Читать книгу The Isle of Olympia - Andreas Karpasitis - Страница 12

The old antique Mercedes was parked in the corner of an empty parking lot next to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy somewhere in south Manhattan. The rain was pouring down as the neon lights were reflecting on the water-drenched streets and puddle-filled potholes.

A towering man, covering his head with his jacket and holding a plastic bag, ran towards the driver seat of the car. He sat down and quickly pulled out bandages, a high proof alcohol disinfectant, and some Advil.

“I got whatever I could – they need a prescription,” the man pointed out with a heavy Russian accent as he handed the items to the passenger.

The passenger’s left sleeve was drenched in blood, but his chiseled face didn’t show any pain. He quickly opened the Advil pack and took four tablets completely dry. Without hesitation, using both his hand and teeth, he ripped the bloody sleeve revealing a deep scar on his left shoulder.

“You need help, David?” the driver asked, trying to extend his arms for assistance.

“No, just call him, we need to let him know, and I told you a million times, call me Dave. I hate David,” Dave instructed with frustration as he continued cleaning out his deep flesh wound. He couldn’t believe that he got stabbed. It wasn’t that bad, it was just a graze, but he couldn’t believe his luck. It had caught him completely off guard.

In clumsy movements, using one hand, he grabbed the bottle of almost pure alcohol, opened it, and paused. He took a deep breath as he doused his open wound with the contents of the container. He groaned in pain for a few seconds as he clenched his fist. Patiently, he then started wrapping a temporary and very rough bandage.

“How the hell did this happen?” he exclaimed in an American accent.

The driver picked up a satellite phone and dialed a number. As he waited for the other end to pick up, he passed a small silver metal flask to Dave, who, without hesitation, grabbed it and took a couple of quick sips. His face turned slightly red as he made a sound of enjoyment.

“Yes? Boss?” The line had connected, but no one was speaking on the other end. “Boss? Are you there?” the driver insisted.

“I’ve just learned that there were gunshots and a dead body in a busy hotel, in the middle of Manhattan,” a loud, slightly distorted, deep voice sounded from the other end. “How can you mess everything like this?”

The driver quickly turned the phone to speaker mode and placed it on the dashboard. “Boss, this English guy, he resisted, he fought back. We didn’t have a—”

“Of course he is going to fight back, you idiot. I said ‘No-Dead-Bodies’” the voice on the other end bellowed. “Did you find what I was asking for, Sergey?”

Sergey pulled a thick folder from the back seat, splatters of blood all over its cover. He placed it on his lap and started flipping through the pages. “We have some photos from an accident—there are also some photocopied reports from MI6, CIA, and the FBI. We also found some other photos and—”

“So, you didn’t find what I was asking for?” the man’s voice interrupted once again. The fact that they did not do what they were asked was evident in the frustrated voice coming from the other end of the line. “I specifically asked to find a missing papyrus piece, any map, or diagrams for a hidden crypt; this was your primary objective.”

“Sir,” Dave intervened while still trying to finish wrapping the bandages around his arm, “there was nothing like that in the folder, absolutely nothing.”

The man on the other end of the line took a deep breath, clearly disappointed, as the two men in the car exchanged looks with each other in uncomfortable silence.

“But,” Dave continued, “we found a letter in the folder that may be of interest to you.” Dave leaned in with difficulty towards Sergey and flipped through a few papers, and pulled said paper out.

“It’s a letter from a bank, informing James Collin the fees of the safety deposit box held at the Paradeplatz branch amounting to three hundred Swiss Francs for the current year—”

“Do you have the key?” the distorted, frustrated voice asked.

“No, sir, we didn’t find a key… we weren’t looking for a key. You didn’t ask for one.”

“Do not patronize me. If you couldn’t find the letters I was asking for, then anything else that could lead to this goddamn map would have been helpful.” The voice inhaled deeply. “I want you to get the next flight to Switzerland; find which city this Paradeplatz branch is in and rush there.”

Dave signaled with his hands for Sergey to start driving towards the airport.

“Yes, sir, but how are we supposed to get in the bank and open a safety box that does not belong to us?”

“I don’t care, find a way. Contact me as soon as you are there.” The line disconnected abruptly. The tone echoed in the car, drowning out the sound of the rain bouncing off the car’s windshield.

Sergey was already on the busy highway, the asphalt covered in layers of water, following the signs towards JFK airport.

“We’ve been following this guy’s orders for almost two years now, and we don’t even know his name,” said Dave, while finishing up his bandage.

“He pays well. We fight for same ideas. Why you care?” the Russian man replied.

Dave could remember when they were both recruited. Both of them with military history, but no one knew each other before that cold white winter day. He got a call from a man he never heard of before, but that man knew everything about him: that he was in a tight financial spot and was dropped from the Navy’s program for his radical ideas and beliefs. He was considered a high-risk individual. It didn’t take long for him to be convinced to meet up with a complete stranger who was offering a high payout to do some dirty work for him. He didn’t have any limits, ethics, or whatnot.

One night after, he was walking in the dead quiet, towards pier fifteen, their meeting point. It was then that he saw for the first time the figure of a tall, brawny, and barrel-chested man. In the beginning, he felt intimidated, but as he got closer, he hid his fear and acted as if everything was normal. It turned out that the guy was there for the same reason. Sergey said he had gotten a call from a mysterious man offering him a lucrative fee for his services, and he was looking forward to getting busy again.

It was then that a black limo showed up. It stopped next to the two strangers, and the back window rolled down a few inches. The man never got out of the car. The overlap of the low lid docks and the darkness overtook the back seat, covering his face. Hidden, he gave them directions for their first mission, no questions asked, as he handed them envelopes packed with hundred-dollar bills.

“There’s more from where that came from.” He made sure to make it clear to them that their compensations were going to be generous, as long as they were reliable, efficient, and loyal.

Two years later, Dave was bleeding from a gun wound in a car driven by what used to be an intimidating Russian. Dave knew that, and even though he wasn’t the one that pulled the trigger back at the hotel, the dead body that they left behind was probably going to be pinned on him. Best case scenario, an accessory, but Dave was used to this. He just preferred to actually carry out the crime that he was going to be sentenced for. At that point, he wasn’t even sure what he had gotten himself involved with. The guy they were chasing seemed experienced with training. In his despair, Dave kind of looked forward to seeing where the night would finally take them.