Eternal Night

by Richard Turner

  “I hope not,” said Jen. “I’d hate to find out Yuri died because we failed to find a clue to his and Grace’s whereabouts.”

  “I agree, but things are not looking good for either of them right now.”

  Jen wrapped an arm around Mitchell’s chest and snuggled in close. “Fahimah looked genuinely excited when I told her that I’d be coming in to help while you’re away.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, not at all. I’m going to set up a portable crib next to my desk, and Sarah can be in there while I work. Diane said she needs an excuse to get out of the house more often, so she’ll be coming by the office on Tuesday to see Sarah.”

  Mitchell smiled. Jack and Diane O’Reilly were Sarah’s Godparents, and were happy to have her in their lives. He looked into Jen’s warm, brown eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the daycare center this afternoon.”

  “It’s okay. I called, but there isn’t a space available for Sarah right now, so we’re on a waiting list.”

  “How long of a wait is it?”

  “I was told that we should get a spot in about two months. I don’t mind bringing Sarah with me to the office. Fahimah adores her, so I’ll always have an extra pair of hands to look after her.”

  Mitchell pulled Jen closer. Her alluring perfume filled the air between them. “What if the assignment goes longer than a few days, then what are you going to do?”

  “My mom’s been itching to come up here to spend some more time with Sarah, so if need be I’ll pay for her flight and she can stay with me until you get back.”

  “Did you hear that Nate’s wife is asking him to look for a new job?”

  Jen nodded. “I spoke with Kelly while you guys were in California. She’s just worried that Nate’s not getting any younger, and the risks you two take to get the job done sometimes scare the living daylights out of her.”

  “And what do you think? Now that we have Sarah, should I also be on the lookout for a new job?”

  Jen softly placed a hand on her husband’s face. “Ryan, I knew what I was getting myself into the first day we met in the Philippines. I’ve nearly been killed a few times myself. Sarah is a wonderful gift to you and me, but I would never ask you to stop being you. You’ll know when it’s time to slow down.”

  Mitchell smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad you feel that way.” He leaned forward and placed his lips on Jen’s. Hunger stirred between the two.

  “That’s not all I feel like,” said Jen, her voice turning husky. She sat up and pulled off her top, exposing her warm brown skin.

  “Isn’t this how we got Sarah?”

  Jen placed a finger on her husband’s lips. “Hush, Ryan Mitchell, and let’s see if we can’t give her a younger brother.”

  6

  Upper East Side – Manhattan

  Cardinal looked up at the majestic-looking, brick apartment building and let out a low whistle. “They sure don’t make them like that anymore.”

  “That’s because it was built in the nineteen-thirties,” said Sam.

  “No, I was just admiring the old-fashioned exterior. Everything is built of glass these days. I prefer stone. It says the builders expected the old girl to last a long time.”

  “Speaking of old girls, we have a job to do.”

  “That we do,” replied Cardinal, nodding his head.

  A doorman wearing a blue uniform, complete with comical, oversized, golden epaulets and black top hat, opened the front door to let them in. They walked to the nearest elevator and rode it to the fourteenth floor. Sam turned and checked that Cardinal’s tie was still straight. For the first time in a long time, both wore suits. Neither felt comfortable in them. Camping attire was more their style, but such was the cost of hand-delivering a package for their boss. The elevator chimed as the polished brass doors slid open. They walked out into a long, red-carpeted corridor, and looked both ways.

  “There it is,” said Sam, pointing at the number 1402 above a doorway.

  Cardinal rang the doorbell.

  A few seconds later, the door opened, and a man with short, gray hair, wearing a long-tailed, black jacket with pressed gray pants and polished black shoes, greeted them. “Good day, how may I be of service?” The man’s accent was English.

  “Good day to you, too,” said Sam, handing the man one of her business cards.

  The gray-haired man read it over and nodded. “Please do come in. Madame Wright is expecting you.”

  “Thank you,” said Sam and Cardinal in unison.

