The Genesis Conspiracy

by Richard Hatcher

  “Jake,” she called out as she ran over and embraced him. “I’ve been worried sick. I was afraid something terrible had happened to you.”

  “Well,” he shrugged as he moved into the light.

  “Where did you get those clothes?” she asked. “Is that blood on your collar? Oh my goodness, you’re bleeding. You have a gash in your eyebrow. What happened?”

  Jake became aware that her elevated voice had caught the attention of the station attendant.

  “Let’s head up the street, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Katie’s grandmother walked up to join them.

  “How are you Mrs. Petrovich?” Jake asked. “I’m sorry to drag you out in the middle of the night. It’s pretty cold out here. Let’s go find a hotel.”

  The older lady smiled. “I wish the two of you would stop worrying so much about me. I’m not that fragile. Long before you were born, my husband was finding unique ways of getting us into scrapes like this.”

  “And Baba has agreed to tell us all about it,” Katie said, raising her eyebrows at her grandmother. Baba seemingly ignored the comment as she took Jake by the arm and headed up the street.

  “So what happened?” Katie asked as they walked.

  “Before or after I stole the taxi to escape the Mafioso who was taking shots at us?”

  “You stole a taxi?” Katie gasped.

  “And then ran it off into the Nevi River.”

  “Oh me,” Katie put her hand over her eyes and shook her head. “Wait…you said ‘us.’”

  “It’s been a crazy night, beginning with the fact that there are multiple groups of bad guys, and a bad girl, who are after this.”

  He held up the bag which Katie had failed to notice.

  “You got it!” she said excitedly. “You got the film.”

  “I aim to please.”

  Katie reached over and gave him a warm hug.

  “The ‘us’ you asked about were two guys who didn’t really strike me as your common thugs; definitely educated types, unlike the ones who attacked us in Mongolia. They were also American. One of them ran off when the shooting started. The other one ended up with me in the taxi. After we crashed, a Good Samaritan stopped and took the guy to the hospital. He had taken a bullet in the shoulder, but I think he’ll be all right. The guy who stopped gave me these dry coveralls. There was also a crazed woman at the museum who took a few shots at us.”

  “Oh my goodness, Jake,” Katie responded.

  Her grandmother laughed. “You are so much like my husband Dmitri. Trouble always seemed to follow him.”

  Suddenly they heard the screeching of tires behind them. Turning to see a pair of headlights quickly approaching, Jake reacted by pushing Katie and her grandmother safely into the entrance of a granite façade that opened onto the sidewalk. Unable to get clear himself, the side-view mirror of the car grazed his shoulder as the driver jumped the curve. The force knocked him to the ground, but he was back on his feet almost as quickly as he had fallen.

  “I’m getting sick of this,” he said angrily as he rushed over to the olive green SUV and accosted the driver who was raising a pistol as he stepped from the vehicle.

  With all his force, Jake slammed the heel of his boot into the door before the gunman could fully step clear. The gun, which was knocked from his hand, struck the ground and discharged. The report was magnified as it echoed from the surrounding buildings on the otherwise quiet street.

  Jake impulsively kicked the weapon as the assailant reached down to retrieve it. In doing so, he caught the man’s fingers in a crushing blow and was certain that he’d heard the sound of bone breaking. Before the gunman could react beyond a loud cry, Jake planted an elbow into his neck and knocked him to the ground.

  Katie and her grandmother watched as the two scuffled on the ground. Jake was finally able to deliver a clear blow to his temple, and the man fell back onto the pavement.

  As Katie dashed over, she ran her hand around Jake’s tight bicep, which was exposed from the sleeve that had been torn away in the fight. Standing beside him, she looked at the unconscious man’s face.

  “Recognize him?” Jake asked.

  Katie nodded.

  “Scarface from Mongolia,” he said.

  “Was he the one who attacked you earlier tonight?”

  “Unfortunately no. This guy’s a common criminal. The gunman at the museum had a more professional look about him.”

  The sound of approaching sirens caught their attention.

  “What do we do next?”

  “I think the option of finding a hotel on this street just went away.”

  Katie’s grandmother walked up to join them. “Come with me,” she said motioning toward the alley behind them. “I have an idea.”

  31

  Jake and Katie followed their guide through the backstreets of St. Petersburg’s urban center until finally reaching a part of town unfamiliar to Katie. The Stalinist-era buildings of red granite were coated with thick gray layers of industrial and automobile pollution. Liquor bottles lined the decaying windowsills and cluttered the street. Dirty stucco façades lay in broken chunks around the base of the buildings. In the air, Jake caught the smell of something that could only be described as a mixture of alcohol and human excrement.

  “I don’t think this is right, Baba,” Katie said with concern.

  “Trust me,” Baba answered.

  “But…,” Katie started again.

  Her grandmother held up her hand. “Trust me,” she said sternly.

  As they walked down the main thoroughfare, which was fairly populated even at the late hour, they were met with stares from people who clearly realized even in their drug and alcohol induced states that these people did not belong here. The muted hum of a distant radio was mixed with the occasional sounds of dogs barking and a baby crying from one of the apartments above the street. When they had traveled nearly eight blocks, Katie’s grandmother stopped across the street from a shady looking hotel or brothel as Katie saw it.

