The Atlantis Code

CHAPTER 12

Where are you, Natasha?” Ivan Chernovsky sounded calm, but Natasha knew from long association that the man was anything but that.

“In Illichivsk.” Natasha didn’t lie. She thought perhaps he would recognize her lies as easily as she recognized his.

The port area was jammed with business and trade. Twelve miles southwest of Odessa proper and the second largest warmwater seaport in the oblast, Illichivsk sprang up around the port as the home of the Black Sea Shipping Company. Ships of all sizes sat anchored at the docks or moved slowly through the waters. Longshoremen moved freight onto and off the cargo ships.

“What are you doing there?” Chernovsky asked.

“I’m looking for my sister’s murderer. I called hoping you could help me.”

“Forensics found an old bullet in the man’s body,” Chernovsky said. “Evidently he’d been shot at some point and hadn’t had access to a medical facility. The wound eventually healed, but the bullet remained.”

“You identified the bullet the way we did when we worked the Karpov murder,” Natasha said.

“Yes. The bullet belonged to the weapon we took off a Mafiya enforcer,” Chernovsky continued. “Once the bullet was identified, I went to see this man.”

Natasha kept her gaze roving. Leslie had returned to Lourds and Gary. But another man stood only a few meters away.

The man was slovenly. He wore a cap pulled low over his eyes and a checked lightweight jacket. A casual observer might have mistaken him for a dockworker. Natasha noted the good boots the man wore and knew he wasn’t used to working on the dock, even though he’d dressed for it. Chernovsky had taught her to watch people’s shoes. They often changed their clothing before or after an illegal activity, but they seldom changed their shoes.

Standing against a container awaiting loading, the man occasionally nodded to other dockhands and sipped from a Styrofoam cup. He also spoke on a cell phone. Not many of the longshoremen could afford or carry a cell phone.

“This man identified the dead man as part of a crew that attempted to steal a load of illegal Iraqi antiques that came in during the American war. I talked with some of the street dealers that traffic in such things. I also flashed the dead man’s picture. His name was Yuri Kartsev.”

“His name means nothing to me.” Natasha knew Chernovsky was waiting for a response.

“Perhaps it might to the professor.”

“I’ll ask him.” She also knew that was Chernovsky’s way of confirming they were still traveling together.

“This Kartsev was known to work with a man named—” Pages rustled as Chernovsky checked his notes. “—Gallardo. Patrizio Gallardo.”

“I don’t know that name either.”

“Well, that name comes with a history.” Chernovsky took a deep breath.

The man watching Lourds and his group put his phone back into his pocket and lit a cigarette. Natasha’s stomach unclenched a little at that. Whoever he was waiting for wasn’t yet in the area.

Natasha watched the watcher but spoke quickly to Chernovsky. “I know you want to keep me hanging on as long as you can, Ivan. If I were in your shoes, I’d do the same thing. The problem is that we are exposed. And I think that the men chasing us are closing in even as we speak. So perhaps you could tell me what you know.”

Chernovsky hesitated. Natasha suspected their supervisor might even be listening to the phone call.

“Patrizio Gallardo is a very bad man, Natasha,” Chernovsky said. “He’s a thief and a killer. Not a man to trust.”

“Does he work for himself or someone else?”

“Both. He does piecework. He specializes in illegal antique acquisitions.”

“Who does he work for?”

“He owes no allegiance that I have discovered yet. I will keep looking.”

“Please,” Natasha said. “I will be in touch again as I am able.”

“Where should I next expect you to call from?”

“I will let you know. We’re going to be moving a lot. Thank you, Ivan.”

“Keep yourself safe, Natasha. I would see you home again soon.”

Natasha cradled the phone and headed across the street. It was time to do something about the watcher.

Patrizio Gallardo bulled through the port as he folded and pocketed his cell phone. He picked up the pace as he spotted the freighter, Winding Star, lying at anchorage about three hundred meters away.

