During the drive back to Volgograd, Kevin couldn’t stop looking in the rearview mirror until he was back in the city. Emotions of grief and sadness pried at his mind, but he forced those away. There would be time for grieving later.
He’d found a parking garage, ditched the car, and headed out on foot to catch a cab to the airport.
Every passing second filled him with dread.
When the cab driver dropped him off at the airport, he still didn’t know what he was going to do, or what had happened to the rest of his team back at the dig site.
In the airport, he desperately tried to find a flight—any empty seat would do, so long as the plane was leaving Russia. He felt that as long as he could get out of the country, he’d be safe.
The earliest flight with an opening was to Plovdiv in Bulgaria, and he’d gratefully taken it. He paid with a credit card, his first mistake—he now realized. And did the same when securing a modest hotel room in Plovdiv, near the heart of Old Town.
While sitting on the plane, awaiting takeoff, he sent a desperate email to Tommy Schultz in Atlanta. Tommy, the director and founder of the International Archaeological Agency, was a casual acquaintance of Kevin’s. If he were honest, Kevin didn’t like Tommy. He didn’t like the IAA either. He thought their methods brash and aggressive. Too often, the IAA took credit for discoveries that they didn’t deserve—as far as Kevin was concerned. Their agents were armed, which was another thing Kevin disagreed with. He thought the only reason they advertised being an artifact security and recovery agency was so they could carry guns.
Through the years, IAA agents—in particular, Sean Wyatt—had been involved in several violent incidents, almost always resulting in the deaths of multiple people. Bad people, sure, but Kevin didn’t approve of their methods.
Now, however, he was in a bind, and he could think of no one else who might be able to help. He’d sent the email, doubting it would be read in time, or that Tommy would be able to respond quickly enough. It was unlikely that he could get anyone to Bulgaria in time. With limited options, though, Kevin had to try. Tommy had never spoken unprofessionally regarding Kevin. The two had been silent rivals for years. During that time, Tommy never said anything derogatory about Kevin or his work. Quite the opposite, in fact. Tommy always referred to Kevin in a positive light, no matter what kind of mud Kevin threw at the IAA and its founder.
He could have called the police or Interpol or some other agency, but how did he know one of those agencies wasn’t involved with his team’s murder? The incident reeked of conspiracy and cover-up. What he didn’t understand was why.
Suddenly, Kevin’s phone vibrated in his pocket, sending a tingle of fear and hope across his skin. He took the phone out and looked at the screen. It was an Atlanta area code.
He pressed the phone to his ear and continued to scan the sidewalks and street.
“Hello?” Kevin’s voice trembled as he spoke.
“Listen to me very carefully, Kevin. Do not go to the hotel you booked. I have made arrangements for another room about ten minutes’ walk from that one. You in Plovdiv now?”
“Yes. I’m here. But why not go to the hotel?”
“It’s compromised. You used a credit card, yes?”
Kevin nodded, even though the man speaking to him couldn’t see. “Yes.”
“Get rid of your cards. Do it immediately. They’re tracking you with them. They’re probably tracking this phone, too.”
Bile climbed up his throat at the thought. His gut wrenched, and he nearly lost the contents of his stomach. He stumbled to a stop at a corner between two bars.
Get a hold of yourself, Kevin. The thought did little to keep him from retching. In truth, he didn’t know how he kept that from happening.
He breathed heavily and looked up the sidewalk, then back the way he’d come. Still no sign of the pursuers.
“But how—”
“I’m sending someone to meet you there. They will have a burner phone for you and some cash. We’ll get you out of this, but you have to do exactly as I say.”
“Someone?”
“I read your email,” the man said. “We notified the police in Volgograd about what happened.”
“My team?”
“We need to worry about you for right now,” the caller said. “Get to the Hotel Grand Garden. The concierge knows you’re coming. I made the reservation under my name. The second you get off this call, smash your phone, dump your cards, and get to that hotel. Can you do that?”
