Why Waste Time Say Lot Word When Few Word Do Trick?

The tip came in about an hour earlier, leading to a flurry of activity inside the cabin. A pot of coffee sat in the corner, freshly brewed in anticipation of what everyone in the room was sure to be a long night. Even the intelligence analysts that resided at Red Bear Retreat utilized caffeine to fuel the late night (or early morning, in this case) missions.

Two of the aforementioned analysts typed furiously in the back of the room. Printers were spitting paper out at an alarming pace. Dmitry, the same man who led the failed mission to rescue Kai in Japan, was poring over a stack of papers at a table in the middle of the room. He sipped scalding hot coffee from a comically small paper cup without flinching. That man had been through much, much worse in his lifetime.

“How sure are we?” he questioned while rubbing the salt and pepper stubble on his face. The past four months chasing Kai had aged him a decade. “I am not going on another fucking goose chase.”

Japan was only the start. Subsequent missions to Belarus, Azerbaijan, Thailand, Ecuador and the Yukon had all come up empty. Dmitry hadn’t lost any more men since Japan, but the ones he did have were getting tired of the chase.

“One hundred percent,” quipped one analyst, maybe a little too confidently.

“If you are wrong, Red Bear Retreat will not be your home much longer, comrade,” responded Dmitry, quite matter-of-factly.

“Should we wake Comrade Dawkins?”

Another long draw from the scalding hot caffeine. The sound of mechanical keyboards ceased as they hung on the next words from Dmitry’s mouth.

“No,” he muttered as he pulled out the next pile of paperwork. The two, waiting for further clarification, began to whisper back and forth. This was not lost on the elder statesman.

“Our orders were clear. Find Kai Makana. I’ll take care of Comrade Dawkins.”

The organized chaos continued around Dmitry as he continued to flip through intel, browsing photos, biographies and detailed writeups until he came across a map. His eyes ping ponged across the terrain before focusing on the name printed in big, bold red letters.

🍍🍍🍍

After the first month, the constant crying subsided. Her eyes were no longer permanently bloodshot and swollen. Her appetite had finally returned and she actually looked what some might consider to be normal.

You know, except for the shackles on her ankles.

Her own personal prison included all of the amenities of a high end hotel. Big screen television, king sized bed, fluffy bath robe.

No wifi though. Security and all.

Kai sat on the plush bed enjoying the most recent romantic book that was provided by the Kael estate. At this point in her stay, her collection of books was approaching triple digits. What else was there to do than read and watch shitty daytime television?

Well, and be Max Kael’s personal relationship therapist.

As she came to the end of another chapter, she placed a bookmark and sat the book aside.

Every day was the same routine. Read for a bit, then scan her surroundings to find a way out. Although she hated to give Max any credit, there wasn’t anything in her room that could aid any escape. Not a bobby pin in sight, although her likely strategy of jamming it into the lock until it opened probably wouldn’t have worked well anyway.

She had a decent amount of privacy inside the room (or at least that was what she told herself), but she knew Max wouldn’t take any chances and give her any tools that could be used to her advantage.

Every time her eyes would begin to well up with tears, she would think about Nico. She missed her boy dearly and hoped he knew it and could feel it out there somewhere. He was the only thing keeping her going at this point.

The morning sun crept through the window, illuminating half of the room where her bed sat and provided a pleasant, natural alarm for her. Then again, she was up before the sun most days - sleep didn’t come easy when living in the house of a violent sociopath.

knock knock knock

She thought she was hearing things the first time there was a light rap at the door. It was too early for breakfast, which was delivered directly to her room every morning.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

This time, a little louder.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The last set of knocks startled her, as they had gotten quite aggressive. She hopped out of bed, into her slippers and quickly scanned the room for something to defend herself, again to no avail. Max removed anything that could be considered to be used as self defense from the room. Desperate, she pulled a pillow from the bed and held it behind her as she approached the door. Her heart beat in her throat as she inched toward the door, carefully grabbing the handle and taking a deep breath before yanking it open, ready to strike whoever was on the other side.

Her eyes grew wide as the door swung open. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Miss Kai - wonderful to see you again!”

