Temple of Spies

by Ian Kharitonov

  “You should have died at the ring, like the fighting dog that you are,” said the North Korean. “I’ll put you out of your misery. I hate to make your death quick and painless, but unfortunately I’m under a time constraint. Dealing with the Chinese is the last item on my agenda. Prepare to meet your Christian Maker.”

  The gold and brown eyes flashed with the cold-blooded resolve which Sokolov had first encountered in Bangkok. Evading the imminent kill shot, Sokolov dove sideways and hit the seawater with a splash.

  Enveloped by the coolness of the sea, Sokolov searched for the AK, but to no avail. His vision was too murky and he failed to reach the bottom with his fingers. His water-filled ears picked up the muted sounds of probing gunshots. Hot pain seared his left triceps as a bullet grazed it. Desperate for air, he kicked up and broke the water surface. Now he was a sitting duck. Song zeroed in on him. What he saw in the next instant caught Sokolov unaware.

  Engine roaring, the Range Rover raced down the jetty like an enraged bull. Song pivoted a moment too late, unable to escape the bone-shattering collision. The front bumper and grill of the Range Rover smashed into Song’s knees, flinging him like a dummy, feet flipping skyward. His head banged against the windshield. The body bounced off the car’s hood and crashed down into the path of the Range Rover’s wheels. The armored SUV ran him over with its crushing two-ton weight and left the limp body behind.

  Braking, the Range Rover ran out of space and soared off the end of the jetty into the sea. The SUV started sinking fast. With powerful strokes, Sokolov swam toward it. By the time he got near, the car had already gone under. Sucking in a lungful of air, he submerged.

  The car had almost filled with water. It was both good news and bad. The bullet-resistant window was unbreakable, and the door would not open until the pressure difference stabilized at least partially as the water flowed in. On the other hand, Sokolov could ill afford to lose precious seconds. Stacie was unconscious. A cut was bleeding above her eyebrow, received during the impact. As the Range Rover descended to the bottom, filling with water, Sokolov’s chances of rescuing her diminished rapidly. He pulled the door with all his might until it yielded, and pulled Stacie through the opening. Holding her tightly, he pushed off the car and followed a trail of air bubbles as he dragged her to the surface.

  Once they broke clear, he placed his forearms under her armpits, keeping her head securely above the water as he kicked his feet for steady propulsion.

  Stacie gagged. Her eyelashes fluttered. Her wet hair was a mess, the make-up had washed off, but to him she looked more gorgeous than ever. Above all, she was alive. She turned her head, realizing that she was in his arms, heading for safety.

  “You told me to wait in the car,” she said. “I did.”

  “Very funny.”

  “You took your time. I was beginning to harbor doubts.”

  “Thanks for saving my life, but please don’t attempt such stunts ever again. You almost drowned, you know.”

  “I just wanted to try out the swimsuit.”

  He towed her to the jetty and helped her out of the water.

  The Dornier Seastar awaited.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said as he hoisted himself onto the wooden boards, the soaked gi clinging to his muscular frame.

  “Hold on a second,” Stacie replied.

  Instead of heading to the flying boat, she approached the broken body of Song. The North Korean lay motionless on the wooden boards, blood streaking down his face from the gash on his head.

  She picked up the item which he had dropped. It was a men’s designer handbag. A Louis Vuitton, judging by the distinct monogram pattern. She unzipped the porte-monnaie and browsed its contents until she found a brown leather-bound notebook.

  PART III

  1

  Never in her five years of working as a concierge had Umaporn seen anything like it. And truth be told, she had seen quite a lot at the Front Desk of the Inthurat Resort and Spa, Phuket. It was the island’s most luxurious hotel, and one of the very few situated directly on Patong Beach. Enjoying the prime location of the private 200-meter beachfront strip, Umaporn had the perfect view of the Andaman Sea through the lobby’s windows.

  At first, it was the sound she had heard. A low whining noise, growing louder. Then she saw it, a white shape in the sky, realizing that the whine belonged to the aircraft’s engines. The plane was flying low over the waves, the shape becoming more distinct as it neared rapidly. Then its hull skimmed the water and touched down. Its weird top-mounted propeller spinning, the flying boat cleaved through the sea waves toward the beach right in front of the Inthurat Resort and Spa.

