The Milestone Protocol

by Ernest Dempsey

  “We cornered the targets at a restaurant on the side of the road, out in the country. I’m still on the scene now, about to leave. The men ambushed the group, but there were only three of them. It was too late for me to call the team back when Wyatt snuck up and executed them.”

  “Wyatt killed all of them by himself? My men? The men I had trained by some of our best?”

  “Yes,” Niki said, admiration tickling his voice. “All of them.”

  “And why do you not sound upset about this?”

  “They didn’t have the gem, sir. I listened to the entire conversation. Fabian asked for the gem. They claimed to not have it.”

  “And you simply believed them?”

  Niki had anticipated that question. “Yes. I do believe them. They looked like they were in a hurry to leave. Knowing the IAA’s propensity for solving riddles, and the numerous adventures they’ve encountered, I would say they found a trail. I suggest I follow them down it.”

  Niki waited while his benefactor pondered the proposition. The only sounds the younger man heard were of the breeze blowing across the field and the subtle breathing of the man on the line.

  “So, this was a strategic move?”

  “Definitely.”

  Niki knew he didn’t have to mince words with the man for Odin to understand what he was saying. He’d just confessed to sacrificing four of his own men to get vital information regarding the mission. Rather than fear the repercussions, Niki brazenly offered the strategy as confidently as a seasoned military officer. For a young man of his age, it was remarkable. And perhaps a little terrifying.

  “I can see I have created a monster,” Odin said at last. “I would encourage you to be judicious about sacrificing the lives of our people. But I trust your judgment, Niki. You have been trained well, in all aspects of combat and warfare. I’m confident you made the right decision. And from the sound of it, you might well have been taken out along with your team if you’d acted differently.”

  “I surmised the same, sir.”

  Odin paused, and Niki imagined the man considering what to say next somewhere in another land, perhaps in a deep leather chair or at his lavish desk.

  “Proceed as you have suggested,” the old man commanded. “Follow them and find out where they are going next. As long as you have them within reach, that’s all that matters. Once they have the gem and the location of the control center for the machine, you can eliminate them all.”

  “As you wish.”

  Niki ended the call and looked down the driveway and back toward the city. The tracking device he’d installed on Wyatt’s rental car would keep the Americans and their MI6 friend from getting out of reach.

  For now, he already knew where they were going. They were returning to Moscow. That much was obvious. He would hang back and wait until the group found what they were looking for; then he would move in for the kill.

  He felt no concern regarding being outnumbered. He’d faced more difficult odds before. And while his team had probably ruined any element of surprise, essentially putting Sean Wyatt on full alert, there was no way for the American to know when the attack would come. When it did, Wyatt wouldn’t see it coming.

  36

  Moscow

  Sean stared at the gates of the Savior Andronikov Monastery. The walls that wrapped around the inner confines on the left bank of the Yauza River made him think more of an old German town he’d visited long ago; a lifetime ago now that he thought of it. The memory stirred old emotions, dragging him back to a much different time in his life. Feelings of joy, wonder, mystery, and love flooded him, only to be replaced with a sense of loss—both of time and of those friends who’d already taken their last step in life’s journey.

  He immediately shook away the sadness, as he always did. Those thoughts would not serve him now, and would only take away vital concentration from the task at hand.

  The others huddled close to him on the snow-covered sidewalk and followed Sean’s gaze to the monastery’s entrance.

  Snowflakes, heavy and fluffy, floated down from an overcast sky.

  Sean brushed a layer of flakes from his head and pulled up the hood of his overcoat. The covering blocked part of his peripheral vision, which he relied on heavily, but staying dry was of greater importance at the moment.

  “See anything unusual?” he asked, tossing glances at the others.

  “No,” Adriana answered first, her head on a swivel. She peered through the falling snow, checking cars for signs of someone watching them. The only people she saw were the few brazen tourists brave enough to weather the cold to pay a visit to the old monastery.

  After Tommy and Sean had a quick look around and agreed with Adriana’s assessment, Sean reminded them to stay alert.

  “Out here we’re exposed,” he said. “And based on the images we checked of this place, there are some good spots for cover, but we will be out in the open at the gravesite.”

  Sean had considered dumping the weapons of the men he’d killed at the restaurant. His plan was to ditch them in a river or creek, or at the very least a dumpster once they got back into the city. When he inspected the pistols, however, he realized that they lacked serial numbers, which meant even when the ballistics reports gave the answer as to the type of gun used in the slayings, the weapons would be untraceable.

  Ghost guns were something Sean had invested in back in the States as a way to keep additional firearms on hand that could not be traced by the federal government. He had no nefarious reasons for such a practice; it was completely legal as long as he didn’t sell the guns to someone else. For Sean, milling and assembling some of his own firearms was a meditative act. It was simple in practice and straightforward—a stark contrast to much of his life.

  Realizing the pistols couldn’t be traced back to him or the killings at the restaurant, he’d decided to keep them just in case, and distributed one to each of his group. Tabitha, predictably, had been the sole protestor to such a notion, but then again, she still had her MI6 Glock 9mm.

