Valley of Thracians (31 page)

Chapter
54

From atop the belfry tower, Scott took
in his surroundings, trying to envision them in the mind’s eye of the past. The
quaint wooden houses of Veliko Tarnovo, perched precariously on the sides of
the hills, seemed poised to leap down to the dark waters of the Yantra River,
snaking through the valley. At the center of the panorama was the Cathedral of
Sveta Bogodoroditsa, rising majestically above the other historic buildings.
The town was famous to Bulgarians not only for its medieval fortress, but also
because it had hosted the drafting of the country’s first constitution in 1879.
In Suedinenie Square, the National Revival and Constituent Assembly Museum was
a popular tourist attraction. Other colorful buildings stood out in the
dramatic view, all calling out for attention.

In another direction, Scott spotted an
oversized Bulgarian flag flapping noisily in the wind above a reconstructed
fortress building. The horizontal bands of white, green, and red competed for
dominance against the cloudless blue sky.

“There’s nothing here,” he said
dejectedly, gazing at the distant town from his vantage point in a crenel of
the tower’s outer wall. His memories, clouded by an extended period of
drug-induced amnesia and headaches, were unable to offer any clues as to what
he might have seen back then. Something from the past was
key
to discovering where Lance had hidden the artifact, but he couldn’t figure out
what it was.

“I can’t imagine what we were thinking
when we came here. I can’t remember a thing.”

“Let me try to help your memory,” Sophia
said, standing to his side. “We’ll do word associations. I’ll say a word, and
you’ll reply with the first thing that comes to your mind.”

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

“This is not a game. We’re trying to
force your mind to make connections, to figure out what you can’t get to
consciously. Are you willing to try?”

With his grandfather having descended to
the plaza, Scott nodded his agreement to Sophia’s suggestion with hesitation.

“Sofia,” she said, as they began to
stroll around the platform again, the views no longer capturing their
attention.

“Sofia?”

“Yes, Sofia.
You know?
The capital of our country?”

“Sofia?”

“Yes.”

“I think of you.”

“What?”

“Sofia. Sophia. The names are so
similar.”

“Come on, Scott. Be serious. We are
doing this for a reason.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Sofia,” she repeated.

“Pubs,” he responded quickly.

“Pubs?”

“Yes, sorry, but that’s the word that
pops into my mind.”

“Varna.”

“Beaches.”

“Burgas.”

“Burgas?
I never went there,” he said.

“Really?
You should. Burgas is very nice.”

“Maybe, someday.
Should we go down?” he asked, completing their circuit of the platform. He
pushed the elevator button.

“Plovdiv,” Sophia continued.

“Paintings.”

“Paintings?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, trying to think how
exactly this word was connected to the second largest city in Bulgaria. “Oh, I
know. We took a walk through Old Town Plovdiv, you know, the old, colorful
houses on the hill. I was with Lance and some others from the Peace Corps. We
stopped in at a few of the house museums—those old houses from the last century
that became museums, telling the story of your country’s revolution or
something. Some of them were art galleries, and I recall seeing many paintings
on the walls. So, when you say Plovdiv, I think of paintings.”

“Okay, Scott, that’s nice,” she said.
“But could you think of using the word ‘favorite’ and Plovdiv in the same
sentence?”

“No, I don’t think so. This isn’t really
working, is it?”

“The elevator is so slow.”

“I wonder if the operator fell asleep,”
Scott said, laughing. “It’s kind of funny to need an operator for such a small
elevator. I guess that’s just another example of Bulgaria providing jobs for its
citizens.”

“Your grandfather didn’t look so well.”

“He probably had a claustrophobic
reaction to being confined in such a small space. I’m a bit worried about him.”

Scott went over to the platform’s
parapet wall and stuck his head through one of the gaps. He realized he was on
the far side of the tower, so he walked around to the opposite section. Again
he stretched forward.

“I can’t see him. I can’t see anyone in
the plaza.” Scott looked at her nervously and then leaned out again. “I wonder
where he went. Grandpa!” he called, his voice catching in the breeze but
bringing no response from below.

