CHYNA STONE ADVENTURES:

The Complete 8-Book Series

1. The Minoan Mask

2. The Mummy Codex

3. The Phoenician Falcon

4. The Babylonian Basilisk

5. The Aquitaine Armor

6. The Ivory Bow

7. The Rosary Riddle

8. The Jeweled Crown

Plus One Bonus Novel:

Sasquatch

by

K.T. TOMB

Acclaim for K.T. Tomb:

“Epic and awesome!”

—J.T. Cross, bestselling author of Beneath the Deep

“Now this is what I call adventure. The Lost Garden will leave you breathless!”

—Summer Lee, bestselling author of Angel Heart

“The best adventure novel I’ve read in a long time. K.T. Tomb. I can’t wait to read the sequel. Count me a fan. A big fan.”

—P.J. Day, bestselling author of The Sunset Prophecy

“K.T. Tomb is a wonderful new voice in adventure fiction. I was enthralled by The Lost Garden...and you will be, too.”

—Aiden James, bestselling author of Plague of Coins

Other Books by K.T. Tomb

STANDALONE ADVENTURES

The Last Crusade

The Kraken

The Adventurers

The Swashbucklers

The Tempest

Ghosts of the Titanic

The Honeymooners

Curse of the Coins

Drums Along the Hudson

Jerusalem Gold

SASQUATCH SERIES

Sasquatch

Sasquatch Found

Bigfoot Mountain

The Snow Giants

THE PHOENIX QUEST ADVENTURES

The Hammer of Thor

The Spear of Destiny

The Lair of Beowulf

The Fountain of Youth

The Ark of the Covenant

The Seal of Solomon

THE CHYNA STONE ADVENTURES

The Minoan Mask

The Mummy Codex

The Phoenician Falcon

The Babylonian Basilisk

The Aquitaine Armor

The Ivory Bow

The Rosary Riddle

The Jeweled Crown

THE ALPHA ADVENTURES

“A” is for Amethyst

“B” is for Bullion

“C” is for Crystal

“D” is for Diamond

THE CASH CASSIDY ADVENTURES

The Holy Grail

The Lost Continent

The Lost City of Gold

The Falcon Cloak

The Jaguar God

THE NICK CAINE ADVENTURES

Map of the Masons

Mountains of the Moon

Order of the Cyclops

THE ISLANDS THAT TIME FORGOT

Dinosaur Island

Ape Island

Snake Island

THE LOST GARDEN TRILOGY

The Lost Garden

Keepers of the Lost Garden

Destroyers of the Lost Garden

SHORT STORY SINGLES

Wolfgang

The Dragon

SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

The Sands of Time

Chyna Stone Adventures: The Complete 8-Book Series

Published by K.T. Tomb

Copyright © 2017 by K.T. Tomb

All rights reserved

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Minoan Mask

The Mummy Codex

The Phoenician Falcon

The Babylonian Basilisk

The Aquitaine Armor

The Ivory Bow

The Rosary Riddle

The Jeweled Crown

Sasquatch

About the Author

THE

MINOAN MASK

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#1

by

K.T. TOMB

The Minoan Mask

Prologue

The fire roared in the deep fire pit that dominated the center of the throne room, casting strange shadows on the people seated around it and against the columns and walls.

The visitor was amazed by the warm glow the fire cast against the golden dais and throne and King Minos’ white robes and huge crown looked even more spectacular in the firelight. The wall behind his magnificent throne was covered in brightly colored frescos of griffins and serpents. He had been quite taken aback by the lengths to which the court had gone in the entertainments for the night. Surely this was much grander than would usually be afforded to a simple emissary, particularly one who bore bad news and ultimatums. He had been apprehensive of how his message would be received but after silently pondering what was said, King Minos had nodded his agreement.

Minos had taken his time to consider the message brought by the visitors, and he was not without his reservations. Certainly taking a woman such as Artemisia of Doria to wife could hardly be called misfortune, but the undertones of the offer were what had unsettled him. Artemisia had sent her emissary to inform the king that he could either marry her to unite their armies against the threat of invasion or her father would lead the Heracleidae against Crete. As he had awaited the arrival of the visitor and his retinue, it had been difficult not to wonder what news came from the North, there had been great unrest building in the Greek territories and whispers of tyrannical invasions.

Minos sat under the canopy of his council chair facing the sea and shaded his eyes against the sun as he watched the three Dorian ships make their way into the port at Heraklion. Slaves surrounded him slowly raising and lowering their large peacock feather fans while his wives arranged fruit, water and wine about the dais. He hated the city. It had a glare he could scarcely tolerate, especially in the high of the hot season. The stark white of the buildings there seemed to magnify each ray of sunlight that hit them.

Absentmindedly, he raised his cup and a slave filled it from a glistening pitcher of cold water. He smiled at her as she struggled to hold the cold vessel. Even the scarce and expensive ice had been procured from the city’s merchants for the occasion, much to the delight of the women that surrounded him. They wet their scarves and veils in basins of the iced water to fend off the oppressing heat. He emptied his cup thirstily and then graciously allowed his wife Pelephone to cover his head with her dampened scarf. This offered some temporary relief to him and he took her hand in gratitude. She smiled at him and returned to her cushion among the women of Minos’ retinue.

“Romus,” he called suddenly, to his army commander.

“My king,” he replied.

“Let the men quickly take water and refresh themselves. Our guests will be with us soon.”

“Yes, my king.”

He was not a hard man, Minos; but he was stringent when it came to protocol. Whereas he would not have tired, thirsty guards about him in the presence of emissaries from a potentially hostile court, he would never allow his army to take repast before them either. The men drank quickly and deeply and the slave girls wiped the sweat from their faces and arms with cold, wet cloth. Suitably refreshed, they reformed their ranks down the multitude of steps from the dais to the courtyard and across the courtyard’s gates.

There were no trumpets sounded or criers going before the Dorian party as they made their way through the city. It seemed to Minos that they were not keen on announcing their presence to the public; either they were to be suspected or the Dorians were poor. The king favored the latter. When they arrived at the courtyard gates only a flag bearer and four guards went before the three men, followed by two rear guards and a fan slave.

“Piteous,” hissed Theratides, Minos’ fifth and last wife.

The wives and concubines all giggled. All except Pelephone, the first.

“Hush,” she admonished them, “unless you would like to go and wait for us in the heat of the caravan.

They fell silent and commenced to demurely pin up their veils and straighten the skirts of their robes. The gates were opened at Minos’ consent and the small group of Dorians was admitted before the great court. The flag bearer, front guards and the slave remained at the foot of the steps while the three emissaries and their rear guard climbed them to approach the dais. They nervously looked about them as they ceremoniously climbed the seventy-five steps that led up to Minos’ council chair atop the great platform. They fell to their knees and bowed before the dais and the king rose from his chair to greet them.

“Welcome to Crete,” he said. “Rise.”

“Thank you, King Minos,” replied the visitor, kissing the hand that had been extended to him and stepping back so his two companions could do the same.

“You are from Doria, sent by King Ada to deliver the terms to unite our houses?”

“Yes, sire,” the visitor replied.

“Very well, tonight we feast and maybe tomorrow you may have audience with us.”

“But King Minos,” the visitor pressed.

“Silence!” the king bellowed. Then he said to all his court, “Does this one intend to harry the King of Crete?”

All present, except his guard, laughed loudly. He raised his hand and there was again silence.

“Visitor, tonight we feast at the palace of Knossos and perhaps tomorrow you will have audience with us,” he repeated.

The King turned from the men in a swirl of white robes and departed into the council hall behind the dais, leaving them stunned and shamed. Romus assigned two of his men to escort the visitors to their accommodations amongst the wagons and just before sunset, the royal caravan departed Heraklion and made its way slowly towards Knossos.

***

Seeing him now seated on his throne, wives and concubines at his feet, his cup being filled by one of the many virgin slaves, it didn’t seem to the visitor that the king was still perplexed by the news. He had called them to his throne room that morning to hear their messages and give his response. It had been five days since their arrival and the rocky encounter they’d had atop the council steps. The king had been pleasant and accommodating to them and had offered favorable responses for them to take back to King Ada and Princess Artemesia. The negotiations had gone well excepting for Queen Pelephone’s incessant scoffing, which had punctuated the entire exchange. Looking at the king now, he seemed pleased with himself, seemed resigned to it in fact, as if it was a satisfactory deal to be had. He raised his cup for the barely clad slave to fill and put the wine to his lip greedily. He was beginning to feel in his cups but the visitor was content to believe the bright firelight and activity of the court were to blame for his headiness.

There had been fifteen virgins in yellow and green silk who had performed sensuous, writhing dances for them as they had been served plate after plate of ripe olives, roasted meats and fresh bread. Fruit had been brought after that and delicate sweetmeats prepared from dates, honey nuts and yoghurt. Lean, muscular eunuchs had led three red bulls into the hall and regaled the court with their acrobatic feats and ceremonial bull jumping. They had leaped from the ground to land softly on their backs and ridden them in circles before the crowd. Men climbed onto the shoulders of the riding men to form perfect pyramids of human form before leaping back to the ground in a flurry of twists and tumbles. The court was euphoric, clapping wildly and hooting at them. There were fire eaters before them now and the slaves moved freely ensuring that the guests were attended to in every way.

Again, the visitor swayed in his seat. He caught himself before falling and looked around, startled. Surely he had not consumed that much wine as to be unsteady sitting down. To his dismay, the men of his party both to the left and the right of him were all folded over themselves, unconscious on their cushions. Then he noticed the slaves staring at him. Those who had served him and his men all stood holding clay wine vessels with double handles on their shoulders, while those who served the rest of the king’s court carried bronze jugs with single handles. He also suddenly realized that they had been offered no water for the entire feast, only wine.

“It’s poisoned!” he cried, just as he tipped forward from his seat to join his men among the floor cushions.

***

When he awoke, the visitor found himself lying on the cold floor of an outside structure, looking up at the brightness of the full moon. He managed to rise carefully to his feet, concentrating on the sounds around him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and shadows of the night around him. Then he heard a sound that turned his blood to ice. It was a scream in the distance. He backed up against a nearby wall and stood still, listening. Another scream soon pierced the night and the visitor began to run. He groped along the darkened pathway between two high walls running as fast as he could. He came to a right turn, then a left and then he was at a dead end. He clawed at the wall in front of him and another shrill scream came to his ears. It seemed closer this time and he turned and ran again. Soon he came to an intersection with one corridor to the right and another to his left. He groaned to himself, it was a labyrinth. Stopping to catch his breath, he listened intently again. He could scarcely hear the sounds of the night over the pounding of his own heart in his ears but then there came the distinct sound of a bull snorting loudly, menacingly. It sounded close.

Again he ran, choosing to go along the corridor which went to his left. The snorting sound was approaching rapidly behind him and as he made the next turn, he found himself at another dead end. He didn’t have the time to turn back and desperately he clawed at the wall before him. In the darkness his hand pressed against a loose stone and instantaneously the wall leaped back from him revealing a passageway beyond it. He stepped through it and pushed the wall back into place. The visitor stood alone in the passageway with his back against the wall and waited patiently for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He looked to his left and then to his right but only saw the deepness of the black space that surrounded him. He felt helpless and more frightened than he had ever been in his entire life.

“Gods save me,” he whispered softly into the dark and held his head in his hands.

There was a soft rustle and he looked down the corridor to his right. He thought he was dreaming as he saw a small flame approaching him from the distance. It was the light from a torch and as it approached he could see the billowing of the fabric from the dress the torchbearer wore, a red dress. Her face was obscured by the beautiful mask she wore and as she approached him she raised her fingers to the masks’ lips to signal that he remain silent. The mask was exquisite, made of polished bronze with filigree designs of gold and amber stones worked delicately along its right side. When she stopped before him, the visitor whimpered again as if to scream but the woman put her fingers to his lips for him to be quiet. He swallowed hard and nodded.

She handed him the torch and motioned for him to follow her, which he did, walking swiftly down the corridors around twists and turns as if she were native to its confusing darkness. Soon they emerged through a doorway again into the light of the full moon and the visitor realized that he had been led right back into the middle of the labyrinth which he had just barely escaped from. Swiftly, he turned to flee but the woman was gone and so was the mysterious doorway they had just walked through. He groaned and turned again to run toward the labyrinth just as the blade passed through him. As he paused, impaled by the sharp thrusted metal, he looked to see the face of his assailant. His mouth formed to say the words but nothing came from his lips. As he died, somewhere in Knossos that night, the last thing he ever saw was the Minoan Mask.

Chapter One

It felt amazing to finally be out of the heat and dust of the dig sites at Knossos and back into some semblance of civilization.

Heraklion had been a very urban city to be close to but there had been no attraction for her there, mostly distraction. A bustling center of commerce and tourism, Chyna had found the city of less cultural substance and more of a place to grab a cold beer and a warm shower before driving back out to work at the archaeological site she had been stationed at. It had been a long six months but they had managed to uncover the greatest find on the island on over one hundred years since Sir Arthur Evans had first discovered the forgotten city in 1900.

The team she had been asked to join had stumbled upon strange wall formations outside the main walls of the city. The walls seemed to form the pattern of a large square with interlocking and intersecting concentric squares moving inwards evenly toward the structures center The Labyrinth, she had been told and she had been on the very next flight to Athens. It didn’t take Chyna long, after seeing what was being unearthed, to call her assistant Lana back in the New York offices of Found History and instruct her to get to Crete as fast as she could with her best equipment which she obediently did. The girls had been working together for more than five years, ever since Chyna’s father, famed archaeologist William Stone, had retired from digs to curate a small but affluent ancient artifact museum in California. Together, they had continued the consulting and appraisal work of Found History to much international acclaim.

Indeed, it had been a long six months but the reward had been astounding. To have found the mythical labyrinth built by Daedelaus had been life changing for them and tonight they were at the University of Athens to celebrate that very triumph. As they walked around the room greeting their colleagues and friends, Chyna couldn’t help feeling proud to be amongst the ranks of such intellectual and influential people. She smiled at Lana from across the room and raised her glass to her in salute. The lead archaeologist who had called them in to consult on the dig was present, so were all the members of his team who had become their family during the time they had spent on Crete. Professor Cartwright would have it no other way. Strict and proper, as the British often tend to be, he tolerated no dissension among his ranks and those who got into fights or abused their team mates or the members of the local authorities that worked with them were immediately dismissed and sent home. One such fellow had been Ethan Doyle; a cantankerous young man from a rich family of adventurers who was convinced he knew all there was to know about ancient Greece. He had tried to assault a young lady from the Greek Archaeological Service one night in her tent. He had cursed them all as he left, saying they hadn’t heard the last of him. But they had and they were now enjoying the fruits of their labor.

Professor Cartwright mounted the podium and cleared his throat, signaling to the room for silence.

“Colleagues, Dignitaries of the Greek government, patrons and friends; tonight we gather to celebrate the culmination of my life’s work and the discovery of a lifetime,” he said. “After six long months under the heat of the Cretian summer sun, we proudly present to you a display of the artifacts uncovered at the site of Daedelaus’ legendary labyrinth. Thought to be a mythical story, we have this year proved that there is indeed some fact to be found among the pages of the sagas and legends of world history; giving even more credence to the thought that archaeology isn’t a waste of time after all.”

The audience laughed and applauded his comment and after a brief moment, the professor raised his hand to the crowd.

“Should I be allowed to, I will stand here and talk all night, but I will relinquish the stand to our consultant and partner Miss Chyna Stone of the Found History archaeological company, who was instrumental in locating and uncovering many of the pieces you will be seeing tonight. Please welcome her to the podium.”

Again, the crowd applauded as Chyna mounted the stand and exchanged a hug and kiss with Professor Cartwright. Lana whistled crudely from the sidelines making Chyna smile broadly.

“Good evening everyone and welcome to the University of Athens. Tonight we make history as we unveil to the public the largest collection of Minoan artifacts ever to be assembled in one place since 1500 B.C. This experience has been the hallmark of my career as an archaeologist and it has been a tremendous pleasure to be in the company of such genius over these past months. It was a hard existence but the work was worth it and tonight we are all eager to share some of our excitement with you.

“When Sir Arthur Evans discovered Knossos in 1900, he searched tirelessly for more proof to the myth of Daedelaus, Icarus and King Minos but for the next five years he could not find the site. With the use of satellite imagery and our expounded knowledge of the ancient Greeks, this year Professor Cartwright was successful in this. The story goes that King Minos contracted Daedelaus to build the labyrinth to contain a Minotaur; a creature that was half man and half bull which he relished in throwing his enemies to. He would challenge them by saying that if they survived the Minotaur and his maze then they could have whatever they desired of him. Daedelaus was so successful in its construction that even he had difficulty emerging from the finished structure; but for the fact that he did, King Minos imprisoned him and his son Icarus in a high tower. The myth of their escape is an entirely different story but I think we all know how Icarus flew too close to the sun and fell to drown in the sea.

“Cuneiform tablets found in the palace ruins of Knossos by Sir Evans spoke of the riches of King Minos and of some of his treasured items, none of which Sir Evans could locate since the tablets placed them in a chamber within the labyrinth. However, the true triumph of our expedition was the discovery of King Minos’ legendary treasury and all the items listed on those tablets found years ago.” Chyna paused as the crowd gasped. They had not revealed that piece of information to the public before; even the representatives of the local authorities had helped to keep it a secret until the unveiling.

“All, excepting a bronze mask described as being decorated with gold filigree and set with amber stones, which we have nicknamed the Minoan Mask. We do have our speculations of the possible fate of the mask but that is another theory to be proven, for another expedition and for another day. Tonight, we invite you to gaze with delight upon the Minoan Treasury of Knossos.”

At that, the doors to the exhibition room were opened and the crowd poured in to take a look at the priceless objects they had found. With a look of satisfaction on her face, Chyna stepped down from the podium and went to hug her assistant, Lana. She took the glass of whiskey the waiter offered her over the bar and leaned back to sip it.

“Aren’t you going in?” Lana asked happily.

“Not right now, Lana, I’ve seen it all already. I just want to breathe, and drink and relax in one of those comfortable looking armchairs for a while. Let them regale themselves in our brilliance for a while.”

“Indeed, Chyna, by the way, cocky much?” she quipped as they took a seat by the window which overlooked the vast university grounds. The night was dark but the lawns and pathways were elegantly lit. “Why did you choose to mention the Minoan Mask?”

“I can’t help it; its absence from the horde still baffles me. How could we have found every single piece from a list of over a hundred treasures and the only thing missing was that mask?”

“Do you think there’s a story behind its disappearance, Chyna?”

“No Lana, I’m sure there’s a story behind it.”

Just then, Chyna caught a glimpse of a man hurrying into the exhibition hall. He looked very familiar but as she tried to get a better look at his face he vanished behind a group of people who stood talking in the doorway. She dismissed it and turned her attention back to Lana and their conversation.

“Well, tell me what you know,” she pressed.

Chyna put her drink down on the table between them and leaned forward. She took her Smartphone from her jacket pocket and swiped her code on the screen.

Pointing to a map of the Grecian Sea, she said, “I think it’s here.”

“That’s the middle of the ocean Chyna,” Lana scoffed. “Miles from Crete. How would that have happened?”

“That’s the part we have to investigate, my friend. Do you remember the story of the Dorian Invasion? How Artemesia and her father invaded Crete even though Minos had agreed to their peace terms and married her?”

“Vaguely, I’m not as up on my ancient Greek history as I used to be.”

“She betrayed him because after the marriage he placed her among his wives and concubines instead of deposing his first wife Pelephone for her. She was a princess after all, how could he count her as a sixth wife? So she plotted with her father and they invaded Crete anyway but not before she stole all the treasure that Minos had not placed in the treasury and took them to sea with her aboard the ships that she commanded.”

Chyna paused to sip her drink.

“Go on,” Lana urged her.

“Well Artemisia’s ships were pursued by a fleet from Heraklion and they engaged them in battle just south of Thira. I think that they lost their course either while fleeing or maybe they came upon a storm but they may have been lost or wrecked further north near Mikonos. In any case, the satellite imagery I found indicates a mass off the coast of Cesme, which I think is the ship bone yard of Artemesia’s fleet.”

“Oh dear, Chyna. Have you told anyone else about this?”

“Absolutely not, Lana, I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to speak to Professor Cartwright about it but everything has been revolving around the opening.”

Lana nodded her head in agreement and lifted her glass from the table to make a quiet toast.

“Well then here’s to our next adventure and prolonged stay in the Mediterranean.”

“Cheers to that!” Chyna agreed; neither of them were looking happily at the prospect of returning to New York in the dead of winter. The state had been experiencing the most severe December weather on record for years.

As the girls sipped their drinks and looked about the room, Chyna saw the man again. He darted quickly out of the exhibition hall and headed straight for the exit. Before he stepped through he turned to look around the room. Chyna almost dropped her glass as she stood quickly to meet his eyes. It was Ethan Doyle and he didn’t seem pleased to have been spotted. He ran out the door and into the night. Soon after Professor Cartwright came bursting from the hall. When he saw that Ethan had already gone, he turned and walked to where the girls were standing by the window seats.

“Did you see him?”

“I did, professor. Why was he here?”

“That I don’t know,” he replied sadly. “What I do know is that he made off with the docket that was in front of the empty case we put up in honor of the Minoan Mask.”

“Oh, that’s hardly a threat, it only had information in it that we intended for public knowledge anyway,” Chyna said, relieved and taking her seat again.

“It’s true, but now he knows just as much as the rest of us do.”

“Not exactly,” Lana chimed in, lifting her glass to her lips again.

He looked at the two of them quizzically.

“Professor Cartwright, I think you should have a seat with us,” Chyna said.

As the last of the dawdling crowd began to leave the exhibition hall, Chyna summed up her story of speculation to the professor about the location of the mask. There was a look of utter amazement on his face as he slowly leaned back in the chair and put his hands into his pockets. He came up with a pack of Rothmans’ cigarettes in one and a shiny silver lighter in the other. Chyna knew from the time spent in Knossos that he only smoked when he was nervous or deep in thought, or both as was the case at that moment.

As he lit the cigarette, he said, “Thank God the Greeks haven’t implemented any of those pesky anti-smoking laws as yet.”

The girls laughed, indeed most Mediterranean and “Near East” countries had not yet done so.

“Will this be the next expedition for Found History then, Chyna?” he asked.

“Most certainly, Professor,” she replied, “and we were sort of hoping that you would come along with us. We both know you’re a venerated deep sea diver.”

“That I am,” he said, smiling, “and I would be delighted to come along. I think we need another person in our little troupe though, someone with in-depth knowledge of the area, the customs and who can grease a few wheels for us if the need arises.”

“Fariha!” both girls said in unison.

The professor smiled and nodded his head.

***

Fariha Katsakis was a long time associate of Professor Cartwright’s. She had been among his student archaeology teams since her first year in his graduate program at the University of Aberdeen. When she graduated she had been immediately snapped up by the Greek Archaeological Service as a chief field agent. Whenever there was something of interest happening or the professor was on a dig in the region, Fariha did what she had to in order to be attached to the case. It had been Fariha whom Ethan had tried to assault in Knossos.

As she took her seat around the table on the balcony of Chyna and Lana’s hotel suite, Fariha looked extremely excited.

“It’s not often that I get invited to secret archaeology meetings,” she joked, smiling brightly.

“It’s not often that we hold them,” Lana replied, smiling back.

Chyna opened the door to let the professor in and they too took their seats. Lana unrolled the charts and opened the reference books to the marked pages.

“Fariha, by now I know Cartwright has filled you in but I do hope he did so carefully. After seeing Ethan Doyle lurking around at the opening the other night, I’m not too convinced that we aren’t under surveillance.”

The others looked at each other quizzically but Chyna remained as serious as a judge.

“You’ve got to remember that Ethan had his own ideas about Artemesia’s ships and often told us that he was only on our dig to gain some credibility with his father so Ethan could convince him to fund the excavation that he really wanted to do; which was to hunt for the site of the Battle of the Heracleidae. Now Ethan assumes he knows as much as we do, but someone with as many resources as he does is bound to take out a few insurance plans and from what we know about him, he can be a ruthless son of a gun.”

“Chyna, do you really think he could pose a serious threat to us?” Fariha asked skeptically.

“You do remember what he tried to do to you in the field, right?”

Fariha nodded silently.

“This could become very dangerous, very quickly for any one of us. Be very cognizant of this, Fariha.”

Her counterparts all nodded in agreement. Lana rose from the table to push the beverage cart out from the living room and invited everyone to make themselves the drink of their choice while they awaited the arrival of their lunch. Drinks in hand, they chose to lean over the charts on the table for the rest of their discussion, the shade from the huge potted palms on the balcony and the cool breeze made for a comfortable atmosphere to work in. Fariha produced more detailed digital maps of the coastline near Cesme and showed the group the shadowy formation on the ocean floor.

“Of course, it could just be a coral bed, Chyna,” she mentioned. “But I think the water is too deep and cold right there for coral formations.”

“That is why I suspect it’s what we are looking for, Fariha.”

“So what’s our next move?” the professor asked Chyna.

“We need to get ready to go to Turkey,” she replied. “Got any connections over there, Fariha?”

“As a matter of fact, there’s a young archaeologist on the historical society board in Izmir that I can call. He should be able to get us any clearance we might need. Of course you know that in order to bargain for the possession of the Minoan Mask, should we find it, we would have to turn over and possibly agree to curate everything else that we find there.”

“Of course, we would be excavating in Turkish maritime space so anything found legally belongs to them. All I’m interested in is the mask. It would be priceless to have it to complete our exhibit along with maybe Sir Evan’s cuneiform tablet of the labyrinth’s contents.”

“Any luck with that, professor?” Lana pitched in.

“I did manage to get in touch with the head of the museum that houses it in Heraklion, but I think it’s going to be a power struggle between the Athenian and the Cretian authorities. I can only hope that they will come to some agreement over it seeing it’s a bit disjointed from the Heraklion exhibit as it stands right now.”

“That’s true,” agreed Fariha.

Just then there was a knock at the door, their lunch had arrived. As Lana went to the door to let the room service waiter in, the rest of the group moved to fix themselves fresh drinks. None of them heard the closing of the sliding door on the balcony above them.

***

Chyna awoke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. She snatched it up from the bedside table in her hotel room and looked at the clock, it was 3 A.M. Who could be calling at that hour of the morning?

“Hello,” she said as she answered the phone. She didn’t even look at the caller ID.

“Chyna,” said the professor, “I’m sorry to call at this hour but I’ve got to go back to Crete this morning. I left quite a few of my research papers and equipment there to be shipped back to Scotland but I think I’ll need them if we’re to go straight on to Turkey as we planned.”

“Fair enough, Cartwright. When will you be back?”

“I’d say tomorrow afternoon. Are you going to go ahead and make the travel arrangements?”

“Sure am! The girls and I meet at 9 to finalize all the plans.”

“Okay! Well, count me in and I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon.”

“See you then. Travel safely.”

The call cut off before he could say another word in reply. It seemed strange but Chyna was too tired to think about it and went straight back to sleep.

The girls heard nothing from Professor Cartwright the next day. All their attempts to reach his cell phone, his base camp in Heraklion and his hotel in Athens came up empty. The attendant in Heraklion said that he hadn’t seen Cartwright at all since they had left for Athens the month before. Chyna started to worry.

“We can’t leave for Izmir without him,” she told the others. “What if something’s happened to him?”

Lana walked into the living room and sat down with a grim look on her face.

“He didn’t board his flight yesterday morning. He was booked on it, but the airline said he never made it onboard.”

“Do you think he’s been kidnapped?” Fariha asked.

“I’m not sure what to think, Fariha,” She replied, then turning to Lana she asked, “Did you make contact with his students, the rest of the dig team from Knossos?”

“I did, the day before yesterday. They were supposed to pack up the base camp and be on a flight into Athens for a debriefing this morning. I haven’t heard from them though.”

Chyna felt crestfallen. She put her head in her hands for a minute then said.

“Check their flight, Lana. See if they left Heraklion and if they arrived in Athens. See if they made it to the hotel and then if you can get them on the phone.”

“Right away, boss lady.”

Turning to Fariha, Chyna said, “I told you this could get dangerous.”

As it turned out, the team left Crete and arrived the night before in Athens. What happened to them after that was the mystery. No one at the hotel had seen them and their rooms were never checked into. The baggage claim clerk remembered the strange group of foreigners and even showed Lana the receipts he had collected from them for their checked luggage but the trail went cold there at the ground transportation concourse. They seemed to have disappeared off the face of the Earth, just like the professor.

“Lana, pack our things quickly. We’re leaving.” Chyna announced.

She pulled her laptop out of her bag and quickly booked them a hotel room across town, right across the street from the U.S. Embassy. Then she turned to Fariha.

“Do you have your bags in the car?”

“Yes, I came ready to leave. I was hoping Cartwright was already here.”

“Good. You’re coming with us. Give me your cell phone.”

Fariha looked puzzled and she hesitantly took her phone from her pocket and handed it to Chyna. She opened the phone and removed the SIM and Media cards then threw it to the ground and stepped on it. Fariha gasped in horror.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ve been bugged so now we have to be more careful and take some extreme precautions.”

Chyna went into her bedroom to retrieve the contents of the room safe. She took her motorcycle jacket from the hanger it was on, slid it over her shoulders and entered the digital code. She pulled out two small black cases and a tiny tool kit which she set on the table before them. Lana joined them at the table. From the first kit she took out a Blackberry® and placed Fariha’s electronic chips inside it.

“Military grade security,” She said as she handed it to Fariha. “No one can track that GPS unless they work for the C.I.A. and as soon as it’s activated they will know to place a full security block on it.”

“Aren’t you changing yours as well?’ she asked.

“We don’t need to,” Lana said smiling. “We’re always flying under the radar. Precautions.”

“I am going to sweep our phones for external bugging devices though. Just in case someone decided to get smart.”

Chyna pulled a tiny device from the tool kit and ran it several times over both her and Lana’s phones. They were clean. From the second bag, Chyna took out a SIG Sauer®M-11 pistol and unceremoniously loaded it. She placed it on the table and stood to strap the holster to her left shoulder, then holstered the gun. She took her firearms license, a spare clip of bullets and a wad of cash from the bag and placed them in the inside pocket of the sporty leather jacket she wore.

“Y’all ready?” she asked both women as she picked up her things from the table and stood.

Chapter Two

They arrived at the hotel under the cover of night, bypassing security and were let up to their penthouse rooms by way of private elevator from the exclusive underground parking lot.

Lana and Fariha were amazed that Chyna had found such secure lodging almost instantaneously that morning but Lana less so that Fariha. She knew how resourceful her boss was and even more so, how well connected. When they alighted from the elevator they were ushered straight into a living room by two bodyguards in black suits who had already swept the suite for bugs and intruders. One would remain stationed inside the elevator while the other manned the private parking bay and the elevator doors.

When they had left, Chyna turned to the others and said, “Well ladies, let’s get down to business.”

She rolled out two corkboards from the storage closet in the entryway and positioned them side by side in front of the living room windows, essentially blocking the view in and also protecting any information they would have spread out on the table or pinned up for study. Lana pinned up Fariha’s more detailed satellite image of the supposed wreck site on one board and the photos of all the missing members of their team on the other.

“When is Oscar going to get here?” she asked Chyna.

“He should be here within the hour,” she replied, checking her watch.

“Who’s Oscar?” Fariha asked, pouring herself a glass of Coke from the refrigerator.

“He’s our tech guy from Found History,” Lana replied.

“We are hoping that since the kidnapper didn’t have the opportunity or the technology to bug Lana’s and my phones, that he hasn’t thought to use the GPS feature to locate us and therefore won’t expect us to use it to locate the professor.”

“We’re pretty good with computers and that stuff but since we might be dealing with international espionage here, we didn’t want to take any risks so we called in the big guns.” Lana added.

“I’m impressed,” Fariha said. “I’m thinking of sending in my resume and application to Found History now. The professor was right; archaeology isn’t as boring as everybody thinks.”

The girls laughed, but their light-hearted moment was cut short by the sharp ringing of Chyna’s cell phone. She dug into her pocket and answered. It was John Lightyear, the exhibition curator at the University of Athens.

“Hi John,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Chyna, I really don’t know how to tell you this but I just got word from the university administration that the students from Professor Cartwright’s team never made it to their hotel or back to their office this morning.”

“Yes John,” she said softly, “we know. They went missing yesterday, right from the airport. That’s where their trail went cold.”

“We’re all wondering what happened to them. We were really hoping that they were with you guys.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the case, John. Cartwright’s gone missing as well. We already reported it to the police but any follow up you could give to the matter would be appreciated, especially since we strongly feel that they were kidnapped. We can’t follow their case at the moment; we’ve had to go underground ourselves.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” he said, not quite knowing what else to say. “I was going to let the envelope I received from university administration stay on his desk until he got back but its addressed to both of you and in light of the news I think its best I get it to you as soon as possible.”

“What envelope, John?” Chyna asked.

“I found it in the museums’ drop box this morning. I just put it in the “IN” tray on Cartwright’s desk.”

“I’m sending someone over there for it right away John,” she replied quickly. “His name is Demitri.”

“Okay Chyna,” he said. “You take care of yourself.”

“I will. Thanks John.”

About an hour later there was a ding as the elevator opened into their living room and out stepped Oscar with his cases of equipment. Demitri followed him and handed a large yellow envelope to Chyna.

“Set up over there,” Lana instructed Oscar sharply.

“Good day to you too, Miss Ambrose,” he replied wittily. “So nice to see you.”

Lana stuck her tongue out at him and continued to stir the risotto she had going on the stove. Fariha looked up from the cutting board where she was attending to some plump shrimp to find Oscar staring at her. She blushed and quickly returned to what she was doing. No one had told her he was so good looking, they had all but summed him up as a red headed, computer geek who she had immediately assumed was scrawny, pock faced and maybe even had a hump on his back. She laughed to herself at the visual and looked up to steal another look at him. Again, their eyes met as she caught him looking at her as well. The olive skin of her cheeks flushed an even deeper hue of red and she averted her eyes again.

Oscar was anything but what she had pictured. He was tall and well built, but not too tall or too well built. Fariha had found that those types of men, especially the Greek ones, always seemed to have the ego to match. His hair was actually more a reddish blond than really red. What did they call that again? she wondered. Ginger, yes, he was a ginger. He wore a well-kept moustache and beard and closely cropped hair which accentuated his clear, creamy skin. Such a fair complexion, he wouldn’t do well in the Mediterranean sun. What a handsome man.

“So what are y’all cookin’,” he asked suddenly, making Fariha jump. She looked up to find Oscar standing on the other side of the kitchen counter from her. She was so startled she could hardly speak. She looked at Lana who was watching her intently and motioning to her to answer him.

“Um, Shrimp risotto,” she finally managed.

“That sounds awesome,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes. “Do y’all need any help?”

Fariha couldn’t say another word; she dropped her gaze back to her cutting board and concentrated very hard on carefully cleaning and dissecting her shrimp one by one.

“Sure Oscar,” Lana finally replied. “Make us some of your super delicious sweet tea and stop scaring my friend. She’s probably never seen someone as ugly as you before.”

They all laughed at Lana’s joke, even Fariha, but before they could start up the conversation again, Chyna spoke up.

“All right, enough of that guys. You won’t believe what came in that envelope from Cartwright’s office.”

“What was it? Is it anything helpful about where he or the students are?” Fariha asked, happy to have a change of subject.

“Not exactly, but I think it’s a clue. I thought it strange that a letter addressed to the professor and I would arrive in an envelope from his set of personal stationery but the contents explains that well. There’s a letter in the professor’s handwriting but his fraternity ring is also in it.”

“Why would he send that to you?’

“I think it’s to prove that it’s really from him and that it wasn’t written or sent under duress.”

“Okay, so what does it say?” Oscar asked.

“The letter says that he’s realized someone has been following him since he left my hotel room the day before yesterday and that he tried to tell me when he called me in the middle of the night but he had spotted the car following him again. He sent the letter from the airport when he was trying to get on the plane to Heraklion but if I was at any point reading it that meant he never made it back to Athens.” Chyna paused and the others all looked at one another, puzzled. Clearly their friend was in serious trouble.

“He then says that we’re to go to his office at the university, use the code inscribed on the inside of the ring and open the safe there. A large file which is labeled “Artemesia the Traitoress”, not to be confused with “Artemesia I of Caria”, contains all the clues that we need to find him, the perpetrator, the wreck of the Battle of the Heracleidae and of course, the Minoan Mask.”

“Okay, so let’s get over there and get it,” Oscar said enthusiastically, reaching for his jacket.

“Oscar, please,’ Chyna admonished. “We’re operating on code red right now. High alert. Demetri will retrieve the file. I’ll just call John and ask him to let Demetri into the professor’s office.”

While Chyna made the call Lana called downstairs and gave Demetri his instructions. He returned a half hour later with the file in hand.

“Thank you Demetri. Would you call down to Thorin and let him know that dinner is ready?”

It was strict Found History procedure that when the team was on high alert, they did all their shopping at random large chain supermarkets and cooked their own meals, including the meals of their bodyguards. They never risked a possible poisoning or location compromise by ordering takeout. Even hotel room service was off limits, at the moment the only person on staff that knew who was in the penthouse was the hotel manager, a long time attaché of the U.S. Embassy. The rest of the staff could only see from the reservation system that the suite was occupied and by a guest named “Private Executive” whose express instruction was do not disturb under any circumstances. Even the service elevator that housekeeping would normally use had been shut down and only Chyna had the access card for it, there was only one way in and one way out for everyone except her team.

After dinner, Demetri and Thorin went back to their posts. At around 11p.m., they would check the locks on the shutters of the parking bay, come upstairs and shut down the elevator, then they would take shifts and while one of them slept, the other would watch the surveillance camera footage and guard the team.

“Oscar, did you set up your magic machine yet?” Chyna joked.

“Yes Ma’am. I’m just about ready to do the first sweep for the professors’ cell phone. You got the IMEI?”

“Actually, I’ve got a few,” Lana replied, handing him the piece of paper. “Apparently our friend carries two phones. One’s personal and the other is university issue, one iPhone and one Blackberry. But he’s had the Blackberry upgraded several times over his tenure; apparently the University of Athens likes to keep their professors up on the latest technology. No one was sure which of those three was the most recent.”

“Alrighty then,” Oscar said in his signature southern drawl. “Let’s get ‘er done!”

While Oscar started clacking away on his keyboard, Chyna turned her attention, and that of the others, to the huge file that had been retrieved from the professor’s office. It was absolutely overflowing with ancient maps, modern charts and pages and pages of research which made it painfully obvious that Professor Cartwright had not been completely truthful with them during their discussions on the topic. He knew way more that he had been telling them; no wonder he had been taken. Whoever had the professor knew that he could lead them straight to the site of Artemesia’s ships if he wanted to.

They sorted all the papers in the file into smaller batches: wreck location, history of the Battle, maps and charts and personal theories. When they got to the last of them, Chyna noticed a piece of the professor’s personal stationery jutting out from a pocket in the cover of the docket. She took it out and read it.

“I’ve found our clue boys and girls!” she announced triumphantly. “It seems that our dear friend was being threatened.”

“Oh, dear gods!” Fariha cried. “By whom?”

“By our other dear friend, Mr. Doyle.”

“That rat!” Lana chimed in.

“Um, who’s Doyle?”

“Don’t you read the dossier anymore Oscar?” Lana admonished. “He’s the guy who Cartwright kicked off the dig for trying to force himself on Fariha.”

Fariha blushed and lowered her head. She was wringing her hands in anguish.

“Sorry Fariha,” Lana replied immediately. “But he should read his dossier before he gets to a job. That’s what the long flights are for, not for stretching out and sleeping in the First Class reclining seats.” Then she turned to Chyna and said, “Be sure to book him coach from now on.”

“Right, it seems that ever since his expulsion from the site, Doyle had been threatening to destroy the professor’s career. He was planning to use the professor’s own research to locate the ships himself, and then imply to the Greek authorities that the professor had sold their claim on the Minoan Mask out to the Turks, while he kept the mask for himself. “

“Hmmm!” Fariha scoffed. “Does it give us anything apart from implicating Doyle?”

“Well there’s the name of a company and an address. It’s in Izmir, but the address is clearly residential, not commercial.”

“Let’s check it out.” Lana suggested.

“Oscar, could you look up Reneseree Industries please?” Chyna asked.

“Re-nes-er-ee Industries,” repeated Oscar. “Seems like it’s a shipping company out of Istanbul, has offices in Izmir as well. They specialize in stationary carriers, you know the type that can keep cargo stationary at sea for extended periods of time like when the port gets too full or there’s a need to intercept another ship to consolidate a shipment.”

“Interesting,” said Lana.

“Check this address out,” Chyna said, handing the paper to Oscar.

“That’s the address of a men’s shelter.”

“What?” Lana asked. “How the hell is that supposed to help? It doesn’t add up.”

“There’s something more to it than that,’ Fariha said, standing and beginning to pace the room. “It’s not a straightforward clue. The professor would know that anybody who got their hands on the file would find the note. What if it fell into the wrong hands? It’s a cryptic puzzle, like those ridiculously difficult crosswords he loved so much.”

“You’re right Fariha,” Chyna said. “We’re going to have to think like Cartwright to solve this one.”

They sat silently for a while pondering the clues while Oscar ran each cell phone IMEI code one by one and Lana did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. She loaded the coffee pot and started the brew when suddenly Fariha said, “Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary!”

“What is it?” Chyna asked, as Oscar and Lana burst out laughing.

There’s a company name and there’s the address of a men’s shelter.”

“Yes, we already know that!” said Lana.

“The professor is trying to tell us that we will find him or the kidnapper, or both of them at a residence that belongs to the man who owns Reneseree Industries.”

“Hot damn!” exclaimed Oscar. Turning back to his keyboard, he added “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Does anybody want to guess who that man is?”

“Who is it, Oscar?” Fariha asked, saying his name for the first time and relishing the sound of it.

“Its Ferdinand Doyle, Ethan Doyle’s father I’d assume.”

“Get me that address!” Chyna said.

The next morning found all six of them on their way to Athens International Airport to board a direct flight to Izmir’s Adnan Menderes International Airport. They moved quickly and boarded the plane ahead of all the other passengers; taking their seats in First Class and being vigilant of every other passenger who boarded the flight. Only after the flight crew had closed the doors, were Demetri and Thorin satisfied and took their seats. With no dossiers to read, they all tried to get some rest, even though the flight was less than an hour long. Demetri took first watch and Thorin took the second.

In Izmir, they quickly settled into the top floor suites at the Izmir Palas Hotel. It was the safest and most diplomatically literate hotel in the city, according to Chyna’s sources at the United States Consulate. It also helped that it was right up the street from there. Once the men had done their routine security sweep, Chyna and her team moved in and started unpacking the gear. She took off her leather jacket and hung it in the closet as she always did. Then she opened the safe in her closet and placed the holster with her SIG, her tools and her tech bag inside it. She set the code and locked it. She placed the little folding suitcase stand inside the closet, put her suitcase on top of it and closed the closet doors.

In the living room, Fariha was leaning over Oscar’s shoulder looking amazed at something he was showing her on the computer while Thorin spoke steadily into a two way radio to Demetri who was setting up the remote surveillance cameras at strategic locations. Lana was making tuna sandwiches for everybody’s lunch.

“So boss lady, what’s our next move,” she asked, as Chyna joined her in the kitchen.

“I think we had better lay low until Megamind over there gets a decent ping on the professor’s phone,” Chyna quipped. “How’s that coming along by the way?”

“I just got started, Chyna. Can’t you cut a dude a little slack?”

“You’re from the South, Oscar. Don’t you know what happens to a cowboy when his saddle’s got a little slack?” she paused a little before finishing the statement.

Oscar turned bright red and he started to scowl.

“He falls off the horse! Now getting hopping!”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Fariha, make yourself useful and set up the pin boards over there,” Chyna said, pointing at the sea facing windows. “I want that entire viewpoint blocked off solid,”

“Yes, Ma’am,” she replied, mimicking Oscar which made everyone, even Thorin, laugh loudly.

As the sun set over the canal that evening, Chyna sat at the table staring at the map they had singled out from Professor Cartwright’s collection. There was something about it. It seemed that whenever the light that was hitting it changed, some things would be highlighted and some things would be obscured. She had seen that phenomenon before but she just couldn’t put her finger on what it was. The bright orange and yellow and gold light of the setting sun filled the room, making well lit enough to still see but just unlit enough to succumb to the use of overhead lighting. Demitri hit the light switches and as the fluorescent tube over Chyna’s head popped to life, she saw it.

“Oh! The gods!” she cried. “Oscar, did you bring the black light lantern?”

“Of course I did,” he replied. “Need it?”

“I sure do. Fariha, Lana, come see this.”

When Oscar returned with the black light, Chyna took the chart from the pin board and laid it out on the table. She took the lantern and switched it on then positioned it over the portion of the map that showed the ocean off the coast near Cesme, Turkey. Right before their eyes, on the plain parchment, a cluster of dark shapes appeared. Beside the dark blobs was an even darker line which ran between the blobs and the coastline.

“What is that?” Fariha asked pointing to the line, as Lana squealed with delight.

“It’s the Chios-Samos ridge,” Chyna replied. “Ships have been sailing the canal over that wreck site since time immemorial and no one ever thought that they could be there, no one except Professor Cartwright.”

***

The next afternoon, they all left the hotel through a back exit and took the short drive down to the United States Consulate. Chyna and the bodyguards sat with a very intelligent and ambitious young C.I.A. agent named Ricardo Perez and made legal declaration of their firearms and submitted copies of their conceal carry licenses to back it up. They also confirmed that their credentials had been forwarded by the university so that the local antiquity authorities could be made aware of their expedition and grant the necessary licenses and permission to go ahead and dive the site. Now that they had an exact location, that whole process was anticipated to go a lot smoother.

Ricardo was extremely interested in history and the work that Chyna’s group was doing. He even confessed to having applied for permission to attend the opening of the Minoan exhibition but sadly, he had been denied the leave to travel to Athens. Chyna regaled him with stories of the dig in Knossos and some of her other adventures and in the end it was certain that she had just gained a new admirer and certainly an ally. Oscar took the opportunity to use the consulate’s secure internet connection to check the ping he had got off the professor’s phone the night before. It was weak but it was definitely good and it hadn’t moved either. Lana made arrangements with a diving and salvage company in Cesme to take them out to the site in two days time.

With all their business complete, the team made a quick stop at a grocery store about five miles from their hotel and then drove back to Ataturk Caddesi. It was 7pm and completely dark by the time they arrived. As soon as she walked into their suite, Chyna knew something was wrong. She stopped dead in her tracks and she quickly drew the pistol from its holster. Crouching slightly, she signaled to the others to step back and allow Demetri and Thorin to come close to her back. She signaled for Demetri to take the left and Thorin the right, and then they moved forward sweeping the hotel suite. Room after room they searched the apartment until they got to Chyna’s room. As they moved in through the door, Chyna caught sight of some movement in the living room. She tapped Thorin on the shoulder and they both turned back silently. As they did so, a figure in full black ran from behind the drapes, through the open sliding doors and sailed over the ledge of the balcony. They chased after the figure, unable to fire shots into the open night, but when they got there and looked over there was no one there, just a treble hook and rope hanging from the railings. A piece of paper was to her right caught in the branches of a palm tree that hung over the balcony. Chyna snatched it quickly and rolled it up, tucking it into her jacket. She was furious. She shut the sliding doors and locked them shut, the lock seemed lose; clearly it had been tampered with. Demetri pulled the thick drapes closed while Thorin turned the lights on and made his way back to the front door.

“What happened?” they all asked.

“There was someone inside the apartment,” Chyna replied. Before they could ask any further questions she began to issue the orders, “Demetri, Thorin, get hotel security up here right away. Oscar, check the tech and make sure nothing has been compromised. Don’t forget the cameras; see if we have any footage of this guy. Lana, Fariha, check your rooms and see if anything is missing.”

“Hey, what about my stuff? Don’t you care if anything of mine is missing?” Oscar asked.

“Like I said Oscar, check the tech and make sure it hasn’t been compromised.”

After fifteen minutes, everyone regrouped in the living room.

The head of hotel security had arrived. He was an American and he had brought a couple of local cops with him.

“I’m very sorry for this intrusion Miss Stone. I assure you no one has ever scaled the walls of the Izmir Palas Hotel before.”

“I don’t doubt that Chief. This is a different breed we’re dealing with here.”

She turned to her team. “Anything missing?”

“Nothing,” Lana and Fariha both said.

“Everything seems in order here,” Oscar said from the desk.

“Well, I guess I was the target this time Chief,” Chyna said sadly, as she returned from checking her own room. “They cracked the safe in my room, made off with $5000 in cash and all the travel documents for my team. Some of our research papers are gone from the table over there too.” When Chyna pointed to the dining table, they all realized that the “black light” map was gone.

“This officer will take all your statements Miss Stone while Officer Kasri and I try to see if we can lift any fingerprints from the safe in your room.”

“Do what you have to Chief, but my team and I are getting out of here tonight.”

***

It took Agent Anthony Stewartfive minutes to get to Chyna’s suite at the Izmir Palas Hotel and fifteen to get her team and all their equipment out of it. He installed them in his own home across town. An ancient looking brownstone that stood on a little rise set back about a quarter acre from the street. It was Izmir’s “diplomat row” according to the F.B.I. agent, and he reassured them that they would be safe there. With his own guard already on duty around the clock, he even made a joke that Demetri and Thorin were more than welcome to have their first full night’s sleep in weeks. Chyna thanked her friend profusely and reassured him that they would be out of his way in a couple of days.

“What are you talking about, Chyna? You guys are welcome to stay with me here for as long as you like. I’m actually kinda upset that you didn’t come to me to begin with.”

“I didn’t want to impose,” she replied.

Anthony knew that as code for her not needing her every connection known to the people who were with her. He dropped the argument immediately, he had noticed the newcomer but he hadn’t had a discreet moment to ask Chyna about it yet.

When everyone had been shown to their rooms, Anthony quickly returned downstairs where he knew Chyna would be waiting for him in his little library. She had poured herself a drink of whiskey and was glancing over the books on his shelf. He poured some bourbon over ice and joined her.

“You have some new things here, Tony. Very exciting.”

“Really? The books are exciting you? You’re hurting my feelings, doll.”

He put his free arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

“Are you sure you didn’t call because you were trying to avoid me?”

“I’d never be so underhanded and mean, Tony. Come on, you know me way better than that.”

“So, I was right, it’s the Greek girl.”

“Yes. She is a long time student of Professor Cartwright’s and it’s clear he trusted her. That’s all well and good but I’ve still only known her for seven or so months.”

“It’s good you stick to protocol Chyna, things can go south really fast when you don’t.”

“I try my best to keep myself and those around me as safe as humanly possible, Tony.”

“Your compassion, dedication...It’s so sexy,” he said, kissing her softly behind the ear.

She pulled away from him and went casually to the door. She closed it and turned the lock before returning to his side.

“I’ve never compromised a team or a mission,” she whispered into his ear.

“Neither have I. If you remember well, this library is sound proof,” he said, as his lips met hers.

Chapter Three

Ethan looked out over the metropolitan municipality of Izmir absentmindedly. It wasn’t an entirely terrible city to be in but it was by no means Athens. The high rise commercial skyline competed fiercely with the cultural complexities of its people who seemed to be less than interested in being harried into the twentieth century by city officials and state government, who only saw the place for the profitable port city that it was. With a direct link to Greece and the greater Mediterranean by means of the Aegean Sea, it was certainly as suitable for commerce as could be expected.

It was easy to hide in Turkey. You can get anything you need or want here, no matter how ridiculous or indulgent it might seem to someone from the West. Arms, security, permits, licenses, court orders turned in your favor, women, men, children, animals, boats, cars, entire buildings and the companies contained within them; whatever your heart desired you could have in Turkey as long as you could pay for it. Ethan had been raised in this culture of indulgence and his father was by no means a shining example of integrity or honesty. Ferdinand Doyle had someone in his pocket in every place that it was important to have one; the courts, the police force, the royal guard, the navy, tax administration, company regulation, local government, planning agencies. As a result everything came easily to them; not an inch of red tape in sight.

He heard the soft chime of the Austrian clock in the hallway and instinctively looked at his watch. It was just about tea time; Jasmine would soon bring in the cart with a kettle full of that distinctive Turkish çay, along with some sandwiches, cakes and pastries of course. There would be cezerye, baklava, revani and tulumba at the very least. Normally there wouldn’t be that much food but he was expecting a few friends that afternoon.

He watched as Samir poured the tea that Jasmine had brought in. It wasn’t considered proper for a woman to serve tea to men unless it was in her own home. He poured the çay from the pot into a smaller decanter, dropped the two sugar cubes Ethan had asked for into it and swirled it until the sugar dissolved. Customarily, the çay would come to the table in a tulip shaped glass with the sugar cubes and a spoon on the saucer below it and was served scorching hot, but Samir understood that his foreign visitors would never be able to drink it like that, so he had made an artful demonstration of his cooling process. When the sugar had dissolved, he took another decanter and proceeded to pour the tea back and forth between the two containers in a similar fashion as they “pull” tea in Asian countries. When he was satisfied that it had reached an acceptable temperature, he poured the amber liquid into the traditional glass, placed it on a colorful saucer and served it. It was delicious; full bodied but not too strong and delicately spiced with cumin and cinnamon. Ethan’s guests were impressed with the fare and seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely, but it wasn’t long before he reminded them that there was business to be attended to.

“Hans, have you reserved the stationary carrier for us?”

“Yes, Mr. Doyle. It’s ours for a full week from Friday.”

“Why Friday? That’s three days away, why can’t we leave sooner?”

“Its booked until then, Sir. You told me not to make your father suspicious and he’s quite covetous over those platforms.”

“Yes, you’re right. Very well then, Friday it is.” He took a sip of the tea and thought for a moment before continuing, “Milos, have you secured all the gear we will need to bring up those ships?”

“Yes, Mr. Doyle. We’ve got scuba tanks, the air compressor, wet suits and such. I also got all the rigging and winches we need to lift stuff to the surface and onto the platform.”

Ethan nodded approvingly, and then turned to the last man around the table.

“Jackson, Jackson, Jackson. What am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sorry, Ethan. My guys messed up. They nearly got caught and they didn’t even secure the map. But at least they got all their money and travel documents. That ought to delay them for a while, huh?”

Ethan laughed loudly and Jackson took it as a cue to chime in but as soon as had he started to laugh as well, Ethan suddenly stopped and cast him an ice cold look.

“The man you sent failed miserably and he’s at the bottom of the Piraeus channel for that. They know we’re here now and they know that we know where they are as well. We didn’t get the professor’s map, so we still don’t know exactly where we’re going and what’s worse is Chyna Stone and her team are now in the wind. We don’t have a clue where they’ve gone to. For all we know they’re diving Artemesia’s ship at this very minute.

“Do you have any idea of who we are really dealing with here, Jackson? Do any of you have a clue who we’re dealing with yet? Chyna Stone is as rich as Rockefeller, as resourceful as Bill Gates and as well connected as J. Edgar Hoover, without being actual F.B.I. herself, okay? So, do you think a measly five grand and some passports are going to stop her? Who followed them on the day of the break in?”

“I did, Mr. Doyle,” Milos answered.

“Where did they go, Milos?”

“The U.S. Consulate, Sir.”

“Yes, and how long were they there?”

“The entire afternoon Sir, almost seven hours.”

“Who gets full access to the U.S. Consulate and is allowed to be there well after closing hours?”

The three men shrugged at him and at each other.

“Listen, we are not dealing with some dorky, bespectacled, career student who spends her time following professors all over the world from one hellhole dig to another. We’re talking about a professional who graduated magna cum laude from Princeton, has brought up more lost treasure from the depths of this Earth that the three greatest archaeologists of all time combined and has successfully completed tactical training with the F.B.I., the C.I.A. and Mossad. She can shoot a man’s trigger finger off before he has a chance to pull and put an arrow through a bear’s eye at 300 yards. What I’m trying to tell you guys is that you need to know your enemy when you’re about to go to war and at present ours is no joking matter.”

He took up his cup and finished his now almost cold tea, refilling it from the kettle where the çay was now at a more acceptable temperature.

“Update me, Jackson. When will the students be delivered to the warehouse?”

“They already have been, Mr. Doyle.’ He replied quietly, feeling rather well scolded.

“Well, at least one thing is on track.”

He stood and went to the picture windows of the living room which framed the expansive view of the Izmir canal, as he looked out over the water he continued to sip his tea. Maybe he had also been too careless or too cocky and had underestimated Miss Stone. He probably should have taken the time to assemble a better team but now they knew too much and it was too late to start all over with fresh men.

He turned from the window and went to the large double doors at the entrance to the formal dining room, throwing them open so his team could see inside the room from where they were seated. Silently, they looked at the hostage bound hand and foot to a chair at the dining room. A triumphant laugh bubbled up his throat and erupted from his mouth. He couldn’t help himself. It had been far too easy to turn the tables on Cartwright and his clueless, ragamuffin bunch of over inflated archaeological students. They were just so trusting and stupid and he had herded them into his trap like the witless sheep that they were. No doubt when she discovered that her friends were missing, Chyna Stone would assume that they had abandoned her little quest in Athens and she and her troupe would fly back home to New York, broken and defeated. It was an ingenious plan.

“Now Cartwright,’ He said looking at the professor. “You are going to tell me everything you know about Artemesia of Doria and her fabled role in the Battle of the Heracleidae. More importantly, you’re going to tell me where the wreck site is. I know you’ve found it; you’ve been studying the history for years, mapping every story and following every lead and piece of information. Now, spill it!”

“I won’t tell you a thing, Ethan. You’re never going to find the wrecks, you don’t deserve to. Sooner or later you’ve got to learn that if you want something, you can’t go around taking what other people have got, you’ve got to earn it for yourself. In any case, it’s just a story.”

“Don’t lecture me old man, and don’t lie to me either, just tell me what you know.”

“I know that it’s just a story, Ethan. Over ten years of searching has taught me that dearly.”

Very well,” Ethan resigned. “It’s clear that you don’t intend to tell me anything voluntarily but my friend Hans over there has a few ingenious ways of making people tell him what he wants to know and he would very much like to know where he’s taking us fishing this Friday. Hans, he’s all yours. Take him down to the warehouse and make him tell you what we need to know.”

Hans smiled a cruel smile and said,” Come on Milos, let’s take the professor for a little drive.”

Ethan watched them unbind him, gag him and throw a black hood over his head. Then they cuffed his hands behind his back and led him out of the apartment. Jackson sat in the living room, looking stunned.

“Get out!” Ethan yelled at him. “Go find something useful to do. I still don’t have a map of where I’m going.”

Jackson scurried out behind Hans and Milos, terribly frightened by Ethan’s outburst. Smiling at Jackson’s reaction, Ethan turned and went back to look out the window. He knew the professor would be tortured for the information by Hans and Milos, but he didn’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time he had taken that route to get what he wanted in this expedition. In fact, it was how he had made his start on it. Years before, when he was still a student at the Ankara University, he had attended a presentation given by a local historian/ treasure hunter named Amir bin Hassan about The Dorian Invasion.

He remembered the lecture like it was yesterday:

“Now, the Dorian Invasion is thought to have taken place in about 1100 B.C., and according to the ancient Greeks, it involved a group of men from the North who spoke Greek, supposedly Doria, that invaded the Peloponnese. That included all the southern islands all the way to Crete. There could have been such an invasion, in which case it might explain the loss of the Mycenaean civilization and also what we now term as the Minoan civilization, but up until now we just didn’t have the evidence. The end of those civilizations led to a Dark Age about which we know very little except from archaeology. In the mythology of ancient Greece, the Dorian Invasion was even connected with the return of the sons of Hercules (Heracles), who we know today as the Heracleidae.

“What my aim is tonight is to show you that the Dorian Invasion was real. That the Heracleidae really did storm the seas to conquer and destroy the lives of the Mycenean and the Minoans but that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. You see, for history to move forward, it has to repeat itself and in order to repeat itself, things must fall apart.

“For the theory of the Dorian Invasion to be plausible there are several details that must be taken into consideration. Firstly, the Heracleidae were not returning to a former home for which they were homesick, they were sweeping down upon the Peloponnesus in war, thus inviting the English translation of the original Greek text to be that of invasion. Secondly, we must prove these are the same people in action here. However, there seems to be a historical distinction between Heracleidae and Dorians. George Grote summarized the relationship as such:

“Herakles himself had rendered inestimable aid to the Dorian king Aegimius, when the latter was hard pressed in a contest with the Lapithae .... Herakles defeated the Lapithae and slew their king Koronus; in return for which Aegimius assigned to his deliverers one third part of his whole territory and adopted Hyllus as his son.

“According to the great Archaic Age poet and mythographer Hesiod, there was a steady decline from the age of Gold, to Silver, Bronze, Heroic, and finally, of Iron. The Dorian migration occurred during the Heroic Age. The Greeks claimed heroes as founders for all their most important cities. Perseus, for instance, was founder of Mycenae, in the Peloponnesus; Theseus was the heroic founder of Athens. In the ancient version of events, the Dorian Invasion meant the Heracleidaes, descendants of Hercules of Heracles (and Perseus), swept southward to reclaim land rightfully theirs. They attacked all the areas and cities of the Peloponnesus, except Arcadia, and they accomplished their conquest of the area within 3 generations. But here’s my theory; historians were just guessing at what they couldn’t possibly have known. They were trying to piece together the facts from shards of old stories and the reality of the civilization they were living in hundreds of years after the fact. There was no archeological proof for them to go on at that time, not like we have today. Everything Sir Evans found at Knossos disproves Grotes theory and leaves one burning question: How did such affluent, organized civilizations such as the Minoans and the Myceneans just vanish overnight? Throughout history, we have discovered civilizations that seemed to vanish from existence. What has been the number one cause of these phenomena? It’s been war! The Maya, the Harrapan, Angkor, the Tainos; it’s always been the same. Someone came in and annihilated them. The war that destroyed ancient Greek civilizations the first time around was the Dorian Invasion.

“The war on the mainland was nothing to write home about. The Peloponnesians were simple, farmer type people who lived a simple existence and the cities where the military forces were concentrated were few and far between. Possibly only Athens gave the invading Dorians a hard time. Their real challenges were the island states, starting with warlike Sparta and then followed by distant Crete. I’m only going to talk about Crete because it was over Crete that the most well know battle of the invasion was fought and where the Dorians had to employ the most cunning in order to conquer. The Battle of Heraklion.

“I’ll take some questions before I continue.”

Ethan had made sure to be the first to speak to bin Hassan.

“Mr. Hassan, you made mention that history has to repeat itself so therefore things must fall apart.”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“So, would you agree that part of proving that the Battle of Heraklion actually did happen, even though there’s hardly a thing about it in history books anywhere, is that the repeat of it can be found in the Battle of Salamis?”

“Oh, young man. What’s your name?”

“Ethan sir, Ethan Doyle.”

“Well Ethan Doyle, you are quite astute in your Greek history. That’s really quite a remarkable question. I would say that if we were to conclude that all history repeats itself then what we would be looking at here are two practically parallel events. They occur in two very different phases of Greek history and some one thousand years apart but we have one set of Greeks attacking another and completely wiping civilizations off the face of the Earth, we have the war’s pivotal battle being at sea and we have a woman who commanded the offending fleet, both were named Artemesia. Here’s my question to you Ethan Doyle: do you think the presence of women both named Artemesia is a coincidence? It’s rhetorical, but think about it for a while.”

The audience applauded. Abdul bin Hassan had them all eating out of his hands. Ethan had never been so intrigued listening to the speculations and theories of anyone before. It seemed that the guy really knew his stuff.

“I think you all know the story of Artemesia I of Caria and how she teamed up with Xerxes, King of Persia to crush the Greek resistance. If you don’t know that you’re probably studying in the wrong field. In any case, there’s a movie coming out, go watch it!”

The audience laughed and applauded.

“I’m not going to tell that story. I’d like to talk about Artemesia of Doria, the traitoress. She married King Minos to infiltrate his kingdom so she could send information back to her father, King Ada. When they knew all they needed to know, Artemesia cleaned out King Minos’ treasure room, loaded up the three ships her father had given Minos as her wedding dowry and sailed out into the Aegean Sea. She didn’t get far before Minos’ pursuing ships caught up with her and they were forced to fight. Of course Artemesia’s ship crushed them but there may have been a storm or strong currents that took them North into the Mikonos archipelago. It is believed that this is where the fleet was either shipwrecked by reefs or sunk by storms but whichever way it went, they were never seen again. That was the battle that started the destruction of Crete and when the Minoans, fell so did the rest of Greece.”

Ethan had felt validated by bin Hassan’s lecture, all along he had known that there was something to all the speculation about the Dorian Invasion. He even remembered it making news a few years before he went to that lecture, that a young Greek boy had found two gold coins washed up on the beach on the island of Fourni. The coin bore the griffin of Crete on one side and the head of a bull on the other. Salvagers had flocked to the area but nothing more was found there.

It had been effortless to pick bin Hassan up after his lecture; he couldn’t resist the offer to take a ride in Ethan’s Bugatti. They cruised around Ankara for a while talking about history before deciding to stop at a popular cafe. Ethan ordered hookah for them both and Turkish coffee and when Abdul excused himself to use the restroom, he poured the vial of rohypnol into bin Hassan’s coffee. An hour later, Ethan was being helped by concerned security guards to put him into the Bugatti.

“He just had too much to drink at the bar we went to before. I had hoped the coffee would sober him up but I guess it didn’t work. Thanks.” Ethan had said to them convincingly.

***

When Abdul bin Hassan regained his consciousness, he was seated in an empty concrete cell tied to the chair. His mouth was stuffed full of cloth and there was a blindfold over his eyes. A strange voice came over a P.A. system giving him instructions.

“Answer all my questions truthfully. Nod your head for “yes” and shake your head for “no”. Do you understand the instructions?”

Abdul nodded his head.

“Do you know more about the fleet of Artemesia than you told the students at Ankara University?”

Abdul shook his head.

“You’re lying!” the voice said and Abdul’s body was gripped with the pain of electric shock being administered.

He began to frantically nod his head when the current was switched off.

“I’ll ask the question again: Do you know more than you told those students?”

Abdul nodded.

The interrogation went on for hours until finally the gag was removed from his mouth. The questions got more complex and whenever he didn’t answer well, he was shocked again. The longer the questioning went on, the longer the periods of electrocution got. It took them three days to get what they needed out of Abdul and when they were done they disposed of him in the desert west of Antalya.

So no, he wasn’t a new comer to the wonders of torture, it was amazing what physical pain and the promise of it ceasing can do to a man and how it can make every value he ever held for himself melt away in the hopes of survival. The professor would be the same as all the others, he would be selling government secrets for a sip of water within the afternoon.

Later that evening as Ethan was about to sit down to dinner, his cell phone rang. He picked it up and looked at the caller ID. It was Hans.

“Hans,” he said, “what’s happening?”

“Nothing much, Mr. Doyle. I just wanted to make a suggestion about the trip to you and see what you thought of it.”

“Okay Hans, tell me. If there’s anyone I want suggestions from its you. You’re the only professional I seem to have around me.”

“Thank you, Sir. Well, it turns out the platform we’re getting is one of the company’s sturdiest but that also makes it the slowest. It’s going to take 48 hours just to get over to Psara another 24 to get anywhere south of there. Without a map, it’s even harder to estimate the travel time.”

“So what are you suggesting, Hans?”

“Jackson said his guys have gotten a lead on the location of Stone and the map. Why don’t I go ahead and get the platform out to sea while you and Jackson see if his people can get the map. When you’ve got it, I’ll radio my coordinates and the chopper will bring you out to sea.”

“Hans, it’s a really good plan, one that I think we should go ahead with whether we find the map or we get the information from Cartwright. I don’t particularly relish the idea of being stuck on that enormous sea turtle for three days to get absolutely nowhere. Its confirmed Hans, you go ahead of us on Friday and we’ll let you know as soon as we have something. I’d just say if you get as far south as Cesme before you hear from us, kill twelve hours and turn around and head back to port.”

“Understood, Mr. Doyle.”

Ethan didn’t hear from any of the men on his team for the rest of that night. The next morning Jackson called to report that the professor had finally cracked.

“Hans told me it took three fingernails,” he said, ‘but Cartwright gave it all up in the end.”

“Good, good,” Ethan replied. “What did he say?”

“Apparently there’s another copy of the map right here in Izmir. The professor hid it in a hotel room about a year ago as a backup plan.’

“Well, it’s our back up plan now isn’t it?” Ethan laughed. “Which hotel is it in?”

“The Oglakcioglu Park Hotel,” he replied. “I already checked and the room its hidden in is vacant tonight. The guys and I are going in. We’ll have it to you tomorrow morning.”

“Well done, Jackson. It seems you’re finally stepping up to the challenge.”

***

Early that morning under the cover of darkness, eleven dark figures crossed the pier at Reneseree Industries and boarded an empty stationary platform vessel called Renaissance which pulled out to sea hours before the break of dawn.

Meanwhile, at the Oglakcioglu Park Hotel, three men overloaded the electronic lock on the door of suite 1945 and went inside, closing the door behind them. Their target was a document tube hidden in the shaft behind an air vent in the master bedroom; it contained maps of the sea to the west of Turkey and would show the location of the ships of Artemesia the Traitoress. When they entered the bedroom, the lights went on and several F.B.I. agents were aiming guns at them.

“Freeze.” Agent Stewart said.

Chapter Four

Since their arrival the previous afternoon, Oscar had been keeping a close eye on the GPS location of the of the professor’s phone. He had already set his system to alert them if the signal started to move but he still watched it closely since it was becoming obvious that the battery would soon die.

“Chyna,” Oscar said, “we need to get some eyes on Doyle’s place right away, any minute now the battery is gonna die.

“We already got someone on the inside to set up some remotes for us,” she replied. “They could come online at any time.”

“That’s great!”

At that moment Anthony’s cell phone rang.

“Okay team,” he said loudly, and everyone started to move towards where he was standing, “we’ve got activity.”

“Send the pictures through to Miss Stone’s mobile phone, you stay on the line with me,” he said into the phone.

Then to the room he said, “The three men entering Doyle’s building have all been confirmed to be with him in the apartment now. They’re having some sort of meeting over tea in the apartment’s living room. Oscar, there’s visual from the remotes coming through now, but no audio.”

“That’s awesome,” Oscar cried as the pictures from six well-placed cameras popped up on his screen. He typed a few rapid commands on his keyboard and the images appeared on the 60” flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Seeing the amazed faces around him he added, “It’s all in the wireless.” Fariha giggled at his joke and he smiled back at her.

For the next two and a half hours, Oscar watched the men in the apartment sip tea and talk. He had no idea what was really going on without being able to hear the conversation. Then Ethan stood and went over to the window and stood there looking out at the view.

“What are you doing, Doyle?” Oscar wondered aloud.

After a few moments, he turned away from the window and started approaching a set of closed double doors. He opened them and suddenly Oscar saw the professor tied to a dining room chair.

“We’ve got a visual on the professor,” he shouted.

Everyone looked up at the huge screen on the wall. There he was, with Ethan standing over him yelling. The professor said something back to Ethan that must have made him angry because shortly after the exchange, Ethan kicked the chair over and Cartwight toppled over onto the floor. Fariha gasped and Chyna balled up her fists in anger.

Ethan left the dining room still shouting and the tall blond Norseman they had come to know as Hans stood and approached the professor. He righted the man’s chair and let him out of the ties. Then he put a gag in his mouth, a hood over his head and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. They watched as Hans and the Ukranian called Milos, lead Professor Cartwright from the apartment. Ethan watched them leave then he turned to the American, whom they knew as Jackson. There was an outburst and then Jackson went hurrying towards the door.

“They’re all on the move,” Chyna said to Anthony. “Is the tail in place?”

“He sure is. One car will stay to keep an eye on Doyle,” he replied.

Chyna nodded and swiped her code onto the screen of her phone. She opened the GPS app and started tracking the agent who was going to follow Doyle’s men and the professor. She pulled on the tactical vest that Anthony handed her, strapped her SIG to her shoulder and placed three extra clips in the vest pockets. Pulling on her leather jacket and a black baseball cap, she turned to her team.

“I want you guys to sit tight and get ready to move out fast if we have to,” she said swiftly.

“Aren’t you going to tell us what the plan is, Boss lady?” Lana asked.

With a quick glance in Fariha’s direction, Chyna replied, “Everything from here on in is on a need to know basis, Lana. I’ve been forced to involve Agent Stewart and the F.B.I. in this so we’re working under their rules now.”

Then to them all she said, “You all know what you’ve got to do, so just do it. Fariha, I need you to map those coordinates of the wreck, down to the square foot if you can. We haven’t got time to be out there guessing. Lana, I need you to call the guys at the salvage company in Cesme and change those plans. Make arrangements for just one person to have gear and a chopper to meet a ship. They don’t need to know anything more and tell them you’re calling from Reneseree. Give them Doyle’s number so they can call him to confirm the details. Oscar, keep your eyes on the monitor and your earpiece in, I’m going to need you to be my eyes in the sky. I’ll see you all onboard later. Please don’t forget my bags.”

With that Anthony, Chyna and the small team of agents left the brown house on ‘Embassy Row’ to follow Doyle’s henchmen and rescue Professor Cartwright.

They got to the warehouse in a rough part of Izmir’s industrial district just about five minutes after Hans did. From an adjacent street they watched as Hans and Milos took the professor, still handcuffed and hooded, out of a black car and in through a side door. Chyna could see F.B.I. snipers positioned above them on the surrounding rooftops. Anthony handed her a rifle which she carefully checked, loaded and put the safety on. She attached it to the strap on the right side of the tactical vest.

“Oscar, can you hear me?” she said into her wireless earpiece.

“Yes, boss,” he replied.

“I’m shutting down now. We’re about to storm the warehouse. Talk to you in a bit.”

Chyna took the ear piece out, then turned off the phone turned and placed them both inside her pocket, replacing it with the wired one Anthony had run up through her vest. Immediately, she heard his whispered instructions.

“Okay team, we’re going to do this fast and by the books,” he announced. “Snipers, keep your eyes open and your guns trained on all exits. Entry team, on my word you’ll break down that side door. Miss Stone and I will take point and everyone else follow closely behind. If we need to we will spread out but wait for my signal on that. Everybody clear?”

There was a general positive response which satisfied them both.

“Okay then! Entry team, Go!”

The four men ran up to the door and with one swing from the battering ram, the lock broke and the door fell open. They stepped aside and as Anthony yelled, “Go! Go! Go!”, the team fell in neatly behind him and they all went into the warehouse. It was an open room on the ground floor level and right in front of them was a startled Hans and Milos, who didn’t even have a chance to pull their weapons. Chyna looked about the room as the agents moved forward to secure the assailants and handcuff them. In a corner, she saw Professor Cartwright tied to a chair and beside him, similarly secured, were the six members of his student team. Breathing a sigh of relief, Chyna went to help untie them.

When he was free of his bonds the professor hugged her. He seemed relieved to finally be free of his captives.

“How did you find us?” he asked her.

“It was your cell phone.”

“But they took that and threw it into the canal.”

“You have two remember.”

“Ah yes, that university Blackberry® that I never use. It was in the jacket pocket the whole time right?”

“Indeed it was, professor.”

An agent came up and tapped Chyna on the shoulder. The time had come to leave and return to the base.

“Professor, I need you and these students to go with this Agent now. He’s going to get you back to the house so you can freshen up and have something to eat. Lana and Fariha are both waiting for you there. I’ll see you all later.”

“Thank you Chyna. I just can’t find the words to tell you how thankful I am. You could have just taken the next flight back to New York and called it quits but I’m so grateful that you didn’t.”

They hugged again and Chyna motioned to the students to follow the agent out to the cars. When they were gone, she turned her attention to Hans and Milos who Anthony already had handcuffed to a couple of chairs in the middle of the room. The room had been emptied except for the four of them. Chyna didn’t have any time to waste with pleasantries on the two men. She cut right to the chase.

“Listen up boys, this little stunt of yours means life in a Turkish prison for seven counts of kidnapping and holding against their will. I’m sure we could even convince the Greeks that you’re both international spies and we know how paranoid they get about those types of things.”

There was an instant of fear in both men’s eyes at the thought of being turned over to the authorities of either country. Having considered themselves the “Gateway to the Middle East” for centuries, Turkish officials had no tolerance for the sort of criminal activity that was usually synonymous with the extremist religious factions of the region and as for Greece, they were just in a constant state of suspicion against every other government.

“So, here’s the deal,” she continued. “You’re going to give us Doyle and we’re going to let you turn State’s evidence against him and get a sentence in a U.S. prison. How does that sound?”

The men looked at each other then nodded their agreement. Anthony ungagged them both and stood back with his arms crossed over his chest, leaving all the initial questioning to Chyna. He had later use for them but neutralizing Ethan Doyle’s scheme was paramount at the moment. Later, he would turn the tables on them and demand they help him infiltrate Reneseree Industries to gather the evidence he needed to prove they were laundering money for Balkan organized crime rings.

“First,” she continued, “where’s Jackson?”

Hans was the first to speak up. “He was supposed to stop and pick up lunch for us then back here to help with the...you know,” he trailed off.

Chyna looked at Anthony. He picked up his radio and spoke to the sniper unit that was still on the roof, everyone else had gone back to the house.

“Keep an eye out for a lone male approaching the building. He was last seen wearing a blue striped long sleeved shirt and blue jeans. He’ll most likely be bringing in some takeout with him. Alert me of his arrival but do not intercept him. That’s our third suspect.”

“Copy that. Ten-four.”

Anthony handed Chyna the cell phone he had taken from Hans’ pocket and she handed him her pistol. He took the safety off and chambered a round walking over to stand next to Hans. Then he put the gun to the man’s head.

“You’re gonna make a call to your boss, Hans. I’d advise that you say exactly what I tell you to or my friend is going to use my private issue SIG Sauer to put two into the side of your head and that’s just a precaution in case they ever piece enough of you back together to launch an investigation. Do you understand me?”

Hans nodded sadly. Chyna gave him the phone.

“Call Doyle and tell him that you suggest he hang back while you launch the platform vessel early tomorrow morning. Let him know it’s going to take you two days to make it around the peninsula and into the strait near Psara and another day to get to any port south of there. Tell him Jackson got a lead on where to find us and the map so you suggest he wait on that while you make your way down and then he can contact you with a rendezvous point. Got it?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Good. Anthony, gag the other one. We won’t be needing him after all.”

“Now call Jackson and tell him you found out there’s a duplicate map that the professor hid years ago inside the Oglakcioglu Park Hotel. He’s to take his men and go retrieve it tonight for Doyle. Tell him he’s waiting for it.”

With both calls made, Chyna and Anthony led their prisoners out and put them into the custody of federal agents. They didn’t have much time to regroup and set up the sting at the hotel but they had to catch a thief and shut down Doyle once and for all.

Back at the house, everyone was in high spirits. The professor and his students were busy preparing Lana and Oscar for what they should expect on the undersea salvage of Artemesia’s fleet. It was certainly going to be quite a different experience than any dig site they had ever worked on before. The ship itself, he explained, would not be salvageable. Ships of that age were made completely of wood and after more than three thousand years at the bottom of the sea, it was likely to all be gone. What they saw on the map was a footprint of the ships. The area of seafloor that was “stained” with the remains of the old wood, what they would be focusing on would be the contents of the ships; figureheads, cannon and of course the treasure that Artemesia supposedly stole from Minos. He reminded them that they would not be there to attempt bringing any remaining parts of the vessels to the surface, they simply did not have the expertise for that, they would be operating the site as similarly to a land-based dig as they could, removing sand from the area to see what they could uncover on the ocean floor.

They bent over the half dozen maps in amazement as the professor spoke freely to them about how he had made his discovery and come up with the theories to support his investigation. He took them through his years of research and they were all understandably intrigued. Looking around the room, Chyna felt satisfied. Everyone was happy to be reunited with friends and colleagues; deep in fellowship with each other and enjoying good company. Even Oscar was engrossed in a jaunty exchange with the F.B.I. technical analysts from Anthony’s team about the latest gadgets and programs and techniques.

“Where’s Fariha?” she asked Oscar.

“I don’t know. I think she said something about going down to the orchard out back.”

The Greek girl’s absence puzzled Chyna but she decided it wasn’t any cause for alarm. She probably just needed a little air, the house was filling up faster than an air-conditioned movie theatre in the middle of a heat wave. Thirty minutes later, she strolled in carrying a basket of fruit, citrus, vegetables and herbs and started preparing a marinade for a huge bowl of cubed beef and lamb for what Chyna thought must be souvlaki. Even though she knew that they would be leaving for the Oglakcioglu Park Hotel soon, Chyna couldn’t stifle her groan. Her body felt like it was someone else’s. Her shoulders were tense.

He found her seated in a wing chair looking out the enormous windows at the darkening evening. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and onto one arm of the chair as she reclined deeply within its generous folds and stretched her legs out in front of it. Those long, lustrous tresses were the color of Kuwaiti crude shimmering as the light from the fireplace played along the length of it. She still wore the tight, black tank top and sleek leather pants from their raid at the warehouse earlier that day. The line of her long neck, her smooth shoulders and sleek arms sang to him as he approached her. She dipped her head to take another sip from the glass of whiskey she was drinking, breathed its oaken aroma deeply and let the amber liquid pass over her lips and tongue. The sight of her in the firelight caused an ache in his chest that Anthony Stewart had only known since his first encounter with Chyna more than five years ago. He continued to watch silently as she set the glass down and put her hands to her shoulders and rotated her neck in small deliberate circles. She must be tired, he thought. His breath was caught in his throat as her watched her place her hand under the straps of her tank top and rub each aching shoulder blade and the nape of her neck. She sat back in the chair again and raised the glass to her mouth sipping some of the strong liquid it contained before placing it back on the table beside her. He shook his head violently, trying to clear his mind and walked up to her chair.

“It’s time to go,” Anthony whispered in her ear, delighting at the soft moan his breath against her neck invoked.

***

As they drove across town, Chyna called the manager at the hotel to check on the progress. He confirmed that the front desk had received a call check on the availability of suite 1945 but that reservations never got a call to reserve it. “Perfect!” she thought, and then asked him if he could have the card key ready and at the valet station when they arrived. There was no need to draw unnecessary attention to herself as she entered the hotel. The others would be going in the back way of course, considering all the heavy weaponry they were carrying.

Once they were in the suite upstairs, they all settled into the darkness of the master bedroom to wait. At around midnight, the call came. Surveillance had a visual of Jackson and two other men gaining access to the building through the unmanned staff entrance at the back of the building.

“On point people,” Anthony announced. “They’ve entered the building.”

Soon they heard the lock on the front door being blown and the men entering the suite. They waited until the door swung open and then an agent hit the light switch.

“Freeze. Don’t move a muscle.” Agent Stewart said.

Merrily, the agents cuffed the three men and led them out of the room. Agent Stewart advised them of their rights and they were escorted from the suite.

“You all go ahead back to the house,” he said to his team. “Lock them up downstairs with the other two and get some rest. We’ll tidy this place up and join you later. It’s back to business as usual tomorrow. Good job everybody.”

They all filed out leaving Anthony and Chyna behind. He locked the door behind them and turned to her.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day you little tease,” he said.

“Me?” she replied coyly, unstrapping her gun holster and dropping it to the couch beside her. “I never teased you one second today. If I had you wouldn’t have made it this long.”

She pulled the tactical vest off, dropping it to the floor, turned and walked back into the bedroom. He followed, dropping his jacket and vest in a heap on top of hers and stepping out of his boots. As he stepped through the doorway, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Anthony’s hand ran over every inch of her back as he ravished her mouth passionately.

They didn’t get to see each other often, with all her travelling and his being reassigned to embassies and consulates all over the planet almost every six months or so, but they always knew each other’s whereabouts and did their best to see each other whenever they wound up in the same city. It wasn’t a real relationship by any stretch of the definition but it was the most either of them could hope for considering their chosen professions and the mitigating circumstances. They each knew that the other would wait a lifetime for a moment like the one they were having right now.

He pulled the sexy black tank top over her head and his nostrils were filled with the scent of her. She always smelt like that. A mixture of the perfume she always wore, Cabotine de Grès, and the almond oil she used on her skin and in her gorgeous black hair. Today, it was mixed with a little sweat and maybe some adrenaline; she smelled awesome. He lowered his head to kiss her neck and shoulders, he remembered how she had rubbed them earlier and they were hurting from the stress of the day. Her hands went over his back and to his waist, clawing at his shirt and pulling it free of his pants. She moved back to lift it over his head and then nestled to him so he could kiss her on the neck again. He undid the clasp of her bra and slid the straps from her shoulders, pulling the garment away and free of their bodies. When his lips moved to her breasts, she put both her arms around his neck and threw her head back in ecstasy. They had hours to please each other, nowhere to be until four o clock that morning. They would take their time and make it last. Who knew when they would see each other again?

They were kissing again. He pulled the buckle of her belt and she pulled his, letting their slacks fall about their ankles on the floor. Anthony lifted her, she swung her legs around his waist instinctively, and he took the few steps to the bed. When she was gently nestled among the plush bedding he quickly dispatched the rest of their clothing and lifted her again. He sat on the edge of the bed, relishing the feel of her lean, strong thighs wrapped around his waist. She moved erotically on his lap as they kissed deeper and deeper. Then, unable to wait a second longer, Chyna raised herself and joined their bodies with one smooth motion. Her head went back and a moan of satisfaction and excitement escaped her throat. Her eyes were closed and she clung to his shoulders for support. Anthony watched her move her body against his in amazement. He lived to see her in these moments of complete abandon. As her colleague, he was too used to seeing her in full control. She was authoritative, commanding, professional, intelligent, maddeningly so; but here, with him, in these times, she was a goddess. Feminine, sexy, passionate, erotic; a woman. He kissed her breasts again and heard her pleasure in her moans. He would let her take her pleasure how she wanted, while he played her supporting actor before taking her body to the highest peaks of ecstasy over and over again.

She moved with him, smooth and hot like flowing lava until she cried out, pulling him in close to her and shaking all over, breathing raggedly. He let her calm down and waited for her breathing to slow and become soft against his shoulder before turning around and laying her tenderly on the bed. She could see the need in his eyes now, the pride on his face from experiencing the raptures of her satisfaction. She moaned when he joined with her again, gripping the sheets tightly in her fists and as he moved with his desire and lust, they were soon climbing peak after peak of pleasure in each other’s arms.

***

“Come on Tony,” Chyna said. “We’ve got to go. It’s almost three in the morning!”

“I’m up, I’m up,” he grumbled. “Guess we have a room to pay for now huh?”

Chyna laughed at his joke as she quickly got dressed.

“We’ve got to get back to the house to shower, change and pack in time to get over to the dock and take that ship out to sea this morning. You put yourself together and meet me out front, I’ll go take care of this room and get us some coffee.”

As she left, picking up her vest and holster in the living room, Anthony couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly they had gone from Chyna and Tony back to Miss Stone and Agent Stewart. He shook his head in amazement. What a woman.

***

The house on ‘Embassy Row’ was a hive of activity by the time they got there. Chyna and Anthony went straight up to their rooms to shower and prepare themselves to leave. Lana had already packed Chyna’s bag and laid out another pair of black slacks and tank top for her. When she came out of the shower, she brushed her long hair back into a high ponytail and got dressed, placing all her toiletries and the dirty clothes into the suitcase and zipping it closed. The holster was buckled in place and her jacket was again slipped over her shoulders.

In the living room, the professor and his team were rolling up maps and putting folders into briefcases for the move. All of Oscar’s equipment was back inside their black cases and being loaded carefully into one of the vans. Fariha was being helped by two agents to put the suitcases in the back of an Escalade while Lana made and packed sandwiches into brown paper bags with fruit, water and Cokes for everyone.

“We move out at oh-four-hundred hours!” Anthony called as he placed his suitcase with the others by the door and went to take Chyna’s from her hand.

“Looks like we are all on schedule, Agent,” she said.

“It seems so, Miss Stone,” he replied.

They smiled at each other and Chyna went to help Lana in the kitchen. When the last of the suitcases were loaded, Fariha came to take over from her, allowing Chyna to go to the basement to assist with the securing of the detainees for transportation. They looked ready to go as well.

“Hans, you’ll be with me for this one and I want your full cooperation,” Chyna instructed. “Agent Stewart will deal with getting everyone and everything on board but you and I will be on the bridge. Don’t get any cute ideas, I’ll put a bullet in your head and throw you overboard faster than you can say ‘Hello’. Got it?”

“Yes, Miss Stone,” he replied.

“Good. Now all of you, listen up. This is how it is; you can either consider yourself fully integrated into this mission, after which you will be considered witnesses of the State against Ethan Doyle and be granted the leniency and consideration that affords, or you can decide to get stupid and try to double-cross us. Either way, only one choice is going to see you live through this, the other turns you into shark food. Personally, I’d recommend playing nice; the outcome is bound to be better for all involved. We’re all watching you.”

With that she nodded to the agents, who threw black hoods over the prisoners’ heads and moved them out of the cells and up to the first floor. They placed them in the back of one of the vans and locked the doors. Chyna got into the car beside Anthony and the convoy eased out onto ‘Embassy Row’ and in the direction of the Izmir Canal.

Thirty-six hours out to sea, they could see the island of Psara coming into view. They would take the strait that ran between Psara and Chios. They couldn’t approach the site directly from the North between the Cesme coast and Chios because the water around the island of Inousses was too shallow for the platform vessel. That was probably the same reason why Artemesia’s ships had been wrecked there almost 3,000 years before. They would reach their intended location in another twelve hours or so, but for the moment they were waiting for word from Doyle.

Chyna found it strange that he hadn’t radioed the ship as yet. The map had been scheduled to be delivered at his apartment at noon. Her concerns were soon put to rest when at 6 o’ clock that evening the radio buzzed to life. With a stern look at Hans, Chyna motioned for him to pick it up and respond.

“This is the Renaissance. Cargo vessel 5 5 3 4 8. Hans Svennson speaking. Come back.”

“Renaissance, this is Ethan Doyle. Hans, is everything on schedule? Come back.”

“Mr. Doyle, everything remains on schedule. The Renaissance is making way South in the Psara channel and awaiting further instructions. Come back.”

“Very good, Hans. The target coordinates are 38.318230, 26.231997. What is your ETA to that location? Come back.”

“I’d say twenty-four hours to that location, Mr. Doyle. Come back”

“Perfect. Expect me onboard at six o clock tomorrow evening, Hans. Over and out.”

The radio went silent and he handed it back to Chyna so she could put it back in the cradle. It seemed as if everything was going according to plan and Chyna breathed a sigh of relief. She sat down in her chair by the door to the bridge and opened her brown paper bag. Lana had been preparing portable meals for everyone during the days and a hot dinner at night. It was a good plan since most of the crew were on the move all day onboard the vessel. The work never seemed to end. Anthony stepped through the door just then.

“Any news?”

“Yeah. Doyle just called. He’s meeting the ship tomorrow around 6 p.m. at the wreck site.”

“Perfect.”

He opened the cuff that secured Hans’ left hand to the controls of the ship and slipped it over his right wrist. Then he led him to an empty chair across the room and handed him a paper bag.

“Eat something, you look exhausted. I’ll take over for a while.”

Hans looked grateful. He took the pastrami sandwich out of the bag and bit into it voraciously. There was an apple and a bottle of orange juice as well, which he polished off in no time. After a short break, Anthony cuffed Hans back to the wheel. He seemed resigned to his status as captive now. He was just glad to be treated like a human being in light of how badly things could have gone if he had remained a part of Ethan Doyle’s plan.

At eight, one of the other agents, James, came to relieve them so Anthony and Chyna could go down to the galley for dinner. He was drinking a bottle of water and handed Hans one to refresh himself as well. Lana had made lasagna and James had already told them that it was amazing. He would watch Hans until they returned, at which point they would allow their prisoner to take a break and eat. Anthony stopped by his cabin and came back out showing off a small 250ml bottle of Chianti he had smuggled on board with him. Chyna smiled and shook her head in amusement. In the galley, everyone was noisily chatting in their little groups about this and that and enjoying their supper immensely. Fariha was helping by handing out bottles of water to everyone, one table at a time. She put water down for them and Lana brought over two plates of lasagna, Oscar passed them a basket of garlic bread.

“If I had known you guys eat so well in the field I would have insisted on tech support for every mission,” he said, laughing. Lana cuffed him on the back of his head and the whole galley burst out laughing at his expense.

Anthony shared the contents of the bottle of wine between their two glasses and then made a toast.

“To us,” he said.

“To us,” Chyna repeated, “and to finding the Minoan Mask.”

***

Two hours later, there was a strange silence on the platform vessel. After eating his dinner and gulping down another bottle of water, Hans had been unable to keep his eyes open to sail any longer. James had agreed when he suggested that they station it for a few hours to rest, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open either. Hans pulled up the brake on the rudders, killed the engines and set the moors down and curled up in his handcuffs in a corner of the bridge where he had laid out his sleeping bag. No one heard the choppers approaching or saw the tiny figure on the deck of the vessel laying out the lit flares to signal the landing area. By morning when they finally woke, everyone on board found themselves handcuffed and they were soon being led to the deck of the ship and made to sit down in a single line.

Ethan Doyle stood over them smiling with a small army of twelve men. Beside him, wearing a stern expression, was Fariha, the Greek girl.

Chapter Five

The morning sun was high in the sky when they were brought out onto the deck in their handcuffs and made to sit in a single file line.

Ethan Doyle stood before them grinning like the evil cartoon villain he was. He just couldn’t help feeling immensely proud of himself at having outsmarted them. In all truth, it did seem that he had finally turned the tables on their entire group. He had come prepared, Chyna gave him that much. Doyle had managed to land twelve security enforcers, six divers, a technician, a ship’s captain and himself onboard the vessel, all while they were unconscious. That wretch Fariha had spiked their water at dinner and as it turned out Hans had been the worst affected. James had brought him a bottle before and another with his meal. Even now it seemed he was having trouble sitting up straight.

“It still amazes me that you thought you were smart enough to double cross me!”

Ethan was shouting at Hans, who sat on the pavement trying to cover his ears as best he could with his cuffed hands. He must have had a headache the size of the European Union. Even the sunshine was being a complete torture to him. He alternated shielding his eyes and covering his ears. Ethan kept berating him and finally swung his right leg and kicked Hans over onto his side.

“You’re all soon going to see what this is ultimately about; I’m going to be the one who goes down in history as finding the oldest shipwreck of all time, not you Professor Cartwright or your little band of teenage mutant misfits and certainly not the overinflated Chyna Stone and her vagabonds from Found History. Everyone gets a back to ride on, but when I decided to take my destiny into my own hands you call me a criminal. Cartwright, you would never have gotten where you are if it wasn’t for Sir Evans spoon-feeding you everything you know back at Oxford, you practically lived at Boar’s Hill until the old man died. And you, Miss Stone, your father gave you everything, all you had to do was make the obvious choice to take it and follow in his footsteps. A gleaming reputation and a successful company with its own following and legacy; handed to you on a silver platter while you indulged yourself in luxury and elite para-military training to validate yourself.

“This is all your fault, you know,’ he said, pointing at them. “You should have let me do what I needed to do instead of trying to get in my way. It’s your own fault you’re sitting here in handcuffs now as my hostages and when I’ve found what I’m looking for I’m going to push each and every one of you off this ship into the channel and watch you drown.”

Then Ethan turned to Agent Stewart and said, “You should never have gotten yourself involved in this. It has nothing to do with the F.B.I. Now the blood of all these agents will be on your head.”

As dismal as their situation seemed at the moment, Anthony couldn’t help but smirk at Doyle’s comments. He was showing his cards; a rookie mistake and he had just let Anthony know that the Doyles had no idea they were under investigation for money laundering and racketeering. He couldn’t know then that all Anthony’s superiors in Washington and at the Pentagon were fully aware of the operation and they were in constant contact with him to discuss progress and strategy. As soon as he didn’t check in, they would be sure to be checking things out. He also wouldn’t know that the onboard surveillance system had been patched into the F.B.I. satellite system and was streaming live to both the house in Izmir and to the database at the J. Edgar Hoover building twenty-four hours a day since they had boarded the vessel two days ago.

“Take them to their cabins and lock them in,” Ethan shouted.

With that, his armed militia men stood them up and walked each of them back to their cabins. They were secured and locked inside. It was clear that their cabins had been searched and every means of communication confiscated. He intended for them to silently bide their time and accept that he had gotten the best of them.

Chyna lay on her bunk smiling to herself.

You think you’re so smart Doyle, she thought to herself, You fancy yourself to be some sort of a badass, a mastermind criminal maybe? Ha!

She jumped from the bed and went to the cabin door. From the porthole she could see that all of Doyle’s men had cleared the corridor. They had probably made it back to the deck by now, but just to be sure she waited five more minutes watching carefully to both the left and right of her door. When she was satisfied, she went to her suitcase and opened it. She threw out all the clothes and pulled on a tab that was sticking up out of one corner in the bottom of the case. When she lifted the top of the little compartment and saw its contents were intact, she smiled to herself again.

Back on the bed she sat with the little black tool kit and her tech pouch. Chyna opened the pouch and pulled out another of her military secured Blackberry® devices, pulling off the back cover and laying it to one side. She dug deeper in the case and found what she was looking for, a fresh battery and a pill bottle containing about a dozen SIM cards. She emptied them into the palm of her hand and sorted through them, finally arriving at the card she needed. She lay it on the bed beside her and returned all of its contents to the pouch.

With the SIM card in place and the battery fitted, Chyna put the back cover on the phone and turned it over in her hand. She pressed and held down the little power button and almost instantly the red light came on and the phone started to boot up. She knew that as soon as it did, a distress signal would start being broadcast to the systems back at Found History. For as long as the phone was broadcasting, it would deliver an email every fifteen minutes to their administrators’ inbox containing her coordinates. At the Found History office, they all knew better than to try to call that number. Chyna however, could make any call, to anyone, anywhere in the world she pleased and she decided to call her new friend at the United States Consulate in Izmir.

The guards came for them at noon. They were handcuffed again and shuffled into the galley so they could be more easily monitored as they ate. Doyle didn’t have enough manpower to have food brought to them in their cabins so this was their best alternative. It was a terrible mistake!

“They didn’t find my tech kit when they searched my cabin,” Chyna whispered discreetly to Anthony as they lined up at the counter for their meager lunch of pork and beans and bread. “I’ve set it up to send the distress messages to admin back at the office.”

“That’s some good news,” he replied.

“I also got a chance to call Agent Perez at the consulate in Izmir. He’s gone over to your base house to let your team know what happened.”

“You think you can trust him?”

“He’s a young one, but he’s as clean and starry-eyed as they come.”

Anthony smiled.

“I guess we just bide our time then, help is on the way.”

Chyna nodded and moved down the line.

They sat at random tables seeing as there was no need to aggravate the guards any further than they already were. The slightest sound of conversation got them aiming guns at the hostages so everyone ate in complete silence. Just as they were finishing their meal, there was a blast from the ships horn and the guards told everyone to stop eating and hustled them up to the main deck. Again, they were placed in a single row to sit in the shade of the ships’ bridge. There was another blast of the horn as a winch started pulling in a set of chains that where running over the side of the platform into the water. In a few minutes a basket broke the surface and was hauled onto the deck.

None of them could believe their eyes. Apparently, Doyle and his diving team had gone ahead and started the search and from the looks of the basket’s contents, not only had they found the ships but they had found a remarkable treasure among their ruins. From where they were sitting, they could see jugs and other vessels of gold and silver, plates, cups, platters and statues. It was a remarkable, extremely valuable cache. The horn blasted again and another set of chains started moving, pulling something else up from the deep, blue waters. This time it was a very large bag made of netting, fashioned to hold smaller items or fragments that might be found on the ocean floor. Through the spaces in the weave, there was a distinctive glint of gold; the bag was filled to bursting with coins.

Soon after, Doyle and six other divers came to the surface. They climbed into the cage that was set up on the side of the platform and were pulled up to the deck. Several plastic bins on wheels were rolled onto the deck and the divers opened the basket and began to sort the contents. Doyle and one of the guards lifted the heavy bag and poured a river of coins and other fragments of gold into another bucket. Chyna could see from the look on Professor Cartwright’s face that it was particularly hard for him to watch what was going on. The thrill of that discovery was supposed to have been his and he had been brutally robbed of it. The professor looked completely crestfallen.

Chyna made all efforts to distract herself, she was more interested in getting back to the cabin to see if Ricardo had emailed her with some report of progress. Doyle stopped playing in his mountain of coins and walked over to where the other divers were sorting through the contents of the basket. He dipped his hand into one of them and came up holding something in his hands that made the professor groan with disappointment. Chyna looked up, to see what was wrong with Cartwright and she followed his gaze back to Doyle, who was slowly approaching them, holding something behind his back. She watched him intently, determined that if he made one false move she would bring him to his knees and turn him into her own hostage and gain the freedom of the entire group.

Instinctively, he stopped well out of her reach and crouched down in front of her.

“Miss Stone, I think that since this morning I have adequately humbled your friend Cartwright over there but it’s your turn to be humbled as well,” he said, pulling the object he held from behind his back and placing it before his face. “Behold, Miss Stone, the Minoan Mask!”

Chyna was dumbstruck. It was just as the description from the Minoan cuneiform tablet had said. The mask was delicately wrought, clearly by a master craftsman. Its features were smooth and graceful, perfectly rounded. The forehead, the brow, the bridge of the nose and the shape of the nostrils, the apples of its cheek, the jaw line and the chin; all depicted the face of a beautiful, intriguing young woman. Remarkably, the bronze was not darkened by its time beneath the waves. It was the color of dark maple syrup with hardly any evidence of the encrusting that was typical of ocean salvage. Chyna attributed that to the incredible smoothness of it which would hardly have been a suitable surface for such formations.

What was most unbelievable about the piece was the exquisite gold work that almost completely surrounded the circumference of the mask. She could not decide if the intricacy of it was completely atypical of the time period. The Egyptians and Mesopotamians had been renowned for their prowess in the art of working gold but she had never encountered this level of excellence. It’s true that jewelry of this level of intricate craftsmanship had been unearthed in Greece many times before, but not a single piece had been dated earlier than the second century B.C. An entire new course in world history had just been rewritten with the discovery of this mask.

Chyna could only describe the design as filigree, even though the gold appliqué was at least a half inch thick. The band of designed gold ran from the mask’s right cheekbone all the way around the left side of the face and ended at its chin. Below that there was a layer of embossed gold that had been fused to the bronze of the mask in a sort of overlay and covered most of the left side of the forehead as well as the entire left side of the face. She had never seen anything even remotely like it before.

“Put them back in their cabins,” Doyle commanded the guards and they began to usher the explorers back below decks.

“Call the base house and ask for Agent Watson,” Anthony whispered over Chyna’s shoulder. She nodded slightly to indicate that she had heard him. “Tell him I said to cooperate fully with Perez. Tell him the code is ‘Esperion’.”

Chyna lay on the bunk in her cell looking up at the cabin ceiling; she could not get over how magnificent the mask was. Doyle had put it on and made her stare at it for quite a while as he gloated about having got the best of her and Found History once and for all. She listened for the sound of the guards passing her door as they left the corridor to return to the ship’s deck. It took them a while but eventually they did, closing the bulkhead door as they left.

Chyna rolled over and took the phone from the inside her mattress through a slit she had made in the seam. There were three messages: one email from Sirita, a freelance administrative attaché in New Delhi that worked in conjunction with the Found History offices in New York. Chyna had found it useful to hire the freelancer to coordinate correspondence on that side of the world to mitigate against the time differences. Sirita had received her S.O.S. and had alerted Turkish and Greek authorities as well as the consulate in Izmir where she spoke to Agent Perez. He had told her that he knew of the situation and that the C.I.A. and the F.B.I. were both already involved in the investigation. What she did give him, which was news to him, were the coordinates of the ship. Sirita told him that she was forwarding the updated coordinates to Agent Perez as she received them and that she wished them all good luck.

The other two were text messages. One from Perez to tell her things were in action and they were to sit tight and the other from Agent Watson asking simply, “What’s the code?”

Chyna smiled as she responded to Watson’s text with a single word, ‘Esperion’. As an afterthought she sent a second response, “We’re kept locked in our cabins below decks. The Greek girl is compromised. Do what you must.”

The routine at dinner went the same as it had at lunch, they lined up along the counter to be served whatever it was that the guards had managed to rustle up quickly from the pantry and sat randomly to eat in silence. This time Chyna positioned herself behind Anthony.

“Watson got the code,” Chyna said softly.

“Good,” he replied.

“I also told him we were locked in our cabins so he should do whatever he needs to do.”

“Perfect! Do they know where we are?”

“They get the coordinates every half hour.”

Chicken nuggets and French fries were the fare that was served up for dinner that night. Everyone insisted on having something else to drink besides the water.

As the guards led them in a single file line back to the cabin decks, they could hear the sounds of boisterous celebration on the ships’ deck. Doyle and his little crew were hooting and hollering most certainly under the influence of excessive alcohol. They were listening to the broadcasted commentary of a sporting event it seemed and heavy betting was taking place between the men. Chyna smiled to herself. She knew deep down that it was most likely they would be rescued tonight. If their captors were rowdy and inebriated, it would only make the agents’ job that much easier. This mismatched group of wannabe criminals didn’t stand a chance in hell meeting the forces that were coming from Izmir at high noon, much less under the cover of night and drunk out of their skulls. Just before they got to her door she said over her shoulder to Anthony, “We got this!”

***

Agent Perez was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Silently, he stood in the middle of the living room in the brown house on ‘Embassy Row’ and tightened the straps of a black tactical vest with the letters ‘C.I.A.’ printed on the back. Being assigned overseas to a small consulate, he had never imagined ever getting the chance to be part of a covert operation like the one they were embarking on that night. It was clear just by looking around him that the F.B.I. took the recovery of their agents and their colleagues extremely seriously and the C.I.A. was only too happy to get involved, there wasn’t much action to be had this far from home.

F.B.I. agent Watson seemed to be taking it the hardest of all. He must have considered it a slap in the face that the two-bit criminal they knew as Ethan Doyle had somehow gotten the better of his commanding officer, his fellow agents and his companions. Even the knowledge that he had only managed to do so because he had the help of a mole was no consolation, in fact it made him angrier. She had been in the house with them all along and there had been no detection of her treachery by any of them; maybe they were losing their touch.

He shook his head savagely; there was no way they were getting soft. The girl had infiltrated them from the grassroots up. She had been a part of Professor Cartwright’s team for years, clearly she hadn’t been a plant; Doyle must have gotten to her while he was working with the professor at the Knossos dig. He planned to take twenty-one F.B.I. agents with him out to the platform vessel that night as well as eleven C.I.A. There were three UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters waiting at the Adnan Menderes airport to move them out. The choppers would get them to the ship faster than anything else could but his concern was stealth so to counteract that he had engaged the help of the U.S. Navy. He had found out from the Pentagon that the U.S.S. Odessa was in the region and had more than enough of the resources they would need, all of which would be at his disposal.

The plan was to take the choppers to the Navy aircraft carrier and enlist the assistance of the Seals to raft in on the Renaissance. Once they had boarded, the rest of the team would fly in on the helicopters and assist to take control of the vessel. It was a sound plan; clean, quiet, effective, just the way he liked it. With everyone suited up and ready to go, Watson put his arm around Perez’s shoulder and pulled him to one side.

“Hey kid,” he started. “I know this is probably the first piece of real action you’re going to see and, in all honesty, as an embassy jock, it may be your last.”

Perez nodded solemnly; he knew it was the truth.

“I want you to see everything, hear everything and say nothing. Learn everything you can, both from your guys and mine, because you never know what the next step might be in your career, or where the next big opportunity is going to crop up. Take everything you can from this so you can learn and then use that knowledge to your own benefit one day.”

Perez smiled at Watson and shook his hand, “Yes, Sir!”

“You’re a good kid and you know good people when you come across them. I bet you never knew that by being a gentleman and befriending Miss Stone and her team, you would have the chance to be a part of something like this. She trusts you, and let me tell you, with the men and women of this command, that means a whole lot. Come on, let’s roll out.”

It took the agents twenty minutes to rendezvous with the aircraft carrier off the peninsula west of Alacati. When they got there the Navy Seals were all ready to go.

“This mission launches at oh-one-hundred hours. Dismissed!” said the Odessa’s commanding officer. Out of courtesy and respect for his rank aboard the vessel, Watson had given precedence over the meeting to him.

They had three hours to kill so after their detailed debriefing, the operatives set to checking their gear and cleaning and loading their guns. The choppers were refueled and rafts were inflated and checked for leaks. The gas canisters for each of the twelve three-man rafts were lowered and secured off the side of the vessel where the rafts would be launched; lowering lines were tied to the rings of each of the rafts. With everything ready to go, all the men had to do was eat and wait.

The men cheerfully chattered over the hearty meal of Brunswick stew, mashed sweet potatoes and collard greens. For most it was the best meal they had eaten in weeks. Perez got to learn that the Navy Seals who would be heading up the mission had just arrived onboard the U.S.S. Odessa that morning from a tour in Afghanistan and were finishing up the last week of their tour before heading back home to the United States. They were happy to be going on such a simple, straightforward mission for the first time in a year. They introduced themselves to him and told him a little bit about what they each did. There was even a technical support guy among them who kept their radio and gadgets working and also doubled as the liaison for the Navy Information Service. He took pictures and wrote news reports which he sent in to their commanding officer twice a day.

“This time we get to swim,” one of the soldiers said. “A Seal is always the most comfortable in water. I can’t wait to get out there tonight, all I’ve seen is bone-dry sand and stone desert for the past eleven months. I felt like I almost lost my goddamned mind out there. Everything’s just one color; white, and it’s always just one temperature; hot.”

Several of the men laughed at the Seal’s comment but every one of them was nodding in agreement.

Out of curiosity, Perez asked him, “Where are you from, Sailor?”

The Seal looked at him and proudly said, “Forks! Forks, Washington.”

“Hot damn!” Perez exclaimed. “No wonder you’re so bent out of shape. Forks to Kabul; that would be like comparing a Burmese python to a feather boa.”

The sailors all laughed at Perez’s joke. He was happy, they made him feel at home. It was so different from the strict environment and often solitary existence at the consulate. Here he had a taste of what he knew was real, honest camaraderie. He liked it. Soon it was time to clear out of the mess hall, so the men took Perez with them to the deck. One of the pilots let him climb up and sit in his F-22 Raptor jet, he even showed Perez through all the controls and flight checks. Then one of the sailors showed him how they would lower and launch the inflatable rafts they were going to use to get over to the Renaissance that night. Everything they had to show him, he soaked in eagerly and thanked them profusely for; he intended to follow Agent Watsons advice, he saw the value and truth in it.

At exactly 1 a.m., Perez stood at the side of the U.S.S. Odessa along with his new friends and lowered the rafts and the Navy Seals down into the water. He noticed that they took the technician with them and that he had his camera buckled securely to his vest. When the sailors had fueled up their little outboard engines, they pulled in the empty canisters and then untied lowering lines. Everything was neatly stowed away.

He was ready and just then he heard Watson call for his men to group.

“We’re sailing toward the Renaissance right now, the aim is to arrive onboard just as soon as the Seals have secured the vessel. We don’t have a visual on them but we do have audio so as soon as they’ve boarded we’ll be lifting off. I need you all onboard the Hawks in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes Sir!” was the consensus and everyone went their own way to retrieve their gear and get back to the flight deck.

The taking of the Renaissance was the easiest mission that cluster of Seals had ever undertaken. When they boarded the vessel and gave the okay for the Black Hawks to fly, all they encountered on the deck of the ship were drunken sleeping guards. With a little chloroform to the face, they stayed that way on the deck while the soldiers moved deeper into the ship and up to the bridge simultaneously. It took ten minutes to subdue Ethan and his entire vigilante crew, including the treacherous Fariha Katsakis.

When the helicopters landed, the Seals already had most of Agents Stewart’s and Chyna’s teams freed and had used the same cuffs they took off of them to handcuff the hijackers. Perez ran from under the chopper blades towards them. He shook Agent Stewart’s hand vigorously before offering his hand to Chyna as well. Chyna looked carefully at it and then at him before swinging her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Just as everyone started to calm down from the excitement of finally being free, Professor Cartwright emerged from Ethan Doyle’s cabin with the mask in his hands.

“Everyone, everyone your attention briefly, please,” he called out to the crowd. “I’d just like to bring your attention back to the crux of the matter for a moment. This all started with a crazy idea and even crazier theories that Miss Stone and I shared and it’s incredible that this is where we have ended up. I just want to refocus you on the whole purpose of why we’ve just been through all this.”

He held the mask up over his head so everyone could see it.

“Behold, Ladies and Gentlemen, the lost but only just now recovered, Minoan Mask of Knossos.”

Just then the technician came around and gathered their little team together. He fired off several brightly flashed shots and the moment that the mask was recovered into the hands of Chyna Stone was captured for all to see.

Epilogue

They had been out of Turkey for a week now and still Chyna was hard pressed to get the smell of Anthony off her clothes or the feel of his hands on her body out of her mind. She would miss him dearly but she was also sure she would be seeing him again soon. She hadn’t been that sure of it as she and her team had started preparing to head back to Found History but then last week she had received a diplomatic envelope at the brown house on ‘Embassy Row’, inside was a Found History envelope. Puzzled, she had ripped it open and pulled out the docket it contained. It was the details of their next assignment. Sirita had told them she would be sending over some paperwork she had received from Dr. Aman Nassir at the Supreme Council of Antiquities in Cairo but she wouldn’t have known what the full contents were. Dr. Nassir had made a new discovery in the Luxor Valley in southern Egypt and upon hearing that Chyna’s team was in the region, he had requested her expertise on his site.

As Chyna read the letter from Dr. Nassir, she looked up at her team and said, “Who wants to go to Egypt?”

They delayed their arrival in Luxor for two weeks. Chyna felt they all deserved a bit of a vacation and no one on her team had ever been to Egypt before. She booked them rooms at the unforgettable Nile Hotel and encouraged them to see the city and do all the tourist things there were to do. There was no way of predicting how long they would be in the desert this time, so she was keen on them getting as much rest and relaxation as they could.

For her, the only relaxation she had required was what she got in the arms of Agent Anthony Stewart. He had arrived at the hotel discreetly late at night and they had stocked the kitchenette and locked themselves in for three straight days. The concierge had been told to let her team know that she had made a quick trip to Alexandria to visit some family friends. They hadn’t had a chance to say a proper goodbye in Izmir, but even after three days neither of them was ready to let go.

“We always find each other again, Anthony,” she said to him as he was about to board the flight back to Turkey. “You always say it too; this is the best we can hope for with the way our lives are. It’s the price we have to pay for getting to have it all.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “It’s just that having it all sometimes means that instead of having a whole lot of one thing, you have to make do with the pieces of everything.”

Now, as they made the long drive through the desert heading south towards Luxor, Chyna had no time to think about his words. There was a task ahead and she was on fire. It had been more than three years since she had been to Egypt and she hadn’t been on a dig site there since before her father had died. The country, and especially its deserts, held a special place in her heart. She felt free here on the Egyptian sand dunes; wild and free like a Berber nomad.

They would make Luxor by nightfall and she could hardly contain her excitement. What did Dr. Nassir have in store for them down there? She was aware that there was a theory about an area across the river from where King Tutankhamen’s tomb had been found so many years ago which some Egyptologists thought may soon emerge as a royal burial ground that may just come to rival the Valley of the Kings, but the scope of it was a mystery to her. She pulled open the dossier that Dr. Nassir had sent to her at the hotel a few days before and read it again.

“We think that we may have discovered a long lost series of chambers said to have been built by the pharaoh Ay and his wife, Ankhsenamun, who was Tutankhamen’s widow. According to legend, Ay built the chambers below the ground near Luxor to serve as a hiding place should the country rebel against his extremely weak claim to the succession of the throne. He was also said to have used it as the storage place for an ancient book which was a record of every pharaoh to have ever reigned over Egypt up to that point as well as the locations of their palaces, their family details and their burial places. If what we have discovered are really the Chambers of Ay, then it is possible that we have finally found ‘The Mummy Codex’.”

The End

Chyna Stone returns in:

The Mummy Codex

A Chyna Stone Adventure #2

Return to the Table of Contents

THE

MUMMY

CODEX

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#2

by

K.T. TOMB

The Mummy Codex

Prologue

“My husband has died and I have no son. It is said of you, King Suppiluliumas, that you have many sons who are princes of the Hittites. It is the hope of this Queen that you might give me one of your sons to become my husband. I would not wish to take one of my subjects as a husband; my people might revolt against the rule of a commoner, even should that commoner have my support. After all, this Queen is still only a woman; I cannot rule Egypt in my own right. I am afraid King Suppiluliumas; for myself and for my people.”

Ankhesenamun gave her handmaiden the letter to deliver to a Hittite merchant who was bound for Hattusa.

“But your Majesty, the King of the Hittites is our enemy,” Melia protested, as she took the letter.

“Melia,” the Queen replied patiently, “as women we often have to make very hard decisions. In this case my choice is either to be joined to my father’s enemy thus uniting our countries and regaining all the territories of Egypt that Suppiluliumas has ever taken from us or be forced to marry a servant. I am lucky; my choice is an easy one.”

Melia delivered the letter to the merchant Hinrabus that morning. He was someone Ankhesenamun trusted; someone who had visited her often in the palace at Thebes and whom she patronized very heavily for her jewelry, perfume and cosmetics. Her instructions to him were to take her letter to their king, deliver it into his very hands as an official courier of the Queen of Egypt and then bring his reply back to her.

When the merchant arrived back in Thebes a few months later, he was accompanied by the emissary of the Hittite king and she thought her prayers had been answered. Ankhesenamun entertained the king’s emissary lavishly within the royal apartments of the palace, her private chambers where she was sure to be safe from the prying eyes of the Grand Vizier, the General of the Armies and all their spies. She told him of her fears that one of these men had caused the death of her husband Tutankhamun and that they were now both pressing her for her hand in marriage.

“That one Horemheb is too presumptuous as to approach a princess of the blood and one who was Royal Wife of the Pharaoh. He is of common birth and nothing more than an over-promoted foot soldier.”

Ankhesenamun nodded in agreement and took a sip of the wine in her cup. She put it on the tray her handmaiden held and placed her hands demurely back on her lap, clasping them together.

“A commoner he is Zenubis, and I fear him most of the two for he has far less to lose and much more to gain. But without a son and heir to my husband’s throne, it is Ay who probably has the strongest claim. He is at least of noble blood and brother of Tiye, Chief Queen of Amenhotep III and mother of Akhenaten, my father,” she elaborated.

“Indeed, my princess,” Zenubis agreed. “An in-law is surely better than a commoner, but you expressed that you did not want to take one of your subjects as a husband. Did you not?”

“My friend, surely you must see. They are not the same as I and I am not the same as them, any of them. Is the greed to rule and the lack of the ability to do so not plainly evident in them all? Should I be forced to make a choice from such, then it would be the in-law over the commoner, but as long as there is even one option that provides me with a royal husband, a prince of the blood, any blood; then I will not stoop below my station as a royal princess and Queen of Egypt.”

“Understood, Princess,” Zenubis replied.

“Well then, now that we are in agreement over the fundamentals,” Ankhesenamun continued. “Are you convinced of my situation and that this is no trap for the prince of the Hittites?”

“Indeed princess. I also see that the matter is in need of rather precipitous attention; therefore I beg your leave to depart for Hatti tonight so that I may bring your words to the King.”

“Go with my blessing, Zenubis, and the blessing of Amun also. Send me back a husband.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

A few weeks later, a pigeon arrived at the palace with a message for the Queen. It was the fastest and most private way to send word in the kingdom as usually the bird is taken to the receiver with the message still intact to prove it has not been tampered with. The aviary keeper held the bird up to her and Ankhesenamun removed the metal canister tied to its leg, opened it and unrolled the tiny scroll. She read it, smiling.

“Grand Vizier!” she called and Ay came strolling in to the throne room. “We are to have a visitor, a prince of the land of Hatti, whose name is Zannanza. The word is that he arrives in our territory near Qena at the full moon. I want you to take some men and meet his caravan there, escort him into the city as you would any royal family member.”

“My Queen, the first night of the full moon is only three nights from now,” Ay laughed. “It will not be possible.”

“It must be done, Ay. Therefore, I would suggest you ride very quickly.”

On the third and last night of the full moon, she stood on the terrace of her rooms looking out across the oasis towards the horizon. She had done the same thing every night since Ay had left Thebes. For six nights she had seen nothing but the dark of the night but suddenly as she looked out across the plain, she could make out the figures of riders with torches and the cloud of dust being thrown up by the horses’ hooves.

“They’re coming Melia, they’re coming,” She cried.

Of course, Ankhesenamun was ready to receive her prince, she had been ready every night for the past week, but tonight he would finally arrive. She waited within for Ay to enter and announce the party’s arrival but when he arrived he was alone and looking very haggard. It was clear from his expression that something was seriously wrong.

“What is it, Ay?” asked Ankhesenamun, with tears already standing in her eyes. “What has happened out there in the desert?”

“Your Majesty, I am sorry, but Prince Zannanza has been killed.”

