The Adventures of Logan van Zant

He places the brown package on the office desk. The parcel is a cigar box wrapped in weathered paper and frayed twine. Export stamps from Europe and the Americas are peppered across it. “What did Cornelius send this time?” he thought. The package is addressed to: Professor Logan van Zant, Brown University, History Dept.,Providence, Rhode Island, United States; From: Uncle Cornelius, Parts Unknown. “Parts unknown? Always the eccentric, Uncle,” Logan laughs. He often receives oddities from his uncle’s adventures from across the world.

Logan clips the twine and removes the paper to reveal a Cuban cigar box. The odor of tobacco wafts into his nostrils reminding him of his boyhood. Logan was sent to live with his thrill seeking, cigar smoking, gun toting uncle after the tragic death of his parents. Logan took an immediate liking to his uncle, as Cornelius was a boy trapped in an adult’s body. Over the years, Logan joined Cornelius on many worldly adventures. He remembers swimming the beaches of Borneo, climbing the mountains of Peru, sailing the islands of the Pacific, and going on safari in the Serengeti. In adulthood, Logan had found his fill of adventure while fighting in the Second World War. Now, his only thrill is the molding of collegiate minds in a quiet classroom.

Logan opens the cigar box to reveal a folded letter. Beneath the letter is a bronze circular plate. He opens the letter:

August 17, 1952

Nephew,

It is with great hope that this letter finds you well; however, I have found myself in a bit of a bind— again. I know what you must think, “who would try to hurt your sweet Uncle Cornelius this go around?” Well, my dear boy it’s the Russians this time. That damn Stalin has sent his ape to steal this artifact from me. I went through great lengths to procure it, and I’ll be a baboon’s uncle if I’ll let some Russki lay their hands on it. So, I sent it to the only person I trust – you. I will send someone to retrieve it and you, but until then please do your best not to drop it. It’s over a thousand years old, and we don’t need a repeat of the pharaoh’s tomb. When it’s time to find me, think of our 1935 trip and go there.

Ta-ta for now,

Uncle

Logan examines the artifact. Ancient Greek letters are engraved along the edge. A man and a bull fight at its center surrounded by a maze. A peg protrudes from the plate’s back . “Stalin? Ape? What have you gotten yourself into, Uncle?”

A knock comes at the door; Logan slips the letter into his pocket.“I’m busy! If you have questions about the material, refer to chapter thirty-two in the text.” The knocking continues; Logan stands and wrenches the door open, “Are you deaf? I said. . .” Logan comes eye-to-eye with a well-dressed and shapely femme fatale. Behind her stands a brute of a man who is wider and taller than the doorway. The woman speaks in Russian; the brute grunts and closes the door as she saunters into the office.

“I have to say, I haven’t seen your figure in any of my classes. . .”

Logan stands in front of the desk to block the package.

“Privet, Comrade van Zant. I am Natasha Sokolov. How do you say, it is pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Sokolov. But, I’m sorry to say that I am tied up at the moment. . . Another time perhaps? ”

“Where is your uncle, Cornelius?”

“Cornelius?” Logan scoffs, “Why the interest in that haggard coot?”

“Have you not heard from him?”

“Can’t say that I have, not for months. Lord knows where he is these days. Why?”

“He is in possession of an object, a cipher plate, that is of great interest to us.”

“To who? You and your enforcer? Or, to Stalin?”

“So, you know for whom we seek this, then tell us where is your uncle?”

“Like I said Lady, I can’t help ya.”

“Gospodin van Zant, where is the famed American hospitality?”

“Wrong part of the continent, Miss Sokolov, if you want hospitality, I suggest going to Canada.”

Logan swallows anxiously as Natasha presses her body against him. She intimately runs a finger along his shirt buttons and tugs on his tie. She looks over his shoulder to see the bronze plate. “Surely, some sort of an arrangement can be made?” she flirts. Logan softly whispers into her ear.

“None.”

“That is a shame, I wanted to make this easy for both of us.” She turns and yells, “BRUNO!” The office door splinters open, the brute steps in. Natasha speaks in Russian, “He has the cipher, take it.” Bruno grunts and raises his fists.

“So, you must be Stalin’s ape? I have to warn you, I survived Normandy, so I’m no slouch.” Logan raises his fists and waves Bruno forward. Bruno swings his right arm. Logan weaves to his left to evade the Russian’s blow. Logan lands a left hook to Bruno’s body, followed by a right uppercut to his jaw. Bruno spits out a tooth, and gives a bloody smile. “Well, maybe we can talk about this then, there big fella?”