“Maybe he’s resting in the shade. Should
we continue our word associations?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Scott circled the platform, looking
through different vantage points at the plaza below. Sophia pressed the
elevator button repeatedly.

“I hope the lift’s not broken.”

“Do you think it’s stuck?” Scott asked
her. “Wait, isn’t that the elevator operator?”

The short, stubby man who had pulled the
lever to close the lift’s doors and set the motor into action could be seen
running across the plaza toward the path that led to the church.

 
“Something happened. We need to get down there
to help Grandpa.”

“Hey!” Sophia called out, but the
elevator operator didn’t hear, or didn’t care to answer. What had happened to
Simon? His breathing had been shallow and forced when he emerged from the
elevator. Had he suffered a heart attack? Was the operator running to get
medical assistance?

Sophia punched a number into her cell
phone and spoke quietly before frowning at the reply she heard. She joined
Scott as he overlooked the plaza. What she saw next deeply disturbed her.

Four men dressed in dark black suits
were striding across the pavement, heading toward the door at the foot of the
tower. Intent on their unstated purpose, the men didn’t glance sideways or up
at the tower. This was not a team from Veliko Tarnovo’s ambulance service.
Instinctively, Sophia knew who—and what—they were seeking.

Three stories below, Simon slumped on
the floor of the tiny elevator cage, unable to move. The weight of the
unconscious stranger sprawled on Simon’s legs was painful, but he couldn’t
shift his muscles to gain relief. The woman’s wailing didn’t ease his concerns,
and she ignored his pleas for assistance. The operator had run off across the
plaza, and there was no way to contact Scott and Sophia. How had he ended up
trapped like this?

The struggle at the elevator’s door had
been sudden and unexpected. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon perceived the
syringe wielded by the woman, and he raised his arm to guard against the
threat. At the same time, he struggled with the man, who shoved him back
against the cold hardness of the lift. He couldn’t fight them both off; he
couldn’t escape their reach. He tried to shout, but his voice—like his
strength—was totally sapped by the brutal assault.

And then the syringe plunged down,
connecting with flesh and releasing its potent liquid content.

There was no pain because there had been
no prick of a needle. Instead of burrowing into Simon’s flesh, the syringe
punctured the shoulder of the male assailant. The Bulgarian let out a cry and a
string of irate curses.

The woman backed out of the elevator,
and the man fumbled with his cell phone, frantically stabbing the buttons.
Simon found breathing space as the pair eased back from the confrontation, but
this freedom was not to last. The man completed his call and stared at Simon
with unfocused eyes. Before Simon could do anything to prevent it, the man’s
weighty frame collapsed on top of him, constraining him on the elevator floor.

“Get my grandson and Sophia!” he
pleaded, trying to indicate with hand motions the fact that they were atop the
tower. “Help!” he called out, but the word barely escaped his dry throat. He
couldn’t move. He felt his leg falling asleep from trapped nerve endings.
“Scott! Sophia!”

The woman sat outside on the steps,
sobbing uncontrollably.

Katya grasped her left wrist tightly,
the sharp pain from where she had just pierced into the flesh with her long
fingernails only partially the reason she was crying. It wasn’t supposed to
have happened like this. Everything had gone wrong, and it was all her fault!

She had accompanied Vlady to Tsarevets,
prepared to carry out their plan to drug Scott and bring him back for the
questioning that would force him to divulge his secret. She had chosen
propofol, a short-acting hypnotic agent used to induce a state of total
unconsciousness prior to the administration of an inhaled general anesthesia in
operating rooms. The drug was also used in procedures for sedation and would be
sufficient to knock Scott out for a short time—or at least inhibit his ability
to resist them. Vlady was strong enough to drag Scott back to the car on his
own; she would assist if necessary. She didn’t foresee any problem
administering the drug. All that she needed was to get close enough to inject
it.

