Diana's Disciples

by Eddy Will

  There was a moment of silence.

  “I don’t know. Who is she?” Tarpov said after a moment.

  “Are you sure,” Jack pushed.

  “I don’t know every Russian in the world,” Tarpov said.

  “Why do you think she is Russian?” Jack said.

  “Koshkova is a Russian name, that’s why, or maybe Ukrainian” Tarpov said.

  “How good are you at finding people?” Jack said.

  “I found Anna Jaeger, did I not,” Tarpov said.

  “She wasn’t hiding,” Jack said, a flash of anger rising.

  “How do you know the Russian woman is hiding?” Tarpov said.

  “I don’t. You are right,” Jack said. He gave Tarpov the phone number in London.

  “Does this count as a full day pay?” Tarpov said.

  Jack looked at the suitcase full of one hundred dollar bills. “Yes, it does,” he said and hung up. He was not sure whether he could trust the Russian gangster, but he needed the help and he had a gut feeling about the man. Tarpov was not a man of strong convictions or of deep loyalty. He went where the money was. Jack’s only advantage was that he had not killed the Russian. That might have given him a few points with Tarpov. The assignment was a test and Jack did not see the harm.

  Jack turned on his computer and entered the name Maria Koshkova. Seconds later a long list of hits filled the results page. Jack clicked on ‘images’. A battery of thumbnail size pictures appeared in connection with the name. A large group of pictures related to an art gallery owner in London. A striking woman with long black hair had been photographed at art exhibits, openings, and other gatherings in the art world: a smiling Maria Koshkova raising a champagne glass, her arm around an artist uncomfortable with the attention. In another photo she was seen with an ancient statue from antiquity. It must have been valuable, since it made the news a few years ago. Jack returned to the results page and followed the link to the art gallery associated with Maria Koshkova. The website was professional, sleek and well-designed, befitting of a hip and successful gallery on London’s Oxford Street. If that was indeed the woman he had spoken to on the phone earlier, then the connection between that women and Ashley seemed all the more improbable. Yet it was there.

  Jack studied every word and photograph on the gallery website, but he found nothing that should not be there, nothing that stood out.

  The biography of Maria Koshkova, as printed on the website was vague and non-descriptive, identifying her as an international purveyor and supplier of art with an emphasis on post-modern and expressionist work. In addition and contrast she was also described as an authority on statues of ancient Greece and Rome. Jack wondered whether Maria Koshkova was old enough to be an authority on much of anything. Judging from the photographs, including the ones on her website, she could not have been much older than thirty. But this was a fast moving world and people called themselves anything they wanted and if they said it loud enough and long enough it might just become true.

  Maria Koshkova’s presence on the internet and in the art world raised more questions than it answered, but a connection with Ashley, who had not been all that he seemed either, became more plausible once again.

  Jack desperately needed rest, but there remained too many unanswered questions. He rose from the desk and started another pot of coffee.

  Chapter 31

  London, England, August 3, 2012, 7:44 AM

  Styx opened the bedroom door, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

  “Morning, sunshine,” she said, smiling broadly at the naked woman in her bedroom. Maria jumped. She had been miles away, worlds away, in fact.

  “You startled me,” Maria said, forcing her mind to the present and back into Styx’s apartment.

  “Coffee?” Styx said. She walked into the room and kissed Maria. “Since I have you naked…” she said, a sparkle in her eye.

  “Sorry, I have to go, do you mind?” Maria said, stroking Styx’s cheek. She took the coffee and sipped. “I am going to jump in the shower. Sorry to dine and dash,” she said.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Styx said, following Maria to the bathroom. Maria turned on the shower. “And who called so early in the morning,” Styx said, leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed in mock exasperation.

  “One of my assistants called in sick. Again. I have half a mind to drive to his flat and bust his butt hobnobbing with his boyfriends. Sick my ass,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. She stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain.

