The Pretender's Gambit. Alex Archer
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NGUYEN RAO STOOD in the shadows that filled an alley across the street from the police cars and gawkers. The constant strobe of the flashing light bars had ignited a small headache deep within his skull, but that could have been the effects of the cold, as well. He wasn’t used to this weather. Cambodia, where he was from, was much more temperate.
He was tall and athletic, dressed in a dark gray business suit under a long coat that was not warm enough. His eyes watered against the chill, or it may have been because he had not slept. The plane ride from Phnom Penh had drained him. He had flown a lot during the time he had been getting his education in England, but he had never learned to relax during the flights.
The arrival at JFK International Airport had been delayed in England, and then there had been confusion with New York Port Authority security that had forced a longer postponement of his assignment. As a result, he had arrived at Maurice Benyovszky’s apartment too late to talk to the man regarding the sale of the elephant. Listening to the reporters and the gossiping people in the streets, Rao had learned of the old man’s death and was saddened. Life was something meant to be treasured, each a treasure to be enjoyed and to further a person’s education of self and that person’s place in the world.
He wondered if Benyovszky’s murder would in some way dim Vishnu’s Eye. Actions impacted many things. Then he wondered when he had started believing in the old legend enough to even question such a thing. He wasn’t given to idle fancy.
But there was something to the story. The fact that the elephant existed proved there was some validity to the myth.
A story is only a myth till it becomes part of history. At that point, myth turns into fact. Professor Beliveau had often stated that in his classes. And he would go on to state that they were in the business of separating myth from fact, yet maintaining both because sometimes it was important for a culture to have its myths and legends. Those things shaped generations and gave them a shared history.
If the elephant exists, then the way to the Lost Temple exists.
But the Eye of Vishnu? Would that truly allow a man to bridge the past and the future, to see the things that were and the things that would be?
That would be a very powerful thing. Rao felt guilty for not believing in the Eye more. His temple had discovered the legend years ago, almost lost in their records because of all the strife that had run rampant through his country for so long, but there had been nothing discovered in those ancient texts that would lead the priests to the Lost Temple. The priests had spent years looking for it. Only when the elephant was found on the internet did they find another crumb of the trail that had been left. Even that discovery had been by chance, not by deliberate research.
So much had been lost in all the years of upheaval and invaders. Even now, parts of Cambodia were not at peace, and the shadow of the Khmer Rouge continued to touch the country. A rough voice startled him from his thoughts.
“Hey! What are you doing here? Spying on people? Is that what you’re doing?”
Rao chose not to answer, though he stepped sideways to look at the speaker. As a Vietnamese man in this neighborhood, especially at this time of night, he stood out. He hoped that his silence could be mistaken for not understanding the language.
The man who addressed him looked to be around thirty, about Rao’s age. But the man was big through the shoulders, and powerful looking. A reddish beard covered his face under a black knit cap that fit tightly to his head. He wore fingerless gloves and a bulky coat. Three other men trailed behind him, all of them about the same age and scruffy looking. All of them held a vulpine gleam to their eyes, predators gazing upon defenseless prey.
“Did you hear me?” The man came closer. “You no speak English?”
Rao actually spoke English quite well. Better than the man standing in front of him as a matter of fact. The man confronting him spoke with a thick Slavic accent.
“I think he’s just ignoring you, Vladi,” one of the other men said with the same accent. The three of them circled around the bigger man like wolves preparing for a kill.
Glancing up, Rao took in the fire escapes that zig-zagged up to the roofs.
“Don’t look away when I’m talking to you.” Vladi thumped Rao in the chest with a thick, blunt forefinger. “If you think one of your gangs is going to muscle in on our territory, you got another think coming.” The big man grinned and the expression was pure hate. “We’re gonna send a message of our own back to your people.” He reached for Rao.
Twisting, stepping back and giving ground before the bigger man’s hand, Rao avoided his opponent’s clumsy effort, caught his wrist and yanked just enough to pull the man off balance. Vladi staggered forward, fell and caught himself on his hands and knees.
Taking advantage of the big man’s position, Rao leaped to Vladi’s back, used it to propel himself up to catch the railing on the nearest fire escape, and clambered up the other landings as quickly as a squirrel climbing a tree. At the top of the four-story building, he leaned over the edge and looked down.
Vladi had gotten back to his feet. All of them stared at Rao in surprise, then one of them leaped up to pull down the access ladder with a loud clang that drew the attention of the police. Two of the uniformed police officers came over to the alley to investigate, turning on flashlights and holding their pistols in their holsters. Vladi and his cohorts scattered and ran back down the alley as the policemen’s flashlights picked them out of the darkness.
Rao continued walking across the rooftop, intending to find a new spot to continue his surveillance. If the elephant was still attainable, he intended to have it. The priests at the temple would expect him to continue the hunt, and he was not prepared to give up on it.
“Hey, bro, you can’t just hold us here forever. We know our rights. You can’t arrest us if we didn’t do anything. And this is our home anyway. You can’t even be here if we don’t want you here. We could make you wait in the hallway.”
The speaker was the younger of the two Russian men sitting on the ratty pale green couch that looked like it had been scooped up off the street. The rest of the furniture was ill-matched and just as unkempt, spreading across three different styles and at least thirty years. None of the pieces were collector’s items.
Cigarette smoke hung like a cloud in the air. European symphonic heavy-metal tracks spun through the iPod dock on top of a television, showing a futuristic military video game paused in midaction. Something was blowing up but Annja wasn’t sure what it was.
She stood behind Bart with her hands in her jacket pockets and didn’t say anything. Although a police investigation wasn’t something she regularly took part in, she’d seen plenty on television, and she’d watched Bart in action a few times. She felt safe, and she was definitely curious.
The two Russians were obviously related and it showed in their features—the same eyes, the same facial structure. One of them was thin and lupine-faced and maybe twenty, wearing a concert T-shirt, and the other looked slightly older and was beefed up and overweight, like a martial arts fighter who’d been hitting the borscht and beer too often. The younger guy had long dark hair and a spotty beard while the older one was shaven bald and wore a dark beard with lime-green tints.
Based on the look of their apartment, and the stench, and their lackadaisical nature, both of them were delinquents and probably a total waste of time.
“You know your rights?” Bart looked impressed.
The younger brother nodded and fist bumped his brother. They waggled their fingers like the fist bump had caused an explosion. “You bet we do, bro. We know our rights back and front, and you can’t just arrest us.”
“What would I arrest you for?”
“Nothing, bro.” The young one wiped his hands in front of him like