by S. C. Abbey
“So what exactly did he do?” asked Harvey.
“He acted as the middleman between the manufacturer of the biological weapon, a terrorist organization known as OUBO, short for Ouroboros, and the purchaser of the serum.”
“The purchaser?” Katie said. The look on her face said she didn’t like where this was going.
Spector turned to Harvey with an amused expression. “Make a guess?”
“The Greek government?” Harvey stared at the emblem on the timber box.
“Spot on, my boy,” said Spector.
“The government?!” said Katie with an astonished look on her face.
“MI6 possesses classified information implying the connection between the government, Director Panayiotis, and OUBO,” said Spector.
“No shit—”
“Who is this OUBO anyway?” said Harvey with a questioning look.
“OUBO is an underground organization that provides unconventional goods and services to anybody who can afford it—at least that’s what they say they do. Fact is, they’re a terrorist organization that deals in precarious advanced weapons of all sorts, drugs, and human trafficking. They spin scandals that cause political empires to fall, launder money for the wealthy, manipulate the stock market—as long as you can afford them, they can be hired.”
“Just like the Silk Road,” whispered Katie.
“The Silk Road on steroids, if you must.” Spector smirked.
“I’m lost,” said Harvey.
“The Silk Road was the first online black market, in the form of a website like Craigslist, most famously known for peddling drugs and murder-for-hires. It was launched in the early part of 2011 and lasted thirty months before the FBI shut it down and arrested Ross William Ulbricht, the site’s founder. The list of things they dabbled in included child pornography, weapons, and stolen credit card information. Multiple Silk Road impersonators have popped up ever since, causing Interpol quite a lot of problems,” Katie said.
“In a way,” added Spector, “you can say OUBO is another version of the Silk Road. Except, it would be more accurate to say the Silk Road was a version of OUBO—some say they go back almost a hundred years, though I wouldn’t put much thought into that—conspiracy theories. Earliest records from our intelligence show that OUBO existed from the nineties, nothing before. They’ve also never been online—one can only engage their services if one knows who to ask.”
“And Director Panayiotis knew who to ask,” deduced Harvey.
Spector shook his head. “That we can only assume. You might want to ask him the next time you see him, Harvey.”
“It still doesn’t explain how Louis Tanner is involved,” said Katie.
“Director Panayiotis, as part of the deal, was supposed to hand the package to an NIS agent, by the name of Ambrose Contos. Which, come to think of it…” said Spector, looking like he was trying hard to process a thought before shaking his head again, “never mind.”
“The NIS? Greek’s version of the CIA?” asked Katie.
Spector nodded and then scrunched his face. “And here is the part where I haven’t really got it as well—that is why did the package end up with Louis Tanner instead of Ambrose Contos, or the NIS for that matter?”
Harvey kept silent, trying to digest the ocean of information he was suddenly doused in. He looked at the box he had in his hands in deep contemplation, circling the emblem with his index finger. The serpent looked so real, he thought. He then opened the box, finding it empty yet again. He should really stop doing that, it was getting rather foolish to expect an alternate outcome.
“Plus, where’s the missing NIS agent? He disappeared! Poof! Gone!” Spector waved his hands in the air. It would be really hard to convince someone to believe the man was a professional killer, looking at him this way.
“Mr. Spector, with all respect, why aren’t the British sharing this intelligence with the EU, if—” said Katie.
“Shh—” said Spector with a sudden change in his demeanor, his finger on Katie’s lips. “Hear that?”
Katie pushed his finger away with a faint expression of annoyance. “Hear what?” she whispered.
“Listen.”
“I don’t hear anything,” she added.
“Exactly, weren’t we supposed to be able to hear something?” whispered Spector.
“The radio…” said Harvey.
Spector turned and faced the door, his eyes darting around it. He then made a swift turn and hurried toward the window. “I think you all will have to exit through here, if it’s not too much to ask. Follow the pipes, they should hold. Besides, it’s only the third floor, a fall won’t kill—”
Harvey approached his father and looked out the window. He felt a slight shiver creep upon him. “Are you sure—”
“There is only one proper way up this room, Harvey, I fear you don’t have a choice. It would be difficult for me to protect you both, and handle whatever comes through that door at the same time. You all have to leave, now—”
“What about you—?” Harvey blurted.
Spector smirked and patted Harvey’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, boy. I’ve been doing this for the past thirty years, it’s just another day at work for me—snapping bones, breaking necks—”
Katie was already halfway out the window. “C’mon Harvey, what are you waiting for? Your dad is right, we should go—”
Spector cast a pleasant look of amusement at Harvey. “This one has more balls than you, boy.”
Harvey sighed in defeat. He pulled himself onto the window ledge from the grill.
“I’ll see you all at the Athens Railway Station in exactly one hour,” said Spector as he smiled, flattening the front of his suit with his right palm. “Cheerio!”
Chapter 37
MAKSIM TRZEBUCHOWSKA KICKED the moss-green trash bin by the side of the pavement. He had been one step too late. The timber box was taken away by a man and a woman—an Interpol agent no less—about an hour ago. The short man at the pawn shop had told him so. Most people speak the truth when faced with the prospect of death, and Maksim didn’t doubt the pawn shop proprietor was any different.
