“How was the training?” asked Elizabeth. “Pema saw you and Lao in the gym earlier.”
“I feel great, except I could eat a horse… Speaking of which, Pema, please, make me a double breakfast, will you?’ He poured himself a glass of water and sat at the table.
“I don’t know what’s come over old Lao, making you exert yourself so early in the morning,” Pema said. She possessed a quiet melodic voice, which suited her gentle face and frail figure. Her hair was raven-black and plaited in a single long braid and, like her husband, she looked much younger than her actual age.
“Don’t worry; it was good practice. I’m grateful to him,” responded James.
“I heard you talking on the phone this morning,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes. Sorry if I woke you. It was that old friend of mine, Lino, from Italy.” James reminded Elizabeth about Lino, adding a few funny stories about when he and James were at Oxford together. However, he didn’t mention exactly why Lino had called him. He had decided there was no need to bother Elizabeth with such things.
After breakfast, James and Elizabeth went for a walk in the forest as usual. The weather was pleasant and the sky was clear and there was a feeling of spring freshness in the air. They had just reached the first row of pine trees when James’ mobile rang.
“Mr James Whiteway?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“Hello. I’m detective superintendent Peter Oliver, Criminal Investigations.”
“What can I do for you, superintendent?”
“I have something I want to show you. Are you available to come in and have a look?”
“Yes, I am. What’s it about?”
“I’d like you to take a look at a crime scene. Could you do it now?”
“Yes, if it’s necessary.”
“I would appreciate it. Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“OK, a car will be there in ten minutes.”
James hung up, “El, I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our walk.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brighton, UK
“Do you need anything?” The blonde airhostess leaned over the seats occupied by Margaret and Charles Whiteway. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes before we land at Cusco Airport.”
Before either of them had a chance to answer, a man sitting opposite them interjected, “I strongly recommend that you to try out the local chicha. It’s a tasty and light natural alcohol.” He lifted his hand to show them an elongated mug made of clear jade encrusted with rubies and turquoises. The tone of his voice was polite but had a slightly arrogant and patronizing tone.
A little girl sitting in front of Charles and Margaret started to pull at her mother’s sleeve and cried, “Mummy, Mummy, I’m thirsty.”
“Capacocha!” chimed in the man in a coarse voice.
Margaret gave the man a scathing look. “What on earth is he talking about?” she asked her husband.
“Capacocha is an old Inca ritual during which little children are sacrificed in order to propitiate the gods, deflect natural disaster, or when a mighty ruler dies,” Charles explained.
“We shouldn’t let him speak that way,” said Margaret.
The young airhostess, who had by this time moved several steps away, stretched her arm towards Margaret and Charles to reveal two big red dice resting in her palm. “The lots have been cast,” she whispered and disappeared without a trace in a blink of an eye. Only her uniform remained, swaying in the air before crumpling to the floor.
Suddenly, the plane began to shake. Objects began to fall from the storage units and oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling.
“We’re going to die. Lord, save us!” cried the young mother, desperately clinging to her daughter.
Charles and Margaret stood up holding hands. They moved to the corridor, their eyes fixed on a dazzling white halo that had just appeared in front of them. Its depth was endless. As they stepped towards it, the young mother shouted, “Please, take us with you! Don’t leave us here!”
The man from a seat opposite theirs rose. Now, instead of the jade mug, he held out a crystal knife, pointing it at the child. “Capacocha,” he repeated sinisterly.
Charles and Margaret looked at each other, turned round and went back. Charles took the girl in his arms and Margaret took hold of the mother’s hand, and then they all moved together towards the halo…
A piercing ringing of a car horn cut short James’ dream. He had drifted off to sleep while travelling in a Secret Service car towards Brighton, and now the car had arrived in the town. He awoke experiencing an indescribably peaceful sensation, which he knew had been triggered by the dream. He’d had this dream many times since his parents died in a plane crash while visiting James’ grandparents who lived in Peru after their retirement. Sometimes some of the details of the dream differed, but the main events and their consequences always remained the same. Every time James awoke after having that dream, he felt an inner peace, which resulted from the irrational conviction that his mother and father had gone to a good place. In such moments, their death didn’t seem as cruel as his imagination normally depicted it.
* * *
Superintendent Peter Oliver was waiting for James in the Hotel Altor’s lobby. He was of medium height and slim, dressed in a dark- grey suit and wore frameless glasses.
He shook James’ hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I hope it hasn’t caused you too much inconvenience.”
“It’s all right. I’m glad to be of help,” responded James.
“We’ve tried to do discreet work here. Until now we’ve managed to keep the media at a distance,” explained the superintendent. “It’s good right now because there aren’t many visitors.” As they got into the lift he continued, “The apartment where the murder took place is on the third floor. The name of the victim is Stefan Costov – a Bulgarian scientist who specialized in molecular genetics. He attended a conference here together with more than fifty other scientists from all over the world. Costov was noticed missing when his colleagues tried to call him this morning. A bellboy went to check his room and found him dead.”
