Big Travel Ruby Girl

By Alina Kapshyk

From the creative and imaginative mind of Alina Kapshyk comes an exciting new adventure; a treasure hunt detective novel filled with humor, pursuits and secrets of the past.

Veronica, the manager of large company, signs a contract which sends her to the lost world of Myanmar to develop the business. On the first day, she is confronted with a network of smugglers in search of channels for the illegal export of gemstones. She finds herself in the midst of a subtle game between several intelligence agencies, international antiques dealers, and criminals themselves.

Veronica is trying to find out the truth behind a death that resulted from a fire at a hotel in Yangon involving an Austrian entrepreneur, Elizabeth Hoffmann, and at the same time she learns about the mysterious loss of a business woman named Ingrid Weber who also worked in Yangon. All the strings lead to her new friends and limitless adventure while in search of the truth. The need to financially support her family is the driving force behind her stay in Myanmar, even when the situation reaches boiling point.

Her sense of humor and innate optimism guides her through though situations, and she learns that even criminals can have good qualities. A story filled with beautiful heroes, emotion, and heroic deeds all set to the backdrop of Myanmar’s wonder - this book has everything for the sophisticated reader who wants to travel without leaving the comfort of their home. Will Veronica’s intuition and her new found feelings bring the criminals at work to light? Who can she trust? All this in the pages of a mind-blowing adventure detective novel, the first in a series of Big Travel adventures of - “Ruby Girl”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alina Kapshyk
• Release date: Oct 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463272725

Alina Kapshyk

After expecting a boy for the longest time, in May, 1971, a girl was born into a family of hereditary engineers. I was the second, loving child in the family, but the first that was so curious and bustling with new ideas that I still remain an irresistible optimist, an avid traveler and a very successful regional sales and development manager. I don’t only travel for business - I live in an airplane, opening new offices and destinations, creating and rallying teams of people in different countries to achieve common business goals. Having visited about forty-five countries, many of which I lived in for several months to several years, I gained experience and understanding of ethnic characters and became interested in photography. You can find examples of my work on the website: www.delight-for-eyes.com. I was engaged in translations for a long time, and for about eleven years, while working in the aviation business, I wrote and edited scripts for several movie studios. Maybe it was all necessary. I always listened to my heart, the heart of that little girl who was born in May , 1971, on a warm spring evening. Over the years I have become who I am, I love and understand people and I can move on, bringing at least a little good and light to the lives of those who surround me these days. Alina

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was cool in the morning hours at Bogyoke Aung San Market in Yangon. The wind stirred up ribbons of fabric curtains that shaded market rows from the bright day’s sun. Boys carried breakfast boxes and called to each other on the go. Merchants of fried chicken wings and sweet potatoes called out to the sleepy passers-by. The sun rolled lazily over the horizon and settled down on the roofs of the market rows.

In the building opposite the market, a young girl swept out the garbage from the gemstone appraiser's office. She threw water from a bucket, dousing a Burmese man who had parked his bike near the entrance. His old and faded longyi and grey shirt, a result of numerous washes, were obviously his best attire and alluded to the fact that he was a local. He involuntarily staggered back, laughing through clenched yellow teeth which had lost their whiteness from many years of chewing betel nut, or rather, the few teeth that remained. He slid on his flip-flops again and, while dodging the stream of dirty water, began his assent on steps that had been eroded by time. These steps led to the appraiser’s office. Shoes outside the door! That was an unwritten rule here. Small and large sandals, expensive crocodile leather shoes and torn slippers, they were all equal. The master could only be reached barefoot.

It has been said that in Myanmar, jewelry businesses are very often run by women. They have an intimate knowledge of the gems, can bargain furiously and know how to maximize profits. A thin-as-a-reed girl appeared out of a small office, bending over so as not to hit the doorway. Her delicate pink silk blouse favorably set off a large white pearl, on top of which a Pailin blue sapphire was spectacularly flaunted. She cast her eyes over the people sitting in the hall and shot the alien visitor a sharp look.

Did you call yesterday? she asked.