  Sean stuffed his hands in his pockets and trudged through the accumulating snow toward the gate, with the others trailing close behind.

  Just through the gate and hanging on an exterior wall was a map of the monastery grounds. The rudimentary display didn’t give a ton of details and didn’t include the gravesite they were looking for, but it did show the location of the museum dedicated to Rublev.

  “You think the grave might be next to the museum?” Tommy asked. He tugged the zipper all the way up on his coat. Snowflakes landed on his shoulders and slipped off the waterproof surface.

  “As good a place as any to start,” Sean agreed.

  The visitors made their way down the path between the old buildings. Dormitories that housed the monks for centuries dotted the property. The lack of uniformity in their design was evident. Some featured green roofs. Others had black-tiled roofs, or pinkish clay colors topping the structures. Ahead, in the center of the monastery grounds, was the Cathedral of the Savior—a gray structure with a sloping, domed tower in the middle of the building, and topped by a cross. The old stone had been well cared for throughout the years. Built in the 1400s, it had been refurbished in 1959, an odd move by the Soviets, who’d initially destroyed many of the religious buildings in Russia or simply turned them into museums.

  The Saint Michael the Archangel Chapel stood next to the cathedral. Distinct architectural differences contrasted the older building. Having been constructed in the 1690s, the sharper lines and edges of the chapel were easy to distinguish against the curved, sloping eaves and arches of the Cathedral of the Savior. The walls of the chapel were also whiter, more the color of alabaster.

  “The museum is housed in the chapel,” Tommy said. Foggy breath accompanied his words and disappeared into the air, mingling with the falling snow. “The blockier building,” he added, pointing at the white building ahead and slightly behind the cathedral.

  They looped around the older structure, admiring
it while also cautiously surveying the property around them. Scant few people bothered visiting the monastery, probably due to the cold, but also because of the day of the week. Sean guessed it was a slow day, though he imagined the cathedral boasted a number of parishioners who frequented the sanctuary on Sundays.

  During the outbreak of the virus, people had been told not to go to church and other large gatherings, but as the impact of the pandemic waned, restrictions had been loosened. Those who pined for the fellowship and spiritual nourishment religion offered hurried back to the warm embrace of the church.

  The group passed the cathedral and continued around it on the right, then straight ahead until they arrived at the entrance to the chapel. The path spilled into a cobbled courtyard with a short stone wall wrapping around a monument on the far side. A pink building stood behind the marker, perhaps another of the monastery’s dormitories or an administrative building. The monument featured a tarnished metal plaque in the center and an object on the top that looked like a spinning top, similar to a dreidel.

  “I guess that’s it,” Tabitha said, indicating the headstone with an outstretched finger. “Unless there’s a cemetery around here I haven’t seen.”

  Sean didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he strode over to the monument. In seconds, he knew they had found what they were looking for.

  “This is it,” he said, turning to the others. “The grave of Andrei Rublev.”

  The four huddled around the grave and gazed at the image on the stone. The faded and weathered dark green of the metal featured a forlorn angel gazing down to the left, as if longing for the departed to rise again. Thick white marble framed the plaque and displayed a short engraved collection of details on either side of the angelic image about Andrei Rublev’s life.

  “What does it say?” Tabitha asked, her teeth chattering against the cold.

  “Just the usual stuff that tombstones feature. No clues there. Name. Years of birth and death.”

  “But if there’s no clue inscribed on the monument, how are we supposed to know where to find this gem?”

  Adriana, Sean, and Tommy all looked over at her with reproach in their eyes.

  Tommy shook his head and stepped toward the monument. He stopped an inch short of its base and placed his hands on the metal object set into the top. He pushed and pulled, trying to pry the ornament from the marble, but it wouldn’t budge.

  After almost two minutes of grueling effort, Tommy took a step back and panted for breath.

  “You done?” Sean asked.

  Tommy fired a scathing glance at his friend for the snide comment. “You think you can do better?” He motioned to the top. “That thing is stuck, man. We’re going to need to get something to break it off. Like a mallet or a hammer.”

  Sean frowned at the assessment, then hopped up onto the snow-dusted wall and wrapped his hands around the cold metal surface of the ornament.

  He pulled with all his might, tugging and grunting as his muscles strained. After minutes of struggle, he too threw in the towel.

  “You done?” Tommy asked, returning the barb from before.

  “My apologies, Shultzie. You’re right. I think we’re going to need something to knock it off. Maybe even a sledgehammer.”

  “Where are we going to get something like that in a place like this?” Tabitha wondered. “Are you suggesting we leave and hit up a hardware store?”

  Sean looked out from his high perch atop the wall, scanning the layout. “There should be a maintenance shed around here somewhere. Someone works the grounds to keep them looking good, which means there are tools.”

  Adriana ignored the conversation and shuffled forward to the base of the monument. She cocked her head to the right and then placed her hands on the ornament where two humps jutted out from opposing sides. Adriana pressed the butt of her hand against the ridge on the right and pulled hard with her fingers on the left.

  Tommy laughed. “Good luck, Addy,” he guffawed.

  Tabitha stepped forward and climbed onto the wall behind the headstone. “Move your left hand,” she said.

