He made for the street, where Nina said she would pick him up in a taxi, but there was no-one there. It was an awful night. Sam stood outside the perimeters of the Sophien-und Hufeland Klinikum Weimar and waited. There was not much else he could do. Not having a cell phone posed a problem that grew with every day that passed, it seemed. There was no way to find out what was holding Nina up, and no way to call for help in case the mercenaries had come around the corner. The wind licked at his hair, his snapped collar bone was killing him and he opted out of painkillers since they primarily made him drowsy and he needed to be at the top of his game.

  Sam felt so lost.

  In the miserable night and its mute malevolence he stood waiting, cold and sore, tired and very concerned for his safety. And of course, he wondered if they had discovered that he was missing yet. An ill feeling crawled over Sam’s skull and he knew now what people spoke of when they referred to that sixth sense that predicted trouble. He had it in spades.

  Nina, where are you? Freezing my nuts off out here, for fuck’s sake!, he thought, slowly growing furious at her for deserting him. This was not like Nina. The woman was positively pedantic about everything, the type who always showed up ten minutes early. They had agreed to meet here at this very hour and now he was hung out to dry with nothing but the clothes on his back.

  A mild commotion ensued at the side entrance of the hospital, doors opened and four men exiting briskly. They looked around across the empty parking lot, searching for him. Sam hunkered down, his heart pounding wildly. He was not lying to himself. He was terrified and he knew that there was nowhere for him to go undetected. And staying put would only make him easier to find. They spread out.

  Minus their canine accomplices this time, thank god! Sam noticed. No matter which way he’d go, they were close, leaving him with no margin to slip through without being seen.

  Sam stayed low, listening to their conversation in German, some of which was understandable. He was not completely unfamiliar with the language, but he was nowhere as competent as Nina. Fortunately for him he recognized the helpful parts where the one told the other that they would wait him out and shoot him the moment he rose to his feet. Sam was aware that he would have to do just that sooner or later. He could not run or move without standing up and here, outside the parking lot, it would reveal him completely to them. For now, he remained still, dead still, as if he had become part of the scenery. Under the sweater his shoulder burned under the strain of the broken bone that ached and pulsed more with every passing minute without his pain meds.

  Sam feared he was in deep trouble as they slowly shifted bit by bit, combing the surroundings incessantly for any movement. Wounded targets were as good as strong ones to them. They did not care, as long as it ended up dead before they went home. Suddenly the noise of combat boots on asphalt crunched behind Sam and before he had time to turn he felt the excruciatingly painful impact of a rifle butt between his shoulder blades.

  He collapsed onto the side of his face on the ground, struggling to recover his breath through unwilling lungs. Sam coughed profusely, his fear now topped by the sheer torment of the blow and the subsequent trauma to his already wounded shoulder. He pinched his eyes hard, grinding his teeth as his breath refused him. Face down he lay panting, the smell of tar, rubber and dog piss reached his nostrils.

  Sam waited for the next strike, but instead he only heard the men discussing his fate in hushed tones of everything from hate to mild sympathy, but he could hardly stay conscious, let alone distinguish between the words they all spoke at once. Maybe it was just his fading mind, or the delusion induced by the unbearable pain he was forced to endure. Sam thought about how hunting was not restricted to a specific terrain. Here he was in the middle of a complex of modern buildings with civilized people inside, in a First World country of elevated technology and prosperous economy, and he was being cornered in plain sight by a group of killers.

  “Where is the camera?”, one finally asked. Sam could not believe it. He figured that they were just here to deliver the hit they were hired for. A boot lodged itself deep in Sam’s gut. Sam spat up the warm blood that flooded his mouth and cried out in agony. Someone among them chuckled about it, but he could hardly move, let alone even the score with a sadistic asshole with a gun.

  “Answer, bitte,” the same interrogator said.

  “Gone,” Sam panted. “I… I lost it in the fields-s when…I…you shot me,” he lied.

  He could feel one of them pull him back by his sweater, lifting him into a seated position so that they could see his face. Sam’s cheek was skinned by the grit of the road and blood was dripping from his mouth, just the way they liked their prey.

  “You lie!” the man shouted and dealt Sam a mighty clout with a leather gloved hand. It felt like his neck broke under the devastating wallop, sending a jolt of pain from the back of head down his back into his lower spine.

  From afar he could hear the roar of an engine. It grew louder in his disorientated ears, but by now Sam was not quite sure what was real anymore. He felt faint, slumping to the side as the men turned to see where the bright headlights were coming from. High beams blinded them where they stood in the road and they pulled their guns into aim, but they were too late. The vehicle struck two of them, hurling their bodies into the third bystander, throwing all three through the air onto the paving of the sidewalk.

  The fourth mercenary fired shots and took off towards the hedges that flanked the road, disappearing in the darkness. The car stopped and the door opened. From the doorframe Sam could see someone emerging. Next to Sam, in his line of sight, he could see the other three hunters. They lay spread out, motionless; their bodies contorted with broken bones and dislocated limbs. In the faint light he saw blood splatter all over the sidewalk concrete.

