The Hunters

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘Very impressive,’ Cobb said.

  ‘I call it … Goldfinder.’ Garcia laughed at the name. He was the only one who did. ‘You know, like the James Bond movie. Except it’s finder, not finger.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ Cobb said.

  ‘I’ve been working on a theme song, too. Want to hear it?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Goldfinder!’ Garcia crooned. ‘I’m the man, the man with the—’

  ‘Missing teeth,’ Sarah shouted from across the car. Cobb turned to see her studying a map on one of the sofas. ‘He’s been trying out verses for the past thirty minutes. He’s driving me crazy.’

  McNutt laughed off her threat, anxious to rile her up. He patted Garcia on the shoulder and said, ‘Sing all you want, Jose. I’ve got your back.’

  Garcia glanced up at him. ‘Thanks. But my name’s Hector, not Jose.’

  McNutt growled playfully. ‘Don’t correct me again. And never look me in the eyes.’

  Cobb shook his head and walked toward Sarah. He could sense something was wrong. ‘What’s bothering you?’

  She sighed. ‘I’m trying to figure out every possible way someone could move that much treasure out of the country. The possibilities are endless.’

  Cobb smiled. ‘You’re thinking like a thief, not a royal strategist.’ He pointed toward the screen where Goldfinder was calculating the best route for an engine of that era while factoring in weather conditions and the topography of the region. ‘Consider any person who wanted to steal the bulk of the treasure. He would take a very different approach from anyone who just wanted to lighten the load by a gold coin or two.’

  ‘Like what?’ she asked.

  ‘Disinformation,’ Cobb said. ‘About the train, the treasure, and several other things. Whoever stole it would have taken the easiest, fastest route, the one ensuring the most success. Then they would have started rumors about how or why the treasure never made it. Avalanche, Bolsheviks, Romanian loyalists - there are any number of reasons. That being said, I tend to accept the simplest theory about the missing treasure: that the people transporting the gold were the same ones who took it. What do you think, Jasmine?’

  Standing off to the side, Jasmine was lost in thought while staring out one of the windows. She flinched at the mention of her name. ‘What’s that?’

  Cobb smiled. ‘What do you think about my theory?’

  ‘I agree,’ she said, recovering quickly. ‘Near the end of the war, the Germans were getting perilously close to Moscow. There were many rumors that the Bolsheviks and the tsarists dispersed several treasures to the provinces, where they may have been lost or already stolen.’

  Even Papineau looked up at that. ‘And if those rumors are true?’

  Sarah threw up her hands. ‘Then we’ll never find it! It’s almost certain that those treasures have already been lost or stolen. What are we going to do, a house-to-house search in every village along every route, looking for clues as to where the gold went from there?’

  Cobb sighed. ‘Come on, Sarah. You’re still thinking like a thief. Sure, maybe like a thief from a century ago, but still a thief. You should be reverse-engineering this: thinking like someone who wants to protect it from thieves.’ He pointed at Jasmine. ‘She might be able to figure this out, because she’s the only one of you that doesn’t want the treasure for personal gain.’

  Sarah exploded. ‘Cut the mind games, Jack! Just tell us!’

  Cobb suddenly became serious - dead serious. ‘Is that what you think these are? Mind games?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, challenging his methods. ‘If one of us had information, you’d want it immediately, not dangled like catnip.’

  ‘The lesson in tactics and logistics is the information!’ he snarled back. ‘I don’t know where the damn treasure is. And I won’t know unless I get some good minds thinking along the same track. That’s the only way this is going to work!’

  ‘The same track,’ McNutt laughed. ‘That’s funny.’

  Cobb glared at McNutt, then he glanced around at the team, ending on Sarah. ‘Stop thinking about how to steal the gold and start thinking about how you’d protect it if you already had it.’

  There was a thick, unhappy silence for several seconds.

  Eventually, McNutt broke the tension with a laugh. ‘Are you kidding, Jack? I wouldn’t protect that treasure for more than a minute. That gold would be like honey to a bear. Only in this case, the bears it attracted would be heavily armed and ready to attack. In all seriousness, I’d take what I could grab and leave the rest. I’d grab some gold and roll.’