  “This is the place,” Baba said.

  The entrance was surrounded by a group of women whose purpose was obvious. There were five of them, encircled in a cloud of cigarette smoke. All were wearing short dresses and spiked heels. As they approached the hotel, Katie knew her assumption had been correct.

  “Hello Kisha,” Baba greeted a thin, scantily dressed woman standing closest to the entrance. The wildly unkempt hair which hung down over her face was a myriad of colors.

  Katie looked at Jake with utter surprise. Equally stunned was the woman. Jake could only pick up bits of the conversation which followed, but it became apparent that Katie’s grandmother had a relationship with the woman who barely looked up during their talk. When the conversation ended, Baba embraced the woman and held her as closely as she had held Katie many times.

  “Let’s go inside,” Katie’s grandmother said.

  At the desk, she rang the bell and was greeted by the owner, night clerk, and probable pimp. He emerged from an apartment size room that had a bed and small kitchen visible from the open door. The man’s movement stirred the air so that the odor of marijuana drifted into the lobby. His awkward movements indicated that he was stoned.

  “Good evening,” Baba said in Russian. “We need a room for the night.”

  “This is a private business. I only take customers that I know,” the man slurred.

  Baba lifted her case and opened it.

  “Keep your small money, old woman,” the man said disrespectfully. “Just go.”

  Jake stepped forward and looked the man squarely in the eyes.

  “I’ll call the police,” the owner responded.

  “Does that ATM work?” Jake asked, motioning toward the machine standing beside the doorway.

  The man didn’t answer.

  “How do you ask about the withdrawal limit?” he mumbled to Katie.

  Before she could answer, the man replied in English, “300 euros.”

  “S
urely you have a 300 euro room we could rent for the night,” Jake offered with a hesitant smile. It was easily ten times the normal rate, but Jake stepped over to the machine and withdrew the money.

  Without further protest, the owner pulled a key from the board behind his head and handed it to him. “Up the stairs to the left,” he said flatly.

  “A pleasure doing business,” Jake replied.

  The three exhausted travelers took the stairs to the second floor and found the room that corresponded to their key number. When Jake opened the door, the first thought that crossed his mind was that the owner’s room looked like the bridal suite by comparison. The bed, which had not been made, revealed sheets that had also not been changed in some time. Without a doubt, it was the filthiest place he had ever seen.

  Although Katie was fatigued to the point of feeling sick, she had to find out one thing before she went to sleep. “Who was that woman, Baba?”

  Her grandmother took a seat beside her. “She’s someone I’ve tried to help over the years. You didn’t recognize her?”

  “No,” Katie shook her. “Should I?”

  “The two of you played together as children,” Baba replied looking down at the floor. “I’ve been blessed to have a granddaughter who has made good decisions. My friend Dasia’s children did not.”

  “Dasia,” Katie thought back, “the woman who lived next to us at our old apartment? Oh my goodness. Kisha. That was her daughter? She was a few years older than me. We lost touch after I changed schools. What happened to her?”

  “Drugs. She started doing drugs in high school and ended up as a prostitute to support her habit. Dasia found out she was living down here and asked me to try to help her. She refuses to even speak to Dasia.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe I could have done something.”

  “Dasia didn’t want you to know. She was too ashamed. I come down here every few months to check on her. Kisha is in my prayers every night.”

  Katie folded her arms. “You continue to be full of surprises.”

  “And you have your own life to live. You young folks think if you pass a certain age you become useless.”

  “You know better than that,” Katie said as she kissed her grandmother.

  “You certainly saved us tonight,” Jake added. “Thank you. Now the two of you better get some sleep. Katie, do you have a cell phone? Mine is a bit waterlogged at the moment.”

  “It’s out of power,” she replied shaking her head. “I have the charger, but I don’t think this room has any outlets.”

  “That’s OK,” Jake said as he approached the door. “There’s a pay phone across the street. I need to call my boss and get his instructions on what to do next.”

  “Just come back soon… OK?”

  “OK.” He smiled as he opened the door.

  Jake locked the door as he stepped outside and then walked down to the lobby. The whole place smelled of drugs and general filth. As he walked out onto the street, he found the cool night air to be refreshing. It was now past one in the morning, and the women he had seen earlier had either gained employment or gone in for the night. Jake walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver. After dialing the number, he waited for an answer on the other end. The seconds seemed like hours until he finally heard a familiar voice.

  “Hendricks,” was the answer on the other end.

  “Bill, I need your help,” Jake responded.

  “Are you still in St. Petersburg?” Bill asked.

  “Yes, and I’m in big trouble.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. St. Petersburg police called our office wanting to know your whereabouts. They’re investigating a stolen vehicle and the murder of a police officer.”

  Jake exhaled loudly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “That was fast.”

  “You mean you know about this!?”

  “I know about the taxi. I took it to keep from being killed. I don’t know about any police officer being murdered, although it doesn’t surprise me. Did they say where the murder took place?”

