The Hunters h-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘When I was a boy,’ Decebal explained through Borovsky and Jasmine, ‘my great-grandfather told me that when the train first arrived, they simply drove the cars inside and left them. They are safe in here. It is dry.’

  Borovsky added, ‘They are kept in good repair but have not moved a millimeter since then. The prince took only what he absolutely needed and departed.’

  ‘Where are the rest of them?’ Sarah demanded.

  Her sense of awe had passed like a total eclipse. She was now the thief, cataloguing inventory. She stood defiantly with her fists on her hips and looked to Jasmine for an explanation. ‘There were supposed to be twenty cars, right? Where are the others?’

  Cobb smiled apologetically at Borovsky. ‘The prince was exiled by the tsarina, but he still had to be guarded on this dangerous trip.’

  ‘So?’ Sarah demanded.

  ‘If you were one of those guards, would you have done it for free?’

  She groaned in understanding. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘Twelve cars?!’

  ‘No, not twelve,’ Borovsky informed her through Jasmine. ‘The Romanian treasure had already been looted by greedy politicians. That was one of the main reasons the prince wanted to take it away from Moscow. They were — they are — corrupt as the Devil. The prince personally selected the most important Romanian art, artifacts, and archives, then consolidated them in as few crates as he could.’

  ‘But what about the gold?’ Sarah demanded.

  Borovsky seemed unhappy with her tone and opened his mouth to speak, but Cobb jumped in before the situation deteriorated.

  ‘Cool it, Sarah.’

  She looked indignantly at Cobb, then another realization seemed to splash over her. They don’t know we’re here for the treasure. Her jaw shut with an audible click.

  Cobb looked to Jasmine, who nodded with understanding in her eyes. Thankfully she had not been translating.

  ‘She is upset that the historical valuables have been lost,’ Jasmine told a dubious Borovsky and equally distrustful Anna. She glanced apologetically at their Romanian host, who was behind them, and then looked to see where Dobrev was. He had gone over to the train, where he was muttering words of comfort to the poor, old girl.

  ‘Viktor, Alexandru,’ Cobb said through Jasmine. ‘What did the prince do then?’

  ‘He left,’ Borovsky answered.

  ‘How?’ Cobb wanted to know. They looked at him in confusion. Cobb put his arm out toward the first car — the one farthest into the cave. ‘You said they drove them in. Did he drive any out?’

  Decebal spoke from behind them, cautiously watching everyone.

  ‘He says his great-grandfather told him that the prince simply left,’ Jasmine reported. ‘He didn’t say how.’

  Cobb looked to the train cars with a growing sense of curiosity. He motioned again at them. ‘May we?’

  Jasmine passed on the request, adding her own declarations of respect, responsibility, and honor. Borovsky looked to Decebal, who nodded once. Borovsky turned back to Cobb and seconded the nod, adding, ‘We will examine it together, then we are leaving.’

  Cobb smiled tightly. Both men clearly knew that was not going to happen. At least, not without a disagreement.

  ‘All right,’ Cobb said, turning to the eight railroad cars. ‘Calmly, respectfully, professionally. Let’s see what we have here.’

  Cobb heard what sounded like someone cracking his knuckles behind him. He didn’t have to look back. He knew the sound of a gun hammer locking when he heard one.

  55

  None of the group looked back.

  ‘That’s Decebal, and a revolver,’ McNutt said through clenched teeth.

  Cobb saw McNutt’s pinkie tap the handle of the duffel bag, just once. It was almost unnoticeable, but it was in no way an accidental twitch. He said, ‘It was just a warning to behave. Otherwise we’d all be face down. Let’s go.’

  Decebal had positioned himself between the treasure train and the cave’s exit. He didn’t understand English enough to bother joining the others inside the cars. Even if he was right beside them, they could easily talk amongst themselves in secrecy. Frankly, he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was ensuring that no one made it past him with any of the treasure.

  ‘Please,’ Borovsky said, ‘come with me.’

