The Oracle Code (Thomas Lourds, Book 4)

by Brokaw, Charles

  “When do I leave?”

  “As soon as you can get to the airport.”

  “I am on my way.”

  “Do this right, Colonel, and that promotion you’ve been longing for will soon be yours.” The connection broke.

  Linko put the phone back in his pocket.

  The woman looked at him quizzically. “You’re smiling again. You have a beautiful smile. You have good news?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I thought you were going to be called away to business.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good. That would have made me sad.” She put on a little pout to give him a preview of her sadness. “Would you like to go now?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman put her arm through Linko’s and guided him out of the bar onto Tverskaya Street. The two men at the bar waited an appropriate time before following. The fact that they weren’t overeager gave proof to their expertise.

  ***

  Outside, cars whisked by. Neon lights spilled out over the street and reflected from the buildings. Snow fell in small flakes, dancing as it was caught in the wind. Dirty snow lined the streets, and only half a block away, a truck equipped with a plow blade ground along, keeping the thoroughfare clear.

  The winter chill cut into Linko and made him draw his coat more tightly, but not too tight. The woman leaned into him as if for warmth, but he knew she was only anchoring him, controlling him.

  She looked up at him. “Do you have a car?”

  “No. I do not like rentals. I took a taxi.” Which was true enough. Having a car meant potential trouble when he needed to disappear quickly.

  “It’s fine. I was going to suggest using my car anyway. I have a permit for my building.” With her arm in his, she guided him to the alley. “It is just at the other end of this. Be careful. The alley is always very dirty.”

  “At least it blocks the wind.”

  “Yes.”

  The lights behind Linko gave him all the warning he needed. They penetrated deeply into the alley and revealed the refuse piled outside of buildings. The shadows of the two men fell in behind him. Their footsteps were very quiet, but Linko heard them all the same.

  “Just a moment.” Linko stopped in the alley, far enough in now that the men had no choice but to reveal themselves. His coat was left unbuttoned, and his GSh-18 rode in shoulder leather.

  “What is wrong?” The woman tensed then, and some preternatural instinct must have warned her that her confidence game was no longer working.

  “I want to say hello to your friends.” Linko turned and the two men came at him at once.

  There was no hesitation and no mistake about what they intended to do. They worked well as a team, one automatically going to the left and the other going to the right. Combat knives gleamed in their hands, revealing their intention to kill him quietly.

  Linko shoved the woman away so she couldn’t interfere, then, instead of running from the men, he ran toward them. They were already too close to stop themselves, and he’d robbed them of any time to react.

  The man on the left swung his blade at Linko’s head while the one on the right tried to plant his knife in Linko’s stomach. Linko dove between them, sliding under both blades, then catching himself on his hand and rolling forward so that he came at once to his feet. He reached under his coat as the men tried to turn around to once more face him. When he drew the pistol and pointed at them, they froze and put their hands up.

  Calmly, Linko put his hand in his coat pocket and took out a suppressor. As he threaded it onto the barrel, the two men ran for the end of the alley. But Linko had guided them to a trap of his own. He knew where he had chosen to stop, and he knew that over fifty meters remained before they reached the alley’s mouth.

  Almost detached, he shot both men in the back of the head. Motor functions gave way immediately. They stumbled and fell, then lay still.

  Trembling, her mouth wide with fear, the woman stood against the alley wall. She took a breath, and Linko knew in the next moment she would scream.

  Crossing over to her, he clapped a rough hand over her mouth and put the heated barrel of the pistol up under her jaw. He spoke in Russian. “Scream and I will blow your pretty little head off.”

  The woman closed her eyes, and her breath whistled between his fingers.

  “Do you understand?”

  The woman nodded.

  Gently, Linko took his hand away. “Good. I knew about your friends in the bar. A pretty little scheme you have, yes? Pretending to be attracted to American men, then leading them out into the alley where your friends can kill them.”

  “They weren’t going to kill you. Only rob you.” Tears glittered in her eyes.

  Linko stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. He knew she was lying. “Okay. That is too bad for them. But it doesn’t have to be so bad for you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want what you teased me with.” Linko turned her around to face the wall, then he lifted her coat and short skirt and tore her panties away. He was ready for her, and he took her roughly, listening to her squeal and cry out, but not too loudly. Her reaction made the moment even more exciting.

  When he was finished, he put the pistol to the back of her head and squeezed the trigger. He put his clothing back together and headed for the street.

  Once at the curb, he thought about the promotion President Nevsky had promised, and he felt very satisfied. He pulled his coat tighter and flagged down a passing taxi. He looked forward to getting out of Moscow. Afghanistan was never so cold as Russia at this time of year.

  14

  Kabul Serena Hotel

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  February 14, 2013

  Lourds woke to an empty bed. Layla had left a note on the pillow next to his. She’d written in her language, knowing full well he could easily read it.

