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Dragon Bones: Two Angels Leave at Sunrise
Dragon Bones: Two Angels Leave at Sunrise
Dragon Bones: Two Angels Leave at Sunrise
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Dragon Bones: Two Angels Leave at Sunrise

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A group of strangers holed up in an abandoned church closed by the Catholic Church six hundred years ago sets the stage for an old world European mystery. News of the Messiah walking through an ancient city’s gate raises suspense and invites the question: What exactly is the Church of Rome hiding in Dubrovnik, Croatia?
LanguageEnglish
PublisherBookBaby
Release dateAug 26, 2013
ISBN9781938686658
Dragon Bones: Two Angels Leave at Sunrise
Author

D.A. Winstead

Award-winning conservative author D.A. (Dennis) Winstead was born and raised in Franklin County, North Carolina. Graduating with an Economics degree from North Carolina State University and a Masters in Public Policy from George Washington University, he began working for the United States Department of State soon after. As a senior government official for over twenty-three years, Dennis focused n economic and security development policy and traveled extensively during his years of civil service–mostly in post-conflict countries in Asia, Eastern Europe, and Africa. Currently enjoying a slower life in Atlanta, Georgia, he writes historical/literary fiction based on his travels and embellished by his experiences and cultures, old world folklore, superstitions, religious fervor and politics.In 2013 Dennis launched Color Him Father Foundation, a non-profit that seeks ways to inspire and motivate working fathers in Africa to create a nurturing home environment for their children.

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    Dragon Bones - D.A. Winstead

    Dubrovnik

    Prologue

    Dubrovnik, Croatia—June 27, 1992

    The three young men picked a quiet location just off Petromo Square. It was a strategic spot, three blocks from the lower south of the Placa Stradum promenade, and a good distance from the Cathedral of the Assumption. People were out in moderate numbers, slightly more than the day before and many more than the day before that. It had been two days since a shell had landed inside the old fortified city of Dubrovnik.

    The sky was clear blue, and a resilient shining sun brought a warm sea breeze. People were everywhere, and they all seemed to fit…one people, one city, one nation. But the tough, war-torn Easterners described themselves as former Yugoslavs—determined, resilient babies of Tito. There might never really be one people or one nation, but at least Dubrovnik was unified.

    Almost all those out and about were locals, and why wouldn’t they be? Tourists and other travelers had left on refugee ships weeks before. And the only people arriving from the north or south and across the mountains were seeking refuge inside the ancient walls. Even though busy, the streets were quiet and people were cautious; heads turned frequently, and bodies jumped at the mere semblance of a loud noise. Everyone knew the daily danger of a quiet day without shelling…or sniper fire. The Serbs never sleep; we can never sleep either! old men yelled out to those appearing careless or too nonchalant.

    There seemed to be all types—young, old, groups, couples, and lonely ones—walking the streets, lounging around the Onofrio Fountain and sitting bottom to top on the Pile Stairs. The top of these stairs was a strategic place. In the most simple of terms, it was the highest point from which one could see inside the Old City within the protection of its massive stone wall. And there, like a group nervous tic, everyone looked frequently toward the eastern hillside that stretched high above the seaside landscape.

    It all seemed so utterly hopeless. Any chance of armed forces coming to their rescue from the north, Croats of course, had all but died. International peacemakers were also strangely absent. After their useless words and idle threats came and went like the wind that blows on the Adriatic Sea, they disappeared too. Dubrovnik, a cherished jewel of Europe and seemingly abandoned to fend for itself, was under siege by its neighbors, a quagmire most foreign policy pundits claimed would never happen.

    The three young men had intentionally selected a small, quiet square to meet. It was off the beaten path, away from busy focal points, and nestled between two closed government buildings; few saw the square as a good stopping point. They sat at a café table having coffee and casually watched as everyone around them kept a distance. Like busy bees, everyone was heading somewhere; not one person made eye contact with the men, and the three barely made eye contact with each other. There was no small talk between them; it was almost as though they didn’t even know each other.