  He led the group toward the first car. The lights in the cave gave them enough eerie illumination to make out shadows, and they used their flashlights for clarification. Cobb suspected the only reason they didn’t stop him was because there was still a veneer of entente in place. And Cobb knew there were two major reasons for that: arresting or killing them might bring others to the area, in even greater numbers; and they still had the Black Robes to worry about.

  Against either foe, Borovsky would surely need reinforcements.

  ‘We’re up,’ Garcia said in their ears. ‘I can see everything you see.’

  Without asking aloud, Jasmine, Sarah, and McNutt turned to Cobb for answers as to what Garcia meant. Without drawing attention, Cobb purposefully tapped his thumb against his flashlight, letting the others know that they doubled as high-definition video cameras. Even from almost a mile away, Garcia had isolated the signals being transmitted by the flashlights.

  McNutt glanced down at the flashlight in his hand.

  ‘Damn, that’s slick,’ he murmured under his breath.

  Seven thousand miles to the east, Jean-Marc Papineau watched on his laptop in his compartment on the decoy train that he had taken to Vladivostok. Garcia had looped Papineau into the broadcast with Cobb’s express permission — the images captured by the video cameras were being relayed through a satellite uplink. Cobb wanted the Frenchman to know that despite his treachery, Cobb’s personal code dictated that once he accepted a job, he finished it.

  ‘You’re getting the audio and video feeds?’ Garcia asked in the shrunken video chat window in the corner of Papineau’s screen.

  ‘Perfectly,’ Papineau replied. ‘Who am I watching?’

  ‘This is Jasmine’s cam,’ Garcia informed him. ‘She’ll be the first one inside.’

  ‘And what of your image recognition software?’

  ‘We’re about to find out if it works,’ Garcia answered.

  The program Garcia had designed would use computer-generated silhouettes to match any objects they encountered with known objects in the database. He had already uploaded images of countless artifacts into the system. If any of the Romanov treasures were here, they would know soon enough.

  Papineau watched anxiously as Jasmine approached the train. From the video, he could see they were dealing with a sad necropolis of semi-gutted cars. It appeared as if the prince and his men had torn the interior asunder to make room for additional cargo. Their primary obstacles were apparently the passenger benches, most of which had been removed, mainly by means of brute force or being chopped into bits.

  Why the hasty renovations? he thought. What were they trying to hide?

  Then he had his answers … if only for an instant.

  As Borovsky helped her into the first car, the image from Jasmine’s flashlight held steady long enough to reveal a literal pile of treasure. Heaps upon stacks of crates, filling the space. Unfortunately for Papineau, Jasmine momentarily reverted to a six-year-old on Christmas morning, overcome with joy and unsure where to start.

  ‘Queen Maria’s jewelry!’ he heard her say, but the images blurred as she spun around, trying to take it all in. ‘The lost artwork! The historical archives! It’s all here!’

  ‘Tell her to focus!’ Papineau yelled at Garcia, who relayed the message. As Jasmine gained control over her emotions, Garcia’s program finally had a chance to make its comparisons. Papineau watched his screen as thin, red outlines began to encircle various objects. When a possible match was found, the system briefly flashed an image of the artifact before adding it to a list of results. Like a massive, multi-player online game, the program kept a running tally of the discoveries.

 
Papineau watched with fascination as the program continued to outline, display, and compile with increasing speed, until his screen looked like an explosion of digital fireworks.

  Borovsky smiled at the sight of Jasmine and the others combing through the artifacts. It was the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in the historical value of the pieces, rather than the price they would fetch, that pleased him the most. He hoped the others understood the heritage of these items, and the lengths to which he would go to protect them.

  He was beginning to like these newcomers.

  He sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t have to shoot them.

  ‘Before the prince fled,’ Borovsky explained, ‘decisions were made as to which pieces were to accompany him. Time was not on his side, and he left the treasure nearly exactly as you see it today. With no way to accurately determine which pieces are related, those sworn to protect it simply left it as the prince had left it.’

  ‘This is amazing,’ Jasmine blurted.