🍍🍍🍍

The sun had barely crested the trees, making the 55 degree weather feel more like 45. Bryan pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head, covering as much exposed skin as possible. It was the end of June, why is it so damn cold?

The dew covered grass soaked his boots and began to shimmer as the morning light hit each individual blade. There was a time when Bryan would have marveled at the beauty of the Minnesota wilderness around him - it was so new to him and carried so much intrigue for a native of the coast. These days, it was just another morning. Too cold, too wet, nothing to be excited about.

A few deer watched from the treeline as he made his way through the compound from his cabin, slowly trudging along like he was on a death march. In some ways, that was very true.

Alexei had requested he report to Ivan’s office for a briefing on his Almasy matchup against Annabelle Dean. Something about “consistent underperformance”. The actual request had required his attendance before the sun rose, but Bryan hadn’t listened to Alexei since joining The Red Army. Why start now?

He stopped by the commissary for a coffee to go and grabbed a container of pineapple chunks for good measure. That addition to the food offerings at Red Bear Retreat was one promise that Ivan Stanislav did indeed keep.

Alexei greeted him warmly at the door of Ivan’s cabin. “Where the fuck have you been, Dawkins?”

“Morning Lex. Good to see you too, bruh,” he responded, blowing right by Ivan’s right hand man. His attendance at this meeting was driven by intrigue more than an actual desire to be there. What guidance could Alexei possibly have for Bryan to help him successfully move past a nineteen year old with two whole wrestling matches under her belt?

He was about to find out.

“You have a concerning habit of not showing up to places when you are summoned.” Of course he wouldn’t let this go. “If you value your life–” he corrected himself “–place in the Red Army, you should work on your time management skills, Dawkins.” His mustache bristled in anticipation of a response.

When he got none, he proceeded, pacing back and forth with an open dossier in his hands. Paging through the document, he began to chuckle to himself.

Let’s get one thing straight - if Alexei Ruslan is chuckling, he’s either found the funniest thing in the world or you’re in grave danger.

“Another nepotism hire from Lindsay Troy. How surprising!” Alexei mused to himself. “It apparently was not enough to have her blubbering mass of a father on the roster. No, no. We must be doing, what is it you Americans call it? Take your daughter to work day?”

Bryan watched Alexei toss the folder onto the desk next to him in disgust. “This is an abomination. To have an unproven talent like this involved in what is supposed to be the greatest professional wrestling company in the world is a fucking disgrace. Every day under the Troy regime, PRIME loses the prestige that Ivan and I have fought so hard to establish.”

“You know, bruh…” Bryan reconsidered the fight he was about to pick. PRIME was in business before Ivan and Alexei came around, and they’d continue business long after they’re gone. “...I think it’d be a mistake to underestimate her. She is a second generation wrestler, after all.”

For a second, it appeared that Alexei was putting real thought and consideration into Bryan’s statement. And then he began to cackle like the hyena he is.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA! That is a good one, comrade!” This was the most Bryan had ever seen Alexei laugh, albeit the sarcasm was heavily implied. “In order for me to underestimate her, you do realize I would have to give her any thought at all, correct? Annabelle Dean is no different than the charity cases they truck in by the dozens to meet their favorite wrestlers! She does not belong in the same ring as the great Ivan Stanislav!”

Alexei continued to pace in front of the room like a caged animal dying to escape. “Make no mistake, Bryan Dawkins, this is not me giving you any type of insight. In fact, if you needed insight to beat this never was, I would say you are the wrong man for the job,” he sneered, his expression taking on a much more serious look. “But we knew that already, didn’t we?”

Cool, calm and collected, Bryan stood from the chair, set his coffee aside and met Alexei at the front of the room. He got nose to nose with the architect of The Red Army and didn’t flinch. “You saw what happened a few weeks ago, Alexei. Tell me who else could have cold cocked your boss in his own office and lived to tell the tale.”

