The Atlantis Scrolls

Chapter 11

Bern was furious.

After his pursuit of the intruders, he failed to discover them among the travelers he and his men had held up just off the winding road from the Mengu-Timur monastery. One by one they had searched the people — monks, missionaries, nurses, and three tourists from New Zealand — but they found nothing in their possession that was of any significance to the brigade.

He could not understand what the two prowlers were looking for in the compound, which had never been breached before. For fear of his life, one of the missionaries did mention to Daniels that the convoy originally consisted of six vehicles, but at their second stop, they were one vehicle short. None of them thought anything of it, because they were told that one of the cars would veer off to serve the Yangste Khan hostel nearby. But after insisting on looking at the itinerary Bern obtained from the lead driver, there was no mention of six cars.

There was no use in tormenting innocent civilians for their ignorance, nothing more could come of it. He had to admit that the burglars had eluded them effectively and that all they could do was to return and survey the damages incurred by the break-in.

Alexandr could see the suspicion in his new commander’s eyes as they entered the stables, wearily dragging their feet as they led the horses in to be seen to by the staff. Not a word came from any of the four men, but they all knew what Bern was thinking. Daniels and Mackey exchanged glances, surmising that Alexandr’s involvement was mostly the common consensus.

“Alexandr, come with me,” Bern said evenly, and simply walked away.

“You’d better watch what you say, old boy,” Mackey suggested in his British twang. “The man is volatile.”

“I had nothing to do with this,” Alexandr replied, but the other two men only looked at each other and then looked pitifully at the Russian.

“Just don’t press him when you start making excuses. Groveling will just convince him that you are guilty,” Daniels advised him.

“Thank you. I would kill for a drink right now,” Alexandr shrugged.

“Don’t worry, you might get one as a last wish,” Daniels smiled, but glancing at his colleagues’ serious expressions he realized that his statement was in no way helping and he went about his business of fetching two blankets for his horse.

Through the narrow bunkers, lit by wall lights, Alexandr trailed his commander to the second floor. Bern skipped the stairs without paying attention to the Russian and when he reached the lobby of the second floor he asked one of his men for a cup of strong black coffee.

“Captain,” Alexandr said behind him, “I assure you my comrades had nothing to do with this.”

“I know, Arichenkov,” Bern sighed.

Alexandr was perplexed at Bern’s reaction, relieved as he was for the commander’s answer.

“Then why did you ask me to accompany you?” he asked.

“Soon, Arichenkov. Just let me have my coffee and a smoke first, so that I can deal with my assessment of the incident,” the commander replied. His voice was disturbingly calm as he lit a cigarette.

“Why don’t you go take a hot shower? We can reconvene here in, say, twenty minutes. In the meantime I have to know what was taken, if anything. I don’t think they would go through all this trouble to steal my wallet, you know,” he said, and exhaled a long tuft of blue white smoke in a straight line ahead of him.

“Yes, sir,” Alexandr said, and turned to head for his room.

Something did not feel right. He ascended the steel steps up to the long corridor where most of the men stayed. It was too quiet in the hallway and Alexandr hated the lonely sound of his boots on the cement floor, like a countdown to something awful that was coming. Far off he could hear male voices talking and something that sounded like an AM radio signal, or perhaps some form of white noise device. The scratchy sound reminded him of the excursion to Ice Station Wolfenstein, deep in the bowels of the station where soldiers were killing one another from cabin fever and confusion.

As he turned the corner he found his room door ajar. He stopped. Inside there was silence and nobody appeared to be in there, but his training had taught him not to take anything at face value. Slowly he pushed the door open all the way to make sure no-one was hiding behind it. Before him was a clear signal of how little the brigade trusted him. His entire room had been upturned and his bed linens ripped off to be searched. The whole place was in disarray.

Sure, Alexandr did not have much, but whatever he had in his room was thoroughly ransacked.

“Fucking dogs,” he whispered, his pale blue eyes searching from wall to wall for any suspicious evidence that could help him ascertain what they thought they would find. Before he exited toward the communal showers he shot a glance at the men in the far room where the white noise was now doused somewhat. They sat there, four in number, just staring at him. Tempted to curse them, he elected to play it down and simply ignored them as he walked in the opposite direction for the bathrooms.

While the tepid weak stream of water immersed him he prayed that no harm had come to Katya and Sergei while he was gone. If this was the level of trust the brigade had in him it was safe to assume that their farm might also have played host to a bit of pillaging in pursuit of the truth. Like a captive animal, kept at bay of retaliating, the brooding Russian plotted his next move. It would be foolish to confront Bern or Baudaux or any of the brutes here about their suspicions. Such a move would exacerbate things rapidly for him and both his friends. And should he escape and try to get Sergei and his wife away from here, it would only prove their reservations about his involvement.

When he was dry and dressed he returned to Bern’s office, where he found the large commander standing at the window, staring out over the horizon as he always did when he mulled things around.

“Captain?” Alexandr said from his door.

“Come in. Come in,” Bern said. “I trust you understand why we had to search your quarters, Alexandr. It was imperative we know your position on this matter as you came to us under very suspicious circumstances with a very powerful claim.”

“I understand,” the Russian agreed. He was dying for a few shots of vodka and the bottle of homebrew Bern kept on his table was doing him no favors.

“Have a drink,” Bern invited, his hand gesturing to the bottle he saw the Russian eyeing.

“Thank you,” Alexandr smiled and poured himself a glass. As he lifted the fire water to his lips he wondered if it was laced with poison, but he was not of the wary variety. Alexandr Arichenkov, the crazy Russian, would rather die an excruciating death at the taste of a good vodka than to pass up the chance in lieu of abstinence. Fortunately for him the drink was only poisonous in the way its makers intended and he could not help but groan happily at the burning chest he suffered as he swallowed it all down.

“May I ask, captain,” he said after he caught his breath, “what was damaged by the break-in?”

“Nothing,” was all Bern said. He waited a moment for dramatic pause, and then revealed the truth. “Nothing was damaged, but something was stolen from us. Something that is priceless and extremely hazardous to the world. What bothers me most is that only the Order of the Black Sun knew that we were in possession of it.”

“What is it, may I ask?” Alexandr asked.

Bern turned to him with a penetrating stare. It was a look, not of rage or frustration for his ignorance, but a look of unadulterated concern and resolute dread.

“A weapon. They stole a weapon that could devastate and destroy, governed by laws we have not even conquered yet,” he announced, reaching for the vodka and pouring a glass for each of them. “The intruders relieved us of it. They stole the Longinus.”