  “My name is Robert, should you need anything,” said the butler, as he led them into a spacious living room, with a stunning view of Central Park. “I’ll let Madame know you are here.”

  “Wow,” mouthed Sam, admiring the room. The fragrance of freshly cut red roses hung in the air. The walls were covered with old family photos.

  “Miss Chen and Mister Cardinal, may I present to you Madame Wright,” said Robert.

  A small woman with curly, white hair walked into the room. She looked to be in her late seventies, and wore a black skirt with a white enamel rose pinned to her shirt. Standing beside her was a tall man in a dark-gray suit. He was in his late thirties, had broad shoulders, and a muscular build. His hair was black and his eyes steel-gray. The man had a dangerous air about him.

  “Good morning to you. Please let me introduce you to my great-nephew, Victor, before he leaves,” said Madame Wright.

  “Good day,” said Cardinal in greeting.

  “Please excuse me, as I have a plane to catch,” said Victor.

  “Call me once you land,” said Madame Wright.

  “The moment I land,” replied Victor. “I’ll see myself out, Robert.”

  “Very good, sir,” replied the butler.

  “Now that Victor has gone, please call me Rebecca,” said Madame Wright, with a bright smile on her aged face.

  Sam smiled. “My friends call me Sam, and my friend’s name is Gordon.”

  Rebecca delicately shook both of their hands. “Friend! You two should get married.”

  Sam suppressed a smile. “You sound like my grandmother.”

  “She’s right, and you two know it.”

  “Shall I serve tea, Madame?” asked Robert in a monotone drawl.

  “Yes, please. We’ll take it in here. The view of Central Park is delightful, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes. It’s absolutely breathtaking,” said Sam.

  Cardinal set the parcel he had in his hands on an old oak table, and pulled out a chair for Rebecca.

  “Thank you,” said Rebecca.

  Sam and Cardinal joined her at the table.

  “Sam, be a dear and open the parcel for me,” said Rebecca. “My arthritic hands aren’t as strong as they once were.”

  “Sure,” Sam replied, taking her time to open the package, so she wouldn’t damage what was inside.

  “You have a lovely home,” said Cardinal.

  “Thank you,” replied Rebecca. “As I get older, I find it’s a bit much for one person. I was thinking of selling it and moving out to California. It could be yours for a measly twelve million dollars.”

  Cardinal chuckled. “I think Sam and I will have to pass on your gracious offer. Judging by the number of pictures on the walls, I’d have to guess that you have a large family.”

  A twinkle shone in Rebecca’s eyes. “I have three children of my own, who have given me eight wonderful grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. Unfortunately, none of them live in New York anymore.”

  “My family is absolutely tiny compared to yours.”

  “Your tea,” said Robert, placing a silver tray on the table. He handed each person a glass cup of lemon tea, before bowing and leaving the room.

  “Oh, my, this is beautiful,” said Sam, holding up a dinner plate for all to see. The outside rim was painted gold, while a heraldic two-headed eagle adorned the center of the plate.

  “It looks like a plate from the collection that once belonged to Tsar Nich
olas II,” said Rebecca. “Please bring it closer.”

  Sam brought the plate over.

  Rebecca slipped a pair of silver-rimmed glasses on and studied the plate for a moment. She smiled. “It’s genuine.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Sam.

  “Here on the side of the plate are the initials of the company that made all of the fine china that was once used at the tsar’s palace in Saint Petersburg.”

  “This must be at least one hundred years old,” mused Sam.

  “Oh, it’s older than that. I suspect it dates back to the tsar’s coronation in 1894. It’s a fine addition to my growing collection of Romanov artifacts. Gordon, please read to me who sent this wonderful gift.”

  Cardinal looked at the shipping label. “It’s from a man called Pavel Krasnov who lives in Moscow. Do you know him?”

  Rebecca nodded. “I think he’s a distant cousin of mine. I suspect he contacted my lawyer first, who arranged to have it shipped here.”

  “Rebecca, if you don’t me asking, what’s your fascination with the Romanov dynasty?” asked Sam.

