The Gods' Day to Die

by David Welch

  “Who is this?” Lenka demanded.

  “That any way to talk to your Uncle Ari?” a voice replied in Russian.

  Lenka’s hand tightened on the phone, nearly crushing it. He fought to beat back a cold flush of rage.

  “I am going to kill you,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Better men have tried,” said Ares. “But let’s hold off on the chest-thumping for a bit. I’m actually calling with good news.”

  “You are wasting my time,” he grumbled.

  “Is Duscha Sidorov a waste of your time?” Ares said.

  Lenka’s eyes went wide with rage. For a moment he felt his vision go red, and he heard and saw nothing. But years of training and discipline asserted themselves. He forced out a breath, then several more, keeping himself from losing his cool.

  “What do you want?” he said gravely.

  “My sister. And you staying away from us until that cancer wastes you down to a corpse,” Ares replied.

  “Out of the question,” Lenka replied automatically.

  “Really, nephew? Taking revenge on your mother for your own psychosis is more important than saving your peach of a daughter?”

  Lenka let the words hang there, purposely. He seethed, wishing the man dead a thousand times over. Of all the immortals, Ares had earned his hate more than any but Athena.

  “I can have more daughters,” Lenka bluffed. “I have only one mother to kill.”

  “Big talk,” Ares replied. “Tell me, will any of these new daughters be old enough to stand at your bedside when you’re choking on your own blood? Will you even be at peace those last few days, your mind filling with images of what I did to her before I killed her? Hell, I should call you up when I’m doing it. Give you the play-by-play.”

  The last phrase was in English. Lenka remained silent.

  “Come on, Len, you didn’t think you were the only psychopath in the family?”

  “Where?” was all Lenka said.

  “Town called Sasa. I’ll call you tomorrow at noon with a location. Some place we can ‘negotiate’ a swap,” Ares said.

  “Fine,” Lenka replied. “I’ll be there. But I want proof Duscha is alive, or I see how much I can cut off of your sister without killing her.”

  “You’ll get your proof. But, Lenka, if you try to screw me over, I’ll see how much I can cut off of Duscha without killing her.”

  The line went dead. Lenka stared at the phone for a long moment, then shoved it in his pocket. He paced back into the office.

  “It’s a trap,” Nicholai said. He drove east, heading for Sasa.

  “I know,” replied Lenka.

  “You intend to fight your way through it?” Nicholai surmised.

  “We have nearly forty men,” said Lenka. “They have six, one of whom is a mortal.”

  “That mortal survived our attack on Ares’ home,” Nicholai pointed out. “And our new men are of questionable quality.”

  Lenka nodded, knowing this all too well. They’d picked up most of the group from Saka, a crime lord in the Ukraine who had worked with Lenka back in the KGB. Many of them had been soldiers once, though most had been conscripts. Others had been street thugs. The handful of Serbians he’d hired on the drive in weren’t any better. But they were what he had to work with.

  “I know,” Lenka said. “And I’m aware that Zeus and Ares took apart men far better than this bunch. But it is a chance I cannot pass up. We know where at least one immortal will be. So we will be there, and we will kill him. If he goes to ground again, it could be years before we find him.”

  Years I do not have, he added, to himself.

  Nicholai frowned. “Ares will have a plan. He’s anything but stupid.”

  “Yes,” Lenka said. “I expect many of our hired muscle to be killed. Plans are like stained-glass windows. Beautiful, intricate, magnificent when they all come together. But hit them hard enough, and they shatter. Whatever Ares is planning to do, he will have only five others available. Good as he is, he will be hard-pressed to have each of the Olympians kill seven or eight of us before we get to him.”

  “And Duscha?” Nicholai said. “That’s no small leverage.”

  Lenka darkened at the thought of his daughter in their hands. But he kept his cool.

  “They will not kill her as long as I have Athena,” he replied. “Even if I kill Ares. So long as one of them is alive, they will hold onto her, a backup plan. She’s a chip for which to bargain for their lives.”