    Folks above their command and pay grade had instructed the three to sit there, wait for an explosion, and then make sure they recorded their accounts as witnesses. One major incident—with destruction, death, and the blame game—would bring the media back to their side, back to their battlefield. Help would come and the siege would end as quickly as it began…with renewed bloodshed and body bags.

    Then the call came on the youngest man’s mobile phone. Andreas Gorkas was in his mid-twenties and seemed an unlikely match when compared to the other two. They were older, and dressed in dark suits. Both wore dark sunglasses, and their hair was groomed perfectly. Andreas looked like he’d just rolled out of bed…sandals, jeans, t-shirt, and worn rugby cap.

    The other two gave Andreas a serious look as he prepared to answer the call, as if a more important call would be coming in any moment. He stood up anyway and walked away from the table to answer the call. A photographer with media credentials around his neck passed by, almost too close for comfort. Andreas stepped further away from the table, and he turned away from the photographer and other scattered passersby. He hoped it would be a short call.

    Hello.

    Andreas, this is Anna. Guess where we are?

    You want me to guess where you are? How can I guess where you are? I’m down in the Old City. Andreas heard children laughing in the background; he wondered where such noise would be. Then he replied. Aren’t you at home?

    No, silly. We’re in the Old City, too. I can see you standing in the square.

    You can see me from where? Andreas asked as he looked around the square; his nervous gaze over the mass of people took over his persona. His heart started to pound heavily, and for the first time that day, he noticed the bright sunlight shining in his eyes. He looked to the right and then to the left, and saw nothing. Where are you?

    Look straight ahead a bit. I’m standing at the big window.

    Where are you, Anna? Seriously, I don’t see you. Andreas was growing nervous.

    Look to the left of the orphanage, third floor up. Don’t you see Sasha waving at you? She’s waving and smiling at you.

    Andreas looked closer and saw a woman in the distance holding a toddler. The toddler was waving at him and smiling. What are you doing there? You should be home.

    Sasha forgot one of her dolls yesterday, so I had to bring her back to the orphanage. They haven’t finished loading the last ship. We’ll stay in town for a while, to be with the last of the children. Let me know if you can meet us later and get a bite to eat. Sasha will be hungry, and so will I.

    As he heard his wife’s voice, a shocked Andreas looked toward the orphanage building. He glanced down at his watch. "Oh Mary, Mother of Jesus. What I have done?"

    The orphanage was just two blocks up the hill from where Andreas stood. He could see the shadows of people moving around inside the orphanage just as the City Bell Tower began its noontime ringing. Seconds later, the small Zelenci statues—Green Ones they were called by locals—also began to ring. Andreas listened for the Old City’s other bells—the Cathedral of the Assumption, Church of Saint Blaise, and Saint Ignatius Jesuit Church bells—to begin ringing. Once a day, just before noon, the bells of the four towers rang in consecutive order; then at exactly noon, they rang in unison. He heard three of the five, so he knew it was nearing the countdown for what he and the other two men were waiting for.

    Anna, get out of there now! Take Sasha and get out! Andrea yelled into the phone. He could still see her, with the phone held to her ear.

    What’s wrong with you? she asked.

    "It’s too dangerous to be in the Old City right now. You need to get out of there now!"

    But the JNA’s not bombing today or tomorrow. The last of the children will be leaving in just a little bit. They are so precious. I couldn’t let them leave without saying goodbye.

    Andreas continued to yell into the phone as he ran toward the building. "Anna, listen to me; take Sasha and get out of there, now!" He ended his plea as the fourth bell chimed. One minute later, just when Andreas had reached the main entrance to the orphanage, an explosion shook the Old City. It knocked Andreas off his feet and took out a major piece of the southeast corner of the orphanage.

