Solo Journey: Buddha Knights a Jack Solo Mystery Novel

By Irv Brandt

Poker playing, wisecracking Jack Solo isn’t the typical chief inspector with the United States Marshals Service, but he’s good at his job and now assigned to Interpol in Washington, DC.

While investigating a prison break in Las Vegas, Jack is contacted by a friend, Svetlana Kovalenko. Svetlana needs help. Her sister, Kalyna, has gone missing from the University of Kiev, and she wants Jack to find her.

Jack discovers that Kalyna has been lured into a human traffi cking ring in Southeast Asia run by the Russian mob. While searching for her, he uncovers a plot to steal the Emerald Buddha from the Royal Temple in Bangkok. The stakes in this game have suddenly been raised, but Jack isn’t deterred. He vows to rescue Kalyna from the Russian thugs and recover the Emerald Buddha at any cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Feb 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781684719167

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Jonathan Solo! I really hate that guy, Dmitry Tretyak thought as he combed his hair in front of the mirror.

He set down the comb and picked up a manila file, then took out a photo from a press release in the Washington Post entitled Chief Inspector Solo of the United States Marshals Service Always Gets His Man. The article was a couple of years old and detailed a murder investigation that began in Los Angeles and ended with Chief Inspector Solo leading a man in cuffs through Dulles International Airport near Washington, D.C., after completing a formal extradition from London.

Dmitry stared at the photo for a few moments, then flipped to a bio sheet in the file that read

Jonathan Solo (Jack)

Race: Caucasian

Sex: Male

Height: 6’1"

Weight: 215 pounds

Hair: Black

Eyes: Blue

Residence: Arlington, VA

Occupation: Chief Inspector, United States Marshals Service, International Investigations Branch assigned to USNCB Interpol, Washington, D.C.

Education: Bachelor of Science from Florida State University.

Work History prior to US Marshals Service: United States Navy. Atlanta Police Department assigned to patrol division and undercover vice/narcotics investigations.

Associate: Daniel Logan, Senior Inspector with United States Marshals Service assigned to USNCB Interpol Washington, D.C.

Dmitry went back to the press release and looked at the man walking beside Solo and the suspect. He looked Scandinavian, with shoulder-length blond hair and an expensive suit. He looked like he needed a shave.

He looks like a hitman or drug dealer from those Hollywood movies, he thought with a smile.

Dmitry set the file down on the dresser, then walked across the bedroom to open the double doors to the balcony that overlooked Tverskaya Square. He stepped out into the cold late-October morning air and looked to the right, where he could see the spirals of the Kremlin from his 14th-floor apartment.

He went back inside and shut the doors with a shudder. Winter is coming.

Dmitry turned from the doors to see Irina at the dresser looking through the file. She was wearing a short black silk robe, and he stood there for a moment, admiring her from behind. She had long brown hair, a round bottom to go with her heavy chest and had just turned 19 years old. He had found her a few months before in a club in Kirov, about 850 kilometers from Moscow, and had lured her here with a promise of a modeling contract like he had with so many girls before her.

Dmitry walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. Did you find something interesting?

She pointed at the photo of Jonathan Solo. Who is he?

He’s an enemy.

She nodded her head. You look a little like him.

Dimitry smiled at her remark. He was 25 years old, 5’11, and 180 pounds, with jet-black hair he’d gotten from his Armenian mother and cold blue eyes he’d gotten from his Russian father. I’m younger and far better looking."

Irina smiled. You are younger.

Smartass! Maybe it’s time to put you to work on the streets of Budapest.

He smacked her hard on the bottom. Put that down. You shouldn’t be looking at things that don’t concern you.

Dmitry really didn’t care that she was looking at the file because everything in there was in English and Irina could only speak and read Russian.

He went into his walk-in closet and buttoned up his dark grey shirt, then put on a black tie before slipping into his black suit jacket. He then went over to the nightstand next to the bed and took a Makarov 9mm handgun from the drawer, which he put in his waistband at the small of his back.

Irina stood at the dresser, watching him, and rubbed her bottom where she had been smacked. Where are you going?

Dmitry walked over and picked up the file from the dresser, saying, I have to go see the boss.

Irina nodded, but didn’t say anything—she knew who the boss was, and it scared her. Dmitry was referring to Sergi Aliyev, the most feared mobster in Russia and maybe all of Europe.

