Bloodstorm- a Dane and Bones Origin Story

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Bloodstorm- a Dane and Bones Origin Story Page 30

by David Wood


  He decided to wait. He’d tell her over dinner. Somewhere swanky.

  Then again, now that he was unemployed, he’d have to think a little more frugally, at least until he figured out what he was going to do.

  What am I going to do?

  He wished he could ask his father for advice, regretted that he could not, but then realized that he already knew what Hunter Maddock would have said.

  Let’s work together. Find Kidd’s treasure.

  The thought brought a smile.

  Why not?

  He dug out his mobile phone, and scrolled through his call history until he found a received call from almost a month earlier. The number belonged to Allan Cole, the attorney who had acted as the executor of Maddock’s parents’ will. He dialed the number, and when the receptionist at the other end picked up, he identified himself.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Maddock. Do you want me to put you through to Mr. Cole?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Can you just give him a message? Tell him I’d like to sell.”

  “Okay.” There was a pause, presumably as the woman recorded this brief note. “Anything else?”

  “Nope. I’ll be up there later in the week to pack everything.” He exchanged a few more pleasantries before ending the call, then immediately dialed another number.

  It rang a few times and then a booming voice sounded in his ear. “Dane! How’s it going, my boy?" And then, with a note of concern added. “Are you doing okay?”

  Maddock smiled and answered truthfully. “Never been better, Coach. Listen, are you still thinking about selling your boat?”

  Cape Idokopas, Russia

  Alexander Shamalov was a carpenter and woodworker, who specialized in hand-turned spindles and antique restoration. He had been called out to the dacha at Cape Idokopas to bid on repair work for a damaged section of the balustrade on the second story landing.

  Shamalov had heard rumors about the incident, rumors of how a band of armed men had attacked in the middle of the night, gunned down the house’s former owner, notorious crime lord Sergei Telesh, along with his mistress and a small army of bodyguards. As he pulled up in front of the house, the only evidence he saw that anything was amiss was a piece of plywood covering one of the upper story windows.

  A stout man with a florid complexion emerged from the house and came down to greet him. “Mr. Shamalov, good afternoon. I am Mr. Ponomarenko, the property manager.”

  Shamalov shook hands with him and followed Ponomarenko inside. He wondered if he would see bloodstains and bullet holes. There were none, though the hardwood floor and carpets looked brand new and the walls still smelled of fresh paint.

  “It is up there,” Ponomarenko said, gesturing to the staircase.

  Shamalov grimaced when he beheld the damage. “What happened?”

  “The former owner threw a party one night,” Ponomarenko said with a dismissive air. “Things got out of hand.”

  Shamalov did not challenge the obvious fiction. Instead he climbed up to the landing and began taking measurements. “I will need to remove an undamaged section to use as a template,” he said, and then added, “provided of course that we can come to an arrangement.”

  “Of course.”

  Shamalov calculated the amount of time required for the job and the cost of materials, then tacked on a reasonable amount for labor—far less than he would normally have asked.

  He had heard other rumors about this place, rumors that there would soon be a magnificent mansion built on the property, a lavish private retreat for the Prime Minister, paid for by generous donations from wealthy oligarchs. And why not? Hadn’t he made them all rich?

  Shamalov loved the Prime Minister, and hoped he would become President someday. The man would make Russia great again.

  He told Ponomarenko his price. The man seemed pleased with the quote. “Write it up, and take what you need.”

  Shamalov nodded. “I’ll need to get some tools from my truck.” He hesitated and then decided to take a chance. “I am curious about something. I have heard that there are plans for new construction soon.”

  Ponomarenko frowned as if disturbed by such gossip. “You should not believe everything you hear.”

  Shamalov raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I only ask because I am interested in more work in the future.”

  The other man appeared to think about this for a moment, and then, in a conspiratorial whisper, admitted, “This is just between us.”

  “Of course.”

  “There are plans. Big plans. It will be beautiful. A palace worthy of the Tsars. But that won’t be for many years. That is why I am fixing up this old dacha. The architect will live here while he works on the project.”

  “Well, I hope you will find my work satisfactory.”

  The sharing of the secret seemed to have reduced the distance between the men. “I will provide you with a key so that you may come and go as you please. One thing though. If you need to use the toilet, use the one downstairs or out in the garage. The one upstairs is backed up and I have not yet arranged for a plumber to come take a look at it.”

  “Plumbers,” Shamalov snorted. “Who needs them. Let me take a look at it.”

  Ponomarenko raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “I insist. I will have it clear for you before I leave today.” It was a bold boast, but Shamalov felt certain that the problem was not as serious as the property manager believed. Then, with a wink, he added, “No extra charge.”

  The other man inclined his head. “Very well. And I’m sure we’ll be able to find more work for such a talented craftsmen in days to come.”

