Death Marked

by Sloan, Justin

  The group attached ropes to the rafters and swung down to the floor, careful not to make the floorboards creak. Altemus approached the skull. He lifted it up with a ravenous expression, and then placed it in a velvet bag hanging at his side. As soon as he closed the bag, a shrill wail ripped through the sanctuary, so loud that Rohan put his hands over his ears—an alarm.

  Lev punched him on the shoulder and screamed, "Come on!"

  The trio scrambled for the ropes to climb back up to the ceiling. The cold night air bit at Rohan’s exposed skin as they sprinted across the rafters.

  “Stop!” a heavy Russian accent commanded. Shouting followed, and when Rohan looked down, he saw several men on the ground aiming guns up at them.

  “Faster!” Rohan said.

  As soon as the words left his mouth, the rafter splintered with gunfire. First Altemus and Lev disappeared over the edge of the roof, and then Rohan leapt, the air swooshing around him as he fell. Then, with a soft plunk, the snow caught him.

  Altemus had already dug himself out of the snow and unslung his rifle. With two cracks, a pair of guards fell into the snow nearby, dead.

  “Keep moving!” Altemus said, tossing the velvet bag to Lev. “Get it to safety.”

  Lev nodded and ran. Rohan followed close behind as Altemus took out another guard. Rohan didn’t bother to look back—he assumed Altemus could hold his own. He and Lev made their way back to the parapets and climbed down onto the rocky footpath leading into the snow.

  Out of nowhere, an old man jumped in front of Rohan, shouting in Russian. He had darker skin than the Russians Rohan had met so far, a bushy gray beard, and his robe flowed like a dress.

  Lev replied in Russian and aimed his pistol at the old man, but the man held up his empty hands and gave a pleading look to Rohan.

  “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” the old man said in broken English. “You must not do this.”

  The old man grabbed Rohan’s arm. With his free hand, Rohan reached for his blade. But he didn't have to use it—Lev cracked the man over the head with his pistol. The man collapsed, unconscious.

  “You Americans,” Lev said. “You always hesitate when action’s needed.”

  Rohan’s stomach churned at the sight of the old man lying at his feet, a trickle of dark blood from the man’s head coloring the snow.

  A moment later, Altemus caught up. He snatched the velvet bag from Lev’s hands and opened it in mid-stride, taking a quick glance inside.

  “We gotta go before we get shot,” he said. With a grin, he turned to Rohan. “It’s time to reunite you with your fiancée.”

  Chapter 2: Celebrations

  They ran down the steep mountain slopes that had taken them several days to climb. More than once they had to hide in crevices in the rocks, cramped against each other, waiting with paused breath in the darkness as snowmobiles zoomed past, headlights casting long shadows across the face of the mountain.

  “They’re relentless,” Rohan said, after they climbed out a crevice for the fifth time.

  Altemus joined him, then patted the velvet bag around his waist. “Let ‘em try to take it from me.”

  It was grueling and nerve-racking, but they made their way down the slopes without being caught. After a day’s travel, the snowmobile patrols let up as the snow gave way to rocky ground. The trio had the advantage on foot, and now that they were in the clear, they picked up their speed and descended twice as fast as they had climbed.

  The sky changed from gray to bright blue with wispy clouds. The sharp, snowy peaks of the Urals rose into the air behind them. The air grew fuller, too, and Rohan loosened his jacket collar as the temperature rose and he found it easier to breathe. Every once in a while, he looked over his shoulders at the peaks, glad the temple was far away.

  There was no way the guards would have given up so easily. He expected to see a helicopter whir down on them, but remembered what Lev had said about the temple men rejecting most technologies, apart from the snowmobiles they used for supplies. It should have made Rohan feel better, but his heart still beat quickly every time he heard a sound that wasn’t his own footsteps.

  At last, they found their getaway car, guarded by a man named Mahkmuhd, both hidden in an abandoned lookout post on a dirt road speckled with snow. The fair-skinned Uzbek man wore a thick winter coat and a furry tam-o’-shanter. He leaned against the taxi and looked up with relief when he saw them.

