“You are not from this neighborhood, are you?” the man asked Miles.
His breath stank like a garbage can, and Miles was having considerable difficulty keeping his breakfast down.
Dani came to the door, wiping her hands on a towel, which dropped on the floor when she saw Miles. Her face was white with shock.
“What are you doing here?” Dani asked.
“I brought something for the little girl.”
Dani looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing.
“There is no little girl here,” she muttered.
“Dani, when were you going to tell me about my daughter?”
“Well, Mr. Jailbreaker, if you are going to stand at my doorstep and interrogate me, I guess I have to call the police,” Dani seethed.
“Go ahead; let’s see what they think about a little girl living with her mother’s crackhead boyfriend. Certainly, they would applaud you for your terrible taste in men.”
Miles got Dani to let him see his daughter, but he had gone away filled with so much sadness and guilt. He wished he could take his child with him.
10
Chapter Ten
Boston, MA
May 2019
A black pick-up truck pulled up at the side of the road. Miles stepped out of the passenger’s seat in a blue shirt tucked into black pants. He had on a trilby hat and looked clean-shaven, except for a narrow mustache. He waved at the truck driver and looked up at the sign that said Howard Grant Residence.
When he got to the gate, he brought out his phone, looked up the brand of security lock in front of him. He turned on an app on the phone and faced the screen at the card reader while he pressed the power button on the side of the security lock multiple times until he heard a pop sound. He entered and closed the gate behind him. There was a CCTV at the door that turned on the direction of every movement he made. He made a quick double-tap on the door and checked his wristwatch. When he looked up, the door was opened, and a naked woman smiled in front of him. Miles gazed at her blue eyes and then lowered his gaze down to her lips, her medium size breasts with pink nipples pointing down until his gaze met the stubble between her thighs. She was a sight to behold even at thirty-eight.
Miles had looked up Howard Grant, but so far, the chief executive of the Bloom had managed to keep his crazy wife from the public. Being fresh out of jail, Miles struggled with his vulnerabilities. She made it worse by hugging Miles with a joyous smile that spread innocently on her face. Each second they spent at the door was to the felon’s discomfort until he opened his mouth.
“Hi, I’m Mister—”
“Nate,” Eva interjected. “How could I forget? Come on in.”
Eva closed the door and held Miles by the hand as they walked toward a couch in the living room. Miles was mute, observing the naked woman and wondering if that was the billionaire's idea of hospitality.
“Just a moment,” Eva said, still smiling sheepishly as she went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of wine. She looked better from behind. Her butt bounced with each step. Miles pretended to look at the floor when she turned around.
“How’s Priscilia?”
Miles wasn’t sure if he should cut the crap or stay in the act if it was indeed an act. He smiled back and chortled in response, calm and avoiding the urge to come off as disrespectful.
“How is she loving the new parent status? Kids are such a loving necessity for young parents.”
“Right?”
Miles collected a glass from her as she poured him some red wine. It got more awkward when she sat directly opposite him. Her deliberate attempt to pull down a skirt that wasn’t there gave away the realization that she was oblivious of her nudity.
“Yeah. I wanted one myself when I was her age. Don’t get me wrong, kids are a blessing…in the right hands, of course.”
Miles nodded. He pressed his glass of wine against his lips as he captured a brief awkward reveal the moment Eva crossed her legs.
“But to have two at once, that could be tedious if she doesn’t have someone to assist her.”
“Actually, there is one,” Miles said after a long, hard thought. He took out his phone and opened the gallery. There was a picture of his five-year-old daughter, smiling and holding a Lego brick in her hand.
“Oh,” she said. She collected the phone and glued her eyes on the picture as if she knew the child before. She smiled and then began to sob. Then, she giggled again. She didn’t bother to ask her name. Maybe the picture was enough, or she had already made up a name for her in her complicated mind.
When Miles tried to take the phone back, she cast an annoying look at Miles. She wasn’t ready to give it back yet.
“That’s just a picture, Mrs. Grant. You can visit if you want to.”
She didn’t respond.
“Oh, there you are!” Lydia’s voice resounded from the staircase.
Miles and Eva turned in the same direction as the young doctor emerged with a bathrobe on her arm. She ignored Miles's presence and quickly stood between him and Eva as she covered Eva up with the robe. Eva was suddenly mute as she wore the robe without a protest. She even dropped the phone willingly on the table and followed Dr. Lydia back to her room.
Miles held his glass in one hand and his phone in the other. While he focused in a different direction, he took pictures of the various frames hung on the wall. There was a camera by his right, but from the angle, it would be hard to tell what he did with his phone. The wine in his glass hadn’t reduced an inch since Eva poured it. Immediately he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the stairs; he reached for the bottle of wine and poured some back into it.
“Mr. Neumann!”
Miles looked up and saw Howard climb down the stairs. He stopped some feet away from Howard.
“I sent my driver off on an errand. So, if you are here, then it means you skipped the security at the gate.” He took a seat at the same spot where his wife sat a moment ago. “I would have asked how you did that, but never mind.”