  “Family history,” replied Rebecca. “Wright is my father’s name. When my husband passed on, I got nostalgic and readopted my maiden name. My mother was born Katerina Danilova. She was an orphan who, along with tens of thousands of other Russians, fled their homeland during their awful civil war. Katerina grew up in Europe, and eventually married a handsome and rich Englishman. Tragically, war broke out in 1939, and my mother fled to the United States, unaware at the time that she was pregnant with me. Her husband died during the war, and my mother raised me here in New York. She never remarried and carried her love for her husband in her heart until the day she died.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Sam, hearing the sadness in Rebecca’s voice.

  “It’s all right. It was from my mother that I learned of our tenuous connection to the Romanovs, and ever since I can remember, I’ve always been fascinated by the Romanovs, and the mystery surrounding their murder.”

  “I thought it was proven conclusively that the tsar and his entire family were murdered on that tragic night in 1918,” said Cardinal.

  “I know what the Russian authorities have said are the facts, but I’ve always had my doubts.”

  “Some conspiracies never die,” pointed out Sam.

  Rebecca took a sip of her tea. “True enough.”

  “Ma’am, you mentioned your family had a connection to the Romanovs,” said Cardinal. “Would you mind telling us what it was?”

  “My mother used to tell me as a child that my grandfather was a colonel in the tsar’s imperial guard, and that we’d loyally served the Romanovs for generations,” she explained. “A few years back, I hired a man to look into my family’s history, and it turns out that yes, we did serve the tsar, but just not as a colonel. You see, it turns out that my grandfather was a humble captain, who died fighting the Germans during the First World War.”

  “Rank aside,” said Cardinal. “It sounds like he was an honorable and brave man.”

  “Yes, I suppose he was.”

  “This is all so fascinating,” said Sam. “You should really write all of this down, and then maybe write a book about your family’s escape from Russia until today.”

  Rebecca blushed. “I doubt people would read it.”

  “I would,” replied Sam, holding up her hand.

  Rebecca cleared her throat. “Robert, could you please bring in my father’s file.”

  “Yes, Madame,” replied Robert, from another room.

  Sam and Cardinal exchanged a puzzled look.

  Robert set a box on the table, opened it, and laid out a map. Once done, he again bowed politely, and left.

  “When I was called and told that you two would be delivering my parcel, I had Victor look you up to learn a little about you,” explained Rebecca. “I was thrilled to learn that your organization has a very good reputation for getting difficult jobs done. It is because of this that I’d like to propose something to you.”

  “Ma’am, the person you should be talking to is our boss, General Jack O’Reilly,” said Cardinal. “Sam and I have no authority to approve any work offered to Polaris.”

  “I know. Victor is on his way to speak with your boss. I’d just like to fill you two in myself, so you can help convince Mister O’Reilly, should he not be persuaded by Victor’s pitch.”

  Sam turned the map so she could read it. “This map is of Oman, and dates back to the Second World War.”

  “Correct,” said Rebecca. “It’s an exact copy of the one the Royal Air Force would have used when flying in or out of the country. I obtained it from the archives at the British Ministry of Defense. I was shocked to recently learn that my father was a spy who worked for MI6. Although much of what I have been able to get my hands on is heavily redacted, I was able to piece together the last mission he undertook during the war. After whisking a British citizen out of Hong Kong just before the Japanese arrived, my father made his way to the Dutch East Indies to await further instructions.”

  Rebecca paused while she reached inside the box and placed several pages of notes down next to the map. “It was clear that the Dutch East Indies was the next target, so my father asked the British authorities to arrange with the Dutch government in exile for a submarine pick him and the unnamed civilian up, and then transport them both to Ceylon. It would seem that they escaped by the skin of their teeth, and sailed on to Ceylon, where a plane was waiting for them. They flew to India, and then to Oman, where they switched planes. On the morning of April 2nd, 1942, my father and his ward boarded a plane and flew toward Muscat, the nation’s capital, to refuel before carrying on its long journey. Unfortunately, the British lost radio and radar contact with the plane as it was flying over the Al Hajar Mountains.”

