Sylvia failed to mention that Bialystok is a damn long way from Riga. Riding a fast bike with a used god on the back gets boring after the first ten minutes. Especially since he passed the time by recalling the good old days chasing Christians around places like Corinth, Ephesus, and Galatia. Has-beens gotta brag. Then he started in on how I never listen to him. Just like my dad.
Mercury said, Jesus has the same problem. None of y’all listen to him either. He says ‘give all your money to the poor and follow me’ and the first thing you do is vote for the richest guy running for president. I mean, huh?
We were in southern Lithuania nearing the border when the sun, still beyond the horizon, turned the black night into dark blue.
My high-speed ride paid off. I was well ahead of them. I pulled onto the grounds of an abandoned manufacturing plant. A crust of snow covered a landscape so flat I could see Dubuque from there. Probably. Riding around the outside of the parking lot to avoid leaving a trail, I came to the backside of the structure.
I toured the ruined building. Pretty much an empty barn on steroids, made of thin bricks and corrugated sheet metal and broken glass. Not much existed in terms of hiding places. I parked the bike in a corner. Only an oil drum obscured it. I leaned my butt against the wall near the door and began the long wait.
Mercury stalked the empty room angrier than I’d ever seen him. He’d started haranguing me at the end of the ride, whipping himself into a frenzy. Get woke, dude! I’m telling you. She stayed for one more round—cause that’s how the Greeks be. No sense of responsibility. Doesn’t care that danger’s coming. You even pointed Stalingrad out to her, and she stayed to party. She’s the kinda ho who loves making her hero save her, over and over.
I pounded both hands into his chest, pushing him back three steps. Don’t call her a ho.
Chill, bro. Mercury clenched his fists. You don’t want to be pushing a god around. I don’t fight little mortals like you.
He snapped his fingers.
Something in his voice told me I’d better let it go. But he was getting on my nerves. One more insult and I was going back on my meds. I rolled the bottle of pills around in my pocket.
Mercury disappeared for ten minutes, then reappeared with a brawny guy carrying a hammer. I found Ukko hanging around outside. I’d introduce you, but he hates Christians, former or otherwise. They ripped off all his believers too.
I said, Who?
Mercury looked to the skies with impatience. You’re trespassing on his block, and you don’t know who he is? Ukko—sky god in these parts. You really should study up a bit before you travel. Mercury turned his back to his pal and rolled his eyes and spoke in a whisper. Ukko thinks he’s up there with Jupiter. As if. You need a little time to be chilling down, you know what I’m saying, bro? So I’ll be hanging with Ukko for a bit. Good luck with the Russians.
Ukko put his arm around Mercury, and the two of them walked out.
Fine.
An hour later, a van pulled in from the highway. With the mile-long approach, it seemed like forever before they got to the expansive parking lot. The van stopped a long way back. They made a hard right and circled back toward the highway. There were no cars following them.
Half an hour later, she called.
Sylvia said, “He said you were there, waiting to ambush him.”
“Does he want the package or not?”
“He found a different place, a couple miles up the road.”
“Let me guess, it’s just like this one, only with a difference.” I thought for a moment how to phrase the question so her answer wouldn’t give it away. Working with civilians presents challenges. “If there are any buildings inside a city block, but no farther than three blocks away, I want you to phrase it by telling me, ‘nothing around here but a BLANK building really far away’. You fill in the blank. Now take a good look around and give me the answer.”
She took a few seconds. “There’s nothing around here but an old silo really far away.”
“Hang tight, I’ll have you rescued in an hour. I’m out of gas.”
“Hurry. I don’t like these guys.”
“One last question.” I couldn’t stop myself. “Did you have one more drink before you left the bar in Riga?”
“Well. The Latvian director was so nice, and he looked so lonesome when I said we had to leave. He insisted we have one more round. And I didn’t understand what you were telling me until it was too—”
I clicked off.
Nothing pisses me off more than finding out god was right.
I got on the bike and peeled out without waiting for him.
Ten minutes later, I found it. Sylvia failed to describe it in proper detail. It was a mid-century concrete silo with a flat roof. An ideal sniper’s nest. But that didn’t matter, because Stalingrad’s sniper was lying next to me, out cold.
I took up his position and sighted his rifle. It was an SVLK-14 Sumrak, one of the most powerful rifles made and the only model I didn’t have in my collection. I nodded thanks to the unconscious sniper and repositioned myself. Mr. Stalingrad and three of his friends paced impatiently around the van, rubbing their gloved hands for warmth. Inside it, the film crew cowered in the cramped space with a fourth Russian. That left three more Russians unaccounted for.
I searched the grounds for five minutes trying to find the missing men.
I was deep in the search when someone grabbed my ankle and dragged me backward three feet. Spinning over, I scrambled for my pistol before realizing it was Miguel. He crouched below Stalingrad’s visual range with a shit-eating grin. The downside to having an American Indian best friend is that he lives the stereotype. He really can sneak up on you. He does that skinwalker thing, turning himself into a church mouse.
