Escape The Mountains
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“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I do know that we need to get out of here.” He looked around. “Where are the others?”
The woman shook her head and pointed toward a nearby ridge where three figures were moving through the trees at an easy pace. They had their backs turned as they walked away from them, so he couldn’t see who it was or how many there might be.
It didn’t matter anyway; whatever they wanted with him wasn’t worth risking his life for. If those people came back looking for him again, then maybe he’d reconsider. For now, though, all he could think about was getting free of these mountains before something else happened.
He started walking in the direction she indicated when another voice called out behind him. Turning quickly, he saw one man standing on top of a boulder near the edge of the clearing. His face showed no emotion whatsoever except perhaps mild curiosity, which made sense considering this whole thing seemed like some kind of game to him too.
That’s why he hadn’t tried anything yet either—he probably thought whoever was holding him prisoner would come after him if things got dangerous enough. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure nobody followed them into the woods just in case.
“What is going on here? Why did you bring me down here?” asked the stranger.
The woman smiled slightly. “You don’t remember us, do you?” She glanced over her shoulder briefly before turning back to look at him directly. Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as she continued speaking. “We met once before…in a place far different than this.”
His expression grew more serious. This time, however, instead of trying to run off, he simply stood still and waited for someone to explain themselves. After a moment, he realized that neither of them intended to tell him any of what was happening until he gave up everything first.
As much as he hated being held captive by strangers, he also knew better than anyone how important secrets were. There was always a price to pay for keeping information close to your chest. In most cases, the cost was high.
That said, he decided to play along for now since he needed answers even worse than he needed freedom right then. Besides, this guy obviously had nothing against killing him if necessary, so he figured playing dumb might give him a chance to talk his way out of trouble later on. At least, he hoped it would work because otherwise there really wasn’t much point in pretending anymore.
“Who am I supposed to have forgotten?” he finally replied.
She shrugged nonchalantly while continuing to smile at him. “It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “All you need to know is that we want to help you escape.”
“And how exactly does helping me do that?” he countered.
Her answer surprised him. Instead of answering immediately, she turned her attention toward the other two men who were approaching from the opposite side of the clearing. One of them carried a large pack slung across his shoulders, while the second wore only loose pants and a simple shirt that hung loosely from his broad frame. Both of them stopped several feet short of him and stared at him silently without saying a word.
After waiting patiently for a few seconds, the woman spoke again. “These are my friends. We’ve been watching you for quite some time now.”
At last, he remembered them. A couple years ago, he’d spent a week working alongside these guys during a job in the city. He never learned their names, but they both worked for a small company owned by a friend of his father’s named Karel.
Their boss kept himself busy buying and selling various types of goods between cities, mostly foodstuffs, spices, herbs, clothing, weapons, tools, furniture, jewelry, pottery, glassware, artwork, books, musical instruments, and so forth.
Most of it was imported from places like China, India, Egypt, Greece, Rome, Persia, and elsewhere throughout Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia, South America, North America, and beyond, although occasionally he bought local products as well.
Whatever he found, he sold to merchants, artisans, craftsmen, and everyone else who needed supplies or equipment to keep their businesses running smoothly.
As far as jobs went, it was pretty straightforward: they helped load cargo onto ships bound for distant ports, transported items between warehouses, loaded wagons headed for marketplaces, delivered shipments to customers’ homes, and so on.
Not every day was exciting, but sometimes they ran into interesting characters and got to hear stories about strange new cultures and exotic lands. Sometimes they traveled outside of town to visit remote villages, farms, mines, factories, and other locations where business took place.
The experience was usually fun, but not all days were good. They often encountered people who didn’t take kindly to outsiders coming into their territory, especially those who weren’t part of the community. When that happened, they fought back with whatever means possible, including swords, knives, spears, clubs, rocks, and even bare hands. It was almost always messy and rarely ended peacefully.
Still, despite the occasional danger, he enjoyed traveling around the world and meeting new faces. Even though he couldn’t speak many languages, he could understand others fairly easily thanks to his unique ability to read minds.
That made things easier when dealing with foreigners, which meant he had no problem getting along with just about anybody. His father taught him early on to be friendly and respectful towards everyone regardless of race, religion, nationality, gender, age, social status, occupation, education level, wealth, physical appearance, political affiliation, sexual orientation, or anything else.
If you treated everybody equally, chances were good that nobody would try to hurt you, steal from you, cheat you, lie to you, deceive you, manipulate you, or treat you unfairly. And if they did anyway, you wouldn’t feel bad about doing something drastic to get revenge.
He glanced over at the man carrying the backpack. Unlike the one wearing the loose-fitting clothes, he looked older and appeared to be in decent shape.
Despite having lived through countless wars, famines, plagues, droughts, floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, hurricanes, tornadoes, blizzards, heat waves, cold snaps, avalanches, landslides, mudslides, forest fires, dust storms, sandstorms, locust swarms, pestilence outbreaks, disease epidemics, and everything else Mother Nature threw at humanity, he still possessed an impressive physique.
