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Sister Nancy had always had her doubt, harbored deep in the armor of her faith. It hid her uncertainty as well, hid it from everyone, but she knew it was there, and she tried to contain it so it did not grow large enough to crack the carapace of her belief.
She had always suspected that evil was not just in the hearts of men, but a tangible thing, commanded by Satan. Minions invisible to mortal men were sent to torment and tempt, until they brought them to a fall.
Sister Nancy, though, never saw those minions. She only saw the parade of man’s inhumanity to man, no matter where she went or who she helped or how. And with each misdeed she witnessed, her doubt grew greater.
Later, when she finally met Lucifer, she asked, “Where were you all this time?”
“Oh, dear sister,” he replied with a mercy so profound she could see the angel he had once been. “I don’t do personal appearances. The wise too often take them as what they are – confirmation of God.”
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Mitnick shuffled away again and I used the space to gulp down air. “Before I corrected the situation, Nika would go into town and spend time with Lanzo at this club, this Factory.”
“Is that what he wanted to talk to you about at the casino?”
Mitnick rocketed a three fist combo that brought him closer. “You were at the uncle’s shop. You were at the Factory. You have been many places Nika has been. Many places this Lanzo has been.”
“I’ve been a lot of places you’ve been.”
“Exactly. You are the common denominator.” As if rewarding me for this, Mitnick landed another pattern of blows. “You know Sartre, you know Lanzo, Nika, the police and myself. In all of this, where would Nika have gone?”
I had been playing defense this entire time and it wasn’t working. I stepped forward and launched a few heavy hands at his smiling face. In between his swift dodges, I said, “I’ve met your Nika one time.” I found myself quickly out of breath, my voice and my brain failing to produce more words beyond those.
“And yet you are at the center of all this.” Mitnick took my dispirited moment to step away, letting me get a good look at him before he stepped forward with another gloved bombardment. “If not this police man, this Rotella, who would help her? This Lanzo, his friends, these Idiots? Where would they hide her? This town is too small for any secrets to remain so for long.”
“Maybe she left town?” This possibility provoked Mitnick and he gave me two outside shots that I only managed to keep from bouncing off my head by keeping my gloves up. In retaliation, I added, “Maybe she’s dead.”
That was the wrong answer. The storm it unleashed from Mitnick pushed me back until I bounced off the ropes and into his fists and he just ping-ponged me there until he stepped away to let me fall onto my hands and knees. Somewhere far away, I could hear the audience’s sadistic laughter. I’m sure Pyotr was having a grand old time.
With the conviction of necessity Mitnick said, “No. She is alive.”
I tried to raise my head, but only managed to nod, acquiescing to Mitnick’s will. “Sure, OK, she’s alive.”
Mitnick’s trainers stepped into the area of the mat my increasingly narrow field of vision encompassed. “Where is Nika, American? In all of this, where would she hide?”
I couldn’t think, barely could breath, and the only thing popping into my head was the darkness of the hutch, and that I very much wanted to be there in its cool dark belly. I almost gave her up, right there. After all, what did I owe her? What did it matter if one over-privileged princess of the Russian kleptocracy had to stay in her gilded cage?
Instead, I bought some time by moving to my feet. Seeing that I had time to breathe, Mitnick started to move in again. I set my jaw and raised my fists, getting ready for his next assault. But then there was a buzzing sound that some deluded part of my brain decided was a boxing bell marking the end of the round.
It wasn’t until Brick waved a mobile phone at Mitnick that I realized it wasn’t. For a terrified moment I thought he was holding the phone Mitnick had given me and I tried to think who might be calling – was it Sartre? Rotella? I couldn’t know.
Whatever it was, Brick’s Slavic speech caused Mitnick to rip off a glove with his teeth and take the phone. After a terse greeting, Mitnick lapsed into an uncustomary silence that suffocated any chatter between the spectators.
When Mitnick did speak, it was in a brief, cold manner. With my head ringing it took me several moments to realize he was speaking in English, but even then I couldn’t understand him.
Mitnick made noises that could have been him ordering Chinese or making death threats. Then he stopped. He took the mobile away from his ear. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see his hand tremble with an effort to crush the phone.
When this failed he said, “Nika has been kidnapped.”
Unable to hold myself up any longer, I fell back against the ropes. “What?”
Mitnick repeated himself, loud enough that some of the men around the ring heard. Those that heard whispered it to others and the mood changed from gleeful sadism to worried wolf pack. Brick and Whip moved closer to the ring, inserting themselves between the Russians and Mitnick.