  “Good help is hard to find, they say,” Styx said and closed the bathroom door. She stood in front of the closed door, processing the lie Maria had just told. She had stood in front of the bedroom door much the same way moments earlier, when Maria was talking on the phone, and what Styx had heard had not sounded like a lazy assistant calling in sick. What Styx had heard was far more ominous and disturbing. She had only heard Maria’s side of the conversations, but the fact that her lover so blatantly lied about the nature of the calls, made them all the more disturbing. Styx walked into the bedroom and pulled on the sheets, making the bed. She was hurt and angry. Her lover was lying, carried a gun and was followed by brutal men. The more Styx learned the less she knew Maria. Her eye was drawn to the blinking light of Maria’s phone in her purse. The shower was running and Styx quickly pulled the phone from the purse and checked the call history. The last two calls came from the United States, from a 310 area code. And there was a text message from the same area code. Styx clicked on the message and almost dropped the phone. She stared at the image of a dead man, sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, shot in the head.

  Styx’s heart began to beat hard. She could not breathe. Her hand shook but she was unable to tear her eyes from the image.

  ‘Who is the woman in my shower?’ she thought. She returned the phone to the purse. Her hands still shook but she grabbed the bed sheet and pulled on it harder than necessary. The punk girl poured her confusion and frustration into making the bed she had shared with a woman she knew nothing about. And the little she did know terrified her. She punched the pillows when she sensed a presence in the room. Styx spun around and almost screamed. Maria stood in the door, a white towel wrapped around her chest, and one wrapped around her hair.

  “Christ, you frigging scared me half to death,” Styx said, her fingers digging into the pillow.

  “Jumpy,” Maria said, her arms crossed, not moving from the door. Her eyes moved from Styx to the handbag. It was just a brief flash, but Styx had noticed it. How long had Maria been standing there? Styx figured that offense was the best defense right now.

  “It’s just a little hard, you know,” she blurted out, giving way to the boiling emotions in her soul. “I understand that you have a fancy job in a gallery and that you need to be there, and that you are making a shit ton of money and that all that is clearly far more important than me. And why not, I am just a stupid punk rock girl in a stupid band that has never made more than five quid in a month, and probably will never get anywhere. Yes, I get it, I am stupid and unimportant, and there are probably a dozen women calling you every hour wanting to go out with you and every single one of them is better than me, smarter than me, richer than me, and better in bed too. But you know, I have feelings too, and it hurts just a little in my heart, that you just get up and leave. Love’em and leave’em. It’s not fair and it’s not respectful. It makes me feel like a stupid bug on the ground that you can trample on with your eight inch four hundred dollar heels. I wanted to make you breakfast and sit and talk, not all day, I get it, you have to work, but just maybe a little bit or something. I don’t want to be just your mattress.”

  Styx stopped talking, she was breathing hard, tears welled up in her eyes and her lower lip quivered. She threw the pillow on the bed and ran out of the room, giving Maria barely time to get out of the way. She ran to the kitchen and sobbed into the sink.

  “Baby, I am so sorry,” Maria said, following the distraught Styx into the kitchen. �
��I so did not mean to hurt your feelings. Please believe me. And I want to do nothing more than spend the whole day with you and not even leave the flat. I want to close the gallery for a whole week and just be with you. And you are not stupid and I love your band and your crazy music. But I have to go to work like everybody else. It’s not a reflection of my feelings about you, not at all, Sweetie,” Maria said, putting her hands on Styx’s shoulder and massaging them gently.

  “Really?” Styx said, still pouting.

  “Really,” Maria said.

  “Did you mean that part about taking off a whole week?”

  “Of course, I did,” Maria said.

  Styx turned and looked into Maria’s eyes.

  “I am sorry, I’m not always like this, you know that right?” Styx said. She did not want Maria to think she was a basket case and too much maintenance.

  “Don’t worry about it, Baby,” Maria said and kissed the punk rocker gently on the mouth. “But I really have to go,” she added.

  “I know, and I don’t want to make you late,” Styx said. “So hurry.”