Ankhesenamun clutched at the necklaces at her throat and groaned as she fell into a nearby chair. She put her hands to her face and wept.

“When we arrived at Qena, we found that they had been ambushed by thieves while waiting for us. We caught the thieves in action and fought them fiercely but the prince was killed by an arrow in the melee. I am sorry, my Queen.”

She could not respond to him and as she sat crying uncontrollably at her loss, Melia ushered everyone from the room.

Two weeks later, the priests announced that the body of the pharaoh was ready for burial. Someone would have to come forward as his successor and that person would be required to perform the mouth opening ceremony for the king so that his soul would be able to take sustenance in the afterlife. It was at that point that Ankhesenamun relented. She called for Ay to come to her chambers so that they could speak. It was just as she had told Zenubis, the emissary, if she had to choose between an in-law and a common soldier, it would be the in-law. So she chose to marry Ay. Her dead husband was buried with honor to the gods and with the dignity befitting a pharaoh of Egypt.

The wedding had to be immediate of course but upon the insistence of her fiancé, it was very small and relatively uneventful. In fact, the only public display that Ay allowed was the presentation of the couple to the city by the Theban High Priests. They were borne through the city from the gates to the temple doors on a palanquin dressed as the god Amun-Ra and his wife the goddess Amunet to proclaim their investiture as the new rulers. It did not take Ankhesenamun long to realize why that was. Two weeks after the wedding, Ay imprisoned the Queen, and every member of her household, within a series of underground chambers just outside of the city walls. His lesser wife, Tey, was then named Chief Wife of the Pharaoh.

Refusing to comply with the situation, Ankhesenamun spent her time exploring the underground prison relentlessly, trying to find a way out of the maze of tunnels, but she couldn’t find one. Every day she would take Melia and set out along another series of walkways looking for an exit. One day, they came to some rooms which they had never seen before. Inside, there were several writing tables loaded with papyrus scrolls and heavy with dust, long since abandoned by the scribes who must have once bent over them copying text after text. The Queen wondered what it could have been that they were writing in such a hidden location. As she looked around the room, she was even more confused by the amounts of random books and letters that she found there. At the back of the scribe’s room she found an alcove. There were many large leather tubes stuffed into the shelves which Ankhesenamun surmised to have held even more scrolls of varying importance. There was also a large wooden box placed on a shelf high above the others. She climbed up and reached for it and carefully brought it down to the floor.

She shook her head in disbelief as she read the cartouches that decorated the outside of the box. It just wasn’t possible that she was really reading those words. The symbols sternly warned the reader that the contents of the box was the Book of Knowledge, the Tomes of Ra, the Chronicles of the Kings and Queens of Egypt and that to look at its contents was sure death for the reader. She looked at Melia who was shaking her head disapprovingly.

“If this is what I think it is, we must escape from this place even if it is to hide this from Ay. His name must not be recorded in its pages, he is an anomaly, and he does not deserve to be added to the records of Egypt’s kings.”

“The book is not to be opened by mortal hands Majesty. The priests alone may know its contents,’ Melia said softly.

“I have to know if the codex is really inside it,” Ankhesenamun responded.

She lifted the lid of the box slowly and peered inside. There, ensconced within folds of the best white cotton was a large book bound within two tablets of solid gold and lavishly decorated with lapis lazuli, malachite, garnets and turquoise. The inscription was all the confirmation that she needed. It read, “The Life and Afterlife of the ruling houses of Egypt”. It was clear that it was really the Book of Life. She took the box and put it to one side then she returned to the room with the writing desks and searched among the materials for a clay tablet to write on. When she found a large enough one, Ankhesenamun sat with a stylus in her hand and imprinted a message on it. She wrapped the Book of Life carefully in the many folds of luxurious cotton that surrounded it, and removed it from the box replacing it with the newly carved cartouche. Melia took the box to the alcove and placed it in the exact spot from which it had been removed. Then Ankhesenamun picked up the bundle of cloth and left.

As news of Zannanza’s death and Ay’s ascension to the throne began to spread, word soon got to Hattusa and to the ear of King Suppiluliumas. Enraged, he wrote to Ay and demanded answers. Before long, he sent word that he would visit Thebes and take his son’s body and sarcophagus back to Hattusa. Ankhesenamun heard of this from the maid who brought their meals to them in the chambers every day. The mounting suspicion against Ay for being involved in Zannanza’s death made the Queen begin to think more carefully about the pharaoh and his motivations. She bribed the food maid to request Melia’s help at the feast which would be held to welcome the Hittite king. When Melia was leaving the tunnels to help with the preparations she gave her a small folded piece of parchment and told her to find a way to slip it to him.

“He will draw attention to me when I do so, Majesty.” Melia protested.

“He will not, Melia.” Ankhesenamun reassured her. “Be sure you bear the platter of fruit, it will be customary to serve the guest first so no one will see the paper among the dates before he does. When you present the platter to him tell him that Queen Ankhesenamun was always particularly fond of the dates from Hatti. That will draw his attention to them and to the note.”

After the party, Melia returned to the tunnels and sat quietly beside her mistress. She took a piece of cloth from the folds of her dress and handed it to her. Inside the cloth, Ankhesenamun found several dates and also many black olives, the type they got from the lands that lay at the end of the Nile. She ate them gratefully.

“He says we are to be ready to leave tonight, Majesty. We must gather everything and prepare for our rescue.”

***

When the caravan crossed through the lands across the wadi northward towards Amarna, her birthplace, tears filled Ankhesenamun’s eyes and rolled freely down her cheeks. She had lost her homeland to her husband, a servant and now to get the revenge they both wanted so badly, her rescuer King Suppiluliumas would plunge the country into war. Life was always so bittersweet. Ensconced among the cushions in the corner where she slept in the wagon she shared with Melia, was the heavily wrapped rectangular object that was the Book of Life. It was her responsibility to ensure that it remained out of Ay’s hands as well as any pharaoh who would follow him to the throne. They were all pretenders and her royal blood line was gone. She would ensure that the book went next to the people whose names deserved to be entered into its pages. It would never go back to Egypt until someone of royal blood sat on the throne as pharaoh.

Chapter One

Chyna and the team arrived at Dr. Nassir’s supply base, at the edge of the Valley of the Kings, an hour after sunset. Lana, her assistant investigator, and Oscar, the company’s technical engineer, had been on assignment with her in the Middle East for the greater portion of a year and as usual, they were indispensable to her. Together, they had successfully recovered a priceless Greek artifact, The Minoan Mask, and returned it to its rightful place in history and public knowledge. The adventure had been the epitome of what her company stood for; they had essentially found a piece of lost history.

The compound boasted a perimeter fence which was about eight feet high and served to keep wandering wildlife, like crocodiles and hyena, out and those inside the camp safe. Across the river they could make out the bright lights of the city of Luxor, which was quite a metropolis, thriving on both tourism and commerce.  The desert air was crisp as the temperatures began to fall steadily for the night. At that time of year, it was very common for the days to get as hot as eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit and for the nights to plummet to the lower fifties.

They all took the opportunity to luxuriate in the plentiful, warm water of the camp’s bath house, which was located in a retrofitted shipping container. The structure was ingenious in Chyna’s eyes. Water pumped up from the river was stored in several black plastic containers on the container’s flat roof and then piped together to feed another pump and an air pressure tank which then supplied the shower stalls and basins inside with a constant stream of water. Of course, the persistent sun heated the water tanks which retained it due to their black color. It was certainly refreshing to wash off the sweat and dust of the day’s journey through the desert. After a campfire meal of flatbread and baked beans, the crew retired to the cots in their tents. Surprisingly, they were all quickly acclimatized to the camp lifestyle in the few days they had spent in the desert, despite the weeks of tremendous luxury they had spent in Cairo just prior.

Her memory of the three days in Cairo with Anthony was still fresh in her mind and even as she vividly recalled each detail, her body shuddered with the recollection of their coupling. Anthony had been Chyna’s secret affair for practically her entire life. They had met in New York some fourteen years prior when he was fresh out of college and just starting as a recruit with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She had finished an anthropology degree at Stanford University and was integrating herself into the running of Found History, her father’s archaeological consultancy company; the work fascinated her. They were visiting the J. Edgar Hoover building in Washington D.C. on an invitation from the Director, when they had the chance to sit in on a briefing of the diplomatic service recruits. Chyna listened keenly as the presenter instructed the men and women on what being assigned to an overseas post would normally entail.

When she asked if there were any questions, Chyna boldly raised her hand. She asked if it was more common for the F.B.I.’s diplomatic attachés to be assigned to the embassy or consulate or to an actual diplomat. The recruits were all impressed by the newcomer’s question as it was an aspect the instructor had not mentioned. She replied that the agents would normally be assigned to the location. They live and work out of a secure location, usually a large house, alongside a number of other agents. The team would be responsible for as many diplomats as were assigned to their location as well as those who were visiting their region.

After the lecture, a group of recruits invited Chyna to join them for coffee in the cafeteria and with her father’s blessing, she did. They had a great time talking about their training, their educational background and the careers they were pursuing. The agents found Chyna’s involvement with Found History and the work the company did fascinating, most of all a young man in the group named Anthony Stewart. He was your typical New Yorker; born and raised in Brooklyn, Italian-American from a family of five boys who were all in law enforcement or the military. He was the first to have gone to college and decided he would join either the F.B.I. or the Department of Defense, but since he wasn’t inclined to join the armed forces, it turned out to be the F.B.I.

Smitten by Chyna’s witty banter and pretty face, Anthony asked her out on a date. She said no but gave him her number and told him he should keep asking and maybe one day she’d say yes. They became fast friends, talking regularly on the telephone even when one of them was away on assignment and getting together for a drink as often as their schedules allowed. One day Anthony asked her if she was ever going to let him take her out for dinner and Chyna finally said yes. The rest was an off and on chapter in history as they stole every moment they could to be together between the demands of their young careers and ever increasingly difficult schedules. They had both had relationships with other people over the years, all of which ended in disaster. It just didn’t seem that anyone else could understand what made them tick as people, or appreciate it. So, they held on to what they had; they were best friends all the time and lovers when they could be and it was more than either of them could ask for.

***

In the morning, Chyna’s team took all their luggage and equipment down to the ferry docks and waited to cross the river to the city. It didn’t take long before they saw the boat approaching, Dr. Nassir was waving happily at them from the deck. Ferry crew and attendants loaded their things onto the spacious flat vessel and Chyna carefully drove their Jeep on board as well. When it was secure, she jumped down from the driver’s seat and turned to hug her friend.

“You’re brown as a bean, Doctor,” she said to Nassir. “Not enough sunscreen and, as usual, I see you are not wearing your hat.”

“Chyna,” he replied, smiling widely, “hats are for tourists, but you are right about the sunscreen. I ran out weeks ago.”

They laughed and hugged again. As Chyna was introducing Nassir to the rest of her team, the ferry was launched and they began their trip towards Luxor. From the river, they could see the well preserved ruins of the temple and the palace but the modern buildings that housed the many businesses and residents that kept the metropolis buzzing dominated the background. It was a stunning contrast but strangely, the old and the new fit neatly together, neither one crowding in on the other. The valley stretched out beyond the edge of the structures in verdant belts towards the hills and then there was the stark white of the dunes in every direction beyond that.

“How long is the ferry ride Nassir?” Chyna asked.

“It will be about forty-five minutes to get across, Chyna,” He replied.

“Very well, then please take the opportunity to fill me in, Doctor,” she said.

“Thousands of years ago, the ancient Egyptians would only make the journey across this holy river when a very important person had died and they were to be buried in the great necropolis which we now call the Valley of the Kings. The funeral and burial of a royal, ancient Egyptian was a complex process. The preserved body in its sarcophagus would lie in state on a palanquin inside the great temple of Amun-Ra for several days, at the end of which the family would offer judgments on the character and behavior of the king to the city’s officials, making their case why he should be allowed into the Afterlife. When the officials were satisfied, the sarcophagus would be borne out of the temple on the palanquin and the people who would be attending the body would form up around and behind it accordingly. At the front were mourners, usually women, who were paid to cry loudly and sob while covering their heads with dust.  Behind the mourners came the family of the deceased and various officials. The procession then made its way to the edge of the Nile where all the participants were required to board boats and cross the river to the western side, the favored location for burials.

“All the boats, excepting that which bore the pharaoh’s body would remain at the river bank; the funerary boat would be dragged all the way to the tomb. It would have been shaped somewhat like a barge, over 100 feet long and weighing as much as 45 tons.  To navigate the Nile in one of these required 12 oarsmen, six on each side. When a pharaoh was buried, ancient Egyptians believed he would need a boat in the Afterlife, so they buried at least one funeral boat either inside or near the tomb.

“Having crossed, relatives were positioned at either end of the barge, which was usually drawn by oxen, with two of the female relatives or priestesses acting the roles of goddesses Isis and Nephthys; other participants carried canopic jars and other grave goods, while hired mourners, dancers, musicians and priests would follow. The concluding funerary rites took place in front of the tomb. The mummy was raised upright for the ‘Opening of the Mouth’ ceremony. This was an elaborate ritual performed by priests so the dead person could use all their senses in the afterlife. The practices involved in this ceremony included purification, anointing and the reciting of prayers and spells, as well as touching the mummy with ritual objects to restore the senses. Then, food and clothing were offered to the dead person and mourners participated in the funerary banquet. The mummy was then placed in the burial chamber of the tomb, fully prepared for the Afterlife.

“Because it was customary for Egyptians to bury west of the metropolis, it has become easier, as we gained more knowledge of their customs, to locate the burial places of their time. A year ago, when geologists began studying satellite images of the eastern hills and the wadi below, they came across some strange formations in the sand. They had been in search of new aquifers to help reclaim more farmland, but what they found was a series of underground passages which they thought were part of the ancient city.”

“What have you deduced so far, Dr. Nassir?” Oscar asked eagerly.

“It seems we have found evidence of an underground citadel that Akhenaten’s Grand Vizier, Ay, is said to have constructed,” he replied. “Such a structure had been made mention of on a papyrus scroll found among the Amarna Letters. Those papers were thought to be a collection of Akhenaten’s, Nefertiti’s and Tutankhamun’s diplomatic correspondences. Perhaps they were in agreement with Ay over the construction of the chambers. He possibly passed off the idea of a hiding place for the family in case of a revolt against their unpopular religion of the ‘one god’ Aten. The royal family was proud and firm in their new faith but they were also quite astute when it came to the feelings of the people. It was true that there had been several times when the possibility of rebellion against them had seemed imminent.

“The letters had gone on to suggest that when the chambers were complete, certain priceless artifacts of their religion might be stored there for safe keeping. It is a well known fact that after the death of an unpopular king, whether by their own accord or on the order of the new pharaoh, the Egyptians would launch a campaign of damnatio memoriae in which a good deal of artifacts and images of that reign are damaged or destroyed. This is another reason why Akhenaten’s role and that of the entire Amarna Period is so pivotal to the history of Ancient Egypt.”

“Why is that, Dr. Nassir?” Chyna asked, fascinated.

“Because, it was near the end of this period and at the close of the eighteenth dynasty, that the Egyptian Book of Life disappeared from them. In fact, it would have disappeared from antiquity as well if it had not been mentioned in a letter from Akhenaten to Ay in which he instructed the vizier to ensure that when the secret place had been completed, the book should be ensconced there for safe keeping,” he replied.

“Doctor, please elaborate,” Lana chimed in finally. “What exactly is this Book of Life? I’ve never heard of it before.”

“In the third dynasty of Ancient Egypt, the Pharaoh Djoser moved the capital north to Saqqara, also known as Memphis. The central portion of the country was ravaged by civil war and the old capital of Thinis was all but destroyed. At the beginning of a new dynasty, the young king was urged to rebuild the nation and promote prosperity and security. He instigated the construction of the first pyramid there, the Step Pyramid, and brought farmers from the south to extensively cultivate the fertile belt on both sides of the Nile. To appease himself, he instructed the High Priests to begin the recording of all the names of the men and women who had ever ruled the country. They were to add to each name; the names of their wives or husbands, their consorts and important lovers, their sons and daughters, the location of their home and their capital and of course, their accomplishments. When it was done he instructed them to maintain the record and to always record meticulously about each ruler; it was to be an unbiased and complete record, but most importantly an indestructible one. So, Djoser’s book was created and it was kept in the library of the Holy Temple in whichever city was the capital at the time. The priests maintained the record and the pharaoh was the only other person who knew of its existence.”

“Ard’,” the ferryman cried out, as they approached the dock.

He went from the front of the deck to the back, punching return tickets and collecting fares for the one-ways. When he stopped at their group, Dr. Nassir handed him his ticket and a one hundred gihneih note.

“Keep it,” Dr. Nassir said to him, as he started to rummage for the change in his bag.

“Shukran, Sayyed,” he replied.

Chyna climbed into the driver’s seat of the Jeep and when the ferry gate was lowered, she backed it out onto the dock. Oscar and Lana began to load their equipment and suitcases into the trunk while she studied a map with Nassir. He pointed out the main archaeological attraction of the city and then showed her the route out of town towards the dig site.

“It’s on the very first wadi, not far from that last farm there,” he said, pointing to the last patch of green in that direction on the map.

As soon as the last bag was onboard, they drove from the dock and into the city of Luxor. The pillars and statues of ancient ruins towered over them, fascinating and stimulating to their senses. Even the blend of the modern architecture couldn’t seem to compete with the weathered pieces of gigantic stone that seemed to be everywhere within the city. They got on the main road and drove straight out of the town into what quickly became a suburb and that just as quickly became farmland. Soon the green gave way to brown and the wadi stretched out in front of them. At the rim of the valley, they saw the compound. A chain-link perimeter fence surrounded several container buildings like the one they had seen at the base camp the night before; a few were even two-storied. Guards were stationed at the main gates; when they saw Dr. Nassir, they swung them open to let the vehicle inside.

As was customary on the base of an archaeological dig, there was a designated area for everything. Sanitary conveniences were always to the rear of the camp with the residential units in front of that. Office, research, storage and sanatorium spaces were on one side while recreational spaces were on the other. Those usually included a mess hall, a common room and a communication center. The labs and the analytical center for this operation were under a huge dome that also covered the entryway to the underground chambers. The labs were completely sterile and climate controlled to enable around the clock study of the pieces that were coming up from underground one by one. The Doctor and his team did not want any out of season rain to flood the site. Neither did they want any prying “eye in the sky” snapping photographs of what they were uncovering.

“Now, what I haven’t had the chance to tell you all is the biggest piece of this puzzle and also the most important find in modern Egyptology for the past ninety years,” Nassir told them over dinner. “The Great necropolis is an obvious enough place to discover mummy after mummy, however we have found one in the East of the city and that has created more questions than there are answers. That’s the reason I asked you and your team to join me here Chyna, I need there to be as many answers as there are questions.”

“Nassir,” Chyna said, nodding in agreement, “tell us about the mummy you found.”

“We found it in a central chamber within the maze, Chyna…” he started. When he saw the puzzled expression on her face, he realized he had to do a little backtracking.

“I apologize, in my hurry to tell you about the mummy and the item we hope to find next, I have neglected to share some of the details. What we have found and carefully covered over with that dome is a maze of pathways that interlock and branch off into each other in a series of concentric shapes. Some are squares, some are other shapes, but they create confusing alleys and chambers.  It was inside one of these chambers we found the alcove carved into the wall. The sarcophagus was fitted inside it, containing the mummy.

“We found it with an intact brain, but no heart and there were amulets woven into the wrappings which signified that the body was that of a high priest of the Sun God. To remove the organs, the embalmers had created a hole through the peritoneum and removed the intestines, stomach, liver and even the heart. Spices and lichen were spread over the head and abdomen, and the body was wrapped and then put in the coffin. The scans revealed that it was a mummy of the end of the eighteenth dynasty which means he lived during a portion, if not all, of the Amarna Period. That was particularly strange since Akhenaten had killed all the priests of Amun-Ra in order to properly establish his “one god” religion which worshiped the Aten. Plaques bearing his name repeatedly were also placed on several places on the body. When we studied the name, we realized that they may have been intended to ritualize a reincarnation of that person’s soul.”

“Whose mummy is it, Nassir?” Lana asked.

“The name we found attached to the body so many times on the amulets and the plaques was ‘Imhotep’,” he finally revealed.

They all gasped.

“We can only presume that the priesthood of Amun-Ra had a cult of their own, which we as archaeologists and historians were never aware of before. They seemed to believe that Imhotep, who was the original High Priest of the third dynasty, was reincarnated over and over again to lead the temple through the years.

“If that is the case, my theory of the existence of the mythical Egyptian Book of Life has even more credibility. It would make sense that if the book was commissioned by the pharaoh Djoser, he would have given his High Priest, Imhotep, precedence over it and the priesthood would have wanted to be sure that there would be someone of the lineage to always ensure the work of keeping those records current and safe.”

“So you are saying that you think the book is here as well, Nassir?” Chyna asked.

“That is exactly what I am saying Chyna,” he replied. “The legends say that when Ay betrayed Ankhesenamun to usurp the throne, she stole the book and hid it within the place that he had imprisoned her. If that prison was within these chambers, then the book is here.”

When they had finished their conversation, it had been dark for hours but the team felt that they had a good understanding of what they were getting into. They were excited at the idea of possibly turning everything the world knew about the ancient Egyptians completely upside down with Dr. Nassir’s new discoveries.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a long day,” Chyna said to them, as they stood in front of the dormitory. “Oscar, I want you to get set up in the data control center over by the office building. They’ve got a good internet connection and all the other resources you should need.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“Get in touch with Sandra at Head Office and also, Sirita in India; let them know that we arrived safely and that the dossiers are on the way. They should be on standby to offer assistance as needed.”

Oscar nodded.

“Lana,’ she continued, “I’m going to want you with me in the chambers tomorrow but before we go down to the dig site, I want you to check out the office spaces Dr. Nassir reserved for us. We might need a place to meet and also to analyze our clues if this turns into anything remotely as huge as I think it will.”

“Okay, Boss lady,” she confirmed.

“We’re giving Dr. Nassir the two weeks we promised him; his time starts tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred hours. I’ll see you two at the front of the compound at seven. Sleep well.”

“Good night,” Oscar said, turning towards the men’s dorms.

Good night,” the ladies replied, heading inside.

The next morning, Chyna was up before dawn. She put on a pair of leggings, a tank top and her sneakers and went for a run. Normally, she would have taken her sidearm with her but she thought the SIG Sauer® pistol would be too heavy to cope with on the serious jog she was planning to take; besides there were armed guards everywhere. As she ran out the compound gates towards the valley, Chyna was smitten by the beauty of the desert. The yellows, pinks and oranges of the sunrise were bursting over the horizon and already the air was warming up. Desert rodents darted here and there, trying to drink from the dew on the plants and gather one last morsel of food before the heat drove them underground for the day. She ran two miles out along the main road and then turned around and ran back. When she got back to the camp, the sun was up and everyone was busy getting ready for the day. She went into the women’s dorm and bumped into Lana leaving for the office building.

“Had a good run?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at Chyna’s sweat soaked body.

“It sure was,” Chyna replied, grinning. “The desert is so beautiful in the morning.”

After Lana left, Chyna took her things and went over to the wash house to take a shower. The water was cold and refreshing which was perfect to cool her off after her exhilarating run. Showered and dressed in a white tank top and khaki cargo shorts, she went to join Lana, Oscar and Dr. Nassir in the mess hall for breakfast. Though she didn’t usually eat much in the morning, Chyna decided it would be a good idea to have something substantial since she didn’t know what the day would throw her way. The kitchen steward handed Chyna a bowl of steaming semolina porridge, over which he spooned fragrant wild honey and sprinkled slivered almonds and dried fruit. She selected a slice of brown toast, a wedge of cheese and an apple to add to her tray before she went to sit down at the table. They all agreed that the food was extremely satisfying and should do them good in tackling the tasks that lay ahead.

Nassir had joined them and was busy with his porridge when Lana, decided to press him for more details.

“How many people are working with you under that dome, Doctor?” she asked.

“Hmmm, let’s see,” he began. “I have Abdul and Zohar who have been mapping the chambers using a device that mainly functions on the principles of G.P.S. It collects data about their position and when they upload it into the software, the angles of their turns, the distances they walked and the directions they walked in all gets calculated and a diagram of the tunnel is produced. This technology has cut down the time needed to map the underground structure tremendously. We actually believe that we have almost covered the entire thing.

“Then there is Amira, the paleontologist, who takes care of any antiquity we find on the dig. She has catalogued at least seventy-five objects that have been removed from the site so far, including the mummy and its sarcophagus.

“Everybody else is part of a team given to me either by the government,” he said, as he waved to some of the security guards who were seated in a corner, “or by the university.”

“What about the Bedouins?” Chyna asked, stiffly.

“Oh, you noticed them,” he said, softly. “You have your connections and I have mine, Chyna. When I’m this deep in the desert, I like to keep myself in the company of the people who know it best. All it would take for me to lose everything out here is a decent enough sand-storm or the right set of bandits. In either situation, not to mention the thousands of others that can arise out here, they are my greatest ally.”

“Fair enough, Nassir,” Chyna said, “but please don’t be offended if my team and I keep our distance from them, and not just the Bedouins; all of them. We took a trusted student of our last client under our wing and she drugged us and got us kidnapped.”

“No offense will be taken, Chyna.”

“Okay then,” she said, getting up from the table. “I think it’s time we saw what exactly we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

***

Under the cover of the giant dome, the air was cool and dry. They could all hear the humming of the condensers that were feeding the air into the vents overhead. It was a welcome reprieve from the weather outside which was already getting quite stifling.

Doctor Nassir handed them all dust masks and watched them put them on before he let them into the sealed area where Amira was working with the mummy called ‘Imhotep’.

“Amira,” Nassir said, “this is Chyna Stone and her team. Miss Stone is the archeological explorer I told you I was going to call in on the case.”

“I heard you had arrived, Miss Stone,” Amira said, extending her hand to shake Chyna’s. “I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly you and your team got here.”

“Thank you, Amira. We were actually in Turkey when we got the call so that was quite lucky for the doctor.”

“Indeed,” she agreed.

“Have you found anything new?” Nassir asked Amira.

“I have finally finished retrieving the amulets and cataloging all the cartouches of his name. They correspond with the figure recorded on the larger plaques; forty. It seems he was the fortieth Imhotep of the High Priesthood.”

“Well done, Amira,” praised Nassir, “keep going and let’s see what else we can find out. The rest of you follow me. I don’t want to waste anymore time. Zohar tells me that they have come to the last of the corridors. The structure is almost fully mapped and cataloged.”

They turned and left the room, re-emerging into the area above the pit. Doctor Nassir then led them into a vestibule and zipped the canvas doorway shut behind them. The stairway into the ground lay before them. It seemed they would be descending into hell itself until the doctor pulled the lever on a generating machine and a series of lights started to turn on lighting the way downwards. Just then, Zohar came running in with his laptop. He must have run all the way from the compound because he was sweating profusely.

“Hello,” he said.

A round of greetings went up from the group.

“Dr. Nassir, you have to see this,” he said, setting the computer down and lifting the lid. “It’s the Chambers of Ay!”

What they saw before them on the screen was amazing. The outer corridor formed a square which was divided into four isosceles triangles by two paths that intersected in the center of it. Inside the square was the shape of a six-pointed star and another perfect square sat in the middle of it.

Nassir pointed to the center square and said, “That’s where we need to go today. If the codex is in there, that’s where we’ll find it.”

Chapter Two

When they reached the central chamber, none of them could believe their eyes. It was a large round room with three antechambers leading off from it. The room was filled with what looked to be scribe’s desks which were loaded with papyrus scrolls and layers upon layers of ancient dust. Nassir took out his two-way radio and pressed the call button.

“Yes, Dr Nassir,” came Amira’s voice over the speaker.

“We have found a room full of scrolls, Amira,” he said. “Bring what you need to have them safely removed to your lab.”

“Yes, doctor,” she replied.

In the first antechamber, they found shelves filled with clay jars with what must have been ink, some that held feathers of many types and lengths, and others with dried reeds. It seemed that it was a supply closet for whoever was using the room as a library or office. The second space had shelves filled with rolls of discolored and rotting cloth and the third had rows and rows of leather scroll tubes tucked neatly onto racks that hung on the walls. Above those racks was another shelf that contained wooden rods to which the papyrus scrolls would have been attached before being rolled up and stored in one of the leather tubes. Among the rods was an ornately carved wooden box that caught Nassir’s eye.

He stretched up to the shelf and carefully brought the box to the ground.

“We’ve searched the entire place, Chyna,” he said. “Every room and corner of these chambers has been cleared and we have not found the codex. This must be it, if it is here at all.”

Carefully he lifted the lid of the box; they all held their breath to see what it contained. There was a sigh of disappointment as they saw the box was empty but Nassir paused for a moment focusing his eyes in the poor light. He reached inside it and took out a clay tablet. Zohar rushed forward with the lantern as he held it up to the light.

Suddenly, Nassir began to laugh. They were all stunned and silently waited for him to fill them in on the joke.

“She took it!” he cried out in amusement. “I cannot believe it; Ankhesenamun took the codex from this very box and hid it from Ay. This tablet bears the first clue of the location of the lost Book of Life.”

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the fragile piece of clay in it, handing it to Oscar.

“This is now officially a mystery, Miss Stone,” he said to Chyna. “As of now, my work is to ensure that the mummy and the other artifacts are properly studied and then handed over to the relevant authorities. I will leave the adventuring to you and your team.”

***

Above ground, Chyna and her team freshened up and grabbed some falafel from the mess hall for lunch before they met up in their designated office space. It was relaxing to be in the air conditioning, but they now had an official mystery to solve.

Lana was pulling push pins and string from the supply closet while Chyna unrolled the huge map of ancient Egypt that Dr. Nassir had given them. They pinned it to the wall and marked the city of Luxor, the Chambers of Ay, Amarna and Qena.

“What could have happened to make her take the codex from its hiding place?” Lana asked.

“Nassir told us that Ankhesenamun was imprisoned in those chambers by Ay, who was her new husband and the pharaoh,” replied Chyna. “So I think the question goes a little further back than that. The real question is ‘What was Ankhesenamun doing locked up in those rooms?’”

Lana went over to the laser printer, picked up a few pieces of paper and then returned to the wall. She pinned up a picture of Tutankhamun and Ankhesenamun side by side at the top. Then she took a black Sharpie and drew an ‘X’ over the picture of the pharaoh.

“So her husband dies,” Lana said. “What does the Queen do next?”

“According to the history books,’ Chyna responded, “there are two men at court who want to marry the princess. The first is her grandmother’s brother, Ay. He is not of the royal family. His father was a wealthy landowner who snagged a princess for a wife. He did become quite prominent at the court of Amenhotep III, just by being his brother-in-law.”

“And the second?” Lana asked, as she pinned up a picture of Ay.

“The second was Horemheb, Tutankhamun’s General and a commoner.”

Chyna flipped through the notes that Dr. Nassir had provided her in the dossier while Lana placed the last picture on the wall.

“It says here that finding herself widowed with no son,” Chyna went on, “Ankhesenamun was so repulsed by the thought of marrying either of them, who she referred to as her subjects, that she wrote a letter to a foreign king begging him to send one of his royal sons to her as a husband. The Hittite letters. The King sent his son but he was killed on the way and Ankhesenamun ended up marrying Ay. Angry and suspicious, the king came to Luxor to seek reparations.”

“Then what happened?” Oscar asked, anxiously.

“Then nothing,” Chyna said. “The story ends there; nothing more.”

“Well,” Lana said stepping back from the wall and admiring her handiwork, “that is where our investigation begins.”

She took out her Sharpie again and went to the flipchart.

“Let’s start with the emotional character at that point which is Suppiluliumas,” she said. “If your son had been murdered in a foreign land and his potential bride then marries the same man she told you she detested; what would you think?”

“I would think she was a bitch!” Oscar said.

They all laughed at his outburst.

“Okay, Mr. Name-caller,” Chyna admonished while glancing at her watch, “run over to the lab and see if they’re done with the tablet yet. We need a translation urgently; maybe the inscription will give us another clue.”

“Sure,” he replied, heading out the door.

“What would you think?” Lana asked again.

“I would think I had been set up and that the bridegroom had gotten just a little bit too lucky.”

“Exactly!” said Lana.

She made some notes on the flipchart and turned back to Chyna.

“Ay would know how desperate Ankhesenamun was. If he murdered the prince, she would have been devastated, Zannanza was her saving grace. Her last resort would have been to marry Ay; he was the lesser of the two evils.”

“Precisely!”

At that moment, Nassir stepped into the office. He was followed by a man who Chyna recognized as one of his Bedouin colleagues.

“Ladies, I’d like to introduce Mohammed, he is one of my colleagues from the Ministry of Antiquities.”

The girls were pleasant and introduced themselves although it was obvious that they were on their guard.

“I told Mohammed about our remarkable find and he was interested in hearing what you thought about it if you had any theories so far.”

Lana shrank back, sensing a confrontation. She deftly moved to the flipchart of notes and turned the page over. Chyna cleared her throat impatiently.

“Respectfully,” Chyna said to both men, “I must state that it is not Found History procedure to discuss theories of an investigation outside the team this early in the process.”

“I could sit in on your deliberations,” Mohammed interjected. “It is possible that I could be of assistance.”

Chyna decided she’d had enough of the conversation. How dare Nassir deliberately go against her after she had specifically told him how she felt about anyone inserting themselves in her investigations?

“Gentlemen,” she started, politely, “I appreciate your interest but I’ll kindly ask that you leave this matter with us. Nassir, you brought us in to do a job and that’s what we intend to do. Should we need any help, we will be sure to ask. Thank you so much for coming to see us.”

With that she ushered them to the door and all but threw them out of the office, Oscar had to move aside quickly not to bump into them. He stepped past Chyna, who closed the door behind him.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Lana answered quickly.

She refrained from mentioning Fariha Katsakis, the Greek girl, remembering how smitten Oscar had been with her.

“Did you get the tablet?” Chyna asked.

“They weren’t done with it but Amira let me take some pictures,” he replied, smiling. “I’ll get started on the translation right away.”

Oscar uploaded the photographs to his computer and began running three different translation software at once.

“A bit of overkill don’t you think?” Lana asked.

“Not really,” he replied. “You never really get the best result from any one of these. This way I can compile a composite translation which will probably give us a better result.”

“Lana, can we please get back to where we were before Nassir brought his spy in here.”

“Chyna, we don’t know for sure he’s a spy.”

“That’s irrelevant,” she snapped. “Come on!”

“Okay,” Lana relented, turning her flipchart back over, “she chose the lesser of the two evils.”

“Right, so if Suppiluliumas arrives and she was nowhere in sight, having already been locked away in that place by Ay; wouldn’t he have wondered where she was? Maybe even asked after her whereabouts?”

“I’d think he would, but he wouldn’t have asked the man he suspected of murdering his son.”

“Maybe a servant?”

“It’s possible, but do you think that if Ankhesenamun knew he was there she might have sent him a message?”

“Good idea.”

Lana made a few more notes on the flipchart just as Oscar shouted, “I have it.”

“What have you got?”

Oscar stood and went to the printer to retrieve the papers. He handed them each a copy.

“And I quote,” he started, “‘Ay has played me for a fool, so the book will go with me to Qena; to the Mother of the Waters, then onwards to Hattusa. This Book of Egypt will stay with the last true princess of the realm. Until there is a new royal house to rule the country.’”

“Lana, you were right. Somehow, the king and Ankhesenamun collaborated in her escape and she took the book with her.”

“There’s more to this story though,” Lana said, biting her lip. “If the princess ran away to Turkey with the King of the Hittites, then who did they find in KV21?”

“Ah-ha, the plot thickens,” said Oscar.

“That’s supposedly been verified by DNA, so it’s definitely her in the Valley of the Kings. So why and how did she come back to Luxor?” Chyna  asked.

“I really have no more ideas, Chyna,” Lana groaned. “Now I know what Nassir meant when he said there are more questions than answers. What’s certain is that the princess got double-crossed somewhere along the way. Anyway, it’s dinner time. Let’s get something to eat and come back later.”

“Good idea,” Oscar agreed. “I’m starving.”

The hall was practically empty by the time they got there. Oscar ordered cheeseburgers and fries for them, claiming that was the best thinking food. Chyna noticed Nassir sitting at a corner table and went to talk to him while they waited.

“Nassir,” she said, “I apologize for earlier, with Mohammed.”

“No, Chyna,” he said. “There is no need to apologize. You told me how you felt about outsiders. I chose to ignore your wishes.”

“It’s forgotten,” she offered. “Nassir weren’t you on the KV21 DNA analysis team in 2010?

“Yes, I was.”

“Is it Ankhesenamun in that tomb?”

“Well the DNA was inconclusive but the fact that it matched the children in Tutankhamun’s tomb was enough evidence for me.”

Chyna took one look at his face and said, “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

“Well, I don’t have a doubt that it’s her body in KV21, what I do doubt is the cause of death. It was thought that her head was detached from her body when the grave was atrociously robbed sometime around 1826, but I have reason to think that she had been mummified like that. Close examination of the neck from both the head and the body show that embalming fluids and spices had touched the flesh of the neck as if it had already been separated from the body. I think she was beheaded.”

Chyna handed Nassir the piece of paper with the translation of the tablet inscription on it.

“We’ll be going to Qena tomorrow to see if there is another clue there.”

The three teammates ate their dinner and returned to the office.

“Dr. Nassir told me when they analyzed the mummy from KV21 that he identified as Ankhesenamun, he noted that the detached head showed signs of being embalmed when it was already severed.”

“She was murdered?” asked Oscar.

“Beheaded,” Chyna confirmed.

“I guess I should pack for Qena?” Oscar asked.

“Undoubtedly, we leave at dawn.”

***

Oscar started packing up his equipment as soon as they got back from having their dinner. They were more or less done with Luxor for the moment and Chyna had planned an early start for the team. Their next stop, the city of Qena, lay thirty-nine miles to the north but luckily the road was good and ran within the ‘green belt’; they had no desert driving to contend with this trip. The only question in their minds was with all the modernization that had taken place in and around the city; how would they know where to look?

According to Nassir, they should concentrate on the three locations within the city limits that had remained the same since ancient times. Those were the crossing to Dendera about three miles south of the city, the oasis at the Djoser Aquifer, which was the city limits marker to the south, and the eastern city marker stone which now lay about two miles out along the Red Sea road. They decided to start with the southern-most location, the crossing to Dendera, followed by the oasis. Chyna doubted that the princess’s travel would have taken her to the east rather than to the aquifer.

At dawn, they carefully loaded all their things into the Jeep and said their goodbyes. Amira was sad to see them leave but she could hardly wait to see what they would bring back with them from Qena. Nassir, on the other hand, pleaded with Chyna to take one of Mohammed’s people with them.

“They know the desert well, Chyna, it would be better for your safety if one of them went with you.”

Chyna smiled wryly and pulled aside her vest so he could see her holster. “I hardly ever need more protection than this guy right here can offer, Nassir. Thanks for the offer though. We’ll be back in a few days whether we find anything or not.”

“Take care,” he said to them all. “We will see you in a few days, if Allah wills it.”

They drove out of the compound and took the road back into Luxor. After crossing the city they would get on the northbound highway and head straight up to Qena. As the Jeep left the compound, none of them noticed a small group of horses standing on the hilltop that overlooked the camp. There were six of them, black horses with riders dressed in black. It was still dark and the figures looked like shadows on top of the hill.

“They have found Imhotep Ta-Akhenaten’s body inside the chambers; the scoundrel Ay’s misdeeds are still being revealed to us three thousand years later,” Mohammed said.

“We always knew his mummy had been stolen and not just lost, but to find it here is just astonishing,” Jamila added. “Why would he steal Imhotep’s mummy along with the codex?”

“Ay was a very suspicious man, Jamila,” Mohammed replied. “Perhaps he thought that Imhotep’s spirit would remain in the Afterlife if his body were still near the Book as opposed to being separated from it.”

“But Imhotep Ta-Tutankhamun was searching for it at that time to record the king’s passing.”

“He didn’t want the record to be completed,” Ali interjected. “You see, Ay was not your usual usurper. He wasn’t interested in becoming royalty anymore; he wanted to destroy them and if history is the witness, he succeeded. Egypt never had another ruler of royal blood again.”

“Ay hated the royal family,” Mohammed explained. “It was something that was as much a part of him as his own personality. He had gone through an identity crisis his entire life; borne of a royal princess but fathered by a wealthy nobleman. He found that neither his mother’s proud lineage nor his father’s immense wealth could earn him a royal title and he watched bitterly as his sisters married princes and kings. How was it that their heritage was strong enough for them to be accepted and yet he was not.

“Ay followed in his father’s footsteps by kowtowing to his brother-in-law, Amenhotep III and he was richly rewarded with position at court, responsibilities and respect; but it was not enough for him. When his father died, the king granted Ay all of his father’s titles and wealth; but still he was not satisfied. His sister was known as Queen Tiye, Royal Wife of the Pharaoh and he wanted to be called Royal Brother of the King or at least Royal Brother of the Queen. Was that so much to ask? Surely, he deserved it. He served Amenhotep III until his death, then he served Akhenaten and still no title was bestowed on him. So when Akhenaten died and Tutankhamun took the throne, Ay began to concoct his devious plan.

“He murdered two princes of the blood to get to the throne; one Egyptian and one Hittite, and then he murdered the last princess of the realm. From the ashes of the Thutmosid Dynasty, Ay founded a commoner’s struggle for the throne of Egypt that lasted until the Romans took their country away from them.”

“Perhaps he was Egypt’s first sociopath,” Jamila joked.

“Perhaps,” Mohammed laughed, “but now what should we do about Chyna Stone?”

“We are only the ‘Watchers’, Mohammed,” Ali reminded him.

All six horsemen murmured their agreement.

“This is true, so we shall watch but we shall also send word to Istanbul. The Guardsmen will need to know that the princess’ trail has been found and that it has been found by a very capable adversary.”

“Yes,” said Ali. “Perhaps the time of the prophecy has come. Our watch may be coming to an end soon.”

“Do not speak like that!” Jamila shouted at him.

“Hush, woman,” Mohamed admonished. “Who are we to question the Will of Allah? We all knew that the time would come one day when we would put down our swords and turn the Book over to the one who was worthy of it. This was destined to happen ever since the fall of Egypt. From the moment we had stopped looking for a pharaoh to come, we started looking for the Seeker to arrive. Perhaps it is she.”

“Send the bird to Qena, the Watchers there will know what to do next,” instructed Mohammed.

Jamila quickly wrote the tiny note and placed it into the metal tube. Ali took it from her, tied it to the pigeon’s leg and released the bird. As it flew North, the watchers sat on horseback on the hill overlooking Luxor and watched the desert sun rise over the beautiful horizon.

***

The streets of Istanbul were deserted, which was not uncommon for that time of night. As the cloaked figure made its way down Yerebatan Road, past the Basilica Cistern towards the plaza in front of Sultan Ahmet park. In the shadow of the Great Mosque, nothing was visible but he knew the four guardsmen would be waiting for him and when he turned toward the fountain, there they were seated around its edge.

“As-salamu alaykum,” he greeted, as he approached them.

“Wa-alaykum salaam,” came the response.

They hugged and kissed each other as was customary and retreated to a park table to talk further.

“The news from Luxor is not encouraging brothers,” the cloaked man started. “It seems there are some Americans there who Nassir has hired to find the Book.”

“Yes,” one of the others confirmed, “I have heard the same from our desert friends.” He was the Eastern Guard.

Yet another man chimed in, saying, “I believe that it is just as it was prophesied, so we have gathered to make the decision whether the time has come for us to relinquish the stewardship of the Book or continue to keep our secret.” He was the Northern Guard.

“What do we know of these Americans?” the cloaked man asked, clearly he was in charge.

“They are led by a woman called Chyna Stone,” the Western Guard answer. “She is a very well known archaeologist and adventurer who has been involved in the recovery of lost artifacts all her life.”

“What are her values?”

“She takes much pride in her work, always ensuring the treasure is returned to its rightful place and then properly displayed for the enjoyment of the people.”

“Her work seems noble.”

“Yes Sayyed, she is not a mercenary or a treasure hunter,” finally the Southern Guard had spoken.

“As you all know, we were given the task of keeping the Book safe until there was a royal house in Egypt to return it to,” the cloaked man said. “Our forebears were never satisfied that this criteria had been met and that is why it remained  in our care.”

“They were all just commoners; a dirty pack of warriors, conspirators and thieves, not a drop of royal blood in their veins.”

They all nodded and murmured their agreement.

“The age of our princess is long gone, gentlemen and I believe that the time for us to surrender the Book came a long time ago. However, what we have truly been waiting for has been the right person to turn it over to. Do you men believe that Chyna Stone is the right one?”

Again there was nodding and murmuring among the group.

“It is unanimously agreed,” the cloaked man announced.

“It is important that she prove herself by following the princess’s clues, she must prove herself worthy to the Guardsmen before we turn over the Book.”

“Of course,” the cloaked man agreed. “Though our watch is at an end, we do still have standards to uphold.”

The group laughed at his words and nodded in agreement.

“Then let us remain close to the crypt and allow our friend Chyna to find us. If she is successful, the Book is hers, the only stipulation is that it must be returned to Luxor and put into the hands of the proper authorities. Thank you for coming brothers, I’m not sure if you feel the same but I am relieved that we have made this decision; I believe it to be the right one.”

“As-salamu alaykum,” he said to them in farewell.

“Wa-alaykum salaam,” was the response.

As he made his way along Kabasakal Road back to his apartment, the cloaked man was smiling to himself. So many years of watching and waiting seemed to be coming to an end. In a way, their mission had failed since the Book never made it back to a royal house of Egypt, but on the other hand it would be going home after all. Maybe they could trust that Chyna Stone would ensure it was used to enhance the knowledge of people who were as passionate about the history as they were. If that alone was achieved, he would be able to die in peace.

Safely home, he hung his cloak in the hallway closet and removed his shoes. He was glad to be home, the city was always dark and cold at night. It was not often that he and the Guardsmen were all together in one place and the feeling of brotherhood he had enjoyed with them that night was priceless to him. Soon there would be no need for them to gather; maybe after they disbanded some would leave Turkey all together. It was well known that the Western Guard was getting increasingly homesick; he had gotten engaged recently and was ready to return to his home in Tennessee. There would be no need for him to apply for another tour in the Middle East when his current assignment was up, probably he would even retire from the Army all together.

As for the Northman, for years he had wanted to take his newspapers fully digital and return to Sweden where he could retire to the life of hunting and fishing he enjoyed so much.

The rest were already home, having either been born in Turkey or immigrated there permanently years before. It was why they sympathized with the Northman and the Westman so much. Being uprooted from ones’ home and past was painful for any man of value. But now their legacy was at an end. Their little secret society had existed for over three thousand years but now would no longer be needed. He marked it solemnly as the end of an era, but even as profound as the implications of their decision tonight were, Rashid Imhotep Abdullah could feel nothing but relief as if a great weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders.

Chapter Three

When the caravan arrived at Qena, Ankhesenamun was finished crying for her country; all she wanted was to get out of it and out of harm’s way.

She was hungry and thirsty and she knew the orchards and date trees in the oasis there were always in fruit. Melia and her other servants were anxious to leave the wagon and explore; they were also quite famished. Ankhesenamun made the first move, throwing back the curtains and stepping down onto the warm sand. There was a tribe of Bedouins on the oasis preparing to make the long trek back across the desert to the Red Sea.

In the shade of the palm trees and tall bushes, the Djoser oasis was a true wonder. A steady stream of clean, cold water flowed from the aquifer, running over the black rocks into the pool below. The girls drew water from the pool in leather buckets and washed their faces, hands and feet; then they spread a cotton veil over a stone and helped the princess to sit. The women joined their veils together and held them up around the princess while Melia, her handmaid, stripped the dirty dress and wig from her body and washed her from head to toe. Clean clothes were brought and Melia dressed her, replaced and combed her hair and placed jewelry about her neck, wrists and ankles. Fruit was brought from the orchards and dates were picked from the palms. The women washed them and paced them on platters and they all sat to eat. Melia brought a platter to Ankhesenamun and kneeled to serve her.

“Eat with me, Melia,” she said quietly. “We are all fugitives here, and we are all the same.”

A little girl approached them carrying a large flat basket on her head. When she neared the princess, she kneeled and gave the basket to Melia. The women of the Bedouin tribe had sent them food. There was flatbread, still hot from the stove and pieces of dried meat and fish. A bowl of green olives and another of pickled cucumbers completed the meal. Melia called the others over and shared the food among them. When they were finished, Melia washed the bowls at the pond, gathered up the basket and started over to return them.

“I will come with you and thank the women personally,” the princess said.

She went to the wagon and took out a small bundle wrapped in cloth, then she took two buckets to the pond and filled them with water. One of the servants came to help her put the straps over her shoulder and she stood shifting the weight of the buckets until she was comfortable. With the bundle in one hand and the two buckets over the other shoulder, Ankhesenamun walked with Melia across the oasis to where the women sat in their little camp.

She set the buckets and her bundle down and filled the camp cistern with the water before turning to the women and lowering her head in respect to them that they may touch it. She knelt with them on the grass and placed her package in front of her, and then she spoke.

“Thank you for the food,” she started. “We were very hungry and we are grateful to you.”

Once they were over the initial shock, they welcomed her and reached out to touch her feet. It was plain to see that they knew who she was, but instinctively, they said nothing about it. They were astonished at Ankhesenamun’s humble demeanor. She and Melia sat and chatted with the women for a long time. Soon the other women of the princess’ household joined them and began to help them prepare their afternoon meal. As she sat watching them, a little girl approached Ankhesenamun. The princess noticed her immediately. She looked remarkably like the royal princess Neferneferure, when she was a child of that age. The girl came up to the princess, put her hand to her forehead and then to Ankhesenamun’s feet, in the common way for a young person to greet royalty. She hugged the little girl and picked her up, sitting her on her lap just as she used to do with her younger sister. The girl threw her arms around Ankhesenamun’s neck and whispered in the princess’s ear.

“Princess, they are coming to take you back to Luxor. You know what has to be done, so do whatever you must.”

Shocked, Ankhesenamun looked into the girl’s eyes questioningly just as a woman comes and takes the child from her.

“She told me that someone is coming for me. Tell her I would like to know who is coming,” she said to the woman.

But the woman shook her head in bewilderment.

“That is not possible, my princess,” the woman explained. “This child was born without making a sound; she cannot speak.”

“Where is the tent of your priest?” she asked the child’s mother.

She pointed to a tent at the edge of the camp, the only one that was decorated with the red, yellow and blue colors of the gods. Ankhesenamun stood up, smoothed out her dress, picked up the bundle and walked serenely to the tent. When she went inside, it seemed as if the priest had been waiting for her for a long time; he even seemed to be getting a little impatient.

“Princess, you don’t have much time,” he said.

“The child told me someone is coming for me,” she replied. “Who is coming?”

“Why, Ay of course!” he retorted. “Who else are you expecting? Did you bring the Book with you?”

She was visibly shaken by the question, How did he know why she had come to see him?

“Princess Ankhesenamun, if we stop wasting time wondering why this is and how I know, then we may actually be able to secure the Book before your caravan is ambushed and you are taken back to Luxor. There is no escape for you but we still have a chance to keep the royal records out of Ay’s hands.”

Stunned, she picked up the bundle at her feet and carefully handed it to the priest.

“What do you want me to do, Princess?” he asked respectfully.

“I cannot rely on the hearts of kings for my safe keeping or for protection for the Book. Many men have played me false, priest, but you are a man of the gods and I have never found the gods to be false. If we are truly going to be attacked then I would rather be separated from it so long as I know that I have ensured its safety; Ay’s men will be sure to search among my things for it. Take it with you priest, keep the Book among your people until you reach Hattusa. Secure it among King Suppiluliumas' treasure and safeguard the knowledge of its whereabouts until the time comes. When royalty rules this land again, you must take it to the palace of that King. What is the name of your people?”

“We are the Hharazi, Princess; the watchers.”

“How appropriate,” she said. “My command is that you guard the Book well and watch for the Pharaoh to come.”

“Very well, princess, I will do as you have commanded.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

“But what about you, Ankhesenamun?” asked the priest. “Will they call you princess until the usurper cuts your throat and casts you to Sekhmet?”

“What do you mean, Priest?”

“Your great mother was such a mighty woman. She ruled this country as well as any man could have. Why can’t you see that you have her strength, her passion, her wisdom? You are her child, Ankhesenamun, her only remaining daughter, and you are destined to rule this country. Go back to Luxor and stand before the people; if you do not know it yet, they will tell you that it is true.”

She stood and left the tent feeling exhausted. She was among a very mystical tribe of people. Everywhere, she could sense a certain power about them that couldn’t be explained. With Melia at her side again, they walked to the top of the aquifer and looked for the head stone from which the underground stream flowed. When they found it, Melia handed Ankhesenamun her stylus. She carefully carved the words of her message at the base of the rock.

“Why do you make these cartouches, princess? I thought you wanted the Book to remain hidden but at the same time you are leaving directions,” Melia said.

“I have been tricked by so many men in my life, Melia,” she replied. “These messages are my security. If anything happens to me or this priest decides to betray me, then I can still hope that one day there will be someone who is clever enough to follow my trail and find these words. If they are wise enough, they will find the Book and do what needs to be done with it.”

When she was finished, they replaced the moss they had stripped away from the base of the stone and the caravan was packed up hastily and moved out of the oasis shortly after her return to the wagon; it was obvious that they were now in a hurry to get out of the region. The oxen were whipped and the guards rode their horses up and down the line inspecting the road ahead and watching the desert around them keenly for any signs of approaching men.

They didn’t even pause to eat or sleep that night; food baskets were brought to the wagons by the guards on horseback along with skins filled with watered wine. After eating supper, the girls played hand games and guessing games to pass the time. Usually Melia and Ankhesenamun would be content to just watch them in their amusement but tonight they joined in. It wasn’t often that the princess could be reminded that she was really still a girl like they were, but tonight she felt young and happy. When they were too tired to play any longer, they all fell asleep among the cushions and furs.

When she awoke, the caravan was still on the move but it seemed strangely quiet. She couldn’t hear the lowing of the oxen or the cracking of the whips that drove them, no horses whinnied or galloped past alongside the wagon; in fact, there was no sound of the other wagons. In a panic, Ankhesenamun threw back the curtains and was instantly blinded by the reflection of the sun on the white, parched desert sand. As her eyes adjusted she looked ahead and groaned loudly. The servant girls were now awake and scrambling in beside her to look out of the window. When they saw what lay ahead of them, they threw themselves to the floor of the wagon and wept loudly. Melia came to sit beside the princess and then she looked out the window as well. Sprawling out before them on the horizon were the walls of Luxor. The towering columns of the palace and the Temple of Amun-Ra were unmistakable. Melia caught Ankhesenamun’s head in her hands as the princess collapsed on her in tears.

Suddenly, she sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes. She straightened her shoulders and hushed the weeping servants.

“Shut up, you girls!” she said harshly. “Your wailing will only draw attention to us. If the guards know that we are aware of our whereabouts they will secure the wagon more fiercely. Be quiet.”

The princess reached for her cosmetics box and opened it. She took out her kohl, malachite and ochre. As if on cue, Melia held up the polished bronze mirror for her.  Patiently, Ankhesenamun painted her eyelids with the green malachite, and then outlined her eyes with kohl. She applied a little ochre to her lips and then put everything back in the box. She put her veil over her head and wrapped it about her shoulders, so that her face was covered, and then she sat and waited.

“Melia and you girls,” she said quietly. “Do not follow me. Stay in the wagon and cry if you want to, but do not follow me. They will kill you if you do.”

Soon the wagon was making its way up the road that led to the temple, they would go past it and then a little further to the palace gates. The wagon slowed down as it neared the temple steps to allow the people to clear the way ahead of it. She waited patiently with her hand on the door and as soon as it came to a stop, Ankhesenamun threw the door open and jumped down into the street. She raced around the back of the wagon and up the steps of the temple, pushing past the people who were walking by and the priests who stood out front collecting offerings for the altars. She heard the guards dismounting their horses and chasing after her. It was all they could do; they would not fire arrows at the princess. She burst through the temple doors and ran up to the altar.

“Lock the doors, my lords,” she cried. “They are trying to kill your Queen.”

The priests pushed the heavy stone doors shut and formed a human wall in front of her as she knelt before Amun-Ra’s altar praying fervently. It wasn’t long before the guards forced the doors aside and stormed into the temple. They roughly threw the priests aside and cleared their way to where she knelt praying.

She stood regally, refusing to be dragged from the sanctuary like a beggar or a criminal. Before she took her eyes off the altar, Ankhesenamun formed her last plea to the god in the form of a curse.

“As long as a subject sits on the throne of Egypt, there will be nothing but war in the land. No more than nine harvests will pass before he will breathe his last and his house will be scythed from the earth as the wheat from the field. The seeds will be gorged on by the birds so they cannot take root.”

“The Queen has spoken,” said one of the priests, reciting the ritual favorable ending to a prayer of which they approved.

“Amun-Ra has heard her,” the others replied in chorus.

There was fear written on the face of every soldier when they heard the priests endorsing the curse Ankhesenamun had prayed. She looked around at them and saw the shame and anguish in their expressions, not one of them could meet her gaze. Satisfied, she turned and straightened her shoulders. Then she clasped her hands in front of her and walked, with her head held high, out of temple and up the street towards the palace gates. The people fell to their knees and reached out to touch her feet or the hem of her dress as she passed them.

“Ankhesenamun- Tasherit- Ma’at, our Queen!” they called out to her, as they lay down papyrus reeds for her to walk on.

They called her loudly by her divine name, ‘Ankhesenamun, the younger, goddess-wife of Ra’, so the guards, and whoever were taking her back to the palace by force, would know that they had recognized her. She hoped that would prevent anything violent from happening later on in fear of inciting a riot. When she arrived at the palace steps, she turned to the crowd and waved to them. As they stood and watched, she sat at the door and her feet were washed by a servant, then she carried the basin down the steps and sprinkled the water over them with the papyrus brush. They had shown her that she was their Queen, so now she would have to act like a Queen.

The guards escorted her inside and led her to the royal apartments where she was locked inside. Melia and her other servants were already there, some of the girls showed signs of having been whipped; possibly for information about the location of the Book. It was a very angering situation for Ankhesenamun, but she remained silent refusing to breakdown in front of her servants who she knew must be in a much more fragile state than her own.

A guard came for her after supper and escorted her to the Pharaohs’ apartments. She entered as she would have when those rooms had been occupied by her beloved husband, Tutankhamun. Holding her head high, she walked into the presence chamber and sat in the chair on the raised dais at the front of the room. When her royal husband was alive there were two chairs there, one for him and another for her; she noticed that now there was only the one she was sitting in. She took up a cup from the table and lifted it for the servant to pour her some wine, which she drank with a passive look on her face. Ay watched her disbelievingly for a moment, and then he jumped to his feet and shouted at her.

“Where is the codex?”

“Ay,” she said calmly. “Why do you behave like this? I always told you that you should be careful about your deportment, but look at you now. Are you jumping up and down and raising your voice at the Queen like a common virago? It could never be!”

She raised the cup to her lips demurely and drained it, holding it up to be filled again.

“Do not speak to me like that,” he retorted. “I am the King.”

“Really? I would think rather that you are the consort of the Royal Queen of Egypt.”

She turned to the wine servant and said, “Call the Vizier!”

Ay did not like the turn that the conversation was taking. He was beginning to realize that the modest, soft-spoken woman he had tricked into marrying him had changed drastically on her little excursion into the desert. This new Ankhesenamun was no third-born child-princess any longer; the person who sat in front of him was a woman, a Queen, and he knew that he had better tread carefully.

“Why do you want to see the Vizier?”

“It occurred to me as I was in the desert scurrying away from you like a three-toed jerboa, that if my great mother, Queen Nefertiti was alive to see how I was behaving she would have thrown me to her feet and whipped me until I bled. The shame she would have felt would have set the fields of Luxor on fire. So, when I realized what I was doing, I was not proud of myself. My Queen Mother ruled this country after my father died so that vipers like you would not throw us into the midst of civil war. She was strong and very popular among the people; she ruled well.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Ay asked skeptically. It was becoming clear that he was worried about what Ankhesenamun was about to do.

“We will wait for Vizier Tamose to arrive,” she replied, sipping more wine from her cup.

There was a long and awkward silence as they waited for the counselor to arrive at the Pharaoh’s apartment. When he came in he bowed to Ay and then, with a look of surprise, he bowed to Ankhesenamun.

“Good evening Grand Vizier Tamose,” she said smiling. “You look surprised to see me. Come here and touch my feet, I want to talk to you.”

Tamose approached the Queen and touched his hand to his forehead and then to her feet. When he rose she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on both his cheeks.

“How may I be of assistance, my Queen?”

“You see how he addresses me, husband?” Ankhesenamun said, tauntingly. “Tamose called me ‘Queen’.”

“Indeed, he did,” Ay replied, quietly.

“Tamose, I want you to witness my decision and put it into immediate action as soon as I am finished,” she said.

“Yes, my Queen,” Tamose answered.

“I, Ankhesenamun-Tasherit-Ma’at, Royal Queen of Egypt have decided that I will create myself Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt and rule this country in my own right.”

“What?” Ay shouted, jumping up from his seat. “You cannot do that, I am Pharaoh.”

“Ay, behave,” she said, raising her hand for silence. “You are not a king here, you are of common birth so you cannot sit on the throne. It was my mistake to make you believe that you had the right to do so as my husband, but I realize now that it is wrong. Tamose, let the record show that Ay’s title is now officially, Chief Consort of the Royal Queen, Pharaoh Ankhesenamun.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Tamose replied.

Ankhesenamun stood from the chair and handed the cup to the wine servant. She looked down from the dais at Tamose, who quickly lowered his eyes, then at Ay who stared at her with defiance in his. When she did not lower her stare, he finally lowered his. Satisfied, she stepped down from the dais and walked towards the door.

Turning back to face the room, she added, “Tamose, I am going to my apartments to gather my things. Ensure that Ay has been assigned appropriate rooms among the apartments of the consorts. I will be occupying these royal rooms from now on.”

She had turned the tables on her adversary. As Ankhesenamun walked back to her apartments, she felt regal. Her fears melted away and the strength and pride that she remembered admiring her mother for, now resided inside her as well. She could feel the blood of her father, a pharaoh, rushing through her veins and she knew she had done the right thing.

A week later, the priests of Amun-Ra came to the steps of the palace carrying the royal palanquin. The throne of the Pharaoh had been placed on top of it and bundles of blooming papyrus decorated it on all sides. Dressed in new white linen, Ankhesenamun stepped onto the palanquin, took the throne and was taken to the temple where she was crowned Pharaoh by the High Priest. The crowd shouted out her name and prayers for her long life as she walked through the crowd back to the palace, again she sprinkled her subjects with the water that had washed her royal feet.

That night, she stood on her balcony and watched the offering fires that burned all night in front of the temple. The people were making many offerings in her name; it was plain to see that they were happy. When she had washed and changed her clothes, she lay down on the tigers’ furs that covered the Pharaoh’s sleeping couch and looked up at the ceiling. The paintings there were of her family. She saw her father and mother seated side by side on their thrones. The Aten was shining down on them as they extended their right hands to their six daughters. She looked up lovingly at the images of her sisters; Meritaten, Mekitaten, Neferneferuaten, Neferneferure and Setepenre.

Such beauties we all were, she thought, Princesses of the blood.

Another fresco showed Nefertiti, wearing the crown of the Pharaoh with Tutankhamun, the Crown Prince, sitting on her knee. Ankhesenamun missed her husband, she had been in love with him from the day that he was born and they had been inseparable. She fell asleep with the thought of them sitting and holding hands on the banks of the Nile at Amarna.

She awoke late in the night, startled. There was someone in her bedroom but she couldn’t see anything. The candles had been extinguished and there wasn’t a servant or a guard in sight. It was very strange because there was always someone moving about the royal apartments whether day or night. Suddenly, she saw him, standing in the shadows watching her.

“Who is it?” she asked.

The figure was dressed in full black and he did not answer her.

An assassin! she thought.

She prepared to shout, but before the words could escape from her mouth, the figure ran forward with its sword raised and cut the Queen’s head clean from her neck.

Chapter Four

The drive north was pleasant despite the searing heat of the desert.

The road was well maintained and except for a fair amount of tour buses heading in both directions, there wasn’t much traffic. They knew the precise moment they started getting close to the Qena city limits; the city had spread over the length and breadth of the ancient oasis, blending into the surrounding landmarks and towns. Modernization was in full swing there. Tourism and the natural source of spring water had attributed to the city becoming a perfect location for a thriving metropolis.

When they arrived at their first stop in Dendera, it was becoming increasingly clear to them that locating any of Qena’s ancient remnants was going to be extremely difficult. Chyna remembered Dr. Nassir’s advice and decided to stick to his simple guidelines. They searched the ferry yard for anything that looked as if it had been standing there for three thousand years. Everything at the Dendera crossing was newly concreted and story-boarded for the tourists to enjoy, excepting a colossal obelisk in the center of the ferry yard entrance. They searched the structure for anything that looked like a cartouche but there was nothing there.

As they were analyzing the ancient markings at the base of the obelisk, Oscar noticed an Egyptian woman in a black hijab and an ornate abaya. The beautiful embroidery and decoration on the garment was what had initially caught his eye but the woman was so beautiful and strangely familiar that Oscar was forced to take closer notice of her. She was watching them openly; her curiosity with what they were doing was unsettling, but not enough for him to mention it to the girls.

After a thorough search of the obelisk and the area at the front of the ferry yard, the team was finally satisfied that there was nothing to be found at the Dendera ferry crossing. They were back on the road in a few minutes, again heading northward and on the way to the city. Soon, they passed the sign that announced they had crossed into Qena city limits. Chyna looked at her watch; it was twelve thirty and her stomach was grumbling so she pulled the Jeep over at a quaint looking roadside bed and breakfast so they could have some lunch and discuss their next step. As she parked the car, Oscar looked out at the road just in time to see a black Toyota sedan drive past; the woman at the wheel was wearing a decorative abaya and had her hijab bundled around her neck and shoulders. There she was again.

They sat down at a corner table in the hotel’s little restaurant and when the waitress came over, Chyna selected falafel, ful medames, kushari and flatbread for them. Of course she knew that all the traditional condiments like harissa, pickled chili peppers, fresh olives and raita, which she loved, would accompany the food whether she ordered them or not. The waitress brought bowls of warm water with slices of lemon in it to the table just before their food was ready and they washed their hands and dried them with the tiny towels provided. When the food came to the table, it was steaming hot and smelt heavenly. Immediately, they all developed a healthy appetite and plunged into the meal, plate after plate.

After they had eaten, the waitress brought another set of bowls and they washed up again. It amazed them all how such a simple gesture of hospitality could bring a touch of luxury to an otherwise simple and satisfying meal. When she had cleared the table and gone to get their tea, Oscar spoke up.

“There was a woman back there at the ferry crossing who seemed very interested in what we were doing,” Oscar finally disclosed.

“Really?” Lana replied. “Why didn’t you say anything.”

“I wasn’t sure it was worth mentioning, Lana,” he said.

“So why say something now?” Chyna chimed in.

“Because I think she’s following us,” he replied. “I didn’t think much of her as she watched us at Dendera but when we parked outside, I saw her drive past going towards the city. I guess it could still be nothing but if I see her again, I’d be inclined to think that something is up.”

“You’d be right to think so, Oscar,” Chyna agreed. “Be sure to keep your eyes open and let us know if you spot her again.”

“Will do,” he said.

They made it to the Djoser Aquifer in five minutes and pulled into the parking lot at the oasis. They were surprised to find that the expansive grounds of the oasis had become nothing more modern than a public park. There weren’t many people on the grounds at that time of the day but the few who were seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Date palms dominated the landscape along with many tall bushes that were laden with fragrant flowers. The temperature immediately dropped to a comfortable cool beneath the shade of the verdant trees. In the center of the park was a tall rock formation that looked like shale. It was comprised of step after step of black flat rocks. A steady stream of clean, clear water flowed endlessly from the top of the rocks, rushing down the formation and falling finally into a stream which fed a huge pond. To the eastern side of the oasis, they could see extensive, well-kept orchards with trees that were laden with apples, oranges, lemons and limes.

Carefully, the team looked around the park trying to decide which of its features had most likely been there for three thousand years. It seemed obvious that it could only be the rocks that formed the head of the aquifer itself. They searched the entire structure from the top to bottom, meticulously inspecting every stone and getting completely soaked in the process. At the base of the structure, they located what would have been considered by the early nomads as the ‘water stone’; a large rock which protruded from the ground as an extension of the bedrock the water flowed from. Chyna scooped handfuls of sand from the base of the stone and within a few minutes, what looked like the border of a cartouche inscription appeared.

“Oscar, could you go back to the Jeep and get me some tools?” Chyna asked. “I’m going to need a trowel, a four inch brush and a small chisel.”

“Sure thing,” he replied. “I’ll be right back with those.”

“Don’t forget your camera,” Lana shouted after him.

Oscar got to the Jeep and opened the tailgate to search for Chyna’s equipment bag. Inside it he quickly located her towel and the other utensils that she would need. He pulled his camera bag from the top of the pile and took his Nikon®D800 from it. He took the lens cap off and pushed the power button; everything was working fine and the battery was fully charged, so he pulled the strap over his head and shut the tailgate of the Jeep. Then as he turned around to walk back to the park entrance, there she was again. It was the woman in the pretty black abaya. She had covered her head with the hijab again and she was leaning against a tree on the far side of the parking lot watching him. Discreetly and without lifting the camera from his chest, Oscar aimed it at an angle he thought would work and waited for the auto-zoom lens to fully adjust. Then he fired off a series of shots hoping that he had been able to get a good picture of her.  He tilted the camera to take a look at the last shot on the display screen and satisfied, he walked back through the park gates to rejoin Chyna and Lana.

Oscar handed the girls the tools and stepped back to start taking the photographs. Within a few minutes, the two had moved enough sand out of their way to reveal the entire cartouche that was inscribed into the stone.  They had to be careful, using only the brushes on the stone itself because the saturated limestone rock could easily give way under a sharp instrument or too heavy a touch. Once satisfied that they had uncovered the entire carving, Lana and Chyna stepped aside to allow Oscar full access to photograph the stone and they set about replacing all the sand and debris as soon as he was finished. Not a patch of lichen was out of place when they were finished, they didn’t want the site to look like it had been disturbed in any way, and it didn’t.

While the girls were busy covering up their tracks, Oscar took a look at the pictures he had taken to ensure they were really what they needed to at least make a good translation. When he looked up from his camera he saw the woman again. She was standing under some palm trees watching them very intently while engaging in an intense conversation on her mobile phone. Oscar walked back to where Chyna and Lana were reburying the water stone and knelt beside them in the sand.

“She’s back,” he said. “The lady from the Dendera crossing. I saw her earlier in the parking lot and now she’s over there, watching us from over by those palm trees.”

He scrolled through the photos he had been taking until he came to the pictures of the woman and showed them both.

“That girl was a worker in Dr. Nassir’s camp at Luxor,” Chyna said. “I saw her walking around a lot with Mohammed, that guy Nassir tried to insert into our investigation. I even saw them eating together quite often.”

“Why would she follow us here?” asked Lana.

“I don’t know, Lana,” Chyna replied. “But I’ll be damned if I won’t go over there and find out why right now.”

Chyna stood up and turned around quickly, intending to walk directly over there and confront the woman in black. Ever since that whole fiasco in Greece with Fariha Katsakis, she had been extremely suspicious of strangers who tried to lurk around during her investigation. The extent to which the Greek girl had betrayed their trust and exposed them all still made Chyna bitter and left her fiercely protective of her team. But when Chyna turned around, there was no one beneath the palm trees; the woman had disappeared. She looked around the park quickly to see if she could spot her but the woman in black was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed at allowing their pursuer to slip through her hands Chyna picked up her tools and they returned to the Jeep.

“Let’s drive into the city and find somewhere to stay for the night,” she suggested. “There ought to be tons of great places to stay around here. “

Oscar and Lana were in full agreement, they couldn’t wait to wash the desert dust off and get something hot to eat. More importantly, they were all eager to get started with the translation of the inscription and unraveling the next clue to locating the Mummy Codex, as Chyna had been inclined to call it.

***

“Thank you Jamila,” Rashid said, into the phone. “You don’t need to follow Miss Stone and the others around anymore but keep trying to locate our people and we will keep in touch.”

As he pressed the end button on his mobile phone, Rashid Abdullah was extremely confused. Something wasn’t right and he couldn’t put his finger on it. According to Jamila, the Luxor watchers sent a bird to Qena several days ago advising them that Miss Stone and her people would be arriving there to search for the next marker in the princess’s trail, but the bird came back with the message unread.

Not knowing what to do, she’d followed the Americans to keep track of what they were doing while trying to locate the Qena watchers at the same time. She found no one there and no sign of their whereabouts; they had deserted their watch. There was no way that the watchers in Luxor could have known since personal information such as last names, home addresses and mobile phone numbers were never shared between the posts; fraternization between factions was strictly prohibited and all communication was done by pigeon. He just couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to Hassan and Amir.

He went to his computer and clicked on an icon on his home screen to open an instant messaging application and began typing.

Imhotep: They have found the second marker.

Eastman: They are much smarter than I gave them credit for.

Southman: I agree.

Northman: Clearly neither of you has been doing your homework. I’m sure Imhotep is not surprised and neither am I.

Imhotep: Calm down Northman, we agreed we would endorse their search if they proved themselves worthy.

Westman: And they’re doing a damn good job as far as I can see.

Imhotep: Chyna Stone is not letting me down so far, gentlemen. I think our mission is finally coming to an end. Sadly, I cannot say that I am too disappointed with that prospect.

Westman: Neither am I. No offense guys, but I’m ready to pack it in and go home to my family. My girl is just about ready to give up on me. Signing on for one more tour in the Middle East could cost me my bride.

Eastman: We know it’s been particularly hard on you and Northman to continue with this work.

Northman: The Book is more important than anything else.

Imhotep: That is true Northman, but us Guardsmen are still only men, we have our obligations and responsibilities to ourselves and to others.

Northman: Nothing is more important than safeguarding the Book.

Imhotep: I agree fully but we have to be practical. It is long past the time when it could go back to a pharaoh so now it needs to be returned to Egypt and placed with the proper authorities. This is our chance to do the right thing and still keep our existence and that of the Watchers a secret.

Northman: As you say, Imhotep.

Imhotep: It is not just what I say, Northman. We all agreed it was time.

Southman: Yes, we agreed.

Imhotep: I have a good feeling about these people from Found History, I believe that they will only be satisfied if they can place the relic in the proper hands. If they make it to Boğazkale, then it is imminent that they will be coming to the Hagia Sofia very soon after that. I expect that they will come to speak to me respectfully about searching the altar for the Book. I doubt it is their style to try and steal it from us.

Northman: And if they don’t come to you and they do try to steal it from the museum?

Imhotep: If they don’t come to me and they try to steal it, then they are thieves and be assured, gentlemen, that they will be treated as such. Good night, gentlemen. May the peace of Allah be with you.

Eastman: And also with you, brother.

Southman: And also with you.

Westman: And also with you.

There was no reply from the Northman when Rashid closed the application.

***

Chyna and the others found themselves on the El-Tahrir road being directed by a policeman to the Basma Hotel. When they arrived at their lodgings on the banks of the Nile, the team breathed a sigh of relief. The hotel was small but lovely. It was welcoming and seemed to be endowed with all the modern conveniences of a world class business hotel. They checked in quickly and headed straight upstairs to the suite. It had three large king size bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, a secure high speed internet connection, color television with international programming via satellite and of course a fully stocked refrigerator.

As usual, Oscar immediately started setting up the equipment he needed and Lana arranged all her paraphernalia on the dining room table in preparation to decipher their latest clue. As she was laying out her little mystery solving map, the doorbell rang and she went to answer it. It was the bellman; he had brought up the flipchart and markers she had requested from the front desk. Pleased, she handed him a twenty guineih note as a tip and closed the door behind him.

“I’ve entered the data and set the translators to work,” Oscar announced after twenty minutes. “It’s more complicated than the last one; I think it’s going to be about an hour. Do you think we could have some dinner in the meantime?”

“Absolutely!” Chyna replied.

They all showered, changed and went downstairs to the hotel restaurant, excited to have another taste of some amazing Egyptian food. Forty-five minutes later they returned to the suite, satisfied and ready to get back to work. Lana went to the fridge, took out three bottles of Heineken and opened them. Beer and wine were not served in the hotel restaurant since Islamic law prohibits the consumption of alcoholic beverages in public.

Oscar took as sip of his beer and went to check on the progress the translation software was making. Surprisingly, it was complete.

“Ladies,” he said, “we’re officially in business.”

He sent the document to the printer and handed out the freshly printed copies as they took their seats around the dining table.

“To find the Book, seek the Watchers whose vigil never ends

The road goes northwards to Zannanza’s lands

In the heart of Hatti is where the Watchers wait

Luxor will know it again, when the Guards lay down their swords.”

“Cryptic much, Ankhesenamun?” Lana joked.

“She was clever with her words, that’s for sure,” Oscar agreed.

“It was important,” Chyna pointed out. “She left these clues in places that were relatively open at that time, remember? The only reason we’ve had to dig and search for them is because we’re three thousand years late to the chase.”

“You’re right, Chyna,” Lana said. “But we can figure it out.”

Lana went over to her flipchart and took up a marker. On the black paper she wrote ‘The Watchers’, ‘Zannanza’s lands’ and ‘Heart of Hatti’.

“What about the last line?” Oscar asked. “Who are the Guards and why do they have swords to lay down?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with the location of the Book or the next clue, whichever the case,” Lana explained. “I think that has something to do with whatever she might have told the messenger to do.”

“The messenger?” Oscar asked.

“Son,” Lana quipped, “do try to keep up.”

Chyna laughed at Lana’s sarcasm and quickly attempted to explain to Oscar.

“We already know that Ankhesenamun never made it out of Egypt, she ended up back in Luxor where she died not much longer after this all went down. We know this for fact because her mummy was found in KV21 and it was dated to the same year that Ay ascended the throne. So it stands to reason that she passed off the Book to someone she trusted and according to this clue, she instructed that person to deliver it to ‘The heart of Hatti’ which would most likely be the city of Hattusa, to Suppiluliumas’ palace.”

“Ah, I see,” Oscar said.

At that point, Lana wrote down two of the three answers on her flip chart.

Zannanza’s lands = Hatti

Heart of Hatti = Hattusa, Suppiluliumas’ palace

“So,” Lana said, “who are ‘The Watchers’?”

“Oscar, could you Google Hattusa please?” Chyna asked.

When he did, Oscar suddenly became very excited. He sent something to the printer and when it was finished printing he handed the photograph to Lana. Her mouth visibly fell open before she passed the photograph to Chyna.

The photograph showed the ruins of the palace of Hattusa in modern day Boğazkale, Turkey. In its ruined state, the main building was now a flat plaza but still standing at it each of its four gates was two stone pillars each with a statue of a sphinx guarding the entryway.

“I guess we found ‘The Watchers’,” Chyna said to Lana.

“I'd bet my last dollar that the next clue is on one of these sphinxes,” Lana said.

“Back to Turkey,” Oscar groaned. “Ladies, let’s try not to get hijacked or kidnapped this time.”

They all laughed at his comment.

“Lana, we’re going to need the most direct flight to Boğazkale,” Chyna began. “The fastest way might be out of Luxor International. We can fly to Cairo from Luxor and take it from there. The town is remote but a huge tourist attraction, so I don’t think a hotel will be a problem there. Book us on the best day tours, that way we won’t draw attention to ourselves while we’re feeling up the sphinxes at the palace ruins. Also, be amazing and drop Sandra and Sirita a line so they know what we’re up to.”

“I’m on it Boss Lady,” Lana said.

“Oscar, we won’t be able to take your entire tech lab with us,” she continued. “At least not further than Cairo. I doubt we’ll be coming back to Luxor so I’d suggest you leave anything we won’t need for Boğazkale in Cairo and if the trail takes us further than that, we can have them forwarded to the next location.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Oscar agreed. “I don’t think I’ll need more than my laptop, the mini printer and my camera.”

“Good. Ask Sirita to organize the storage and forwarding with our freight handlers in Cairo.”

While her team busied themselves with their preparations for their next move, Chyna stepped away to send an email from her Blackberry.

‘Guess who’s coming back to Turkey?’ she wrote, ‘The investigation is taking us to Boğazkale now. We’re leaving from Luxor International tomorrow. If it ends there, I’ll come to Izmir, if it doesn’t I’ll be sure to stay in touch with you.’

Back at the dining table, Chyna looked through Lana’s puzzle pieces. She couldn’t stop marveling how smart Ankhesenamun must have been. She was formidable; but then, her mother was Queen Nefertiti, easily the most famous ancient Egyptian in the estimation of modern anthropologists. As far as esteem among scholars went, she was only rivaled by the knowledge the world had of her son, Tutankhamun.

Chyna felt completely humbled by the experience she was having following in the footsteps of the princess and the secrets her team was slowly uncovering. The intrigue, the treachery, murder, betrayal and the destruction of a dynasty; at times she had been more than just a little overwhelmed. Of course, she couldn’t show it, she kept her composure and rallied on for the sake of her team and the investigation. The objective was always clearly set in her mind; to find the Book of Life and restore both it and its legacy to antiquity. The world deserved to know what the power struggle that ended the Amarna Period of Egypt was really about.

Chapter Five

By three o’clock the next afternoon, the team was making their landing in Boğazkale.

They were all visibly relieved to disembark from the tiny two propeller aircraft after the three hour flight from Cairo. All the arrangements had gone off without a hitch. The extra luggage had been left with their regular freight forwarder and they had made the rest of the trip in record time. Sirita had taken the liberty of alerting the local tourism authority in the town of their arrival and secured special permission to investigate the ruins as closely as they needed to. There was a messenger waiting for them at the airport with their permits and government authorization ID’s to take to the site with them.

They took a taxi from the airstrip to the hotel that Lana had made their reservations at. It was a beautiful retreat right in the middle of the tiny town called the Hotel Aşıkoğlu. From what they saw during the taxi ride, everywhere in Boğazkale was a tourist attraction or at least geared towards the needs and tastes of the various nationalities of people who streamed through the town all year round.

When they checked into the hotel, the concierge handed them copies of their itinerary for the next day. Lana had booked them on three consecutive tours for the palace grounds in an effort to buy them enough time to locate the clue they were looking for and the chance for some mild excavation if that was at all necessary. However, Sirita’s procurement of government authorization had trumped those arrangements. Chyna handed the papers to the concierge and asked her to forward copies to the management at the archaeological site and arrange transportation for them to get there in the morning. Ever frugal, Lana confirmed with the woman that their new official visitor status would qualify them for a refund on the three tours that had been booked and with a wry smile, the concierge nodded her agreement.

Upstairs in their rooms, they were all relieved to have a night without boggling over cryptic clues or planning their next move, it was a chance to detox from the harsh week they had spent travelling the Egyptian desert. Compared with the hot, sandy landscape of Luxor and its environs, Boğazkale was like a completely different world. The town was surrounded by rolling, green hills that was home to mountainous local people. They raised sheep that they grazed easily there and grew crops and fruit in the fertile valley. Looking at the town, it was easy to see that modernization, even as a result of booming tourism, was the last thing on these people’s minds. It was refreshing to be in the unspoiled, rural surroundings of heartland Turkey.

After enjoying a generous continental breakfast and some of the best coffee any of them had ever had, Chyna and her team left the hotel to meet briefly with the manager at the site of the palace ruins. Once the pleasantries were over, he directed them towards the palace plaza so they could begin the search for their next clue. The plaza is an immense, flat, stone platform that still exhibited the signs of the grand columns and walls that would have once made up the structure of a great palace. Three thousand years ago, the Hittite empire was a vast civilization that spread over most of modern day Turkey and Syria as well as a portion of western Iraq, so it was expected that the king’s palace in the empire’s capital would be colossal; which it was.

They stood together in the center of the plaza and looked around them. The palace grounds had four distinct gates, one at each of the cardinal points of the compass. From where they stood they could see that each gate had two pillars which was guarded by a statue of a sphinx.

“Since Egypt lies to the south of here, I think we should start with the southern gates,” suggested Lana.

So they made their way to the south gates of the compound. After fifteen minutes of careful searching, none of them could find a marker or a cartouche like the ones they had found so far. Disheartened, they stopped looking for a minute and came together to regroup.

“Why do we think we would find an inscription like the ones we found before?” Chyna suddenly asked. “Ankhesenamun never came here.”

“That’s right,” Oscar agreed. “The clue is here; we know that because it’s where she probably told her messenger to put it.”

“Yes,” Lana said. “For sure, it’s where she wanted them to put it; that was clear in her last clue. But if someone else concocted the clue and placed it here, then certainly we should be looking for a different style of encryption.”

“Okay,” Chyna said. “Let’s go look again, more carefully this time.”

They returned to the pillars and searched the vertical structures as well as the sphinxes.  It wasn’t long before Oscar stepped back and started snapping photographs.

“I’ve found it,” he announced.

When they gathered around the sphinx he had been investigating, they all saw the mark on the back of the sphinx’s head. It was pale, weathered by time and the elements but it was still visible. Inscribed in the stone was the Hittite numeral for the number ‘9’ and directly below it in much clearer markings and modern numerals was ‘410085’. They then turned their attention to the sphinx on the left side of the gate and sure enough there were also inscriptions in the same spot on the statues’ head. It was the Hittite numeral for ‘12’ followed by a brighter carving ‘289799’.

Invigorated by the find, they rushed to the Eastern gates. The statues there had only a single Hittite digit each; the one on the left said ‘19’ and the one on the right was ‘20’. They went to each of the other sphinxes in order and recorded ‘1’, ‘14’, ‘2’ and finally, ‘21’.

“I think we’ve found what we came looking for guys,” Lana surmised. “Let’s get back to the hotel and look closer at these numbers over lunch, I’m famished.”

They returned to the hotel, freshened up in their rooms and met back in the restaurant for lunch. After they had eaten, they ordered three bottles of Turkish beer and spread a large sheet of blank paper out on the table in front of them. Lana wrote the numbers down and they stared at them for several minutes.

“What does it mean?” Oscar asked.

“I don’t know,” Chyna said. “Lana?”

“Why are you asking me?” She asked defensively. She was just as bewildered as the rest of them.

They puzzled over it for the better part of an hour before Chyna slapped her forehead and started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Oscar asked.

“Have you ever tried solving one of those cryptic crosswords in the New York Times?” she asked them both.

“Yeah, they’re damn near impossible,” Lana remarked.

“Sure are!” Oscar agreed.

“My Dad used to insist that I do them every week,” Chyna said, smiling. “They were torturous but even if it took me all week to finish one, he was adamant that I do them.”

She shook her head and laughed again before continuing.

“He always told me the trick was not to think too hard about what the clue meant,” she said. “That the answer was always simpler than the puzzle made you think. The trick to the cryptic crossword is getting it into your head that it really isn’t that cryptic at all.”

“What in the name of Josie Wales does that have to do with this?” Oscar exclaimed.

“The numbers represent the letter of the alphabet,” Chyna finally revealed. “And when you’ve finished doing the math, if you start with the number from the sphinx that stands to the right of the southern gate and end with the one on the sphinx from the left of that same gate, the word it spells is ‘Istanbul’.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” said Oscar.

“That’s absolutely amazing,” Lana summarized.

“It is,” Chyna agreed. “But I can’t figure out the two sets of numbers we found at the southern gates.”

Oscar looked closely at the two sets of six digit figures for a minute then said, “You leave that to me, Boss lady, I think I know what they are.”

He took his phone from his pocket and quickly opened the internet browser application; then he typed in the two sets of numbers and initiated a search. After a few minutes, a broad smile spread across his face.

“Well, it only took us two and a half hours but I think we’ve got it, ladies,” he said. “I thought that the six digit sequence looked a lot like coordinates and once we figured out that the clue was referring to Istanbul, that thought started to make a whole lot of sense because if the numbers are coordinates they would actually fall in the region of the city. With a quick check, I just confirmed it. Those numbers are the coordinates of the Hagia Sophia, presently a national museum of Turkey.”

“You’re a damn genius, Oscar!” Chyna exclaimed.

***

Fully convinced that Lana and Oscar had earned the time off, Chyna stopped at the concierge desk on her way back to her room to plan a surprise for them; instead of a refund on the tours, she arranged for them to take a sightseeing hot air balloon tour of the town.

While they went out to enjoy the sights, Chyna made all of the arrangements for the next leg of their trip. She booked their flights to Istanbul for the next afternoon and made reservations at her favorite hotel, The Ottoman Imperial which she knew to be a stone’s throw from the Hagia Sofia. A quick call to Sirita got the rest of their luggage and equipment on an express cargo flight to Istanbul along with courier delivery directly to the hotel suite. Happily anticipating an end to their lengthy investigation, Chyna booked a limousine to pick them up at the airport. Then she placed a call to the Hagia Sofia and asked to speak to the Head Curator. She was informed that she would be speaking to Mr. Rashid Abdullah and that he had been expecting her call.

Chyna knew that it was strange that the curator would even know who she was, much less for him to have been expecting a call from her and she was immediately on her guard. What did he know that she didn’t?

“Miss Stone,” the eloquent voice of the museum curator came over the phone. “I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to speak to you. I am delighted to finally have it.”

“How could you have been waiting for this call, Mr. Abdullah?” Chyna asked. “We have never met and I doubt that you know why I’m contacting you now.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Stone,” Rashid admonished. “There is so much that I know that you are not yet aware of. But I can promise you that when you get to Istanbul, I will fill you and your team in completely. When will you be arriving in the city?”

“We will be there tomorrow afternoon,” she replied, dumbfounded.

“Excellent, could we meet at the museum at around six o’clock? We will be closed to the public by then and we can talk without interruptions.”

“That’s sounds fine, Mr. Abdullah. We’ll see you then.”

“Yes, Miss Stone. Again, thank you for calling.”

It took a while for Chyna to shake off the shock of the telephone call to Rashid Abdullah. She knew that their meeting was destined to be a remarkable one and soon her apprehension turned to anticipation. After a few minutes she picked up the phone again and placed another call. Anthony Stewart answered right away.

“Guess it was too much to ask that it would come to an end in Boğazkale?” he joked.

“That would have been too easy, Tony,” Chyna replied.

“So, what’s your next move?”

“The clues are sending us to Istanbul and I’m sure you won’t mind that.”

“I really can’t complain. What time do you get there?”

“We’re taking an afternoon flight for once and we should be there by three o’clock. We meet with Hagia Sofia’s curator at six so how about I meet you for dinner around eight at the usual place?”

“That sounds awesome. I miss you Chyna, more than I usually do.”

“I’ve missed you too, Tony. This is new; usually we’re so good at letting go.”

“Must be old age, Babe.”

“Don’t even go there. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

***

The next morning all three of them are relieved to be able to sleep in for once. Feeling rested and relaxed and ready to get back to the search, they boarded the little plane to Istanbul at noon and by three o’clock the plane was taxiing to the gate at the airport in Istanbul. They got into their limousine and took the scenic ride to the Ottoman Imperial Hotel. At five thirty, they met in the lobby and walked over to the great Hagia Sophia Museum to meet its mysterious curator.

When they arrived at the steps of the museum, there was a woman waiting to let them in through the front doors. She introduced herself as Zubeida, Rashid Abdullah’s secretary, and showed them into the museum’s lobby.

“Mr. Abdullah will be with you in five minutes,” she said.

Soon after, he appeared from a side door and walked toward them with his hand extended. He shook their hands and turned to Chyna.

“Miss Stone, it is a true honor to meet you and your associates. I have been looking forward to this for a long time.”

“So you said yesterday but I still don’t understand how it is that you knew we would come here.”

“Follow me into my office, so that I may explain everything to you more comfortably and privately.”

As they entered Mr. Abdullah’s opulent office, they noticed that there are three well dressed men waiting in the office for them. Instinctively, Chyna reached into her black leather jacket and released the safety strap that held her SIG Sauer® M-11 pistol inside it’s holster.

“No need for that, Miss Stone,” Rashid said, reassuringly. “We are all friends here. Please have a seat. May I introduce to you most of The Guardsmen: Westman, Southman and Eastman. Unfortunately Northman is not yet here.”

“The Guardsmen?” Oscar asked. “As in the Guards from the riddle who are supposed to lay down their swords?”

“You see?” Abdullah exclaimed to the three men. “This is what I’ve been telling you. They are very clever and talented people. The time has truly come.”

The men nodded their heads in agreement and murmured among themselves in Arabic.

“I’ve been telling them how sure I was that you were the right people to retrieve the Book from us. We have been waiting a long time for people like you to find us.”

“Mr Abdullah…”

“Rashid, please.”

“Rashid, No offense to you and your friends here, but I hope you understand that we have absolutely no clue as to what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I understand, Miss Stone. I’m just so excited, I’m finding it hard to settle down and tell you the story. Let me get started right away.”

“Please, we would appreciate it.”

“Well, you already know the beginning. The part of the story that has been lost to our historians is this: When the Princess Ankhesenamun arrived in Qena, she gave the Book to a tribal priest of the Hharazi people. She instructed him to take the Book north to Hattusa and put it among the treasures of the Hittite king. He was to put a guard in place to ensure the Book would remain safe until the day that a pharaoh of royal descent sat on the throne of Egypt again, at which point the guard was to take the Book to Luxor and return it to the king.

“We all know that day never came. Egypt was ruled by warriors and commoners for the rest of its days. However, before Egypt fell to the Romans, the Hittite Empire was demolished. When the guard realized that the Empire was ending he decided to move the Book to a more stable city which would most likely survive the ages.”

“Istanbul,” Lana interjected.

“Yes, Istanbul. He inscribed the heads of the sphinxes with the code indicating the name of the Book’s new home and took it to Istanbul. He hid the Book below the Gate of Hell portal in the church of Hagia Sofia and positioned himself as a church guard for the rest of his days. Before he died, the guard decided that the protection of the Book was too much for one man to bear. He went to Egypt in search of the immortal priest, Imhotep, to seek his advice about the protection of the Book.

“Imhotep and the guard selected four righteous men of four different tribes and gave them the task of protecting the book. Imhotep returned with them to Istanbul to serve as the sovereign voice over the new Guardsmen of the Book of Life. So that is how we came into being, Miss Stone. They are four men from four different tribes of people and they are governed by the immortal priest, Imhotep. I am Rashid Imhotep Abdullah, a direct descendant of Imhotep Ta-Djoser.”

“So who are the Watchers?” Chyna asked.

“The Watchers, Miss Stone are the descendants of the Hharazi priest. There are Watchers in every city of importance in Egypt, they ensure that anything that happens which may lead to the discovery of the Book is reported to us immediately. That is how we knew you were coming. Mohammed and Jamila are two of the six Luxor Watchers. We have two watchers in Qena as well, but Jamila was unable to contact them so she watched you herself. When you left Egypt to go to Boğazkale, she called to let me know.”

“How did you know I would call you?”

“It was an educated guess, Miss Stone. You and your colleagues did not strike me as thieves. So once you knew the Book was in the Hagia Sofia, it would stand to reason that you would contact me since you did not intend to steal it.”

“Rashid, we are very grateful to you and to the Guardsmen. You, and those who have gone before you, have done the world a great service by ensuring the safekeeping of this important relic. We hope that our intentions for it are even half as honourable.”

“And what are those intentions, Miss Stone?”

“It’s important for the Book to go back to Egypt, Rashid. We will turn it over to the Ministry of Antiquities and we will ask them, when they have finished their tests and cataloguing, to put it on display for the people to see and enjoy and learn about its lost history.”

“We could not ask for more than that,” Rashid concluded.

“Might I ask though, where is Mr. Northman?”

“I have no idea. He should have been here a long time ago. Have any of you gentlemen heard from him?”

The others all shook their heads negatively.

“Oh well, we cannot wait for him. It is important for all of us to get this done tonight.”

“Rashid, I won’t be taking the Book with me. I would just like to see it and maybe take some photographs. I will make arrangements for our friend Dr. Nassir to come and see you. He will be able to make the necessary arrangements security-wise.”

“That is a wise decision, Miss Stone. Follow us and we will show it to you.”

They went back downstairs to the large church and behind the velvet rope to the altar. At the foot of the altar was a round decorative tile which is called the ‘Gates of Hell’ portal. It was a secret hiding place that was constructed in most important churches where the clergy could hide anything of importance from raiders or heretics. Rashid lifted a hidden bolt and turned it until there was a loud click sound, then he pulled up and the tile was raised with ease; but when he laid the tile aside they all looked in to find nothing but an empty cavern.

There were shouts of dismay and anger from the Guardsmen and Rashid shook his head in disbelief. When they had settled down Chyna asked a few critical questions.

“Can I safely assume that calling the police is out of the question?”

“It is not an option, Miss Stone.”

“In that case, would you mind if I called a personal friend of mine from the F.B.I. to help us with the investigation?”

“You want to help us find the Book?” asked the man Rashid had referred to as Eastman.

“Of course, how could we abandon you now?” Lana asked.

The men were visibly surprised by their response.

“We would appreciate any help you want to offer, Miss Stone. You understand the situation now and you also know that under no circumstances can the outside world know of my existence nor that of the Guardsmen and the Watchers.”

“Understood, Rashid. I’d like you and the Guardsmen to come back here tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock, call all the Watchers and ask them to come to Istanbul for this meeting as well. I’m going to want to see you at around one o’clock, Rashid, I’ll bring my friend and we will get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you all.”

“You are welcome, friends. See you tomorrow.”

With that they left the men at the altar replacing the tile over the ‘Gate of Hell’ portal. Everyone was in complete shock.

Chyna and the others walked back to the Ottoman Imperial in complete silence. They had come so close to the Book, only to be robbed of getting to see it. Now they had a new mystery to solve. She said her good nights to Oscar and Lana at the hotel’s front doors and continued walking down the street. About three blocks over, Chyna stepped into a quaint French restaurant and walked straight to the corner table where Tony was already waiting for her. She let him order for both of them, silently sipped her wine and listened to him talk about work and everything that had happened since they had separated in Cairo a few weeks before. When he steered the conversation towards her and the present assignment Chyna changed the topic or asked him a question about something he had just told her. It didn’t take him long to realize that she was not at a place where she could talk about it as yet and he soon stopped asking about it.

After dinner, they walked back to the hotel and Tony joined her upstairs in her room. Chyna didn’t want to waste any time; as soon as the door was bolted she backed him up against the door and started to undo his shirt, she threw it to the ground then unbuckled his belt, undid his pants and pushed them and his boxers to the ground. She turned around and walked towards the bedroom, stepping out of her shoes then dropping her jacket, gun, tank top and bra to the floor before she even got to the bedroom door. Tony stepped out of his shoes and the clothes that were now pooled around his ankles and followed her into the bedroom. She was lying on the bed waiting when he entered the room. He climbed in and took her in his arms rolling onto his back so he could run his hands up and down the length of her body as they kissed passionately.

Soon Chyna couldn’t take the suspense of their coupling any longer; she centered herself over his body and in a smooth motion they were one and he was moving in her with a passion and intensity that she had not experienced in a long time. He rolled and from his new vantage point, moved deeper and more swiftly, stoking the flame of the passion that was building between them. She clung to the bed by fistfuls of sheets and moaned her pleasure into his shoulder and his ears, driving him wild, but instead of hastening then to their climactic release, he slowed the pace to an agonizing burn. He kissed the places on her body that he had not yet tasted. When his exploration was complete, the intense need of her desire was blazing in her eyes.

He took her in his arms, shifted again and then she was seated in his lap facing him and he was holding her to him tightly, kissing her shoulders and neck. Her pelvis moved against the hard muscles of his stomach and he lifted her slightly so they could be joined together again. She moved rhythmically against him and threw her head back in complete abandon. He watched her as she approached the edge of ecstasy. Then he felt his own passion mounting and he put his lips to her breasts one after the other. She moved against him faster and faster and then suddenly they were clinging to each other, gripped tightly in the waves of rapture that engulfed them both.

***

They all spent the next morning in leisure. Oscar and Lana explored the city, while Chyna and Anthony languished in each other’s arms. But by lunchtime it was back to business and they all walked back over to the museum. While Chyna and Anthony met with Rashid, Oscar and Lana took a guided tour of the museum’s artifacts.

“Did you pull the security footage like I asked you to?” Anthony asked Rashid.

“Yes, I did. The last time I saw the Book was three nights ago before I met the others in the park and everything was as it should have been.”

“Okay then, let’s review the tapes. We only need to see the night footage since it’s absolutely impossible for anyone to have lifted it during the day with so many guests and staff constantly up and down the place.”

“Well actually, that area was shut down a couple of days ago for the floors to be professionally cleaned.”

Rashid put his hand to his chin as he thought back to that day. There was something that was bothering him, something that he couldn’t quite remember but that his mind was telling him was important. Suddenly, it came to him.

“Come to think of it, when they arrived Zubeida cordoned off the area with velvet ropes and alerted the guards that work was in progress. I remember her coming back into the office and mentioning something about it being strange that the cleaning company would send two new people to clean the altar floors that she had never met before and who clearly were not familiar with the job. It was a security concern that she was having, so I dismissed it since that is her area of responsibility.”

“Where is Zubeida now, Rashid?”

“She should be in the lobby supervising the guard’s shift relief, the second set will be going off for their lunch break now.”

“Have her come up here as soon as she is finished, please,” Anthony said.

Rashid pressed a button on the device in his ear and then said, “Zubeida, would you please come up to the office after the shifts have been changed?”

They could not hear the response, but Rashid nodded his head and then said, “Thank you.”

“She’ll be here shortly.”

“In the meantime, do you have any pictures of the missing Watchers from Qena and of the Northman?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Could you lend them to me for a minute please?” Anthony asked, politely.

“Absolutely.”

When Zubeida came into the office, Anthony introduced himself and asked her to tell him about what had happened two days ago when the men came to clean the floors. Zubeida gave him the account in as much detail as she could and then Anthony showed her the pictures one by one, starting with the Northman’s.

“No, I don’t know that man,” she said, but when Anthony showed her the other two she quickly identified them as the two new cleaners that had been there to do the floors.

“Thank you Zubeida, that will be all,” Rashid said and watched as she left the office.

“Those infidel weasels!” Rashid roared.

“So now we know what timeframe of footage to look at.”

They scoured the footage and came up with a solid theory and even more solid evidence to back it up. The entire time that the two Qena Watchers, Hassan and Amir were stealing the codex, the Northman was walking round and round the museum, waiting for them to finish. What he was doing there was anyone’s guess because according to Rashid, he had told the other Guardsmen that he would be in Sweden on business for the two days after their night meeting in the park.

“Now we have to get ready for the meeting. Where did you ask them to meet you?”

“At a warehouse in the industrial district that belongs to the Guardsmen.”

“Excellent,” Anthony replied. “And they all confirmed that they would be coming?”

“Yes, even Hassan and Amir, who have been missing for the past week.”

“We should be ready for resistance,” Anthony said, looking directly at Chyna. “I don’t think this is going to be a smooth operation.”

Rashid reached into his desk and pulled out his Colt 45, checking it and the holstering it.

“Neither do I,” he said.

At the warehouse, Anthony places Lana, who is known to be a crack shot, on the roof of an adjacent building as lookout and sniper. Oscar is placed in the backroom to monitor the surveillance camera and keep their wireless earpieces on full broadcast. Rashid, Chyna and Anthony wait inside for the others to arrive. Eastman, Westman and Southman all get there early and carrying their firearms as well. The Watchers from Cairo and Luxor are also prepared for a fight. Instantly, Anthony begins to like their new odds. There is no sign of the Watchers from Amarna nor Hassan and Amir and it becomes obvious that the four of them are in league with the Northman.

Soon, a car pulls up outside the warehouse and the five men come out and approach the warehouse. The news came swiftly from Lana and the rest prepared themselves. The Northman and the four Watchers walk into the room and face Rashid and the others.

“Where is the Book, Northman?” Rashid asked impatiently.

“It is safe from the likes of you,” Northman replied.

“I had a feeling that you would try to sabotage my decision to give it up to the Seeker but I never expected this from you. I am truly disappointed.”

“In the future, I would advise you to expect nothing but the worst from men, Rashid. That way you can never be disappointed when they do not do as you expect them to.”

“If you do not intend to turn over the Book, why have you come here?”

“To send you along your way Imhotep and induct Imhotep Ta-sherit in your place.”

“So you came to kill me?”

“Yes, Imhotep. You and all your crazy friends.”

At that Hassan raised his gun to fire at Rashid but before he could squeeze the trigger, Chyna dropped him with a single bullet to the head. They took cover behind some furniture that they had piled up towards the back of the room.

“I heard shots fired in there, is everyone alright?” Lana asked over the radio.

“We are fine, Lana,” Chyna replied. “I shot one of them.”

“I’m coming in,” she replied.

Lana burst through the door and opened fire on the four remaining gunmen, shooting each one with a single bullet. Most they were superficial wounds but quite enough to take them down and keep them down; at least for a while. A quick search of their car turned up the codex which Anthony handed over to Rashid.

When the injured men had been taken away to a hospital under police escort, Rashid turned to them and said, “In all my years I have never met anyone who was as dedicated to doing what is right as you four are. I thank you very much for everything and most of all for bringing me the peace that I have wanted for most of my life.”

“It was our pleasure, Rashid. We’re happy to have made such a good friend as well. I’ll be sure to have Dr. Nassir contact you today about the codex; I am sure that you’re more anxious than ever to have it gone to its rightful place.”

“You are right, Chyna,” he replied. Then he touched his hand to his forehead, bowed low from the waist and placed his hand on her feet. “May the peace of Allah be with you,” he said as he stood.

“And also with you, Rashid,” the four replied, happily.

Epilogue

Chyna and the others spent the next week in Istanbul helping with the arrangements for the delivery of the Mummy Codex, as it was being called in the news, to the Ministry of Antiquities in Cairo. Rashid had passed it off publicly to Dr. Nassir as a relic that was found under the altar tile during a routine cleaning. He claimed that after a basic analysis, they realized that they could be looking at the Egyptian Book of Life and so they contacted the Ministry of Antiquities immediately.

But soon the Mummy Codex was on its way back to Egypt and the team was preparing to leave for home. It had been almost a year since Chyna and Lana had been back to New York and about six months for Oscar. It was certainly time to go home.

***

Three months later,

Chyna was sitting on the deck of her cabin on Cape Cod when the telephone rang. She answered and heard Sandra’s voice on the other end.

“Oh, Hi Sandra,” she said cheerily. “What’s happening?”

“I’ve couriered a package to you, Chyna,” she replied. “It’s from the Syrian government.”

“Well, I guess we have our next assignment.”

“I guess so, Chyna. Have a nice day.”

“Same to you, Sandra.”

Chyna drove into Barnstable about an hour later to pick up her package from the courier office; there wasn’t any door to door delivery out in her neck of the woods. She resisted the urge to tear it open right there and instead she picked up a pizza and some beer and drove back to the cabin.

“What’s that you’ve got?” Anthony asked, when she came back and put the big yellow envelope down on the table. He had been there with her for a week already and he didn’t have any plans to go anywhere else for the rest of his six week hiatus. He’d already spent a week visiting his family and friends before he had made a beeline for Cape Cod, the cabin and Chyna.

“Sandra sent it up. It’s from the Syrian government but I haven’t opened it yet. I’m a little scared to.”

“Why would you be scared, Babe?” he asked her, coming around into the kitchen to put his arms around her waist.

“It could be our next assignment and I’m not ready to leave; especially for Syria. I’m kinda over the Middle East right now; a year was enough and I need a proper break from that. I need this minute of peace that we’re having right now.”

“I know what you’re saying, Babe, but my time off is going to end at some point and then it will be me who’ll definitely be headed back to the Middle East. I wouldn’t mind if you were someplace close by when I do head back. You know? Somewhere that’s sneak-away-for-the-weekend kind of close.”

“How can you make even the worst things grow a good side?”

“It’s a gift,” he said, kissing the nape of her neck and then sucking on her earlobe. She moaned and pressed against him hungrily.

“Now come on,” he scolded. “Open it.”

Chyna groaned and sat down at the kitchen table taking up the envelope and sliding a finger beneath the flap. She pulled out the think folder and placed it on the table in front of her. She opened the letter and read it quickly.

“The Syrian government would like to retain the services of Found History to categorize and curate a very large number of relics and antiquities which were recently unearthed at an archaeological dig site near Hamah. Responsibilities include packaging and shipment of items from the site to the warehouses after testing and dating is completed. Creating and maintaining the catalog of goods and identifying and verifying unrecognizable pieces of antiquity such as the specimen shown in picture 96a on page 132 of the folder included in the envelope.”

Chyna put down the letter and opened the folder to page 132 to look at the photograph of this unexplained item.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” she exclaimed.

Anthony came rushing over to see what had shocked her so much.

He saw the picture of what looked like a pike’s head in the shape of an eagle.

“What’s the big deal about the eagle?” he asked.

“It’s not an eagle, Babe, It’s a falcon.”

“So, what’s the deal?”

“The deal is that, based on what this relic actually is, there is no way on this green Earth it should have been found on a dig in Syria.”

“So is this your next assignment? Are you going to take it? Does that mean you're heading back to the Middle East?”

“It looks so Tony, it really looks that way. I’m not in a hurry to leave, obviously, and there’s no real rush. The stuff’s already coming out of the ground, they can wait a few weeks for me to get there. But there’s no way I can let the chance to see this Phoenician Falcon pass me by.”

The End

Chyna Stone returns in:

The Phoenician Falcon

A Chyna Stone Adventure #3

Return to the Table of Contents

THE

PHOENICIAN

FALCON

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#3

by

K.T. TOMB

The Phoenician Falcon

Prologue

729A.D.

Sandefjord, Norway

“It’s cold today,” Svein said.

“Perhaps,” Jarl Alaric grunted in reply.

He was in a bad mood and though he wouldn’t admit it, the drizzling rain and incessant cold was not helping his demeanor. His mind was on something his youngest wife had said to him the day he had left Drammen to make his way to Sandefjord.

“My Jarl,” she had said, quietly. “I have bled again this moon; I am still not with child.”

“Then you too are now counted among the barren wives of Alaric,” he shouted, pushing her away from him in disgust. Then he announced to the entire court that was gathered in his Great Hall. “I shall take no more wives; it seems that I choose only useless ones but any woman who wishes to warm my bed from this night on only needs to reach it before I do and she will be well comforted that night. Moreover, should any of these women become pregnant with my child then I shall take her as jarlkona of Drammen.”

His wives were so shamed by Alaric’s speech that they left the Great Hall shortly afterward and retired to their rooms crying bitterly. Only Freda remained seated in the chair at Alaric’s left hand, quietly sewing as if she had not heard a word he had said. When the meal was finished, Alaric rose from his throne and led the men out into the square to mount their horses. She followed at a distance behind him and watched as he settled into the saddle of his great war horse. He looked directly at her as if he could see into the depths of her soul and fearing nothing, she held his stare. Her handmaiden brought her a basket of various food stuffs and they walked up to the Jarl’s horse. Freda dutifully took each of the items from the basket and placed them into the Jarl’s saddlebag. Each package was significant for the journey to a thing, and as a dutiful, loyal wife, she was expected to pack these items for her husbands’ well being on his journey.

On his right side, she put the bag of spices: cinnamon, pepper, salt, dried mint leaves, sage and thyme. All things he could use if he were hurt; to stave off infection and dress wounds. Also on his right she placed the dried meats and fruit, the nuts, the cheese and an eating knife. Then she walked to his left side and opened the bag. She took the gloves, woolen socks, and a small blanket from the basket and placed them inside it. With her duties done, she silently stepped back from Alaric’s horse and stood with the crowd that had come to see him and his warriors off.

“Ride safely to Sandefjord, Husband,” she said, without looking up at him.

“Wife,” was his only reply, and then he kicked his horse and galloped from the square.

When he was out of sight and the crowd had dispersed, Freda walked back to the Great Hall and sat in her chair. She took up the shirt she had been sewing and continued with her work. Soon after, the Jarl’s younger brother, Ivor, came in surrounded by his men. He stood at the bottom of the platform and bowed low to Freda. She smiled at him and put the shirt aside, stretching out her hands to him. Ivor rose and went to her taking her hands in his and kissing them as would be customary when greeting the principal wife of the Jarl, whether she was a queen or not.

“I am taking my leave in the morning, Jarlkona,” he explained. “I am needed at the ship building in Sandvika; there is a fleet of twelve being constructed there and it is going very well.”

“That is good news, Ivor,” she replied demurely. “Are we still going boar hunting together at the full moon?”

“Helga will not hear otherwise,” he said, smiling broadly. “They will be in rut and the big boars will get careless and easy to track. She would like to go to the woods near Nottoden.”

“That will be excellent sport,” Freda said laughing loudly. “Travel safely to Sandvika.”

“Thank you, Jarlkona,” he said.

***

That night when the hall was finally empty, Freda gathered her skirts up and stood from her chair. She would normally have left Jarl Alaric to the entertaining and been in bed a long time ago but in his absence she had to host their court herself. She stretched and tidied up her sewing box before descending the platform and blowing out the candles. She paused and listened for a moment. There was complete silence; no one had fallen asleep drunk in a dark corner of the hall. All the servants had been dismissed for the night and she was certain that she had been left alone there to retire to her bed. Satisfied, that is exactly what she did. When she reached the heavy wooden door of her bedroom she could see the soft light from the candle within but nothing else. She entered and locked the door behind her.

He had been waiting for her for a long time. When she entered, he sat up in the bed and watched her close the door. She was careful to place the heavy plank in place, locking it securely before she turned to face him. The candle light shone through the fabric of her dress and the shape of her legs and thighs were as plain to see as if there had been no garment there at all. She unlaced the dress and let it fall to her feet anyway. The breath caught in his throat and before he knew what he was doing he had vaulted to the end of the bed and taken her naked body in his arms. He pulled her to the bed and kissed her passionately, touching every inch of her soft body with his hands. As she yielded to him and they were entwined as one, he moved inside her in a single, smooth motion.

“Ivor,” she cried softly into his ear, “my love!”

***

Freda, first daughter of King Ottir and a princess of Oslo had been married to Jarl Alaric for five years. Alaric had been Ottir’s closest and richest ally, and he had made an excellent match for the princess. They had been happy for a short time, but when Freda did not conceive a child, Alaric became bitter .He accused King Ottir of saddling him with a barren wife and he ridiculed Freda publicly in the Great Hall in front of his warriors and subjects.

By the third year, Freda became afraid for her life. It was not uncommon for a man of their culture to divorce or even kill a wife who was unable to bear him children. Alaric was too smart to do either; such actions would have brought the wrath of the King on him so he did the acceptable thing and he took a second wife. Her name was Agartha and the king was extremely fond of her. The betrayal of her husbands’ second marriage and the negligence Freda suffered afterward caused her to resort to spending as much time away from Drammen as possible. She took extensive hunting trips with her brother-in-law, Ivor and sister-in-law, Helga. The three became inseparable and Alaric didn’t seem to mind; he had worries of his own when after a year Agartha could not conceive either. He married Gildi next and Thyri the year after that, but none of his wives would bear any children.

For three years, Freda enjoyed her immense freedom. She had been discarded by Alaric, wholly forgotten and left to her own devices. When Helga was married to one of Freda’s younger brothers and had moved to Oslo, Freda and Ivor were left to keep each others company. It wasn’t long before they became enraptured with each other. It was a love story fit for the sagas; a spurned princess and her lover, an unimportant second son. They spent weeks together locked up in one after another of Ivor’s hunting lodges; venturing as far West as Hardangervidda, ensuring to stay with the animals that were in season. When the hunting was poor, they journeyed east to King Ottir’s fishing lodges on the lakes near Arvika. The food stores and the tables in the Great Hall at Drammen were never without meat and fish.

It wasn’t long before Freda found that she was pregnant with Ivor’s child. When she told him she had tears in her eyes.

“What will we do, Ivor?” she asked.

“We will have to make a plan, Freda,” he replied. “Alaric has come to realize that he is impotent, he expects that his wives will remain barren.”

“He will surely execute me now,” she wailed, throwing herself to the ground.

Ivor rushed to her side. He took her in his arms and pulled her up to her feet.

“Remember who you are,” he whispered to her, “Princess Freda.”

“I will be a headless Princess soon if we cannot fix this. Should I go to see the völva?”

“What would you do, Freda? Have her kill our baby inside your womb? Our baby has harmed no one; it is Alaric who has caused harm. He has harmed you, his other wives and he harmed me as well.”

“What will you do, Ivor?”

“I will do something that I should have done a long time ago and the less you know of it the better.”

***

“Make sure the falcons are majestic,” Ivor told the goldsmith. “They should have their wings spread wide and the feathers must be prominent just as the feathers of Freyja’s cloak. Make their legs spread wide so they stand like birds that are prepared to take flight. One must be looking to the right, while the other looks left.”

“Yes, Master,” the goldsmith replied.

“When will the two finials be ready?”

“I shall have them in four days.”

“That will do.”

Ivor had dug up the hoard of gold he had been collecting from their raids for ten years. When he took it all to the goldsmith, he had smiled and handed back a good portion of it to Ivor.

“This will be enough to make both birds, Master,” he had said.

The finials were ready when the four days had passed and Ivor had them mounted on freshly carved flag poles. At the half moon, he presented the flagpoles to Jarl Alaric as a crop festival present to congratulate him on another successful year of raiding and harvest. In his vanity, Alaric accepted the extravagant gift unquestioningly. He knew that his brother must have sacrificed a huge portion of his hoard of raided gold.

“Look,” he called out to the guests in the Great Hall. “My brother honors me for the grand year we have had in Drammen. He had brought me the images of the Falcons of Freyja.”

There was a loud cheer at the mention of the beloved goddess’s name.

“They are stunningly beautiful, aren’t they?” Ivor asked. “I would like to congratulate you, my Jarl, on your tenth harvest as chieftain of Drammen. It has been ten years of undoubted success and I wish you many more years to govern us, brother.”

Alaric had the standards of Drammen placed on the flagpoles immediately and his standard bearers stood on either side of his chair holding them for everyone to see.

“Brother, I am honored by your gift,” Alaric said.

“I am pleased, brother,” Ivor replied. “I thought they would be splendid at the head of your retinue when you attend the thing next month at Sandefjord.

“That is a magnificent idea. I will certainly take them with me,” Alaric said proudly. “I am certain that there will be no other jarl there who will carry such a formidable sigil at the front of their retinue. I doubt that even King Ottir can claim that his men are led forth by the ‘Falcons of Freyja’.”

***

The forests outside of Sandefjord were indeed cold that morning and though Alaric would not admit it, he wanted nothing more than to arrive at the Great Hall and sit in front of the fire there. He looked up the line and caught sight of his flag bearers proudly carrying their golden falcons above their heads with the standards of his station flowing in the wind. He smiled broadly. The pride he felt over the two golden finials was so immense it was enough to make him forget about the bitter cold for a moment or two.

They soon passed into the valley within the wood that marked the halfway point through the forest. There were rocky cliffs to both sides on which gigantic trees grew, towering over them like the gods themselves. It was always dark in this section of the forest, no matter how high the sun was in the sky. The men kept a steady pace being careful not to rush the horses through in fear of losing a shoe or, even worse, having a horse break a leg on loose stones.

There wasn’t a sound as the archer took his stand and drew back his bow. He had heard the sound of the approaching hoof beats and had made himself ready to take his shot. He saw the marker; two flagpoles at the head of the riding party whose poles were topped by giant golden falcons with wide spread wings. He watched carefully, waiting for Jarl Alaric to come into view. When he saw the white of the wolf fur on the shoulders of the riding cloak, he stood and drew the bow taunt. He was sure to stay well within the tree line; out of sight and far enough for the twang of the bowstring to echo, disguising the direction from which the sound came. When Alaric was in full view, he let the arrow fly. It was true to its mark as it went straight through the jarl’s neck and out the other side falling to the ground. Waiting only long enough to see him fall from his horse, the archer gathered his things from the spot, turned and walked deeper into the forest.

Svein commanded the group to stop and jumped from his horse. He examined Alaric’s body and quickly found where the blood was flowing from. It came in spurts from the wound in his neck until it no longer flowed. Right there in the thick snow on the road to Sandefjord, the jarl slipped away to Valhalla in his captain’s arms. The men spread out all over the ridge in search of who had fired the arrow, but they found nothing and no one in the forest above them. As they stood there, wondering what to do next, there was not a sound in the forest except for the unmistakable calls of the wild falcons high in the ancient trees.

Chapter One

Chyna walked into the New York offices of Found History at 9 a.m. on Monday morning feeling conflicted about their new assignment. She knew she had to go; she had already committed their services to the Syrian government but there just seemed to be so many obstacles stacked against their departure. They had returned three months ago from two back to back adventures that had gone on for nearly a year. It just didn’t feel right to be dragging her assistant investigator, Lana and their technical engineer, Oscar on another engagement so soon. In addition to all that, there was recent civil unrest brewing in Syria and she wasn’t too keen on being caught in the middle of political strife so far away from home. All things considered, Damascus was a modern city and easy to get out of if things took a turn for the worst, but there were also rumors that the U.S. Embassy there was considering closing if things escalated. Thinking about it, Chyna couldn’t shake scenes from the movie Argo from her mind, especially when the crowd stormed the embassy gates and broke into the compound.