I watched this through my slightly blurry vision. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?”
Mitnick gave a bitter chuckle. “Someone who is at least intelligent enough to keep that hidden.” From that, I gathered that the Idiots hadn’t made the call.
Mitnick gestured Brick over and whispered something to him. Then, to my great relief, began unwrapping his hands.
I bought myself some time with, “What do they want?”
“They are demanding a ransom, of course. But have not said how much.” His tone suggested this was standard practice. One of the Russians, another pasty, stocky figure who’s vodka washed face began to redden said something irate, which Brick immediately quieted with a command. Mitnick gestured to Brick, though, giving everyone permission to be angry. He tossed the phone to him and began speaking in quick, guttural Slavic. I leaned against the ropes and was glad no one in the vicinity was under immediate suspicion.
I’m not sure how long they were in the huddle for, but when I lifted my head Mitnick was there. He held out the black burner from Simon’s, pushing it at me. “Go back into town. Keep this with you now. Wait for me to call. There is much to be done in a short time. We will need proof she lives, negotiate for her return. I will need eyes and ears in the city. You will do this.”
I nodded dumbly, grateful to be handed an assignment rather than more beatings. I doubted Mitnick suddenly trusted me, but I didn’t care. “What are you going to do?”
“I will find Nika and kill anyone involved in taking her.” It was the only time I had heard Mitnick speak plainly of violence and it boiled with anger under his calm. “Nika’s father is visiting soon. She must be here when this happens.” Mitnick pointed a finger under my noise. “Understand?”
I nodded. “When is soon?”
“Soon. He is Oleg Churbinov, an important man. If his daughter is not here when he arrives, this town will burn.”
“That’s the plan,” I mumbled, but no one heard me passed the mash Mitnick had made of my mouth. He stared hard at me, I nodded again. Mitnick dismissed me with a gesture to a corner. I stumbled to it, slumping against the pole. I stared dumbly at my hands, my brain trying to process how to get the gloves off while holding onto the mobile.
I did that until Brick arrived at my corner. Demonstrating a surprisingly gentle manner, the lummox took the phone and set it down, then unlaced my gloves. Unsurprisingly, my knuckles were the one part that remained unbruised.
Brick helped me off the platform and to my stuff where I fumbled back into my shirt and shoes. Somehow the mobile had made its way back into my hand, which I managed to get into a trench coat pocket before Brick guided me back to the SUV. He drove us to town, having the decency not to speak.
We were in front of Simon’s again before I knew what was happening. I stared at the tall doors without recognition for awhile before stupidly thanking Brick. As I stepped out, he said in a quiet and high voice, “Find Nika. Bring her back. She has nothing to do with this life. She deserves no harm.”
That’s exactly why I’m trying to get her out of town, I thought, but said nothing.
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Teth walked into the Senate, carrying the head of the man who had order her execution. Covered in blood, teeth bared, she threw the severed head onto the floor and dared any man take it, promising her own if they could wrest it from her.
None dared. The Senators ordered their nomistic soldiers to kill her but, tired of murdering innocents to fill their masters’ coffers, silence was the only reply.
This permeated the chamber until a hysterical aristocrat screamed at the closest guard to, “Do something!” The soldier’s only response was to draw his sword and throw it at the Senator’s feet. The message was clear.
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There wasn’t any getting out of this. I stripped off the trench coat and down to my undershirt, kicked off my shoes. A few of the Russians watched me, narrowed eyes traveling up and down my bulk, my size making them reconsider whether their boss boxing with me was a good idea.
Brick surprised me by stepping forward to help me with the gloves, lacing them up in a competent and speedy manner. In a delaying action I said to him, “You’ve done this before.” He nodded and I asked, “You a boxer too?”
He smiled savagely and nodded again, adding, “But not like Mitnick.” He slapped my shoulder like we were pals. “You are doomed.” I climbed into the ring anyway.
In the ring, Mitnick moved his feet in a quick dance that shuffled him around me, producing more anticipatory chuckling from the crowd. I tried to keep to a corner, but Mitnick circled me, throwing a few jabs that were easy to avoid, but pushed me into the center of the ring before I realized what he was doing. I had to rotate to face him, keeping me off-balance.
In between a few glancing jabs he said, “You have made my houseguests angry.” I opened my mouth to reply, but Mitnick interrupted with the first solid blow. It rang my bell.
He continued, “I ask them to send Mikhail to help you, Mikhail disappears.”