  “Vasilyevsky Island, near the port.”

  “BMW,” Jake muttered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a setup, Bill. The guy who tried to kill me a few hours ago must have killed the police officer. You’ve got to get us out of here.”

  “You mean you’re not alone?”

  “There are two ladies from Russia in the same predicament that I’m in. I’ll explain later.”

  “Tell me where you are, and I’ll send someone from the consulate to pick you up. I’ll actually be in Russia tomorrow morning for the backslapping party that closes out your Mongolian dig with the Russian Academy. The U.S. Ambassador has asked me to attend.”

  “I’ve lost track of time,” Jake said. “So you’re flying to Moscow?”

  “Early flight from Helsinki. For crying out loud, Jake! How do you end up in these messes? Of all my employees, I worry about you the most.”

  “I honestly don’t know, Bill. I honestly don’t know.”

  After Jake had given him directions to the hotel, he went back inside. The door to the owner’s room was shut so he took the opportunity to look around.

  “I’m at least guilty of stealing a car and breaking and entering,” he thought. “I’ll eventually be charged with murder. The theft of a pair of pants and a shirt can’t add much to my sentence.”

  In the hallway to the left of the desk, Jake found the laundry room. He looked in the dryer and pulled out a shirt and a pair of pants that would fit well enough. The owner was about his size except for a larger waistline. He removed the coveralls and forced them into the back of an overstuffed closet. When he climbed the stairs back up to his room, he walked over and gently nudged Katie.

  “We’re getting out of here.”

  “It can’t be morning already?”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I just got off the phone with my boss. He’s sending someone from the consulate to pick us up. We’re driving to Moscow tonight. I’ll wait outside for the car. Would you wake your grandmother?”

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “All right. We’ll meet you down there.”

  Outside the building, Jake waited in the shadows of the adjacent alley until he saw the two women walk out. Katie had her arms wrapped around her grandmother, who despite her amazing show of strength, was nearly exhausted. Jake walked over to greet them and about fifteen minutes later, they spotted a taxi turning down the street. The car approached slowly, allowing Jake to see that the driver appeared to be reading the building numbers. As he stepped into the light and walked over to the car, the driver reached across and opened the door.

  “I know you,” Jake exclaimed in a tone which clearly showed his uneasiness. “Your name is Baris. You’re the Turkish taxi driver I had the other day.”

  Katie looked at Jake with concern.

  “Yes,” the man smiled broadly. “I remember you as well. We talked about my favorite subject, food. What a coincidence.”

  “We’re not getting in this car,” Jake spoke to Katie. “Take your grandmother back inside.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “It’s OK my friend,” Baris said patting his chest. “You can certainly trust me. I am an honest fellow.”

  “How did you know to look for us here?” Jake asked pointedly.

  “I’ve been driving around all night,” he answered, “ever since I got the call. I saw you at the train station and tried to catch up with you there, but you turned into this part of town.”

  “Got the call from whom?” Jake continued his interrogation.

  “Stefan.”

  Jake paused for a moment as the name sunk in.

  “Who is Stefan?” Katie asked.

  “A man I met when I was trying to find you. He told me where you lived.”

  “I don’t recognize the name,” Katie said.

  “Your grandmother k
nows him.”

  Katie turned to see that Baba had fallen asleep with her head resting against the back of the bench on which she was sitting.

  “Do you trust this man?” Katie asked as she looked at the driver.

  In the distance, the blare of police sirens sounded a few streets over. They could have been responding to any number of emergencies, but Jake assumed the worst.

  “We’re running out of options,” he replied as the sirens came closer. “And I do trust Stefan.”

  “Let me get Baba,” Katie said.

  “I’ll help you. Then we need to get out of here.”

  “Great my friends,” Baris responded. “It will be good to share more stories of my country with you.”

  Jake opened the rear door for Katie and her grandmother and then took a seat next to the driver. As they sped away and approached the first intersection, Jake looked back and saw the red and blue lights of two police cars as they arrived at the hotel where they had just left. Four officers dressed in the tactical gear of a SWAT team bounded from the vehicles with their weapons drawn and entered the office. When the door shut behind the men, a thought entered Jake’s mind—the ATM in the lobby where he’d gotten money only minutes before. Was that how they’d found them? If so, their enemies were even more powerful than he could ever have guessed. Connections to banking records and police units on a moment’s notice screamed of organized crime. The thought made him suddenly queasy.

  “Do you have a cell phone I could borrow?” Jake asked Baris.

  “Of course,” he said pulling it from his shirt pocket.

  Jake dialed a series of numbers and waited.

  “I hope this is good,” a familiar, but groggy voice answered.

  “Wade,” he said with urgency in his voice. “This is Jake. I need your help.”

  “Sure Jake. What can I do for you?”

  “I know you’re not the kind of guy who goes puttering around in other people’s computer systems, but me and a friend named Katrina Petrovich, that’s P-E-T-R-O-V-I-C-H, were in a museum last night in St. Petersburg, the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography to be exact. She has an access card that allowed us in. We really don’t want to leave behind any record that we were there. Can you fix it?”