  Nicholai didn’t look entirely convinced, but said nothing more. The caravan drove on east.

  29

  Sasa, Macedonia

  When Lenka walked into the small café, his eyes were immediately drawn to Ares. The man stood out. His looks, his poise, his utter lack of nerves. From the way he sat back and sipped his coffee, it appeared this was a normal part of his morning routine.

  Then Lenka’s tactical mind kicked in. Ares wore a light jacket, despite a temperature in the low seventies. And it was a baggy jacket, obscuring something underneath. Body armor? Guns? Or something more sinister?

  Ares waved at him as if they were old friends. Lenka stalked over, Arkady trailing close behind. The others he’d spread out around the building, equipped with cameras and guidebooks to make them look like tourists. Two of the four other patrons in the café were also his people, sent in a half hour earlier, before Ares had shown up. They took no notice of Lenka as he strode to Ares’ table and sat down.

  “Nice of you to show, nephew,” Ares said in Russian.

  “I wanted you to get a good look at the man who kills you,” Lenka replied coolly.

  “Been closer to tougher men than you,” Ares replied. “They all died just as easily.”

  Arkady snorted, shaking his head.

  “This pretty boy you claim is Ares? We came all this way for him?”

  “Oh, by all means, underestimate me,” Ares said. “Hector did that once. Didn’t end well for him.”

  Arkady laughed. “A fool too. Even a brain-dead American knows Achilles killed Hector.”

  “One of a thousand names I used,” Ares said with a dismissive wave, turning back to Lenka. “You should know, the myths are the G-rated version of what I did to his body. But, Sidorov, you push me much farther, and your fate will be far worse.”

  Arkady bristled at the snub.

  “We kill him now,” he said.

  “Kill me, and Duscha dies,” Ares replied.

  “Then your family will have no leverage,” Arkady replied confidently.

  “Bringing us right back to where we were before we captured her,” Ares said. “You’ll have Athena, but not us. We go to ground, you spend the next few years coughing up blood. Time isn’t on your side.”

  “Perhaps,” Lenka said, maintaining his cool. “But you will be dead. Small armies can do much with the right leadership. But with you gone . . .”

  “Well, that brings me to the second and more pressing reason you don’t want to kill me,” Ares said. He lifted his hand from his coffee cup, revealing a small plastic box tucked against his palm. It was clearly a trigger of some sort, and extended back to his wrist.

  “What the hell is that?!” Arkady snarled.

  Lenka felt the blood run from his face. The reason for the baggy jacket became clear.

  “Dead man’s switch?” Lenka asked.

  “Connected to charges on my stomach, back, and sides. Each packed with ball bearings. So those stooges you have at the other tables die too,” Ares informed them.

  “And the innocents in the café?” asked Lenka.

  Ares shrugged. “Unfortunate. They really don’t deserve to get caught in our crossfire. But I’ve done worse.”

  Arkady fumed beside Lenka, his hands opening and closing on the butt of his pistol. Lenka met Ares’ glare, hating the cockiness in his
eyes.

  “Lenka, you’re an insane sociopath with mommy issues,” Ares said. “And for what you’ve done to my family, I’m tempted to skin you alive here and now. But I’m nothing if not pragmatic. You have something I want, and I have the only good thing in your miserable life. So let’s trade.”

  Lenka didn’t give.

  “Who says I want to trade?” he said.

  “You’re here. You’re smart enough to know I might do something like rig a bomb to myself, so you wouldn’t come here in person unless you wanted something more than my death. You would’ve sent your flunkies in to give me the bum’s rush.”

  “Why would I suspect an immortal would make himself into a suicide bomber?” Lenka said. “Your life is the only thing you have.”

  “Not a suicide bomber,” said Ares. “I only die if one of you kills me. That puts it all on you.”