Miles raised the glass as if performing a toast. Howard also noticed another glass on the side table beside him. Miles shook the wine slightly as he brought it close to his nose. He changed his mind and dropped the glass.
“I got a call from your P.O.”
“Well, I heard she’s got a thing for rich folks.”
Unimpressed by the sarcasm, Howard maintained his expressionless face and said, “Come with me.”
Miles followed him into the dark basement. Howard pressed the switch, and the room was instantly illuminated by bright florescent light, revealing several arrays of vintage wines. Miles noticed how he pushed down a lever, and the wall gave way. They entered the room where there was a screen, a large table, and six chairs around it. The walls were stacked with books with titles ranging from archeological literature, biographies of various communist leaders, the history of the Slavic people, and their demographics from the early century. Miles took a keen interest in a book titled ISIS - A G7 Agenda.
“Don’t touch anything,” Howard said and left the room.
Miles ignored the warning and grabbed a book with a weird picture on its cover. The word PERUN was written boldly in red font. He put it back and picked up another book that centered on Stalin. That was the first book that made sense to him.
Howard had gone upstairs when he realized that he had forgotten the item he wanted to show Miles. Out of curiosity, he took out a tablet and clicked on the CCTV feeds. More than forty live images turned up on the screen. He clicked on the thirtieth feed in the eighth row. The screen zoomed in on the feeds in his basement. Miles waved at him on the screen.
“Prick,” Howard said and shook his head. His phone rang. It was his driver, letting him know that he was back. He picked up a folder and went back to his basement.
Howard turned on the screen in the basement. He had a remote in his hands and flipped the slides on the screen as he explained the images that appeared as briefly as he could
.
An image of a woman in flames appeared on the screen. It looked very ancient no matter how he zoomed in on it.
“That’s Xors Dazhbog, or simply Dazhbog. The Slavic people regard her as the god of solar, and the first known relic molded by the Slavic people is still in existence to this day. It has passed from various hands—pagan priests, warlords, and even political leaders—that wanted to wield the powers for selfish reasons.”
Again, he flipped another slide. An image appeared of a bearded man with long grey hair, horns, tall, and holding a wooden staff. There was a V-shaped symbol beside the image.
“That’s Veles,” Howard said with an admiration that showed how much he adored the image or the attributes of the deity itself. “Don’t be deceived by the lamb standing beside him. Yes, he’s a shepherd, but he’s also a powerful god responsible for the earth, livestock, waters, and the underworld.”
The third slide revealed the image of a goddess. “Mokosh,” Howard said. Vladimir the Great molded a similar relic in his sanctuary, and it’s still in the museum to date. But the real deity can be touched by bare hands or without a blood sacrifice even though she protected women in childbirth.”
The next slide showed the image of a winged dog. “That’s Simargl.” Howard’s voice sounded less enthused. “The relics along with Perun, Hors, and Stribog were stolen by a Bulgarian family from here some days ago. But, don’t worry, I know how to retrieve them. Your job is to retrieve Dazhbog, Veles, and Mokosh. The location is in Kyiv, the capital—”
“I know where Kyiv is,” Miles cut in.
“Good. I don’t want to know how you’re going to land there, either by foot or boat. Just make sure you find the real version of those relics. It sounds easy, but you’d be foolish to think that—”
“Wait,” Miles said after listening to him for close to fifteen minutes. “What if I paid some guy in Chinatown to mold something similar? How would you tell?”
“Ha!” Howard let out a brief imitation of a fake laugh. “Even if you did, you are not the only one that had attempted it. Erm, what is that word the New York Times called you again? American Lustig! Ha... Before I acquired the ones that the Bulgarians stole from me, some idiots tried to fool me with fake artifacts. But you see, I have spent years on research and paid researchers from different countries to dig up what they could find on the Slavic relics. Those relics have been veined into the heart and system of the village where they reside. They can’t be detached without death tolls piling up in the dozens and possibly in the hundreds. Oh, another fact. They are living relics. What that means is, they live and breathe as you and I do.”
Miles opened his mouth to ask another question, but he closed it and looked at the image on the screen with mixed feelings.
The door gave way, and Howard’s driver came in with a briefcase. He dropped it on the table.
“Before I hand you the coordinates to the location…” Howard snapped his fingers, signaling his driver to pin Miles down on the table. He tried to wriggle free, but the nearly seven-foot-tall redneck was way stronger than him.
Howard opened the briefcase and removed a bracelet from it. He placed it on Miles's left wrist before instructing his driver to release him.
“That’s a TNT bracelet, and I’ve just set the time at seventy-two hours. Three days are enough for you to make good use of the resources that I have provided for you and your team of felons. If you exceed the timeline, kaput.” Howard emphasized the explosion, demonstrating it with his hands. “If you move off the grid within the timeline, kaput. And if you tried to force it off, kaput.” Howard moved closer to Miles and lowered his voice in an intimidating fashion. “Bring those babies to me within three days, and you will have your freedom again.”
Howard handed over the coordinates, along with some items that came with Jakub from Gaza. He dropped a credit card on the table and flicked it over to Miles with a finger.