Yes, and I promised to come, he replied.

The master is waiting for you.

Rising purposefully on his arthritic feet, the elderly peasant slowly walked to the room’s entrance, holding his lower back with his hand. The door was immediately closed tightly behind him. The master did not say hello, instead he impatiently nodded his head and clapped his hand on the table, a table scared from years of use. He invited his guest to get down to business immediately. On his little finger he flaunted a large ruby framed in yellow gold. Nothing special about it, except that the ring evidently belonged to his grandfather and the ruby weighed approximately 10-15 carats. The ring clung tightly onto his finger and was obviously impossible to remove. The only way it was coming off was in death. No unnecessary details, just a stone similar in price to a new luxury residence.

The stranger hesitated then pulled out the first rag from behind the knot, deftly fastening his longyi in front. It contained approximately 200 carats of small rubies, pigeon blood in color, and not badly cut. The master did not even look at them; he grimaced with displeasure, as he would have at the sight of an ill-prepared mohiga dish. He saw such gems daily during his many years doing that work. The appraiser expectantly tapped his bony hand on the table, without uttering a word, just purposely smacking his lips as if not wanting to waste his precious energy on idle talk. The peasant unfolded a second rag and the master gazed at two large stones, an emerald and a ruby. Despite the onset of dirt and a dim glow on one side of the ruby, it was clear that it was properly cut. That was not one of myriad of raw racks that were supplied to Myanmar's domestic markets before they were made into fine jewelry products that would fill up the government’s treasury. Selling gemstones here was strictly monopolized. Everyone paid taxes, well almost everyone.

The master coughed as he carefully took the ruby in his dark, long-nailed fingers. He examined it under the light of a spectroscope, inspected it through a microscope, and then raced to the refractometer. He repeated similar manipulations with the second stone, arriving in complete and alarming silence, only occasionally smacking his lips, as if he was trying to convince himself of something. It was however evident that he was restraining himself by all the forces he possessed. Sweat was beading on his forehead. His hand trembled lightly as he dabbed the sweat from time to time with a large handkerchief.

Then he exhaustively sat in a chair and stared at the stranger without blinking, have you some more out there? Does anyone else know about it? he inquired.

The peasant began to speak, bowing continuously, it seemed as though he was shy before the master, there are many stones… many more he offered.

I'll take them all, and will pay when you bring the rest.

U Soe Thein is a modest man, I have three sons, all who still need to marry, and I require a lot of money and a new bike, U Soe Thein said as he dreamily stared at the ceiling.

There will be money for you, and I will take everything you have. If you tell anyone, it won’t work. We both know that no one will pay you except of me. Do you understand? the master asked.

I understand.

Go home and wait for my people, they will come on Friday evening.

Backing away, the peasant moved towards the exit, hesitating a little and hitting his head on the doorway. Now bending down, he left the room.

The master got up and dialed a local number. A girl answered the phone.

I need Ze Be, he demanded.

Female voices echoed from room to room. A door slammed shut, and the sound of bare feet on the floor spread throughout the house.

Ze Be! Ze Be, you have a phone call! the girl yelled.

Lined with black lacquered furniture, the small compact room served as a bathroom. Behind a screen, adorned with pink herons and green grass, someone was moving. At first, beautiful piercing blue eyes appeared, then a hand encircled with the wide sleeve of a silk robe decorated with amazing patterns, and finally… Ze Be came into sight, emerging from behind the screen, flicking her shiny black hair as she went.

She eagerly intercepted the telephone from the maid.

Yes?

We found it! the master exclaimed. You can contact the customer.

Saying nothing in reply, Ze Be promptly hung up the phone.

The scratch mechanism on a grandfather clock began to spin, emitting a strange creaky sound. Wind blew through an open window extinguishing smoking sticks as the single ring of a bell echoed from the streets.