According to his informant’s report, Lourds and his party were nearby.

Four of his men walked with him. All of them had weapons tucked beneath their coats.

A police car pulled into the street beside Gallardo. Two uniformed policemen sat up front. A man in plainclothes sat in the back.

Gallardo’s personal radar for policemen jangled. Instinctively, he turned toward a side street. They’d left a hell of a mess in Moscow, and he had to wonder if it was coming back to haunt him.

Brakes squeaked out on the street. A motor changed pitch.

“The police car is coming after us,” one of the men said.

“Break off,” Gallardo directed. “Cover me if they pick me up.” He kept walking, but he listened intently as the tires of the approaching car crunched across loose gravel.

A voice addressed Gallardo in Russian. He ignored it. A lot of the sailors who came to the port didn’t speak Russian.

“Sir,” a man called out in English this time.

Gallardo continued without pause. Some sailors didn’t speak English.

Car doors opened. Footsteps ran after him.

Calmly, Gallardo reached through the opening in his coat pocket for the 9 mm pistol holstered on his hip. If the police were looking for him, they weren’t just going to ask him a few questions.

A hand fell onto Gallardo’s shoulder.

“Sir,” the policeman said.

Gallardo stopped suddenly and turned. The movement caught the policeman off guard. Gallardo had his pistol against the policeman’s stomach before the man knew what was going on. Holding his left hand behind the man’s head so he could use him as a shield, Gallardo fired three times in quick succession. He would have fired at least one more time, but the pistol’s action jammed on the folds of the coat.

The harsh cracks of the pistol filled the alley.

The policeman staggered and slumped against Gallardo. The young man’s features went wide with shock.

The plainclothes inspector and the policeman tried to get out of the car with their weapons drawn. DiBenedetto walked up behind the police inspector almost casually, put a pistol to the back of the man’s head, and blew his brains out.

Realizing the danger he was in, the driver tried to turn around. DiBenedetto shot the policeman in the face twice and kicked him to the ground.

When Gallardo pushed the dead man away from him, the corpse hit the ground. A rectangle of plastic on the man’s left sleeve caught Gallardo’s eyes. He knelt for a closer look.

The rectangle contained a photograph of him. It was the same kind of setup they’d used to get the Russian professor.

“Patrizio,” DiBenedetto called. He held up the plainclothes inspector’s arm. Blood covered much of it, but the plastic rectangle was visible.

They knew who he was.

The cold realization twisted in Gallardo’s stomach. He didn’t know how they had identified him. He’d been careful most of his life, but the police had jailed him a couple of times.

He dropped the dead man’s arm and stood. He opened his coat and freed the pistol. Working quickly, he slipped the magazine free and replaced the spent cartridges.

“We have to get out of here,” DiBenedetto said. “The shots will draw more police, and they’re already searching for you.”

Gallardo nodded and pushed his breath out. “I know. Let’s see if we can find the professor first.”

“Where’s Natasha?” Leslie asked.

Turning his attention from the big ships out in the harbor, Lourds looked at the small store where Natasha had been standing only moments ago. She wasn’t there now.

“She was at the phone,” Gary said. He’d been filming the harbor.

“Well she’s not there now.” Leslie looked at her watch. “When are we supposed to meet with the ship’s captain?”

“At ten thirty,” Viktor said. He looked calm and confident.

Worry gnawed at Lourds’s thoughts. If Natasha had gotten a clue to her sister’s killers, would she tell them? Or would she simply act and leave them? He was pretty sure she would act independently. Natasha obviously didn’t care about the history involved.

“There she is,” Gary said. He pointed at a building just across the street.

Lourds looked and saw Natasha chatting with a middle-aged man who looked rather shabby. Lourds guessed that the man was probably a dock-worker, but didn’t know why the man would be loitering when there was work to be done.

The man gave Natasha a cigarette. She leaned in for a light from the lighter cupped in his hands. Without warning, she stiff-armed the man in the throat and sent him to his knees. A spinning sidekick dropped the man to the ground.

