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  The Crypt Trilogy

  The Relic of the King

  The Crypt of the Ancients

  Ghost Train

  Bill Thompson

  These are works of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and any reference to specific places or living persons is incidental. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal rights to publish all the materials in this book trilogy.

  The Relic of the King

  The Crypt of the Ancients

  Ghost Train

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2015 - 2016

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic or mechanical without the express written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Ascendente Books

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  The Relic of the King

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  The Crypt of the Ancients

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  POSTSCRIPT

  GHOST TRAIN: The Lost Gold of the Nazis

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Prelude

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Thank you!

  Books by Bill Thompson

  How About a Free Book?

  About the Author

  The Relic of the King

  The Crypt Trilogy: Book One

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to two very good friends of mine,

  Tom and Belinda Runnells.

  Thanks for letting me weave your names into this novel.

  Although I used your first names, the characters really aren’t you – you’re neither old nor owners of an occult bookstore! Belinda, I thought of your love for England and history as this story came together.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My books couldn’t be finished without the help of beta readers Jeff and Ryan and my wife, Margie, who patiently
listens as I read every word aloud (an important element of my proofing process).

  Thanks for critical feedback, corrections and comments.

  Author’s Note:

  For ease of understanding, I used US dollars for most of the monetary transactions in this book.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Moscow, 1994

  Sixteen-year-old Slava Sergenko would kill a man this afternoon. It would be his first murder, but there would be more. Many more.

  Slava sat upstairs in a building that looked just like a thousand other Soviet-era offices near trendy Novy Arbat Street. It was only a block from the exclusive shops of Vuitton, Cartier, Jimmy Choo and Fendi. In an area where wealthy shoppers could find virtually anything their hedonistic desires craved, this particular place offered something unique. Something carnal. Something bad.

  The day was brutally cold and windy. Sleet pelted the faces of pedestrians as an overweight Russian wearing an expensive cashmere overcoat hurried from his limousine to the front door of the establishment. He rang the doorbell. Someone glanced through a peephole then quickly opened the door. Seeing his boss safely inside the establishment, the limo driver pulled away from the curb. He knew from experience it would be several hours before he was called to pick up the wealthy businessman.

  “Welcome, Comrade Bodrov. Come in and get warm!”

  The man stepped into a large cozy room that looked like the den of a fancy dacha in the country. A corner fireplace held a roaring blaze, and overstuffed couches and chairs were tastefully placed around the room. It was inviting and warm on a frigid December afternoon in Moscow.

  A porter took Bodrov’s coat. “Another new suit, comrade? It’s elegant.”

  The portly man laughed. “You always notice, Dimitri. I was in London a month ago and I couldn’t resist!” Since the porter was the recipient of lavish tips each time Comrade Bodrov visited the brothel, he always complimented the tycoon.

  A lady entered the room. Around forty and blond, she was still beautiful although in her twenties she would have been something really special. Bodrov had known her in those days and had followed her career as she gravitated from call girl to madam, and then to become the proprietor of this unique establishment.

  She offered her cheek for a kiss and whispered into his ear, “Hello, Andrey. Here to check up on your investment, or looking for a little diversion this afternoon?”

  “Both, as it turns out. Let’s go to the office and talk. Meanwhile let Slava know I’m here.”

  She nodded and whispered to the porter. As he left to tell the boy, she and Andrey Bodrov went up a flight of stairs to a spacious office. She closed the door and locked it.

  “I presume you want to discuss our finances in the usual way.” She laughed, unbuttoning her blouse.

  “Absolutely.” He removed his suit jacket and hung it neatly on a hall tree in the corner of the room. He unbuttoned his shirt, careful with his gold cuff links. By the time his pants came off and were put on a hanger, she was nude. He looked at her admiringly. Even at forty her incredible figure was stunning. Tall and thin, she could easily have passed for thirty.

  Once he was naked, he sat on a couch and said, “Bring me the financials for last month. I have some questions.”

  The oligarch flipped through the financial statements as she sat on the floor, her fingernails lightly brushing the insides of his legs. He began to become aroused as she worked him deftly up and down.

  Bodrov had set the woman up in business after she approached him with a novel idea. The concept was interesting and he immediately saw potential in it. The chance of being caught in a place like this made it dangerous, which was titillating both to him and ultimately its clientele. Although Bodrov’s ownership would never be discovered, his monthly visits might be. He was always very careful and he had several means of escape should the authorities ever decide to raid the place. He doubted that would happen – the police were well compensated for averting their eyes. But if the public learned about this particular brothel, even broad-minded Muscovites who customarily ignored the excesses and deviances of others wouldn’t accept what went on behind these doors.

  So he was careful. His ownership was concealed in layers of corporate shell companies. Only this woman knew the extent of his financial involvement, and she owed her entire lifestyle to his generosity. She was afraid of him – she had seen what he did to people who crossed him – but even more, she wasn’t about to change her lavishly comfortable ways. She made a fantastic amount of money in exchange for discreetly running a very unusual place. She’d never betray Andrey Bodrov.

  He spent fifteen minutes asking questions about the brothel’s income and expenses. She answered while stroking him, pleased with the obvious pleasure he was experiencing from her touch. Finally his questions ended. Her work was complete as well. He was ready.