From Greece to Egypt to Turkey, the last trip to the Middle East had been taxing on all of them. They had been betrayed by a colleague, kidnapped by treasure hunters and put in mortal danger. In Egypt, confronting the rogue members of two Egyptian secret societies; the Watchers and the Guardsmen, had been more than a little overwhelming for the three. Chyna had killed the leader of that little incursion, the Northman, a newspaper tycoon from Sweden, who had masterminded the theft of an ancient Egyptian relic, the Mummy Codex.

Since the recovery of the book, the entire field of Egyptology had been turned upside down. It contained a detailed, complete record of the names and life of every Egyptian Pharaoh from Djoser Netjeriket of the third dynasty all the way to King Tutankhamun of the eighteenth dynasty. But the Book had revealed new information about the names many scholars had associated with possible relatives of Akhenaten who had ruled in Tutankhamun’s infancy. They now had proof of who those persons were and it turned out that they had been women of the royal household. The new evidence had sent them scurrying back to analyze theories involving the ‘Pharaoh Queens’ of the Amarna Period. According to the records, Nefertiti had indeed ruled Egypt in her own right as a pharaoh, so had her daughters Meritaten, Meketaten and Ankesenamun after her. These new discoveries had caused upheaval in the archeological community, sending experts back to their labs, the tombs, the mummies and the records they had compiled to verify and re-categorize the records they had spent years compiling.

At her desk, Chyna sat sifting through a ton load of unopened mail. Mostly, it had turned out to be letters of thanks from the local authorities and intellectual societies they had come in contact with as well as cards from agencies and organizations who had been the beneficiaries of the items they had found during their investigations. Diplomatic communiqués confirming details she had submitted to embassies, consulates and other authorities regarding the teams’ objectives while in their country, as well as declarations for her firearm and their equipment. There were also wire transfer advices for the payment of her fees and some bills for the team’s expenses. She was angry when she saw those; unopened and parked on her desk to wait until she returned to the office.

When she had opened them all, Chyna put them in separate piles for Sandra to attend to. The sight of the unpaid bills and unconfirmed fee payments confirmed to her that a decision she had been contemplating for the past four months since her return home was now imminent. She could no longer afford to put off making it. Chyna picked up the telephone on her desk and dialed Sandra’s number on the intercom.

“Hi, Sandra,” she said. “Could you please call Lana and Oscar and ask them to meet me in the conference for lunch? I need you there as well. There are some really important things regarding the future of this company that we need to discuss especially since we’ll be off again so soon to Syria.”

“Sure thing, Chyna,” Sandra replied. “Is there anything you’re going to need me to get for the meeting?”

“Yes, since I’m not sure how long we’re going to be, could you make sure that the phones are covered and also order some lunch for us from that Chinese place, Land of Plenty? You know what everybody likes.”

“I’ll do that, Chyna.”

“Let’s make it twelve thirty, okay?”

“Certainly.”

At twelve fifteen the food arrived and shortly after Lana and Oscar strolled into the conference room and started to serve themselves some lunch. Chyna and Sandra joined them a few minutes later and did the same. When everyone was settled down, Chyna began to speak.

“Good afternoon everyone,” she started. “Now that everyone has something to eat, I’ll just say what it is I’ve asked you all here for and then I’ll take the chance to eat while you give me your feedback.”

“Fair enough,” Oscar mumbled, around a mouthful of Szechuan noodles.

“As you all know, last year Lana and I went on a six month assignment in Greece which turned into eleven months of the most successful and rewarding work ever accomplished by Found History. Oscar, you had your first chance to join us in the field and what was supposed to be a three week expedition for you in Greece, turned out to be four months of plane hopping and equipment lugging. In the end it was worth it though; we had a great time, met some amazing people and found a lot of lost history.

“But it got me thinking about the future of our company and I think it’s time for me to take action on a plan I’ve been toying with for a long time. It’s why I hired Sirita a couple years back; I’ve just never taken it further because I wasn’t convinced it was lucrative enough. Even after coming back from our trip, I still wasn’t convinced until Sandra sent me the dossier on our latest assignment a couple weeks ago. After confirming us for this trip to Syria, I’m ready to propose that we open a second office, Found History East LLC. Tell me, what do you all think?”

“Wow, Chyna,” Lana said, looking dumbstruck. “I can’t believe it but I do think it’s about damn time! We’ve been spread pretty thin and when we’re on that side of the world, there’s so much that gets neglected at home both personally and business-wise.”

“I agree,” Oscar said. “This was my first time overseas with you guys but now that I know what assignments like these entail, I’m eager to get involved with more of them.”

“Really, Oscar?” Chyna said, surprised. “I’d have thought all the traveling was especially taxing on you; with all the equipment and such.”

“Nah,” he said, lifting another forkful. “I was in my element; like a hog in mud.”

Chyna laughed at his down-home southern expression which reminded her that even in New York, Oscar was far from home. He really didn’t get that much time to get back to Tennessee and when he did it was really just a quick visit to family and friends before heading straight back to work. Lana had gotten engaged after their return from Turkey and Chyna knew it was only fair that she should have the opportunity to spend more time closer to home.

“What do think about it, Sandra,” Chyna asked. She had noticed the secretary had been rather quiet.

“I have to say I’m in shock,” she replied, “but it’s certainly the right move. It’s evident that the company’s reputation is fast outgrowing its capabilities. We’ve come too far since your father passed away to allow ourselves to become obsolete.”

“That’s why I love you guys!” Chyna exclaimed. “Well, since we’re all in agreement, I have a few announcements to make. You all know that I consider those assembled around this table to be my inner circle as far as the company goes, so it’s only natural that I would structure this expansion around you guys.

“Sandra, I’m going to need you to start interviewing for a new executive assistant because effective the first of next month, you will be the new Office Manager of Found History New York. I’m going to need you to find someone that Lana can get along with. She’s always on the top of her game, so that’s not going to be easy.”

Chyna saw the look of confusion on both women’s faces and reveled in it for a little before she continued.

“That’s because Miss Lana Ambrose is going to be heading up our offices here as the Lead Investigator.”

Lana was flabbergasted. She jumped up from her chair and ran over to hug Chyna.

“I’m so happy and Ted will be even happier to hear that I’ll be based here now,” she said. “Hold on, that doesn’t mean there’s no more traveling at all, does it?”

“Of course not, Lana, you’d better let Ted know he’s still going to have to give you up when the need arises.”

“Awesome!”

“Now wait one cotton pickin’ minute here,” Oscar said. “What about me?”

“Oscar,” Chyna said, “you are going to have to interview and select two new computer technicians, one in New York and another in Istanbul, because I need you in the field with whichever office has the big assignment going on. You are now our Senior Technical Engineer and I’m glad you love to travel because the position is an international one; you’re going to have to be between the two locations as needed or as you see fit.”

“I’m a happy man,” Oscar said, smiling broadly.

“Well, now that all of that’s out in the open, the only thing left to decide on is where,” Chyna announced. “I have a few ideas but what we need is a decision that’s just based on location and stability. It wouldn’t make sense opening an office in a city that didn’t have at least seven hours in time difference with New York; the point is really to cover the world. So, the obvious choice, London is out of the equation. I thought of Athens, Cairo, Tel Aviv, Dubai, Istanbul and New Delhi. So vote on it; write down the name of the city you want.”

There was a silence for a short while and then everybody took up their pens and wrote down the city they would prefer to open the east offices in. When the count was taken there were four ‘Istanbuls’ lying on the table. It was unanimous.

“It’s certainly a stable city and country, Chyna,” Lana said.

“And we have a truck load of friends over there now to give us all the help we could ever need,” Oscar added.

“I agree,” Sandra finally chimed in, “and it certainly was the least expensive.”

“I guess it’s all agreed then,” Chyna replied.

She wanted desperately to think that they had made a purely practical and well thought out decision to choose Istanbul, but she knew deep down that they had made the choice they thought would make her the happiest. She had made all her decisions with their personal happiness in mind and now they had done the same for her. Though she had tried to hide her relationship with Agent Anthony Stewart from Lana and Oscar, they must have picked up on it. Chyna knew she had been as careful as she could have but somehow they must have found out. She appreciated that they had never been tempted to be unprofessional about it before but now she felt as if they had seen something in her soul that she wasn’t ready to divulge yet. Nonetheless, she was happy with their decision. She knew that Istanbul was only a six hour drive from Izmir.

“So, you all know what you’ve got to do,” Chyna finally said. “We don’t have long to get this set up before we leave for Syria. I’d like to get East up and running immediately after we’re done on that assignment. So Sandra, hire the assistant and get the paperwork started for everybody’s new responsibilities. I want that all signed off on and settled by the end of the week; all new contracts and job descriptions, offer letters, everything. Lana, you’re gonna have to get in touch with Rashid and have him recommend a good realtor and an even better lawyer. I want well-appointed offices of at least 1500 square feet, preferably with a good view of the Hagia Sofia. We need business licenses, work permits, bank accounts, driver’s licenses, gun licenses, everything legal; again, you have a week, Lana. Oscar, I need the names and credentials of those two technicians and a training report of what they’ve been taught. They should be in office working and familiarizing themselves with our operations by Monday. I need them as our back up for the Syrian assignment because if things go pear-shaped politically, we’re going to need a good exit plan. Let’s get moving on this immediately; I’m going to need to have a status report meeting on Wednesday and a final one on Friday. Okay?”

The others all nodded and murmured their understanding, so Chyna moved on to the next topic for discussion.

“Let’s talk about revenue,” she started. “I already mentioned that our last year had been lucrative enough for us to go ahead with expanding the company but what I’d like to go into is exactly how we performed monetarily. I’d like you all to know that we made more in profits in the last year than all three previous years combined. I’m convinced it’s solely due to our last four assignments: The Knossos dig and the recovery of the Minoan Mask, the Luxor excavation and the locating of the Mummy Codex. In both cases we were brought in on one job and then launched into another. To me, this is proof that we have got to keep knowledge of the company circulating in the right networks and the image of the company pristine. That’s going to mean attending more industry functions, keeping up to date with all recent discoveries and ensuring we maintain our usual impeccable standard of work. Heck, we need to get back into some discovery work; we don’t need to sit around waiting to be called in to consult on digs, we can get back to finding our own excavation sites as well. We certainly have the resources and manpower with the east office opening. The point of expansion is really to capitalize on new opportunities on that side of the world, right in the midst of the ‘Cradle of Civilization’ and keep expenses manageable while we do it.”

After the meeting, Chyna could hardly wait to tell Anthony the news about the decision the team had made to base the new offices in Istanbul. He was a longtime boyfriend she had a very passionate, long distance relationship with. They had spent a record amount of time together over the past year while she traveled the Middle East; he and his team from Izmir had assisted Chyna’s team tactically every time they had been in Turkey and he had spent the lion’s share of his six week hiatus with her at her seaside cabin in Cape Cod. They had come back to the city a week ago and now Anthony was scheduled to travel back to his post in Izmir the next day. The news of her moving to Istanbul should make him ecstatic and Chyna was sure that he would be.

Anthony would be in Istanbul to see her every weekend; it was only fifteen minutes by plane as opposed to the usual fourteen hours he traveled to New York when he sometimes came to see her. Although he would never admit it to anyone, he was just about ready to settle down; the problem was that he wasn’t quite ready to leave the Middle East. He had done a lot of work and spent a lot of time there but he hadn’t done a lot of exploring and he wanted to see some of the Orient before he had to leave it behind.

So many times, when one of his postings or one of Chyna’s assignments had brought them to the same region or city, he had told her that they were lucky to have each other. They were pursuing their dreams, each of them on a different path almost parallel to each other but every now and then their paths would cross and it would be as if they had never been apart. He always felt lucky to have a woman in his life who felt exactly like he did about his career; it meant they could have absolutely no contact for years, and come together as if they were never apart, with neither being bitter about anything.

It was a half-life of sorts though; learning to take satisfaction from a lot of pieces of everything as opposed to a whole lot of one. He had always felt that a little bit of something was always better than a whole lot of nothing and Chyna felt the same. Having her so close on a permanent basis would be a great way to transition into the next phase of his life though. What exactly the phase would entail, he didn’t have a clue, but the prospect of having Chyna so much more prominently in his life while he moved through it was like a dream come true.

The next morning, Chyna drove him to J.F.K. to catch a flight to London; it was time to get back to work. There was so much going through Anthony’s mind, he had to physically shake it off. At the terminal, he took his bags out of the trunk of Chyna’s Audi A4 and set them down on the pavement. She walked close beside him holding on to the left sleeve of his coat as they made their way to the check in counter and waited. When his bags were checked, he turned to walk her back outside to her car. Chyna turned to him and held him close and his arms went around her tenderly.

“I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” she said, softly.

“I know you will,” he replied. “Just remember what I’ve always told you; we’ve got a little bit of a lot of different things.”

“We do,” she agreed, “but maybe it’s time for us to have a whole lot of just a few.”

He put his lips to hers and kissed her as deeply and as passionately as he could. He couldn’t believe that Chyna Stone had, in her own strange way, just told him that she was ready to have more with him than they had learned to be satisfied with for all these years. There was a feeling of complete happiness that came over him when he heard her say those words; it was exactly the confirmation he had needed. It was clear that they felt the same about their relationship and that she wanted what he did. In that instant Agent Anthony Stewart knew what he needed to do and as soon as he got back to the base house in Izmir he sent an email initiating his request for a transfer from the consular agency in Izmir to the consulate in Istanbul.

As Chyna drove back to Manhattan, she couldn’t help but think about their last night together. She and Anthony had gone to dinner at their favorite restaurant, Annisa, in the West Village, followed by a Broadway show that was getting some great reviews. Back at Chyna’s apartment they had talked for hours and drank several bottles of wine on her balcony overlooking the city.

He had come straight into bed from the shower and held her body closely to him, kissing the nape of her neck. She looked so peaceful lying there, like an angel fallen against the white pillows of the bed. Anthony moved closer to her until her naked body was pressed firmly against his. He let out a sigh and snuggled closer to her warmth. She smiled and turned to face him, taking in the soft scent of his shampoo and letting her kisses trail over his neck and shoulders and down his chest. When she kissed the skin on his shoulders, Anthony pulled her closer and sighed deeply. He lifted her head to face him and they smiled at each other as he took her mouth with his. He kissed her with a passion that rose from deep inside him, a hunger that he couldn’t explain. The desire he felt for Chyna now was nothing like the young love he had experienced with her when they had just met years ago in a lecture hall at F.B.I. headquarters. This was something deeper, truer, more urgent, and more potent.

He knew he was as hard as a rock by the time he dipped his mouth to the bounty of her breasts. Chyna’s head went back as her back arched, moving her body even closer for him to enjoy. A breathy sigh escaped her lips and soon after she was moaning deeply. Her thighs undulated seductively against him and it wasn’t long before Anthony could stand it no longer. He lifted her leg and swung it over his hip and around his waist, separating her delightful thighs. She grasped hold of his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one powerful movement, they were one and he had filled her with his manhood.

She held on to him as if for life itself when he started to move inside her. Chyna felt as if he were moving her entire world with every kiss of his hips. She met his every move with the rocking of her thighs and the feeling of intense unity between them soon made him throw back his head in ecstasy as he exploded with their passion. His body was cosmically charged and so was hers. The energy between them was intense. Even as they reveled in each others embrace, Anthony began to move inside her again. He never faded after his brush with rapture but only took a moment to regain his breath and to lavish kisses along Chyna’s neckline.

It was her turn to surprise him as she swung her leg around, turned him over and sat squarely on top of him. She gathered the sheets around her waist and positioned herself. Slowly, she moved her hips back and forth, rocking in the rhythm of passion and abandon. They were one, moved as one and soon their breathing was ragged and urgent but she was determined for their encounter to last so she slowed the pace, her movements becoming more deliberate and sensual. Their eyes were locked on each other, both of them drinking the other in and fully immersed in their lovemaking.

They fell asleep in each others arms that night clinging to each other, knowing full well it was their last night together. When the sun rose and the day began, they would have to say their goodbyes again.

Chapter Two

Chyna sat at her desk daydreaming about her night with Anthony; thoughts of him touching her body and kissing her lips tenderly sent pleasant little shivers down her spine. It had been sad to let him go but she knew that she would see him again soon. She looked at her ‘To do’ list and sighed, hopefully the others were having better luck getting started on work today than she was.

Sandra had already seen three candidates for the executive assistant position by the time she had arrived at the office and was now moving on to her fifth interview. Chyna hadn’t seen Lana at all yet; the office door had been closed when she had walked past it on the way in. According to Sandra, Oscar had gone to NYU to meet with a friend of his who was a professor in the computer sciences department. He was set on hiring someone who had proven themselves to be exceptional in the classroom and who could do with a great opportunity right out of college.

Chyna went down her list again: find an apartment, order the car, give Rashid a call, and talk to Sirita. She decided to call Sirita first. She was Chyna’s next piece of puzzle as far as staffing the Istanbul office went. The New Delhi native had been handling logistics and correspondence for the company on a freelance basis for almost three years now and she had been doing an excellent job. Chyna thought she deserved the first shot at a permanent position with them; as long as she wanted to give it a try. Sirita answered the phone immediately.

“You’re working late today, Sirita,” Chyna said. “How have you been?”

“Hi, Chyna,” Sirita said, cheerfully. “I’m actually watching the morning talk shows; I’m totally obsessed with Kelly Ripa.”

Chyna laughed. She had forgotten how much Sirita loved American television. There was a time Sirita had confessed to Chyna that her biggest expense was satellite television because she just couldn’t live without watching Grey’s Anatomy.

“I know you haven’t heard from us in a while, but how’s business?”

“It’s a bit slow at the moment Chyna; you know that Found History has basically been my bread and butter the past year. So, on that note, when are you guys coming back to my side of the planet?”

“You should be getting the dossier about our next assignment from Sandra today. She’s been busy trying to find us a new executive assistant for the office.”

“Really? Why? Is she leaving?”

“No, I promoted her to office manager.”

“That’s really great, Chyna, she deserves it.”

“Well, that’s kinda why I called you this morning, Siri,” Chyna continued, excitedly. “We finally decided to open an eastern office. It’ll be set up in Istanbul by the end of next month.”

“Chyna, that’s exciting news! Does that mean you won’t need a freelancer anymore? I assume you’ll be taking on permanent staff there once it’s open.” Sirita sounded disappointed.

“Well, I was kind of hoping that you would want to come and head up the offices there as our new office manager. What do you say?”

“Oh, my goodness!” Sirita exclaimed, she was squealing into the phone like a teenager in disbelief. “Of course, I want to do it. I can’t believe you would give me this huge opportunity, Chyna.”

“You’ve proven yourself, Siri. You deserve it,” she replied. “You understand that means you’ll have to relocate don’t you?”

“I realize that and I’m ready to go whenever you want me to.”

“That’s great, Siri. Sandra will be in touch with you soon with the job offer and stuff. Take a read and let me know if you have any concerns.”

“I’ll look out for it, Chyna. Thanks for the opportunity to do this; I’m really excited about it.”

“I’m glad you are Siri, we’re excited to get to have you all to ourselves! Bye, we’ll talk soon.”

“Bye, Chyna.”

As Sirita hung up the phone, she realized how stunned she was. Chyna Stone was not a woman who came across as anything but completely professional and she was pleasantly surprised to experience a slightly softer side of her; she’d even called her by her nickname, Siri. For the first time since she’d been working for Found History, Sirita felt that Chyna also liked her as a person rather than just appreciating and valuing the quality of her work; it made her feel special.

Growing up as an orphan in New Delhi, Sirita had known hardship all her life. She had struggled to stay in school while giving full time care to her convalescent aunt who she had lived with throughout her childhood. After passing her high school entry examinations, she had won a scholarship lottery which placed her in a missionary high school for girls, all expenses paid. She found out many years later that it was her aunt who had entered her name in the lottery and though she died shortly after, Sirita was glad that she had lived to see her in her crisp white uniform, going off every morning to school.

With her aunt gone, Sirita had no family left and suddenly, being under aged, she was at risk of being put into a state institution for orphans. She lived in her aunt’s house as if the old woman was still alive, making her neighbors think that she was now in the care of an uncle or older cousin; whatever would convince them so they wouldn’t call the authorities. The years went by quickly and when she finally turned sixteen, she was no longer in danger of being incarcerated. Sirita still lived in the same apartment she had shared with her aunt. It had been the only thing her uncle had left behind for them but it was fully paid for and neither had ever been in need of shelter.

After graduating from a community college with a secretarial degree, Sirita had been one of India’s pioneers in the field of online freelancing. With a good computer and a fairly high speed internet connection, she could interface with multiple clients and companies around the world. She soon built a reputation for honesty and integrity with her clients and they in turn never hesitated to recommend her services to other people. She did data entry work, transcriptions, translations and built databases, until she eventually settled into being a virtual assistant. She did everything for her clients from setting up their appointments and syncing it to their handheld devices to managing the entire digital filing system of small corporations. But she had lost a few clients after the financial crisis began in 2008, when a lot of her clients either downsized drastically or went under completely.

Found History had been her saving grace; she worked for a moderate retainer in addition to an hourly rate once she received an assignment from them. It wasn’t going to give her financial freedom but it was steady work and she enjoyed it immensely. So many times while Chyna and the team had been in Turkey over the last year, Sirita had found herself sitting at the computer daydreaming about all the places they were visiting and the people they were meeting. She couldn’t help but be a tiny bit jealous. Now, she was getting her chance to be a part of it all, to relocate to another country, experience another culture, work for a company she admired and with people she respected. It was her big break!

***

That afternoon, Chyna, Lana and Oscar sat around the desk in the conference room to discuss the Syrian assignment as well as the underlying mystery of the Phoenician Falcon.

“We’ve got to get the logistics for the trip in place quickly, Lana,” Chyna said. “The sooner the details are covered the better for us because we’ve all got a lot to get done before we leave next weekend.”

“I’ve already got the flights booked,” Lana started. “Your e-tickets will be in your email inbox by five o’clock today. Hotel rooms in Damascus are reserved as well; we’ll be staying at a place called the Albal Hotel. It’s supposed to be a great little boutique place that’s quite popular with the business crowd and the Land Cruiser is also booked, the rental company will send someone over with it to pick us up at the airport.”

“Sounds good, Lana,” Chyna replied. “Good job, as usual.”

“I’m planning to take our usual equipment with us,” Oscar said. “I didn’t feel the need to be shy with what I packed for us since some of it will likely be staying in Istanbul to get the office up and running.”

“Good thinking, Oscar. Did you start making a list of the stuff you need to order to fully outfit the new operations as well as augment the office systems here and your mobile lab?”

“I’ve got something started, but I’m also waiting to get Nigel started before I make any orders. Maybe he’ll be able to give me some suggestions of how to build the central servers here so they can handle both static locations as well as the remote one. I’m really keen on the security of the system as well as fluidity to manage the additional data and traffic.”

“Sounds like you’re on the right track,” Chyna said. “When do I get to meet Nigel?”

“He’ll be here to run some practical tests tomorrow. Provided he meets my standards in the server room, I’ll be around to introduce him to everyone.”

“That sounds awesome,” Lana said, a little bit sarcastically. “Invasion of the computer geeks! Now there’s going to be two of you around here, I can hardly wait.”

Oscar shook his head and rolled his eyes at her, convinced she was just jealous he was having a smooth time getting his end of the business straightened out.

“I spoke to Rashid yesterday,” Lana continued. “He’s put me in contact with a woman called Shakira Mendes who’s supposed to be Istanbul’s real estate agent to the moguls. I’ve got her scouting office space for us according to your specifications, Chyna. She didn’t sound like it would be difficult to find the right place. He also recommended that we stick with Citibank, they’ve got branches over there and since we already bank with them it should make things way smoother.”

“That’s really great news, Lana. Let Shakira know I want three hundred and sixty degree views of the spaces she’s proposing as well as a street view and forward me the links to those when they start coming in. I’ll ask Sandra to contact Dean at the bank and have him set up the Istanbul accounts. What about the licensing?”

“Sandra told me she hired a lawyer that Rashid recommended highly, a Mr. Farouk Jureidini. He already has the information he needs about Found History to start the initial applications. I think she’s having him apply for international driver’s licenses for all of us, as well as an international firearm license for you.”

“I have to say that you have all impressed me.Great job everybody! I spoke to Sirita this morning and she’s gung ho on joining us in Istanbul. So now that she’s onboard, I’m looking for an apartment for her and a house for us. I already ordered the cars.”

“Would you like me to ask Shakira to send you a listing of residences, Chyna?” Lana asked

“No, I don’t want to distract her. I’ll find somewhere but what I will do is send her the addresses of the places I like so she can have them inspected for me and broker the deal as well. That way, I’m confident I got a great place and she makes a commission.”

“Okay,” Lana replied.

“So, Boss lady, what kind of cars did you buy?” Oscar asked, trying to hide his enthusiasm. He was quite the motor vehicle aficionado, especially in trucks and SUV’s. Oscar’s prize possession was a 1990 Chevrolet Silverado that he’d had completely restored, then had it candy painted in black and feathered with the classic Harley Davidson stripes down the sides. It was lifted and customized in every way that a real truck maniac could dream off.

Chyna smiled and replied, “I got myself the new Audi Q7 and I bought a Range Rover for y’all.”

“Sweet,” he said.

“So, where are we with the falcon?”

Lana took over the conversation from there. She turned on the projector and showed them a few slides. So far she had discovered that the falcon wasn’t from the region and, just as Chyna had suspected, it was part of a set of two and they were Norse. The question then was: how did they get there?

“Vikings did sail the rivers of western Europe and portage over land in their time,” Chyna pointed out. “In fact, they were known to have gone as far asPersia. Why wouldn’t you think they put it there?”

“The design and the age place them in Norway in a region close to Oslo. There’s a goldsmiths’ mark that identifies a well-known craftsman whose mark has been primarily found on relics identified with King Ottir of Oslo around the eighth century A.D. and the timing is consistent with the dating that was included in the report from Syria. The Norsemen were never known to raid or migrate further east than maybe Belarus, they were obsessed with the wealth of England around that time.”

“Fair enough, so what’s your next step?”

“I’m going to try and pinpoint the person the falcons belonged to using the angle of the goldsmith. He was popular at the time so it’s possible I can find more about his work, his clients, maybe even some of his more famous pieces. If I’m lucky these might be among them. It seems whenever we unravel the story behind the artifact, the rest just seems to make sense and fall right into place.”

“You’re so right, Lana,” Chyna agreed.

Just then Sandra popped her head into the conference room.

“I’m ready for you to meet the first candidate, Chyna,” she said, smiling.

“Okay, Sandra. Just let me wrap this up in here.”

Chyna issued a few last instructions to the others and reminded them about the progress report meeting the following afternoon, and then she excused herself and stood up from the table. In her office, she pulled on her red blazer with the Found History logo on the breast pocket and straightened up the clutter on her desk a little bit. Then she buzzed Sandra and asked her to show the first person in.

***

“You made a real mess of this one Marko, there’s no way Xavier’s going to let this one slide,” Greame said.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that they would suddenly decide to excavate the Hamah location? It’s been under review for over a decade,” Marko replied, trying his very best to defend himself.

“I don’t think he’s going to give a damn about the circumstances, that bird statue was made of solid Roman gold, we confirmed it, so all Xavier’s gonna want to know is how the hell are you gonna get it back?”

Marko couldn’t believe his luck. It had been a breeze getting the statue out of Sweden disguised as props among some cargo he was shipping for a musical play. It had arrived in Milan and then been transported painstakingly over land to Athens without incident but it was then that he realized he had made a mistake taking it to Greece. Ever since the wrecks of the Artemesian fleet had been found and the Minoan Mask recovered, the Greek authorities had been on their toes to abate theft and smuggling of all cultural antiquities. He’d had to high tail it out of the country, chartering a private plane to Damascus to his favorite stash site, a restricted area outside the historic town of Hamah. It had been slated for archeological exploration but nothing had been done by the government along those lines outside of fencing it around; there wasn’t even any security in place.

He had buried the statue there and was waiting for the go ahead from one of his buyers before he would retrieve it for delivery. When the excavations had started at the site Marko had been in Burma arranging transportation for a cache of rubies stolen from a prominent mine. The statue was among the first items the archeologists recovered from the ground and it was immediately taken to a secure warehouse in Damascus to await carbon testing and cataloguing. The only news he had about the situation at the warehouse was that it was being run by a private company out of Denmark consigned by the Syrian government and that the lead archaeologist, Dr. Jared Epstein, had requested the assistance of the team from Found History in New York to classify the items. As soon as he had heard that, he knew he was in for trouble; it wasn’t going to be easy to get his hands on the statue now. The pressure he was under from his boss, Xavier, and his buyer in China wasn’t helping either.

The only thing he could think of was to call in Sergio, his hacker. He had tried to get to someone on the inside of Found History but the company was an iron fist, he couldn’t maneuver his way in from any angle; all he could come up with was to hack their systems and try to retrieve the information they had on the statue’s whereabouts and what kind of security it was being held under. Sergio had managed to hack the server of an HSBC bank in England once and made a wire transfer of five million pounds into a numbered account in Cayman. When they had tried to trace it, they found the transaction had been bounced off so many banks that it was irretrievable. Whatever Chyna and her people knew would be on their servers, so the easiest way to get it was to hack it.

“I’ll get it back, Greame,” he insisted. “Just tell Xavier I need some time to do the reconnaissance. It’s not going to be easy to fool Chyna Stone and her people, I may have to use force to get it back but it will be retrieved.”

“You’re just lucky those rubies turned out to be a better deal than he had hoped, otherwise your ass would be grass right about now,” Greame replied.

“At least that counts for something,” Marko said.

***

“Chyna,” Oscar said, stepping through her office door, “I’d like you to meet Nigel. I’m thinking of taking him on as one of our technicians.”

Chyna stood up and walked around her desk extending her hand to the young man. He shook her hand and smiled shyly. Chyna leaned against the edge of her desk and crossed her arms.

“Oscar said that if he brought you in to meet me then you were showing the kind of capability he needs in whoever takes the position, so congratulations.”

“Thank you Miss Stone,” Nigel replied.

She righted herself and went back to her seat pulling the chair forward and gesturing for them to take a seat.

“So Oscar, elaborate on what the new structure of your department is going to look like. What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to have Nigel reconfigure the servers so they can be upgraded to host data from both offices as well as a remote office which will basically be my laptop. He’s already suggested that we should look at installing a military grade firewall to protect our information considering our access to government documents and other sensitive and secret data.”

“Excellent,” she said, and then turning to Nigel she said. “How long will it take to upgrade and secure the servers?”

“I can get it done in a night if nothing unexpected happens.”

“Very good. Can you get the hardware and software you need to do it today, Oscar?”

“I sure can,” he replied.

“Then Nigel, get this up and running by tomorrow and you have the job.”

“Thank you Miss Stone.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Nigel. Get it done to Oscar’s satisfaction and then you can thank him.”

A week and a half later, Chyna, Lana and Oscar landed at the Damascus International Airport. It was hot and humid and they were tired and hungry. At baggage claim, Oscar lost his temper when his equipment case didn’t turn up with the rest of the luggage.

“My brand new HP ZBook 14 was in there,” he lamented. “I hadn’t even had a chance to configure it fully yet. The brain for the Istanbul server was in it as well and that has already been loaded with all the company’s data.”

He looked absolutely distraught as he gave Chyna the bad news.

“They’ve got to find it, Chyna,” he insisted. “I’m not leaving this airport until they do.”

He pulled his Blackberry from his pocket and pressed the speed dial button that called Nigel.

“Hey Nigel,” he started, “it seems the airline misplaced the case with the computers. I’m really worried about it, all our stuff’s on that brain, not to mention it cost us a fortune. Did you get a chance to ping the MAC ID before I left with it?”

“Sure did, Boss,” Nigel boasted. “Would you like me to put a trace on it?”

“Yes, you do that,” Oscar confirmed. “I’ll let you know if we make any progress on this end.”

He hung up the phone and turned to Chyna, looking a little more at ease.

“Let’s hope they find it, but just in case Nigel’s starting a trace on it. If it’s been stolen, as soon as it’s hooked into an internet connection he’ll be able to pinpoint its location to within a fifty foot radius. The problem with that is, depending on where that turns out to be, they may be able to access everything on it before we have a chance to retrieve it, but that’s only if they can get past the password protection and the encryption.”

“What are the chances that they can do that?” Chyna asked, extremely concerned.

Oscar laughed heartily as he thought about it.

“Let’s just say that before they can crack those passwords to even get to the encryption, Nigel could have tracked their location and retrieved the devices from the moon.”

“I guess we have nothing to worry about then,” Chyna summarized.

“Yes we do,” Oscar insisted, “that’s ten grand worth of equipment we’re talking about. I want it back.”

The case was nowhere to be found even though the manifest showed that it had made it to the plane and been scanned and loaded onboard at Heathrow Airport. It must have gone missing after they landed in Damascus. The agent promised that they would continue searching the airport and deliver it to their hotel as soon as it was located. For the moment, it was all Oscar had to hold on to so after they had found the driver and loaded the rest of the luggage; he called Nigel again to put him on high alert. It was a poor start to the trip; luckily he had carried his regular laptop with him on the plane to finish compiling some of the research he and Lana had been conducting on the falcon during their last few days in New York; so he wasn’t completely handicapped.

At the hotel, Lana got them checked in quickly and then jumped into the Land Cruiser to take the driver back to the rental car dealer. She paid for the two weeks rental, got the receipt for her expense report and went straight back to the hotel. It was a lovely place full of quiet, comfortable vistas in the public areas and cozy, well appointed rooms that boasted arctic climate control. The cold air was a welcome reprieve from the clammy climate that hung over the city. She sincerely hoped that it wasn’t like that every day. Luckily, this trip wouldn’t see them out in the field under the scorching desert sun; they were working out of Dr. Epstein’s warehouse which she was sure would be comfortable and air-conditioned since so many precious artifacts were being housed there.

Lana placed her laptop on the desk in her hotel room and turned it on. As soon as she was online she went to the last email she had received from a source in Oslo. The falcon, it seemed, wasn’t a statue at all; it was the decorative finial from a flagpole, similar to the standards the Roman Legion would carry at the head of the army when they were on the march. In fact, that was what they had though it was originally, especially since the gold quality had been tested and confirmed as Roman refined gold of the period. However, careful examination of the bird’s features showed that it wasn’t the eagle of the Roman Legion, but a falcon. The distinctive details in the feathers, the beak and the claws further suggested that it was Norse, even before they had analyzed the goldsmith’s marks. The falcon was a sacred bird to the Norse Vikings; they believed that the great goddess Freyja had a cloak of falcon feathers which made the wearer invisible and that the cloak had once helped Loki and Thor recover the hammer, Mjölnir, when it had been stolen. Her source also insisted that the finial was one of a set.

Lana powered down the laptop and closed it with a sigh. She was hungry and thought the others should be too, so she picked up the phone and called them both.

Chapter Three

Not one of his men saw when the arrow passed through Alaric’s neck. He made a gurgling sound and his horse came to halt, then he simply tumbled out of his saddle and fell to the ground. When Svein got to his side there was blood rushing from a wound in his neck and Jarl Alaric was already dead. He crouched down and looked around them, quickly scanning the tree line while he signaled to his men to dismount and prepare for attack. Svein searched the other side of the road looking carefully at the trees that lined it and then he saw the arrow buried deep in the bark of a nearby tree. He pulled it out and studied it. It was made of yew, not a common wood this far North and it was fletched with falcon feathers. The bow and the archer must have both been very powerful to shoot an arrow across the valley, straight through a man’s neck and lodge it firmly into a tree. Only one set of men were known to be capable of such feats; they were Freyja’s Furies, assassins from Scotland who often traveled the seaways from the south up through Scandinavia, attaching themselves to armed forces as mercenaries and plying their trade as killers.

“Jarl Alaric has been murdered,” Svein announced. “We are turning around and going straight back to Drammen.”

The Jarl’s standards were struck and the flagpoles stored, Alaric’s body was lashed to his horse securely and the entire retinue rode hard back towards home. They made it there before sunset and when his brother’s body was brought into the Great Hall on a makeshift stretcher, Ivor came out from the Jarl’s rooms hurriedly to find out what was going on.

He noticed the faces of the same men who had ridden out that morning with his brother and witnessed the somber expressions they all wore. When he looked past them, he saw the body lying on the wolf furs near the great fire. Gildi, Agartha and Thyri were already kneeling beside it; undoing the braids of his beard and combing the blood from his hair. Ivor found it strange how as dutiful as they all were not one of them shed a single tear.

“Freda!” he called out and waited for her to appear in the doorway behind the chairs of state. “Freda, your husband has been killed. Come and look at the body. You have to acknowledge him before the men may take him to be prepared by the völva.”

Freda stepped forward slowly, she was careful not to look into the eyes of any of Alaric’s warriors as she crossed the room to stand beside Ivor. She seemed to swoon a little at the sight of the body and his arm was ready to catch her and hold her up. She put an arm around his shoulder and nodded.

“It is him; this is my husband, Jarl Alaric of Drammen,” she said softly, and then she stepped back from Ivor and bent down on one knee before him with her head bowed. “Alaric has been taken into the Halls of Valhalla; Ivor is now the Jarl in Drammen. Hail him!”

When the men took Alaric’s body from the hall, Freda returned to her rooms and lay on her bed. It wasn’t long before the tears were heavy in her eyes and streaming down her face. She couldn’t believe her luck and her unborn child’s good fortune; and it wasn’t long before she was laughing hysterically. Those around her thought that she mourned for the loss of her husband but at the same time was happy that he had died a good death and had surely passed into the portals of Odin’s Great Hall. But Freda cried and then laughed in gratitude for her freedom.

I must be carrying a boon baby in my womb, she thought, perhaps I have been visited by the gods.

Ivor followed the stretcher to the home of the völva, where they placed Alaric’s body on a long, narrow table in a shed that was attached to the building. He took up knives and began to cut away his brother’s clothing. The men tried to take him away so that they could leave the medicine woman to do her work, but Ivor threatened them with the knife he held tightly in his hand. They turned and left him there to do what he felt honored his brother; after all it was not unheard of for a ruler’s successor to help with the preparation of the body. It was believed by some that the humility involved in preparing the body facilitated a complete transfer of power from the deceased to the new ruler and that there was a communion of their souls as the living performed those honors for the dead.

The next day, Ivor helped the medicine woman to carry the stretcher bearing Alaric’s body down the hillside to the edge of the fjord where the men took it from them and placed it on the pyre in the ship. They shoved it off from the pier and the current took it swiftly out towards the middle of the waterway. Ivor raised the bow to shoot the fiery arrow, but he could not set it loose. He handed the bow to Svein to fire the arrow but before anyone could stop them; Agartha, Gildi and Thyri stepped forward with their bows and arrows in hand. They lit their arrows from the torches and fired them out over the water, striking the ship and sending it up in flames. They were magnificent; everyone was admiring them in the torchlight. They had all been shield maidens before they married Alaric, women who were skilled and trained with weaponry and who went to fight in battles alongside the men. Their leather vests and britches glittered with brass buckles and iron studs, the swords that hung at their sides were as long and as sharp as any man’s and across their backs were slung the round painted shield of the Norse warrior. They stood there watching their husband’s funeral ship burn with a magnificent pride akin to that of goddesses. Freda could not bear to watch their pride for long; she turned away from the spectacle and returned to the Great Hall.

“Are you well, my love?” Ivor whispered to her, as he stood closely by her chair.

“Your child makes me ill, Ivor,” she replied. “I can neither eat nor drink too much at a time otherwise I vomit uncontrollably; and yet I am famished all the time.”

“You cannot be hungry if you are growing my son inside you,” Ivor said to her sternly. “He needs food to be strong.”

“So it is a son, is it?” she joked back at him. “I have to make do with broths and teas, sometimes I can eat fruits, but I cannot even stand the sight of meat. The völva cannot come to see me until after the moon is full because she has been attending to the dead but she sent some herbs that are helping with the nausea.”

“That is good then,” he said.

“Sit beside me, Ivor,” she said suddenly. “Please. This is your chair now that you are Jarl.”

“No, Freda, you know the rules,” he replied. “You must sit here and rule this place as Alaric’s widow for one night; tomorrow will be soon enough for us to be seated here together as we should be.”

She smiled up at him but her attention was taken from his face by the striking of shields inside the hall. The three lesser wives were now entering the hall. Freda frowned openly at them. They were so magnificent in their fighting clothes; they were admired, respected and desired as shield maidens, what did she have to compete with that?

“Will you keep them as well?” she asked Ivor bitterly. “Will you want to try out Alaric’s other women?”

“Freda, do not talk like that. Why would I do that to you? When of all people, I know most how their addition to your home hurt you. What I have done to make you safe, I would do for no one else; remember that Freda. I doubt you will ever know how much I would do to keep us together and out of harm’s way.”

“What are you saying, Ivor?”

“I am saying that I will set them free tomorrow.”

At sunrise, Ivor was standing at the edge of the sacred river between two priests of Odin. He was not looking forward to stepping into the freezing water but it was what had to be done. He jumped in quickly and the others waded in and washed him from head to feet. When they were finished he was dried of quickly and briskly rubbed with rosemary, lavender and meadowsweet, to perfume his body and also to get the blood flowing again. When he was dressed, Svein placed the black wolf’s pelt of the Jarl across his shoulders and fastened it by its silver chain.

“Rule well, Ivor,” he said, then turned to the people present and shouted. “Hail, Jarl Ivor!”

“Hail, Jarl Ivor,” they replied.

Ivor mounted his war horse and led the procession to the center of the town at Drammen and paused so the people could see him.

“Hail, Jarl Ivor!” Svein shouted.

“Hail, Jarl Ivor,” they replied.

Ivor rode into the Great Hall on horseback, dismounted and sat on the throne on the raised platform. Again Svein made his announcement and as soon the men had finished their cheering, the feast began. When everything was progressing nicely, Ivor left the throne and sat at the head of the feast table. Freda sat to his left rubbing the tiny swell of her belly and below her at the table, now more appropriately dressed, was Agartha, Gildi and Thyri. She seemed happy tonight, not as sick or upset as she had been the night before; Ivor had held her in his arms and lulled her to sleep when the pregnancy pains had held her in their grip. It was clear that she had over exerted herself during the funeral.

“You are well my love?” he asked her quietly.

“I am better than I was last night, Ivor,” she replied.

“I notice that there is meat in your plate.”

“The medicine woman insisted that I must find the appetite for it. She said the pain is from my child telling me he wants to grow and there is no food for him to do so. She gave me some clear crystals, which she said she takes from the sea, to sprinkle on the food. It makes it tastier and also it keeps my stomach calm, so I am much better than I was last night.”

“That is good, Freda, you scared me terribly. Please, do not do it again.”

He smiled at her and she returned his smile, reaching for his hand under the table.

When the feasting was finished, the slaves came in with the mead and served the guests generously. Svein, his Captain, all the officers of his armies, the merchants, farmers and priests moved to the front of the room and stood before Ivor’s throne. One by one, they all pledged themselves to his service and wished him a long and successful rule. When it was just his warriors and his closest men who remained with him in the Great Hall, Alaric’s wives, the shield maidens, came before Ivor. Thyri, then Gildi and lastly Agartha knelt in front of the throne and promised themselves as wives and warriors to him. Ivor accepted their service as warriors but released them from their bonds of marriage.

“My warrior maidens, you were not justly treated as wives before and it was not something that you chose for yourselves. You are welcome to stay in Drammen in the protection of my court but you are now free women. If you stay here, you will be the personal guards of Freda, she is your kinswoman, a citizen of Oslo, but otherwise you may do as you please here. Go and choose new husbands whom you love and bear them many children.”

The three women were shocked and yet delighted at their Jarl’s words and quickly stepped back and rejoined the others in the room. Everyone knew that there was only one person left to present themselves to Ivor, and that was Freda, his predecessor’s wife. There was an eerie silence in the room as she walked from her bedroom door, into the Great Hall and to the step in front of Ivor’s throne; around her shoulders, she was wearing the grey wolf‘s pelt of the Jarlkona. When she stood before the new Jarl, she allowed his Captain, Svein, to remove the cloak from her shoulders and drape it respectfully over the empty chair on Ivor’s left hand side. Freda pulled at the buttons of her stomacher and undid the laces of the dress, allowing her garments to fall to the floor.

There was a gasp of surprise when the other courtiers caught a glimpse of her slightly rounded belly and her enlarged breasts. It was clear that she was pregnant, but how? Jarl Alaric had been impotent.

Freda kneeled on the lush furs before Ivor’s throne, and then she placed her head down to the step turning her head to the left. It was the submission of the old family; in which those left behind by a defeated or dead Jarl present themselves prone before the successor. In doing so, they make it clear that should the new ruler refuse to accept their fealty he may simply slay them.

Ivor stepped down from the throne, and picked up the cloak of grey wolf’s fur from the chair beside him. He spread it over Freda’s shoulders and helped her to her feet. When she was comfortably seated, he turned to the people in the hall and said loudly, “She is Freda, Jarlkona of Drammen. She is now my wife and she is carrying my child. If you truly love me, then you must love them both as well.”

At that moment, Svein signaled to two soldiers at the back of the room and they stepped forward carrying the standards of Drammen mounted neatly on the flagpoles with the golden finials. Ivor was not frightened to see those birds again; they were the bringers of his destiny. The men dropped the staves into holes place at each end of the platform. The falcons faced the hall so that the one that looked left faced Freda and the other faced Ivor.

“They are beautiful, my love,” Freda said, admiring them.

“They are more beautiful than you think but they will never be as beautiful as you, wife,” he replied smiling at her.

He was not afraid of the deeds those golden birds had been a part of; he had done what was needed, what no one else had found the courage to do all these years. They had played their part in his coup perfectly and the only other person in the world who knew what had happened in the forests near Sandefjord was on a ship back to Scotland with sacks full of good Roman gold. He would probably never have to leave his country to do such work again. It was as if he had been protected and made undetectable by Freyja’s cloak of falcon’s feathers. A single arrow had brought Alaric down, the archer had been able to identify his retinue because they carried the falcons in front of them, and he had singled him out by his black cloak. His death had been swift and honorable and necessary for their survival.

So, at the end of Alaric’s reign and the beginning of his, Ivor was not afraid of having the Falcons of Freyja perched before his throne; they had done their work well.

***

Dr. Epstein’s warehouse in Damascus was housed in a large industrial park on the south side of the city. When Chyna and the team arrived, he was standing outside the building waiting for them. They made their introductions quickly.

“It is an honor to finally meet all of you,” he announced, as he shook their hands in turn. “We’ve been really lucky with the excavation of this site, Miss Stone. A lot of political aspects came into play very quickly and it’s important that I give you some of the background before we start.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” Chyna replied. “We are at your disposal.”

He led them directly into his office and closed the door behind him, then gestured for them to take a seat.

“Firstly, I was sorry to learn that your computers were lost by the airline, Oscar. I want to reassure you that the proper authorities have been alerted of it and everything is being done to locate them.”

“Thank you Dr. Epstein,” Oscar replied.

“That being said, let’s get down to it. The site at Hamah was slated for excavation by the Syrian government more than ten years ago when some shepherds in the area turned up a few bronze jugs near a cluster of hills. Preliminary searches found that the hills were actually burial mounds and the scientists were sure that a treasure trove of relics was most likely buried just beneath the surface of the land there. It was subdivided and completely fenced off, access was restricted but nothing further ensued.

“However, recent political activity in the nearby city of Homs prompted certain officials to fast track the site’s excavations and that’s when my team and I were called in. Apparently, we’re well known for our speed and accuracy in working sites located in tumultuous regions. At the moment, we believe that everything has been unearthed from the site and the excavation has been terminated for now. Unfortunately, the situation in Homs is escalating quickly. Everything that was found is here in this warehouse. It’s all been cleaned and dated but that’s about as far as my teams capabilities go; we are analysts not curators. So that’s where you and your team come in, Miss Stone. The item descriptions, age and photographs have been entered into a detailed database, the document you received was produced from it, but they now need to be categorized, cataloged and organized into a coherent exhibit for the National Museum of Damascus.

“With things up north looking as if they’ll take a turn for the worst, the U.S. Embassy here is threatening to close up shop, so the local government is on an aggressive P.R. campaign to try to keep the diplomats calm and hopefully dissuade them from abandoning ship. Hence, the tight deadline to get the exhibit opened and turn some of the focus away from Homs and back on Damascus. You have two weeks to put the exhibit together; invitations to the opening have already been sent out.”

Chyna raised her eyebrows at his last statement. How presumptuous of the Syrians? She hated being put on the spot. Maybe her gut instinct had been right from the start and taking this assignment had been a big mistake. Ugh! Coulda, shoulda, woulda; she didn’t live her life in regret.

“We’re up to the challenge Dr. Epstein,” she replied confidently. “Before we get started, we’d like to see the exhibition space at the museum so we know what we’re working with and we’ll be back in the morning to get started. That should give you enough time to set up a workspace for us and get us the necessary clearance to access the warehouse and the artifacts.”

“That’s sound fair enough, Miss Stone,” he agreed. “Let’s drive over to the museum right away. I’ll just give Fatma a call; she’s the curator over there.”

“Would that be Fatma Maulidi, by any chance?” Chyna asked.

“Why yes, do you know her?”

“We did our post graduate degrees at NYU together but I haven’t seen her since then. It will be great to catch up with an old friend.”

The National Museum of Damascus was impressive to say the very least. They entered through a colossal façade which consisted of the preserved gateway of the Qasr al-Heer al-Gharbi, an eighth century castle that was built by the Umayyad Caliph Hisham ibn Abd al-Malik about fifty miles southwest of the township of Palmyra. It was evident from the very beginning of their experience at the museum that the Syrians took their history very seriously.

Fatma was waiting just inside to meet them and as soon as she saw Chyna she stepped forward eagerly with her arms open; the two hugged enthusiastically.

“Everyone, this is Fatma Maulidi,” Chyna said. “We went to NYU together quite a few years back. She’s a trained archaeologist like me.”

Lana and Oscar introduced themselves, shaking hands with Fatma. Dr. Epstein gave the young woman a friendly hug.

“So what brings you to Syria, my dear?” Fatma asked.

“We’re curating your next exhibit,” Chyna announced.

Fatma’s face lit up with excitement.

“I was told that we would have some celebrity archaeologist setting up the Hamah display but I didn’t know who it was. I can’t believe it. Chyna Stone, you’ve become quite a hotshot, you know.”

Chyna laughed. Fatma always had a hilariously cynical way of putting things but then again Chyna had found it was a common way for women in eastern cultures to make conversation.

“It would seem so, Fatma, but they have us on the deadline from hell and Jared here just let me know that the invitations already went out; so there’s no time for mistakes on this one. Where are you planning to set this up?”

Fatma took them over to the second wing where all exhibits of ancient Syrian relics were housed.

“We curate according to time period. This is the ancient Syria wing, so these Phoenician artifacts would fall in that category. This alcove is what you’ll be working in.”

Fatma pulled a long drape aside and allowed them to walk through. It was a fair amount of space, not too large, as Chyna had feared it might be. It was about forty feet deep and sixty feet wide. Display cases lined the back wall but the other two sides were comprised of twelve display pedestals each and two rows of stone benches ran down the middle of the room for visitors to sit on.

This is going to be a piece of cake, Chyna thought, smiling.

Back in Fatma’s office, Lana photocopied a floor plan of the area inside the alcove while Oscar and Jared looked through some old exhibit programs to get ideas for the print media they would produce for the opening.

“Fatma, may I speak to you alone for a minute?” Chyna asked, once everyone seemed to have gotten immersed in what they were doing.

“Sure,” Fatma replied.

“There’s a piece that came up out of the ground with the Phoenician artifacts that doesn’t seem to belong to the period nor to the civilization in the region. We have a few theories but I’m going to need to speak to an expert. Do you have any contacts at the Norwegian Archaeological Society that can help me?”

“I think I know just the person who can help you. He worked at the Oseburg Viking Ship exhibit for many years, even supervising a lot of the recent preservation work done on it.”

“Thanks so much, Fatma, I think he might be the right person to help with this mystery.”

With Bjorn Gunnarsson’s number stored in her Blackberry®, Chyna and the others said their goodbyes to Jared and Fatma and went back to their hotel for lunch. Eager to get started on selecting the items that would grace the Phoenician exhibit, Lana suggested they order room service and work through lunch. Chyna endorsed the idea fully. She wanted to get in touch with Bjorn about the falcon immediately.

To Oscar’s surprise, the missing case of computer equipment was waiting for them right inside the door of Chyna’s room. He snatched it up quickly and placed it on a nearby table, opening it up to see that everything was intact.

“Is everything there?” Chyna called over her shoulder as she took off her jacket and readjusted the gun holster she wore over her shoulder; she never took it off when she was on assignment these days.

“Sure is,” he confirmed, “but they’ve definitely been tampered with. It was probably returned when they realized they couldn’t crack it or that it would be traceable.”

Chyna sat at the table and shook her head, worried.

“That’s not good, Oscar,” she said. “Someone’s been expecting us. They know why we’re here and it seems we have something they want.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with the falcon, Chyna?” Lana asked.

“I’d take a wild guess and say that it does, Lana,” she replied. “Outside of that bird, this assignment would have been rather cut and dried stuff.”

“I’ll call Nigel and let him know we got the stuff back, but just to be sure I’m going to get them online and start running some diagnostics to see if we’ve been compromised.”

“That’s a great place to start,” Chyna said.

Later that day, they reconvened at the table in Chyna’s room for coffee and an update. Lana had been going through the government dossier selecting the items she thought would make the most impact during the exhibit. Oscar and Nigel had been running their checks of the computers and Chyna had spoken to Bjorn in Sweden and had also taken the initiative to let Anthony know what had happened with the computers.

“Lana, do you think you’ve settled on the forty eight pieces we need for the museum?” Chyna asked.

“I think so, but let’s have a look,” she said, rolling her pin board around so they could see her design.

She had printed pictures of each item she had selected and pinned them to an enlarged copy of the alcove floor plan in the places she thought made the most sense. There was a good mix of the more unique, singular items, such as statuettes, jars and jewelry, placed on the pedestals while the collections of plates, coins and weapons were situated in the rear display cases. It was perfect for an initial showing of the horde.

“I don’t even know why I came,” Chyna said shaking her head. “You could have handled this all on your own, Lana. Good job!”

“Thanks, Boss lady,” she replied beaming.

“So tomorrow I want us to separate the items we’ll put on show and do our own verification on them. For the rest, I just want us to check the work Dr. Epstein’s people already did, label and package everything and get them into the secure storage facility at the museum.”

“That shouldn’t take us more than three days or so,” Lana said.

“That’s good because I think our biggest task is going to be getting that alcove looking like a million dollar showpiece. Once everything is in Fatma’s hands, we’ll need to sit down and come up with the look and feel of the exhibit. Could you find out from her who does her print media?”

“I’ll do that.”

“Oscar, is the equipment all checked out? Is it safe to use?”

“I wish I had good news for you, Chyna,” he began, “but it looks like whoever took it couldn’t hack it without getting online. They knew we’d be able to track it once they did that and they would have had no way of telling how fast we’d be able to locate them. So instead of taking that risk they uploaded about three thousand different viruses into the brain. Nigel’s still trying to isolate them. The only good news is, we haven’t lost any data or infected the main server.”

“I’m satisfied with that. You two keep doing what you’re doing. I made a call to Fatma’s contact, Bjorn Gunnarsson in Oslo. He gave me a little insight into what he thought we might be dealing with as far as the falcon is concerned, and then he put me on to a woman in Stockholm called Inga Mannusson at the Swedish History Museum. According to Inga, it sounds like Lana could be right. Based on the description I gave her, she thinks that the finial we have is a part of a two piece set. She said she has something similar on display at the museum there which could very well be the other one. I sent over the pictures to her so she could see what it is we have. I’m thinking I’ll hear back from her later tonight or tomorrow.

Other than that, I called Agent Stewart and told him about our troubles here. If we come across any more strife, he promised to get us any backup we might need from the embassy here, but he also warned me that the situation in Homs is getting worse and if the embassy decides to close he advises that we pack it up immediately and get out on one of their evacuation lifts. I’m not pleased about that; we’ve never had to abandon an assignment before but I guess if the country plunges into civil war the last thing on anyone’s mind is going to be a museum exhibit.

Chapter Four

While Chyna sorted through the pieces at the warehouse, ran tests and packaged up the relics, Oscar verified all the information that Dr. Epstein’s scientists had entered in the database and made corrections to some of the entries. They excluded everything that had been recorded about the Phoenician Falcon, as they had nicknamed it, and put that data into a separate file. Lana busied herself at the museum supervising the painting of the walls, cleaning of the display cases, lighting installations, security system upgrades and finalizing the layout. Fatma had brought in her media people and Lana had ordered the banners, storyboards and pamphlets from them. Oscar had already laid out some chic, modern designs for the entire thing that they had all liked.

By Friday that week, all the pieces from the warehouse were crated, labeled and categorized and being delivered to the museum for secured storing. Chyna was relieved to turn them over; she still wasn’t quite sure what to expect from whoever had hijacked their computers at the airport. With a whole week to get everything completed for the opening, they were way ahead of schedule so Chyna decided to lend Fatma a hand with the finer details. Lana and Oscar spent the afternoon running tests on the security systems and when they were satisfied, they set up all the items in their respective cases and admired their handy work. The collections looked magnificent; the lighting was complementary to each piece and the progression of the displays was flawless. All that was left was for the storyboards and banners to be hung and they had made arrangements to get that done the day before the opening.

Everything seemed to be right on track until they got back to the hotel that night. There were several messages from Nigel for Chyna to contact him on the secure office line because he didn’t want to discuss the issue over the public airwaves.

Quickly she dialed the number and Nigel picked up instantly.

“Nigel, I’m sorry but we just got in. What’s going on?”

Chyna pressed the hands free button and put the phone down on the table so they could all hear what he had to say.

“I managed to isolate and quarantine more than three thousand individual viruses on the computer. They were minor, only a few would have caused any serious complications.”

“That’s good news isn’t it?”

“In and of itself, sure; but there’s more,” he continued. “While I was distracted by the legion, a worm skipped by me and that’s where the problems started. It just gobbled up information at an exponential rate, duplicating and sending file after file before I could stop it. Once I managed to slow it down, I initiated a trace on where the data was being sent to.”

“Did you have any luck?” Oscar asked, eagerly.

“By the time I could stop it I had a good trace. They did an amazing job of trying to hide it; bouncing it off more than a hundred proxy servers all over the world but I tracked the location down to a computer at an internet cafe in downtown Damascus called ‘Hotspot and what not’.”

“Thanks, Nigel,” Oscar said. “Send me that I.P. address and we’ll take it from there. Make sure you upgrade the antivirus on everything today. You know the drill, find out what Emma’s using over at Quantico now.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

With that Nigel killed the call and got right to work.

“They know where we are,” Lana said, solemnly.

“Yes, they do,” Chyna replied.

She took the phone from the table and pressed the speed dial button for Anthony. When he picked up, she stepped away from the others.

“Hi there, beautiful,” he greeted.

“Hi, Babe,” she replied. “It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

“Tell me,” he said.

“The computer was hacked when Nigel was cleaning up the viruses they uploaded to it. The hacker is right here in Damascus and we really don’t know how much they managed to get before he traced them and terminated the link.”

“Was there anything about the Syrian assignment on it?”

“Just a digital copy of the original communiqué and the dossier.”

“So they know you have access to the falcon.”

“We have to assume that.”

“It’s time to code it then, Babe, you know what to do. I’ll place a call to the local operatives at the embassy and call you back with the name of a handler.”

“It’s going to be hard to go under, Tony,” Chyna advised. “We’ve still got the opening to attend next Friday night.”

“That’s fine; I’ll let my guy know. You just need to get to a safe house with some properly secured communications; isolate yourself from the masses.”

“Got ya!” she agreed. “I’ll wait for your call.”

“Okay, Babe, don’t worry; we’ve got this!”

When Chyna, hung up the phone, she turned to the team with a strange expression on her face.

“We’re on a code red, guys. Pack it all up.”

Lana made arrangements for the rental car company to pick up the Land Cruiser at the hotel and meet her at a local shopping mall with a fully tinted, armored Land Rover later that afternoon. Oscar packed up the equipment and taped each bag shut with tamper proof security tape; if they were to be opened, someone would have to cut it to get inside. Chyna made a call to the ‘Hotspot and what not’ to reserve every computer there for three hours that afternoon and ask the manager to clear it out and shut the place down for them.

About fifteen minutes later, they received a call from F.B.I. Agent Marsha Branch at the U.S. Embassy. She introduced herself as their handler and told Chyna that she was sending a car to take them to one of the agency’s safe houses. They would be assisted by Special Agent Lawrence Major and he would be arriving at their hotel in five minutes. Chyna confirmed the information with her and told her they were packed and ready to go.

The safe house was located in the upscale neighborhood of Malki in the center of the city. There were eight bedrooms upstairs, each with an ensuite bathroom; downstairs they had a large modern kitchen with fully stocked pantry and fridge, a study, media room, living and dining rooms and a powder room. Off the kitchen were butler’s quarters, which Special Agent Major advised would be his lodgings for the rest of their stay in Damascus. Chyna was happy with the arrangements, she had contacted her usual security detail but Demetri and Thorin were not able to make it for another twenty four hours.

While Lana went with Lawrence to pick up the new rental car, Chyna let Oscar set up in the study while she made a few phone calls. She had to let Fatma know that since they wouldn’t be needed at the museum until Thursday when the printed media arrived, they would be on the road researching the falcon. If she needed them she should call Chyna’s cell phone; she had the number for the secure line. Then she called Anthony to update him on the situation and let him know they were now in good hands. She thanked him for his usual flawless arrangements. There was no need to let anyone else know what was going on yet; Oscar would email Sandra and Sirita to update them.

When Lana and Lawrence came back, everything was ready and Chyna had already printed out the information she received from Inga at the Swedish Museum. They had picked up falafel pitas and gyro sandwiches for lunch. As she put everything on plates, Oscar opened the fridge to look for some beverages.

“I know it’s not my awesome sweet tea,” he started, “but we’ve got Coke, beer and bottled water.”

“I really need a beer,” Chyna announced.

“Me too,” said Lana.

“Beer it is then,” he replied. “How about you Lawrence?”

“Well, I don’t usually drink on the job,” he explained.

“Aw, come on, Agent Major,” Chyna said. “You can relax when you’re with us. My regular security guys have one every now and then. It’s not like we’re on high alert or anything.”

“I’ll have a Coke,” he said.

“Okay, suit yourself,” Oscar replied.

After lunch, they went into the study leaving Lawrence to catch up on the news. Chyna handed out copies of the email she had received about the falcon and everyone was stunned to silence. They were reading the story of Alaric and Ivor.

“The story falls in place with where the falcons came from,” Chyna finally said. “According to Inga, it’s confirmed history so we don’t need to concern ourselves with that. Only one falcon was recorded as having been excavated at the burial site just across the Swedish border outside of Halden and that’s on display in Stockholm so the question is: why was the other one found here?”

“That’s what we need to find out. I’ll bet everything falls into place after that,” Lana said. “But at least we’ve confirmed that it’s definitely Viking, we weren’t off the mark with that one.”

“That’s for sure. I think we should be getting down to that internet café. We’ve got the place booked from two to closing, so let’s go.”

They arrived at ‘Hotspot and what not’ at a quarter to two and sat across the street in the protection of their Land Rover, watching as the manager ushered the customers out. Lana took a series of high definition photographs of everyone who was leaving just in case the perpetrator was there again that day. When the street was clear of the ousted internet surfers, they got out of the vehicle and went inside. The manager locked the door behind them.

“Pull the shutters closed,” Chyna instructed, and Lana and Oscar closed up the shop.

“You’re Ali Hammad?” she asked the manager.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“Great. I’m Chyna Stone and these are my colleagues, Lana Ambrose and Oscar Cunningham. We traced a compromise of our company’s computer servers yesterday back to a computer in your café and we need to check it out to see if we can identify the hacker.”

“Oh my, I’m not in any trouble am I? I mean, I just charge for the computer use and the internet time and serve refreshments, I don’t really monitor what they do online.”

“You’re not in any trouble, Ali, unless you’re involved with the breach.”

“I assure you I’m not aware of what anyone who comes here does with the time they purchase. Most of my customers are just kids who want to play video games because their parents don’t allow them to at home.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Oscar chimed in.

He started looking at the back of each station’s CPU and then said to Ali, “Do you have the I.P. addresses for these machines written down anywhere?”

“Check the back of the monitors,” Ali replied. “I think the technician said he labeled them all.”

“Thanks.”

In a minute, Oscar located the station whose IP address matched the one Nigel had emailed to him. He logged on and started pinging the Found History server. Soon he was video chatting with Nigel and they were analyzing the computer’s browser history and user identification in hopes of singling out the hacker either by handle or by the time of access to the network.

“Do you take I.D. when you rent the stations?” Lana asked.

“Yes, for the stations I have to take identification. The internet access is not restricted so unless they come with their own laptop, I have to be sure they are over eighteen. Content, you know.”

“Yes, that’s why we asked.”

“Got a time on the actual hack yet, Oscar?” Chyna asked, over her shoulder. She had been keeping a close eye on Mr. Hammad the whole time while he had been working, she wasn’t inclined to trust the man whose shop had been used as a hacking site and she wasn’t convinced that wasn’t a regular occurrence either.

“Yeah, he was online from just around two forty to four o’clock,” he replied.

Let’s see who rented that machine at two forty yesterday, Mr. Hammad,” Chyna said, gesturing to the counter where he served his customers.

Hammad reached under the counter and came up with a small receipt book and started flipping through it. Soon he came across the ticket; he handed the book to Chyna. She read it and satisfied with what she saw, took out her Blackberry and snapped a photo of the page, handing the book back to Hammad. Lana looked around the shop and noticed something.

“Does your surveillance system work, Mr. Hammad?”

“It does,” he said. “The machine has memory for about a months’ worth of video then it records over it.”

“Our guy is quite sloppy,” Chyna chided.

“Well, come on then,” Lana said sarcastically to Hammad. “Let’s have a look at yesterday’s footage.”

When they left the shop fifteen minutes later, Oscar had the criminal’s hacker handle, Lana had a copy of the video footage of the man who used the computer station during the breach and Chyna had his name and ID.

He had been very sloppy indeed, she thought to herself.

***

Later that evening, Chyna sent an email to Anthony. They had done all the ground work and had managed to find out the identity of the man who had hacked into their computers. Chyna also suspected that he was involved in the machines going missing from the airport to begin with. There was no way that she could take the investigation into who he really was without calling attention to the team, so she decided to bring in the big guns.

“Tony, I’ve attached a copy of the ticket from the internet Café that belongs to our perp as well as a link to the surveillance video we got. I need a positive ID on this guy and anything else you can dig up. I have a feeling he’s not acting on his own and that he’s involved with the lifting of Oscar’s case from the airport. See what you can do and let me know if you need anything else to find out what we need to know. Thanks. See you soon.”

She clicked ‘SEND’ and sighed deeply, what she wouldn’t give to be lying next to him tonight. She could almost feel his warm breath at the back of her neck and the touch of his lips down her spine. Hmmmm…

Shake it off, Chyna, she said to herself. You’ll be in Istanbul and all up in Agent Stewart’s mix quite soon enough.

***

The opening had been a grand success. As her team wandered the alcove chatting to the various dignitaries, diplomats and colleagues in attendance, Chyna couldn’t help but smile to herself. They had worked really hard on this project and under some extreme circumstances. Things had cooled off a little in Homs and there didn’t seem to be as many military personnel passing through Damascus on the way north any more. Still she didn’t plan on lingering in Syria; there was an uneasy political tension over the city that was as persistent as a London fog in November. Still, the turnout for the exhibition’s opening night had been stellar.

As she took a sip of champagne, Chyna spotted Demetri and Thorin trying to be inconspicuous as they roamed the edge of the crowd and kept an eye on the three Found History employees at all times. Fatma was in her element. Of course, all the praise for the layout and content of the exhibit was hers by default and they didn’t begrudge her that; curating a museum like this one was not an easy task for just one person and yet she was effortlessly successful at it. Found History had been there in purely a supporting role, so even when Fatma and Dr. Epstein had asked Chyna to give the opening speech to their guests, she had graciously declined.

The team was still operating on a code red, which meant they needed to maintain a low profile. There were unidentified threats against them in the city and they were no closer to figuring out what they were dealing with than they had been a week ago. All they knew was that their hacker wasn’t working alone. Anthony had used the F.B.I. database to identify the man and as it had turned out he was part of a suspected international smuggling ring that specialized in antiquities, priceless artwork and illegal precious stones. Lana had theorized that he had hacked their systems to find out what they knew about the Phoenician Falcon and to decide if they knew its location. She thought it was possible they had stolen it from the dig site in Sweden and smuggled it to Syria. Possibly they had a buyer in the region and had brought it here while waiting to make contact with them. In any case, the finial ended up inside the Hamah dig site and was brought in for testing with the rest of the artifacts.

They had submitted sufficient proof to the Syrian government and Interpol that the falcon did not belong at Hamah and even though they couldn’t say how it got there, both authorities agreed to relinquish possession of the piece to Found History until its rightful place could be determined. Chyna had decided that she would start working that mystery out as soon as they got settled in Istanbul. For now all she wanted to was to enjoy their last night in Damascus and get the hell out of the country.

“Good evening, Miss Stone,” Dr. Epstein said. “I haven’t seen much of you since we cut the ribbon earlier.”

“Fatma has been whirling me round and round introducing me to all the ‘Who’s who’ of Damascus society. She’s very proud of the turnout.”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” He said in agreement.

“It absolutely is.”

Just then, Chyna caught site of a man at the edge of the crowd. He looked strangely familiar and she let her eyes follow him around the room for a while. He was trying his best to fit in but he didn’t stop to talk to anyone and that made him stick out like a sore thumb. He kept weaving around the little group of chatting socialites as if he was searching for something.

“Excuse me a moment Dr. Epstein,” Chyna said, walking towards the front of the alcove to get Demetri’s attention.

When he looked her way, she gestured in the man’s direction with her head and the bodyguard instinctively began to scan that area of the room. It didn’t take Demetri long to single him out. She noticed when Demetri touched the tiny device lodged in his ear and instantly every muscle in Thorin’s body tensed visibly. Chyna smiled to herself and found a nearby table to put her glass down. Her hand went to the left and inside of her signature leather jacket and she unsnapped the safety strap of her SIG Sauer®M-11 pistol. She knew it was locked, loaded and ready to be fired in an emergency; she only had the flip off the safety. The three of them circled the room casually keeping an eye on the man to figure out what he was up to.

Then, she saw Thorin say something into his ear piece and she followed Demetri’s gaze over to two waiters who were manning the buffet line. They looked as nervous as a couple of long-tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs. The sweat had actually started beading on their forehead. Suddenly Chyna got a feeling that something bad was about to happen and she made a bee line for where Fatma was standing talking to the U.S. ambassador’s wife. She excused herself and pulled her aside turning her back to the buffet line.

“I think we may have a terrorist situation here. Keep calm and get your radio out now. When I tell you to, I need you to radio all your security staff.”

Fatma unhooked the radio from the inside of her jacket and discreetly palmed it.

“I’m going to need you to cue the firework show early. Tell your team to hold open all the exit doors and just usher the people out of the building and across the lawn as quickly and calmly as possible. I don’t want them to sound any alarms. Hold on.”

Chyna looked directly at Thorin and tapped her ear once. A few seconds later, he walked past and placed an earpiece in her open palm.

“The others too,” she said softly.

She watched until he was back in position then glanced quickly around the room to assess the situation. Everyone was scanning the room trying to make out what was going on.

Chyna pushed the button on the ear piece once and whispered, “Blonde-haired man in the tux to my four o’clock, both waiters at the buffet line, possible others not yet identified.” She paused and looked around the room again. Her team looked informed and ready; the men didn’t look as if they noticed anything was going on.

“Call your team and tell them to open the doors now,” she said to Fatma.

“Marsha, Lawrence, can you hear me?” Chyna said.

“We read you loud and clear, Chyna,” Lawrence replied.

“We have a potential terrorist situation here. They might be planning to bomb the place or open fire on the people in this room. None of us can say the crowd in here wouldn’t be a prime target. We’re going to have Fatma’s people neutralize the room with an early start on the firework show outside while we apprehend the suspects. Hopefully, they’ll be so surprised by the sudden movement they won’t have a chance to initiate their plan.”

“Affirmative,” he said.

“Thorin and Demetri, you take down the wait staff. Lawrence and Marsha deal with ‘Mr. Suit’ over there. Lana and Oscar help move the people as quickly to the open doors as you can. I’ll make the announcement for the fireworks.”

“Okay,” everyone responded.

“Alright, Fatma will cue the firework display and we move on the first explosion.”

Fatma raised her radio and said, “Cue the fireworks!”

They watched the first rocket launch and climb into the sky. As soon as it exploded, they all sprang into action. Chyna jumped onto the podium and turned the microphone on.

“Everyone please make your way outside through the exits to the right for the firework display,” she announced.

Immediately, people started to move towards the doors. The guards held them wide open and Lana and Oscar were very successful in ushering the people swiftly out onto the terrace and across the lawn. Simultaneously, Chyna saw the bodyguards seize the two nervous waiters. They bound their hands behind their backs quickly with tie straps and patted them down. They placed an AK-47 rifle each on the buffet table in front of them. Marsha and Lawrence were leading the blonde man towards the front of the room in handcuffs. As he was walking towards her Chyna suddenly remembered where she knew his face from.

“Lana, Oscar,” she called across the room, “I think these fine agents just caught our hacker!”

***

“Welcome to BBC World News service. It is six o’clock Greenwich Mean Time and we’ll start with the international headlines. Reports coming out of the Middle East today are that the growing threat of civil unrest and military action in the Old City of Homs in Syria has prompted the Embassy of the United States of America to issue several advisories this morning.

The embassy advises that all travel to Syria, Lebanon and the southeast region of Turkey should be avoided at this time. It also states that the process of shutting down embassy operations in Damascus is already underway and that any citizens who are currently in the region should make immediate arrangements to return home or declare their presence to the embassy in case emergency evacuations become necessary.

At the moment, N.A.T.O. peacekeeping troops are on the ground in Damascus and additional support from the U.S. Navy has been stationed in the area to assist should an evacuation of citizens become necessary. We’ll have more on the situation in Syria when we return from the break…”

“What are we going to do, Chyna?” Lana asked.

“We’re leaving,” she replied, “as soon as Anthony gets here to transport those guys to Istanbul. I would have preferred to interrogate them here since part of the crime was committed in Syria, but even the authorities agreed that if we can take care of it somewhere else, they were willing to mark it off as a crime committed in Sweden and therefore an international matter. So we move out as soon as he gets here and secures the suspects.”

“I’ll be glad to leave,” Oscar said. “I’ve never felt this nervous in a country before.”

Just then Lawrence stepped out of the butler’s quarters with his packed suitcase ready to go.

“We’re leaving for the embassy in an hour,” he announced. “Agent Stewart just called in his ETA at the U.S. Embassy, so let’s get ready to rumble.”

Chapter Five

“Why did you let him go back there by himself, Greame?” Xavier asked.

“Marko said he had it under control. How could I know he’d be so sloppy?” Greame replied. “He said he was sending a hacker, and then I find out he went and did the job himself.”

‘That’s all well and good, Greame, but he went to the one place in all of Damascus that still takes an ID from people who want to surf the net? Really?”

Xavier sighed deeply into the telephone; Greame could just imagine the look on his face.

“We’ve got to keep things underground right now,” he continued. “There’s no telling what he’s going to tell them about us.”

“Marko ain’t no snitch; he won’t tell them anything.”

“Under any other circumstances, I’d agree with you. Police, local authorities; Marko can handle them but he’s being held by the F.B.I., Greame, and now with Homs going postal over there, he’s being moved to Turkey. I’m sure they’re going to put him in one of those black sites for questioning until he gives us up. You can bet money on that, Greame.”

“He’s a dead man if he does.”

“He’s a dead man either way.”

Things didn’t usually get this complicated with the deals they made, but Marko just seemed cursed recently. It had been a miracle that the Burmese deal had gone off without a hitch, especially with ruby smuggling becoming such a priority for local government. He was just fresh out of luck with that damn falcon. Greame didn’t feel sorry for him; he had told him not to steal from the burial site, a Viking one at that. There were some things that Greame just wouldn’t ever do. Now it seemed Marko was being haunted by the Phoenician Falcon.

***

“Sirita!” Lana called out, waving her hands in the air.

The slender, olive skinned woman struggling with the three large suitcases stumbled a little and waved back at her. She wore a green and gold flowing Bollywood skirt and a plain grey tank top with the matching green and gold veil pinned into the bun in her hair.

“That’s her?” Oscar asked, dumbstruck. “Hot damn! She’s cute!”

“Down boy, she’s your co-worker.”

“So?” he said, rushing forward to help Sirita with the heavy bags.

Oscar almost fell to the pavement when she pushed the silk veil, that had fallen over her face, aside and looked up at him with the clearest grey eyes he had ever seen.

“You must be Oscar,” she said straightening herself and extending her hand for him to shake. “We’ve never actually spoken but I’ve heard so much about you.”

Her Goan accent was so entrancing, he could barely think straight to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet ya’ Ma’am,” he stuttered finally.

Lana came swiftly to the rescue. She had never seen Oscar so completely ga-ga over a girl before.

“Hey, Siri. How was the flight?”

“It was smooth, I was so glad you could get a direct flight. Things aren’t very smooth on the Arabian Peninsula.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean but it wasn’t hard, the airlines don’t want to stop either.”

They laughed cheerfully at that and hugged.

“Oscar, why are you just standing there? It’s the bags I brought you to carry, if you hadn’t worked that out yet,” Lana teased. “Come on, boy.”

Oscar glowered at her for a minute and then grabbed the bags and loaded them effortlessly into the Range Rover. Lana jumped into the driver’s seat while Oscar ran around to open Sirita’s door for her, then he got in the back seat.

“I hope you don’t find the SUV intimidating,” Lana said, making conversation.

“Not at all, I’m used to driving whatever I can get my hands on.”

“Good, because it’s what Chyna picked out for office use. You’ll have it most of the time.”

“That’s very cool. I’ve never had a car at my complete disposal before.”

“What do you want to do first Siri? Do you want to see the apartment and drop off the luggage, or do you want to go straight to the office? Chyna should be there by now with the decorator.”

“I’m dying to see her. Let’s go to the office.”

In the back seat, Oscar raised his eyes to the roof and thanked the gods. He would convince Lana to let him take Sirita home later and maybe have the chance to get to know her a little better.

***

Demetri was just about to lose his temper with Marko. Thorin had already gone through the other two guys and gotten everything there was to be had out of them. They didn’t know anything about the stolen artifacts or who Marko actually worked for. They had been hired by him to shoot up the party at the Damascus Museum and were just excited to get a chance to possibly kill some rich, important foreigners. Mindless violence; they were just common thugs. Thorin had already released them back into the custody of the F.B.I. and they were holding one-way tickets directly back to Damascus and long prison sentences on terrorism charges.

It was Marko that had the real intelligence they were after; and the man would not talk.

“I’m out of ideas,” he finally confessed to Thorin.

“Let me try something,” he said, smiling mischievously.

Demetri went to a corner and lit a cigarette.

Thorin bent close to Marko and said to him, “If you don’t know anything, I guess I’ll just have to let you go and stop wasting everybody’s time, yes?”

“Yes, I don’t know anything, let me go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, let me go. I’m sure.”

“Have you thought about what the others are going to do to you when they find you? I have and I think you’d be safer here with us.”

“What do you mean? They aren’t going to do anything to me, I didn’t tell you anything. I’m no snitch.”

“Says you!”

Suddenly he was silent. He knew that what Thorin said was true. Xavier, especially, wouldn’t be interested in anything he would have to say. He shook his head slowly from side to side and then suddenly he broke down crying.

“He’s ready!” Thorin announced.

Demetri was pissed off. He had been working that scumbag for hours and Thorin had stepped in and broken him down in fifteen minutes. He hauled Marko up from the chair and dragged him into the next room. Agent Stewart was sitting across the table from him and Demetri and Thorin stood to the side.

“So, you’re ready to talk?”

“Yes, I’m ready to talk.”

“Then go ahead: talk!”

Marko told Anthony the entire story and every little detail about the smuggling operation. They attached an operative to the key archaeological sites around the world to scout out what was being unearthed. Their main focus was jewelry, vessels and other artifacts made of precious metals. As long as those types of items were coming out of the ground then they stuck around and either they dug at night to recover items for themselves or the robbed the storage facility. With the falcon, Marko had gone ahead and dug for himself. When he had seen the size of the ship they had almost finished excavating, he realized that it must have been the burial mound of a raider or a chieftain, maybe both. And what he knew for sure was that in an instance like that, there would be pure Roman gold there and lots of it too. He was right, the first night he went out on his own to the site he found the falcon. Marko didn’t bother to stick around after that, he packed up and quit the camp. The falcon was clean because no one knew that it had ever been there so no one could say that it was missing. He smuggled it to Syria in some crates belonging to NATO peacekeepers that were headed for Homs. When it got to Homs, he was supposed to pass it off to a buyer but they never showed up at the meeting point. Marko got desperate because he didn’t want to be caught carrying a statue of solid gold around the place.

He knew of a restricted area in Hamah, just north of Homs, which had been slated for excavation for over ten years now and had never been touched. It was unguarded and undisturbed, perfect. He took the falcon there and buried it inside the perimeter fence. He thought that at least no one would go in there to disturb it but a week later, the excavation of the site began and Marko just couldn’t believe his bad luck. He tried to steal it back several times but, Epstein and his team were paranoid about violence in Homs so they always had excessive security protecting the site.

He’d cased out their warehouse in Damascus instead and moved on to a ruby deal in Burma. Even with the complicated nature of moving such precious contraband, that sale had been a walk in the park compared to the gold statue. By the time he had made it back from selling the gems to a dealer in Japan, Chyna Stone and her people were in charge of the warehouse, entering the information on the relics into a government database and setting up an exhibition at the Damascus Museum. As far as he knew, the statue was still there but they must have realized by then that it had absolutely nothing to do with the other things that were coming up out of the ground there. For the first time in his career, he couldn’t buy an inside informant or get himself inserted in the operations and Marko started to get worried. It was just a matter of time before Xavier and Greame started putting some pressure on him.

Sergio was his only hope. He had hired the hacker to steal any computer equipment that might have accompanied the Found History team, while he was busy in Burma. The plan had been for him to hack into their systems and find out exactly what they knew about it so far and possibly any information they had about its location. Stealing the case had been easy but hacking the equipment had been disastrous. When Sergio booted up the server brain, torrents of firewalls, security password and encryptions dead-bolted him multiple times and he was at a loss. Outside of getting the computer online to dial into the main servers, he had tried everything he knew how to do and he still couldn’t get past their military grade security and he gave up on the project. Marko had never heard of Sergio giving up on a hack before. The case was returned to the airport as if it had never been lifted in the first place; again that had been easy. But Sergio was careless; Marko would have followed the airline delivery personnel to get a fix on Chyna Stone’s location. By then, they knew even less than they had in the beginning. His hacker had let him down; he had to take care of that permanently.

When he got back to Damascus, Marko decided to break into the mainframe at Found History himself to try and regain some ground. That’s when he went and used the computer station at the internet café to get online access to their server. His presence had been detected almost immediately and the feed interrupted before he could copy all the data he wanted. They must have had some computer whiz hotshot keeping an eye out for possible breaches because once the data had started being replicated; he was onto Marko like a bullet.

So many missteps had been made along the way, laced with the worst luck he’d had in his entire career as a treasure thief. All of it had led to that very moment where he was handcuffed to a chair in a badly lit room, probably at an F.B.I. black site in Timbuktu. He was sure that no one knew where he was; hell, he didn’t know where he was. When they caught him at the museum he had been hooded before they took him out of there and put him in the vehicle. Marko had no idea how long they had traveled or in what direction. After a while, the agents in the vehicle with him had knocked him out with chloroform. When he woke up he was sitting on that very chair and had been for the last three days.

As he listened to the F.B.I. agent who he now knew as Stewart, Marko realized that it was time to give up. If he stuck it out and didn’t tell them anything, several things could happen. They could simply make him disappear; people don’t like to think about it but it happens all the time, there wasn’t anyone taking roll call at Gitmo. They could decide to let him go but Marko was sure that would be worse. Xavier would probably have a sniper waiting to take him out at his mailbox the next day. The final option seemed to be the best to him, it made the most sense and it ended with him keeping his brains inside his skull.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but you’ve got to do something for me,” he finally relented.

“What’s that, Marko?”

“I want to be incarcerated in Sweden.”

“Why’s that?” Anthony asked, curiously.

“They don’t put terrorists in front of a firing squad like I’ll probably get in Syria and as far as I know my people don’t have any connections inside the prison system there.”

“I see.”

“I’m just trying to stay alive at this point, Agent Stewart. I’m gonna die one day, I’d just rather that happens on my terms.”

“Understood,” Anthony replied, “I’m sure we can work that out, especially since the initial crime took place there. I want you to realize that I plan to press Interpol to charge you with international terrorism for the stunt you tried to pull at the museum, which means you’re going away for a lot longer than you might have thought.”

“I’m okay with that, as long as it’s Sweden.”

“I’ll make the arrangements, but you have to do something for me too.”

“How can I help you, Agent Stewart?”

“You’ve got to help me catch your partners.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem at all. I’ll be happy to.”

***

Marko stepped out of the black sedan and pushed the door shut. There was a strange echo in the alley as the hollow metallic sound bounced off the surrounding walls. He smoothed his new suit out and walked around to the trunk of the car. Just as he was about to open it, another car pulled up. Xavier and Greame stepped out and walked towards him. It was clear that they were on their guard. He had been missing for two weeks and they were sure he had been taken in and probably confessed everything about their operation to his captors. But then suddenly he had turned up again and contacted them to say the he had recovered the falcon and the sale had gone through. Now they were meeting him to exchange the money.

“How’ve you been, Marko,” Xavier asked.

“It’s been rough, boss, but I managed to pull through.”

“How much did you have to tell them to let you go,” Greame asked, bluntly.

“Not much, they didn’t know anything about us being after the bird. Their concern was us wanting to shoot up the museum with those rich assholes inside. I just gave up the Iraqis and they were satisfied with that.”

“You got lucky then, finally.”

“Seems so,” Marko replied. “Are we going to do this or what? Driving around with all this cash has had me nervous for days.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with,” Xavier agreed, stepping forward.

Marko opened the truck and pulled out the briefcase, placing on top of the trunk after he had slammed it shut. He opened it and showed them the crisp U.K. pound notes inside.

“Impressive, Marko. You really came through,” Greame said, closing the case and taking it off the car.

Suddenly, Xavier pulled a handgun from under his jacket and pointed it at him.

“I thought about this for a long time, Marko, and I’m sorry it has to be this way, but the mistakes you made brokering this deal put me in a difficult position. It’s possible the F.B.I. know more about our little operation than I’d prefer they did and the word is out there that my team isn’t as dependable as we used to be. None of that sits well with me, Marko and I’m sure you understand why.”

“Come on, Xavier. None of this was my fault. I had no way of knowing how things would go down in Syria.”

“That’s true, but you also didn’t do your homework.”

“You got greedy too, Marko,” Greame added. “You were burning the candle at both ends by setting up the gold deal so close to your Burmese trip. That screwed you big time.”

“That’s not the way I see it though, guys,” He said loudly and he made a dive for the pavement and scrambled around to the driver’s door of the car.

Before Xavier could pull the trigger, a voice came over a loud speaker advising him to drop the gun or they would be shot. Marko peeled out in the black sedan, leaving them standing in the alley with their hands in the air and F.B.I. agents in full black, carrying high-powered assault rifles surrounding them from every angle.

***

Anthony pulled out the chair for her and Chyna took her seat at the table, looking around at all her friends and colleagues seated there chatting among themselves. She was happy that they all came to celebrate with her; she knew it had been a rough three weeks for all of them. Fatma and Dr. Epstein had been at the center of a PR nightmare after the attempted shooting on the opening night of the Phoenician exhibit. Their security protocol had been put through the wringer especially with civil unrest in the country looking as if it would soon escalate into outright war. She had done her best to help them by presenting a security proposal to the museum board on their behalf, outlining how they could implement new anti-terrorism measures at the institution. By the time Chyna had completed the presentation, the board had fully realized that they had been just as lax about securing their guests as the management had been, considering that Fatma’s team had requested permission to purchase metal detectors for the main entrance two years prior and her request had been denied repeatedly.

She noticed that Oscar and Sirita were engaged in a rather animated conversation at the far end of the table. They looked delighted with each other. Although she wasn’t the sort to inject herself into the personal lives of her employees, Chyna made a mental note to talk to both of them about the implications of engaging in office romances. Although she respected their judgment and they seemed to be genuinely just getting to know each other, she also wanted them to be aware of the painful existence they might be setting themselves up for. She should know; it had been the same kind of painful affair she and Anthony had had for the last fourteen years. Granted, her story was finally getting its happy ending; but what were the odds of theirs having the same?

Rashid had been gracious enough to join them in their celebrations. He had brought Shakira Mendes along with him. Chyna wasn’t sure if there was anything going on between them but they sure did make a cute couple. Anthony reached out under the table and took her hand in his, squeezing it slightly. He always did things like that just to let her know everything was going to be alright. As long as he was close enough to touch her like that, she knew that he was right. Lana was smiling broadly at Oscar as she made one of her famous jokes about his Tennessee accent over the table. Sirita wrinkled her nose at her and then burst out laughing too. Chyna wondered where Ted was, he had been invited to join them for the occasion but she wasn’t sure if he had made it to Istanbul.

“Lana,” Chyna called to her, “did Ted catch his flight?”

“He sure did, Chyna,” she replied smiling widely.

“So where is he?”

“He’ll be down in a minute,” she said cheekily. “He’s suffering from a little bit of, umm, jet lag.”

Everyone at the table started laughing. Lana blushed a little and took a sip of the lemon water in her glass.

“Well I hope he joins us soon, dinner is going to be served momentarily,” she announced.

Everyone at the table cheered, they had been looking forward to it all day. Chyna had booked them a private dining room at the Ottoman Imperial, their favorite hotel in the city. They had enjoyed the time they had spent there on their last adventure.

Soon, platters of food began to arrive. There was a whole roasted lamb and many different types of poultry. Chyna saw duck, chicken, pheasant and Cornish hens; some roasted and some stewed, all to perfection. Fish, steamed and whole, were added to the feast. As was customary, the meats were placed on a side table while the side dishes were placed in front of them to be served family style. Vegetable biryani, roasted vegetables in olive oil, flat breads, pasta, fresh vegetables and every condiment imaginable were set down on the table. When Chyna nodded her approval to the maître d’, the waiters began to serve the meat dishes to each of her guests in turn. Ted soon arrived at the table and all was perfect in their little world.

It was a wonderful dinner and they relaxed and had after dinner drinks and talked well into the night. None of them knew when they would have the chance to be together like that again; it would certainly not be soon.

Fatma Maulidi would be leaving to go back to Damascus in the morning. The museum board had decided to close the property down until the city was returned to some form of stability and she would have to ensure that the process of closing down the operation went smoothly. Ted would be returning to New York for work, Anthony would go back to Izmir. In a few weeks, even Oscar and Lana would be heading back to the States and then it would be Sirita and Chyna; of course, occasionally they would see Rashid.

It was a wonderful way to get started on their new venture in the Middle East; being surrounded by friends and colleagues who shared in their happiness. It was something Chyna had felt strongly about doing since she had returned from Sweden. She had taken the trip to Stockholm with Sirita, Oscar and Lana to return the golden falcon to its rightful home and also to have the chance of seeing the other one.

Inga had spent a week preparing the exhibit to receive it. She had even gone to the lengths of having reproductions of the ancient standards of the Drammen Jarls made to attach to flagpoles and the great falcon finials attached to the tops. When Chyna visited the exhibit on her last day in Stockholm, she was surprised that they had received such a place of honor. The Swedish History Museum was known for having the largest collection of Viking artifacts in the world and Chyna could think of no better place for the falcon.

The entryway to the Viking exhibit was magnificent. The colossal doorways framed the view of the prow of a giant Viking ship that was taken from a burial mound found on a farm in rural Sweden. The ship was magnificent and beautifully preserved; the wood was as black as night and intricately carved on every piece of trim. The falcon flagpoles had received the place of an honor guard one at each side of the main door, arranged with their heads looking towards the enormous ship.

***

Chyna snuggled closer to Anthony’s warmth as the sun started to peep through the drapes. It felt wonderful to be in his arms again and she still didn’t know how she would be able to tell him that she didn’t want him to leave again. It felt selfish and wrong; it wasn’t what they had always been about; the fundamentals of their long standing relationship. It had worked for them for over fourteen years; who was she to want to change it? Who knew if he wanted anything between them to change at all? For Chyna it was better to sadly let him go, knowing she was definitely going to be with him again, than to confess to him that she wanted him to stay and watch him run for the hills. No! She would be satisfied and wait. She had made the first move by bringing her work and her life closer to him, if he wanted something more than that right away, he would have to man up and tell her.

She felt his hands come around her waist and knew that he was rousing from his sleep. He loved to rest his hand in the cradle of her waist and stroke the soft skin between her hip and her breast while he woke up. Chyna loved that, it was one of the things she missed the most on the days when she woke up in an empty bed. She had no idea how long they would have together now, but at least she wouldn’t be leaving and this time when he did, he would be a lot less far away. She took his hand in hers and touched his fingers for a while before sighing and throwing back the covers.

“It’s time to get up, sleepy head,” she said.

Chyna had a full day ahead of her, and so did Anthony, whether he wanted to admit it or not. They were going apartment hunting today. The fastidious Shakira Mendes had sent over a list of about fifteen different apartments and houses which she thought would suit Chyna. There was no way that she wouldn’t be able to find a place to live today. In fact, Chyna had so much faith in Shakira, after the offices she had selected for Found History, that she already knew that her house was one of the top three on Shakira’s list. She wouldn’t be searching for long, so she had decided that they would go shopping for her furniture immediately afterwards. She hopped out of the bed and walked around the bed to the bathroom door.

As lazy as he was feeling, Anthony poked his head out from under the covers as soon as Chyna was out of the bed. He loved to watch her cross the room in the morning and head for the bathroom. She was magnificent in the morning. Whether she was in her standard black or white cotton bikinis and tank top or completely naked; seeing how confidently she moved when she should have been completely vulnerable always set the blood rushing through his veins. He heard the shower turn on and he smiled. Quickly, he called room service, ordered them some breakfast then he sprang out of bed and went to join her under the hot water.

When he stepped in behind her, Chyna turned and threw her arms around his magnificent shoulders. She leaned in and kissed him passionately, pressing her wet body against his. The water flowed over her shoulders and down her body in gentle hot streams that had started to drive him crazy with sensation. She pushed him up against the shower wall and kissed him more hungrily. Her leg went up his thigh and around his waist as she waited for him to make his move. As he leaned back against the wall he lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, Anthony Stewart could help but think to himself, Now this is what I call a damned good morning.

***

“You’re the most thoughtful man in the world,” Chyna said, completely surprised.

The breakfast items had been arranged perfectly on the dinette table in the living room. Everything was perfect right down to the black, white and yellow pansies in the vase, her favorites. There was semolina porridge which she had realized was very indigenous to the Middle East; she rarely got it anywhere else in the world. It had slivered almonds, dried cranberries and raisins spooned on top. A little jug of honey sat nearby. Eggs were being kept hot under a steel platter cover as well as crispy bacon and savory sausages. Pancakes and toast were on another covered platter and surrounded by tiny ramekins of different syrups, jams and jellies; it all looked delicious. With a pour of honey over her semolina, Chyna dug in hungrily. After a few mouthfuls, she looked up to see Anthony nibbling on a piece of bacon and staring at her.

“What is it?” She asked, laughing a little.

“Nothing,” he replied turning his attention to buttering a slice of toast and pouring them both some coffee.

“It’s not nothing. Come on, tell me, Babe. What are you thinking?”

“Okay, I’m just gonna come out and say it. If you don’t like the idea, I’ll understand so don’t worry about hurting my feelings or anything. I was just going with my gut here.”

“Out with it, Mister.”

“Okay, Babe, jeez. I applied for a transfer two weeks ago and I think they’re going to approve it,” he blurted out and cringed slightly waiting for her response.

Oh, my goodness, she thought. He’s going back to the States and I’m going to get stuck in Turkey on my own.

“Transfer? Transfer to where?”

He immediately saw his misstep and jumped in to reassure her.

“No, no, it’s not to go back home; I’m not ready to leave here yet. I requested a transfer from the attachment to the agency in Izmir to the consulate here in Istanbul and I think I’m going to get it. I go in to talk to the Consular General today.”

“My goodness, Babe! That’s the best news I’ve ever heard! I’m so happy.”

She stretched around to hug him tightly, relieved and pleasantly surprised. He pulled away enough to look at her and then he kissed her.

“When I boarded that plane at JFK a few weeks ago, it suddenly hit me that I never wanted to find myself leaving you again and not really knowing I would see you next. I’m tired of feeling like that Chyna. I’ve always known where in the world you were but now I want to know that I’m coming home to that place at the end of the day too.”

“I feel the same way, Babe. I really do. I want you there to hold me at the end of a hard day and rest your hand on my waist in the morning.”

“Hey, is that your way of asking me to move in with you?”

She paused and smiled at him.

“Is that your way of telling me that you want to?”

He reached for her again and kissed her passionately.

“Yes, Chyna,” he replied. “Yes, it is.”

The End

Chyna Stone returns in:

The Babylonian Basilisk

A Chyna Stone Adventure #4

Return to the Table of Contents

THE

BABYLONIAN

BASILISK

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#4

by

K.T. TOMB

The Babylonian Basilisk

Prologue

“Why should you take another, Sire? We are already three wives in Babylon and your harem is full of unused concubines who spend their days gossiping and growing fat and unattractive,” Ishtari complained.

“I have taken wives from the courts of my allies, Ishtari, but as a good king I must take concubines from the courts of my enemies, both conquered and unconquered. Otherwise, how will I form new alliances for Babylon or enforce her rule over the conquered nations?”

Ishtari shrugged and picked up the wine jar to refill her husband’s cup. She wasn’t pleased. No truly loving and caring wife would be, under the circumstances. What else did she expect Hammurabi to do? The city needed supplies for its markets and the extensive construction work at the Ninurta Temple complex. He had to make peace with the Assyrians; they had been causing serious unrest north of Babylon, disrupting the importation of goods necessary for commerce and survival in their country.

“Ishme-Dagan is a difficult man to deal with, wife,” he continued. “I doubt it will end peacefully between us but for now it is important to make him feel so. He is threatened by us, as he should be, but I do not want to begin a war with him, at least not until the temples are complete. It would be unlucky.”

“You are wise, husband. One cannot glorify the gods and wage war with the same hands.”

Hammurabi nodded his agreement with her wise words and smiled.

“That is why my royal wife is Babylonian,” he said smiling, extending his left arm to her, and beckoning Ishtari to his embrace. “Only one as such can understand our political position at all times.”

She sat beside him on the large curule chair and nestled into the crook of his arm. He kissed her neck and buried his face in the perfumed waves of her long, black hair. The scent of jasmine and olive oil was fragrant on her milk-bathed skin. How he loved this goddess of a woman. She sighed at the sensation of his breath on her skin; he smelt of the wine he drank, odorous of the sun-ripened fruit of their fertile valley. As always, when in her husband’s embrace, Ishtari felt the sumptuous stirring of desire for him.

“The Assyrians have confiscated all the black hematite that was mined in the north for the temple altar,” Ishtari said. “Now that you have decided on the idols for the temple, how will the craftsmen create them in time for the festival?”

“Woman, it is time for love and you keep asking questions!” Hammurabi said with a laugh. “It is why you are queen and not another. This is the first thing I shall negotiate with Ishme-Dagan. He is to escort the caravan of stone to Babylon city bringing with him the girl and her retinue that we may judge her worth. He already knows that I will not consider her unless the confiscated caravans are returned to us and the roads reopened.”

“This is good news, my king,” Ishtari said, standing from the chair to kneel and remove his sandals.

She signaled to a nearby chamber slave, who brought a basin for her and a jug of cool water. Ishtari placed her husband’s feet into the basin and poured water over them, gently washing them with her beautiful, long, black hair. Though she was now thirty-five and had borne Hammurabi ten children in their fifteen years of marriage, she had not one grey hair on her head or one wrinkle on her beautiful face.

“You honor me, wife,” he said, touching the top of her bowed head. “When the markets become full of Hittite and Mesopotamian merchandise again, then I will invite him and his court to Babylon. The hematite will come with them as a sign of good faith.”

“Then you will take Kashira as a royal concubine of Babylon,” she stated, drying his feet with the ends of her own veil even though the slave held a piece of cotton cloth out for her to use for that purpose.

The slave instead quickly removed the basin and the jug while Ishtari took her seat on the floor and tenderly rubbed olive oil into his freshly washed skin.

“Do not be troubled by this, my love,” he replied, stroking her hair gently. “You do not need to attend the bedding if you do not wish to. However, I believe that you will want to be there to be assured that there will be no passion between this girl and I. She will wear the collar of the harem women just as the others do because she is no wife of Babylon.”

“Very well, husband,” Ishtari succumbed. “All this talk of bedding Kashira is spoiling the moment. I only wish to bed my husband.”

Hammurabi smiled. After fifteen years as his queen, Ishtari had become bolder and bolder with him, it was the quality he loved most about her. She served him and she pleased him, in every way that a king or a man would desire, but she was also strong and clever. She knew the politics of ruling an empire and she knew the laws of it as well.

He stood and took her by the hand. As she rose to her full height, he pulled her closely to him with one hand and gestured his dismissal of the chamber slaves with the other.

“You will have no attendants this night?” Ishtari asked him, surprised.

“Why?” he asked. “I am attended by love.”

She smiled as he led her into the bed chamber.

***

A few weeks later, the markets within the city limits were again bursting with food and supplies of every kind. There were the dried and salted meat and fruit delicacies from the west, the woven treasures from the east and the jewelry merchants’ tables were laden with delicate pieces from Egypt and Phoenicia. Hammurabi was pleased with the reports from the city. Even from the palace balconies, he could see the change in the atmosphere among the people. There was a certain air of relief, as if some doubt had been brewing about the city’s future and it had now been dispersed like so many wisps of smoke.

“All seems well again in the world, wife,” he said, smirking.

“Indeed, husband,” she agreed, not lifting her head from the garment she was expertly mending.

“I see you even have beads to decorate your clothes again. Why don’t you have your slave do that, Ishtari? You always bring sewing into the throne room.”

“Does it displease you, Master?” she asked, teasing him with the term of respect.

“I am accustomed,” he relented, taking his seat beside her. “You have sewn your own clothing since before I married you. I just do not understand why.”

“My sister was murdered with a poisoned veil when I was ten years old, husband. She was married to the brother of an Egyptian Pharaoh and her handmaidens hated that she was a foreigner so much that they killed her. I do not allow slaves to tailor my garments nor those of my husband or my children.”

“I did not know this,” Hammurabi said softly.

“I did not care to mention it before, so that is no fault of yours.”

“Will you continue to sew when Ishme-Dagan and his court arrive?”

“I will, as I usually do, Master,” she replied. “It is important to me for them to see that even though I may sit at your side as the Queen of Babylon; it is you who rules here.”

Hammurabi nodded his pleasure at her response. He noted how she never took her eyes off the needle and fabric in her hands and worked assiduously, as if she was in a hurry for the garment to be ready. There was an open vial of liquid which was tucked into the beaded belt at the top of her bodice. Occasionally, Ishtari dipped her needle into the tiny bottle, threaded a new bead onto it and continued sewing. He knew nothing of working garments, so the king thought nothing of it.

Some time passed before they heard the horns that heralded the arrival of the Assyrians. Hammurabi stood from the throne and took a few steps forward, fixing his crown and smoothing out his robes. Ishtari remained seated, not even raising her eyes once as the colorful procession entered the throne room. When they were all assembled in front of them and Hammurabi was again standing in front of his golden chair, Ishtari took her cue. This quaint custom of her husband’s was his rebuttal to her insisting on sewing while they held their court; he would not sit on his throne as King until she had laid aside the fabric and donned her crown as Queen.

Ishtari slowly put the material and her needle down on the tiny table beside her where the bowl of multicolored beads lay. She waved her slave forward with the crown while picking up the little cork, covering the vial of liquid at her belt and tucking it away. The girl picked up Ishtari’s hair in a huge roll and secured the tall crown on her head. When it was securely in place, the queen stood and walked around to her husband’s left side where she stood beside his throne and gracefully leaned against it with her hip. She folded her arms before her chest. The slave girl hurriedly folded the curule chair and the table she had been using and moved it away.

There was a murmur among the Assyrians as they were kept waiting for her to prepare herself for receiving them. They were even more shocked when Hammurabi didn’t sit down until she had positioned herself at his side in her feline stance. Their confidence as a royal couple was undoubted within the room and anyone who might have come to Babylon thinking that they would be meeting a weak ruler would be completely deflated. Together, they exuded a wondrous power that was an enigma to behold.

“Welcome, King Ishme-Dagan and the court of Assyria, to Babylon,” Hammurabi announced as loudly as he could.

Dagan stepped forward and bowed slightly. At that Hammurabi stood from the throne and descended the raised dais. He extended both hands to Dagan and, accepting the gesture, Dagan stepped forward and they embraced. As if on cue, both kings extended their left hands and their consorts approached the men. Ishtari to Hammurabi’s side and Kashira to Dagan’s.

“May I present Ishtari, Queen of Babylonia,” Hammurabi said.

“May I present Kashira, Princess of Assyria,” Dagan replied.

The four bowed courteously to each other and separated. As she approached the dais, Ishtari’s slave brought her chair back and unfolded it for her. When she was seated, the table was also replaced and she immediately took up the fabric and began to sew again. There was a murmur again from the crowd; half of whom expected her, like the other women, to excuse herself from the proceedings and the other half who were outraged that she would then begin to do menial tasks in front of strangers.

The queen anticipated the hubbub and took the opportunity to say to her husband under her breath, “Not even a royal princess, husband? He brings us a bastard daughter to seal his deals for him? Who does this upstart mongrel think he is?”

“Be quiet, wife,” he replied with a broad smile on his face. “Let him think that we are satisfied. There is better cheese made from the milk of a fat cow than from that of a skinny one.”

She laughed and said, “Indeed.”

Ishtari heard everything but said nothing as the men and their various advisers bickered back and forth about the business of reopening the roads and maintaining access and commerce between the two nations. Soon she was finished with the beautiful piece of gauze which she had fashioned into a bedding veil. She continued to fiddle with it touching the rows of beads with drops of the liquid from the tiny vial. When the negotiations had come to a favorable conclusion, the court of Assyria presented Kashira to Hammurabi and Ishtari again; this time she was dressed in the red dress of a lesser bride. The King and Queen descended the dais together and each extended a hand for the woman to kiss.

There was a long pause as Ishtari met Kashira eyes and glowered at her for a moment, then suddenly the girl lowered her eyes and the queen announced, “She will do, husband and I will attend the bedding. Kashira, I have made you a bedding veil. Here in Babylon, concubines are not permitted to share the passion in their eyes with the king.”

The court gasped but Ishtari did not care. She turned and strolled from the room, taking the garment with her.

***

Three nights later, after the great traditional feast, the caravans of the Assyrians withdrew from the walls of Babylon heading north towards their home. The king and queen silently turned from the steps of the palace and walked hand in hand towards the staircases. They went up to the chamber levels and then to the concubine’s rooms.

Kashira had been bathed in almond oil and milk, perfumed and dressed according to Ishtari’s specifications that evening. She had been given a meal of dried fruit, soft cheese, freshly baked bread, olives and grapes. Her wine was spiked with the strong grain alcohol the farmers produced. When they arrived in her bedchamber, she had been stripped and lain out on the silks of the bed for them to appraise. Ishtari approached first. She stroked the hair back from the girl’s face and then unfolded the veil she had made, wrapping it carefully over the girls’ head and face until her features were completely obscured.

“We will speak in the morning, Kashira,” she said. ‘You look very beautiful.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the girl replied.

The queen stood back from the bed and kneeled in a corner of the room. Hammurabi had watched her silently as she performed the ritual. He wanted to feel badly for her but it was how things worked in their world. He knew he only felt that remorse because of how much he loved her. If he did not love her, and their country, so much he would not have to do such things. As a man, he smiled to himself; the tasting of a new wife is never a bad thing for a man or a king. He would gladly do his duty.

***

The next morning, a scream rang out through the palace. While servants bolted toward the sound to see what had happened, Ishtari gracefully sauntered towards the concubine’s rooms. At the dressing table, a distraught Kashira sat pawing her face in the polished bronze mirror.

“Leave us!” the queen commanded as soon as she arrived.

The slaves and other attendants went scurrying through the door.

“Kashira, you are not well,” Ishtari started.

“Mistress, my face!” she wailed. “Look at it.”

Kashira turned to the queen to reveal a face whose skin was raw and red. Tiny bumps were forming in aggravated patches, filling with white ooze.

“Did you enjoy your bedding?” the queen asked unaffected by the spectacle.

“What?” the girl replied, surprised.

“I asked you if you enjoyed yourself with my husband last night!” Ishtari said, “Do not enjoy his company again, girl. This was just a small dose of the poison I carry for women who would try to place themselves on my throne. This is only a warning; heed it well. Mariah will bring something to heal you.”

Satisfied, Ishtari returned to her rooms.

“You poisoned her?” Hammurabi asked.

“Yes, husband.”

“How?”

“It was the veil. The minute she heated it with her breath and her sweat, it leeched into her skin.”

“Will the antidote work?”

‘Yes, Master. She will be well again by dinner tonight. It was only a small dose, not lethal at all.”

“And she knows that you did it? And why?”

“Yes, husband. She is a clever girl; I didn’t have to explain much.”

“Good. I want her to inform Dagan as quickly as possible about the threat to her life here. It’s time that Assyria stopped being an obstacle between us and Phoenicia; I’m tired of their pretending to be a kingdom when all they are is a country of bandits and brigands.”

“He will know before the next moon, husband, so we may as well prepare for war.”

“Excellent!”

Chapter One

UNESCO Headquarters, Place de Fontenoy, Paris, France.

“Director,” Petrovik said, as he stepped into the office.

“Yes, Petrovik,” she replied, without looking up from the computer screen. “What is it?”

“We still haven’t been able to make contact with the dig team in Iraq. They should have returned last week but when they arrived in Baghdad, we lost contact with them completely.”

“I know all about it. What happened to the investigator we sent? Hasn’t he been able to make any progress finding them yet?”

“He hasn’t been able to find so much as a clue of what happened to them, Ilea.”

“That’s absolutely preposterous!” she shouted, standing up from the desk so quickly that her chair flew back into the wall behind her.

She gathered her emotions hastily as she tugged at the ends of her blazer. She turned and looked over the city through the wide expanse of window.

“Should we file a missing persons report? Alert the authorities and enlist the assistance of the Iraqis to locate them?”

“No,” she replied, “We shouldn’t bring any unnecessary attention to this matter until we know more about where we stand and possibly who’s responsible for this. If it is really an abduction then it’s just a matter of time before they contact us to tell us what they want.”

“But in the meantime we can’t just sit here and wait, can we?”

“Absolutely not! We’re talking about nine of our best scientists and researchers here, not to mention their project was sanctioned and funded by UNESCO. We have to keep searching for them.”

“The liaison team lost contact with the other seven last night as well, Director.”

“What? Petrovik, when were you planning on telling me that? Where were they the last time they reported in?”

“At the base camp, Director.”

She ran her fingers through her short, straight bob anxiously and turned back to the desk. Pressing a button on the phone, she initiated a call to her receptionist.

“Call Miss Stone right away!” she ordered the woman on the other end of the line, before pressing the button again to end the call. “Say nothing to the media or the rest of the administration and get the liaison team in here right away.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m bringing the rest of Found History in on this, Petrovik. Chyna’s lead investigator was with the others at the base camp. She was supposed to help them break down the operation and secure the artifacts for a quick evacuation. If they’re off the grid now, Chyna is the only person who will be able to help us.”

***

Chyna’s laughter burst from the slightly ajar door of her office again. Rashid Abdullah, Head Curator of the Hagia Sofia museum had taken to visiting her at the office regularly since they had been open for business. He had become a dear friend to them all after they met while Chyna’s team had been working on the assignment they all now referred to as the case of the Mummy Codex. Rashid had been a key player in the solving of that mystery. As it turned out he was actually the modern day protector of the book that had been hidden from humanity for almost three thousand years by one of Egypt’s most famous and ill-fated princesses, Ankhesenamun-Tasherit-Ma’at. Rashid, they later found out, was a direct descendant of Pharaoh Djoser’s High Priest, Imhotep, and like all his descendants before him he had guarded the Book of Life, with a little help from his friends, of course.

Since they had come to Istanbul, Rashid had been sending a few jobs at the museum their way and that had been particularly helpful to the Found History team. They had met the who’s who of Istanbul society, had the chance to showcase some of their finer talents with the exhibitions and curating they did, and establish themselves as appraisers to the merchants in the region. It had been a beneficial relationship for all involved.  Sirita had even hired an assistant investigator and taken on two interns from the local university just to keep up with the work.

“How are our friends in Luxor doing?” Chyna asked Rashid. “I haven’t heard much from Nassir, Mohammed or Jamila recently.”

“They are quite well,” her friend replied confidently as he poured fresh çay into both glasses on the table. “They miss us and insist we visit them for some sport soon.”

“Sport?” Chyna asked, as she lifted the glass carefully and blew on the hot beverage.

“Ah, yes. Mohammed would like to introduce us to the ancient Egyptian sport of falconing. He says the camp is overrun by destructive, but delicious jerboa.”

“Now, that’s different. I may have to take him up on that; I really miss Luxor.”

“Perhaps when Agent Stewart returns to Istanbul, a little holiday will be in order,” he said, winking mischievously at her.

Chyna smiled a telling smile and blushed a little at the comment. She missed Tony too. He was busy closing up the affairs of his assignment to the consular agent in Izmir and wouldn’t be reporting to the Istanbul consulate for another three weeks.

“Perhaps,” Chyna replied, sipping her tea.

“Mohammed and Jamila spend their time watching the Valley of the Kings for grave robbers these days, but they are content; they feel useful and the Watchers are all still comfortably supported by the foundation.”

“It’s good to know that Nassir and his colleagues have such dedicated and skilled protectors.”

“It’s true. Where are Oscar and Lana? I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“Oscar is in New York. He bought a whole shipment of equipment for the company and he and that genius assistant of his are waist deep in getting them ready for installation. They should be here next week to outfit our office here in Istanbul. As for Lana, she’s in Iraq on contract. An archaeological team there is about to ship out and needed help to document and package the artifacts for transport. I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days but she should be back any minute.”

Sirita walked into the office carrying a beautiful white cattleya plant and placed it on the entryway desk. She could hear Chyna’s bubbly laughter flowing from her office as she spoke to someone animatedly.

“Who’s with Miss Stone?” Sirita asked Mina, the receptionist.

“Mr. Mohammed is visiting from the museum, Miss Patel,” she replied without looking up from the files she was organizing.

“Thank you,” Sirita replied.

She turned from the desk and was just walking towards Chyna’s door when the phone on her desk rang. Sirita stopped dead in her tracks. That phone was the direct office line which they only gave to their highest ranking clientele; and only to be used by them in abject emergencies. She ran to the desk and snatched up the receiver.

“Found History Istanbul, Sirita Patel speaking.”

“Oh, Sirita!” the voice on the other end said. “It’s Ilea Le Gal, UNESCO. Is Chyna there?”

“As a matter of fact she is, Ilea. Let me just connect you to her.”

She put the call on hold and grabbed the UNESCO files from her tray, moving rapidly towards Chyna’s office door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Abdullah,” She said bowing her head slightly and turned to Chyna. “It looks as if we may have our first adventure.”

“What’s up, Siri?” Chyna asked standing to follow her to the desk.

Rashid put down his tea glass and followed them as well.

“Director Le Gal, from UNESCO Headquarters, is on the line. She wants to speak to you.”

Chyna went around the desk and pressed the hands-free button. The others turned to leave the room.

“Stay,” Chyna said. “Both of you. Rashid, could you get the door?”

He closed it and they both respectfully took seats on the other side of her desk and listened patiently.

“Ilea!” Chyna said, as the call was connected. “How can I help you?”

“Hello, Chyna,” the voice said, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Likewise. I have my office manager Sirita and a colleague from Hagia Sofia here with me.”

“Hello, you two.”

They both replied cordially to the greeting.

“So tell me what’s up.”

“We instructed an archaeological team that we fund to clear out of their camp near Hillah three weeks ago. There’s something brewing in Iraq and we don’t want our people caught in the mix.”

“Argo,” Sirita interjected.

“Indeed,” Ilea continued, “Anyway, the American team broke camp, gathered the data and left. They arrived in Baghdad the day after they received their instructions. That was nineteen days ago, Chyna, and we haven’t heard from them since.”

“What about the group that was handling the artifacts, Ilea? Tell me you know where they are and that my girl is safe.”

“We lost contact with them yesterday. I’m sorry, Chyna.”

“Ilea, this is very serious. Have you sent anyone after them? Alerted the authorities?”

“Nothing has gone public yet. We wanted to see if we would hear from the people responsible first.”

“Great, but that was three weeks ago and your delay put the rest of the team in danger; now they’re missing as well.”

“That’s why I’m calling you. We put someone on the ground but he doesn’t seem to be able to come up with anything. We need you and your team to go to Iraq and bring our people home, Chyna.”

“Oscar’s in the States; he can’t get here until tomorrow at the soonest and Tony is in Izmir.”

There was a pregnant pause as Chyna chewed her bottom lip.

“We’ll be in Baghdad by tomorrow night, Ilea,” Chyna finally announced. “Be sure to send everything over immediately. I’m going to need the names of all your people over there, especially the investigator who couldn’t find them; he’s going to have to take point on this.”

“That’s fine, Chyna,” Ilea replied, with a sigh of relief. “Bill us whatever you need to.”

“Of course, I will,” Chyna said, ending the call.

***

“Where are you taking us?” Lana asked calmly, as the two men, one blond and the other dark-haired, escorted them down the hallway of a rundown hotel.

“Shut up, bitch,” the blond one responded.

He spoke with a distinct French accent, confirming to Lana that they hadn’t been taken by Iraqis. She breathed a sigh of relief and decided to obey him. Suddenly the group was stopped outside the double doors of what appeared to be a suite and the dark haired man shouldered his rifle and turned the knobs, throwing both doors wide open. The blond man ushered the eight of them into the room.

It was dusty but well furnished. Clearly, housekeeping hadn’t been inside the suite for many years. Bullet holes dotted the walls here and there and the window they’d obviously penetrated the room from years ago was still broken even though they had been cleverly blacked out using tarpaulin and plywood boards from the outside; the overhead fluorescent lighting flickered as if on cue.

The hotel must have been a remnant from the invasion of Baghdad by coalition troops in 1991. Suddenly, Lana was taken back to that world-famous news broadcast. She had to consciously restrain herself from reciting ‘The skies over Baghdad have been illuminated…’. She smiled at the thought of it. The kidnappers had made their second mistake by bringing them to this location. From the damage to the room, Lana didn’t need to look out the window to know that they were probably near the afflicted Baiyaa neighborhood; it was good to have some bearings even if they were only speculation.

There was no way to know why they had been kidnapped; the group had been taken from their cots in the middle of the night. The little camp outside Hillah had been cleared out by a group of men wearing paramilitary gear; they loaded every crate and box into the back of a truck and put each of them, handcuffed into another. Lana could only think that they must have been after the artifacts that had been unearthed by the dig team.

It was true that when she left Istanbul to go on the assignment she hadn’t been impressed by the dossier; it just wasn’t in her to pass up the chance to see Babylon, even as ruinous as it currently was. It had been declared a World Heritage Site in 2003 and ever since there had been a resurgence of interest in excavating the site. Of course, with the occupation by U.S. and coalition troops after the Persian Gulf War, that was not an easy task. When things improved slightly, UNESCO was sure that they were the first to get in there and for the following ten years, they had successfully bullied any other organization or government from gaining access to the site.