What’s an Interpol agent doing with the timber box? Maksim scowled as he thought about the possibilities. Does Interpol know anything about this?
This mess was really starting to smell like a whole lot of trouble. Maksim pondered what he should do next. He took out his cell phone from his pocket and considered making another call to Luther Blake. Had the situation really soured till he had to update the man about it, Maksim thought, was it absolutely necessary? If given a choice, Maksim would rather not speak with Blake until this was all settled—he was always daunted by any interaction with the man. Maksim slowly lowered his cell phone, and as if God had listened to his fears and wanted to punish him for his sins—or perhaps just sheer coincidence—his cell phone rang. Maksim lifted it in trepidation. He already knew who it was before looking at the screen—not many people knew this number. Maksim cleared his throat.
“Maksim—” said the caller. His voice was flat but firm, low and commanding. It sounded as if one had sucked all the happiness out of the air.
“Blake,” replied Maksim, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could.
“The diamonds?”
“I’ve got them.”
“How about the vials?”
“There were some hiccups in the process, but I’m on it.”
“Do I have any cause for concern that you might not succeed in your work?” Blake asked.
Maksim held his breath. “It will be ironed out within the next twenty-four hours, please rest assured.”
“Sounds fantastic—you know me, I really loath incompetent and irresponsible men. I mean if you take on a job, you bloody well deliver. If not, what’s the point? Don’t you agree? One is better off unalive if one approves failure as an acceptable result—just like Panayiotis.”
Maksim swallowed t
he lump in his throat. “It is as you say.”
“How is your darling daughter? Sophie, is it? Is she feeling much better now?” said Blake, his calm voice betraying the cruelty within.
“Yes, sir, she is. Thank you for the concern,” answered Maksim. He really couldn’t wait for the call to end. But nobody puts down the phone on Blake.
“Don’t call me sir, we are not the military,” said Blake. “And don’t worry about Sophie. After this, you will have enough money scrimped for the treatment she needs.”
It was all a lie. I’ve got nothing.
“That’s right.”
“Take it easy, she’ll be fine.”
“Yes, sir—Blake, I will.”
“Good, go back to what you were doing then. I await your good news, Maksim…” dismissed Blake.
“Blake,” said Maksim as he waited for the man to end the call. Click. The call ended.
Maksim breathed a sigh of relief. It would seem like Luther Blake was a sympathetic employer to someone who didn’t know the man, but Maksim knew how much of a monster Blake could be if one incurred his wrath. He had been working for him for more than five years, after all. He could never forget the man Blake had set fire on for a seemingly insignificant fault. The smell of burning flesh was too much, even for a cold-blooded murderer like him. And that was just one of the many instances. He slipped his cell phone into his pocket and carried on his way toward his targets.
For Sophie, I can’t afford to fail.
Chapter 38
IT ALL SOUNDED like a vague murmur. The people around him looked like they were speaking rather boisterously, but none of the sounds registered in Harvey’s fuzzy brain. Scaling down the back of the motel, hitting the ground, running as fast as they could from the hushed backstreet till they hit a noisier main street, scrambling into the metro station—it all seemed like a distant memory now. Harvey’s pupils dilated as they ostensibly focused on a pair of women waving their hands in the air as they spoke with each other, but there was no sound. It was as though he was watching a silent film from the early 1900s—not that he was taking in any of this. He wobbled as he stood on the platform. The sound of an approaching train and a hand on his arm brought Harvey back to the reality.
“—Harvey!”
Harvey turned to the girl who had somewhat materialized from nowhere. “Huh?”
“The train’s here,” Katie said as she tugged on his forearm, dragging him onboard. “Come on.”
Harvey’s legs felt heavy when he lifted them as he followed Katie into the orange, metal rapid transit car. The train was empty—it was way past the evening peak period. And it had a funky sour smell to it. He mimicked Katie’s actions and sat in the seat beside her. The fluorescent light flickered slightly as the train begun to accelerate.
Am I…still dreaming? Harvey wondered to himself. After all, it was not an everyday event where one encounters a dead loved one—clearly not in a paranormal sense. Not that that’s common, either. He shook the strange thought away.
Could this be real?
Harvey dared not hope. He meticulously traced his memories of the day for any evidence this was all fictitious. It just seemed all too fabricated, in his opinion. Too good to be true?
I should be happy, he silently declared when he couldn’t find a loophole. Or angry. Or anything.
Harvey wasn’t feeling anything about the whole thing at all—considering the magnitude of the situation, it should warrant stronger emotions. At least more than nothing. He deduced that the train hadn’t hit him yet, so to speak.
My best friend’s dead but my father’s alive.
He chortled. He didn’t care if anybody thought he was going nuts. At this rate, he probably would anyway.
What about Edgar? Harvey thought about his little brother. He didn’t have much memory of the toddler—besides the fact that he was always crying. Does Dad know where he is? Alas, blood was still thicker than water. If his Dad could survive a plane crash, he couldn’t see why his brother couldn’t survive going missing. And Mom. He wondered about her death. If it was because of what his father did for a living. Can she be alive? Although it was a nice lovely prospect, he highly doubted she was still alive. This faking-of-death shit was really driving him crazy.