“Bollocks,” Leslie said. “What the bloody hell did she do that for?”

Lourds ran over to Natasha as she crouched down and started going through the man’s pockets.

“What are you doing?” Lourds demanded.

Natasha took a cell phone from the man’s pocket and tossed it to Lourds. “He’s been keeping you under observation.”

The implication staggered Lourds. There was so much about the fugitive lifestyle that he didn’t know. And he had precious little time to learn.

He stared around at the street. Several pedestrians crossed the street to avoid the scene.

“Maybe you could have waited for a more public area to pull your ambush,” Leslie said.

“He was talking to someone on the phone.” Natasha took out a wallet, shoved it into her coat pocket, and then found a packet of pictures in his shirt pocket. When she fanned them out like playing cards, Lourds’s, Leslie’s, and Natasha’s photographs were there.

“He was definitely looking for you,” Viktor said. He waved his hands. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

Natasha abandoned the unconscious man. “Do you know him?” she asked.

Viktor shook his head and took off down an alley.

Before Lourds could move, gunshots rang out only a short distance away. A short time after that, police Klaxons blared to strident life. By then Lourds and the others were moving swiftly through the dockyards.

Winding Star hailed out of South America. A lot of pirate ships did, Lourds knew. Modern-day pirates flew flags of convenience, and it was mostly convenient to fly flags out of South America. It had been amusing to note how many landlocked South American countries hosted veritable navies out around the world.

All the ship’s owner or the corporation had to do was pay a fee to the country, and they were officially recognized as a ship from that country. As a result, they were afforded international protection, privileges, and rights. They couldn’t be boarded by police of any other nationality absent just cause without risking an international incident.

Viktor made quick introductions to the lantern-jawed first mate, a man called Yakov Oistrakh. He was in his forties and had scars to show for his years at sea.

“Welcome aboard,” Oistrakh greeted as he made the fat envelope Viktor gave him disappear beneath his coat.

“We should get belowdeck quickly. I’m anticipating some trouble,” Lourds said.

“The gunshots?” Oistrakh raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps they’re on our account. Men are looking for us.”

“But of course,” the first mate said. “That is why you are coming with us, nyet?”

“It is,” Natasha replied. She gave Lourds a shove and got him moving.

“You’ll find no trouble here, Professor Lourds,” Oistrakh said. “We have every right to defend our ship and all those aboard it. Once you are on our deck, you are — in effect — in another country. They will have to have proper documentation to take you. The captain and I were told that the men pursuing you had no such paper.”

“That’s correct,” Natasha said.

Lourds gripped the rope sides of the gangplank and walked up the steep incline. He looked back over his shoulder several times.

Farther down the docks, several police cars converged on an alley between warehouses. The action drew a large group of spectators.

A couple moments later, winded from the long, steep climb, Lourds stood in the stern and looked back at the docks. A radio in the hands of a crewman crackled only a few feet away. Russian voices talked quickly, and Lourds picked up enough of the conversation to realize the man held a police scanner.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Lourds asked the man in Russian.

The crewman, stocky and gray-haired, shrugged. “Some policemen were shot.”

“Professor Lourds,” Oistrakh said, “if you don’t mind me saying so, I think you and your friends would be better off in the galley. You’re too much in the open up here.”

“He’s right,” Natasha said. “A sniper on the rooftop, if Gallardo is so inclined, can put an end to your pursuit of the bell.”

“Who’s Gallardo?” Leslie asked.

“The man who has chased us from Moscow.”

“How did—?”

Oistrakh motioned them along like children. “No more talking. You can talk down in the galley.”

Reluctantly, Lourds went.

Gallardo moved at almost a run with DiBenedetto at his side. The other men trailed only a few feet behind. Gallardo cursed the circumstances that had brought him to this. He was exposed. The police knew who he was.