Lana chuckled to herself at the thought. They had been so greedy about the site and just as the lion’s share of the work was complete and ready to be shipped off, someone just swooped in and scooped it all up. A laugh escaped her lips before she could stifled it. It gained her some strange looks from the others. Too bad those ‘someones’ had decided to scoop them up along with the pieces. She had admitted to Chyna within her first week there that the artifacts she was cataloging were a whole lot more impressive than she had originally anticipated. One particular piece had been of specific interest; the dig team  found it almost completely intact when they had excavated what they thought might be the great temple of Ninurta. The altar had been uncovered with hardly any damage to the beautiful idols and the mosaic that decorated the wall behind them. There was a life-size statue of Ninurta with his legs in stride, his four wings were splayed as if ready for flight and in his hand he held two large-pronged spears. The depiction was of the god attacking a giant cockatrice-type monster that had a skeletal head, the body of a lion, and the flank of a bird of prey. But it didn’t seem in any way connected to the smaller idol that had caught Lana’s interest. It was in the form of a serpent and made from one solid piece of perfect black hematite; large enough to be in scale with the giants’ foot but still of a size that  was easy for one person to carry.

The serpent resembled a cobra with its hood spread but the fangs and scales were far more sinister. As Lana assessed it and made her notes the word that came to her to describe the creature before her with the large, red garnet eyes was: The Babylonian Basilisk.

***

Chyna’s head swam as she absorbed the information Ilea had given them over the phone. Lana was missing and no one knew who had taken her and the other scientists or where they were. The only thing they knew to some level of certainty was that they had not left Iraq; at least not by way of the Baghdad airport. It was becoming clear that they’d found something in the ruined city that had provoked somebody, or at least sparked an interest. She wished she had followed up with Lana’s findings and progress there more carefully.

“Siri, could you bring me Lana’s last report from the site, please?”

“Yes, Chyna,” she replied, hurrying away to her desk to retrieve the files.

Rashid stood and was about to excuse himself when Chyna looked up from her desk and gave him a questioning look.

“Have you no ‘Watchers’ in Persia or colleagues who might be able to assist us there?”

“No ‘Watchers’ are stationed that far east but I think the Eastman might have a contact or two there. I could give him a call to find out,” he replied.

“I would really appreciate that,” Chyna said, as Sirita reentered the office.

“Here are the files.”

“Well, Siri, you wanted to be an office manager at Found History, did you think that in your third week on the job you’d get your first opportunity to train as an investigator?”

Sirita’s eyes grew large in her head. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.

“Are you serious?” she asked, disbelievingly.

“Of course, I can’t take a bunch of strangers with me and Oscar won’t be here until eight o’ clock tomorrow morning and that’s only if he catches the flight Sandra booked for him. Mina can manage here if Rashid checks in periodically but I can’t go into the field by myself.”

“Fair enough, Chyna. It’s really an exciting proposition.”

Rashid smiled at her and said, “Aren’t you glad you spent those extra hours with me at the firing range? You didn’t know you’d get the chance to see action so soon, did you?”

Sirita laughed and left the office. She returned a few minutes later with a stack of paper from the fax machine.

“Ilea sent the names and other information on the missing teams, both the American scientists and the archaeologists that Lana was with. What do you want me to do with these?”

“Put them here on the desk, Siri, and get a notepad; there’s several things I need you and Mina to handle immediately if we are to be in Baghdad by nightfall tomorrow,” Chyna instructed. She looked up to see her friend standing and placing the tea things neatly on the tea tray. “Are you leaving Rashid?”

“I must get back to the museum, Chyna, but I will call you and let you know what the Eastman said.”

“Thank you.”

Chyna paused for a moment to gather her thoughts while Sirita stood poised in front of her with pen and paper. When she looked up again, there was surety in her eyes and she immediately started reeling off instructions to an instantly intimidated Sirita.

“Okay!” she started. “I need you to book us three seats on a midafternoon flight straight into Baghdad; no connections. I find it’s always too difficult with the extra security checks and we will all be carrying firearms, as well as Oscar will have some of our most sensitive equipment with him. I certainly don’t want a repeat of the ‘Great Istanbul Hacking,” she commented.

They both laughed at Chyna’s quip before she continued.

“Make sure that copies of our licenses for the guns and such are all sent ahead to the airlines and Iraqi customs along with any credentials Ilea sent over from UNESCO. We’re going to need a double executive suite booked at the Palestine International Hotel; you can speak to Ihram Ibrahim, he will know what to do. The next thing is security. Could you get in touch with Thorin and Demetri? If they’re in the region and not on assignment I need them to meet us there. You’ll need to make their flight arrangements if that’s the case.”

“And if they’re engaged?”

“They’ll give you the names and locations of the men they’ll send, but it’s more than likely true that they will call in replacements on their current job and come themselves.”

“I see,” Sirita said.

“We’re going to need armored cars in Iraq, preferably Land Rovers,” Chyna added, as she flipped through the giant old fashioned Rolodex in front of her.

She stopped at a business card and said, “You can call Masoud Limos for those; two of them. Black, armored and tinted and we won’t be needing drivers, just an airport pickup. We’ll drop them back at the dealership and sign the papers. I think that’s it.”

“Let’s see,” Sirita said, “We’ve got flights, accommodation, security and transportation. That sound about right, Chyna?”

“It sure does,” she agreed. “All I have to do is put our ‘Plan B’ into place and we’re all set.”

“‘Plan B’?” Sirita asked.

“Yes, Siri, ‘Plan B’,” Chyna confirmed. “That’s your first lesson as a would be investigator at Found History; we never go into hostile territory or take on a major investigation without a ‘Plan B’. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be getting started on it. Thank you.”

Sirita nodded and left the room, closing the office door behind her. Chyna took her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed Tony’s number.

“Hey, Babe,” came his voice on the other end.

“Hi there,” she replied smiling, “how are you doing?”

“It’s going good, Chyna,” he said. “Missing you is all. I can’t wait to see you next weekend.”

“Oh dear!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ummm, nothing. It’s just I forgot about that, Tony. Something serious has just come up at the office.”

She could hear him exhale deeply on the other end. He was worried.

“Tell me,” he finally managed to say.

“Ilea Le Gal called from UNESCO headquarters this afternoon. Her entire team has gone A.W.O.L. One group of Americans disappeared in Baghdad on their way to leave the country and they lost contact with the others yesterday.”

“UNESCO? Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because that’s the assignment Lana went on two weeks ago in Hillah; the Babylonian excavation. She was supposed to help them get the pieces ready for transportation.”

“Oh yes! Don’t tell me she’s among the missing!”

“She is, Tony! And I don’t know what to do.”

“Well first of all, don’t panic. She’s a really skilled girl. She’s well trained and she has good instincts. She may not be able to get them out of there, but she will certainly be able to keep everyone alive until you can find them and rescue them from whoever’s kidnapped them.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Babe. I just feel like I’m about to lose it.”

“Relax. You’ve got this, remember?”

“I do got this!”

“What can I do to help?”

“I’m going to need an evacuation route ready just in case we need to haul ass out of Iraq; and the likelihood of that, depending on who we’re dealing with, is quite high.”

“I’ll make all the arrangements for you. How many people were in the UNESCO team?”

“Let’s see,” Chyna said, as she rummaged through the paperwork that Sirita had brought in from the fax machine. “We’ve got sixteen; nine Americans, four Italian and three Brits.”

“How many of your personnel?”

“Including Lana, we’ll be six.”

“Did you get Demetri and Thorin?”

“Sirita’s working on that but we’ll have two stand-ins if they aren’t able to come.”

“Okay, so that’s twenty-two in total,” he said, whistling. “I’m going to have to call in a whole lot of favors but at least there’s still a huge amount of U.S. Air Force in the area.”

“I appreciate your help, Tony. We leave for Baghdad tomorrow afternoon. I’ll call you as soon as we get there.”

“Sure thing, Babe. You can ask for Agent Hamilton at the U.S. Embassy.”

“Awesome! I’ll stay in touch, Babe.”

“You just be careful.”

They ended the call on that note and somehow Chyna felt a little bit better. She was in sheer turmoil with the loss of Lana. There wasn’t a clear way that she thought she could handle it. The worst part was that they were going into Baghdad blind; they didn’t have a clue where to start, they didn’t know who they could trust.

Suddenly, Chyna stopped dead in her tracks.

“Sirita! Get in here right away.”

Sirita came running through the doors a minute later; she was obviously in a state of surprise.

“What is it Chyna?”

“I think its official; I must be the stupidest person in the world!”

“Why would you say that?”

“Shut the door and come closer,” Chyna instructed. “When we’re in the field, every Found History employee and every piece of our luggage wears a tracking device. It’s a little distress signal unit that can be activated either by the wearer or remotely through our server. Lana’s is sewn into the lining of her boot. We haven’t gotten an S.O.S. signal from Lana’s so I would assume either it’s been taken away from her or she hasn’t had the chance to safely activate it as yet.”

“Hmm, I’ll get Oscar on the line,” Sirita said, picking up the telephone.

“Hello!” Nigel said, loudly into the phone.

“Hi Nigel, how are you?” Chyna said cordially. “We need to talk to Oscar.”

“I’m fine; Miss Stone, but you just missed him. I just got back from taking him to the airport.”

“Oh that’s fine, Nigel. I’m sure you can help us.”

“I’ll sure try my best!”

“Could you activate Lana’s distress signal? We need a location on her.”

Chapter Two

Nigel laughed cheekily as he sent the satellite imagery to Chyna’s projector screen. Chyna and Siri stood looking at the disjointed map eagerly as he frantically typed on his keyboard, trying to home in on the signal. In the background, they could hear an incessant beeping noise that was apparently the sound the computer made as the tracking software was trying to get a position on the activated homing device.

A few moments later, a red dot appeared on the map and Nigel continued typing furiously. The image blurred, doubled in size and became clear again as it was magnified.

“Hang on a minute,” they heard Nigel announce over the speaker phone.

There was more clicking and beeping in the background.

“Alright, here we go!”

The image blurred, enlarged and re-focused a few more times until streets, alleys, the tops of buildings and open spaces became well defined and in some cases even labeled with their names. Chyna and Siri watched intently as a little red dot appeared on the screen and pulsed gently over one of the buildings.

“That’s it, Chyna,” Nigel announced. “That’s where she is.”

“Or at least that’s where her boots are; let’s hope that Lana is still in them.”

“What do you mean by that?” Sirita asked.

“Unfortunately Siri, every scenario we get ourselves into in our line of work comes with the possibility that things may not always have a ‘Happy ever after’ ending. We always try to prepare ourselves for the worst case scenario.”

“You’re saying she may not still be in those boots, aren’t you?”

Chyna gave her a grave look and a little nod, and then returned her attention to the red dot on the screen and to Nigel over the phone.

“Nigel, could you put a watch on her, please? And get us the address of that building.”

“Sure thing, Miss Stone,” he replied.

“Thank you. I’ll let Oscar check in with you as soon as he arrives. You two will have to come up with a plan of how we can keep the track going until we actually get there.”

Chyna disconnected the call but kept on watching the screen on her office wall.

“We’re coming for you Lana. Just hang in there.”

***

Chyna met Siri at the office at around eight the next morning and went straight over to the Hagia Sofia museum to meet with Rashid. He had spoken to the Eastman the night before, just as he had promised Chyna he would, and they both wanted to meet with her before she left for Iraq that afternoon. She was looking forward to their meeting in the hopes that her friend would be able to put a secret weapon in her arsenal for the trip.

Nigel checked in to say that the signal had not moved. Somehow the news stirred mixed feelings in Chyna; there were more negatives associated with it not moving that if it had.

Zubeida, Rashid’s secretary, escorted them into his opulent office at the back of the museum. When the three women walked in, he was sitting on the edge of his large desk speaking animatedly in Arabic to the three other people in his office. Chyna thought that maybe they had interrupted him in a meeting and looked expectantly at Zubeida who extended her arm signaling for them to proceed. Rashid stood and walked towards them with his hand extended to Chyna for a handshake.

“Welcome friends,” he said, jovially. “Come in, I want you to meet some people.”

Chyna recognized the Eastman, but she didn’t know who the man and woman with him were.

“Eastman!” she said, happily. “I have not seen you in quite a while. How have you been doing?”

“Miss Stone,” he replied, “What a pleasure to see you again. I understand you are off on another adventure today.”

“Indeed, Eastman,” Chyna confirmed as the smile faded from her face. “And it certainly isn’t under the most ideal circumstances. I take it Rashid has brought you up to speed?”

“He has. I am extremely sorry to hear about Miss Ambrose. How long have they been missing?”

“Well, the American team disappeared almost two weeks ago. Lana and the others have been gone for three days now.”

Rashid interrupted them at that point to introduce Sirita to the Eastman. Then he turned to the two people who were patiently waiting for the friends to finish their pleasantries.

“Chyna Stone,” he began, “I’d like you to meet Asha Khouri and Eli Bishara. These are two of our Watchers from Boğazkale. As I said yesterday, we don’t have anyone in the Foundation who operates that far to the east, but these two are originally from the Babil province. Their family has farmed those lands since the time of the Persian Empire so they know the territory inside and out.”

“I’m impressed,” Chyna said. “Your knowledge of the area will certainly be advantageous. Do either of you have any further connections in Iraq, particularly in Baghdad? I predict that the major portion of the operation will happen in that city since we have a location on Lana’s tracking device as being stationary in a building in the Baiyaa district.”

“I see,” Eli said, nodding his head. “My family has remained very rural, mostly working the family farm and taking jobs in tourism around the Babylon ruins, but Asha’s people have been living in Baghdad for decades.”

“It is true, but the amount of help available depends on what you think you will need, Miss Stone,” Asha said.

“Mostly information,” Chyna said, “But tactical support as well, about a dozen men, fully equipped for hostage retrieval. I’d rather not show up on the radar if I don’t have to.”

“I understand. I can do these things. Let me make a few calls.”

“Awesome,” Chyna summarized, as Rashid handed her a folder with some more background information on the two. “As Watchers, you have my utmost respect and trust. Rashid and Eastman think you are right for the assignment, I am satisfied with that. Can you be ready and at the airport at one o’ clock this afternoon?”

They both nodded their confirmation.

“Great, we’ll have tickets ready for you at the check-in counter, see you then.”

Chyna turned to Sirita and instructed her to take their names, dates of birth and passport numbers and call the airline to book the tickets. While Siri made herself busy with that, Chyna spoke further to Rashid and Eastman.

“How are you holding up?” Rashid asked her.

“Okay for now, but the signal from the beacon hasn’t moved since we homed in on it and I don’t know what to make of that.”

“Do not worry, Miss Stone. It will be fine,” Eastman said.

“I hope so, Eastman. I really do.”

***

There wasn’t much time left before Oscar’s plane would land at the airport and Demetri and Thorin were probably already through the immigration process and heading on to customs. Their meeting with Rashid had certainly been fruitful; they had added two experts on Iraq to their ranks.

Oscar’s plane wouldn’t be arriving until around ten thirty and their flight to Baghdad wasn’t scheduled to leave until close to three o’ clock. There wasn’t enough time for Oscar to leave the airport and freshen up at her house, so Chyna decided to take a room in the airport hotel where he could take a shower, have a meal and relax a little before they had to leave. The two bodyguards had been instructed to check in and secure the room if they arrived before she did. When they got to the airport, she and Siri would get checked in on the flight and send their bags on before retiring to the room to set up a temporary work space.

As she had anticipated, when they got to the front desk of the hotel, Sirita was informed that the room had already been checked in and they proceeded upstairs. Always on guard, Chyna took point and kept her hand on her SIG Sauer® M-11 pistol inside her jacket as they approached the door. She knocked on the door and waited for a response.

“Operation Ninurta,” came Thorin’s voice from behind the closed door.

“Ishtari’s retrieval,” Chyna replied, reholstering the gun and taking her hand from inside her leather jacket.

The locks were turned immediately by the satisfied bodyguard who rushed out to engulf her svelte body in a massive bear hug. When he saw Sirita behind her, he stiffened.

“Hey Thorin how are you?” Chyna said, cheerfully. “This is Sirita, our office manager from the new office.”

“Hey, how do you do?”

“How do you do?” Sirita replied, primly.

They walked past the huge Swede and stepped into the beautiful room. It was one of the largest the hotel had to offer. Sirita had done a fantastic job of anticipating how much room they would need to be able to function for the hours they would be spending there. As soon as Chyna had greeted Demetri and introduce him to Sirita, she took out her laptop, logged on to the Found History server and called Nigel.

“Nigel, I’m going to need you to find an archery shop for me in the city. If there isn’t a place where I can get a compound matrix bow, I’m going to need to know that in less than an hour so I can arrange to take mine.”

“Sounds like you’re planning to get stealthy over there, Miss Stone,” he replied.

“If we’re dealing with a hostage situation, then we may have to, Nigel.”

“Understood. I’ll get right on it.”

“Could you also log onto Lana’s profile and download everything she’s uploaded to the server in the last week? I want to get a clear picture of what she was working on before she went missing. You never know, maybe we’ll find something helpful.”

“Good idea, Boss.”

It wasn’t long before Oscar knocked on the room door. Of course, he was a lot less cautious with his approach; he was still a bit of a novice. When he strolled in, Chyna smiled broadly.

“Where are you coming from, Cowboy?” Chyna quipped, making fun of how he was dressed. “Did we just fly you out of New York or was it Austin, Texas?”

“Awww, come on Boss Lady,” he groaned. “Give me a break. I left for that flight straight from work. I don’t even know what’s in my bag. I had to ask Sandra to go pack it for me.”

Oscar received raised eyebrows from both husky bodyguards when they got a good look at his leather and denim ensemble. He looked more than a little bit like Crocodile Dundee, without the knife of course.

“Go take a shower and get some rest,” Chyna instructed. “I’m about to order some lunch.”

***

Lana yawned and stretched in an effort to relax the kink in her back. She had slept propped up against a concrete wall and it had been a rather cold night. As she rubbed the small of her back, two men in military style green uniforms came into the room carrying bottles of water and a bag of oranges. They carefully passed them out to Lana and the others.

“Is this all you’re going to give us?” a blond woman asked them boldly.

Lana turned quickly to look at her, shaking her head slowly trying to tell her to shut up. The men laughed at her and continued handing out the meager breakfast to the others.

“I’m starving and all you can give us is an orange?” the woman persisted, raising her voice.

Lana could see that she was genuinely upset and clearly not thinking straight. Just then, another man entered the room. He seemed to be someone who was in charge, at least of the other two who were tending to the hostages.

“What is she saying?” he asked the two men in Arabic.

They shrugged and continued with their work but the woman wouldn’t stop complaining. At that point, she stood up and threw the orange at the wall before collapsing to the floor crying. Lana sat peeling her orange as it was all playing out in front of her. The captain repeated his question. He was getting more and more agitated as the woman cried louder and louder.

“She’s asking if all we get for breakfast is an orange,” Lana said softly, in fluent Arabic.

The men turned to her in shock. They stood there scrutinizing the small brunette for a moment before the captain spoke to her directly.

“What is wrong with the fruit?”

“Nothing. She’s just really hungry. Don’t you guys have anything else we could eat? You haven’t given us anything since yesterday. We’re all starving.”

“These men were instructed to bring you supper last night. You are lying, woman. You’re a lying American.”

“The last thing we ate was the shawarma they took from the street vendor when we entered the city yesterday afternoon. No one brought us any supper.”

The captain went over to the two soldiers and hit them both over their heads. He cursed at them in another language that Lana could barely understand and she guessed that it must have been a rural dialect, Kurdish perhaps. The three men argued for a long time during which it was obvious that the captain was berating them. Lana cringed at that. It wasn’t a good idea in any situation to aggravate one’s captors, when the captain eventually left they would remain at the mercy of the two embarrassed men.

“Bring them proper food,” the captain ordered, speaking Arabic again. “Thieves should have their hands removed but I have too few of you stupid buffalo to start dismembering you! So serve them like the thieving women that you are. Bring them khubz and bighilla and eggs. Don’t forget the tea, either.”

The captain turned to Lana and walked over to her. He offered her his hand to help her up from the ground which she gladly took since her back was still hurting. With his arm around her waist, Lana hobbled over to the boarded up windows with the captain.

“I apologize to all of you for the poor behavior of these fools. They are not used to the delicate art of kidnapping; they are more suited to hostage taking. Me and you, we can recognize the subtle differences between the two. They took your evening meal for themselves, so please do not think  I’m not concerned with the welfare of you and your friends.”

“I will let the others know. Thank you.”

“I am Aziz; captain of these few men here.”

“I’m Lana.”

“Lana, they will bring you bread, beans and eggs, with tea. It is in the best interest of all involved that you are kept in the best of health and comfort.”

She laughed at the comment and shook her head slowly. The captain gave her a strange and questioning look.

“We need something to sleep on captain, it’s cold at night and we are used to much better than this. As kidnapped people we should have a proper place to sleep; unlike hostages, yes? As far as the distinction goes, we have no idea why we’re here, captain. Maybe if I could explain the situation to the others then they would be a little less antagonized.”

“The company they work for has been robbing the people of the Babil Valley for more than ten years by taking the relics from the ruins of Babylon and selling them to foreign museums and universities. The site was declared a World Heritage Site, so anything removed should be compensated for and all the jobs that support visitation of the site are required to go to resident natives of the immediate area.”

He paused for a moment and looked over her shoulder at the other investigators who were now being served their breakfast by the two soldiers.

“Instead, they hire foreign scientists who do not even take on any local apprentices and the tour site is staffed by people of a hundred different nationalities, most of which don’t even speak Arabic. They got their sanctions to be there from UNESCO but then they are left to run amok without so much as reports about the items they remove and where they are going. We believe that UNESCO should be made aware of the situation in Hillah; if they pay for their negligence as well, then we will regain at least a little of what we have lost.”

“Ransom…well played,” Lana said.

***

“Oscar, come on!” Sirita bellowed from around the table in the living room. “The food is getting cold and we’ve got to get going soon.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he replied.

“Before Oscar and I ended up on assignment together in Greece, I never knew I’d meet a man who can primp more than a woman,” Chyna said jokingly.

Thorin chuckled at her comment while Demetri and Sirita exchanged amused grins. Finally Oscar appeared from the bedroom looking a whole lot better than he had going in. His jeans were no longer an homage to the pioneer man; they were slim and dark and modern. The cowboy hat was gone, leaving freshly shampooed, greaseless hair in its place. He no longer donned the comfortable plaid shirt he had traveled in; that he had replaced with a trendy, long-sleeved jersey shirt. It was a good look on him.

“What’s for lunch?” he asked, sitting down at the table.

Sirita pushed a covered plate in his direction and said, “There are drinks in the fridge.”

“Did you bring the watch for Sirita?” Chyna asked him.

“Of course, along with a bunch of other stuff she’s going to need,” he replied. Then pointing to a black case that looked like the type a camera would be kept in, he continued, “Her entire personal cache is in that case.”

After they had eaten and put their things together the five went back downstairs into the hustle and bustle of the airport and to the main security check point. All seven pieces of their firearms were turned over with the corresponding paperwork at that point for secure transportation to and storage aboard the aircraft.

When they were through all the procedures and had arrived at their gate, Chyna was relieved to see Asha and Eli waving animatedly at them from the counter of a coffee shop. Chyna and Sirita waved back at them and the group made their way over.

“It’s nice to see you two here. Are you ready for our adventure?” Chyna asked.

“Absolutely,” Eli said, answering for the two of them.

“Excellent. Well, let me make some introductions. Eli, Asha, this is Demetri and this is Thorin; our security detail and this is Oscar, our technical engineer.”

“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Asha said.

Sirita chuckled softly as she observed the two. Somehow they reminded her of the Tweedle Twins in Alice in Wonderland. One would answer one question, and then the other would answer the next. She assumed that it must come from so many years of working closely together. It was still funny as hell though.

It wasn’t long before the details of their flight came over the loud speaker and  boarding instructions were announced.  They stood almost immediately; ready to get out of the noisy locomotion of the terminal and into their comfortable first class seats. Soon the flight was fully boarded and the flight attendants closed the door and made their safety demonstrations in preparation for takeoff.

As soon as they were at cruising altitude, Chyna ordered a gin and tonic and turned on her laptop. The inflight Wi-Fi was reasonably fast and soon she was logged in to Found History and checking her secure email. There was a message from Nigel informing her that Lana had not been sending many emails in the last few days. This Chyna knew because they always communicated using an instant messaging app. He went on to say that what Lana had done was consistently upload her notes from the cataloging exercise and the photographs she took of the items she was working with. There were even photos that she had taken of the other members of the team and group shots of all of them at work together or out on the dig site.

Chyna replied to the email telling Nigel thanks and that they were finally on the way to Baghdad. She also told him to be sure to keep a close eye on the signal from Lana’s tracking device. She would want to know immediately if anything changed at all. When she went to the photographs, Chyna noted the people who were in the pictures with Lana. She didn’t recognize any of them but she knew her lead investigator, if she had taken their picture, they were of some importance to the project. Chyna forwarded those pictures to Oscar, Sirita and Ilea, asking the Director to identify the people for them. Then she went to the pictures of the artifacts. There weren’t many, which meant that Lana had not been very impressed with what she had seen. But then there came a series of about fifteen pictures of one particular item.

It was black and highly polished; made of hematite as well. The object was in the coiled shape of a snake that was hooded like a King Cobra. It seemed poised to strike but the head seemed too low as if it were bowed. In another picture, the top of the statue was shown to reveal a rough patch on the top of the snake’s head. It was evident that something had broken off from that spot.

Chyna went to the notes that Lana had archived regarding the idol and began to read:

‘I’ve studied the idol from every angle and there is nothing here that supports Dr. Linder’s theory that it may have been a singular idol; something from a temple alcove or originally made for someone’s house. I am convinced that the altar we uncovered had been plundered before this team arrived here. The Ninurta and the monster are intact and make sense in relation to each other, but what do they have to do with the basilisk? Whatever is missing from the top of the idol’s head will be the answer to the riddle. But because I am convinced of the theft beyond doubt I will inform the Director in the morning. Without an investigation and some testing done, there’s no way for us to know if whatever that was happened two thousand years or two weeks ago.’

“Oh, Lana,” Chyna sighed, shaking her head, “What did you do?”

***

“Aziz, I didn’t expect you of all people to be calling me with such petty complaints. You’re supposed to be the best at this sort of thing. Why are you so concerned about the Ambrose woman?”

“She speaks Arabic. This morning she took up the complaint from one of the scientists about the food we gave them for breakfast. I had to have a long talk with her. It was her behavior that upset me the most and I thought that I should call you. If I could get rid of her right away, things would go much smoother.”

“No!” Petrovik hissed into the phone, angrily. “Listen to me Aziz; regardless of how much Lana Ambrose disconcerts you, we are not killing any of those people. We separated the Americans from the others for one reason only. Whereas the Europeans will pay to get their people back in order to avoid it coming out about how their precious artifacts got into their museums and collections; the Americans will not negotiate with terrorists, neither have they made the mistake of procuring anything that has been removed from Babylon. The Director is already very flustered over the situation and she is staying far from the media with it. So we have to just stick to the plan. Send the message about the Americans to her today; it’s only a matter of time before the family members start asking questions at which point, it’s bound to be all over the news.”

“What about the Europeans and Lana Ambrose?” Aziz asked.

“I’ll let you know when to contact the United Nations about them. If I don’t get Ilea out of UNESCO by the end of this whole affair, I’ll be rather disappointed,” Petrovik said, with a sinister laugh. “As for Lana, I think you can figure out a way to use her to manipulate the situation. Just be careful; she’s a clever one. Too much time spent with Chyna Stone, if you ask me.”

“By the way, didn’t Director Le Gal call her and her team in to retrieve the girl? She’s not going to become a liability to us now that her friends are on the way, is she?”

“They don’t have a clue where to start looking for her, Aziz. So, unless you’re planning to make it into a problem for us, we should be fine. Did you search her for devices? Take away the cell phones and weapons?”

“Of course we did,” Aziz replied, exasperated.

“Then you won’t be compromised by Chyna being in Baghdad. Be that as it may, I still don’t want you to take her for granted. She’s a better warrior than you and all your men combined. I’d suggest that you move the captives regularly and do it so they can’t get a clue as to where they are. Keep an eye on the Found History team, too. You won’t be able to outsmart them unless you know what they do.”

“Okay,” Aziz said, “We’ll stay alert.”

“Good.”

As Petrovik hung up the phone, he let a wide smile spread across his face.

It was about time the regime changed around here. They had become inert, stagnant, and stale under Ilea’s leadership. She was way too unconfrontational; she hated a dispute, ran from an argument. There was no way the organization could be led in that manner and survive for much longer, he thought. But when I’m in charge, things will be a whole lot different and then maybe we can be known a little more worldwide for doing and not just sitting around looking.

He was very pleased with himself as he sat looking out over the Paris skyline from his office window. What Petrovik didn’t know was that if he had turned around at that second, he would have been in time to see Moira, the intern, step back out into the hall and silently close his office door.

Chapter Three

It was hard not to notice the large white van following them from the airport all the way into the city. Chyna thought it lucky that at the airport she had decided to drive one of the Land Rovers herself and give the second to Eli. She took Asha, Sirita and Demetri with her, allowing Thorin and Oscar to go with Eli. Initially, it had been to ensure that each vehicle had one guide and one bodyguard, but with the van on their tail, her plan would allow them to split up and confuse whoever it was trying to follow them.

She took the chance that if they split up, the followers would choose to stick with her vehicle and she was right. With military precision, the two Land Rovers approached the next exit on the highway as if they were going to pass it and then at the last minute, Eli veered off onto the exit ramp. Chyna watched the driver falter for a moment behind the wheel of the white van before following her at a steady pace. She slowed down and moved over into the slow lane as she drove directly to the U.S. Embassy on the Tigris River. When she pulled into the gates, Chyna was relieved to see the other vehicle had already arrived, which meant that Oscar and Thorin were in position.

As she got out of the Land Rover and glanced towards the gate, she noticed the white van passing at a very slow pace and though she couldn’t see the occupants, she knew they were looking directly at them, wondering what they would do next. Chyna assumed that they would find somewhere to park close by and wait for them to come out of the embassy compound. At that moment, she saw a little movement in a tree that was just inside the embassy wall. The shaking continued until she saw Oscar drop from the lower branches with his long range rifle secured across his back. He jogged across the lawn towards them.

“Is it activated?” Chyna asked him.

“Sure is,” Oscar replied. “You should be able to track them right now with that app I put on your phone.”

Chyna took the phone from her pocket and opened the application. It took a few seconds for anything to happen but soon enough there was the little dot moving slowly along a road a few streets over from where they stood. She smiled at the image, satisfied with what she saw. They would stay in the embassy as long as it took for the van to leave the area and proceed to the place where they were now holding the American group of Scientists.

They were all painfully aware of what could possibly happen to the second group of hostages if they were to sweep into the building in Baiyaa and rescue Lana and the European archaeologists. They just couldn’t risk it so they would wait for the followers to lead them there. Agent Hamilton was duly impressed with their little tagging exercise. He and a few of his operatives had surrounded Oscar to get a look at his equipment and the tracker that was up on his laptop screen showing that the van had parked a few streets over waiting for their departure from the compound.

“I definitely have to get me a few of those,” he said, laughing and clapping Oscar firmly on the back, as he listened to the engineer reel off the firing distances and tracking radius of the apparatus.

“Agent Hamilton,” Chyna called to him, as she approached the little group.

“Miss Stone,” he replied, extending his arm to her for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Agent Stewart has only the best things to say about you and your team and this young man here has certainly wowed us so far with that awesome tagging he did on your little tail there.”

“Yeah, they’re certainly a bunch of amateurs. I don’t think it’s going to be difficult to get our people back.”

“We’re here to help in any way we can.”

***

Moira sat at her desk feverishly firing off the emails that Petrovik had instructed her to send.

How the hell did I still manage to become the intern in this whole thing? Hadn’t I been the one who had blackmailed him? She thought, as she typed furiously.

But she knew the answer to her question only too well. Petrovik had been completely blindsided by her brazen confrontation in his office that evening. He had no idea how much of his conversation with Aziz she had overheard and she planned to use that to his disadvantage.

“So, Mr. Petrovik,” she had started, as she closed the door to his office behind her and turned the lock. “This is what the United Nations is all about, is it?”

“What are you talking about, Moira?”

“Conspiracy with paramilitary groups, kidnapping, ransoms, blackmail? I really just thought it was a lot of boring paper-pushing up until now.”

“What are you talking about?” he had demanded angrily. “There’s nothing of the sort going on around here. What is it that you think you know?”

“I know your man Aziz was supposed to send Director Le Gal an email this afternoon with the ransom details for the missing group of archaeologists. So I made sure to intercept her incoming mail today by setting her inbox to automatically forward everything to my email address and lo and behold, there came the email from an anonymous address demanding one million Euros for each of the captives.”

“Oh shit!” he said, placing his face in his hands.

“That’s right. All I want to know is; what’s your share of that eight million?”

“Why would that be of interest to you?”

“Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing here, Petrovik? If you don’t give me thirty percent of your cut, all I have to do is pick up the phone and tell Director Le Gal everything I know. She’ll have your slick butt in La Sante prison faster than you can say ‘Hello’.”

“You think you can swim with the big sharks do you, Moira?”

“No, Petrovik,” she replied, calmly. “I know that I can. Now tell me what your share is.”

It turned out that he and Aziz were splitting the ransom on the Europeans fifty-fifty, but the Americans were a different story. He would personally broker the deal between Aziz and the United Nations, save the group and get all the recognition for it by resolving the situation independently of the Director, making her look incompetent. The little weasel was after Ilea’s job. Moira wasn’t sure how successful that part of his plan would be and she wasn’t a hundred percent sure she cared whether he did it or not. When she had her cut safely squirreled away, she would make that decision.

So, she sat there and sent every communiqué that he had asked her to. Clearly, he intended to make her earn her cut. It also occurred to Moira that by instructing her to take over the communication between him and Aziz, he was incriminating her as much as he was in the whole affair. She had taken some precautions with that however, by going down to the electronics store nearby and purchasing a new tablet with mobile internet capability and a disposable prepaid SIM card for it. She would be damned before she was caught with any of that information on a device she used for anything else.

When she finished, she stood from the desk and stretched. Why hadn’t she just left at six and gone home to do this? She wasn’t sure, other than wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. Regardless, she was done now and ready to go home for the night so she pressed the sleep button on the tablet and walked down the hall towards the restroom. It didn’t take her long use the toilet, wash her hands and freshen up her makeup, but when she returned it was clear that she had taken a little too long; the tablet was gone.

Frantic, she looked around the office. Her heart sank when she realized there was only one other person in the office with her.

“Dammit!” she said, trying to remember if she had initiated the password protect feature for waking the tablet up.

She couldn’t be sure that she had, so Moira dipped into her handbag and with drew a tiny brown vial which she palmed and walked to Ilea Le Gal’s office door. She took a deep breath, knocked and walked in. Quickly she scanned the desk for the two things she needed, both of them were easy to spot. Her tablet lay at the Director’s left elbow with the screen bright and the email application open.

Oh, fuck! she thought.

The other was the steaming cup of coffee that Ilea always drank when she was staying late in her office. Before she could look up from her computer screen, Moira went straight to the desk and scooped the half empty cup up. She took it over to the percolator in the corner of the office and refilled it from the hot coffee pot. Then she emptied the contents of the vial into the cup and picked up a stirrer from the canister. After adding the two packets of Splenda her boss always did to the cup and stirring it quickly, she placed the cup back on the desk. She turned to leave but Ilea stopped her.

“Moira, you left this on your desk.”

Moira turned slowly to face her, trying to keep a blank look on her face.

“What’s that, Boss?” she asked, steadying her voice.

“Your tablet?” Ilea asked inquisitively.

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” she replied, reaching for the device.

Ilea looked at her suspiciously for a moment before handing the device to her. Moira pretended not to notice and made a bee line for the door. She couldn’t be sure whether Ilea had read any of the emails or not; or if she now knew anything about what was going on. Either way, she had drugged the woman and she would wait until the drug took its effect and remove her as an obstacle, even if it were just temporarily. She had the perfect place to put her.

***

Hammurabi and Ishtari sat on their horses looking down at the fighting in the valley below them. Their forces had taken Ishme-Dagan’s invading army by surprise near Asshur. They had been making steady progress towards Babylon for two days but none of them, not even the great king, had suspected that they had been set up from the very beginning; on the night that his bastard daughter had been bedded by King Hammurabi.

Ishtari had been correct in her estimation that by the end of one cycle of the moon the forces of Assyria would enter the lands of Babylon to seek revenge against the royal couple for the apparent attempt that had been made on Kashira’s life by the queen. The news had also followed shortly to Ishme-Dagan’s ears that Hammurabi had not punished the queen for her indiscretion. That had enraged him the most; the thought that his supposed ally had condoned the poisoning had made his blood boil in his veins and he had summoned the generals of his army to him. To not take immediate and decisive action against him would be to admit that Assyria was inferior to Babylon and worthy of her conquest. He would die before that happened.

Now, he sat on his beautiful Arabian stallion and watched as the army he had sent out in front of him was being decimated by flank after flank of Hammurabi’s soldiers as they descended on his ranks from the surrounding hills. Dagan would never had gone directly through the valley if he’d had any idea that they were aware of his impending attack. Even as the retreat was being sounded and his generals shouted at him to turn around and ride for the border, he was hopeful of a win. Eventually they had to take the reins from his frozen hands and lead his galloping horse away from the advancing Babylonian troops.

Hammurabi smiled and nodded to his horns man to sound the advance. More troops marched forward from behind his line and joined those in the valley to follow the retreating Assyrians. They would harry them all the way to the border and cross it right behind them, preventing them from reforming their ranks and turning to fight again. Hammurabi and Ishtari were guaranteed that by the time they arrived in Nineveh, Dagan and his army would be ready for a full and termless surrender.

They pressed forward and, in accordance with Hammurabi’s great laws, no citizen of Assyria or their towns and possessions were harmed by the troops as they passed through the land. There would be more than enough to sate the soldiers’ desire for loot when they arrived in the capital which, as a purely political move, the king and queen planned to sack and completely destroy. It would be the last time that this country would rise against them; or for that matter exist outside of the Babylonian Empire.

Messengers were sent ahead to the city’s temples advising the citizens to take what they could and return to their villages if they would survive the attack and the news was returned to Hammurabi that the people were leaving the city wall by the caravan full when they heard that all the armies of Babylon were approaching.

They camped outside the city and exchanged messages for three days as was customary and in full accordance with the laws of waging warfare. One could not justifiably destroy another king’s capital city without even attempting to come to a peaceful resolution. The fact that Dagan was desperate to save Nineveh and his life and Hammurabi had already made up his mind to attack the city was not important to the process. There was no surprise when on the morning of the forth day; the Babylonians had formed their ranks in the valley outside the city gates. King Ishme-Dagan looked down at them from the top of the city wall and shook his head before returning to his throne room.

At his instruction, the city gates were opened and the Assyrian soldiers laid their weapons down. Hammurabi and Ishtari rode their horses into the palace and through to the throne room, not even dismounting when they came before Dagan seated there waiting for them. He stood with his head lowered and removed the great crown from his head, walking forward towards them. When he stood beside the king’s horse, he raised his hands and offered the crown to Hammurabi. He took it from Dagan and handed it to Ishtari in disgust before turning to his general and signaling to him that the man was to be taken from the palace to the city center and immediately beheaded.

***

Chyna was in the middle of a strategy meeting with Agent Hamilton when her phone rang. They had finally gotten a location on the white van after the occupants had given up on them leaving the embassy for the night and returned to what was possibly their base in central Baghdad. A scout team had confirmed that the warehouse was abandoned and that heat sensors trained on the main portion of the building identified more than sixteen people inside it; nine were huddled in a room to the rear of the building while seven others moved around in the space towards the front. She was certain it was the American scientists and their captors.

“Hello, Stone speaking,” she had answered, not recognizing the number that came up on her caller I.D.

“Miss Stone, this is Ananda Spearheart, Liaison Director at UNESCO in Paris,” said the woman on the other end.

“Yes, Miss Spearheart. How may I help you?”

“Director Le Gal has gone missing. We haven’t been able to locate her for two days now. She was working late a couple nights ago and she hasn’t turned up for work since.”

“Oh shit! What the hell is going to happen next on this damn case?” Chyna swore, without even thinking about it.

She was beginning to lose patience with the whole affair.

“There isn’t much we can do to help you at the moment, we’ve just managed to get a location on the scientists and right now the combined team is planning a simultaneous extraction of the hostages from both locations.”

“Well at least you’re making some progress. We don’t know what could have happened to her so we’ve already called in the police. That’s actually why I called you, Chyna. This is going to hit the news fast and furious; it won’t be long before it’s on the airwaves over there as well.”

“I understand fully, Ananda. Thanks for the heads up.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen,” Chyna continued before the woman could hang up the phone. “I’ll make a call to a friend and see if he can get you some extra help over there. As soon as we’ve got everyone out safely, I promise we’ll come to Paris to help if you still need us.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m very obliged to you for the offer.”

“Okay, I’ll call you in the morning.”

Chyna hung up before Ananda could say another word, and returned to the table where the rest of the team were studying the blueprints of the two buildings and planning the rescue operations. Chyna volunteered to cover the entrance to the dilapidated hotel that Lana and the European hostages were being held. There were no outlying buildings around it, only a few trees, so the best snipers would have to perch in them to cover the others. She decided to take an L115A3 AWM sniper rifle and compound bow from Agent Hamilton’s arsenal for the job, in addition to her trusty pistol.

At her insistence, Sirita and Oscar would hang back until the agents had secured the locations; Eli and Asha as well. Thorin and Demetri would hear nothing of it and they both injected themselves right into the middle of the action forming up the offensive teams that would be the first to enter. As they loaded up the vehicles with the last of the gear and buckled on tactical vests, Chyna stepped aside to call Tony.

“Hey, Babe,” came his familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey there,” she replied, smiling at his usual greeting.

“How’s it going over there with Hamilton and his guys?”

“We’re just about to head over to get the hostages out.”

“Oh, yeah? How are those plans coming together?”

“Pretty solid, I’d say. Hamilton has a lot of really well-trained guys here and once we’d gotten a confirmation on the second hold location, we basically put a plan together quite quickly.”

“That’s good to hear. I wish I were there to help, Babe. I feel bad about that.”

“Don’t apologize, Tony. There’s nothing more you could do for us here. In fact, that’s really why I’m calling you.”

“Oh, okay. Shoot, kiddo.”

“I want these people out of Baghdad as soon as we can get them out of these buildings, any chance you could arrange a couple of choppers?”

“I don’t see why that would be a problem, Babe. I told you I could get military assistance if you needed it. Give me the details.”

“Okay we’ve got nine in the warehouse they’re all Americans; and there’s eight, including Lana, at the abandoned hotel. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“That’s easy enough. What time do you start moving in?”

“We’ll be making entrance at oh-one hundred.”

“They’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Babe.”

***

The entire operation was complete by one fifteen the following morning. Chyna and another sniper, Agent Collins, had positioned themselves in close-by trees and had taken out three offending sentries allowing the operatives from their team to quickly gain access and neutralize the kidnappers.

With Lana’s help, Agent Hamilton was able to identify and isolate the group’s leader; a man named Aziz, and take him back to the embassy for questioning. The others were taken either to Baghdad Central Prison or the morgue.

At the warehouse the agents had stormed the building from both the front and back, breaking down both doors and surprising the hostage-takers on the ground floor without any casualties. They hadn’t thought to place any lookouts around the building neither had they left anyone in the upstairs room where they had put the scientists to sleep for the night. Oscar had radioed Chyna with the progress report as soon as they had handcuffed all the kidnappers and checked to see that the hostages were all accounted for and healthy.

As soon as Chyna had received his call, she had given Tony the go ahead and ten minutes later Black Hawk helicopters touched down to retrieve the UNESCO personnel and take them directly to the Victory Base Complex for final transport back to Paris.

Back at the embassy, Chyna and Lana, still unable to let go of each other, scanned the busy parking lot for Oscar and Sirita. The two came bursting out of one of the black FBI panel vans and ran full tilt towards them. They hugged each other and Sirita burst into tears.

“Promise me you won’t do that again, Lana. I almost had a heart attack over this.”

“I won’t. Trust me!”

“I’m sorry to bust up the happy reunion,” Agent Hamilton said, walking up to the group. “But that Iraqi has been singing like a canary and whether what he has to say is actually the truth or not, I really think you want to hear all of it.”

Chyna raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Aziz claims to have colluded with a man named Petrovik in Director Le Gal’s office to kidnap the site personnel. Apparently, the plan was to ransom them back to UNESCO and the United Nations and ruin Ilea’s reputation when the shit hit the fan and the media feeding frenzy began.”

“He’s right,” Lana confirmed. “That’s what he told me, too.”

“You spoke to him?” Oscar asked, puzzled.

“Sure thing, cowboy.”

“How?” he asked.

“I speak Arabic as well as five other world languages, son. You don’t know all of Lana’s tricks yet.”

They all laughed at her joke and turned to follow Agent Hamilton inside to hear exactly what Aziz had to say for himself.

“Did he give you any idea of what all this was all about? Outside of the ransom, that is?” Chyna asked her.

“Well, it’s also about the altar the archaeologists uncovered. There was something about the small snake idol I was cataloging that had bothered me. It seemed as if it had originally been attached to another piece but everything else in the altar seemed complete to me. It was clear that the site had been robbed before, possibly prior to the start of the Persian Gulf War, but when the fighting broke out, whoever was there probably didn’t have the opportunity to take the rest of the statues.

“Aziz confessed to me that when UNESCO declared the ruins to be a World Heritage Site in 2004 and funded the rest of its excavation, Petrovik was contacted by a Ukrainian billionaire who claimed to have purchased an unprecedented piece from Babylon: a life- sized statue of the goddess Ishtar, but there was a piece missing that he wanted to buy. The man offered Petrovik six million Euros for the piece. I doubt they’ll find it now, much less any of the other pieces that I crated for transport back to Paris. All I have left are the photographs that I saved to our server.”

The next morning, Chyna, Oscar, Lana, Sirita and both bodyguards were on a plane to Paris. They left Eli and Asha behind to help gather the result of the various interrogations in order to make a complete report to Found History on behalf of Rashid, the Watchers and the Foundation.

“We’ll see you two again very soon. Agent Hamilton has all the details for your flights back to Istanbul.”

“Thank you, Miss Stone. We will see you when you get back there. Inshallah!” Eli replied.

Asha just nodded her agreement, as usual.

On the way to the airport, Lana placed a call to Ananda Spearheart.

“Ananda?” she said, when the woman answered the phone.

“Lana? Is that you?” she replied, the disbelief evident in her voice.

“Yeah, it’s me, Ananda. How are things?”

“Oh, it’s great to hear your voice, my love, but I’m sure Chyna’s told you what happened.”

“She sure did. Listen, all the site personnel are on their way back to Paris later today. They’re all at the Victory Base Complex getting ready for their transport; FBI Special Agent Hamilton at the Baghdad embassy is coordinating that so I’d suggest you touch bases with him so you can make the proper arrangements for their arrival.”

“Thank you for that, Lana,” she said. Then she let out a long sigh and continued, “We still haven’t located the Director. We’re going to have to alert her family members and the media about it today.”

Chyna could see from Lana’s face that the situation with Ilea was still not resolved and when Lana looked up, she saw Chyna motioning to her to pass the phone over so she could talk to Ananda.

“Hold on a minute, Ananda. Chyna wants to speak to you.”

“Ananda,” Chyna said, “Listen, I don’t want you to do anything until we get there this afternoon. There’s at least one mole in Ilea’s office and we don’t want you to spook him. I’ve contacted FBI at the Paris embassy and they’re sending over a couple of agents to keep an eye on our suspect until we get there. Okay?”

“Sure thing, Chyna.”

“Just sit tight and we’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

Chyna hung up the phone and looked at her team. After a moment, she laughed and shook her head.

“Why is it that every assignment we take ends up turning into two…or three?” she asked, rhetorically.

Her four companions couldn’t help but laugh as well.

Chapter Four

On the afternoon of Hammurabi’s return to Babylon, the entire city came out to greet the king and queen and their triumphant army of men. They’d had an extremely successful campaign in Assyria; crushing the country’s administrative powers and destroying the capital city, leaving it in complete ruin.

As they approached the city, the citizens saw that the king’s horse was pulling something behind it by a long rope. As they came closer, there was a loud cheer from the walls of the city as the people realized what the heavy object was. It was the center stone from the main gate archway of Nineveh. Dragging that stone back to Babylon indicated that the king had completely devastated Nineveh and that it would never be rebuilt without his permission. When he gave that permission he would return the center stone to the assigned builders.

The queen also brought her spoils back to Babylon in the form of Ishme-Dagan’s palace slaves. Behind her horse there walked two lines of them; one line of males and another of females. The crowd shouted deafeningly as their rulers rode through the city gates and up to the steps of their royal palace. There would be no early rest for them that night; instead there would be much feasting and celebration for their return.

They climbed the steps hand in hand and took their seats on the curule chairs that had been elegantly placed on the top step. The makeshift dais was elaborately decorated with tiger skins and colorful rugs. Flowers and beautiful plants had been brought down from the royal gardens by the dozens in an effort to transform the area into a sort of forest around the king and queen.

Astounded, they took their seats and watched as the crowd below publicly stripped the Assyrian slaves, washed them and dressed them in Babylonian palace livery. When the food began to come out for the feast, they were made to serve it to everyone who was present from the highborn citizens to the lowest common man who was gathered in the crowd. After everyone had received bread and dried fruits, the people broke into various groups based on class and clique to wait for the rest of the feast food to be presented.

The concubines of Hammurabi’s court were also out for the festivities. They stood to the far side of the top step in a group and watched the proceedings in relative silence, only clapping their hands occasionally when something amused them. All except Kashira, of course. She had begun wailing the moment she had laid her eyes on the Stone of Nineveh and still cried unrelentingly. She cried because she knew her father was dead and if the stone was here in Babylon then it was true that the city had been destroyed as well.

Just then dancers emerged and began to perform for the court. They were exquisite beauties; fit and lithe from years of conditioning and practice. They wore sheer gauze tunics in red and yellow and blue. On their heads they wore the elaborate wigs that performers were known for and a wonderful array of jewelry about their neck, wrists and ankles. Bells tinkled from their bracelets and anklets with every move they made. When the dance was finished the crowd cheered loudly but none so loudly as Ishtari. She was particularly fond of dance performances and the troupe had pleased her immensely. She stood from her chair and trays of dried honeyed dates were brought for her to throw to the dancers by the handful. She threw tray after tray until finally satisfied, she returned to her seat. The dancers kneeled and gathered the sweet treats by the handful into the skirts of their sheer dresses.

It was at that point that Kashira lost what little composure she had managed to retain. Unable to bear her grief any longer, she threw herself at Hammurabi’s feet, crying hysterically. But instead of comforting her, he grew enraged at her feeble effort to manipulate his emotions. Frustrated and angry and still disappointed at her initial treachery of rallying her father’s forces against him, he confronted her.

“Kashira, it is not true that you do not feel that you are here in Babylon to serve the pleasure of my queen as much as to serve my own?” he asked, accusingly.

“Yes, Master. It is true. She is only a woman and I am your concubine. It is your pleasure that I administer, not hers. Yet she poisons me and is not admonished for it. Is she your equal, Master?”

Kashira stood up, emboldened by her insolent remarks and flashed chastising looks at both the king and queen.

“Kashira, what you speak is hatred for your queen and hatred for your queen is treason. It is law that I must give you the opportunity to recant such careless statements for it is common knowledge that as people we say things in error, especially when we are not thinking clearly. So, will you recant your statement or make it stand firm?”

“I will not recant!” she shouted at him and turned to Ishtari, hurling insult after insult at the queen while crying hysterically.

Suddenly fed up with her nonsense, Ishtari stood up from her chair and kicked Kashira in the stomach throwing her from the top step. The entire crowd watched silently as her body rolled and bounced all the way to the bottom of the steps where her head struck the Stone of Nineveh, breaking her neck. As the crowd had watched Kashira’s body rolling to the street, Ishtari had begun to descend the stairway. At the bottom, she stood over Kashira’s body looking into the dead girl’s face. Then, she stepped into the pool of blood that was flowing from Kashira’s head and stepped on the girl’s face with her bloody sandal. The crowd gasped, then began cheering loudly again. She had stepped on the concubine with the sole of her shoe; the greatest form of disrespect that anyone could show another person.

Satisfied, Ishtari turned and sauntered back up the stairs. When she reached the top step, she kneeled before Hammurabi to offer her apologies for ruining his property without his permission. She touched the palms of both her hands to his feet and lifted them to her forehead. He in return touched the top of her head in acceptance. She flashed a stern look in the direction of the other concubines as she resumed her seat beside her husband; may they take heed and be warned, no concubine would ever receive precedence over her as long as Babylon stood or she continued to draw breath.

A few weeks later the temple was ready to be dedicated. The altar idols had been carefully prepared according to Hammurabi’s strict instructions but he had not been allowed to oversee their production. In Babylon, the carving and painting of the images of divine entities was stringently reserved for the members of the priesthood. Still, the king hardly had a doubt that the temple would look exactly as he had envisioned it. When he had returned from Nineveh, he brought a caravan of stone, marble and hematite to add to the construction materials for the temple complex, but now that it was complete he was anxious about how it would look.

A particular item of concern was the last minute addition he had made to the diorama. The priests had been stunned to silence when he had told them of the inclusion but as he described what his vision for the display as a whole was, they were intrigued by the idea.

When Hammurabi led Ishtari into the temple for the first time, they were both speechless. It was easy to say that there had never been such an altar constructed in all of Babylonia.

There were two great idols facing each other; one of the goddess Ishtar who was created to bear a fair resemblance to Ishtari herself, and there was Ninurta, who was undoubtedly fashioned from the image of Hammurabi. Ninurta stood tall with his four wings spread wide about his shoulders and torso. Both his hands were raised high in attack and in both he carried the pronged fork of the War God. His feet were astride; set in a fearsome and powerful stance as he fought a large monster that sought to swallow the kingdom of Babylon.

The real spectacle, however, was the goddess Ishtar. She stood boldly, which was not a common stance for her image to be presented in. She was usually pictured seated. Her legs were astride, like a man’s, symbolizing strength and firmness. Both arms were outstretched in praise and support of Ninurta in his efforts to slay the beast. Beneath the sandal on her left foot is the statue of a large black basilisk which is being subdued and defeated as she crushes it.

The entire scene at the new altar is glorious and they step back to admire it in its totality.

“What a glory to the gods you have created, husband,” Ishtari said in astonishment. “You have truly captured their incomparable strength and beauty.”

“Ishtari, you never cease to amaze me,” Hammurabi said, laughing. “When you should see things for the sheer vanity that they are, you instead see the divine and are ready to walk straight into the fields of heaven. This altar is dedicated to us as much as it is to Ninurta and Ishtar. This is the defeat of the creatures that seek to destroy the good in the world, but it is also telling of how we destroyed the evil that was Assyria.

***

When they landed at Charles de Gaulle airport, Chyna felt drained. She was happy to have her friend back safely and the other hostages out of harm’s way, but she was frustrated; on and on the assignment seemed to drag and just as she felt she was beginning to understand what was happening around her, the entire ball game seemed to change.

Her cell phone rang almost as soon as the she had exited the aircraft. It was Nigel and he sounded distressed.

“Hey Boss, how are things going?” he asked quickly.

“We just landed in Paris. There’s no telling yet, Nigel. What’s up?”

“Well since I found Lana’s uploads on the server, I’ve been keeping an eye out for any newly added data from all our field personnel and searching all server level for information that might prove important to the case.”

“Yes?” Chyna said, impatiently.

“I noticed that your secure line had new voicemail recordings and I decided to pull the call details. You have three calls that originated from an unknown Paris number and all three were recorded the evening of Director Le Gal’s disappearance.”

“Ilea is one of the very few people who have that number.”

“That’s what I realized when I cross referenced your number against the company security disclosure list. Do you have the phone with you?”

“Of course I do, Nigel.”

“Then I’d suggest you check those messages before you get to Place de Fontenoy.”

“I agree. Thank you, Nigel and keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

Chyna ended the call and slid the phone back into her jacket pocket before she turned to Oscar.

“Could you hand me the encrypted phone, Oscar? I put it in your tech bag for safe keeping.”

“Sure thing.”

He stopped to swing the bag around and took the sturdy Blackberry® Bold from the bag, handing it to Chyna. She turned it on and dialed the number to retrieve her voicemail. As soon as the message started she knew that Nigel had been right. Ilea’s tense voice came over the speaker to Chyna’s ear as clear as a bell.

She was obviously frightened and distressed as she said frantically into the phone:

“Chyna…This is Ilea. I just found a trace has been placed on my email account and for the last few days every email I have responded to has been blind copied to Petrovik’s I.P. address. I don’t know why he would be spying on me but I have a feeling it has to do with our missing people. If anything else comes to me or anything new develops on my end, I’ll let you know. If you have made any headway in Iraq, do give me a call.”

There was a beep signaling the end of the recording and Chyna took the phone from her ear. She looked at the screen questioningly for a minute. What was going on here? She pressed the button to move to the next message and returned it to her ear, listening again.

“Hi Chyna, I really hope you’re getting my messages. I’m beginning to get very worried. I just walked past Moira’s desk…that’s our office intern…and noticed a new tablet on it. It’s exactly like the type we executives receive for our meetings and I wondered what she was doing with mine, so I picked it up and brought it into my office. As soon as I swiped to wake it up, I realized it wasn’t mine and would have returned it to her desk but the screen opened to an email account and I read one of the emails she had just been sending out. I’m so scared, Chyna. She was issuing instructions to someone to move both ‘packages’ to a set of coordinates because the ‘Boss’ had sent ‘Ghosts’ to retrieve them and that it was suspected that the ‘Ghosts’ had a fixed location on a ‘Casper’ that was with the ‘Euro package’. They should shake the ‘Casper’ down and find her tail.

“I think she meant that they should move the hostages to another location and find out what Lana had on her which was allowing us to track her because you and your team were on the way to Baghdad. I really don’t like this, Chyna. I’m going to get out of the office as soon as I can and go home but before I do, I’ll give Morris a call and have him send a few guys over to keep an eye on me and the house. Take care.”

Well, it seemed that Ilea’s mistake had put her in the know about what had been taking place in Iraq but she had also just implicated both Petrovik and the intern, Moira. Aziz had readily given up Petrovik during his interrogation but he had never mentioned the intern. Did he hide that from us? Or was it that he didn’t know Petrovik had a partner in the office? Could it be that Moira found out about what he was doing and managed to insert herself into the deal?

Chyna sighed and signaled to the others to go ahead of her in the line to immigration while Demetri and Thorin held firm at the rear. She pressed the button again to go the third and final message and this where Chyna got her mind completely blown.

“I’ve just been caught by Moira with the tablet on my desk. I managed to avoid explaining how I had it in my possession and curiously, she didn’t even ask about it. She just freshened up my coffee, took the device and left. I just spoke to Morris and he said that he would send a couple of guys to wait downstairs for me. They’d follow me home and watch the house for the night.”

“I’m so sleepy…must have worn myself out today trying to avoid any of this leaking to the press before I absolutely…have to…” She yawned deeply and her words began to slur. “Ch-Chyna? Something’s wrong…I don’t feel…”

The call went dead in Chyna’s ear.

What the hell? she thought, close to panicking.

Demetri touched her on her shoulder, causing Chyna to look up. She was next in line and was being beckoned to the desk by an impatient immigration officer.

“Business or pleasure, ma’am?” he asked mechanically in a thick French accent.

“Business,” she replied.

“Papers, please.”

Chyna took out the diplomatic contract and invitation letter as well as the firearms permit and handed them to the man.

He pretended to read them and handed them back to her, picking up her passport from the desk and flipping through it for a moment. She wondered what he was looking for, since her passport was American and there were no restrictions for Americans entering France. A few moments later, he stamped the passport, handed it back to her and waved her through.

They tumbled into the little shuttle bus that would take then to the rental car lot just outside the airport and it was obvious that Chyna was disgruntled.

“What’s up, Boss?” Oscar asked curiously.

She didn’t answer him at all and he let it slide.

When they were safely ensconced in the Land Rover they’d rented, Chyna looked in the rear view mirror at the rest of her team and finally she spoke to them.

“I just listened to three messages that Ilea left for me just before she was abducted.”

There was hushed murmuring from everyone.

“It seems that the intern, Moira got herself mixed in with Petrovik’s plan and drugged Ilea when she thought she had found her out. The intern had been sending emails to Aziz instructing him on what to do.”

“Oh, dear,” Sirita said, “That’s no good.”

“Not at all,” Chyna agreed. “We’re going to have to move on Petrovik ourselves and we have to do it before anyone knows we’re in Paris.”

It was obvious from the determined look on her face that Chyna had spent the past hour since they had passed through immigration thinking up her plan. Now, she was ready to issue their orders.

“Demetri, Thorin; I need you to arrange for the weapons. We don’t have the FBI or the military to stock us out this time. I know you have people in the city that will be more than happy to help us out; rented and legal is preferable.”

Both men nodded appreciatively and smiled.

“Oscar, I’m going to need an address and schematics for his house. We need to know what we’re doing before we even think about doing it. Locate the breaker too. I want to go in under darkness and we have to be prepared in case things get hot in there.”

“Already on it, Boss,” he replied as he flipped open his laptop.

“Lana and Sirita, you two have to get on your phones  and get us into an embassy or consulate or safe house or whatever right away. There’s no way we can check into a hotel without the risk of being detected, unless one of you knows a really, really secure one.”

“On it,” Sirita replied immediately.

With everyone busy making the arrangements Chyna turned her concentration to the road, they would keep driving until the girls had found somewhere for them to base the team. The first ones to reap success were Demetri and Thorin. They had arranged with a friend of theirs that owned a military surplus store in the Latin Quarter to give them the pick of his used merchandise. Of course, he was curious what they needed such heavy artillery for, but Demetri had ensured him that they would be able to provide adequate credentials to keep him on the right side of the law. Gun laws in France were just about as rigid as in the United Kingdom but with both the bodyguards’ credentials as well as their UNESCO clearance papers, Chyna had no doubt that they could legally arm themselves for what was to come. Still, she wondered if they should alert the local police.

Almost immediately, she dismissed the thought. It wasn’t an option. Petrovik was a man who had made strong links with Iraqi paramilitaries and a less than kosher Ukrainian billionaire. Chyna was more than aware that people like Petrovik’s buyer, who commanded that kind of money, had a way of getting everything they wanted; even if it meant getting someone to disappear.

After they left the surplus store, they went to the La Défense area of Paris where Sirita took Oscar’s thumb drive up to an architectural firm that she used to freelance for and got the plans of Petrovik’s house printed for them. They drove around for another half an hour before deciding to stop for a bite to eat.

As Chyna had hoped, before they had finished their meal, the call they had all been waiting for came through on Lana’s phone.

“We’ve got a safe house right in the city we can use. It’s on the Rue de Rosiers,” she announced proudly. “The locks are electronic and we’ve been assigned codes for both the doors and the alarm system to use while we’re here.”

“Awesome!” Chyna exclaimed, “Alright people, let’s go find our home away from home. I don’t know about you guys but I could use a hot shower in more ways than one.”

That night, when they were all refreshed and adequately rested, they stood hunched over the dining table studying the plan of the house. They had all agreed that the best thing to do was to go in just before the man went to bed. They would cut the lights to the house from the external breaker and ambush him in the dark. The whole operation was meant to be non-violent, but they would be prepared for the worst-case scenario.

The whole extraction happened in less than ten minutes. It was clearly one of the easiest operations that Chyna had ever participated in. The man was a coward who ran and hid under his bed when they broke down the back door to his house. Demetri and Thorin couldn’t stifle their laughter as each of them grabbed one of Petrovik’s ankles and hauled him out from under it. They handcuffed him and just to pay him back for his ridiculousness, they cuffed him in the back of the head, knocking him out for the entire trip back to the safe house.

Chyna had debated long and hard about whether it was wise to conduct the interrogation there until she had stepped into the eight by eight safe room that was built into the middle of the main floor of the townhouse. That’s where they brought Petrovik, blindfolded and gagged. When he had regained consciousness, they had handcuffed him to a chair and left him there in the dark for four hours until he had started screaming and crying like a baby for them to turn on the lights. At that point, the two bodyguards knew  he was ready for questioning.

They turned on one light in the room and went in. Chyna had thought it best for Demetri and Thorin to interrogate Petrovik; they knew what they were doing and he didn’t know who they were. He was such a weak man that it didn’t take long for them to get everything they needed out of him. The one question he couldn’t answer was about Ilea. He swore he was just as much in the dark as they were. None of them believed him, of course, so his interrogators finally got the chance to beat some answers out of him. Still he swore he didn’t know where she was but he seemed to have a sudden epiphany.

“That mongrel bitch!” he said and received another slap across the face from Thorin.

“Mind your fucking language,” Demetri said.

“It’s Moira, the intern,” he continued, reeling from the slap, “She must have done it. I didn’t tell her to, but she must have taken Ilea.”

Chyna frowned at the monitor she was watching everything on.

“Uncuff him,” she said over the microphone to her bodyguards, “Time to take him in to Morris.”

She turned to the others and said, “We’ve got to find that bitch, right now.”

Chapter Five

Moira Finch could have been the dumbest person Chyna had ever encountered. On a hunch, they had gone up to Ilea’s office after they left Petrovik with Morris Norman, the UNESCO security chief. Demetri had practically lifted her from behind her desk where she was busy typing away on her computer as if it were just a normal day. Inside Ilea’s office, Chyna told her that they had apprehended Petrovik and turned him over to the authorities. Briefly, she narrated about all the possible charges that could be brought against him in court and watched as the girl’s face turned pasty with fear and realization of what she had done.

“Of course, everyone will understand that you were just a pawn in this, Moira. You were manipulated by Petrovik; weren’t you?”

The girl nodded in agreement and Chyna smiled.

“Good, that’s good. So now all you have to do is tell us where Director Le Gal is and we can let you go.”

“She…she’s in the ninth floor supply closet. No one ever goes in there. That’s where I put her. I tied her up and gagged her, but I’ve been taking her food and making sure she’s okay. There’s even a bathroom in there, you know, for a janitor.”

Chyna stood up and looked down at the pathetic girl in front of her. After a few minutes, she just turned, took Oscar and Thorin and went to find the room where Ilea was being held captive.

***

“So, fill me in Chyna,” Ilea said, as they both sat looking at the six monitors on the wall of the crisis room at UNESCO Headquarters.

“I honestly don’t know what their plan is, Ilea. I’m just as much in the dark as you are on this one. I know Oscar is running their tech in the field but outside of that none of us were included in the STING.”

They sat back and continued to watch the video feed from Agent Anthony Stewart’s wireless button camera. He and Petrovik seemed to be approaching the front door of a rather lavish mansion. They knew that Tony and some FBI agents had taken Petrovik to Kiev to deliver the stolen Babylonian idols to Ionesco, his billionaire buyer. Everything else had been kept top secret; so they sat and watched.

“Oscar, do you have audio?” they heard Tony ask under his breath.

“You’re coming through loud and clear, Agent,” he replied.

“That damn cowboy must be so loving this,” Lana scoffed.

“Jealous, much?” Sirita teased.

“I am not jealous!”

“You so are.”

“Stop it, you two,” Chyna chided. Then with a smirk on her face she turned to Lana and said, “Your ‘Damn Yankee’ is showing, girl. Cover it up!”

“That is so what he would say,” Sirita laughed.

“It is,” Chyna agreed, turning wistfully back to the monitors.

In addition to Tony’s video feed, they had a view of the house from the sniper that was positioned on a rooftop about a quarter of a mile away, an extremely detailed satellite image that was streaming live as well as video from several angles out in the massive yard courtesy of the wireless cameras Oscar had made the covert operatives install the night before. If all they could do now was watch, Chyna was happy that at least they had a pretty good show being put on for them. In her heart, she was worried but she decided to keep that to herself.

She had turned the questions over and over in her mind all morning and since she still couldn’t answer them she decided she wouldn’t ponder them anymore, but still they were in the back of her mind. What if something happened to Tony? What if he got shot or killed?

Then suddenly Lana shouted, “Look, it’s started.”

They could see Ionesco coming down the front steps from the house and walking towards Tony and Petrovik. He extended his hand; first to Petrovik, then to Tony before taking a few steps back.

Seeing the skepticism in his eyes, Tony decided to speak up first.

“Having some security problems?” he asked the billionaire.

Ionesco raised his eyebrows and took a second appraising look at Tony.

“How would you know?”

“You wouldn’t be doing business outside if you didn’t have some sort of concern.”

“You’re a smart man,” Ionesco conceded. “Who did you say you were?”

“I didn’t. I’m Lance Granger, I work security for Mr. Rebane here; been keeping his merchandise and his person safe for over five years now.”

Ionesco looked to Petrovik, clearly he expected the man to confirm the claim. Chyna could feel the tension as every single person watching or listening waited for his response.

“He’s very good at what he does, Ionesco. Maybe you should have Lance help you get your security concerns ironed out over here. I can guarantee you wouldn’t have any problems in the future.”

“I’ll consider it, being such a generous offer from a good friend.”

“Good,” Petrovik concluded.

“Well shall we see what you have brought to entice me?”

“Indeed, this way.”

They led the billionaire to the back of a trailer where three men were waiting to open the heavy doors and lower a hydraulic tailgate for them to get inside. One of the men deftly opened a crate with a crowbar and removed packaging to reveal the hooded head of the cobra like basilisk and a broad smile spread across Ionesco’s face.

“Bravo, Petre,” he said, calling Petrovik by a common nickname. “I am very pleased. The others are what, you say?”

“The large one in the back there is the Ninurta of King Hammurabi, the wide one is the cockatrice and that short one there is the whole backdrop of the altar. We had to take it down in four panels but when properly mounted, it will go back together like so many perfect pieces of a puzzle.”

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Petre,” Ionesco said, clapping him on the back.

They all went back to the tailgate and were gently lowered to the ground.

“Follow me,” he said to them. “Time for business.”

The three men went around the house and deeper into the garden where a sprawling gazebo stood over an array of plush chairs and mahogany tables. The men sat and a neatly dressed woman approached them from out of nowhere.

“May I offer you something to drink?” their host asked.

“I will have coffee,” Petrovik replied and Tony agreed to the choice.

Ionesco nodded to her and the woman went off toward the house presumably to fetch the coffee for them. As soon as she was gone, he snapped his fingers and a man approached toting a large briefcase which he placed on the table in front of his boss. He immediately backed away to resume his position with Ionesco’s little army of four guards.

Tony looked at the men carefully. They knew he had a compliment of sixteen security guards on the property and six house staff. They weren’t concerned with the staff; they were always unarmed and were generally civilian. Tony smiled at the thought because whether Ionesco was aware of it or not, his security nightmare stemmed from his seemingly neutral house help. They were all Russian FIS operatives.

Oblivious, the billionaire proceeded to open the briefcase and turn it around for Petrovik to inspect the contents. As instructed, he lifted several of the packets from random parts of the case and flipped through the bills to ensure the money was good.

“Everything is to your satisfaction, I presume,” Ionesco said impatiently after a few minutes.

He was beginning to feel insulted. Tony shot Petrovik a warning look and he replaced the money and shut the briefcase, clicking the locks shut.

“It is,” he finally concluded.

“Good.”

Tony took a cell phone from his pocket and pressed the call button. All eyes were on him as he waited for the call to be answered.

“Offload it!” he finally said into the phone, hung it up and put it back into his pocket.

Tony’s trained eye could see as every one of the men present physically relaxed at the outcome of the call. What they didn’t know was that was the signal for the FBI team to swoop in.

There was a series of poof sounds as each of Ionesco’s four guards fell to the ground; expertly taken down by sniper fire. Ionesco panicked. Instinctively, he reached to his right side but found nothing. He had been so confident in his goons that he had left the house without his sidearm. With all risk neutralized around him Tony quickly withdrew his hand cuffs and secured Ionesco before he turned to Petrovik and did the same.

“It’s just for precaution,” Tony said snidely as he gestured to the briefcase of money. “You understand don’t you, Mr. Rebane? Now pick it up and follow me.”

The shock in Ionesco’s face was palpable.

By the time Tony had emerged from the garden leading the billionaire in cuffs and meekly followed by Petrovik, the rest of the FBI team had successfully brought down every man on the property, including the house staff. They would later be cleared and released but for now Tony wanted everything to look good. The last thing he needed was to get into the Russian’s bad books; the relationship between them and America was already quite touch and go.

In Paris, the Crisis Room was deafening with the sound of celebration. The mission had been a complete success and they had sustained no casualties in the process. As Sirita poured the champagne, Chyna went to sit beside her friend who was still staring at the monitors, stunned.

“What are you thinking, Ilea?” she asked.

The Director looked up at her and instantly shook the look of amazement from her face, resuming her air of total professionalism. Then suddenly, she smiled at Chyna.

“I’m thinking…how much I hate assistants and interns!”

***

The National Museum of Iraq was overrun by well-dressed, chattering people. Chyna hadn’t seen a turn out like that since she attended the opening of the Children’s Museum in Cairo. Every dignitary and diplomat, government official and industry colleague was there to see the unveiling of the Great Babylonian exhibit. Even though she knew it was a very exclusive affair, Chyna could still pick out a few unfamiliar faces in the crowd.

They must be influential friends of the museum, she thought as she clung tighter to Tony’s arm.

Lana and Oscar had returned to the States as soon as they had wrapped up things with Ilea in Paris. Lana had her and Ted’s wedding to start planning and Oscar had decided to take a six week furlough to help his brother get to the bottom of some trouble he’d been having with poachers on the family ranch in Tennessee. Sirita had been only too happy to exit the field and go back to jockeying her desk in the Istanbul office.

It was nice for her to be there with him like this; he never got the chance to see this end of her investigations. The part where all the hard work paid off with lavish parties and hobnobbing. The closest he had ever come to this was when she had thrown the party for everyone in Istanbul the night before they officially opened the doors of Found History East.

They sampled enthusiastically from the elaborate traditional halal spread that was elegantly displayed on the fifty feet of buffet table that lined one side of the room. Waiters in dapper black tuxedoes carried around tray after tray of delicious champagne, red and white wine. There were no stuffy speeches scheduled or any of the usual pomp that would normally fill up the program at an event like that. It seemed to Chyna that a conscious effort was being made to keep the atmosphere light and more like a party than a function.

It must be the Iraqi’s new leaf, Chyna thought, smiling.

As Tony picked up two fresh glasses from a passing tray, Chyna saw Ilea Le Gal making her way over to them. She was with a tall, dark-haired man that Chyna didn’t recognize.

“Chyna, Anthony, so good to see you could make it. Isn’t it just wonderful how the party turned out?” she said, gushing.

Ilea was smiling broadly at them and her cheeks were flushed with joy. She gave them both the mandatory European double cheek kiss.

“It’s very festive, Ilea.”

“Was the lack of ceremony your idea, by any chance?” Tony asked knowingly.

She smiled and replied, “Absolutely. I felt that there had been enough tension considering what we went through after the story got out. Both sides took a big hit. The Iraqis took a beating for being lax about their national treasures and we were accused of financing relic raiders. It was awful. I felt a party was needed by all; we made enough speeches to the media.”

“Agreed, and cheers to that,” Chyna said raising her glass.

“There’s someone I’d like you both to meet,” she continued. “This is Sir Robert Montgomery, Baron Dordogne of Bristol.”

They all shook hands and listened as Ilea narrated the connection between the museum and the baron’s family and told them that he was actually a descendant of King Henry the Second of England and Eleanor of Aquitaine.

“In fact Chyna, it’s the real reason we were looking for you,” Ilea continued. “Sir Robert reckons he may be able to utilize the services of your company.”

“Is that so?” Chyna replied, turning to the tall, handsome man. “How may we at Found History be of assistance, Sir Robert?”

“Well ‘as Ilea was saying’ I’m a descendant of the great lady, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Though our family lost the throne of England many years ago, for a barrage of reasons, Plantagenet descendants still survive in England and a few of us have even managed to maintain our nobility. For centuries the remarkable armor of my ancestor resided within the family’s ancestral retreat at Bristol until it vanished about twenty-five years ago, stolen when the house had been closed for the season.”

Chyna nodded her understanding, already completely entranced and intrigued by the baron’s story.

“I’d like to invite you,” he said and with a quick glance at Tony, continued, “And whomever you’d like to bring with you, to Dordogne to investigate the affair and, if at all possible, to find armor.”

Chyna thought about the proposal for a few minutes. England, she couldn’t remember when she was last in Western Europe. The thought of getting out of the Middle East for a little while was so refreshing, there was no way she could refuse the offer.

“Tony and I will be there in a few weeks, Sir Robert,” she replied, “If there’s enough clues for us to follow after all these years, then I’ll call the team in on it.”

“Marvelous.”

Chyna fished a business card out from her purse and handed it to him.

“Call me and we’ll make the arrangements. I’m honored you’d consider us for this.”

“I wouldn’t even think there was a hope of finding it if I wasn’t so convinced that you would be the one person who could do it.”

“Touché!” she replied, beaming.

Epilogue

Two weeks later.

Bristol, England.

Chyna and Tony had been at the expansive estates of Dordogne in Bristol, luxuriating in the opulent hospitality of Sir Robert Montgomery for the entire weekend. It had been the sort of peaceful vacation they had needed after their dealings with the UNESCO hostage situation in Iraq. Sufficiently relaxed after a full week of not doing much, Chyna was ready to get working on what they had actually come to England to do.

That morning Tony left to go hunting with Sir Robert’s valet, Marcus and Chyna took a leisurely walk down to the business end of the estate to search out Angus McKinley, the estate’s ancient caretaker. He had lived at Dordogne his whole life of seventy-two years and had been the property’s caretaker for fifty of them. He knew everything there was to know about the place; even more that Robert himself.

She found the old man sitting under a big oak tree in the garden of the caretaker’s cottage sipping a mug of hot English tea.

“Mr. McKinley?” Chyna said, as she stood at the garden gate.

“It’s Angus, lass,” he replied without looking up from his steaming cup, “Mr. McKinley was me da’ and he been dead now for thirty years.”

He waved her into the garden and stood as she approached, as any proper gentleman would.

“You the lass Sir Monty said would be coming to chat with me about the stolen armor?”

“Yes sir,…I mean…Angus,” Chyna stuttered.

“Very well, it’s a good day and a good time for a chat. There isn’t much left to do around here this time of year. All the crops are in the ground, the orchards aren’t ready with anything yet and the boys are out from school to deal with the livestock. It’s downright boring now.”

He smiled at her and continued. “Cupper?”

“What?” Chyna asked.

Angus laughed at the look of bewilderment on her face as he remembered she was American.

“Would you like a cup of tea, lass?”

“Certainly.”

Angus went into the kitchen and emerged with a clean white mug which he filled from his tea pot and handed to her.

“So what do you know about the place?”

“Not much, I’ll admit. All I really know is that Robert and his family are descendants of the Plantagenets and that the stolen armor belonged to Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

“Quite right,” Angus agreed. “Do you know much about her then?”

“Just the basics, I’m afraid, but I’m completely intrigued. She was such a powerful woman and for her to have survived and remained so formidable in such a strange and perilous time for women who dared to grasp at power and wealth, is absolutely fascinating,” Chyna said. “But tell me, Angus, what you know. Robert says you’re quite the expert. I especially want to know why they called her ‘The Eagle’.”

“How much time ‘ave ya got?” the old man asked her, with a cheeky look in his eye.

“As long as it takes for you to tell me everything you know, Angus,” Chyna said, with a smile.

She reached into her pocket and took out the pack of Embassy cigarettes, placing them on the stump between them and dropping the lighter beside it before leaning back in the garden chair and repeating, “As long as it takes.”

The old man smiled as he took a cigarette from the pack and lit it.

“Alright then, missy. We might as well start at the very beginning. I can only tell you how I remember the story. When you get to the estate you’ll get to read it for yourself in the original manuscript.

“Before her birth, Eleanor's life had been prophesized about. History doesn’t say by whom, but the prophecy itself was recorded:

'The eagle of the broken bond shall rejoice in the third nestling.'

“Eleanor was the eagle, the broken bond was the annulment of her marriage to Louis and the third nestling was Eleanor's favorite son, Richard.

“She was born into the ruling family of the duchy of Aquitaine, a large province that covered most of western France. Aquitaine was a cultural center, much ahead of its time compared to the other French duchies and cities that still lived in a medieval world. Aquitaine was also the largest of the French duchies, the prize of Western Europe. Eleanor's family had ruled Aquitaine since Ranulf I, Duke of Poitiers, first held the title from 841-867.

William was born in 1099 to Duke William IX of Aquitaine and his second wife, Philipa de Rouerque. William IX was famous across the continent for his scandalous behavior. He was what became known as a 'troubadour'. While France lived in a dark age, William turned Aquitaine into a land of culture and beauty. The court of his Aquitanian duchy became a center for artists, poets, musicians, singers, and writers. He married Philipa de Rouerque, William X's mother, after her husband, the King of Aragon, died. Not soon after, he discarded Philipa and took on a mistress, a woman named Dangereuse de Chatellerault. She had a daughter named Eleanor, whom William decided to marry to his son, William X.”

“Wow,” Chyna said, “that’s incredulous how even though he was such a playboy himself, the King still saw fit to arrange his son’s marriage.”

“It was the way of the day, lass. A man could bed whomever he wishes, but he married the woman his parents chose.”

“Fascinating.”

“Although William tried to refuse, the marriage took place, somewhere around 1120, when Eleanor was only 17. About a year or two later, the couple celebrated a healthy daughter, whom they also named Eleanor. However, the girl wasn’t the heir Aquitaine needed. After another three more years, in 1125, they had another child, a girl named Aelith. Then finally, in 1126, a boy whom they named William Aigret was born. He was to be the next duke of Aquitaine. In 1127, Duke William IX died, leaving William X as the next duke of Aquitaine. Sadly, tragedy struck the family in 1130. Eleanor of Chatellerault died at the age of 27, as did William Aigret, at the age of 4. Widowed, William now only had his two daughters, Eleanor and Petronilla. This brought up talk of a possible female succession, and William decided to name Eleanor as his heir, to become the Duchess of Aquitaine. She would be the first ‘and only’ woman to rule the duchy in her own right.

“In the summer of 1137, Eleanor received news that her father was dead, having suffered from food poisoning, and that she was the Duchess of Aquitaine. Before he had died, William had declared King Louis VI of France as Eleanor's protector and a few of his loyal knights set out to inform Louis VI of William's death. Louis, upon hearing of the unfortunate loss, hatched an excellent plan. Eleanor was being urged to marry quickly to protect her interests. Many lords of Aquitaine were greedy and attempted to rape Eleanor and marry her so that they could take control of Aquitaine. So Eleanor agreed to King Louis' suggestion and married his son, the dauphin Louis, in the summer of 1137. The two were wed in Bordeaux by Geoffrey du Loroux, and upon the agreement, Eleanor remained the sole ruler of Aquitaine with Louis as her consort. In the event of her death, he would inherit it. A week after their marriage, on August 1, 1137, King Louis VI died of dysentery. Louis was now King Louis VII of France. Eleanor was now a queen.

“When Louis wrote to the German emperor, Conrad III, and convinced him to join the French troops on the expedition, that became known as the Second Crusade, Eleanor had no intention to sit at home in Paris. Although he was reluctant, Eleanor convinced Louis to let her join him on the crusade. In 1147, Eleanor and Louis reached the Holy Land. Thierry of Galeran had accompanied Louis, and of course he returned to his constant accusations against Eleanor, accusing her of keeping countless lovers in her tents and practicing sorcery. The French and German troops reached Constantinople to a royal greeting. Louis and Eleanor lodged at Blachernae Palace with Emperor Manuel I and his wife, Irene of Sulzbach.

“While in Antioch, rumors began to surmount that Eleanor and her uncle, Prince Raymond, were lovers. When Raymond pleaded with Eleanor to aid him in defense of Antioch against the Muslim invaders, Eleanor brought the matter before Louis. Louis declined, and shockingly, Eleanor demanded that their marriage be annulled over the incident. Louis, although not always trusting of Eleanor, loved her, and decided it was best to leave Antioch, for his sake and Eleanor's. He forced Eleanor to come with him and Prince Raymond was killed in 1149 while in combat, his severed head sent to the caliph of Baghdad. After Antioch, the French forces and the German forces continued to Edessa, but finally, both sides gave up. The trip was exhausting, and the whole crusade was a mess. The French troops returned home, and Eleanor and Louis returned by ship, separate ships by Eleanor's demand. In hopes of reconciling their marriage which was deeply hurt on the crusade, Louis and Eleanor stopped in Rome under Louis' wishes. There they visited with Pope Eugenius, who persuaded the two to sleep in the same bed once again. Eleanor agreed, and after she arrived home in Paris, she gave birth to another daughter, Alix, in 1150.

“In 1152, Eleanor had had enough of Louis, and although he tried to persuade her to reconsider, Eleanor decided to have her marriage to Louis annulled. Louis was a weak man, controlled by Thierry of Galeran, who poisoned his mind with lies about Eleanor. Eleanor wanted real love, the kind that had been written and sung about in Aquitaine and in the new and refined Paris. Barely two months after Eleanor and Louis annulled their marriage, Eleanor had remarried. This time she married the Duke of Anjou, Henry, a member of the Plantagenet family. Henry's grandfather was Henry I, King of England. His mother was the famous Matilda, the former empress of Germany and the Duchess of Normandy. The marriage shocked the people of France. Eleanor was 11 years older than Henry and it was said that Eleanor had been the lover of Geoffrey of Angers, Henry's father. Also, Henry was warned not to sleep with the wife of his lord, in reference to King Louis VII. Nonetheless, Eleanor had found a man she loved more than Louis, but no more than 5 months after her marriage to Henry, she bore a child in 1153, named William. This brought up talk of Eleanor's rumored lovers, but William died in 1156 and the subject died out.

“The year after William's birth, 1154, another son was born, Eleanor and Henry's son Henry. 1154 also marked another great event in Eleanor's life. Her husband became King Henry II of England, following the disastrous reign of King Stephan of England. Eleanor was now the Queen of England. As Eleanor set out to culture her new kingdom, Henry celebrated his good fortune. Before his marriage to Eleanor, Henry had controlled Anjou and Normandy, and now he controlled in addition not only England but Gascony, Touraine, and Aquitaine.

“On April 1, 1204, Eleanor died at the age of 82 at the Abbey of Fontevrault. She was buried there, between Henry II and her son Richard, who is today remembered as Richard le Couer de Lion, Richard the Lion-Heart. Eleanor had outlived five of her seven children. The only two who outlived her were Eleanor, who died in 1214, and John, who died in 1216. At the time of her death she had over 30 grandchildren. In just 15 years she became the duchess of Aquitaine, the Queen of France and the Queen of England. Under Eleanor's reign she brought about a great change in Europe. She introduced art and culture to the continent that had lived in the dark shadow of the church for centuries. During her reign the construction of the Notre Dame cathedral took place, and the population of Paris soared to 200,000.

“Today Eleanor's descendants hold thrones across Europe and she is remembered as a very important figure of the Crusades. Her cultures that she introduced to the great kingdoms almost a millennia ago still live on today and Eleanor lives on as one of the most ruthless “yet beloved” rulers ever.”

“So this is the woman whose armor I must find?” Chyna said, marveling at the magnificent story she had just heard.

“It disappeared just over twenty-five years ago; stolen right out of the manor house. Just gone one night, without a trace and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Angus,” Chyna asked curiously, “Outside of it once belonging to Eleanor and the fact that a woman in that time would never need a suit of armor made for her, much less worn by her, what’s so special about it?”

“Well, lass, if you were listening and put two and two together, you’d have gotten that both of her husbands went on crusade; both times Eleanor went with them and she always ended up pregnant while in the field.”

“So?”

“So, Eleanor’s little nickname was solidified during those years. It was then that she became known for joining her husbands’ troops on the battlefield. When she did so, she insisted on wearing full battle armor, just as any knight would. A magnificent suit which was specially designed for her and bore the sigil of an eagle with wings spread wide open over the Shield of the Crusaders. But her armor wasn’t just designed for a woman,” Angus said, sitting back and smiling widely at her as he lit another cigarette. “It was designed for a pregnant woman; a heavily pregnant Queen.”

The End

Chyna Stone returns in:

The Aquitaine Armor

A Chyna Stone Adventure #5

Return to the Table of Contents

THE

AQUITAINE

ARMOR

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#5

by

K.T. TOMB

The Aquitaine Armor

Prologue

“Sir Robert,” Chyna said, “I find your story truly fascinating, but then again, I’ve never met a real descendant of British royalty before. Any royalty for that matter.”

She was gushing and she knew it. In an effort to ground herself a little, Chyna held on to Tony’s arm firmly.

“Ilea,” Tony said, “shall we dance a little?”

“Certainly; I was wondering when someone would ask me.”

Tony pried Chyna’s hand from his left arm. They excused themselves and walked toward the dance floor in an effort to allow Chyna to get her feet wet in the prospective case.

“Let’s sit down,” Sir Robert suggested.

It was a good idea. Chyna was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed the entire affair; she had been caught completely off guard by Ilea’s brisk introduction and Sir Robert’s explanation of his crisis. When they were comfortably ensconced at a nearby table, Robert signaled for a waiter. The man came over to them promptly.

“Coffee,” he instructed, and the waiter moved away with his order.

They sat in silence, taking in the activity around them until he returned with the tray; a pot of steaming coffee, two cups and the usual accompaniments. The waiter had outdone himself by bringing a few tea sandwiches and biscuits along with the beverage. Robert tucked something neatly into his gloved hand after the exchange and thanked him.

After a few sips, Chyna’s head stopped swimming and she took that as her cue to get her facts straight.

“Of course, you know that I wouldn’t be able to confirm our involvement until I’ve had the chance to discuss it with my associates.”

“I understand, Miss Stone,” Sir Robert replied. “I thought you would be too gracious to accept on a whim. However, it is absolutely crucial that you take it into consideration. I’ve had a long five years since my father passed on with getting the estate’s affairs back in order and turning it into what it is today. It just seems that no matter what I accomplish there, nothing will be gratifying enough for me until somehow the armor is restored to its rightful place.”

“Well, I guess my real question is, how would you even be able to tell it apart from another of the same period, even the same set of knights or military company; whatever the case was.”

Robert laughed and looked straight at Chyna.

“When you… sorry… if you come to Dordogne Estate, you will understand everything. My caretaker there, Angus McKinley, knows as much about Eleanor of Aquitaine as someone from her own court would have. That aside, the Eagle’s armor was very unique, Miss Stone. Her sigil on the breastplate alone would be instantly recognizable.”

“What would you say the armor is worth today, Sir Robert?”

“Well, apart from being absolutely priceless to me and the rest of the Montgomerys, I’d say a unique piece with such provenance would go at auction for upwards of a million pounds.”

“That’s quite a sum.”

“Indeed.”

They sipped their coffee in silence for a few more moments before Chyna put her cup down and looked at him.

“I’ll take the case as long as I can get one of my investigators to agree to come. As a new policy, we no longer go on solo jobs.”

“Yes, I heard about what happened to Miss Ambrose; my sincere apologies.”

“It turned out fine, but it might not turn out so well another time, so it’s two or no deal these days.”

Chyna stood from the table and so did Sir Robert. She extended her hand for him to shake and then spoke again.

“We’ll contact you in a few days once I’m back in the office.”

“I appreciate you considering this, Miss Stone.”

With a nod, Chyna stepped away from the table to find Tony.

***

The flight back to Istanbul had felt like a homecoming for her. Tony sat close beside her with his arm draped around her shoulder for most of the flight. Chyna rested her head on his shoulders and slept most of the way like a baby.

Tony couldn’t help thinking how lucky he was to have a woman like her in his life. There was never a dull moment and he couldn’t say that, with the lifestyle he lived, he could ever find a better fit. They both spent the vast majority of their time on the road, but at least the last year had seen them both coming to call the same country home: Turkey. Even if they didn’t live in the same city yet, it was the first time they had even lived on the same continent in fourteen years of dating. He sighed as Chyna rested her head on his shoulder again as he drove her Audi Q7 from the airport, first to her office to drop off Sirita, then to Chyna’s house in the Cihangir neighborhood.

He only had a few more weeks of vacation before he would be starting at the U.S. Consulate office, but even the thought of finally beginning in his new assignment couldn’t faze him; he was just so glad to finally be with her. In the house, Chyna went upstairs to shower while Tony took the luggage from the car and up to their bedroom.

Their bedroom, he thought with a chuckle as he climbed the stairs.

He placed the bags in front of the closet and sat on the bed to take his shoes off. Chyna was singing in the shower and he smiled as he recognized a song they had both loved when they had just started dating. He remembered Chyna saying to him one night that the lyrics barely made any sense, but somehow that didn’t make it any less enjoyable. He recalled that a lot of the lyrics to popular songs at that time had that same quality about them; a sense of disjointedness that seemed appropriate for the time.

Tony unbuttoned his shirt and threw it at the clothes hamper before pushing the door open and stepping into the bathroom.

“Tony?”

“It’s me, Babe,” he replied, undoing his jeans and pulling them off as well.

“Are you coming in?”

“Of course I am, darling.”

“Good, I was getting lonely.”

***

The next morning, Chyna went into her office earlier than usual. She knew there would be piles of emails waiting for her and that she only had herself to blame for it. Chyna had taken the four days to return to Iraq for Ilea’s museum party and she had treated them like a “full on” vacation. She never once replied to the many emails and notifications she saw come up on her Blackberry; Sandra had instructions to refer everything to Sirita and Sirita had instructions to call her if anything was urgent.

It wasn’t as bad as she had thought and she archived the old messages, deleted the trash mail and printed the ones she wanted to follow up on. Among them, and at the top of her pile, was an email Sir Robert Montgomery had sent wishing her a safe trip home. He reminded her to think about his case and accept his offer of an expense paid trip to his Bristol estate of Dordogne to gather a few facts before she made up her mind. At the top of the paper Chyna wrote, ‘Oscar: Standby’ and shoved it aside.

“Siri!” Chyna called, as soon as she heard the front door open at a quarter to nine.

“Chyna?” asked Sirita in a confused voice. “Is that you?”

“Sure is! Come in here a minute, please.”

Sirita pushed her boss’s door open and stepped inside.

“How was it in Baghdad? Was the party as amazing as I suspect?”

“It really was and not one speech was made the entire time!” Chyna said. “There was wonderful food and drink and a lot of dancing.”

“Oh, that sounds like a lot of fun,” Sirita replied.

“It was. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get to go to the next one; not all our clients are that formal,” Chyna reassured Sirita.

Prior to her and Tony’s departure for Baghdad, she has gotten the feeling that Sirita had felt left out for not being invited to the museum opening. She was also aware of the fact that neither had Lana or Oscar and had quickly recognized it for what it was, which was corporate congeniality; if everyone couldn’t attend, then none would be invited.

“Could you take a reply to this email please?” Chyna asked, handing her the printed email from Sir Robert.

“Sure.”

Sirita turned the paper over on its blank side and sat ready to take notes.

“Dear Sir Robert, it would be an absolute pleasure to join you at Dordogne to get a better feel for your concerns and the history behind the disappearance of the Aquitaine Armor. Please expect myself and Agent Stewart to arrive within a week. Our office manager, Miss Sirita Patel, will forward the details of our travel arrangements to you as soon as possible. Attached are our standard release forms and the authorization forms we require to be processed for the licenses and permissions in order to bring our necessary equipment for the investigation. See you in Bristol. Chyna Stone.”

“Gone so soon, again?” Sirita asked, concerned.

“It’s the life we live, darling,” Chyna said. “If you want to become an investigator, you have to have your firearm and passport ready at all times. Always having a bag packed and ready to go doesn’t hurt either.”

Sirita smiled wistfully at the comment.

“You’ll see so much of the world doing this job, Sirita. I just hope you don’t mind being so far from home all the time.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to travel; my dream came true that day when you called me, Chyna.”

Sirita stood and went to her desk to send off the email to Robert Montgomery and make airline reservations for Chyna and Tony. After a few minutes, she called Chyna on the intercom.

“You leave tomorrow afternoon at twelve thirty, arriving at Heathrow at 2:45, GMT. Sir Robert’s email said he will arrange for his plane to take you on to Bristol so I’ll wait for his response before booking anything further. I assume you will be staying at the estate?”

“That is correct.”

“All done then. Your e-ticket is in your inbox.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Shall I get Tony on the phone?”

“Please, that would be great.”

Chapter One

A few days later, Chyna and Tony touched down at Heathrow Airport in the afternoon amid the bustle of the summer tourist season. People were converging on the six weeks of fair English weather to take in the rich history, fantastic sites and, of course, the incomparable shopping that London had to offer. They would certainly try to carve out a few days to do the same, but for now, they were preoccupied with navigating the crowds and finding their way to the private aircraft section of the airport. A few directions from security staff and a short shuttle ride later they were comfortably ensconced in the shameless luxury of the VIP lounge in the jet terminal.

There was a skycap waiting for them at the door who almost accosted Tony in an effort to help them with their bags. Eventually, Chyna placed her hand firmly on Tony’s arm and met his eyes with hers before leading him inside to allow the man to do his job. Attractive attendants invited them in and confirmed their identity before reassuring them that their aircraft would be arriving within the half hour and that they were still on schedule for a five o’clock departure.

“Wonderful,” Chyna replied, trying her best to validate the woman’s seemingly genuine enthusiasm.

“May I offer you some afternoon tea? The flight is rather short, so we’ll only be having a beverage service on-board.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Chyna said. “We’re famished.”

They allowed themselves to be led by the attractive woman into a cozy restaurant area which was dominated by a huge glass wall overlooking the back runways of the expansive airport. There were no other passengers there. When they were seated at a table by the window, a waiter came with a tall tea tower brimming with sandwiches, cakes and biscuits. Chyna helped herself to a sandwich from the lowest tier that looked remarkably like the Benedictine sandwiches of her youth. When she bit into it, a smile of familiarity spread across her face as she sat back and purred softly. Tony smiled in appreciation.

“What is that?” he asked, curious about what had given her so much pleasure.

“I’m sure it’s just a cucumber sandwich… very British, but it tastes so much like my grandmother Missy’s Benedictine sandwiches, that I had a ‘mini flashback’ to hot afternoons under the giant mossy dogwoods on her ranch in Georgia.”

Just then, the waiter returned with a menu for Tony.

“Some more substantial teatime offerings, sir?” he asked. Then, turning to Chyna and asked, “What type of tea would the lady prefer?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of having a choice,” Chyna floundered. “What do you have?”

The waiter smiled. He was certainly enjoying the opportunity to ply his expertise on his obviously American guests.

“This afternoon, we have a classic Ceylon Black, an English Afternoon blend, Earl Grey and of course, Darjeeling teas available, madam.”

“I love the orangey taste of Earl Grey. I’ll have some of that, thank you.”

“Excellent choice, madam. And does the gentleman see anything which he might like from the menu?”

Chyna was a bit thrown off that the waiter hadn’t offered her a menu as well, but she assumed that she probably wasn’t up on the proper teatime protocol of the British aristocracy. It was either that, or it was presumed that a lady would have tea and petit fours at four o’clock while the gentlemen may partake of something heartier. All in all, she didn’t mind having the tall tray’s offerings to herself, which was more than would be needed to slake her appetite.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Tony said in his most hoity-toity voice which made Chyna chuckle. “I’ll have the salmon en croûte with the watercress salad, but no roasted potatoes, please.”

“Certainly, sir. May I offer you some grilled asparagus or sautéed green beans instead of the potatoes?”

“Green beans sound excellent and I’ll have a beer with that; whatever you have on tap.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes later, his meal had arrived and they both dipped into the food in silence. Neither had realized just how hungry they were until they began to eat. They were so engrossed in the food that they hardly noticed the stunning Asian woman who sauntered in and sat down a few tables away from them. Tony cut and shoveled a slice of his salmon onto Chyna’s plate and picked one of the sandwiches she had commented on from the tray.

When the meal was over, their waiter reappeared and began clearing the table. He was rather impressed with how they had fared.

“The flight staff would like to inform you that your aircraft will be boarding in a half an hour. Weather is forecasted to clear and the flight will only be twenty minutes into Bristol Airport.”

“Thank you,” Tony said as he stood from the table.

When he passed the waiter to pull out Chyna’s chair, Tony slipped him a ten pound note, which made the man beam with delight. They nodded courteously to the woman at the neighboring table as they exited the restaurant. She returned the gesture and promptly returned to sipping her glass of wine.

The Gulfstream G650 jet was certainly an extension of the immense luxury that Chyna and Tony had experienced in the departure lounge. The spacious eight passenger cabin was way more than the two of them could occupy and the clean, white leather interior just spoke of all kinds of opulence. After takeoff, the two curled up on the large couch and napped off their large meal, sleeping soundly until the pilot announced their descent into Bristol Airport.

Being a domestic flight, there was no airport bureaucracy to deal with, and the couple found themselves on the outside on the concourse in no time.

As if knowing they would have been suitably impressed up to that point, Sir Robert had a uniformed driver waiting at the curb holding a monogrammed sign with their names neatly printed on it. He was standing in front of a black Rolls Royce Phantom. Tony let out a low whistle and tried to contain his facial expression so as not to give his awe away to the chauffeur. He walked up to the man and extended his hand, introducing himself.

“Good evening. I’m Anthony Stewart and this is Chyna Stone.”

“Good evening, sir,” he said, shaking Tony’s hand, then turned to Chyna, took his cap from his head and bowed a little. “Good evening, madam.”

He put his hat back on before he continued to speak to them.

“My name is Ramsay and I’ll be driving you to Dordogne Estate this evening. Sir Robert is awaiting your arrival.”

Chyna chuckled as she imagined Tony fighting the urge to reply, ‘Very good, my dear chap. Drive on!’

As they drove through the scenic countryside toward Sir Robert’s ancestral estate, Chyna was overwhelmed by the spectacular scenery that went past the car window. Apparently, despite being the bustling center of industry that Bristol was, a particular care for the natural environment surrounding the town was evident. Lush, verdant fields rolled over the hillsides in every direction while spectacular hedgerows in full bloom lined the neighborhood roadways. The estates in the area were expansive. Still fenced, they were divided by the ancient, low cut stone walls that were probably placed there by the original landowners centuries ago.

It made Chyna feel nostalgic seeing the four foot tall embankments that ran in straight lines toward the horizon and parallel to the road. To her, they were beacons of a time when all one had to contain within or keep out of one’s property were the livestock; a time when there was nothing to fear of encroachment from one’s neighbor. She sighed loudly as she envisioned a simpler, kinder time in history.

“What’s wrong, Babe?” Tony asked, pulling her closer to him in the spacious back seat. “You still tired?”

“No, I’m fine, just reminiscing a little.”

“Really? About what? I thought this was your first time in Bristol.”

“It is certainly not my first time in England. In perfect honesty, Tony, as much as the towns and cities here may differ, the countryside is exactly the same everywhere in the country. Excepting maybe way north; but otherwise, exactly the same.”

Tony gave her a small smile and turned back to watching the road through the windscreen.

When they pulled up to the gates of Dordogne Estate, they were both sufficiently in awe. The double gate swung open automatically as the car approached and closed again behind them as it started up the long driveway. Tony chuckled and pointed down the driveway nudging Chyna on the arm.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“‘Run, Forrest. Run!’” Tony said, still pointing down the drive.

Chyna instantly joined Tony in the joke. The road leading up to the enormous manor house was straight and tree lined. On both sides there were ancient oak trees heavily hung with the gray lichen sometimes called Spanish moss or old man’s beard; it looked exactly like the ‘run’ scene in Forrest Gump.

The Rolls Royce pulled in silently under a large porte-cochère that stood as shelter over the front door. Sir Robert was uncharacteristically waiting for them at the door. Chyna got a bad feeling about that as they pulled up in front of him. He stepped back and allowed an older gentleman to open the car door for them and once they were out he stepped up and extended his hand, first to Tony and then to Chyna.

“Welcome to Bristol and to Dordogne,” he announced ceremoniously.

“Thank you, Sir Robert,” Chyna replied as Tony went around to the back of the car to help the elderly driver and butler with the bags.

They both shot Tony a deathly look and he unwillingly backed off to leave them to it. Sir Robert laughed at the spectacle and invited them into the house.

“You look like you’re going somewhere, Sir Robert,” Chyna continued. “Or were you just very happy to see us?”

He gave her a rueful smile.

“You are very perceptive, Miss Stone. I have only just been called away to London on business. I was still hoping we could have dinner together, but should I delay, it would mean a very late night for Ramsay.”

“Oh, I see. But at the weekend?”

Robert laughed heartily at her concern and replied, “In London society, there is a great deal of business that gets done on the polo field in the summer, Miss Stone. Public relations firms such as mine thrive on the connections made at such events.”

She was visibly disappointed. Tony recognized her mood change and immediately volunteered his services.

“Well, if you’d allow me to, I don’t mind driving you to the airport after dinner, Sir Robert.”

The gesture was, in Robert’s mind, extremely generous. They had just made a ten hour trip from Istanbul and yet they would have his company so earnestly that they would leave the comforts of his home to take him to the airport.

“I would hate to impose so much on my own guests,” he started, but Tony stopped him.

“I won’t hear of it. You have been extremely generous to host us here and since you will now be away on business, we wouldn’t feel comfortable at all unless we at least had dinner together.”

“You have made it an offer I cannot refuse, Tony; at least, not without being terribly rude and an ungracious host at that. I promise to at least make it fun for you.”

“Really? How so, Sir Robert?”

“Just Robert, please, and that goes for you too, Miss Stone.”

Chyna laughed and replied, “Only if you call me Chyna.”

“Agreed,” he responded, then turned to Tony to finish what he had been saying. “Well, I won’t have you drive that boring monstrosity, that’s for sure. I’m positive we can find something a little, ummm, sportier in the garage when we’re ready to leave. I only have my briefcase with me, after all.”

With pictures of Maseratis and Bugattis running through his head, Tony grinned widely.

“Shall we go in for dinner?”

“Absolutely.”

***

“Ichita,” Keiko said into the phone as she stood at the window of the lounge, watching the jet taxi away from the gate.

“Moshi moshi, Keiko.”

“They are both on their way to Bristol. Robert Montgomery must be taking this business very seriously. He’s gone to great lengths to get Chyna Stone to Dordogne safely and quickly.”

“I take it that you were unable to intercept them then.”

“There was no way, Ichita. He’s clearly done his homework.”

“We have to know exactly how much he knows, Keiko. There’s much more to this story than meets the eye. You know how much I hate to be in the dark.”

“Yes, Ichita, I do. I’ll find out what’s going on. I doubt he knows that much since he’s brought her in to investigate, though. I mean, how much could she possibly find out? It’s already thirty-five years after the fact.”

“Keiko, I am sure that you have read everything that Evan sent over on this woman and her international feats. Take it from someone who has been underestimated his whole life, I am certain that the majority of her success has come from people consistently making the same mistake that you are right now.”

Keiko said nothing in response; she just listened, allowing him to continue speaking.

“She is a prolific researcher, Keiko. It seems that if it’s out there at all, she will certainly find it. It’s your job to make sure she doesn’t get within spitting distance of anything even remotely useful. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ichita.”

“By the way, you need to get to Hashimoto-san urgently.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Our systems were almost hacked into this morning. The team is still trying to find out what they were after and how much information they got. I think it’s just the formulas, but with everything that’s happening right now, I’d rather to err on the side of caution.”

“Understood.”

“It's not just the Montgomerys that my father and I have pissed off in our love for priceless acquisitions.”

He didn’t wait for a reply from Keiko before he ended the call. The less they said over the compromised network, the better. He knew she would contact him once she had picked up the package of new, secure equipment from Hashimoto’s shop in London.

***

Chyna and Tony had been at the expansive estates of Dordogne in Bristol, luxuriating in the opulent hospitality of Sir Robert Montgomery for the entire weekend. It had been the sort of peaceful vacation that they had needed after their dealings with the UNESCO hostage situation in Iraq. Sufficiently relaxed after three whole days of not doing much, Chyna was ready to get working on what they had actually come to England to do.

The morning Tony left to go hunting with Sir Robert’s valet, Marcus, Chyna took a leisurely walk down to the business end of the estate to search out Angus McKinley, the estate’s ancient caretaker. He had lived at Dordogne his whole life of seventy-two years and had been the property’s caretaker for fifty of them. He knew everything there was to know about the place; even more that Robert himself.

She found the old man sitting under a big oak tree in the garden of the caretaker’s cottage sipping a mug of hot English tea.

“Mr. McKinley?” Chyna said as she stood at the garden gate.

“It’s Angus, lass,” he replied without looking up from his steaming cup. “Mr. McKinley was me da’ and he been dead now for thirty years.”

He waved her into the garden and stood as she approached, as any proper gentleman would. They sat together and Angus immediately started asking questions.

“You the lass Sir Monty said would be coming to chat with me about the stolen armor?”

“Yes, sir… I mean… Angus,” Chyna stuttered.

“Very well, it’s a good day and a good time for a chat. There isn’t much left to do around here this time of year. All the crops are in the ground, the orchards aren’t ready with anything yet and the boys are out from school to deal with the livestock. It’s downright boring now. You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would ya?”

Marcus had told Chyna that if she ever wanted to tap Angus McKinley for information, all she had to do was bring a pack of Embassy Kings and a lighter along with her. The old man had claimed to have given up smoking a few years prior, but Marcus was convinced he’d only given up buying them. Chyna rarely smoked anymore, but she could sympathize with him.

She took the open pack from her pocket and offered it to Angus with the lighter. He smiled at her as he put the cigarette to his lips and lit it, savoring the first draw and blowing the smoke out slowly. He handed them back to her and continued.

“Cupper?”

“What?” Chyna asked.

Angus laughed at the look of bewilderment on her face as he remembered she was American.

“Would you like a cup of tea, lass?”

“Certainly.”

Angus went into the kitchen and emerged with a clean, white mug which he filled from his tea pot and handed to her.

“So what do you know about the place?”

“Not much, I’ll admit. All I really know is that Robert and his family members are descendants of the Plantagenets and that the stolen armor belonged to Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

“Quite right,” Angus agreed. “Do you know much about her then?”

“Just the basics, I’m afraid, but I’m completely fascinated. She was such a powerful woman and for her to have survived and remained so formidable in such a strange and perilous time for women who dared to grasp at power and wealth is absolutely amazing,” Chyna said, intrigued. “But tell me, Angus, tell me what you know. Robert says you’re quite the expert. I especially want to know why they called her ‘The Eagle’.”

“How much time ‘ave ya got?” the old man asked her, with a cheeky look in his eye.

“As long as it takes for you to tell me everything you know, Angus,” Chyna said, with a smile.

She reached into her pocket and took out the pack of Embassy cigarettes again, placing them on the stump between them and dropping the lighter beside it before leaning back in the garden chair and repeating, “As long as it takes.”

The old man smiled as he took a cigarette from the pack and lit it. Chyna joined him this time; she had decided to settle in to listen to his story.

“Alright then, missy. We might as well start at the very beginning. I can only tell you how I remember the story. It’s no joke that Sir Robert and the Barons Dordogne before him came down from the Plantagenet line. All of that history is still at Châtellerault Castle in Winchester. They’ve got a library there that dates back to Matilda the Empress. It was sacked in 1141 during the rout of Winchester, but a monk locked himself in the library so the soldiers couldn’t burn the manuscripts. When you go to the estate, you’ll get to read it all for yourself in the original copy.

“Before her birth, Eleanor's life had been prophesized about. History doesn’t say by whom, but the prophecy itself was recorded. Eleanor was the eagle, the broken bond was the annulment of her marriage to Louis and the third nestling was Eleanor's favorite son, Richard.

“She was born into the ruling family of the duchy of Aquitaine, a cultural center, much ahead of its time compared to the other French duchies and cities, who still lived in a medieval world. Aquitaine was also the largest of the French duchies, the prize of Western Europe. Eleanor's family had ruled Aquitaine for centuries, first gaining power in the year 841.

“William was born in 1099 to Duke William the ninth of Aquitaine and his second wife, Philipa de Rouerque. His father was famous across the continent for his scandalous behavior and turned Aquitaine into a land of culture and beauty. The court of his Aquitanian duchy became a center for artists, poets, musicians, singers, and writers. He married Philipa after her husband, the King of Aragon, died, but it wasn’t long before he discarded Philipa and took on a mistress, a woman named Dangereuse de Chatellerault. She had a daughter named Aenor, who William decided to marry to his son.

“Although William refused, the marriage took place, probably around 1120, when Aenor was only seventeen. They had three children; two daughters came first Eleanor and Petronilla, and then a son they called William Aigret. Sadly, tragedy struck the family in 1130. Aenor of Châtellerault died at the age of twenty-seven, as did William Aigret, at the age of four. William was left with only his two daughters and this brought up talk of a possible female succession. William decided to name Eleanor as his heir, to become the Duchess of Aquitaine, the first and only woman to rule the duchy in her own right.

“In the summer of 1137, Eleanor received news that her father was dead, having suffered from food poisoning, and that she was the Duchess of Aquitaine. Before he had died, William had declared King Louis VI of France Eleanor's protector should the event of William's death arise. Eleanor was being urged to marry quickly to protect her own interest and so she could take control of Aquitaine. She married King Louis' son, the Dauphin, Louis, in the summer of 1137 in Bordeaux and the agreement was that Eleanor would remain the sole ruler of Aquitaine, Louis as her consort, and in the event of her death, he would inherit it. A week after their marriage, on August 1, 1137, King Louis VI died of dysentery so that left Louis as King Louis VII of France. Eleanor was now a queen.

“When Louis wrote to the German emperor, Conrad III, and convinced him to join the French troops on the expedition, that became known as the Second Crusade. Eleanor had no intention to sit at home in Paris. Although reluctant, Eleanor convinced Louis to let her join him on the crusade. In 1147, Eleanor and Louis reached the Holy Land and their French and German troops reached Constantinople to a royal greeting.

“While in Antioch, Eleanor’s uncle, Prince Raymond, pleaded with her to aid him in defense of Antioch against the Muslim invaders. Eleanor brought the matter before Louis who declined, and decided it was best to leave Antioch, for his sake and Eleanor's. He forced Eleanor to come with him and Prince Raymond was killed in 1149 while in combat, his severed head sent to the caliph of Baghdad.

“In 1152, Eleanor had had enough of Louis; he was a weak man, controlled by his friend, Thierry of Galeran, who poisoned his mind with lies about Eleanor. Barely two months after Eleanor and Louis annulled their marriage, she remarried. This time to the Duke of Anjou, Henry, a member of the Plantagenet family. Henry's grandfather was Henry the first, King of England. His mother was the famous Matilda, the former empress of Germany and the Duchess of Normandy. The marriage shocked the people of France. Eleanor was eleven years older than Henry; nonetheless, she had found a man she loved more than Louis.

“In 1154, her husband became King Henry II of England, following the disastrous reign of King Stephen of England. Eleanor was now the Queen of England. Before his marriage to Eleanor, Henry had controlled Anjou and Normandy, and now he controlled in addition not only England but Gascony, Touraine, and Aquitaine. As powerful a nation as England had become, they soon felt the need to relaunch the Crusades to the Holy Land. Again Eleanor accompanied her husband and their troops.

“On April 1, 1204, Eleanor died at the age of eighty-two at the Abbey of Fontevrault. She was buried there, between Henry II and her son Richard, who is today remembered as Richard le Coeur de Lion, Richard the Lionheart. Eleanor had outlived five of her seven children. During her reign the construction of the Notre-Dame Cathedral took place, and the population of Paris soared to 200,000.

“Today, Eleanor's descendants hold thrones across Europe and she is remembered as a very important figure of the Crusades. Her cultures that she introduced to the great kingdoms almost a millennia ago still live on today and Eleanor lives on as one of the most ruthless, yet beloved, rulers ever.”

“So this is the woman whose armor I must find?” Chyna said, marveling at the magnificent story she had just heard.

“It disappeared just over thirty-five years ago. Stolen, right out of the manor house. Just gone one night, without a trace and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Angus,” Chyna asked curiously, “Outside of it once belonging to Eleanor and the fact that a woman in that time would never need a suit of armor made for her, much less worn by her, what’s so special about it?”

“Well, lass, if you were listening and put two and two together, you’d have gotten that both of her husbands went on crusade and both times, Eleanor went with them. Both times she ended up pregnant in the field.”

“So?”

“So, Eleanor’s armor wasn’t just designed for a woman; it was designed for a pregnant woman,” Angus said, sitting back and smiling widely at her as he lit another cigarette. “A very pregnant queen. A one of a kind piece of history, Miss Stone; it’s absolutely priceless. There isn’t another like it.”

***

“Sir… umm… I mean, Robert, how are you? How’s London been?” Chyna asked, as soon as he had come on the line.

“It's been wonderful, Chyna. London at this time of year can be overrun with tourists, but it must still be quite early in the season. The weather is lovely, though.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“How have things been on the estate? Are you and Tony adequately enjoying yourselves? Is everything to your satisfaction?”

“Absolutely, Robert. We’re having the time of our lives and everybody is so nice to us here; I really can’t thank you enough. We haven’t had any quality time like this in a long while.”

“It's my pleasure, Chyna. But I’m sure you didn’t call me just to check up on how I’m doing. How can I help you?”

“Well, Robert, it’s more a matter of how I can help you. I spoke to my technical director today and he’s agreed to join me on the investigation. Lana, my senior investigator, is a bit busy planning her wedding back home. So we’ll take your case, if you still want us to investigate it.”

“Of course I do. I’m truly astounded by the news. Absolutely gobsmacked.”

“We’re happy to be of assistance, Sir Robert. Oscar will be here at the end of the week and we plan to get started right away.”

“Excellent. Do keep me in the loop since I won’t be back in Bristol for another couple of weeks.”

“We will do that, Robert. Take care.”

“You too, Chyna.”

As she hung up the telephone and looked up at Tony, Chyna felt conflicted. Their time together was coming to a close. That made her sad but in the same breath, she and Oscar would officially be launching their dig into the mystery of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s missing armor. How many archaeologists across the planet would give their ten toes to be sitting in her seat right then?

Every one of them, she reckoned.

Chapter Two

It wasn’t long before Chyna realized that there was much more information to be had from Angus McKinley than she had expected. There was some disconnect between the history of the armor and how it actually could have gone missing; which was what she really went there to find out. She decided that she would pay the old man another visit that afternoon to talk more about what happened that year when the theft occurred at Dordogne.

“Angus!” Chyna called from the little garden gate.

“Aye! Chyna, how are you today, lass?”

“As well as can be expected, Angus. I wondered if I could ask you a few more questions.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Come on in, I’ll put the kettle on.”

Chyna smiled at the English connotation of preparing tea when one had visitors; their version of basic hospitality. When the man was seated opposite her under the tree in his garden, she began asking him the questions she had been thinking about all morning.

“Angus, tell me what was happening on the estate the year the armor was stolen?”

“Let me see now, I remember that the house was closed for the season, but it was also undergoing renovations at the time. The entire place was empty; even the regular staff were gone.”

“Where did they go?”

“Some went to the London house with the family, the others went home for their annual holidays or to work at the other properties.”

“I see. How were renovations to be done with everything still inside the house though?”

“We cleared the whole place out before the staff left. Everything was stored in the carriage house and the antiques were placed in the old bunker at the edge of the estate. Sir Montgomery was very afraid of items being taken from the estate and even more so of taking anything more to London. There was quite a bit of civil unrest in the city, what with labor strikes and increased attacks and bombings by the IRA that were happening at the time.”

Chyna nodded and asked, “Is there anyone else you think we should speak to?”

“Well, there was also a police investigation, so you could see if they still have a copy of the reports. And then there are the Spencers.”

“Okay, but who are the Spencers?”

“That would be Marion Spencer née Wainwright and John Spencer. Marion was head maid at the manor house when the theft occurred; in fact, even though it was closed, she would have been at the house. Marion was an orphan, she didn’t have any other home but Dordogne. John was Sir William Montgomery’s valet since his minority. He was retired by Sir Robert when Sir William died and then he and Marion moved away.”

“That sounds very promising, Angus. Anything else you recommend us doing?”

“Possibly. Evan Montgomery would be helpful as well. Evan’s design company wasn’t doing too well in the seventies, what with the economic crisis and political instability of the time and all. Sir William had arranged for his firm to handle the complete renovation of the manor house as a means of income for Evan; that and the fact that the place was getting rather run down.”

“That was very generous of him.”

Angus laughed heartily at the comment.

“Sir William always felt guilty for being born first, I think.”

“What do you mean, Angus?”

“Well, all the family lands and property went to Sir William when their father died. Evan was expected to carve out a life for himself outside of the family wealth. Sir Geoffrey only left him Dordogne Place in Bristol and an annual pension of about £24000 to be paid out of the family joint fund and if Sir William didn’t keep the fund viable, then Evan would lose that as well.”

Chyna felt a volley of fireworks going off in her head with Angus’ last revelation. She decided it was enough to end the interview on. She had some important phone calls to make.

“Thank you, Angus. I’ll come back if I have any more questions.”

“Very well, lass, but let me give you my card. You can just as easily call me if you need to. I don’t get to give out too many of these things; I don’t even know why Sir Robert had them done up.”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the small rectangle of white paper, handing it to her.

“Thank you, Angus. I’ll stay in touch.”

***

Ichita Nagasaki looked up from his desk and thought calmly about all the things he could have people do to Chyna and her FBI agent boyfriend if they ever got too close to finding out about his wonderful and extremely venerated collection of ancient and medieval artifacts.