Dmitry walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the dining room, with Irina following behind him. He set the file on the dining room table and picked up his coat, which was hanging from the back of one of the chairs. He slipped on the three-quarters-length leather coat and made sure his keys were in his pocket before picking up the file.

He was about to go to the door when Irina asked, When will you be home?

Dmitry shrugged. Aren’t you filming today?

Irina nodded and started to say something, but stopped.

What?

I don’t like making those movies, Dmitry.

The movies were being sold on porn websites that advertised teenage Russian girls.

He nodded. You have to start somewhere. Don’t you like the money you’re able to send to your family in Kirov?

Her eyes began to tear up. You promised me a modeling contract.

Dmitry gave her a cold smile. Maybe you think you’re being treated unfairly?

A look of panic crossed her face. No. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He let his smile soften as he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Maybe you’re right. I’ll look into modeling contracts, and with a little luck, you could be going to Paris soon.

Thank you, Dmitry.

He walked out the door thinking, it’s time to put her to work in a city far from home. Somewhere in Eastern Europe—or maybe one of the strip clubs or massage parlors we’ve been opening in Southeast Asia.

Dmitry took the elevator down to the garage. He stepped behind a concrete pillar fifteen meters away from his black Mercedes SUV and used the remote to unlock the doors and start the engine. When the vehicle didn’t blow up, he walked over and got behind the wheel.

You can never be too careful in this business, he thought with a smile as he set the manila file on the passenger seat.

He then leaned forward to pull the Makarov from the small of his back and put it in the glovebox. Dmitry pulled out of the garage and worked his way through the morning traffic until he reached the motorway, where he began speeding southwest away from the city. He was heading to Peredelkino, about twenty-five kilometers outside of Moscow, where Sergi Aliyev lived in his dacha.

He glanced at the file on the passenger seat. You really made a mess of things, Boris. If Jonathan Solo hadn’t killed you, I would’ve.

Dmitry shook his head. He knew that wasn’t true. He had been friends with Boris since he was a teenager, and it was Boris who’d taught him how to lure girls to Moscow, then trick them into working for Sergi Aliyev’s organization. Whether it was lies about modeling jobs, becoming an actress, or just getting them hooked on drugs, Boris showed him how to do it and then set them to work throughout Europe. Boris also taught him that if you wanted to rise to power within the organization, you had to obtain valuable artwork for Sergi’s collection.

Sergi Aliyev was the most powerful crime boss in Russia. His organization controlled drugs, gambling, prostitution, extortion, and murder for hire throughout Europe and Southeast Asia. He spent enormous sums of money on art with religious significance and greatly rewards anyone within his organization who added to his collection.

Boris Petrov came up with a brilliant plan to steal the Book of Kells from Trinity College, Dimitry thought as he drove along the motorway.

Boris had been working in Washington, D.C., when he came across a professor of art history at George Washington University who was heavily in debt to the Aliyev organization for gambling. Boris learned that Doctor Alexander Mikhailov was an expert on the Book of Kells and was going to be a guest professor at Trinity College in Dublin. The Book of Kells, a hand-written translation of the four gospels of Christ, was bound in four volumes. Two of the volumes were kept on display in the Old Library at the college. The other two volumes were kept in the vault room beneath the library and rotated every several months.

Boris had spent millions of dollars creating forgeries of the volumes so Doctor Mikhailov could replace them for the originals that were not on display. The plan had been working perfectly, and Doctor Mikhailov had replaced one of the volumes (the Gospel of Luke), when his teaching assistant, Megan McGrady, had begun to suspect something. She had contacted Chief Inspector Solo in Washington, D.C., and by the time Mikhailov had replaced the volume containing the Gospel of John, everything had begun to fall apart. Solo had gone to Dublin, where he’d recovered the Gospel of John and then tracked Boris to San Jose, Costa Rica. It was there Solo had not only taken the Gospel of Luke from him, but his life as well. Now Boris was dead, along with Doctor Mikhailov, and the two volumes were back at Trinity College, while Sergi’s operations in Washington, D.C., and Dublin were in shambles.

Dmitry glanced over at the file again. Now it falls to me to explain it to the boss.

Dmitry got off the motorway in Peredelkino, then made his way along country lanes, passing the beautiful houses of the Russian rich and elite. Sergi Aliyev had a dacha at the end of a road, where the grounds were surrounded by a ten-foot-high stone wall and an iron gate.