Dhanpal climbed the ladder and rolled onto the roof. “We could only get three of them without open warfare.”
“You guys followed me?”
“Ms. Sabel sent us to help you back in Jurmala,” Dhanpal said. “She figured you’d get in over your head sooner or later. We were the car following you when you bought the bike. We were trying to call you, tell you we were there to help.”
“It’s amazing how far you’ll go to make your girl think you’re a hero.” Miguel punched my shoulder. “Bianca tracked you since you turned your phone off.”
“Had to concentrate.” I picked up the spotter’s field glasses. “Can’t talk and ride a bike at 200 kph.”
“OK.” Miguel shrugged. “Talk or shoot?”
He was asking which task I wanted. No sense in letting Stalingrad know the cavalry had arrived. Or, in this case, the Indians. I waved my phone at him and waited until he got dialed in on the sniper rifle. Dhanpal shimmied back down to the ground for his part.
Watching the Russians through spotter’s binoculars, I called Sylvia.
“Hop out but don’t stand within arm’s reach of the guy.” I hesitated. “He has a lot longer reach than you might think.”
“Most men do.” She got out, holding the phone to her ear. Stalingrad’s attention turned to her. Before he could ask any questions, Miguel put a bullet into the pavement a quarter inch from each of his big toes.
Stalingrad shot a scowl my way. A light cloud of gunsmoke gave away our position.
I waved. “Tell him to line his men up against the wall, or they can die where they stand. That includes the guy in the van.”
Sylvia relayed the message.
Stalingrad looked like he was having open-bowel surgery without a shot of vodka. Miguel put a round through his right shoulder pad. Stuffing and threads flew out. Stalingrad didn’t flinch. He scowled and snapped his fingers. All four of them lined up against the wall. One guy thought we were going to execute him. He trembled like a leaf in an Iowa tornado.
Sylvia and the crew got in the van and left as fast as they dared on the icy road.
Dhanpal collected the Russians’ weapons and gave Stalingrad my most beloved possession: a five-inch statue of Mercury. Stalingrad waved the statue at me. He believed he had what he came for. Which he did—until Popov figured out otherwise. I felt a little bit bad for lying to him. But not my problem. It would give us time to get back to the Sabel jet and out of the Baltics.
Dhanpal tied them up with duct tape while Miguel kept them from wiggling their way out. When we were done, I decided the sniper’s rifle was a good trade for the little statue and slung it over my back for the ride.
In minutes, we were on the road back to Vilnius, about thirty minutes behind Sylvia. Back on my bike, I followed Miguel and Dhanpal in their rented Ford Edge. It was another long ride, and my butt was already sore.
It had been a long day. Halfway through, it was all I could do to stay awake.
The day was gray, visibility low, the landscape monotonous. My eyelids slumped, and my chin drooped. I almost missed the helicopter that flew parallel to the highway for a few hundred yards.
It stayed too far out to identify any markings. It hugged the ground, then rose, tilted forward, and zipped away into the foggy morning.
Dhanpal clicked me on the comm link. “Are you a wanted man in Poland too?”
“We crossed into Lithuania ten minutes ago.”
“And nothing bad happened in Lithuania?”
“Not yet.” I thought about it. “That’s where we left the jet. We did a low-key entry into Latvia.”
We drove on in silence for a minute before it hit me. If you’re a Russian in search of military support, Medevtin’s staunchest ally is Belarus. We were only twenty miles from the Belarus border, running parallel. I buzzed them back, but they didn’t pick up.
I came over a small rise in time to see the white smoke trail from the anti-tank rocket heading from the helicopter straight to their car. Miguel had already burned the brakes; the nose of his ride was diving for the pavement. The rocket grazed the left-front fender and exploded two car lengths away. The shock wave blew their car five feet up in the air, spun it three times and dropped it on its side in a roadside marsh.
My bike skidded to a stop, like every other car on the highway. I jumped off and pulled my prized sniper rifle. I sighted the chopper through the scope: a Russian Mil Mi-25 attack helicopter with Belarus markings. It hovered at an altitude of fifty feet to keep him off local radar. It was wheeling its Yak-B Gatling gun into position to finish off my friends. I fired a round into the engine. Nothing happened. Armor. I tried another, watching my ammo because sniper rifles have small mags. The second cracked the pilot’s windscreen and got his attention. The gunship turned toward me. I put a bullet into the rotor hub, a helicopter’s most vulnerable part.
The SVLK’s accuracy was amazing. So was its power. The bullet shattered the critical feathering hinge, causing the pitch links to fly off. The pilot no longer had control of the rotors that gives it lift and direction. He wisely shut down the power before the rotors turned him over and cartwheeled him across southern Lithuania. But his ship immediately became as aerodynamic as a rock. He fell straight to earth.