    After picking himself up from the ground some ten to fifteen feet from where he remembered last standing, Andreas made his way inside the torn building. Old rocks, shattered glass, and broken wood were everywhere. Smoke poured from the explosion point, and several parts of the first floor were on fire. As he made his way to the second floor, Andreas saw the same damage, only much worse. Once he made it up one flight of stairs, he saw there was no longer a floor to stand on. The large window where he’d last seen his wife and infant daughter, the ceiling, and the roof were gone. Below, he saw nothing but bodies‒small, beautiful children and innocent, loving women. Anna! My baby Sasha! Dear Heavenly Father, what have I done?

    . . . .

    Bari, Italy—October 2009

    Stop it, now! The mother yelled at the two girls sitting in the back of the car. One was a few years older than the other, but both seemed to fret equally as their mother maneuvered through a busy intersection. She had just made the sharp turn to get on Lungomore Augusto, Bari’s major seaside highway. The two girls had not stopped picking on each other since they’d left the Basilica of Saint Nicolas in the Barivecchia section of Old Bari, a busy sprawl of streets. It was a Saturday afternoon, and pedestrians, cars, buses, and motorcycles seemed to come from every direction.

    But Mama, she keeps taking my stuff.

    Kristina…leave Maria’s marker alone. Please leave your little sister alone.

    The three had just been at the christening of a new family member at the Basilica, and the mother had wanted to spend more time with the family. It was a lovely fall day, and it would have been nice to be outside with family and loved ones—but that hadn’t happened.

    Those two are monsters today. I’m taking them home, she said to her cousin before leaving the Basilica. The mother was edgy, aggravated, as she placed the two girls in the back seat.

    I wish you would stay, just for a while. There’s so much food...and we never see you, the cousin pleaded.

    I’m going to take them home. Next time, I’ll come alone. Anyway, I don’t want to be down here after dark. Pauli will be home from work in an hour or so, and I should have dinner ready. This weekend workload has started to get to him…and me. Anyway, give my love to the others.

    The mother then shut the back car door, kissed her cousin, and mouthed a short apology. As she drove off, her rushed departure from the Basilica parking lot showed her frustration.

    A mile or two down the busy highway, the back and forth fretting started again. This time, the mother saw the eldest daughter’s hand reach over and tap the younger one. Mama, she did it again, Maria pleaded. It was an innocent tap, and even Maria knew it wasn’t enough to get her mother engaged in doling out a punishment. But the mother knew such taps would be enough to keep the two girls going for hours. Kristina, I saw that. I’m warning you one last time. Stop bothering your sister. I have to drive.

    But she took my paper, Kristina replied. It’s mine and Maria knows it.

    Maria, did you take your sister’s paper? If you did, then give it back.

    No! It’s my paper, Maria answered.

    It is not yours. You took my paper and marker. I want it back.

    No! Maria said again.

    They’d neared the Molade Baro Pass when the mother gave her final warning. Twelve miles south of Bari proper, the Molade Baro Pass gave the best and highest view of the Adriatic and was a popular pullover spot for sightseers. Once past the Pass, they had three miles to go before turning off the major highway. Another mile on a small inland road and they would be home. But, for the mother, it seemed a hundred miles away.

    Maria, I am going to ask you one last time. Give the paper and marker back to your sister. I’ve had enough! Next time, you’re both staying at home with your papa. The younger girl huffed and threw the paper and marker outwards—the paper toward her older sister and the marker toward the empty passenger seat in the front. Maria, why did you do that? Don’t do that while I’m driving!

    I’ll get it, Mama, the older child said as she unbuckled her seat belt and leaned toward the front seat. I can reach it.

    When the mother saw what the daughter was doing, she turned and jerked the girl back toward her seat. No, Kristina! Put your seat belt on! Kristina!

    Two seconds later, the mother crossed the center line and plowed into a tour bus. Rescuers were able to pull one survivor from the car, little Maria Porcelli. She had just turned three.

    . . . .