  As they stood, she kissed him on the mouth. “Enjoy.”

  He gathered his clothes and walked to a door at the rear of her office. Unconcerned about his nudity, he entered an adjoining bedroom and hung his garments on a hook. The other clients in this establishment would have been taken to rooms on the first floor. Only Andrey Bodrov used this very special bedroom. It had been constructed solely for him, and a security team swept it daily for bugs. Its steel-reinforced walls made it a fortress. The bedroom could withstand a bomb and that was exactly why it was built. The tycoon was safe here.

  The nude boy stretched seductively on the bed. Slava Sergenko, a sixteen-year-old from Ukraine, smiled as the fat tycoon entered the room. He noticed that the man’s penis was erect from the preparatory work in the office next door. It was the same every time. The boss lady got the big man ready and Slava finished the job. But this time it would be different. This would be the best session of the boy’s life.

  A year ago Slava’s father had sold him to the brothel. Although the man had justified it as a financial transaction that would better both himself and his son, the father knew exactly where the boy was going. And he had let it happen for ten thousand US dollars.

  The woman who ran the establishment had called Andrey as soon as she made the deal for Slava. He was one of a half dozen boys and girls who made her establishment unique in Moscow – none of her prostitutes were over sixteen. For that reason, wealthy Russians flocked to her discreet doorstep. The place made millions, much of it tax-free thanks to some of her clients who paid in cash. Although most put the two-thousand-dollar fee on a credit card and expensed it through their companies, she and Andrey particularly liked those who paid in hard US greenbacks, the only cash she accepted.

  That day Andrey Bodrov had first met Slava he’d spent an afternoon like never before. To say it was different would be a vast understatement; when it was over, the oligarch was hooked. The boy had been on the streets – even though he was merely a teenager, he knew what he had to do to make his clients happy. He was good, but he also was crafty, deliberate, calculating and wise. His wealthy clients didn’t know that part. Only fifteen when he arrived, Slava already knew what he ultimately wanted. He just needed to figure out how to get it. And once he had gotten to know Andrey Bodrov, the answer became clear. He’d bide his time until things were right. And that day was today.

  “Come in, darling,” the boy said to the man, who was old enough to be his father, maybe even his grandfather. He lay on the bed seductively as Andrey approached.

  The man sat on the bed as Slava got up to retrieve a bottle of baby oil. He lay back on the pillow and Slava began to massage him. Andrey’s eyes closed and he rubbed the boy’s leg. Slava moved one hand lower and lower down the Russian’s stomach. At the same time he casually moved his other hand under the mattress where he’d hidden a seven-inch-long darning needle.

  As the boy’s hand moved to stroke Andrey’s penis, the Russian groaned in anticipation. Slava smiled and said, “Are you happy?”

  “Oh yes,” was the breathless response, the man’s eyes closed in ecstatic pleasure.

  “So am
I.” Slava pulled out the long needle and plunged it directly into Andrey Bodrov’s heart. His eyes popped open in surprise and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  Slava had read an article on the Internet about how to kill someone with a darning needle. Death was instantaneous; there was no blood and only a tiny puncture wound. He had spent time learning exactly where the heart lay within the chest. It had worked perfectly.

  “Sleep well, you bastard.” The boy laughed without remorse. He pulled the bedcovers up to the man’s neck and stepped back. To anyone who looked in, the oligarch would appear to be napping. This was perfect because it gave Slava plenty of time.

  Every time Andrey had a session with Slava, the man slept for a couple of hours afterwards. In the beginning the boy would creep quietly out of the room when they were finished. Once he realized how quickly and soundly the Russian fell asleep, Slava began going through his pockets now and then, just to see what he could find. He never stole anything. But it all became part of Slava’s master plan.

  Now that Andrey was dead, Slava worked efficiently. He got dressed then emptied Bodrov’s pockets. Inside his wallet was a fat wad of US hundred-dollar bills, and in his suit jacket a thick bank envelope held a lot more. A silver ring held several keys but only one that Slava wanted – a specially shaped key that he had seen elsewhere. The lady who ran the brothel, Slava’s madam, had an identical one. The clever youth had sneaked around sufficiently to learn there was a locked cabinet in the woman’s office. She had one key to it and this was the other. He was pretty sure what was inside. If he was correct, it would be his ticket to independence.

  Slava took the man’s debit card and saw he had carelessly jotted his PIN number on the back. Wealthy businessmen like this didn’t expect to get their wallets stolen, Slava presumed, so they weren’t careful. Too bad. Andrey wouldn’t need his money now anyway.

  The boy went to the bed, slipped his hand under the covers, and grasped Andrey Bodrov’s left hand. He removed a watch, heavy ring and flashy bracelet. Each sparkled ostentatiously with gold and diamonds, and each went straight into Slava’s pockets.

  He opened the bedroom door leading into the hallway and listened. He could hear the woman downstairs speaking with another client. The coast was clear. He closed the door, crossed the room and entered her office through the same door Andrey had used earlier. Slava walked to the locked file cabinet, inserted Andrey’s key and opened it. He had been correct about what was inside, and he was ecstatic. What he saw made his plan complete. He was free!