  “It’s about time. I was running out of tea and was considering leaving you.”

  “Thank God you didn’t,” Altemus said, patting the man on the back. He let out a jolly laugh that reverberated off the rocks. “You are the man, Mahkmuhd. I’ll buy you tea for a year.”

  Mahkmuhd smiled and pointed at Altemus, winking. “You have a deal.” He turned to Rohan and said, “And you, my friend—you look like you’ve lost a thousand and one pounds.”

  Rohan rubbed the back of his head. Instead of friendly banter, he preferred they get out of there as quickly as possible.

  “If you’ve gotten what you came for, then we best go,” Mahkmuhd said, seemingly reading his thoughts. “Maybe now I’ll be able to defrost the icicles hanging from my balls.”

  Silence. Then Altemus broke into laughter.

  Lev said something in Russian and gestured for the keys. Mahkmuhd tossed them to him, and hopped into the back seat with Rohan.

  Mahkmuhd had come to Russia from Uzbekistan as a taxi driver trying to make money to send back home to his family. He had done a driving job for Lev, which led to more high-paying clientele. Quickly, he found himself doing fewer taxi jobs and more chauffeuring for international clients of the Russian and American variety.

  Rohan glanced out the back window, but their pursuers were long gone. The car bumped along the choppy road in silence, leaving the mountain peaks far behind.

  Mahkmuhd looked to each of them as if trying to figure out who would start the story.

  "The job was a success?" he asked.

  Altemus smirked.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Good. I have your travel papers ready.”

  “Let’s have them,” Lev said.

  “Not here with me,” Mahkmuhd said with a grin. “At the usual spot. Don’t worry.”

  Lev’s face brightened. “The spot with the best vodka, I hope.”

  “We’re getting transportation papers at a bar?” Rohan asked.

  “It’s a fine establishment,” Mahkmuhd said. “It just happens to serve alcohol.”

  “As long as we get them,” Rohan said, nestling his head in a crook between the window and the seat. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

  His dreams were flashes of men in robes, blood darkening the snow, the brushed steel of a gun. A face, opening in the flurries of snow with eyes that burned with red flames. He woke with a start. The scent of leather reminded him of his old recliner, and for a moment he thought he was home, that it was all over.

  But it wasn't.

  Mahkmuhd was staring at him with a grin.

  “Bad dreams?” the man asked.

  “You could say that.”

  Rohan turned back to the window. They sped past a snowy cluster of houses, mountains looming behind them. Flakes of snow drifted past, seeming to slow as the car came to a stop. He rubbed his hands as a strong breeze blew through the cracks in the cab.

  Hunger pains gripped his stomach as he looked out at the bar where they had parked. An old fridge leaned against the log cabin building. One wall leaned in slightly, as if it would fall down any minute. The windows were filled with neon signs advertising different beers, and the lights flickered.

  Sleepily, Rohan stumbled out of the cab, following Mahkmuhd, Altemus, and Lev into the building.

  The inside of the tavern was mostly empty, except for a few men in the shadows talking over glasses of vodka. Taxidermy lined the walls—bears, boars, walruses, and seals.

  “Where the hell are we?” Rohan asked with skepticism.
>
  “Come,” Altemus replied. His voice said there’d be no arguing. “You’ll fit right in.”

  Perhaps he would have, once. In Rohan’s younger days, he would have loved the dark atmosphere, the animal eyes looking down on him, the thick smoke in the air, the bright lights shining from the rows and rows of colored alcohol bottles behind the bar. But the days of his youth were far away, and he didn’t want to waste time in a bar.

  They ordered a round of drinks while Mahkmuhd sat at the bar whispering to the bartender. The bartender slipped him an envelope, which the Uzbek quickly tucked into his jacket pocket.