“Mr. Neumann,” Howard called, stopping Miles at the door, “I would have you know that some Bulgarian mercenaries would do anything to get their hands on those coordinates.”
Miles stretched his neck, still hurting from the pin-down he suffered in the hands of Howard’s driver. He pushed the door and was glad to finally exit the house, at least for another seventy-two hours if he survived the dangerous mission.
_____
The first place Miles visited was an old pawnshop that had been closed down after a robbery incident. He waited for an hour before a scooter pulled over. A fat man that made the vehicle look like a mere stunt scooter approached the door. Miles had been leaning against a tree from a few yards away, watching as the fat man entered the pawnshop. He quickly followed behind and slid in before the man rolled down the shutter door.
“Is it ready?” Miles asked.
The fat man nodded. He went inside and brought back a brown envelope. Miles peeked inside and pulled an ID card and some documents out of the envelope.
“Congratulations,” the fat man said.
“Thanks.”
Miles left the shop with a smile. With the new ID, driver’s license, and other licenses, his old name was officially gone. Miles Cleveland became his official alias.
Miles took a cab and stopped by a boutique shop. Dean Bowen and Kash had been trying out a few clothes before Miles joined them. Miles grabbed Dean by hand and dragged him to somewhere a bit private.
“What is so hard about picking one or two outfits? I told you we don’t have time.”
“Hold on, Miles. I talked to someone in Ukraine to help us with—”
“Forget about it. We are not going to Kyiv.”
“We are not?”
“You think Howard was released because he’s such a big fan of our work, huh? If we go to Kyiv, it will be our last week alive. There’s no doubt that he already has his dogs, waiting to see that we complete the mission before they put a bullet to the backs of our heads. I did my own research. I think I can find something in Russia that will interest a religious fanatic. Now, we are killing time. Get some casual outfits, and come on!”
While Miles expressed his displeasure, Dean noticed the bracelet on Miles’s left wrist.
“Oh, shit. Yeah, you told me to make it snappy, but you didn’t tell me it was TNT serious! What the hell are we getting into here?”
Miles tried to keep his calm. He inhaled and exhaled loudly.
“Get the clothes, and I’ll tell you on the plane.”
They left the boutique a moment later, looking like tourists.
11
Chapter Eleven
Yekaterinburg, Russia
May 2019
“Twenty bucks says I’ll land that chic’s number in a minute.” Dean held up a twenty-dollar bill, smiling as he waited for Kash to accept the challenge.
Kash brought down his sunglasses for a second, shook his head, and continued to read a magazine he collected from an airport attendant at Yemelyanovo. The lady that Dean was referring to passed by after tending to a customer. Dean and Kash shared a table with a strawberry mix cocktail in front of Kash and an untouched espresso martini in front of Dean. Miles sat at a different table alone. He had buried his head in a palmtop computer and had barely said a word since they landed in Russia. He had been communicating with his contacts via text messages and was expecting the contacts to meet them in front of the tourist hotel.
Again, Dean saw another waitress. This time, the lady was even taller than the first one. He raised his twenty-dollar bill again, challenging Kash as before. Kash glanced at the lady in a purple waitress uniform and continued to look at the pictures of female models in his magazine.
“You two are no fun,” Dean said, sipping his martini.
Kash raised his head and spotted a couple seated a few rows from them.
“I’ve got one better,” he said. “How about you up the price, and I’ll steal that chic from her talkative boyfriend?”
Dean chuckled. He put his hand in his wallet and brought out a fifty-dolla
r bill, but Kash shook his head. “Benjamin or nothing.”
Dean added up all the money in his wallet to come up with a hundred.
As Kash was getting up, Dean said, “Dude, when you fail, I’m getting a hundred.”
“If I fail,” Kash reiterated boastfully.
Dean turned his seat around and watched with excitement as Kash adjusted the collar of his shirt and advanced toward the man and the lady.
What Kash said to the beautiful petite Russian lady wasn’t audible from Dean’s sitting position. But to Dean’s amazement, Kash held the lady by the hand as they walked to his table. The man they left seemed too gentlemanly, not just for his formal outfit and the leather bag he carried with him. The way he gave up the young lady without protest made Dean open his mouth in unbelief.
“Elena, meet my friend and business partner, Dean Bowen,” Kash said as Dean smiled and shook hands with the Russian lady.
Kash gently pulled out a chair for the lady. He turned to Dean and said in a calm manner that was characteristic of him, “Pal, that seat looks vacant from where I’m standing.”
“Oh, um, I’ll sit with Miles.”
“Yeah, you should,” Kash said, taking Dean’s place. But as Dean was about to leave, Kash caught him by his shirt and said, “I believe you have something of mine.”
Dean handed him the 100 dollars and walked over to join Miles at his table. Still awed by what Kash had done, he tried to fill Miles in with the story, but Miles was too buried in his research to respond to him. He turned around to look at the table where the supposed couple were seated. The man was no longer there. It was safe to assume that he had left to sulk somewhere or drown himself in liquor.
“They are here,” Miles finally said, drawing Dean’s attention to their earlier discussion on the plane.
“The pilot?” Dean asked.
Hunt for the Lost Sanctum Page 8