    Potomac, Maryland—November 2011

    We’ll make her think we’re meeting Beau and some of his friends, and Tyler will be with them. That will be enough to get her to come with us, Caroline, one of Rachel’s best friends, added to the plan. "And once we get her out in the woods, we’ll find out how tough she really is. That bitch is always texting crap all over the place, and I’m sick of it."

    The other two girls in the group, Anna and Gabby, stood close behind as the four huddled near Rachel’s locker. Agreed, both said and then turned their heads toward Rachel. Are you in or out, Rachel? She talks about you worst of all.

    I’m in, Rachel said, but added a caveat. I’m okay with this as long as it’s just the four of us. We just need to tell Erica to stop the crap or else…we’ll make it bad for her. She’ll understand. Girls like her always understand.

    That’s not going to do it, Caroline replied. "We’ve got to teach her a lesson this time, or she’ll badmouth us all over her new school. It’s got to be the real deal and it’s got to be all of us. Are you in, Rachel?"

    After a short pause and six pressuring eyes on her, Rachel finally caved. Okay, I’m in. But I don’t want to hurt her…just teach her a lesson.

    Sure, Rachel, we won’t hurt her, Caroline replied and then laughed. Anna and Gabby also laughed.

    Five hours later, the five were in Caroline’s car, heading down a long dirt road that led to the remote woods near the river falls. Erica was in the back seat, anchored on either side by Gabby and Anna. Rachel sat in the front passenger seat, and Caroline was driving. I’m glad you came with us tonight, Caroline said as she looked back at Erica. We don’t do much together since you switched schools.

    I know, Erica replied. Thanks for asking me. Are your sure Beau asked Tyler to come?

    Don’t worry. Beau has taken care of everything. Tyler will be there. I promise. The other girls said nothing.

    Driving into the woods, cars were parked on both sides of the narrow dirt path. When they piled out of the car, Rachel was the first to speak, whispering to Carolina. Why are all these people here? You promised it would just be us. Rachel looked around at all their other classmates, a lot of guys who didn’t even know Erica, mostly all of them already drunk and rowdy. Rachel then looked toward Anna and Gabby to make another plea. Please y’all. We can’t do this. It’s not right. These other people shouldn’t be involved.

    Taking Caroline’s lead, neither of the others responded.

    You didn’t really think we’d keep this to ourselves, did you? Caroline added. This is going to be too much fun for anyone to miss.

    Erica didn’t know what was happening. She was surprised at the number of people standing around the bonfire. Most of the teenagers were yelling out as the five of them walked up toward the group. But she didn’t hear what they were yelling; her focus was on finding Tyler. Just as Erica realized Tyler wasn’t there, Caroline pushed her inside the circle, and the melee started with Caroline throwing the first punch.

    You should know better than to go after my old boyfriend. You’re such a skanky bitch. No one wants you. Tyler doesn’t want you. No one would ever want you…skank bitch.

    Rachel did not participate. She stood there and watched the beating.

    The next day, as Rachel walked inside the school grounds, she found out about Erica’s suicide.

    Chapter One

    Zagreb, Croatia

    MONDAY—DECEMBER 3, 2012

    Her daily early routine to and from work was at best monotonous…a dreadful, dysfunctional, boring trip. But it could be worse, Jules Bailey often reminded herself. At least she was one of the few lucky Americans still living in Zagreb’s hip and stylish Central, even if she had to ride to and from the faraway embassy with two imbeciles.

    Like most American embassies in the post 9-11 world, the American Embassy in Zagreb was far from the city’s center. In fact, it was finished in 2009 and was further out than most other embassies. By the time the motor pool vehicle got near the embassy compound—on the outskirts of the tiny hamlet of Buzin—the view outside had gone through a dramatic evolution…from compact urban landscape to outright pastoral. To say it’s a good ways outside the city is an understatement; the place has more cows than people. Unfortunately, Jules and her two daily companions had to make the trip twice a day.