Bryan picked up the packet on Annabelle and leafed through only to discover the entire book was blank. “This is a fucking joke, Alexei. You and I both know it. I think I’ve more than proven what I’m capable of for you and your people. I trust that Ivan knows this now, especially after our last encounter. Annabelle Dean may be a future somebody in this business. She also might turn into her father, God bless her. The fact of the matter is, I stood toe to toe with the fucking Russian Bear and walked out of his den unscathed. If you think a teenager is gonna get in my way and get away with it, you’ve got the wrong idea, bruh.”

Deep inside, though, Bryan couldn’t help but question the matchup. He was wrestling another wrestler’s daughter. A daughter not that much older than Nico. How would he feel if Nico was in Annabelle’s shoes?

Ruslan smiled, but there was no warmth to it, only calculation.

“You think you stood toe to toe with Ivan Stanislav?” he asked, his voice like frost on glass. “You think you drew blood?”

A beat.

“Let me tell you something simple. And terrifying.” He leaned forward closer, his breath barely a whisper.

“Everything you’ve done, every disrespect you’ve shown to me, and to him? We allowed it.”

Bryan didn’t move. He didn’t need to. Alexei wasn’t looking for fear. He was looking for comprehension.

“You didn’t catch Ivan off guard. You were given a moment. A single, curated moment. And you mistook it for victory.”

The smile never left his face.

“Imagine what happens when we stop being generous.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Alexei and Bryan were still nose-to-nose, the tension hanging thick in the air when Dmitry slipped into the room. Ruslan straightened his coat and nodded slightly toward his comrade.

Bryan responded. “No bruh, just finishing up.”

Dmitry continued. “No updates this morning on Kai’s whereabouts. We will keep looking.”

Just like that, he was gone.

“We done here, bruh?” Without waiting for an answer, Dawkins rushed to the door in pursuit of Dmitry. When he made it outside, Dmitry was nowhere to be found.

🍍🍍🍍

The Herald, regal red tunic and all, stood in the doorway while Kai attempted to compose herself. Last time she saw him, it was days before…well, this all happened.

“You need to leave. Now.” She attempted to slam the door in the manchild’s face, but he used his bony frame to block the door from closing. He slipped his slender frame through the crack in the door and closed it behind him.

He flashed the universal signal for quiet, the index finger across the lips, and whispered, “We don’t want him to hear!” A toothy grin followed.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as responsible for this whole mess as Bryan–”

“THE BRYAN–” he interjected, a little too loudly. In a hushed voice, he continued. “The Bryan Dawkins! He is why I’m here! Or…at least…he would want me here if he knew about all of this!”

He sprung across the room and launched himself onto the bed next to Kai. “Ooh! Very comfortable!” He fluffed a pillow and threw his head back in relaxation. “And The Nico! What a strapping young man he is becoming!”

As the waterworks began, The Herald tried to course correct. “Oh Miss Kai! Do not fret - The Bryan Dawkins is doing a splendid job of taking care of him!” This was not helping. The Herald was normally oblivious to typical social cues, but even he knew that tears = bad. He rushed to the dresser and yanked a handful of tissues from a box and shoved them into Kai’s hands. “For you! Please do not be sad any longer!” She took the tissues but didn’t say thank you. Not yet. It could be a trick. There had been tricks before. But the sound of Nico’s name still made her ache.

She dabbed her eyes and wiped off her smeared makeup. She smiled, barely, and immediately hated herself for it. “Thank you,” her voice was almost not detectable. “I just miss him so much.”

“Oh! I, too, miss The Bryan Dawkins!”

This response actually elicited a chuckle from Kai. “Not him - my son!” The Herald frowned. “I…I guess I miss Bryan a little bit too.”

It was so easy to appease The Herald. His slender legs swung from the bed like a young child’s on a swing.

“How about this, Miss Kai! I can pass along some messages to The Bryan Dawkins! And The Nico!”

“You can contact them? How?”

“With this!” The Herald produced a Motorola Razr flip phone. You know the one.

Yet again, Kai’s eyes grew wide. “You expect me to believe that works in here?” she snapped, snatching the phone from his slender fingers. Hope was a dangerous drug. She’d learned that the hard way. The excitement was soon replaced by disappointment as she dialed Bryan’s number, the phone beeped and “CALL FAILED” flashed across the screen.