Thankfully, over the years, Gallardo had done business with the black marketers that did business out of Odessa. There were places he could hide. He went to one of them now.

The bar was one of several that served the needs of the ships’ crews. Neon signs hung in the windows.

Gallardo climbed the short flight of steps and went through the door into the dark smoke-filled interior. Only a few customers lingered at the bar and in the booths. Televisions showing sports channels hung over the bars and in the corners.

Mikhail Richter stood at his customary spot by the bar. He was fat and shaved his head but wore a bushy beard. He had an evil-smelling cigar clamped between his teeth. An apron hung from his waist. Two beautiful women worked the bar under his watchful eye.

“Ah, Patrizio,” Mikhail greeted. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” Gallardo answered. “I don’t have time to talk. I need to use the back door.”

Mikhail nodded at one of the men sitting near the door. The man got up and walked outside.

“A moment,” Mikhail told Gallardo. “If no one comes this way, then I will let you go.”

If no one comes after me, I don’t need your way out. Gallardo blew out an angry breath. But he bellied up to the bar and accepted the glass of beer one of the women gave him at Mikhail’s instruction.

The man Mikhail had sent outside came back in. He shot Mikhail a look and shook his head.

“You are in luck, Patrizio. Come this way.” Mikhail waved them behind the bar.

Gallardo and his men followed the big man into the back storeroom, then down the stairs to the basement. Mikhail switched on the naked lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. Pale yellow light filled the room.

Across the room, Mikhail rolled a stack of beer kegs out of the way. He pushed a section of the wall, and a stone slab at his feet slid aside to reveal carved stone stairs that corkscrewed downward.

Much of Odessa’s foundations were limestone. As such, it was easily mined. Taking advantage of the local rock, many people quarried the stone for use in buildings and homes throughout the area. Later, when the need arose and smuggling became the highest-paying profession, tunnels were built to connect the mines and create catacombs to store and hide goods.

“Here.” Mikhail took a lantern from the storeroom.

Gallardo touched his lighter to the wick and pulled the hurricane glass back down. When the flame was properly adjusted and burned well, he stepped down into the bowels of the earth.

Lourds and his companions had evaded him for the moment, but Gallardo’s team still had their means of tracking them. However, it was going to be a long time before Gallardo did business within Russia.

Hopefully Lourds wouldn’t be staying in the area. That would be a problem.

Lourds sat in the transport boat setting out from Winding Star and looked out over the city. The stink of the semi-stagnant water took away some of the allure, but there was nothing grander than Venice in his mind. Late morning hung purple and gold in the east, but tourists already filled the streets and canals.

“You’re smiling,” Leslie told him. She sat beside him on the bench seat. Every now and again the chop of the waves rolled their bodies together in a manner that was altogether too pleasing and too tempting.

“Am I?” Lourds asked. He felt his face as if to find out for himself. But he was smiling, of course. “It must be the company.”

Leslie smiled back at him. “I’d be flattered if that were the case, but I’d be foolish to think so.”

“It’s this city,” Lourds answered honestly. “Some of the greatest minds in the world came here to talk. They wrote books, plays, and poetry that are still studied today. Royal families, merchant houses, and empires rose and fell here.” He stopped himself before he launched into a lecture.

“Have you ever been to a place that didn’t fill you with wonder?”

Lourds shook his head. “Never. At least, not places that have history. I’ve been to a few places that I knew little about, but as long as I had the language of the people who lived there, I found stories and dreams I could marvel over. Societies and cultures are unique and extraordinary, but they’re at their best when they’re juxtaposed. When they clash or compete.”

“Do you mean fight wars? That doesn’t sound good.”

“War isn’t good. But war is part of the process of world civilization. If we didn’t fight wars, people would seldom learn anything about other people. They wouldn’t exchange ideas, passion, or language. Everyone knows what an impact the Crusades had on the world at the time, in food, mathematics, and science. But few realize that the Chinese were mariners and explorers. They had huge sailing junks, some of them nearly seven and eight hundred feet long, and their sailors interacted with a number of cultures during their heyday.”