They had trailed Scott and his
companions through the fortress complex all the way up to the church tower at
the summit. She had seen Scott go into the elevator with two other people, and
she was ready for his return to the plaza. When the elevator door opened, she
had the syringe out and primed, prepared to use it before Scott realized what
was happening.

The next moments were very confusing. As
Vlady forced his way into the elevator, she tried to position herself near
Scott’s arm. Vlady pushed forward, but someone inside the elevator was
resisting, muttering in English. She barely noticed the lift’s operator sitting
frozen on his stool as she lifted her arm, ready to strike at Scott with the
syringe. With all the commotion, she couldn’t precisely spot her target.

Everything happened as if in slow
motion. There was Scott, surprised at the assault, but it wasn’t really Scott.
No, it was someone else, not the person she sought, not the individual whose
existence she needed to reclaim. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the
reality of the tight elevator cage, and her eyes widening with a mental picture
that only she could see. She needed to act, to rescue the person dearest to
her. She would do anything for him, anything to save him.

“Hristo,” she gasped.

Just as she plunged the syringe into
flesh, releasing its liquid into an expanse of someone’s shoulder, she realized
with a jolt that the person in the elevator was neither Scott nor her beloved
husband. But it was too late. The drug had already begun to work its wonders.

“What the hell?”

Vlady regarded her with a far-off look
in his eyes. He shouted at her, cursing as he nursed the inflamed spot where he
had been stabbed by the needle. His pupils lost their focus, growing smaller by
the second. He stuck his free hand into his pocket to retrieve a cell phone.
Wobbling on his feet, Vlady juggled the instrument, twisting it around to see
the illuminated display. He punched only one button, but it was enough to
establish a speed-dial connection. He barked some words into the phone and then
fell backward, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, until he finally
collapsed on the older American man inside the cage. And then he lost
consciousness.

She sat on the steps sobbing, a sense of
total failure overwhelming her. Tears poured from her eyes as she realized that
she was incapable of handling even the simplest tasks. Her efforts to give
Scott back his health had failed, and now she had missed her one chance at
redemption. The damage she had caused was irreparable, and she wondered how
Boris would react to yet another betrayal. Ignoring the mumbling of the elderly
American man inside the elevator, she wiped the blood from her injured wrist,
her body shivering despite the warm sunlight.

And that is where Nikolov’s men found
her.

Chapter
55

“Get out of our way!” one of the four
sharply dressed men barked at her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Where’s the boy?” the man continued
impatiently. He had yet to notice Vlady’s slumped form inside the open
elevator.

“The boy?
What boy?” she said, rising slowly to her feet.

“We know he’s here. We were informed.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Move aside, we’re going up to the
tower.”

And that was when they became aware of
the two bodies inside the elevator, one of them unconscious and the other one
calling for help.

“Is he dead?”

“Of course not.
It was a mistake! I never meant to inject him with the drug.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re
talking about.”

The men took no notice of the American’s
pleas for assistance as they dragged Vlady’s limp, heavy body out of the
elevator and carried him down the steps to the shade at the far side of the
plaza. One man checked Vlady’s pulse and another held a hand over Vlady’s mouth
and nose, searching for signs of life. It was obvious the men had no medical
training.

“Leave him alone!” Katya screamed, but
in fact she was relieved that they had arrived to care for Vlady. Since mistakenly
striking him with the syringe, she had fallen to pieces. She knew she wouldn’t
be able to deal with Vlady’s fury when he regained consciousness; he was sure
to lash out at her. And when he realized that he was dealing with Nikolov’s
men, he would become hysterical. It was all her fault, she thought. The sharp
edges of her fingernails dug even deeper into the flesh of her left wrist. She
winced at the pain.

“Who are you people?” The American
struggled to his feet at the elevator doors. He seemed almost a cripple, with
one of his legs dragging behind him and a lack of balance making his efforts
clumsy and ineffectual. He called out to them again but was ignored.