  Again Borovsky smiled. ‘It makes me happy to hear you say that. There are six more cars, all similar in content and disarray. But the eighth car is different … Come, there is something you must see.’

  After helping everyone from the first car, Borovsky silently led them to the rear of the train. The suspense was working its own particular brand of magic on each of them. Jasmine couldn’t wait to inventory the historical artifacts of the other six cars. Now that they had found it, Sarah and McNutt were wondering if they had to deliver the train before Papineau would hand them their money. Anna wondered how long her superior had been guarding his secret.

  Meanwhile, two questions burdened Cobb: what treasure among treasures was in the eighth car, and what price would they have to pay for seeing it?

  Cobb cautiously entered the eighth car and started to examine the last compartment. The front half was filled with crates, paintings, sculptures, and files — nothing noteworthy as far as he was concerned. Then Borovsky pointed toward the far corner. When he saw it, Cobb felt a rolling chill as a wave of goose pimples covered his arms.

  It was a coffin.

  As Cobb approached it, he studied the exterior of the box. Made of thick, heavy wood, it was spiked down in sixteen places along its edge. Strangely, it was also latched on either side with heavy iron locks that required a large key to open.

  They all followed Cobb toward the coffin. Everyone except for Jasmine, who literally froze for a moment in the doorway as if she’d gazed at the face of the Gorgon.

  ‘Someone didn’t want us to get into that box,’ McNutt said.

  ‘Garcia? You got anything?’ Cobb quietly asked.

  ‘Searching, boss, but I’m not optimistic,’ he said.

  It didn’t matter. Borovsky was about to show them what was inside.

  Borovsky removed a chain from around his neck and used the attached key to unlock the ancient locks. Picking up a small pry bar from a nearby crate, he thrust the sharpened end under the lid. Struggling to simply remove one of the sixteen nails, he motioned for Cobb to pick up the second pry bar and start on the opposite side. Working together, it still took them nearly five minutes to move their way around the coffin. As Borovsky pried loose the final anchor, Cobb and McNutt gently pulled back the wooden curtain while bracing themselves for the expected and inevitable stench of death.

  There was none. Much to everyone’s surprise, there were also no spiders, cockroaches, ants, maggots, flies, mice, or rats. There was only a slight aroma.

  ‘What is that smell?’ McNutt said. ‘It’s like … fruit.’

  ‘Shellac,’ Jasmine said, transfixed by the object within. ‘Used as a preservative — made from lac, a deposit found on trees across this continent.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be prune.’

  McNutt was only partly kidding because the object inside the coffin looked like a human-sized, human-shaped prune.

  Time seemed to have sealed its limbs against, and slightly into, its desiccated yet lumpy body, which consisted of what seemed to be eroding clothing combined with mummified flesh.

  Whatever hair was left on its wrinkle-skinned skull now looked like stringy mold. There were only vague suggestions of ears, eyes, nose, or mouth. Over the years, its shape had shifted severely. Now it looked like a Halloween mask.

  The only thing seemingly untouched by time was a ring that clung to what used to be its finger. The wide, gold band of the ring was encrusted with sparkling diamonds. The girdle held a magnificent, blood-red ruby. The face of the ring was oblong, with bands of onyx standing out against the polished jewel.

  The emblem was clear.

  It was the three-barred cross of the Russian Orthodox Church.

  The ring was sanctimonious, yet righteous; decadent, yet humble. It somehow reflected lust and virtue at the same time. As if the designer recognized the sin of creating such a lavish bauble before asking for God’s forgiveness by adorning the piece with the holy sign of his faith.

  ‘We’ve found the ultimate treasure,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘We have?’ Cobb asked. ‘I mean — is this what I think it is?’

  She looked back at the others with a palpable sense of dread.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s Rasputin.’

  56

  The reactions to the announcement were muted. The shock of the find was tempered by Borovsky’s explanation that this body was what had drawn the attention of the Black Robes and why they were so fanatically determined to remain.