  “You’ve convinced yourself of that?” Lenka said. “You think your God will make that distinction?”

  If Ares was surprised that Lenka knew of his Christianity, he made no show of it.

  “That’s up to Him. What’s up to you is whether you love Duscha more than you hate your mother.”

  The words struck Lenka hard. It had been a question he’d been avoiding for some time. He’d known all along he was avoiding it, but knowing hadn’t translated into doing something about it. He’d just told himself he’d get his daughter back and kill his mother. Somehow. Some option would present itself.

  But in truth, he didn’t know what his answer would be. Athena had abandoned him, left him. What he could have been was crushed under his father’s madness, despite her own claims that he would have turned out like this regardless of his upbringing. He supposed neither of them would ever know now, since his formative years were long gone and the damage already done. He looked back at the work he’d done in his life, the people he’d killed, blackmailed, and tortured. Academically, he knew that he should feel bad about these things. That if he had been been brought up normally, he would feel disgusted just thinking about them. But he didn’t, and her weakness had allowed him to become that person. She was the root of his sociopathy. She had to be.

  But Duscha . . . Ares was not wrong in his estimation of her. She was the only thing in his life that he could truly say he cared for. That’s how he knew his mother was wrong. If he had been born a broken and twisted soul, he wouldn’t have been able to love that girl. Psychos didn’t love; they weren’t able to. So he couldn’t be that person. He couldn’t.

  Their stares met again. Lenka felt hate flush through him.

  “We keep this simple. Athena for Duscha,” said Lenka.

  “And you keep up the vendetta?” Ares asked.

  “As you say, I have so little time left,” Lenka said. “With Athena back safely in your hands, all you’ll have to do is keep your head down until I choke on my own blood.”

  Ares smirked and leaned back in his chair. He dug into the pocket of his coat. Arkady’s hand tightened on the gun under his coat, but Lenka motioned him to stop. Ares removed a small, folded piece of paper. He slid it across the table.

  “Have it your way,” Ares said. “Tomorrow at noon, be at this location with my sister.”

  Lenka picked up the paper, glancing at the location.

  “We’ll be there,” he replied. “But first . . .”

  “You want proof we have her?” Ares said.

  “You could’ve hacked my number and made all this up,” said Lenka.

  “Fine,” said Ares, removing a cell phone from his pocket. He brought up a picture of Duscha and slid the phone over to him.

  “You can check the time stamp, if you want,” said Ares.

  Lenka frowned, but said nothing. He returned Ares’ phone, then removed his own from his coat pocket. He brought up a picture of Athena and handed the phone to Ares. The immortal glanced at it for a long moment, and handed it back.

  “I see you’ve been taking care of her,” said Ares.

  “Well, I want only the ‘best’ for my mother,” Lenka replied.

  Ares flashed a fake smile.

  “Of course you do. Now, fun as this has been . . .”

  Lenka shook his head and stuffed the paper into his pocket. Ares headed out of the café, his hand on the trigger all the while. He paused at the door.

  “Oh, and tell those twenty men trying to blend in as tourists not to follow me either, or the deal is off,” Ares said.

  He disappeared out the front door. Arkady shifted in his seat, clearly agitated. A waitress came by to take their order, but scurried away after seeing their expressions.

  “We’re just going to let him go?” said Arkady.

  “Of course not,” replied Lenka calmly. “And there will be no deal. Tell our men back in the van to disperse and follow Ares. And make sure they know not to be seen.”

  “But he knows they’re here,” Arkady grumbled. “He said as much. Why not just kill him now?”

  “Because he may lead us to the others,” Lenka said, slowly getting to his feet. He looked down on Arkady, still seated, with an air of quiet confidence. “And because he mentioned only twenty of our men. Plus the four in here, that leaves sixteen he does not know about. And they will follow him back to wherever his family is hiding.”

  Arkady didn’t look totally convinced, but he said nothing to challenge the plan.

