill the void.