“Quickly,” he addressed Svetlana, who was gripping the telephone receiver to her ear. “I need a bit of sugar and a clean towel!”
Seeing the surprised look on her face and near-frozen stance, Michael called out to her, “Svetlana! Sugar and a clean towel!”
“What happened to my husband?” she managed to say.
“Did you call the ambulance?” he asked ignoring her question.
“They will be here shortly.” Her hand slowly took the telephone receiver from her ear down to the base. “What happened to my husband?”
“I don’t know yet. So,” he stopped, looking her steadily in the eyes so she would focus on his words, “I need you to bring me some granulated sugar, a bottle of vodka, some iodine and a clean towel.”
“Sugar?” she asked, puzzled.
“Or honey.”
“Vodka?” Svetlana thought she had misheard him.
“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t have a bottle of vodka,” said Michael, visibly irritated. “Look, I don’t always agree with stereotypes, but it’s a dead giveaway that any respectable Russian would have some vodka stashed somewhere.”
“I never said we didn’t have vodka,” scoffed Svetlana. Even though his request puzzled her, she complied. Shuffling as fast as she was able, Svetlana went into the kitchen.
Michael positioned Kirilov upright, propping him up with the bed pillow.
“We are out of honey,” Svetlana announced as she returned with the vodka, a teacup filled with sugar, a towel and small bottle of iodine.
Michael carefully poured some sugar into his hand and then transferred a small amount to Kirilov’s wound. He made sure the sugar granules were deeply inside the wound, under the skin. He grabbed the bottle of iodine, unscrewed the top and then, with a steady hand, proceeded to pour several drops of iodine solution into the wound. Without looking up from his work he explained, “This should enhance the wound healing.”
Michael retrieved his wallet, pulling out a credit card. Grabbing the bottle of vodka, he quickly unscrewed the top and gently poured some vodka on the card. As Svetlana watched in amazement, he used the card’s edge to seal the wound.
“This will stem the blood flow,” he explained to Svetlana, who sat shaking on the edge of the bed. “Sugar or honey,” continued Michael, “was used to treat the wounds of ancient Egyptian soldiers on the battlefield. As your husband would concur, the wounds were treated with a mixture of honey and lard applied daily.” Kirilov nodded in agreement. Michael placed the towel carefully on the wound, applying a slight pressure on it.
“That should do it,” Michael said, sitting next to Kirilov on the floor.
“How do you know this?” asked Svetlana, still visibly astounded. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, I’m not a doctor, but my grandfather was a combat medic in the Pacific during World War II. He taught me traditional remedies to cure cuts and bruises.”
Kirilov moved slightly. Michael grabbed him gently, “What happened?” Outside the two-toned ambulance siren approached the building.
“It happened so quickly,” Kirilov spoke slowly, visibly struggling to speak. “I probably forgot to close the door completely, and that’s how he got inside,” Kirilov paused, taking a rest. He took a deep breath and continued, “I was getting into bed when I heard the intruder’s voice. He demanded that I give him the ancient artifact stolen from the Great Pyramid in Egypt.”
Michael’s heart sank. From the sound of siren outside, Michael concluded that the ambulance had arrived at the building and the paramedics were probably on their way up to the apartment.
“I told him I didn’t know anything about that,” Kirilov continued, “so he became very angry. We argued. Everything happened so fast that I didn’t realize I had been stabbed. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. I felt the blood and collapsed onto my bed. The intruder walked around the living room and left. Then the next thing I remember, I was on the floor and you were kneeling next to me.”
“What did he look like?” asked Michael.
“He was probably in his late twenties, wearing gold glasses, dressed in black. He spoke in English with a heavy Middle Eastern accent.”
Michael suddenly had a flashback to the stranger who had run into him as he approached the building. That was Seth! Anna’s former boyfriend and the Medjay are here in Moscow?
Michael groaned, “Anna.”
Kirilov and Svetlana both looked puzzled at him.