Katya’s breathing returned to normal as
the men doused Vlady’s face with cold water. But as she began to calm down, new
worries emerged. It was obvious that Nikolov’s men had followed them as they
searched for Scott, first to Belogradchik and now here to Tsarevets. She
assumed that Vlady had tried to lose the tail, but within a few short minutes after
his collapse, they had arrived unexpectedly. Their sudden appearance raised
many questions, and she struggled to comprehend what was happening.

Who had Vlady called after she injected
him with the propofol? Had he tried to call for an ambulance as he became
faint? Or had he warned someone of his predicament? Her mind raced, ready to
reach conclusions but fearful of the consequences of what she was thinking. No,
that was too inconceivable, she concluded. She shook her head, forcing herself
to dismiss such disloyalty from her head.

The efforts to assist Vlady were
interrupted by the arrival of two more men. Unlike the four who preceded them,
these arrivals were dressed in white. They were paramedics, carrying medicine
kits and equipment. Immediately they launched into action, not waiting for
Katya or anyone else to explain the situation. They leaned over Vlady’s body
and gave him their undivided professional attention. Moments later, a stretcher
was readied, and Nikolov’s men offered to assist in moving Vlady’s body. The
medics snubbed them and carried Vlady’s weight by themselves.

Without giving another thought to the
American man who had emerged from the elevator, or to the original point of her
visit to the Tsarevets Fortress, Katya followed the medics and Nikolov’s men
down the path to the ambulance.

Simon stepped out of the elevator, and
the door snapped shut behind him. He was alone on the plaza, stunned that he
had survived the strange assault. His surroundings bewildered him; he couldn’t
remember exactly when and where he had separated from his grandson and Sophia.
But then they emerged from the elevator to comfort him after his traumatic
ordeal.

 
“I feel much better now,” Simon said, trying
to reassure Sophia and Scott as they drove out of Veliko Tarnovo a short while
later. “Why didn’t you call the police to report this incident? It was quite
serious. That woman’s eyes were crazed, and I thought she was actually going to
kill me.”

“You have to realize that not every
matter in this country is one that needs police involvement,” Sophia said, her
eyes fixed on the road.

“Calling the police would have meant
involving the American embassy,” Scott offered from the backseat. “Don’t
forget, I don’t have official permission to be traveling around.”

Simon closed his eyes, stressed at his
growing difficulties handling these Bulgarian escapades. First, there had been
the unpleasant incident of fainting in Sophia’s apartment. Then the painful
fall at the Rila Monastery; the bruises from that were still clearly visible on
his face. All the walking was resulting in leg pains that just weren’t going
away. And now the strange sensation of claustrophobia in the tight quarters of
the elevator and the frightful attack by a lunatic, syringe-wielding woman. His
nerves couldn’t take any more surprises. The search for Scott and the
subsequent wild-goose chase on which they had embarked demanded more than his
tired body had in it.

Daniel was right. It was time to go
home. Simon had come to Bulgaria to find
Scott,
and he
had been successful in this mission—more successful than anyone, even he, could
have imagined. It was time to cut the sightseeing short and return to the
States. He had no patience for Scott’s attempts to find something that had been
lost at the time of his disappearance, and which held no value for Simon. What
chances did they have of finding this bag anyway? Why had Scott’s friend
bothered to hide it? None of this made sense, and understanding the answers was
not important to him. He was drained from so many mixed emotions. He needed to
take Scott home to his parents. He was tired, so tired of everything.

When Simon began to snore, Sophia turned
from the steering wheel to gaze at the wrinkles of worry forming on his brow.
As she drove south, she was engulfed with her own inner turmoil. She was
troubled by what she had seen in the plaza on the citadel hill. The
black-suited men’s arrival was an ominous sign. Even though the men had walked
off with Simon’s assailant, Sophia knew they had come for Scott. They had followed
him to Tsarevets, and, just by chance, they had been called off the pursuit at
the last moment.