I kept my hands up to ward off his fists. “Pyotr goes to ask you about this and you assault and rob him.”
Mitnick stepped closer and landed a series of body blows that that I mostly kept at bay with my elbows. “You bring police here, insist to meet Nika and now –” Mitnick punctuated his next sentence with fiercer jabs. “Nika is gone and the police have begun raids against me.”
With the pattering of blows, I felt my anger begin to rise. I focused on Mitnick’s comment about the most important thing.
I poked my head out from between my gloves. “The police?” Mitnick rewarded me for dropping my guard with a quick tap that glanced off my forehead.
“Yes! The very same night the police you brought to my house – what was his name?”
It took me a moment to find it. “Rotella.”
“Yes, the very same night you brought him here, his comrades in the police began.”
“You told me to bring him here.”
“Indeed. This Rotella, he must have hidden his intent.”
“From both of us. Let me go find him and you can play with him in here.”
Mitnick laughed as if nothing would please him more. “Did you not hear me? Nika is gone.”
“Nika’s gone?” The constant barrage from Mitnick made it hard to think of anything smarter to say.
“Yes! She stole one my automobiles and drove down the mountain.” Mitnick spoke like a parent cheerfully discussing a child’s mischievous behavior. “She is so clever! Not one of us is able to find her.” Mitnick hit me like crushing disappointment. “How could she, a stranger to this place, manage to stay hidden?”
“We’re all strangers here,” I replied. Mitnick’s smile floated above his own guard, wistful and bright. I took the opportunity to try and land my own jab and nearly got him, but he swerved away. Thinking of Sergei’s bruised corpse, I wondered if he had to endure this before his death. “Maybe you should have had someone watching her.”
The series of jabs this provoked were more forceful, but I had anticipated them, retreating out of reach. His cheer diminished, Mitnick replied, “We have all been watching her. Escape is always possible. But how has she stayed hidden? She has no passport, no money.”
Artfully answering Mitnick’s questions was made impossible by his fists. However, the busy hours he’d had since midnight, didn’t escape me. Dodging a glove, I tried to use that as a distraction, “You think the police raiding your operations has something to do with it?”
“The world is filled with things I do not know.” Mitnick emphasized his point with a solid gut punch that nearly knocked me over. “It is odd to me, though, that after such a good demonstration of faith the inspector should do this.”
With pain radiating from his last blow, I dropped my guard and Mitnick pummeled me. I hobbled on my feet as he shuffled away and said, “I think he is a liar. I think I am surrounded by liars.”
I tried to keep my hands up, elbows close to my body. “If she said she was a prisoner, why wouldn’t Rotella just arrest you for kidnapping?”
“Indeed. Do you know the Corsican boy?” The change of subject confused me as much as the fists. “His name is Lanzo? You met him him after he pestered me in the casino.”
“I remember his friends, the ones you sent to kick my ass.” Two jabs distracted me from a right cross that caused the edges of my vision to blur. I wobbled back adding, “You could have just saved everyone a lot of time and done it yourself.”
Mitnick laughed again and I tried to catch my breath, ribs aching. “Dur and Zakhar found you at his uncle’s shop the first time they brought you here.”
“Yeah. I was told to make sure he got the message not to come around the casino anymore. Your boys interrupted me.”
“So you have not seen this Lanzo since?”
Through my rising heartbeat and the pain crowding my brain, I tried to think. Had one of Mitnick’s men seen me with Lanzo? Had he made a connection?
Instead of answering I channeled my anger into moving closer to Mitnick, taking him by surprise with a series of fast, wild counter-attacks. After landing a few punches, I asked, “Who cares about that idiot?”
Mitnick dodged away. “He has caused much trouble outside of the casino.”
“That’s probably why Atwell wanted me to talk to him. I dropped by his uncle’s a second time, but he didn’t see me.” His uncle couldn’t see me. He was dead.
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There’s something about knowing an ambush is waiting that changes a familiar landscape. Like a routine patrol where you see the same spots in the same city everyday, Simon’s had become familiar, but now it was as welcoming as a haunted house.
Expensive European cars crowded the narrow street outside of Simon’s cafe. Among them was a Mercedes SUV, black and built like a tank. They must have brought a lot of boys, which I took as a compliment. Two of them, wearing black leather jackets and smoking cigarettes, were on alert. The first one to spot me nodded to the other and they formed up, radiating a menace that was low wattage compared to Brick’s expert menace. I walked past without acknowledging them and the pair closed ranks behind me as I went inside.