“Anna is in danger,” Michael said firmly. “I’ve gotta go, she’s alone on the street where that creep could find her. Here,” he motioned to Svetlana, “hold this towel.” Svetlana took over pressing the towel to the wound.
Michael was getting up from the floor when Kirilov grabbed his hand.
“Wait a second,” he said desperately, “grab my pants!”
Michael stared at him, confused as Kirilov gestured weakly toward the end table. “Just grab my pants and reach inside the right pocket,” he commanded.
Groping inside Kirilov’s pocket, Michael felt a small object and pulled it out. It was a small metal key. Michael looked over at Kirilov, puzzled.
“I think that’s what that criminal was looking for,” Kirilov assured him, nodding his head slightly.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Kirilov replied, attempting to apply a smirk to his face. “You are a smart guy and will figure it out,” he said. He grasped Michael’s hand and pulled. Michael leaned down as the elderly man whispered, “The storage box is inside the Kursky railway station, box number 57.”
“The Kursky railway station, box number 57,” Michael repeated.
“Thank you, Michael, for everything,” said Kirilov as Michael stood back up, carefully secreting the key inside a zippered pocket inside his jacket. “Good luck to you in your adventures.”
“Thank you so much Mister Kirilov,” replied Michael. He could hear voices in the hallway. The paramedics must have arrived.
“Michael, you and I are very much alike. You are a soldier like me. We both have cheated death: you got out from that burning vehicle in Iraq, and I got out from that burning bunker in Stalingrad. You are my brother-in-arms,” Kirilov said proudly, his voice weakening. Michael knelt down and embraced him. “Don’t lose that key,” Kirilov whispered. Michael nodded, smiling.
Suddenly the doorbell rang loudly, followed by heavy knocking.
“The paramedics!” Svetlana exclaimed. Michael ran and opened the front door to find two paramedics donned in white scrubs speaking in Russian.
Michael simply nodded his head and stepped aside to let the two men and their green gurney inside the apartment. Svetlana called out to them in Russian.
Michael grabbed his backpack, but turned when he heard Svetlana call out to him. Svetlana opened her arms out to him for a hug. He stepped over to her and was engulfed in her warm, strong embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered and then, stepping back, she commanded, “Now, go! Go find Anna!”
“Good-bye!”
Outside, Michael opened his umbrella and literally dove under the pouring cold rain filling the street. He ran to the street market, dodging and leaping over puddles along the way. Reaching the market, he frantically started searching for Anna’s familiar frame. Fearing the worst, Michael went back to the front and decided to start looking for her in the shops along the street. He was relieved to see Anna emerging from a military memorabilia store.
“It was dry in there,” Anna said happily.
Without saying a word, Michael stepped forward and embraced her tightly.
Startled, she hugged him back. Breaking away from him, she looked at him curiously. “What took you so long?” she asked.
“It’s a long story, but first we need to get out of here.” They started walking along the street, Michael setting a fast pace. He looked behind them from tim
e to time.
“You seem edgy,” Anna commented. “Are we in danger?”
“Yes,” Michael said firmly, increasing his pace.
“What do you mean?” She was starting to have trouble keeping up with him.
Michael jerked his thumb, pointing behind them, “That guy.”
Anna looked back.
“Come on,” Michael reached for her hand and pulled her forward. “We gotta get away from him.”
“Who is that?” She was jogging now.
“Seth, your ex-boyfriend.” Michael said calmly.
Anna’s eyes widened. “What!?” She caught up with him, “He’s here in Moscow?”
“Yes, he’s here. He tried to kill Kirilov.” Anna gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth in shock. Michael continued calmly, “So we need to get away from him as soon as possible and as far as possible.” Michael grabbed her hand again firmly and ran toward a busy road intersection: Seth had started to gain on them.