Another nod. “Yes. I can do that.”
Kevin choked back the fear, the nausea, the scant contents of his gut that kept trying to push their way up into his throat.
“Good. One of my agents will meet you. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t stop until you reach the hotel.”
“Okay. Thank you, Tommy. I’m sorry for—”
“No time. Go. Now.”
The call ended abruptly, and for a second, Kevin wasn’t entirely sure it was because Tommy hung up or if he’d lost the signal.
He retreated back a few steps into the alley and then immediately slammed his phone onto the stones at his feet. The screen cracked, and then he dug his heel into it. A white bucket near a dumpster had dirty water in it, and he dropped the wrecked device into the liquid to finish the job.
Next, Kevin fished the credit cards out of his wallet and bent them in half before stuffing them into a trash bag jutting out of the dumpster. Bending them wasn’t as good as cutting them, but it would have to do in a pinch.
Satisfied with the job he’d done, he stepped toward the sidewalk. He poked his head out to take a look and was immediately greeted by a man with dark brown hair swept to one side. He looked like he was in his late thirties, perhaps early forties. His tanned skin surrounded eyes so dark they were nearly black in the dim evening lights. He wore a black shell jacket and matching pants. It took less than a second for Kevin to see the other three—all dressed similarly—as they surrounded him, corralling him back into the alley.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The man whom Kevin nearly bumped into spoke first. The others remained silent, staring at him coldly as would wolves at a wounded elk.
The men closed in, forcing Kevin to backtrack farther.
“What do you want?” Kevin asked, his voice full of fear.
“You know what we want,” the man said. His accent was thick, definitely not local. If Kevin had to guess, he couldn’t put a finger on it. The indistinct sound reminded him a little of Dutch, but also German.
“What’s in the bag, Dr. Clark?” The man pressed the question while pointing at the satchel hanging from Kevin’s shoulder.
Kevin involuntarily clutched it a little tighter, cinching it against his side.
“Just a few necessities,” he lied—and did a horrible job of it.
“You left Russia in such a hurry. I wonder what necessities you were able to get. Most of your things were at the dig site.” The man approached with one deliberate step after another, stalking down his prey.
Kevin swallowed a lump of fear and felt it catch in his throat. His breathing quickened, and his pulse raced. He saw the gun inside the man’s open jacket.
“You killed them,” Kevin blathered. “You killed innocent people. We didn’t do anything. They didn’t deserve this. None of us deserve this.” Tears welled in his eyes.
“Deserve has nothing to do with it, Dr. Clark.” The tone was cool, menacing, layered in an evil Kevin had never before heard in his life. “Everyone dies sooner or later. There is no point in fearing it.”
Kevin felt his back bump against the dumpster, and he looked over his shoulder. The alley stopped in another thirty feet. They were in the shadows now, far enough away from the streetlights that no passersby would notice the four men encircling their victim.
The man to the right of the leader produced a long blade. The knife glinted despite the darkness in the side street. Kevin realized they would kill him silently, make it look like
a mugging gone bad. It happened every day in cities all around the world. Why not Plovdiv?
“I don’t even know what it is,” he whimpered. “It’s just a copper tablet.”
“But you said it was your belongings, Dr. Clark. Liars don’t sit well with me.”
“You want it? Fine. Take it. Please, just don’t kill me.”
He extended the satchel and set it down on the ground. The archaeologist in him was careful not to be too rough as he placed the bag on the damp surface. Even if he was surrendering the artifact, he didn’t want to damage it.
“Oh, Dr. Clark. We were going to take it anyway. And just because you offered it doesn’t mean we aren’t going to kill you. That decision has already been made.”
The way the man issued the death sentence sent a shiver up Kevin’s spine, and he finally lost control of his stomach. He vomited to the side, though most of his retching was nothing more than dry heaves.