  “You are hot,” Maria said and headed for the bedroom to get dressed.

  “No, you are hot,” Styx said, calling after her.

  Styx stood by the sink, her hands clenched the edge of the white porcelain. She had no idea how she had pulled off the emotional tirade, but she had. She had changed the subject, distracted Maria and herself for that matter, had worked herself into a frenzy, which even included tears. Styx should have been proud of the masterful deception, but reality returned too soon and too hard.

  She was afraid of the woman who had shared her bed. It was all she could do to not jump when Maria had touched her shoulders. But her instinct told her to tread lightly if she wanted to survive the brief but passionate encounter with Maria Koshkova.

  Maria returned to the kitchen, fully dressed and typing a message into her phone. Her purse hung over her shoulder, the firearm safely tucked away and out of view.

  “Your hair is wet,” Styx said.

  “I have a blow dryer at the gallery,” Maria said.

  “Lucky you,” Styx said, smiling.

  Maria kissed Styx’s cheek.

  ”Gotta go, darling,” she said. “I’ll call you later, alright?”

  “Ok,” Styx said, still standing by the sink. “Bye.”

  “You are hot,” Maria said and walked out of the apartment.

  Nothing would ever be the same. Styx would not be surprised if Maria did not call her later, did not call her ever. The fiery and passionate affair had ended today. Maybe, just maybe Maria was too preoccupied to have noticed it, but Styx knew. Nothing about Maria was what it seemed. She was capable of lying without batting an eyelash, and Styx could not handle that. Maria had photographs of murdered men on her phone. Styx was afraid. She had never been so afraid of anyone.

  What had she gotten herself into? And what could she do? Go to the police? What evidence did she have? She walked to her computer and searched for the 310 area code: Los Angeles, California. What assistant calls in sick from Los Angeles? The lies. It was the lies that hurt. It was always the lies. Yes, Maria Koshkova was involved in something very bad and Styx should not be anywhere near that woman, but still, it was the lies that really broke her heart. Without the lies, she might have visited Maria in prison, but the lies were too much for the tough punk girl.

  She returned to Jack Storm’s website and studied the photographs of Anna Jaeger and Jack Storm. A nice and healthy couple, definitely the outdoor types. There was nothing sinister or dishonest about the two faces. She found it hard to believe that there existed a connection between Jack Storm and Maria. And yet, he had been on her shit list only yesterday. She finally clicked on the contact button next to Jack’s photograph and typed six words in the message box.

  She stared at the message for a moment and pressed Send.

  Chapter 32

  Carpathians Mountains, Romania, August 3, 2012, 7:45 AM

  Anna Jaeger’s day started as roughly as the previous one had ended. She had barley slept. The adrenaline pumping through her veins and the fear in her heart preventing rest, and just when she dozed off the cell door crashed open and four Amazon guards barged in and pulled her off the cot. Three of the women showed the evidence of last night’s battle, their faces bruised and swollen. They had lost one of their own in a fall from the landing and seemed in no mood to take chances with their volatile and unpredictable prisoner. Anna was roughly stood against the wall and held by two guards while the other two tore the clothes off her body.

  They forced Anna into a uniform that consisted of brown pants, a brown tunic, a leather belt and sturdy shoes. Anna was too stunned to resist. Few words were spoken, fueling Anna’s panic. She knew today was the day that the man she had brutally battered would try to kill her in a hunt. And the absence of detail only magnified Anna’s panic. The guards dragged her from her cell and up the stairs, running, giving Anna no time to react or think. The group entered a large room. Deer heads, massive antlers protruding into the room and bear heads with teeth-bearing mouths lined the walls of the tall room. Rough-hewn beams crossed the ceiling and an enormous medieval chandelier hung in the center. French doors stood open leading to a spacious stone patio. In another time this room might have served as a ballroom, home to festive occasions and the celebration of life. But today it was to celebrate her death. It seemed that everyone in the mansion was gathered in the large room. Anna counted roughly thirty people and a number of them carried the bruises from last night’s melee. Diana was dressed in her goddess costume, her female underlings wore skimpy interpretations of huntresses from antiquity, short togas draped over their lean, tall figures and their full hair worked up as might have been fashionable in ancient Rome. Burly male guards lined the trophy-laden walls. And there was the man whose manhood Anna had attempted to obliterate with a well placed, powerful kick. The man’s nose was swollen, the bruise having turned black and blue, giving his otherwise handsome countenance a hideous appearance. The mood was somber, the battle of the previous night still fresh in everyone’s mind.