There was a knot of nervous energy in the pit of his stomach, as the scenarios of what could happen should they be discovered in his possession started to play themselves out in his mind. He shook himself free of the disturbing thoughts and stepped toward the door of his enormous office. Outside, he turned down the hallway, silently waving away the constant stream of secretaries and junior executives who stepped forward with papers or questions. He pressed the call button for the elevator and when it arrived, he went in and pressed ‘P’ for the building’s penthouse. The doors closed, but the elevator did not move. As he was about to lose his temper, Ichita remembered that he had not gone through the security protocol required to get to that floor. He placed his palm on the scan pad and once the machine was satisfied with his identity and his security clearance, it jolted to a start and delivered him smoothly to the penthouse.

Ichita had spent six months and an obscene amount of money remodeling it a few years ago when he had decided that he and the people in the upper echelon of his corporation spent too much time in the offices of IchiCo to not have a place to relax, center themselves and recharge their bodies and minds. They all practically lived there after all; some of them actually did. He stepped into the atrium and stopped to close his eyes and take a few very deep breaths. Before he could open them again, a young woman in a white uniform removed the suit jacket from his shoulders while another kneeled at his feet to remove his black leather Testoni shoes.

Already feeling better, Ichita stepped onto the plush tatami mats that lined the floor from wall to wall. He had intentionally done the room in the style of a traditional Japanese teahouse. He found the setting relaxing. It was classic and from a time when life had made sense; when Japan was a center of civilized culture, not the parody it had become as a result of the failures of the second world war.

He then proceeded to his private changing room and removed his clothes, donned a soft white Egyptian cotton robe and went to the acupuncture room. The therapist came in as soon as he was reclined on the table.

“Konichiwa, Nagasaki-san,” the elderly man said, bowing slightly from the waist.

Ichita mumbled his reply, not even looking up from the table.

“What seems to be the problem this afternoon?”

“I am nervous, Osamu-san.”

The man tsk’d at him and opened the cabinet drawers, taking out sterile packages of acupuncture needles, gauze and swabs.

“That is no good.”

“I do not wish for it to affect my liver function. You know how much trouble I had with that last year. Liver trouble for someone who has never even lifted a sake cup to his lips, who takes wine only in moderation and when I do, it is only red.”

“Life is cruel and kind, Nagasaki-san. We must always be taking the good with the bad, the yin and the yang; all we can hope to do is maintain it all in a good enough balance. That business last year with the redesign of that muscle relaxant drug threw your body and its components into a tailspin. It was bad business.”

“Hai, Osamu-san. That is exactly how I am feeling again, so I came directly to you.”

“Very well; let us begin the treatment.”

After Ichita had completed the acupuncture session with the old doctor and steamed the toxins from his body in the sage water steam of the sauna, he felt a great deal better. He showered, got dressed and went into the tearoom to be served a tea ceremony by four beautiful geishas dressed in their full makeup and other traditional regalia. As he drank the hot, bitter green macha tea, there was a vigor gradually returning to his disposition that he reveled in. A broad smile suddenly spread across his face and he promptly bowed to each of the women who had served him, rose from the tatami mat and left the penthouse.

***

The end of the week came much too quickly for Chyna’s liking and on Friday morning, she was standing on the concourse at Bristol Airport kissing Tony goodbye... again.

“When will it stop being a life full of goodbyes?” she asked him sadly.

“Oh, Chyna, don’t be like that,” he admonished her. “A year ago when we were saying goodbye, we had no idea at all when we would be seeing each other again. It didn’t even make sense for us to make plans back then because anything could happen at any moment to change them; and it usually did. Look at it this way; when you’re done here and you get off that plane in Istanbul, you can bet I’ll be standing there to pick you up and kiss you and welcome you home.”

She smiled at his response, knowing he was absolutely right.

“That’s true, and when we leave the airport that’s exactly where we’ll go, together; home.”

“I love you, Babe,” he said, kissing her deeply again, holding her body against his as if he would try to make her a permanent part of him.

“I love you, too, Babe.”

Tony took ahold of the handle on his bags and walked into the airport terminal before he got emotional. Chyna leaned against the black Jaguar XK and watched him go. Oscar’s plane had already landed and she would wait for him to make it through the airport before heading back to Dordogne. As she waited patiently, she prayed that, considering he knew the case was a light one, Oscar hadn’t brought too much luggage with him. She hadn’t chosen Robert’s most spacious car for the airport run.

As she was just beginning to enjoy the looks she was receiving from the passing travelers, Chyna’s phone rang. It was Lana calling to check in.

“Hey there, Lana girl,” Chyna said cheerfully.

She had missed her friend and wished that she had been able to join her in England as well, but Chyna couldn’t begrudge Lana the time at home in New York after everything she had been through in Iraq. It was her time to detox and take care of herself; she had her fiancé to enjoy, a wedding to plan and an investigator to hire and train for Found History. With the instant success that the Istanbul office had enjoyed, they were badly in need of the manpower.

“Hey there yourself, Boss Lady,” Lana replied, smiling. “How are things going over there?”

“As well as can be expected, I guess. Are you calling to check on your cowboy?”

“Oh, please! As if I even care. But since you brought it up, did he get there okay?”

Chyna laughed loudly.

“As a matter of fact, he hasn’t, not yet anyway; the plane’s landed, but he hasn’t made it through the airport yet.”

“Oh, okay then. I really wanted to update you on my little project over here. I put the word out that we were looking for a new investigator and I got some really good responses.”

“Really, Lana?” Chyna quipped. “You don’t sound very enthused about them.”

“Well, it’s just that most of them looked really good on paper and then turned out to have personalities like wet cardboard; tons of experience and absolutely no soul. I tend to think that we have a fun operation here, Chyna. Serious, by all means, but certainly fun as well.”

“That’s totally correct,” Chyna agreed. “So what was the ultimate outcome?”

“I did the only sensible thing; I chose the greenhorn. A Finnish man named Mark Gunnar. He's Thyri Ragnarsson’s candidate.”

“Oh, now it makes sense. Well, he isn’t as green as all that, Lana. He was in Russia with Thyri’s team. They were all over the news, remember?”

“Yeah, that’s partly why I decided he was best for the job. He has an idea of what can happen in the field, but not too much to be of the opinion that he knows all there is to know. It’s been going well with him so far.”

“I have to admit that’s the best news I’ve had in a while. I’ll be happy to have another investigator on the team soon; things are getting a little hectic without someone permanent in Istanbul.”

“I know. Well, say hi to my cowboy friend and take care of yourself. Keep me updated on the case.”

“I will, Lana. Take care.”

After about another ten minutes of waiting, Oscar stepped through the glass doors of the airport and walked up to Chyna. A smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of the car she was leaning against.

“That’s a step up, even for you, Boss Lady,” he said appreciatively. “I’ve always known you to be quite the SUV type.”

“Welcome to England, Oscar,” Chyna said. Then with a grin, she continued, “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘A change is as good as a rest’?”

“That it is.”

“Lana just called. She said to tell you hi.”

Oscar gave her a hearty laugh and proceeded to place his bags very carefully into the car’s trunk before making a move to the right side door where Chyna was already seated in the driver’s seat.

“What? So now you want to drive it, too?” she asked jokingly.

He shook his head, made his way to the other side and got in.

“So weird. Even the steering wheel is on the wrong side.”

“Come on, Oscar,” Chyna urged. “I'd like us to get started on some real work today. If we don’t get our weekend plan sorted out, we’ll be left hanging until Monday again. This isn’t like New York. You can’t just turn up at offices and places of interest on a Saturday or Sunday with the assumption they’ll be open.”

***

Ichita was still smiling to himself as he descended to his office in the elevator. He had just started thinking about his antique collection again. He was remembering a conversation he’d had at a party a few years back with a certain Arabian emir.

“The wonderful thing about us Japanese,” he had said, “is that we never feel the need to ask questions about the price that was paid for things or where one may have gotten them from; we consider it extremely rude to question people about their possessions in that manner.”

The other man had given him a puzzled look, but still nodded in agreement. Perhaps he was surprised at how insightful Ichita’s simple observation actually was, once the meaning of it had sunk in for him. Ichita continued his little oration.

“It is somewhat similar with Westerners as well, but for entirely different reasons.”

“How do you deduce that, Nagasaki?” the man had asked him, clearly enthralled by Ichita’s esoteric observations.

“They rarely discuss the matter of cost and procurement of fine things in public; particularly when they strongly believe that they are discussing such matters with one who is superlatively wealthier than they are. Which, in my situation, is almost always the case, Emir.”

The armor that had belonged to Eleanor of Aquitaine had been acquired by his father, Hiroshi Nagasaki. An interest in antiquities and the purity of the past and cultural traditions had been just about the only thing that Ichita and his father had shared. So when Hiroshi had passed away, the entire collection had been left to him. The inheritance had caused quite a scandal in the city, and just as much upheaval in the family, but no one dared to contest the wishes of their dead patriarch.

Their high-class family was among those in Japan who still clung to the old feudal system of familial inheritance and traditionally, as a younger son, Ichita was not entitled to any of his father’s possessions. His successful fishing company, Nagasaki Oceanic, had passed gracefully to Ichita’s older brother as was expected; but apparently that had not been enough for greedy Koichi, who had instigated the quarrel over the artifacts. However, on closer review of the catalogs kept on the items, they had both realized their father’s reasons for dividing his property in the manner that he had. More than eighty percent of the objects in the collection were of questionable provenance or were officially classified as missing from some part of the world; a respectable first son could never have inherited them without fingers potentially being pointed at him. Hiroshi would never subject his first born to the possibility of such shame. With Ichita, however, he would have had no such concern.

Ichita Nagasaki was actually his father’s fourth born son. Knowing from an early age that he and his brothers would have to make their own fortunes, he had built his chemical company from the ground up, refining opium for the smoking rooms of downtown Tokyo in an abandoned house in the neighborhood.

Over the years, he had legitimized the business by hiring scientists to reverse engineer and develop the formulas for popular opioid medications which he renamed, produced and sold to the markets that needed the less expensive, ‘no-name’ generic brand drugs. Of course, he supplied his labs with his own raw materials for the production process.

Ichita still ran all the opium and heroin business in Tokyo, which he did through his own ruthless yakuza gang based in the Harajuku district of the city. He had a warehouse, four cookhouses and a couple smoking rooms of his own there. But Tokyo was not where Ichita made his real money; that came from the Californians and the Hawaiians who found their way to Japan to buy his opium and heroin to sell in the States. It was the best quality they could get and Ichita kept his prices reasonable.

It wasn’t long before he grew ridiculously rich and lured his two older brothers away from the drudgery of the middle management level jobs they held at Nagasaki Oceanic working for Koichi. It had been so simple to do. Ichita had invited them both to a geisha party he was throwing in Kyoto for some of his medical company clients. Afterwards, he had pulled them aside and asked them both if they had not yet grown tired of scraping by on the wages Koichi paid them to take care of a business that would eventually pass to their nephew. He let them know that he had ideas which would enable them to make their own names in business and finally establish themselves.

He sent Tatsuya to university in Hong Kong to learn about art history, antiques and ancient artifacts. While he studied full time for six years up to the post graduate level, Ichita installed Tatsuya’s family in a newly built house on the extensive and elaborate IchiCo estate outside Tokyo. His other brother, Yoshiro, was still a bachelor so he sent him to the United States to study business at Princeton, majoring in corporate marketing. It was his hope that Yoshiro would come back with new ideas of how to expand the medicinal side of the business as well as a few good contacts to aid that project along. And he did.

The first deal Yoshiro brokered with an international drug manufacturer was for the labs at IchiCo to reverse engineer the top selling painkiller that was being manufactured by that company’s biggest competitor. IchiCo had the generic ready in a record three months and was granted the production contract for it.

Ichita made Yoshiro IchiCo’s vice president of corporate marketing and Tatsuya became the vice president of corporate culture. Tatsuya’s portfolio included managing the penthouse recreation center and Ichita’s art collection; acquiring provenances for his existing pieces as well as procuring priceless art and antiques worldwide at rock bottom prices by targeting financially-troubled aristocrats and floundering governments. What Ichita liked, he kept; the others, they sold at auction for ridiculous profits. It was the perfect laundering operation for Ichita’s drug money.

The brothers never looked back after that.

Chapter Three

The ride into Bristol was uneventful, but just as they were coming to the intersection where one road led into the city and the other into a suburb, Chyna noticed something that seemed very familiar. She couldn’t quite place it. There were several cars and a small truck in a tiny gas station to her left. Nothing jumped out at her as out of the ordinary, but she let her gaze linger for a little while. The gas station store didn’t seem like it was being robbed; everyone was going about their business calmly. There was a red motorcycle filling up at a pump behind a black sedan which was doing the same at the pump in front of it. The driver of the truck came out of the store, jumped back into his seat in the cab and left. The motorcycle rider lifted the visor on his helmet and said something to an Asian woman who was standing beside the car in front of him. The woman turned and looked toward the road and Chyna briefly before returning her attention to her car.

Just then, the light changed and an impatient driver behind Chyna immediately started honking for her to get moving. She shook it off, but instead of continuing straight into the city, Chyna quickly turned right and drove into the little neighborhood.

“Change of plan,” she said to Oscar.

“Really?” he retorted sarcastically. “I wasn’t even aware there was one.”

“The caretaker at Dordogne suggested that I should visit the library at the Montgomery’s house in Winchester. He said there are manuscripts at Châtellerault Castle that date back to before Eleanor’s arrival in England. I wasn’t planning on going until tomorrow, but something tells me that it’s a better idea to go there now.”

“A castle, huh?” Oscar scoffed. “What do you think you’ll find there?”

“At the very least, I’m hoping for some provenance; like a really old picture of it and some family genealogy.”

“How’s that going to help?” he asked.

“I really wish you would try to learn some more about investigating from Lana instead of nit-picking with her all the time,” Chyna admonished. “You know she has a lot of fun baiting you into that, don’t you?”

“She’s just like an older sister that way. I love it.”

Chyna smiled. She liked that the people on her team felt like they were family; she certainly considered them all to be a part of hers.

“Well, if you can’t learn from her, you’re going to have to learn from me,” Chyna instructed him. “We need to establish, beyond a doubt and through our research, that there is a provenance that links the armor to the Montgomery family. It’s obvious that whoever stole it isn’t worried after thirty-five years that it will ever be recovered. So when we do find it, we have to be able to prove that it’s in their possession illegally.”

“I see,” Oscar said. “I mean, they could have bought it from someone and would have assumed the deal was legit.”

“Exactly,” she confirmed.

“Let’s go then.”

The street wound through a quiet upscale neighborhood before dumping them into a large roundabout. According to the GPS navigation system in the posh Jaguar, Chyna was to keep to the left, go around it and take the second roadway out of it. That would take her south toward Bath, then Salisbury, into Southampton, and then they would turn north to Winchester. The drive was estimated at an hour and fifty minutes, but somehow, Chyna felt that even an hour and a half would be a long time for the trip in that car.

***

It took them an hour and twenty minutes to arrive at the gates of Chatellerault. A quick call to Robert informing him about the change of plans had solicited them entry into the grounds and free run of the house there. The Baron had encouraged them to make themselves at home and told them that he would be informing the staff to attend to them for the night. Chyna called Marcus to let him know they wouldn’t be back that evening; she thought it would be best to advise him of their plans so that no meals or other preparations would be made for them until they returned the next day.

When they pulled up to the front door, there was a maid and a butler waiting for them and as Oscar handed the man the small suitcase, Chyna realized that she didn’t even have a toothbrush with her. The stern-looking man led Oscar into the hall and up the stairs as Chyna stood looking very bashfully at the maid.

“Never mind that, milady,” the maid said reassuringly. “Baron Montgomery has asked me to take care of everything for you. You’ll find absolutely everything you need in the lady’s apartments and anything that fits is yours to use. Follow me, please.”

In the so-called ‘lady’s apartments’, Chyna was led through a series of closets by Abigail. The first stop was the bathroom, where she opened several drawers in the vanity to show Chyna where toothbrushes, razors and other personal items could be found. Then, after giving Chyna a quick look up and down, the maid proceeded to a set of drawers that ran from the ceiling to the floor. She pulled one out and produced a set of brand new underwear tied neatly together with a ribbon and a couple of perfectly sized bras. Abigail closed the drawers and went to a rack of clothes.

“You should find everything else here, milady. They should all fit perfectly,” she said. “Please make yourself at home.”

She made a little curtsy and left Chyna in private.

Downstairs, a lovely spread had been put out for them in honor of lunchtime and Chyna and Oscar did not shy away. They were famished from the trip and neither of them had eaten a morsel of food since breakfast. After lunch, Chyna insisted that they get straight to work.

Victor, the butler, led them up into the tower that housed the ancient library as he regaled them with the extensive history of the house. When they arrived at the door, Victor held it open for them and they stepped into the perfectly climate-controlled room. Oscar went directly to a shelf and raised his hand to touch one of the volumes there.

“Sir!” Victor said commandingly. “Please, do not touch the books with your bare hands.”

He was holding up a pair of white cotton gloves for each of them.

“The contents of this library are very fragile,” he said to Chyna. “It is imperative that they are treated with the utmost care and respect.”

“Thank you for that, Victor,” Chyna said, trying to steady her racing heart.

“I will take down the manuscript you asked for and place it on a reading stand. Do not try to return it to the shelf; leave it there when you are finished. The pages cannot be copied, but if you would like, you may photograph them.”

He climbed a ladder and pulled the leather-bound volumes from the shelf, placing them carefully on the table in the center of the room for them before he exited the library. Chyna immediately began reading. Ever since her teatime conversation with Angus McKinley, she had come close to being obsessed with the magnificent memory of Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Chyna soon realized that Angus McKinley was more than just a caretaker at Dordogne. As she began to read the manuscript, she decided that he was more of a modern marvel.

To the world, Eleanor of Aquitaine has always been portrayed as an elderly, controlling shrew who worshipped her son, Richard le Cœur de Lion and then fought tooth and nail with her other son, John the Lackland during her reign as regent. But what Chyna read in the thousand-year-old manuscript was everything but that.

Eleanor was born into the ruling family of the duchy of Aquitaine, a large province that covered most of western France, its borders stretching from the shores of the Bay of Biscay on the Atlantic to the Pyrenees Mountains to the Mediterranean Sea. Aquitaine was a cultured center, much ahead of its time compared to the other French duchies and cities, who still lived in a medieval world. Aquitaine was also the largest of the French duchies, the prize of Western Europe. Because of this, France was determined to add Aquitaine to its empire. Eleanor's family had ruled Aquitaine since Ranulf I, Duke of Poitiers, first held the title from 841-867. The title was passed down hereditarily through the family to Eleanor's father, William, in 1127.

It seemed that Eleanor’s parents were just as intriguing as she was; in fact, it was possible that she inherited her unique style and flair purely from their influences and from that of the beautiful and cultured court they built and immersed her and her siblings in.

William was born in 1099 to Duke William IX of Aquitaine and his second wife, Philipa de Rouerque. The Duke was famous across the continent for his scandalous behavior. He was what became known as a 'troubadour'. While France lived in a dark age, William turned Aquitaine into a land of culture and beauty. The court of his Aquitanian duchy became a center for artists, poets, musicians, singers, and writers. He also introduced a very sexual lifestyle to Aquitaine, reflecting his own ostentatious sex life. He married his first wife, Ermengarde, while still a young teenager, and had the marriage annulled; an action that shocked Europe. He took on Philipa de Rouerque, William X's mother, after her husband, the king of Aragon, died. Not soon after, he discarded Philipa and took on a mistress, a woman named called Dangereuse de Châtellerault in some sources. Dangereuse was already married, but William abducted her and brought her to live in Aquitaine. She had a daughter named Aenor, who William decided to marry to his son, William X. Although William refused, the marriage took place, probably around 1120, when Aenor was only 17. About a year or two later, the couple celebrated a healthy daughter, Eleanor. However, this girl was not the heir Aquitaine needed. Three years later, in 1125, Aenor gave birth to another child, a girl named Aelith, known more widely as Petronilla. Finally, in 1126, a male heir to be the next duke of Aquitaine was born, named William Aigret.

***

It wasn’t long before the young couple got their first taste of real power because:

The next year, in 1127, Duke William IX of Aquitaine died, leaving his son, William X, as the next duke of Aquitaine. William and his family ruled the large duchy from their castle at Poitiers, although they vacationed at castles by the sea such as Talmont and in the lush valleys of Bordeaux.

Their happiness, however, was short lived and with the tragedy that befell her family, Eleanor’s journey to the rule of Aquitaine and her lifelong legacy began.

Sadly, tragedy struck the family in 1130. Aenor of Châtellerault died at the age of 27, as did William Aigret, at the age of 4. The circumstances of their deaths are unknown, but they both probably suffered from tuberculosis. Widowed, William now had his two daughters, Eleanor and Petronilla. This brought up talk of a possible female succession, and William decided to name Eleanor as his heir, to become the Duchess of Aquitaine, the first and only woman to rule the duchy in her own right. Duke William X, like his infamous father, continued to lead Aquitaine in its age of literature, music, and art; thus, Eleanor developed a love of the arts in her childhood, surrounded by them at court. Not only did Eleanor become an excellent poet and writer, but she also received a thorough education as preparation for her future role as the Duchess of Aquitaine. She traveled the duchy with her father, visiting her future lands and forming a very close relationship with her father.

In 1137, William attempted to bring the church back to Aquitaine and, becoming a new man of humility, decided to go on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, a place of worship to Saint James the Greater. Eleanor had no idea that when she bid him farewell she would never see him again. In the summer of 1137, Eleanor received news that her father was dead, having suffered from food poisoning, and that she was the Duchess of Aquitaine.

So this was how Eleanor’s journey to infamy began. As a child of about sixteen years old, she became the Duchess and undoubted ruler of one of the largest – and certainly the most prosperous – duchies in Western Europe. Chyna could imagine how intimidated the girl must have felt, how confused at losing her beloved father so suddenly. In another stroke of destiny her family was again culled and there was now only Eleanor and her sister, Petronilla, left.

Before he had died, William had declared King Louis VI of France Eleanor's protector should the event of William's death arise. A few of William's loyal knights set out to inform Louis VI of William's death. Louis, upon hearing of the unfortunate loss, hatched an excellent plan. Aquitaine had always been the prize of Europe, a fine cultured center. What better to do with his protection of the young duchess than marry her to his son and add Aquitaine to the French kingdom?

Back in Aquitaine, Eleanor was being urged to marry before one of the lords of Aquitaine, who were all greedy men, would attempt to rape and marry her so they could take control of the country. And so Eleanor agreed to marry King Louis' son, the Dauphin, Louis, in the summer of 1137. The two were wed in Bordeaux and upon the marriage the agreement was that Eleanor would remain the sole ruler of Aquitaine, Louis as her consort, and in the course of her death, he would inherit it. The titles bestowed upon the couple on their wedding day were Duchess and Duke of Aquitaine, Count and Countess of Poitou and Eleanor was declared the Princess Royal of France. A week after their marriage, on August 1, 1137, King Louis VI died of dysentery. Louis was now King Louis VII of France. Eleanor was now a queen.

There never seemed to be a dull moment in the life of ‘The Eagle’ of Aquitaine. It was becoming obvious to Chyna that the chronicling of these events had been deliberately done so by the author of the manuscript. Piece by piece, the picture was becoming clearer about who Eleanor was as a woman; it was a direct reflection of who she would be as a queen.

In four months, Eleanor had become both the Duchess of Aquitaine and the Queen of France. Upon hearing the news of his father's death, Louis set out to attend the funeral mass and Eleanor went to Paris, where he intended to join her later. Eleanor found Paris horrible. Used to the lush valleys of Bordeaux and the beautiful coastlines of Poitiers, Eleanor found Paris bleak, gray, and in a horrible state. It was barely a city, with houses built upon houses. The university was an embarrassment, and although many praised the royal castle on the  Île de la Cité which seemed stranded on the Seine, Eleanor found it as bad as the city; a dark stone building which was dour and plain. She certainly had work to do in Paris.

Upon Louis' arrival, Eleanor realized how different she was from her husband. Louis was a quiet man, who was easily controlled and very saintly. Eleanor was no saint. She was high-spirited and raucous, and took on her role as queen seriously. She began by transforming Paris into the city it was always rumored to be; a city of art and beauty. She brought her Aquitanian heritage with her and introduced the Parisians to her beautiful culture. Meanwhile, as Eleanor draped the city in art and literature, Louis was being deeply affected by the words of Thierry of Galeran, a Frenchman turned eunuch upon his capture in the East. Thierry deeply disapproved of Eleanor, calling her a whore for her un-saintly behavior and her work in beautifying and culturing the city, heresy.

Eleanor and Louis' marriage had yet to be consummated, and although the couple was still young, an heir was needed. Eleanor attempted to supplicate her husband’s eager advisor and even though Thierry continued to warn Louis of Eleanor's 'witchcraft' and her heresy, Louis and Eleanor consummated their marriage and Eleanor was with child in 1145. That same year she gave birth to a daughter, named Marie.

And it was just about then that Eleanor’s life changed forever. She had just become reconciled with her husband and they were now finally living together as a true husband and wife should; even welcomed their first born child, when the world went mad and fell into war.

***

“Moshi moshi,” Keiko said softly into the phone.

“Keiko, Ichita wants to know what’s happening over there.”

It was Miyako, Ichita Nagasaki’s sister. Keiko wasn’t happy; she had purposely not called her boss because she didn’t have anything good to report. Keiko shrugged and replied.

“I spotted her coming back from the airport this morning. She took the FBI agent to catch a flight back to Turkey but then when I saw her on the way back, the computer nerd from New York was with her. She made a fast turn toward Bath so I figured they were going to London. I lost them somewhere outside of Bath.”

“What do you mean, you lost them? He’s not going to be happy about that.”

“Well, Ichita can get all the angry he wants. If he expects me to keep up with a lead-footed girl in a Jaguar XK, then he needs to get me that R8 I’ve been asking for, the V10 one.”

Keiko was pissed off; she hung up the phone without bothering to hear what Miyako had to say next. She had tried her best, but once Chyna had hit the straight roads outside of Bath, the Jaguar had left Keiko and her Audi A4 in its dust.

She kicked the tire of her car and stomped around on the side of the road a little.

Where could they have gone? she wondered.

Keiko knew there was something she was forgetting; she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Flipping open her trusty Blackberry Torch, she speed-dialed Hashimoto.

“Hashimoto-san,” Keiko said in her most sultry voice. It sounded like Haaa-shimoto-saaan.

She dragged out the ‘Ha’ in his name when she spoke to him; that always seemed to make the quaint man stop and pay attention to her.

“Hai, Keiko.”

“I lost the gaijin outside Bath, Hashi. Is there anywhere in the area that has anything to do with Robert’s family, just in case they’re not on the way to London?”

“Ah, let me check. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

“Arigato, Hashi.”

Keiko opened the driver’s door and sat back in the seat. There was a big bag of cold potato wedges sitting on the dashboard in front of her and she ceremoniously dipped them into a jar of medium heat salsa con queso and ate them. There was something about cheese with Keiko. She’d never had cheese before she’d left Japan and now she couldn’t do without it. Suddenly the phone rang and she jumped to answer it.

“Moshi moshi,” she said.

“Keiko-chan, it turns out that there’s a castle they own in Winchester with a much venerated library. It’s most likely where they went. You know, to do some research.”

“Hai. Arigato, Hashimoto-san.”

***

Around 1145, the city of Edessa, a Christian city in the Asia Minor, was captured by Muslim forces. The citizens were massacred, sold into slavery, or severely punished. To prove his loyalty to God, Louis decided that the only way to redeem himself with God was to capture Edessa back from the Muslim forces and restore it to Christianity and its glory. Louis wrote to the German emperor, Conrad III, and convinced him to join the French troops on this expedition that became known as the Second Crusade.

Eleanor had no intention to sit home in Paris. Although reluctant, Eleanor convinced Louis to let her join him on the crusade. In 1147, Eleanor and Louis finally reached the Holy Land. The two-and-a-half-year campaign was stressful, and constant bickering took place between Eleanor and Louis, distancing them more. Thierry of Galeran had accompanied Louis, and of course he returned to his constant accusations against Eleanor, accusing her of keeping countless lovers in her tents and practicing sorcery.

The French and German troops reached Constantinople to a royal greeting. Louis and Eleanor lodged at Blachernae Palace with Emperor Manuel I and his wife, Irene of Sulzbach. Eleanor and Irene had much in common besides their uncanny similar physical appearances. Irene had the same air about her, and refused to sit around and let the men do all the work, just as Eleanor had displayed in Paris.

The trip was exhausting, the two sides rarely agreed, and the whole crusade was a mess. In hope to reconcile their marriage which was deeply hurt while on the crusade, Louis and Eleanor visited with Pope Eugenius, who persuaded the two to sleep in the same bed once again. Eleanor agreed, and while still out on crusade, she became pregnant with her daughter, Alix. This did not stop Eleanor from joining the men on their patrols and sorties and the heavier she became, the more she defied Louis’ wishes, so he succumbed to the pressure and had the blacksmiths of the city make the special suit of armor for which she would become renowned.

The unusual suit became known as the Armor of Aquitaine and some took to calling it the Eagle’s Armor, but all in the same it was the strangest thing that had ever been seen on a battlefield. It stirred even more rumors of heresy and witchcraft as Eleanor would ride into the midst of the fighting, parting the lines of the men who fled from her in sheer fear, to urge her soldiers on. She wore a mail coif that ran down her neck and spilled over her shoulders like hair and a close helm over it to hide her feminine features. The usual cuisse and greave for her thighs and legs and beautiful winged gauntlets for her hands and arms enhanced the suit. She had a hauberk of the finest chain mail which was worn under a gorget; but the most stunning item of armor she wore was her bevor. It was doubly thick for her protection and molded to the queen’s body in every way such that the finished breastplate bore the shape of the swell of her breasts and the curved mound of her pregnant belly. Across her breasts, she had the metalworkers paint the crest of the crusaders and over it, with its wings spread wide, was a large eagle.

In 1152, Eleanor had had enough of Louis, and although he tried to persuade her to reconsider, Eleanor decided to have her marriage to Louis annulled. Barely two months after Eleanor and Louis annulled their marriage, Eleanor remarried. She had married Henry, Duke of Anjou, a member of the honorable Plantagenet family. Henry's grandfather was the King of England, Henry, his mother, the famous Matilda, Lady of the English, former empress of Germany and the Duchess of Normandy. Eleanor was 11 years older than Henry; nonetheless, Eleanor had found a man she loved more than Louis and in 1154, a son named Henry was born. 1154 also marked another great event in Eleanor's life. Her husband became King Henry II of England, following the disastrous reign of King Stephen of England. Eleanor was now the Queen of England.

But it seemed to Chyna, as she read further, that Eleanor was never going to find reprieve from the fighting.

When she and Henry left France for England, Eleanor found her new land in the same shape as that of Paris when she first entered the French city at the age of 15. Before his marriage to Eleanor, Henry had controlled Anjou and Normandy, and now he controlled in addition not only England but Gascony, Touraine, and Aquitaine. Although Eleanor was the legal owner and ruler of Aquitaine, Henry claimed the duchy as part of his land holdings. His lands were now larger than the King of France's.

Henry and Eleanor both had their work cut out for them. Under King Stephen's reign, the English barons had taken control of the weak king. They built castles without Stephan's authorization and set up forms that held the vassals responsible for military duty. King Henry II tore these castles down and set up military duty, a form of taxation instead. In 1168, the barons were at war with one another once again and Eleanor rode out in her magnificent armor to control her restless subjects.

In 1173, rebellion exploded in England. Eleanor and her three older sons: Henry, Richard, and Geoffrey rebelled against Henry II. Eleanor was captured, though she had donned the clothes of a man, and Henry had her locked up for 16 years in a tower in England. While Eleanor stayed imprisoned, war raged. Soon John, Henry's only loyal son, turned against him also. In the 16 years that Eleanor was imprisoned, Henry had been killed in battle in 1183 and Geoffrey had died due to injuries in Paris in 1186.

1189 brought about great changes. Eleanor was released from prison and Henry II died. Richard, Eleanor's favorite son, became King Richard I. While on crusade in the east, he left Eleanor as regent over his kingdoms. He gave Eleanor full control over England and the French provinces, stating that Eleanor's word should be law. Eleanor turned out to be a ruthless and cunning ruler. She brought order to England in Richard's absence and when Richard was captured in the Holy Roman Empire, she raised his ransom and had him freed. Before Richard's return, his brother, John, attempted to usurp the throne from their mother. Eleanor beat off John, but later reconciled with him and even had Richard and John reconcile upon Richard's return.

On April 1, 1204, Eleanor died at the age of 82 at the Abbey of Fontevrault. She was buried there, between Henry II and her son Richard, who is today remembered as Richard le Coeur de Lion, Richard the Lionheart.

Chyna sat back in the chair at the reading table, took off the white cotton gloves and sighed deeply.

“Oscar, could you take photographs of these pages, please?” she asked softly.

“Did you find something that we can use?” he asked as he approached her slumped figure.

“Oh, absolutely,” she replied as she pushed the chair back and stood to stretch out her back. “I have found absolutely everything that we could possibly need.”

“Then old Angus McKinley was right.” Oscar was already busy snapping pictures of the first pages.

“More than right, Oscar; the man has now officially been confirmed as a damn genius!”

Chapter Four

“Oscar, when you finally get to Dordogne,” Chyna started, “you just have to meet Angus immediately. He’s the caretaker there. Have you ever met someone that was so completely immersed in one thing – and had been so for so many years – that everything they were just seemed to be about that thing?”

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, a little wistfully. “Sounds like my dad and the ranch.”

“Exactly. Well, that’s how Angus is, too.”

“I remember watching a PBS documentary once about the life of the people on a very well-known English estate that belongs to a real life duke and duchess. They showed how the estate is basically supported by an entire village of people.”

“Really? That’s fascinating.”

“I know. The Dowager Duchess still lived on the estate and the staff members always quote her as saying that people either came there and then left the next day or they came there and stayed for the rest of their lives. I guess Angus is one of those ‘never leave’ kind of employees.”

“Yes, Oscar, it seems so, but it also seems that there are a lot of those in the Montgomery’s employ.”

Chyna decided to give the helpful old man a call. Most of the information that she had gathered on the case so far had been straight out of his mouth so she doubted that asking for his help again would steer her off course.

“Mr. McK– Umm, Angus, this is Chyna,” she said into her cell phone. “How are you doing this afternoon?”

“Ah, Chyna. I’m doing well, thank you,” he replied cordially. “When Marcus and Tony told me you had taken a spur-of-the-moment trip into Winchester, I thought I might be hearing from you soon.”

“We found it, Angus, and what a beautiful story it is,” Chyna said. “I can’t believe that she led such a tumultuous, exciting, successful life. Popular culture has done no favors to her image at all.”

“It's why I encouraged you to read it for yourself, Chyna. She is best known for her time as Henry’s queen in England, but it all extended much farther than that. In the movies, you often see her as a ruler over barbaric people living in a barbaric time and she automatically becomes a barbarian too; but Eleanor was a woman of culture and aristocracy and grace.”

“Indeed, Angus.”

“So how can I be of assistance today, Chyna?”

“Well, it's becoming more and more obvious that there’s a lot of work to be done if we’re going to find this ‘Eagle’ armor. I wanted to talk with you regarding the suggestions you gave me about whom we should interview. Also, are there any other archives we might find helpful, especially in London? You know, before we drive the hour and a half back to Dordogne.”

“That was a good idea because I actually do have a few suggestions for you.”

“That’s great, let me get a notepad,” Chyna said. “Okay, Angus, I’m ready, you can go ahead.”

“Since you’re in Winchester, you may want to start by talking to the Spencers. I had mentioned them before, I believe. They’re living in Reading now, in a quiet little community called Timberley and that’s quite close to where you are. I have their address right here as well; it’s 24 Cockatiel Road.”

“That’s perfect, thank you for that. Do you have any others?”

“Absolutely. Since you’re already headed that way, why don’t you visit Sir Robert’s offices in London? They would have a detailed copy of all the police reports which would include the transcripts of the interrogations, eyewitness reports and such. It might prove helpful when you get around to talking to the Bristol City Police Department. A chat with Sir Robert’s uncle, Evan Montgomery, might be helpful as well.”

“Really? Why would you say that?”

“Well, you see, remember I mentioned that his company did all the work at Dordogne that year? Sir William realized that with the economy in such a downturn at the time, there wouldn't be much of the usual baronial revenues coming in for the next few years so he had to come up with a plan to keep some money coming in to run the estate and fund the family’s coffers. That’s why he decided to turn Dordogne into a working estate, which it is today. Remember I told you he had to keep things viable to support everyone, including Evan.

“He didn’t like the idea of strangers strolling through the place all season long, but he didn’t have a say in the decision either. It ate Evan up to see the place turned into a tourist attraction, but in my mind, Sir William was only doing the same thing that many larger and much more prominent landowners had done years prior. For years, places like Chatsworth House and Buckingham Palace had opened parts of the buildings and gardens to the paying public.”

“Who was there when the work was being done?”

“It was only meant to be me and Marion Wainwright here… that’s the current Mrs. Spencer. But ultimately, only Marion stayed the entire time.”

“Why was that?”

“Well, in a bid to express his gratitude for the work, Evan offered to do up the caretaker’s cottage and the stables at the last minute. He put me up for the season at his house in Bristol, Dordogne Place.”

“Rather convenient, wasn’t it?” Chyna commented.

“I don’t follow you,” Angus said, sounding puzzled.

“Never mind, Angus. We’ll be on our way to Reading in the morning, then on to London. I promise we’ll keep you posted on our progress.”

“Thank you, Chyna. Will I see you when you get back?”

“Of course. Oscar, and I will be sure to stop in for a cup of tea... and maybe a cigarette?”

Angus laughed at her remark.

“Oh, thank you,” Chyna said. “You’ve been a great help, Angus.”

“It's my pleasure, lass. You have a safe trip.”

“Goodbye.”

***

As Chyna launched the Jaguar down the M3 roadway, she had several questions going through her mind about the case. Normally, she would have stewed them over silently as she drove, but having Oscar with her meant that she needed to augment his education as an investigator. After expressing to him her relief at finally being involved in a case that didn’t seem to need the assistance of the FBI or military operatives, she spent the next hour discussing her concerns with him.

There were a lot of obvious concerns and they were consistently boring holes in the various arguments either of them could come up with to lead them in the right direction to figuring out what happened to the suit of armor. It was obvious that it had been taken when the furnishings were removed from the bunker after the renovations were complete. But then the questions were; by whom? When? And of course, How?

Almost instantly, Oscar realized that the first wave of questions had a habit of breeding the second; which tended to be more in number than the first wave and much deeper as well. Next, Chyna had them wondering; who had access to the property? What was security like on the estate during the renovations? Why was Angus moved out? Who had done the actual moving?

It took them forty-five minutes to get to Timberley and maybe five minutes to find the cozy-looking duplex on Cockatiel Road. Every one of the houses on the street looked exactly the same, so Oscar had to check the house numbers which, luckily for them, were prominently written on each mailbox. Chyna parked the car across the street from the house and they walked up and rang the doorbell.

Marion Spencer answered the door with a big smile on her face.

“Chyna Stone?” she asked confidently, as if they had met before.

“Yes. This is my colleague, Oscar Cunningham. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Dordogne Estate, particularly about what happened during the renovations in 1978.”

“Yes, Angus told me to expect you. Please come in. I just put the kettle on.”

“Thank you.”

Chyna and Oscar stepped into the house. It was warm and just as cozy inside as it had seemed from the outside. Marion led them into a living room, or the front room as she called it, and invited them to sit. She disappeared into what Chyna assumed was the kitchen and soon reappeared with a lovely silver tray piled with all her tea things. Marion poured tea for each and invited them to help themselves to the milk and sugar as well as the sandwiches and biscuits she had brought out with it.

The marvels of modern technology, Chyna thought. Because of a simple telephone call from Angus, Marion had had the better part of an hour to prepare a lovely repast for them while they had been driving toward her house.

“Angus says that Sir Robert has hired you to find out what happened to Eleanor of Aquitaine’s armor and possibly find it.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Spencer,” Chyna confirmed. “That is true.”

“Well, I can tell you straight away what happened to it,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was stolen, right from under our very noses in the dead of night and without a single one of us knowing, to boot.”

“We get the gist of that, Mrs. Spencer. We really want to recover it for Sir Robert. At the very least, we think he deserves to know where it went and maybe even who took it.”

“Well, if you can do what the police couldn’t, I know it will give him some peace.”

“If you would, we hoped you could tell us what you remember from that year.”

“Of course,” she said, sitting back in her chair as if she was settling in for a long story. “Well, the house was closing up for the season. The Montgomerys always spent the winter at the estate and when summer came around, they would quit the manor and go to London for the summer. The social season officially got started on May Day and Mrs. Montgomery never missed that. By the end of April that year, everything had been sent ahead of them; everything that they planned to take, that is. The rest was being moved into the outbuildings because Sir William had arranged for a lot of work to be done on the house. The staff had all been given their holidays – or their reassignments, as the case may have been – and things were grinding to a halt at Dordogne. I was staying behind for the summer and, if I remember well, the only other person staying was Angus McKinley.”

“Why were you two staying behind if everyone else was given new assignments?” Oscar asked curiously.

“At the time, I was the head maid at the estate, but every one of the Montgomery houses has its own head maid. If you were just at Chatellerault, you would have met Rebecca. She is head maid there. The London house similarly has one as well, so I stayed behind in my place. I grew up in an orphanage, Mr. Cunningham, and went into service at sixteen years old, so I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I see,” he replied, abashed.

Marion continued her story.

“I oversaw the covering, removal and storage of the furniture, the precious objects, the rugs and the drapes. Sir William saw to the removal of the house’s antiques and art himself. I know they were in the raid bunker, but that was all, and I assumed that Sir William took the keys with him. I was in the house, in the downstairs, when the house was broken into. I don’t remember hearing a thing, not a sound that night. I know that the house was locked up properly because Angus and I had run the usual check of all the windows and doors that evening, just as we always did. We had tea in the staff dining room downstairs and he left through the service exit out back. The next morning when I went upstairs to draw the curtains like I always did it was gone.”

“Marion…” Chyna started. “May I call you Marion?”

“Of course, my dear,” she replied.

“Marion, at that point, were there any construction workers left on the site?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “By that time, everything had already been completed and all the workers had been gone for weeks. In fact, Sir William had already come in with his designer and had new drapes hung and the carpets, rugs, furniture and antiques put back into place.”

“Really?” Oscar commented. “What else was the designer supposed to do? Was it someone you knew?”

“Actually, no, I had never seen her before. I can’t even recall her name right now. She was Asian, that much I remember; Chinese, Japanese, I’m not sure. Maybe Sir Robert would have more information about that. She made a register of every single item in Sir William’s collection, then the two of them decided which items would be put back in the house as well as where each piece would be displayed and how.

“I remember that the day of the break in, Mr. Montgomery – Evan, that is – came back with the woman. I assumed it was to confirm that the placement of the items had been done to her specifications; that everything had been displayed properly and the place had that look and feel the family wanted to create for their future visitors. It was supposed to feel like a home that was also a museum, you see.”

“That wouldn’t be unexpected,” Oscar commented.

“But that’s just it, because it was rather odd. I had never seen her with Evan before and no one had told me they would be coming that day, either.”

“What about after you realized the armor was gone?” Chyna asked.

“I called Sir William and Angus first. Angus was the one who called the police. Can you believe it took them an hour and a half to get out there from downtown Bristol? It was a disgrace.” She shook her head as if she were remembering something that deeply hurt her. “There was a huge investigation, though; purely the result of Sir William’s insistence with the police chief at the time. Absolutely nothing came out of it, though.”

“Why do you think that was, Mrs. Spencer?” Oscar chimed in.

“It was the late seventies, Mr. Cunningham,” she said, matter-of-factly. “No one cared very much for the problems of the aristocracy. There was simply too much going on in the country at the time. There was an oil and energy crisis crippling the industrial sector, The Bretton Woods financial crisis was threatening to shut down the world economy and there were council and labor strikes going on as well. It was all that confusion that got Margaret Thatcher into office.”

“Okay,” Chyna said after a long silence. “I don’t think we have any more questions at the moment, Marion.”

“I hope I’ve helped, even a little.”

“You certainly have,” Chyna assured her, as they stood to leave. “If we think of anything else, may we give you a call?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Marion,” Chyna said as she stood outside the door again. “Whatever we find, I’ll be sure to let you know how it turns out.”

“Thank you, dear. I would appreciate that very much.”

When they were back in the car, Chyna said, “Now I’m intrigued. There’s something sinister lying just beneath the surface here and I feel like we need to uncover it before it pops up to bite us.”

“You’re actually scaring me a little, boss. What are you sensing?”

“Well, Marion said Sir William’s designer was an Asian woman.”

“So?”

“I don’t know if it has anything to do with anything, but I’m beginning to feel like I’ve seen and heard about more Asian women in the last week than I have in my whole life.”

“Coincidence, perhaps?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. Let’s get to London.”

***

An hour later, they were pulling up in front of Evan Montgomery’s swanky Notting Hill office. He was the head of an exclusive interior design, restoration and renovation company, Poitiers Design, after his illustrious ancestor’s family name.

Surprisingly, Evan was rather accommodating to Chyna and Oscar, giving them as much detail as he could remember about what transpired before, during and after the renovation work at Dordogne. Apparently, the job had gone well; staying on schedule and coming in under budget.

“How was that possible?” Chyna asked.

“I used a lot of local tradesmen on the site, even some of the estate staff when they came off their vacation and had nothing to do. A lot of those stable hands were pretty good blacksmiths and a few of the footmen and yard boys turned out to have woodworking skills. I could utilize them under the supervision of the more experienced workers at a lower labor cost. They were happy to have the work and I was happy to have the help.”

He showed them into a large room which contained rows and rows of fireproof filing cabinets and looked for the ones marked ‘D’. Pulling open a drawer, he flipped through the files until he found the one he was looking for. The tab had a typewritten label on it that said ‘Dordogne - 1978’. Evan pulled it out and handed it to Oscar.

“That will have all the names of the companies and people who worked on the project,” Evan said.

“Thanks, Evan,” Chyna replied. “Is there anything in there about the contents of the house at the time? What went into storage and what came out?”

“No. None of that involved me. You would have to check William’s old files for that type of information.”

“Any idea where we would find those?” Oscar asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes. They would be in Robert’s London office. Do you have the address?”

Chyna had never had a problem taking a hint and it was now plain that Evan felt that he had given them all the time he was willing to give, but she had a more crucial question to ask.

“Yes, we do,” she replied curtly. “Mr. McKinley told us that after Sir William had struck the deal with you to do the work on the manor house, you offered to include the work on the carriage house and the caretaker’s cottage gratis. Why was that?”

Evan smiled and shook his head before he answered her. Chyna wondered if he was stalling in order to give her the politically correct response.

“You have to understand what the economy was like at the time, Miss Stone.”

It was going to be the politically correct answer.

“My livelihood was most certainly in jeopardy and so was my pension from the estate. Even though I was against William’s idea to open up the house, the antique collection and the gardens to the viewing public, it would mean that Dordogne would have a steady income coming in which would help to support the entire family. Outside of my genuine gratitude to William for the work, I felt that if he was going to go ahead with his plan, then the renovation might as well be well done the first time. God forbid the rabble would be traipsing through the garden to be met with the sight of the dilapidated outbuildings.”

Evan’s remark rubbed Chyna the wrong way; it was a touch too elitist for her liking. In the same breath, she understood his concerns. It was comparable to checking into a four-star hotel where the lobby was first class, but the beds had cheap sheets on them.

“Will that be all?” he pressed.

“I think we have everything we need for now, Mr. Montgomery,” Chyna replied. “I do have one more question, though.”

“Certainly.”

“What about the curator? Sir William had someone come in to catalog the collection and design the displays of the items. Do you know where we could find the records of the work she did?”

His expression changed in an instant from one of bored accommodation to surprise and irritation. He cast questioning looks from Chyna to Oscar and then back again. But then, just as quickly, he collected himself and responded to her question.

“I don’t have a clue, Miss Stone. My brother hired his quacks and his supposed experts all the time, as if the knowledge that he was in possession of a priceless collection of antiques wasn’t enough for him; he had to have constant confirmation of it. As for a catalog, I’ve never come across anything like that before. Perhaps you will have better luck at the Angevin Foundation.”

He was actually sneering at them by then.

Chyna nodded and extended her hand to Evan for a farewell handshake. Oscar did the same and they said their goodbyes.

Back in the Jaguar, Chyna sighed heavily, but said nothing. She waited patiently for her cowboy trainee to offer his opinion.

“What a prick!” Oscar finally said. “What the hell was all that about the ‘rabble’ traipsing around his manor house?”

Chyna smiled. She had seen that one coming from a mile away.

“Never mind him, Oscar. He’s a bit of a dinosaur; from a different time and place in this country’s history. No matter what people think, leopards can’t change their spots.”

***

“Miyako,” said the man on the phone in a British accent.

“Moshi moshi,” she replied, sounding exasperated.

“The Americans were just here asking a lot of questions. I skirted around the whole antique curating thing, but they have the file so eventually, they’ll put two and two together.”

“Understood, Evan-san. I’m sure you did your best. It is becoming clear that we are dealing with a formidable opponent in Miss Stone. More drastic measures may have to be taken.”

“Do what you have to; it will be a complete disaster if all of this falls apart after all these years.”

“Indeed,” Miyako agreed. “I’ll call Keiko.”

***

At Sir Robert’s office, Chyna and Oscar had a much more cordial experience as they searched for the information they needed. A pretty, blond research assistant was assigned to guide them through the extensive library of family records.

“What exactly does this guy do for a living anyway?” Oscar asked Chyna in a hushed voice.

“He heads up the Angevin Foundation; just like all the barons Dordogne before him.”

“Well, that’s a rather cushy gig,” Oscar retorted.

“Why would you say that?” Chyna asked. “We don’t even really know what that entails.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow at her and gave her a look that said ‘Really?’ before waving over the blond woman and asking, “Would you mind explaining to us what it is exactly that the Angevin Foundation does?”

“Of course,” she said very seriously. “The foundation deals primarily with the upkeep, promotion and management of the Montgomery estates in England and France. It also acquires and liquidates estate-specific property and manages the payment of family pensions and donations to family supported charities.”

“Thank you,” Chyna said, smiling to herself.

When the young woman had returned to her corner of the room, Oscar whispered, “It’s still a cushy gig.”

Chyna laughed at his insistence. In reality, she was glad for the explanation; she at least had a clearer idea of what her client did for a living. Now that she knew, she admired his vocation.

“I think I found the police reports,” the researcher said from across the room.

“That’s wonderful, because I just found Sir Williams’ records on the renovations.”

Chyna pulled out a cardboard bank box from a shelf that was marked ‘RENOVATIONS-1978’ from a shelf and threw the lid to one side. There were several four inch black binders which were filled with all the various paperwork that was pertinent to the work at Dordogne; they were all safely filed inside plastic sheet protectors.

After flipping quickly through the first few folders, Chyna was satisfied. She put the cover back on the box and turned to the woman.

“If we need anything else…”

“Just call me and I will send it over to the estate. My name is Elizabeth.”

Chyna smiled at her as she took the police reports from Elizabeth.

“Thank you,” she replied and then to Oscar she said, “Get that box and let’s get going, cowboy. We’ve got a lot of road to cover.”

***

Somewhere out on the M4 near Heathrow Airport, Chyna suddenly had an idea.

“Listen; if we take a small detour, we could go to see Stonehenge on the way back. Do you want to do that?” Chyna asked Oscar.

“Definitely!” he replied excitedly. “But I’d have thought that you would’ve gone there while Tony was here with you.”

“Nah. Stonehenge freaks Agent Stewart out,” Chyna joked. “He thinks it’s one of the few places on Earth that could most certainly be haunted; Stonehenge and Salem, Massachusetts.”

“I tend to agree… with the Salem part, that is.”

“You two are silly. Let’s go!”

When they arrived at Stonehenge, there were still a few tour buses in the parking area. Several large groups of tourists were milling around, taking pictures of the stones and pouring over guide books as they discussed the history of the place.

Chyna made a beeline for the center of the stone formations. While Oscar milled around the outer ring with some of the other visitors, Chyna lay down on a flat slab in the middle of the circle and looked up at the sky. She felt peaceful as she watched the clouds pass overhead and even heard a few birds calling to each other nearby. After she had taken the few moments she had needed to soak the place in, she sat up and looked around for Oscar. He was standing by a westerly set of arched monoliths, helping one of the tourists take a photograph.

“Please,” a young Japanese fellow said to Oscar. “Would you take my picture with the arch and the setting sun in the background?”

“Sure, buddy,” Oscar replied, taking the beautiful camera from the man and admiring it a little while he took up his position by the tall ancient stone.

It was a brand new Nikon, a D3X; the same model that Oscar had been wanting to get for himself for about a year. He looked up and saw the man had posed and was waiting expectantly for him to take the picture. Oscar aimed and waited for the focus and zoom to calibrate before pressing the shoot button. He took three for good measure.

The man approached and retrieved the camera. He turned it over, looked at it and shook his head at Oscar.

Softly, he said, “Sometimes we get the answers and we miss them because we are not paying attention.”

“What?” Oscar asked him.

“Akira said you should check the battery and then take my photo again,” he replied, handing the camera back to Oscar.

He was shocked to the soul to hear this stranger mention his hacker friend, Akira’s handle.

Akira was one of the few people who Oscar had ever regarded as an expert; a hacking genius who had been his friend since college. They had met when Akira had attempted to hack into MIT’s social and administrative network while Oscar had been a computer science intern there.

Oscar had been in the lab one night when the system came under fire. When no one could stop the attack and the hacker was just about to breach the protocol for the main servers, Oscar had told the department head to blast the entire school with an email announcing that the main server would be down temporarily for maintenance but Internet access and email would be unaffected.

As soon as the email had been sent, Oscar simply pulled the switch on the power supply breaker to the server and watched as the unit powered down and the hacking ceased. When the room had been cleared of spectators, he had rebooted the system and plugged into it on his laptop. The hacker was still lurking, trying to finish his malevolent task. He tried to attack Oscar’s computer and after the battle that ensued between them, which ended in Akira’s loss, they became instant friends and had remained so ever since.

When Oscar took the camera from the man the second time, he felt along the bottom until he found the battery cover release and pressed the button. When the cover popped open, a micro SD memory card fell into Oscar’s hand. Surprised, he pocketed the tiny piece of plastic, closed the little door and handed the camera back to the waiting man. He took it from him and put it back around his neck, turned around and walked away from Oscar without another word.

Chapter Five

When they pulled up in front of the doors of Dordogne manor house, it was sleeting and freezing cold. The freak weather had taken them both by surprise when it had erupted from the skies just outside of Keynsham. Chyna parked the car under the shelter of the porte-cochère and they allowed themselves to be ushered inside by Marcus and several other staff. They were clearly happy to see Chyna return.

In the comfort of the foyer, she introduced Oscar to everyone and immediately turned her attention to Marcus.

“We were at Sir Robert’s office earlier, but he wasn’t there. The ladies there wouldn’t tell us where he was, either.”

“And correctly so, Miss Stone. They would have been assisting you strictly based on Sir Robert’s instruction and would have assumed that, had he wished you to know of his whereabouts, he would have informed you himself.”

“Indubitably,” Oscar interjected sarcastically, with a fake accent.

Marcus actually rolled his eyes before he replied.

“I understand the general lack of protocol in business in America, but here in Britain, we still stick rather rigidly to the old ways of doing things. Discretion at all times is paramount. It is quite crucial for those of us in service, especially when serving nobility such as Sir Robert.”

Oscar felt that he had been ‘discreetly’ put in his place, but he knew the valet was right. Chyna gave him a look that clearly stated he should try to keep his mouth shut momentarily; wisely, he did, allowing instead to be shown his way upstairs to his rooms.

While Oscar got settled in, Chyna shed her clothes and took an indulgent shower. Though she had enjoyed the extensive hospitality of the four closets of clothing and footwear that was at her disposal at Châtellerault Castle, there was something priceless for her to be back in her black tank top and jeans. Out of habit, she had been strapping the holster of her SIG Sauer M-11 pistol over her shoulder when she heard the dinner bell ringing. Chyna undid the buckle, placed the gun into the closet safe and locked it.

No firearms at the dining table, Miss Stone, she thought as she recalled Marcus’ disdainful comment the first night they had dined with Sir Robert at the estate. As she walked down the hall, Chyna remembered that Oscar had been excited to tell her something while they were on their way back from Stonehenge, but just as he was about to spill the beans, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. While she had placed all her concentration on the road, which was almost impossible to see, Oscar had focused his on the GPS navigation system, which was experiencing a signal problem, to ensure that they were still moving toward their destination and not getting lost. She couldn’t help but wonder what he had wanted to tell her.

She knocked on his door as she made her way down to the dining room and heard him reply almost instantly.

“Come in!”

Chyna turned the knob and pushed on the door.

“I’m coming in,” she said, announcing her entry.

“That’s what I said you oughtta do, ain’t it?” Oscar yelled from the bathroom.

Chyna laughed as she took a seat in the large leather chair at the desk. There were times that she completely forgot quite how ‘country’ Oscar really was. Maybe it was his name. What self-respecting farm boy from Tennessee had a name like Oscar? Joe, Tom, Marty, Travis seemed more fitting for someone of that background. But Oscar was no regular country cowboy; he was a nerdy one who had excelled in high school and college in computer science and technical engineering. Chyna thought it possible that he could tell her anything she needed to know about horses and cattle ranching, but she was positive he could talk her into near insanity about networks, interfaces and gadgets.

Oscar emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, but still rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He looked relieved to see her, but Chyna thought he was probably just grateful to be out of the rain and showered and clean.

“I have something to tell you from earlier today at Stonehenge.”

“I know. You tried to get started with telling me, but the rain cut that short.”

“Yeah, it sure did. Let me get at that computer, please.”

Oscar was referring to his laptop that was sitting on the desk in front of Chyna. She stood up and let him get into the chair and switch the machine on.

“While I was looking around the place, this guy came up to me and asked me to take his picture. I did, but when I was handing him back his camera, he gave me a message from a friend of mine. A hacker named Akira. He sent me this memory card.”

“Now that’s something you should have told me about immediately, Oscar. One of the main rules of field investigation is that you never keep your partner in the dark.”

“I know, Boss Lady.”

“No, you see, that’s just it. I don’t think you guys do. Lana forgot some of those basic rules in Iraq and that’s what got her kidnapped. Maybe I ought to have them written out for you guys so you can memorize them once and for all.”

“Relax, Chyna. Let me finish. I think when you see this, you’ll forgive me for my indiscretion.”

“Okay, go ahead. I’m sorry. Even I seem to be breaking the rules these days.”

“Really?” Oscar said as he tapped at the computer’s keys. “Which ones?”

“Just one, Oscar. Rule number one: don’t ever lose your cool.”

Oscar laughed, but stopped immediately as the memory card loaded and the document list came up on the screen. He double clicked on the first file and watched keenly as it popped open.

Chyna began reading and it wasn’t long before she realized what she was looking at.

“How did he get these?” she asked Oscar, stunned.

“I have no idea and I don’t know if it would make sense for me to ask him; he probably won’t tell.”

“Well then, how did he know that these would be helpful to you?”

“Forgive me, Boss Lady; I broke that same rule again.”

Chyna gave him a warning look and Oscar immediately started telling his tale.

“When Mrs. Spencer told us about the designer and how she and Sir William cataloged every item that was in his collection, I got to thinking about what someone with less than honorable intentions would be able to do with a list like that.”

“Why did you think that?”

“It seemed that someone would have thought to mention the curator and the catalog before, since, to me, it seems like a huge piece of the puzzle. So why didn’t anyone say something before Mrs. Spencer?”

Chyna answered for him.

“Because no one had a copy of it, so they wouldn’t know it existed unless they had been there like Mrs. Spencer.”

“Exactly. I thought about it all day; both the list and the list maker. When we were at Poitiers Design and the Angevin Foundation, I really hoped that the list would turn up, but from our skim through the file, it didn’t seem to be included in anything. So, I posted a query on a little site that hackers use when they’re looking for information. I guess Akira saw it, figured out the code and started looking. This is what he found.”

“Well, though effective, I know you realize your tactics are less than customary. However, the information you’ve managed to get out of it is a really great lead. These are unusually descriptive, but that might be because the cargo was extremely valuable.”

Chyna scrolled through the pages and then closed the file.

“I’m going to need you to cross-reference each of those descriptions with all the artifacts which have been reported stolen, lost or missing over the last forty years.”

“Sure thing.”

Oscar ejected the micro SD card from the laptop and slipped it into his pocket.

Chyna frowned at him and said, “Never keep pertinent evidence on your person unless it is absolutely unavoidable.”

“Awww, come on, Boss,” Oscar whined.

“I’m definitely writing out the rules when we get back to Istanbul.”

***

After dinner, Chyna called Sir Robert on his mobile number; the connection was spotty and he sounded far away.

“Sir Robert, Chyna here. How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine, Chyna. What’s happening there?”

“We found some documents that I think explain what happened to the armor. The problem is it doesn’t tell us who was responsible for the theft. I’d like to come and meet with you tomorrow to show you what we’ve found. In my estimation, our work at Dordogne is completed, anyway.”

“This sounds very serious, Chyna, but presently I’m in Bordeaux at Poitiers Estate. I have business to conduct for the vineyard here.”

“That’s fine, Sir Robert. We’ll be there in the morning.”

Chyna didn’t wait for a reply from the baron; she simply hung up the phone.

***

The next morning, Chyna left the estate with Oscar and made for the airport in Bristol. She had just barely managed to secure seats for them on an early morning commuter flight into London and then on, commercially, to Bordeaux.

When they arrived at the vineyard, Sir Robert was just finishing his meeting and he smiled when he saw them approaching.

“This must be Oscar Cunningham,” he said. “You seem to have made quite an impression on the young ladies in my office.”

“Really?” Chyna asked sarcastically. “I have no idea why. Good morning, Sir Robert.”

“Good morning, Chyna. Shall we get down to business?”

“Certainly.”

Robert went to a side table and took out three wine glasses which he placed on the table near them. He returned to the piece of furniture and opened a built-in refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of barely red wine and opening it expertly.

“Beaujolais nouveau,” he announced. “The vintage is usually produced up north in the Burgundy region, but it is our newest experiment here. It’s what brought me to the vineyard this week; we’re trying to take it to market for the season.”

Sir Robert poured the wine and settled in as Chyna and Oscar relayed the events of all their recent adventures and then they pulled out the printed copies of the papers from the memory card. Sir Robert looked through each of them very carefully, shaking his head in bewilderment. His eyes widened as he read the page with the detailed description of a distorted suit of pre-medieval French armor.

“We spoke to Marion Spencer yesterday. She said that at some point during the renovation work, Sir William had been at the estate with an Asian woman taking stock of every piece of art and antiquity there. We searched through everything in the files we took from Poitiers Design and your office and there was no catalog in either set of documents. Do you know about it?”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t recall ever coming across anything like that in father’s papers. What do you think it all means?”

Chyna shook her head and gave the two a very grave look.

“I think that this curator was posing as a designer so that she could get a tally of what your father had in his collection. She may have done this with several collections all over Europe because, from the looks of those papers, they’re a veritable shopping list of some of the most valuable historic pieces which have ever gone missing over the last four decades,” Chyna said.

“We ran a comprehensive check on the description and every single piece was reported stolen from some part of England between 1975 and 1978,” Oscar added.

“There’s more, I’m afraid, Sir Robert,” Chyna said softly.

“Yes?” he urged.

“When we spoke to her, there was something in particular that Mrs. Spencer told us that caught my interest. She said that the day of the theft, Evan and the curator came to Dordogne unannounced. She assumed it was to critique the final work and thought nothing more of it; but when I asked Evan about it, he categorically denied any knowledge about such a person or any document cataloging the collection.”

“That’s very strange,” Sir Robert said, rubbing his chin with his right hand. He sat back and absentmindedly lifted his wine glass to his lips.

“I think they plotted the theft, or maybe all the thefts, together and then shipped the goods off to whoever their buyer was in Nagoya.”

“One of the documents references a Nagasaki Oceanic in Nagoya, Japan,” Oscar added. “If the company is still in existence, then perhaps we could find out more about this list.”

“That’s all well and good, Mr. Cunningham, but that would have to be a job for the International Police and, unfortunately, I don’t have any connections there to get us started.”

At that point, Chyna smiled.

“You don’t worry about Interpol, Sir Robert; we can take care of that.”

“Excellent. Now, I think we should have a word with my uncle.”

***

“Where are they, Keiko?” Ichita barked into the telephone.

He had lost his temper with the spoiled girl; she was not fulfilling her end of the bargain and everything she seemed to be reporting recently had been vague and useless to both him and his enforcers. Miyako was going to have to make sure to put her in her place when she came back to Tokyo.

“I told you, Ichita,” she answered, sounding bored at having to repeat herself, “they went to the airport in Bristol very early this morning. They had all their luggage with them and the driver took them there so I assume they’ve gone back to Istanbul.”

“You assume so, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want your opinions, Keiko. That’s not what I’m paying you for; I’m paying you to give me concrete information so go find out where they went and call us when you have something certain.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, Oji-san,” Keiko insisted. “They went to see Evan yesterday and when I spoke to him, he said they didn’t know anything; just speculating is all.”

“Really?” he said, “Keiko, how much do you know about Chyna Stone?”

“Not much, Oji-san,” she replied. “But certainly enough to know that everyone is making too much of a big deal out of her.”

“Keiko, if I were you, I would do exactly what I was told and stop thinking so much. Chyna Stone is the best archeological investigator in the industry. She’s military trained in weaponry and tactical, and she’s known to be as connected as they come, regularly supporting FBI and CIA operations. You have made the most common mistake in reconnaissance work; you have underestimated the opponent.”

“Oji-san, I think that you have overestimated the opponent. She poses no threat to us.”

“Keiko, shut up!” he yelled. “Get on your fucking phone and find out where those gaijin went. I assure you, it was not back to Istanbul.”

“Hai, Oji-san,” she relented.

Ichita hung up without another word then turned to Tatsuya.

“Secure the collection,” he said gravely. “She is a lot closer than Keiko thinks; our failure is in the fact that we have no idea how close.”

***

Chyna fished out her phone from her pocket and pressed the speed dial for Agent Anthony Stewart, FBI. When the call was connected, she heard his familiar voice and was overcome with the usual effect of peace and a sense of relief.

“Hey, Babe,” he said, softly. “I haven’t heard from you in a while; how’ve you been?”

“Doing okay, Babe,” Chyna replied. “Finally getting to the bottom of this whole mystery, it seems.”

“You need some help?”

“I sure do.”

“Shoot.”

“We think a cache of stolen artifacts, including the Aquitaine Armor, was shipped to a buyer in Japan in 1978. I’m not comfortable trying to investigate this on our own any further, especially over there; so I’d like to involve Interpol at this stage.”

“That’s a good idea. You want me to call someone over there?”

“Yeah. We’re in Bordeaux with Sir Robert now so we can get there if they need us to, but otherwise, I think we have all the documentation they will need.”

“Alright, let me make a phone call and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Chyna said, hesitantly hanging up the phone.

There was so much more she wanted to say to him at that moment, but she swallowed every word of it. This was not the time or the place. When she turned back to the men seated at the table, it seemed that everyone’s part of the plan had been successfully played.

Evan was on his way to Bordeaux, having been summoned to the vineyard by his nephew under the pretense of planning a huge launch party for the new wine in the wake of a substantial order from an international wine wholesaler.

Oscar had gotten a reply from Akira to the question he had posted the night before, and it seemed that the hacker had come through with a host of additional information that they needed. It was a commercial shipping invoice referencing the document numbers that they had previously received.

“You do realize what this means, right?” Oscar asked them, rhetorically. “This confirms that what we have is a Bill of Lading for a shipping container. This invoice identifies the shipper and the receiver and the declared value of every piece that was in that container. It’s damning evidence; I doubt we’ll need anything more.”

“I’m glad for that,” Chyna said, picking up her glass and sitting back in her chair.

***

It didn’t take Evan a full two hours to get to Bordeaux–Mérignac Airport from London on the Angevin Foundation private jet. Robert had opted to have the plane made ready quickly rather than bother with trying to find a commercial flight. He didn’t want to alarm Evan unnecessarily, but he opted for the speed of the jet and chose to contain Evan’s anxiety with his cover story and by not telling him that Chyna and Oscar were there with him.

When Evan arrived at Robert’s table in the garden, he was visibly shocked to see the Found History team seated there with his nephew. He quickly contained his look of surprise and annoyance and greeted them all as cordially as he could. It was then clear that he assumed they were there to question Robert further or better yet to collect their payment and go away because he went to the bar and started to help himself to a drink. Though when Robert didn’t stop him from pouring his usual gin and tonic, he realized he wasn’t there to taste the new wine and something else was certainly up.

“So,” he started nervously, “how can I be of assistance, Robert?”

“Well, I got you here under less than honorable pretenses, Evan, but I’m just going to get right to the point now,” Robert started. “I’d like you to take a look at these papers and tell me what part you played in this whole thing.”

Robert stood up and walked around the table, placing the documents in front of his uncle and discreetly waving his hand to signal to the two bodyguards that were watching from a distance to move in closer.

Evan slowly browsed through the papers in front of him and then sat back in the chair with a sigh.

“I shouldn’t have expected to get away with this forever, although I honestly hoped that I would.”

“What happened here, Evan? And, please don’t bullshit me. I’m sure you realize that we know more than you thought we did,” Robert said.

Chyna and Oscar sat silently waiting. They both agreed that it wasn’t their place to insert themselves in the confrontation. In fact, they had asked to be excused from the discussion, but Robert had refused. He wanted them there to hear the story first-                hand and back him up in case Evan tried to get himself out of being implicated as a major player in the heists.

“Miyako Nagasaki,” was all Evan could say by the time he pushed the papers away from him.

“What?” Chyna blurted out.

“That was the curator’s name; Miyako Nagasaki,” he explained further.

“Tell us everything,” Robert insisted.

“You were just a kid when everything went pear-shaped for us, Robert. In the early seventies, England wasn’t the best place for our kind of people. There was a labor revolution going on, the brink of an economic collapse. Poverty was rampant, jobs were scarce and our bank accounts were all shrinking with the rising cost of everything. Your father didn’t seem too worried though; certainly not nearly as worried as he should have been, but then again he wasn’t the one who was facing the possibility of losing their last source of income. Twenty-four thousand pounds a year may not sound like much now, which it isn’t, but back then my business, my mortgage, everything was at stake.

“I got desperate, very desperate; then one afternoon, Miyako came to my office. I didn’t know who she was, but she introduced herself as a buyer for her brother’s corporation and that she was interested in acquiring several unique European pieces for his extensive collection. She said that if I helped her to identify and procure antiques, she would pay me the standard commissions. Everything seemed legit and I just assumed she had identified me because of my design background and, of course, my connections. It was plausible because I did know every single noble family that was suffering financially at the time.”

“How would you know that, Evan?” Robert asked sternly.

“Again, you were just a baby at the time, Robert, but it was easy to notice those who closed too many of the estate houses and sent their staff home; others who hid in the country and missed the London social season altogether, sold their London houses for next to nothing. I went to every one of them and brokered deals for whatever items Miyako saw and liked. I arranged the meetings to view the collections; she made her selections and purchased them. I arranged the transportation to her freight forwarder and received my cut.”

“Didn’t you realize that the things she liked were turning up stolen or missing after she had selected them?” Oscar asked.

“You see that’s just it. At the beginning, nothing she selected was stolen; other items went missing, though, months after she would buy from the estate.”

“You eventually put it all together didn’t you?” Chyna concluded.

“It took me a while; but yes, I did, and I confronted her about it. She didn’t deny a thing, she just offered me a million pounds to keep my mouth shut, keep making the introductions and shipping the items. That’s exactly what I did.”

“Evan, I can’t believe you,” Robert said sadly, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I had a family to support, Robert. Don’t judge me!”

“Go on,” Chyna encouraged.

“Well, it went on like that for three years. All the time they were steadily packing the shipping container that is mentioned in those papers. During the renovation at Dordogne, she called me to say that she had acquired everything she needed but was still looking for that one special piece; she wanted something that had very deep history attached to it. A showpiece, her coup de grace; she wanted something from the Montgomery estate.”

“So you introduced her to Sir William,” Chyna said.

“I did and I told her that I didn’t want to know about whatever she bought, stole or shipped from the place.”

“I remember records of several paintings being sold at that time, mainly because they were very valuable, but father told me they had been payment for a debt and he never liked them, so the chance to recover the actual money was too good a chance to give up.”

Chyna laughed sarcastically.

“They were probably the alibi for getting in with your father and a chance to see the entire collection. When she got the job to catalog and display the antiques, she would have known exactly where the armor was and the extent of the security at the estate.”

“She set you up from the inside,” Oscar added.

“What did you do when the armor turned up stolen?” Robert asked Evan.

“Nothing. I had taken her million pounds. I did let her know that I wouldn’t be working with her any further once the container left Southampton; she agreed to that and she didn’t call me again for a year. Since 1979, Miyako has called me every year to remind me of our agreement. I understood, by no uncertain terms, that she and whoever she worked for were very dangerous people.”

“And recently?” Chyna asked and watched his face turn pale.

“She let me know that you would be coming to ask about the stolen pieces and warned me to keep my mouth shut. Her daughter, Keiko, has been following you around since you first landed in London.”

Chyna’s hand went to her forehead in a swift slap which caused all three men to look at her in surprise.

“That’s who I keep seeing; she was at the airport and again at the gas station in Bristol.”

“Call her,” Robert said sternly. “I want to hear what Keiko has to say.”

***

The next morning, the house on the Bordeaux vineyard was full of high-level Interpol officers, led by Commander Lucas Moreau. Tony had given Chyna his contact in Lyon and when she had related the story to him, he had rushed to Sir Robert’s aid. He later revealed to them that Interpol had been investigating Nagasaki Oceanic and a related company called IchiCo in Tokyo for a few years on a barrage of international felonies, but had never been able to make anything stick. He expressed his surprise at the physical evidence as well as the two suspects they had produced in such a short time.

Keiko had been particularly interesting as a suspect. Once she had realized that she was caught and the gig was basically up, she had turned coat and told them everything she knew. On one condition, of course: they could use her to bait the others and she would be held safely under maximum security and in solitary in France for the length of her sentence. After which, they would have to keep her in witness protection and far away from Japan.

A few days later, Interpol agents gathered in an old Shizuoka warehouse planning to descend simultaneously on the IchiCo Corporation and Nagasaki Oceanic. Being involved in the planning was a completely new experience for both Chyna and Oscar; even in her fourteen years of tactical experience, she had never been part of a security operation that spanned locations that were two hundred miles apart. Everyone agreed that the faster they hit their target, the less likely it would be that the Nagasakis would find out about their plans. It wasn’t as farfetched as it sounded either, considering they already had both Evan and Keiko in custody and both had been in regular contact with Miyako Nagasaki. It was only a matter of time before she realized that they had been compromised.

They would have three teams for the raid; one located in each city and a third which was the technical support for both sets of operatives and would be stationed right there in the Shizuoka warehouse. Oscar was drafted to the technical team; it was expected, considering his expertise, but that didn’t make him feel any less disappointed. Chyna reassured him that the mission was more important than any one person’s motives and she promised that when they were done in Japan, she would ensure he got all the tactical training he needed in Istanbul. She already knew the perfect people for the job.

The following night, fifty-nine Interpol agents and Chyna Stone breached the perimeter of the IchiCo Estate in Tokyo and simultaneously neutralized the exterior guards at oh-two hundred hours. At Nagasaki Oceanic in Nagoya, forty agents, led by Commander Moreau, surrounded the closed, unguarded building. In Shizuoka, Oscar listened to the commands being issued over the agents’ wireless ear pieces as he remotely disabled the surveillance cameras and alarm systems at both locations. Akira was diligently hacking into both the Nagasaki Oceanic and IchiCo computer systems. When he was inside the servers, he began a cryptic download of every piece of information that was saved on their computers.

“Download in progress,” he reported into his headset without taking his fingers from the keyboard or his eyes from the screen. Oscar heard Akira giggling on the line as the data copied steadily to the secure servers at Interpol headquarters.

“I never thought that I’d ever get to use my powers for good,” he quipped.

“I’d think it’s worth it, considering the full pardons you’re getting for your felony cyber-crimes.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to my clean slate; here’s to hoping I won’t scribble all over it again.”

It was Oscar’s turn to laugh.

“Nagoya site is clear. Support, Tokyo; we’re going in.”

“Copy that. Tokyo compound is clear; we’re going in.”

“Good luck, Chyna,” Oscar said over the line.

“Thanks, cowboy,” she replied.

There was silence on the line for a full ten minutes, which left Oscar and Akira holding their breath. Oscar busied himself checking the connections to make sure he hadn’t lost the audio from the team, and then a dialog box came up on his screen confirming that the data copy had been completed.

“Do you see what I see, Akira?”

“Sure do, cowboy. We’re outta here!”

“Confirming that all data is secure,” Oscar said into the headset. “Repeat. All data is secure.”

“Copy that, Command. Teams standby for your orders.”

Ten seconds passed; Oscar knew that for sure, because he was watching his clock earnestly. Then came the words that all of them had been waiting for.

“Teams, the mission is a go. Go! GO! GO!”

There was the breaking down of doors and then came a barrage of gunfire. Oscar recalled Commander Moreau reminding the agents a few nights before at the strategy session that even though it was highly illegal to have firearms in Japan, they weren’t dealing with upstanding citizens there. They were to ensure that they were well-armed and ready to use the required force once they had breached the target properties.

From what Oscar was hearing, he had been right. There were clear and precise volleys of gunfire going off in his ears. Shots being fired and then others fired in return. It seemed to go on for hours. Soon he heard a familiar voice on the airwaves.

“Nagoya location is secure. Agents come back.”

“Command is secure. Agents come back,” Oscar replied.

There was no answer from the Tokyo team, just continued gunfire and shouting.

“I’m okay, cowboy,” came a soft voice and Oscar sighed in relief.

Just as quickly as it had started, the shooting stopped and they heard the lead agent’s voice confirming their status.

“Tokyo compound is clear.”

“Copy that. Locations, please report on casualties,” Oscar said, getting ready to send in the extraction teams if required.

“None at Nagoya.”

“Three down at Tokyo, five injured. Medic and extraction service needed. Come back, Command.”

“Medics and extraction teams are on the way, Tokyo.”

“Copy that.”

He sat staring at the computer screen in silence, literally holding his breath and waiting.

Come on, Chyna, he thought. Come on, talk to me.

“We got them, cowboy,” Chyna’s voice finally said over the radio. “You should have seen how his brothers begged us not to hurt them and gave Ichita Nagasaki up. He was hiding in a hidden panel of his library among all his stolen antiques, including the Armor of Aquitaine.”

“Strange how life can turn on you in an instant, huh?” Oscar said. “I’m glad to hear you, Chyna. I think I’ve had enough for one night; see you when you get back.”

Epilogue

There was a knock on Chyna’s office door and when she looked up, it was Tony. She smiled broadly at him as she took her glasses from her face and placed them on the desk.

“Hey, Babe,” he said cheerfully. “You ready for lunch?”

They had agreed to have lunch together in the Sultan Ahmet Park and they had both been looking forward to it all morning. As Chyna answered his question, Tony noticed the piles of paper she had clearly been wading through since she had returned to work that morning.

“What’s all that?” he asked, taking a seat on the opposite side of her desk.

“Apparently last week, everyone was so busy getting ready to attend Sir Robert's party over the weekend that no one remembered there was still actual work to do. These are all the requests that have been coming in since the IchiCo bust.”

“Those are all legit?”

“I’m sifting through and these are the result of the first sorting. I already took out all the crackpot theory emails and the requests to come out to help locate the spirits of long lost relatives.”

Tony laughed and then stopped to look at the expression on her face.

“You’re serious aren’t you?”

Chyna nodded.

“I think I’m going to give these to Sirita, though. Lana arrived with the new guy, Mark Gunnar, last night and Oscar is out at the base on tactical maneuvers, but the four of them are supposed to be having an investigators meeting this afternoon. I think they should choose the next job.”

“Really?” Tony asked skeptically. “Why’s that, Babe?”

“I’m considering staying home for the next couple of assignments; I’m tired,” she replied.

Tony didn’t say a word more. He stood up, took her hand and led her straight out of the office. When they returned from their lunch in the park, all of Chyna’s team members had descended on the Found History office. They were chattering away around the meeting table as Sirita poured coffee and chimed in every now and then.

“Aren’t they just so precious?” Chyna said in her best rendition of a southern accent.

Tony laughed so loudly at her quip that everyone at the table turned to look at them.

“How’s it going, Boss Lady?” Lana asked as she hurried over to hug her friend.

“It's going good, girl,” Chyna replied. “How are the wedding plans coming?”

“They’re all done!” she said proudly. “Ted’s mom and my mom stepped in, took all my ideas and ran with it. Everything is booked, ordered, fitted; only thing left to do in some cases is pay and that ain’t none of my business.”

She laughed at her own wit and smiled broadly at Chyna. She was so glad to see Lana happy; they both had such high-stress jobs and the imminent danger from day to day was enough to get even the most positive person a little dour every now and then.

“Well, now it’s time you all did some work around here; the ‘British Holiday’ is over.”

“Yeah, it’s about that time,” Lana agreed. “Umm, Chyna and Tony, this is Mark Gunnar. He’s our new junior investigator; if it all works out, he’ll be on the Istanbul team to back up Chyna and Sirita.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Mark. Welcome to the team,” Chyna said.

“Yeah, good to have you,” Tony added, shaking the man’s hand. He couldn’t help but give him the once up and down. It was clear that Tony still wasn’t keen on the idea of a handsome, blond Finnish man working so closely with Chyna.

“Here are the requests that are possible next jobs for us. We need something lucrative and we need something for the whole team. We also need something that can be a good opportunity for Sirita to engage her logistics skills, Oscar to practice his tactical training and for Mark to get a good understanding of how we operate in the field. Discuss!”

Chyna decided to walk Tony out; it was grossly inappropriate not to kiss him goodbye after their lovely lunch together, but even more so to do it in front of a roomful of employees. When she returned to her desk, she had three new emails in her inbox. Two were from Sirita but the third caught Chyna’s interest; it was from a woman she had met briefly at Sir Robert's party the previous weekend. She was the daughter of a Norwegian oil magnate whose company, Lothbruk Investments, donated two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to The Angevin Foundation’s historic buildings restoration fund every year. The subject of the email was ‘Ivory Bow’.

Chyna clicked on Thyri Ragnarsson’s email and read it.

Good Afternoon Chyna,

Greetings from Oslo. Firstly, I’d like to take the opportunity to formally thank you for taking my friend Mark Gunnar under your wing. He proved a big help to me and my team some time back and he seemed to have caught the adventure bug. I’m still not sure why he didn’t take up the position we offered him in Atlanta, but I’m nonetheless happy that he has found a place at Found History.

The main reason for this email, however, is regarding a lead for a new investigation. I received a direct request from some friends of my grandfather’s who wanted my team and me to help them track down a lost family heirloom. Unfortunately, I’m absolutely up to the neck at Lothbruk negotiating a pipeline merger and the Alphas are otherwise engaged in Mongolia. Usually, I would just insist that the team leave their present assignment as soon as it is completed and go directly to the next, but the client can’t wait that long. He will need a team to meet with him before he leaves Sweden for his annual family holiday to the Seychelles two weeks from today.

It should be an interesting assignment for your team, Chyna, and unless the unexpected happens, which is sort of our modus operandi situation; it should be a pretty straightforward one as well. The client has an interest in some of the possessions of Queen Christina of Sweden, items from her childhood and her early reign and has recently inherited a treasure trove of personal and historic items related to her. Somehow he has gotten it into his head that there are some crucial pieces missing from the collection; in particular a hunting bow that was a gift from her father; a pure white, ivory bow. He needs investigators to dig up the truth and if it exists, to recover it.

Let me know if your team is available for the job so that I can send over the details immediately.

Thanks,

Thyri Ragnarsson

Chyna sent the email to the printer and stood up from her desk. She retrieved the paper on her way out the door and went directly to the table where the others were sitting, going through the pile of email requests she had given them and arguing amicably.

“Okay,” Chyna said loudly so they would hear her. “Forget what I said earlier about discussing those emails. We have a referral and this is what we will be doing next.”

Chyna put the paper down on the desk and looked at Lana and Mark, who were seated beside each other.

“This one came from Miss Ragnarsson at Lothbruk Investments in Oslo, Norway. And, as is her usual style, it is an offer we can’t refuse.”

The End

Chyna Stone returns in:

The Ivory Bow

A Chyna Stone Adventure #6

Return to the Table of Contents

THE

IVORY

BOW

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#6

by

K.T. TOMB

The Ivory Bow

Prologue

Diary of Karl Wiligut

Denmark, 1943

There is but one stop left on our way to Germany now. It has been a long and tiring, yet fulfilling journey for me. I can now look my ancestors in the eye when I die and say that I did everything I could for the sake of our family.

They were glorious people, my ancestors. Yes, it’s true. We were here before the others—before the ones who destroyed us. They germinated on this earth like vermin who fester in the darkness, waiting to crawl out of their holes and consume anything precious in their path. They eliminated us and those who had been our friends.

Liars! That is what they all were. Usurpers! Yes, that is the word for them—usurpers. If it had not been for their pretentious, blasphemous ancestors, my family would still be relishing in the glory that we so deserve. We would not have fallen into their treacherous hands to be pillaged, plundered and destroyed to the point of oblivion. The true faith would still be thriving in and nourishing this world: my faith, our faith.

The Adler-Wiligoten was significant, yes. Back when they had lived, there had been three suns driving the earth, and their friends had consisted of all the high and mighty of the time, like dwarves and giants. Two nights ago, while I was talking to them in my sleep, witnessing all their power through my mind, I had even had a vision of a unicorn!

Times have not always been favorable to us, though. Before we had arisen from a deep slumber, the world had been plunged into war and chaos. There was rampant bloodshed, and people seemed to have lost their vision of a true, loyal, greater life. Red flowed like rivers, and screams permeated the air as it howled through the night and wailed in the valleys.

I like to believe, just as my ancestors did, that there is a greater power driving us on our path, and everything that happens is a conspiracy of that entity to bring about change, which is constant. When the world had fallen into chaos and ruin, we had arisen. The Adler-Wiligotens had taken control of the wheel and turned it to follow peace. We drove the darkness out of the world and filled it with divine light. The rivers had been red until we purified their waters. The skies had been black until it was us who had stopped the burning fires. The air had resounded with howls until we had nursed the wounded and paid homage to the dead. Peace thus befell the land once again, and the true German culture was born, as was the true religion—Irminen religion.

Our God Krist was our savior. We had professed his deeds, his love to all who would pay heed. We had worshipped him with all our faith and compiled his teachings in our own book until we were cheated and overrun by Wotanists. They destroyed our temple at Goslar and took over the cities. They butchered the people mercilessly and converted those who survived.

Thus, Krist became Christ and our teachings came to be known as the Bible. What was left of us was a once mighty people brought low and left to flounder about in the darkness, sans God and sans faith.

However, with our latest discovery, it seems that all has not been lost. This miracle of nature is what my ancestors had talked about in my dreams. I knew they would help me. I knew that they wouldn’t leave their only heir in the darkness. With Christina of Sweden’s Ivory Bow, I have the chance to salvage the last of our dignity and restore to our family our lost wealth and pride.

Ever since I was appointed the Standartenfuhrer in the SS, I had occupied myself with finding the only thing I knew I could bring back at the time. Legend has it that when Christina, Queen of Sweden abdicated her throne to convert to Christianity, she was not left with much. Her path to Rome put her through Denmark, with whom Sweden’s relations were tense. She left her castle attired like a man, and could not take such belongings as would have her identified as a Swedish queen. Thus, she had had all her books, valuables and other paraphernalia shipped prior to leaving.

It is said, however, that she also possessed an ivory bow which was replete with magical powers. When in the hands of the right person, it could wield such great power that whoever commanded it would be made the master of the universe. It was too dear to her heart to have it shipped off with the rest of her belongings. So, she had decided to carry it with her on her journey.

But the fear of being recognized was too great to overcome. The bow’s reputation preceded it and many avaricious eyes started hunting for it as soon as their correspondent minds learnt of Christina’s abdication. Heartbroken and reluctant, Christina had to sell the bow off to an unknown buyer midway through her journey. After that, there had been so sign of the bow.

It was this artifact, this source of immense power that I had been searching for. Since being relieved of my duties in the Schalaraffia, I have obsessed over the Ivory Bow, which I know would bring me such power as would help me establish Irminism in the world once again.

That was my reason of convincing the Nazi army to accompany me in my expedition to Denmark. Through treacherous forests and mountains we wandered, talking to historians and common folk alike to try to get some hint as to where the bow could be. We had found it only three days ago, resting in all its glory in a wayward cave. A family of guardians had been watching it a long time—the buyer’s family, I believe—and there had been a skirmish. As determined as the Nazis are, they butchered the guardians and took the bow. It lies with me now as I write; as does a fear that has festered in my heart since the day I saw them function in the cave.

I have started to believe that I might have committed a grave mistake by letting the Nazis know of the bow’s existence and its powers. The kind of atrocities I have witnessed in my years pale in comparison to what these men—nay, soldiers—are capable of. I have never seen any as cruel and heartless as them. Thus, it is evident that the thoughts of their power and actions trouble my mind so.

They have notified their commander of our conquest, and I believe it is not mere whispers I overheard a little while ago. They have an ulterior motive of which I’m not aware, and I fear it has something to do with my salvation. It was hard enough to get the bow away from them long enough to write this.

What I am sure of, though, is that I need to be prepared. No matter what they might have promised me or what kind of faith they might have shown in my quest, I have witnessed people change in the face of power. They might be advocates of the supremacy of the Aryans, but I cannot trust them.

I believe they will change too.

Worthersee, Germany, 1943

Oh, the horror of it! Oh, the shame!

I knew the Nazis would change for the worse. Nine years since the fateful return from Denmark and not one day has passed peacefully. Their promises to me were just what I had feared they would be—falsifications. All they wanted was power, but they did not know what to do with it when they had it. I had not realized it then, but they'd had something else in mind entirely, and their plan was already set nine years old.

The Fuhrer had wanted blood, and he went for it as soon as possible. After my “retirement” under the pretext of poor health, I left for Aufkirchen in 1939, and then Goslar in 1940. I presently reside in terrorized oblivion in Worthersee, devoid of all the comforts I had hoped the discovery of the bow would bring me.

After its arrival in Germany, there had been much uproar in the ranks of the Nazis regarding the Ivory Bow. I had subconsciously made enemies that I was not capable of fighting. The bow was taken from me for “examination,” and it took me a long while to get it back to safety. Then, the war had started, and I was all but forgotten amidst the extermination and bloodshed. Four years later, I cannot help but feel wary of the effect of it all. At least the bow is safe.

Alas, if I had thought that my troubles were over due to my obscurity from the Nazis, I was refuted by the Freemasons. How they came to know about The Ivory Bow I will never know, but their determination to procure it scares and angers me.

Say what they may, I know that the true reason Germany fell to a stature lower than most after the first war was because of the Freemasons. They all but live for oblivion. I even suspect that they were conspiring with the Catholics and the Jews to acquire what they have hankered after since their inception, which just happens to be the destruction of Irminists.

This is not a recent war at all. I have witnessed destruction at the hands of the Freemasons for many years. It was their ancestors who pillaged the holy temple of Goslar and forced the early Irminists out on the streets. Circumstances have not improved since then. Robbing us of our God and scriptures was not enough for them; so, they started persecuting us. Many fellow brothers of mine have fallen prey to their tricks and torture.

Now, they seek the one thing I gave my life to, and would protect with it. I live in fear that I will meet the same fate my unfortunate brothers did. Once the Freemasons decide on something, they stop at nothing to acquire it. I know they will come knocking at my door sooner or later and so my life is in grave danger.

But I swore to protect the bow with my life, and that is what I will do. Thus, I have escorted it to safety by risking my own life. As afraid as I am these days, I cannot disagree that my oblivion provides me with a stark advantage. I can sneak through the halls and crowded streets without being recognized. Thus, I was able to get the bow to protection in the place where I had been reborn, where I started this journey of self-discovery and spiritual awareness.

I joined the Schlaraffia in 1889 and had many friends by the time I had left. I know I can trust these people. They have become my comrades in my voyage and would go the ends of the Earth to help me. Thus, I have brought my journey to close at the very point it started. The bow rests safely now in the depths of the Lodge’s establishments. I have appointed them as guardians and possessors of it in case something should happen to me. As brave and cruel as the Masons are, I know they will never think of the Lodge when hunting for the bow.

The time may not be right now, but it will come. The Irminists will come back, and our legacy will be stronger than ever.

Chapter One

“God, could it get any hotter?”

Sirita’s monologue—that had gone from being just an inner one to full blown ranting—disrupted Chyna’s thoughts. She rolled her eyes at her present partner in crime, but could not help agreeing with her. Mexico City was blistering hot, and Chyna had just about had enough of the dirt.

“Yes, well, we have work, don’t we?” Chyna smiled tightly at her and pressed the buttons to unlock the Land Rover. She got in on the driver’s side while Sirita pummeled the air conditioning controls with her fingers. As Chyna turned the key in the ignition, the doors clicked shut and the car roared to life; so did the AC vents. She put the vehicle in drive while Sirita fanned herself and let out a huge sigh of relief as the car started moving.

When Chyna drove off, she could see the image of the Chapultepec Castle in her rearview mirror. Her mind was swirling with theories, but that could very well have been the effect of the late nights she’d been having. Maybe bringing Tony with her on the trip this time had not been such a good idea after all. But with Lana already on her honeymoon with Ted, and Mark Gunnar still being as green as new hay, they had needed the manpower.

Almost immediately, the light bulb in Chyna’s mind went on as she remembered she and Sirita were supposed to meet the boys after their respective missions. So far, their search for Montezuma’s treasure was going slower than Chyna would have liked. She hunted for her Bluetooth headset and dialed Tony’s number on her phone. He picked up almost instantly.

“Hey, Babe,” his voice came through the receiver. “I was just going to call you.”

Chyna marveled distractedly at how different F.B.I. Agent Anthony Stewart sounded from her Tony.

“Well, saved you the trouble. How far along are you?”

“Nowhere, really. Everything that we’ve found out  about the treasure seems to be pure conjecture and little guesses here and there. I don’t think we’ve found a single piece of valid proof of the treasure ever bring real. Did you make any headway?”

“Sadly, no. We just left the National History Museum in Chapultepec. There is all sorts of stuff from after the Spanish Inquisition. I asked the curator and the authorities about any theories and they told me some snippets, but other than that, it was nothing that we don’t already know.”

“Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s all just a hoax,” Tony said, and Chyna was about to interrupt him when he spoke again. “I mean, we have been at this for about two weeks. We should have found something by now.”

“Maybe it exists. Maybe it doesn’t. But that in no way means that we should stop looking for it. We’ll keep at it, Tony. There must be something. There has to be.” Chyna shook her head, determination stark on her face.

“You know I’ve never won an argument with you, but I like that kind of losing,” Tony said, and as stressed as Chyna was, she could not resist laughing at that.

“That was cheesy and you know it,” she chortled.

“Ah, just thought I’d try. I’m guessing it didn’t work very well.” Tony laughed right along with her.

“No, it doesn’t.” Chyna was smiling. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel?”

“Absolutely, drive safe.”

“You too; bye.” Chyna nodded to no one and hung up. She kept driving toward their destination for a while until she noticed Sirita smiling at her.

“What?” Chyna looked at her.

“Nothing, it’s just that in the time I’ve known you, our interaction was mostly online, so I still find it strange seeing you like that.” Her partner grinned at her.

“Whatever.” Chyna resisted the urge to stick her tongue out. “Let’s get back to work, shall we? Sum up what we know.”

Sirita nodded and switched into work mode. She knew Chyna would never let anything stand in the way of work, and she admired her for that.

“There is a lot of information out there on Montezuma, but nothing specifically on his treasure. Montezuma the Second, also known as Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin in ancient Nahautl texts, was the ruler of Tenochtitlan and reigned for about eighteen years.

“His reign was one of the better times for the Aztec empire, and the civilization reached its maximum size during his time. He even included the Zapotec and Yopi people into his kingdom. I think some of the places that we can start from are the ancient Chiapas and Tehuantepec. They fell under his reign during the fifteen hundreds.

“He died during the time of the Spanish conquest of Mexico. The then invader, Hernán Cortés, fought alongside his men at the capital of Tenochtitlan, killing Montezuma in the process. One of the theories about the treasure stems from that war.”

Sirita stopped speaking for a moment and shuffled for something in her bag. After looking for a while, she brought out a small notebook which contained what looked like notes in various colored inks. Chyna marveled at her team member’s efficiency and insistence on writing down everything to be used at the right moment.

“Here it is. It’s said that Montezuma was captured by the Spanish during their invasion of Mexico. They were demanding a ransom of gold, but Montezuma wouldn’t have that. So, he dispatched a group of runners to inform the tribes to hide their gold. This story points the compass to Casa Grande back in Arizona. It’s said that the labyrinth at the Casa Grande Ruins National Museum might be where a part of the treasure is buried, but nothing has been found to date.”

Chyna took in all of the information, ruminating over her own theories about the Apache Wars and plotting possible locations in her mind. She and her team had already fallen behind schedule and they needed to restart as quickly as possible.

Supposedly, a Mexican aristocrat named Don Joaquin enslaved the local Apaches during the Mexican American War and ordered them to dig up gold. However, when the United States finally breached Mexican borders, the Apaches rebelled, forcing the Mexicans to hide all of their gold somewhere in the mountains. Most of them were later slaughtered by the Apaches, but one of them survived and went back for the treasure. He was never able to find it though, since the Apaches still controlled the area.

Chyna sighed internally. They were spinning in circles here, and it was really starting to get on her nerves. As uncharacteristic as it was for her, she wanted to scream at someone, or at this boggling case. Her stream of thoughts, however, was interrupted when she noticed a black sedan behind her Rover. Had it been there when they set out?

“Sirita,” Chyna called to her teammate, “can you see the black sedan behind us?”

Chyna didn’t have to wait for an answer. Sirita had noticed it at about the same time.

“What do you think?” Chyna kept her eyes on the road and sped up just a little. If someone was following them, she did not want to tip him or her off.

The cat and mouse game continued for some time. Chyna was on edge, and she didn’t know Mexico City well enough to just turn onto any random street. That could go south very quickly and in a very bad way. So, Chyna kept driving in a straight line, hoping to find some semblance of civilization soon. Come to think of it, Chepultepec Forest was fairly deserted today, and that worried her.

“Chyna, I think its best we call Tony and the boys and alert them,” Sirita called out suddenly, “Another car just joined the one following us, and they’re speeding up.”

Sure enough, Chyna could now see two cars following her own. By the time she reached for the phone and dialed Tony’s number, the number had escalated to four.

“It’s Motta!” Tony said from the other end before Chyna could say anything. His strained voice was a perfect reflection of what Chyna was feeling in that moment. “We have cars after us as well. I was just about to call you.”

“How do we know it’s him?” Chyna asked, pushing down further on the accelerator as the cars behind them sped up. She was now going a hundred.

“See the steel symbols on the front? They are his trademark. Head straight for the airport; we’ve got to get out of here now.”

“We can’t just leave like this. We have to throw them off. All our stuff is back in the hotel.” Chyna forced herself not to panic. The same couldn’t be said for Sirita, though. She looked pale and terrified.

“It’s all been taken care of. We had already arrived there when we noticed them. That’s why we left. And sweetheart, I don’t think they would bring out an armada like this so we could throw them off. They mean business this time,” Tony said, and in the distance Chyna heard the screeching sound of a car swerving. Her heart raced, and she was now in full escape mode. Her foot pushed down on the pedal with all her might, destination be damned. She would be lucky if she and her team got out of this alive. Her encounters with Diego Motta in the last two weeks had been tense to say the least, but Chyna had never thought he would resort to such measures to drive her out of the city.

Diego Motta was a local crime lord who owned almost half of Mexico through his drug and smuggling rings. Chyna might not have found out much in the time that they had been there, but what she had discovered had destroyed a large part of the network that Motta had built with twenty years of blood, sweat and tears. Apparently, Diego Motta used several of the abandoned sites outside of the city as stash houses for his shipments and ammunition. With Tony’s assistance and contacts in the local force, Chyna had been able to hand over millions of dollars’ worth of cocaine and other drugs to the police in a matter of three days.

However, she had found out too late that Diego Motta was a man who always collected his due. All of his men who had been caught had ended up dead in jail the next day, and his declarations of war against Chyna and her team had not been empty exultations. Two days later, Chyna had gotten a very verbal message that said that Motta would pay her back by getting rid of Chyna and her team for good. Their radio silence over the next few days had somehow lulled Chyna into a state of false assurance, but now that they were under threat, the slumber had been broken and the reality was not something that she relished.

As if in confirmation, a bullet whizzed past Chyna’s side of the car and blew off the side view mirror.

“Shit. Chyna? Was that a crash I heard?” Tony’s voice asked from the other end.

“Yes! They shot the side mirror off!”

Chyna sped her car up, and the steering wheel swerved a little under her hand. Damn it, why did her palms feel so slippery? Chyna heard the screeching of the tires again.

“Oscar, everything all right back there?” Tony asked.

Oscar’s voice was faint coming from the phone and then all of what he was saying was drowned out as Sirita suddenly took the wheel from Chyna and swerved it to their left. Almost instantly, Chyna felt an impact and a thump. They had toppled one of Motta’s cars over.

Chyna struggled to keep the car back onto its path, all the while hearing similar commotion from the other end of the phone. She disconnected the headset and put the phone on speaker. The sounds of automobile altercation filled the car and doubled the intensity of the moment. In her field of vision, Chyna saw a bullet hit the pole she had just narrowly passed. Luck was not going to be on her side today.

“What’s happening over there?! Tony, talk to me!” Chyna shouted over the sounds of cars and bullets all around them.

“Chyna, we need to get out of here! Mark! Take my gun! Hurry!”

Tony’s voice resounded in Chyna’s head.

“Tony, dodge them and head on North to Reynosa!” Sirita screamed at the speaker. “We have to cross the border fast and then we can worry about air transport back to El Paso. Let’s lose these suckers but whatever you do, don’t hang up the phone!”

“Roger that, Siri!”

Tony didn’t waste any time. They had to get out of harm’s way immediately. They knew, and their attackers knew that the nearest border town was a full eleven hour’s drive away.

Chyna asked Siri for the directions and gunned it; she was determined to get out of there and make it back across the border. Another bullet hit their car and this time, a part of the rear glass shattered. The shit had officially hit the fan and it was splattering everywhere. Chyna kept on driving and then, as if by divine intervention, she spotted a turn that was coming up on her right. Without thinking, she turned into the narrow street and kept gunning the Land Rover. In the rearview mirror, she watched Motta’s cars as they sped past the turn.

Chyna knew they didn’t have much time. Their pursuers must have seen her turning and would soon follow the car to herd it back toward the main thoroughfare. The speed at which they had been following her had not allowed them to turn when she had. Chyna knew that they needed to ditch the car if they wanted to make it out of there alive; she did the best thing she could think of at that moment.

Spotting a large trash receptacle, she sped up and drove the Rover into the smelly cornucopia, knowing that the crash would produce a commotion that would bring people out of the nearby shops into the street. The crowd would provide a cover and give her and Sirita some time to make their escape. Thankfully, Sirita’s brilliant mind came right into step with Chyna’s as soon as the car came to a halt. The next thing she knew was that they were running through the narrow street toward a small garment store that people were just starting to run out of. In the distance, they heard the screeching of multiple vehicles. Motta’s men had caught up with them.

Sirita shouted something in Spanish with just enough fervor to spring the people crowding the street into action. The crowd ran toward the wreck, while she pulled Chyna out of the way and into the store in the nick of time. They didn’t stop there. Sirita led them to the back of the shop, right toward a section that was filled with summer dresses. She pulled two off the racks and tossed one to Chyna while the latter watched in wonder.

“What’s happened to you?” she asked. “I can’t believe how on your toes you are.”

“I don’t want to die today,” Sirita shrugged, out of breath. She didn’t wait for Chyna to reply as she pulled open the door to a fitting room and got in.

In the next moment, Chyna snapped into action, stepping into a changing room herself where she ditched her own jeans and shirt and put the flowery dress on. It fell below her knees and was something she would never wear, but she knew she had no choice. When she came out, Sirita was already waiting for her with two blonde wigs. Chyna didn’t question her. She balled up her black hair into a tight knot and pulled one of the wigs on.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” she said to Sirita, while the latter was undergoing her own transformation. “What did you say to them?”

“I thought learning the basics would come in handy someday.” Sirita shrugged. “I told them that the driver had crashed the car and ran away, and that we thought someone was still in there. Are there any hats here?”

Chyna looked around and spotted some large ones on a rack in the back. Given the summer heat, they would not raise much suspicion. As she took them down and passed one on to Sirita, she spotted their phones and wallets in a small bag on the floor.

“Wow, you work fast,” Chyna whistled in appreciation and Sirita smiled. She lived for such moments, and the day had had a lot of them.

“Thanks,” she grinned, putting all of her makeup and essentials into her bag while handing Chyna her own.

“Now, let’s go, darling,” she said, in a fake British accent. “I’m gasping for some supper.”

Chyna laughed as the two paid for their dresses and walked out as if it were just another day under the sun.

***

It was almost 9 p.m. when the two women stepped down from a bus that had left them standing in front of a Carl Jr’s in McAllen, Texas. They were still clad in their touristy attire, but thankfully had not been harassed by anyone on the way.

Chyna looked around and quickly spotted Tony’s Land Rover, which was parked inconspicuously in the shade so as not to raise any suspicions. She saw movement inside the car, and before she knew it, she was running toward it with Sirita right on her heels. She knocked on the window and sighed in relief when she saw Mark Gunnar’s handsome face staring back at her. Tony was in the driver’s seat with his hand reaching surreptitiously for his gun.

“A bright day, isn’t it, love?” Chyna cheered falsely and grinned as Mark and Tony kept on staring at them in confusion. It was only when she took off her accessories of disguise that they recognized her and Sirita and were out of the car in a moment.

“Chyna!” Tony gushed and ran to her side. He scooped her up in his arms and planted a kiss on her lips. “Damn it, I was so worried!”

Chyna let the warmth of Tony’s words wash over her and felt lucky to be able to experience the moment. Tony made her feel safe, and it was a feeling she never wanted to lose. She hugged him back, forgetting everything else for the moment.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Tony released her, but still kept an arm around her waist.

“Where are we going?” Mark asked, once all four of them were back inside the car.

Chyna thought for a moment. “We’ll go to New York, set up camp there while we plot out the rest of our trip. I think we should stick to the United States portion of the story for now. I don’t want another run in like the one back there.”

It was then that she spotted Oscar in the back of the van and said a little hello. She laughed when he asked them about the get ups.

“Oh, this was a little quick thinking on Sirita’s part. It’s all her.” Chyna answered, while Sirita just shook her head as she drank from a bottle of water.

“I couldn’t pay attention to the phone because of all the commotion and once we’d dodged them, I tried getting you back on the line, but you weren’t answering at all. That was when Mark and I realized that you must have had to resort to drastic measures,” Tony told them as he drove

Chyna could still hear the anxiety in his voice.

“Well, this is as drastic as it gets,” Sirita agreed. “How did they know where we were, though?”

“I think someone tipped them off.”

There was complete silence in the car as Mark’s words sank in. To think that someone could hate them so much as to hand them over to Diego Motta on a silver platter.

“Who? Our site team?” Oscar sounded a little shaken up and hesitant, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of betrayal within their ranks.

“Not necessarily.” The hesitation in Mark’s voice told Chyna that he was just humoring them. “It could have been anyone. Or, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they had been following us all along, waiting to catch us in a weak moment.”

Tony hummed his agreement, and Chyna nodded at the last theory, which seemed way more plausible than Mark’s previous one

“Let’s get to New York for now. We’ll think about everything afterwards.”

***

Chyna had just gotten out of the shower when she heard the room door close.

“Chyna?” Tony called out in the next instant, and relief rushed through her.

“I’m just out of the shower, Babe!” she called out and quickly pulled on a pair of shorts and a light tank top. She let her wet hair loose, knowing how much Tony liked it and walked out.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, clad in his boxers and a white T-shirt. His eyes widened as she strolled in, and he groaned, “Now, how am I supposed to talk work when you look like that?”

Chyna smiled at him and went to sit at the dresser. Her attempts at seducing him were successful, but she shot him down nonetheless. “Whatever you say, Babe. What did you want to talk about?”

There was silence from him as Chyna brushed her hair. Then, he spoke quietly, as if he felt the distinct need to be cautious about something.

“I think it’s Mark.”

She didn’t quite understand his meaning.

“You think that is Mark?”

“The mole; I think it’s him.”

Chyna stopped what she was doing and put the brush down on the dresser. She turned around, crossed her arms and glared at Tony.

“Talk. Now.”

“Isn’t it strange that all this time you’ve been investigating without him, nothing’s ever happened; not one incident. We take him with us to Mexico and there’s a gang of criminals chasing us around the city.” Tony shrugged, “That, and the fact that we don’t know anything about him.”

“That’s because what you’re saying isn’t true, Tony. Have you forgotten about Fariha Katsakis?” Chyna shrugged. “Besides Thyri runs a pretty secure ship. The fact that Mark meets her standards is good enough for me. I have to admit, though, that there really wasn’t much in the personnel file she sent over.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as odd? Come on, he’s working with an international conglomerate like Lothbruk Investments and they don’t tell you anything about him? I’ve seen him, Chyna. He looks odd. He has this... this thing about him.” Tony frowned.

“Tony... I trust Thyri. She would… she would never put someone on my team that she didn’t trust. Remember, she would have kept him herself and attached him to her own team at Alpha. It was Mark who didn’t want to go to the U.S.”

Chyna sat down heavily next to him, as if the weight of Tony’s words was crushing her.

“Facades are not hard to maintain, Chyna. All you need are the right incentives.”

“Tony, I... I don’t know what to say.”

“Just,” Tony was at her feet in an instant, “just promise me you’ll keep my words in mind, and be vigilant around him.”

Chyna looked at Tony for a long time, and what she saw in his eyes pleased and amused her.

“Anthony Stewart, are you jealous?”

She giggled, noticing how very uncharacteristic it was of him. From the look in his eyes, she knew she was right. Yet, he scrambled to maintain himself.

“Jealous? Who, me? No, no, no… not at all.” He cleared his throat, “It's just that you’re so fucking gorgeous. It’s natural that they’ll eventually try something.”

There it was. The jealousy had turned to want in a minute.

“Yeah? What are you going to do to prevent it?” Chyna goaded him, though she very well knew how he would respond. In fact, his hands were already creeping toward the answer.

“Oh, I can do a lot actually.”

He pressed his lips to hers and they fell back onto the bed. Soon they were tangled up in each other’s limbs and Chyna moaned softly in his ear as the pleasure he was giving her mounted and heated her through. His hands ran all over her soft skin fanning the flames of the insistent fire he had ignited between them and when she had clung to him in the final throes of her passion, he had groaned his release into the flushed skin of her shoulder. Then he looked up and kissed her neck.

“I’m not jealous, Babe,” he said, seeking to reassure her again, “but I think I’ll just ensure he knows you’re taken by marking you.”

He pressed his lips to her neck again and mark her he did.

Chapter Two

Two days later…

For the first time in what felt like ages, Chyna woke up in a city she was beginning to feel at home in. Her work as an archaeologist took her all over the world, and she was used to waking up in a sterile clean hotel with strange sounds greeting her. But there was something comforting to her about Istanbul. She couldn’t hear the telltale sounds of cars and chatter that seemed to define the city center all the way over from her house, but she felt the shift in the air that affected everyone who resided in the city. Chyna could easily see herself spending many more beautiful years in the city, pursuing the eminent success of the new branch of Found History.

The curling of Tony’s arms around her in bed made her amend that thought. She hadn’t told anyone, but Tony had been in the process of a transfer from his assignment in Izmir to one with the US Consulate in Istanbul so he wouldn’t have to spend any length of time away from Chyna. Although he loved doing what he did, he also thought that fifteen years of passionate intermittent nights here and there could hardly qualify for a steady relationship. Both of them had agreed that they wanted something more reliable, more steadfast. For once, they didn’t want to have their bags packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. After almost a decade and a half of moving around like vagabonds, Chyna loved the feeling of finally settling down, and Istanbul was the place she wanted to be.

Chyna smiled as the thought hit her. She hadn’t yet started having dreams of a house with the white picket fence and two point five kids—in fact, she didn’t really see kids in her future. She was just looking for a little less adventure and a little more routine. That could be found right there in Turkey and she loved the idea of it.

She untangled herself from the sheets and went into the bathroom to freshen up. She let Tony sleep after the long night they’d had while she showered, brushed her long black hair out and went down to the kitchen. The house was empty, and she figured everyone was still asleep. She called it paranoia, but Chyna could not resist checking whether the alarms were still active. They were. She was glad now that she had gone with getting Sirita the apartment and herself the house. Siri was used to having her solitude and Chyna didn’t mind having the company when the team was in town, which wasn’t that often. Surprisingly, Sirita had opted to crash with the team the previous night; too exhausted from the flight to drive herself home.

Chyna opened the fridge and took out a jug of orange juice, some eggs and a packet of bacon, then prepared the coffee machine and turned it on. She put the bacon on to fry and retrieved her laptop, thinking she could check her email while the bacon did its thing. She let the machine boot up while she made some eggs sunny-side up and put bread into the toaster. While that toasted, Chyna whisked up the rest of the eggs for a scramble for the others and put the bowl into the fridge to keep cool. She was just putting a plate together when Mark entered the kitchen, clad only in shorts and still rubbing his eyes.

“Oh God, breakfast,” he said when he spotted Chyna’s plate and was about to sweep a piece of the bacon up when she swatted his hand away.

Mark looked crestfallen. “Is there extra?”

“Nope, feed yourself.” She grinned and took a bite to emphasize her point. “There are eggs ready to scramble in the fridge and the coffee’s ready.”

She watched amused as he opened the fridge and got busy with the cooking before turning back to her laptop and logging into her email. She sifted through some junk mail and such, until she landed on one that caught her interest.

Chyna remembered the previous mail she had received from Thyri Ragnarsson about the Ivory Bow that had belonged to Queen Christina of Sweden. She had found the case promising, but Montezuma had taken precedence over it, and the Ivory Bow had been swept into the back of her mind in Mexico. Now, the subject of the email made her open it.

Dear Chyna,

I am sorry for getting back so late. I found something about the Ivory Bow that might interest you. I’m sure you might have heard about Karl Wiligut. He was one of those crazy people associated with the Irminists and their theories. He did, however, leave behind some diary entries that talk about the bow. We obtained them through our sources. I have scanned them and attached them to this email. Hope they help.

Please respond to me as soon as possible.

My regards to you and your team.

Thyri

Chyna ransacked her mind and brought up her information on Karl Wiligut. From what Chyna knew, he was famous for his theories about him being the heir to a long line of glorious ancestors who started Irminism. She had just finished downloading the attachments when Tony strolled in, still sleepy-headed and yawning.

A light bulb went off in Chyna’s head as she recalled what Tony had told her about Mark the previous night. Even though Mark was new to the team, Chyna trusted him. He had come to her team with Thyri’s personal recommendation. But who knew? She had been wrong once before with Fariha; she could be wrong now. She hated thinking that her instincts might be failing her, but she had to accept it. She needed to keep an eye on Mark. Chyna was just about to stop and take a tray up for Tony when she saw him enter the kitchen; he came to her and kissed her forehead.

“Good morning, precious,” he said, and then moved to the cupboard for a coffee cup.

When he rejoined her at the kitchen island, she pushed his plate of eggs and bacon toward him.

“Good morning, love,” she replied.

Chyna turned back to Thyri’s email. She opened the attachments and looked at the loopy handwriting on the pages, reading through it while looking for something important. It seemed Karl was a highly delusional man, given his theories about his ancestors and the invasions by the Catholics and Jews. His anger, Chyna felt, was entirely misguided, but then again, Karl Wiligut fit into the overly imaginative category quite easily. The bow itself, however, was an interesting piece. Although Chyna did not believe that it had all the magical powers that Wiligut claimed, she was genuinely intrigued with the whole affair because of the involvement of the Freemasons.

From what she knew, the Masonic society was an incredibly secretive group of people, and inclusions into it were made only on the basis of merit or birth. There had never been any set theories about the Masons, and their entire existence was shrouded in a cloud of mystery. There had also been rumors about numerous American pioneers, politicians and extremely rich businessmen who were supposed to be Freemasons, but nothing had ever been proven. It was all very elite and enigmatic at the same time.

What interested Chyna was their significance in Wiligut’s life. The Masons would not involve themselves with something as trivial as a bow, and definitely not something that would expose the true nature of their organization. For those reasons alone, Chyna knew she had her next assignment. The Ivory Bow had to be special if one of the world’s most secret societies was after it.

“Guys, I think I know what we have to do,” she announced, without even looking up from the computer screen. Oscar and Sirita had joined the group by now, and along with Tony and Mark, they all huddled around Chyna to look at the laptop.

“Interesting,” Oscar said appreciatively. “But what about the treasure?”

“Haven’t you had enough death threats?” Chyna frowned at him and he just shrugged it off. “Okay, now, we need to work fast. Sirita, can you pull up some information about these Schlaraffia? It’s the pseudo-Masonic Lodge where Wiligut began his journey.”

Sirita nodded and opened her laptop while chewing on an apple.

“Oscar, Mark, you might want to pack your bags.”

Chyna spoke and went ahead with making arrangements for their flight. She almost did not want to meet Tony’s eyes.

“What about me?” he asked her curiously, and Chyna thought the sleep had suddenly disappeared from his eyes.

“We’ve got to go, Babe, and I’m going to need to know that I can call on you here if Mira needs a hand with anything in the office.”

Her words came out quietly, but loud enough so he could hear. She felt his hand around her arm, and in the next moment he had pulled her into one of the hallways. He was fuming.

“I’m coming with you,” he whispered urgently, but he could have been shouting for all she knew.

“You can’t. It’s not possible, Tony. I know you don’t have any time off left; how would you explain that to the FBI or to the consulate?” Chyna tried to explain to him, but Tony wasn’t having it.

“Is it because of him? Mark?” Tony urged, “Don’t you believe what I said?”

Chyna resisted the urge to roll her eyes and replied, “Tony, you know I don’t have any feelings for Mark. And besides, I need to think about what you said last night. I think the best way to do it is to put him on a mission.”

“Yes, without me, where you’re unprotected.”

Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, come on, you know as well as I do that I can protect myself.”

Chyna tried to placate him. “Please, Tony. Listen to me. I promise everything will be fine.”

Tony glared at her for a few seconds before huffing, “Fine, but I’m getting on a plane the minute I pick up that anything’s wrong.”

“Okay.”

Chyna got a feeling that she would regret it, but she refrained from saying anything else. When she and Tony got back to the kitchen, Sirita was already packing up her notes and calling the group to attention. Chyna received a look from Oscar and she gave him one back that said he should set a good example for the two newer investigators and mind his own business. The team gathered around the kitchen table to listen to Sirita.

“All right, here is what I know. The Schlaraffia were a pseudo-Masonic lodge where Karl Wiligut was a member for most of his young life. They are a German society and were founded in Prague. There doesn’t seem to be anything shady in their activities. It says here that they are great admirers of art and humor. The members are known as Schlaraffen.

“They do seem to be a bunch of people who seem to be stuck in the past. They meet in the middle of winter once per week in their castle, which is something out of the middle ages and even equipped that way. Each of their gatherings works out in the form of a knight’s play. They respect music and poetry and thus criticize modern day life. They even have their own language and clubs that always stay connected to each other.

“Then there is some info about prospective members being introduced by ‘Godfathers’ and having to complete a probation period before being interred into the society. They rise from the position of squire to knight.

“Here’s the fun part, though: the last they were heard of was in 1947 in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania. There has been no news about any of the members or the society since the post war period. It’s like they just fell off the face of the Earth.”

Chyna’s plan was already set by the time Sirita stopped speaking.

“Well, Viva Vilnius everyone!”

***

Vilnius was a beautiful city. Chyna could only marvel at how much wonder one place could present to visitors, and she was feeling it in spades. The very setting of the city screamed culture, which was abundant at every turn and corner that Chyna made and saw.

There seemed to be an endless number of churches in Vilnius, each of them with a distinct air that commanded a silent respect and awe. It was mainly a medieval town, built around a Town Hall, like most belonging to the era did. The roads in Vilnius were mostly narrow, meandering around palaces that belonged to feudal lords, workshops and cafes. There were small, private courtyards built all over the city, emphasizing its medieval origin.

As they passed through the older part of town, Chyna couldn’t help but feel an immense joy as she took in the sights and the eclectic mix of architectural styles. There seemed to be hundreds of buildings in Gothic, Baroque and Renaissance styles; producing a heartwarming bouquet of beauty and serenity. The tranquility seemed to be amplified under the quiet sun of summer.