“He doesn’t talk, the war took his tongue,” Natasha laughs.

“Did you lose these too?” Logan thrusts the heel of his foot into Bruno’s groin. Bruno clutches his crotch and falls to his knees. Logan grabs the cipher and jumps through the open office window.

“Get up you idiot, go after him!”

Logan rolls as he hits the ground. He looks up to the sound of shattering glass. Bruno crashes down from the office above and lands steadily on both feet. Logan finds his footing, and breaks into a sprint. Students stand in awe as they watch their professor run across campus with the juggernaut in his wake. “Golly, is that Professor van Zant! Someone call the police! That guy is gonna kill him!”

Logan and Bruno play a game of cat-and-mouse across the campus. Punches and kicks are thrown, bystanders and students are hurt, and school property is damaged, but Logan evades the Russian’s clutches at every turn. Bruno chases Logan to the street; the traffic is too heavy to cross. Nowhere left to run, Logan clutches the cipher tightly. His hair is messy, his shirt is torn, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck. Brunos face is bloody; his nose is broken. “Alright, there big guy. I think we’ve done enough damage to each other for the day. How ‘bout we call a truce and pick it up another time?” Bruno cracks his knuckles while steadily moving forward. Logan shakes his head, tucks the cipher into his belt, and raises his fists. “If you insist.”

The sound of a car horn approaches from the street. Logan looks behind him, and steps aside as a Chevy sedan collides with his pursuer. The Russian is sent flying, hitting the ground unconscious. The female driver yells to him, “Get in!”

“Are you crazy? You could’ve killed me!”

“I just saved your life, now get in!”

The Russian begins to move.

“You make a fair point!”

Logan jumps into the passenger seat. The Chevy sedan disappears into traffic as Bruno stands.

“Do ya have it?”the driver asks.

“Have what?”

“The cipher?”

Logan pulls the cipher from his belt and shows the driver.

“Thank God, Cornelius would’ve killed me if I didn’t recover it . . . and you too, I suppose.”

“Cornelius sent you?”

“Yeah he sent me, do you have a problem with that?”

“No, I just thought it would have been someone I knew. . .”

“Well you don’t, so get over it.”

“Who are you anyways?”

“Cornelius’ assistant, Aurora Cross. You must be Mr. Van Zant?”

“Professor, but you can call me Logan.”

“Well, excuse me Professor, but no offense, you look like shit. That Russki sure did a number on you,” Aurora laughs.

“You’d look like this too if you went toe-to-toe with that monster. What’s this all about anyway?”

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, then I’ll try to fill in the gaps.”

Aurora sits on the stained motel room bed; Logan sits in a chair with an ice bag on his face. “How ya feelin’?”

“Could be worse. But, thanks for. . . Well. . . Running him over.”

“All in a days work. Your uncle sent me to bring you and the cipher, so you’re kinda a package deal.”

“What do they want with this thing anyway?”

“Well, Cornelius found it while excavating a Sumerian tomb in Iraq.”

“Unlikely. . . The Greeks and Sumerians were fifteen-hundred years apart. Trade between Mycenaeans and Mesopotamia didn’t happen until the end of the Eighth Century BC. How could something like this end up in a tomb?”

“Are you gonna listen or not? . . . Anyways, he found it in a ziggurat filled with traps and pitfalls. Half the excavation team deserted out of fear of being cursed. His employer tried takin’ it from him, so he sent it to you.”

“His employer? You mean the Russians? . . . He was working with the Russians?”

“You know Cornelius as well as I do. The riskier the adventure, the greater the fame.”

“This kinda fame is gonna land him on McCarthy’s Commie watchlist. We’ll end up there with him if we’re not careful.”

“I told him that, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I think he forgets how old he is sometimes. One day life is gonna catch him.”

“It’ll be sooner rather than later if we don’t find him first. So, how do we find him anyways?”

“His letter said to remember our nineteen thirty-five trip. In thirty-five, we were off the coast of Athens searching for sunken Mycenaean treasure. So, Athens would be our best bet.”

“To Athens it is!”

“To Athens.”

To be continued. . .

*Thanks for reading. This the first part of a short series. Leave a tip if you would like to support future stories like this or like my others:

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