Traditionally, cars are money in Russia, making it equivalent to power to the Russian citizen. In other words, a Russian can drive where he pleases. Even in the downtown areas, cars travel quickly, their speeds easily reaching one hundred kilometers per hour. If traffic has stopped, a driver will use the sidewalk. The pedestrian does not have the right of way, even on the sidewalks. In fact, if a pedestrian gets run over by a car, he will be at fault for interfering with a moving car. The safest way to cross a busy street in Moscow is through their underground passageways.
The dangers were obvious, and they had been warned to use the underground passageways to navigate the streets. However, as Seth’s long stride brought him closer and closer, getting away quickly became their priority. Deciding to make a run for it, Michael squeezed Anna’s hand tighter and instructed her to “Run!” They bolted though the busy intersection, weaving between the constant, swift flow of vehicles. As they made their daring way to the other side, car horns blared loudly and brakes screeched on the wet road as Michael and Anna managed to dodge the vehicles.
Despite the constant danger of being overrun, they were just a few feet from the other side when Anna abruptly fell, her right foot twisted inside a pothole. Her arms stretched outward, her chin on the wet pavement, she swiveled her eyes to see a minivan bearing down on her. Anna closed her eyes tightly.
Suddenly, she felt strong arms lifting her into the air. When Anna opened her eyes, she was on the sidewalk, safe and sound, inside Michael’s arms. Stunned, Anna hugged her savior tightly as her tears mixed with the enormous raindrops that ran down her cheeks.
“It’s OK,” Michael murmured as he let go of her, “The worst is over.” Suddenly, they were startled by the piercing, screeching sound of car brakes. They turned their heads as a large, rusty blue van barreled backwards toward them. As they turned and ran down the sidewalk, a long, haunting scream could be heard over the commotion.
The air filled with the smell and smoke of freshly burned tire rubber. When the cars stopped moving, Michael and Anna rushed back to the scene, along with other pedestrians who had scattered down the sidewalk with them. They coughed and choked on the smoke, even though it was dissipating in the rain.
As she drew closer, what Anna saw sent sparks of chills down her spine. For a moment she pictured herself as the one pinned between the black Ford Crown Victoria and the rusted, blue van. But, miraculously, it was not her body in the mangled mass but that of her ex-boyfriend, Seth. People were screaming in fear at the grisly sight. Both drivers were still inside their crumpled cars, visibly stunned by the scene trapped between them.
Seth was dead.
Seth had been attempting to cross the street following the same dangerous maneuver Michael and Anna had successfully completed. The driver of the black Ford Crown Victoria was racing down the street when a car cut him off in a desperate attempt to avoid Seth. Swerving in the driving rain, the driver had overcorrected and careened head on into the line of vehicles moving in the other direction.
The force and momentum with which the two heavy vehicles crashed was what had compressed Seth’s body between them. The blue van was pushed onto the sidewalk with Seth’s head and body crushed inside its front grill. The Ford’s hood was completely crumpled by the impact that squeezed and mauled Seth’s body beyond recognition against the van. The street was splashed with shattered glass, car and body parts, and blood.
“What a horrible death,” said Michael, shaking his head as both drivers, obviously stunned and in shock, started climbing out of their cars. They were unharmed; saved by their seatbelts and deployed airbags. The crowd gathered closer to the gruesome scene.
“I used to love him,” Anna said slowly.
“There is nothing we can do for him now.”
“He slipped on the road the same way I did,” Anna looked at Michael gratefully and continued, “but he didn’t have a guardian angel to reach down and pull him out.”
Michael kept quiet.
“Let’s get out of here. I need to get away,” Anna said softly, turning her face. They passed by an elderly man leaning on a cane, surveying the ghastly scene. He spoke to them in Russian. Although they did not understand the words, they understood their meaning. A two-tone ambulance siren filled the air as they nodded solemnly at the man and continued on their way.
Chapter 35
Orekhovyy Boulevard, Moscow, Russia
Saturday, September 23
9:29 p.m.