‘Our game isn’t over…’ What do those words even mean?
Even in death, Louis still managed to cause him trouble. Harvey snorted at the thought.
Game? What damned game?! Couldn’t he be a little more specific?
Harvey didn’t know what they could do now—it was like being on a treasure hunt without any clues at all. He pondered over the possibility of calling Sergeant Linard and just leaving the whole damned thing to the authorities. What could they do, really? Incarcerate him? As his thoughts brought him back to the state Louis was found in, he reevaluated the idea. All right, maybe not Linard.
“—Harvey,” said Katie again. She must have called out three times at least.
Harvey turned to look at Katie. Her gaze was gentle. She looked concerned.
“Hey,” he said.
“Are you okay?” she said. “You seem overly occupied.”
Harvey gave a massive sigh. “I’m fine. It’s just too many things at once, you know.”
Katie nodded. “I understand.”
“This Spector situation is really not helping, adding to the dilemma we’re already in,” he said, adding unconfident laughter. “I don’t think I’ve wrapped my head around the fact he’s still alive yet. I still think he’s a mirage or something.”
“Don’t worry, your dad will be fine.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ve never seen anybody draw a gun as quick as him.” She imitated the move she saw, swinging her right hand from her side. “I’ve got to ask him to teach me that.”
Harvey chuckled. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”
Katie added to his laughter, easing the mood momentarily. “I think it’s a blessing in disguise—amid everything. No?”
“That, we shall see.”
THE TRAIN CAME to a hesitant standstill at a station. Katie lifted her head from Harvey’s shoulders, immediately feeling a little sorry from the loss of comfort. She glanced at the metro line map near the ceiling of the car. Four more stops. The passengers in the train started to increase as they approached a major interchange. The train picked off. Her phone rang, the sound cutting through the noise of the accelerating train. She answered the call.
“Kat—”
“Zoe, what’s up?”
“Was the Greek contact of any help to you?” Zoe said.
“Good enough. He got me what I wanted,” Katie replied.
“Great! Are you coming home anytime soon?”
Katie sighed, purposely audibly. “Keep asking and I will, soon enough. Things aren’t going too smoothly here.”
“Is Harvey with you?”
“Yeah.”
Zoe giggled obnoxiously.
“I’m going to end the call if you don’t stop,” said Katie in a deadpan manner.
“All right, lighten up, girl,” Zoe said. “By the way, I’m calling to warn you.”
“What about?”
A rapid flashing light on Katie’s cell phone signaled a second incoming call. She peered down at the screen.
“Shit, it’s Cobbett.”
“And that’s exactly what I was about to warn you,” Zoe chuckled.
“How’s he? His mood, I mean.”
“Not good. He was at the firing range.”
“Oh gosh, can’t anyone give me a break?” Katie whined. “I’m taking his call—”
“Brace yourself,” said Zoe.
“Bye,” said Katie as she ended the call with her sister. She took a deep breath and tapped on her cell phone to answer the other incoming call. “Colonel—”
“AGENT MOULIN, WHAT IN THE WORLD WERE YOU THINKING—” the voice bellowed.
Katie cringed as sh
e leaned her cell phone on her lap till the raving stopped. She then brought it back to her ear.
“Sir, let me explain—”
“There’s a reason we’re called Interpol, Agent Moulin, and it has absolutely nothing to do with what you are trying to—” said Colonel Cobbett, blabbering on. “—you are supposed to be back in New York. I was expecting you, we’ve got loads to do!”
“I hear you sir, but—”
“If you don’t appreciate the work we do, you are free to always look for another job,” interrupted Cobbett, his voice lowering as he spoke. “I’m sure we have plenty of qualified applicants to replace you.”
“Like hell you do,” mumbled Katie.
“What’d you say?!”
“Nothing sir, I said I’ll be back as soon as I grab my bags.”
“You’d better.”
“You can bet on it. I’ll give you a call as soon as I land at JFK, sir.” Katie ended the call before her superior could reply. She could feel the onset of a headache creeping up on her.
“Everything all right?” It was Harvey’s turn to ask.
Katie nodded as the train came to a halt. “We’re here—Larissa Metro Station. This leads to the Athens Railway Station. C’mon, this place is starting to feel a little suffocating.”
Chapter 39
ALASTAIR SPECTOR WAITED patiently by the front of the wardrobe where it concealed his presence from the door. His body was tense but his mind calm. He took a slow, deep breath through his nose, held it for two seconds, and then exhaled twice as slow from his mouth. His breathing gradually followed a regular pace. He was careful not to make a single sound so that the element of surprise was on his side. The light bulb had already been switched off—hanging in the exact same position where it had witnessed a somewhat similar kind of violence not very long ago. Spector held the serrated blade by its handle in a reverse, blade-out grip—his hand relaxed and thumb circling the end of the pommel in a meditative fashion. He closed his eyes and strained his ears to listen for any sound of someone approaching. Nothing. Spector felt a smirk creep up his lips.