  ‘Shit,’ Jasmine said. ‘We got it all wrong.’

  ‘We got what wrong?’ McNutt demanded. ‘You mean the thing about the bears? Trust me, I know that bears can’t shoot a gun. I’m not an idiot. Their paws are way too big to pull a trigger.’ Sadly, he didn’t stop there. ‘Then again, under the right circumstances, I bet they could train a circus bear to fire a cannon. Believe it or not, I’ve seen one ride a bike, so I don’t see why they couldn’t teach one to light a fuse.’ He laughed at the picture in his head. It looked like a cartoon. ‘Imagine that: a bear firing a cannon. That’s priceless.’

  At that point, the whole group tuned him out.

  Cobb looked to Jasmine for clarification. ‘What were you saying?’

  She looked at Cobb. ‘You were right: we got it all wrong!’

  Before she could explain, the entire train compartment lurched when the diesel engine coupled with the other cars. Jasmine nearly fell to the floor, but she hardly noticed.

  She was too overjoyed by her insight.

  30

  Vargunin stepped away as the roll call officer dismissed the constables. ‘Sergeant Rusinko,’ he called. ‘A moment please.’

  A tall woman with short, brown hair looked over to see who was calling. She quickly gathered herself, then approached in a brisk, business-like manner.

  ‘Sergeant Rusinko,’ Vargunin said. ‘This is Colonel Viktor Borovsky.’

  Anna gasped softly. For an instant her eyes widened, brightened, and her mouth dropped open. ‘Of Special Branch?’ she blurted. Then her face changed again, a flash of mortification battling with competence for control.

  ‘At ease, Sergeant,’ Borovsky chuckled, once he had gotten over his own surprise. ‘An elder god has not descended from the firmament.’

  Vargunin looked at Anna with a we’re-never-going-to-let-you-forget-this expression before turning to the colonel. ‘It would appear your reputation has preceded you, sir.’

  ‘Apparently,’ Borovsky said drily. ‘You know me then, Sergeant?’

  She looked nervously at the warrant officer.

  ‘Not personally, sir, no,’ she said. ‘We’ve never met.’ Her own face attempted a twitching smile, but failing that, her stare shifted to one of open respect. ‘But everyone knows about your achievements, sir.’

  ‘I am a great man,’ he teased.

  ‘Sir, the explorations and discoveries you undertook in your youth, your heroism and patriotism, your exemplary military career—’

  Borovsky held up a hand, shaking his head with amusement. ‘All right, Sergeant. I remember them well. I was just doing my job, which is all I ask of anyone.’

  Anna obviously disagreed but was respectful enough to say nothing more - at least, with words. Her eyes still reflected admiration bordering on awe.

  Her warrant officer got the conversation moving again. ‘Tell Colonel Borovsky your impressions of the incident between our officers and the local RNU chapter, Sergeant.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She looked up at Borovsky from her full five feet, nine inches. ‘An unusually violent confrontation, sir. We’ve been having increasing conflict with the members of the RNU here. They seem to be growing more aggressive and flagrant.’

  ‘Seem to be?’ Borovsky interrupted. ‘Or are?’

  Anna stopped as if she had been pinched. ‘They are.’

  ‘Go on. Omit nothing, including your impressions.�
��

  ‘Sir, they are stepping up their black market activity. In addition to selling stolen electronic goods, accessories, jewelry, and bootlegs, they are now dealing in information. Identity theft, illegal databases, passport numbers, internet passwords, bank account numbers, credit card security information, arrest records, even tax returns - all stolen from government agencies.’

  ‘Stolen how?’ Borovsky echoed.

  ‘Hacked,’ Anna said. ‘Or leaked.’

  ‘Leaked,’ Borovsky repeated. ‘For money.’

  Vargunin wasn’t certain whether his superior was being critical of the profit motive or of the mentality that allowed a person to put personal gain before the sacred duty with which they’d been entrusted: preserving the security and honor of the nation. For his part, Vargunin wished he had the courage to do that. Then, at least, he could afford the kinds of comforts that would make his private life less stark.