  “Now let’s go,” Lenka said, motioning to his two other men in the café. “We must be ready.”

  Ares made his way across the town’s main intersection. He walked north, toward a low building that housed several shops. Around him people headed south, along the side of the street, all of them men. Several threw angry glances his way, but they made no move to apprehend him.

  So he’s either bought it entirely or he’s playing along, Ares thought. He suspected it was the latter. Lenka was a clever man, clever enough to take advantage of the last comment Ares had made before leaving the café. Ares knew Lenka would never come after all of them with only twenty-odd men. He always brought more than enough people because he knew how deadly the Olympians were. So Ares had set him up, acting as if he didn’t know about the other fifteen or so mercenaries lurking in town.

  It hadn’t been hard to find them, given the size of Sasa. The beat-up vans they’d picked up were local vehicles, but they were far larger than most European cars, making them easy to spot. And the handfuls of rough-looking men lurking around the outskirts of town had been just as obvious.

  Now he suspected those men would be closing on him, intending to follow him. And he intended to let them follow, all the way back to Olympus.

  That was his plan, at least. He had no intention of trading Duscha for Athena. Lenka’s word was worth shit to him. If they made a trade, Lenka would drive away with Duscha, lie low for a few weeks, then resume his obsessive vendetta. Ares had figured as much before setting up the meeting. It had been, from the beginning, an attempt to get Lenka to do what Ares hoped he was doing now: follow him.

  He didn’t walk all that hurriedly, because whoever was following him couldn’t be allowed to get the impression that he knew he was being tailed. Lenka wasn’t stupid. If he suspected that Ares knew he was being followed, he would call off the search, out of fear that Ares would kill Duscha for his reneging on the deal. Which meant that the people no doubt closing on Ares at this very moment would have to go out of their way to make it look like they weren’t following him. And he, capable of losing their tail in a heartbeat, would have to go out of his way to look like a man who didn’t think he was being followed.

  There was enough deception in this plan to make his head hurt, but he pressed on. He didn’t look behind him yet, but he could hear distant footsteps. They were soft, casual, the steps of people who were loitering. Or at least the steps of people who wanted to look like they were loitering.

  Ares pas
sed a shop. It was one of the few buildings in town without the characteristic red tile roofs so common in this part of the world. He walked along its front, pausing as he reached the far edge. He turned and scanned the area behind him.

  At least a half-dozen men stood within fifty yards of him. Most looked into shop windows, like tourists admiring the local charms and gifts, made by authentic Chinese factory workers half a world away. Two stood under a tree talking, like old friends having a conversation. He had to give them credit; they were speaking in Macedonian. Their accent was heavily Russian, but they were trying.

  Ares turned from the men, showing no alarm. They would be suspicious if he hadn’t turned to watch his back, so he’d stopped and done so, to confirm their expectations. And he’d made sure to act like a man who’d just scanned for threats and found nothing, to maintain the illusion that he didn’t realize he was being followed. He pressed on, passing several small homes. To his right, behind the homes, was a fast-moving, rock-choked river. To his left rose a mountain, covered in patches of forest and scrub. Several larger homes decorated its slopes. One of his pursuers stopped to take a picture of the mountain, commenting in bad Macedonian about how beautiful it was. The ruse was so obvious it was laughable. Lenka must really be dipping deep into the cut-rate guns-for-hire pool if this was the best he could come up with.

  Passing several more homes, Ares reached a small parking lot overlooking the river. It had been put in several years earlier to accommodate tourists, and several cars were parked there. Ares moved to his SUV, pausing at the door to scan his surroundings once again. Again he saw men, more of them this time. He could make out at least eight, loitering maybe seventy yards away in small groups. A weathered van drove lazily down the street, slowly heading in his direction, undoubtedly one of the vehicles Lenka’s people were using. He pretended not to notice it. Letting out a relieved breath, he opened his car, hoping that the men watching would assume that he was assuming he’d gotten out of town unnoticed.