  After the first round, Lev ordered shots. Altemus took his time with a beer, scribbling in a notebook and ignoring the others. The old man’s demeanor had changed again; when they had met, he couldn’t be described as happy, but at least he’d been cordial. Now, he was absorbed in his notes and snapped at anyone who interrupted him.

  “You, Rohan,” Lev shouted from across the table. “Tell us about your first time.”

  “First time for what?” Rohan asked.

  “Stop, Lev,” Altemus said, not taking his eyes off the notebook.

  Lev stared at the old man, stone-faced, then broke into laughter. “You didn’t think I meant…. No, you dirty old man!” He laughed again. “I was talking about your first, you know." The Russian held a finger to his head like a gun and pulled the imaginary trigger with his thumb. "Was this your first?”

  Rohan nodded.

  For a moment, Lev looked skeptical. Then he clapped Rohan on the shoulder, his sandpaper hands striking hard enough to sting. “Guess that means you’re ready for Russia’s best vodka, then.”

  Rohan couldn’t think of any reason to say no to that, and he was glad for it when he sipped from the glass. The vodka was smooth and flavorless. He rolled it around in his mouth like he would a fine wine, and the smooth aftertaste tingled across his tongue.

  “Better than wine, yes?” Lev held his glass for a clink, and Rohan obliged.

  “One hundred times better.”

  They clinked glasses and then downed them.

  “She must have meant a lot to you,” Lev said quietly.

  “What?”

  “She must have been one amazing woman,” Lev said. “Your… fiancée.”

  Odd that Lev was asking about Senna now, after all the opportunities he’d had. He must have had too many drinks already, enough to reach the point where a man starts speaking his mind.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Well, tomorrow your luck returns,” Lev said.

  Rohan downed another shot. “As long as there’s no more violence, I’ll drink to that.”

  Lev puffed. “No promises there, my friend. You should drink anyway.”

  Mahkmuhd returned to the table, patting his jacket.

  “Ever dream of visiting Turkmenistan?” the Uzbek asked. “Because if you have, I’m making your dreams come true.” He handed the envelope to Altemus, and for the first time since sitting at the table, Altemus looked up.

  “We’d better call it a night, then,” Altemus said.

  “What? Now?” Lev looked at him like he was crazy. “We just started celebrating.”

  “Finish your drink and let’s go. You’ll be able to celebrate and drink yourself stupid in two days when we’re finished. I’m not the only one who’s eager to be done with this affair, am I?” Altemus looked to Rohan.

  “Old man’s right,” Rohan said.

  “I guess this is farewell then, my friends,” Mahkmuhd said. “Until next time.”

  Rohan stood, gave the man a handshake, and then headed for the car. He refused to put off his reunion with Senna any longer than he had to. He'd already waited long enough.

  Chapter 3: Turkmenistan

  Rohan stared out at the horizon of sand, the flat deserts of Turkmenistan stretching before them. The Jeep thumped and swerved as Lev drove swiftly over the old road.

  Great clouds of dust rose up behind them. Rohan had to cover his face with a kerchief to stop from breathing it in. When he had first arrived in the country and they had ventured into the desert, he made the mistake of taking in a deep breath. The result was ten minutes of coughing; the dry heat had desiccated his lungs. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead and adjusted his kerchief. The car didn’t have air conditioning and the windows were down, but still the interior of the car smelled like sweat and dirt. It wasn’t Rohan’s fault—he’d showered before leaving the hotel.

  Altemus had agreed they would need sleep before heading out to their next destination, and had paid for three rooms in a lavish hotel—at least, by Turkmenistan standards. They’d earned it, the old man had said, and besides, it didn’t do any good to go out until night. A statement that worried Rohan.

  Lev gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his gaze fixed ahead. The road was bumpy and broken in places, and he maneuvered the boxy Jeep around potholes and debris with the handling of a sports car driver. Altemus sat in the front passenger seat, his arm resting on the open window. The velvet bag lay in his lap, the strap slung across his shoulder.

  The two men had to have known each other from before, Rohan figured, but for how long? Observing them was like watching two lions at the edge of a carcass—would one attack before the other, or would they simply share in the spoils? They were a team, but the tension was heavy between them.

