Chris Kuzneski - The Hunters

Then he had his answers … if only for an instant.

As Borovsky helped her into the first car, the image from Jasmine’s flashlight held steady long enough to reveal a literal pile of treasure. Heaps upon stacks of crates, filling the space. Unfortunately for Papineau, Jasmine momentarily reverted to a six-year-old on Christmas morning, overcome with joy and unsure where to start.

‘Queen Maria’s jewelry!’ he heard her say, but the images blurred as she spun around, trying to take it all in. ‘The lost artwork! The historical archives! It’s all here!’

‘Tell her to focus!’ Papineau yelled at Garcia, who relayed the message. As Jasmine gained control over her emotions, Garcia’s program finally had a chance to make its comparisons. Papineau watched his screen as thin, red outlines began to encircle various objects. When a possible match was found, the system briefly flashed an image of the artifact before adding it to a list of results. Like a massive, multi-player online game, the program kept a running tally of the discoveries.

Papineau watched with fascination as the program continued to outline, display, and compile with increasing speed, until his screen looked like an explosion of digital fireworks.

Borovsky smiled at the sight of Jasmine and the others combing through the artifacts. It was the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in the historical value of the pieces, rather than the price they would fetch, that pleased him the most. He hoped the others understood the heritage of these items, and the lengths to which he would go to protect them.

He was beginning to like these newcomers.

He sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t have to shoot them.

‘Before the prince fled,’ Borovsky explained, ‘decisions were made as to which pieces were to accompany him. Time was not on his side, and he left the treasure nearly exactly as you see it today. With no way to accurately determine which pieces are related, those sworn to protect it simply left it as the prince had left it.’

‘This is amazing,’ Jasmine blurted.

Again Borovsky smiled. ‘It makes me happy to hear you say that. There are six more cars, all similar in content and disarray. But the eighth car is different … Come, there is something you must see.’

After helping everyone from the first car, Borovsky silently led them to the rear of the train. The suspense was working its own particular brand of magic on each of them. Jasmine couldn’t wait to inventory the historical artifacts of the other six cars. Now that they had found it, Sarah and McNutt were wondering if they had to deliver the train before Papineau would hand them their money. Anna wondered how long her superior had been guarding his secret.

Meanwhile, two questions burdened Cobb: what treasure among treasures was in the eighth car, and what price would they have to pay for seeing it?

Cobb cautiously entered the eighth car and started to examine the last compartment. The front half was filled with crates, paintings, sculptures, and files — nothing noteworthy as far as he was concerned. Then Borovsky pointed toward the far corner. When he saw it, Cobb felt a rolling chill as a wave of goose pimples covered his arms.

It was a coffin.

As Cobb approached it, he studied the exterior of the box. Made of thick, heavy wood, it was spiked down in sixteen places along its edge. Strangely, it was also latched on either side with heavy iron locks that required a large key to open.

They all followed Cobb toward the coffin. Everyone except for Jasmine, who literally froze for a moment in the doorway as if she’d gazed at the face of the Gorgon.

‘Someone didn’t want us to get into that box,’ McNutt said.

‘Garcia? You got anything?’ Cobb quietly asked.

‘Searching, boss, but I’m not optimistic,’ he said.

It didn’t matter. Borovsky was about to show them what was inside.

Borovsky removed a chain from around his neck and used the attached key to unlock the ancient locks. Picking up a small pry bar from a nearby crate, he thrust the sharpened end under the lid. Struggling to simply remove one of the sixteen nails, he motioned for Cobb to pick up the second pry bar and start on the opposite side. Working together, it still took them nearly five minutes to move their way around the coffin. As Borovsky pried loose the final anchor, Cobb and McNutt gently pulled back the wooden curtain while bracing themselves for the expected and inevitable stench of death.

There was none. Much to everyone’s surprise, there were also no spiders, cockroaches, ants, maggots, flies, mice, or rats. There was only a slight aroma.

‘What is that smell?’ McNutt said. ‘It’s like … fruit.’

‘Shellac,’ Jasmine said, transfixed by the object within. ‘Used as a preservative — made from lac, a deposit found on trees across this continent.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be prune.’

McNutt was only partly kidding because the object inside the coffin looked like a human-sized, human-shaped prune.

Time seemed to have sealed its limbs against, and slightly into, its desiccated yet lumpy body, which consisted of what seemed to be eroding clothing combined with mummified flesh.

Whatever hair was left on its wrinkle-skinned skull now looked like stringy mold. There were only vague suggestions of ears, eyes, nose, or mouth. Over the years, its shape had shifted severely. Now it looked like a Halloween mask.

The only thing seemingly untouched by time was a ring that clung to what used to be its finger. The wide, gold band of the ring was encrusted with sparkling diamonds. The girdle held a magnificent, blood-red ruby. The face of the ring was oblong, with bands of onyx standing out against the polished jewel.

The emblem was clear.

It was the three-barred cross of the Russian Orthodox Church.

The ring was sanctimonious, yet righteous; decadent, yet humble. It somehow reflected lust and virtue at the same time. As if the designer recognized the sin of creating such a lavish bauble before asking for God’s forgiveness by adorning the piece with the holy sign of his faith.

‘We’ve found the ultimate treasure,’ Jasmine said.

‘We have?’ Cobb asked. ‘I mean — is this what I think it is?’

She looked back at the others with a palpable sense of dread.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s Rasputin.’

The reactions to the announcement were muted. The shock of the find was tempered by Borovsky’s explanation that this body was what had drawn the attention of the Black Robes and why they were so fanatically determined to remain.

Cobb was not startled or unnerved by Rasputin’s corpse. It was just one more dead body on a day full of them. Instead, he focused on the rest of the train car, searching for more surprises.

Sarah walked over casually to the coffin. She froze when she saw the ring on his finger.

‘Get me a good image,’ Garcia said.

McNutt brought the flashlight closer.

‘How do you know it’s him?’ McNutt asked Jasmine.

Jasmine pointed to the ring. ‘That’s a gift from the tsarina.’

‘Couldn’t it have been looted from one of the palaces and left here with the rest of the treasure?’ he asked.

‘Hidden on a dead body?’ Sarah said.

‘In a coffin,’ McNutt replied. ‘Who’d look there with all the rest of this lying around?’

‘Me,’ Sarah said, looking over the perimeter of the pine box. ‘The way that thing was sealed tight, they might as well have built a neon sign that said “Important!”’

Jasmine corrected her. ‘Actually, the spikes and padlock weren’t to keep people out.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Sarah asked.