“Let’s see what the bastard left us this time.” Roman’s frigid tone could rival a blizzard.
He reaches for the package, taking the ribbon in one hand and the knot in the other before pulling. Silk, dark as old blood, slides loose and puddles on the wood. With one clean, violent rip, he claws the paper open.
The sound is too heavy.
“Wait.” Vanya darts forward and catches Roman’s hands to halt the movement. “There’s something under the wrapping. Look.”
I lean closer.
Vanya’s right.
There’s a second thicker piece of paper under the packaging. This one’s glossy and covered in greens, browns, and grays.
“What is it?” Kolya comes up behind Vanya to peer over his shoulder.
I do the same. “It’s a satellite photo.” I hunch down, attempting to get a better view. “Or an aerial shot. But of where?”
Carefully, Roman peels back more of the paper. He spreads the image out on the table, smoothing creases and turning it until he can make some sense of what he’s seeing
In stark resolution, we find a sprawling gothic structure, with lawns clipped close, courtyards, and winding paths to the water. Every detail is visible from above.
Kolya breathes. “A map.”
Alexei’s finger traces the coastline at the edge. “Isla de Huesos.”
I taste bile. “That fucking island.”
Chaos Island.
Vanya’s fitting name.
Kolya shakes his head, his skin pale. “What the hell? Another damn clue we have to figure out?”
“And we haven’t even seen what’s inside yet.” Roman picks up the box and impatiently lifts the lid.
Inside, rather than a thumb drive or a mini hard drive or a compilation of decades of research, he finds a single sheet of paper with two lines, the indent indicative of typewriter keystrokes.
Roman holds the paper up to the light. “St. Augustine Rare Books and Manuscripts Library. ‘The greedy tsar found only ice in his hands.’”
Silence fills the room as we all ponder those words.
Ice in his hands? Who was the greedy tsar? Weren’t they all? Is this a real tsar or another name for a Pakhan?
For a moment, Roman doesn’t move. Then his face hardens.
I know this mask. It’s the calm one before the killing starts.
He’s being played. Humiliated. Challenged.
Roman addresses Mikhail. “Where’s Sergei?”
Sergei, the man who shaped all the others. He’s the standard, Roman’s most trusted man regarding secrets and security.
Calculation flashes through Mikhail’s eyes. “On business.” That’s all he has to say about it, and those two words could mean any number of things. Considering how little he offers, Sergei’s likely off on a job so hush-hush that the rest of us shouldn’t even know he’s gone.
Tension passes between the brothers.
“Find him. Bring him home.” Roman sweeps the room with authority, his gaze raking over us. “Someone’s playing me. Threatening me. No one does that.”
