The Paradise Prophecy (23 page)

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Authors: Robert Browne

BOOK: The Paradise Prophecy
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But nothing Dimitri had seen or heard had ever connected Radek with Vogler and L4, and his presence here seemed odd, to say the least. Dimitri wondered if he should be asking for more money.
Radek said nothing to him. Merely nodded.
Dimitri returned the nod and Vogler said, “Now that we all know one another, shall we take a look at that sample?”
Kovalenko stared at the two men, wondering again if he’d made a mistake in coming here.
But then it didn’t much matter at this point, did it?
Unzipping a pocket of his backpack, he reached inside and handed a small metal cylinder across to Vogler, who then gestured to the blond mercenary and passed it off to him.
They all sat in silence as the mercenary went to a corner of the room and fiddled with the cylinder. He came back a few minutes later and nodded to Vogler.
Vogler looked across at Dimitri, and it could have been a trick of the light, but Dimitri was again struck by the notion that there was something not quite human about the man. Something in his eyes.
“I have to say I’m impressed, Mr. Kovalenko. How much of the merchandise did you bring with you tonight?”
“Fifty pounds. Just as promised.”
Vogler’s eyebrows raised. “A man of your word. Even more impressive.”
He gestured to Radek and the businessman bent down, hefting a small suitcase onto the desk. Laying it flat, he spun it in Dimitri’s direction and opened it, showing him the two million euros in various denominations stacked neatly inside.
Dimitri felt something shake loose in his brain, as if a flood of opiates had suddenly been released and were slowly spreading throughout his body.
What an extraordinary sight.
And just as he was thinking what he and Yalena could to with so much money, Radek closed the suitcase, hiding the bills from view.
“I assume you have something for us?” Vogler said.
Dimitri nodded, then reached into his pocket and brought out his room key. “Hotel Hemel,” he said, then tossed it to Vogler.
Vogler, in turn, handed it to the blond mercenary and the large man exited the room.
The hotel was less than a five-minute walk from the Rosse Buurt, and they didn’t have to wait long before the phone on Vogler’s desk rang.
Vogler picked it up, said something in German, then listened. A moment later, he hung up and smiled at Kovalenko.
“I continue to be impressed, Dimitri. I can’t imagine a more promising start to our new relationship.”
“Start? I only agreed to the one transaction.”
Vogler gestured to the suitcase atop his desk. “I think once you’ve seen what’s inside, you’ll reconsider.”
Dimitri frowned. “I’ve already seen what’s inside.”
“I don’t think so,” Vogler said. “Look again.”
Kovalenko hesitated. What kind of nonsense was this? Leaning forward, he grabbed hold of the suitcase lid and lifted it. And to his astonishment there was nothing inside but a small framed photograph.
How could this be?
Were his eyes playing tricks on him?
It was then that he realized the photograph was one that normally occupied a spot on his night table, beside his bed: Yalena, Olek, and his sixteen-year-old daughter, Kateryna, smiling happily for the camera.
Looking up sharply, Dimitri found both Vogler and Radek staring at him now, and their gazes were not close to being friendly.
“You have a beautiful family, Mr. Kovalenko. And I know many people who would pay dearly for such beauty. Your wife looks as if she might be a bit conservative in the bedroom, but I’m certain she could be properly trained.”
Anger shooting through him, Dimitri jumped to his feet. But the moment he did, Radek’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back into the chair. “Sit down, Dimitri.”
How the man had managed to get behind him was a mystery, but there was power in those hands, and Dimitri did not doubt for a moment that Radek could snap his collarbone with very little effort.
“We have friends all over the world,” Vogler said. “Men who will put the contraband you provide to very good use. All we ask is that you continue to work with us, and you’ll soon have riches beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.”
Dimitri was trembling all over. He knew what these men were capable of and he was certain they would follow through on their threat. He looked at the photograph and felt tears threatening to flood his eyes.
“Well?” Vogler asked. “Can we count on you to cooperate?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, of course.”
Vogler smiled again. “Excellent. I think it only fitting that we seal our agreement with a kiss.”
And the moment Vogler said this, Dimitri realized that the hands on his shoulders were no longer Radek’s. Radek, to his surprise, was again standing behind the desk next to Vogler.
The hands that remained moved up to Dimitri’s chin and tilted his head back, then the tall, bored brunette in the pink panties leaned down and rolled her tongue into his mouth, her breath smelling faintly of tobacco.
“This is Klara,” Vogler told him. “She has agreed to entertain you tonight.”
Dimitri didn’t know how or when she had entered the room, but he felt powerless, unable to resist her.
And as she took hold of his hand and led him to the door, he went along willingly, all thoughts of Yalena and his promises to her vacating his mind.
“We look forward to working with you,” Vogler said.
But Dimitri barely heard him.
 
