Lost and Found: An Adventure Story

By Earle W. Jacobs

Are you ready to take on the Russian Mafia and assorted felons and rogues? How would you like to go adventuring to some far-off exotic land where not too many go? Would you like to meet some interesting people, maybe even a few beautiful young women?
Do you like your yarns to be livened with a little humor here and there? If you do, you are bound to like Arthur Penobscot Smythe III, one of the main characters in this novel. And-----if you like this story, there is a sequel about ready to be out in print. Look for the mysterious, Madame O.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462843688

Earle W. Jacobs

Earle Jacobs has been a long time resident of Southern California. He lives’ there with his wife, Alla Mikhaylovna, a native of Kiev, Ukraine and their one-eared cat Barrabashka, a native of St. Petersburg, Russia. Alla is a US Citizen. Barrabashka so far still has only her entry visa. He was an Army Lieutenant during WWII and was awarded battle stars for his ETO Campaign Ribbon for Normandy, Northern France, Rhineland and Central Europe. He has been writing adventure novels since 1989.

Book preview

Chapter One

Tell me; just exactly what you would have done if you were to open a small suitcase and find that it contained a lot of money?—Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars (American) to be specific; golly Ned, that’s a quarter of a million! Take a few minutes; I will wait for your answer. I am really quite interested in what you will tell me because I had found myself in that very position. I know, I know; I did all that—looked around, to see if anyone was watching me and no, I did not see a soul doing that. I guess that should not have been too surprising at ten o’clock at night there on a bus out in the middle of nowhere. Not only that, I was not really sure exactly where this particular nowhere might be; somewhere near a little village on the east side of the Ural Mountains is all that I am sure of.

I guess I must have gone a little bonkers, talking to someone I know is not really there.—However, enough of that. Perhaps it is best that I just tell the whole story. I think it is going to take a while. Maybe a good idea if you get comfortable.

* * *

The little rental car I was driving had conked out on us almost five hours ago. I’m not much of a mechanic, nor apparently is my assistant, Arthur Penobscot Smythe, III, A twenty-two-year-old nephew of my company’s Vice President/Comptroller, who happens also to be a major stockholder of our company. Arthur Penobscot, thus far, had been unsuccessfully enrolled at several of our more prestigious institutions of higher learning, including both Harvard and Yale. Except for a certain affinity for drinking and carousing, our Arthur Penobscot appears to have had little interest in availing himself of the other learning opportunities made available to him and to date, has been unable to successfully complete even one semester of higher learning despite being reputed to have an unusually high IQ.

Our esteemed vice president’s sister, Jessica, One of the Penobscot family, who are also major stockholders of the company, has prevailed on her brother to hire her wayward son before he wound up in some serious trouble and caused more embarrassment for the family.

Our company publishes a very successful travel/adventure magazine that has been in business for a number of years. I am on the payroll as a photojournalist and have been so employed for the past three years; a job that I really have enjoyed. I get to do a lot of travelling and to unusual, interesting and often faraway, esoteric and exotic places. I suppose it is not too surprising that when this particular assignment of mine, taking me to Central Asia, came to the attention of our vice president, it was determined that I would obviously need an assistant. Arthur Penobscot Smythe, III, it was decided, would fill that position perfectly. The fact that this assignment might take some time to complete apparently made it an even better assignment for Arthur’s first venture into gainful employment.

I, of course, was not aware of the reasons behind this sudden appointment of an assistant, which occurred, just shortly before my embarking on this assignment. After ten hours flying across the Atlantic however and several days driving across Europe, Arthur had pretty much given me his history to date. Actually, to me he didn’t seem to be such a bad sort and surprisingly, we seemed to hit it off pretty well. I was beginning to enjoy having someone along I could talk with and help me lug around some of the cameras and equipment I had with me.

We fortunately had made it to a small town, really a large village I guess, before our transportation refused to go any farther. I raised the hood, bonnet or whatever they call these things out here, to see if I could detect the cause of the engine’s malfunction. We then poked around tentatively at various and sundry parts of the motor and attached parts. It was soon apparent that poking about was not going to produce any worthwhile results. That was when Arthur pointed out that it seemed Old Betsy had given up the ghost in front of what appeared to be some kind of auto repair establishment. The fact that we could see someone with his head inside the motor compartment of a car gave that impression at any rate.