***

It always seemed to me that I may have been born aboard an airplane, and that my parents refused to admit it with the intention of avoiding disputes about my citizenship. Well, a plane or, at the very least an airship, or in a balloon, or some other flying vessel which never stayed in one place for too long. A rebellious soul maybe, I’m sure I got one of them. I was someone that needed to be constantly moving on to the next destination. Maybe my ancestor was a pirate, but exceptionally kind, beautiful and two-eyed, or maybe an inventor, I don’t know, but I always felt a certain presence of an old experienced soul, a carrier and keeper of universal knowledge.

My facial profile was not Greek and my figure was not suitable for the pages of fashion magazines, but there was something in me that inevitably attracted attention. Once I had you in my net it was almost impossible to break free, or so my friends said. If you wanted passion, you were heading in the right direction. Lessons of suffering, disappointment and a broken heart were guaranteed. My friends called me a power station for generating human dramas. Even infants and good-natured old men could not disregard my presence. During my life, I have had a strange tendency to love unsuitable men, but I always accepted the challenge, even if that choice came at my detriment. From an ex-husband with a catchy surname, I inherited debt, neurosis, and an old pug limping on both forepaws. He always gave a performance before dinner, conscientiously doing an acrobatic trick with the skill of an injured panda.... but, as you know, everything is forgiven when it comes to loving pets, or almost everything. At that point in my life, I was poorer than Lagerfeld’s beloved cat, and was forced to accept a job offer that I probably would never have taking at any other time.

But my most important quality was the ability to solve problems and make bold decisions; problems of any scope: large or small, important or trivial, problems facing all of humanity or the two people drinking coffee on a spacious terrace at an alarmingly early time in the morning in Atlanta. I was brave and never afraid to face difficulties. But, in all honestly, I was very much afraid, more afraid than anyone I knew, or would know as my story developed and my whole body contracted at the thought of failure. Empathy and limitless love for others made me place all my hidden fears into a small forged box which I locked by key and feed to the inner monsters as I continuously moved forward. As more fears overwhelmed me, the stronger and more energetically I worked on myself. Today, the decision was made irrevocably. Trouble-shooters are not judged, they are sent to the most challenging places. If you are a woman, then you are chosen last. When a couple of the best professionals have refused because the business is not lucrative, the payment is not the best, and, for the most part, the position details cannot be disclosed or used to improve your long, flawless resume. That is why they usually sent me where smart, harsh men refused to go.

Why me, you ask? That all depends on how interested you are, and what you can sacrifice. Each of us has our own weaknesses and leverage. I also had a weakness - hypertrophied empathy and boundless love. And as you know, love has to be paid for, especially when it looks at you through the eyes of a fifteen-year-old child, for whose life and education you pay for on a daily basis.

So, why the hell was it me? Yesterday I packed my ironed clothes into two large suitcases and thought about what kind of a hole in the world I agreed to go to. But the choice has been made, the contract signed and tickets successfully printed, which have, for the past week, been gathering dust on my carved bedside cabinet, shading the mottled tin box which houses almond candies. Figures of exotic animals adorn the box, many of which I will see for the first time in the next few years on my breath-taking journeys. No matter how you live, the dawns are the same. The sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening; it’s only the scars on your heart that increase, leaving less and less room for new marks. Time goes by, inexorably approaching the countdown.

***

I remember the sea, as I lay on the sand looking at the oncoming waves while I carefully placed pebbles around a gecko that was resting on my tanned stomach.

You won’t do it! shouted my barefoot friends.

I'll do it! I shouted back in response, shaking off the pebbles and the surprised gecko, who so carelessly warmed up on my stomach. Wearing fins I rushed to the water, and dived under a rock. That was dangerous of course, any minute the waves could throw me on the rocks and crush my brazen ten-year-old body, then leave my remains to be eaten by hungry deep-sea wildlife. But I had time to dive under the rock, and holding my breath I swam another ten meters to find a way out into a dark and cold cave. Everything resonated with the hot sun outside, and in there I found the rubble of rolling stones. In the distance, through a hole, I saw the silhouettes of my friends as they screamed with admiration.

As I ran to the light of the sun beaming into the cave I shouted, I'm not afraid! I'm not afraid!

So for now, fear is not a feeling, it is a decision I consciously make.