  ‘Money,’ Vargunin said grimly. ‘Selling such information to the highest bidder is a lucrative business. We estimate that the black market for such information is around fifty million dollars a year.’

  ‘And that is just for the exchange of the raw data,’ Anna added. ‘Breaking into bank and insurance accounts, into private e-mail accounts for purposes of blackmail, into arrest records of officials who want to keep their prostitution arrests secret, these all generate hundreds of millions in revenue above that.’

  Vargunin glanced at his old friend. ‘That is why I’m having to learn new skills - to stay two steps behind the con men instead of a dozen.’

  Anna continued. ‘Perhaps Officers Gelb and Klopov insisted on a better cut of the action, and the emboldened RNU members confronted them.’

  Borovsky stared at her, displeased by the accusation.

  ‘You asked for her impressions,’ Vargunin reminded him.

  The senior officer relaxed. ‘Do you think that is what happened?’

  For the first time, Anna’s eyes wavered, looking at her fellow officers in her peripheral vision as they slowly dispersed for their rounds. ‘That was the consensus of the investigators.’

  ‘Based on any evidence?’ Borovsky asked.

  ‘Cash folded in the hands of the officers,’ she said.

  Vargunin snorted.

  Borovsky looked at him. ‘Do you doubt this?’

  ‘I don’t dismiss it,’ he said in measured words. ‘But I stand by my earlier remark. The crime scene was still too neat.’

  Borovsky considered that while he regarded the young woman’s face. She was in her early thirties. Olive eyes, small, straight nose, and a flat mouth with lines at either bottom edge from too much frowning. Strong jawline and high cheekbones. Good, Slavic stock. Impressive mental attitude: deductive, alert to the thoughts of veterans and colleagues, but not necessarily seduced by the collective weight of their opinions. Borovsky was curious to know whether she joined the police because of the reform bill or in spite of it.

  He turned toward his old friend. ‘Is Sergeant Rusinko still assigned to this case?’

  Vargunin was taken slightly aback. ‘Well, the case hasn’t been officially closed as of yet.’ His emphasis on the word ‘officially’ told both of them that he wanted it to be. ‘So, yes. Technically, she is still assigned to it.’

  ‘Good,’ Borovsky said with a nod. Then he looked at Anna as if his old friend no longer existed. ‘Show me Marko Kadurik’s body, please.’

  31

  Once everyone had steadied themselves, Cobb motioned for Jasmine to take the floor. He stepped to the side, leaned against the workstation, and crossed his arms in anticipation. He was pleased to note that even Garcia was looking at Jasmine, not his computer screen.

  ‘We got what wrong?’ Garcia demanded.

  ‘Everything,’ she said as she started to pace back and forth in the center of the train compartment. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I mean, it’s so obvious. Who knows? Maybe I was distracted by the violence, or maybe I’ve been worried about Andrei, I’m really not sure now, but this is something I should have focused on much earlier—’

  ‘Jasmine!’ Cobb blurted to stop her rambling.

  She glanced at him, frazzled.

  He flashed a warm smile to calm her down. ‘Relax. Just relax. Don’t worry about the past. Just take a deep breath, and tell us what you figured out.’

  She did as she was told and took a deep breath.

  He gave her a moment. ‘Better?’

  She nodded. ‘Better.’

  He smiled again. ‘Good. The floor’s still yours.’

  She paused for a second to gather her thoughts. ‘As I was saying, we’ve been looking at things all wrong. Instead of focusing on who protected the treasure, we should have been trying to figure out who moved the treasure to begin with. And if you think about it, history tells us that there’s only one person who could have moved that much gold out of Moscow at that time.’

  ‘Mon Dieu!‘ Papineau gasped. With his knowledge of European history, he got her reference before the rest of the team.

  ‘Think about it!’ Jasmine commanded in her excited, sincere way. ‘The war was at its most oppressive point, the enemy was at the gates, everyone was starving and freezing. Who was the one person who could lead a train out of Moscow at that time? Who was the one person who could get through every station and every checkpoint with unquestioned authority?’