  As Ponomarenko went to find the key he had promised, Shamalov went upstairs to get a look at the blocked commode. The bathroom was an extravagant affair, larger than Shamalov’s workshop, with an enormous Jacuzzi tub on a raised platform at one end, and a walk-in shower big enough to accommodate two or three people at once—just thinking about it brought a smile to Shamalov’s face. But the opulence could not disguise the foul smell that hovered in the air, and there seemed little question as to its source.

  He approached the toilet cautiously, holding his breath in anticipation of the stench that would be released when he lifted the lid. His precautions spared his olfactory senses, but the vile-looking brown soup that filled the bowl was revolting enough to make him gag. He closed the lid and headed back downstairs. When he found Ponomarenko again, he inquired about tools for general maintenance.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted the other man. “There might be something in the garage. Feel free to look.”

  Shamalov did exactly that, and in short order, found exactly what he needed—a handheld plumber’s snake with ten meters of wire in the drum. He hurried back upstairs and, after another deep breath, opened the toilet lid, pulled out a meter of the coiled wire, and stabbed it into the murk. The device had a pistol grip below the drum, and he held it firmly in his left hand as he began rotating the knob on the back of the drum, feeding out more of the wire. He could feel a little resistance as it hooked around the turns in the plumbing, but nothing to justify the clog. He kept playing out meter after meter of wire until it came to an abrupt halt.

  “There you are,” he muttered. He was still taking shallow breaths through his mouth, though he was getting used to the smell.

  He worked the drum back and forth, trying to clear the blockage, but was unable to make any more forward progress. After a few minutes of this, he began reeling in the wire. He grimaced as the nasty liquid dribbled out of the drum and ran down his hand—maybe he should have let Ponomarenko call a plumber after all—but then felt a mild surge of elation when the end of the wire came out of the water, with something caught in the spiral at the end.

  It was a piece of red cloth.

  If you enjoyed Bloodstorm try Destination Rio- A Dane Maddock Adventure!

  Want to keep up with David’s work? Join his mailing list for updates, new release announcements,
and book giveaways, and receive a free ebook when you confirm your subscription.

  For more information on Sean Ellis and his work, visit his website.

  BOOKS and SERIES by David Wood

  The Dane Maddock Adventures

  Dourado

  Cibola

  Quest

  Icefall

  Buccaneer

  Atlantis

  Ark

  Xibalba

  Loch

  Solomon Key

  Contest (coming soon)

  Dane and Bones Origins

  Freedom

  Hell Ship

  Splashdown

  Dead Ice

  Liberty

  Electra

  Amber

  Justice

  Treasure of the Dead

  Bloodstorm

  Adventures from the Dane Maddock Universe

  Berserk

  Maug

  The Elementals

  Cavern

  Devil’s Face

  Brainwash

  Herald

  The Tomb

  Destination-Rio

  Destination-Luxor

  Jade Ihara Adventures (with Sean Ellis)

  Oracle

  Changeling

  Exile

  Bones Bonebrake Adventures

  Primitive

  The Book of Bones

  Skin and Bones

  Venom (forthcoming)

  Jake Crowley Adventures (with Alan Baxter)

  Blood Codex

  Anubis Key

  Brock Stone Adventures

  Arena of Souls

  Track of the Beast (forthcoming)

  Myrmidon Files (with Sean Ellis)

  Destiny

  Mystic

  Sam Aston Investigations (with Alan Baxter)

  Primordial

  Overlord

  Stand-Alone Novels

  Into the Woods (with David S. Wood)

  Callsign: Queen (with Jeremy Robinson)

  Dark Rite (with Alan Baxter)

  David Wood writing as David Debord

  The Absent Gods Trilogy

  The Silver Serpent

  Keeper of the Mists

  The Gates of Iron

  The Impostor Prince (with Ryan A. Span)

  Neptune’s Key

  The Zombie-Driven Life

  You Suck

  BOOKS and SERIES by SEAN ELLIS

  THE NICK KISMET ADVENTURES

  The Shroud of Heaven

  Into the Black

  The Devil You Know (Novella)

  Fortune Favors

  THE ADVENTURES OF DODGE DALTON

  In the Shadow of Falcon’s Wings

  At the Outpost of Fate

  On the High Road to Oblivion

  Against the Fall of Eternal Night (with Kerry Frey)

  THE MIRA RAIDEN ADVENTURES

  Ascendant

  Descendant

  Magic Mirror

  The Sea Wraiths and Other Tales

  Camp Zero

  WarGod (with Steven Savile)

  (with Jeremy Robinson)

  Prime

  Savage

  Cannibal

  Empire

  Herculean

  Helios

  Flood Rising

  Callsign: King (novella)

  Callsign: King—Underworld (novella)

  Callsign: King—Blackout (novella)

  (with David Wood)

  Hell Ship

  Bloodstorm

  Oracle

  Changeling

  Exile

  Destiny

  Mystic

  The Elementals

  Destination-Rio

  Destination-Luxor

 

 

 


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