I ran for Miguel’s crash site. Fuel poured out of the ruptured tank.
Miguel emerged from inside. He stood on the rear door, let out a war-whoop, and started jumping up and down on the edge. I thought he’d gone nuts until the car dropped onto its wheels with a splash in the inch-deep murky bog. As I arrived, he ripped the passenger door off and yanked on Dhanpal’s torso. I lent a hand. With three tugs, we extracted our buddy from the tangled seatbelt and airbag remnants. Miguel stood him on his wobbly legs and checked him out.
Dhanpal took a second to do a systems check before giving us a big smile.
“Wahoo!” Miguel leaned back to shout. “What a ride! We should do that again.”
Mercury came splashing through the weeds. Get on that bike and get moving, dawg. You gotta get to Attu yesterday. All three of you. If you don’t, Pia-Caesar-Sabel is going to die.
I said, Chill. We have a tradition of celebrating when we cheat death. Besides, I’m going to take Sylvia home.
Mercury grabbed me by the shoulders. Will you listen to me for once, dude? Sylvia’s flying commercial. You’re going to Attu.
Behind me, Dhanpal said to Miguel, “Is he OK?”
And Miguel answered him, “He gets messages.”
I said, You’re just jealous of Aphrodite and me. I don’t care what you say, I’m in love with—
Mercury shook me like a rag doll. Are you listening to me? I’m a god, and I’m telling you to go to Attu. Holy Diana, you’re as deaf as the goddamn Ayatollah.
I said, Is this like the deal with Noah? Go and build—
A bolt of lightning struck the crashed chopper with an earsplitting crack followed by a deafening explosion. Ukko walked out of the fireball heading toward us. He pointed his hammer at me. I instinctively ducked.
I said, Is he like Thor or something?
Mercury said, Regional cousins. Don’t worry about it. Right now, he’s covering your tracks because even he knows how important this is. You. Have. To. Go—
I said, Attu, OK. Why does that sound familiar? Is that like Valhalla?
Mercury said, Look it up.
Behind me, Dhanpal asked, “Is he losing it?”
Miguel answered, “The guy just saved your life. Have faith.”
Mercury’s voice was rushed and angry. Just get your squad moving. You need to leave right now.
Ukko walked up, crossed his arms, and gave me one mean-ass glare. You have god on your side, and you argue? Move it, or the next bolt is yours.
Life is not going your way when two gods are yelling at you.
Or maybe it is. I’m never sure about these things.
I turned to my companions. “We gotta go.”
Miguel struck out for the bike. Dhanpal reluctantly followed.
I stared at Mercury for a minute. When Ukko raised his hammer, I ran after my pals. A lightning bolt struck the Ford. The fireball singed my back.
We reached the highway shoulder. The three of us stopped and stared at the one-and-a-half seater BMW.
I said, “We need to call a cab.”
Miguel said, “You just shot down an Eastern Bloc bird in a NATO country. You’ll be answering questions until spring. Got time for that Inquisition?”
“We can’t all ride that.”
“You kidding me?” Dhanpal asked. “When I go back to visit the grandparents, I see whole families riding on smaller bikes than this in Mumbai.”
Being small and lithe, he hopped on the gas tank. I got on behind him. Miguel, the size of a redwood, got on the back. Barely.
Awkward isn’t the right word for it. I’ll just skip ahead to the part where we arrived in Vilnius.
Sylvia and her crew were miffed about being relegated to commercial. They grabbed their gear and sneered their way to the waiting limo that Sabel Security’s help desk arranged. All but Sylvia slid inside. The driver held the door for her. She stood there, waiting for an explanation from me.
There were no explanations that made sense. I was going on a mission because an unemployed god, who could be nothing more than a figment of my imagination, told me to. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her and tell her how madly I’d fallen in love with her. Her eyes told me she was waiting for me to say that. What her eyes weren’t saying was how she would react. Given our many broken dates—and the fact that I was kicking her off a private jet for reasons I’d refused to explain—I didn’t hold out much hope for our future.
We faced each other, not quite close enough for a kiss.
“Where are you going?” Sylvia asked.
“Somewhere.” I sighed and looked across the apron to the main terminal.
“Are you going to kill people?”
My eyes snapped back to her with too much ferocity. She winced and backed up.
I took a deep breath. “Did we kill anyone in Jurmala?”
She nodded her understanding, but her eyes still avoided mine. “Someone shot down a helicopter. They grounded all the flights for a while. Was that you? Did you kill the people in that helicopter?”
“They fired a missile at Miguel—” my voice rose with my temper “—and were about to finish him off with a four-barrel Gatling gun that fires four thousand rounds a minute. Should I have let them?”
She turned, sniffled back some tears, and got in the limo.
I texted Ms. Sabel. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”