The Gods' Gambit (7 page)

James bent over the carpet and began to examine the symbols
smeared into it.  The blood had coagulated into a muddy brown and the
lines contrasted with the beige carpet. “This is strange,” he said, bending
lower to the floor.

“What’s that?” asked the superintendent.

“This symbol just below his left arm resembles a Sumerian
cuneiform. When pronounced, it sounds like ‘dingir’.”

The superintendent looked puzzled. “So you understand what’s
written here?”

“I’m not an expert but … This particular symbol could have
been used here as determinative. It stands for god, respectively goddess, in
Sumerian.”

“In that case, I’d like you to see something else.” The
superintendent turned to wave towards a young man with tangled hair working on
the crime scene. “McClain, would you show us that piece of paper?”

McClain opened a silver-coloured metal suitcase, which
rested against the wall, and took out a transparent envelope containing a small
sheet of white paper with something written on it. “We found this rolled into a
scroll. It had been inserted into Costov’s mouth.” He handed the envelope to
James.

James looked at the writing. “This is definitely Sumerian
cuneiform writing. Judging by the shape of the cuneiform signs, it’s the style
used in the early Sumerian period,” he said and returned the evidence.

“So we may be dealing with religious maniacs who have found
inspiration in the culture of the Sumerians?” guessed the superintendent.

“Well, there are some contemporary cults in existence that
do worship old Sumerian divinities.”

“OK. We assume that this crime was carried out by a cult
worshipping Sumerian gods. Any clue you can give now in that direction would be
very helpful,” said the superintendent.

Taking care not to tread on the bloody symbols, James
approached the body and began a careful examination. “What we see here are two
horned serpents. Together with the ‘dingir’ sign, they most probably refer to
the god Ningishzida. He was an underworld god in Sumerian mythology.”

“Hold on for a second,” the superintendent interrupted. He
retrieved a pen and a small notebook from his pocket to write down what James
was saying.

James continued. “Two serpents close to each other in an
upright position are regarded as being Ningishzida’s sacred symbol. In fact,
there have been archaeological findings where he’s depicted with two upright
snakes coming out of his shoulders.”

“So could it be that this murder may have been an act of
human sacrifice? I’m wondering if it’s possible that Costov was a victim not
because of his job as a scientist or because of the research he was doing.
Another reason, perhaps?”

“Ningishzida was not associated with human sacrifices.
Actually, he’s not a negative mythological figure in spite of his status as an
underworld god. His name can be translated as ‘god of the tree of life’. Some
authors consider him a patron of occult wisdom.”

“The cult worshipers may have wanted to extract some form of
power or knowledge from the god. In exchange, they sacrificed the life of
Stefan Costov. This is just rough assumption.” The superintendent did not want
to give up on his idea completely.

James grimaced to show his scepticism. “That wouldn’t be my
hypothesis.”

“Have you got any other ideas?”

James shrugged his shoulders. “I can try. The symbols here
depict an ongoing process. It may be that there’s a plan for a radical change.
That cult believes it would lead people to the ‘right way’. And the cult would
implement this change.”

“Wow, you know all this just by looking at these drawings?”
The superintendent looked impressed.

“That’s the part of the message I’m most sure about,”
responded James.

“That’s an unusual message … a bit like everything else I’ve
encountered here today.” The superintendent looked thoughtful, pursing his lips
as though he didn’t really like what he was hearing. “I made an inquiry to
Bulgaria about Costov. I was reassured that it’s unlikely that his work was the
reason for his murder. He had never really been assigned to any secret projects
or sensitive work.”

“Therefore, the motive could be hidden somewhere in his
personal life,” suggested James.

“The man from the Bulgarian security service I talked to
insisted that this was unlikely, too. It could be a case of mistaken identity.
What if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“That’s definitely not the case,” replied James.

The superintendent looked surprised.