  Garcia, McNutt, and Sarah had no clue. They looked like the Breakfast Club - a geek, a jock, and a prom queen - caught in the headlights of a pop quiz.

  Shaking his head, Papineau muttered in French, ‘Stupid Americans.’

  * * *

  The team huddled around Garcia as he brought up historical information about Tsar Nicholas II and the Romanovs on his computer screen.

  ‘How’d you get this to work? Doesn’t Russia restrict access to the Web?’ Sarah asked.

  Garcia chuckled. ‘It’s not like I’m wardriving - connecting to the Web through someone’s Wi-Fi signal. I’ve got a direct link through Papi’s satellites. He’s got two, by the way.’ He shifted his focus to the Frenchman. ‘But you should have three. When they switch over in their orbit, there’s a gap.’

  ‘We’re working on it,’ Papineau said, scanning the screen.

  Jasmine could have described what they needed to know, but Cobb wanted them to discover it on their own. He sensed that they would learn more that way.

  ‘How long a gap?’ Cobb asked quietly.

  Garcia blinked up at him. ‘Two to eight minutes. Why?’

  Cobb grimaced. ‘Blackouts are risky.’

  ‘I know.’

  Papineau interrupted them. ‘Here we are.’

  They all faced the computer. On the screen was a picture of a Romanov prince with an extremely long title: Prince Felix Felixovich Yusupov, Count Sumarokov-Elston.

  Jasmine wasn’t going to wait until they finished reading. She might not be able to shoot a pebble resting on the top of a mountain or steal a coin from a beggar’s cup, but there was one thing she could do. She could narrate.

  ‘After the prince was accused of being the brains behind Rasputin’s murder, Tsarina Alexandra Fyodorovna - who was the aunt of Felix’s wife - essentially placed the prince under house arrest in his estate outside St Petersburg.’

  ‘Hold up,’ McNutt said. ‘I’ve heard the name before, but who is Rasputin?’

  Jasmine answered. ‘Gregori Rasputin was a Russian mystic and faith healer who greatly influenced the tsar and tsarina in the final years of the Romanov dynasty. Although many viewed him as a charlatan, the tsarina was under his charismatic spell.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘You’d have liked him, McNutt. His nickname was the Mad Monk.’

  McNutt nodded. ‘You’re right. I like him already.’

  ‘Well,’ Jasmine said, trying to get them back on track, ‘Prince Felix didn’t, which is why he had Rasputin killed. The tsarina, who viewed herself as Rasputin’s protector, was furious. So much so that she exi
led the prince - even though he was a war hero.’

  ‘And that’s when he took the train,’ McNutt guessed.

  ‘No,’ Sarah assured him as she continued to read ahead. ‘Three months later, things went from bad to incredibly bad.’

  Jasmine stared daggers at the back of Sarah’s head, angry that her turf was being encroached upon. ‘They were worse than “incredibly bad”,’ Jasmine corrected. ‘The tsar’s abdication and the February Revolution were events that shaped the course of our world.’

  ‘Shh,’ Sarah said, rebuking the rebuke. ‘I’m reading.’

  Jasmine ignored her. ‘The prince couldn’t have possibly known he was going to be exiled—’

  Sarah interrupted her. ‘But he absolutely knew which way the wind was blowing. After all, he had the stones and foresight to take out Rasputin. He had to realize things were precarious.’

  Jasmine didn’t reply. She was far too irritated.

  Cobb was curious to see how this would work out, but he didn’t get the chance. McNutt sliced through the tension.

  ‘How many times did they try to kill him again?’ McNutt asked.

  Jasmine was back onstage. ‘About a half-dozen,’ she said. ‘Poison, shooting, beating - supposedly he was nearly disemboweled by a woman three years before, but obviously that didn’t kill him either.’ She looked around at the others, intentionally skipping Sarah. ‘And when they finally tried to burn his body after they found it in the Neva River, witnesses reported that he sat up in the flames.’

  ‘I’m officially creeped out,’ Garcia said.

  ‘Most likely his tendons weren’t cut before the funeral pyre,’ Sarah said without inflection, her eyes still intent on the screen. ‘The heat of the fire would make them shrink. Hence the incineration sit-up.’