  Lev swerved around a pothole, the motion slamming Rohan against the side door. He cursed, rubbing his shoulder.

  “You okay back there?” Lev asked with a glance in the rearview mirror.

  Rohan grunted in reply.

  “Beats the hell out of snow.” Altemus ran his hand along the top of the velvet bag. "Bet you don’t miss Russia, do you?”

  Russia.

  It was hard to believe that just the day before, he had been in the Russian mountains, fighting through the cold, bitter snow.

  Dunes sloped past the Jeep, one after another in an endless land of sand. The shadows stretched long as the sun sank low in the west. It would be night soon. If Altemus stayed true to his word, this would be the last obstacle before seeing Senna again.

  Rohan unscrewed his canteen and took a sip.

  Lev looked over at him. “Don’t drink too much at once. Better save some for later.”

  “We’re in for a long day,” Altemus said, grinning.

  Rohan wanted to ask more about the plan, but he didn’t dare—now wasn’t the right time. Lev had been on edge ever since they landed. Probably because Altemus had interrupted his drinking session back at the tavern. The Russian hadn’t spoken much since. On the other hand, Altemus had been more upbeat than usual, almost back to his normal self, if you didn’t count his bloodshot eyes.

  Altemus pointed to a sandy shoulder on the road.

  Lev pulled over and shut the car off. The dashboard beeped several times as the car settled on the sand.

  “The location is about two or three miles down the road,” Lev said. “We better start walking if you want to get set up before nightfall.”

  “I’ve been waiting for this night my whole life,” Altemus said. “No mistakes.”

  They grabbed their backpacks and walked away from the road and into the sand. The car disappeared as they crested their first dune.

  The wind blew with a force Rohan hadn't been prepared for, and he pushed ahead, trying to keep up with the two men.

  “If it’s just up the road, why are we going this way?” Rohan asked.

  “Stop asking questions,” Lev said. “Just be ready to help me set up camp.”

  The trudging continued, until Lev finally stopped, looked around, and dropped his bag. Rohan was too tired to be relieved. He collapsed with his pack on and stared up at the darkening sky, the first evening stars peering through.

  It was beautiful here, where no city light could touch the endless sky.

  “No time for stargazing,” Lev said, already setting up a tent.

>   Rohan sat up with a groan, but mustered the strength to help however he could.

  They worked in silence, Altemus sitting cross-legged in the sand, reading a thick book and glancing up at them from time to time.

  “You think this is the best time to read?” Rohan asked.

  Altemus ignored him. This wasn’t the same old man that he knew from back home. That man had been sophisticated, educated, and charming. This man was volatile, ranging from quiet focus to distracted energy.

  “Where’s the third tent?” Rohan asked.

  “No third,” Lev said. “You sleep in this one and we sleep in that one.”

  Rohan studied the tents. They were a dingy white and looked like they had seen a lot of wear and tear. Likely leftovers from Lev’s army days.

  “When are you gonna tell me what the hell’s going on?” Rohan asked, directing his voice to Altemus. “I think I deserve answers, and I want to know what the plan is for Senna. When—”

  “Rohan,” Altemus said, holding up a hand and then motioning to the book. “If you keep interrupting me, none of this will matter.”

  Rohan frowned, not sure what he meant. “I just want to know—”

  Lev folded his arms and shot him a scowl.

  “Right….” Rohan bit his lip, trying to hold down his anger at being brushed off.

  “All in due time,” Altemus said with a sigh. “In six hours, you’ll have all the answers you want. So in the meantime, get some sleep, and let me focus, got it?”

  “Doesn’t know when to shut up,” Lev mumbled with a shake of his head.

  “Hey,” Rohan said. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have that skull, and we wouldn’t be here.”

  “If it weren’t for me, you’d have a bullet in your head.”

  Rohan looked at the velvet bag around Altemus’s shoulder. “In six hours, I want answers. I want my Senna back.”