  All eyes were on Anna, in part because she was the object of the hunt and in larger part because not a single person wanted to be caught flat-footed should she find a way to lash out. Remington stepped up to Anna whom he had chosen as his prey and had gladly paid a fortune to hunt and kill. He smiled thinly, his eyes bloodshot from the massive bruise on his face, as he inspected Anna like a piece of cattle he was considering purchasing. Anna noticed Remington kept a safe distance, despite the fact that four Amazon guards had both hands on their prisoner.

  “I cannot begin to express the pleasure it will bring me to hunt you like the animal that you are,” Remington said, barley able to contain his rage. Last night Anna had humiliated and emasculated him in front of a room full of beautiful women and a man like Remington was not accustomed to humiliation, especially by a woman.

  Remington’s lip quivered as he locked eyes with his prey. Anna stared back at the cold eyes.

  “You death will not be quick,” he said. “No, you will run for your life, you will stumble through brush and crawl in mud, you will soil your clothes with fear and terror and at the end you will beg on your knees, promising me anything you can think of, promising me unfathomable favors and still I will cut your throat and look in your eyes as the life drains from your body. My face will be the last thing you will ever see,” Remington said, laying bare his sick, deviant fantasy.

  Remington’s eyes narrowed as he searched for the desired effect his words might have on his prey. He longed to see regret and terror in the woman’s eyes. It would be a small consolation for last night’s insolence.

  Anna spat in Remington’s face, aiming carefully to bridge the distance. Remington winced and snapped his head to the side, but it was too late. Anna’s ball of saliva found its mark and hung heavily and visibly on his face.

  A groan spread through the crowd. Diana’s face flushed with rag
e. It was not supposed to be like this.

  “Enough talk. Let’s get the hunt started. It’s what we are all here for,” she said, hoping to turn the fast deteriorating mood of what should have been the opening ceremony. ‘Get the players on the field’, she thought, and everything would right itself. Remington would get his revenge, would get his kill and all would be forgotten. In fact, he might boast about his feisty prey. Diana was certainly grateful that it was Remington who had chosen Anna Jaeger, for he had no one to blame but himself.

  “I agree,” Remington growled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes spewed hatred and Anna knew she could expect no mercy from this man.

  Outside on the patio a table had been set up. The guards formed a protective circle around the prey. Diana stepped into the circle and picked up a large hunting knife off the table. The blade was tucked into a leather sheath to which a leather strap had been attached.

  Diana placed the strap over Anna’s head and tucked the sheath into the belt around Anna’s waist.

  “To even the odds a little,” Diana said. She then picked up a bow and a cache containing about two dozen arrows. She placed the strap of the cache of arrows in a ceremonious fashion on Anna’s shoulder and placed the bow in Anna’s hand.

  “To even the odds a little more,” Diana said, speaking more to the crowd than to Anna.

  Finally she picked up a leather satchel and hung it over Anna’s shoulder.

  “To give you strength and sustenance,” Diana said.

  “And to even the odds just a little more, you will have a four hour head start.”

  Diana stepped back and turned to the crowd.

  “And may Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, look kindly on you,” Diana said, raising her arms as if imploring the deity of millennia past.

  Diana then turned to Anna, who bit her lip to keep her body from trembling with fear. She laid her hands on Anna’s shoulders and leaned in a little. And she told Anna what she had told every woman in her place before her: