The Cotten Stone Omnibus: It started with The Grail Conspiracy... (The Cotten Stone Mysteries)

by Lynn Sholes

  “Go ahead. I’ve gotta take a piss. I’ll catch up.”

  As Lesley walked away, Stefen pointed the camera at himself. “Never pass up an opportunity, Stealthy Stefen says. This shit will be on eBay as soon as I can get back online.” The camera bobbled as Stefen lowered it to the ground. Moon saw him pick up a canister and stuff it into his backpack. He lifted the camera again. Focusing it on his face, he raised and lowered his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. “No one the wiser.”

  With the camera still recording, Stefen maneuvered through the passageways until he caught up to Lesley.

  As they passed the rusty hulks of the power generators, Lesley said, “I see the sunlight coming from the entrance.” A moment later, they were up the steps and into the brightness of the clear-sky day.

  Stefen aimed the camera at Gina, who sat propped against the wall, her eyes closed. “Sleeping on the job,” he said.

  Moon leaned in closer to the television, not wanting to miss anything.

  Gina picked her head up.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Stefen asked.

  “You don’t look so good, girl,” Lesley said.

  “Definitely need to pay a visit to sickbay,” Gina said. “Probably just picked up a bug or something.”

  Stefen said, “Couple of shots of José Cuervo should kill it.”

  “Maybe not,” Lesley said. She scored her bottom lip and looked at Gina.

  “What?” Gina said. Obviously noting her friend’s stare and responding to it, she touched her cheek, then felt across her jaw line. She took her hand away and looked at her fingertips.

  Stefen peered closer before recoiling. “Holy crap, Gina, there’s blood coming out your ear.”

  Moon paused the image, savoring what the monster virus could do—and so quickly. The three botanists had first set foot on the island only a few days before this video was made. And already, one of them showed symptoms. She smiled as images of hundreds of thousands would soon show those same first signs of the deadly Black Needles. The girl from the ship was already dying. Soon the others would follow.

  Moon stood and went to the videocassette player. She extracted the tape and loaded the second.

  It started abruptly with Stefen in his cabin, obviously drunk. He had propped the camera on a nearby shelf and talked to it as if it were a person in the room. “So here is my treasure find for the day.” His speech was slurred from too much beer. “A fucking jug of Jap juice. Who knows what was in it, or what it still has in it. Only The Shadow knows for sure. Maybe it is a midget alien, or maybe, yeah, maybe, a secret love potion that turns women into horny, sex-craved whores with no inhibitions and thousands of fantasies.” Stefen started dancing with the canister as he sang I Could Have Danced All Night. His image moved in and out of view—the auto focus trying to keep up with him as he swayed around the room. Finally he stumbled backward and flopped onto his bunk. As he did he lost his grip on the canister and it flipped from his hands hitting the metal railing of the bed. Stefen laughed at his drunken clumsiness. “Fucking A,” he said. “The bitch just knocked me on my ass.” He bent forward, trying to keep his body somewhat steady, but still swaying. He glared down. “Son-of-a-bitch. Look at that. The goddamn thing cracked. Who’d of thunk it?”

  Moon watched as Stefen grappled his way off the bunk and retrieved the canister from the floor.

  “Probably ain’t worth a shit, now,” he said, back-pedaling to his bunk. Stefen fell onto his bunk, the canister beside him. “Asshole,” he said to himself. “Damn it, Stefen, you could screw up a wet dream.” His eyes closed.

  Moon froze the image. “Thank you, Stefen,” she whispered.

  monster

  Victor let out a rant of profanity as the spotlight lingered on the rowboat. Cotten tried to slump down, but there was no room to hide. They were completely exposed. Within seconds, she heard the low thumping of a large, powerful engine. A quick burst of an air horn cut through the night and rolled across the river like a charging herd as it echoed off both shores.

  “Shit!” Victor said. He leaned forward. “Row faster, you bastards!”

  Krystof and Alexei responded by doubling their efforts. Cotten heard their grunts as they pulled the oars through the water.

  “Son-of-bitch,” Ivanov said from the bow. “Bastard is going to run us over!”

  “What is it?” Cotten asked Victor.

  “River barge.”

  Cotten focused in the darkness and suddenly saw the monster bearing down on them. At least sixty feet wide, the barge plowed through the water, pushing white churning foam ahead of the flat bow. Its cargo, probably coal, was piled high in peaked mounds. Then she saw the lights of the tug behind the barge. Millions of tons were about to roll over their tiny rowboat and crush it with no more effort than if it were a fallen tree branch.

  “Oh, my God,” Cotten said, covering her mouth with her palm. “Don’t they see us? I mean, they’ll stop won’t they?”

  “Would take miles to stop barge,” Victor said. He turned back to Alexei and Krystof. “Put backs into it, you fucking pussies.”

  The thumping of the tug’s diesel engine was drowned out by a hissing sound. Cotten saw it was the wave of frothing water being pushed ahead of the barge’s bow as it curled over and broke onto the surface of the river. The hulk filled her vision, blocking out all else. The hiss turned into a roar.

  The monster was upon them.

  With one tremendous effort, Krystof and Alexei pulled on the oars, sending the rowboat past the front corner of the barge’s bow. The steel vertical surface of the monster nearly scraped the side of their boat—so close, Cotten thought she could reach out and touch it.

  She felt the boat rise up and lean to her right as it rode over the crest of the bow’s wake. Just as she was about to be thrown over the side into the water, the rowboat slipped down the back of the wave and was shoved forward. While the two men continued to pull on the oars, taking the small boat away from the barge, Cotten looked to see the giant black mass pass by, followed by the thumping and grinding of the tug’s engine. She spotted the pilot standing in the wheelhouse sweeping the river up ahead with his spotlight.

  “Hang on,” Ivanov shouted.

  A second later, the tug’s wake hit the rowboat, raising it up and over the crest. Cotten grabbed the wooden bench, this time almost certain that she would be thrown into the cold, black water. But as quickly as the wave came, it passed beneath them, and the small vessel settled back onto the river.

  Krystof and Alexei were panting like long-distance runners while Victor continued his endless cursing. Colonel Ivanov stood in the bow surveying the river in all directions.

  “Are you fucking blind?” Victor whispered in Ivanov’s direction. “How could you miss something big as god-damn tugboat?”

  “Shut mouth,” Krystof said, still panting heavily. “Idiot drive tub boat as bad as you drive Russian destroyer.”

  “Air horn probably woke up everyone for miles,” Alexei said.

  Ivanov huffed. “Ship horn is common all times of day and night. No big deal.”

  “I say, get hell out of this place,” Krystof said. Pulling on the oars, the two men returned to rowing.

  Cotten watched the red and green lights of the tug grow small and finally disappear around a bend in the river. Soon, the water flattened, erasing all traces of the monster’s passing.

  back door

  “We are about five miles from castle,” Ivanov said as he secured the bowline of the rowboat to a tree.

  “That’s not so bad,” Cotten said. “I jog five miles through Central Park on the weekends.”

  “This will be the worst five miles of your life,” Victor said with a chuckle. He and Alexei pulled the net over the boat.

  Cotten noticed in the beam of one of their flashlights that it wasn’t fishnet at all, but military camouflage netting
.

  “Why will it be the worst?” she asked.

  Krystof raised his arm like a Nazi salute. “All uphill.”

  “Alexei will lose twenty kilos by end of climb,” Ivanov said, patting his overweight friend’s belly.

  “Who wants to be skinny prick like you?” Alexei slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder. Carrying his supply bag in his left hand, he said, “Let’s go before I sit on your tiny head.”

  As they formed a line with Ivanov in the lead, Cotten realized that despite the rough language and harsh outer skins, these old men seemed to have a tight friendship and respect for each other. She wondered what it had been like when they were in their prime and possessed the undisputed power of the Soviet KGB. And she hoped they still had enough left in them to accomplish this mission. Every moment that passed could be John’s last.

  Climbing a steep embankment, the five followed a hunting trail through thick forest for a few hundred yards before it turned away from the river. Immediately, the grade increased and their pace slowed. It was obvious to Cotten that the men had made this trip before—at least Ivanov had. Even in the dim light of the overcast sky, they moved forward with confidence.

  As light snow fell, the rocky path led constantly upward. In the darkness, Cotten tried to be extra careful. Her footing in the oversized boots was anything but sure. A number of times, Victor grabbed her arm as he climbed behind her to keep Cotten from losing balance and falling.

  After a half hour, they paused to rest. Cotten looked at her watch—just past nine.

  “How do you know this path so well?” she asked the colonel.

  “Old route,” Ivanov said, sitting on a rock next to her.

  “But if it’s old and you know about it, won’t the men holding the hostages know of it, too?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But they are not expecting four old KGB to come in through back door. They are in for big surprise.” He turned to face her. “They are already dead, just don’t know it.”

  His words sent a chill through her. These men looked weathered and had that mellow appearance that comes with old age. And yet, their profession had been all about brutality and death. She wondered how many had fallen at their hands, and she was thankful not to be on the receiving end of their talents.

  With a grunt, Victor stood and pointed to Alexei. “Come on lazy bastard. We go rescue lady’s friends. Get off fat ass.”

  The trail wound through thick woods and rocky terrain. They moved up switchbacks, climbing ever higher into the mountains. Soon, the trees thinned, giving way to rocky crevices and sheer drop-offs. In the dark, with only small flashlights to find their way, the trail was treacherous and slippery. At another short resting point she glanced at her watch: 10:44 pm.

  When Ivanov saw her check the time, he said, “Hopefully, men in castle are sleeping. Better to die in sleep.”

  His comment brought muted chuckles from the others. Once again, Cotten was thankful that they were on her side. She had to keep telling herself that this was the only way to get John back. If blood was shed, then it was justified for what they did to the two Swiss Guards. An eye for an eye. That was in the Bible somewhere.

  “We are almost there,” Ivanov said to Cotten. “Soon you will see friends.”

  The group got to their feet and moved on through the snow, climbing higher into the clouds.

  The wind became fiercer. It was hard for Cotten to stay on her feet as she hugged the rocky face of the cliffs on one side, while avoiding a glance down in the other direction. It was too dark to see how high they were, and she considered that a blessing. If she could see how far she might fall, it would prove impossible to go on.

  Cotten was bone tired. Her feet cramped, and her legs ached from lifting the large shoes. The wind bit through her heavy clothes. The tip of her nose, sticking through the triangular hole in the ski mask, was numb when she touched it. They had to be getting close.

  Suddenly, just as they maneuvered around an outcrop of granite, Ivanov brought them to a halt. As the wind battered her, she saw him point upward. Straining to see through the blowing snow, Cotten stared in awe at the looming structure towering over them. Its dark silhouette formed a foreboding mass against the snow-laden clouds.

  Wolf Castle rose up from the mountain, as ominous and menacing to her as it must have been throughout the centuries to all would-be invaders. In the howl of the wind that raced up the face of the cliffs, she could imagine the castle laughing at her.

  The task of carrying out an assault suddenly seemed impossible. But she had come this far. When no one believed she could do it, she was now so close to John that she might call out to him. There was no turning back.

  “First time I see Wolf, I piss in pants,” Victor said from behind her.

  “I see why,” she said, still staring at the imposing fortress.

  Krystof turned and asked, “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Cotten said.

  He signaled Ivanov, and the group started forward again.

  When she dared, Cotten glanced up again. The rock was a sheer vertical wall at this point, hundreds of feet high. She assumed that if anyone was standing on the castle ramparts, they would be unable to see the path. At least at one time it had been a path or trail, but there was not much left to identify it as that today. Still, it was well concealed among the rocks and outcroppings below the castle, a perfect route to enter or flee from the fortress. It would be impossible to get an entire army into the fortress this way, but a few individuals could do it easily.