  Dearest Thomas,

  I thought of waking you before I left, but you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn’t have the heart. I already miss you, and I know that you will miss me too. There is no reason to start that on your part any earlier than need be. And, truthfully, I don’t want to test my willpower by trying to walk out of this room while you are asking me to stay.

  I’m afraid I wouldn’t be that strong. I find it harder to do each time we separate.

  I took the time to put your things away. I will call as soon as I am able.

  Love,

  Layla

  Groggy from jetlag and from the lack of sleep, Lourds forced himself out of bed long enough to sit on the edge and look out the window over the city. The blue towers in the distance looked like something out of a fantasy world. He thought of going to the Kharabat neighborhood, thinking that perhaps a casual stroll through the workshops where musicians made their own instruments and composed daily might be a diversion.

  When the Taliban had been in power, the musicians left the historic quarter, but they’d been coming back since the terrorists had been routed. That section of the city had almost been destroyed during the Soviet occupation during the 1980s, but the musicians had returned then as well. Now, their sons and daughters worked to rebuild the area after the Taliban had been sent packing.

  There was something eternal about walking through the neighborhood. Musicians occupied half-built workshops, and they sang and laughed amid the rubble, finding their muse in the darkest corners. The trips Lourds had made through the Kharabat had always been uplifting.

  But he didn’t feel like going today.

  Normally, he’d be excited to greet the new day while in one of the ancient cities. There was so much to study, so much to imagine. But the familiar wanderlust wasn’t in him at the moment. He felt...empty. And that wasn’t something he’d ever experienced in quite this way before.

  He didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t want to do anything. He simply wanted Layla back with him. Reaching into his pants, which were neatly folded on the nearby chair, he took
out the engagement ring and examined it again.

  Sunlight filtering through the curtains covering the window splintered light from the diamond. After a while, he closed the box, put it away, and lay back down on the bed.

  Mercifully, he slept.

  ***

  The phone beside the bed rang and woke Lourds. Instinctively, he threw out a hand and managed to snare the handset. “Hello.”

  “Mr. Lourds?”

  Lourds almost corrected the man, ready to tell him it was Professor or Doctor, but not mister. But that was irritation at being awoken, and at being alone, not a true pride thing. Instead, he just confirmed his identity.

  “This is the hotel desk, sir. I have an urgent phone call for you.”

  That announcement woke Lourds more fully. His first concern was for Layla, that she might have fallen asleep while driving and had an accident.

  “Of course. Put it through.” He glanced at the clock and saw that it was a few minutes before nine. The whole day still loomed before him.

  The phone clicked a couple times.

  “Thomas?”

  It took Lourds just a second to put a name to the voice. “Boris?”

  “Da.”

  “You’re calling early.”

  “It’s almost nine.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I called your office number, hoping you were working late, and talked with some young woman named Tina. I’m also told nuptials are in order. Quite surprising, actually, but not so surprising in another light.”

  Lourds worked out the time differential between Kabul and Cambridge. It was almost midnight Monday in Cambridge. The only way she would have gotten Boris’s call was if she was working late at the university or had forwarded his phone calls to her phone the way she used to do. He resolved to have a talk with young Dr. Tina Metcalf when he returned to Harvard. She was far too free with his surprises.

  “Well, keep the nuptials to yourself, Boris. I haven’t gotten to ask Layla yet.”

  “I tender my good wishes anyway. You two will make a fine couple.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to have to have a word with Tina in order to make sure the first person Layla hears this from is me.”

  “Layla won’t hear it from me. And don’t punish Miss Metcalf for me calling you. I told her that it was a matter of life and death.”

  That caught Lourds’s attention immediately. “Are you in trouble?”

  Boris chuckled. “No. I am in euphoria. But I thought it would be better to deliver more dire tidings to that dear girl. She wasn’t going to give me your location at first.”

  “Why didn’t you call my sat-phone?”

  “I did. In fact, I left several messages.”

  Lourds fumbled with his pants and extracted his sat-phone. He looked at the blank screen. “I forgot to turn it on when I deplaned.” He powered it up now, then saw that he had missed several phone calls from Boris and other people.

  There was no phone call from Layla. He resisted the urge to call her.

  “Thomas?”

  “I’m here.” Some of his friend’s good-natured ebullience touched Lourds and awakened him even further. “Why are you in euphoria?”

  “Because, my friend, I have made the find of a lifetime. Of course, it doesn’t rival Atlantis, but it could be quite possibly the most striking contribution I will ever make to the field of archeology.”

  “You’ve got a lot of good years ahead of you, Boris. Don’t sell yourself short. What did you find?”

  “A tomb. Tucked away in the mountains only a few miles from where you and I discovered the ossuary. This is a complete tomb, Thomas. The body is still in the sarcophagus, in almost pristine shape. I’ve held up any further exploration of the tomb and the remains until you arrive. How soon can you get here?”

  “I’ll have to get a car, then drive to Herat. It’s four hundred miles of bad road.”

  “Don’t drive. Charter a plane.”

  “If I can find one.”

  “There are plenty of local pilots who would be willing to make a short hop. You can be here in three hours or so. I’ll pay for it.”