“But wouldn’t those juxtapositions break down languages instead? Adulterate them so they weren’t pure anymore?”

“Possibly, but the roots of the original language would be there, and the overlap of the languages allow a better study of both. Their similarities, their differences. It could actually sharpen a linguist’s appreciation of both.”

“I’ll take your word for that.” Leslie looked more somber. “On another note, I talked to my producer this morning. He’s bought us some time to pursue this story, but I’m starting to get some pressure to show them something.”

Lourds thought about that for a moment. “Have you told him about the cymbal?”

“You asked me not to.”

“Perhaps you could tell him that.”

“And that we’re on our way to the Max Planck Institute to find out about the slave trade?”

“Yes. But he has to remain quiet about that for now.”

“All right.” Leslie looked out at the city. “How long are we going to be here?”

“We’ll be headed to Leipzig immediately. Halle is less than an hour’s drive from Leipzig, but booking a room there could be more problematic. Also, Josef pointed out that in a town as small as Halle, we’d be easier to find. Josef has put everything together for us. There’s supposed to be a rental car waiting on the mainland.”

“Professor Lourds?”

Lourds studied the middle-aged woman sitting at a table at the outdoor café. A lime-colored gelato in the shape of a flower and garnished with a waffle biscuit sat before her.

“I recognized you from the picture Josef sent.” She opened the folder in front of her and displayed the snapshot Danilovic had taken at his home last night.

In the picture, Lourds held a brandy snifter and a cigar. He didn’t look like a fugitive either in the photograph or in person, but his insides had turned to ice water when she’d called his name.

“It’s quite a good likeness,” the woman said. “You’re a handsome man.”

“Thank you,” Lourds said, still off balance.

Leslie slid in smoothly at his side and took his arm.

The woman looked at Lourds, then at Leslie. She smiled again, but it wasn’t so friendly this time. “Well, then, Josef wanted me to give you this package.”

Lourds took the proffered manila envelope.

“You’ll find keys to the rental car and directions how to find it inside the envelope.” She stood and took her gelato with her. “I hope you have a safe and productive trip.”

“Thank you,” Lourds said.

“And if you ever get to Venice when you’re not babysitting, call me.” The woman gave Lourds a card. Swiveling gracefully, she turned and walked away in a manner that left both Lourds and Gary staring after her.

Lourds smelled the card. It was lilac scented.

Leslie plucked the card from Lourds’s hands. “Trust me. You won’t need that.” She deposited the card into the nearest waste receptacle and guided Lourds from the outdoor café and back into the street.

Lourds didn’t mind. He had a photographic memory for telephone numbers. Even international ones.

Although she hadn’t driven on the autobahns in Germany before, Natasha proved quite skilled. Lourds wasn’t too surprised, because he’d seen her drive in Moscow. Gary and Leslie sat in the back of the rental car and cursed and cried out respectively as Natasha wove in and out of the fast and frantic traffic.

The Radisson SAS Hotel Leipzig was located downtown on Augustusplatz. They left the rental in the parking garage and entered the main lobby.

“I’m going to secure our rooms,” Leslie said. “Why don’t you forage for food?”

They’d driven the last several hours and stopped only for gas. Lourds was ready for a real meal, but since it was so late — after 11 P.M. local time — he doubted they’d have much success finding a restaurant open to serve them. His fears were confirmed when the clerk started talking.

“I’m afraid the Restaurant Orangerie is closed,” the young desk clerk said. She smiled an apology. “But the Lobby Lounge and Foyer Bar is open. They have a limited menu.”

“Thank you,” Lourds told her. Things were looking up. At least they wouldn’t starve.

The young desk clerk smiled at him. “Just let me know if you need anything else, sir. Anything at all.” Her eyes gleamed with possibilities.

“Are you always this brill with the women, mate?” Gary asked quietly as they walked away from the front desk. “Because if you are, I just don’t get it.”