    When you don’t feel like talking with those inside the car, you generally look for things outside to draw your attention; on this route there was very little to help. Even sitting in the middle seat, because one of the others claimed car sickness most days, she still tried very hard to persuade herself—Remember Jules, you are one of the lucky ones.

    Most days, the drive in and out was quiet. Jen Bower, who lived just four city blocks from the city cathedral, was usually the first to be picked up. From Jen’s apartment in Dolacthe, the driver crisscrossed over mostly narrow side streets to pick up Nathan Reis. His apartment was in Corni Crad, on the west side of old Zagreb, the hippest and loudest section of the city.

    Just what he wanted, Nathan said to anyone who’d listen, and everyone who knew him was sure he meant it. He wanted a big, hip apartment to match the big ego he carried around.

    From Corni Crad, the driver made his way back down the steep hillside, across Illca Boulevard and the train tracks into new Zagreb. Although known as new Zagreb, it wasn’t the newest part of the city; it was still old as the hills. Jules lived five blocks past the city train tracks on quiet Teslina Street. And after picking her up, it was a straight shot south from Zagreb, down the Savska Highway, and into the suburbs.

    If they were running on time—and most of the time they were—the driver stopped midway in Novi, a suburb just across the river from the city. That stop for awful to-go coffee gave Jules the strength to carry on, and usually helped quiet down the other two. The view outside was dreadfully unworthy of conversation. After all, you could only ask, How many cows do you think are in that field over yonder? so many times before the silly talk begins to sound phony and a dead giveaway of someone simply trying too hard to be social.

    From Jules’ view, the three of them lived in different parts of Zagreb, worked in different sections of the embassy, and had absolutely nothing in common. Jules wouldn’t even share a pint of ale with them at a local pub if it weren’t for the forced socialization Foreign Service officers casually called camaraderie. Their conversation was clipped and usually limited to the basics: Had a bad weekend...not a good morning...got to read up on something...maybe on the ride back in...I need some down time. All were buzzwords to keep any real conversation from starting, and old faithful I need some down time ranked at the top. But today, the talk started the moment Jules piled into the vehicle; Jen didn’t even give them time to discuss the weekend.

    Did you hear about the World Bank meeting? Jen, stepping out of the car, asked Jules before she even had time to take the middle seat. Last night, the ambassador found out that the Bank decided not to hold its 2014 winter Economic Community meeting in Zagreb. Too much bad blood still lingering in the air, I suppose.

    Jen did the talking as Nathan sat there and stared Jules down. They both wanted to see her reaction.

    Too bad, Jules replied kindly, but in her head, she was thinking a lot more. Why are you starting in on me even before I get in the car? What’s wrong with you two? Give me some space. At least wait until I have my coffee. God, I hope we can stop for coffee today.

    Both of them could look at her and tell Jules wasn’t going to say more…even though the news nearly floored her.

    Jen, not yet content with ruining Jules’ morning, poured on more. An international meeting like that would have been good for Croatia, and the whole Balkan region. But, that’s the Bank’s decision. What can you do? It is what it is.

    Jules stayed quiet, so Jen continued. I’m sure the ambassador is really disappointed. Can you imagine? She put so much work into this.

    Of course she is, Nathan chimed in, a small smirk showing. "It would have been good to have this on her accomplishments list. And she didn’t do that much. We all worked hard…it would have been nice for all of us."

    That’s if we’d pulled it off, Jen added. These global meetings don’t always go as planned, and if something happens, they throw the entire embassy under the bus. Jen paused for a second and then continued with an attempt at humor. "Anyway, we’d never get away from the embassy. She’d have us on call 24-7…and forget about weekends. We’d be out there—in cow town Busin—all day and all night. How sad would that be?"

    And, of course, she’d take all the credit if it was a success and dish all the blame on us if it failed, Nathan added.

    Jules didn’t have the stomach to

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