A few frantic attempts later, The Herald spoke up. “I probably should have mentioned there’s no service here in Arkham.” He shrugged as the tears came again.

“It’s okay, Miss Kai!”

THUNK

The sound of movement in the hallway startled them both. The Herald swiftly made his way to the door, cracking it open and taking a look outside. He peered back toward Kai and mouthed ‘IT’S THE WISE A-...IT’S MAX!’ before closing the door again.

He whispered, “I shall be back soon - I’ll reach out to The Bryan Dawkins and will return with news. Take care, Miss Kai!”

Before she could respond, he was gone. She didn’t know whether to feel comforted or played. And in this place, either could kill you.

🍍🍍🍍

He continued down the path to the cabin he knew so very well. Bryan had spent hours upon hours in the intel cabin; it was a lot of time with no success. He was sick and tired of showing up to this place only to be told “she wasn’t there” or “we were too late.”

He kicked the door open, causing one of the analysts to nearly fall from their seat. All eyes in the place were on Bryan as he slammed both fists onto the table in the middle of the room and cleared the table top in one fell swoop, sending papers and file folders flying across the room.

“There - you bruhs gonna pay attention now?” His chest heaved between every word and he wasn’t waiting for a response from any of Ivan’s underlings. “Where is Dmitry?”

Silence from the analysts who now more closely resembled marble statues.

“What, you don’t understand English all of a sudden? Where the fuck is Dmitry?”

More blank stares.

“Comrade Dawkins. What can I do for you?”

bzz bzz bzz

He barely registered the vibration of his phone. “We need to talk.”

Bryan’s request was met with a frown. “You have already been briefed. No updates, unfortunately.”

“I’m starting to think one of two things, Dmitry.” Another notification from his phone. “Either the great Ivan Stanislav has surrounded himself with the biggest group of Communist idiots the world has ever seen…”

Silence.

bzz bzz bzz

“...or you’re all fuckin’ liars. Every day I wake up thinking this might be the day the vaunted Russian intelligence agents will find her. And yet almost six months later - nothing. Not a fuckin’ breadcrumb.” Dmitry leaned against the far wall, unconcerned with Bryan’s diatribe. “Ivan is a lot of things, and most of them people would agree aren’t good. But he’s not a fuckin’ idiot and wouldn’t surround himself with them either. So that leaves one option.”

bzz bzz bzz

“So what do you know and why aren’t you telling me, Dmitry?”

The Russian frowned and approached the middle of the room, placing a strong hand on the Hawaiian’s shoulder.

“I understand. This is hard for you. Your woman goes missing. You are desperate. It is unfortunate.” He pauses and gives a slight squeeze of the shoulder. “But it is your fault, comrade. Before you continue to slander my team and I, I suggest you take long, hard look in the mirror.”

The vice grip on Bryan’s shoulder was released as Dmitry turned his back to him, walking toward the pile of paperwork that was unceremoniously dumped on the ground mere moments before. A quick motion of his hand later and the room bustled to life, with subordinates scrambling to pick up the paperwork and reassemble the files. Dmitry took one final step and pivoted to face his adversary in this moment.

“We will continue to work. Our orders from Starshy Praporshchik are clear: find your woman. And we will do that.” A sly smile crept onto his face. “I suggest you focus on your own affairs, comrade. As I understand it, you have a big contest against a young woman coming up. Good luck.”

Dawkins didn’t stick around long enough to catch Dmitry’s sarcastic wink. He blew the door open yet again, storming off toward his own quarters.

bzz bzz bzz

As the vibrations finally registered, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket to see the barrage of text messages.

All from the same “unknown” number.

The Heralds.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered as he clicked furiously on the touchscreen.

DELETE AND REPORT JUNK

Didn’t even look at the texts.

If he would have, he would’ve seen a selfie of The Herald and Kai.

🍍🍍🍍

Back in the intelligence cabin, Dmitry continued to oversee the cleanup efforts. Underlings scrambled to arrange paperwork and get things back in order after tropical storm Dawkins rolled through.

He lifted up his combat boot which just so happened to cover a certain map.

And a certain location.

KAEL ESTATE

ARKHAM, MASSACHUSETTS