“I’ll explain.” James pointed to the symbols etched onto the
right side of Costov’s corpse. There were three symbols in total, aligned
vertically. The bottom one resembled a big ‘V’ but drawn with zigzag lines.
Above it was the drawing of an open umbrella.  The top symbol was a
drawing of eight arrows coming out of the periphery of a circle like sunrays.
“The bottom V-like symbol depicts two human stick figures looking in opposite
directions—”

“Oh yes! I see it now,” exclaimed the superintendent.

“This could be a reference to the world as being in a state
of separation and chaos. The umbrella above it is a symbol often found in the
iconography of many old civilizations. It stands for wise people – the men and
women of science, or meditators. These are the people who lead the world in one
or another direction.”

“And Costov was a man of science. That’s to say, one of
those leading figures,” concluded the superintendent.

James nodded in agreement and continued. “The circle with
the eight arrows represents chaos. It may be that the cult believes that people
like Costov lead the world into chaos, separation and destruction.”

“So those three symbols form a unanimous message.”

“It’s about changing the balance of power in the world.
Costov’s murder is part of the process of putting people back on the right
track.”

“And that track could be?”

 “Honestly, I don’t know. It could be many things. A
guess would be that the cult wants to bring back some sort of old way of life
and values. Possibly, a reintroduction of worshiping defunct gods.”

The superintendent continued to write down lots of notes.
His expression changed from wonder to concern. “Yes, I’m with you.”

“If I’m right, there will be more killings. The death of one
scientist won’t be enough to change the world ...  That’s all I can really
tell you at this point,” said James.

The superintendent stared at his notebook, his head lowered.
He looked preoccupied. “Well, it’s good enough for a start. Thank you. Anything
we can do to help facilitate your work – you name it.”

“The sooner the cuneiform text on the note is translated the
better.”

“You’ve got it. We can sort out an office for you at MI5’s
building in Brighton. All you need will be there.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ve got to leave now. I’ll have to tell my
fiancée that I’ll be busy for the next few days. She won’t like it.”
James smiled.

 “I didn’t know you were engaged,” said the
superintendent as he accompanied James along the corridor on the way to the lift.

“We’re due to be married at Easter.”

“Congratulations. Sorry we interrupted your plans.”

“It’s OK.” James paused before continuing. “There’s one
thing though that has been playing on my mind since we arrived here today—”

“Are you thinking what I am?” the superintendent
interjected. “Why here? Why did they choose a hotel full of people, with lots
of CCTV around?”

“Yes.”

“You’re right. There are cameras everywhere here, and right
now half of my team are looking at the records.”

“There’s no way those who committed this could have evaded
all the cameras. They must have known this,” James said with amazement.

“It didn’t bother them, obviously. This means they had come
prepared.  Nevertheless, something may come out.”

Russia

1913

 “We would like help for our wounded. Take care of my
hussars. Bring them up on the sleigh. If necessary, make camp stretchers. And
the road must be unblocked,” Nikolai II said.

“Aye, Your Majesty. I have two men amongst my people who are
good at managing wounds,” responded Batka.

“If some of the bastards who attacked us are still alive,
patch them up as well. I need to interrogate them,” said Semeon Laptin.

“Do it!” Batka ordered his men.

 “Whom do you serve, Ivan?” Laptin asked.

“We are on our way to Saransk, Excellence. We accompany
merchant caravans to the Far East and back. In Saransk, traders from all over
the region gather. They will travel to the Eastern Provinces and China. We’re
hired as guards.”

“How did you find yourself in that forest?”

“We decided to take a short cut. We heard shots and rode
this way,” Batka explained. “We were close, though.”

 “Thanks God for that,” said the Tsar.

A loud, short whistle made everybody turn in the direction
from where it cut through the air. On the road, the second sleigh from the
cortège was gliding towards them with one of Batka’s men as coachman and
the fugitive Poruchik tied up in it. Another of Batka’s men was riding next to
the sleigh, pointing his revolver at him.

“I gave orders to my men to capture that runaway,” Batka
explained.

“Semeon, I leave the traitor to you,” said the Tsar.

