The Milestone Protocol by Ernest Dempsey (reading in the dark txt) 📗

to that stuff. Plus, I’m happily married.” He held up his left hand to show off a gray silicon wedding band.

“And…does your wife know about all this stuff?”

Sean didn’t look at him, instead keeping his eyes locked on the front door as they approached the hotel. “She’s probably more dangerous than me.”

Kevin stared at him, expecting more, and tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. He caught himself, stumbling forward just before they reached the red carpet extending out from the entrance under the awning.

“Easy,” Sean said with a chortle.

The doorman greeted the two in Bulgarian and pulled the door open. Sean thanked him, and the men passed through into the lobby.

The interior of the hotel looked exactly like what it was—an old hotel that had gone through nearly a century of communist apathy, only to be refurbished in the last few decades with the return of capitalism.

Sean strolled over to the concierge desk and stopped short. He smiled politely at the thin, chalky-skinned young man with black hair in a red suit that matched the doorman’s.

The concierge greeted Sean in English. “Hello, sir. How may I help you? Checking in?”

“Yes, thank you. We have a reservation.”

Sean gave the man the details, one of his IAA credit cards, and his identification. After the concierge confirmed the details, he passed Sean a pair of room keys. “Will you be needing anything else, sir?” The concierge looked as though he hoped he could be of more service.

“No, thank you,” Sean said. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re most welcome, sir.”

Sean turned, handed one of the keys to Kevin, and made for a set of four brass elevator doors to the right of a pair of white columns.

Kevin’s head spun around as he took in the lobby. An ornate chandelier hung from the high ceiling, full of glimmering crystals that sprayed light in a thousand directions. The second floor featured an exposed balcony seating area, where a restaurant and bar treated guests to drinks and dinner. Several well-dressed patrons sat along the railing, engaged in conversations as they drank or ate or both.

The white marble floor looked to be recently installed, though it was always difficult for Kevin to tell how old marble really was. It tended to maintain its newness well compared to other surfaces, especially if properly cared for.

He and Sean reached the elevator doors, and the one on the far right opened. A young man in an expensive gray suit stepped out with a gorgeous woman on his arm. Her red dress splattered with white flower patterns fluttered in the breeze as they passed, and her perfume left hints of peaches in the air.

Sean ignored the two and stepped onto the elevator with a gawking Kevin in tow.

The doors to the lift closed when Sean pressed the button for the eighth floor. The lingering perfume tingled his senses, and he thought of his wife, wishing she were here with him. Alas, Adriana was back in Madrid, tending to a few family affairs with her father’s winery.

“How did you find me?” Kevin asked, slicing through the silence.

Sean looked backward as if he could see through the walls of the hotel and onto the streets. “Back there?” He shrugged. “We knew which flight you were on from Russia and which hotel you were going to. After that, figuring out the route you’d take to your hotel was easy enough. I arrived in Ancient Town before you and your entourage. Then all I had to do was watch.”

“What if I’d gone another way?”

“You know,” Sean exhaled, “you’ll drive yourself crazy if you think about stuff like that. I find it’s best to just be thankful you didn’t go a different direction, and that you’re still alive.”

He slapped Kevin on the back as the elevator doors opened. Sean poked his head through and looked in both directions, then stepped out.

The two men ambled down the corridor, past the brass light fixtures that held flickering faux candles.

“What was with the tattoos those guys had on their necks?” Kevin asked just before reaching their room.

Sean stopped, pressed the key card to the reader, and the lock clicked. He pulled down on the latch and pushed the door open. “The ankh?” Sean lifted an eyebrow at the question and stepped into the hotel room. “It’s an ancient Egyptian symbol for life. I thought you’d know that, given your profession.”

Kevin drooped his shoulders and his chin fell. “No. I mean, of course I know what the ankh represents.” He followed Sean into the room and let the door close behind him. “What I meant was, why did all of them have that same tattoo on their necks?”

“Oh, that.” Sean stopped at the nearest of two queen-size beds and sat down. “You don’t mind if I take this one, do you? I like to be closer to the door.”

Kevin shook his head, bewildered at the reasoning as well as the juxtaposition of the conversation.

“No, by all means. Do you have luggage or something?”

“Airline is delivering it. Normally, I would have taken the company plane, but Tommy had to use it to get to Sweden for some speech he’s giving there.” Sean crossed one leg over the other and stared suspiciously at Kevin. “You and he don’t get along, do you?”

Kevin shifted uncomfortably. He took the satchel over to the desk and set it down gently. “Not particularly. I haven’t always approved of the IAA’s methods. Particularly yours.”

Sean’s lips creased to one side. “Change your mind on that yet?”

Kevin surrendered a breath through his nose in mild laughter. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Good. So, in my experience,” Sean stood and trudged over to the desk, “when multiple people have the same markings or tats, they’re part of some kind of group or gang.”

“You think they were gangsters?”

“No. Not based on what I saw. I’d say more likely a secret organization.”

Kevin’s eyes widened. “Like a secret society?”

“Probably. Your dig site was attacked, right? And you don’t know why? No signs of trouble before that?”

“No,