  “I take it a search was conducted to try and find the missing plane?” asked Cardinal.

  “Yes, but after four days, the search was called off, and the plane and crew were officially listed as missing.”

  “I take it you’d like us to take a crack at finding your father’s plane?” said Sam.

  Rebecca smiled. “Yes.”

  “This won’t be easy,” said Cardinal. “Those mountains don’t look too forgiving.”

  “I understand, and will be happy if after a week you decide to call it off. I’ll know in my heart that you gave it your best.”

  “And if we do find your father’s plane, then what?” asked Sam.

  “If by some miracle you do find his plane, I’ll engage both the British and Omani governments to have his remains brought to the States, so they can be buried next to my mother.”

  “It’s pretty quiet in Oman right now,” said Cardinal. “If we need to, I suspect we can hire a few local guides, who can also act as additional security should we need them.”

  “So, you’ll do it?” asked Rebecca.

  “If the boss signs off on it, I don’t see why not,” said Sam.

  Rebecca clapped her hands together. “You two have made an old woman the happiest she has been in ages.”

  “Ma’am, we’ll give it our best, but don’t be surprised if we’re forced to return emptyhanded,” remarked Cardinal.

  Rebecca reached over and gently tapped Cardinal’s hand. “At least we’ll have tried.”

  7

  Monte Carlo

  Mitchell and Jackson sat in the back of a polished black Rolls Royce taxi as it navigated the narrow, winding cobblestone streets of the old city. Both men wore gray suits. Jackson’s was a charcoal color, with a matching black shirt and tie, while Mitchell wore a light gray suit, with a white shirt and red tie.

  “Hey, Ryan did you know that the entire Principality of Monaco is only just over two kilometers square, and that there are nineteen thousand inhabitants per kilometer?” said Jackson, perusing a tourist guide.

  “No, I did not,” replied Mitchell.

  “And thirty percent of the people who live here are millionaires,” added the taxi driver
, a white-haired gentleman wearing a black uniform and cap.

  “I think I could retire here,” said Jackson.

  “If you do, don’t forget your passport,” said the driver. “It’s the only way to enter a casino here in Monaco. Native Monacans, like myself, are forbidden by law from entering them. Not that I have the money to throw away gambling.”

  “Yeah, like you could afford to live here,” said Mitchell.

  “A man can dream,” replied Jackson.

  “That’s all it’ll be. The best we’ll ever be able to pull off would be adjoining beachfront lots in Florida with a pair of fishing boats.”

  “I’d take it,” said the driver, eliciting chuckles from Michell and Jackson.

  The driver turned a sharp corner, and stopped across the street from an old, three-story red-brick building. Like most of the architecture in the area, the building was narrow, allowing for several more offices to be built on the adjoining lot.

  Mitchell took out his wallet and paid the driver for the lift. “How much will it cost me for you to wait for us?” he asked.

  “I don’t mind waiting, but I’ll have to leave the meter running,” replied the driver.

  “Not a problem,” said Mitchell, tipping the man two hundred Euros. “We should be back in less than an hour.”

  “Take your time,” replied the diver, smiling as he pocketed his tip.

  Mitchell and Jackson walked across the street and entered the building. A sign indicated that Monsieur Chevalier’s office was on the second floor. They took the stairs and arrived at the office just as his secretary, a slender, blonde-haired woman in a tight skirt, unlocked the door.

  “Good morning, is Monsieur Chevalier in?” asked Mitchell.

  “Yes, but I don’t recall any meetings on his schedule before two this afternoon,” she replied in flawless English, with a French accent.

  Mitchell reached into his jacket and handed the woman a business card. “Please let me introduce myself. My name is Ryan Mitchell and my associate is Nathaniel Jackson. We work for a very discreet investigative business, and were wondering if we could have a few minutes of your employer’s time to ask him a couple of really quick questions.”