***

In the cozy twilight of a small office, Ze Be was smoking a cigar in a long mouthpiece. Tea filling two thin porcelain cups was steaming on the table. She held a conversation with a man in Chinese.

I wanted to tell you personally. We found what we were looking for.

That cannot be! the man, whose face was hidden, exclaimed.

He immediately sat back, as Ze Be’s gesture stopped his impulse to react to the information.

Now the main thing is that we don’t screw up. Call Samuel. There will be a lot of work… a lot! Call, what are you waiting for? he demanded.

Ze Be went to the dressing table, pressed a panel, and instead of an elegant women's makeup table appearing she was greeted with a modern computer, three screens, a keyboard and a host of other devices. Having rolled up the long silk sleeves of her coat, she turned on the computer and clicked a communicator icon causing a bell to ring. She did not have to wait long for an answer.

A handsome grey-haired man appeared on the screen and in Chinese said, Greetings, Ze Be.

He sat on a cabinet, surrounded by antique furniture and old Victorian lamps, which served more as an element of decor than as lighting fixtures.

You're still as beautiful as the morning lotus, said the antiques dealer.

I'm still the same dangerous woman, don’t let my beauty mislead you, she smiled. But thank you for the flattery; it still won’t change the terms of our agreement.

It would be a pleasure to add you to my collection of knives, he grinned. Your tongue is as sharp as Dahae.

Looking down, Ze Be bowed with a smile.

Have you found it? the antiques dealer asked with anticipation.

Everything was confirmed yesterday. We can get all the stones, and then some. The main thing is how we will export them. I wouldn’t trust this job to the Thais. It’s not calm at the border now, they have a new boss, and as you know new brooms raise a lot of dust. A small amount can be taken out along the water border, but for the best samples we need to look for another way… a safer way, Ze Be explained.

I have a customer. Let me think about our situation until tomorrow, I’ll find a way and call you back, he said.

Suddenly, the call disconnected. Ze Be and the other man in the room stood there confused for another minute. The man’s face still not visible, only his dark tousled hair with two distinct crowns spiraling to the center on both sides, somewhat resembling the rings of Saturn.

Chapter 2

I can’t stand the lies and insincerity. I have an inner instinct, a gut feeling for it, as soon as I felt that tense tingling sensation in my whole body, I understand that something was wrong, and expected trouble was knocking at my door, although it would seem that in that moment nothing threatened me. People call it intuition. I would say that is some kind of inner insight. And that time I felt it again. I noticed that he was already aboard the plane. Corporate intelligence is not news to me, and it was not badly prepared, he knew the flight number and the day of departure. I scanned him quickly. The truth is that he had to behave more at ease. Near the plane’s toilet, no one had trapped me yet. A lanky guy, Indian in appearance, awkwardly dropped his phone nearby, he then reached out to pick it up but dropped it again. Pretentiously, I thought. His technique needed sharpening.

Pardon, he said, and broke out in a tense smile as he gazed at me, counting on that the fact that the conversation would continue.

Never mind, I said.

Are you flying to Yangon? he asked with curiosity.

Are there any other options? I thought it might be interesting to choose the direction of flight while boarding the plane. What a great marketing solution!

You know this flight continues on to Phnom Penh? he added.

I didn’t, no.

First time in Myanmar? he continued.

Yes, definitely the first, I offered, and then buried my head in a magazine.

Here you go, he said, handing me a silk-printed business card with volume corrugated letters, as he slightly tilted his head to the left. Mr. Dinesh Batra, entrepreneur and owner of Lio Gems was written on the business card.

Call me anytime; you’ll definitely need a consultation before you fly back.

While squinting his right eye, he seemed to gaze at me. Why would I need it? I did not resemble a wholesale buyer of precious stones, although I did had a good knowledge of gems. He clearly did not give me the impression of being a wholesaler.

No need, but thanks anyway.

He hesitated a moment, seemingly in thought, but then slowly moved back to his seat, constantly turning in my direction as he left a trail of spicy musk cologne, which, to be honest, had been wafting through the economy cabin of airplane for a long time. I hadn’t planned to fly back yet. Something in that conversation seemed terribly suspicious to me.