“No,” Lourds said, and let it go at that.

Later, after they’d consumed appetizers, entrées, and desserts, Lourds sat back on one of the big sofas and stared at the televisions. Only a few people were in the lounge.

The conversation was light and mostly tired, but it centered around the upcoming meeting with Professor Joachim Fleinhardt at the Max Planck Institute. Lourds had contacted the man en route and set up the meeting for the morning.

“Okay,” Leslie said, “I’ve had all the fun that I can enjoy for one day. I’m off to bed. Tomorrow seems to be something of a red-letter day for us.”

“Possibly,” Lourds said. “It’s research. You can never quite tell what you’re going to get out of research.”

Leslie patted him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you. Professor Hapaev believed she had an answer as to the origins of the cymbal and she placed her trust in you to find it. I think we’re in good hands.”

Lourds thanked her for the compliment, but he knew from his own work that universities and newspeople tended to be quite disappointed when someone didn’t deliver something astounding after there had been a big buildup.

“I’m to bed as well,” Gary said.

“You? Sleep?” Lourds asked. Of them all, Gary seemed to sleep the least.

“They have cable,” Gary replied with a grin. “That means either Adult Swim on Cartoon Network or porn. Either will be entertainment enough.” He left.

Lourds turned to Natasha. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Natasha asked. She sat across from him. Even though she appeared relaxed, Lourds was aware that she was constantly on point. She saw everyone and everything in the lobby area.

“Too tired for a nightcap? I’m buying.”

“Trying to be polite, Professor?”

Lourds shrugged. “The thought of you going up to your room and sitting there to stare at walls bothers me somewhat. You didn’t get to sleep in the car during the drive.”

“Sleeping isn’t a necessary thing when you’re being hunted. While we’re in motion, I feel we’re safest.”

The idea of being hunted was disconcerting to Lourds, and it must have shown on his face.

“You’ve got your eyes so firmly on the prize that you’re forgetting others are doing the same. Only we’re the prize. We’re a threat to whatever they’re doing.”

“And they can’t have that?”

Natasha shook her head. “Apparently not. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sent Gallardo after us.”

“But how did they find us in Odessa?”

A mirthless smile curved Natasha’s mouth. “That is the question, isn’t it? How would you think Gallardo found us?”

“If this were a spy movie, one of us would be carrying a tracking device. But we haven’t had that much contact with Gallardo — or his minions — for that to happen.”

“I agree.”

“His presence in Odessa wasn’t a coincidence.”

“If you thought so even for a moment, I’d consider you dangerously ignorant. For a university professor, your survival skills are impressive.”

“But not enough to keep me from getting killed.”

“Probably not.”

Lourds winced. “That’s brutally honest.”

“You live longer if you’re aware.”

“That leaves only one possibility, and I refuse to entertain it.”

“Then you’re more foolish than I’d hoped.” Disappointment showed on Natasha’s beautiful face.

“You’re insinuating that someone — either Leslie, Gary, or Josef — betrayed us.”

“Gallardo and his men nearly got us,” Natasha pointed out. “That’s more than someone telling him that we were in Illichivsk.”

Lourds silently conceded the point. “There has to be another answer.”

“There is. I could have turned us in.”

That surprised Lourds.

Natasha looked at him and shook her head. She looked both sad and amused. “That thought never entered your head?”

“No,” Lourds said truthfully.

“Why?”

“You’re Yuliya’s sister. You wouldn’t do that.”

“You are a man of the world, Professor Lourds. But do you know what my sister most enjoyed about you?”

Lourds shrugged.

“Your naiveté. She always maintained that you were one of the most innocent men she’d ever met.” Natasha stood. “It’s an early morning before us. I’d suggest you get some rest before then. Good night.”

“Good night.” Lourds watched her walk away. She had an admirable walk and a figure to flaunt it. He appreciated both in a manner that he considered was not overly naive.