Although they did not pass through it, Chyna made up her mind to also visit Užupis, a part of town near Old Vilnius which was home to numerous Bohemian artists. The district represented artistic freedom and expression through art, and Chyna could easily imagine losing herself for hours in the colorful maze.

There were also distinct Jewish and Christian flavors in the melting pot of Vilnius. Chyna knew about the famous rabbi Eliyahu Kremer, whose teachings had had a heavy influence on the Jews in Israel. Although most of the Jewish culture and people were obliterated during the Nazi invasion, the country rebounded and repaired most of its Jewish landmarks.

Additionally, Vilnius was the seat of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Vilnius, with so many cultural influences; Chyna could see how easy it was for important world religions to coexist here. She was aware of the Lutheran Evangelicals and Baptists, and the distinct Eastern Rite Catholicism presence over the city. As the group neared their destination near the  U.S. Embassy to meet their contact, Chyna had a feeling that this adventure was going to be quite eventful.

“What was the name of this guy again?” Chyna asked Mark, who was traveling with her in a sedan, while Oscar and Sirita followed in another with all their technical equipment.

“Uh... Emilijus Kuklys; Thyri just confirmed it with me. I don’t know what she’s thinking. From what she told me, this man just seems to have danger written all over him.”

Mark sighed and shook his head.

“Why? What’s the big deal?” Chyna asked, concerned and determined not to intentionally put her team in harm’s way so soon after the fiasco in Mexico.

“Well, apparently, he’s some left-wing radical and his people have been locked in a dispute with right-wing members ever since independence. It’s all very complicated.”

Mark made circles with his forefinger, indicating a loop.

“Yeah, I know, but please tell me we are not about to land in the middle of some crazy mafia-political war,” Chyna snorted. If there was one thing she hated more than nepotism, it was politics.

“Not really, no. I mean, we should be okay. It’s just that things have been quite tense here ever since the Lithuanian National Democratic Party, or LNDP, came into power. They are modern day neo-Nazis, and I think this difference in ideologies is what is causing all the anxiety, with most of the population in Lithuania being Jewish and all.

“Interestingly, Lithuania had never been big on the whole reviving the Nazi propaganda thing, but ever since the LNDP came into power, there has been a shift in the politics in the country. The left-wing radicals are opposing this rise of power, calling it a violation of the true democratic rights of people. They say the government is supporting the neo-Nazis by letting them organize rallies and gatherings about subjects that are supposed to be sensitive. The most troubled are the Jews, who were the target of atrocities during the Nazi invasion and the Second World War. The government, of course, has denied all such possibilities and happenings, but the fear still remains. That’s why I’m worried. Look at us—we are a team of foreigners, put in direct contact with a leftist radical. What are the right-wing supporters going to think?”

Chyna did not even want to know. She shook her head at the precarious circumstances they were in, and her straightforward plan had to now be cleverly adjusted in order to accommodate political red tape and the associated nonsense. She tried to lighten the situation by taking a shot at Mark.

“You know an awful lot about politics.”

Mark laughed. “Not really, no. I just do my homework.”

You could be doing a hell of a lot more than that, Chyna thought as her mind wandered back to what Tony had said.

They were almost at the café in the old town where Emilijus was supposed to meet them, but a commotion in the street made Chyna stop the car and sit up straighter in the driver’s seat. If there was going to be a riot, she wanted to be able to hightail it out of there faster than anybody could say the word ‘run.’

“What the hell?” Mark shouted right next to her.

His voice startled her and the next thing she knew, Mark was hopping out of the car and running toward where a crowd of people seemed to be beating someone who was lying on the ground.

“Mark!” Chyna called out to him and cursed internally when he did not listen. Damn it, she was not letting him sabotage the mission because he was having a sudden urge to play hero. In the end, she decided it was best to follow him into the crowd, which seemed to be thinning out just then. Oscar and Sirita had caught up with Chyna and she instructed them to stay where they were as she ran toward where Mark was probably making a fool out of himself.

“Leave him alone!” she screamed as she reached the group. “Back off or I will call the authorities!”

The commotion seemed to pause for a moment as the crowd parted to reveal a one-eyed man who laughed and pointed at her.

“Child, we are the authority here! Go away! And take this piece of shit tourist with you! This is not your war.”

One Eye spoke with a slight accent that Chyna knew was characteristic of Lithuanian people, but she thought she also picked up a little accentuation in the hard syllables, like Germans usually had.

“When a government-certified U.S. official has business with the victim, it is her war.”

Chyna lied through her teeth, hoping they wouldn’t catch it. Maybe if she fibbed about being a diplomat, they would be less inclined to hurt her and Mark. The logic seemed sound until she saw the look on Mark’s face the moment he heard what she had said. Chyna knew instantly that she had made a mistake, and a huge one at that. But before she could ponder it over, One Eye narrowed his eyes and addressed her.

“And what does a  U.S. diplomat have to do with a Lithuanian Left-wing radical like Emilijus Kuklys?”

Holy shit.

Well, at least that explained the look. Chyna had just done the thing she had been most worried about. There was a political war going on in this country, and she had landed smack in the middle of it, not to mention the implications she had just made by lying about being a U.S. diplomat. However, she knew she could not lose her mind just then, the charade would have to ensue until she and Mark—and Emilijus, of course—were safely out of the line of fire.

“Well, I do believe I have some diplomatic immunity, and I don’t need to cite the rules to thugs like you,” Chyna huffed with as much pride as she could muster. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting with my client. And if anyone tries to harm us, they will have the U.S. government to answer to.”

With that, she helped Mark pick Emilijus up and they walked back toward their car.

***

Emilijus Kuklys’s house was nothing short of resplendence and opulence; every bit a reflection of Užupis. As Chyna could have guessed, Emilijus was clearly an art aficionado. Chyna could identify many originals by famous painters that he said he had collected over the years. In spite of the splendor, Emilijus’s house had a homey feel to it that endeared Chyna to him greatly. He had good food, a warm hearth and, as she found out on their ride over to his house, a generous and lively disposition as well. Despite his status, he was a simple man who loved culture and art; just like the place he lived in reflected, which Chyna noticed was devoid of Internet cafes and big malls.

Emilijus’s housekeeper, Bertha, had taken over nurse duty since the team had arrived at his house. Chyna and Mark sat huddled around him in his living room as she cleaned his wounds and put the bandages on. Oscar and Sirita had already sought permission and were now setting up a temporary tech camp in one of the rooms.

“God, look at these wounds,” Bertha murmured in disapproval, and Chyna nodded, agreeing with her completely. It seemed that Chyna and Mark had arrived at just the right time and had saved Emilijus from what would have been a very painful ordeal.

“Who would do this to you? Who were those men?” Chyna asked Emilijus, all the while eyeing the many places where he was bleeding.

“They were thugs. They belong to LNDP.” Emilijus’s words elicited heavy sighing from Bertha. “They had come to warn me, I suppose.”

“Warn you? About what?” Mark asked him as Chyna studied his features.

Emilijus was in his late forties or early fifties. He was a tall, lean man, with a receding hairline that might have been black once in his life, but was now bordering on completely gray. He had sharp features, and piercing, gray eyes that screamed of honesty and determination. So far, Chyna trusted the way he looked and liked how he carried himself. He was a humble, stoic man, with a sheer strength and quiet fire that burned inside him.

“I have been writing some things against the government’s neo-Nazi policies lately. I suppose they didn’t like that.”

It was astounding how easily Emilijus could shrug off whatever had happened to him.

“That was a very painful way to show you.” Chyna snorted disdainfully.

“That’s what I am thinking as well,” Emilijus nodded at her, taking Chyna by surprise. “You see the LNDP care too much about their position and privilege. They have already been trying to throw people off the trail about the Nazi theories related to them. They would never sabotage something as important as that by having their thugs assault a radical left-wing member, and a famous one at that.”

“Maybe they’re only just starting to realize what deep waters they are treading in. They don’t want to drown, so they sent a message,” Mark guessed.

“No, that’s not possible.” Emilijus shook his head, and Chyna could see that the motion hurt. “You see, the LNDP are not considered extremists. Their behavior does not conform to that pattern. They are only radicals; you know, all bark, no bite. These kinds of things don’t happen over here. They have never resorted to such violence.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything though, right?” Chyna shrugged.

She was feeling as puzzled about the whole affair as he was, and she couldn’t help but agree with the hidden meaning when she thought about what Mark had said.

“Yes, or it could be that they targeted only me. That’s a first too, right?” Emilijus looked deep in thought.

“Well, if that is the case, let’s hope we don’t have a repeat performance.” Mark sighed as their conversation came to an end.

***

“So tell me about this historian,” Chyna asked Emilijus as she, Mark and Emilijus turned the corner beside a little café and came upon a street lined with beautiful, post-war era houses. They had come a long way from Užupis to the newer, more luxurious part of town. The afternoon was just starting to withdraw and the shadows were starting to get longer. The sedan cruised through the street, right up to the very last house with an exquisite garden out front, on a gorgeous cul-de-sac.

“Ethan and I have been friends for years. He works at the National Museum of Lithuania, and has been interested in post- and pre-war history for a long time. He came across Karl Wiligut while studying the German army. He’s been following up on him ever since. If there is anyone who can tell you anything about this Ivory Bow, it is he,” Emilijus told them, as they walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell.

A middle-aged man with green eyes and gleaming white teeth opened the door and engulfed Emilijus in a warm hug. From their demeanor, Chyna guessed that this had to be Ethan Vitrak. He was a short, stout man, with white hair that was long and wiry like a wizard’s. He ushered his guests in, and introductions were made quickly.

“So, you’re Chyna Stone?! It is so good to finally meet you. I admired your father’s work just as I now admire yours. You are both very talented!” Ethan exulted, and Chyna wondered when his energy would get too much for her.

“I’m honored, Mr. Vitrak, really. This is my new field investigator, Mark Gunnar. We were wondering if you could tell us something about the Ivory Bow.”

Chyna did not miss the look Mark gave her when she introduced him only as a colleague and not as a friend. She dismissed it; it was too soon for such familiarities between them.

“Of course, of course! And please, call me Ethan,” Mr. Vitrak insisted. “If you would please follow me.”

Ethan led them through his excellently furnished house and into a personal library that was more extensive than any Chyna had ever seen held privately before. It appeared that Ethan was just as much of an art aficionado as Emilijus was; the room was regularly dotted with masterpieces and first editions of novels and books from all over the world. Ethan led them to a small table that had some maps and diaries placed on it. They had all been turned to specific pages so as to find the required information easily.

“How much do you know about the Ivory Bow, Miss Stone?” Ethan asked her once they had all settled around the table.

“Chyna, please, and I don’t know much. I only know that it belonged to Christina of Sweden and that she had to sell it to an unknown buyer when she was passing through Denmark during her exile. Wiligut believed it had powers, supposedly magical, that would render its bearer incredibly powerful and the master of the entire world. He and a team of Nazi officers retrieved the bow in 1934 from Denmark, but he passed it on to the Freemasons nine years later because he knew the Nazis would misuse it. It hasn’t been seen since.” Chyna shrugged.

“Oh, that’s debatable as to whether the Ivory Bow had magical properties or not, but it is true that it was something entirely special. The bow held a place in Christina’s heart, and we are talking about a woman who abdicated her throne for her religion. She had shipped most of her belongings out of her castle before leaving, but she insisted on carrying the bow with her on her journey. No one knows why, but she did.

“The bow itself was very popular during those days. It was the only one of its kind in the world. Delicate, yet strong, and what perfect aim! You would be proud to wield one like that. Christina, however, was forced to sell it to someone—I think he was a trader or such—when she realized how infamous this particular possession of hers was. She’d heard stories, of course, that people all over coveted it, but once she realized the lengths they would go to procure it, she decided it was better to sell it than continue risking her life to keep it.

“There’s not much specified about it in history after that. The trader supposedly kept it and passed it on to his sons and grandsons. I think it was during a local feud that they decided to hide it in a cave. I did some research and found that the cave where Wiligut found the bow was situated near a cathedral that had later been razed to the ground. I’m guessing the priests guarded the bow for the same reason that its previous owners had.”

Ethan fumbled through some of his diaries and came to a stop at some of the older ones.

“This is the diary in which I kept track of the sightings of the bow and its look-alikes during the pre-war period. You’d be surprised at the amount of hokum that some people have claimed. It took a long while to—”

A loud boom and shaking interrupted the discourse and soon after, all they could hear were the telltale sounds of a fire alarm. Chyna shook her head to dispel the ringing in her ears. In her periphery, she saw Mark bent over Emilijus. What had happened? Had she fallen and hit her head? She looked around again and sure enough, she had.

There was a jabbing pain in her left arm as she sat up on the floor and looked around the library. It was wrecked. The shelves had been torn down, books had toppled over, there were still pieces of paper in the air gently swaying their way back down to the ground; some of them were on fire. The table where they had been sitting down with Ethan was overturned. Its contents spilled to the floor. Lethargically, she dragged herself up to the huge bay window in the library. The sun seemed to hurt her eyes, but she thought she saw the outline of a chopper in the distance. She spun from the opening and sat on the floor beside it, pulling her SIG Sauer pistol from its holster beneath her jacket.

When the ringing finally subsided and her eyes regained focus, Chyna looked around. All her senses were on high alert. Her heart was pounding frantically in her chest, as she wondered what would happen next.

“Chyna!” She heard Mark call out to her and point at something just outside the door of the library—flames.

They had been firebombed. She quickly holstered her weapon.

“Run!” Emilijus screamed suddenly, and as if on cue, all four of them sprang into action. Chyna felt the heat rise as the flames began to rapidly consume the library. The fire had spread quickly to all the wood and paper that was strewn around. She held on to Emilijus and started to help him out when she saw the pre-war document that Ethan had been showing them. The table it had been on was on fire.

“Hold on, wait here!” Chyna told Emilijus.

She took off toward the table and kicked the burning frame apart. She did not even think twice as her hand went through the flames and grabbed the diary. It would be blistered later, but the diary was much more important. She secured the diary inside the back of her jeans and went back to Emilijus.

Escape, however, was not so easy. The doorway to the library and the living room itself was a fiery inferno. Mark kicked the burning shelves out of the way and led them out. Another shake through the house stopped all of them dead. They all knew what that meant.

The building was coming down fast.

Suddenly, Chyna felt someone brush past her and into the library. Mindlessly, she ran after Ethan.

“What are you doing?!”

“My books, my diaries! I can’t lose them!” He shook his head, sweat dripping out of his hair as he did so.

“Are you crazy?! The house is going to come down at any moment! Let them go!” Mark shouted at the middle-aged historian. “Chyna, come on! We need to get out!”

“Ethan, come on! You can’t go in!” Chyna insisted.

“No, it’s my life’s work! I have to get it!”

“Ethan!” Chyna screamed, as the historian ran through the doorway of the library, which immediately collapsed in front of her.

“Chyna, no!” She had just started to go in when strong arms secured her to her spot. “It’s too dangerous!”

“No, let me go! He’s going to die!” Chyna screamed and struggled to free herself from Mark’s hold. “ETHAN!”

“CHYNA! LISTEN TO ME!” Mark screamed in her ear. “It’s too late. We can’t help him!”

Chyna blinked silently and saw that the library was already being devoured by treacherous flames. Mark was right: there was no way Ethan would have survived. He would have come out by now if he had.

As Mark dragged her out by the arms, Chyna thought she saw a burning figure move inside the library and then collapse on the rug just as the library ceiling caved in.

Chapter Three

“Tony,” Chyna said after she picked up the phone on the first ring. The relief in her voice was palpable, even for Tony.

“Chyna, are you okay?! Are you hurt?!” Tony was frantic on the other end. Chyna could just imagine him pacing up and down in their bedroom.

“Yes, I’m okay. Luckily, we all are.”

Chyna limped into the kitchen to get some privacy from the others in the living room, who were all attending to Mark and Emilijus. She held the phone in her good hand; the other one had been covered in salve and wrapped up to keep the blistering to a minimum, “Who told you?”

“Oscar did, of course. He called me as soon as you talked to him. Chyna, what the hell happened?”

Of course Tony was enraged. He had expected that Chyna would have called him as soon as she and the others had gotten out the house, but she had called Oscar to ask him to quickly set up a first aid station at Emilijus’ house. There had been no waiting around and talking to the police or for the medics to get to the scene; Ethan was already dead and the authorities would come asking questions. Furthermore, there was no telling if whoever had bombed the house has waiting to ambush them as they came out of the burning wreckage.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I thought I should get the others prepared for our return. We needed medical attention,” she explained in a quiet voice, and that seemed to have an effect.

“I know... I just, I’m sorry too. I freaked out a bit, that’s all.” Then she heard Tony ask, “Are you really okay?”

Chyna didn’t speak for a moment. She hopped up to the fridge, took out a bottle of chilled water, leaned against the counter and took a sip. The dizzying effects of the fire had not waned yet, and she was still a bit unsteady on her feet. That, coupled with the image of Ethan on fire made Chyna very unsettled. She didn’t say that to Tony though, instead she replied, “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

There was something else nagging her and she decided it was too late not to share it with Tony. “I think you might be right about Mark.”

There was silence on the other end. Tony said nothing, but Chyna knew he was still there, listening; she could hear him breathing.

“How so?” he said after a long time, and his voice seemed to resonate, as if he were in a bathroom and no longer in the bedroom of their Istanbul house.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know for sure, it’s just a hunch.” Chyna shook her head, “What I do know is that someone is trying their damndest to get to us. I mean, who could have known that we were at Ethan’s place? We had a little run in with the LNDP, but why would they feel threatened by a historian hosting a bunch of foreign citizens? It just wasn’t possible for them to put a tail on us so soon.”

“You think there’s a mole in the group, and that it’s Mark?” Tony asked, and Chyna almost hated herself for agreeing with him.

“I’m not sure yet. But yes, whoever attacked us must have had some information from the inside, since I don’t think it was possible for anyone to catch up with us that fast,” she said. “I’m just going to keep a closer eye on Mark, just in case.”

“Okay, I’ll do what I can from here,” Tony offered, and then after a short silence, he spoke again, “I have something to tell you as well. It’s about the bow.”

“What’s that?” Chyna straightened herself up to listen.

“I’ve been doing some research of my own, and I found something about a rumor that Christina of Sweden actually passing through Lithuania during her exile,” Tony said, and Chyna guessed he was out in the living room since she could hear the sound of papers shuffling.

“What would she have been doing in Lithuania?”

“No idea whatsoever, but according to this old document I found on one of the websites dedicated to her, she spent quite some time in the country as Count Dohna before moving on. I think Wiligut knew about this as well. He must have mentioned it in his diary, but the problem is that we don’t have any other entries from his memoirs except the two that we have right now.”

“So,” Chyna’s fingers drummed on the counter, “you’re saying that it might be here in Lithuania? But I thought that Wiligut had passed it on to the Freemasons?”

“He did, but they must have hidden it somewhere. With all the mystery that surrounds them, only the Lord knows what other tricks they could have up their sleeves?” Tony sighed.

“Where do you think the bow is, then?”

“The information says it might be in the Trakai Island Castle,” Tony told her. “But I should warn you, I found this on an enthusiast’s website; I don’t know how much truth there is to it. But I still think you should look into it.”

Chyna thought hard for a moment. If the bow really was in Lithuania, it could explain the attacks on her and her team. Someone clearly did not want her to get to it; but then that would just be the biggest mystery for her to solve: who was trying to stop them and why?

“Okay, I will. Trakai Island, you said?”

“Yup, that’s the place. It’s been through a lot of renovations in the past few years, so you might be looking at a lot of red tape. I’ll try to get you in, though.”

“Thanks, Tony.” Chyna smiled into the phone.

Even that far away, Tony was doing all he could to help with her work.

“Be safe, Chyna,” he finally said, and she imagined him smiling as well.

She could not wait to get back home to him.

***

Chyna had no idea what to do next; where was Lana when she needed her? Tony’s suspicions and her own concerns about Mark were growing steadily, and she was having trouble figuring out how to go about this possible new discovery. A part of her didn’t want to act on anything unless she had solid proof, but the other part did not want to compromise the mission and her team’s lives. Everything that had happened to them since they had arrived in Lithuania had only exacerbated the condition, and Chyna knew that she could very well cost her entire team their lives if she did not act fast.

She limped back into the living room to find Emilijus all patched up and talking to Oscar and Sirita. Mark stood away from the group near one of the windows, looking outside and whispering into his phone, only serving to reinforce her earlier conclusions.

She had approached the group when Mark joined her, his blonde hair now clean of the smoke and grime from the fire. His eyes looked troubled.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Chyna replied. “Who was that you were talking to?”

“Thyri,” Mark replied. “I was just updating her on recent events.”

“Okay,” Chyna nodded, not sure if she believed a word he said.

She turned to the group, who were bent over the diary she had managed to save from the fire. Chyna grimaced. Clearly, she was completely off her game; she should have kept the diary to herself and not let Mark see it. If he really was a mole, then it was better to keep sources and clues away from him.

“What’s going on?” She sat down on the sofa, and her body screamed at her as every tired and sore muscle was flexed.

“We found something.”

Emilijus looked like he was trying to contain his excitement given the circumstances they had retrieved the diary in. Chyna motioned for him to go on.

“Well, it was all Mark, really. He’s a genius, I tell you.”

He praised Mark, who looked a little sheepish in the face of all the attention.

Of course he does; he has a façade to keep up, Chyna thought.

“What did you find?” Chyna insisted. In her periphery, she saw Mark look at her strangely, but paid him no mind.

“Well, there seemed to be some markings and symbols in the diary that you saved, Chyna. We figured them out to be page and paragraph numbers of jumbled entries in the diary and what we have found is simply fascinating! It says here that the Ivory Bow was taken by a member of the Illuminati. Can you believe it? The Illuminati!”

Chyna knew who the Illuminati were, of course, but she didn’t for one minute believe what Emilijus was saying could be true. Just like the Freemasons, The Illuminati were one of the most secret societies in the world, locked in a perpetual war with the Church. They had gained much prominence after the fourteenth century, when the field of science and logic had started gaining power on the back of various important discoveries and the church had resorted to punishing those who they believed ‘were on the path to sin.’

The Illuminati were famous for their love of science, arts and advanced knowledge, and many prominent personalities over the years had been rumored to be members of the group. Unlike the Freemasons, whose existence was validated and confirmed by various sources, the Illuminati had always been shrouded in a cover of mystery, blood and awe; and varied speculations about the Illuminati’s supposedly bloodthirsty and terrible nature. Many believed they could very well kill to get what they wanted. There had never been any credible sources in the world to prove that they really existed. Some said they dissolved many years ago after being obliterated by the Church; others believed that they were still going strong.

As an archaeologist, Chyna had never brushed aside their existence as a mere rumor, but she also did not have a shred of evidence to prove or disprove their existence and neither had it ever interested her to research the group. As Chyna watched Emilijus drone on about this new development, she couldn’t help but think that the allusion to the Illuminati in the diary was a false lead.

“Emilijus,” she interrupted him, “I know you want to believe it, and I’m sorry to tell you, but I don’t think that where this is leading us is correct.”

There was a dead silence in the group after that.

“Chyna?” Mark was the one to break it.

“Oh, come on! The Illuminati? How can this be possible? We are talking about a society whose very existence is a doubt. How can the bow be with an Illuminatus? It’s obviously a false lead.”

“But Chyna, we decoded it ourselves. It’s all in Ethan’s records,” Mark protested, but did not say anything further even though Chyna got the feeling that he wanted to.

“With all due respect, Mark, Emilijus, it is possible that Ethan might have been wrong. I mean, he was clearly an enthusiast who was obsessed with it.”

Chyna felt bad saying this, but she had never been one to mince words. That, and Mark’s presence was now exasperating her.

“Chyna!” Oscar protested, “This guy died saving his books! His books! Does he sound like a simple enthusiast?”

“Ethan Vitrak was a great historian, Chyna Stone. You will not berate a great friend of mine like that.” Emilijus joined him.

“I am not berating him!” Chyna retorted, “I just don’t think that the Illuminati is where we should be looking. It’s logic really, guys. Oscar, Sirita, back me up on this. Emilijus, you don’t know how we do things and Mark is still a rookie. We don’t jump to conclusions and we don’t get slap happy and waste time chasing down ghost theories; we look at the facts. The truth is, when it comes to this Illuminati theory, there are no facts to follow. Did any of your fancy decoded passages tell you what the next move was?”

Chyna stood so that she could get a better look at all of them. No one answered her question.

“You see, it’s probably just a false door. Whoever put it there knew that anyone who was too eager would end up spending a lot of time chasing down the theory and getting absolutely nowhere.”

“Well, then what do you suggest we do?” Mark crossed his arms and Chyna resisted the urge to slap him.

“I actually have a lead. While you were busy decoding, a little birdie told me that Christina might have actually come to Lithuania during her exile, it’s also been suggested that she was here for quite a while. My source believes we might find the bow at Trakai Island Castle and also thinks that Wiligut might have known about this, but we can’t prove that because it’s not mentioned in the portions of his diary that we have,” Chyna explained her side of the story to them.

“Nonsense! The bow was taken by the Freemasons!” Emilijus huffed.

“They could have hidden it in the castle. For what it’s worth, I think we should go there. If Christina really stayed in Lithuania, the castle seems like a plausible starting point.” Chyna shrugged and limped toward the bathroom, “I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

***

Trakai Island Castle did not look like anything that Chyna Stone had expected it to. Where were the black, soot-stained, huge walls of ancient stone and gargoyles? Where were the moats and bridges? What she saw looked like something out of a Disney princess story.

The whole place was finished in shades of orange and gold, lending an air of regalia to it that Chyna had only seen in a few other places. Sparkling azure waters surrounded the castle, making it look like the perfect holiday destination for anyone who was looking for seclusion, luxury and beauty at the same time. At any moment, Chyna thought she would see Rapunzel letting down her hair for Mother Gothel, or Snow White opening the windows to sing to birds gathering on her windowsill in the rising sun. Yes, it really was that beautiful.

She only wished she had better company than she did at present. As they walked through the castle grounds and toward the Upper Palace, which was where Tony had hinted the bow might be located, Chyna could feel the cold aura that Mark radiated, along with the looks that Emilijus was currently giving her. She knew she had been disrespectful, but it had seemed like the only way to get their attention and as they walked through the castle, she made a mental note to apologize to both of them, especially Emilijus. She couldn’t help but think of Lana again; somehow Chyna knew that if she was with them on this investigation, things would never have gone so off track. In any case, she wasn’t there so regardless of what had already happened, it was time for Chyna to regain full control.

Found History was her company and on this mission, as with all the others before, it was her reputation on the line. At the end of the day, Emilijus was just a source and the others were her employees. They worked for her and that meant her job was to do everything in her power for them to succeed and do so safely and their job was to do what she told them to.

Even though it was almost the weekend, the castle seemed awfully quiet. There were only a few people around, and Chyna wondered whether that was because the weather was too hot for sightseeing. She saw a hat vendor lingering near the entrance and absentmindedly thought she would buy something from him before she left.

After asking for some directions, Chyna and the two men finally found themselves on the stairs that led to the Upper Castle. Chyna looked around carefully and shook her head in distaste at the thought of the castle having fallen into disrepair. This was a beautiful specimen of architecture that had been built in three phases, but had been almost completely disregarded after it had lost its importance as a military fort. What a shame!

They were now inside and almost close to the main part of the Upper Castle, where they had decided they would start looking. Chyna could have continued thinking about the castle, but a sudden metallic clank interrupted her. It sounded like a metal grate or door was being opened or closed somewhere nearby. Why was it suddenly so dark?

She did not get a minute more to think about it, as a bullet whizzed past her and hit the wall to her left, sending dust and chips of stone flying into the air. Adrenaline kicked in, and as she turned to see where it had come from, her hand reached inside her jacket. She drew the pistol just as she looked up and saw it.

The Swastika.

It was printed boldly on the back of the black jacket she saw ducking behind a wall for cover. So that’s why the castle had been virtually deserted: it was a trap. Damn it.

“Chyna!” Mark’s voice coincided with a flash that went off from the far left, and before she knew it, she was on the ground. They had just missed.

“It’s an ambush!” Mark shouted as he struggled to get up. “Come on! We need to get out of here!”

It was only a second after Mark had spoken those words that all hell broke loose. There were not just two or four bullets now—there was a barrage of gunfire coming from virtually every direction pinning them behind the set of columns that they used as a barricade. Damn it, they would never be able to escape at this point.

“Where’s Emilijus?!” Chyna shouted, as she ducked behind a pillar across the hall, trying her best to dodge the shots long enough to devise a plan.

“Right here!” She heard his voice from the left. “They’re neo-Nazis! They must have known we were coming here! Someone must have tipped them off!”

His words went off like a trigger inside Chyna’s head. All other emotions left her as she turned toward Mark, to see him fire back at no one in particular. Chyna couldn’t help but notice that the precision of the gunfire from his end was considerably worse than she knew he was capable of, or maybe it was only her mind playing tricks on her.

“We need to get—Ah!”

Chyna’s heart plummeted into her stomach when she heard Emilijus cry out. Looking over, she didn’t see him anywhere at eye level. That was when she looked down and saw him sprawled out on his back on the ground. He was clutching his chest and his body shook a little before it was completely still.

She didn’t need any better lighting to tell her that Emilijus Kuklys was gone.

“Chyna, come on! I found a way out!”

She felt an arm come around her wrist, and she had never felt more disgusted with Mark Gunnar than she did now. She didn’t move, but she knew Mark had seen Emilijus as well; he halted for a minute before he resumed trying to pull her down the corridor with full force.

“Chyna, let’s get out of here! Come on, he’s gone! There’s nothing that we can do for him now!” She felt him pull at her again, but this time she resisted. Mark lost his grip on her; he was too out of it to say or do anything but look at her.

“Pick him up.”

“What? I’ll get shot trying to get his body out as well. Come on!”

“I said, pick him up! I’ll hold them off.”

Chyna gave Mark a look that dared him to challenge her one more time. When he saw her expression, he immediately relented.

“Yes, boss.”

Chyna took Mark’s Glock and set it down between her knees. Expertly, she reloaded both pistols and nodded at him.

“On my count of three, I’ll get to those columns up there and hold them back with my fire while you get Emilijus over your shoulders and out of the hallway. When you’ve cleared the exit, I’ll join you. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. One… two… three! Go!”

Chyna stepped out from behind the pillars and ran to the next bank of columns and opened fire toward the archway that their attackers were firing from. She managed to easily keep them from even taking a look out to see what was happening in the hallway, while Mark carried their friends’ body out the other way.

“I’m clear!” he yelled and Chyna started to back up as she continued to rapidly fire her guns at the Nazis.

They made their way down to the ground floor of the castle as quickly as they could with Chyna watching their back the whole way. She started the engine as Mark hauled Emilijus’ body into the backseat and as they sped away from Trakai Island Castle, Chyna still didn’t know what exactly had just happened and why they had been attacked.

One thing she did know was that she was going to make Mark Gunnar pay.

***

There was a silence in the car as they drove back to Vilnius, broken only periodically by Mark ranting in the back about leaving Ethan’s book behind and mumbling about other things. Chyna’s mind was positively buzzing; it was loud enough in her own head for her to ignore everything that he was saying.

Soon, the scenery faded, and Vilnius came into view. Chyna felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to pull over so she could vomit into the grass by the side of the road, but there was no way that she would let Mark see her in such a state of vulnerability. Tony’s words were swirling in her mind as she let her eyes go briefly to the rear view mirror to look at Mark’s face. She wondered what more he could be hiding behind his childish, innocent eyes and neat blond hair.

“What the hell?”

The change in Mark’s expression at something on the road made her look quickly back at what was happening in front of her. Was this the same town of Vilnius that she had left a few hours ago?

Gone were the peaceful cafes, the off white walls and the beautiful courtyards. What Chyna saw before her at that moment was a picture of complete pandemonium. People were running about with anything that could be termed as a weapon; sticks, guns and even poles. The shutters were down in most of the shops, and those who had them open already had their windows shattered and spread all over the road. The little café on the corner where they had first met up with Emilijus was up in flames.

And in the middle of it all was the picture of Ethan Vitrak.

His image was everywhere as far as Chyna could see. People had put his image on banners and posters and plastered them all over the city. Some were carrying out processions, screaming and chanting slogans in Lithuanian.

“These are the town’s Jews. They’re protesting,” Mark whispered. “They must have heard about the attack on Ethan, and now they think their lives are in danger. Shit, this could go south fast.”

Chyna sped the car up, meandering through different streets that were not so crowded. Shaken out of her mad reverie, she stared through the windshield at the scene outside as she drove, but at the same time she couldn’t help having an epiphany.

Vilnius was burning… because Mark might have leaked information. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to see that it was Tony calling. She put the phone to her ear almost instantly.

“Tony.”

“Chyna! Oh God, are you okay? I heard about what’s happening!”

He sounded frantic, like he didn’t have much time. A cool fear rose inside her.

“Yes, Tony, I’m fine.” Chyna spoke softly so as not to alert Mark. “Why do you sound out of breath?”

There was some shuffling on the other end. “Chyna, listen. I don’t have much time. I just called to tell you that Mark is your mole.”

Dead silence.

“Chyna, are you listening?”

“Y… Yes, yes, I am.”

She was suddenly very afraid of the man behind her.

“Chyna, Mark is the mole and I have evidence now. It took a lot to find it, but I did. Damn it, the things I know! It’s just freaking me out! It’s so danger—”

More shuffling.

“Tony? Tony?”

“Chyna, listen... stay... what?... what the hell... no!”

Then the line went dead.

Chapter Four

Chyna sat with the phone in her hand, numb to the core. Tony’s line had just gone dead, and with the commotion she had heard in the background of the call, that was not a good sign. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if everything she had fought for, everything that she had lived for, had just been snatched away from her. A dam was threatening to break loose and God help anyone who stood in the way of the flood.

“Chyna?”

Mark poked his head inside the room. His voice was like a match that ignited the splinters of wood inside her. Suddenly, that was all the catalyst that she had needed. Something inside her exploded and what was released was a surge of unadulterated anger and blame, all directed at Mark. She was sure he was the mole, and he just might have cost her Tony.

“You!”

Chyna stalked toward him, her eyes burning with determination. She grabbed Mark by the collar and slammed him up against the wall. “You will tell me everything! You are going to talk and talk fast! WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?!”

“Wha—Chyna! What the hell are you talking about?!” Mark looked shocked and positively frightened.

“Shut up! Shut the hell up! Do not lie to me, Mark! Spit it out! Who are you relaying all the information to?”

Chyna slammed his head into the wall, and it surprised him how strong she was. Something told him that he could be sure she was restraining herself.

“No one! What the hell, you think I’m some sort of informant? How the hell can you say that?!”

At that point, Mark pushed her away and brushed his hair back into place. His head was hurting, but he said nothing to her about it.

“Oh, yes. I think you’re a mole! Tony just called me and told me he has evidence to prove that you have been leaking all our information to someone outside of this group, so don’t you try to pretend anything else!” Chyna screamed at him.

“Well, then ask him to show it to you! Tony’s been jealous of me and watching me like a damn hawk since I joined Found History, but that doesn’t mean that I’d betray you! I swear that whatever happens in this group has never reached anyone on the outside, at least not through me!”

Mark was stringent in defending himself. He would rather die than have someone question his loyalty.

“Then how did the neo-Nazis know where we were going to be? Do you realize what you have done? Two people died because of you! And a whole city out there might burn down to the ground before the sun rises tomorrow!”

Chyna was throwing her belongings into her bag as she spoke, suddenly realizing the fact that they needed to leave as soon as possible if they wanted to survive this.

“I swear to you Chyna that I had nothing to do with this! I am just as worried as you are, especially if someone is using me as bait! I did not tell anyone about anything, trust me! Have I betrayed you before? You should talk to Thyri about this. Hell, I think I should talk to Thyri about this. Maybe I made a mistake not taking her up on her offer in Atlanta.”

Mark ran his hands through his hair as if wanting to pull it out, and in that moment Chyna realized that he might be telling the truth.

Or maybe he is just a very good actor, she added to herself.

Whatever the case was, Chyna had other priorities right now. With riots ensuing in the city, she knew that the team’s lives were in danger. With Emilijus gone, the situation would only exacerbate. The first thing she needed to do was to get her team to safety. She could deal with Mark later. But she did not want to abandon the mission. If Tony had risked his life to get Chyna information about the bow, and Ethan and Emilijus had died for it, she knew what consequences would take place should it fall into the wrong hands.

A city was burning outside, and it was all because of a bow that was hidden in this corner of the world. Chyna knew she could not let any more harm be done. She was on a mission and she would complete it at any cost.

“Fine, prove it to me.”

She zipped up her bag, took it and approached Mark. “Prove to me that you haven’t betrayed us. If you do, I’ll let you live. If you can’t, I will make you hurt before I shoot you between the eyes.”

With that, she walked out.

***

When Sirita rang Tony’s office the third time, her hands were clammy and silent prayers were falling from her lips.

“Hey Bhagwan, pick up the phone Tony, please pick up!” She urged at no one in particular.

Her chest fell when the phone rang out and she heard the telltale sounds of his voicemail. Lord, what had happened there? She guessed that no news was perhaps good news, but she was dreading going back to Chyna with that thought. Something was troubling her boss, and she did not want to add to that quota.

Before Sirita’s fingers could dial for a fourth time, her phone rang. She checked the caller id to see that it was Thyri, and picked up, “Hello?”

“Ms. Patel, oh thank God! I have been trying to reach Chyna and Mark but I haven’t had any success. I have some news.”

***

“Pack up, we’re leaving.”

Chyna strode into the living room like a live storm, and Oscar had no difficulty picking it up. With all that had been going on in the city, he had expected that they would be leaving at a moment’s notice.

“Okay. Where are we going?” Oscar asked frantically. It would take time to pack up all of his equipment, and Chyna looked ready to bolt. Mark strode into the room behind her, and Oscar saw him grimace a little at the light.

“Where did that clue about the Illuminati lead?” Chyna asked Mark over her shoulder.

“Uh, it was a cathedral in Germany; in Dresden.”

Mark leaned against the armrest as if he was tired and held his head in his hands.

“There.” Chyna gave Oscar a dead look. The latter thought the exchange between Mark and Chyna was weird, but also thought the better of voicing it; Chyna looked ready to kill at the slightest provocation.

Sirita’s frantic voice interrupted his train of thought, “Chyna!”

The Indian girl whom Oscar had first thought of as meek, timid and incredibly sexy, and whom he had now come to admire for her intellect and wit, ran up to Chyna with a face streaked with worry.

“Thyri just called me.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“She said Rashid saw Tony’s apartment in flames yesterday and they’ve both been trying to reach him since then but there has been no sight of him. His phone is dead and he hasn’t had any contact with anyone at the Istanbul office for the longest time now. She’s worried.”

Sirita let it all out in one breath, and the silence that followed sickened Chyna to her core. She had promised herself never to compromise a mission by letting her feelings get in the way, but the prospect of losing Tony to the unknown without getting the chance to see him again scared her to death. Her throat felt constricted and her chest heaved with breaths that seemed like too much work. For the first time, she felt like her mind was a meaningless jumble, and she hadn’t a clue where to start sorting it all out.

“Did she say if Rashid tried to reach him at the consulate? If he was targeted at home, his unit would have gone underground and sheltered either in the FBI safe house or the consulate grounds.”

Sirita shook her head. Chyna slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand as she realized that none of the others would have known the true nature of his work. More importantly, the minute she had lost contact with him, she should have known to call the consul herself. She did the best thing she could think of, even after knowing that what she about to do was going to bring her chances down significantly.

“Sirita, Oscar, come with me,” she said quietly, and led both of her trusted comrades to the kitchen.

“Change of plans,” she said and turned abruptly once she had had a drink from a bottle in the fridge. It was only water, and she would have preferred something stronger at that point. “You two are going back to Istanbul. Get there, go to the office, and get me some news, any news.”

Oscar and Sirita looked at each other and then back at Chyna.

“But… you need us in Germany,” Sirita protested.

“I’ll be fine on my own. What I need you to do is get back home and tell me that Found History and Tony are okay. Do you get me?” Chyna insisted, and was relieved when both of her teammates nodded without any more questions.

“One more thing: Do not tell Mark about this. For all he knows, I am sending you to Japan to have sushi,” she emphasized, and taking in their confused and doubtful looks added, “I think he’s an informant. I think he has been relaying all our confidential information to outside sources. If that’s the case, I don’t want him to tip off whoever that source is and make things difficult for you.”

“What? Chyna, you definitely need us in Germany! How are you going to go there with him? He can’t be trusted now!” Oscar was vehement in his protests, and that pleased Chyna. At least someone was ready to stay true to their allegiances.

“Oscar, it seems that Mexico, and maybe the lack of the ever constant voice of reason which has always been Lana, has had a strange effect on all of you. Please try to remember who I am. You’re talking to Chyna Stone, resident bad ass of Found History Inc.”

Her little monologue evoked the lighthearted smiles she had been hoping for; she had even managed to make herself feel a little better.

“I told you. I will be fine. I have a plan and I promise, if anything goes wrong, I’ll tip you off before he can say ‘hot damn,’ okay?” she tried to placate him with the use of one of his favorite Tennessee cowboy expressions. It seemed to work.

Oscar stared at her for the longest time, but then he smiled and agreed nonetheless. Chyna nodded at her friends. Everything seemed to be set.

“Now, I believe you two have a flight to book.”

***

Oscar’s heart was beating at the speed of a formula one race car as he and Sirita landed at the airport. He couldn’t believe all that had happened in a matter of mere days. And Mark—he was most shocked about what he had learned about his Finnish comrade who had come to be a close friend over the few weeks since he had joined them. To think that Mark had been selling them out to someone—Oscar couldn’t even fathom the depths of hurt that he was facing.

He and Sirita did not say anything to each other as they went through the motions at the airport and then crossed the airport parking lot to load their bags into Sirita’s Range Rover. They had already agreed that it had been a great idea to ask Rashid Abdullah to take it there for them in anticipation of their arrival.

There was no talk in the car as it sped toward Istanbul’s museum district, nor were there any words when they arrived in front of Tony’s pristine home in the opulent neighborhood of Beyoğlu. The Beyoğlu and Galata regions of the city are interconnected webs of sophisticated and intellectual social districts where many nice cafes, theaters, second hand stores, terrace restaurants and language, history and art institutions, as well as wine bars, churches and schools are all located. In recent years, the area had gained enormous potential and had become bewilderingly popular among the trendsetters and trend followers settling within the city limits.

The building that had housed Tony’s FBI-issued apartment had been burnt black. Granted, it had never been the most attractive one on the street; with its harsh, brick red exteriors and tiny, old fashioned street facing balconies, but there was so much soot covering the walls that one could not see that it had ever been red before. The second floor, where Tony had lived, had been completely gutted by the fire; the rest of the safe house was destroyed as well.

When Oscar saw what was facing them, he sent up a prayer to heaven despite his belief in the wonders of technology. Dear Lord, what had gone down here? And where was everyone? The site was completely deserted. There were no cars, no yellow police tape or even pesky journalists who lived for such moments.

Oscar’s heart sped up as he and Sirita reached for the door and stepped inside. He didn’t know what to expect, but he wasn’t prepared for the horror that faced him. Everything in the building was charred. It looked as if a fiery tornado had toppled the office over before having its flames consume the victims. Chairs and tables were broken and blackened, as was stray stationary on the ground. The cupboards were opened and distorted, and black paper was sticking to many melted frames.

“Oscar!” Sirita called to him from the back of the mayhem, right where Tony’s bedroom had been. He ran to see what she was pointing at, and what he saw didn’t get his hopes up. Tony’s bedroom and his little office looked like an old, abandoned and destroyed space. His burnt coat lay in the middle of the pandemonium, but he was nowhere to be seen. That could very well have been a good thing or a bad one; a very, very bad one.

His table and chair had been toppled over, and his couch had been shredded. The shelves holding all his art and artifacts were bare, and all his cupboards and drawers were empty of their contents. Oscar guessed most of them were burnt and now scattered on the floor, but he also knew that what he saw thrown there was none of the important stuff. He could have said this was an accidental fire, but he was no fool.

“This was intentional. The place was literally bombed,” he stated, both scared and calm at the same time. It made all the more sense now, why Tony had disappeared. Good Lord, where was he?

“What?” Sirita was glued to her place.

“The place was ransacked before being set on fire. Look, all the artifacts from the case are gone, and I’m guessing the files that accompanied them. Somebody did this on purpose and burned everything else.”

Realization dawned on Oscar and Sirita at the same time. Whoever did this was no one friendly, and if he or she had all the information, it meant that Chyna was in potential danger.

“Sirita, we’ve got to go. Right now!”

Oscar knew he had some calls to make. He could do that on the way back to the airport.

***

Dresden Frauenkirche stood tall in the town of Dresden, the capital of Saxony. As Chyna and Mark’s car neared the church, she thought of the beautiful skyline of the city that she had been so mesmerized with when passing through Germany once, many years ago.

Dresden was built in the 11th century following Roman architectural patterns, but the main Baroque church was built in the early seventeen hundreds by George Bahr, who died before it could be completed. Earlier built as a Lutheran parish church, the structure had undergone years of remodeling before finally being baptized as a Protestant one. Many of the church’s features attested to that; for example the altar, pulpit and the baptismal font were built in the front so they could be in the view of the congregation.

One of its most distinctive features was the ninety-six meters high and twelve thousand tons heavy sandstone dome that stood the test of time and wars until it came down during the bombing of Saxony by Anglo-American allied forces during the Second World War. Only the altar, a relief description of Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, and the chancel behind it survived. The church then lay dormant for more than forty-five years before it was restored to its former glory as Communist rule enveloped Germany. One of the reasons for the delay was the tensions that ensued before the demolition of the Berlin Wall that divided East and West Germany.

As Chyna drove, she remembered the time when she had last walked through the halls of the huge and beautiful structure that she was approaching. Times had been different then, and she had had much better company.

Instinctively, she looked over to Mark, who was in the passenger seat with a bandage on his head. Chyna guessed she had been a little more than forceful while confronting him, and in the process had hurt him considerably. Her Finnish companion was now bent over Ethan Vitrak’s diary, frowning at something time and again and turning the pages. Chyna felt ready to drop from exhaustion. She had been driving for two days with not much rest, and was still waiting for an answer from Oscar. Her phone had lost connection long ago, and she had immediately switched to her secure satellite-enabled mobile which she knew her investigators would call her on once they couldn’t get through on her regular line.

Mark had suggested that he do some of the driving, but Chyna had refused. She had decided that she had let Mark into the fold too soon and because of his connection to Thyri Ragnarsson, whom Chyna respected immensely, she had let down her guard with him. Even Oscar, who had been with Chyna and Found History since shortly after her father had died, never drove Chyna anywhere.

Enough was enough, she had told herself.

“What is it?” she asked him, as he frowned yet again and clicked his tongue.

“Pull over for a minute, please,” Mark said, and Chyna parked the car a little away from the main square. “Look at this. I think it’s a riddle. It has no place whatsoever in this diary, and I’ve been going over and over it. There are no references to this particular phrase anywhere. I think Ethan didn’t want to disclose the exact location of the bow, so he put it in a riddle.”

Chyna took the almost burnt book from Mark to see what he had been pointing at. Sure enough, at the bottom of the earmarked page were six words.

Take your aim. God protects it.

Memories of her time in the church came back to Chyna, and when she put her hand on the wheel again, she knew exactly where she was headed. It had taken less than a minute to solve this puzzle, and she knew why Ethan had worded it that way.

It could only be solved by someone who had visited the place.

***

“Chyna?” Mark asked from beside her. “Where are you going?”

“It’s at the altar, or somewhere around it,” Chyna explained to him, even though she did not want to. Mark might be a mole, but right now, she was all alone and he was her best bet for surviving if things went south.

“The altar?”

“Yes. The last time I came here, I found out that most of this church was destroyed in the bombings of Saxony during the Second World War. The only structures that survived were the altar and the chancel behind it. Like all places, this one too acquired its own rumors. Many believe that because the altar had a depiction of Jesus’ agony on it, God protected it. Do you get it now?”

By this time, both of them had reached the altar, and Chyna was already looking around for clues.

“Take your aim. God protects it… you think the bow is here.”

It wasn’t a question. Mark did not waste any more time and joined her in her search, only to be interrupted minutes later. Chyna called out to him, and he turned to find her bent over the depiction.

“Look at this. It’s askew.”

Chyna pointed toward the depiction. Sure enough, the statue of Jesus Christ was turned a little away from the light, nothing that could be noticed from a distance. Without wasting a moment, Chyna pushed with all her might, and placed the statue in its right position. There was a loud sound of a rock moving, and in the next moment, as a trapdoor collapsed to the ground, she realized that the statue was actually a secret gateway leading down to a path that she could see was lit with lamps.

“This just keeps on getting better and better,” Chyna grumbled, and Mark chuckled a little.

“I guess it’s a lost cause trying to tell you to stay out here while I investigate?” he asked Chyna, and if looks could kill, Mark would be six feet under the ground right about then.

“Look at you. You’re injured. You’re bound to screw this up more than I am,” Chyna stepped through the passage. “I guess it’s your turn to prove to me. Come on.”

She reached out for one of the lamps while Mark closed the door. Both of them heard the statue move into place above and prayed that it wouldn’t alarm whoever was down here. It was only when they were trapped inside the closed space that they heard something distinctive.

Chanting.

Exchanging confused looks, Chyna and Mark moved down the hallway, passing lamps which were placed intermittently along the walls to light the way. If their footsteps had been making any sound, they were drowned out by the chants and noises that grew consistently louder as they approached what seemed to be a break in the long, cylindrical passage.

Chyna focused a little more into the space and saw slivers of orange light filtering through at the other end where there was a wooden door. Two lamps flanked the entrance, which had an old, medieval-style knocker and a slot that could open to reveal what was on the other side. She guessed that the chanting was coming from behind the door, and more probably than not, a ritual was in progress.

Before they knew it, Chyna and Mark had reached the door, and they were both almost afraid of reaching for the handle in the slot to slide it open and see what was going on. Nevertheless, she took a deep cleansing breath, handed her lamp to Mark, reached for the handle of the peep slot and slid it open just a little to give herself a view of the interior.

Masons!

Chyna gasped, looking at the telltale robes and the symbols covering them. She and Mark were standing only a few feet away from the proceedings of a Masonic ritual. As uncharacteristic as it was for her, fear flooded her anatomy. Damn it, she wished she had more backup.

She couldn’t see the faces of the people in the robes. Chyna focused, and much to Mark’s protests, slid it open a bit more. The people inside seemed to be gathered around something in the center, chanting consistently in a monotone voice and a foreign language. The robes had hoods and long sleeves that covered them, and she cursed at not being able to see more than she could. Then, the sea of people parted and formed a large, spacious circle around the object of cynosure. Chyna’s eyes went as wide as saucers when she saw what it was.

The Ivory Bow was real after all, and it was right in the middle of a group of Masons who were worshipping it as one would a god.

“It’s there. I see it,” she whispered and felt Mark come closer to her.

“What, the bow?”

“Yeah, they’re in the middle of some ritual, going around it and—”

When Chyna abruptly stopped speaking, Mark knew then that his initial fears had gained some basis. There was something seriously wrong with the whole situation and Mark had been sensing it right from the beginning, but Chyna’s deafening silence coupled with the chants coming from the other side of the door only validated it.

“Chyna? Chyna?” Mark shook her, “What is it?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she just backed away from the door, looking paler and sicker than he had ever seen her, motioning for him to look through the slot she had been watching the proceedings through.

Befuddled and scared, Mark peeped through the opening to see what had suddenly dumbfounded Chyna. He thought he had found it in the center of the room, all white and regal, until he looked at what—or rather who—was directly behind it.

The masons were still chanting, but their hoods had come off, and right behind the bow, taking center stage in the entire ritual was that ugly, one-eyed man that they had encountered in Vilnius; the one who had been leading the party that had been beating Emilijus up in Lithuania.

Chapter Five

“What do we do now?”

Mark’s voice resounded in Chyna’s ears. His question was clear and straightforward, but she did not have an answer for it. The odds were not in their favor. The room inside was full of Masons; at least fifteen members—including that one-eyed giant—who Chyna was sure would go to any lengths to protect their secret and whatever had been entrusted to them. Chyna and Mark were a small, partially disabled team.

“We can steal it.” Chyna shrugged.

“What? Are you crazy?” Mark’s eyes widened, and Chyna—very inappropriately—thought that it was funny. It wasn’t like she hadn’t stolen before.

“Of course not, but what else can we do? They’re Masons and they’ve been protecting the bow for years. We’re only two people, and need I remind you about your head?” Chyna argued, keeping in mind not to get too loud to attract attention.

Mark chose not to answer her but just kept staring in her direction. He alternated between looking at Chyna and the Masons inside for quite some time, as if debating the best course of action. His musings, however, were interrupted by an abrupt silence.

Suddenly, all the chanting in the room had stopped, and such deathly silence filled the cave, it could have made the crackling of fire sound like the breaking of bones. Mark pulled Chyna next to him and out of the line of sight of the slot in the door, and they both waited with bated breath. They wanted to slide the slot back into place to close it again, but were afraid that it would make too much noise and attract attention. It was an old door, after all.

Then, both heard a murmur and shuffling coming from inside the room. Chyna looked at Mark in confusion, and at great risk, leaned just a little to peep into the open slot and look inside. When she saw that the Masons were filing out of the room one by one into another adjoining chamber, she realized that this was more than just a random underground ritual. The Dresden Cathedral was housing a potentially vast Masonic lodge beneath it, and that meant that Chyna and Mark’s chances had just gone from bad to worse. There could be thousands of miles of tunnels and passageways like this one, and it wasn’t as if there was anyone outside selling them a ‘Star Map’ of the sites.

“Okay, here’s the plan.” Mark was next to her, trying to get his fill of the view inside the room. “We steal it.”

“That’s what I said.” Chyna gave him a dead expression.

“Yes, but the chances of actually getting away with it weren’t as good then.”

“As if they have improved now,” she countered.

“At least now we can sneak in, get the bow and get out of here,” Mark replied, and Chyna agreed that his plan made much more sense. Chyna nodded and tried to turn the doorknob, but it was locked.

“The door.” She gestured toward it. “It’s locked.”

“Well, good thing you have nice hair then.”

Mark reached for Chyna’s hair and fished out one of the pins that she had used to secure her long black hair in a twist around her usual pony tail. Though Chyna didn’t want to admit it, she knew it was quick and common thinking on his part.

Mark leaned into it and fumbled with the door for a few moments, listening for sounds and such from the lock, and before he knew it, they heard a small click. Then, as he put his hand on the knob and turned it, the door swung open without making so much as a sound and they were standing in the doorway, just feet away from the Ivory Bow.

“Holy shit,” Mark whispered, voicing exactly what Chyna had been thinking.

There was minimal lighting in the stone room; clearly it had been dug out of the very foundations of the ancient building above them. The only light in the room came from an overhead lamp that shone down in the center, right above the bow, giving it an orange-colored, incandescent hue. Even from near the door, Chyna could see the exquisite handiwork and carvings on it, made so carefully that each crevice appeared as a dark ridge and each surface as smooth as linen. The bow itself was curved like a woman’s body, accentuated more so by the ends that curled like tresses. It had been bolstered on a stand that cradled it like an object of reverence.

“It’s beautiful.” The words escaped Chyna’s mouth inadvertently.

“Yes, it is.”

“Let’s take it.”

“Yeah.”

Both Chyna and Mark approached the bow, as if taking in the majesty of the ivory and the exquisite craftsmanship in one stride. Chyna surveyed the stand from all directions, looking for any catches or booby traps. There seemed to be none. Both of them stared at each other from either side of it.

“So… we just take it?” Mark asked, and Chyna shrugged.

“No, you don’t.”

The voice did not belong to either Chyna or Mark. They both turned to face the direction where it came from, only to see that the one-eyed man was standing in the doorway that he and his company had just gone through. Behind him, was the entire group of Masons.

The room was so silent that Chyna thought she could hear her heart beating in her chest. Then, all hell broke loose.

“Run!” Mark screamed, and without thinking, Chyna grabbed the bow and sprinted toward the doorway.

“Oh, no, you don’t! Get them!” They heard the shouts somewhere behind them, but they didn’t care.

Their legs took them the same way they had come, back toward the statue. Then Chyna remembered they had closed the trap door on their way in.

“Mark! Mark!” She could hear the Masons behind them, and they were closing in. “We closed the trap door!”

She was breathless, and her chest was heaving with pain. She felt weak with exertion.

That’s what you get for not eating anything, she thought sarcastically.

“No, we didn’t.” Mark was panting as they finally reached the door. Behind them came shadows and fire. They had only moments. “There’s never a trap door without an out. There’s a lever here.”

Mark pointed to the wall that had been hidden from them when the trapdoor had been down earlier. Sure enough, Chyna could see the outline of a lever. Without thinking, he reached out and pulled it. The trapdoor fell.

“Come on!” Mark climbed up and stretched his hand, “Take my hand!”

Chyna felt weak and dizzy, but she collected her strength, mustered up the courage and jumped with all of her might, latching on. However, as soon as Mark started to pull her up, she felt a hand wrap around her ankle.

The Masons had caught up.

“Damn it!” Chyna cursed. With abandon, she kicked and flailed. “Mark!”

Her Finnish companion looked panicked and strained, and she knew he would not be able to hold on much longer. The last thing she wanted was to fall prey to the Masons. With the bow clutched in her hand and the other holding on to Mark, Chyna heaved. She looked at the one-eyed Man, who was trying his damndest to pull her down, and kicked him right in the face.

Let his other eye fall out, she thought maliciously.

One Eye wasn’t expecting the attack. As soon as Chyna’s boot hit his face, he keeled over. That was when Chyna saw her opportunity. She pushed one last time and before she knew it, she was out of the hole and she and Mark collapsed onto the church floor.

Mark didn’t give her a chance to breathe, he stood up and pulled her to her feet and all but dragged her down the stairs. Chyna knew it was all the lack of oxygen from being in a cave below the ground that was making her head spin, but somehow she gained some strength mid run and caught up. Behind them, the Masons and One Eye were starting to pour out of the ground. But they were far enough behind for Chyna and Mark to outrun them, and Chyna thought that they couldn’t exactly make a scene in the city.

They were only a few feet away from the cathedral’s main door when it swung open, and for the first time in days, Chyna felt a glimmer of hope. She couldn’t, however, for the life of her understand why it had somehow come with somebody she had never hoped to see.

Tony… and the Illuminati.

***

“Tony...”

Chyna’s words weren’t much more than a whisper as she and Mark came to a halt, as did the Masons behind them. The two were surrounded and the relief that surged through Chyna at the sight of Tony had washed away her fatigue and dizziness. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness she felt at the silence in the church. And there was something distinctly different about him, something—Chyna was almost afraid to say the word—sinister.

“Chyna,” Tony sneered at her.

Yes, something was definitely wrong. This was not his usual demeanor. She looked over his shoulder to the people who stood behind him. There was no mistaking who they were. Chyna almost couldn’t believe her eyes, but no, the All-Seeing Eye on their red robes was too well known to be mistaken for anything else. They were, much to Chyna’s disbelief, members of the Illuminati.

With a growing sense of fear and suspicion, Chyna narrowed her eyes. “Tony, what’s going on?”

Chyna’s stomach dropped when she saw the look on Tony’s face; he just seemed to be looking right through her. They were not the eyes of the man she had known for fifteen years; the man in front of her was a stranger. When she saw him reach for his gun, her fears were validated. There was a hell of a lot of back story missing here. Instinctively, Chyna drew the SIG from its holster, handed Mark the bow and raised her arms to shoulder height, putting Tony in her sights.

“Shit, Chyna,” Tony hissed but he looked far from fazed or repentant or… anything at all. “I was kind of hoping for another way to do this, but... remember the story about the mole? You must have figured by now that it was me.”

All of the breath left Chyna’s body as she processed his words. Beside her, Mark was a statue. It was a complete turn of events, and a grim one at that.

“Wha... I don’t understand... You’re an FBI agent. All these years, we’ve…” Chyna murmured, allowing her words to trail off. She was speechless.

“Yes, I figured you wouldn’t. How many times have I told you over the years, Babe? For such a ridiculously smart woman, you sure can be stupid at times.” Tony, the stranger, smiled at her, but there was nothing warm and compassionate about the gesture. “I’m an Illuminatus. And this,” he mentioned to the group, “is our society... well, some of it at least.”

Chyna felt sick to her core.

“You see, the Illuminati, the earlier generation that is, swallowed up the Schlaraffia way back in 1946, just after the war. I mean, how could we not? They were just a bunch of stupid men who thought that art and poetry and that other shit was worth risking their necks to preserve and develop. Yes, yes, it may have been important at the time, but times have changed now, Chyna!”

Tony was suddenly using hand gestures to make his point, something that he had never done before and Chyna began to truly doubt whether she had ever really known him.

Facades are not hard to maintain, Chyna. All you need are the right incentives. His words came back to hit her like a ton of bricks.

“There’s no need for the protection of knowledge and shit like that now; not in the modern age of technology we live in. Information is finally king and the Illuminati almost became obsolete holding on to that as their main purpose. That’s Apple and Microsoft’s job now; we’ve left that to the Internet. It’s all about power and the procurement of the treasures of the past, and it’s here, with us. We’re the new Illuminati—revised, revamped but still true to our values!”

His superfluous words were just a jumble in Chyna’s mind, just like the situation at hand. For all she knew, Tony had her heart in his hand and was crushing it as he spoke. There was a pain rising inside of her and she almost wished for the dizziness to come back so she could forget it. But then her training and her instinct kicked in and Chyna leveled the gun at Tony’s chest and lowered her chin to her arm to get him back into her sights.

“I see you have the Ivory Bow,” he commented, looking over at Mark, then he turned back to her and shook his head slowly. “Always taking things that don’t belong to you, aren’t you? Hand it over, Mr. Gunnar and lower your gun, Chyna. It’s not like you’ll ever work up the nerve to shoot me.”

Did he just say something to her? Or was it her imagination, a trick of her mind?

“Do it!” he yelled at the both of them. “Don’t make me sic my friend back there on you.”

“What the hell?” Mark was the first of the duo to break the silence. “One Eye works for you?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” The feigned innocence was starting to wear off. “Yes, he does. He is a Freemason, though. We’re supposed to be enemies, but who cares when you have mutual interests, right? Oh, and I sorta let them know that you were after the bow all this time, so...” Tony trailed off.

Betrayal: that was what this pain was—pure, hideous, unadulterated betrayal. Chyna’s heart felt like it had been constricted and then exploded without warning. The blood inside her surged and wept at the sight of the monster she had come so close to loving completely. It had all been a lie; everything had been a mirage, covering up the blackness and ugliness that was showing through now.

He had expected her to be crushed, yes, but she would prove him wrong. She felt as if her heart was expanding in her chest filling her up completely from the inside. She had only felt that way once before.

It had been in Israel, ten years before as she had undergone three months of intensive training with a female platoon of Mossad soldiers. Their specialty had been shooting; more specifically, sniper fire. Her platoon leader had lain on the ground right beside Chyna and whispered in her ear as she made the adjustments to her gun that the shot guide gave her.

“Make your adjustments and steady your rifle. When the target is in your crosshairs, take a deep breath and hold it. When it feels like the air has completely filled your body and all you can hear is the beating of your own heart… pull the trigger so you can breathe again.”

It was the woman’s words that resonated with her now, and the memory gave her a new strength. This time, the silence was broken by Chyna Stone.

“It was you. You killed Emilijus and Ethan. You set us up and told those thugs where to find us. You are the reason an entire city is burning right now and its citizens are ignited in the throes of a possible hate war. You are a murderer!” she screamed at the man she had once thought she loved. The thought left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth now.

“I am just a man who makes the most of his means.” Tony was unfazed. “Now, hand the bow over, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

“I’ll hurt you before I let that happen!” Mark suddenly said.

Chyna settled her chin into the muscle of her forearm and took aim. The breath filled her body and she stood there waiting. She knew immediately that Mark had spoken at the wrong time. Before he could blink, a shot rang out in the church and Mark was on the ground, howling. Blood oozed from his left arm.

Chyna slowly lowered her gun, keeping her eyes on Tony. He was sprawled on the floor clutching at his right knee. Chyna went over to him and picked up his gun before any of his red robed goons could get involved. Where was the cavalry when you needed them? She was so accustomed to the FBI and the CIA, even Interpol becoming involved in her recovery missions by this point in the process, that she couldn’t help but feel under prepared. Any minute now these men could decide to take things into their own hands.

“Mark!” Chyna cried out as she turned and ran to him, finding him writhing in agony, “Mark!”

She pulled her T-shirt from out of her jeans and ripped a four inch band from the bottom of it which she used to bandage his arm tightly.

“Don’t move,” she told him tenderly, then as she placed the bow across his lap and his gun in his right hand, she added, “Hold on to this and don’t let anyone get near you.”

“You already know that I just want the bow, Chyna.”

“Shut up Tony, or I’ll shoot you again.”

Tony smiled and shrugged, as if what he had just done and what had happened to him had still not quite computed.

“It’s Anthony, actually. I’ve always hated being called Tony. Seriously, would it kill people to just say it as it is and lend it the class it deserves?”

After hearing him say that, Chyna knew he was too far gone. In fact, it seemed true that he had never even been on the same page with her at all. The Tony she had known was a chimera from another world. He had been a thought that she had loved and lived for, and now that it had been dispelled, she wanted to lose all touch with it.

When Mark whimpered from the pain in her arms, it felt like a slap on the face. She had already let too many people die because she trusted the wrong man. She had promised herself never to compromise a mission when in turn, she was the one who had been compromised all along.

At that point, Chyna realized that if she died in the church that day, she would prove this monster right. All of the people who sacrificed their lives because of her misplaced trust would be wronged. Their lives would have been in vain, like footprints in beach sand, and she couldn’t let that happen.

“You’ll never have it,” Chyna shouted as she aimed her gun at him again. She thought her hands would go numb. “Tell your men to back up. One Eye’s guys too; everyone out of the church… NOW!”

Tony bellowed at them to get lost and they literally stampeded toward the large church doors and poured out into the street. When the door was closed behind the exiting men, Tony continued to taunt Chyna.

“Good girl!” his vile voice teased as he slowly clapped his hands in mock cheer. “You always did have a knack for trying to get me into compromising positions, pretty girl. Even though I never loved you, I always found it amusing how you did you very best to keep me interested with your abilities. At the very least, over the years I did enjoy our... carnal interludes, shall we say?”

She heard his words, etching each of them in her memory, jotting them down in her mind and memorizing them by heart. They were a reminder of her failure and his betrayal, stabbing at her heart like a thousand arrows piercing through it.

“Oh, and one more thing…” Tony said, but before he could finish, another shot rang out. The bullet flew smoothly from the barrel of the SIG Sauer and hit Tony in the shoulder. This time, he screamed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he reacted immediately.

“But I wasn’t aiming for your shoulder, Babe! I missed that black hole you call a heart!” She heard him whine at the acid in her words. “Oh, well, it was fun regardless.”

Then, there were footsteps. Chyna couldn’t tell who they belonged to, because all of her attention was still on Tony. Her brain was fuzzy and whirling: the weakness was back. It wasn’t until she heard Sirita’s soft, familiar voice whispering into her ear that Chyna finally let go of the gun and collapsed to the floor beside Mark.

The robed men outside the church had been unceremoniously herded into several police vehicles while Sirita held Chyna cradled in her arms. Emergency responders milled busily around them as they tended to Mark and Tony’s wounds and strapped them down onto gurneys, wheeling them quickly out to the waiting ambulances. She could hear Oscar’s voice shouting directives to the media as they tried their best to muscle their way inside the church for the chance to take that million dollar photograph.

The church was empty now, except for Chyna and Sirita, and amidst all the hysteria brewing inside her, Chyna knew that now there was no one who could help her. She lay on the cold stone floor of the cathedral, clutching Christina’s ivory bow in her hands and looking at the altar.

“Take your aim. God protects it,” she repeated, over and over again as she lay there and wondered how strikingly similar the statue of Jesus praying to God in his agony in Gethsemane was to the picture of her own soul.

Epilogue

Three Weeks Later

“Did she eat anything?” Sirita asked Oscar expectedly, and the latter sighed.

He knew it was not Sirita’s fault. She was just looking out for her friend, but he really wished she would stop bothering him with questions that he had no answers to. He would answer them if he knew how, but the truth was, he was as afraid and worried as she was.

Chyna Stone was gone. Not literally, of course. She had just... disappeared to God knew where. No one, not even Oscar could tell where she was and except for a random phone call here and there which told them she was still alive, there was no proof that Chyna Stone even existed. That was what troubled Oscar the most.

The flight back to Istanbul had been a haze for her. After the debacle in the Dresden cathedral, Lithuanian authorities had swarmed the place and gotten Chyna and her team out of there. Mark had been badly injured, but the doctors said he would eventually regain full use of his arm. However, they recommended as little work as possible during his recovery. Chyna on the other hand, wasn’t doing nearly as well. She was holed up in the suite at the Ottoman Imperial with strict instructions to the management that they intercept all calls and visitors; she had gone off the grid.

News about the virtual shut down at Found History had traveled fast to every corner of the world. Oscar and Sirita had wanted to evacuate the entire team to New York, but Thyri had beaten them to it. She was the one who had taken control, as soon as it was clear that Chyna didn’t seem like she would be coming around from her ordeal any time soon. In a flurry, they had all been packed off to the United States. Chyna had been left behind. That was just about all anybody knew.

Apparently, Chyna Stone had not been too out of it. It seemed she only waited six hours after Thyri’s jet had taken off with her entire team safely ensconced inside before she ordered a rental car for herself and drove out of Istanbul. Oscar had found out too late. By the time he had landed in New York and tried to initiate the personal tracker in her staple leather jacket, it had long been deactivated. That was the point when the hunting had begun.

It was certainly the first time Oscar had found himself hating Chyna’s incredible abilities and her depth for espionage. All trails around her had either vanished or repeatedly led them to dead ends. She was more than a boss to them, she was their friend and she was hurting and they were all clueless. Soon, other friends and colleagues had joined the party, since Chyna had failed to make contact with any of them.

Then, out of the blue; a telephone call.

“Oscar?”

He had gone over what he would say to her if she ever called him so many times by then that he could have that conversation in his sleep.

“Where the hell are you, Chyna? What in the world? Do you know how worried we have been? You exile yourself in Turkey, wait for us to be removed from the city and then you just disappear without a trace? What, are you crazy? What the hell is wrong with you? Where are you?”

She waited patiently until the end of his rant and then simply answered, “I’m okay. I’m safe. I can’t tell you where I am. I just need... some time off. Tell Lana and the others that I love them and they’re not to worry. You’re all angry, I know. You’re angry because you’re worried and you’re worried because this isn’t the boss that you know. Just give me the time I need, Oscar. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m really glad Thyri got you all to New York; it’s where you need to be… as a team. If you have to understand why I’ve done this, maybe Sandra and Lana can help explaining it. Tell Sandra to make sure the office in Turkey and everyone there is taken care of. I love you all.”

The line went dead. Oscar tried to have it traced, but of course, the call had been made from a disposable phone.

Since then, she’d called once a week, and at random times of day and night and from a disposable and untraceable cell. All her phones had been switched off, so had her laptop. The car she had rented had been returned to the company safe and sound.

A week after that, Oscar, Sirita and a wheelchair bound Mark attended the memorial of the thirty-six FBI agents who had died when the building had been torched.

Anthony Stewart was not mentioned.

Somewhere outside of Deadhorse, Alaska

Chyna woke up in a haze of sweat and tears.

Her room in the cabin was still dark, though she could see light barely starting to color the sky orange. Another night had passed, thankfully without those recurring dreams that consisted of a beautiful city with intimate courtyards and jasmine on the breeze and white, pristine ivory with intricate carving. Chyna could handle the seclusion she was living in right now, but the dreams... they haunted her like the ghosts of a past she desperately wanted to escape. They chased her around when she only wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. They focused a glaring limelight on her, when all she wanted was to disappear into darkness. They made her remember, when all she wanted to do was forget.

But how did one erase fifteen years from memory? All the good times… in the cafeteria at Quantico; her father’s library; silent, sensual nights spent on the banks of the Nile; the peace and calm being out in the middle of the ocean; Paris at sunset.

Chyna turned in her bed, shaking her head at the errant thoughts that had somehow found their way back in. If she wanted to get through today, she needed to get herself under control, however hard it might seem.

She kept things simple out there in the wilderness, sticking to the most mundane routine she could devise. She got up, brushed and bathed, dressed and ate and flopped in front of the TV, trying to pass the day. News was out of the question, as were romantic comedies. She resorted to watching reruns of the Simpsons and Family Guy. Other cartoons made their appearance once in a while. Eventually, she would have lunch and watch some more TV. By the time the sun set, her mind was effectively buzzing with chatter from Rocko’s Modern Life and Recess. She gladly fell into the bed at night with a thump, and that was all she needed to lull her into another fit of restless sleep.

For one more night, Chyna Stone was effectively away from—and dead to—the world.

Anchorage, Alaska.

He was determined to spend all of his time off the radar keeping a tab on how she was doing. The way everything had gone down in Europe had almost killed her…Hell, he had almost killed. No, he would never have been able to go that far. He had trusted that she would take control of the situation, despite the depth betrayal she was being faced with, and she had. She had handled herself like the indomitable woman he had loved for almost fifteen years. She hadn’t let him down.

She had abandoned everything, everyone and secluded herself in the wilderness of the Alaskan tundra. He knew Riva’s camp well. He also knew that she had gone to the best person for help. Riva knew what she was going through. She’d had a similar experience in Israel when her own army had abandoned her and left her in the hands of Hamas after the failed assassination attempt of Khaled Mashal. She had come out on the other side a different woman, a dead woman really, and had left the Middle East to live a free life in the snowy wilderness. She had lost a lot in captivity but the fact that Mossad thought she was dead had emancipated her from their ranks. Riva understood what Chyna was going through and she could help her.

He wanted so badly to leave a note on her window, step out from behind a tree and wave as she went past on the dogsled, but he couldn’t. The operation was nowhere close to completion and he couldn’t rick her life and the lives of so many others just so that he could save the two of them from broken hearts. He could only hope that Riva could deliver the message without having to be too obvious. She was a military woman, after all; he was sure that subtle connotations were a way of life for her.

He stood by the helipad watching the helicopter make its way in and thought deeply about the damage he had done to the woman he loved. He could have broken down and cried like a baby under the circumstances but the end game was what he would focus on instead. When it was all over and all the cards were on the table, Chyna would see what he had done and why he’d had to do it. Whether she accepted it, whether she forgave him, whether she could love him again…only time would tell.

Somewhere outside of Deadhorse, Alaska

She drifted in and out sleep until her alarm clock screeched in her ear. She hated the thing, but knew she would never get out of bed if not for its insistence and today was the day she would stop the mourning.

Today would be different…

She drank three cups of the hot, black coffee that sat brewing on the kitchen counter as she dressed in her snow camo and pulled on her hunting boots. An hour later, with a compound bow and arrows slung across her back and her AR rifle slung over her shoulder, she mounted the snow mobile parked outside the cabin and rode across the valley toward the base camp.

As she approached the cluster of log buildings, she could see Rivka Ibrahim bringing out her dogs one by one and hooking them up to the sled line. Chyna parked the snowmobile under the shelter of the utility shed and went to help her friend bring out the lead dogs.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, mamele?” Rivka asked, taking a good look at Chyna’s face.

“Don’t give me any of your sentimental schmegegge!” Chyna retorted. “It’s time to get back to life and I’ve never felt more alive than I did in the moments that I’ve spent taking one.”

“That’s a little morbid for you, Chyna. You were always a conscientious hunter, no matter what, or who, you were hunting.”

“Maybe that was my mistake all along, Rivvi. Maybe, if I had learnt all those years ago in Israel to care as little as my platoon members did, I would have been as successful at the job as they were.”

“Now who’s talking schmegegge? It’s always been your heart that singled you out from the conformist soldier and it’s what lead you back to your real love, your true calling. Look what you did with Found History in those few short years. Don’t you want to get back there?”

“I do Rivvi; that’s why I got out of bed finally.”

“It's good.”

“I know it is.”

“And it's time.”

“Yeah, it is. Let’s go shoot some moose.”

The End

Chyna Stone returns in:

The Rosary Riddle

A Chyna Stone Adventure #7

Return to the Table of Contents

THE

ROSARY

RIDDLE

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#7

by

K.T. TOMB

The Rosary Riddle

Prologue

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

The Queen: Isabella, ‘The Catholic’ of Castile and Leon was born on April 22, 1451, at Madrigal de las Altas Torres, to King Juan II and Queen Isabella of Castile. King Juan had ascended the throne when he was only 14 in 1419. His mother and his uncle, King Ferdinand I of Aragon, had both acted as regents during his teenage years. His first wife, Maria of Aragon, produced a male heir, Enrique, born in 1425, before she died in 1445. King Juan took on a second wife, Isabella, a bride sent from Portugal, in 1447, suggested by his trusted confidant, Don Álvaro de Luna. Although Juan was nearly 15 years older than Isabella, the two were a faithful and loving couple, and produced two children: Isabella, and a boy, Alfonso, born in 1453. Isabella saw Juan as controlled by Luna, and she urged his independence. Juan listened to his wife and finding Luna suspicious, had him executed the same year of Alfonos's birth. A year after Alfonso's birth, King Juan died at the age of 49, supposedly overcome by grief of losing Luna. Enrique was crowned King of Castile, and two years later he married the sister of King Alfonso V of Portugal, Juana, in May of 1445.

Chapter One

“Consult not your fears but your hopes and your dreams. Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what it is still possible for you to do.” -Pope John XXIII

Chyna Stone had never gotten along with God. Although an archaeologist by profession and used to dealing with the remnants of the religious pasts and sentiments of civilizations, she had never felt any direct affinity with the entity referred to as God. He was, for her, an idea that provided balance to the imbalanced, light to the darkened, and comfort to the lonely. He had always been a question of belief in her mind, a chimera of an omnipresent, omnipotent entity that she found hard to believe in. On that note, she was thankful for the secular surroundings passing through the streets of Geneva in her car; she was finding herself at war between the believer and the skeptical parts of her ever since what had happened in Lithuania.

She had flat out refused to go back to Turkey when the news had come from the destruction of the FBI home offices in Istanbul. Thirty-six agents had lost their lives that day. For the short time they had been established there, the city had become a home to her. Everything she had seen in her future had been based on her new life there. She was used to waking up to the Istanbul sun and going to sleep staring at the skyline of the city.

Now, it was as ruined for her as her heart. The bustling shops might have been on fire, and the beautiful, charming Hagia Sophia might have been the carcass of the time it was a remnant of. The sun seemed to burn through her skin, the sky seemed to darken her eyes more than they already were. Though she was grimly hanging onto her illusion of self-sufficiency, the light truly had gone out of Chyna Stone's life and had been replaced by mistrust, anger and regret. Things she abhorred with all her being and yet found herself completely consumed by.

Anthony Stewart was dead to her, or at least that was the little lie she held on to. All she wanted to do was to delete him from her mind, a dark part of a life that could have been. What was there that she could do to erase fifteen years of her life with Tony, from the minute they first talked in the cafeteria at Quantico to Dresden, where she sat with Mark bleeding in her arms; and a smug Tony circling her like a vulture would a carrion corpse.

Chyna Stone had been a strong woman in every sense of the word. She was tenacious, adventurous, eager, participative and had the physical ability to bring down a mammoth. Now, she felt weaker than ever, more emotionally than physically. She felt as if she crossed a void just trying to get back to the normal pace that she was used to. Even then, nothing was right, nothing quite fit. The air sat bitter in her lungs, and her eyes itched and reddened unbidden.

***

On her arrival, Chyna saw that the house was different from the rendezvous points that she was used to occupying with the Found History team. She thanked Lana mentally for not going overboard with the accommodations that she had secured and looked with hope at the apartment building. Set in the heart of the city with bustling crowds, it provided the perfect anonymity that Chyna seemed to crave these days. Maybe the busy environment would be just what she needed. She might be alone in love, but she knew she would never be alone in life with the people waiting for her inside this building. Her surrogate family, she had discovered, meant more to her than the partnership she had lost.

She parked the black, armored Range Rover in a vacant parking spot and made her way inside. No one stopped her; the concierge team clearly had been informed that she was coming. Security, however, was tighter than ever. Her team had the top floor to themselves, with only the private elevator to reach it, for which only Chyna and her team had keycards. Anybody else was required to check in with the front desk concierge and await clearance.

Chyna picked up her small duffel bag and walked uncomfortably toward the elevator under the impassive gaze of the moderately attractive woman behind the front desk. Two months in Alaska and she was still paranoid, a nightmarish thought formed in her mind as she swiped the card and the elevator began its journey. Tony was still out there somewhere. He had inside information on just about everything that she had worked on, every secret she had exposed and artifact she had recovered. Hell, he had provided indispensable back up on almost all her missions. It was only a matter of time before the proverbial shit hit the fan.

The ping of the elevator brought her back to the real world. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder, took the card and swiped it at the only door in the hallway, and it let her in. She held her breath as she entered but exhaled deeply at the sight of them all. She had not anticipated the relief she would feel seeing her team together again.

“Chyna.” Oscar was the first one to rush over to her. She was engulfed in his friendly arms, and she nearly choked at the thought of how much she had missed him.

“Hey, Oscar.” She smiled at him. “How've you been?” she asked him, and she could see the wariness in his eyes, as if she might break and begin sobbing like a little girl right there. Was she so fragile in appearance?

“Good, good. You?” She nodded.

“Better now that you are here. You’ll be pleased to hear we have beaucoup work ahead of us.” He waved an arm to draw her attention to a table brimming with folders and laptops. Clearly the team had not been idle in her absence. She looked over his shoulder to see Lana and Sirita, and she didn’t wait for them to come to her, crossing the room and wrapping them both in a firm embrace. Too firm for Sirita, who gasped slightly under the pressure of Chyna’s biceps. Chyna murmured an apology and relaxed her arms slightly to allow Sirita to draw breath. There was a moment of silence as the three of them hugged. Chyna felt great affection toward her girls, the tacit camaraderie that negated the need for words to describe emotions, fears, pain. When one of them hurt, all of them did, and Chyna’s pain was evident.

“How's married life treating you, Lana?” Chyna smiled at her friend, and tried to put in some semblance of true joy into it.

“It’s suiting me, to say the least.” Lana smiled at Chyna, but she didn’t go further despite her clear ebullience; any talk about the course of true love was evidently the last thing Chyna needed. Sirita broke the potentially uncomfortable moment by hugging Chyna again, this time with her arms over her employer’s.

“I missed you so much, Chyna.” Chyna returned the embrace with warmth, or at least as much as she could summon.

“I believe I get the same reception?” A voice boomed from the corner of the room, and she raised her head from Sirita’s shoulder to see the only man she had been eager to see for the past two months; misandry being an easier path to tread than acceptance.

Mark Gunnar seemed like he had aged a decade since she last saw him. His blond hair—which had once been kept in flowing locks—was now shorter and cropped close to his head. The blue of his eyes was now more ice than azure, and he still winced when he raised his left arm. The doctors had been able to restore the use of it, but the same couldn't be said for its efficiency. In time, full function would return. Chyna noticed he was walking with a cane; a huge medical boot on his right foot. She had heard about his fall down several flights of stairs after he had failed to grasp a railing with his injured hand. His heel and ankle had been shattered.

Chyna felt that she had some kind of silent bond with Mark after all that had happened to them, and although Mark would never admit it, the feeling was clearly mutual. Friendships made in crisis situations had a habit of forming those kinds of links and Chyna was reminded of the similar bond she had once shared with Tony. Mark had seen the worst of betrayals in that church. The thoughts sent pangs of guilt at her own self-absorption running up Chyna’s spine. Her emotions had been hurt, tortured even, but he had received much more tangible and more permanent wounds.

“Mark.” Her smile softened and felt genuine. She was truly happy to see him.

“Chyna.” He walked over to where she was and engulfed her in his arms, and she felt her first feel of normalcy and warmth since she stepped foot in Geneva.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Ready for a marathon,” he said, tapping the cane on his leg and wincing slightly with an exaggerated hop. He was actually joking with her, despite everything that she had gotten him into in Dresden. Finally, a genuine feeling, a strange gurgling in her throat. It was a laugh.

She didn't need anything more than that, at least for now. Sirita picked up her bag and showed her to her bedroom.

***

“I think we need to talk about Tony,” Chyna announced abruptly. They were in the middle of a discussion led by Lana about an email request that Sandra had forwarded from the New York office, but Chyna found she couldn’t concentrate without getting what was troubling her off her chest. Lana stood open mouthed, cut off mid-sentence. There was dead silence in the room. Everyone had turned to stare at her like she was going to explode. Chyna ignored the looks and continued.

“I think he has something else up his sleeve. He has a plan, and we need to know what it is,” she said.

Oscar began to speak, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

“No one keeps up pretenses for that long unless they have an elaborate plan, Oscar. There must be something else, something we’re missing,” she said.

“Chyna, listen to me,” Oscar said, and this time he closed the laptop and stood up. “We should forget them.”

“Forget who?” Chyna said, with a raised eyebrow.

“Tony, the Illuminati, whatever—they're gone. They are old news, for us at least. It's been two months. I think if they had a game plan, they would have acted on it. After all, they are as out of the closet now as they could ever be.”

“They waited fifteen years, Oscar. Fifteen years. What's two months?” Chyna countered.

“We can act on it later, Chyna. Right now, we need to concentrate on this email Sandra sent us. It's a good opportunity, Chyna. It's freaking Asia for God's sake. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sick of Europe and the goddamned Middle East,” Oscar said.

“Oscar, there will never be a better time than now. They think—”

“You know what I think? I think that you are eaten up, Chyna, and who could blame you? None of us do. Tony betrayed you. He betrayed all of us, and your desire for revenge is completely justified. But that's not the way to run things, Chyna; and you know it. I understand you want to get back at him for what he did, but you're blinding yourself with hate.  We need you objective and on the mission.” Oscar let out his thoughts, and it was as if the elephant in the room had finally been noticed.

Chyna didn't know whether to feel rage or guilt. She knew Oscar meant well, but the way he had called her out was unacceptable to her. He had all but accused her of being an unthinking bitch looking for blood. She set her teeth and fixed him with a glare that quickly reminded him who was the boss and that he had stepped over the line.

“Oscar, trust me. I am completely in control of my faculties, and hear me when I say this; I spent two months without him, without any of you and it's given me perspective. I have thought about this long and hard. The Tony we knew never did things half-heartedly. He always had a plan and he knew when to execute it. You and I both know where it got him. We made a mistake once, and I'd like it if we didn’t make the same one again. I just know he had a reason for coming out when he did. My instincts scream out loud when I think of it. He had a plan and it’s moving to the next stage. The Ivory Bow was just a part of the puzzle, albeit a seemingly important one.” She found that she had stood up from the table and was pounding it with one fist; as if she were hammering for a clue about her erstwhile lover’s next move.

“Chyna, maybe Oscar is—” Lana began to say, but Lana brooked no argument.

“He had a plan and it’s moving to the next stage,” Chyna stated with finality.

With that, she walked out. Meeting adjourned. How dare they betray her now? She felt like screaming at all of them. Why couldn’t they see that she was right?

Chapter Two

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

Reuters World News

Bouts of madness plague the faithful in Spain

Several strange cases of spontaneous madness in individuals visiting some of Spain’s most auspicious religious sites and cathedrals have reported all over the country. The latest occurrence has seen four persons visiting the Santa Iglesia Catedral de Córdoba falling into bouts of unexplained mild insanity. The four have remained on the premises of the church, undisturbed for days during which they have conducted lengthy rants about religious purpose and their work for God, have not bathed, slept or eaten. Well-wishers and concerned members of the public have been bringing food for the people who have now become known as the Mezquita pilgrims.

As she stormed out of the living room and into her bedroom, Chyna felt bad about how she’d treated her team. They were her only family now, and she had disregarded their input like a petty call center boss demanding hours at the desk from her workers. They had been with her in her lowest moments, albeit only in heart and mind rather than in body and she saw that her behavior toward them had been unwarranted. Maybe they were right. Maybe she was consumed by her desire for revenge. Had she lost her vaunted objectivity? Without her ability to pull herself back from a situation, see it from an impartial viewpoint, what use was she to Found History? She hadn’t even allowed anyone else to speak, to fill her in on what had happened in her absence.

No.

She knew she was right. She felt it in her bones. It was harder to trust her instinct now, yes, but she had known Tony intimately for fifteen years. And Chyna was nothing if not observant; despite missing that he would betray her, there was no possible way he could have hidden everything, there must be a clue in their joint history. He had a game plan, and she was sure that something must have happened to have made him reveal his carefully concealed identity and his so called reborn Illuminati. Anger be damned, she was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Chyna,” Mark called to her. She turned to see him in leaning against the doorway with his cane supporting his bad leg.

“Not now, Mark. I know—”

“I’m not here to berate you. Oscar just found something. We think you should see this.” His voice was grave, and it was only then that she noticed the worry lines on his face, more pronounced than before his ordeal.

“Okay,” she said and she followed him back into the living room, expecting some kind of reaction or at least castigation for her behavior, but found that everyone was more focused on the lone laptop screen and their phones than her. Something was definitely up.

“What’s going on?” she asked, and it was only then that they looked up. Yet, no one mentioned the incident that had taken place just moments ago, and for that she was thankful for their compassion.

“They’re gone,” Lana said. “The artifacts that we recovered on our adventures and expeditions? They’ve all been stolen.”

“What?!” Chyna’s eyes widened. “How?”

“We don’t know yet.” Sirita said, but her eyes were still boring into the laptop. “But we’re on it.”

“How could this have happened?” Chyna shook her head. “I mean, they’ve all been kept under proper security in their respective locations, right?”

“Yes, they have, but someone—or some people—got to them and stole them all, every last one.” The worry lines were stark on Oscar’s face.

“Everything? The Codex? The Armor?”

“Everything, Chyna. Every single thing we’ve ever recovered is gone,” Oscar said grimly.

“Not everything,” Sirita piped up. “The Minoan Mask is still in the University museum, and obviously the Babylonian display can’t just be put into the back of a pickup truck. There’s a pattern here though. It’s not much to go on, but there is.”

“What is it?” Lana said.

“Who owned the Codex?” Sirita said, standing up and wiping the whiteboard clear of numerous bubble charts and notes in many different hands and colored markers. She pulled the top off a fresh black marker and wrote codex on the whiteboard, in the top left corner, and looked at Chyna.

“Ankhesenamun, the Egyptian Queen,” Chyna answered. Sirita wrote Ankhesenamun next to codex.

“And the Aquitaine Armor?” Sirita’s pen flew over the board.

“Eleanor of Aquitaine.” Came the answer.

Sirita’s raised brow was enough of a hint for Chyna to fill in the blanks in the theory for herself.

“They’ve taken all the artifacts owned by great women,” Chyna concluded, “The bow; The Ivory Bow, I guess he’s stolen that too. It was owned by Christina of Sweden.”

“Yup, pattern right there,” Sirita nodded.

“Or it could be a coincidence,” Mark said. “Maybe there’s no pattern and the Minoan Mask is next. We should let the curators in Athens know it may be under threat.”

“Emailing them now, I’ll advise doubling their security,” Lana said, turning back to her own laptop.

“How the hell did they break into the Hagia Sofia?” Oscar wondered. He had been particularly impressed with both Rashid Abdullah, the curator, and his security set up at the famous museum. “We should call and check up on him.”

“What do we do now?” Mark said, “Alright, this is a thread that could be true, but we don’t know why, or what for, or even how these artifacts could possibly be of use together.”

“We are going to have to go through our job requests and begin looking for historical artifacts owned by famous women,” Chyna said. “If this is their plan and their pattern is consistent, then there must be other items that they’re after. Logically, if they had everything they needed to do whatever it is they are going to do, Tony would already have done it; and now that they think they have us stymied after the whole Dresden affair, they must think they can beat us to them. In fact, I think this supports my theory from earlier—now, I am sorry for blowing up at you all, I really am, but if Tony really is moving to the next level, then these artifacts must mean something to them. I don’t know what they plan on doing if they find them, but it can’t be good. We don’t even know if they need them at all, but the fact is that we need to stop them.”

“You think really fast, do you know that?” Mark complimented Chyna with a wistful smile.

“I may be emotionally compromised, but my ability to think logically is pretty intact, I assure you,” Chyna shot back.

“Enough with the verbal foreplay you two,” Lana said. “Come over here and take a look at this.”

Chyna looked toward Mark and saw the faintest hint of a blush, but he quickly composed himself and rounded the table to sit by Lana and her laptop, which was surrounded by some notes and scribbles on various yellow Post-its.

“I didn’t think it was important enough to report, but then I caught the news when I fired up my email and I know that it couldn’t be random. At first I didn’t even think it was a pattern, but the research says otherwise.” She mumbled to herself and trailed off as her eyes ran over the article on her screen.

“Lana, what is going on?” Chyna said.

“I’ve been collecting stories, weird ones in case they turned up something useful. I’ve got them coming in through my RSS feed. Pretty much just the standard practice for when we’re investigating a new item; but here,” she frowned, and handed Chyna her laptop, “look at this. All of these are articles I’ve collected from the news out of Spain, and they’re all about similar incidents.”

Chyna browsed through the wide array of pages that Lana had saved in a folder, and she momentarily remembered a time when she would sift through cuttings of newspapers, doing this same job manually. However, the news at hand was much more important than remnants of the past.

“You see?” Lana coaxed.

“How is this possible?” Chyna frowned.

“What happened?” The voice that spoke belonged to Mark.

“Religious madness, or at the best case some kind of mass hysteria it seems. All of these are news pieces about different people. Apparently, they started experiencing religious visions and then went mad, as in psychotic, crazy mad. They claimed they were working for God and whatnot. Most of them have been admitted to mental institutions all over the place, but doctors are still not sure of what it is.”

“Some kind of fever, maybe? Physical illness tends to get to the brain sometimes, right?” Mark had by now taken the seat in front of the laptop and was doing some sifting of his own.

“No. Every person who was afflicted was in perfect health, except some who had the common cold and such. No linking histories of mental disorders, drug abuse, nothing.” Chyna shook her head.

“So why is this important?” Mark was still lost.

“Because of the Rosary of Isabella,” Chyna stated plainly. It hadn’t taken her a minute to guess why Lana had called her when she had. Lana was good at sniffing out opportunities where there seemed to be none.

“The rosary of who?”

“The Rosary of Isabella. Isabella the First, or Isabella the Catholic, was the wife of Ferdinand II of Aragon and the Queen of Castile and Leon, which was the crown of Castile. There was immense turmoil in Spain during her time, but she brought stability to the nation, for better or worse.

“It’s said that she was deeply Catholic and most of her decisions were, according to her, brushed by the hand of God. She had a rosary she used to keep with her at all times. Even in public appearances, or when sleeping at night, she always kept it with her. She claimed it lent her prudence, gave her messages from God. It was also said that she experienced visions and voices that she claimed were God himself talking to her. When she died, people began believing that the rosary had magical powers, and that it really was a gift of God to Isabella that had helped her save the kingdom. News spread fast, and soon people began to vie to obtain the rosary. But soon superstitions arose around it and the most propagated one was that this particular rosary could only be passed on to Isabella’s blood successors. Anybody else who tried to wear it and harness its power would go mad with delusion. It could only be controlled by her and the blood of her blood, as if she had marked it. It got lost in time, though. I think it was passed on to her grandson, Charles, who became the next king of Spain, and it was just never seen again. Some thought it was stolen, though the popular thinking went that it had been hidden somewhere.

“The signs that these people are showing—madness, religious visions, and hallucinations and so on—they can only point to the possibility that it has been found, or rediscovered, I think.”

By the time Chyna finished speaking, Sirita and Oscar had joined them and were listening intently. Mark was still peering into the laptop, as was Lana, peering from over his shoulder.

“Or maybe it’s just a trap. You’re pulling at big straws here. How do you know it’s not just a bad batch of LSD?” Oscar stated.

Chyna had never felt more cheated than she did now at Oscar’s words.

“What’s your problem?” she barked.

“What?” Oscar raised an eyebrow. She knew he was challenging her, and damn her if she backed down.

“Why are you just itching to take a bite out of me? Do you think I’m some kind of a moron? That I don’t know what to do?” she seethed.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that your judgment might be a little bit clouded after what you went through. What you’re saying now is just supporting what you said earlier. Look at this: another artifact owned by a famous woman. If they stole all the others, what are the chances that they are not staking us out now waiting to follow us as soon as we leave?” Oscar explained.

Chyna knew his argument was valid, but that didn’t mean that she would be deterred from following the course she had already set.

“So? I also said that we need to stop him from reaching them before us,” she countered.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s too dangerous. They might be waiting, whoever they are.” Oscar shrugged. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Go wherever this is happening.”

Chyna stared at him long and hard as if wishing to burn a hole in the spot where he stood. His concern was understandable and touching, but she knew that if she wanted any form of closure, she would have to do it all on her own.

“Lana?” she called out.

“Yup.”

“Where was the last report from?”

“Wait... it was a town called Cordoba.”

“Book the flights, get us a place to stay and make sure security is covered.” The finality in her voice rang out as loud as her announcement: “The rosary is being moved.”

Chapter Three

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

The Stepmother: Juana was born in 1439, 14 years younger than Enrique. Juana was very unfaithful and very flaunting. Her behavior was no better than that of a woman in the brothels. Because of her scandalous ways, when she gave birth to a daughter in 1462 named Juana, the baby was nicknamed ‘la Beltraneja’. Many believed her father was not King Enrique but was Beltran de la Cueva, Enrique’s chief steward. While Juana drained the treasuries to live in luxury and finery, Enrique lived in a lifestyle opposite from his wife’s. He did not bathe, he was dirty, and he never changed his clothes. King Enrique had been married once before, to Blanca of Navarre. She had died in 1464. King Enrique and his family lived at the castle of Segovia, where he also kept Isabella and Alfonso. Isabella grew up in the secluded castle and was very religious, which would come into play later in her life. She and her ladies entertained themselves with music, embroidery, and art. She lived a relaxed lifestyle, but she rarely left her prison. Enrique was keeping her from the political turmoils going on in the kingdom, though Isabella had full knowledge of what was going on and her role in the feuds.

***

The aura around him was supposed to be divine, spiritual, exulting, and maybe it was to all the other people in the room. In his years of association with the Illuminati Reborn, Tony had seen many strange things; circles drawing themselves in the sand, a fire atop a mountain deep underground and men screaming and dying, flayed alive for betrayal of the tenets. Despite his experiences and what he had seen, Tony had a hard time buying into it completely. Direct contact with the sect and also with the knowing winks and favoritism within the FBI had shown him just how deeply entrenched his secret masters were in the fabric of the global power structure. He was still a cop, and despite the evidence and the burden of proof, he felt that it still lay with the cult to produce categorical, empirically tested results. He knew the effects of psychotropic drugs on the mind and he was sure that there was more than incense in the burners surrounding the altar. He himself had used scopolamine on more than one occasion to persuade people into doing all manner of things for his sponsors. It wouldn’t do to let these doubts show in this place, the consequences of that he knew all too well, reprogramming and lobotomy or death itself, and he concentrated on the altar in front of him, and the wailing of the goat that was being subjected to cruel slaughter in the name of some stupid grand architect and an even stupider society. What a waste.

He looked over himself, dressed in flimsy robes that the society garbed him in, and then to One Eye, who was heading the ceremony. If it had not already been proved, One Eye would still think that the sun went around the Earth. His ideas were archaic and chaotic, but in technical terms the man whose name he had never learned actually outranked him in this arena. Something to do with 12th level Observator privilege which struck Tony as ironic, given One Eye’s obvious biological lack of depth perception.

Tony, on the other hand, was the one who looked at the stars to tell the positions of the Earth. He was the one who investigated and believed and did not go on blind faith. He was a practical man, a fast thinker, an actor. Cop. How did he get into this? Of course he remembered why, it was the promise of power. Advancement. The realization that the tendrils of the society went so far and so deep that to ignore them was to accept slavery and remaining another member of the bovine herd instead of ascending to the higher echelons and attaining the divine. What a joke, the only real divinity was in the exertion of power. The strong survive, and the best chance of survival that Tony had was with Illuminati Reborn.

The chanting around Tony grew louder and louder until his ears and head ached. All he wanted was for this to be over, but he followed with the rest of them, reciting his parts with an external show of fervor.

As the ritual neared its end, everyone gathered around the altar where the now disemboweled creature had finally stopped wailing. He was lying dead in a heap of blood and entrails that ran from inside him to under the mahogany table that served as the sacrificial altar, collected by a silver bowl which overflowed with gore. The stench was sour, fecal, sanguine and profane. As he had seen before with these cowled figures—none of whom he knew the true names of, although he suspected they all knew his—the sacred event would soon be followed in the wake of slaughter.

He saw One Eye smear his hands in goat blood and pour on it a tar-like, black substance which caused some kind of chemical reaction with the blood of the goat, fizzing in alkaloid alchemy, producing great gouts of sputtering green-black smoke that engulfed One Eye. Tony had once been told that the ritual was once performed with the blood of virgin girls. As an unfortunate side effect of greater documentation of the human populace over the last century, not to mention the perceived relaxation of social attitudes toward promiscuity, the society had made the reluctant decision to replace human blood with that of livestock to the detriment of the quality of the ritual. Of course the last human sacrifice for divination had taken place long before Tony had been illuminated, so to him the ritual was as mythical as the covenant of the Catholics or the nature worship of the druids. Unlike those forelock tugging fools, by whatever manner of description Tony chose to apply to the event or the reasoning behind it, the sacrifice always produced results. The smoke formed pillars in the air around them, great Moorish styled columns that floated in the windless environment, moving and positioning themselves with no external influence that Tony could see into great banks, filling the sacrificial chamber. One such apparition passed right through him, reforming itself on the other side of his body, leaving a salty taste in his mouth and bitter fumes in his olfactory system.  Over the body of the goat, at the center of the grid formed by the columns the smoke pooled into a great flat disc four feet in diameter. A minute or so passed, and Tony looked around to the dozen men around him, who stood stock still and said and did nothing. He was smart enough to not question the inactivity out loud and to be patient. After an excruciating wait of some seconds, the pulsing and pounding of his blood in his ears the only sound apart from his shallow breaths, a change came over the apparition. A building formed in the mists, by the looks of it a Christian church in the style popular in the Mediterranean in the pre-Renaissance era. Moorish pillars, surrounding a Christian church. There was only one place that Tony knew of that juxtaposed the two; but why were they being shown this vision? What did it mean with regard to his goals?

“Mezquita,” One Eye said.

“Mezquita,” repeated the cloaked figures in unison.

Tony gritted his teeth. It was all well and good invoking these rituals, they never failed in their guidance, but why was everything always so obtuse? The candles that illuminated the chamber went out, and by the time he had fumbled his way to the exit, he realized he was alone, apart from One Eye, who had discarded his robes and stood in his conventional clothes. Tony felt ridiculous, but could not simply drop the consecrated garments. How did he do that? Tony followed One Eye in silence to the rooms above the chamber, through a palm print activated security door into the office where he had left his bag and his civilian clothes. Once suitably dressed—another invasion of his privacy as One Eye watched the entire process with his one eye—the two men left the building via the exit usually reserved for diplomats and governmental aides. The United Nations building was sixteen miles from John F. Kennedy Airport, but with a diplomatic plated car and police escort, the journey would be quick even with late afternoon traffic. From previous experience, Tony knew that by the time they arrived at their destination a plane would be waiting to traverse the Atlantic to Spain.

Chapter Four

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

The Mosque-cathedral of Córdoba, also called the Mosque of Cordoba or Mezquita de Córdoba is a medieval Islamic mosque that was converted into a Roman Catholic Christian cathedral in the Spanish city of Córdoba, Andalusia. The cathedral is regarded as one of the most accomplished monuments of Moorish architecture. Since the early 2000s, Spanish Muslims have lobbied the Roman Catholic Church to allow them to pray in the cathedral. This Muslim campaign has been rejected on multiple occasions, both by the church authorities in Spain and by the Vatican.

Lufthansa Flight LH780 to Malaga was quiet, cool and relatively silent, with thankfully limited disruption from mewling children or drunken holiday makers. Although used to flying by private plane or at the very minimum first class, it had been agreed that Found History would travel under assumed identities, and by coach. While being a legitimate, UNESCO-endorsed investigation firm had its benefits when dealing with almost any official around the world, it had certain drawbacks when discretion in transit was a requirement; and when dealing with Agent Anthony Stewart, it seemed prudent to assume that no matter what the team did, he would hear about it eventually. With that in mind, Chyna had sanctioned no unnecessary breaches of confidentiality which included flights, no chauffeured cars, alternate passports for everyone (not entirely legal, but sometimes it had to be considered that international law took second place to secrecy) and the entirely illegal smuggling of five handguns into a country in the European Union rather than arranging with local authorities for temporary licenses to carry concealed weapons. This last requirement necessitated certain special provisions which fortunately were relatively easy to source, under the counter in Switzerland. Hermetically and magnetically sealed flight cases built for transporting guitar amplifiers were Oscar’s idea; Chyna suspected an amusing play on the stereotype of traveling musicians who were really assassins, but in an absence of any superior plans at hand and with a restriction on the preparation time available, she gave the go-ahead for him to proceed. The Lufthansa flight subsequently loaded five bulky steel boxes containing the shells of amplifiers, some x-ray resistant lining and five pistols.

The passenger cabin had lights dimmed, and Chyna dimmed her own lights with the aid of two Valiums and a vodka tonic. In theory, she was not supposed to mix the two under any circumstances—let alone in a pressurized environment—but seeing as the prescription wasn’t hers in the first place and there was a three hour hop to try and finally get some sleep in, Chyna decided the reward outweighed the risk.

The toffee thickness of the pills cloyed her mind and slowed her motor functions deliciously. Everything was fine. She wanted to giggle at the ridiculous idea that Tony was waiting for them in Spain with a hundred men at his command, that the rosary was a poisoned chalice. Oscar was in his customary fashion when traveling, already fast asleep and snoring, propped against the window, mouth open. The flight was slightly under booked, so there was a spare seat in between her and Oscar on which they had piled files of notes and printouts relating to everything Lara had managed to glean from the internet regarding the rosary. Chyna looked at them, and giggled at their ridiculousness. A rosary that drove men to the brink of insanity and beyond. Was it cursed? Did curses even exist, for that matter? And what does that mean, if the rosary is a catholic relic? Did that mean that Christians were actually right?

Chyna’s historian inner self giggled some more. All the gods were false, just a fairy story to assist the weakling human race in coping with mortality and absolving themselves of true morality, responsibility for their own actions. She thought about how her own actions had led her here, and wondered if there were any she should have done differently, and how much blood was on her hands. There was a lot of death on her conscience from the past, but, she reasoned, justifiable deaths. Criminal men looking to steal history itself. Without doubt there would be more in her future, at least one, of that she was sure.

The bastard. Maybe she’d make him wear the rosary, send him mad, make him plead to God for forgiveness before she put a bullet between his eyes.

She ordered another vodka tonic from the flight attendant, a handsome man in his twenties who, contrary to her own preconceptions, showed no sign of effeminacy. Perhaps she could take a couple of minutes to get to know him better. No. It was the Valium and vodka talking, loosening her grip. Must maintain focus. If she didn’t maintain focus she’d end up losing control entirely and she had just spent two months recovering from the consequences of that.

Focus.

Chyna leafed through some of the notes pertaining to the case, but the letters were jumping around and were illegible. Probably turbulence.  She looked at the screen in the back of the chair in front of her, which showed a route of the plane’s flight plan and a little pulsing dot to show where the plane was. Somewhere over the Mediterranean, but that too was jolting around, so she shuffled on her half asleep buttocks and looked up the aisle instead. The seats occupied by the Found History team were toward the rear of the plane, so she had quite a good view of the occasional back of head and the air steward making a pass at a pretty stewardess. She let her gaze wander, down the aisle, over the uniform seats with the uniform head sticking out from the top, to the uniformed stewardess and steward, eventually falling into a pair of bright blue eyes.

It was a child, maybe five years old, leaning over his arm rest and dangling his legs over the side of the chair. He waved at her. Chyna waved back, halfheartedly. The child turned back around in his seat, and Chyna couldn’t see him. What was it like to be so young, so innocent? Free from fear and guilt and pain? She couldn’t remember.  How long had she been doing this, running around the world chasing things that were lost? Things that people had no real need for? And for what? What did it mean? Was she really happier this way, alone, on the run from a shadowy organization that proclaimed to want to control, well, everything? Most people her age were married, had children of their own. They weren’t running around the world killing people. What was any of this for?

She finished the vodka. She thought about ordering another, but wave upon wave of the Valium caressed her into a dreamless, unconscious sleep, broken only with a jolt and a nervous twitch when the wheels of the plane touched down on the tarmac.

Chapter Five

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

The Heir: Nobles in Castile were rallying to usurp the throne of Castile and put Alfonso in the seat of power. They saw Enrique as a weak king, which indeed he was, and the behavior of his wife was an insult to their virtuous culture. In 1467, Alfonso's supporters proclaimed him King of Castile. Civil war exploded in Castile: Enrique's forces against Alfonso's supporters. In the end, neither side won, but instead Alfonso mysteriously died at the age of 14 in 1468, probably poisoned on Enrique's orders, though some say that he died of the plague. Alfonso's supporters turned their attention toward Isabel, and proclaimed Isabella as Queen of Castile. Isabella decided to not take the crown from her brother, which delighted him and made him name Isabella as his heir, which enraged his wife and his daughter, who fought to crown Juana 'la Beltraneja'. However, Isabella had wars of her own to fight at home. Queen Juana and King Enrique were both searching for a suitor for Princess Isabel. Among them were: Charles, Duke of Berry; Richard, Duke of Gloucester; Pedro Giron, Enrique's friend; King Alfonso V of Portugal, Queen Juana's brother. As her brother and sister-in-law decided who to marry Isabella to, Isabella continued her relaxed lifestyle. She and her governess, Clara, and confidante, Beatriz de Bobadilla, were deep and close friends, and defied the expectations of a Castilian woman by educating themselves deeply. Isabella learned histories, arts, languages, and was very skilled in diplomatic arts.

***

“Ferdinand, my love.” Isabella I of Castile, or Bella, as her husband so affectionately called her, threw open the gates to the room and sprinted inside even though she knew a royal meeting was underway.

“You are all dismissed,” she said bluntly. “The meeting can continue later in the day.”

The sixteen subjects around the table looked at each other in confusion and then at the King. Ferdinand, on the other hand, was staring at his wife, wondering what she was getting at. Whatever it was, he knew by her grave expression that she was right. The meeting could continue later in the day. He turned toward his subjects and said, “Leave us, please.”

Soon, the hall emptied out. They wanted to talk, his subjects. They wanted to mention the queen's consistently erratic behavior. She had changed by leaps and bounds since the day she had ascended to the throne with the king. Albeit her decisions were wise and sound—something that they did not expect from a woman—they thought she needed to go back and revise her classes in royal etiquette. The only problem was that King Ferdinand believed her. For him, his wife was his light. He encouraged her to think, to act and what he had just done meant that he condoned this behavior of hers as well. But for the sake of their safety and the heads on their shoulders, they kept quiet, played their part, bowed to their highnesses and went out.

As soon as she heard the door shut, Isabella moved toward the windows and shut the drapes, creating darkness where there had been day. She then turned to Ferdinand, who was looking at her with curious eyes.

“I had another.”

His reply came fast. “What?”

She nodded gravely, and her hand reached to her neck in which she wore her rosary. She took it off as if it were something miraculous, as if it were the treasure of Solomon, “I had another vision, Ferdinand. And... and it’s disturbing me.”

“What was it, mi amour?” Ferdinand reached her in an instant and cupped her cheek. “You needn't be worried or afraid. Tell me what it was and I will help you.”

“It was only fleeting, my love.” She sat down at the table where her subjects had sat only moments ago, “But the Virgin is concerned. She says our land is too full of outsiders. It is plagued with people who do not respect our religion, do not follow its customs. They worship different gods, have different rituals and celebrate different festivals. Under our reign, Ferdinand! Under our reign! She says they are the reason Spain cannot prosper. They are holding us back! Their very presence is a dark cloud that overshadows all the good deeds our faithful priests and nuns and people work so effortlessly for. The Moors and the Jews, Ferdinand! They are the ones!”

The air in the room became more and more charged with hysteria as she spoke and sobbed at the same time, and Ferdinand felt a whirlwind of emotions inside his skin. He felt thankful for his wife's gift, grateful for God's timely intervention, and just like his wife, anger at the ones who were holding his country back. Spain had seen enough turmoil as it were.

***

“Gentlemen,” Ferdinand announced to his subjects. “We have a grave matter to discuss here.”

They were all back at the table, but this time were joined by the queen, who looked tired but determined. No one could tell from afar, but there was a fire in her eyes, just under her pupils, that burned brighter by the minute and consumed every inch of her soul.

“My wife, the queen, has been in prayer. She believes in God with all of her pure heart, and it is because of her this meeting has been called, because she fears for the future of our country, as do we all, I'm sure.”

The subjects looked on in doubt and confusion. Had the meeting been called solely because the queen had been in prayer? What was the meaning of all of this?

“Gentlemen.” Ferdinand paused before letting out the secret he and Isabella had guarded with their lives. He didn't want to, but it was impertinent given the circumstances.

“Gentlemen, the Virgin herself has been talking to my wife.”

Loud gasps went around the table, and all eyes turned toward the queen. As for Isabella, she looked straight ahead, clutching the rosary in her hand.

“Yes, it is true.” Ferdinand quieted them down, “and she has brought a matter of great importance to us. This morning, after my wife interrupted our conference, she told me that the Virgin is sad and hurt at our land being plagued by those not of our faith.”

“The Moors.” Someone stated.

“The Jews.” Came another voice.

“Yes, the Moors and the Jews. They live in our country; they eat our food; they sleep in beds they make of our money and yet do not respect our culture, traditions and Gods. How can we let this go on, Gentlemen? How? How many years before they swallow us whole and consume us in their false rituals and mindless mumbles they call prayers? Thus, we need to act, and in light of the same revelation, my wife and I have come to a decision.”

Ferdinand called for the servant behind him, the only one of his stature privy to such an important gathering. While the boy handed him some papers, the table went rife with subdued rage and possible courses of action.

Isabella took the papers from Ferdinand, and stood up. Immediately the table fell silent. She then began speaking. “Gentlemen, my husband, your king, and I have decided on a course of action we think is best. Here are the drafts for the constitution of the Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition. Effective immediately, all Jews and Muslims in our land are to be asked to convert to Christianity or leave. Should they choose to accept our faith, they will have a home here. Should they not, they should leave within the dead of night and no one will stop them.

“This document describes the hierarchy of the Inquisition. According to what we have devised, we will appoint a Grand Inquisitor, who will head the council of the Supreme and the General Inquisitors, made up of six members. There will be a total of 21 tribunals in the empire who shall begin their work as soon as we announce the deed. Now, are there any questions?”

The table remained silent.

***

The days that followed could very easily be termed as some of the darkest for Spain. What had started out as a medium to protect the Jews and Muslims in the country had now turned into a terror organization. Isabella was crazed with herself and her rosary. The Virgin Mary came to her on a nightly basis, but was not happy yet.

The next order was to burn the people at stake. There were to be no questions asked.

Terror spread like a wildfire. The air became rife with the cries and wails of the innocents who were subjected to melting skin and burning bones because of gods, who seemingly did not agree.

As for Isabella, she shut herself in with her rosary. She knew she was following the word of God, and it always required sacrifice. Her God was now happy with her and would bring prosperity to her nation. Her rosary, her only friend, would protect her always. It was a magical, magical thing, and Isabella knew she would guard it with her life as long as she lived.

Chapter Six

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

The Crown: At the age of 18, Isabella took wedding matters into her own hands when she fell in love with Prince Fernando of Aragon. Enrique did not find him suitable and Juana was determined to marry Isabella to her brother, paving the way for her daughter to become Queen of Castile. However, Isabella and Fernando were married in Valladolid without Enrique’s approval on October 19, 1469.

For six days and nights, Fernando and Isabella and their guests celebrated the royal wedding. However, when King Enrique received word of the marriage, he was furious. One by one he tore Isabel’s few possessions, towns from which she received taxes, from her. Fernando and Isabella were without money and Fernando was away from his wife for many months at a time fighting wars in Sicily or Aragon, family possessions. On October 2, 1470, a daughter named Isabella was born to the couple. A daughter was not worth as much as a son, and King Enrique was delighted, who had changed the succession to Juana ‘la Beltraneja’. Four years later, King Enrique became seriously ill and died on December 11, 1474. His councilors urged him to name his heir, but Enrique remained silent. When Isabella heard the news, she grieved for the loss, but there was not a moment to spare if she was to claim the throne. Fernando, who was fighting in Zaragoza, could not be summoned in time. On December 13, 1474, Isabella was crowned Queen of Castile in Segovia’s Plaza Mayor by her counselor, Archbishop Carrillo. Fernando returned from Zaragoza not soon after and found himself ‘king consort’ to Isabel. Although somewhat upset, he and his wife forged a loving partnership.

***

Chyna had shaken off the effects of travel weariness and Valium only after she entered the city limits of Cordoba. Even the modernity of this booming hub of southern Spanish life was effervescently coated with the past, down to the partially constructed towers abandoned when the money provided by bankers halfway across the globe suddenly dried up some years previously.

She looked out of her window at the sights of Cordoba. It was so much more beautiful than she had originally thought; a pleasant change from the staid aristocratic architecture of Geneva—not to say that the Swiss city wasn’t truly beautiful, but Cordoba brimmed with the energetic creation of humanity in a way that was free of the reserved self-consciousness of most western and northern European cities. The Spanish sun was shining brightly in the sky, and Chyna rolled down the windows to let the rays play on her face. She leaned out of the window a little, letting the wind flow through her hair.  She felt as if she had been transported to a new world, light years away from a cathedral in Germany, at the altar that housed a praying Jesus Christ and under a roof that had seen destruction and rebirth.

The sun disappeared behind rooftops as they entered the crowded streets and it was the first brush that Chyna had with the real Spain since she and her team had arrived at Malaga airport, fighting the bustling crowds of pasty holiday makers forging their migratory paths to the playas. There were cafes offering Spanish food and traditionally dressed local dancers moving their hips to joyful, flamboyant music. Even though the majority of the local people were dressed in casual wear, the tourists seemed to be in full Spanish mode with large hats and dresses. There was an electric feel in the air, as if the city were announcing its existence to the world, proudly holding up the Spanish flag for everyone to see.

“It's great, isn't it?” Mark whispered to her as both he and Chyna looked on at the passing sights.

“Mm-hmm.” She could only nod.

They wandered around for a few more minutes, memorizing the landmarks and finding their hotel. All of them were famished by this point, but no one wanted to eat in a hotel restaurant when they had the choice of having real, rural Spanish food in one of the many little places that dotted the city. Oscar suggested they get started with some work over lunch, and for once, Chyna agreed with him.

They stopped just outside a small café a few blocks away from the hotel and settled down for lunch. Chyna watched with an open mouth as Sirita first helped an Italian tourist look for the way to a souvenir shop, then offered directions to the same hotel they were staying at to a Chinese man, and finally rattled off her order in the restaurant in fluent, flawless Spanish.

“What the hell?” Chyna said, after the waiter went away with their order, once again conducted in flawless native dialect. “I’ve just realized that I’ve never asked you how many languages you actually speak?”

“That's for me to speak and you to find out.” Sirita smiled slyly.

Chyna narrowed her eyes playfully. “Cliché.” Then she giggled.

“Touché,” Sirita countered.

For lunch, the atmosphere was light. The place felt charged with energy and rejuvenating, and for once Chyna didn't interrupt the banter going on at the table. It had been a long time since she had felt this—the feeling of belonging to some place and not being suspended in the dimensions of space and time, wandering aimlessly and hopelessly. This feeling was grounding, happy and safe. And Chyna realized that wherever the people around her went, she would go gladly. For just a fleeting moment, her eyes met Mark's over the table, and she was pleased to see herself reflected in his irises. So, she let it go on, whatever it was.

The rest, however, was brought to a cease halfway through lunch when Sirita came back from the restroom with a worried expression on her face.

“Hey, listen, I have news,” she announced before she even sat down.

“What is it?” Oscar leaned in to hear. The family sitting behind him was loud, and he had been straining to hear over their din all through their time in the café.

“I just heard some locals talking, and they were talking about something... unusual. It reminded me of that story you told us, Chyna, and I thought it might be significant to our case.” She raised her eyebrows in emphasis.

“What is it?” Mark urged her on.

“Wait, can you get those locals whom you saw talking?” Lana said. If they were the ones talking, they would be the best source of information.

Sirita looked around the place, mumbling to herself about not being so sure, but then spotted a pair of ladies walking through and took off with a dash. She came back with two obviously Spanish women, judging by their fluent Spanish and heavily laced English accent.