After the trans-Atlantic flight and a transfer in Dubai, my head hurt so much that every rustle seemed to cut my delicate eardrum into pieces. I wanted to place it in a snowdrift or at least in a bath of cold artesian water and leave it there for at least forty minutes. But one thought was constantly throbbing in my head; I’d seen it somewhere before, his sneaky look and that slightly sideways slanting smile, like the smile of a person who has survived a minor stroke, or several other people's life dramas. Just to emphasize these were someone else’s dramas, not his own. His dark tousled hair with two distinct crowns, spiraling to the center on both sides, somewhat resembling the orbital rings of Jupiter. I fell asleep with those spirals on my mind and his ingratiating questions were still circulating in my thoughts - First time in Myanmar? Definitely the first time, I have been here before, back when the country was called Burma, but that is a completely different story.

Chapter 3

Yangon, that is a city where, according to local acknowledgment, Toyota dies. It was very troublesome and expensive to import cars there, so vehicles created back in the prehistoric age were in abundance, of course they were a little younger than pterodactyls and saber-toothed tigers, but they are just as frightening to look at. Naturally, no requirements for the emission of exhaust gases were observed. I met a nice guy who introduced himself as Joe. I think half of all local drivers there called themselves Joe or Mike. It is more convenient than attempting to give their actual names to foreigners, so they replaced them with an analogue of English names. I had no objections, Joe it is, and Joe it was. The guy turned out to be very pleasant and had a degree in microbiology which would quite clearly be a useful qualification to have in Myanmar, but in reality he earned more as a driver. I, as a woman in business, didn’t have to choose too much, I would constantly have to think about safety, especially in countries which were not very popular tourists’ destinations. Meeting a person you can trust, especially in another country, was difficult, so when you find one it’s best to involve them in your daily life. Here in Yangon, people didn’t particularly bother with cleanliness. Everywhere you went, friendly people walked barefoot along the cobblestones; these were left behind by the former English colonizers. The locals spat out the scraps of red, chewed betel nut onto the cobblestones, and then energetically trampled it throughout the city. That sight, for an unprepared mind, was quite frightening.

Betel nut leaves were filled with lime and Areca palm filling. At first you might think that it was blood, especially when locals are smiling at you, good-naturedly, with their red smiles while displaying large yellow teeth. Although it is fascinating, that pleasure is clearly not for me. More recently, it was a place of honor to have a box for Piper Betel nut located in every house; nowadays the hosts would offer you the so-called white coffee with condensed milk, typical for Asia. Coffee in Myanmar, in my opinion, was the best in Southeast Asia. Betel nut can hardly be called tasty, but a person who drinks vodka or beer for the first time is unlikely to say that it excited their taste buds. In that case, the most important thing was the person’s drinking skills and obviously the end result. Everyone could talk about chewing betel nut as much as they wanted, but it was like in a fairy tale about the love of a blind man and a beautiful girl, he could not feel the beauty of the shapes and understand who was in front of him until he touched her. Some people added special aphrodisiacs to betel nut, and you could inadvertently snatch these people out of the crowd or on the streets; when they look at you with their sore red eyes, like bats from the twilight of market rows or small restaurants. So what am I talking about? That betel nut story is not accidental; you will understand that it is closely related to my story a little later.

Tell me, Joe, how often do mosquitoes bite and how can I best avoid Dengue fever, I inquired.

Dying from that fever clearly was not part of my short-term plan during my Myanmar visit. I prudently bought a pack of stickers for clothes and a lot of horrendously smelly and terribly expensive gels and sprays. As it turned out, that was all in vain, a total waste of money; although at the time it still calmed my soul.

Not often, said Joe. The population in Yangon is seven and a half million, and the amount of mosquitoes is much smaller. They can’t bite everyone.

That idea clearly did not reassure me. Knowing my tender body, which my friends often called Crème Brule, I really did not want it to happen. Here and there, along the edges of the road, I saw smoking heaps of grass set on fire to repel