“I’ll make him cough up his mother’s milk.” The Secret
Police officer gnashed his teeth.

Suddenly, a muffled gunshot was heard. The Poruchik tilted
sideways. A red speck appeared on his grey tunic and grew.

“The heel killed himself, Batka,” the man riding next the
sleigh said in astonishment. “He had a hidden revolver.”

Anger dimmed Batka’s mind at once, but he immediately
regained composure. In other circumstance, he would have killed on the spot the
man who had stupidly revealed his well-known nickname. “You should have
searched him. Both of you give up your weapons to Stephan. I’ll deal with you
later.” Batka’s tone was low and cold. “Apologies, Your Majesty. I accept the
blame for this.”

“Don’t be too harsh on them. Anybody can make a mistake,”
said the Tsar.

Batka smiled inwardly at the Tsar’s softness. In the
underground empire Batka had built during last ten years, such a man would only
be able to give commands to his horse. “As Your Majesty wishes,” he responded.

During their conversation, the wounded hussars had been
brought up on the Tsar’s sleigh and the dead ones put on the second sleigh next
to the body of the Poruchik. Stephan approached, bowed clumsily to the Tsar and
reported that only two of the attackers were still breathing but unconscious,
dying.

Semeon Laptin looked around discreetly and said, “May I talk
to Your Majesty?” He took the Tsar by his arm and they walked several steps
away. “Your Majesty, what I’m going to say may sound strange. But I’d like you
to consider it well.”

“Say it, Semeon.”

“I think we must keep what happened here secret.”

The Tsar looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What are
you talking about?”

“Please, consider it. The news about one almost successful
assassination attempt against Your Majesty will demoralize the ordinary people.
Our internal enemies will become more embittered. I already told you that the
socialists want to start riots in Petersburg, Moscow and other towns. Now
divisions tear them apart, but such news could unite them. Also, the anarchist
factions – they will rise as well. We cannot afford to have riots now when war
in Europe seems inevitable.”

The Tsar pursed his lips and was thoughtful for some time.
“I can’t say you’re not right. A chain reaction of unrest would be pernicious
for our country.”

“I know you wouldn’t want your subjects to connect the three
hundred year jubilee of the great Romanov Dynasty with such an event,” said Laptin.

“Let’s say I agree,” said the Tsar. “Look around. Tens of
dead bodies. Amongst them my guards. And a detachment of mercenaries for
witnesses.”

“The corpses do not speak. Could Your Majesty guarantee the
hussars?”

“My soldiers would walk through fire for me,” the Tsar said
proudly. “What about the mercenaries? They have to be officially awarded. I
also don’t believe that they would miss showing off how they had saved their
Tsar.”

“They will stay silent if their commander orders them to. I
dare to believe that I have a way to make him do that.” Laptin sounded
confident.

The Tsar raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “That Ivan
looks as hard as flint. It’d be difficult, even for you, to make him do
something he doesn’t want to.”

“I will simply give him something he wants in exchange for
his silence. It’ll be as I say. Have I ever disappointed Your Majesty?”

“Never, Semeon. That’s why I honour you as a brother,” the
Tsar said emotionally.

“I appreciate that enormously.” Laptin bowed slightly.

“What’s the plan, then? I believe you already have one.”

“First, it’s clear that official awards for the mercenaries
are not an option. If Your Majesty agrees, I will award them later on your
behalf. I’ll talk to Ivan right now, with your permission.” The Tsar nodded.
“We need a story that will replace what happened here,” Laptin continued. “Now.
Your Majesty, I, and one of the unwounded hussars will return to the town with
one sleigh. We will say that an urgent matter made us send the rest of our
group to Nizhny Novgorod. An hour or two later, the sad news that our men have
been attacked in the forest will reach Vladimir. The hussars killed the
attackers but most of them fell, too, including the Poruchik.”

The Tsar looked at his adviser with a mixture of amazement
and joy. “You never fail to surprise me, Semeon. It’s remarkable how you
rewrote history in just a few minutes.”