I have one of those fancy little electronic gadgets that translate English into about fourteen thousand different languages and programmed with various phrases useful for all sorts of occasions, such as, where is the bathroom, How much is that doggy in the window? and phrases like that. Assuming the battery has not run out, it will even pronounce some of these stock phrases and words. After fiddling with the thing for about a half hour it was apparent there was no stock phrase in Russian in this gadget for, ‘do you fix cars here?"

In the meantime, the head that had been under the hood of the car was now examining us with apparent interest. Soon the possessor of that head approached us carrying a large wrench, or spanner for you British-inclined folk, and clearing his throat asked, American? Many talented Arthur immediately jovially replied, Si, amigo; nous am Amerikanishers; peutetre ici vous et automobiles here fixen? Our man with the wrench had a somewhat bewildered look for a few moments and no wonder, I know I sure was; then, he snapped his fingers and asked, Ah, car broken? Arthur clapped him on the back, laughing and said, Si, Amigo, si; car she sure is kebroken; kennen zie fixen? I was beginning to wonder about then if Arthur Penobscot knows what country we are in right then.

After considering Arthur Penobscot’s pronouncement, our erstwhile mechanic came over and put his head under the hood of our defunct transportation. He poked around a bit with the same result we had previously obtained. Then he said, Da, Ya fixen auto, mojet buite tree, sheteree, pyats days. Arthur said, I think he says it will take a couple days to do the job. Most likely he must get a part somewhere. Da, ya get part; Wei guavaritsa paEngliski? Aha, I saw that in our little translator. It means, Do you speak English and I can answer. I said, Da, ya guavaroo paEngliski; ya poneemyo paRuski nee ochen kurashow. Our friend now told us, I speak only the few words English I learn from school long ago; ya ne poneemyo Deutch, Franc, Espain language." I showed him our little handy translator then and he was fascinated. He caught on how to work it right away and could translate from Russian into English using that. Why didn’t I think to do this a long time ago?

Yes, he can fix our car as soon as he can get the part, which is not available locally. It could take anywhere from three to five days before the part will arrive. Well, my appointment in Pietagorsk is in three days. There is no car rental in this town and I find if I am to make this appointment on time, I will have to take the local bus. It is due here in one hour and will be here for thirty minutes to take on and discharge passengers. The next bus will be here two days hence assuming all goes well. I can’t chance it. I will have to take this next one. Arthur will have to stay here and bring the car and our luggage and equipment when the car repairs have been completed. He will have to find a place to stay for a few days and I will leave the translator gizmo with him. I told him his mixture of fractured Spanish, French and German tended to be somewhat confusing and reminded him that Russian was the Lingua Franca here. He told me not to worry—no problemo, Kemo Sabe.—Sheesh.

I grabbed my carry-on bag, my best digital cameras and took off for the bus station in the next block. Thank goodness, it was not too far. I showed my passport there and bought my ticket. I discovered it is apparently quite some distance to my destination. It appeared the bus was going to be a little late today; apparently, not an unusual occurrence and I took a seat on the bench outside to await its arrival.

I guess I had been sitting for about five minutes or so when several others appeared and took up seats on the bench with me. The one on my left appeared to be a young woman who deposited her small suitcase alongside my small carry-on, nodding briefly to acknowledge my presence before taking her seat. Ten minutes later, she turned to me and asked, Are you an American? I said that I was. She continued then in English, I apologize for bothering you, sir, but may I impose on you to watch my case while I find the ladies’ room? I have a number of old tools of my grandfather that I am to deliver to my father in Uralinsk. The case is a little heavy for me to take with me to the ladies’ room I am afraid. I told her; sure, go ahead, I would keep an eye on her things and with that, she went back inside the station.

Fifteen minutes later, she had not returned and then the bus arrived. Several people got off and disappeared. The other people waiting with me picked up their various bags and cases and got on; the driver had meantime gone inside the station. I guess I should get on also but I don’t like to leave the suitcase here unattended until its owner returned. The bus driver came outside then, sat down, and lit a cigarette while checking her watch. Apparently figuring how much time she had left for her smoke. I asked her, Poneymyou paEngliski pajoulsta? When she answered, Da, niem noga, I proceeded to tell her slowly that my friend had gone to the ladies’ room some time ago and I was afraid she would miss the bus if she did not return soon. She left then and went back inside the station…

The driver had no sooner gone back into the station to check the ladies’ room when two men that I had noticed had been lounging about the station for a while came over to me then and one of