She checked her mirrors but didn’t spot
any suspicious cars on the highway. But she knew they were there. Somewhere
they were watching them, following them. How else did those men happen to
appear at Tsarevets? And how else had they trailed them to Belogradchik before
that? Every move Sophia and her companions took was being observed. There was
only a slim chance that they had made their departure from Veliko Tarnovo
undetected. She needed to take precautions, to stage some sort of diversion.
That was why she had decided to drive south instead of directly back to the
capital. She hoped the detoured route would rid them of those who sought
Scott’s secret as much as she did.

It was clear that everyone was after the
treasure that Scott’s friend had hidden somewhere in the country. What could
she do to get Scott to divulge more than he had already disclosed? She had
tried word associations; she had suggested possible sites to visit. Scott had
undergone quite an ordeal over the past three years, but now that he had
recovered and his mind was lucid, there had to be a way to get him to remember!

Time was running out, she knew. In just
a few days, Scott and his grandfather would leave for the States. The mystery
of where the Thracian artifact was located would remain just that—a mystery.
The priceless piece, described so vividly by Scott, and so familiar to her from
her studies and many visits to the museum in Vratsa where it had been
displayed, was something that demanded recovery. It was the leading Bulgarian
treasure, the silver item that tied her country to the glorious days of its
ancient past. It was the essence of everything she had studied and was symbolic
of her entire academic career.

It wasn’t just her professional,
academic interest in the artifact’s historic value or her charitable concern
for Simon and his grandson that propelled her forward. Her aim in this journey
was not solely to make sure Simon had a happy ending to his visit. She had
other motives in mind, of which her American travel partners had absolutely no
knowledge. There were objectives for her actions that she couldn’t disclose.
She needed to discover where the lion-headed
rhyton
was hidden. She needed
to find it! It was imperative that she succeed in this mission.

“You know, maybe those word associations
could help after all,” Scott said, surprising her with the suggestion.

She looked at him in the rearview
mirror. With her own eagerness to locate the artifact, she had forgotten that
Scott wanted to resolve the mystery as well. This time, instead of naming
Bulgarian cities, she decided to try objects that were unique or special to the
country.

“
Shopska
.”

“Salad!” he replied, laughing. He moved
forward slightly to check the passenger in the front seat, but his
grandfather’s sleep was undisturbed by the laughter.

“
Rakia
,” Sophia offered.

“Ah,
rakia
!
The Bulgarian national drink.”

“Did you drink any?”

“Of course!
When I first stayed with Ralitsa and Boris, they introduced me to homemade
rakia
, which he concocted in large plastic barrels in
their cellar.
Boy, that
was strong! Boris and his
friend Vlady made me drink glass after glass of the stuff before we went out on
their smuggling missions.”

“Did you like
rakia
?”

“Not really. It was like drinking pure
alcohol. I’ll stick with beer, vodka, and gin.”

“So, what word comes to your mind when I
say
rakia
?”

“Bagpipes,” he replied.

“What?” She regarded him through the
mirror with a curious look. “What are you talking about?”

“Bulgarian bagpipes are cleaned with
rakia
.
Didn’t you know that? Lance and I learned about it during our Peace Corps
days,” he said, laughing.

“Really?”
Could that possibly be true? She tried additional words in succession, hoping
to force Scott’s memory.
Horo
, snow,
banitsa
,
sunflowers, cherries.
Nothing she said brought meaningful responses. She
was about to give up when she tried the name of another flower, not expecting
that it would result in a significant reply.

“Roses,” she said.

“Roses!”
Scott sat up straight in his seat. The word conjured up more than he had
imagined. It brought to mind a specific town in the center of the country, one
to which he had traveled with Lance three years before.
The
festival, the girls, the beers, the costumes, the roses.
There was a
small café, where he sat with Lance enjoying the sounds and sights of
the festivities. It was a small town, as quaint as any they had visited. The
people were simple, the enjoyment complete. Lance remarked that they had come to
one of his favorite places in all of Bulgaria.

Roses! Scott now knew where they should
go.

“How far is it to Kazanlak?” he asked
Sophia, causing her to look up at the rearview mirror and stare at him with
growing understanding.