With dark brown skin, black hair, piercing eyes, and a strong jawline, he seemed like someone who knew what he wanted in life and wasn’t afraid to go after it. But unlike most people, he didn’t seem particularly arrogant or conceited; instead, he exuded confidence and self-assurance.
He also came off as being genuinely kind and compassionate whenever he interacted with anyone—a quality that made him stand out among the rest of society. In fact, he reminded Timofei of his own father.
The other guy, however, was different. Although he was younger than the first, he was nowhere near as muscular or physically imposing. Still, he stood tall and proud, radiating strength and power. Like the other man, he too had black hair, but he was cut shorter and styled differently.
Whereas the first fellow sported a neatly trimmed beard, this one preferred to shave cleanly above his upper lip. As for facial features, he resembled a typical Slavic male: square chin, high cheekbones, narrow nose, broad forehead, deep-set eyes, full lips, and thick eyebrows.
Yet there was something special about him that caught Timofei’s attention more than any of the others. Something about his aura gave him a sense of mystery and intrigue.
“I’m sorry,” said the woman, “but we can only talk here for another minute before heading inside. I hope you don’t mind.” She turned her head toward the building behind them and smiled.
Timofei nodded. “No problem. We’re actually going in there ourselves right now. What are your names?”
She introduced herself as Anna. Her companion was named Ivan. Both wore long coats over their clothing, although theirs were unbuttoned and open enough to reveal some of their chests. Their pants were tucked into knee-high boots, and both carried short swords strapped across their backs.
Anna pointed at the building. “We’ll see you later then!” she called out cheerfully. Then, without waiting for a response, she led Ivan away down the street.
After watching them disappear around a corner, Timofei turned back to the man holding the backpack. “Are you sure you want to carry that thing? You look like you have plenty of muscle, so why not put it on your shoulders?”
“It doesn’t really matter how much weight is in my pack. My body will handle it fine whether it weighs ten pounds or two hundred.”
“That makes sense…but isn’t that dangerous? Isn’t the extra strain putting unnecessary stress on your muscles and joints?”
The young man shrugged. “Not necessarily. It depends on where I am and what kind of terrain lies ahead. For example, if we happen to run into trouble while crossing a river, I might need to swim. Or maybe there’s a steep hill up ahead.
Either way, I’d rather carry the bag myself than risk dropping it and losing whatever valuable items are inside.”
“Okay…” said Timofei. “Well, seeing as you asked me nicely, I guess I won’t say anything further. Besides, I’ve got my own things to worry about. So let’s get moving already! The sooner we reach our destination, the better.”
***
A few minutes later, they arrived at the entrance of the building. A sign hanging outside read: THE HALL OF FAME.
As soon as Timofei stepped foot onto the property, he felt a surge of excitement course through his veins. This place was exactly what he needed. Not only would it provide him with the resources necessary to complete his mission, but it could also help him find answers regarding the mysterious disappearance of his parents. And best of all, no one from the government or military would ever know about it.
But just because Timofei was excited by the prospect of finding new information did not mean he was ready to give up on his current quest. After all, he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. If word somehow leaked out that he was looking for the Hall of Fame, he risked getting involved with the wrong people.
That meant staying alert at all times and keeping his wits sharp when interacting with strangers. He didn’t even dare take a break until after he left the premises.
Still, despite these precautions, Timofei found himself unable to resist the temptation to explore. His curiosity kept prodding him forward, urging him to step closer and peer inside the windows. Each time he tried to ignore it, though, the urge grew stronger. Soon, he was compelled to follow the pull. Before long, he was standing directly in front of the door, gazing inside eagerly.
He glanced around nervously. No one else seemed to be paying attention to him. In fact, the only person who appeared to notice him was an elderly gentleman sitting alone at a table nearby. But instead of staring at him curiously, the oldster simply stared off into space, lost in thought.
With nothing stopping him, Timofei pushed open the heavy wooden doors and entered the lobby. Immediately, he noticed several large portraits hung along the walls. They depicted various famous figures from history, including presidents, scientists, artists, athletes, musicians, and actors.
All of them had been awarded medals during their lifetimes—except one. There was no picture of Alexander Graham Bell anywhere among those displayed.
In addition to the pictures, there were rows upon rows of shelves containing bookshelves filled with volumes written by each of the men and women pictured above. Some of the titles were familiar; others looked completely foreign to him.
As far as he knew, none of the subjects represented in the photos had ever visited this country. Yet here they were, immortalized in print.
Then again, perhaps they hadn’t come to Russia. Perhaps the Russians themselves had created the Hall of Fame. Maybe it wasn’t located in America, but somewhere within the borders of their homeland. Regardless, the idea intrigued Timofei. Who wouldn’t want to visit such a place?
Before he could think too hard about the possibility, however, his eyes fell on something more important. On top of one of the bookcases sat a small plaque bearing the name of a prominent American scientist. The words engraved beneath the title were simple yet powerful: MRS. SUE ELLEN WATSON.
Timofei recognized her immediately. She was the woman whose research had helped save countless lives throughout the world. Without her contributions, many diseases would still exist today. Her work made vaccines possible, which allowed doctors to prevent illnesses before they began. Even now, she continued to fight against disease outbreaks across the globe.
