The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [87]
It was then, slowly, that he finally made his way inside. He saw the carvings along the cave walls . . . the odd symbols and stick figures. The deeper he went, the more bodies he found. Not everyone was dead. At least three or four were still breathing, still crawling to get out. But all the blood . . . from the fight . . . There was so much shooting. They weren’t breathing for long.
For the second time at the cave, Mikhel wanted to run. He tried to run and leave. But again, he couldn’t. Instead, he stood there, seized by the carnage as he re-created the scene inside. It was there—at the far end of the cave, where Abram and Mendel lay facedown—where the ambush happened. Where his friends fought back. And where he spotted, way in the back, the small flickers of flame from a knocked-over torch.
As the cave’s only light source, it was impossible to miss. But as he got closer . . . the smell . . . It wasn’t wood that was burning. No, it was like burnt tires, but sweeter. Like leather.
Like a tanned leather hold-all being licked by flames.
Mikhel still didn’t know what possessed him to pull it out.
“But you brought the totems?” Thick Glasses asked.
“Only if you brought my paperwork,” Mikhel replied, still clutching the hold-all as he pretended to stare out at the sycamore trees.
It was cold outside. But not as cold as Sweden.
From the inside pocket of his coat, Thick Glasses handed over a folded pale envelope that was closed with a string tie. Mikhel opened it and examined the contents. The Secret Service were men of their word.
“The ship is called the Statendam. It leaves from Rotterdam,” Thick Glasses explained.
“Where?”
“In the Netherlands. Don’t fret—we’ll have a broad carriage take you. The ship will get you to New York. From there, we’ve selected a place called Cleveland, Ohio.”
“You’ll like it,” the other man said with a grin. “Best Jewish city in America.”
“What about my family?”
“All the paperwork is inside. Your wife, daughters . . . They’ll join you soon. New lives for all,” Thick Glasses promised.
“And in return?” Mikhel asked.
“If we need you, we know you’re there,” Thick Glasses said. “In today’s world, we need a few Russians we can count on.” Once again staring at the leather hold-all, he added, “Now about the totems . . .”
No question, the Americans were smart. Mikhel put the case on the floor and slid it backward under the seat.
The tram began to slow down as it pulled into the next station.
“Agent Westman, this is your stop,” the tram driver called from the front.
But neither agent moved, both still rummaging through the items in the hold-all.
“Mikhel, I see four items here,” Thick Glasses said, looking up.
“That’s correct,” Mikhel replied.
“Your message said there were five,” the other man insisted. “Five totems.”
Mikhel stared at him calmly, taking in the man’s burning blue eyes. The tram bucked to a stop. “No,” he said. “There were only four.”
No question, the Americans were smart. But that didn’t mean Mikhel Segalovich was stupid.
“Sirs, you need to leave,” the tram driver insisted. “Your transport is waiting.”
The two men stood from their seats and headed for the front.
“Have a good life, Mitchell,” Thick Glasses called out as he carried the hold-all. Reading the confusion on Mikhel’s face, he added, “Only way to start a new life is with a new name. An American name. Mitchell Siegel.”
“Mitchell Siegel,” Mikhel repeated, saying it aloud. “It sounds . . . silly.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Thick Glasses replied in English as he stepped off the tram. “Good-bye, Mitchell. See you in the land of opportunity.”
Today
Miami, Florida
“I don’t get it,” Scotty said, looking up at the two agents. “Mitchell . . . Mikhel . . . whatever his name was—he kept one of these . . .”
“Totems. A sacred family object.”
“. . . he kept one of the totems for himself?”
“It took years for the Thules to figure it out—especially with the second name change at Ellis Island,” the FBI agent named Aldridge explained. “Their Leadership is patient, though. In their eyes, they