The Milestone Protocol Ernest Dempsey (best short novels of all time .txt) 📖

“Not off the top of my head.” She returned to the room and lowered her foot. “I mostly deal with classics, well-known artists. This metropolitan,” she shook her head, “I’d never heard of him until yesterday. He’s still a relatively obscure historical figure in the grand scheme. However, if we needed to find out, we could just search the internet and find out?”

“That sounds like a lot of searches,” Tabitha asked. “Where would we start?”

“How about fourteenth-century Russian painters and sculptors?” Tommy offered.

“It can’t be that easy,” Sean quipped.

Every one of them reached for their phones and quickly tapped the search into their browsers. Most clicked on the top result. Sean checked one farther down on the page.

“There are five listed here under medieval Russian artists,” Tommy announced.

“Seems like a small crowd.”

“I recognize Dionisius on that list,” Adriana said. “He was pretty well known. As was the last one on the list, Andrei Rublev.”

“Let’s each take a name and see if there was a connection to Saint Alexius,” Tommy suggested.

“I’ll take the last one,” Sean said.

The others divided up the names and began their search.

For several minutes, no one said anything as they pored over the information provided by numerous links from their search results. The waitress returned twice to ask if they needed anything else and refilled their water glasses. She seemed annoyed that the group was hanging around so long after they finished their meal, but it wasn’t as if they were taking up valuable table real estate. Since their arrival, only three new customers had arrived, and there were still plenty of seats available.

Sean quickly scanned the information provided by each search result, then tapped the back button and went to the next one. There was surprisingly little to be found regarding a relationship between the famed icon artist Rublev and Saint Alexius. Indeed, the painter was born near the end of the metropolitan’s life. When Saint Alexius died, Rublev would have only been close to eighteen years of age. All he could uncover were bits and pieces, a few loose connections. The one that stood out most, and appeared in more than one source, was the detail that Rublev had done much of the artwork for various monasteries and cathedrals in Russia, though only a few dozen works could definitively be attributed to him.

While Rublev had lived and worked primarily at the Andronikov Monastery in Moscow, most of his main works were created elsewhere. He designed and painted frescoes for the Annunciation Cathedral at the Kremlin and the Cathedral of the Assumption in Vladimir. His greatest work remained the Holy Trinity Cathedral at Saint Sergius.

Sean processed the information, his face twisted into a frown as he tried to connect the dots.

“Anyone else find anything useful?” Tommy asked, breaking the silence again.

The others shook their heads.

“Me, either,” he admitted. “I checked the first two and couldn’t find any meaningful information.”

“There is a vague connection between Rublev and Alexius,” Sean stated. “Rublev created some of the paintings at a monastery and cathedral founded by the metropolitan. Not sure if it matters, but he was buried there, too, at the Andronikov Monastery.”

Sean felt uncertain about the link between the two, but kept going. “Rublev was a painter, considered by many to be the preeminent icon artist of his time, and perhaps the most notable in Russian history regarding religious works of art made specifically for churches and other such institutions.”

“If Rublev is the answer,” Adriana thought out loud, “then Alexius either identified something about the young man that made him think Rublev was trustworthy, or the gem was taken to the artist after the metropolitan’s demise.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Tommy added. “It’s a loose string, though. Not sure if it really goes anywhere.”

“None of the other artists have even a remote connection,” Tabitha said. “Except for Dionisius, and his was looser than Rublev’s. It sounds like this Rublev guy might be our best shot. You said he was buried at one of the monasteries founded by Alexius?”

“Yeah,” Sean said with a nod. “Looks like it’s open to the public, too.”

“Does that mean we’re going to be robbing another grave?”

Sean chuckled. “This time, maybe. We will just have to see when we get there.”

“So, it’s settled then?” Tommy asked. “We’re going back into the city to find the grave of Andrei Rublev?”

“Looks that way. Unless you have a better solution.”

Eyes darted around the table, but no one offered another plan.

“Okay,” Tommy said, putting his palms up. “Let’s get out of here.”

Sean stuffed the cylinder in his right pocket and the phone back in his left. A pants pocket was hardly the place for such an important historical artifact, but neither was carrying it out in plain sight.

The four walked out of the restaurant, and Sean thanked the hostess for a wonderful meal—a compliment that took the girl by surprise and was returned with a sheepish grin.

Outside, the cold bit at their skin, and within seconds the comfort of the restaurant’s warmth had sloughed away and was replaced by a bone-chilling breeze.

Tommy led the way around the corner, to the back of the restaurant. He looked back at Sean, slowing his pace as he walked. “What’s the plan if this monastery isn’t the place we’re supposed to go?”

Sean stopped before he reached the back corner and turned around. “Hey, I’m going to run back in and hit the little boys' room. Any of you need to go?”

“No,” Tommy said. “But thanks for making it weird by calling it the little boys' room.”

“Okay,” Sean groused, blowing off his friend’s attempt at an insult. “Get the car warm for me, would ya?”

Tommy rolled his eyes and rounded the corner with the two women in tow. He unlocked the sedan with the key fob and reached out to open the door for Tabitha to get into the back. As he did, she abruptly slammed into the car’s side.

A man in a black coat pinned her to the window. Tommy felt a