  The group moved behind a large boulder and stopped. Cotten saw a metal grate covering an opening cut into the rock. It was barely three feet high and not quite as wide.

  Ivanov knelt and pulled on the iron grate. It held firm. “Bastard,” he said. He looked up at Alexei. “Well, don’t just stand around yankin’ pecker. Help me.”

  The big man squatted beside the colonel and together they took a strong grip on the grate. With a mighty heave, it gave and pulled open.

  “You okay in tiny spaces?” Ivanov asked Cotten.

  “Do I have a choice?” she said.

  “It is back door,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  The colonel tightened the strap to his AK-47 securing it to his back. Then he crawled into the hole. When his feet had disappeared, Krystof secured his rifle in the same manner and followed. Alexei went third, pushing his supply bag in front of him.

  Cotten and Victor stood on the rocky ledge as the snow swirled around them. She looked at him, but could see only his eyes through his ski mask.

  “First time I crawl through hole, I shit in pants.” Then he laughed out loud and patted her on the shoulder. “You do fine as long as not afraid of rats.”

  Not sure whether to laugh or cry, Cotten dropped to her knees and entered the back door.

  torture chamber

  The tunnel that Ivanov called the back door was small and cramped. Crawling on her hands and knees, Cotten found the floor coated with slime and patches of ice. She heard Alexei in front of her grunting and breathing heavily as he squeezed his bulky frame through the passage. From behind, the beam of Victor’s flashlight jumped around erratically, proving to be little help in revealing their surroundings.

  The passage was obviously man-made—Cotten figured it could be hundreds of years old. About forty feet into the mountain, it opened into a natural gap in the rock. The space was not much wider than the tunnel, but was high enough to stand. The floor of the V-shaped cavern was littered with stones forming a crude, uneven floor. Cotten looked up, but in the darkness she couldn’t determine the height of the ceiling.

  The group moved along the upward-pitched rock path as it zigzagged farther into the mountain. Sometimes it widened, while other times the fissure became narrow, causing everyone to turn sideways and squeeze through. It was particularly hard for Alexei.

  Cotten
heard the sound of water dripping all around her. The flashlight beams reflected off moisture seeping out of a thousand cracks.

  After ten minutes of climbing, the gap opened into a small cavern allowing all five to stand together. An enormous flat rock formed the floor. On the opposite side were steps carved into the wall leading into darkness.

  “From here on, we must be like ghosts,” Ivanov said. “No noise, no talking.”

  “How much farther?” Cotten whispered.

  “Not far. We come up through storm drain in basement. Basement nasty place. Many men die there. Next, we follow stairs through wall to tower. From top of tower, Alexei will go to work.” He shined his flashlight on each of their faces then at his watch. “Midnight. Time for Dracula and KGB to go hunting. Ready?”

  Each of the men acknowledged while Cotten gave a tentative wave. Then Ivanov turned and started up the steps.

  The climb was slow since the steps were steep and irregular. And because the stone was permanently moist and slippery, the going was extra treacherous.

  After five minutes of cautious climbing, they came to a confined, rectangular-shaped space just big enough for them to crouch in. The ceiling was an iron grate similar to the one protecting the cliff-side opening to the back door. Ivanov turned off his light and signaled the others to do so as well.

  The now familiar sound of dripping water surrounded them. Cotten felt sure she heard a squeak, and the scurrying scratch of claws on the stone floor was unmistakable. Rats.

  Ivanov motioned to Alexei. The two positioned themselves and pushed the grate up with their backs, then slid it out of the way. A few seconds later, everyone stood in the basement. Quickly, the men pushed the grate back into position.

  An acidic stench assaulted Cotten’s nostrils as she shivered in the cold. In the beams of their flashlights, she saw narrow cubicles lining a wall to her right. Each had a metal-barred prison door covering the entrance. To the left was a large open area with a handful of long wooden tables. She made out wrist and ankle clamps on each, and realized this was more than a basement. It was a dungeon—a torture chamber.