Sirita introduced them to the team, and they increased the party's number to seven, mumbling 'Hola' to everyone. Sirita asked them something in Spanish, and they seemed pleased to have a foreigner speak in their tongue so perfectly. There was a short conversation, and then Sirita turned to the team.

“They're talking about a place here, popularly known as the Mosque Cathedral of Cordoba. They say that there have been strange rumors from the site, similar to what Lana inferred from all those news articles. These people, or victims, or whatever you would like to call them, have been experiencing religious visions and have begun preaching the word of God or something, they say,” she explained.

“Ask them what the doctors say. Do they know that?” Mark piped up.

Sirita translated the question for the women. “They say that the doctors have been left baffled. Not particularly at the symptoms though, but at the frequency of the occurrence. They're beginning to think it’s a mental epidemic of sorts. All the victims have thus far displayed similar symptoms.”

Chyna asked the next question. “Ask them whether they have heard anything about Isabella yet.”

No sooner had Sirita asked the question than the women jumped in surprise. Clearly, the rosary had not been mentioned anywhere in the papers, but seeing from the fast responses they were giving Sirita, Chyna thought they might be getting somewhere.

“They say that there has been no mention in the papers, but now that they think of it, it makes more sense. But they've added that the rosary of Isabella has been lost for centuries. No one knows where it is.”

After that, Sirita bid the women a polite goodbye as the team looked at each other in contemplation. Their plan was set already, as was their destination.

***

The Mosque Cathedral of Cordoba was one of the strangest buildings that Chyna had ever seen, and also one of the most symbolic. For two religions who had been locked in the Crusade Wars at one point in time to come together in one place to pray—the finer interpretations of God’s will being a fundamental cause of the bloodshed in the first place—was an idea that Chyna was immensely interested in.

As the name went, the structure was a cathedral in the center, but a mosque ran on all four sides of it, dwarfing the Christian constructions in every scale. The Islamic Spanish of Cordoba and Spain had been petitioning to pray in the inside cathedral for quite some time now, but their requests had been denied by both the Vatican and the Spanish authorities. How man had divided this world Chyna failed to understand.

She would have loved to dwell in the place for long periods of time, probably trying to find answers to questions that had long been ignored. But as the team got out of their car, their attention was captured by a large throng of people that had gathered in the center of the square directly in front of the Mezquita.

The team looked at each other and cautiously approached the group. It wasn’t immediately clear what the subject captivating the attention was, but Chyna could hear raised voices from the center. People surrounding the subjects were looking around in amazement, anger, confusion and fear, a panoply of human experience.

As Chyna reached the throng, she pushed through the lines, using her elbows and arms as resistance and clearing people out. Mark and others followed suit and soon they were in the first ring of the ten deep circle of bodies.  So, Chyna thought, this was what the Spanish ladies in the café and the news had been talking about.

Three people, dressed in shabby and muddy white and gray clothes were sitting in a circle in the middle of the square, holding hands and swaying their heads about in a wild motion. Their fingers held on to each other tight, providing roots to their moving bodies, but not to their praying lips. Chyna listened for some distinct roots in the language being spoken, but couldn’t find any. She looked over to Sirita, whose face was writ with concentration, head cocked to one side, listening.

“What language is that?” She had to lean in and speak directly into her ear for Sirita to hear her, as the trio in the middle was rising in octaves and the crowd truculently refused to lower their voices in response. Spanish insults and cat calls flew thickly in the air.

“I don’t know! I've never heard anything like it! There aren't any words that I can identify!” she hissed back, covering her ears to block out the din.

Chyna nodded and turned to witness again. She knew she needed to talk to these three, and fast.

“O ye!” Someone yelled from the back, and before they knew it, people started rushing about. Suddenly, the debacle in the middle of the square was forgotten. The crowd started parting fast, and it was only when Chyna strained to see toward the back of the group that she groaned internally. There went her opportunity to talk. There were many things she wanted to do, but engaging in a heated discussion with the local police was not one of them.

“Damn it, they have come to arrest these three,” Mark muttered from next to her, trying to hold on to his case while shuffling along with the crowd. They saw four officers trying to break the trio up, but when the latter refused, they picked them up by the arms, escorting all of them away and into the back of a van. It happened faster than anyone could blink, and a minute, life in the Mezquita had returned to normal again. Well, as normal as it could get in the wake of such a heretical display.

“That's too bad. We could have gotten some valuable information,” Sirita said, bemoaning the loss of the strange people as one would a broken heel of a favorite shoe.

“Excuse me?” A voice called out in English to the five of them as they stood watching the spot where the police van had been parked only moments ago. “Excuse me!”

Chyna turned to see a short man running toward her, about five feet six and stout, he was wearing black rimmed wayfarers, and his olive skin was capped by black hair that seemed like it had not been cut in months. A look at his clothes told her he was overdressed for this place. He was wearing dress pants, a shirt and a waistcoat that was missing a button. All the other tourists were in casual attire.

“Are you Chyna Stone?” he panted as he reached her. Chyna picked up a strong Spanish accent in his tone.

“Yes,” she replied politely. “I'm sorry, I don't think we have met.”

“Yo soy Tacho Villanueva.” He pointed to himself, still heaving from not having caught his breath fully, “I am... el periodista... journalist. I am investigating this extrañeza of the Mezquita and the madness.”

“Hi.” Chyna was still cautious in shaking her hand with this man. “How do you know me?”

“Oh, I read about your papers and adventures. I have done features on some of the pieces you have discovered all around Europe. I recognized you from the hair, though I had my doubts.”

Chyna felt a little more relaxed, but having been burned in the worst possible way recently, she was now going to blow even on water before she drank it. “Oh, thanks, I guess. You are investigating this case?”

“Si. I have information you might need. Can we talk somewhere?” Tacho nodded, and even though she knew it was a chance, it was a risk she had to take.

Chapter Seven

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

“Mad Hatter: “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?”

“Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.

“No, I give it up,” Alice replied: “What’s the answer?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

***

Walking through the halls of the Mezquita de Cordoba with Tacho, it was becoming increasingly hard for Chyna to concentrate on what he was saying, reveling in the beauty of the red and white columns inside the Mezquita, topping the building in all their double arched glory.

“You like?” Tacho smiled at her.

He began telling her how the church and the mosque came to be, clearly not ready as yet to disclose the information he had gathered. Patiently, Chyna decided to let the little man get what he had to say off his chest before pressing him.

“It is one of the most accomplished structures ever built by the Moors. It was originally a mosque, but after the Visigoths were defeated by the Muslims, it was divided between them and the Christians. There used to be a temple here earlier, dedicated to the two faced Roman God, Janus, but the exiled prince Abd al-Rahman—who wanted to build something that would rival the mosques in Jerusalem, Baghdad and other places— decided that a mosque should be built on this very spot. He bought the land from the people of Cordoba, whom he had conquered after defeating Yusuf Al-Fahiri, the governor of Al-Andalus. The church in the middle is dedicated to St. Faustus, St. Januarius and St. Marcellus.” Villanueva puffed out his chest a little as he spoke, either through his body requiring more oxygen to keep his speech going or through pride at the constructive endeavors of his people.

“The construction is said to have been started in 784 A.D. and spanned over a period of two centuries, carried on by al-Rahman's descendants after his death. Rahman named the mosque after his wife. Do you know one of the most unusual things about this mosque? The mihrab in this place faces south. Conventionally, Muslims pray facing toward Mecca, which lies east-southeast of the Mezquita. Mihrabs of mosques all over the world face Mecca, but not the one in the Mezquita.

“The work itself—you can see, Ms. Stone—is exquisite. Emperors made numerous changes to the plan. Metals were dug out and imported from all over the world, and hard stone and marbles were brought in Sierra Morena. There is a distinct Gothic style evident in the building, and ivory, gold, brass, jasper and many other metals have been used in the decoration. These panels that you see are made of scented wood and have been fastened with nails of pure gold. The red columns that we are walking beneath are said to be the work of God himself. The Mezquita truly is a dazzling, amazing building, Miss Stone.”

As he wound up his history of the Mezquita de Cordoba, Chyna could hear Tacho's voice laced with reverence. He was clearly passionate about history, and deeply affected by the threads that bound two very different religions together in a marvelous place like this. Who could bear to not like it? Chyna looked over to her team, who were roaming listlessly through the pillars.

“Yes, you're right. It is an amazing building,” Chyna agreed. “It's too bad, though, all that has been happening lately,” she said, subtly steering the conversation to more contemporary matters.

“Not for the tourism companies, it seems. They are making a mockery out of it, using it to attract customers.” Tacho snorted, handing her one of the most popular pamphlets used by the local tour companies.

“They could attract much more than just customers.” The words were out of Chyna's mouth before she could help it, and she groaned at having possibly given away important information. She looked down at the paper in her hand and feigned interest in the words on it. But Tacho nodded at her words.

“Exactly my sentiments,” Tacho said, almost as if he was sad at the state of affairs, “Anyway, I called you here to talk about the investigation.”

“Yes, what do you know about this whole thing?” Chyna was interested in what this man had to say.

“I have been on this case from the start. My newspaper, in fact, was one of the first to encounter the happenings and report a pattern among them. There has been no proof or conclusion yet as to how this starts, but the afflicted people gradually turn mad over a period of time. During this time, they report of hallucinations of a religious nature and claim that God has been talking to them.

“The first incident was in Valencia. Seven people went mad over a period of two weeks. Then came Abacete, where nine people had to be admitted into a mental institution. Six people from Granada and four from Cordoba, including the three we saw today. I have been observing all the cases for a while now, and I can tell you that the afflicted people are somehow drawn to places of religious influence across the country—cathedrals and mosques to be specific. You saw those three in the square. There haven't been any more cases since, but I'm not really sure of the time frame. For all we know, it could be moving on.” Tacho shook his head. Clearly, he was frustrated at the broken links.

“I could have an explanation.”

Chyna knew she shouldn't, but she decided to share her theory about the rosary with him and see what came of it. For all she knew, he could have detected an anomaly that could lead them to the rosary and to the bottom of this whole matter.

“Are you serious?” Tacho's eyes lit up, and he leaned in to her what Chyna was about to say.

“Have you heard about the Rosary of Isabella?” Chyna asked him, and was less than pleased at his reaction. His peaked ears dropped, as did his shoulders. Disappointment shrouded his features.

“I thought about that at first; everybody who has an interest in Spanish history knows of Isabella, but there seems to be nothing to it. There is not even concrete proof that the rosary actually existed. It's just a legend.” He shrugged. “I think perhaps what we are witnessing is some kind of hysteria, or occultism.”

“You're not me, though, no offense.” Chyna held her hands up. “My team picked up on the same things you did: religious visions, hallucinations, growing madness and so on. I put that together that with my theory about Isabella of Spain. Although that rosary never drove her to the point of madness, it is known that she was deeply religious. It is also said that only her direct descendants could wear the rosary, that is, those she shared blood with. All the others would not be able to handle its virtue, and go mad.”

“You make some strong points, Chyna, but that doesn’t eliminate the fact that the rosary is supposed to be a myth. I mean, I live in Spain, I have a great interest in our historical past, and even I have never encountered proof of the rosary ever existing. And even if Isabella did have a rosary, all those who were not her direct descendants could be experiencing the placebo effect. If it was as famous as you say, people must have known what it would do to them. They must have been under the thought that the rosary could have adverse effects. Maybe that was what drove them mad: the impression that they could go mad,” Tacho countered.

“Yes, but that was then. That was at a time when she was still alive, as were her descendants. How many people do you think know about the rosary now? You said so yourself: you're Spanish, and even you have doubts about its existence. In that case, how could all those people who went mad have known about the rosary? They had to be admitted to mental institutions nevertheless. If there is a cognitive bias involved, it is one that has skipped centuries to manifest itself now. Why?” Chyna said.

Tacho looked like he was considering her theory, but not believing it entirely. He had a deep frown on his face, and when he spoke, it was a question Chyna had been wondering about. “So, If we accept that, for now, the rosary is real, what next?”

She shrugged. “We will investigate some more. We need to find someone who can confirm whether the insanity is caused by the rosary as I suspect, or refute it; at which point, my interest in the case will end. What about you?”

“I am actually heading into Granada later today. I want to look into the happenings there. I was going to ask you whether you would be interested in coming along. I think witnesses and victims will give you much more solid information than museums or the local police.”

Chyna considered. Tacho had made a strong point. If the rosary was on the move through Spain, then someone must have seen or heard something. As the happenings were only recent in Cordoba, she knew there would not be much to look into, at least until the afflicted parties had been either booked into an asylum or released by the local police. Excusing herself, Chyna called the team together. She explained what Tacho had said and what she thought about it, and when she put forward the idea of going to Granada, everyone agreed readily.

“Okay, Tacho.” Chyna approached the reporter after five minutes. “We'll go with you.”

Chyna didn’t even realize that she was still holding the pamphlet he had given her in her right hand.

***

Queen Isabella of Castile and Leon

(1451-1504)

QUEEN ISABELLA, surnamed la Catolica “the Catholic,” Queen of Castile, was the second child and only daughter of John II of Castile by his second wife Isabella, granddaughter of John I of Portugal (thus being through both parents a descendant of John of Gaunt), and was born in Madrigal on the 22nd of April 1451. On the death of her father, who was succeeded by her brother Henry IV (1454), she was withdrawn by her mother to Arevalo, where her early education was conducted in the deepest seclusion; in 1462, however, along with her uterine brother Alphonso, she was removed by Henry to the court, where she showed a remarkable example of staidness and sobriety.

Already more than one suitor had made application for her hand, Ferdinand of Aragon, who ultimately became her husband, being among the number; for some little time she was engaged to his elder brother Charles, who died in 1461. However, in the face of very great difficulties, she was married to Ferdinand of Aragon at Valladolid on the 19th of October 1469. Thence forward the fortunes of Ferdinand and Isabella were inseparably blended. For some time they held a humble court at Duenas, and afterwards they resided at Segovia, where, on the death of Henry, she was proclaimed Queen of Castile and Leon on December 13, 1474.

Spain undoubtedly owed to Isabella's clear intellect, resolute energy and unselfish patriotism much of that greatness which for the first time it acquired under “the Catholic sovereigns.” The moral influence of the queen's personal character over the Castilian court was incalculably great; from the debasement and degradation of the preceding reign she raised it to being “the nursery of virtue and of generous ambition.” She did much for Spain by founding the palace school and by her protection of Peter Martyr d'Anghiera. The very sincerity of her piety and strength of her religious convictions led her more than once, however, into great errors of state policy, and into more than one act which offends the moral sense of a more refined age; her efforts for the introduction of the Inquisition into Castile, and for the proscription of the Jews, are outstanding evidences of what can only be called her bigotry.

But not even that briefest sketch of her life can omit to notice that happy instinct or intuition which led her, when all others had heard with incredulity the scheme of Columbus, to recall the wanderer to her presence with the words, “I will assume the undertaking for my own crown of Castile, and am ready to pawn my jewels to defray the expenses of it, if the funds in the treasury should be found inadequate.”

She died at Medina del Campo on the 24th of November 1504, and was succeeded by her daughter Joanna “La Ilca” (the “mad”) and her husband, Philip of Habsburg.

***

The sun was setting by the time they exited Cordoba. The city was far gone now, as were the clustered streets and concrete houses. The narrow roads gave way to winding paths, and the flanking stone structures were replaced by rolling fields and grasslands painted orange by the sun's slanting rays.

In the end, they had chosen to ditch their car at the hotel and ride with Tacho in his minivan. Chyna wanted to fill everyone in on her conversation with Tacho and didn’t want to waste time by explaining it a second time. She told them in detail of the theory she had about the rosary being moved around the country, which in turn was causing the madness to move.

Plans were immediately underway of deciding the best course of action. Oscar was sure that with Tacho's assistance, they would be able to talk to some of the people close to the victims, thus getting them a great deal of help.

“What good would it do, talking to the victims? I mean, they're not going to make any sense, right?” he said.

“Maybe, maybe not, but we might be able to find some clues as to how it started,” Chyna replied.

“I'm beginning to think that these people have to have something in common. Considering your theory is true, and the rosary is being moved around the country, I doubt that such a precious—Dios Mio!”

Whatever Tacho had to stay came to an abrupt halt as he swerved the car from its path and brought it to a screeching halt. The brakes whined and tires smoked. He didn't wait to explain, just opened the door and ran out, leaving the engine still running.

“Tacho! Tacho!” Chyna called out, leaning over the console to see what was wrong.

“Chyna!”  It was Lana's voice that made her shoot straight up. “Look!”

And she did. The Found History team piled out of the car in Tacho’s wake, only to be met by the journalist standing over something in the middle of the road, near the corner they had just passed.

Dead bodies: three dressed exactly the same from what she could tell, with hessian sacks over their heads and blood pooling beneath them.

Foreboding came over Chyna as she walked toward Tacho, with Oscar and Mark in tow. From the sound of their shuffling feet, Chyna could tell they were both drawing weapons. The orange traces of the Spanish sun were gone, and there was not much light on the road save from a spare lamp that was shining dimly. She reached the bodies with cautious footsteps, and didn’t need another clue to know as to who they were.

“It's them,” Oscar muttered. “It's those three from the Mezquita.”

The team didn’t know what had happened to them after they had been carted off, but judging by the looks of things, it hadn’t ended very well for them. There were rope marks on the hands and legs of all three victims, and multiple bullet wounds in each. Clearly, they had not had an easy death.

Chyna felt sick to her core. Mark knelt unsteadily on his less injured knee and drew back the sack on one corpse.

“Double taps,” he said, “two to the chest, one to the head. Looks like powder burns on the clothing too. These guys were executed with some extreme prejudice. Usually one bullet to the head is enough for most killers, but it’s not unheard of that people survive. These poor bastards had no chance.”

There was the incongruous sound of a cell phone ringing that felt to Chyna like it had just gone off at a funeral. Tacho swore and answered the device that was in his jacket pocket, speaking in rapid Spanish. When the call ended he spoke with excitement, tempered with fear.

“That’s a call from my boss. He just told me there has been another incident, another reporting, just north of Barcelona. The victim is suffering from the same symptoms these three were.”

Chyna could only nod, and was surprised at that. She had always been a brave woman, able to stomach more than what normal people could. It was uncharacteristic of her to be shocked by the presence of dead bodies. Maybe it was the way they had been murdered, or their sheer bad luck.

Or maybe, it was the fact that Chyna knew she could have been one long ago, in a remote cathedral in Dresden.

Chapter Eight

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

Civil Unrest: In 1481, Isabella and Fernando set out to do what no other monarch had done. The Moors, Jewish and Muslim people from North Africa, had settled in the Iberian peninsula in the 8th century A.D. Being devout Catholics, Isabella and Fernando led the Reconquista, the Reconquest, to take the land from the Moors, known as Granada. Isabella planned and funded campaigns, even selling her jewels, while Fernando led the troops. One by one, the Moorish lands were added onto Castile y Leon. In January of 1492, the Reconquista was complete.

***

Before the team and their journalist ally could move on to Barcelona, there had been a long wait as identifications and statements had been taken by the local police. All three bodies were identified as the last three victims of the madness, and the initial inclination of the garda civil had been to take all of Found History and Tacho back to Cordoba to make statements due to the violent nature of the crimes that had been committed. Fortunately for them, Tacho proved to be an excellent negotiator, and evidently knew the sergeant who took their statements on a personal level and they were soon north bound once again.

As Chyna sat in the passenger seat in front, with Tacho by her side, her mind was a maelstrom of emotions and logic at constant war with each other. She had a growing suspicion of Tony being the mastermind behind the whole scheme, which made her plan infinitely more difficult than it already was, as it meant that he was already in possession of the rosary. Why was the rosary being moved? More to the point, was it being tested? Could it be Tony?

The catch, however, was that Chyna was slowly starting to believe Tacho's theory herself. Even though Lana had found the links between Isabella and the Inquisition, there had been no mention of a rosary anywhere. While waiting for the police to release them, Sirita had called up the national museums dedicated to Spanish history and found out that none of them had ever been in possession of a 16th century rosary of any kind, particularly one that might have been related to Isabella. For an item that was wreaking havoc all over Spain, the Rosary of Isabella was surely hard to find.

Chyna felt exhausted and drained as night drew in. The after-effects of the long day were wearing on her. She wanted to evade sleep, but her eyes were drooping of their own accord. Chyna evaded sleep as much as possible now. Even two months in Alaska had not cured her of her dreams. And there was no way she'd take a pill in front of all the people in her present vicinity. She looked toward the driver's side and saw a wide eyed Mark, driving the car as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She wondered what the reason was behind his insomnia. Maybe he had nightmares of his own, though they would be very different than hers.

“What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Mark's voice brought her back.

“Nothing,” she murmured, and then decided to take the chance. “I was wondering what kinds of nightmares haunt you.”

Mark's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and his lips pursed into a thin line. “That's a pretty morbid thing to think about at this hour of night.”

“That's exactly the kind of thing—”

“Many.” He interrupted her. “I have many kinds of nightmares. Let's leave it at that.”

She nodded. A light in the distance broke their gaze from each other. Both of them looked through the windshield toward the blob of red and blue they were moving toward and found it was a police car.

“Patrol?” Chyna mumbled.

“At this hour of night? I don't see a checkpoint.” Mark stared hard at the van as they approached it. Just as the car stopped inches away from a policeman waving his hand, Chyna reached in and retrieved the necessary papers. She looked over her shoulder to see everyone rubbing their eyes because of interrupted sleep.

“Officer.” Mark smiled at the man, who leaned in and shone a light on both his and Chyna's faces. They spoke to each other, one in barely functional Spanish and the other in a native dialect. After a few moments, Mark turned toward Chyna and relayed what the officer had just said. “He wants to open her up—the car.”

Having dealt with all kinds of security officers, Chyna knew this was a pretty unusual request to be made, especially by a night patrol officer. She frowned and reached for the overhead light. As she flicked it on, she heard Oscar groan from the back. She shushed him and turned to face the officer who was leaning in through the window.

Her mind clicked.

Chyna Stone had never been one to forget faces because she knew how useful they could be. There was no way she would forget who this one belonged to. This cop had been one of the four men who had carted off the last three victims from the Mezquita. Why would a guarda civil officer make runs as a night patrol highway policeman? Why would they stop only Chyna's and her team's car as it was leaving town?

Her bewildered eyes met Mark's, who looked confused, but alarmed nonetheless. She knew if need be, he would shoot first, ask questions later. She hoped it didn’t come to that.

“What is wrong, Chyna?” It was Tacho who asked her the question.

She needed to stall for time to put it all together. Whether the cops meant harm or not was another mystery that had yet to be unfolded. However, it could also have dire consequences. If these men had carted the crazies off and eventually murdered them, chances were that one little slip could result in the team meeting the same end. Nevertheless, Chyna decided to take the chance.

“Tacho, ask them to show their identification,” she asked the journalist. She tried to convince him silently, using only a flick of her eyelids and the hope that the implication inherent in the minute gesture would carry across cultural lines. It seemed to work as he turned toward the officer and asked for his identification in Spanish.

The cop who had interrupted their journey looked flustered. He said something in Spanish, which was followed by him flailing his arms about in anger. Chyna heard Tacho trying to placate him and repeat his question.

They got the answer in the form of a bullet whizzing past Tacho's ear and hitting the window, shattering the glass over Sirita and burying itself in the headrest of Mark’s seat.

“Damn it!” Mark stomped on the gas, hitting one of the cops with the minivan. He rolled up the hood of the accelerating vehicle and off to the passenger side. Chyna came face to face with the fake policeman as he slid down the side of her door, grasping helplessly for purchase on the side mirror. They sped away from the red and blue and toward an even darker night. Another bullet sounded and the side view mirror on Chyna's side was gone. Mark tried to fight the pain in his leg, bearing down on the accelerator like his life depended on it.

Chyna looked toward the back and saw that the impostor’s police car was closing in. She knew exactly how much they had gained when another bullet grazed past their car almost instantaneously, whoever was firing at them was a crack shot to aim so well from a moving vehicle and at a moving target to boot. With the way the man who had shot at Tacho from point blank range had missed, she had been thinking they were a group of amateurs looking for their fifteen minutes of fame, but their marksmanship so far had had her backtracking on her criticism. She looked toward the driver's side to see Mark holding on to the wheel. She knew the pressure on his foot would get increasingly worse and could potentially damage it. He was already straining the engine and they had barely hit a hundred kilometers per hour. Chyna thought that maybe she should have taken the driver’s seat despite her exhaustion, but realized that self-criticism over her past mistakes was counterproductive.

Her decision was made.

She reached into the glove compartment where Tacho had told her he kept the gun. It was a small nine millimeter, but she was skilled enough to know that it would do the job. She rolled down the passenger side window, stood up and leaned halfway out.

“Chyna!” Lana screamed at her. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Sit back. I need to ward them off!” Chyna aimed the gun at the car following them, but couldn't get a good shot due to the darkness.

“Chyna, this is madness!” Oscar protested.

Chyna ignored him and turned to Mark.

“Can you slow down a little? I need to get a good shot.”

Mark was slow to act at first, but as Chyna saw his foot ease up off of the pedal, she knew he was with her. The team protested at the sight of the men gaining on them, but Chyna steadied her arm and aimed loosely at the approaching headlights. As the car following came closer, the full beams fell on the back of Tacho's minivan and illuminated the faces of the occupants in the rear vehicle. Allowing the driver to see the pistol pointed directly at his face for a moment, she saw his panicked eyes widen, and the steering wheel gave a jerk to the left as he tried to get out of the firing line. This only presented Chyna with her real target, her bullet flying true and tearing into the right side front tire, ripping a hole and causing the driver to lose control of the high powered police car, spinning once, twice and coming to rest facing the wrong way on the road.

Chyna slid back into her seat, raised an eyebrow at her shell shocked compatriots, and allowed herself a half smile. Every one of them knew who she was and the things that she could do; what she was essentially capable of. Why had it been so easy for them to forget those parts of her? Surely they knew better than to doubt her by now?

Chapter Nine

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

The Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia, also known as Barcelona Cathedral, is the Gothic cathedral and seat of the Archbishop of Barcelona, Spain. The cathedral was constructed from the 13th to 15th centuries, with the principal work done in the 14th century. The cloister, which encloses the Well of the Geese (Font de les Oques) was completed in 1448. In the late 19th century, the neo-Gothic façade was constructed over the nondescript exterior that was common to Catalan churches. The roof is notable for its gargoyles, featuring a wide range of animals, both domestic and mythical.

***

“You are not coming with us?” Mark said as he and Oscar unloaded the car of all their equipment.

“No, Tacho and I are going to start work as soon as possible, we think,” Chyna replied. “We are heading over to the Cathedral de Barcelona to scope this case out. His editor called when we were driving in. You were sleeping. He told Tacho to check the place out and I’m going with him, looks like the last sighting of the afflicted were in that area and there haven’t been any admissions to the hospital or bookings by the local police force.”

“Are you sure? Are you going to be okay? If there have been no arrests, it could be more of these murderous swine in police uniforms in play, right?” Mark said.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, how crowded can it be? It’s almost midnight. I’ll keep my phone on.” Chyna nodded. Instinctively, Chyna checked the shoulder holster under her jacket and then tugged the jacket closer around her to hide any bulge. She had been traveling for hours, and would have given anything for a good night’s sleep herself. She knew her team was falling over their feet because of exhaustion, but there was still a task in hand. Chyna did not want to burden them with something she could do herself; therefore, she and Tacho had decided to visit the Cathedral of Barcelona alone while Oscar, Mark Sirita and Lara booked into a hostel.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything, though. Don’t hesitate. I’ll be awake,” Mark told her as he picked up the bags and tried to limp over to the main door of the motel.

“Mark.” Chyna ran up to him and took the bags from his hands. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

“I can carry those,” he said, a little testily.

“Just walk. I can pick these up,” Chyna said, but saw the resistance in his eyes. She knew Mark hated being treated as a special case, but she picked up the bags in her hand and proceeded to the door while he walked with her. There was little time to be sensitive to anyone’s sense of pride.

As they reached the door, Tacho came around the front of the hotel with a rental car. The fake cops in Cordoba had seen his minivan and he didn’t want anyone else to recognize it in Barcelona. The chance that the highway patrol had taken note of his license plate was too high, almost certain, and it was a chance neither Chyna nor Tacho was willing to take. He had parked the vehicle some distance across town, so if it was indeed located by co-conspirators to the murderers or the murderous agents themselves, it might buy them a little extra time while they investigated the false lead.

Chyna handed the bags over to a lone attendant in the hotel, who readily carried them toward the designated room. She then turned to Mark. “Get some rest. We’ll be fine. We’re just going in for a routine scouting.  We’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

Mark looked hesitant, but agreed nonetheless. “Okay, but call me if you need anything.”

He put his arms around Chyna in a friendly hug, and leaned on his cane all the way to his room.

When Chyna exited the hotel, she found that Tacho already had the car running. She hopped in without wasting any time, and got into the business of interrogating Tacho about the Cathedral to which they were traveling, absorbing as much information as she could.

“It’s an old but famous building. Built primarily in Gothic style, it is dedicated to Saint Eulalia, whose remains are also entombed here. It is said that the Romans tried to shame her by undressing her in public here at this very Cathedral, but a mysterious snowfall saved her honor. She was then forced into a barrel that had knives sticking out of it and rolled downhill. I think she was thirteen when she was martyred,” Tacho said.

“That’s a pretty gruesome ending for a child.” Chyna felt a chill go down her spine at the thought of such a torturous death.

“It is, yes. It is a beautiful building though. You, as an archaeologist and historian, will find many pieces that might interest you. The Gothic influence is clearly visible, and the cathedral itself is just grand!”

Chyna smiled at Tacho’s enthusiasm. Even in times of evident danger and after being shot at, his face showed no worry. In fact, he seemed more like a child lost in a museum rather than a journalist on an assignment. She longed to share that same passion, that same excitement with him. She hated to admit it, but she knew that Tony’s betrayal had left her halved and broken. She didn’t feel as loved as she had before, as excited, as confident and as adventurous. However, looking at Tacho truly enjoying something he loved made her almost nostalgic. She found that she longed to feel thrill, anticipation and enthusiasm for the hunt all over again. Maybe she wasn’t as recovered from her ordeal in Dresden as she had thought she was. Her efforts in Deadhorse had been somewhat of a help but even her ‘soldier of fortune’ friend, Rivka Ibrahim, had found her taciturn. “Too little, too late,” she had quipped.

The square in front of the cathedral seemed dark as they approached it. The streets themselves were populated with the late night revelers of Barcelona’s thrumming nightlife, but the square itself seemed almost deserted. Chyna checked her watch and frowned; it was not even midnight yet. According to Tacho, the church was a popular destination for young lovers and party goers, so much so that it usually remained flooded with people well into the wee hours of the morning. Therefore, it seemed unusual for the main square in the church to be deserted this early. Tacho found the answer before she did, reading the signs in Spanish. “Look,” Tacho pointed to something in the corner. “The sign says ‘Closed for Construction.’”

“I don’t see any construction equipment,” Chyna pointed out. She thought she had an inkling as to who or what could have made the ruse—if the sign was one at all—possible, but she didn’t want to believe it. The fake cops couldn’t have caught up so fast, could they?

“What do you think?” Tacho asked. “Should we go in?”

“Do you think it’s the cops from Cordoba? I smell a trap here, Tacho.” Chyna wondered aloud.

“Maybe, but either we spring the trap now, or we spring it in the morning when they have had even more time to prepare.” Tacho shrugged nonchalantly and Chyna was impressed by the man’s bravery, or recklessness she wasn’t quite sure. “It still depends on us, though, whether we want to take the chance or not.”

Chyna sighed heavily. She stared out of the windshield and at the rising gothic behemoth in front of them. Everything about the cathedral seemed daunting and uninviting, the effect enhanced by the night that closed in on them, cloaking all movements of potential or imagined enemies. Chyna reminded herself about darkness. If there is darkness, there is sanctuary. If you cannot see anyone else in the black, chances are, no one can see you. If the pretend cops had caught up with the team, then they were as close to the next clue as Chyna and Tacho, and in the final calculation that was all that really mattered at that point.

“Let’s go in,” she finally announced, “We need to find as many clues as we can.”

They alighted from the car together after parking it in a secluded and darkened spot and moved toward the main doors, all the while alert and watching closely for any other movement. Chyna noticed that there were no guards on the premises, which further added to the weight of suspicion in her mind. A building this old and holding so many precious artifacts had to be guarded at all times, surely; but then perhaps not. Spain was at heart a relaxed Mediterranean idyll, perhaps there was not the need or requirement here for oppressive, all-encompassing security.

The gate in the front was locked, and there did not seem to be any source of light as well. Tacho leaned and inspected the knob, rattling it.

“We can’t get in.” He stood up. “It’s locked. What do we do now?”

“Tacho,” she said, playfully reproachful, “an investigative journalist who has never picked a lock?” Chyna fiddled with her hair for a moment and pulled out a bobby pin from her ponytail, leaned down and inserted the pin inside the lock. From the looks of it, the cathedral authorities did not take protection very seriously. She concentrated on the movements going on inside of the mechanism, and breathed an exhalation of satisfaction when, after some seconds of manipulating the chamber, the lock clicked and the handle fell open.

They were finally inside, and they were evidently not alone.

The very first thing that had Chyna reaching for her gun was an unearthly, almost inhuman howling that was resonating inside the cathedral. She looked around for the source of the noise, and found him right at the end of the nave they were closest to, at the very steps of the altar.

The man leaning there was dressed as if he had once been the very picture of grace and opulence, with an air of formidable coolness. Incongruous with his appearance was a person bent under the weight of the world, feeling suffocated and alone. Chyna and Tacho approached him carefully, unwilling to arouse an angry response from the tormented soul before them. He looked well dressed, but his suit was of an older style and seemed like neither he nor the suit had been washed in days.

“Senor?” Chyna called out to the man, gaining his attention and providing a break in his continuous sobbing.

“Si?” he gasped and spoke in hiccups. Chyna immediately turned to Tacho, knowing that she would never be able to understand his words, garbled by grief as they were and in a language upon which she had only the vaguest grasp.

Tacho nodded at her and turned to the man. It was clear from his tone that he was trying to placate him but was failing miserably. The man was now hysterical, talking with his hands flailing about in the air, his chest heaving with the exertion he was putting into his words. After a while, he started sobbing again, and Tacho began speaking English again only after comforting him.

“He says his name is Fernando. He is the head of the Medici—a very famous crime syndicate here in Barcelona. They are the ones who have been transporting the rosary across Spain. They received a tip off some weeks ago from an unknown source, who told them the location of the rosary. They were paid a handsome advance to retrieve it from its location and transport it across Spain to Geneva. The rosary is going to be exported to an unknown location after that.

“He says he and his team stole it from the Cathedral of Valencia, but as they moved cross country, each one of his crew members went mad. They went the same way the other victims did—hallucinations, voices, and visions and so on. He is the last one left.”

Tacho leaned in close to Chyna, signaling her to come closer, and whispered in her ear, “Chyna, I think he is going mad too.”

Chyna gasped, her head turning to take in Fernando’s profile, bent over the altar again, praying fervently.

“Look at him,” Tacho continued. “He was barely coherent when I was talking to him. He kept saying things about God and his wrath and whatnot; listen, he’s speaking again.” Fernando sobbed prayers out through clasped hands, and Tacho translated in real time for Chyna to hear. “He has come here to beg forgiveness. He says that he realizes now what a grave crime he and his team had committed, and has come to beg forgiveness. He says he will return the rosary to the priests in the cathedral in the morning and leave.” Chyna slapped her hand on Tacho’s shoulder.

“Wait a minute, are you saying he has the rosary?”

Tacho nodded gravely at Chyna’s question and pointed to the altar, where Fernando was praying. It was only when Chyna looked closely at the prostrate man that she realized that he wasn’t actually apologizing to God per se, but to a wooden box; the rosary itself.

Chyna felt a tremor go through her: the very item she had heard of and been chasing all this while was right in front of her in all its majesty and delightful danger. She looked at Fernando and the box he was praying to, imagining the rosary inside it. The thrill that coursed through her was something she could identify as being closest to what Tacho must have felt while talking about the Cathedral. She wanted to touch the box, but she realized that Fernando was standing between them like a wall. If Tacho was right, then Chyna needed to take her next step very carefully. A slight misconception and the mobster could potentially turn this situation into a very violent one indeed.

“What do we do now? We need to get the rosary out of here, or at least get it to safety until the morning. Fernando can hand it over to the priests tomorrow.” Chyna whispered.

“I know. Also, if those highway policemen really were following us, it wouldn’t take them long to catch up and figure out where we are,” Tacho reasoned. “Fernando isn’t in his right mind. He will tell them what he told us. And Chyna, they will not be as cooperative as we are.”

“That, my friend, is true,” a voice announced from the back.

The hair on the back of Chyna’s neck stood up at the cadences. She felt like a robot, turning mechanically to follow the source, eyes widening when she found it. Her arms and legs went numb momentarily, and she found herself unable to react.

The cops from Cordoba were there emerging from the shadows along with One Eye and their leader.

Anthony Stewart.

Chapter Ten

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

Calm before the storm: When Cristoforo was preparing to leave for his first voyage, Isabella declared on March 31, 1492, that all Jews had four months to be baptized into the Catholic faith, or else they would be forced to leave Castile y Leon and Aragon. Some agreed, but most fled. England and France closed their borders to those expelled from Castile y Leon and Aragon, so most were forced to find refuge into Portugal. Italy, Greece, and Turkey also opened their doors to the refugees. Others found their way to the New World. Isabella believed that she was doing God's work, but the horror and cruelty of the Inquisition stains her reign of many achievements. During her reign, Isabella created a new Espana, many of the Spanish kingdoms joined together. She financed voyages that led to the discovery of the New World, and created one of the most cultured and powerful kingdoms in Europe.

***

“Well, here we are again.” Tony smiled at Chyna, and for the first time in months, Chyna felt like she was getting the closure that she had so longed for. The Anthony she had known and the one facing her now were two different people, and she knew that hers was lost, a lie given to the world by the gods of betrayal and greed. This man standing before her disgusted her.

“Here we are again,” she announced, staring down the length of her arm, past her raised pistol and into the eyes of the man she once loved. There was no fear in her this time, cold determination wrapped her fingers, her arm, her shoulder and her heart in steel. Chyna felt like she was meant to do this, meant to face Tony at this particular point of time in Cathedral de Barcelona on a summer night.

“I must say, you bounced back faster than even I ever expected you would, Chyna.” Tony raised an eyebrow in appreciation, and Chyna remembered all the times the gesture used to turn her on. It curled her lip with disgust, her breathing betrayed her and her heart rate rose unbidden. The barrel of her pistol wavered slightly, and Tony smirked at her to see the effect he still had.

“You know me, Tony. I have never been one to dwell on things, especially the little things,” Chyna said.

His expression didn’t falter, but the way his lips pursed slightly told her she was getting under his skin. She smirked herself this time.

“Yeah, that's why you moved on with Mark. I’m sure I’m no competition in the bedroom to a cripple. How’s his leg, by the way? Still limping, I imagine. Like other things, there I suppose. I imagine a good stiff dose of PTSD does wonders for the libido.”

“You don't hold any sway in my life now, Tony. And after what you did, I'm pretty sure you can't hold me responsible for anything I did while we together. What’s even more sure is that I should have finished you in that church two months ago.” She raised an eyebrow, hoping an implication of infidelity would splinter his resolve, make him slip.

“It doesn’t even matter, Chyna. I’ve won again, you see,” Tony countered. “I never loved you. You were just a means to an end. I needed the pieces; you had the resources and oh so much energy to go chasing around the world, getting into danger to gather up these precious items, and all for my friends to swoop in and collect them all in one night. Pretty effective strategy, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, about that: I had some questions. Why do you need them, Tony? Was it the money? They're just pieces of history. They’ll probably end up in the vault of some rich collector. I had a higher opinion of your career prospects than being a petty mercenary.” Chyna tried to play it cool because she knew he would not give up important information easily. When Tony opened his mouth, she could hardly believe her luck.

“Why does anyone do anything, Chyna? Why does anyone need anything? Because they want to be the best. Deep down, every person is hungry. They need opportunities; they need money; they need fame. Me? I realized long ago that all that really matters is power, and the right to exercise that power, Chyna. Once I saw how toothless the FBI really was, I knew I had to make some new allegiances.”

Chyna didn't want to admit it, but she was a little disappointed. By the way Tony had conducted himself these past years, she had really expected him to be more creative and less mainstream. But here he was, reciting rhymes of world domination and whatnot when she had expected all of his extensive planning to go into something more worthwhile.

“Really, Tony? World domination? By you? You’re nothing but a glorified gigolo, a fame whore.” She frowned comically. “I had really expected something better. I don't understand how a little rosary will help you to dominate the world.”

“Not me—us. We have a plan, Chyna. We always have a plan.” Tony looked over his shoulder briefly while speaking. “And now that I'm ahead, I think I'll just quit. I know you, Chyna Stone. I know all the mind games that you play with people. You're not getting anything else from me, not tonight at least. Maybe after I’ve led you on another wild goose chase for my own amusement,” he laughed.

She looked past Tony to see One Eye grabbing Fernando and picking him up. The mobster was all but spent because of his weeping and whimpering, but One Eye showed him no mercy while hauling him up to his feet. He screamed at the poor man to pick the rosary up and walk. Tacho was backed up against the transept wall, hands in the air and a gun pointed squarely at his chest.

They were going to walk out of the cathedral with the rosary in their possession, and Chyna knew that chances would be she would not be able to do anything about it. She saw more tears leave Fernando's eyes and drop to the floor of the cathedral as he picked the rosary up and started walking, with sluggish feet, toward the door of the cathedral.

“Stop!” Chyna shouted, pointing the gun straight at Tony. “So help me God, Tony, stop or I will shoot you.”

Tony, who had been strolling toward his group, turned around, amused and in theatrical shock.

“Good!” he exclaimed. “You took your confidence pills, Chyna. I am so proud of you!”

“Shut up, Tony!” She threatened, “Release him or I will shoot you!”

Tony's smile vanished from his face. His eyes narrowed into slits and his lips pursed into a hard, thin line. He turned around and threw his gun to One Eye, then spread his arms out and stood facing Chyna, his chest puffed out.

“Try it. Go ahead, gun me down, right here and now. Quite fitting, don’t you think? A self-sacrifice in a cathedral?”

But Chyna couldn't. She knew she should pull the trigger; that she should finish him off before he had the chance to hurt even more people than he already had. She would be doing a favor to herself and the world.

What held her back was what she saw in his face; a glimpse of the Tony she had once loved, his valor, his intelligence, and his stupid tendency to jump into anything and everything without thinking too much. She saw the Tony she knew in love and in her heart; she saw the one who loved her right back, not this clone who claimed to be him and yet was so different. She knew it was someone else facing her, and she still couldn't pull the trigger.

His booming laugh that echoed around the high walled, stained glassed cathedral only added to the list of reasons why she should shoot Tony, yet her finger remained where it had been—on the verge, always.

“I thought so, Chyna,” he laughed again, and with those words, turned around and walked out of the cathedral, the click-clack of his shoes retreating across the marble floor resonating in her mind as she sank to her knees.

Chapter Eleven

RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014

The New World:  Although Isabella accomplished much during her reign, she is remembered most for her funding Cristoforo Colombo, Christopher Columbus. Today she is remembered as a devout woman, and there is a movement to canonize her into the Catholic faith. However, her role in the Inquisition is blocking the way for Isabel's entrance into sainthood.

Queen Isabella died on November 26, 1504, at the age of 53. Her body was wrapped in a Franciscan robe, which she thought would guarantee her entry into heaven. Her tomb is in the Royal Chapel at Granada, next to Fernando's, who died twelve years after his wife in 1516. They were succeeded by their daughter, Queen Juana, and their son-in-law, King Philip I.

***

Chyna stood frozen... and disappointed. Facing off with Tony had been one the easiest things in the world for her to play through in her mind, she had seen it a thousand times in her mind’s eye, rehearsed mentally what to say, what to do, whether to talk or just shoot him dead.  She had drawn the gun and pointed it at him, ready to shoot just as she had imagined it. She had thought that she would have had the upper hand and that she could get under his skin. Little had she known that he was like a crocodile, covered in layers of scales and rock hard flesh, seemingly impossible to penetrate. Once again, Chyna Stone was left standing alone while her archenemy had walked right out of her hands, playing her weakness to his advantage.

“Chyna!” She felt a hand on her back—Tacho.

“Chyna, we need to follow them!” he insisted. “Hurry!”

Chyna knew she should move, but her feet were rooted. Would she ever be able to face him? Would she ever be able to extract her revenge? Would she ever get over him? Her present state was evidence to everything being exactly the opposite, which made her want to weep. She had never felt so weak, so beaten. She was sure that of all the weak points that could possibly break her, this was the worst—the knowledge of the fact that she wasn't strong enough, and might never be so.

“Chyna! Venga te!” Tacho pulled her hand, and she moved with him mechanically. Her brain was trying to grapple with her body and drive it into the chasms of pain and numbness. She somehow kept up with Tacho, but her mind was still stuck in that one moment—the moment when she had had the chance to take Tony out of the equation but had not had the strength to fulfil her destiny. It was shameful, embarrassing to admit, even to herself.

Tony's ambling silhouette was visible clearly in the light outside of the cathedral. He had his gun in his right hand, and his left was in the pocket of his pants without a care in the world, secure with his henchman, One Eye and the goons in police uniforms. He knew that he had damaged Chyna enough to guarantee that she would not be able to kill him and that seemed to him like the ultimate protection.

Chyna shouted a challenge for Tony to stop, but her voice was muffled by a vehicle screeching into the square from the avenue to the north. Chyna turned her head toward the sound and to her relief and surprise saw Tacho's minivan speeding toward them in a frenzy with Sirita at the wheel and Oscar beside her. Help had arrived, and they now had a snowball’s chance of retrieving what they had come for.

Tony, unfortunately, noticed the shift in power at the same time Chyna did, because the next thing she saw was him gesticulating toward his group and instructing them in Spanish. The men appeared scared for a moment, but their faces changed as Tony spoke. Almost immediately, they took out their handguns and in the next moment had opened fire at the van, which slewed and skidded, presenting the driver’s side of the vehicle to the assailants and giving the team at least some protection from small arms fire. The wheels spun, and the van took off toward the western exit to the square.

Seizing her opportunity to take advantage of a distracted foe, Chyna ran toward the group of firing men and crouched to minimize the target she would present under the light from the minivan’s whirling headlights. In her peripheral vision, she saw Tacho running for cover behind an external buttress of the cathedral and at the same time typing away on his phone. If he was making notes, Chyna thought it was a bad time and place to draft a story.

As she reached the closest of the men in police uniform, she took him from behind with a firm choking maneuver, preventing him from firing or crying out. She wrenched his cap away from his head, forced him to his knees and as her victim looked up she came face to face with the cop who had bounced off the windshield earlier that evening. His eyes bugged as he tried to gasp for breath and claw her arm away. Chyna hit him hard in the face with the butt of her pistol. Blood sprayed upward into her face, and the man screamed. Chyna released him and he fell forward onto his hands and knees. A sharp kick to the solar plexus and he ceased all noises and movements. One down.

She had just locked on to her next target when a crash resounded from her right. One Eye had fired a bullet through the windshield of van, causing Sirita, who was driving, to swerve and hit Fernando to avoid disaster. With a shock, Chyna realized that the crash had actually been Fernando landing face down on the rough floor of the cathedral square.  With the way his body had been twisted and was now still, Chyna knew he was dead; killed because of the very thing he had been trying to protect. As Chyna ran toward him, she heard the sound of the bullets multiply. Sirita and Oscar had quit the van and were now fighting on foot, using their own pistols. Chyna rolled, coming up in a rifleman’s firing stance and put three rounds into another cop who was drawing down on Oscar from his blind side. Two. In a moment she was up and running toward the body, a hundred yards or more away and effectively in no man’s land between her team and Tony’s minions.

As she ran in the dark toward Fernando her mind was focused, clarity of purpose returning to her once again after so long. She realized then that she had almost forgotten the truth that kind of focus brought to her.

“When it feels like the air has completely filled your body and all you can hear is the beating of your own heart… pull the trigger so you can breathe again.”

She heard Rivka’s voice whispering in her ear, as loudly and clearly as she ever had when she had spent day after hot, unbearable day lying on the ground in the Israeli desert behind the sights of her sniper rifle.

Once again, she had reasons to exist; the survival of her team and obtaining the rosary. Tony could be dealt with later. The realization almost made Chyna stop and revel in the resurgent energy that coursed in her veins. She felt like she was finally back in the game, looking for the thrill and the adventure and feeling the excitement course through her. This was her territory, she realized, and she would mark it.

However, just as the thought had doubled the speed of her steps, she stepped on something and stopped short at the sight by her feet.

Chyna found herself staring down at a fine piece of jewelry strewn on the ground. A long chain of beautiful black and white beads, a perfect silver crucifix hanging at its apex; the rosary of Isabella was just lying there on the stones of the square beneath the soles of her shoes. Its box lay open a few feet away.

Now that the rosary was within arm's reach, Chyna acquired a new perspective on the battle that was ensuing around her. Bending down, she picked up the wooden box and gathered the rosary inside it. She was about to tuck it under her arm, but when she looked up, her eyes met Tony’s. He was trapped, pinned down, with his partner One Eye, between Oscar and Sirita on one side and herself on the other. His irises were a storm of anger, helplessness, and what looked like fear. Could it really be he was afraid? Of what, or more pertinently, whom? The feel of the box in her hand gave her a strength that felt granted by the power of God himself. Now, it seemed as if her senses were alive, her hands and fingers moved of their own accord, aiming and shooting at the two remaining men in police uniform who were attempting to advance toward the inadvertent cage that the two pairs had trapped Tony and One Eye in. The sounds of bullets resounded in the air from all sides—even Tony and One Eye, who tried and failed to shoot their way out, found themselves too well entrenched by Sirita and Oscar.

Chyna concerned herself with keeping Tacho covered as he edged away from the conflict, and the rosary in her possession. As she worked on finishing off the fake cops who had accompanied Tony and One Eye to the scene, Sirita began to empty a clip into the bushes and fence that they were taking cover behind; splintering the wood and forcing them into the open. A volley of lead from Chyna’s nine millimeter followed and the only combatants left in the square were her team, Tony and One Eye.

Trapped between gunfire from two directions, it was only a matter of time before they would capture Tony, of that Chyna was sure. She checked on Tacho and repositioned herself to look out and scan the square for their location. That was when she saw him and One Eye retreating toward a narrow alley leading into the darkness, lit only at the entrance by a little street light.  Tony was moving behind the cover of a now bullet-ridden Fiat Cinquecento, blocking any fire from Chyna’s position. She yelled a warning to Oscar, who did not look up from his braced and locked firing stance. One bullet rang out, and One Eye cried out and went down. The shot had passed right through the smashed rear windscreen of the little hatchback car and struck One Eye in the hip. Tony dropped all pretenses at subtlety and fired wildly, one handed, forcing Oscar and Sirita to again retreat for cover and Chyna to fling herself flat on the hard cobblestones, knocking all the wind out of her and leaving her gasping. In the few seconds it had taken her to raise herself to a knee, she found Oscar and Sirita already running toward One Eye. Too late to think about Tony, who seemed to have made good his escape; they would have to settle for whatever they could get. They could chase Tony later, but interrogating One Eye could lead to some idea about the intentions of Illuminati Reborn and, objectively, that was the important goal.

Chyna, however, was working on a different frequency. She had waited too long and suffered too much to let Tony get away at the brink of her success. She reasoned that having One Eye in their custody and behind bars, or dead, would not make too much of a difference. It was Tony who was the mastermind behind their plans. He was the one making the decisions and initiating the plays. One Eye was just a pawn in his schemes. If he wasn't, Tony would not have sacrificed him so easily.

She watched Tony's retreating form like a hawk and did not even have to think before picking up her gun. With her eye on Tony’s retreating silhouette, she aimed, surer of herself than she had been before Dresden. There were only sheer focus and a determination to bring him down that were working inside Chyna. She filled her lungs and waited to exhale. As soon as he reached a tiny spot of light cast by another dim overhead street lamp, her finger tightened reflexively and the hammer dropped. A flash and a cry rang out, and the running shadow went down, clutching at his leg. She breathed again and slowly lowered her weapon.

Chyna Stone found closure.

Epilogue

“Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.”

— Emperor Haile Selassie I

***

One Eye had bled out so much that when the ambulancia arrived, Oscar and Chyna were both elbow deep in his vital fluids. The paramedics stabilized him at the scene, and took him away under police guard. The real Spanish garda civil were understandably dismayed at the carnage wrought in the grounds of Barcelona’s most beloved building, and even more so when they discovered the bullets that had found their way into the brickwork of the La Catedral de Barcelona itself. Tony had been nowhere to be found, a trail of his blood in a dimly lit alleyway the only evidence that he had ever been in Spain at all.

Fortunately for the Found History team, Tacho proved most effective at negotiating their release from arrest, despite the multiple breaches of local and international law. The recovery of the Rosary of Isabella naturally smoothed the path to liberty, and when Cardinal Montego, head of the Catholic Church in Catalonia arrived to take possession of a relic that had been thought to be mythical or at least lost to history, their release was assured, provided the team surrendered their weapons, which they did gladly. At that point, Chyna was glad that she had left her beloved Sig Sauer in Geneva at Oscar’s suggestion to smuggle weapons into Spain.

In any event, the team did have to spend a night in the cells, and it was an exhausted and worn team who convened for a breakfast of torrijas and dark, sweet coffee the next morning. As the police station jail was segregated along gender lines, Chyna, Lara and Sirita had been separated from Oscar and Mark, who had clearly spent the night coming up with wild ideas, judging by the animated conversation that overrode their disheveled appearance and dark-ringed eyes.

“Ladies,” Oscar said, slurping his coffee. “Mark and I have decided that we need to go on a team building exercise.”

He emphasized the last three words with thumps on the table that rattled the china cups in their saucers. Lara groaned.

“Team building? You mean, going off to a sweat lodge and talking about how we can increase sales of vacuum cleaners in Ohio?”

Chyna burst out laughing, unable to get the visual out of her head of them sitting cross-legged in a steamy teepee, swaying from side to side. Lana had always had a knack with words.

Mark took up the tale.

“Not quite, Lana. I, well, we think it’s high time we took some time off, together, you know? Chyna had her break, and that, well, no offence boss, but it did you no good at all. More like a psychotic break, of sorts. So, this time we’re not letting you out of our sight, OK? Right. Where are we?”

Chyna was about to thank him for his clever wit and obvious concern and insist she was in fact fine, but the question stopped her mid-thought.

“We’re in a coffee shop,” she said.

“Very droll,” Oscar said. “I mean, geographically speaking, of course. We’re not even eight hundred kilometers from the champagne region in France…”

“That’s five hundred miles, y’all,” Oscar interjected, his Tennessee accent coming through plainly.

“So I was thinking, how about we go on a road trip? We made a map while we were in jail.” He pulled out a piece of legal paper on which was drawn a fairly accurate picture of southern Europe.

“We drive to the Pyrenees,” Oscar said, tracing the route with his teaspoon. “Then we hire bicycles and run the route all the way from here, through Andorra, hit Toulouse, then cycle through the wine country. Get all manner of drunk. Mark here reckons with a 4x4, his knee will hold up to drive as support vehicle. It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea!” Sirita said. “I’ve always wanted to do that, but we never have the chance, we’re always working. What do you say, Chyna?”

Chyna considered. On the one hand, Tony was still at large, but it would be some time before he was able to cause any more trouble, thanks to the bullet she had put in him, and she could use a break—a real break, this time, one not spent wallowing in self-pity and instead, getting hammered on good wine. Her team was looking at her expectantly and the look in their eyes said that they needed this as much as she did.

“Okay, we’ll do it; on one condition. First case of champagne is on me.”

The End

Chyna Stone returns in:

The Jeweled Crown

A Chyna Stone Adventure #8

Return to the Table of Contents

THE

JEWELED

CROWN

A Chyna Stone Adventure

#8

by

K.T. TOMB

The Jeweled Crown

Non rien de rien, Non je ne regrette rien!

Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, Ni le mal; tout ça m'est bien égal!

C'est payé, balayé, oublié, Je me fous du passé!

Avec mes souvenirs, J'ai allumé le feu

Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs. Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux!

Balayées les amours, Avec leurs trémolos

Balayés pour toujours, Je repars à zero!

Non, rien de rien, Non, je ne regrette rien

Car ma vie, car mes joies. Aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi.

—Edith Piaf, 1959.

Prologue

"Farewell, my dearest. Do so much good to the French people that they can say that I have sent them an angel."

—Empress Maria Theresa of Austria

Marie Antoinette was essentially a symbol of the French monarchy’s excesses and is widely thought to have been the main provocateur of the popular unrest which led to the French Revolution and the overthrow of the monarchy in August 1792.

She was born on November 2, 1755, in Vienna, Austria and at the tender age of twenty, the consort to Louis XVI and mother of four was beheaded on October 16, 1793; nine months after her husband met the same fate.

After the conclusion of the Seven Years' War in 1763, the preservation of an increasingly fragile alliance between Austria and France became a priority for Austrian Empress, Maria Theresa. At the time, cementing alliances through matrimonial connections was a common practice among European royal families and the Empress saw this as the easiest way to keep the peace. In 1765, Louis Ferdinand, the son of French monarch Louis XV, died, naming his 11-year-old grandson, Louis-Auguste as heir to the French throne, so Maria Theresa arranged for Marie Antoinette and Louis-Auguste to be pledged in marriage to each other and in May 1770, at the tender age of 14, Marie Antoinette set out for France to be married.

The two teenagers were married on May 16, 1770. However, neither of the two adjusted well to a married life. It was obvious Marie was not ready; her frequent letters home revealed intense homesickness and a difficulty adjusting to the opulent lifestyle as it was observed in Versailles. She bristled at some of the rituals she was expected to perform as a lady of the French royal family and complained to the empress, making reference in particular to the fact that she was required to dress and even put on her makeup in the morning with dozens of courtiers as an audience.

At the same time, her relationship with her new husband was rather difficult and extremely strained. Their personalities could not have been more different. He was introverted, shy and indecisive, a lover of solitude reveling in activities such as reading and metalwork. She on the other hand was a social butterfly who loved gambling, partying and extravagant fashions.

In 1774, when Louis XV died, Louis-Auguste succeeded to the French throne as Louis XVI. This made Marie Antoinette queen of France at just 19 years old.

Chapter One

“It is time, my love.” The term of endearment was always added for the sake of the children. Though her heart belonged completely to another man, she still respected and admired her husband and the father to the four children who waited along with the Marquise de Tourzel and Madame Elisabeth.

Louis, who had been in a stupor since they’d left Versailles, looked up at her with vacant eyes, studied her without recognition for a moment, and then quickly snapped to attention. “Yes, of course, it’s time. The children are ready, then?”

“Everyone is ready,” Marie responded with a forced smile. It was the best she could do, given the circumstances. “We’re only waiting on you.”

“You’re certain that Count Axel von Fersen has designed this plan well?” Louis asked, turning his eyes toward the floor. Though he’d resigned himself to his wife’s affair with the count, it was still a reminder to him that he was a failure to her. In reality, they’d never loved each other and it was not something that could be overcome.

“He has, indeed, and there are 10,000 loyal soldiers standing ready to protect the garrison,” Marie replied. “He has assured me of it, as has Baron de Breteuil.”

Louis glanced up at her with a look of resignation. For a king to have to flee in the night didn’t sit well with him. He sighed heavily and then rose from the settee. “Very well, then, we’ll take our leave.”

They turned together toward the waiting marquise, Elisabeth and the children. Where outward appearances were concerned, the king and queen were as one. Louis stopped and surveyed the group before him. They were dressed in garb that was certainly not fitting of royalty, just as he and Marie were. “We certainly look the part of a lot of rapscallions,” he murmured.

“This dreadful getup does not suit me either,” Marie complained. An icon of fashion, Marie was disgusted with the bourgeois clothing and was ready to get on with the task before them. When it was over, she’d be able to dress herself once more in the finery that she adored. She cupped her hand next to her mouth as she confided in the marquise in a whisper. “I do hope Axel doesn’t see me in this.”

The marquise smiled and then took to playing the role for which she had been cast in their elaborate play. In a thick Russian accent, she took command of the group; command that she would have until they were all safe in the citadel of Montmédy. “Elisabeth, do lead off with the children and Governess Theresa. Our valet and I will bring up the rear.”

As Marie passed by her, the marquise whispered to her. “My lady, perhaps you ought to remove the tiara? It is really not fitting for a governess to wear one.”

Marie smiled and slipped the tiara from her head, concealing it among the ample pleats of her skirt.

With Marie looking more the part of the governess than the Queen of France, she continued taking charge. “That horrid monstrosity of a coach is waiting in the back alley. We ought to have ridden in two carriages and made a much more pleasant trip of it, but this is what we’re...”

“Our decision is made,” Louis snapped through clenched teeth. “We will not split our family into two carriages. And, marquise, I will remind you that though you are playing the role of my superior in this little drama, I am still the King of France.”

Noting the cold look in Louis’ eyes, the marquise bowed her head slightly and then resumed her role as Baroness Sophia Karlovna of St. Petersburg, who with her two children (Marie Therese and Louis-Charles), the governess of her children (Marie), and their nurse (Elisabeth, Louis’ sister) was traveling with her valet (Louis) from Paris to the citadel of Montmédy before leaving France to return to St. Petersburg.

The group moved as a silent unit down the corridors to the back alley. Each was assisted by the coachmen to mount their transportation and begin their trip to freedom. Hopefully, it would include the restoration of the monarchy of France and putting down the outrageous rebellion that had risen up, seized the family from Versailles and had been holding his family, like captives, in the Tuileries of Paris for almost two years.

Louis was the sixteenth king of France to bear the name of a long line of monarchs who had ruled France since the son of Charlemagne, Louis the first, became king. Louis XVI did not intend to be the last. Marie steeled herself against the emotions that threatened to burst from her as she watched her husband slide into the coach beside his six-year-old son, Louis-Charles, Dauphin of France, and pulled his frightened heir in close to his side. Their eyes met across the coach as Marie, seated beside Baroness Sophia, pulled Marie Therese, their daughter, into her side as well.

“Louis,” his sister, Elisabeth said in a low tone as she slid over and pulled Louis-Charles to her own side. “Sure the valet of a baroness would not be so bold with the baroness’ son.”

Marie watched the shadow of sadness come back into her husband’s eyes as he sat alone, no longer the King of France in any form. Since they’d been taken from their home in Versailles, he had been more suited to the valet role that he was playing as the coach lurched forward. She watched him and prayed silently that General François Claude de Bouillé, who awaited them at Montmédy was truly ready to retake France. Any hope of returning to the life that they were accustomed to was dependent upon their successful escape from Paris to Montmédy.

“We must stop,” Marie insisted. “We’ll all perish at this pace. I’d rather be wearing something more flamboyant when I meet my doom, if you don’t mind.”

“We cannot risk it,” Baroness Sophia cautioned. “We’re sure to be recognized if we quit this coach, even for a moment.”

“If we’re to be recognized, then why did we bother with these horrific disguises?” Marie countered.

“I think it would be okay for just a moment,” Louis advised. He raised his eyebrows in a gesture that reminded the marquise of their discussion before leaving Tuileries. “The children need a moment to stretch their legs and tend to other necessities.”

“Very well, then,” Baroness Sophia responded. She tapped on the roof and the coach came to a halt.

“Yes, Madame Baroness?” one of the coachmen asked.

“We will need to quit the coach for a moment. What is the name of the next village?”

“It is Sainte-Menehould,” he responded.

The baroness eyed the king, who nodded his consent.

“That will do,” she replied.

“We’ll only rest a moment and then be on our way,” Louis instructed. “We cannot risk too much exposure, disguises or not.”

In Sainte-Menehould, their drama played out perfectly. No one in the small village believed anything other than the Baroness Sophia Karlovna and her entourage had taken a short rest in their town. As far as Marie was concerned, it had been a complete success by the time they were ready to board the coach once more. They had pulled off an enormous victory, but as she began to mount the coach, her foot slipped slightly and she stumbled. In that moment that she reached to brace herself, the tiara that she’d kept hidden in her skirt fell to the ground.

Without thinking, the marquise reached down, scooped it up and held it out to Marie. Marie hid the tiara once more and the two of them looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

“That was a near disaster,” Marie whispered as they got into the coach.

“Why didn’t you stow that away with your other luggage?” Louis asked.

“I forgot about it until we were ready to leave,” Marie responded. “No one saw us.”

“You had better hope not or your lover’s plans will have been for naught.”

She shot him an icy glare. How dare he speak that way in front of the others?

In the tension that followed, the next hour in the coach was passed in silence and then riders began to appear on either side of the coach as they continued along the road toward Verennes, the last village of any consequence before they reached Montmédy.

“Our escort, I presume?” Louis asked aloud.

Marie breathed a sigh of relief. If they were going to be escorted the rest of the way to Montmédy, then she could relax a bit more. She was already considering what she was going to wear once she was able to ditch the bourgeois clothing that was rubbing a rash in a place that only the Count had been privy to see in the last several years.

As they pulled into Verennes, the coach came to a halt and the riders pulled up as well.

“We don’t need a rest,” Louis called out. “We had our rest and we’re ready to move on to Montmédy.”

“Of course not, your highness,” a voice responded from outside the coach. In the next moment, the door was jerked open and a face appeared. “But you won’t be going to Montmédy. We’ll be escorting you back to Paris.”

Marie couldn’t believe what was taking place. They had been found out. In only a few more hours, they would have been safe behind the stone walls of the citadel, but they had fallen short of that goal. The man who had opened the door looked directly at her and grinned.

“You might as well put that tiara on your head, my lady,” he said. “It’s already given you away.”

***

“Arrangements have been made,” the voice on the other end of the call told him as soon as the call connected.

“Good.” Louis Charles Bourbon, formerly known as Oliver Branko, smiled at the response of the man who had agreed to help him gather together an entire collection of powerful artifacts. The last one was one of a much more personal nature to him and he could hardly wait to have the item in his hands. He held back a boyish giggle as he pressed for more information. “When will the Louvre be missing its most valuable treasure?”

“I don’t know that it can be considered its most valuable treasure…” the caller countered.

“It is to me!” Louis bellowed.

There was a pause and then the caller answered the question. “It will be acquired from the museum in about four hours.”

“So, how soon can I have it in my hands?” Louis tried to get his voice back to a calmer and more even tone as he asked the question. Louis looked at his watch. It was close to 10:00 p.m. Belgrade was in the same time zone as Paris. 2:00 a.m., he noted to himself.

“It takes some time,” the caller responded. “Being in too much of a hurry is the best way to get caught. If that happens, you will never see it.”

“I had better see it. I had better touch it, smell it, taste it and hear the sound of it as it is plunked down upon my desk. That is why I hired you.” He was having some difficulty breathing due to the ups and downs he’d been experiencing after having given the order for the crown to be delivered to him. With the other artifacts, he hadn’t had the same problem.

“If you want it, it will have to go through my channels and things will be done my way, understood?”

Another explosion was on his tongue, but he held it back. Having the crown of Marie Antoinette was important enough for him to be patient a little while longer. Besides, once he had it in his hands, he’d have everyone who was involved in the process of acquiring it eliminated. He glanced up at the glass door to his office and the man standing just outside; a man who was accustomed to carrying out his every command.

“Very well, but you will be in constant contact and will deliver it to me personally.”

“Those were our original terms,” the caller responded. “You received all of the other items without an issue, am I right?”

“Except for the rosary,” Louis reminded him.

“We’ve already tended to that problem as well. It should be delivered to you in the next few days, though I would caution you to be quite careful with it. It has some properties that made its acquisition very difficult.”

“And the final item?” Louis avoided using its name. One never knew who might be listening.

“I’ll have it when I deliver the crown.”

“How am I to believe that you’ll come through this time?” Louis asked, testing him.

“I could always forget about the crown,” the caller replied.

The suggestion made Louis backtrack a little bit.

“I’ll stick to my end of the deal as long as you do,” he replied. “But keep in mind that I’m not one to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I,” the caller responded, disconnecting the call.

Louis placed the phone back in its cradle, scooped up the photos of the crown, slid back into his chair and reclined it against the credenza. He studied every detail of the crown, knowing that, in spite of the best quality photos that he could get of the artifact, pictures of it would never satisfy him the way holding it in his hands would.

It was the symbol of the culmination of all of the power that he had accumulated. It was a symbol of who he was and where he came from.

***

“We’ve got a problem,” Alfonso said as soon as Tony connected the call.

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s a fake,” Alfonso replied.

“How do you know it’s a fake?”

“I know these things. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this sort of thing. It’s a replica set out for display. It’s very well done; a good enough job to fool the most critical eye, but the moment that I got it in my hands, I could tell it was a fake.”

Tony considered the mess that he was in. After the difficulties he’d had with the other artifacts, delivering a fake crown was not going to help make the situation any better. In fact, it was likely to get him killed and jeopardize his entire operation.

“So, where is the original?” It was a stupid question, but he didn’t have a single idea to chase down and he needed a suggestion, a lead, some speculation; anything.

His question was greeted by a snort. It was probably the correct response.

“Not even some speculation?” Tony pressed.

“For all I know, the damned thing was never there,” Alfonso replied.

Tony didn’t like the sound of that. The crown had, no doubt, been snatched from the queen’s head at some point during the uprising. For all he knew, the real one might be inside a velvet lined box inside of a trunk and buried in some French peasant’s barn. Had the original been stolen? If so, when had it been swiped and by whom? Had the Louvre ever had the original? There was no way for him to answer those questions. Worse yet, he’d burned all of the connections that he’d once had in order to go into the deep cover that he was in.

“So?” Alfonso asked when Tony had spoken for several long seconds. “What do you want me to do, have the guy put it back where he found it?”

“Put it in a box and ship it back to the Louvre for all I care. If it’s fake, it might as well not exist,” Tony replied. He knew that Alfonso knew better than to double cross him. He’d witnessed what happened to people who did; a display Tony had carried out in order to strike fear in the hearts of those who followed him.

“I could probably hawk it for a couple hundred grand, if I could find the right mook,” Alfonso laughed.

Tony wasn’t listening anymore. He’d already started trying to sort out his own dilemma. He couldn’t afford to blow his cover in order to solve it.

“Seriously, though, what do we do with it?” Alfonso asked.

“That’s up to you,” Tony replied, disconnecting the call and focusing on his own problem. He had to figure out where the real crown was and he had to have it in his hands to deliver to his client or all of the work that he’d done, all of the sacrifices that he’d made, everything that he’d lost would all be for nothing. Everyone that I’ve lost. The moment the last thought entered his mind, he thought of Chyna.

“There’s not a single chance in hell,” he whispered aloud.

Chapter Two

A faint sound… a movement. Something. Chyna Stone didn’t know what. Keeping her eyes closed and focusing on the source and direction of the sound, she slowly reached for the SIG under her pillow. In the same moment that she realized that it wasn’t there, she heard a familiar voice.

“I suppose you’re looking for this,” Tony said, clicking on the lamp and making a show of tucking the pistol into his own waistband. “We’ll just keep this tucked away safe until we finish talking.”

Rage rushed through her and she sat up. “Talk?” she hissed. “I’d rather watch you bleed to death or put a bullet through your head.”

“I deserve that,” he said quietly.

She’d never seen Anthony Stewart acting the way he was in that moment. He was humble, apologetic even.

“Oh hell, no,” she said through clenched teeth. “If you came here to apologize or to try to…” She couldn’t get the words to come out because of the fury that had taken her over inside.

“That’s not why I came,” he replied in a quiet voice. “That’s not the main reason, anyway.”

“Have you forgotten the fact that I put a bullet in your leg in Cordoba? Are you aware that I wished that I’d put it into your head? There is nothing for us to talk about, so just get the fuck out!”

“I need your help,” he said, pushing forward.

“You need my help?” In spite of the fact that the situation was anything but funny, she started to laugh. “After the shit that you’ve taken me through, the lies that you’ve told me, the slick double-cross that you pulled, you need my help? Oh, Jesus, I’ve gotta hear this, I’ll bet it’s rich. Go ahead, tell me, what kind of help do you need from me?”

“I need you to find something for me,” he replied. Continued with the act of humility, she wasn’t buying it, but it was certainly a new approach.

“It gets better,” she smirked. “I found out that you were able to get the rosary after all, by the way. You’ve about completed your collection, what’s next? What do you want me to find for you?”

“The Crown of Marie Antoinette,” he replied.

“Have you tried looking in the Louvre?”

“It’s a replica,” he replied.

“So, you’ve already stolen it, but it was a fake.” She couldn’t help the mocking laughter. “Do go on, please. Tell me why this crown is so important to you. What is important enough to break into my room… No, wait, assume that I would help you, break into my room and put on this elaborate act of fake humility on for me. Come on, now, why do you need me to help you find Marie Antoinette’s crown, if that is really why you’re here?”

“You’re the only one that can find it,” he replied.

“Well, then you’ve got a big problem, because all I’ve got to say to you and your request is fuck off!” It felt good to say the words. She’d tortured herself over his betrayal. She’d nearly driven herself mad over him. She’d nearly killed him and she’d finally gotten closure, but there was nothing like spitting out those two words to bring a final bit of bliss to her heart and mind.

Tony didn’t respond. He just sat there. He didn’t even look at her. He kept his eyes focused on the floor. It was strange behavior, even stranger than whatever the hell it was that she’d seen in him in Dresden and in Cordoba. She was beginning to wonder, more than ever, who the real Anthony Stewart was. She thought she knew once, but none of what she had known about him had been true.

“I gave you your answer,” she replied. In spite of herself, she couldn’t resist the taunt, though even as she was saying the words, she wondered if she was baiting the bear. “So, are you going to kill me now or let me go back to sleep?”

“Things aren’t the way you think,” he replied.

“What the hell do you know about what I think?”

“I can’t. Not specifically. I supposed I’d be as angry as you are if the shoe was on the other foot.”

“The shoe on the other foot!” she snapped. There was no more humor in the acidic words that came out of her. “The shoe would never be on the other foot, Anthony Stewart. I am not arrogant enough, evil enough, lacking in integrity and honesty, nor black-hearted enough to ever do to you what you’ve done to me. I trusted you and you lied to me. I counted on you and you betrayed me. I…” She almost said that she had loved him, but she didn’t want to give him even that tiny bit of acknowledgment.

“I had to!” he snapped, filling in her pause with the first bit of emotion that he’d shown the entire time that he’d been there and looking directly into her eyes.

“You had to?” She glared at him. “No one in history has ever HAD to do what you’ve done to me.”

“I’m undercover,” he said. “There was more to the role that I played in Kiev when I went to meet with Ionesco. Connections that we made through our interrogation of Petrovik started us down a path that led me into a cover that involved the Masons and the Illuminati. I can’t explain it all to you, but there is some very deep, very serious, world dominance shit going down and I’m right in the middle of it.”

“Orchestrating it, you mean?” she responded, still not believing his story.

“It has to appear that I am in order for us to get to the root of all of this.”

“Just for laughs, because my original ‘fuck off’ still stands, how will my finding this precious crown for your help out your deep, undercover investigation?”

“Because it is the key to actually getting to the head of the organization that is stealing the artifacts.”

“You’re the organization that is stealing the artifacts.”

“Not true. I’m just filling an order so that I can reach the source. But the crown is different. It has no powers of any significance, not like the others. It’s the last item on the order and it’s personal. That means that it is something that only has value to whomever the head honcho is.”

Tony stood, pulled Chyna’s SIG out of his waistband, dislodged the clip from the pistol, tossed the clip out of reach and then tossed the pistol to her. They both knew that there was a cartridge in the chamber. They stared at each other for a moment, silently acknowledging the opportunity that was before her and then Tony turned and moved toward the door, he opened it and turned back toward her.

“By the way, did you notice that all of the artifacts that have been stolen belonged to powerful women?”

He slipped through the bedroom door, closed it behind him and was gone.

Chapter Three

Chyna was still sitting up in her bed and holding the pistol when she heard the main door close. She still had no idea why she couldn’t shoot the man. She had loved him once, but there wasn’t a trace of that left after all that he’d done; all that he’d put her through. She had hesitated before, but she’d also shot him before. Why couldn’t she shoot him again? Why couldn’t she put an end to all of it?

“Screw it,” she said aloud, moving across the room and getting down on her hands and knees to search for the clip. She located it, reached under the dresser, retrieved it and snapped it back into place. “If he comes back, I’ll put a cap in his ass.”

She wasn’t sure if it was just a release of tension or the fact that she had just used that stupid gangster phrase, but she started laughing. The laughing didn’t last long, a sure sign that she was, in fact, losing her mind. What if he’s telling you the truth?

“Oh hell, no!” she shouted. “We’re not even going there again. We got that out of our system and we’re not going back. Jesus, I’m talking out loud to myself. Just go to bed, Chyna.”

She lay back down in bed, slipped the SIG under her pillow and turned off the lamp. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that she could go back to sleep. Her eyes suddenly snapped wide open again. She sat up, reached for her cell on the nightstand and pressed the speed dial button for Thorin.

“Yeah, boss, what’s up?” he answered when the call connected.

“Could you send someone to keep a watch on my place?”

“I’m on my way,” he said.

“You don’t have to come. You can just send somebody. It’s no big deal, really.”

“Yeah, right,” he chuckled. “I’m on my way.”

The call disconnected before she could respond again. She knew that Thorin would check in with her as soon as he arrived, so there wasn’t any point in going back to bed. She’d just wait on him, let him check the place out and then she could go back to bed.

While she waited on Thorin, she sat down at the kitchen table with her laptop. In spite of herself, she did a search for Marie Antoinette and started reading.

Marie was an excessive queen whose extravagance probably helped spell the end of the French monarchy. Born in Austria to Marie Therese, who had a knack for placing her daughters in great houses throughout Europe, she was flamboyant in every sense of the word. Where her husband Louis XVI was reserved and sometimes at a loss for words, Marie had no problem with being the life of the party. She was a fashion icon and likely responsible for the fact that Paris had become the capital of the fashion world.

“Let them eat cake,” a cold phrase concerning the plight of the common man, which was wrongly attributed to Marie, nevertheless reflected her mindset toward the bourgeois. That attitude brought the monarchy to a very violent end…

Chyna looked at her watch. It was just after 4 a.m.; too early to call Sandra in New York. If the team was going to find this lost crown, they’d need everything they had in their arsenal and that included her father’s extensive archives. Inside the climate-controlled rooms where the Found History private collection of documents was housed, was a large leather-bound portfolio containing several original pieces of correspondence predating and originating around the time of the French Revolution. Many of Marie Antoinette’s personal papers were included among these.

Chyna remembered being allowed to read them as a child. She remembered the comfort she got while imagining the life of that fantastic princess and how she came to her tragic end.

The brief text message on her cell phone followed by the knock on the door was a signal that Thorin often used to let her know when he’d arrived. She left her computer and went to the door, looking through the peephole to make sure that it was, indeed, her giant, blonde bodyguard.

“So, what’s up?” Thorin asked as he stepped into the foyer. His eyes scanned the interior automatically as he asked the question.

“Nothing,” Chyna replied. She really didn’t want to tell him about her visitor. “I just got a little spooked.”

“Huh.” A half smile came to his mouth. “I know you, Chyna. You don’t get a ‘little spooked.’ Tell me the truth.”

“I had a visitor,” she responded, still not wanting to reveal too much.

“Uh huh,” he growled. “Who?”

“Nobody, really.”

“Tony,” he said.

“How the hell did you know?”

“Because pretty much anyone else would be laid out on the floor bleeding.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “It was Tony.”

He looked her over for a moment.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. Tony is good. Maybe even the best.”

“Huh.” It was her turn for a half smile. It was hard to argue with him on that point. After all, unless you were a ghost, it was nearly impossible to penetrate the security that she had in place, and yet, Tony had been there, had a perfect opportunity to make it so that she never woke up and he didn’t take advantage of it. She wasn’t sure how to process that little bit of information.

“You look okay. He didn’t hurt you. So, what did he want?”

“To talk,” she replied.

Thorin raised his eyebrows and spread his hands in the universal sign that she was stating the obvious and that he expected a little bit more.

She could trust Thorin with her life and with anything else. He wasn’t the type to run his mouth about anything. He was, in fact, the very best person for her to confide in at that moment.

“He had some bullshit story about being deep undercover and needing my help. Can you believe that? Deep undercover? I mean, the shit that he’s put me through… us, all of us through. What he did in Dresden and what he did in Cordoba. How am I supposed to believe such a stupid story? How could I even consider helping him? What kind of arrogance does he have to think that he could show up here and ask for my help?”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him to fuck off.”

Thorin nodded.

“What do I do? I got him out of my mind. I got closure. I was moving on and now, this. What do I do?”

Thorin shrugged.

“That doesn’t help. Tell me what to do.”

“I won’t tell you what to do, but there are really only two ways to look at this. He’s either telling you the truth or he’s setting you up.”

“Okay?” Chyna raised her eyebrows and spread her hands, waiting for more.

“If he’s telling the truth and he needs your help for a major undercover op, then you’d be doing what you’ve always done; helping save the world,” he grinned.

“And if he’s setting me up?” she asked.

“Then we ought to bring the bastard down,” Thorin growled.

“Are you seriously suggesting that we ought to take on Anthony Stewart?” Both her mouth and her eyes were wide open with shock.

“You’ve heard the adage: keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right?”

“Yeah.”

Chyna cocked her head to the side and stared at him as she narrowed her eyes.

“No matter what happens, it gives us an opportunity to keep an eye on him.”

“It could get us all killed.”

“Everything we’ve ever gotten into could have gotten us killed.” Thorin shrugged. “But if anyone has a chance at taking on Tony, it’s you.”

Chapter Four

Though after their conversation, Thorin and two other members of his security team did a thorough sweep of the home and everywhere near her home, it did little to help her sleep. Even having the big Swede posted by her door made little difference.

The suggestion to take on Anthony Stewart thrilled her and terrified her at the same time. It was like grabbing a lion by the beard and only having a club for a weapon and yet…

Her buzzing phone interrupted her thoughts. She opened the text message.

Got your text. I’ll call you back at a decent hour.

Chyna pressed the speed dial for Lana and listened to it ring twice before her second in command answered the phone.

“So, I see that ‘decent hour’ doesn’t mean much to you. What’s up?” Lana asked.

“Do you have a number to the curator of the royal artifacts at the Louvre?”

“Okay, well, I’m awake now. I do, but why do you need it?”

“Can you get me an appointment?”

“Well, uh, yeah, but why?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“I just love it when you keep me in the dark on things.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how to explain everything.”

“Do you have an ETA on your explanation?”

“I’ll have one at our team meeting.”

“I suppose you want me to call the team too?”

“You’re so good,” Chyna laughed.

“Lunch?”

“Actually, I’m feeling like brunch.”

“How savoir faire of you… or should I say cosmopolitan?”

“Cosmo,” she responded.

“Any preferences?”

“Surprise me,” Chyna replied, disconnecting the call.

Surprisingly enough, that short conversation had given her a boost of confidence and pushed away the fogginess of her sleepless night. Thorin was right. If anyone could take down Anthony Stewart, Chyna Stone and the Found History team were the ones to do it.

Thorin’s advice to keep Tony where they could keep an eye on him made perfect sense. The best way to do that was to jump right in and play Tony’s own game. She’d find Marie Antoinette’s crown and in the process, figure out what he was really up to. The fact that the other artifacts that had been recovered had disappeared again, had gotten under her skin. The fact that they were all feminine, just as Tony had pointed out had gotten under it even further.

If Tony wasn’t the mastermind behind those thefts, then who was? More importantly, what purpose did having those artifacts serve? “If it is really you who is doing this, Anthony Stewart, I’ll figure it out and I’ll take you down,” she said aloud as she stripped out of her pajamas and stepped into the shower.

***

At 10:30 a.m., flanked by Thorin and Demetri, she entered the conference room in the Found History East offices and examined the spread that Lana had surprised her with.

Lana waved at the mountain of food that was spread out on the conference table and then began to read off the menu. “On this end we have:

Eggs Benedict on toasted sourdough with Amish hickory smoked ham,

Brioche French Toast with toasted pecans and Belgian style waffles,

New Hampshire country sausage links and applewood smoked bacon,

Hash browns, watermelon salad and tomato salad.

On the far end is:

Smoked Atlantic salmon with brown butter caper sauce, chives, red onions and crème Fraiche.

In the middle are:

Cheese, cinnamon raisin, honey pecan, raspberry and cherry danish,

Blueberry, banana nut, and lemon poppy seed muffins,

Vanilla and strawberry yogurts,

Strawberry, huckleberry and orange marmalade, cream cheese, whipped butter and Vermont maple syrup.”

She stopped reading and smiled at Chyna. “Oh, and Bloody Marys and champagne. Surprised?”

“I am,” Chyna gasped. “Tell me one thing though, Lana. How many people did you intend to feed?”

“There’s enough here for Cox’s Army,” Oscar called out.

“Oh good Lord, Oscar,” Chyna laughed. “Your Southern is showing. Nobody else uses that term.”

“Really? Only Southern people use that? That’s ironic, because Father Cox was from Pittsburgh.”

“Anyway,” Chyna said, turning back to Lana. “It’s actually good that there is so much, since we have a few extra mouths to feed.”

“And rather large ones at that.” Lana laughed as she saw Thorin, Demetri and two other members of the group that looked like the only thing they lacked for being the Incredible Hulk was the green skin.

“Are you calling me a big mouth, Lana?” Thorin grinned, pulling her in for a bear hug.

“Everybody dig in and get comfortable and then we’ll start our meeting,” Chyna directed. “You and your guys too, Thorin.”

When everyone had a full plate, the room fell silent. While they all began to devour the mountains of food on their plates, Sirita spoke up. “So, with this kind of spread, you must have some sort of announcement to make.”

“Yeah,” Mark joined in. “Are we all getting fired or something?”

“Of course,” Chyna teased. “That’s why I brought in the extra security.”

“What is it really?” Lana asked.

“I was going to wait until we finished eating, but since you asked…” Chyna plunged ahead. “I had a visitor last night. Some of you might know him, Anthony Stewart.”

Except for Thorin, Demetri and the other two security members, everyone stopped eating and stared at her. Not a single one of them could form the words for a response, even Oscar.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen all of you shut up at once,” she laughed. “I’m fine, as you can tell. He just wanted to talk. He told me that he was in a deep undercover operation and that he needed my help…”

“And you believed him?” Mark asked, interrupting her.

“No. I didn’t believe him.”

“What did you tell him?” Oscar asked.

“I told him to fuck off,” Chyna replied.

With those words, the team began eating again. They were still shocked into a state of semi-silence due to the fact that Tony had paid her a visit.

“However, a very wise man,” she glanced at Thorin and winked, “advised me that it is best to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“Meaning?” Mark asked, drawing the word out.

“We’re going to help him recover Marie Antoinette’s crown.”

Chapter Five

As Oliver Branko, his life had held little meaning. In fact, it had begun in the most dismal of circumstances that a person’s life could begin. He had been left on the stoop of the Eastern Orthodox monastery Rakovica in the countryside outside of Belgrade, Yugoslavia by parents who had found that it was difficult enough to feed themselves and their other six children without the seventh edition, whom they hadn’t even bothered to name.

He’d been named in the orphanage to which he was delivered on the very same day that he was found, by one of the nuns whose father had died when she was very young. She had believed that she could honor his memory by naming an abandoned orphan after him. Oliver had detested that name all of his life. He had detested the parents who had seen fit to abandon him even more.

He kept to himself, focused all of his energy on whatever physical or academic challenge was presented to him and rarely failed to win. Because he was so often victorious in athletics and academics, he began to look down upon the other children, believing them to be inferior to him in every way. Needless to say, he wasn’t well liked.

He knew that he was unique and vastly superior to all of his peers and knew that it had something to do with both his history and his destiny, though the limited resources at his disposal in the orphanage library would hardly serve to help him to discover it. At the age of 16, however, Oliver Branko got a chance to widen his perspective greatly when his arrogance had grown to such a point that he had challenged the authority of a visiting monsignor. After this, he was summarily removed from the orphanage and cast out into the street without much ceremony.

For a time, Oliver Branko lived a much humbler existence, which was mostly focused on surviving from one day to the next. He made use of both of his greater attributes and was able to provide for himself, mostly by stealing whatever he needed or tricking others into turning it over to him.

He found belonging among fellow Serbians in and around Belgrade as they began to protest the extravagance, injustice and bureaucratization of the Yugoslavian federation. His acceptance was based on nothing more than the fact that he was a Serb and bore the name of a Serb. That bond, for the first time, made him feel like he was really part of a family.

As the Yugoslavian federation splintered and war broke out between ethnic groups, Oliver found that he was very adept at the art of making war. His physical prowess, his tendency toward superiority and his ability to quickly grasp and make use of intelligence, made him as proficient at commanding troops as it had in every other endeavor that he’d undertaken in life.

Oliver was in the perfect position, as the Republic of Serbia came into being and he capitalized on a number of opportunities that came to him, manipulating the markets around him in such a way that he began to become very wealthy.

His superiority in wealth suited him in a similar way as had his earlier expertise in athletics and academics. He began to look upon others around him in the same way that he had the other children in the orphanage. The consequence of his narcissism led to a life of isolation once more. He accepted that life as a consequence of being a unique individual with a special, greater purpose than everyone else around him.

It was because of that belief in his superiority that he began a search for his parents. He was successful in tracking down his parents, who he found, still living a very humble existence in a very poor part of Belgrade. He made it known to them who he was, made them believe that he had come to rescue them from their fate and then in a cruel twist of vengeance, simply turned away and never laid eyes upon them again.

Finding his parents had started him along the trail of tracing his roots. A trail that was full of disappointment after disappointment. He learned that it had been a rather common occurrence for his ancestry to abandon children, give them up for adoption or to turn them over to other family members to raise. The branches of his family tree had been extremely difficult to follow, but he had continued following them as a man possessed, knowing that the hardships that had befallen those who went before him had only been a sort of tempering of the steel that he’d become.

The long, grueling search eventually paid off in a way that he could never have imagined. After ten years of difficulty and disappointment mixed with triumph, he finally found the link that he had been searching for. It was at the end of his search that he changed his name to Louis Charles Bourbon, for he had discovered that he was a descendant of the eldest daughter of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. He was, in essence, Louis XX; the real one, not the pretty boy pretender Louis Alphonse the Duke of Anjou—who everyone seemed to believe to be the leading pretender—to the defunct royal family of Bourbon.

Besides discovering the source of his ancestry, Oliver/Louis had also made another dark discovery. While struggling to survive the harsh streets of Belgrade as a teen, he’d discovered a powerful cult that had secretly grown in the Serbian underworld and was heavily embraced by Serbia’s soldiers. It had its roots in the Roman worship of the sun and was called Sol Invictus (the Unconquered Sun). As he rose in military rank, he also rose in power within the secret society.

Realizing that he had been empowered and enlightened by the unconquerable god of the sun, he began to understand the reason behind his superiority over everyone around him. From that understanding came a great purpose. It was toward that great purpose and an approaching phenomenon to which all his energy was focused.

The great purpose was to rule the earth and the approaching phenomenon was a coming full moon at midnight on the summer solstice. For that event, he had begun to gather items of great, magical, feminine power. And, he would have the Jeweled Crown of Marie Antoinette, the greatest feminine force in history, from whom he was descended.

Chapter Six

Versailles. 21 May 1770.

Madame, my very dear mother,

I have not received one of your dear letters without having tears come to my eyes. I am wracked with sickness for missing my home and family and I long to see you all.

Life at Versailles has proven to be very different than in Austria, it is true that I expected it to be as such; however, the routines and ritualistic manner of how things are conducted here in general, strikes me an utter ridiculousness.

The morning after Monsieur le Dauphin and I were married, the whole world changed for me. Scores of women, and even some men, invaded my bedchamber, insisting that allowing them to wait on me was customary. I was attended by easily thirty courtiers that morning and it took almost all morning just to get me into a single completed outfit.

Marie.

“What can I do for you, Miss Stone?” Laurette LeFebvre, curator of the royal collection at the Louvre asked after Lana and Chyna had greeted her. “We had sure hoped that the armor of Eleanor of Aquitaine that you recovered would one day find its way to our collection. It was very unfortunate that it has gone missing again.”

Lana had known Laurette since the two of them had studied abroad together as university students. Though Laurette was very familiar with Chyna, it had been their first meeting together.

“Very unfortunate,” Chyna smiled. She was working on forming the words that would explain the reason for her visit. Coming right out with her purpose wasn’t really an option; it required a certain amount of savoir faire to approach.

“Perhaps there is some other great treasure that you’ve uncovered which you’d like to add to our collection, then?”

“It isn’t that, exactly,” Chyna responded. “I’d like to ask some questions about a piece that you already have in your collection.”

“I’d be happy to answer questions about any of our pieces.”

Chyna hesitated for a moment and then decided to forge ahead. “We are interested in information about the Jeweled Crown of Marie Antoinette.”

Chyna watched Laurette’s face go pale, watched her swallow a lump in her throat and then lean forward across her desk and speak in a low tone as her eyes dodged back and forth between Lana and Chyna. “Why are you interested in that particular item?”

Chyna leaned forward and matched Laurette’s tone. “We have been informed that it has been stolen.”

“Had been stolen,” Laurette corrected.

Chyna looked at Lana and then back to Laurette. “What do you mean?”

“It arrived back here this morning in a neatly packaged parcel. Without a return address, of course. Do you have knowledge about who might have had it in their possession?”

“We do not,” Chyna replied.

“Things have been maddening around here after the theft. To pull off such a feat, with our security system…”

Chyna decided to let the other shoe drop. “It’s a good thing that it was only a replica, right?”

“You’re telling me…” She froze, realizing that she had just confirmed something that no one else was supposed to have knowledge of.

“Relax, Laurette,” Lana jumped in. “We already knew it was a replica.”

“But, how?”

“Don’t ask,” Lana smiled. “You really don’t want to know and you really shouldn’t be that surprised either. I mean, look who you’re talking to right now.”

The curator sighed at her faux pas. “I’m really not comfortable having this conversation,” Laurette responded, shifting in her chair. “It hasn’t been pleasant around here the past few days and there have been a lot of accusations about the heist having been an inside job.”

“We don’t want to talk about the heist,” Chyna rejoined. “We want to ask about the original crown.”

“I don’t think it is appropriate for me to be having this discussion with you. Even given your credentials, Miss Stone, I…”

“How about I just ask yes or no questions and you give me a response?” Chyna broke in, afraid that if she didn’t do something quick, Laurette would clam up on them and they would have wasted their time.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s very simple. If we come to something that makes you uncomfortable, then you can just nod or shake your head, if you prefer.”

“Miss Stone, please.”

Chyna stood for emphasis. “Please. This is very important. The FBI has knowledge of someone trying to get their hands on the original crown. They’ve already made an attempt on what they thought was the original and discovered that it wasn’t. We have to recover the original before they do. There are very grave consequences if we don’t, correct?” She had gone well beyond what she knew to be the truth, but Chyna could see that her words had sunk in.

“Yes or no questions, then,” Laurette agreed.

Chyna considered how to word the series of questions that she has so that she could get the most information possible out of such a simple answer. The first one was an easy one.

“Did the Louvre ever have the authentic crown?”

Laurette nodded.

That was helpful. She had at least eliminated a portion of the 225 years since Marie had last been seen wearing it.

“Was it stolen?”

Laurette nodded.

“Stolen from the Louvre?”

She received another positive response.

“When?” Chyna rushed ahead with her next question without thinking.

Laurette only stared at her.

She fired off the next question in order to start narrowing down the date. “This century?”

She received a nod.

Chyna realized that she still sometimes forgot that they were in the beginning of a new century and that she often considered herself still living in the 20th century. She clarified with another question. “Since 2000?”

“Yes,” Laurette replied.

“This decade?” she asked.

Laurette nodded.

“So, since 2010?” she clarified.

“Yes.”

“This year?”

Laurette shook her head.

“Last year?”

Another shake.

“The year before that?”

Laurette nodded.

“So, 2014?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to tell us that the authentic crown had been stolen in 2014?”

Laurette nodded, her smile broadened and then she burst into laughter. Lana and Chyna couldn’t keep from joining her.

When she had gotten control of herself again, Chyna asked another question. “Was there an investigation?”

“Yes.”

“Are we going to continue with the yes/no stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Who headed that investigation?”

Laurette shrugged.

“Shit, really, Laurette?” She’d have to have an entire list of investigators to go through if she was going to get a name. “Can you just write down the name and then eat the paper or something?”

“Ew, no,” Laurette replied, making a face. She took a pen and sticky note and scribbled down a name, passing it to Chyna. “The glue tastes disgusting.”

“Oh Jesus,” Chyna whispered when she saw the name on the paper. She showed it to Lana and then wadded the paper into a tiny ball.

“Seriously?” Lana responded.

“What?” Laurette asked. “Who is that?”

“More of the stuff you don’t want to know,” Lana responded.

“You have been an enormous help,” Chyna said, rising from her seat and extending her hand toward Laurette.

“I don’t see how, but I’m glad to have been of assistance,” she responded, rising and taking Chyna’s hand.

“When we have recovered it,” Chyna said, careful not to be specific in case anyone was listening, which she assumed was the only reason she could come up with for Laurette’s behavior, “we’ll make sure to put it back in your hands personally.”

“I would be eternally grateful if you did,” Laurette replied.

Lana and Chyna departed from Laurette’s office and were escorted to the door by her receptionist. They spoke of casual things until they were outside and walked down the sidewalk toward the rented Range Rover and the two giant security guards leaning against it.

“Isn’t Antoine Dubois that guy who Tony called to help us out when we were in Bordeaux?” Lana asked.

“One and the same,” Chyna replied.

Chapter Seven

It was a twisted up mess and Chyna wasn’t sure how to process it. On the one hand, it implicated Tony in the theft of the authentic crown, but on the other, it didn’t make sense that he would try to steal a crown that he knew wasn’t there or already had. It made her dizzy trying to figure out all of the different reasons why he might try to steal a crown that he knew wasn’t real in order to make someone think that he was stealing the authentic one.

“He could just be setting us up?” Lana commented, having read her mind.

“That was actually my first consideration,” Chyna said. “If that’s the case, then there is really no point in pursuing this any further.”

“Which isn’t the case, because he’s trying to draw you into something and he would know that you would draw that conclusion first and quit investigating,” Lana replied.

“You realize that you’re scaring the hell out of me, right?”

“Why?”

“Cause that is the same twisted shit that’s been going through my head. I’m getting a headache.”

Lana pulled out a tin which had previously held mints, popped the lid open and extended the container with its red and white capsules toward Chyna. “Extra-strength.”

“Thanks,” Chyna said. She took two of the capsules and downing them with a long swig on a bottle of water. “How about we table this and throw it out there to the rest of the team back at the hotel?”

“Ah, come on,” Lana teased. “You and I are the brains of this operation.”

“Yeah, and I’m already fried. Sandra’s gone into Dad’s old files back in New York. He had a collection of French Revolution-era documents, including some of the queen’s own correspondence. I’ve asked her to read through what we have in case there’re any clues in there.”

“Clues?”

“Hey, I’m clutching at straws here. Tony said the artifacts hold some metaphysical properties and that’s what this fellow is gathering them for. Maybe something in the papers will clue us in. I’ll get Oscar and Mark started on some research, and then I’m going to close my eyes and just veg until we get back to the suite.”

Chyna speed dialed Oscar.

“Yes, your highness?” Oscar said, answering the call.

Chyna ignored him. She wasn’t in the mood to play. “Can you start putting together a list of active, known thieves and fences for high-end artifacts from about 2012 to present?”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“And I got something else.” Chyna scrambled to get in her next request before he disconnected the call.

“Talk to me.”

“Can you get Mark started looking into Antoine Dubois?”

“Isn’t that the guy…?”

“Yes, that’s the guy,” Chyna answered, cutting off his question. “We’ll be there in about 10 minutes.”

“We’re on it,” he replied. He hesitated. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, has Sirita started lunch yet?”

“She has and it smells great.”

“Alright. Thanks, cowboy.” She disconnected the call, leaned back into the headrest and closed her eyes.

Thorin and Demetri escorted Lana and Chyna through a back entrance and onto a private elevator that took them to the floor where their suite was located. As they entered the suite, Chyna was already feeling a little bit better, especially when whatever it was that Sirita was cooking penetrated her nostrils.

“God, I hope that’s ready,” Chyna commented.

“It is,” Sirita replied. “I’ll serve lunch and you can tell us what you learned.”

“Actually, I’m more interested in what Oscar and Mark have learned,” Chyna answered. “Specifically, Mark.”

“Antoine seems to be very well connected within the French national police as well as Interpol. I haven’t found a connection between him and anything shady up to this point.”

“Keep digging,” Chyna said. “I know it’s there. If he in tight with Tony, then there is something shady.”

“It might be helpful for you to tell them why we’re looking at Antoine,” Lana suggested.

“You’re right,” Chyna responded. “Sorry guys. I’ll get you up to speed. The authentic crown was at the Louvre, but it was stolen in 2014. The Louvre is a little bit strange when it comes to that sort of thing and they like to keep things very quiet. An investigator was assigned to the case and that investigator is none other than Antoine Dubois, whom all of you know is tight with Tony. That throws open a myriad of possibilities that has my head spinning.

“The important part is to keep our eyes, ears and all other senses open for any place where Tony can pop up and surprise us.”

“We don’t trust him any more than you do, Chyna,” Mark responded.

“Good. That mistrust will keep us on our toes. I don’t need to remind you all that we have to assume that we’re grabbing a lion by the beard and only have a club as a weapon. Oscar?”

As promised, Sirita, with Lana’s help began passing out plates with the lasagna that she had made famous among the group. Chyna dug in and listened to Oscar, who continued to talk even after he started eating, sometimes having to repeat things that hadn’t come out clearly due to trying to speak with his mouth full.

“But none of this is anything that Interpol doesn’t already have. A lot of it came from them,” Oscar said after he’d finished giving them a list of names during the time frame she’d asked.

“That’s why I’m suspicious of Antoine’s involvement in this, not to mention his connection with Tony. The puzzling part is that either Tony had no knowledge of Antoine’s connection to it or he did know and he’s playing us. The replica was stolen a few nights ago and returned today by parcel.”

“So, maybe Tony is on the level?” Sirita asked.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“I’m just saying, that if he really is undercover and had the crown stolen, for whatever reason, returning it would, sort of, be a way of showing that he’s on the level, right?”

Though it rubbed her wrong, she had to admit that it was a possibility. “She’s right, but we can’t trust that. If he’s on the level, it will become evident at some point. If he’s not, then we have to stay on our toes and figure out what angle he’s playing.”

“We can eliminate the thieves on Oscar’s list,” Lana pointed out. “They’re just pawns in the game. The fences are the best link. There are fewer of them and they tend to be easier to track down.”

“But they usually have their asses well covered,” Chyna added. The fog in her brain was clearing up as they talked it out. “Ass covering would be the perfect job for someone like Antoine.”

“Fax just in!” Oscar called out. “It’s from Sandra and it looks really old.”

Chyna grabbed the piece of paper and laughed. “It’s from my dad’s notes, you dimwit! You know, back in the old timey days when people still used pen and paper and wrote in cursive and used phrases like ‘fixin’ to’?”

“Hey… people still say ‘fixin’ to’!”

Lana laughed and went to take a look over Chyna’s shoulder at the piece of paper.

“It’s the personal letters and diary of our girl,” Chyna said.

“Yup,” Lana confirmed.

“She found the papers! I guess we’ll be getting anything she thinks might be helpful or insightful. This is just the first piece.”

Chapter Eight

Diary of the Queen.

16 May 1770.

I woke up this morning as the Dauphine of France, and my life has changed completely.

Yesterday, I was the prince’s intended but today as his wife, I am the future queen and apparently, there are schedules which I must now follow and a particular way in which these scheduled activities must be conducted.

I have gone over the tremendous schedule the Comtesse de Noailles, or Madame Etiquette as I have so named her, has presented to me. If ever there was a picture of ridiculousness, it is both the formal rules of protocol and precedence as well as the encultured rules like table manners which define life at Versailles. My least favorite of which is Grand Couvert; what an immense bore. It seems to me a grand orchestration of a means by which one might never find a way to offend other people. As if once completely controlled by the rules, and controlling oneself, the outcome will be to prevent other people from being disgusted or shocked.

I wish I could have thrown her list away but it seems that I must learn it before I can do that.

Marie.

After eating their meal in relative silence, the team regrouped around the table to take stock as they usually did in the beginning phases of an investigation.

“Suppose we put together some sort of a sting,” Sirita began. “You know, an innocent looking couple looking for something for their private collection. If they go out and start rattling the cages on some of these fences, then wouldn’t that draw somebody out? Especially, if they were asking for artifacts from the French monarchy or even asking for the crown itself?”

“She has something there,” Mark commented. “We can narrow down our list to fences that have been known to move such things and cross reference that with cases that Antoine has been involved in. That would help my excavating enormously.”

“It will also alert Tony to the fact that we’re in the game,” Chyna responded.

They all stared at her.

“You’re going to have to explain what you’re thinking,” Oscar suggested. “We Southerners can’t always keep up with you Yankees on everything.”

“You keep up just fine, Cowboy,” she laughed. “But I’ll explain it anyway. If we’re going to catch Tony and undo whatever it is that he’s into, we have to let him know that we’ve taken his bait and we’re playing his game. It’s sort of like the Roadrunner, stepping in the trap so that he can draw the coyote out to see why the trap didn’t work, right?”

“Yeah, only, we might get smashed by that huge boulder,” Mark commented in a dry tone.

“That’s why we’ve got to be alert and covering each other’s backs,” Chyna responded.

“So, who is going to run the sting?” Lana asked. “Assuming we’re considering doing that.”

“Chyna can’t,” Mark stated immediately. “She’s a little too high profile, too much of a risk that she’ll be recognized.”

“It’s Sirita’s idea, let’s let her run with it,” Chyna suggested, turning to smile at her as she spoke.

“I was just suggesting…” Sirita said, her eyes widening. “I mean, I didn’t intend for it to be me.”

“It’s perfect, actually, if we’re trying to draw out Antoine,” Lana put in. “She never met Antoine. But who do we team up with her? Both of those two met Antoine or were seen by him.”

Chyna considered for a moment, looking from Oscar to Mark and then allowing her eyes to continue on around the room until they came to rest on Thorin and Demetri, who were sitting quietly out of the way of the others.

“Demetri,” Chyna called out. “Come here a minute.”

Demetri wrinkled his brow and rose up from his seat. Thorin nudged him and smirked, knowing that Demetri was getting volunteered for something and he wasn’t.

“What you need, boss?”

“Can you act normal?” Chyna asked.

“I don’t understand,” Demetri asked, turning to glare at Thorin, who started laughing.

“I mean, can you not act like a wolf that’s hunting caribou or a bodyguard, but like the husband of this beautiful young lady?”

Demetri looked at Sirita and turned one corner of his mouth up in a grin and then shrugged. “I think so.”

Before that moment, Chyna had never seen Sirita turn suddenly shy. Did she have a thing for Demetri? Was she missing something? Had she been missing something for a while or…? Lana interrupted her thought.

“I like it. They make a good couple and you’ve got some muscle with her in case something goes down.”

Everyone nodded their agreement except for Demetri and Thorin. Demetri was still a bit confused at what was going on and Thorin was about to wet himself from laughter.

“We’re going to have to practice with Demetri,” Oscar suggested. “He looks like he’s going to eat somebody.”

Demetri looked at Oscar, still confused.

“We’re going to pair muscle with everybody,” Chyna announced.

“Math doesn’t work, boss,” Oscar pointed out. “Five of us and four big guys.”

“You weren’t going anyway,” she quipped. “We’re going to keep you on cams and comms.”

“That’s my specialty,” Oscar beamed.

“Okay, so, Lana, you work with Demetri and Sirita and see if you can help him tone down his inner wolf and make them look like a normal high society couple. I’m going to work with Chuckles and bring him up to speed on what I want to do.” She started toward Thorin, who had suddenly become serious when he realized that he was the one to whom she was referring. “Oscar and Mark, get our list narrowed down and pick out the half dozen fences that are likely to be involved. We’ll cut that in half again. Let’s break off into groups and concentrate for two hours and then put our heads back together, alright?”

She led Thorin into the kitchen and started her explanation. She filled him in on Antoine and how she thought he might be involved and then explained how she wanted to have muscle linked with each team member, just to be safe. In reality, she would have rather had Thorin with Sirita, but the match didn’t work like the one between Demetri and Sirita. Besides, she was a primary target and she wanted her best man watching her back.

“Are we all going to have to act like Demetri?” he asked. “’Cause those other two guys are even worse than he is.”

“No, everyone else will be tailing, watching from the perimeter and staying in contact with Oscar while he coordinates communication.”

“Sounds like a pretty tight plan,” Thorin replied. “You think this will draw Tony out?”

“No. If he’s up to something, I think he’ll play it later, but we might draw out Antoine and who knows what sort of backup he’ll have. He’s connected with the French National Police and Interpol, so he has resources to bring to the party. That’s why we have to be damned tight with our security and communications.”

“Gotcha,” Thorin replied. “I’ll get my guys ready.”

“I’m counting on that,” Chyna grinned.

“Except Demetri,” he chuckled, nodding in the direction of Demetri, who was being taken through the wringer by Lana and Sirita. “Looks like they’re working him over pretty good.”

“He’ll be ready for the cover of GQ by the time they’re done with him,” Chyna laughed.

Several hours later, Demetri had improved dramatically. By the time the tailor that Chyna had called to measure him for a tailored suit, Lana and Sirita had been able to take most of the wolfishness out of the way he walked, stood and looked around the room.

“I sure hope this works,” Lana whispered to her.

“It’ll work,” Chyna answered with more confidence than she felt.

Chapter Nine

"With an almanac and a watch, you could be three hundred leagues from here and say, with immense accuracy, exactly what those at Versailles were doing."

—The Duke of Saint-Simon.

“There is a person here who says that he has a delivery for you, Your Grace,” Luka announced in his deep voice after knocking and being summoned to enter Louis’ office.

It had taken some time to get it to stick, but Luka had finally caught onto addressing Louis by at least one of the proper forms that he had commanded of those who worked with him or followed him. He was, after all, Louis XX and not some commoner.

“Tell him to wait. I will be there in a moment,” Louis responded in an impatient tone.

“Your Grace, I’m not sure that he can wait much longer,” Luka answered.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not all there.”

“Is part of him missing? An arm or a leg has suddenly vanished?” Louis asked in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

“He appears to be going insane, Your Grace,” Luka answered.

Louis rose from the chair behind his desk and went to the door. “Insane?” he asked as he followed Luka down the private hallway to the reception area.

Pushing the door into the reception area open, Louis was instantly aware of the delivery man’s insanity, if not by the fact that he was standing in one of the chairs and dancing, but by the look of horror on the face of Marija, his receptionist.

“I must insist that you get down from there this instant!” Louis ordered.

“Are you Louis Charles Bourbon?” the man asked. His expression and the formation of the words made it obvious that he was operating well outside a very limited mental capacity.

“I am,” Louis replied.

“Here,” the man said, extending a package toward him. “This is for you.”

Louis drew back from the package. Though he had not been warned about it, he was suddenly aware that the legend concerning the Rosary of Isabella was, indeed, true. Though it was a powerful talisman for foretelling the future and imparting wisdom to Isabella and any other person of her bloodline, it turned anyone who wasn’t of her bloodline insane from handling it.

“Luka,” he ordered. “Escort this man to the vault so that he can place the package inside. Be careful not to handle the package.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Luka replied, moving forward to pull the delivery man down from the chair.

Louis turned to go back to his office.

“You have to sign for the package,” the delivery man called out to him.

“Sign for the package,” Louis ordered, motioning toward Marija. He turned away, stopped and turned back to Luka, wrinkled his face as though there was a foul odor in the room. “And dispose of this… this creature.”

“It will be done, Your Grace.”

“Carry on, then.”

He would need to bring up the subject of the Rosary during his next conversation with the man who had only identified himself as the Seer. The Seer had given him no warning about the dangerous properties of the Rosary. Had Louis not been aware of some of the legends surrounding the handling of it, he might have fallen victim to an unfortunate situation. The Seer’s negligence was either an indication of his inadequacy or it was a deliberate attempt to undermine him. Likely, it was the first, but he would need to be prepared for the possibility of the latter.

The Seer had agreed to deliver the last two items personally, a part of the deal that served two purposes for Louis. It allowed him to make certain that the last two items were authentic and it gave him the opportunity to eliminate the only person who could connect him to the theft; not that it would really make any difference. When the Solstice arrived, his power would be consolidated in such a way that no one could harm him anyway. With that consolidation of power, he could command the Army of Reckoning with complete impunity and incontestable authority.

As the high priest of the Unconquered Sun, he already wielded a great deal of power over his followers, but he needed the magic of the items that the Seer had obtained for him in order to consolidate that power and make him completely omnipotent. His vault already held the Ivory Bow, the Minoan Mask, the Phoenician Falcon, the Mummy Codex, the Aquitaine Armor and the Basilisk of Ishtar. The Rosary of Isabella was about to be added to the set and he awaited the addition of one final piece that was necessary for the Solstice ceremony that would consolidate all of the forces of the gods within that one single object that he would place on his head; the Jeweled Crown of his greatest ancestor, Marie Antoinette.

With that power consolidated within the crown, he would lead the Army of Reckoning forward into battle and watch the entire world as it was laid waste before him. He would march upon Paris first, paying back with a furious vengeance the descendants of the fools who had removed his lineage from the throne. He would take over the Palace of Versailles and set up the world’s new throne there and he would watch, with great pleasure, the yoke of servitude being placed on the necks of fools. A knock at his office door brought him back to the reality that still surrounded him.

“Enter!” he commanded. Through the glass wall and door, he could see the form of Luka.

Luka entered, bowed slightly and then waited to be directed to speak.

“Well, then?” Louis said, as though he was speaking to a delinquent child with whom he had to retain an extreme amount of patience. “Is the package in the vault?”

“It is, Your Grace?” Luka replied.

“And the other matter?”

“Taken care of as well, Your Grace.”

Louis allowed a condescending smile to spread over his face. “Luka, when I come into my place of power and glory, you will be given great honor for having served me so well.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Luka replied. “Though I am certainly not deserving of such.”

“Of course you’re not, but that is why I am to be addressed as ‘Your Grace.’ It is due to my mercy and grace that you will be granted that honor and not because of your own worth.”

“I am truly humbled, Your Grace.”

“Good,” Louis replied in a stern voice. “Now, we need to begin making preparations for the ceremony of the Solstice. Before that day arrives, however, we are waiting for the delivery of two final objects. Those objects will be brought to us by a man who is powerful and dangerous. My security must be at its paramount. Is that understood?”

“It is understood, Your Grace.”

***

Diary of the Queen.

1 June 1770.

It’s been an impossible task but I believe I have mastered the activities of the morning. I tolerate the schedule until it is time for mass and pray for the wherewithal to stumble through the rest of the day but mostly I find grace and patience very lacking these days.

The day starts when I wake up around eight in the morning. The first person I see is Madame Etiquette.

A large book is presented to me which contains the pattern and description of every article in my wardrobe. I select my choices using pins and I make selections for the morning dressing, afternoon undressing and for the evening.

I am allowed to eat breakfast either in bed or at a little table placed in front of the couch in my bedroom. Breakfast is supposedly a light meal in Paris but, much to Noaille’s dismay, I call for a more hearty meal than is usually provided and I do so every day for once I am dressed for the day, I hardly eat at all.

I am allowed to have a tray placed over my bath tub with my breakfast on it. There are usually about six bathers in attendance, Madame Etiquette refuses anyone else entry while I wash. Sometimes I languish in the water until I am completely wrinkled so I can enjoy the privacy.

At the appropriate time, a large table containing my entire toilette is brought in and the attendants lay out the articles to be used in dressing me for the day. The Princesse de Lamballe, Jules de Polignac and the other ladies of honor would be seated waiting for me to emerge. This is called Le Grandes Entrees and any members of the court who had the right to be in my rooms would take the opportunity to be there. I am certain that this is just their chance to embarrass their princess and that they take much joy in the exercise; too much joy, in fact.

My hair is styled and then the dame d’honneur and the dame d’atours bring out the rest of my toilette. This is where the system of rank at Versailles gets ridiculous. I could be standing completely naked in my bedroom waiting for my clothing to be handed to me and I would remain so, shivering and exposed, if the ranking order of those in attendance changed suddenly. No, I am not jesting. It’s no wonder I didn’t emerge from my rooms until noon on most days.

The highlight of my morning comes once I am finally dressed. This is the time I do my small allotment of diplomacy and my mother would be so proud of me! There are usually up to twelve other people present, including my chief physician and my chief surgeon; even though I am not ill. I give signatures and receive presentations of any officers who are taking leave of Court. On Sundays, I am presented any ladies who are coming in or going and on Tuesdays, new and exiting ambassadors are presented.

After receiving and sending off the various courtiers and dignitaries, I would leave my apartments to attend mass. Any princesses, their attendants, as well as the courtiers who had attended the entrees would follow me, all arranged according to their ranking.

This constant squabbling and scurrying for pomp and position among the courtiers is exhausting. I long for the Hapsburg court back home in Austria, where people were left to be people and it was much easier to know them and where you stood with each one.

Marie.

Chapter Ten

“Eyes are up, Watcher One,” Oscar reported via Chyna’s earpiece. She waited for the second confirmation, which came a few seconds later. “Ears are up as well. You should have the feed in a few.”

Chyna watched the monitor inside the older model Renault that they favored for being more inconspicuous among the autos in the area than her more favored Range Rover would have been. The screen, which had moments before been nothing but static, suddenly displayed the image of the inside of a limo from two cameras, which were, at the moment, were side by side, in a split screen display.

“I’ve got your feed, Control,” Chyna responded.

“Watcher Two is go,” Lana’s voice responded.

“Watcher Three is go,” Mark’s voice added.

“Can you hear us too?” Demetri asked.

“One has ears,” Chyna answered. “Watchers?”

“Two has ears.”

“Three has ears.”

“Okay, Caribou,” she said, speaking into the mic attached to the earpiece. “You and Wolf are go. Relax, act natural and have fun. You copy that, Wolf?”

“Copy,” Demetri replied before he and Sirita removed their earpieces, waited for the chauffeur to open the door of the limo and then slid out. From that point on, the three pairs of watchers could see and hear everything that was going on via the hidden microphones and cameras that both Demetri and Sirita wore. The only downside was that they could risk the presence of an earpiece on either of them for fear that its discovery would blow their cover.

It hadn’t been easy, but Chyna, Lana and Sirita had been able to transform Demetri into a rather dashing and sophisticated gentleman in a short amount of time. It didn’t hurt that there was a little spark between Sirita and Demetri anyway, something that mad Chyna smile a little when she saw the two of them together. They made a very good pair, even apart from the operation and she wondered if she had unwittingly played matchmaker.

“Okay, Watchers,” she ordered. “Let’s be diligent. We have three stops to make and we can’t afford any screw ups.”

“Copy,” each of the other teams replied in turn.

Though the tone of her voice was somewhat shaky due to nerves, Sirita opened up the conversation with the man who was behind the counter.

“My husband and I are on our honeymoon,” she said. “We have had such a special time together in Paris.”

“Congratulations. I am certain that you have found Paris to be special. It has that effect on everyone who visits, but especially for lovers,” the man responded.

“We were hoping to find something unique to take home as a souvenir,” Demetri began. “Not something ordinary, you understand?”

“I understand,” the man replied. “There are many things here that are unique. Perhaps you will find something to suit your tastes, huh?”

“What we are looking for isn’t going to be in your shop,” Sirita said in a low tone.

“Something, shall we say,” Demetri joined in, using the same tone, “of regal value?”

“Regal value?” the man asked. “I might have such an item, if you have the necessary funds.”

Sirita laughed softly. “The funds will not be a problem.”

“Are you particular about how it was acquired by me?”

“What do you mean by that?” Demetri asked, faking innocence. He was convincing.

“I mean that you don’t mind how the item you purchase came to be in my possession.”

“You mean like…” Sirita paused and lowered her voice to a point where it was little more than a whisper. “If it was stolen?”

There was no audible reply, but all three of the teams and Oscar saw the man smile and shrug.

“Can such a thing be done securely?” Demetri asked. “Do you understand what I mean by that? We don’t want to have any problems with the authorities.”

“It can be done securely, but it is not something that we can do right now and not in this shop.”

“I’m a little nervous doing business that way,” Sirita responded.

“I can assure you that I will make all of the proper arrangements to make certain that the transaction is secure. After all, I would not stay in business long if I was not careful in these situations, no?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Demetri answered.

“It would be helpful if you could be a little bit more specific about the particular item you’re looking for,” the man pressed. “What do you mean by regal item?”

Sirita hesitated a moment. “We were hoping to find a very particular item, actually. One that is really only rumored to be available.”

“Rumored,” the man repeated.

Demetri leaned in close and spoke in a whisper. “The crown of Marie Antoinette.”

