The Isle of Olympia. Andreas Karpasitis
on the phone. He could have been from the same people that killed James; he could be anyone, but strangely, Murphy trusted the warm and friendly tone of his voice. The man at the other end of the line seemed to have the same communication skills as the Kennedys. They were all good at negotiating and convincing people, after all, that’s what made them a family to reckon with and great, charismatic politicians.
“Let me finish this trip, and let’s meet the day after,” Murphy tried to dodge the request as he avoided to divulge his next destination.
“I understand your concern Murphy, but we need to do this as soon as possible. We can’t afford any delays. In any case, I can pinpoint your location in a matter of minutes, all it takes is a call, so let’s not do that.” George tried to keep his threat more like a harmless, honest fact. Murphy was not convinced.
“Basically, you are not giving me any choice.”
“I am not trying to impose myself Murphy, but we need to arrange a meeting. We need a man of your caliber because we are losing control of a critical situation, and we need a man to help us from the outside. After all, at this specific moment, you are right in the middle of everything. And from what I understand, you probably have something important that belonged to James.”
“From the outside?” Murphy was a bit confused.
“Exactly. This is why we need to arrange a meeting, so we can give you information that not a lot of people have the honor or privilege to know.” George seemed excited and impatient to make a meeting possible with Murphy and to share his knowledge that he would rarely discuss outside his close-knit circle. “You will be safe Murphy.”
“I’m flying to Zurich, and I will be landing in about nine, ten hours.” Murphy decided to get this over with and, at the same time, get answers to several of his questions. One of them being the reason of why he was getting shot at.
“Zurich. Fantastic.” George did not hide his excitement. “There’s a beautiful hotel in the hills of the city. It looks just like a castle. We will arrange a suite for you. Ronald and Tomas will be on their way.”
A castle looking hotel on the hills of Zurich, Murphy thought as the image popped up in his head. He was sure that he heard about this before, but he never saw it up and close. Murphy was shocked with himself that amid a chaotic day, his thoughts were drifting to sightseeing.
“Murphy? Agreed?”
“Yes, let’s do it,” Murphy confirmed with no more hesitation.
“Great. My people will contact you.”
The line quickly disconnected. He closed his eyes and leaned on the seat, trying to organize his thoughts and decisions from an out-of-control day.
Chapter 9
The old antique Mercedes was parked in the corner of an empty parking lot next to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy somewhere in south Manhattan. The rain was pouring down as the neon lights were reflecting on the water-drenched streets and puddle-filled potholes.
A towering man, covering his head with his jacket and holding a plastic bag, ran towards the driver seat of the car. He sat down and quickly pulled out bandages, a high proof alcohol disinfectant, and some Advil.
“I got whatever I could – they need a prescription,” the man pointed out with a heavy Russian accent as he handed the items to the passenger.
The passenger’s left sleeve was drenched in blood, but his chiseled face didn’t show any pain. He quickly opened the Advil pack and took four tablets completely dry. Without hesitation, using both his hand and teeth, he ripped the bloody sleeve revealing a deep scar on his left shoulder.
“You need help, David?” the driver asked, trying to extend his arms for assistance.
“No, just call him, we need to let him know, and I told you a million times, call me Dave. I hate David,” Dave instructed with frustration as he continued cleaning out his deep flesh wound. He couldn’t believe that he got stabbed. It wasn’t that bad, it was just a graze, but he couldn’t believe his luck. It had caught him completely off guard.
In clumsy movements, using one hand, he grabbed the bottle of almost pure alcohol, opened it, and paused. He took a deep breath as he doused his open wound with the contents of the container. He groaned in pain for a few seconds as he clenched his fist. Patiently, he then started wrapping a temporary and very rough bandage.
“How the hell did this happen?” he exclaimed in an American accent.
The driver picked up a satellite phone and dialed a number. As he waited for the other end to pick up, he passed a small silver metal flask to Dave, who, without hesitation, grabbed it and took a couple of quick sips. His face turned slightly red as he made a sound of enjoyment.
“Yes? Boss?” The line had connected, but no one was speaking on the other end. “Boss? Are you there?” the driver insisted.
“I’ve just learned that there were gunshots and a dead body in a busy hotel, in the middle of Manhattan,” a loud, slightly distorted, deep voice sounded from the other end. “How can you mess everything like this?”
The driver quickly turned the phone to speaker mode and placed it on the dashboard. “Boss, this English guy, he resisted, he fought back. We didn’t have a—”
“Of course he is going to fight back, you idiot. I said ‘No-Dead-Bodies’” the voice on the other end bellowed. “Did you find what I was asking for, Sergey?”
Sergey pulled a thick folder from the back seat, splatters of blood all over its cover. He placed it on his lap and started flipping through the pages. “We have some photos from an accident—there are also some photocopied reports from MI6, CIA, and the FBI. We also found some other photos and—”
“So, you didn’t find what I was asking for?” the man’s voice interrupted once again. The fact that they did not do what they were asked was evident in the frustrated voice coming from the other end of the line. “I specifically asked to find a missing papyrus piece, any map, or diagrams for a hidden crypt; this was your primary objective.”
“Sir,” Dave intervened while still trying to finish wrapping the bandages around his arm, “there was nothing like that in the folder, absolutely nothing.”
The man on the other end of the line took a deep breath, clearly disappointed, as the two men in the car exchanged looks with each other in uncomfortable silence.
“But,” Dave continued, “we found a letter in the folder that may be of interest to you.” Dave leaned in with difficulty towards Sergey and flipped through a few papers, and pulled said paper out.
“It’s a letter from a bank, informing James Collin the fees of the safety deposit box held at the Paradeplatz branch amounting to three hundred Swiss Francs for the current year—”
“Do you have the key?” the distorted, frustrated voice asked.
“No, sir, we didn’t find a key… we weren’t looking for a key. You didn’t ask for one.”
“Do not patronize me. If you couldn’t find the letters I was asking for, then anything else that could lead to this goddamn map would have been helpful.” The voice inhaled deeply. “I want you to get the next flight to Switzerland; find which city this Paradeplatz branch is in and rush there.”
Dave signaled with his hands for Sergey to start driving towards the airport.
“Yes, sir, but how are we supposed to get in the bank and open a safety box that does not belong to us?”
“I don’t care, find a way. Contact me as soon as you are there.” The line disconnected abruptly. The tone echoed in the car, drowning out the sound of the rain bouncing off the car’s windshield.
Sergey was already on the busy highway, the asphalt covered in layers of water, following the signs towards JFK airport.