  The arrival of the amphibian turned heads and evoked gleeful exclamations among those hotel guests who were witnessing it. A German pensioner sipping ice tea in the lobby stared over the top of his spectacles in sheer amazement. At the pool, an excited American couple cheered and snapped photos. The annoying, sunscreen-smeared French children were running around the beach, animatedly pointing and shouting to their parents. Umaporn herself stood fascinated but completely at a loss as to how she should deal with the situation.

  As its landing gear wheels touched the sand, the sleek aircraft halted not a hundred meters away from the reception desk. The engines shut down and the plane’s cockpit door opened. Two people debarked, a man and a woman. Leisurely, they strolled past the gawking hotel guests, as if it were the most ordinary day in their lives, a mundane commute. The woman was a leggy blonde, clad in a compelling swimsuit. Her stunning appearance prompted an even livelier reaction than the manner of her arrival.

  The tall, powerfully-built man who accompanied her was obviously the plane’s pilot, although he wasn’t dressed to look the part. He wore pants rolled up to knee length together with ridiculous wooden sandals. His sculpted torso was bare from the waist up, his left upper arm bandaged. As he and his female companion entered the hotel, Umaporn also noticed an expensive Swiss watch on his wrist and a Louis Vuitton bag in his hand. Then Umaporn’s mind registered the fact that they were heading toward the reception desk. She got a hold of herself and flashed her best smile.

  “Sawasdee. May I help you, sir?”

  Nonchalantly, he said, “We’d like to have your best suite. Do you accept Bloodcoin?”

  2

  The confused look on the concierge’s face told Sokolov that cryptocurrency still had a long way to go until it became a valid payment method at the Inthurat Resort and Spa. The Thai girl standing behind the reception desk certainly didn’t appreciate Sokolov’s humor. He let the matter drop and instead retrieved a wad of Baht bills from the porte-monnaie. He placed a large portion of the cash atop the desk, paying far in excess of the quoted fee.

  “Keep the change.”

  His passport, soggy and deformed after his underwater escapade, was made acceptable by the generous tip.

  The immaculately-garbed receptionist shot a scornful glance at Stacie.

  “We appreciate your discretion, Umaporn,” said Sokolov, noting the name on her badge. He peeled off a few more Baht notes which she slipped from the desk instantly. No further questions were raised.

  Beaming, Umaporn clasped her hands together and bowed.

  “Khob khun ka. Enjoy your stay.”

  The Royal Suite lived up to its name. It measured a whopping 300 square meters and featured three separate bedrooms and bathrooms, an enormous lounge, and a dining room with a hand-carved table which seated eight. The furnishings carried a Thai-inspired theme, from hardwood flooring and plush fabrics to beautifully crafted sculptures and paintings.

  The suite offered them a balance of privacy and security. On the one hand, the space was so huge that Sokolov and Stacie avoided the awkwardness of being virtual strangers who had to share living quarters. On the other, staying together meant that Sokolov didn’t have to worry about Stacie’s safety. It also allowed them to pose as a couple, diverting undue attention. The exclusive status granted seclusion from other gue
sts. Apart from a picturesque vista of Patong Beach, the suite’s private patio also provided an avenue of escape in case of emergency. Overall, Sokolov was content with the arrangement. He got Umaporn to fetch a change of clothes for himself and Stacie at the hotel’s luxury store and ordered room service from an award-winning restaurant.

  While Stacie occupied the in-suite spa, Sokolov retreated to his own bathroom and took stock of the damage to his body. Back aboard the seaplane, the first aid kit had come in handy, enabling him to treat the worst injuries quickly. Now he saw that he’d gotten off easy. His left leg hurt, but the burns on his calf were superficial. The discomfort was negligible compared to the nearly-suffered cremation. The gunshot wound proved to be no more than a scratch, the slug’s lethal velocity negated by the water. He expected the wounds to heal quickly. He showered, applied a new dressing to his arm, and donned a navy polo, matching slacks and comfortable loafers.