  “You’re awfully free with the museum’s money.”

  “This is important, Thomas.” Boris sounded deadly serious. “I need you. I need your expertise to decipher some documents that were with the body. And if they’re what I think they are, this will be a nice feather in your cap as well.”

  The mention of documents captured Lourds’s attention immediately. He loved doing translation work on things no one in the modern world had ever seen, the chance to try to decipher something before anyone else ever laid eyes on it.

  “Who’d the body belong to?”

  “I don’t know, but I suspect this corpse was once Macedonian.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can pick out some things in the scroll, but not much. Enough, though, to pick out the name of Alexander the Great.”

  Galvanized for the first time that morning, Lourds smiled. “I need to get off the phone so I can find a plane.”

  “You’ll have to hurry. News has already leaked to the media about the discovery.”

  “Really? Did you call them first thing?”

  “I called you first. You didn’t answer. And I might have mentioned your name.”

  “That’s going to start a circus.”

  “Oh, it already has.” Boris sounded pleased with himself. “Rather nice turn out, if I must say so. Of course, the crew from National Geographic has been here since the beginning. And there is one young lady whose reacquaintance I’m sure you’ll look forward to.”

  “Who?”

  “Do you remember Anna Cherkshan?”

  Lourds only had to think for a moment. “Yeah, I remember her. Young? Pretty? Reporter for The Moscow Times?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I do like her. Every quote in her piece was exactly what we said and not taken out of context for once.” Lourds started toward the closet and quickly reached the end of the phone cord. He wasn’t used to talking on corded phones these days. He stopped. “I’ve got to get off the phone and get moving if I’m going to find a plane.”

  “Hurry.”

  Lourds started to get off the phone, then caught himself. “Boris?”

  “Yes?”

  “Congrats on the find. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you. And I do deserve it. And I’ll feel better once you’re here to straighten away the documentation. I want to know what I’ve truly found as soon as possible.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  15

  39 Miles Southwest of Herat

  Herat Province

  Afghanistan

  February 14, 2013

  Anna Cherkshan strode through the dig camp and felt the excitement in the air. The emotion was like a live thing, a tiger that thrummed through the atmosphere. That was how she would write it. That the discovering was a living thing ripped free of a dead husk. Only she would use words that would turn Boris Glukov’s find into poetry, into something solid and enduring—something like Russia could be if they could only unclasp the dead fingers of the Old Regime once and forever.

  Perhaps the piece would go beyond the simple news of an archeological discovery by a Moscow professor, but she knew her editors at The Moscow Times would enthusiastically embrace the idea. They would understand what she was saying about the world and about her place in it. That was something her father never understood.

  General Anton Cherkshan, to Anna, was the epitome of the Old Regime. Her father wanted nothing to change. He claimed that capitalist freedom was something that the Russian people would never understand. The Americans had over two hundred years to experience and master freedom and its attendant prices.

  The Russian people only had a little over twenty years. And this was now the twenty-first century, not the eighteenth. Things happened more rapidly now. Situations changed more rapidly. The Russian people had only thrown off the
yoke of the Tsarist government less than a hundred years ago.

  Anna sighed. She could hear her father ranting and raving about the story already. Over the years, she had grown tired of his voice in her head. It wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t shut it off. Sometimes she thought that if she didn’t love her mother so much, she would never see her father again. Then, when the anger and the frustration were not so deep in her, she knew that was not true. She loved her father. He had taught her so much of what she knew.

  It was just a pity that he didn’t agree with how she used that knowledge.

  Adjusting her sunglasses, she stared through the bright reflection of the snowdrifts surrounding the dig site. In many places, the snow was three or four feet deep, and trails had been made by people passing. Now, much of the snow in front of the cave had been flattened. So many people had braved the cold and gathered outside the opening, beyond the sawhorse barrier the Afghanistan National Police had erected, waiting expectantly for news of Boris Glukov’s discovery.

  “Excuse me. Miss Cherkshan?”

  Anna turned at the voice.

  A tall, dark man with short-clipped hair and a beard that was more a neatly trimmed five o’clock shadow than anything else approached her. He wore boots, khaki pants, and a Russia Today Television coat with the distinctive RT rendered in gold and black on green.

  Petite and slender like her mother, Anna only came up to the man’s shoulder. Also like her mother, she had strawberry blond hair, but she had gray-hazel eyes like her father. Her blue parka hung to her knees.

  “Yes, I am Anna Cherkshan.” Anna stood her ground. All her father’s old warnings about talking to strangers echoed in her head, too, but these days, she mostly laughed at them. A news reporter could hardly talk to only people she knew. She would never learn anything that way. Or she would learn only what people wanted her to know.

  “I am Yakov Fursin. With Russia Today.” He smiled, and it was a nice smile, but he was too old for her. She was only twenty-six, and he had to be nearly forty.

  She took his proffered hand and smiled back at him. “Russia Today, eh? I think I got that from the coat. What can I do for you?”