  Adriana did as told and waited until Tabitha had her heel pressed against the ridge of the ornament. Then the two women pushed as hard as they could. An audible squeak tore through the silent majesty of the winter’s early afternoon. Sean’s eyes darted around to make sure no one heard it, but he was quickly reminded that the property was mostly empty, at least as far as he could see.

  The two women kept pushing until the top turned halfway. Then they repositioned their grips and continued. The ornament turned more easily as it unscrewed from its housing. Finally, Adriana took over the job on her own, spinning the object with relative ease. At the base, a threaded cylinder protruded from the marble headstone. The tube was around three inches wide.

  Adriana finished the job, twisting the ornament off the top of the cylinder and setting it to the side.

  “Did you boys still want to go find a sledgehammer?” Adriana asked dryly, her right eyebrow cocked high. She took a deep breath and sighed, as if the exertion had been nothing.

  Tabitha let out a short laugh.

  “Well done,” Tommy lamented after he got the foot out of his mouth. The parts of his face exposed to daylight blushed, though a little case of windburn helped to cover it up.

  Sean simply smiled at his wife. “Always gotta one-up me, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “You make it easy sometimes.”

  Tabitha leaned forward and looked down into the metal cylinder. “Guys? There’s definitely something in there.”

  Sean bent over and looked down into the tube. He retrieved the phone from his pocket and switched on the light, then pointed it into the dark recess. After making sure there were no traps lying in wait, he narrowed his hand, pinching fingers together and jammed it into the hole. He fiddled with the object inside for a few seconds, then got a grip on it and carefully pulled on it.

  He replaced the phone in his pocket as the precious stone came into view and the diffused daylight shone upon it.

  It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t a ruby; at least he didn’t think it was, though the color was definitely similar.

  The gem was cut in the same shape as the tube they discovered among the relics of Saint Alexius. As he raised the stone to inspect it further, he found that it had been hollowed out with the precision of a modern drill, or perhaps even a laser. Tiny holes pierced all sides of the gem in a seemingly haphazard pattern. Sean puzzled over the oddity for a moment, then bent down and lowered himself to the ground.

  Sean handed the stone to Adriana. “I believe this is yours,” he said, half kidding.

  Adriana wrinkled her nose. “Good thing I didn’t ask for a diamond this size,” she said with a wink.

  “That’s Schultz money for something that big.”

  “You guys are hilarious,” Tommy interjected, stepping closer. He peered at the gem while Adriana held it up for all to see. Tabitha jumped down from the ledge and joined the group, eyeing the incredible find with rapt curiosity.

  “I’m no gemologist,” Tommy started.

  “No?” Sean chirped, sounding astonished.

  “But,” Tommy continued, ignoring the sarcasm, “I was going to say I think you’re right. It’s not a ruby. It’s too dark. And note the purplish hue to the red?”

  “It’s a diamond,” Adriana stated.

  The others turned and faced her.

  “Diamond?” Tabitha questioned. “I’ve never heard of a red diamond before.”

  “That’s because they’re the rarest of all diamonds.” She turned the gem in her hand, tilting it so the dim daylight could illuminate it at least a little against the bright backdrop of the newly fallen snow. “Normally, from what I understand, they are small—less than a carat.”

  “That would make this one the largest ever discovered then, wouldn’t it?” Sean asked, suddenly on high alert again. He searched the surrounding area but saw nothing that qualified a
s a threat. Then he hurriedly propped the ornament atop the threaded cylinder and spun it around until it was flush with the marble surface again.

  “Yes,” Adriana answered his question. “I believe it would.”

  “We need Tara and Alex to help us with this one,” Tommy said, retrieving his phone. He hesitated, then did a web search instead. He entered the words red diamond into the search bar and waited. The results populated on the next screen, and he tapped the first one.

  “Looks like something is deformed at the atomic level for diamonds to come out red like this. The deformation bends the light differently than other diamonds.”

  “Interesting,” Tabitha said. “But why a red diamond? Why leave it at this artist’s grave like that?”

  “And more curiously,” Sean added, “what’s with all the holes drilled through it, and the one at the bottom?”

  “The shape of the tip matches the rounded metal container we found in the reliquary of Saint Alexius,” Adriana said. “Might be a good idea to put it in there so as not to attract attention.”

  “Good call,” Sean said. He retrieved the tube and handed it to Adriana, who then slipped the gem into the cylinder and enclosed it with the cap.

  “You want to hold on to it, Schultzie?” she asked, holding it out to Tommy.

  He started to reach for the proffered artifact, then put up his hands. “It might be safer with you.”

  “You have no idea how right you are,” Sean quipped.

  Adriana turned to him with a glare, but he put on his most innocent yet mischievous face.

  “You two have some issues you want to discuss with the group?” Tabitha pried.

  “No,” Adriana said, her voice filling with warning that the discussion was over.

  “Okay. Just asking.”

  “Let’s get back to the car,” Sean suggested. “I don’t like being so exposed out here in the open.”

  His comment caused the other three to spin around, scouring the area for trouble.

  He marched past them toward the front gate, and full of paranoia, the others followed.