The Revelation Relic

by Rob Jones

  “Damn it all,” he said.

  “It was closed.” Lewis stared at the carnage. “It’s okay. I saw the sign as we drove toward it.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Did we lose them?” Amy said.

  “No, they’re heading north,” said Jodie.

  “And we’re heading right after them!” Amy said. “I love that bag, damn it.”

  “I think the statue is more what we’re going for right now, Amy,” Hunter said.

  “Whatever we’re chasing, we’re not going to get it,” Blanco said.

  Amy turned to him. “Huh?”

  “Incoming!”

  The next RPG exploded a few short yards to their left, its powerful shockwave blasting the Suburban clean off the asphalt. It crashed down at speed on its side in a shower of sparks and shattered glass and crumpled window pillars. Everyone cradled their heads in their arms as the Chevy roared and growled and screeched to a steel-scraping stop, ploughing into a kerb with a heavy crunch.

  “Crap!” Amy said. “Everyone all right?”

  Silence.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  Mumbled replies, and then the sound of the second Humvee rumbling along the road behind them at speed. One of the Russians inside was laughing as they slowed and raked the bottom of the Chevy with rounds. Seconds later, Hunter smelt fuel.

  “We have to get out of here before she blows!”

  Shocked and shaking, the HARPA team crawled away from the wrecked Suburban just in time to see the Humvees swerving around the corner on their way into Brooklyn Heights. Behind them, a pool of highly flammable gasoline was trickling out of a line of bullet holes in their fuel tank and running out into the road.

  “We need to get further away from the SUV,” Hunter said. “Call the fire department.”

  A long, miserable silence fell over the team like a wet blanket as they took in what had just happened. Shot at, beaten, robbed and nearly killed in a car fire. And they had lost the ox statue.

  “Damn it all!” Blanco growled. “How could that have happened?”

  “We were outgunned,” Hunter said, his voice hardening. “It won’t happen again, but we need to know who those men were.”

  “But first we have to patch up our wounds,” Amy said. “Any ideas?”

  Blanco’s eyebrows raised half an inch on his forehead. “Anyone like pizza?”

  “Sure,” Hunter said, confused. “But wouldn’t a seedy motel be more appropriate? That’s what they always do in the movies.”

  The others shared a glance, a private in-joke between old friends.

  “C’mon, Hunter,” Jodie said. “Let’s get some pizza.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Black clouds gathered over New York and the city prepared for a storm blowing in from the north. In Brooklyn Heights, Sal Blanco introduced the team to his brother, Angelo and ordered some pizzas and sparkling water. For now, they were all patched up and safe, hidden away under the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge with a view across the East River to Manhattan.

  Hunter remembered the view well enough, but from the other side of the water. He had been to Lower Manhattan during an academic conference years ago and seen the bridge from the other side. Then, he was delivering a paper on archaeology. Today, he was hiding from unknown assassins who had just tried to kill him. He was also waiting for a search warrant to enter and go through Alexios Kandarian’s Upper East Side apartment. Finding the address of one of the world’s richest men had not been hard, and now he gazed across the water at the skyscraper they were waiting to raid, all lit up like a Christmas tree in the gloomy New York afternoon.

  A peel of thunder roared and tumbled down the Hudson River. Sighing, he turned and walked back inside the restaurant.

  “You think he’ll just sit around and wait for us to turn his place over?” Jodie asked.

  “Kandarian?” Amy answered with a shrug. “Markovich is dead and if Jim’s Dutch contact was right and the men who raided the Goa Express are another group, then there’s no reason to suggest our billionaire friend has any reason to fly away. We’ll know more in a minute when I've spoken to Jim. He told me he might have something more for us.”

  “Wait a minute,” Quinn said. “Wait just one damn minute. I have a question.”

  Amy looked at her, unsettled by the grave expression on her face. “What is it?”

  “Where are our pizzas?”