The leader looked at him with disgust. “You’re pathetic. The future of humanity will be better off without your kind.”
The man twitched his head, an indication for his henchman with the knife to take care of the problem.
The knife-bearer took a step forward, but Kevin noticed a flash of movement in the shadows behind him.
The attacker’s feet abruptly flew up into the air. A distinct smack followed. The man’s feet flailed for a second, then Kevin saw a blur of blond hair, a tanned hand, and the flash of a knife blade. The blade sank into the man’s throat. The newcomer yanked it out and turned to the assailant next to him, who’d immediately reacted and drawn his pistol. The Walther had a compact silencer attached to the barrel, but the gunman’s reaction was too slow, and the newcomer kicked the man in the gut, doubling him over straight into the bloody knifepoint. The crimson metal plunged into the victim’s right eye.
The newcomer jerked it out with a stomach-turning, sucking sound, and the body dropped to the ground next to the first.
The third henchman spun around and drew his pistol in time to fire one shot, but the newcomer slashed the man’s wrist and the pistol fell to the ground. As the henchman grabbed at his wrist, unable to ignore the agony from the severed tendons and muscles, the stranger lunged forward and thrust the knife into the soft tissue at the base of his neck.
When the killer pulled the blade from flesh, the man fell back against the wall, gurgling and grasping at the wound as he slid to the wet cobblestone.
The leader reacted to the commotion around him with confused delay. When he realized they were under attack, he whipped around, drawing his pistol. The attacker ducked as he sidestepped forward and jammed the knife’s tip up through the man’s wrist. The bloody point emerged through the jacket sleeve. The leader’s fingers weakened, and the pistol fell to the ground with a clack, but he didn’t fall with it.
He retreated a step, trying to remove the knife from his wrist.
“You’ve made a big mistake,” the leader sneered, ignoring the terrible pain in his forearm.
The blond man didn’t reply. Instead, he stared back at the leader with bluish-gray eyes that could have frozen the sun.
Kevin watched in disbelief. He’d never seen anything like it. This man had appeared out of nowhere, and while his face continued to hide in the shadows, the eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.
The leader finally managed to pull the knife from his wrist with a grunt and a grimace. Then he readied himself to fight.
“Nothing to say?” the knife-bearer said. “You should have offered some last words.”
He lurched forward with his left foot, stabbing toward the newcomer’s throat. The stranger twisted, grabbed the man’s wrist, then jerked him forward, continuing the leader’s momentum his face smacked into a whirling elbow.
The leader’s nose crunched, and the blow knocked him off his feet. He landed on his back, dazed from the hard landing and the blinding pain resonating from his broken nose. Blood oozed from his nostrils.
Kevin stared at the man on the ground. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, and he noticed something on the man’s neck, just below the ear. It was a tattoo. Kevin frowned at the sight.
He didn’t have time to think about it.
The stranger straddled the leader, scooped up the knife from his limp fingers, and pressed the edge against the man’s neck.
“Who sent you?” the blond asked.
The leader merely laughed in answer.
“Who sent you? Who do you work for?”
The blond pushed the sharp edge deeper into the skin. Blood oozed from the slim wound.
The leader grinned fiendishly back up at the blond. “Do you think I fear death? My cause is greater than any life, including my own.”
“Cause? What cause?” The blond sneered the words.
“You shall see soon enough.”
Then the leader raised his head and jerked it to the side, slicing his own neck against the knife.
The blond reared back as blood spurted from the man’s neck. All the newcomer could do was watch as the leader’s body convulsed for nearly half a minute, then gradually slowed until it was motionless.
The blond wiped off the handle of the knife with his blue Jimmy Eat World zip-up hoodie and dropped the weapon onto the leader’s chest.
He looked to Kevin, who stood frozen, leaning against the dumpster.
The blond peered into Kevin’s fear-filled eyes with unyielding steel.
“Dr. Kevin Clark?” he asked, his voice sprinkled with a Southern accent.