  Joining him for lunch, Stacie entered the dining room, attired in all white: a long-sleeved silk shirt, tight shorts and lace-up sandals. With her golden hair, she looked angelic. A defenseless guardian angel.

  She appeared refreshed both physically and mentally but Sokolov could see a plaintive shadow behind those sparkling amethyst eyes.

  “It feels great to be celebrating life again,” she said, sipping a glass of pineapple juice.

  Sokolov toasted his own tropical drink in agreement.

  “So, here we are,” he said. “We might as well figure out why.”

  He told her his part of the story, beginning with his EMERCOM background. She recounted the details of her trip to San Francisco and everything that had happened since.

  “They murdered my aunt,” Stacie concluded. “She had confided in them as priests. She had trusted them to guard her secret. Instead, they killed her, whoever they really are. And they used her trust to try and kill me. The man calling himself Father Mark has stolen my pendant. I’ll go to Hong Kong and get it back.”

  “You can’t. They’ll try to kill you again, and they might succeed this time. For your own sake, you should return to Australia.”

  “Do you think they won’t reach me back home? They know where I live. And even if I went back to Sydney, my life would never be the same. They believe I’m a lamb for slaughter but I’ll show them how wrong they are. When I first learned of the Oltersdorf legacy, I wanted to serve a worthy cause. Right now, for me there is no cause worthier than getting even. I’ll make Father Mark pay, whether you like the idea or not.”

  He attempted to talk her out of it but she stood her ground with steely determination. There was no dissuading her from going to Hong Kong.

  “Let’s just get out of here and then we can walk our separate ways,” she said.

  “I’m afraid our ways are no longer separate, Stacie. There’s no telling where your involvement begins or mine ends, with all those North Korean spies and Russian priests. But you’re right, we can’t do anything as long as we’re stranded in Phuket.”

  After they had finished the signature avocado-and-seafood salad by a celebrity chef, Sokolov examined the Louis Vuitton handbag. The spoils included the remainder of the cash, a gaming token from Billionaire Casino and a tablet which looked very similar to the one formerly owned by Kinkladze. He powered it on. While the tablet booted, Sokolov fiddled the casino token in his hand. All of a sudden, the tablet and the token interacted wirelessly. Sokolov realized that it wasn’t just a gaming chip he was holding between his fingers, but a near-field-communication device. An electronic wallet. Reading the NFC tag embedded in the token, the tablet immediately opened the account status. It showed a balance of 492,500 Bloodcoin. Sokolov hadn’t the faintest idea about the exchange rates between various cryptocurrencies and real money, but he assumed that Song had carried a substantial amount to cover his needs.

  Sokolov closed the wallet app and fired up the browser. The familiar message greeted him.

  Welcome to the Dark Web

  He pushed the red Enter button and typed in the passcode, which he had committed to memory. Bringing up the search bar, he checked the flight schedule at Phuket International Airport. The nationwide protests had affected domestic flights in and out of Phuket, but the international terminal was operating as usual. In the upcoming hours, only two destinations were listed under Departures: Singapore and Hong Kong. Boarding had already commenced for the Singapore Airlines flight. The next one later that day had been fully booked, hardly surprising with Changi acting as a major hub for connecting flights all around the Asia-Pacific.

  Planes traveling to Hong Kong departed five times a day with plenty of options available.

  Hong Kong it was, then.

  “Destiny,” said Stacie. “The Creator is guiding our fate. Accept it.”

  He did.

  Choosing the destination was the first step. They still lacked any travel documents.

  Sokolov launched the Dark Web browser and navigated through the categories of the Hidden Wiki.

  Fake ID.

  He tapped on the link.

  A chat window opened. The anonymous contact was online and marked as a favorite. Song must have procured forged documents regularly. Perhaps this is how he obtained that Russian passport for Alex Grib, thought Sokolov. With the chat history cleared, there was no way of making sure. Sokolov had to trust his gut instinct.

  He sent a message in English, hoping that he didn’t need to employ some sort of code.

  Need 2 passports ASAP.