The apartment was fourth left from the lift door. The area had been cordoned off with police tape and was protected by a police guard. James could see a man from the police’s scientific department examining the door frame for fingerprints and other evidence.
When they entered the room, James noticed two plain-clothes police officers, but the sprawled dead body on the floor immediately grabbed his attention. There was a large swastika carved into the man’s torso. In the point where the arms of the swastika crossed, an ugly round wound gaped. The veins on the man’s left forearm had been slashed deeply, and a puddle of blood had soaked into the carpet. Strange symbols had been drawn in blood on the carpet around the body. James couldn’t hold back an exclamation. “Jesus!”
The superintendent stretched out his arms in a gesture of bafflement. “This must be the work of a very ill mind. Or rather, minds. The killers must have hated him. His hand was cut to the bone. They didn’t think it was enough just to open his veins. The swastika was carved in the same way.”
As he listened, James felt a hardening in his stomach. This man had indeed experienced a strange and cruel death.
“What exactly did Stefan Costov do for a living?” he asked.
“He was head of a laboratory at a Bulgarian branch of a large US pharmaceuticals company.”
“I can see a lot of blood, but no traces of a struggle,” said James.
“That’s one of the mysteries. It looks like he was conscious and unrestrained when they cut into him. But none of the guests or the hotel staff heard any shouting or noise.”
“Maybe he’d been drugged.”
“Probably. My first thought when I saw him was that there was a neo-Nazi connection. Because of the swastika.”
James shook his head. “Not necessarily. The swastika is one of the oldest abstract symbols used by civilizations. Archaeological swast
ika findings have been made all over the world. The symbolism of the entire scene here appears to be religious rather than political.”
“Yes, that’s a possibility,” agreed the superintendent.
“What else have you got?”
“The drawings were done with the victim’s blood, drained from the veins in his wrist. After the swastika was carved he was stabbed in the chest. That’s what finished him off. We’re pretty sure this was done by a group of people.”
James bent over the carpet and began to examine the symbols smeared into it. The blood had coagulated into a muddy brown and the lines contrasted with the beige carpet. “This is strange,” he said, bending lower to the floor.
“What’s that?” asked the superintendent.
“This symbol just below his left arm resembles a Sumerian cuneiform. When pronounced, it sounds like ‘dingir’.”
The superintendent looked puzzled. “So you understand what’s written here?”
“I’m not an expert but … This particular symbol could have been used here as determinative. It stands for god, respectively goddess, in Sumerian.”
“In that case, I’d like you to see something else.” The superintendent turned to wave towards a young man with tangled hair working on the crime scene. “McClain, would you show us that piece of paper?”
McClain opened a silver-coloured metal suitcase, which rested against the wall, and took out a transparent envelope containing a small sheet of white paper with something written on it. “We found this rolled into a scroll. It had been inserted into Costov’s mouth.” He handed the envelope to James.
James looked at the writing. “This is definitely Sumerian cuneiform writing. Judging by the shape of the cuneiform signs, it’s the style used in the early Sumerian period,” he said and returned the evidence.
“So we may be dealing with religious maniacs who have found inspiration in the culture of the Sumerians?” guessed the superintendent.
“Well, there are some contemporary cults in existence that do worship old Sumerian divinities.”
“OK. We assume that this crime was carried out by a cult worshipping Sumerian gods. Any clue you can give now in that direction would be very helpful,” said the superintendent.
Taking care not to tread on the bloody symbols, James approached the body and began a careful examination. “What we see here are two horned serpents. Together with the ‘dingir’ sign, they most probably refer to the god Ningishzida. He was an underworld god in Sumerian mythology.”
“Hold on for a second,” the superintendent interrupted. He retrieved a pen and a small notebook from his pocket to write down what James was saying.
James continued. “Two serpents close to each other in an upright position are regarded as being Ningishzida’s sacred symbol. In fact, there have been archaeological findings where he’s depicted with two upright snakes coming out of his shoulders.”
“So could it be that this murder may have been an act of human sacrifice? I’m wondering if it’s possible that Costov was a victim not because of his job as a scientist or because of the research he was doing. Another reason, perhaps?”
“Ningishzida was not associated with human sacrifices. Actually, he’s not a negative mythological figure in spite of his status as an underworld god. His name can be translated as ‘god of the tree of life’. Some authors consider him a patron of occult wisdom.”
“The cult worshipers may have wanted to extract some form of power or knowledge from the god. In exchange, they sacrificed the life of Stefan Costov. This is just rough assumption.” The superintendent did not want to give up on his idea completely.
James grimaced to show his scepticism. “That wouldn’t be my hypothesis.”
“Have you got any other ideas?”