  Cobb was not startled or unnerved by Rasputin’s corpse. It was just one more dead body on a day full of them. Instead, he focused on the rest of the train car, searching for more surprises.

  Sarah walked over casually to the coffin. She froze when she saw the ring on his finger.

  ‘Get me a good image,’ Garcia said.

  McNutt brought the flashlight closer.

  ‘How do you know it’s him?’ McNutt asked Jasmine.

  Jasmine pointed to the ring. ‘That’s a gift from the tsarina.’

  ‘Couldn’t it have been looted from one of the palaces and left here with the rest of the treasure?’ he asked.

  ‘Hidden on a dead body?’ Sarah said.

  ‘In a coffin,’ McNutt replied. ‘Who’d look there with all the rest of this lying around?’

  ‘Me,’ Sarah said, looking over the perimeter of the pine box. ‘The way that thing was sealed tight, they might as well have built a neon sign that said “Important!”’

  Jasmine corrected her. ‘Actually, the spikes and padlock weren’t to keep people out.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Sarah asked.

  Jasmine didn’t answer. It took a moment for her meaning to penetrate.

  ‘Oh,’ McNutt gasped. ‘It was to keep Dracula in.’

  ‘It’s Rasputin all right,’ Garcia said. ‘Facial recognition is a match. So much for the rumor that his body was immolated.’

  There was no response.

  For a moment, the train car was, fittingly, as quiet as a tomb.

  McNutt broke the silence. He pointed at the ring and glanced at Sarah. ‘Gonna go for that?’

  Sarah looked down at the jewelry. The corpse still had a disquieting power about it. ‘Too tough to fence.’ She cocked her head slightly to one side, then knelt on one knee beside the coffin to get a better look at the infamous mystic.

  ‘Praying to your master?’ McNutt asked.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Please tell me you aren’t a Black Robe. I’d hate to shoot you before I get to bang you.’

  Cobb glanced at Sarah and quickly studied her face. McNutt’s idea wasn’t likely, but it wasn’t impossible. Papineau had strong-armed Garcia into spying for him; maybe he’d hired a second mole. Or maybe the Black Robes had bribed her. He took a second — literally, no more — to study her posture, her eyes, her hands. Her head was tilted to one side, not bowed. Her eyes were moving; they were not down, not shut. Her fingers were relaxed and nowhere near a weapon
. She did not have what the guys at Guantanamo Bay called ‘snapback’ — the look of a captive, or infiltrator, or sleeper, who was shedding a guise and reverting to their true self.

  ‘Sarah,’ Cobb said, ‘you with us?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she assured him. ‘Just looking.’

  Cobb nodded. ‘All right then. Let’s go.’

  No one asked where. The others in the group were still in the thrall of a man who had been dead nearly a century — a man whose mesmeric powers, at least, transcended death.

  Cobb led his team members back toward the entrance of the cave when the hair on his arms began to prickle. The others would soon feel the same sensation, but Cobb’s sharply-honed senses alerted him first. He froze, his head slowly panning from side to side.

  ‘I feel it, too,’ McNutt agreed.

  ‘Feel what?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘The air’s moving in here,’ McNutt explained.

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ Jasmine argued. ‘That would mean-’

  ‘There’s a second opening somewhere,’ Sarah said. ‘He’s right.’

  They looked back toward the front of the train. No one could honestly say that they knew that’s where the cave opened, but it was the logical choice.

  Sarah grinned and looked meaningfully at Cobb.

  ‘You up for it?’ he asked her.

  ‘It’s what I do, Jack.’

  ‘Go to it then,’ he ordered.

  ‘I don’t get it!’ Garcia cried. ‘What’s going on now?’

  ‘Garcia, I’m with you,’ McNutt said. ‘Except I’m here, and I’m lost.’

  But Sarah was already sneaking past the front of the first car, going deeper into the cave. Cobb turned in the other direction and headed back toward Decebal, with a distracted McNutt and a confused Jasmine close behind.

  ‘Did you know about this too, Papi?’ Cobb asked as they walked.