  Amy took her phone out of her pocket and made the call to Director Gates, turning to the young goth as she waited for him to answer. “Damn it, Quinn! I thought something serious had happened.”

  “It has! I haven’t eaten for hours!”

  “Then fear no more,” said a gravelly voice from behind them.

  They turned to see Angelo walking toward them. The big, round man’s soft stomach and cheery, red cheeks couldn’t be more different from the fit and strong physique of his older brother, and when he talked, he talked through a genuine, warm smile.

  “Buon appetito!”

  Angelo delivered the freshly-baked pizzas to the table with an honest smile and flour dust on his hands and apron. As they shared the pizza out, he turned and went back into the kitchen where he rearranged some logs at the back of a roaring pizza oven with his trusty ash shovel. Then he shared a joke with his brother, but all eyes were on Amy. She was standing on her own at the other end of the restaurant, talking to HARPA Director James Gates about who had opened fire on them back on the Goa Express.

  As everyone tucked into the pizza, Amy ended the call and walked back over to the table of hungry team members. Jodie picked up a slice of mozzarella and basil pizza and took a bite. She crashed down into one of the wooden chairs and savored the taste for a few moments, but when she saw the look on Amy’s face she stopped chewing.

  “What happened?” Hunter asked.

  Amy sighed. “All right, it goes like this. First, as we know, the men who attacked us killed all three of the FBI agents on the ship. Special Agents Brown, Miller and Guy were all found dead at the scene. So was Markovich, the smuggler, and any remaining crew who were still on board.”

  “Damn,” Lewis said. “Taking out the whole crew? Who the hell would do that?”

  “It gets worse, when the FBI and counter-terror units at the scene finally boarded the ship, the raiders made their escape on a motorboat waiting off the stern. The last they saw of them they were hot-tailing it across the bay to Staten Island. They’re long gone.”

  “Damn it,” Blanco said. “Do we know who these assholes are?”

  “That’s the good news.” Amy sipped some of the water, trying to calm down after the attack on the container ship. “We have a lead. Jim requisitioned all the CCTV footage in the area and ran it through the FBI facial recognition system. Most of the men involved in the assault remain unknown, but a camera in Bay Ridge picked up their vehicles as they approached the port and turned up one single positive result.”

  “Better than nothing,” Quinn said.

  “Right,” said Amy. “The man we got a positive ID on is called Vladimir Neverov.”

  “Means dick to me,” Jodie said.

  Amy glowered at the expression, but said nothing.

  “And me,” Hunter said. “Although I wouldn’t have put it in such a crass way, of course.”

  “Bite me, Hunter.”

  “Perhaps later, if we have time.”

  Jodie brought her pizza slice up to her mouth to hide the smile and took a bite while raising her middle finger in Hunter’s face.

  “What was Neverov on the system for?” Lewis asked.

  “Two things,” Amy continued. “First, artifact smuggling and terror-related offences. He’s been known to buy stolen relics from terrorist groups in the Middle East, including ISIL and sell them to collectors in North America, Europe and the Far East. The terror-related activity comes from his habit of purchasing some of these relics and artifacts not with cash but with weapons and explosives.”

  “Sounds like
just the sort of guy you dream about marrying,” Jodie said.

  “What’s the second thing?” Blanco asked.

  “That’s where the story takes a turn. Neverov’s new life as a relic racketeer started in early 1992.”

  “Right after the USSR collapsed?” Lewis said.

  “Exactly, and before that he had an entirely different existence. Captain Neverov was a KGB agent working directly under the notorious KGB Colonel Mikhael Grudinin. And here’s where we take another turn – Grudinin worked in a department focused on the acquisition of religious relics.”

  “Sort of like the Nazi Ahnenerbe?” Hunter asked.

  “You got it.”

  Blanco gave a low whistle. “Okay. I can handle this.”