And yet, despite all of her achievements, Sue Ellen Watson remained relatively unknown in most parts of the United States. Why should that be so? Wasn’t it true that everyone deserved recognition for doing good deeds?
At first, Timofei assumed the answer lay in politics. Perhaps the powers-that-be wanted to keep her accomplishments hidden from the public eye. Then again, maybe they feared someone like herself would eventually become president someday. Whatever the reason, he decided to do some investigating.
After taking a seat near the back wall, he opened one of the books resting atop Mrs. Watson’s shelf and started reading its contents aloud to see if anyone reacted. When nobody responded, he closed the cover and turned toward the front desk.
The man behind the counter stood motionless, watching him silently. For a moment, Timofei wondered whether he’d spoken loudly enough to draw the clerk’s attention. But then he realized the guy must have been listening to him the entire time. It explained why he never once took his eyes off him.
Finally, Timofei spoke up again. “Excuse me,” he called out to the receptionist. “I’m trying to find a particular book.”
“Which one?” asked the man without turning away from his computer screen.
It sounded like a trick question. Still, Timofei answered anyway. “Alexander Graham Bell’s biography. I believe you’ve got it right over there next to the photo of John F. Kennedy.”
There was another pause. This time, the man finally lifted his head. His expression revealed a surprise.
“You’re referring to the Hall of Fame?” he said.
Timofei nodded.
A smile spread across the man’s face. He reached under the counter and pulled out a thick volume bound in black leather. After placing it on the countertop, he flipped through the pages until he came to the section where the author’s name was listed.
“Yes, we do indeed have a copy of Mr. Bell’s autobiography,” he replied. “Would you care to take a look at it while waiting for your room key?”
Timofei didn’t hesitate. “Please show me how to get there.”
***
As soon as Timofei stepped outside, he saw two other people standing beside the entrance. One of them wore a dark suit and tie. The second was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Both of them carried briefcases. Judging by their attire, neither of these individuals belonged inside the hotel.
They might not even live in Moscow. That much became clear when they approached the front door together and walked past Timofei without saying anything. In fact, they seemed totally uninterested in speaking to him whatsoever.
He watched as the pair passed by and headed down the street. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of an engine starting up. Moments after that, a car drove off into the distance.
For a split second, Timofei considered following the strangers. If they were going to the same building as him, maybe he could learn more about what happened earlier. However, curiosity quickly gave way to caution.
He couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted just because he felt curious. Instead, he returned to the lobby and waited patiently for the clerk to return with the keys.
When the man did arrive, he handed Timofei a set of plastic cards along with a map showing the quickest route to the museum. As promised, the directions led straight to the facility. Unfortunately, though, the road leading to the hall was blocked off.
There was no sign indicating why this was the case or any indication that the situation would change anytime soon.
Still, Timofei followed the instructions written on the card. Soon enough, he found himself walking alongside a large fountain. At the center of the water, display rested a statue depicting Alexander Graham Bell holding a telephone receiver between his hands.
Next to the sculpture, a plaque read: THE FIRST TELEPHONE CALL WAS MADE HERE ON THIS STREET IN 1876 BY ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL.
With nothing else to do but wait, Timofei wandered around the area and examined every detail of the monument. Eventually, he noticed a small inscription carved into one side of the base. It had been made using letters cut from stone and arranged in such a manner as to spell out the words:
ALEXANDER GRAHAM BILL
In Russian, the phrase is translated to mean “Alexander Graham Bell.”
Once again, Timofei thought about asking the clerk for help. Maybe he knew something useful. Or perhaps he could point him in the direction of someone who did. But before he could make up his mind, the bell rang above the front doors.
Turning in that direction, Timofei spotted a woman wearing glasses and carrying a clipboard approaching him. She looked familiar—almost as if she should be working here instead of at the front desk.
“Good morning!” she greeted him cheerfully. “How can I assist you today?”
She spoke English perfectly well. And yet her accent was different than the one used by the clerk. More specifically, it reminded him of the way some Americans pronounced certain words.
“Hello,” he replied politely. “My name is Timofei Kuznetsov. My friends and I are staying at the Grand Hotel Moskva.”
The woman smiled. “Welcome! How many rooms will you need? We have plenty of space available.”
“Actually, I don’t know exactly how many guests we’ll have,” Timofei explained. “But my friend and colleague, Professor Ivanov, has already reserved three separate suites.”
At first glance, the receptionist appeared surprised. Then she blinked several times and stared blankly ahead. Finally, however, her eyes widened slightly.
“Professor Ivanov?”
That was all Timofei needed to hear. Without hesitation, he turned toward the exit. Before leaving the lobby, he glanced back over his shoulder. The woman still stood behind the counter. Her expression hadn’t changed since Timofei arrived. Nor did she appear eager to stop him.
Without wasting another moment, Timofei hurried away from the hotel. Once he’d crossed the street, he took a left turn and began heading eastward. When he got close to the corner, he stopped abruptly. Standing directly in front of him was a tall man wearing sunglasses and an expensive-looking suit.
His hair was short and black. Unlike most Russians, he wasn’t bald. Instead, he sported a neatly trimmed beard.
The End