 
W
hen Kovalenko and the girl were gone, the one who called himself Radek shook a Black Devil cigarette from the pack atop the desk and lit it, exhaling a plume of smoke.
“Nasty little thing,” he murmured.
The one who called himself Vogler leaned back in his chair. “The Russian or the cigarette?”
Radek smiled and shook his head.
“Our secret interloper,” he said, then turned his attention to a darkened corner of the room. “I know you’re there. You may as well show yourself.”
The darkness shifted, and as expected, the intruder emerged from the shadows looking radiant as always, her nearly translucent skin glowing in the lamplight. She looked even more beautiful than she had in Istanbul the other night. Had Radek not known what lay beneath the surface, he may have found her attractive.
She mirrored his smile. “Gentlemen. I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re progressing.”
“Perfectly fine without you,” he told her. “As always.”
“What’s wrong, my darling? Are you upset with me? You two left that tea shop in such a hurry, I had to wonder if I somehow hurt your feelings.”
Vogler scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. We weren’t interested in watching you seduce your little plaything.”
She shook her head in amusement and sank into the chair in front of his desk.
“But isn’t that what it’s all about?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you’ve done with this Russian and so many others?” She leaned forward and shook out a Black Devil for herself. “Taking a new skin and dressing up like a wannabe soldier doesn’t change that fact. It all comes down to getting these insects to do exactly what we want them to do.”
“A means to an end,” Vogler said with a wave of the hand. “I’m afraid neither of us takes the pleasure from it that you seem to.”
She lit the cigarette. “It’s true. I do take pleasure in it. Great pleasure. Turning them is half the fun. Then all we have to do is crank out a tune and watch the little monkeys dance.”
“But the dance itself is all that matters,” Radek told her. “Getting them to do what we need them to do. And our methods should always be simple and direct. There’s no point in calling attention to ourselves. Something you obviously haven’t yet learned.”
“Meaning what?”
“The girl in Brazil. You put on quite a show there.”
She shrugged. “I wanted information; she gave it to me.”
“And you went about it in the most spectacular way imaginable, when what you should have done was approach her through the boyfriend. Worked through him to get that information.”
“You two act as if we have all the time in the world,” she said. “The fourth moon is only days away and there won’t be another lunar tetrad for decades. I did what had to be done.”
“And what has it gotten you? While we’re busy making real progress, you’re wasting your time chasing a myth.”
She sighed. “Must we have this argument again?”
“If I think it’s one worth having, yes.”
“This is my party, remember? You both agreed to let me run with it.”
“Not if it means seeing us fail,” Radek told her. “You know me better than that.”
“Indeed I do, Radek.” She rose from her chair and moved around the desk toward him, stopping only inches away. “And you’re starting to sound as if you consider me some kind of threat. Let’s get it out in the open. I’m done sneaking around, pretending we’re something we aren’t.” She took a drag off the cigarette, blew smoke in his face. “Am I a threat to you, my darling Mamman? Are you scared of little old Belial?”
Vogler spoke sharply, “Not here, not now. We can’t know who’s listening.”
Belial turned to him, “And what of it,
Moloch
? Are you afraid the vermin will hear your real name? Do you think they look into your beady little eyes and don’t realize what you truly are—even if in their coward hearts they can’t admit the truth to themselves? Don’t make me call our brother out west to back me up. You know how he feels.”
Vogler didn’t flinch. “Don’t think for a moment you can intimidate me, Belial. And Beel doesn’t scare me, either. Not anymore. Not since he became distracted trying to reach these creatures by manipulating their so-called
culture
. When all is said and done, we’ll have our chance to settle our differences, and I don’t think you’ll be too happy with—”
A sharp knock cut him off.
“
Komm rein
,” he barked.
The door flew open and Vogler’s assistant—Heinrich—stepped inside, hefting the black nylon suitcase he had retrieved from Dimitri Kovalenko’s hotel room. Setting it next to the one on the desk, he unzipped it and threw it open.
They all stared at its contents: five lead cylinders containing fifty pounds of highly enriched U-235 weapons-grade uranium.
The one who called himself Radek eyed it appreciatively. “You see, my dear,
this
is how it’s done. This is the kind of dance that can be useful to us. No myths, no fantasies. Just good old-fashioned human ingenuity—with
us
pulling the strings.”
He looked at Belial, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.
“Welcome to the end of the world.”
22
 
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
 
H
e spent his days watching the girl. Jenna.
He’d found a spot across from the shelter, a stretch of curb between two parked cars that he’d staked a claim on. To anyone observing, he was just another homeless waste-of-space waiting for the shelter to serve its evening meal.
In a way, that was true. He
was
homeless. He’d been thrown out of the only home he’d ever known a long, long time ago and had found himself feeling unsettled and lost, searching for a reason for his father’s betrayal.
But his father had never been big on explanations.
Only consequences.
The shelter was a small, squat building in the center of the block that looked as if it had once been a store of some kind. Record shop. Used books. Auto parts. Pizza stand. Pawn shop.
Maybe all of the above.
It didn’t matter. It was now doing double duty as a bunkhouse and a soup kitchen, with enough room for about ten beds—cots and blankets, really—that were folded up each afternoon to make space for a dozen or more tables and chairs.
He watched Jenna through the front window. Saw her with the woman from the coffee shop, who had apparently asked her and several of the other girls to help out in exchange for guaranteed bed space. They worked with her in the kitchen and carried trays full of food to a long, narrow table in the back of the room, then stacked paper plates and cups and plastic sporks and knives on one end.
At six in the evening, the doors opened and anyone who was hungry was invited inside for a meal.
Deserting his curb, he shuffled across the street and fell in line. He could hear Jenna’s song, louder and more vibrant than ever, and any thoughts that he may have been wrong about her immediately vacated his mind.
She stood with three other girls behind the counter, scooping baked beans with a large serving spoon. She eyed him warily as he approached her and held out his plate, and he knew it must have been an effort not to look away. The skin he’d procured was young, but badly damaged by booze and cigarettes and drugs and couldn’t have been easy to look at.

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