Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three
Cruz

Thanks to Asher, I looked every inch a jet-setting entrepreneur as I strolled through Kyiv International Airport, having stashed the plane in a private bunker. The fake I.D enabled me to hire a car with no issues, and from there I endured a three-hour drive to Sofiyivka Park, stopping once to refuel.

I checked into the Lomo Hotel Uman, close to where I needed to be. My phone battery was almost dead, so I plugged it in and arranged my spy gear on the bed. Dominic had given me a pair of ex-ray sunglasses, a sonar watch that could detect objects that are hidden underwater, a small oxygen tank and mouthpiece for searching the surrounding lake, and a Glock handgun with a silencer. I wasn’t sure if I could cover the entire area during one visit, so I used an I.P address scrambler, so I could pull up an aerial view of the land. This enabled me to narrow down the search into several zones.

Dad wanted me to check-in, so I dropped a text to say that I had arrived. He replied, informing me he had sent Uncle Ulrich to collect me from the hotel. He was always my contact whenever I came to Ukraine. Dad told me the agency had failed to recover the bodies from the wreckage, and until they found us, we were all presumed missing as opposed to dead. I ate the rest of the food I purchased from the petrol station, then set my alarm for 6.a.m. Bexley’s face swam into my mind’s eye as I drifted off to sleep, and I imagined her lying here beside me. I hoped to God that wherever she was, Asher was keeping her safe.

I left the hotel bright and early before anyone else. Dressed like a typical European tourist, I wore my backpack upon both shoulders, my packed lunch hiding all the spy equipment beneath a hidden panel. So, if they check my bag, or run it through a machine, all it would show is the hotel-provided ration pack. The warm weather encouraged people to step outdoors, and soon enough the park was bustling with families and individuals who loved to walk among nature. I searched from zone to zone, inside every building, conservatory, and ornate gazebo, among every flowerbed, and used the watch to search every body of water. Count Stainislaw Potocki founded the gardens in 1796. He was a Polish noble who rebuilt Uman after a peasant uprising. He named the garden after his Greek wife, Sofia, and gifted it to her on her birthday. There had to be a monument, a focal point, or an object of significance. My aunt wouldn’t hide something of such great value in any old place.

“Hey, mister.” I glanced up from the flowerbed and saw I’d attracted an audience of four small children. “What are you doing?” a girl with blonde pigtails asked in Ukrainian.

It was lucky I could understand their native tongue.

“Are you looking for fairies?” a girl with red curls inquired.

“Boys don’t search for fairies, they look for elves,” a boy with dark spikey hair grumbled, crossing his arms with a scowl on his face.

“Have you noticed any?” I inquired, pretending to look around the flower garden. “They were here a moment ago, lots of little elves and fairies.”

The children gasped with amazement.

“Really? You’ve met them?” the boy asked.

I nodded. “Hundreds of them, everywhere,” I fibbed.

The children exchanged awestruck glances, then they flicked their eyes to me.

“I knew it,” a little girl with a short brown bob, muttered.

“Have you ever met the fairy queen?” a girl with pigtails inquired.

I sank to lean against one knee, so I could speak to the kids at eye-level.

“Yes,” I replied, thinking of Bexley. She was the light in my life. "She's my favourite."

“Grown-ups aren't supposed to see them,” the girl with red curls stated. "You must be special."

“Well, I can see them perfectly well,” I assured her. “And if you capture one, they have to grant you three wishes,” I added, sounding as convincing as possible. “But you mustn’t wander away from your parents. Fairies are playful, but they can be mischievous too. They like to get you into trouble, so stay alert, and don’t let them trick you.”

The children whispered among themselves and decided on something.

“Okay, we'll be careful,” they chimed in response. “Thanks, Mister Fairy King.”

I winced at that comment, thanking the heavens that my brothers were not here to witness this.

As they scattered away, giggling, I resumed my search for the clue. I followed the path around a small algae-dotted pool that was half-concealed with a mass of Lilly pads. The surrounding foliage provided a shroud of mystery, and as I peered over the footbridge, I noticed a cave with a white marble sculpture inside. Using the ex-ray sunglasses, I could see beneath the bridge and rock and discovered a pocket of air through an underwater tunnel. Not wanting to get covered in pond filth, I climbed over the edge and dangled above the water, swinging back and forth to vault onto the slimy surface. I collided with the feminine figure and clung to her naked frame, my feet sliding through the slick green moss. I must have dislodged debris from the ancient water feature because brown sludge oozed from the lip of the stone and plopped into the pool, then water cascaded from a filter above me like a waterfall, churning the murky pond. Acting quickly, I removed the oxygen tank from my backpack and shoved the mouthpiece between my lips. People could walk by at any moment and question what I was doing down here. Thinking on my feet, I secured my bag around the statue’s shoulders to keep it dry, then dived beneath the surface, searching around for a slight cavity in the stone. My watch illuminated the way, guiding me to the correct spot. I swam through the tunnel, found the hidden chamber, and came up for air, finding that the thirty-centimetre gap was filling fast. There, on a narrow ledge, was a metal tin, no bigger than a box of cooking matches. I grabbed it, and swam back through the tunnel. As I returned, a young couple were peering over the bridge. It startled them as I broke through the surface to snatch my bag from the statue. They watched with alarm as I scrambled onto the embankment.