James shrugged his shoulders. “I can try. The symbols here depict an ongoing process. It may be that there’s a plan for a radical change. That cult believes it would lead people to the ‘right way’. And the cult would implement this change.”
“Wow, you know all this just by looking at these drawings?” The superintendent looked impressed.
“That’s the part of the message I’m most sure about,” responded James.
“That’s an unusual message … a bit like everything else I’ve encountered here today.” The superintendent looked thoughtful, pursing his lips as though he didn’t really like what he was hearing. “I made an inquiry to Bulgaria about Costov. I was reassured that it’s unlikely that his work was the reason for his murder. He had never really been assigned to any secret projects or sensitive work.”
“Therefore, the motive could be hidden somewhere in his personal life,” suggested James.
“The man from the Bulgarian security service I talked to insisted that this was unlikely, too. It could be a case of mistaken identity. What if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“That’s definitely not the case,” replied James.
The superintendent looked surprised.
“I’ll explain.” James pointed to the symbols etched onto the right side of Costov’s corpse. There were three symbols in total, aligned vertically. The bottom one resembled a big ‘V’ but drawn with zigzag lines. Above it was the drawing of an open umbrella. The top symbol was a drawing of eight arrows coming out of the periphery of a circle like sunrays. “The bottom V-like symbol depicts two human stick figures looking in opposite directions—”
“Oh yes! I see it now,” exclaimed the superintendent.
“This could be a reference to the world as being in a state of separation and chaos. The umbrella above it is a symbol often found in the iconography of many old civilizations. It stands for wise people – the men and women of science, or meditators. These are the people who lead the world in one or another direction.”
“And Costov was a man of science. That’s to say, one of those leading figures,” concluded the superintendent.
James nodded in agreement and continued. “The circle with the eight arrows represents chaos. It may be that the cult believes that people like Costov lead the world into chaos, separation and destruction.”
“So those three symbols form a unanimous message.”
“It’s about changing the balance of power in the world. Costov’s murder is part of the process of putting people back on the right track.”
“And that track could be?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. It could be many things. A guess would be that the cult wants to bring back some sort of old way of life and values. Possibly, a reintroduction of worshiping defunct gods.”
The superintendent continued to write down lots of notes. His expression changed from wonder to concern. “Yes, I’m with you.”
“If I’m right, there will be more killings. The death of one scientist won’t be enough to change the world ... That’s all I can really tell you at this point,” said James.
The superintendent stared at his notebook, his head lowered. He looked preoccupied. “Well, it’s good enough for a start. Thank you. Anything we can do to help facilitate your work – you name it.”
“The sooner the cuneiform text on the note is translated the better.”
“You’ve got it. We can sort out an office for you at MI5’s building in Brighton. All you need will be there.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ve got to leave now. I’ll have to tell my fiancée that I’ll be busy for the next few days. She won’t like it.” James smiled.
“I didn’t know you were engaged,” said the superintendent as he accompanied James along the corridor on the way to the lift.
“We’re due to be married at Easter.”
“Congratulations. Sorry we interrupted your plans.”
“It’s OK.” James paused before continuing. “There’s one thing though that has been playing on my mind since we arrived here today—”
“Are you thinking what I am?” the superintendent interjected. “Why here? Why did they choose a hotel full of people, with lots of CCTV
around?”
“Yes.”
“You’re right. There are cameras everywhere here, and right now half of my team are looking at the records.”
“There’s no way those who committed this could have evaded all the cameras. They must have known this,” James said with amazement.
“It didn’t bother them, obviously. This means they had come prepared. Nevertheless, something may come out.”
CHAPTER NINE
Russia
1913
“We would like help for our wounded. Take care of my hussars. Bring them up on the sleigh. If necessary, make camp stretchers. And the road must be unblocked,” Nikolai II said.
“Aye, Your Majesty. I have two men amongst my people who are good at managing wounds,” responded Batka.
“If some of the bastards who attacked us are still alive, patch them up as well. I need to interrogate them,” said Semeon Laptin.
“Do it!” Batka ordered his men.
“Whom do you serve, Ivan?” Laptin asked.
“We are on our way to Saransk, Excellence. We accompany merchant caravans to the Far East and back. In Saransk, traders from all over the region gather. They will travel to the Eastern Provinces and China. We’re hired as guards.”
“How did you find yourself in that forest?”
“We decided to take a short cut. We heard shots and rode this way,” Batka explained. “We were close, though.”
“Thanks God for that,” said the Tsar.
A loud, short whistle made everybody turn in the direction from where it cut through the air. On the road, the second sleigh from the cortège was gliding towards them with one of Batka’s men as coachman and the fugitive Poruchik tied up in it. Another of Batka’s men was riding next to the sleigh, pointing his revolver at him.
“I gave orders to my men to capture that runaway,” Batka explained.
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