He pulled up to the gate, rolled down the driver’s side window, and stuck his head out, knowing he was being watched by surveillance cameras. A few moments later, he heard an electronic click, and the gate slowly swung open. He rolled up the window, then drove along the gravel road that led to the dacha.

Dmitry parked in front of the house, then went up the front steps of the porch. He didn’t ring the bell or knock. He knew he was being watched and would be let in when they were ready. Dmitry looked around the expansive grounds while he waited and could see men with dogs patrolling near the walls. He knew the men were armed with automatic weapons. The boss took security very seriously.

Dmitry turned around when he heard the front door open to find a very large man with a blond crew cut standing in the doorway. He knew the man was a former officer of Spetsnaz, the Russian Special Forces, and a GRU agent (Military Intelligence). The man took a step backward and nodded for Dmitry to come inside. He stepped just inside the doorway and waited. He knew the security procedure.

Weapon? the blond-haired man asked

Dmitry held the manila file in his right hand and shook his head. It’s in the glove box.

The man nodded, then motioned for Dmitry to lift his arms. He did and the man patted him down, including a check of his waistband and ankles for concealed weapons. Then he straightened up and said, Follow me.

He led Dmitry down a hallway of hardwood flooring and dark wood paneling where the walls were lined with Italian renaissance paintings by Bellini, Giorgione, Botticelli, and Cellini. All the paintings were originals and worth millions of dollars. The man stopped at the end of the hall in front of a set of double doors and glanced up at a security camera for a moment before touching his earpiece and nodding his head.

The man then opened one of the doors and looked at Dmitry, saying, Wait in there.

Dmitry stepped inside and the door closed, leaving him alone in Sergi Aliyev’s private study. He had never been in there before, so he slowly looked around the room with a sense of wonderment. The walls were lined with shelves containing rare books and ancient manuscripts. There were also small tables throughout the room displaying idols from various religions made of gold and other precious metals.

Sergi’s desk was in front of a large bay window that overlooked the grounds. There were two large leather wingback chairs and a small table in front of the desk that Dmitry assumed were for visitors, so he walked over and set the manila file on the table. He noticed that the boss’s desk lacked pictures of a wife or family. All that was there was a computer, phone, and an ancient-looking Koran.

Dmitry turned when he heard the door open, and Sergi Aliyev walked in, followed by an elderly woman carrying a coffee service. Dmitry picked up the file and stood almost at attention as Sergi walked around the desk and waited for the woman to set the tray on the table.

Sergi Aliyev was in his early 50s. Standing at 5’10", he had a medium build, light brown hair that was balding on the top, and grey eyes. He was wearing a large fisherman’s sweater that looked very comfortable, and in his right hand he was holding a set of rosary beads, said to have belonged to the Romanov family. The woman poured coffee in a china cup, added cream and sugar, then set it on the desk.

Sergi smiled at her and said, Thank you, that will be all.

When the woman walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, he looked at Dmitry. Make yourself some coffee and sit down.

Dmitry did as he was told, and once he was seated with the file on his lap, Sergi sat down behind the desk and studied him closely while fingering the rosary beads.

After a moment, Sergi asked, You and Boris were close friends?

Dmitry assumed that was a statement instead of a question, so he just nodded his head.

It’s why I ask you to brief me on the details of the operation to acquire the Book of Kells.

Dmitry set down his coffee and opened the file. Where would you like me to begin?

Sergi smiled and said, Take it from the top and walk me through it.

Dmitry nodded. Boris first came up with the idea of stealing the Book of Kells when he came across Doctor Alexander Mikhailov in Washington, D.C.

He noticed Sergi’s face change when he used the word stealing and decided to choose his words more carefully going forward.

After clearing his throat, he said, Boris learned that Doctor Mikhailov was heavily in debt to the organization and it was unlikely that he would be able to make his payments, so he devised a plan to create reproductions of the four volumes of the Book of Kells.

That’s how it started? Making reproductions, not acquiring the originals?

Dmitry nodded. Exactly. Boris brought Doctor Mikhailov into the plan slowly, and the first step was to create reproductions good enough to fool most experts.

A very expensive first step.

Yes, it was. The second step was to replace the Gospel of Luke when Doctor Mikhailov was at Trinity College in Dublin as a guest professor.

Sergi nodded. That part went perfectly.

It did until Doctor Mikhailov’s teaching assistant, Megan McGrady, began to suspect the plan and disappeared with the Gospel of Luke, then contacted Chief Inspector Jonathan Solo with the United States Marshals Service in Washington, D.C.