  “They called themselves Volchya Staya, which is Russian for Wolf Pack,” Amy continued. “And they were headed up by a man named General Dmitry Patrushev. Back in the days of the Soviet Union, he was a very senior KGB officer whose specialist field was recruiting and running spies inside Israel’s Knesset.” Seeing the blank look on Jodie’s face, she added, “That’s their parliament.”

  “Got it.”

  “More interesting to us is that he had an interest in hidden history, ancient cultures and Bible prophecies. That’s why they put him in charge of the Wolves.”

  “That’s just great,” Quinn said, dropping her pizza slice back onto her plate. “I always wanted to be hunted by a bunch of ex-KGB agents called the Wolf Pack. It’s what every girl dreams of when she grows up.”

  Jodie rolled her eyes and leaned back on her chair. Blanco said, “Anything more on this Neverov guy?”

  Amy nodded. “Sure. He’s getting on in years but still fighting fit and the experience he brings to any situation or fight is hefty and not to be ignored. He retired as a full colonel.”

  “Who else is on his team?”

  “There are three other old timers like him. We have only surnames right now – Lugovoy, Medinsky and Gubenko. There are a number of younger men, mostly drawn from the ranks of the FSB. Some other names floating around are Yahontov and Turgenev. They are backed up by several unidentified former Spetsnaz soldiers. Also not to be taken lightly.” In her usual style. She switched subject without warning or pause, now turning to Hunter. “What about the statue, Max? You get anything from the pictures Quinn took back on the ship?”

  He shook his head and sighed. “Sorry, but I just haven’t had enough time to study them since the attack. There’s also a fair amount of damage on some of the inscription which is going to take some unpicking but as I say, it looks like it’s only a fragment anyway. We need the other statues.”

  “You might get some help if anything turns up at Kandarian’s place during the raid,” she said.

  “You know what’s bothering me?” Blanco said.

  Quinn gave him a sly look. “That your brother makes better pizzas than you do?”

  “That’s always bothered me,” he said with a chuckle, but then his tone turned serious. “But no, that’s not what’s bothering me right now.”

  “It bothers you all the time, big brother,” Angelo shouted over from the kitchen.

  “Maybe the same thing that’s bothering all of us,” Amy said, steering the conversation back around to business. “The biblical element to all of this?”

  Blanco gave a shallow nod. “Yeah. That part.”

  “I don’t see the problem,” Hunter said. “I’ve spent much of my career as an archaeologist studying artifacts from the biblical canon. It’s an interesting era but it’s no scarier than any other.”

  “We’re not just chasing relic smugglers anymore, Hunter,” Jodie said. “If this has something to do with the Revelation and the Apocalypse, then sure, that scares me.”

  “Revelation and Apocalypse are the same thing,” Lewis said, mouth full of ham and cheese.

  Jodie sighed the correction away. “Do I look like I give a shit about that, Ben? I just said I’m scared by this. It freaks me out.”

  “Me too,” Quinn said.

  “Why?” Lewis said.

  “You disappoint me, Ben,” Quinn said. “You talk like the sort of sorry individual who got through his entire childhood without seeing the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

  Lewis laughed. “Right, so that’s what you think is in store for us? The holy spirit of an enraged god bursting out of an ark and melting us all down?”

  She shrugged. “You said it.”

  “Anyway, they were Nazis. We’re trying to do the right thing. Just relax.”

  “I’ll relax when the mission is over, thanks.”

  “Anyway you want to play it, Quinn.”

  Jodie looked at her phone and sighed.

  “Jodie?” Amy asked.

  “It’s nothing, boss.”

  Amy looked at her for a second, and then lowered her eyes. As with Blanco, something was going on in Jodie’s life, and she wanted to help, but she knew there was a certain way to approach this wild young woman, and a straight-out attack was not the right way.

  “Sure, just checking on my team.”

  Jodie flashed a fast, fake smile and slipped the phone in her pocket. “No need.”

  Then, Amy got an alert on her phone and when she checked the screen, a nervous smile spread on her lips. “All right, it might have taken over two hours, but it looks like we got the warrant to search Kandarian’s place. Apparently, tonight he’s hosting some sort of event for the city’s high society.”