  Barely able to open his eyes, Sam looked up at the driver of the old BMW that just ploughed through his attackers.

  “Ni-n-na,” he stammered through the blood on his lips, “you’re late.”

  15

  Fine Print

  Professor Kulich was dressed in her favorite cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Her hiking boots were of the light weighted variety, but still very tough. She liked the thick soles that sank slightly under her weight when she hiked and climbed over rocky terrain, making the shoes extremely comfortable. After a week back in the treacherous landscapes of the Amazon basin she fully understood the importance of good footwear. The past week had taken everything from her physically.

  Petra had no less than three close calls where her fleeing abilities had saved her life. In fact, she had a bandaged left upper arm where an Anaconda had latched onto her, but thanks to the swift reaction of four of her guides, they prevented the reptile from coiling around her. As the nail-like teeth of the snake had dug deep into her muscle, the men had inadvertently torn a gaping wound when they had freed her from the animal.

  Other than the giant snake and its appetites leaning towards the Slavic variety, she had to run from a band of mercenaries hired to dispose of two chiefs she dealt with before, friends to her. But they managed to escape the onslaught with minor injuries. Deep in the marshes she had another unsavory experience with leeches that she still had nightmares from. It was certainly good to be back on her home soil safely in the cold northern Bohemian kingdom, the glorious Czech Republic and its ancient cities, rich history and damn good beer.

  Her hair was pinned back to keep it out of her face while she worked, the rest taken back in a short ash blond ponytail. She had arrived the day before at Chateau Zbiroh, her ancestral home where she was still welcome after having been away since she last saw it in 1982 with her parents. Being a descendant of the Colloredo-Mannsfeld family who owned the castle at the time of the Second World War, she had special privileges to the place. And now that the ongoing excavations had delivered some peculiar artifacts and documents pertaining directly to her bloodline, Petra was summoned not only as a daughter of Zbiroh, but as an anthropologist. Some interesting pieces have been found, but indeed, the information on the old documents found at the bottom of the well of Chateau Zbiroh was far more intriguing.

  On the desk in front of her she had about 15 pages spread out, almost destroyed by the moist soil it had been buried under for so long. The ink on the pages was almost corroded away, some pages torn from the frailness of wetting and in some places the words were obscured by the failing ink. Occasionally sipping some coffee, Petra ran her hands very gently across the yellow rusted paper, just to touch history.

  In some ways it felt as if she could communicate with a distant time when she grazed antique objects. Feelings, emotions, sometimes even events would seep through her consciousness when she touched something in a museum or antique store. From what she had heard there were quite a number of people with similar abilities. I was not as far-fetched as she thought it was.

  “Igor!” she called one of her assistants. “Have we heard anything from Dr. Gould yet?”

  “I’ll check, Professor,” he replied and got on the phone to Prof. Kulich’s main office in Prague.

  “God, I hope she doesn’t bail out on me,” she sighed. One document in particular got her attention. It showed a rough drawing of a deck of cards and a key, but she was unsure of the odd match represented actual objects or if it was some kind of emblem or coat of arms. In German the words next to it said simply, Fortune to the Wielder, by the Hand of the Dealer

  The words were scribbled as if written in a hurry or a fit, or perhaps even demonic possession. The latter thought made her shudder. Why would she think such a thing? Why would it even cross her mind? But she could not help it. The feeling she got when looking at the lettering was unmistakably ancient and dark. Petra’s light grey eyes scanned the strokes of the pen master and she slowly shook her head while she could feel her heart rate rising.

  “Your tea is cold, madam,” the housekeeper said behind her and she almost jumped out of her skin. Holding her chest, she turned in her chair to stare at the plump woman who took a step back.

  “I am so sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to startle you!” she gasped, but Petra Kulich started laughing.

  “My goodness, I was just looking at this odd sentence in deep thought and here you come out of the blue…” she stopped talking and just chuckled with the now reluctantly smiling housekeeper who was relieved that this aristocratic woman was not like the others she had served.

  “Professor Kulich, Dr. Gould says she should be arriving soon,” her assistant reported from the doorway.

  “Oh good! Good, I have something urgent I want her to have a look at after she gets settled in,” Petra replied, still smiling with her hand on the housekeeper’s arm. “Could you please heat this up for me?” she asked the woman.

  “I’ll just make you a fresh cup, madam,” the housekeeper offered. “After all, after the scare I gave you the least I can do is make you a proper cup of tea…maybe with more sugar?”

  The two women laughed again.

  “Umm, Professor? Dr. Gould wanted to know if it was alright with you if she brought her own assistant with her,” the man in the doorway asked.

  Without a thought Petra answered, “Of course! By all means, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

  Not an hour later, a car came towards the chateau in the distance. Professor Kulich and her assistant stood watching it appear periodically between the encroaching green trees that hid the tar road in patches. The landscape was breathtaking from the balcony where they stood in awe, looking on the panoramic splendor of the surrounding Brdy Forest. The white car bobbed over the slants and dips of the road leading up to the stunning remnant of old architecture which lay snugly in the emerald embrace of the forest like a well set gem on a regal ring. The sky was majestic and clear overhead, even just temporarily for the change that would usually cool it with clouds.