The woman screamed, and the man embraced his frightened lover. I raised my thumb in a friendly gesture and spat out the mouthpiece.

“Sorry about that. I’m the maintenance guy, checking the water pumps are working correctly,” I excused, noticing them sag with relief. “Carry on; don’t mind me.”

I prised the wax seal from around the tin box and retrieved a memory stick from within it. People assumed I had taken an unfortunate step and tumbled into the lake. I took no notice as they chuckled, my shoes squelching as I strode down the path, shoving the oxygen tank into my backpack. I hadn't packed a change of clothes, but thanks to the evening sun and my lightweight attire, I was soon dry in no time.

The children from earlier waved to me as they enjoyed a picnic on the green. “Look, there’s the Fairy King,” they chimed. I gave a polite wave, ignoring the amused snorts from their mothers.

Finally, I had got what I came for. Now I could return to the hotel and wait for Uncle Ulrich to arrive.

The roads were empty, the streets were calm. The receptionist greeted me with a disinterested grunt as I retired to my room, using the stairs instead of the temperamental lift. I was glad to be back, keen to scrub myself in the shower. Food wasn’t my top priority. The pond slime in my underwear was. I swiped my key card, but it refused to cooperate. It opened with the second attempt and the scent of food greeted me square in the face. Something was amiss. I whipped out my pistol and crept inside. A dark figure moved in my peripheral and I whirled around and aimed my gun at the intruder’s head.

“Easy, Cruz. It’s me,” Uncle Ulrich blurted, raising his palms. "Zane told me you'd be here, so I let myself in." He held up a code-cracking device as evidence. A present from Dominic.

Ulrich sported the same military buzz cut, although it was turning grey with age. The scar that sliced through his left eye made him appear scarier than he was. I remembered his teachings and always loved him as if he was my real uncle, not just a friend of my father.

I sagged with relief and lowered my weapon. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

Ulrich met me halfway and yanked me into a fatherly hug.

“Speak for yourself; you look like shit,” he retorted. “And you smell like a sewage drain.” He drew back, wrinkling his nose.

I shoved my gun into the waistband of my combats and flashed a humoured smile.

“Yeah, well, I smell food,” I commented, savouring the mouth-watering aroma from the paper bag on the counter.

Ulrich crossed the room and rummaged inside, retrieving foil containers and two forks.

“Go shower first. You stink,” he remarked, flicking his finger as if to shoo me away. “I’ll fix dinner. Then we can talk.”

After a much-needed shower, I returned to the room to dig out some fresh clothes from my luggage. Ulrich was half-way through his meal as I dressed. I took a seat at the counter to eat mine.

“I take it you found what you were searching for?” he asked, then shoved another forkful of pierogi into his mouth.

“I did,” I answered, flicking my gaze back to Ulrich.

“Well then, call your father and let him know you have it,” Ulrich barked, raising his voice as if I was eight years old and back in his training academy. He rolled his eyes and muttered swear words in Ukrainian.

I did as he said and balanced the phone between my neck and shoulder as I ate.

“Cruz, I’m surprised to hear from you so soon,” Dad commented, sounding hopeful.

“Mission accomplished,” I confirmed. “Where do I go from here?”

Ulrich resumed eating, stabbing his fork into the savoury-filled dumplings.

“Paris. Mention to Ulrich about a hidden vineyard. He’ll know what I’m talking about,” Dad assured, his lewd chortle hinted at something crude.

I bounced my gaze to Ulrich. “Hey, we need to travel to Paris. Something about a vineyard. Dad said you’d remember.”

Ulrich let out a dramatic groan. “Why?” he complained, shoving his food container to one side. “That place is filled with the devil’s juice, not the church wine they led me to believe,” he muttered to himself. “It was fun, though. Especially the threesome with those French nuns.”

I choked on my pierogi. “What about the others? Have they made contact yet?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Braxton and Dominic have. We’re just waiting on Asher and Bexley,” Dad informed me. “Don’t use chartered flights. It's time to go dark. That’s where Ulrich comes in; he has a Russian stealth jet on standby.”

"We'll be there," I replied, ending the call.

I glanced up at Ulrich, seeing him in a whole new light. “Ménage à trois with nuns, huh?” I commented, arching my brow in a quizzical pose.

Ulrich was always quick to retort, countering me with logic. “Says the man who shares a woman with his brothers.”

“Touché.” I grinned. “Get us to Paris, and I’ll introduce you to her.”