  “Not blue bloods?” Quinn said. “Why weren’t you invited?”

  Amy ignored her with a scowl.

  “What sort of event?” Jodie asked.

  “An auction selling ancient relics, ostensibly to raise money for one of his charities. Jim has seen the guest list and there are some archaeology professors there from Cornell, too.”

  “Auctioning smuggled relics?” Blanco laughed. “You couldn’t make it up.”

  “Archaeologists, huh?” Lewis patted Hunter on the back. “You’ll be right at home!”

  Amy smiled and turned to Hunter. “I’ve never been to a party full of archaeologists before. When they start telling dinosaur jokes, be sure and let me know when to laugh.”

  *

  Across the city, Alexios Kandarian stared south across Manhattan island but saw nothing. His mind was too crowded with the agony of thought. The burden of life-or-death decisions. Thousands of miles away in the ancient lands, the Ark was nearly ready but he fought down his excitement and brought his focus closer.

  And his duty.

  His duty to obey the divine will.

  The Ancient of Ancients.

  To act, rather than pay mere lip service to the cause. He was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of the telephone ringing. Then, he heard a heavy footfall behind him in the thick cream plush pile. He turned and saw the towering giant of Belisarius walking to the antique white Bakelite phone. The giant exchanged low, murmured words for a few seconds then replaced the receiver down in the telephone cradle. “That was building security down in the lobby, sir.”

  Kandarian returned his eyes to the rain striking the surface of the water out in the bay. It was mesmerizing. Almost like a flood. “What do they want?”

  “They say the FBI are here. They want to talk to you.”

  “I’m sure they do. Send them away.”

  “They’re already on their way up to the suite, Eminence. They have a warrant.”

  Kandarian sighed. “This is most inconvenient, Belisarius. My guests have already arrived for the auction.” He turned and stared at the giant. Behind him, hanging on the wall on oak mountings, authentic bas-reliefs and petroglyphs from ancient sites around the world. His life’s work. “Can we keep them out?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then stall them.”

  “I’ll speak to your personal security on this floor. Peterson is on the desk. I’ll have them tell him to make things difficult.”

  “Good work, old friend. You are my most loyal lieutenant,
Belisarius,” he said. “A warrior saint who has given his life to serving the Brotherhood.”

  “Will I be rewarded in heaven, Eminence?”

  “Undoubtedly, but you will also be rewarded long before that glorious day,” Kandarian said serenely. “What we do, we do because it is God’s will. The Ancient of Days willed it when he sent his glorious star to our world. It is up to us to bring the prophecy to fruition. To deliver the divine will unto mankind and make this world of sinners pure again.”

  Belisarius noted a flash of wild madness in his leader’s eyes and then it was gone again. Exactly what part of the divine will Kandarian planned to deliver to the world was unknown even to him, but knowing his leader’s interest in the apocalyptic, he knew it would be something truly devastating.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kandarian’s penthouse apartment on Madison Avenue was one of the most expensive properties in the city. Situated on the sixty-fourth floor, the curved window-wall to the south peered out over the Flatiron District like an imperious goddess surveying her worshippers. Further beyond, the breathtaking vista transformed into a jumble of skyscrapers in Lower Manhattan and then finally the shifting green waters of the Upper Bay.

  Amy Fox did not care about any of this. She was at work, in the pursuit of her duties and right now that meant breaking up a charity auction and arresting Alexios Kandarian. She hadn’t told anyone, but the Armenian magnate’s wealth and reach had intimidated her. This was a man with a speculated eighty billion dollars in the bank, and whose flagship logistics company’s latest market capitalization was nearly half of that alone.

  He had wealth beyond measure and that meant power and influence. He rubbed shoulders with senators and congressman and also had high-level connections with members of several European governments. Arresting him was no ordinary thing to do, but no one was above the law.