  With growing apprehension, he waited for a reply. Finally, it came in a single word.

  Details

  He typed:

  M, the same Russian. F, a young blonde.

  Default delivery address?

  No. Inthurat Resort, Phuket.

  OK. 1 hour.

  A notification bubble popped up, prompting him to pay the required sum. He hit the Confirm Transfer button. Instantly, the Bloodcoin balance reduced by 1,200.

  The contact went offline.

  In one hour, Sokolov would learn whether he’d placed the winning bet. He was wagering with much more than Bloodcoin.

  3

  Sokolov found no way around the password protection of the email interface. If he wanted to recover Song’s email conversations, he’d have to leave it for later and let Pavel Netto work his magic. The incognito VoIP client, however, required no login. He dialed a private number.

  “Who the hell is this?” Klimov’s gruff voice came through the tablet’s speaker, sounding crystal clear over the high-quality data connection.

  “It’s Sokolov.”

  “Thank God you’re alive!” said his boss with a sigh of relief.

  “What about Zubov and Mischenko?” asked Sokolov, concerned for the well-being of his crew.

  “They’re fine. They’ve just returned from Don Muang and told me that you bargained for their release. I gave them the hairdryer treatment for leaving you behind.”

  “You shouldn’t have. You know they’d never let me down. There was nothing else they could do at that point.”

  “We sure can do something now that you’ve showed up. Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m working on getting out of Thailand. I need the boys to pick me up in Hong Kong.”

  “No sweat. They’ll be more than happy to fly in right away.”

  “And I’ll be more than happy to see them. This mission has been one hell of a pain in the neck, Minister.”

  “Tell me about it, Gene. Our so-called friends opposite the Bolshoi have gone very quiet on the whole thing.” The EMERCOM Headquarters neighbored the Bolshoi Theater from one side and the old KGB building from the other. “I imagine that something went very wrong, blowing right back into their faces.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Sokolov confirmed.

  “Get to my office for a full debriefing, first thing. Just try to get back home in one piece, Gene,” said Klimov.

  “Trust me, I’m trying my damnedest.”

  Next, Soko
lov rang up Constantine on his cell phone.

  “Hey, brother.”

  “Gene! Are you all right?”

  “More or less. You?”

  “Much better than I was yesterday, thanks to your call. What have you been up to? You do have something on your mind, don’t you?”

  He chuckled. “You know me better than anyone. I’m in a spot of bother with a historical mystery.”

  “History? Do tell.”

  “Does the name Oltersdorf sound familiar?”

  “Hmmm. It does seem to ring a bell. I think it’s the name of a Russian general during the First World War. Yes, Baron Peter Oltersdorf. What about him?”

  “I need to find the connection between the Russian Church and North Korean spies. Somehow, it revolves around Oltersdorf.”

  “Quite a mystery, indeed. The Russian Church? Do you mean the Moscow Patriarchate?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I know just the right man who can help us,” said Constantine. “Where are you and when are you coming back?”

  “I’m in Phuket right now.”

  “So while I’m sulking in this miserable weather, my kid brother goes on vacation in Thailand,” Constantine joked.

  Eugene grinned. The brothers had gone through thick and thin together since early childhood, always looking after each other.

  “Yeah, and I’m staying with a jaw-dropping beauty in my room, as well. She’s the baron’s descendant.” Then he added seriously, “I wish it were a holiday trip, but in fact it’s been quite the opposite. And it’s not over yet. Hopefully, I’ll be en route to Moscow in a few hours. We can meet tomorrow or the day after.”

  “Great, I’ll dig up something in time for your return. My curiosity is certainly piqued.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  Sokolov consulted the dial of his Breitling. The designated hour was fast approaching. He came over to the lobby for early recon. Picking a suitable spot, he sat at a table which gave him a good view of the main entrance and the Front Desk. He pondered how to deal with the delivery person, if indeed one would show up on such short notice. With limited experience of underhand dealings involving ID purchase, he didn’t know what to expect. He couldn’t discount the possibility of a set-up run by local cops. In that case, his position enabled him to rush back to the suite, grab Stacie and flee via the patio exit.