He pulled the press release from the file and handed it to Sergi, who looked at the photo for a moment before setting it on the desk.

She didn’t give Solo the Gospel of Luke?

Dmitry shook his head. And we don’t think she led him to believe she had it.

Why?

Dmitry shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe she was trying to protect the volume. Boris made a mistake by pushing her in front of that train at Foggy Bottom metro station in Georgetown.

Sergi fingered the prayer beads for a moment. Why was killing her a mistake?

Two reasons. The first being he didn’t know where the Gospel of Luke was and the second being it led Solo to start an investigation.

Sergi nodded in agreement. Go on.

Boris then attempted to follow Solo, who took him by surprise and roughed him up. I believe when Solo discovered Boris’s association with the organization, it led him to Dublin to begin investigating Doctor Mikhailov.

Do you think Boris should have shut the operation down at that point?

Dmitry shook his head. No. The organization had too much invested in the operation.

Sergi smiled. Exactly.

When Solo showed up in Dublin, he was spotted by our men watching over Doctor Mikhailov, and Boris ordered them to take him out, which of course failed, as you know.

Sergi sipped some coffee, then asked, What happened?

Dmitry pulled another sheet from the file and looked at it for a moment. We’re not sure. Our men, Vladimir Derevenko and Oleg Gorlovich, tried to take Solo out near the Fitzwilliam Card Club, but were found a week later floating in the river. Both men had been beaten and shot in the back of the head.

Do you believe Solo killed them?

Not directly. We have reports that Solo had the support of men from Northern Ireland.

Sergi nodded and considered that for a moment. It must have been the Irish. Derevenko and Gorlovich were two of our best enforcers, and they wouldn’t have been taken out so easily by one man.

Boris accelerated the operation after that and had Doctor Mikhailov replace the Gospel of John with a reproduction. Boris knew the operation was beginning to fall apart at this point, but he wanted to salvage as much of it as possible.

Sergi stood up and turned towards the bay window. Just obtaining one of the original volumes would have been quite an accomplishment.

Yes. Boris felt the same way, so he ordered Nikoley Razakova to get the Gospel of John and eliminate Doctor Mikhailov.

Sergi gazed at the grounds outside the window for several moments. And this failed too.

Nikoley killed Mikhailov, but lost the fight with Solo, who turned the Gospel of John over to Irish authorities. Nikoley is in custody awaiting trial for murder.

Sergi sighed as he sat back down behind the desk. There will be no trial. I want you to see to it that Nikoley meets with an accident in jail.

Dmitry nodded. Nikoley’s fate is the price of failure.

Tell me what happened to the Gospel of Luke.

Boris discovered that Megan McGrady had mailed the volume to her mother in Florida and he managed to recover it, then escaped to San Jose, Costa Rica, where he met up with our men. He planned on turning the volume over to them so it could be brought here to you.

Sergi said, But…

But it didn’t work out that way. Solo tracked Boris to San Jose and killed him.

Solo killed Boris himself?

Shot him between the eyes and took the Gospel of Luke back to Dublin.

Sergi picked up the photo of Jonathan Solo and looked at it for a moment. He shot Boris down in cold blood?

Dmitry nodded. When the police in Costa Rica discovered the body, they quickly closed the investigation as a drug-related homicide with no suspects.

Sergi set the photo down and chuckled. A man who knows how to get the job done. Maybe he should work for us.

My God! He’s actually amused, Dmitry thought. He then asked, What would you like done about Solo?

Nothing, it’s over. The volumes have been returned to Trinity College, my men are dead or in jail, and I’m out a great deal of money. There is nothing to be gained by going after Solo. Sergi looked at Dmitry for several moments. I cannot tell you how disappointed I am with this operation.

Dmitry was quiet for a moment. I’m going to make up for the failure by Boris.

Sergi picked up the rosary beads and leaned back in his chair. And how are you going to do that, my young friend?

Dmitry took a deep breath. This is my time to be in the spotlight. I’m going to bring you the Emerald Buddha.

Sergi looked stunned. He sat forward in his chair. The Emerald Buddha? You have a plan to acquire it for me?

The plan is already underway.

Sergi studied him for a moment. And what will this cost me?

Dmitry shook his head. Nothing. It will be my gift to you.

Sergi smiled and nodded his approval. You will become rich and very powerful within the organization.

Yes, sir. I’m counting on it.

Sergi picked up the photo of Jonathan Solo again and spoke to