“And just where do we find this storage locker?” asked Anna as their burgundy Soviet-built Volga GAZ-24 taxi sped through the streets. She felt overwhelmed trying to absorb everything: Seth’s attempt to murder dear Kirilov and his own gruesome death.
“Kursky railway station,” Michael repeated as he nervously glanced out the rear window. He dug into his jacket’s interior zippered pocket and held up a small key with a red-painted top. “Box number fifty-seven,” he said, carefully inserting it back inside. The Volga entered a four-lane highway and joined the constant, never-ending stream of vehicles. Soon they passed the magnificent Ostankino television center tower. Standing at 1,772 feet tall, it is currently the tallest freestanding structure in Europe and the seventh tallest in the world, surpassing even the Empire State Building in New York City. Michael did not notice. He twisted around and looked solemnly through the rear window. “I’m afraid someone is following us.”
“What?” Anna turned her head to look through the rear window.
“There!” Michael pointed to a black BMW stridently pursuing them in the neighboring lane. “See the passenger? That’s the Medjay.”
Anna gasped in horror as she recognized the Medjay’s familiar Afro-style hair. “Seth is dead, so he’s out for revenge.”
“Even if his partner-in-crime was alive, he would be pursuing us,” Michael contradicted.
“How in the hell did he get a car equipped with a personal driver so quickly?” Anna asked as they both kept their eyes glued to the rear window.
“We just need to lose him,” said Michael solemnly.
Knowing he was going to surprise his passengers by speaking in perfect English, the taxi driver could no longer hold his curiosity. “Is everything okay back there?”
Michael and Anna stared at each other and then turned in unison to stare at their driver. “You English is perfect!” Michael exclaimed, visibly stunned.
“Yes, I studied art in Chicago,” he replied proudly. “I am an artist, but this is my family’s taxi cab business.”
“Wonderful!” Anna exclaimed in delight.
Michael leaned toward Anna and whispered in her ear, “We’ve gotta tell him something if we want get away from the Medjay.” She nodded.
“Ummm …” Anna started, not sure how to calmly explain the situation. “Do you see that black BMW a bit behind you?”
The driver looked in his rearview mirror and smiled, finally seeing what
Anna and Michael were so obsessed with keeping in view. “Oh yes! It is a beautiful car.”
“Yes … well,” Anna stopped and then plunged ahead, “The passenger, the man with the big hair, is trying to kill us.”
The driver’s grin instantly disappeared.
“Maybe he’s not really going to kill us. Maybe he’s just following us?” Michael wondered nervously, turning to glance out the rear window again.
“You saw what they did to Kirilov,” Anna said reproachfully.
Michael nodded sadly.
Anna leaned forward, “How can we lose that BMW?”
“Are you kidding me?” exclaimed the driver. “This taxi is held together with baling wire and duct tape.”
Michael groaned, “We’re finished.”
“Then we’ll outsmart them,” the driver offered, “we’ll go through the side streets.”
“That might just work,” Anna agreed. She positioned herself so she could stare out the back window. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Like a predator stalking its prey, the black BMW was getting closer and closer to their taxi.
“Hold on!” the driver warned. The taxi pulled out from the dense stream of vehicles and quickly jerked onto an exit, creaking from the spurt of speed. Moments later the pursuers performed the same maneuver. There was much less traffic on the side road, and soon the BMW was even closer.
“That was a really stupid move,” murmured Michael, grinding his teeth.
“Sooner or later they will catch up with us,” the driver retorted.
“What does he want from us?!” Michael was absolutely infuriated and turning beet red.
“To kill us! Like Seth tried to kill Kirilov!” Anna exclaimed irately.
“Then why does he always pick car chases?” Michael pounded his fist on the seat in frustration.
Anna was studying the BMW as it tailgated their cab. “Brake!” she suddenly shouted.
“What?” Michael exclaimed, staring at her curiously.
Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu Page 25