There were half-a-dozen crowding the tables of the cafe, all moving to a slovenly attention as I entered. I looked for Simon. To my relief, he was sitting on one of his stools, elbow on the counter, its rows of espresso cups knocked out of order, some broken on the floor. He smiled at me from behind a raw steak he was holding against his left eye. Other than the piece of butchery he didn’t look any worse off. My chest expanded with gratitude even as I saw Brick stood next to him exuding his usual level of charm.
Whip rose to his full height in a burgundy suit. He was holding an espresso, saucer in one hand, cup in the other, pinky finger up, smiling as if he was glad to see me. I guess he was, just not in any friendly way.
His smile disappeared, though, when Pyotr, pointing at me with a tattooed hand, demanded, “Where’s my passport?”
I blinked, having forgotten about the document. “Is that what this is all about?”
Pyotr threw a punch into my gut. I didn’t dare defend myself, curling to take the blow. Before he could continue, though, Whip gave Pyotr a corrective order. I raised a plaintive hand. “Jesus Christ, I’ll find your fucking passport.”
Pyotr raised his fist again, causing Whip to practically bump his chest into Pyotr’s to reestablish dominance. The two glared at each other until Brick stepped closer. Whatever simian signals passed between them allowed Whip to dismiss Pyotr with a wave.
Setting his cup aside, Whip leaned forward to speak at me. “Mr. Mitnick wishes to see you.” He sounded very formal, like an engraved invitation from a Bond villain.
“I got that,” I exhaled, exaggerating the pain of the gut punch. Figuring it might be the last chance, I ignored everyone else and spoke to Simon. “I’m sorry about this.”
Between the steak and a brave face, Simon’s fear showed through the crack. “I am sorry as well.”
I was about to ask him what he had to be sorry for, but decided it was best to get the goon squad out of there. I prodded Whip with, “I guess you figured you needed more guys this time?”
Whip sneered and held the leash of his anger, gesturing to the vory. Two of them picked me up and hustled me into the Mercedes outside.
The drive out of town was beautiful, as always. I watched the scenery go by and kept my mouth shut. The road between the blue sea and into the green spring of the mountains might, after all, be the last pleasant thing I saw. I took it all in and breathed carefully and slowly, keeping anger at bay.
In the full light of day, the house’s white marble steps and fluted columns reminded me of a place of worship. Or sacrifice. I laid eyes on the statue of Athena and prayed that Sophie wouldn’t try a rescue.
Whip led us around the house, down a white stone walkway to a clearing with a square, raised platform, poles at its four corners, each connected by ropes. As I recognized what it was, dread sank in.
Mitnick was inside the boxing ring, tying the laces on a pair of sneakers. Seeing me, he stood tall, his teeth shining out from behind his beard. For the first time he wasn’t in a suit, but wearing red shorts and green top. For a man in his middle age, he cut an athletic figure, wide shoulders and long, muscular legs. He brought his bright white smile to me and said, “It is good to see you.”
“You could have just told me to come.”
“These are interesting times, my friend, and there is little time to waste. For instance, I feel like I barely know you. I hardly know your name.”
“You know I work for Atwell. And you know you’ve got Atwell on the dangle. What else do you need to know?”
“Ah, yes. Atwell. Has disappeared of late.” At least Atwell was smart enough to do that.
“I don’t typically see him face-to-face.”
“Quite right. Spycraft, like the KGB agents of old, with their hidden cameras and chases and disappearances.” Mitnick became misty as he dwelled on the Cold War. “But do you know what the most important thing is in espionage?”
“I wouldn’t know. I was a Marine.”
Mitnick ignored this and raised a taped fist with his index finger extended, indicating the one important thing. “To hide one’s intent.”
Mitnick finished taping up his hands, each twist ratcheting up my dread. “For instance, Sartre knows I wish to make friends in Old Town, that I have setup independent operations. If I had kept this hidden from him longer, perhaps we would not be here now.”
Whip pushed a pair of boxing gloves at me. I stared as if they were alien objects.
Mitnick continued. “I barely know you, therefore I do not know your intent.” I began to mutter some lie about money, getting paid, the usual American stereotypes, which Mitnick dismissed without really listening. “The best way to get to know a man is to fight him.”
“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. People don’t get to know each other through violence.”
Mitnick laughed. “You see? You surprise me. I did not know you were funny.” He gestured to Whip who handed me the gear. “Now put on your gloves.”