Kevin swallowed back his emotions and the disbelief of what he’d just seen. The four men were dead. They were going to kill him. And this man, this blond American, had saved his life.
“Yes,” he managed, stumbling over his response. “I’m Kevin Clark.”
The blond nodded at him politely, but with a grim expression. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Clark. I’m Sean Wyatt.”
5
Atlanta
Tara Watson peered into the glass case with wide eyes, amazed at how the sliver reacted to electricity, changes in air pressure, even light and darkness.
Her husband, Alex Simms, stared on in disapproval, constantly looking back over his shoulder for fear that their boss, Tommy, would show up at any given second.
“I still can’t believe you managed to find that, bring it back to the States, and now have the gall to use the IAA lab to run tests on it.” His fear-filled voice echoed the paranoia coursing through his mind.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly sure if I should tell Tommy I snuck a piece of Quantium out of Bolivia.” She never looked away from the screen as the data continued to pile up. “This material is pretty incredible.”
Alex crossed his arms. He stood behind her, watching the computer monitor between over-the-shoulder glances at the windows separating the lab from the hallway beyond.
“I know. I’m just saying, maybe we should have let him in on it. You know? Told our boss who has pretty much given us our dream jobs that we smuggled an extremely rare element into his lab? It did blow up an ancient stone gate down in Bolivia. Remember?”
How could I forget? Tara kept the thought to herself, along with all the others she’d had since that fateful day at the site known as the Sun Gate.
They’d been sent on a mission for their newly formed Paranormal Archaeology Division to investigate a series of bizarre thefts. What they’d uncovered was a scheme by a man who called himself Buri, the head of an underground cabal looking to discover ancient portals into other dimensions, or perhaps even cross the bounds of time itself.
In the end, Alex and Tara—along with some help from their new friends Dak Harper and Boston McClaren—stopped Buri from entering the portal and managed to destroy the ancient ruins, rendering the gate and the powerful blue stones known as Quantium to nothing but rubble. Moments before the explosion, though, Tara saw into the portal. She felt the power of the stone she’d held in her hand as it resonated, vibrated, pulsed against her skin. Even now, as she ran
tests through the only surviving piece from the incident, she could feel a strange connection to it, as if it called to her.
She’d seen things in those brief seconds on the portal’s threshold—wild, dreamlike visions—that she couldn’t always clearly recall, but that remained in her memory like some hazy nightmare. Not all of what she’d seen was bad. Some of it even appeared to be good, like pieces of an unknown history playing out before her eyes as though in a movie.
Scenes of battles played out in her mind. Some pitted ancient warriors against each other. She witnessed bloody fighting down through the ages, up to recent conflicts in the Middle East and elsewhere in the world.
Tara also witnessed human suffering due to disease and pestilence. People dying on beds in mud huts, in hospital beds, in huge warehouses.
At the time, Tara didn’t understand the flashes of madness that darted through her mind’s eye. She didn’t grasp what she was seeing or why. She’d have been lying if she said it hadn’t changed her, and Tara knew Alex had noticed.
It took considerable effort to act normal after coming back from Bolivia. She’d gone out of her way to smile more, to pretend that nothing was bothering her, but no matter what she did, Tara couldn’t shake the feeling deep down inside.
Something terrible was coming.
She had no idea why, but she sensed humanity was in grave danger.
As the events of the global pandemic played out, she wondered if that was it, if that had been the cause of her anxiety, her strange visions from the past. That’s all it was, she told herself. Nothing but a little paranoia brought on by a traumatic event.
Still, Tara wasn’t certain, and dread continued to plague her thoughts every waking hour. And in her sleep.
“Tara?” Alex jolted her from her wandering daydream. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I was just thinking about the explosion, the gate, all that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I know it shook you.”
“It’s okay,” she insisted. “I’m fine. I just….” She didn’t finish her thought.
The Milestone Protocol Page 5