  Through the arch of the external wall the car entered until it came to a standstill in front of the main entrance. Professor Kulich welcomed Nina and Sam at the door.

  “Dr. Gould,” she smiled, “I have been waiting eagerly for your arrival.”

  “Hello, Professor Kulich…”

  “Petra.”

  “Petra,” Nina chuckled and nodded. “This is my assistant, Sam Cleave.”

  Petra could not take her eyes off the attractive man before her, although he looked quite banged up. His cheek was scraped, his top lip split slightly on the left side and his arm in a sling. But his perfect features only improved the allure of his wild long hair and his dark eyes. The way in which he looked at her bewitched her as she shook his hand. Sam smiled, his dimples falling into his stubble as he did.

  Petra found herself momentarily disarmed for words, apart from the formality of introductions. Now she stared shamelessly at Sam and he tried his best to ignore it. Nina was too excited about the project commencing to notice the obvious attraction to her friend.

  “Let me get you guys sorted out,” Petra said in her low husky accent. “Igor! Please see to it that Sam and Nina get to their rooms and then arrange for lunch. Thank you, dear.” The young man gave Nina a long look which made her flush ever so slightly at his subliminal advance.

  “Please, follow me,” he said politely in perfect English, and Sam nudged Nina in the ribs at the young man’s interest in her. He mocked her with an air kiss and a wink…and suffered the consequence. A hefty elbow in the stomach put him in his place and Nina walked on ahead to join Igor while she could not help but smile at Sam’s boyish teasing.

  Nina and Sam were equally astonished by the immaculate interior of the castle. To know that these walls were from the 12th century, what they have seen and endured within them, was amazing in itself.

  “Oh come on, you hail from Scotland. How can you be so taken by a 900 year old building?” Igor jested.

  “Hey, beauty is beauty, no matter the amount of it you see,” Nina said as she stared at the arched ceilings of the hallways and the champagne drapes that fell in perfect symmetry from the tall windows to the pristine floors.

  “You can say that again,” Igor mumbled, making it deliberately obvious that the remark was directed at Nina. Sam raised an eyebrow and scoffed so that Igor would hear it, but the young man ignored the jealous stranger and paid attention to the stunning historian with the cool tattoo he could see partly revealed from under her pulled up sleeve.

  “What is that?” he asked. “I mean, I know it’s a tattoo, but what is it of?”

  Nina smiled, “Oh, it is a rune. It represents the Norse god of Justice, War, you know, victory in battle and all that. I got it last year.”

  “It is very simple. That suggests to me that it is personal, not ornate. Am I right?” he asked with a bit too much zeal, provoking a grin from silent Sam in their trail.

  “Yes,” Nina replied, her voice soft and careful. She recalled how and why she got it and a nostalgic sadness gripped her. “I lost a dear friend and she had one like this, so you can consider this…” she paused, her eyes fixed to the Tiwaz rune that represented the Norse god, Týr, “…an ode.”

  Sam cleared his throat to snap her out of it and she quickly looked back at him. He just shook his head for her to know he did not want her to venture into sorrow again. Nina gave him a quick smile and asked Igor to tell her more about the project.

  Their rooms exceeded every expectation. Even in the lavish company of people like Dave Purdue, who had dragged Nina and Sam into his posh lifestyle many a time, they had not seen this measure of excellence before. Antiquity blended perfectly with stately grace and modern amenities, along with exquisite art and armory here and there to remind visitors that they were basking in genuine Bohemian culture from an era of kings and queens.

  After lunch in one of the castle’s dining halls where they were joined by tourists and travelers from all over the world staying at the chateau, the group consisting of Petra, Nina, Sam and Igor made their way to the archival room where the documents were locked in.

  “I want you to have a look at something I find positively enthralling,” Petra told Nina in her Czech accent.

  “Sounds riveting. Lead the way,” Nina replied with a wide-eyed enthusiasm Petra had not seen in any professional in years.

  The two women chatted heartily about the structure and its known history while the two men followed. It was no secret that Sam and Igor’s new relationship was a bit tense, but both knew that they were going to work together indefinitely so it would be best not openly joust over Nina’s affections. Sam did not like it. He did not know what the boy’s deal was. Nina was clearly far too mature and experienced for a ponce like Igor. How did he ever see himself with a woman like her? It was absurd. He was certain Nina was just entertaining the young idiot’s intentions for her own amusement, but then again, she did shock him by dating the un-fuckable Dave Purdue after declaring her constant vexation with his arrogance every chance she got. Perhaps she was fickle with partners, he did not know, but he hoped Purdue was the only slip she had and that it only happened because of his obscene amounts of money.

  “So, if I may ask, what happened to you? Your face and your arm,” Igor asked Sam suddenly as they ascended the ancient spiral staircase up the narrow tower-like section of the second floor. Sam wanted to be defensive. Then he considered making up an Indiana Jones tale to scare the pup off, but he knew Nina would not tolerate him embellishing his exploits. She would no doubt blatantly discount it in front of everyone with her innate sense of honor and truth.

 

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