The man started laughing. “Rumored, indeed. That particular item can be seen in the Louvre and I am certain that it is not for sale. Is there anything else that might interest you? Some other ‘rumored’ item, perhaps?”

“I don’t believe so,” Demetri replied abruptly and with a tone of disgust. “Let’s go, Darling. I’m not particularly fond of this particular gentleman.”

“Certainly, my love,” Sirita responded. “It seems that he would prefer to mock us than to do business.”

“I did not intend to insult you,” the man protested. “I have other items of great value and great interest.”

“Ignore him,” Sirita whispered.

The camera showed them turning away, making a beeline for the door and returning to the limo. Back inside the limo, Sirita and Demetri donned their earpieces and checked in.

“Great job guys,” Chyna praised. “Wolf, you have truly become a gentleman.”

There was no response, though Thorin snorted beside her, fighting back his laughter.

“We need to stay sharp, Watchers,” she said into the microphone, but directing her gaze toward Thorin, who became immediately serious again.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Thorin said. “It won’t happen again.”

“It can’t,” she replied. “I know it’s funny, but I need you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay,” Chyna began delivering orders again. “Two is on point and one will take the rear. Three hang back and see if anything develops and then rendezvous at our next target.”

“Two copies.”

“Three copies.”

At the second shop, the conversation with the owner followed a very similar pattern, though both Sirita and Demetri were a bit more relaxed and beginning to have more fun playing their roles. She hoped that their enjoyment wouldn’t hamper their execution or cause them to over act as they moved on to the third shop.

“I hope this one works,” Chyna commented to Thorin as they took up their position for the third time.

“It’ll work,” Thorin assured her.

“It’ll have to,” Chyna sighed and then opened her mic to talk to Oscar. “Control, how are we on the perimeter?”

“Like the town of the visiting team on a Texas Friday night in the fall,” Oscar replied.

“Control!” she snapped.

“All quiet, Watcher One,” he answered.

“Everybody look sharp,” she said. “This is the one. It’s not the time to get complacent.”

“Copy,” the others replied.

Chapter Eleven

As the same conversation seemed to be playing out at the third location where Chyna and her team were running their sting, she was certain that they had failed entirely, all the way up until she heard these words come from the shop owner’s mouth.

“I don’t know how you know about the crown, but it will require a considerable investment just to get a look at it. Do you understand?” the shop owner said.

There was some hesitation and Chyna was sure that Sirita and Demetri’s surprise at his response would blow the entire operation.

“We were prepared for that,” Demetri replied. The timing of the response, as it turned out, was perfect and added a great deal of legitimacy to Sirita and Demetri’s characters. “What process do we need to follow in order to view the item?”

“You’ll need to return this evening when I close the shop with one million Euros,” the man replied.

“One million Euros?” Sirita gasped. “That’s quite a bargain.”

“Oh, that’s not the price,” the man responded. “The price will be 15 million Euros. The one million is just to see the item.”

“Agreed,” Demetri said with finality. His confidence in that moment was priceless. Had it been left up to Sirita, she would have balked and the entire operation would have been blown.

“I will arrange for you to see the item this evening at 8:00 p.m.,” the man said with finality.

“You may bring an independent assayer to determine its authenticity if you wish.”

“You can be assured that we will,” Demetri responded.

“Very well, 8:00 p.m. tonight then,” the man said, looking after them as Sirita and Demetri left the shop.

“Okay Watchers, keep a close eye,” Chyna ordered as Sirita and Demetri left the shop.

Nothing happened as Sirita and Demetri left the shop and made their way out to the limo. If they had walked into a trap, what they did between that moment and 8 o’clock that evening would make an enormous difference in how things went down.

“Two, you take point again,” Chyna directed. “Three, do a sweep of the entire area and put together a plan for putting our people in place this evening. Get as many eyes up as you can I want to be able to see inside our shop owner’s shorts if necessary. We’ll see you back at the hotel no later than 5:00, got it? Everything we do from this point on is hypercritical to pulling this off.”

“Copy,” they each replied.

Thorin and Chyna started off trailing a decent distance behind the limo, which took a lazy, meandering route on its way back to the hotel.

“They’ve got a tail,” Thorin pointed out after a few minutes.

“Control, Caribou and Wolf have a tail. Can you pick up whoever it is with the eyes on the limo?” she asked.

“I’ll patch that feed to you now,” Oscar replied.

There were cameras in the boomerang shaped antenna on top of the limo, allowing a 360-degree view outside the limo.

Chyna watched the screen change as Thorin kept his eyes directly ahead.

“I’ve got the feed,” Chyna announced. “Which one is it, Thorin?”

“Black SUV about five cars back.”

Chyna scanned the screen. “Give me a zoom on the black SUV about five cars back, Control.”

As the camera zoomed in, Oscar, Lana and Chyna all recognized him at the same time. “That’s Antoine,” they each announced in their radio mics in unison.

“Two, stick with Caribou and Wolf and RTB. One will stick with our bogey.”

“Copy.”

“What’s your plan, boss?” Thorin asked.

“My plan is to nab his ass and use him to get that crown,” she replied. “But keep an eye out for Tony. If Antoine is part of his set up, then we have to be careful.”

Antoine stayed on the limo until it pulled into the parking garage at the hotel and then continued past. It was exactly what they expected, but without the camera from the limo, they were somewhat blind and they had to stick to him the old-fashioned way.

Thinking that he was in the clear and that he was the hunter instead of the prey, Antoine continued on his way into a rather upscale neighborhood of single family dwellings.

“Interpol and or the French National Police pay better than I thought,” Chyna commented.

Thorin grunted a response, but stayed focused. He couldn’t afford to get distracted and tip off Antoine.

They watched as he pulled into a driveway two blocks ahead of them and Thorin turned off. To drive past the house would have been a dead giveaway, not to mention that the move might have been designed to reveal a tail.

“Take me up two blocks on a parallel street and drop me off,” Chyna ordered. “You give me about five minutes and then cruise back in front of the house. Make a single pass and then come back and pull into the driveway. That will draw his eyes to the front of the house while I go in the back. Go to the door and ask for somebody, doesn’t matter who. I’ll let you know when I’m inside.”

Thorin grinned and shook his head. “I think I should be hiring you to protect me. You got some balls, boss.”

“Yeah, well, I still might need you to bail my ass out, so don’t wander off.”

Chyna slipped out the door and started casually down the street until she came to the alley which would pass behind Antoine’s house. She hoped it was Antoine’s house. She continued down the alley until she was adjacent to the house. Please don’t have a dog. Antoine didn’t seem to have a dog. He didn’t need one. He had a security system that was far more effective than a dog. She was going to need a little extra time to disarm it.

“I’ve got a security system from hell,” she informed Thorin on her mic. “You may have to buy me a little extra time.”

“Copy. Pulling into the driveway now.”

It wasn’t Chyna’s first time disarming a security system. She did it while listening to the sounds of Thorin’s conversation with Antoine. In less time than she thought, she was through the back door and moving silently from one room to the next, praying that Antoine was alone.

“I’m in,” she whispered, realizing that Thorin would have had to take his earpiece out when he went to the door. Guess we’ll be playing this a little bit blind. She heard the front door close and then heard Antoine coming back down the hallway. She leveled the SIG and stepped around the corner, aiming it directly at his head.

“Hi Antoine,” she said in a cheerful tone. “Remember me?”

Chapter Twelve

Diary of the Queen.

17 November 1770

So now, the Comtesse de Noailles can sleep easy in her bed at night for the unruly dauphine has learnt her role and assumed her gentile place at Versailles!

It has been exactly six months but at last, success! The hardest part for me has been the horrifying spectacle that is the Grand Couvert. Though it is the same every day, it doesn’t seem to be something I will ever get used to. I hate being watched and more so when it’s obvious that I am being judged by every one of our spectators. As a means of lightening the mealtime mood, I have requested that musicians be brought in for my enjoyment.

Eat. Change Clothes. Eat. Change Clothes. This is my grim summary of the afternoon of the dauphin and dauphine of France. How terribly boring and yet we suffer in silence. One would think that if anyone had the power to free themselves from this debacle it would be us. Hence the music… since I refuse to be bored out of my mind day in and day out.

When Louis and I sit down to dine, there are always spectators. The ladies with titles perch themselves on folding chairs on each side of the dining table while those without titles stand behind them. This is the Grand Couvert and apparently, it is a privilege to have the honor of watching the king and queen eat. I prefer not to be the scheduled mealtime entertainment, so now at least with music, the members of Louis and my respective households might be less bored.

After the meal, I often return to my rooms to change for my evening schedule. I try to keep the afternoons busy to compensate for the complete atrocity of mealtime. This is my favorite time of day. Often, there is a play or a small concert commissioned for the palace theatre. Sometime we attend the opera or a party.

Marie.

“You’re making a very big mistake, Chyna,” Antoine told her, being careful to keep his hands where she could see them. “I am a detective for the French National Police and I have a number of powerful connections in Interpol.”

“One of those connections wouldn’t be the FBI rogue Anthony Stewart, would it?” she asked.

“He was one of those connections until he went rogue, just like you said,” Antoine responded. “If you’re still connected with him, you’re walking a very thin and shaky line.”

“Well, Anthony and I are no longer associated, so I think my footing is firm enough. Make yourself comfortable on the sofa there, but just be careful how you move. I don’t want to mistake your actions for something that I perceive to be a threat to my person. My partner will be back in a minute.”

“Your partner,” he chuckled. “Hulk Hogan out there?”

“That would be the one. Here he is now.”

Thorin came in and took over watching Antoine, allowing Chyna to relax a little bit.

“So, Antoine, tell me about the crown,” she began as she slid into an adjacent armchair.

“What crown?”

“Do we really have to play this game?”

“I don’t have any crown. I don’t even know what crown you’re talking about.”

Chyna clicked her tongue. “You’re not doing very well, Antoine. You see, I have connections in Interpol too. They would be very interested to know that I have discovered that instead of finding the Jeweled Crown of Marie Antoinette and returning it to the Louvre, you’ve been holding onto it and hoping for a buyer to come along. I believe the price you’ve set it 15 million Euros. Am I right?”

“What do you want?” His eyes narrowed after hearing the price she quoted.

“I’d like to know what you and Anthony Stewart are up to,” Chyna replied.

“I’m no longer associated with Stewart,” he snapped.

“You said that, but how am I supposed to believe you, since the two of you were such good buddies before?”

“That was before he betrayed me,” he snarled.

Chyna had seen the look in his eyes before. She’d seen them in the mirror on the wall of a cabin outside of Deadhorse, Alaska. She knew that he was no longer associated with Tony, but she also knew that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. Suddenly, however, an idea came to her. She could get the crown and burn Tony all at once and she could use Antoine to do it. She smiled as the idea took shape in her mind. Antoine was the perfect way to pull one of those Roadrunner moves on Tony.

“I just thought of a splendid idea. I want to burn Tony and I need the crown to do it. You want to burn Tony and you have the crown. What say we work together?”

“I don’t have the crown,” Antoine replied.

Chyna could tell that he was lying. “Antoine, lying to me isn’t a very good way to start off our new partnership.”

“How do I know that you’re on the level?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, rising from her seat and heading toward the door while Thorin kept Antoine under his gaze. “I guess you won’t know, but you’ll have plenty of time to think about it after I make a call to Interpol and let them know where they can find the Jeweled Crown that went missing from the Louvre about two years ago. They’ll be delighted to inform the French National Police that the lead investigator on the case found and kept the crown for himself so he could put together a very nice retirement fund.”

“Fine, but the crown doesn’t leave my hands until we’ve busted Tony.”

“Agreed,” Chyna responded.

“I’ll need assurances that you won’t tell your story to Interpol.”

“I’m thinking that once we have Tony, we can pin the theft of the crown on him. You’ll lose your retirement fund, but you’ll stay out of prison. That sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

She turned back toward him and leaned in very close to his face as she spoke. “But I will need to see the crown before we shake on it, if you don’t mind.”

Chyna and Thorin followed Antoine into a library with books lining three of the walls. Antoine went to a specific book, pulled it out, activated a switch and the shelf slid several feet back, revealing a vault door to one side. He opened the vault, reached in, pulled out an item wrapped in purple velvet. He placed it on the desk and unwrapped it. It was, indeed, the Jeweled Crown of Marie Antoinette and it was stunning.

“Control, Two and Three,” Chyna said into her mic. “Abort what you’re doing. We’ve got a new plan.”

“Copy,” they all replied.

“What’s up, One?” Lana’s voice came through her earpiece.

“We’ve got the crown. We’ll meet you back at base.”

“You had a team on this?” Antoine asked, knowing that he was screwed. The expression on his face sank.

“Don’t worry, Antoine,” she laughed. “We still have our deal. We’re still going to nail that son of a bitch.” She snarled as she said the last part, bringing the point home for Antoine.

“For your protection and mine, however, I’m going to have to bring you and the crown along with me.”

Antoine hesitated a moment as Thorin stepped toward him and took hold of his arm. The fingers of his massive hand nearly touched around Antoine’s bicep.

“Don’t worry. Thorin is now your new best friend,” she beamed.

Chyna rewrapped the crown in the velvet cloth, closed the vault door, activated the switch on the bookshelf and then turned back toward the other two, scooping up the crown and clutching it to her chest.

“Shall we?” she said.

Thorin escorted Antoine out to the car and slid him into the back. Chyna placed the crown in a canvas bag that she pulled out of the trunk, placed it on the front seat and slid into the back of the car beside Antoine, holding her SIG in her lap as Thorin started the engine and backed out of the driveway.

“That’s just for insurance until you realize that we really are partners,” she smiled.

Chapter Thirteen

Chyna was moving. Tony knew that she would. He was certain that she would move to recover the crown from any of three motivations: she believed him and was willingly helping him; she didn’t believe him, but couldn’t contain her curiosity and sense of duty; or she hoped that she’d be able to discover what he was up to, lead him into a trap and take him down. Of the three possibilities, he was pretty sure that she had gone with the last.

He deserved it. He’d been forced to treat her in a way that no one ought to be treated and he’d hated having to do it. He was sure that she would hate him forever or, at the very least, have difficulty trusting him again. The decision to make that sacrifice hadn’t been an easy one. It had been even harder to stick to it in Dresden and Cordoba. He’d overacted in both of those situations, fearful that even the slightest hint of how he really felt about her would blow his cover.

The iciness coming from her and the pure hatred he’d felt when he’d gone to speak to her in her bedroom had nearly undone him completely. In fact, as he’d walked away from her, he’d prayed that she would use that single bullet in the gun to end his miserable life, but she hadn’t. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that her failure to kill him had anything to do with her feelings toward him. Chyna wasn’t a killer. She had and would take a life as a last resort, there was no questioning that, but the heart of a killer did not pump blood through her veins.

Tony could only hope that the necessity for either one of them to end the life of the other would never come. He pushed the thought out of his head before he started obsessing over it again. He had a much larger problem to solve. He was running out of time on delivering a crown and another final item, which he didn’t have in his hands, to a madman who had designs and the means to do great harm to the world and, if what he understood was true, maybe even gain complete control of it.

The man’s identity was still a little bit sketchy to Tony, in spite of his efforts and the best efforts of some of the finest minds he knew. He’d seemingly arrived out of nowhere, referred to himself as Louis Charles Bourbon, but was located somewhere in or near Belgrade. The security around him was so tight that getting any information about him was impossible, let alone trying to get near him.

The only entity that even had a chance was the Illuminati and Tony had been forced to take on a very distasteful role among them. Through his deep cover with the Illuminati, he had been contacted by Louis and he’d become the gopher, more or less, as he began to fill an order for particular items, all of which, ironically enough, Chyna had been tasked with finding. He grew to hate the fact that Chyna was mixed up in it all, especially after he’d fallen for her, but it was very difficult to avoid it. Chyna was the best there was at what she did and she was always going to be the one that was called in. It was a cruel turn of destiny that their roles had led them into their current situation.

He knew that the odds of him coming out of the operation he was pursuing alive were heavily stacked against him. He was certain that the reason behind the requirement that his final meeting with his client be personal was because the latter’s plan was to eliminate him. It was a risk he was willing to take to keep the world safe. He only wished that he would be afforded the opportunity to explain things to Chyna before he met his fate. He pushed Chyna out of his mind again. It was something that he had to do on a regular basis in order to remain focused on the task ahead of him. “It’s probably better this way,” he told himself as he dialed the contact number he’d been given for his client.

“You appear to have remembered our terms,” Louis said, answering the call.

“I do not forget my commitments,” Tony responded in a grave tone.

“Yet, you are not always entirely forthright,” Louis responded.

“I do not know what you are referring to,” Tony countered, though he knew full well that Louis would complain about the fact that the person delivering the Rosary of Isabella was out of his mind when he arrived with the artifact. Tony had known that Louis wasn’t stupid, but Tony had hoped that his client would handle the rosary and lose his mind, saving everyone involved a great deal of further trouble.

“You failed to inform me about the effect the rosary has on those who handle it,” Louis replied.

“I wasn’t aware that it had such an effect,” Tony lied.

“Your lie might have been very convincing to a lesser man,” Louis chuckled. “But I am not a lesser man.”

Tony ignored the comment and pushed forward. “I need to make arrangements for the delivery of the final items.”

“You have the items, then?” Louis asked.

“I wouldn’t be calling you if I didn’t,” Tony replied with confidence, in spite of the fact that he still did not have the crown. He prayed that Chyna would produce it in time for the meeting, which he was about to set up with Louis. “I am ahead of your deadline, actually. That ought to boost your confidence in me.”

“Being ahead of the deadline is inconsequential. You will still be delivering the final two items on June 20th at 8:00 p.m. You will be waiting at Hotel Zlatnik in Belgrade at that time, precisely, when my men come to escort you and the final items to our meeting. Is that understood?”

“It is understood.”

The call disconnected the instant the last syllable had left Tony’s lips. It was going to be damned hard to penetrate the man’s security. He was probably going in alone and was probably going to do nothing more than get himself killed while delivering the necessary items for Louis to take over the world.

“Pretty stupid fucking mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Tony,” he muttered to himself. He sighed heavily and then stared at his other phone as it started to ring.

Chapter Fourteen

Versailles, 15 November 1771.

My dear mother,

I was touched by what you said about my birthday. I want above all to profit from your good advice, my dear mother. The letter from my brother Ferdinand gave me such pleasure that I cannot describe it; it seems to me that I love him even more for it; he will certainly be a good husband, and will make his wife happy. I do not believe I was wrong to give in to my immediate thought and tell the dauphin the little secret! I did not speak reproachfully; however, he was a little embarrassed. I am still hopeful; he loves me a great deal and does all I want and will succeed when he is less awkward.

I can certainly assure you that, although I showed you my sensitivity quite vividly, it was only sensitivity. The friends of that creature cannot complain that I treat them badly.

When I wrote to you, my dear mother, that I did not need advice on how to be polite, I meant that I had not consulted my aunts. No matter how much friendship I feel for them, I will never compare them to my loving and respectable mother; I do not believe I am blind to their faults, but I believe people exaggerate them to you.

Although the queen's condition often makes me think of mine, I still share my dear sister's joy.

Since summer, the trips and hunting have prevented me from doing regular reading; however, I have read something almost every day.

I cannot tell you, my dear mother, how much I desire and hope to give you as much sanctification and joy from my marriage as my brother and sister have.

Marie.

“I think he bought it,” Antoine announced as he disconnected his call with Tony.

“I agree,” Oscar commented. He’d monitored the call on his headset, recorded and attempted to trace it. It was useless to try and trace it, which was what he had assumed before he even started, but it was worth a try. “No trace. Well, there was a trace, from South Africa to Madagascar to Fiji to Laos to…”

“We get the point, Oscar,” Chyna interrupted him. “When and where is the meet?”

“Varennes,” Antoine replied. “At 1:00 a.m.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Oscar laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Lana frowned. All eyes were turned to Oscar.

“That’s where they caught Louis XVI and Marie when they tried to escape to the Citadel of Montmédy. You see…”

“Save the history lecture, professor,” Chyna cut in. “We only have a few hours to get out there and get set up before Tony does. Before we do that, however, we’ve got to out-think him or we’ll walk right into a trap. Let’s brainstorm, people; that includes you, Antoine. Whether you like it or not, we’re all in on this together now. We’re going to nail this son of a bitch.”

The team spent an hour telling what they knew about Tony and how he operated. Chyna listened while they put all their ideas and speculation out in the open and began to form a plan.

“Tony has already prepared the battlefield,” she said quietly.

“Could you repeat that?” Lana asked.

“Tony has already prepared the battlefield. That’s why he wants the meet to take place at Varennes. We have to make preparations for that plan and move in that direction and then stop and force him to come to us. It’s the only way that we can even the odds.”

“Explain,” Mark said, moving up to the edge of his seat and focusing on her.

“We set everything in motion and move ourselves into place, but ten to fifteen minutes before the meet, we stop and change the meeting place. He has to have that crown, so he’ll have to comply, but he won’t have enough time to relocate his people. That will even the odds, because they’ll have to move onto our battlefield.”

“We won’t have much time to set up either,” Antoine pointed out.

“Then we’ll have to know exactly what we’re doing and move our butts,” Chyna responded. She looked at her watch. “We don’t have time to sit and talk about it. We need to set our real plan right now and then start moving toward the false plan. How good of a map can you get me of the area around Varennes, Oscar?”

“Do you want it with or without chicken poop?”

“Jesus, you’re so disgusting,” Lana responded.

With the highly detailed satellite image that Oscar provided, Chyna and her team laid out the real positions that they would take up and then coordinated how they would reach those places while appearing to go to the others. She repeated the plan several times until everyone understood it.

“Okay, Oscar, let’s start working on how to get to Tony’s meeting point in Varenne and let’s get our asses moving out of here. We need to make him think that we’re racing him to his own position.”

***

Chyna was pretty sure that she’d covered everything. They’d laid out a perfect plan to move Tony’s trap into their own trap. Her team had harbored a hatred for Tony equal to or exceeding her own. They had seen how he’d betrayed her—betrayed them all, really—and they were as eager to nail him as she was. Fifteen minutes before the time of the meet, they all switched their positions and hurried to set up their trap. Ten minutes before the meet, she turned toward Antoine.

“Okay,” she said. “Go ahead and make the call.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tony’s voice called out from the darkness. A moment later, he strolled into the light with his hands raised above his head. “I’m alone, Chyna. No tricks.”

“You son of a bitch!” Antoine exclaimed, rushing toward him. “I’m going to rip your throat out!”

“Antoine!” Chyna called out, leveling her SIG toward him and moving to a position where she could cover them both. She spoke into the mic. “On your toes, team. The tiger has just surprised us. Sweep back this way and clear whatever you find.”

“Copy.” The replies came into her earpiece in rapid succession.

“Not a bad move, Chyna,” he grinned. “You certainly would have evened the odds, if I’d had anybody with me.”

“Yeah, well, you just stay right where you are until we have a chance to figure out whether or not you’re telling the truth. If anything sudden happens, I’m going to drop you with a double tap. Don’t think I won’t.”

“I believe you,” he replied. “I’ll stand right here until you’re satisfied.”

“Antoine,” she ordered, “I’d prefer that you moved about three steps to your left and stay put until we sort all of this out as well.”

“I already told you that I hate the double-crossing bastard as much as you do,” Antoine replied.

“Yeah, well, until I am 100 percent certain, either my first pair or second pair of shots will turn your brain to soup, got it?”

“He’s not with me,” Tony pointed out. “It was a nice touch bringing him in on this, though.”

“Just shut up,” Chyna snapped. She was more dialed in and focused than she’d ever been in her life. A very long five minutes passed before the first of her team members, Sirita, began to emerge from her sweep, keeping her weapon trained on Tony as she moved in closer to Chyna. In the following minutes, each of her team members moved in closer, though the four guys from the security team stayed out of sight. Damn, those guys are good. Chyna lowered the SIG, knowing that Tony was well covered and in far more danger from her team members than from her.

Tony looked around at them and let out a long gasp. Taking note of the four weapons still pointed in his direction and the clenched teeth of those who were holding them. “I’m on the level,” he announced.

“Then you won’t mind if we apply a pair of bracelets until you explain this entire thing in intimate detail,” she snarled.

“Fine,” he consented.

The team members started to shift their positions as Chyna moved in to put the cuffs on Tony.

“Lana, keep your weapon on Antoine until I’m finished here, please.” Chyna couldn’t take any chances in that moment. She moved in closer to Tony, prepared for anything that he might bring. A part of her wanted to open up on him and just start kicking the shit out of him, but she stayed focused on the bigger picture. “Turn around and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Tony complied. He knew the drill and he knew what sort of movements would compel well-trained individuals to use deadly force.

Chyna snapped one of the cuffs on him, not worrying about them being too tight and then jerked down his other wrist to snap it in as well.

“Jesus,” Tony said, wincing. “I’m regretting getting on your bad side more and more every second.”

“Can the humor, Tony,” Chyna said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Let’s go ahead and put some bracelets on Antoine until we’re damned sure that we’re safe, okay?”

“We’re not together,” Tony replied. “I burned my bridges with him the same way I did with you.”

“Yeah, well, you burned the one with me all the way down to ash, so you better be able to explain a hell of a lot or I burn you on a fuckin’ stake,” she growled.

Chapter Fifteen

Versailles, 14 June 1773.

My dearest mother,

I absolutely blush for your kindness to me. The day before yesterday, Mercy sent me your precious letter, and yesterday I received a second. That is indeed passing one's fête day happily. On Tuesday, I had a fête which I shall never forget all my life. We made our entrance into Paris. As for honors, we received all that we could possibly imagine; but they, though very well in their way, were not what touched me most. What was really affecting was the tenderness and earnestness of the poor people, who, in spite of the taxes with which they are overwhelmed, were transported with joy at seeing us. When we went to walk in the Tuileries, there was so vast a crowd that we were three-quarters of an hour without being able to move either forward or backward. The dauphin and I gave repeated orders to the guards not to beat anyone, which had a very good effect. Such excellent order was kept the whole day that, in spite of the enormous crowd which followed us everywhere, not a person was hurt. When we returned from our walk, we went up to an open terrace and stayed there for a half an hour. I cannot describe to you, my dear mamma, the transports of joy and affection which everyone exhibited towards us. Before we withdrew, we kissed our hands to the people, which gave them great pleasure. What a happy thing it is for persons in our rank to gain the love of a whole nation so cheaply. Yet there is nothing so precious; I felt it thoroughly, and shall never forget it.

Another circumstance which gave great pleasure on that glorious day was the behavior of the dauphin. He made admirable replies to every address, and remarked everything that was done in his honor, and especially the earnestness and delight of the people, to whom he showed great kindness.

Marie.

Back in the hotel suite in Paris, her entire team, plus Antoine, Demetri and Thorin, gave Tony their undivided attention. He began to describe in intimate detail how he had gone very deep into his cover inside the Illuminati in an attempt to uncover a plot by the Illuminati to consolidate all of Europe and Russia under its control. What he discovered was that there was a plot that even went beyond the Illuminati and it was even deeper than his current cover.

“You understand that I had to play the role that I played and in the manner that I played it, don’t you?” They all heard the question, but he focused on Chyna as he asked it. “I didn’t want to hurt or betray anyone, but it was the only way that I could penetrate to the depth that I did.”

Chyna listened, took his words to heart, but neither acknowledged or granted any form of forgiveness. She remained silent and picked through every part of his story. Turning her trust back over to him wasn’t going to be easy, if it was even possible. His betrayal, whether true or false, had ripped her heart right out of her and crushed into tiny shards of sharp glass that never stopped cutting her, even after she had found closure; or, at least, what she’d thought was closure.

Seeing that he was not going to receive any mercy from Chyna, Tony moved forward with his explanation of things. “The madman that we’re dealing with now is far beyond what the Illuminati had planned. He’s gathering together a very powerful collection of items, each of which has supernatural properties as well as having been previously owned by a notable female in history. What I haven’t yet put together is who this person is and why. But if anyone is able to do it, this team is more apt to find the answers and put a stop to this than anyone else.”

“Oh, I see,” Chyna mocked. “When things get too hot for Anthony Stewart, he comes crawling to us…”

“This isn’t for Anthony Stewart, Chyna Stone or anyone else,” Tony replied. “This is for the whole world.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that,” Chyna countered.

“I’m not,” Sirita broke in.

“Neither am I.” Lana nodded in agreement with Sirita as she spoke.

Chyna glared at the two and then turned her gaze to each of the others. Each of them shrugged in turn. Am I the only one that isn’t buying this? Have they all bought into this line of shit that he’s feeding us? Am I the one that’s wrong? Am I letting my own feelings get in the way? Chyna fought to regain her objectivity. “You know what,” she said finally. “You go on and explain to them. If they buy it, fine, but… I’ll be in the kitchen. You guys carry on.”

Eight pairs of silent eyes watched her retreat. She didn’t care. She opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water and leaned against the counter while she drank it. She could still hear them talking, but from that distance and without turning on the lights, she felt like she was no longer right in the middle of their conversation.

“You realize that you’ve pissed her completely the fuck off, right?” Oscar drawled. There was a threatening tone in it; a tone she’d never heard in Oscar’s voice before. She’d heard that you never pissed off a Southerner, but it wasn’t until that moment that she fully understood why.

“So, you have to turn over the crown and another item that you don’t seem to be very keen on telling us about,” Lana began. “When, where and to whom?”

“I’m to be waiting at Hotel Zlatnik in Belgrade, Serbia at 8:00 p.m. on June 20th,” Tony replied. “I don’t yet know who I’m meeting, but I assume that I will be met by a team of people who will take me to the person who is collecting these items.”

Oscar had started tapping away at his keyboard as soon as Tony gave the location and then he stopped. “That’s the Solstice!” he exclaimed and then began typing furiously.

“What? What’s up?” Mark asked, moving over next to him.

The activity even drew Chyna back out of the kitchen.

“Sirita pointed out and Tony just confirmed that all of the items had supernatural powers and were all formerly owned by notable females in history, except Marie Antoinette’s Crown,” he continued to ramble. “It has no supernatural powers, so we’ll set it aside for a moment. With those powers combined with the ultimate feminine power of a…” He froze and stared at the screen blankly, though it was obvious that there was a lot of activity taking place inside his head.

“Power of a…?” Lana prompted.

“A full moon,” Oscar responded.

“Fill us in on what you’re thinking, cowboy,” Chyna said, rejoining the group.

“A full moon on the solstice concentrates all of the feminine power of the universe before giving way to the male power that comes with the rising sun. Sol Invictus, the Unconquered Sun was, maybe still is, a Roman cult that has ties back to sun worship rituals in Egypt. A high priest in that order, who really understood what he was doing, could consolidate all of that power and take it upon himself. Theoretically speaking, he’d be completely omnipotent. But to do that, he needs to add one more element from the Egyptian worship of Re, which is the most powerful talisman of all feminine forms…”

“The All Seeing Eye,” Tony interrupted.

All eyes turned toward him.

“Which is the other item you’re to deliver,” Chyna whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. She suddenly had a much clearer picture of everything that had happened and the purpose behind it, but she knew that she had no time to sort through any of it.

Chapter Sixteen

Le Petit Trianon, 24 May 1774.

Madame, dearest mother,

It has been two weeks since the death of my beloved grandfather king, Louis XV. I still cannot say how much I miss his presence at Versailles. It doesn’t help that my darling brother-in-law, Comte D’Artois, has been fraught with grief over the loss.

My sorrow must have been quite evident because today, in an effort to console me, Louis presented me with the key to my own estate, the Petit Trianon, and free rein to renovate it to my liking. I am blessed to have such a doting husband. He is kind and conscientious and devoted to my happiness.

Marie.

“Do you have it?” Chyna asked. She was surprised at how her tone had changed from snarling and snapping at him earlier to a more business-like one, which she usually took with her team members.

“I have it hidden in a safe place where only I know about, but, yes, I have it,” he responded. “I’m also pretty well fucked if anyone connected to the Illuminati figures out where I am.”

“Jesus, Tony,” Lana started in. “Your career, your whole life, your…” She glanced up at Chyna stopping herself from going any further and then she finished with a more general word. “Everything.”

Chyna drew all attention, especially her own, back to the subject of their meeting. “Okay, so, we have a person who is likely to be a high priest in the order of the Unconquered Sun cult. He’s gathered together—with our help, I regret to admit—some of the most potent talismans in history, which also happened to belong and be wielded by notable females. By having all of those talismans together along with the All Seeing Eye, he can perform an Egyptian/Roman ritual at midnight of the Summer Solstice, during a full moon and consolidate all feminine power into one place, whereby making himself omnipotent. Does that sum this up?”

“Essentially, yes,” Oscar replied.

There was a long, deep silence.

“Lana, you better break out that tin of yours and pray that you have plenty of capsules to go around,” Chyna said, breaking the silence and rubbing her temples as she felt the beginnings of a massive tension headache starting. “So, the only thing that doesn’t fit is the crown.”

“The crown is personal,” Tony volunteered.

All attention was turned toward him as they awaited an explanation.

“I could tell by the way he acted when I spoke to him. I even tested him by using it as a bargaining chip. He very definitely wants the crown and he wants it on a completely different level than he wants the other items. It’s personal.”

“Like family personal?” Sirita asked.

“Yeah, maybe, I think so,” Tony responded. “Yeah. Family personal.”

“Except we know nothing about him for that to help us,” Lana pointed out.

“He would be linked to the family of Marie Antoinette and the Bourbon Dynasty,” Oscar added.

“He calls himself Louis Charles Bourbon,” Tony said, his eyes lighting up as the connection struck him. “I doubt that’s his real name, but that’s the one he uses.”

“Okay, so descendants of Marie Antoinette,” Oscar said. His fingers started racing over the keyboard.

Mark and Sirita, suddenly having epiphanies of their own, snatched up their own computers and began typing with as much fury as Oscar. For several minutes, the clicking of the three keyboards was the only sound in the room.

“All I can find is Louis Alphonse de Anjou,” Sirita said after a few moments. “And you two girls have got to check this guy out. He may not be the actual King of France, but he can damned sure reign over my heart.”

Lana and Chyna moved over and took a look at the images of France’s leading royal pretender.

“Jesus, ladies!” Mark exclaimed. “Can we stay focused for a few minutes?”

“Jealous much?” Lana laughed. She noted that Mark was looking at the same photos that they were. “Uh, huh, hypocrite.”

“I followed another lead that brought me there, alright?” Mark protested.

“Here is something of interest.” Oscar spoke up, drawing everyone back to him.

“What you got?” Chyna asked.

“It will take a minute to explain, but stay with me,” Oscar cautioned.

“We’re all ears,” Lana replied.

“Marie and Louis had four children. Two of those children were unquestionably theirs, but it is speculated that the other two were probably bastard children from Marie’s affair with the Swedish Count Axel von Fersen. Louis Joseph was the actual heir apparent to Louis XVI, but he died at the age of seven and that title, which is Dauphin of France, was passed on to his younger brother Louis Charles, who, in all likelihood, was actually the son of the count and not Louis...”

“It makes for a great soap opera, but where are you headed with this, cowboy?”

“The last born, Sophie, was born premature and died a month shy of her first birthday. That left only Louis Charles and the eldest child, Marie Therese. Louis Charles, who was dubbed Louis XVII, died of tuberculosis at the age of ten. In essence, he had been king for two and a half years after Louis XVI was beheaded, but nobody was really counting. So, that left the only surviving child, Marie Therese, to produce a true heir. According to royalist history, she never had any children.”

“You told us all of that to tell us that there were no truly legitimate heirs born to Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette?” Lana scoffed.

“No, that was the background for another story,” Oscar countered. “The setting for the next story is Hildburghausen, Germany, right around 1799. It seems that a Count Vavel de Versay and a Countess Sophie Botta took up residence in the Castle Eishausen. They were a very secretive couple, who rarely were rarely seen in public and when they were, the countess was never seen without a veil. Those odd circumstances and the timing of their arrival sparked some speculation as to their true identities.

“The eldest daughter of Louis and Marie, Marie Therese, was held in the Temple Tower in Paris even after everyone else, including her aunt Elisabeth, were dead. She wasn’t released until 1795 and she was immediately sent to Vienna, where her mother’s family was residing. She was allegedly married to her cousin, a shy, stammering young man by the name of Louis-Antoine in 1799. She eagerly agreed. The two never had any children…”

“You said allegedly,” Chyna pointed out.

“Yes, because it was speculated that the 17-year-old Marie Therese wasn’t really Marie Therese, but her half-sister, Ernestine Lambriquet, who had taken her place. The real Marie Therese had been subject to a great deal of sexual abuse by her captors while in the Temple Tower and became pregnant. It is that Marie Therese, who, after changing her name to Sophie Botta, showed up in Hildburghausen.”

“So, you think that whomever we’re dealing with might connect himself to Marie Antoinette via that link?” Chyna asked.

Oscar shrugged.

“True or not, that could be our connection. Keep digging, maybe we can find something there.”

Chapter Seventeen

Diary of the Queen.

29 November 1780.

My dearest mother is dead. Today is the worst and the gravest of days of my entire life. But I am selfish in my grief for to have lost such a great woman is not only my loss; it is the world’s loss as well. At mass, the Prince-Archbishop of Vienna, Cardinal Migazzi styled her by her proper and complete title; Maria Theresa, by the Grace of God, Dowager Empress of the Romans, Queen of Hungary, of Bohemia, of Dalmatia, of Croatia, of Slavonia, of Galicia, of Lodomeria, etc.; Archduchess of Austria; Duchess of Burgundy, of Styria, of Carinthia and of Carniola; Grand Princess of Transylvania; Margravine of Moravia; Duchess of Brabant, of Limburg, of Luxemburg, of Guelders, of Württemberg, of Upper and Lower Silesia, of Milan, of Mantua, of Parma, of Piacenza, of Guastalla, of Auschwitz and of Zator; Princess of Swabia; Princely Countess of Habsburg, of Flanders, of Tyrol, of Hainault, of Kyburg, of Gorizia and of Gradisca; Margravine of Burgau, of Upper and Lower Lusatia; Countess of Namur; Lady of the Wendish Mark and of Mechlin; Dowager Duchess of Lorraine and Bar, Dowager Grand Duchess of Tuscany, so all who were present would acknowledge her tremendous greatness.

Letters of condolence have made their way to me here at Versailles; mostly empty words of solace for a much feared but respected daughter in mourning. The most considerable of which came from King Frederic the Great of Prussia, my mother’s archenemy. Even he, at the news of her death, was astonished and overwhelmed with respect and admiration for her. He wrote to me saying, “The Empress honored her throne and her sex, and though I had fought against her in three wars, I never considered her my enemy’.

The loss is great and mingled nefariously with the joy of my pregnancy. Perhaps the strength I have lost with the death of my dear mother will be regained with the birth of a dauphin for France.

To whom shall I write of my trials and triumphs now? Who will care enough to read and respond to the silly scribbled thoughts of a girl like me?

Marie.

Because Chyna was certain that whoever had contracted Tony would certainly be keeping an eye out for his arrival, she made a decision to send him on a separate flight to Belgrade alone. She and her team kept the crown with them and the All Seeing Eye, which Tony reluctantly placed in her hand.

As usual, Chyna and her team followed all the proper diplomatic channels, aided by Antoine’s own Interpol credentials. They arrived three days before Tony, set up their operation in an isolated suite of Hotel Zlatnik and had identified three different individuals who seemed to work in shifts and had a great deal too much interest on who came and went from Hotel Zlatnik.

Oscar, Mark and Sirita had continued to dig in an attempt to find any sort of modern connection to the Dunkelgrafen (Dark Counts) of Hildburghausen. It was an enormous task to undertake, even for the three electronics wizards, but they stuck to their task with fervor, knowing that at any moment they would find one tiny shred that could break the whole thing open.

“Hold on a sec,” Oscar said about mid-morning of June 20th, the day Tony was due to arrive in Belgrade and a little more than twelve hours before it would be too late. “The Unconquered Sun is a patron of soldiers. So, our madman is likely to have been introduced into the order as a soldier.”

“That doesn’t really narrow things down, Oscar,” Mark responded. “Every young man and plenty of young women in this region were soldiers in the entire decade of the 1990s. Even if we narrow it down to just Serbian soldiers, why would still have a mountain of people to search through.”

“Yes, but if we take into account the things that we know about whomever this person is, we can narrow it down to particular ones and then trace backward. For instance, whoever this is, he’s wealthy enough to isolate himself, provide extremely tight security and pay someone a handsome sum to steal those artifacts. He’s also going to have risen rapidly in the ranks of the Unconquered Sun, if he’s going to have become a high priest within, let’s say, 25 years, given the fact that all hell broke loose in the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in 1991.”

“Okay, so ranking Serbian military officers who became wealthy after the war,” Mark shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Any ideas what name we should be looking for?” Sirita asked in a sarcastic tone.

“I can tell you what name not to look for,” Oscar countered in the same tone.

“What name?”

“Louis Charles Bourbon.”

Sirita made a face at him and then turned back to her computer.

“Tony’s flight has landed,” Chyna announced to the room. “He’ll be here within the hour. I hope he’ll be here within the hour, even the next two or three hours would be okay, as long as he hasn’t ditched us.”

“He hasn’t ditched us,” Lana responded.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“Because we have the crown and the All Seeing Eye.”

“He’ll get those two things before he bothers to ditch us,” Mark pointed out.

“Gee, thanks for that comforting thought, Mark,” Chyna muttered.

“How about you help me fix lunch, since the eggheads are all on their computers, and Antoine and the wolves are taking turns watching the spies outside?”

“I don’t know that I’ll be much help,” Chyna replied.

“That doesn’t matter. Your pacing and hand-wringing are driving me out of my mind.”

“I am not wringing my hands and pacing,” Chyna objected.

“I never saw you so nervous when you liked the guy,” Lana laughed.

“You know that I can kick your ass and toss you down the elevator shaft and no one would ever know that you’re missing, right?” Chyna teased.

“That would at least get you to stop wringing your hands.”

As soon as they were out of sight and earshot of the others, Chyna grabbed Lana turned her around and wrapped her arms around her. “This is where somebody always rides in to save the day,” she sighed, wiping tears from her eyes. “It used to be Tony and now…”

“Now what?” Lana asked.

“And now, I don’t know. I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him. I want him to be who he was before, but I don’t know if he still is that guy or if he can be that guy. I had closure. I had the damned door close tight and all of the bolts locked and now…”

“Let me tell you something, Chyna Stone,” Lana said, pushing her away from her so that she could look into her eyes. “Now you’re the person that is riding in to save the day. You and your kick ass team. You… We don’t need anybody else to come riding in, we are it. Seriously, IT. So, you take the reins, you keep a tight hold on that bit in Anthony Stewart’s mouth and you make this happen. We’ve got this.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Chyna admitted.

“Pshaw! There’s no maybe to it.”

“Thanks, Lana. You’re…”

“Stop it. We’re a team; a family. We all take care of each other.”

“Tony just got out of the cab,” Antoine called out.

“He’s a little bit early,” Chyna said.

“Don’t sweat it. His flight probably arrived early and he cleared customs quicker.”

“Or he changed his flight at the last minute.”

“If you had the Illuminati on your ass, wouldn’t you?”

“Relax and run this team, Chy. That big blonde wolf out there has your back and so do eight other people.”

“I guess I better go make my drop,” Chyna sighed.

The drop Chyna was referring to was the means by which the crown and All Seeing Eye were going to get into his hands without blowing Tony’s cover. Tony could neither come up to their suite nor could they go down to his without arousing some suspicion, so they had made arrangements to put the canvas bag with the two items on top of the left side elevator car, where Tony would retrieve it and leave the identical canvas bag that he’d carried in with him in its place.

Taking Thorin with her out into the hallway, Chyna pressed the elevator call button and waited for it to arrive. When the car arrived, Thorin held the button to keep the door open and watched her as she climbed up onto the handrail, pushed the ceiling access hatch open, placed the canvas bag on the roof, closed the hatch, hopped down, pressed 4 on the panel and exited the elevator.

She and Thorin went back inside the suite and waited about ten minutes and then returned to repeat the process, except in reverse. Receiving the canvas bag that was stuffed with paper was evidence that the switch had been made.

“I guess we’re a go,” she said as she examined the contents of the bag.

They started back to the suite.

Chapter Eighteen

Diary of the Queen.

14 July 1789

Today was a dark day in the history of France. It is in no way helpful either that it has come on the heels of Louis taking some decisive action. The deed was necessary. Necker had made a huge blunder and misrepresented his monarch and country. But as is commonly the case, the people saw it differently as they will always choose to side with others over their king.

They stormed the Bastille fortress, killed many soldiers and helped themselves to the vast stockpile of munitions kept within its walls.

During all of this, Governor Marquis Bernard de Launay was beaten, stabbed and decapitated; his head was placed on a pike and paraded about the city. This, despite having ordered the ceasefire that prevented the mob from being massacred by the military forces there. They saw only weakness.

When Louis heard of what was happening in the city he was visibly alarmed and decided that he should tread lightly and proceed with his handling of the financial ministry more tactfully. I see only weakness.

Perhaps both he and de Launay should have stood their ground.

Marie.

“Tony is with the goons,” Chyna announced into her mic.

They were divided into two teams to tail and two other teams were in reserve. Chyna was paired with Thorin and Lana was paired with Antoine. Sirita and Mark were still working alongside Oscar in search of an identity for Louis, but they were also monitoring the situation and prepared to come in as two backup teams. Sirita was to be paired with Demetri and Mark would pair with Simon (one of Thorin’s wolves). The last wolf stayed put with Oscar.

Antoine had put a special ops team from Interpol on alert, but without a specific destination, they could only wait on standby. Everyone hoped that they would not be necessary.

Tony had been equipped with one of Oscar’s tracking devices in the soul of his shoe, as had the other team members. As long as they kept their shoes on and didn’t go beyond range or under something that would block his ability to receive the signal from the transmitter, Oscar could stick to them and provide a feed to the monitors of the two tailing teams.

As soon as they were able to come up with an ID on Louis and narrow down a location, the two tailing teams could make a move to snatch Tony, the crown and the All Seeing Eye away from the goons. That’s why Mark, Oscar and Sirita had stayed behind to keep working on their computers.

Sirita continued to follow search leads. She had made a probable connection to Countess Sophie Botta and had been moving forward in her search. “Whoever this dude is, he must have adoptions and abandonments all through his family history.”

“Abandonment!” Oscar exclaimed. “What do you do with abandoned children?”

“They put them in an orphanage,” Mark responded.

“Have either of you checked the orphanages in and around Belgrade?” Oscar asked.

They both shook their heads.

“Neither have I,” he responded. “Let’s go there and cross reference with our Serbian officer list.”

“Bingo,” Mark called out a few minutes later.

“Tail One,” Oscar said into his mic. “We might have an ID coming.”

“Copy. Just be sure, cowboy.”

“What you got, Mark?” Oscar asked.

“We have an Oliver Branko, who fits all of our categories. Wealthy, high ranking military officer and…”

“Don’t do me like that, Mark,” Oscar warned. “Do we have an ID or not?”

“We have a double bingo,” Mark came back. “He was expelled from an orphanage that was operated by the Eastern Orthodox Monastery Rakovica. That same orphanage was purchased and made into a private residence by one Oliver Branko.”

“Where was this orphanage located?” Oscar asked.

“South east of Belgrade, just outside town,” Mark replied, moving over to look at the tracking map that Oscar had up on his monitor. Sirita slid over to join them.

The tracking blips were headed southeast.

“Tail One,” Oscar announced. “We have location and ID. Go ahead and bag your goons.”

There was no response.

“Tail One. Do you copy?” Oscar asked. He waited several seconds and repeated his call, looking up at Sirita and Mark with wide eyes. After three more times without a response, he made the call to the Interpol standby team, giving them the ID and location coordinates.

“We’ve lost com with our tail teams. I will go in with a high-powered tracker to help guide you in. Let me know when you have a lock on my frequency.”

Mark, Sirita, Demetri and Simon were already geared up and getting ready to head out by the time Oscar disconnected the call and started gearing up to go with them.

“What are you doing?” Mark asked. “You’re supposed to stay here.”

“I’ve got to take this transmitter into wherever they are,” he said.

“One of us can do it,” Sirita responded.

Oscar ignored them and headed out the door. “If you guys are coming, you better get your butts moving.”

***

The cars had come out of nowhere and were coming at them head on. It had happened so suddenly that Thorin had barely had enough time to swerve away from a head-on collision. In spite of his driving skills, the maneuver had been executed at the perfect moment and in a perfect place and he’d been forced onto a steep shoulder that turned the car over, rolling it several times before it came to a stop.

Chyna was dazed and had some cuts and bruises, but she was mostly unhurt. Thorin had taken a heavy hit in the rollover and was unconscious. She shook him to try to revive him.

“Thorin. Thorin. Come on, buddy, you gotta come to,” she called out to him.

She reached for the mic beside her throat and realized the both mic and earpiece had been damaged in the rollover, and her radio was crushed. She reached over to search for Thorin’s radio and then froze in place as she felt a cold, steel barrel being placed against her head. She didn’t need to understand the words that were being spoken to her. She raised her arms up near her ears and slowly slid out of the open door of the car.

In some situations, Chyna might have considered going on the offensive, but with six automatic weapons held on her, she decided to cooperate instead. She was forced to her knees and her hands were secured behind her with heavy duty zip ties.

She was simultaneously lifted and dragged up away from the wrecked car and, not so gently, tossed into the back of a waiting van. A few moments later, four men struggled to shove a still unconscious Thorin in as well.

“I hope you made that ID, Oscar,” she whispered under her breath.

Chapter Nineteen

Diary of the Queen.

5 October 1789.

I hear them screaming, shouting, pounding at the gates. They have come for us and demand that we go with them to Paris and remain at the Tuileries until the revolutionaries decide what is to be done with us. I fear for my children, but at least Du Polignac and De Lamballe are with us. Louis seems dazed. He has hardly said a word since the crowd arrived. I think he is stupefied. The poor man has done everything he thought was good and within his power but there is never any prize for the good in politics, is there?

Seven thousand women have led this march to the gates of Versailles. That in itself is an irony of monumental means. They have brought with them weapons with which to kill us or force our removal to Paris; cannons and a variety of smaller weapons are being brandished at the gates and against us.

Twenty thousand National Guardsmen, under the command of La Fayette, have responded so as to keep the peace, and yet still, members of the mob have managed to storm through the palace gates, killing several guards in the process.

I was by no means surprised when La Fayette himself arrived in the throne room of Versailles to begin persuading Louis to meet the demand of the crowd that the monarchy relocates to Tuileries.

Marie.

“I’ve got a larger audience than I expected for this evening’s performance,” Louis laughed. “All captive as well. Two men and two women whom I hadn’t expected and my very willing accomplice, who was kind enough to secure all of the powerful talismans that I will be using this Solstice Eve.”

Louis moved in close to one of the women, widened his eyes and spoke in a very excited voice. “You’re going to get to watch me harness all of the feminine energy of the universe. Maybe even your own. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Not really,” the woman replied.

He moved away, making use of a long stride to rapidly scoop up a chair and move it to a place in front of his five guests. He looked at his watch and then back at his guests, crossing his legs and folding his hands upon his thighs. “We still have a few hours. Why don’t we get to know each other better?”

He was partly interested in them, but mostly he was mocking them. The one man who had been brought in by Luka and Jovan had, no doubt, been the one with whom he had been in communication and who had the All Seeing Eye and the Jeweled Crown with him. He decided to address him first.

“I have to thank you for acquiring all of the items that I needed at such a bargain price. Now, I did expect that you would have help, but, of course, you can already see that I made arrangements to deal with that. Pretty clever of me, don’t you think?”

The man he was addressing only glared at him without speaking.

“I guess I expected more from someone so highly placed within the Illuminati. Though they pale in comparison to what I’m about to pull off. You know, I’d considered just letting Luka put a couple of bullets in your brain and leaving it at that, but I’m glad that I have the opportunity to share this evening with you. It’s only an added benefit that you brought guests along with you.”

He rose and walked in front of the large blonde man and squatted, careful to stay back away from him. “This gentleman is a particularly magnificent specimen. You must be descended from the great god, Thor, huh?”

He received the response he was expecting and then backed away, chuckling. It wasn’t every day that one was allowed the opportunity to taunt a captive group and then become omnipotent. He decided to enjoy it to its fullest.

“I descend from a great lineage; from the daughter of Marie Antoinette. She is the one who actually wore the crown that you brought to me. I’m going to place it on my head later, which will be a great thrill for me. However, I’m not going to do that until I have consolidated all of the feminine energy of the universe into that crown, thereby making myself an omnipotent being.

“Comments? Questions?”

He waited with a satisfied smirk on his face and then continued mocking them. It felt good to be able to mock them with impunity. He’d always wished to have that chance when he was a boy living among those orphans.

“You know, I lived up in that house above where we sit right now when I was a boy. I was the smartest and most adroit of all of my peers. I never fully understood why until I discovered who my ancestors were.”

“Marie Antoinette wasn’t all that great, you know.”

The attractive woman with the long, black hair had actually spoken, surprising him. He moved over in front of her and squatted. “I wish I knew your name so that I could address you properly.” As he spoke, he reached out and surprised her with a backhand across her mouth. He held a bony finger up in front of her face and shook it. “Do not speak of the queen in that way again.”

He noticed that the large blonde man was growling and struggling wildly to get free of his bonds. “It’s a good thing that they used four of those bands on you,” he laughed. “You would snap two of them without even straining.”

“I’ll kill you for that,” the big blonde growled.

“I’m afraid you’ll never get the chance.” He returned to his seat on the stool and resumed the position he’d been in before.

“Where were we?” He frowned momentarily and then started up again. “Oh, yes, I was telling you about my superiority to my peers. Now, here is the most fascinating part of it all. The queen’s mother was a particularly fertile woman, given that great gift because of her own great power. That power came not only from her ancestry, but from a secret society to which she belonged. Would anyone like to guess the name of that society?”

He waited for a response. He’d hoped that his captives would be a little more lively with their conversation. So far it had only been the two comments. He sighed heavily.

“Very well, I’ll tell you, but I really don’t have a lot of time to waste sitting here and chatting. Marie Antoinette’s mother was a priestess in two orders, actually, the Egyptian Order of Re, which was a precursor to your Illuminati and the Holy Roman Order of the Unconquerable Sun. So, it’s really not difficult to understand how I came to be superior to my peers, something that has only grown stronger as I’ve aged, even more so since I realized my true identity.

“You see, a nun named me Oliver Branko, but the gods named me through my lineage. Tonight, you will be privileged to witness the coronation of Louis the Twentieth.”

“There’s already a Louis the Twentieth,” the second woman countered.

Louis rushed at her in a fury. She attempted to shrink away from him, but he kicked her hard in the ribs anyway. That stirred up all four of his captives into soundly cursing him, threatening him and struggling against their bonds. He waved Luka and his men over and they trained their automatic weapons on the group.

“It appears that there is to be no civil conversation with you imbeciles!” he shouted. He smiled on last time and lowered the tone of his voice to just above a whisper. “No matter, in a few hours, you’ll have a front row seat to witness the power of the universe coming down to me.”

He turned and strode away from them, putting them out of his mind and thinking only of the preparations that lay ahead.

Chapter Twenty

Tuileries, 18 June 1791.

My dearest Comtesse de Polignac,

Do not worry about us. It seems that the chiefs of the Assembly want to behave more softly. Talk to my parents about foreign approaches to the problem at hand. If they are afraid it is necessary to come to compromise with them. Burn all that is left which could be used as evidence and send the remainder of the letter to Monsieur von Fersen. He is with the King of Sweden.

Marie.

“This is one I couldn’t get you out of, boss,” Thorin grumbled after Louis had left them sitting against the wall of the cavern that he’d had hewn out of the stone beneath his house.

“How’re you doing?” Chyna asked. “You took a pretty good bump on the head when we rolled the car. You were out cold for quite a while.”

“I was still seeing stars until that son of a bitch slapped you. They all cleared up pretty quickly after that.”

“Does anybody have any brilliant ideas for getting us out of this mess?” Lana asked.

“I hope that Oscar does,” Chyna replied. “He called just before those cars came flying right at us. He said he thought he had an ID.”

“I doubt they came up with anything,” Lana responded.

“I can’t believe you are underestimating the same team that you told me could work miracles earlier today,” Chyna countered.

“I just don’t think he’ll come through, that’s all.”

Chyna had a response on her lips that she was ready to deliver, but she swallowed it. There was no point in arguing with her.

“If he does come through, I’ll kiss him right on the mouth.”

“I’ll kiss all of you on the mouth if I make it out of here alive,” Antoine commented.

“Eehh,” Thorin and Tony growled in unison as they narrowed their eyes and glared at him.

“I’m just sayin,’” he said.

“How’d they capture you two?” Chyna asked after a long silence lingered amongst them.

“Same as you two, sounds like,” Lana responded. She motioned with her head in Tony’s direction and mouthed some words to Chyna. “Ask him how he’s doing?”

“Hell no,” Chyna mouthed back. She had an instant pang of guilt come over her the moment after her response. The guy had played square with them. He’d attempted to make things right. He had, evidently, been right on the money concerning the madman who now had them as captives. He’d sacrificed so much believing that he could keep what was about to happen from happening. At that moment, it sure looked like he’d failed, losing everything in the process.

“You’re pretty quiet there, Tony,” she finally said. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry, guys,” he said, just above a whisper. “I blew it. Worse yet, you’re all going down with me.”

There was no way to respond to that, but Chyna’s coldness toward him was beginning to melt. If they got out of there alive, it was going to take a very long time for her to trust him again, but she had, at least, started to understand that he had been doing what he had to do. He had done it out of a sense of duty for the greater good of mankind. There was nobility in that, even if his execution of his duty had torn her heart into tiny little pieces.

For what seemed like an eternity, they sat in silence. No one really seemed to have anything to say. All of that changed as close to two dozen soldiers, similarly clothed and armed like those who had captured them and brought them into the cavern, filed in and stood in three neat rows before the raised dais of stone. Chyna looked in that direction and began to study what she saw there.

Above the dais, in the stone ceiling was a large elliptical opening. Through it, she could see twinkling stars and something even more frightening; the soft glow of the leading edge of the full moon that was creeping into place above. Time was running out and there was nothing that they could do about it. Stop thinking like that, Chyna. Oscar and the rest of the team are coming. Stay positive. Stay focused.

She was speaking in that manner to herself when she saw Louis appear once more. He ignored them completely and focused all of his attention on the dais. He placed two items upon the narrow stone table that was directly below the opening in the ceiling. Those two items were the Jeweled Crown and the All Seeing Eye. He bowed before each of them in reverence and then stood, raised his hands and began a chant as a procession of items were brought in and placed on the dais in front of the stone table. The Ivory Bow, the Minoan Mask, the Babylonian Basilisk, the Phoenician Falcon, the Mummy Codex and the Aquitaine Armor were all placed in a circle surrounding the final piece, the Rosary of Isabella. The bearer of that particular piece, after having placed it in its position was quickly escorted out of the cavern, his insanity already well advanced after just a few moments of contact with the potent artifact.

Chyna felt a thick lump in her throat. She had found all of those pieces. In so doing, she had, inadvertently, provided them to the madman who was about to draw omnipotence from them. She watched the scene unfolding in front of her, helplessly, shouldering the shame and guilt for the contribution that she had made to the coming doom. She saw the moon steadily creeping forward, filling the elliptical opening more and more.

Louis took the All Seeing Eye between his palms and raised it above his head in the thickening moonbeam. They had failed. At any moment, the power of the full moon through the crystal center of the All Seeing Eye would consolidate all of the supernatural power of the universe into the Jeweled Crown, which Louis would use to crown himself as the supreme emperor of the entire world.

The intensity of Louis’ chanting increased in both tempo and volume. The congregation of soldiers standing before the dais kept a perfect, disciplined, cadence as the power of heaven moved closer and closer to the ultimate end of the freedom of mankind. And then, a single shot rang out in the cavern.

There was an instant in which time stood still as, at the very same instant that the moonbeam activated a laser-like stream of light, the bullet from a rifle shattered the crystal and caused it to explode. After that moment, chaos ruled.

Louis screamed and pointed in the direction from which the shot had come and ordered the soldiers in front of him into pursuit.

Chyna turned her head in the direction of Louis’ extended finger and, for only an instant, saw Oscar, bearing a rifle retreating from their onrush. “Oscar?” she cried aloud; an involuntary reaction of her complete shock. She’d never have expected that.

Her shock was replaced by another feeling of helplessness as she realized that Oscar was severely outnumbered by his pursuers and she could do nothing to help him. He had stopped Louis from obtaining omnipotence, but his own life might not last long.

But then, the bodies of the rushing soldiers began to drop, as well armed troops began to open fire from their position above. The Interpol team had arrived.

***

Conciergerie, 16 October, 1793.

It is to you, my sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to go and rejoin your brother. Innocent like him, I hope to show the same firmness in my last moments. I am calm, as one is when one's conscience reproaches one with nothing. I feel profound sorrow in leaving my poor children: you know that I only lived for them and for you, my good and tender sister. You, who out of love have sacrificed everything to be with us… in what a position I leave you! I have learned from the proceedings at my trial that my daughter was separated from you. Alas! Poor child; I do not venture to write to her; she would not receive my letter. I do not even know whether this will reach you. Did you receive my blessing for both of them? I hope that one day when they are older they may be able to rejoin you, and to enjoy to the full your tender care. Let them both think of the lesson which I have never ceased to impress upon them, that the principles and the exact performance of their duties are the chief foundation of life; and then mutual affection and confidence in one another will constitute its happiness. Let my daughter feel that at her age, she ought always to aid her brother by the advice which her greater experience and her affection may inspire her to give him. And let my son in his turn render to his sister all the care and all the services which affection can inspire. Let them, in short, both feel that, in whatever positions they may be placed, they will never be truly happy but through their union. Let them follow our example. In our own misfortunes, how much comfort has our affection for one another afforded us! And, in times of happiness, we have enjoyed that doubly from being able to share it with a friend; and where can one find friends more tender and more united than in one's own family? Let my son never forget the last words of his father, which I repeat emphatically; let him never seek to avenge our deaths.

I have to speak to you of one thing which is very painful to my heart, I know how much pain the child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear sister; think of his age, and how easy it is to make a child say whatever one wishes, especially when he does not understand it. It will come to pass one day, I hope, that he will better feel the value of your kindness and of your tender affection for both of them. It remains to confide to you my last thoughts. I should have wished to write them at the beginning of my trial; but, besides that they did not leave me any means of writing, events have passed so rapidly that I really have not had time.

I die in the Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion, that of my fathers, that in which I was brought up, and which I have always professed. Having no spiritual consolation to look for, not even knowing whether there are still in this place any priests of that religion (and indeed the place where I am would expose them to too much danger if they were to enter it but once), I sincerely implore pardon of God for all the faults which I may have committed during my life. I trust that, in His goodness, He will mercifully accept my last prayers, as well as those which I have for a long time addressed to Him, to receive my soul into His mercy. I beg pardon of all whom I know, and especially of you, my sister, for all the vexations which, without intending it, I may have caused you. I pardon all my enemies the evils that they have done me. I bid farewell to my aunts and to all my brothers and sisters. I had friends. The idea of being forever separated from them and from all their troubles is one of the greatest sorrows that I suffer in dying. Let them at least know that to my latest moment I thought of them.

Farewell, my good and tender sister. May this letter reach you. Think always of me; I embrace you with all my heart, as I do my poor dear children. My God, how heart-rending it is to leave them forever! Farewell! Farewell! I must now occupy myself with my spiritual duties, as I am not free in my actions. Perhaps they will bring me a priest. I here protest that I will not say a word to him, but that I will treat him as a total stranger.

Marie.

Epilogue

Louis had been put in cuffs and led out by Interpol officers. Tony, Antoine, Thorin, Lana and Chyna had all been cut loose and then their wounds from their respective automobile accidents treated. Though Antoine vouched for Tony’s role in an elaborate undercover operation, Tony was still led out in the custody of Interpol, having earned his way onto their most wanted list. Chyna had watched him go, trying to hold back the tears in her eyes as she saw him look back at her and smile. It was that very same smile she’d seen every time they’d successfully completed one of their missions. While her eyes followed him out of the cavern, she was assaulted by Sirita, Mark and Oscar as they were finally allowed to come back into the cavern; Oscar being detained after he’d been seen fleeing from the cavern with a rifle in his hands. Oscar had received his kiss on the mouth from Lana and Chyna’s team, along with her Wolves, had taken a moment to celebrate before they were offered a ride back to their hotel. They packed and were on the next available flight out of Belgrade. No one had wanted to hang around.

Belgrade, Serbia had become a memory among the many others that Chyna had tucked away in the back of her mind as she strolled along the boardwalk and looked out across the Atlantic. She’d found herself being a lot more reflective of things in her life. The trials that she’d been through, which had all come to an enormous culmination in Belgrade had made her aware of the simpler and more meaningful things that life had to offer.

In a way, like Marie Antoinette, Chyna’s life had followed the exact path she’d set herself on from the beginning. However, it had managed to take a very different turn in the outcome. The dauphine had dreamt of being a queen and ruling an influential country alongside her husband. When the end came, she was the Queen of France, but her husband had been executed and she was on her way to the guillotine as well. Chyna had dreamt of being a famous archeologist and adventurer, just like her father. She’d achieved that but at what cost? Would she still be paying the price of it all at the end like Marie?

With a heavy sigh, she lowered herself onto a bench and watched the sun moving steadily higher above the morning horizon. The morning had had just a nip of frost in it; a mid-September warning of autumn being just around the corner. Her gaze was locked upon the horizon when she felt someone sit down on the bench beside her. In New York, a person rarely looked to see who had joined them on a bench and she thought nothing of it, until the person spoke.

She whirled toward the sound of Tony’s voice.

“Where the hell did you come from?” she asked. It wasn’t exactly the best words for greeting him, but the sudden surprise hadn’t given her much time to form the right ones.

“Good morning to you too, Chyna,” he grinned.

She placed her hand over her thundering heart and took several deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You startled me.”

“I figured as much.”

“I’ll try again.” She sat up straight, looked directly at him and said. “Good morning, Tony.”

“That’s better.”

“So, I guess Interpol didn’t lock you up and throw away the key, then?”

“It took a few months of debriefing and we made a few more busts in Europe off of information that I’d obtained, but, yeah, they let me go.”

They sat quietly for a few moments. Chyna wasn’t sure what conversation she was ready to have. There were plenty of things that the two of them needed to say to each other, but the relative peace of the morning might have been spoiled if either of them brought them up.

“Looks like you got out of Belgrade and back to the States just fine,” Tony started in, keeping things casual, to Chyna’s relief.

“Yeah. We didn’t hang around much after that one.”

“How about that shot that Oscar made, huh?”

“I didn’t know that he was a marksman. I even asked him about it and he informed me that there were a lot of things about him that I didn’t know.”

“He damned sure placed it right on the button and right in time.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll have to pay for the damage to the All Seeing Eye,” Chyna laughed.

“No, it’s insured,” he responded.

The two of them burst into laughter after that comment, as much out of relief as Tony’s ludicrous comment. Their laughter died out.

“Chyna,” he said after a few minutes, “I have to apologize. I never meant to hurt you. I really…”

“Stop!” she ordered, holding up her hand. “Let’s not go there right now, okay?”

“I want you to forgive me. I want you to trust me again.”

“I said stop, Tony. Don’t spoil things. We’re just two people enjoying a morning on the boardwalk, okay? Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Fine,” he replied.

“It’s peaceful and beautiful here in the morning, you know? I like to come down here and clear my head, get ready for the day that’s coming, you know, take in the simpler things,” Chyna said in a low tone after a few minutes. She didn’t want to push him away, but she wasn’t quite ready to get into forgiving and trusting him yet.

“I can see that,” he answered. “After seeing the world on the brink of coming to an end, it tends to bring things into perspective, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” she said, lifting her face toward the sun and taking in a long, deep breath. She rose from the bench. “It really does.”

She started to walk away and she heard Tony rise to follow along behind her. She turned back toward him. “Don’t follow me,” she said. “If you ever want me to trust you again, don’t follow me, don’t show up wherever I am unannounced. Don’t surprise me. Don’t track me. Don’t stalk me. Don’t know every move that my team and I make. And don’t apologize for something that you had to do. Got it?”

He let his chin sag to his chest. “Got it.”

Chyna stood there for a moment, allowing what she had said to sink in. “Good. I’ll meet you right here tomorrow morning,” she said and turned to walk away.

The End

Thank you for reading the:

Chyna Stone Adventures

I hope you enjoyed them!

Return to the Table of Contents

SASQUATCH

Sasquatch Series Book

#1

by

K.T. TOMB

Sasquatch

Chapter One

Draw, flash sight, discharge weapon. Replace in holster. Repeat seven times until magazine empty. Check target. Reload. Check magazine, cock weapon. Holster weapon. Draw, flash sight, discharge weapon. Replace in holster. Repeat seven times until magazine empty. Holster weapon. Check target.

Her aim was off by only a fraction on perhaps two bullets out of eight. She should have given herself the time to fully sight the target. She had been relying on the speed of her cognitive functions to align her gun with the distant target and fire on it in one fluid movement. If she could correct that, her aim would have been good enough to make an Olympic team.

The thought came unbidden.

That was part of a past that she didn’t particularly cherish, so she put the safety on her Ballester-Molina pistol and stepped back from the target range. The weapon was a relic by anyone’s standards, reconditioned twice. The legend goes that this was one of the pistols made in Buenos Aires from the steel reclaimed from the Nazi battleship Graf Spee after it was scuttled in the River Plate during the war. It was just a fairy story, but one she had been happy to cling to. Not that she was a sentimental person, but Lux always found herself with better things to spend her money on than a new gun. Not that she had seen any fresh influx of cash in a while.

Had it been so long since Mexico? In any case, she couldn’t see herself parting with the old pistol, or her old truck, any time soon. And on that note, she would not be letting go of her upcoming project, that was for sure. Lux had a reputation to uphold if not the lifestyle to go with it. It wasn’t like she had much else other than her truck, her gun, and her boots. She wondered if she could get any government grants for being the most Texan woman of all time, but reminded herself that that wouldn’t be a very Texan thing to do.

Leaving the weapons free area, pausing to grab a soda and sparking her last cigarette, she looked at her truck through the window of the shooting range over the head of the balding receptionist, Tony. Tony, as usual, tutted at her and pointed to the no smoking sign without even looking at it. She enjoyed their game, although they had perhaps spoken only twenty words to each other in the two years she had been frequenting this place. She knew his name was Tony from his name badge. She stepped outside and put a booted foot on the thirty-five inch tire of her truck. Her rundown 1978 Ford F-150 pickup sat by the curb like a sad puppy, the headlights giving her their best dejected gaze. The vehicle was definitely in need of some repairs, if not scrapping completely. Hopefully, when she was paid for this job, she could finally get some of the mechanical work done that was becoming rather urgent. Maybe even some of the aesthetic work, too, or at least swap out the seat covers for something that hadn’t fallen out of an 80’s sitcom. She was glad she had invested in getting the brush guard installed and the suspension lifted. If this contract was going to be as rough as the client had surmised, those improvements would certainly come in handy. If it turned out to be as lucrative as the client had predicted, then old Betsy would be getting the ultimate mud truck spa treatment.

She looked around and then snuck a peek at her watch. It was three o’clock, right on the dot. The sweltering Texas heat poured down on her head from the sun high above her. Through her open window, she grabbed her straw cowgirl hat and swept her hair back from her face as she put it on and sat back to wait. Tardiness was not one of her customs, although it appeared apparent to her after fifteen years of adulthood that this philosophy was woefully under-subscribed. Like her services, it appeared.

Fortunately for her limited patience, it wasn’t long before a sleek sedan pulled up to the park. The midday light reflected off the shiny surface, momentarily blinding her despite her knockoff aviator sunglasses. She squinted at the sedan, fixing her customary impassive expression to hide her irritation. It wouldn’t do to piss off the client, at least not until he’d paid. The door opened and a twiggy driver popped out and bobbed around the side to the passenger door. The driver opened the rear passenger door with a magnificent sweep, as if displaying some sort of grand treasure to the world.

The treasure turned out to be a very thin and very old man who hobbled out, flailing a stick to get leverage on the baking asphalt. He was so wizened he could barely have topped five foot. Without that cane, she was sure that he would have toppled in the breeze like a dried-up leaf. He had a thin white beard, but only a handful of long white hairs sprouting from the top of his head. Certainly anyone else would have cut them off by now, she thought. He reminded her of the KFC colonel in miniature and he could have been older than God. But she kept her face well-schooled. The little man may look ridiculous, but he was paying her an even more ridiculous amount of money for the most ridiculous project of her life. Low on cash and lower on luck, she needed that money; so she needed that little man to see respect on her face instead of disdain or merriment at his appearance. She felt unkind for thinking it. She had been without the company of people too long, and it was as usual, having a misanthropic effect.

“Hello,” she said when he had painfully made it several steps closer. “You must be Dr. Stevens.”

The man wobbled, tottered over to her and sat on a bench opposite her truck with a great sigh. It was a louder sound than she had expected him to be able to produce, but she forced herself to appreciate his effort in getting out of his car at all to say what he had to say. She spun and parked her behind on the hood of her car, and then had to stand again. The hood was easily hot enough to cook meat on.

So cool, she thought.

Stevens at least pretended not to notice, but she was sure that the little man’s mouth curled slightly in a smile.

“Aye. I am Dr. Stevens. And you must be Lux Branson, I assume?”

“Yes, sir,” she grinned, only partly falsely. “Pleased to meet you.”

She bent in slightly to take his hand, trying not to break it off in her grip. There was nearly a foot of height difference between them.

“You’ve quite the handshake there, dear. It’s a lost art, don’t you think?”

“No, I think people are just lazy,” she said, and instantly regretted it.

Small talk had never been her strength. Now, sitting on a park bench beside her in the Texas heat was a little old man who was about to fund several years of tracking adventures that she’d had to miss out on, as well as the lucrative guide’s jobs that usually came along with them. Here she was, sitting down and telling him that he had the wrong idea about handshakes.

Dr. Stevens’ crinkly face expanded to hide all his features except for his mouth as he let out a dry, cackling noise. For a moment she thought that the fossil was going to die on her right then and there, which would put a severe dent in her travel plans.

“I suppose that’s the best answer I’ve ever got!”

It was a laugh. He was laughing! Lux was relieved, but resolved to keep herself in check from then on out. She was hardly gregarious, which was fine so long as she didn’t have to engage with other human beings, ever. When she did, this sort of social error was commonplace.

“So tell me Lux, about this so-called ‘tracking’ ability of yours. I’ve heard you’re the best.”

Dr. Stevens lay his thick cane against the bench and caught her with his little rheumy eyes. They were old eyes, eyes that had seen a lot – perhaps even too much – of the world. Lux had seen enough of the world too, enough to know when she was being deliberately needed. So-called, indeed.

“Well, I’ve worked as a skip tracker for about seven years now. There isn’t anywhere someone can run where I won’t find them. I haven’t failed yet, and I don’t intend to.”

Bounty hunting paid, but barely. Still, no harm in taking pride in a job well done, no matter if it was usually luring people into traps with her looks so she could cart them off to jail.

Dr. Stevens nodded slowly.

“And other things?” His eyes seemed to clear. Strange. Like she was watching the process of Stevens manually focusing his eyes with strength of will alone.

“What do you mean ‘other things’?” she said.

“You can find people, but can you track things? Non-human things?”

Lux wasn’t sure what he meant. Animals? Why not just say, ‘animals’ then?

“If it leaves a trail, I can track it,” she said confidently, though she didn’t feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded. It had, after all, been a while since she had fired a gun at an animal. Hunting for sport had been drilled into her as a child, and then firmly drilled out of her by a burgeoning moral code that began on Kodiak Island, years ago. Lux had been tracking and hunting since she could stand up and hold a rifle. When she was seventeen and had dropped out of high school, she had spent every bear season in Alaska as a hunting guide and her charges had never gone home empty-handed. In her mind, that was some of the most stringent hunting that the continental U.S. had to offer. Slowly but surely, the thrill of watching fat, gloating morons gun down beautiful, dangerous animals paled. Walking away from animal hunting with no idea of how to support herself financially, she had returned to Texas, lost and freelancing with the local sheriff.

Lux had tracked a man through the woods for a week once, right through the depths of east Texas, and those were some mean woods. But she had found the man and brought him in. Surely with all her experience and expertise, whatever Dr. Stevens had in store for her would be a walk in the park. Her memories had taken her away from the conversation, but she found Stevens waiting patiently for her to come back to him. Polite to a fault, this one.

“Good. What if you don’t believe it’s there?” he said.

Lux was thoroughly stumped. What type of question was that? If she was tracking something, it had to be there. If she didn’t believe it was there, then she looked elsewhere.

“Then I retrace my steps to find where I lost it,” she hazarded.

“I mean something that you do not believe in. A creature, let’s say, a creature that is just a legend.”

Lux breathed through her teeth. She had been commissioned by cryptid hunters before. Each time, she ended up dashing their lifetime supply of hope on the rocks. They were frauds, dreamers, conspiracy theorists. Not logical people, with no understanding of the wild. She would track a creature with them for two days before catching it and proving that it was a simple lizard, nothing special. But Dr. Stevens was different from the cryptozoologists she had met before. He was wealthy for a start; that much was clear.

“In that case, I would follow the trail until I discovered what was creating it, legendary creature or no. Then, once I have proved that the creature doesn’t exist, I receive full payment anyway.”

Dr. Stevens gave her a wrinkly smile.

“That, my dear, is exactly what I wanted to hear,” he said.

Lux wasn’t at all sure that it was. She had been under the impression that Dr. Stevens wanted her to track down a person and had expected some story about his wayward grandchild having run off to Chile and broken off contact. She had worked a few jobs like that as well, though she wasn’t at all sure that they were always within the strictest confines of the law. Stevens told her he had assembled a team for her already, four others. She took a piece of paper which listed a rendezvous point just outside of Belle. A wild goose chase, funded by a crazy old man. It looked like her run of bad luck was going to extend a little while longer. The paper had thinly scrawled handwriting that betrayed the shaky hand of the author. Clearly Stevens had written this himself. ‘Piney Woods’ was printed unsteadily at the top.

Lux had heard the rumors about what lived in there. She had been raised on the outskirts of the woods and knew they were big enough to harbor any monster man could dream of. Almost every dangerous creature in America was represented in those woods. All of them had at “one time or another” been shot by herself or her father. Nothing had escaped the Branson family’s aim when she was a girl.

“What is it that I’m tracking?” Lux asked with her heart sinking.

Dr. Stevens appraised her carefully, but said nothing.

“I can’t trace what I don’t know.”

He reached a trembling hand into his pocket. What he pulled out was a rumpled, slightly coffee-stained envelope, folded over once. It was thick with papers inside, and battered white corners poked out of the opening.

“Here,” he said. “This is the information you need. And this,” he pulled out another packet of folded paper from his other pocket, “is your team.”

Lux took both and stared at them. She had a tight feeling in her stomach. There was no way she could afford to turn down the project. She had tracked animals all over the States, but Piney Woods changed things. It was a surreal place, thick with wilderness, wild memory and her personal history.

Dr. Stevens fumbled through the team envelope.

“This man here,” he brandished a small photo at her, “is Dr. Samuel Smith. He is an anthropologist. You are the tracker, but you need to show him all the evidence you collect. The rest is in here,” he tapped the two envelopes. “You will receive payment upon completion of the assignment.”

She stared down at the coffee rings on the cream paper.

Sloppy, she thought.

Dr. Stevens heaved himself to his feet, his cane digging into the dry Texas dirt.

“Wait,” she said, standing as he began to make his way back to the sleek sedan.

“Why are you sending us out to find this… thing?”

“That is something you will have to discover later, Lux.”

She did not like that answer, but she scooped up the envelopes and watched the man slowly shuffle back to the sedan and disappear inside. The Texas sun baked down on her head, and at that moment, Lux resolved that this would be her last contract tracking job. With the money from this job, she could buy some new equipment, maybe a truck and finally work where she wanted, when she wanted and for whom she wanted.

***

Belle, Texas was tiny; minute in the grand scheme of things. It was a community of rundown houses and hot swamp air that cloistered against every available inch of skin. The boggy forest stopped just short of the town, creeping up unnoticed on city limits, encroaching like a hungry predator, waiting eagerly to take back what had once belonged to it.

Lux eyed the forest as she stepped down from her truck into the parking lot of a little diner called Crawford’s Choice. The two envelopes were tucked safely into her pocket, bulging out and making it impossible for her to forget them. She had promised herself that she would not open them until she was in Belle. When it was too late to chicken out. She had to take the job.

She perched in a corner booth and ordered coffee, her fingers tracing the edge of the paper through her jeans. The crinkling noise it made was addicting to create. The brightly lit diner was friendly and crowded; jovial old men discussing the changing times, teenagers badgering each other, parents were reining in their wild rug-rats. The hubbub had not changed.

She carefully opened the envelope containing the details of her team. There were four photographs inside, each with a name scribbled on the back. Dr. Samuel Smith, whose photo Dr. Stevens had waggled around, and three others: Julie North, Hal Woodward, and Ben Makarios.

Lux felt relieved. They all looked sun-weathered and capable of handling Piney Woods. She had been afraid that she would be stuck with a bunch of city folks who couldn’t get their shoes dirty and thought they knew everything. But they all had scars, tan lines, and that dark glint of the wild in their eyes.

She pulled out the information sheets on each one of them and began to read. They were a strange lot, her team. Dr. Smith was an anthropologist. Julie North was a biologist and survivalist. Hal Woodward was… well, she wasn’t sure what he was. The sheet read simply: adventurer. Ben Makarios was even less titled. His sheet gave him no label at all, and only the faintest of descriptions.

Lux had worked as a bounty hunter long enough to recognize a criminal and she would bet her life that Ben Makarios was a felon; whether he had been convicted of anything was irrelevant. His eyes were a hard, steely blue and three teardrops were tattooed down his cheek which indicated death, sentence length or a victim of prison rape, according to prison tattoo culture.

“Do you need another minute?” her waitress, bearing the name tag Jane, asked, her eyes too curious as she scanned the table.

“No.” Lux shook her head. “I’d like whatever the breakfast special is,” she said, sliding the photos into a pile and flipping them over.

Jane jotted it down on her little notepad.

“Anything else, hun?”

Lux cringed at the common term of endearment. Over-familiarity was anathema.

“No, thanks.”

Jane nodded and moved on. Lux was about to pull the photos back out when the door tinkled and she glanced up. There was no doubt about it; the woman who walked in was Julie North, biologist and survivalist. Julie had curly brown hair that was cropped close to her skull and barely skirted the base of the battered Wisconsin Timber Rattlers baseball cap that sat crushed low on her brow. Julie took a seat against the opposite wall and ordered coffee. Her gray eyes scanned the room every few seconds, not looking for a familiar face, but watching for potential danger.

Lux pulled out Julie’s sheet again. She was from Wisconsin, born and raised. After high school, she had studied at Madison before joining the Peace Corps and heading off to Guatemala. Julie had no next of kin listed.

Lux frowned. There was a small box for next of kin on all four sheets, and none had a single person listed. A cold feeling crawled into Lux as she absorbed that. Lux herself had only one sister to whom she never spoke.

She looked back at Julie and this time, made eye contact. She could see recognition in Julie’s eyes. For a moment, neither moved. Coolly breaking the temporary Mexican standoff, with casual grace Julie picked up her coffee and purse and wove her way across the diner. Lux scrambled to tuck all the papers and photos away and stuffed it all in her pocket just in time.

“Hello,” Julie said. “Can I sit?”

Lux nodded and held out her hand. “Lux Branson.”

“Julie North.”

“Have you met any of the guys?” Lux said.

They were due to meet that evening, but she had decided to arrive earlier. She needed to think, and she needed to do it in Belle.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Smith before, but not the other two,” Julie said, as she slid onto the bench.

She craned her head around to scan the diner and then propped her back up against the wall so she could see Lux on one side and the diner on the other.

“Yeah? What’d you think of him?” Lux looked down to her lap and fiddled with the assignment envelope. She should open it, read it, but every time she tried, something stopped her. She already knew what was in there.

“He was strange.”

Julie’s eyes flicked up to the door and back as a mother of three herded her wild-haired children to a table. “I mean, he was fine, you know, just a little weird. He studies mostly primatology and biological anthropology. Talks about bones all the time. But he’s a pretty great guy I guess.”

Lux nodded along and sipped her coffee. Her stomach rumbled with an even mixture of hunger and nerves, neither of which were assisted by the roughly brewed caffeine. She wished the kitchen would hurry up, although she had no idea what she’d ordered.

The door tinkled again, and this time it was a familiar face; the anthropologist, Samuel Smith.

His eyes settled on Lux instantly, almost as if he knew she was there. Lux didn’t blink.

“Look, there he is,” Julie murmured.

Lux watched him walk towards them, his dark eyes taking in every inch of the diner by the time he stood in front of them. Jane, the waitress, was swiftly back with a black pot of coffee dangling dangerously in one hand. Smith raised his eyebrow at Julie and slid in next to her. Lux couldn’t tell if it was a statement of some sort, but she decided to stay out of it.

Jane eyed Smith and Julie.

“Here’s this,” she said, handing menus to both of them. “And your breakfast is almost ready,” she told Lux.

“Thanks,” Lux said.

Lux pushed her almost empty coffee towards Jane. It was going to be a long day, and she could already tell she would need the caffeine, despite the gastric discomfort it would cause.

“You know,” Smith started, pinning Jane with his dark eyes, “we’re just passing through, but I’ve heard this is a rather dramatic place.”

Jane swallowed. Lux watched the woman’s throat flex, up then down.

“It sure is,” she said, her face lighting up.

Lux could sense a story coming from the portly waitress. Women who gossiped were a dime a dozen in Belle, and the art of tattling was elevated to the status of an unofficial news network.

“We ain’t had nothing really going on in a while, but I heard from the Charleston boy, and he’s trustworthy mind you, that there was a little girl taken from her house just outside of town. The authorities have been all up in a fuss about it too. I read about it in the paper, I did. There’s not a single sign of the kidnapper either. Just the girl’s window was open and she was gone. They made a fuss about not findin’ none of that, what do they call it, forensics?”

Jane spoke in a low voice, bending into them slightly so the people in the booth next to them wouldn’t hear.

Lux wanted to go back to sleep and just start the day over. She found herself again promising that she would never take another tracking assignment. A table across the room was desperately trying to catch the waitress’s eye. Eventually Jane could ignore them no longer.

“There’s the paper over there if y’all get curious,” she said, pointing and then bustling off to the other table.

Smith stood and crossed the diner to find the paper while Lux opened the envelope and pulled out the assignment. The first page was a newspaper clip from 1995. Lux had grown up not far from Belle and she vaguely remembered the headline. A girl wandering in the woods had lost her way. Eventually, after exhaustive searching, the authorities decided that, in the absence of any evidence of abduction by humans, either the wild pigs or wild dogs had taken her. Organic matter decomposed quickly in the boggy woodlands and it was just too wild for a little kid to survive on her own.

The article was from the day after she disappeared. It was just talking about how she had vanished from down by the creek playing after school. There were several further reports of missing children, which explained why Smith was so interested in the most recent case. But Lux wasn’t convinced that they were connected. East Texas was her home, but she would be the first to say that it was not a very nice place. It was a tangle of Wild West remnants; abandoned tin roofed cabins, sinkholes, mine shafts and hideouts littered the woods. Outlaws and convicts would hide there, survive there. It was the type of place where people went missing and were never found.

Over the years, there had been a long list of sightings of demons and all kinds of sinister creatures in Piney Woods; the kind of demons that were tall and strong and covered in hair. Lux sighed. She had seen it coming and now she would have to shatter the convictions of an old man.

Because Sasquatch didn’t fucking exist.

Maybe Dr. Stevens knew that too, and there was some other agenda at play here.

She stuffed the envelope in her pocket in irritation. Why couldn’t it have just been someone who owed him money or something? Those jobs were always fast and easy. After all, humans were real flesh and blood.

***

Hair still wet, Lux met Julie at her hotel room door. With the advent of evening, the baking Texas air would be enough to dry it in only a few minutes, not that she was overly concerned with sartorial elegance. The Quiet Cloud Motel wasn’t the Ritz. It was barely a motel, but as they weren’t planning on spending much time there, Julie and Smith had agreed with her that the proximity of the motel to the woods was a small advantage.

“Hey, do you know if Smith has worked with either of the other guys?” Lux said as Julie locked her door.

Julie shrugged her shoulders, light leather jacket echoing the motions of the thin frame underneath.

“I think he worked with the adventurer guy, Hal Woodward.”

Lux nodded and pulled the door shut, jamming her key in her pocket. The three worked in different enough fields that they shouldn’t have been on the same projects except for those assigned by private parties. She wasn’t sure what the information meant, but it was interesting.

“But he didn’t really say anything either way.”

They fell silent as they rounded the corner to face the main building, which suited Lux just fine. The Quiet Cloud Motel was a concrete abomination of architecture, and grimy for good measure.

The lobby was only a lobby in the loosest meaning of the word. A handful of chairs were thrown off in a corner and coffee was offered in the mornings. Lux was willing to call it a lobby for all intents and purposes, but there was none of the sleekness or shine that usually accompanied the word.

From the window, Lux could see Samuel Smith and another man sitting amongst the castaway chairs. She thought the other man was Hal Woodward, but she had only glanced over his picture.

“That’s Hal,” Julie mumbled in confirmation as they reached the door.

The two men looked up when the girls entered. Lux noted the casual way they interacted. There was a friendliness there that would have taken time to build.

Hal was a man who belonged in a Sci-Fi movie. His light brown hair was long and done in intricately twisted dreadlocks. A scar, red and rather fresh looking, ran the length of his temple. His eyes were light, bright, and friendly, but hawkish. He held out a tan hand, the fingers thick and square.

“Hal Woodward,” he said, grasping her hand firmly.

“Lux Branson.”

“Julie North.”

“So where’s this Ben guy, huh?” Hal said, peering around them.

“Guess he hasn’t shown yet,” Lux said.

“Too bad. So you’re our tracker,” he looked at Lux, “and you’re the biologist?”

He looked from Lux to Julie. Lux felt rather relieved when he looked away. She didn’t much like being pinned by those bird eyes.

“Yes,” Lux said, sitting.

The chair sagged farther than was healthy for it, but when it didn’t collapse, she relaxed into it. Julie perched on the edge of her seat, not even risking the saggy middle.

“You are planning on gunning us all down in a lobby?” Hal said. At first, Lux didn’t realize she was being addressed, then realized that her hand was resting on the grip of her pistol, holstered on her hip.

“I was thinking about it, if Makarios doesn’t get his ass in gear. Before anyone starts mouthing, I have a permit for this,” she said, waggling the pistol slightly.

He might look like Indiana Jones on steroids, but like hell Lux was going to feel inferior to this guy’s swagger. Hal merely waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

As they waited for Ben Makarios, Julie talked about recognizing poisonous berries and animals in the woods. Lux barely paid attention; there was hardly a thing that Miss North could tell her about the flora and fauna in the region that she didn’t know, but the two men paid polite attention.

The sun outside began to set, hot orange lines crawling into the window. It was late, but the Texas heat still oozed around them.

“So how long are we going to wait for this Ben guy to show?” Smith said. He had slowly but surely been displaying a slow withdrawal from the conversation, which admittedly had grown a little stilted as the length of time spent waiting for Makarios had extended beyond reasonable. Now his irritation was expressed in gritted jaw and drumming fingers. A lack of patience, Lux thought. Not ideal for a prolonged hunt.

“Not long,” a voice from the hall said.

Ben Makarios was a strange looking human. Like Hal, he had avian features, but where Hal was almost regal in his resemblance to a bird of prey, Makarios was a vulture. Carrion bird, all hunched angles, beaky face and beady, glittering eyes. A half smile that wouldn’t be out of place adorning the face of Loki, the trickster god.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ben said with a smirk.

Lux glowered at him. Her stomach rumbled quietly, the calorific content of her meager lunch at the diner now long gone.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, so you better sit down,” she grumbled.

“Tomorrow?” Julie asked, looking over.

“Yes.” Lux nodded. “Dawn. Makarios, this is Julia, Hal and Smith. Get yourselves acquainted; I’m going to get some food and an early night. But before I do, let’s get one thing clear. I’m sure you all think that you are the best thing since the combustion engine, but when we go into those woods, when I say do something, you do it. Any deviation from this will result in me dumping your asses and going home. Understood?”

The four members of her team, and it was going to be her team, looked dumfounded. Lux had barely spoken two words in their hour together. Lux let it hang, got out of her chair, and left. Let them talk. She had a job to do, and the respective egos of these four misfits had nothing to do with finding, or not finding, the mythical beast known to all as Sasquatch.

Chapter Two

The woods breathed out foggy humidity. The rivers and bogs that were twisting deep beyond the tree line provided great moisture, but the canopies of leaves prevented the sweat of the earth from escaping. Lux sucked down a deep lungful of the broiled forest air and let the myriad tastes roll themselves out along her tongue. Her pack was strapped tight to her back and her hair was starting to curl in the humidity. It pleased her to note that Julia and Ben were already sweating. Discomfort now should make them more amenable to her lead later.

Piney Woods looked impenetrable, a thick line drawn in the earth. Belle lay on one side and Lux felt like humans were not supposed to go to the other. The wild places of this planet were slowly giving way to the asphalt, the carburetor, the chainsaw, the plow. In her experience, the soul of the wild places only grew more aggressive as their territory was encroached upon by humans.

Her fingers ran over the rumpled texture of her map. It was topographical with an overlay of roads and towns; Lux had planned on taking them into the deepest part of the forest and then start to track their quarry, not that she expected there to be anything to track. She glanced up and located their direction.

She stuffed the map into the small pocket on her pack and looked to the others. Julie stood by Samuel Smith, unfazed by the prospect of being outdoors for a few days. Despite outward appearances, she was allegedly a competent woodsman in her own right. Hal Woodward was next to them, but slightly in front, eager like a hunting dog about to be unleashed. He was the only one of them whom Lux truly thought was excited about the adventure. His hawk eyes danced with the light of someone in their element. Ben Makarios stood to the side, his face not giving anything away. He watched the woods with wary eyes, but there was no fear in his face. He simply observed.

Strapped to her waist under her shirt was a thick Bowie knife. The sheath was plain leather, but the blade was sharp enough to cut a piece of paper that fell on it. Lux rarely went anywhere without the knife, and she certainly wasn’t going to leave it behind on this particular assignment. She didn’t know her team, the woods were crawling with wild pigs and feral dogs, and she knew colonies of meth heads lived out there too.

Which was worse... or wilder… was still up for debate.

Growing up not five miles from the spot they stood now, at the eastern edge of Belle, they had kept a shotgun by the door; kept it there and used it there.

As the final step in her setting out ritual, she touched the lump of charms hanging from her neck. She had protection against the evil eye, which she would never tell a soul that she believed in, a bent cross that belonged to her mother, a narrow dog tag from her brother; and the chipped locket which held the only picture of her whole family. Almost her whole family, at least.

“Okay, everyone ready?” she said, partly to get going, and partly to keep her mind from dark history lessons.

Four pairs of eyes turned to her.

“Why are you in charge?” Ben Makarios said.

“Because,” she snapped, though trying to stay calm, “I’m the tracker.”

“What are you tracking now?” he said.

“Common sense. You think you can do better?”

He didn’t break eye contact, but an almost sheepish look came over his face.

Good, Lux thought.

“We go this way,” she said, starting into the woods.

A weight seemed to drop out of the sky and onto their backs as they crossed the invisible line in the trees. There was no wind, no breeze, and no movement. Lux knew she was imagining things, but she always felt like there were eyes on her in these places. The wet ground absorbed sound. All the sounds of the forest were erased. Her ears pricked to the sound of a squirrel scrabbling along bark, a rabbit peaking forward and stepping on a leaf, a bird cooing. The sounds returned once she relaxed, became one of the animals instead of an interloper. The people behind her crunched along through the scrub, ridiculously loud. Birds scattered in their bold wave of noise. She frowned. Now that she paid full attention, she could only hear two sets of feet. That was interesting, she thought. Half the team knew how to become invisible in the woods. She turned to see who was loud and who was silent.

Samuel Smith and Julie were walking side by side, crunching away at the ground. Lux suspected there was something between them and hoped it developed, provided they did their jobs and watched her back; they could keep each other out of her hair at least.

Like ghostly sentinels on either end of the couple, Ben and Hal melted along, neither talking, neither making a sound, scanning the woods, a pair of automated security cameras on legs. Lux turned back to face the forest, the hair on her neck standing up. There was nothing wrong, she kept telling herself, but something about the place had her on edge. Unusually so. What was going on with the air? It felt thick, psychotropic almost. The trees were beautiful and thick, but keeping secrets. The forest stayed quiet and so did the team as best they could. Samuel and Julie would strike up conversation occasionally, but it never seemed to last long.

The woods became a unit of wind to her, a wind that would pass through her and whisper lies and sometimes things that were true. But when the woods spoke to her, it was never beautiful like the trees. Forests, she had long ago learned, kept only the darkest secrets, the vilest ones. Things born in the forest always died in the forest.

Her first true assignment had been in the forest, the southernmost area of Piney Woods in fact.

A convict from Gib Lewis Prison had greased himself up and slid out a duct. Lux had thought that was just in the movies, but he had done it and escaped into the woods. She had tracked the man through the trees for a week. The bugs there had never been smaller than the pad of her thumb. The gnats would crawl up her legs, biting. She could feel the sharp sting of their bites still. By the time she found the convict, he was almost dead. Dehydration and exposure had wreaked havoc on his body.

The forest had told her where to find him. A bent twig could be from any animal passing by, but the trees would smell of dog or hog or man. Somehow, she could always tell the difference. The wind would send little whispers of the convict’s voice, even when she was miles away. Lux had a connection to the forest; it was in her blood and her lungs. Even when she was in the city, the forest was always there.

They set up camp at an arc in one of the little feeder streams. It was narrow, but the water ran and was clear. The hot colors of the sun were spreading out on the ground like melted butter. Lux was feeling more pleased with her team than when they started out. She hadn’t heard a single complaint about the pace or how much distance they covered.

Even in the pictures of them that Dr. Stevens had shown her, they had the sun-burnished look of people who could hold their own against the elements. But Lux had learned from the school of hard knocks that people could look different from what they truly were. When she crawled into her hammock that night, she kept her Bowie knife close to her hand. The team wasn’t unified enough for her to trust, and the forest crawled with danger. She knew how to handle that danger, but she knew there was no such thing as being too cautious when in the woods.

It was the moment the sun began to rise the next morning that Lux knew that the trip would not go how she planned. The morning was already saturated in heat. It was the wet heat that sunk down through skin and organs into the bone. There was no dismissing it, no ignoring. She had learned as a small child that the heat had to be accepted, never fought.

Wind rolled through the trees, whistling a haunting tune she hadn’t heard in years. Lux peeked at her watch in the predawn glow. Five thirty. She sighed and looked at the top of her hammock tent. It was a comforting, familiar olive drab. She rolled over and looked out of the mosquito netting. The gray light did not show everything, but it revealed the slow outlines of dark trees and light birds. A squirrel skittered across the ground, just a silent dark.

Fumbling with the zipper, she slid out of her hammock and alighted quietly on the ground. The warm breeze brought to her the smell of sweat and blood and dirt and leaves. There were several deer near them. She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there. By the river, there was the still, slightly silhouetted form of a man sitting. She recognized Ben after a moment and unfroze. He was just sitting there, silent like a still tree. Not a tree. A vulture. Lux craned her head around, but she could not see anything disturbing. The forest didn’t smell or feel like it had witnessed violence.

“You think this trip is useless.”

It wasn’t a question. She squatted down on the sandy bank next to him. She could smell the murky dampness of the water and the mud and the rankling of dried sweat coming from Ben.

“Yes,” she said.

“The others do not,” he said.

“No,” she agreed.

They were quiet. The sun reflected off the water. The forest slowly woke. Lux kept her body relaxed, but she was tense. Something was going to happen soon, she could feel it in her blood.

“You think this trip is useless, but,” his eyes turned to hook hers, “but you know that something out there isn’t natural.”

Lux caught her breath. The air itself was heavy with the weight of something that was just wrong, and he knew it too. “You speak like a shaman or something.”

For the first time Ben smiled.

“When was the first time you realized you would die one day?”

She wasn’t sure whether she should be freaked out or sad. His face was expressionless, an absolutely still mask. She watched his pulse beat even and steady in his throat.

“When I was very small,” she said.

“Me too. This is a trip for people who have realized that.”

Lux shifted uncomfortably. His words didn’t have an innocent ring to them, and Lux was one to always trust her gut. Ben Makarios made her uncomfortable.

“Why are you here?” she said.

He didn’t respond for a minute.

“I’m here for the same reason you are.”

“And what is that?” she said.

His fighting eyes sunk down to the river. He didn’t need to answer because Lux knew it. He could read things like she could, the little details written in invisible ink on trees and wind and faces. But at the same time, there was something very different inside of him. He could read those details like she could, but he saw them differently, of that she was sure.

She watched a bead of sweat roll down his side over the dark green letters of one of his tattoos.

It was something in Greek. The letters were little and square. She looked back up to his face, but his eyes were still very far away.

“Why does nobody here have a next of kin?” she asked.

The sun was bright by then, the gray of the dawn gone. Hot rays burst white into the leaves, shattering yellow all around. Behind them, there was the ripping noise of a zipper being pulled.

Ben looked back to her.

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

He stood, his boots digging into the dirt and his chest flexing.

“I imagine we will move out soon.”

Lux sighed, nodded, and stood along with him. The day was growing up, but her worries were too. Ben had only made the whole adventure more unsettling and strange rather than clearing anything up.

The dark green that enveloped them like water was lush and alive. Lux felt like every leaf was an eye in disguise, watching them, watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake. She led them deeper and deeper into the bristling forest.

“Wait,” Julie called out from the rear of the column.

The group froze; the tension in the forest palpable. All ears scanning for noise.

Lux turned.

“What?” she said, doubling back to come alongside the other woman so that they could speak softly.

Julie stood by a tree, her delicate face scrunched in confusion. The expression made her look much older than she actually was. It was not a look of fear or even of having been shaken up. There was only confusion, and Lux found that reassuring. The tree was a normal tree, so far that Lux could see anyway. But Julie obviously didn’t think so.

“Look at this,” she said.

Lux crouched down close, the rest of the team peering in. There were four thick gouges along the base of the trunk. Lux sniffed at it, ignoring the questioning looks on their faces. She was the tracker and she would track how she wanted. Through the scents of the team’s sweat and deodorant, she caught a whiff of the faint tangy odor of urine. It was weak and barely there, but she was certain.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Julie said. “And I’ve been in the jungles of both South America and Africa.”

“What do you think made it?” Hal asked.

Lux did not miss the excitement in his voice.

“I don’t know; your guess is as good as mine.” Julie was looking nervous again, but she didn’t seem to be freaking out. She examined the ground around the tree carefully. “It’s old, whatever it is.”

“You mean the mark or what made it?”

“The mark,” she confirmed.

Lux stood. She had never seen anything like it either, and since she did not believe in ghouls, ghosts, or anything to do with cryptozoology, there was only one animal that could have caused it in her mind: human. She had no illusions about the type of people who went deep in the woods and never came out. Some were hermits; fine, just anti-social. But there were others, crazy and dark. She had seen them before, tracked a few of them. Hal and Samuel were mumbling to each other excitedly. Julie had taken out a camera and was carefully documenting the scene. Ben was standing, like her, watching the woods. Nothing big moved, just the skittering of squirrels and flutter of birds.

“Julie?” Lux asked.

“Yeah?” She packed the camera away as she peeked up.

“Have you seen any dog or pig prints today?”

“Not since this morning. We crossed an old path used by a pack of dogs at about ten or so.”

Lux nodded.

“That’s what I thought too.”

“Why?”

“Because that would mean that something’s driving them away.”

Ben met her eyes over Julie’s head. She wondered if he actually believed that they were going to find a Bigfoot or if he was there for some other reason. She would have paid half of her earnings from the trip to know that reason. Well, maybe not half, but she might have bought him a beer.

“We should keep moving,” she said. “This is old. It will lead us, but that’s all.”

The wind was picking up, bringing all sorts of interesting scents to her. Lux opened her mouth and put her nose to the wind. The smell of some type of spore came from the east, from where they were headed. Lux pulled out her map and marked the spot where they stood at that moment.

“Ready?” she asked the group at large.

“Did you just sniff the air?” Julie asked.

“Yes.” She felt color in her cheeks.

“What are you, part dog or something?”

Lux shrugged.

“Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I have to stunt my senses.”

No one said anything after that. Fine by her. Humans were annoying.

***

Lux strung her hammock up in the fork of a thick oak, higher up off the ground than usual.

“How’s it going up there?” Hal asked her jokingly as she tied the final knot.

“You should think about it yourself,” she said.

“Why?” Samuel asked, coming over to them.

“Because,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “there’s obviously something in these woods and we don’t know what it is. Until we do, I’m taking the precaution.”

She didn’t care if it was the abominable snowman, Hannibal Lector, or just some backwoods redneck; she wasn’t going to be caught by any one of them at night, at least not without some advance notice.

“You’re kind of paranoid, you know that, right?” Samuel said.

She watched every one of them scale their hammocks higher. Lux slept fitfully. Something was bothering her, and she wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was just all the talk of monsters hiding in the woods, but around three in the morning, she heard something moving. Lux took a deep breath and hoped that it was just one of the team getting up to pee. She hadn’t heard a zipper though. Slowly and oh so carefully, she rolled over to look out of the netting along the sides of her hammock. A shadow moved, just a twitch really. Her breath caught in her throat. It could just be a wild dog, but she didn’t think so. It was too... hulking.

There was only the faintest of rustling noises to accompany it, but her sharp ears picked them up. She watched, frozen in her hammock, as it slunk through the camp, stopping every few feet to snuffle at something. It could be a bear. There was a small black bear population in the woods, she knew.

She tried to reassure herself that it was a bear, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t. There was a humanoid lilt to its gait, comfortable on two legs in a way that bears weren’t. There was no lumbering. It flowed through the night like a raw shadow and nothing else. It was just the night playing tricks on her, she told herself. Too many bug bites and not enough water, that was all. There was just a bear down there and she was tired, imagining things.

The wind tiptoed through the trees, clearing the clouds away. Moonlight streamed down through the dark leaves, illuminating the camp ever so slightly. Lux’s stomach clenched and curdled.

It was a demon. There was no mistaking it, even to Lux’s doubtful mind. She was not religious, but more than anything, she trusted her senses. And those senses were on fire with panic because the thing below was not natural. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Then it was gone, in just one leap into the shadows. The flash of horns. The glow of black fur. The easy gait of something on two legs.

Lux felt bile rise in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

Hoax, hoax, hoax, she told herself.

Dr. Ramsey Stevens was planning an elaborate hoax to become famous. He had rigged the whole thing and sent them into a trap. Bastard.

That was all.

She didn’t go back to sleep that night. She laid, eyes wide, staring at the top of her covered hammock.

The tracker in her wanted to rise immediately and search out the creature, to yank the mask off and reveal a conman. But there was a part of her that did not believe it was a hoax, and that scared her more than anything. Lux made her living by not being afraid of things. She would march headlong into anything and retrieve a person. There was no one and nowhere that could stop her. She had pulled grown men out of their mothers’ basements and delivered them, very illegally, to loan sharks for their beating. She had tracked a woman out of hiding in the northern badlands to stand as a witness against MS-13 violence.

But never had she seen anything like that creature.

The morning was slow to come. It crept like a scared child, inching along the ground. She stayed in her hammock while the darkness lingered, not emerging until she heard someone’s zipper.

Rolling her head, she could see Hal slide out of his hammock and slip to the ground. His dreads were splayed in all sorts of crazy directions, making him look like a sad and wet puppy. His face was calm; he had not seen the thing during the night. Maybe it had just been a bad dream. She clambered out and began untying her hammock. It was a dream, she decided. That was all.

They broke camp after a hurried breakfast. No one seemed very talkative. Lux was relieved.

Her dream, she now believed it to be a dream, had rattled her.

Lux kept her senses sharp as they slid through the forest their third day on the hunt, without sure aim or a clear quarry. They were well within the territory they were looking for, so all that was left was to search for signs of Bigfoot, or as Lux felt sure was more likely, a six foot five, overweight cousin Clem hiding out in a shack.

A few miles further down a gentle incline, a valley in the woods, they found more of the gouges in trees all accompanied with the smell of urine. They were definitely in something’s territory. Lux didn’t like it. Humans could be crazier than monsters of legend. Check weapon. Check safety.

At noon, they stopped on the bank of a small creek to eat. Samuel and Julie were comparing notes taken on the trip and Hal sat with them.

“Those marks are right out of a horror movie,” he said, a grin splitting his tan face.

Lux suppressed a laugh. She had never thought she would hear that kind of a phrase delivered with a smile.

“How’d you get into cryptozoology?” she asked him, inviting herself into the conversation.

He shrugged. “It’s in my blood.”

Lux raised her eyebrows.

“Hunting things may be, but why creatures that don’t exist?”

He grinned again. She wondered if anything upset him.

“Because they do exist. I’ve seen them with my own two eyes. You can’t deny what you see.”

Lux thought of the demon she had dreamed about.

“Perhaps. But you can’t always trust what you see.”

“I can.”

“Do you see that plant there?” she pointed to a thick-stalked weedy plant. “It’s called henbane. It’s full of tropane alkaloids. There are about six hallucinogenic plants around us right now that look almost identical to garden variety weeds that are edible. You could eat one and see the craziest shit and never know you were tripping.”

Hal looked at her curiously.

“You’re a glass half full, aren’t you?”

“Did you hear that?” Julie said.

“It was just a bird,” Hal said.

Lux ignored him.

“What?” she asked Julie.

She was staring into the trees a little to their left.

“I thought...” she trailed off, not finishing.

Lux wasn’t sure whether to listen to her or not. Julie was scared of her own shadow, but at the same time, fear amplified senses. She scanned the forest, looking for anything out of place. There didn’t seem to be anything. Then she saw it. She couldn’t have seen it. But there it was. Unfortunately for her sanity at that particular moment, she was the sole witness.

“Come on,” Samuel said, starting to move forward.

Lux reached out without thinking and clamped her hand around his arm hard, jerking him to a stop. “No.”

Samuel spun in her grip and shook her off.

“You aren’t in charge of this group, Lux.”

She turned her face to him; but didn’t leave the shadows with her gaze.

“Don’t move,” she said. “There is something there.”

A murky green gaze met hers from deep within the trees. Dog eyes, she convinced herself, just dog eyes. They were certainly not human eyes. Even from the distance of fifty or so yards, that much was obvious.

“Where?” Ben said, quiet enough that it was almost sub-vocalized.

“My twelve o’clock, your two.”

He found the eyes instantly. She saw the hair along his arms stand up. The hot sun was low in the sky behind them, reflecting into the far away eyes.

“What should we do?” Julie asked.

Lux was relieved when her voice didn’t sound shaky. Fear was never a good thing to face the forest with.

“We could keep moving, see if it follows us?” Hal suggested.

The excitement in his voice was back in full force. There was silence. One minute, not even that, when barely anyone breathed. Then the eyes were gone. The forest was empty of anything but Lux and her team. The green glow was simply not there anymore. There was no transition. There, not there. The team stayed motionless, afraid to be the one to move first. Julie was reaching out her left hand, frozen in place as if she was in the motion of grasping for Smith’s sleeve.

“Let’s move,” she said. “Just keep an eye out for anything.”

The evening was drawing in, but there was no good place to stop. Lux knew that they could not keep going in the dark. They were tired and the night was full of too many dangers to count, but she wanted to find a very, very safe place.

“Here,” she finally said.

The tree she stopped in front of was so thick that if all five of them joined hands, they probably could not create a circumference around it.

They hung their hammocks in a tight row that night, each within arm’s reach of the next. It was a set up similar to when Lux was a kid and she took to the woods with her cousins. They would sleep close for the same reason, scared of invisible boogeymen.

“Do you believe in monsters?” her older cousin Janie had asked.

“No!” Lux had exclaimed with all the courage of a seven year old.

“Good,” Janie had grinned. She lowered her voice. “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

Lux hadn’t slept that night. Every sound had been Godzilla oozing out of his festering hole to come and eat her alive. Of course she had never confessed that.

Ben was perched next to her.

“Do you think it was a dog?”

Her eyes trailed across his face carefully.

“No,” she said finally.

A grin, small but there, flitted across his face.

“But you don’t believe in monsters.”

“No,” she said carefully, knowing that he was setting up some word trap and that she was going to fall into it.

“We’re hunting Bigfoot, you know that.”

“Yes, that doesn’t mean I think that the idea is any less ridiculous.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You first,” she said, desperately curious.

His face was blank, a meticulously controlled coating over the surface of his skin to hide his thoughts. It only strengthened her curiosity.

“Why do you think I’m here?”

“Why are you evading the question?”

He laughed shortly. “You were a skip tracer. So you read people just like you read this forest.”

She nodded.

“Your job is to take us to the monster’s lair. Smith’s job is to make sure it’s humanoid or whatever. Julie’s job is to confirm that whatever we find isn’t just an escaped gorilla and to keep us from accidentally poisoning ourselves. Hal’s here because he knows how to search for things that don’t exist.”

“That is all true.”

He fell silent.

Lux didn’t break it, just watched him. His thick eyebrows were crunched down over his face almost violently. The bronzed color of his skin almost shone in the night. His eyes flitted back to her and she blushed, feeling like she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. But she didn’t look away.

“That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”

He cocked his head. “I suppose I’m Stevens’ insurance policy.”

A small river of cold rippled through her. Lux had been an insurance policy before, and it was never a good thing. Good for her, but never for anyone else involved. She shivered.

“Your turn.” He said.

“My turn, what?”

“Why are you here tracking an animal that you don’t believe in?”

She hesitated.

“I needed the money,” she finally said.

“How do you find something you don’t believe in?”

“I can find anything,” she boasted. “There’s something here. I don’t believe in fucking Bigfoot, but certainly there is something here. I can find what is here, be it Bigfoot or just a couple of hermits.”

“What happens if this is a hoax?”

The cold shivered through her again. If it was a hoax and they found out, the insurance policy might sentence them to something she didn’t even want to imagine.

“I don’t care what’s out there,” she said. It was mostly the truth. “I would lead us right back out of here and let everyone else deal with it. I just want the money so I can get out.”

“Get out of what?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

She had forgotten she was talking to someone like herself, someone who read the slightest movement, inflection, word. She had to be careful around him. Ben said nothing. Lux turned her brown eyes to the woods and away from Ben. She felt like in any other situation they would have perhaps been friends. He was too much like her, though. The situation was tense, and he was the insurance policy. There solely to ensure Dr. Stevens’ interests were served, by everyone, even if it meant… what? That he would kill them? Lux decided she’d rather not know, but felt reassured by the weight of the pistol on her hip.

“When did you start tracking?” Ben asked after a while.

The sun was set and the darkness was there like spilled ink. Lux sighed. She didn’t like talking about her life. It wasn’t something that she had much pride in.

“I was seventeen when I started doing it professionally.”

He looked surprised; the darkness couldn’t hide it.

“That’s young.”

She shrugged.

“It’s what I’m good at, and people knew it.”

The silence was filled with the low buzz of bugs in the night. Lux didn’t feel the need to say anything and nor, apparently, did Ben. Soft snores came from at least two of the other three hammocks, but she was awake, wide awake.

“Are you from Texas?” she asked eventually.

“No.”

She didn’t press for more information, and he didn’t give it.

“Why don’t you believe in monsters?”

Lux pondered her answer. She didn’t want to just say because it’s ridiculous, but that was her honest answer.

“I’ve been on cryptid hunts before,” she said. “They were hoaxes or drunkards or other human errors. I believe in evidence.”

“I think it’s out there,” Ben said quietly, “and whatever it is, it isn’t natural.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Chapter Three

Prints; strange, bowed and clawed, wove faintly through the trees. Lux tied her bushy blonde hair back and squatted down to examine them. She was no biologist, but she was sure that there was something strange about them. She had seen the prints from every animal that crawled through the woods, and these were made by none of them.

“Hey, Julie,” she called out, “come look at these.”

Julie hurried over, the three men jumbling and jostling behind her for the best view over the girls’ shoulders.

“What?” she asked, squatting down next to Lux.

“Take a look at these prints and tell me what you think.”

Julie pulled out her camera and ruler and started snapping away.

“I don’t recognize them. There are two, actually three, individuals here, I think,” she said, using her pinky to outline different prints.

The selection looked random, but Julie clearly knew what she was talking about or Dr. Stevens wouldn’t have assignedher the spot.

“It rained, night before,” Lux mumbled.

Julie nodded.

“They’re fresh,” she confirmed. “Like last night or something.”

“Whatever made them probably weighed about as much as us,” Samuel said, nudging his head between them.

Lux frowned at him, scooting away. There was about a hundred pound difference between Julie and Hal. Julie stood five foot nothing and Hal probably topped six-three. The prints had more variety than most in the animal kingdom then. Lux stood, Julie and Samuel following suit. The five exchanged glances.

“Well,” Lux said after a moment, voicing what they were all thinking, “let’s follow them.”

She looked at Ben last. His still eyes and smooth face gave nothing away, which made her nervous like Julie. The wind was quiet. The birds were quiet. The forest was silent. Lux walked like a cat, her feet alighting upon the ground with still air. The others were equally cautious, the still woods bringing to life all the fears that lurked shadowy in the human mind. In dead-still woods, they walked silent as the grave for hours. The prints wound through the trees in seemingly random patterns, but they were going purposefully east, deeper and deeper and deeper. The darkness grew, as did the frequency of tracks they found.

“There are definitely five,” Julie said. “See how this one is missing a toe? This is a longer print over here.”

“Let’s stop early,” Lux said, eyeing another hefty tree thirty or forty yards from the path. “I don’t want to be wandering the woods in twilight with something I don’t know about.”

“Ha! Big bad hunter girl, are you afraid?” Samuel sneered.

Lux pinned him with angry eyes.

“Aren’t anthropologists supposed to be likable?”

Samuel opened his mouth with an angry wrench of the jaw and was about to respond when Ben cut in. “We’ll stop here. Is that a problem?”

Lux decided that Ben would be useful to keep around. She was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles, she wouldn’t be alive otherwise, but she was fine with letting Ben deal with Samuel. Samuel dropped the issue.

“Can I see those pictures you took of the prints?” Hal said to Julie.

Lux strung up her hammock and ignored everyone. She was ready for the trip to end. She wanted to get out of the woods, of Texas and of tracking. She could start over with the money from the trip, go wherever she wanted. Washington State had always interested her. It was beautiful there, new. She flicked a mosquito off of her arm. The little red smear it left looked like a tree branching out in tiny thin feelers. The bugs in Piney Woods were what drove people crazy. She didn’t care how many monsters hid in the trees; the danger was in the bugs. They gnawed at the skin, impossible to stop. With a yawn, she slithered back down to the fire. Hal divvied up a portion of hot beans from the camp cooking gear for her, which she took with a smile, but wished it was a steak and a beer.

Hal was apparently thinking the same thing.

“I don’t think I want to see beans for a while when this is done.”

“Me neither,” Julie agreed quickly.

“Beans, beans, the musical fruit. The more you eat, the more you toot. The more you toot, the better you feel. So we have beans at every meal!” Hal sang, and they all, even Samuel and Ben, joined in for the second verse, “Beans, beans, they’re good for your heart. The more you eat, the more you fart. The more you fart, the better you feel. So we have beans at every meal!”

Lux couldn’t help it. She snorted all over her beans and Julie laughed out loud. Her laugh was clean and clear and light like a fairy. Even Ben smiled, teeth showing in a white line. The night stayed quiet and simple, lulling the weary travelers to sleep with the skittering of nocturnal animals and chirruping insects. Lux slept the whole night through, exhausted from the day’s travels. Bigfoot could have waltzed through the camp with a whole troop of traveling musicians and she probably would have snoozed right through.

Daybreak brought the fresh smell of brief summer rain. Lux yawned widely, pulled herself up and began to pack up the hammock. Leftover water droplets clung to everything and she had to snap the hammock out several times before she could roll it up. But the cool morning air and the chipper scent made it impossible for her to feel irritated. She scaled her way down the tree, and then turned to watch Hal come down. He was worth bringing along just to watch him climb trees because he moved as comfortably through the trees as well as a goat attempting ballet. She was certain he had at least a dozen splinters in each hand by the time he reached the bottom and that was clearly why he was always so quiet in the mornings as they walked; he was picking them out with his teeth.

When the Hal entertainment was over, she squatted down next to Julie and began to eat her power bar breakfast.

“How’d you sleep?” she said, around a mouthful of oats and fruit.

Julie shrugged.

“I thought I heard something moving around all night, but it was probably just Hal or Sam. They snore a lot.”

“I never!” Hal insisted, coming to sit with them. Lux was pleased to see him handling his power bar gingerly.

Julie gave a watery smile.

“Sure, and your breath is always minty fresh too!” Hal mugged, and made a show of cupping a hand to his mouth and grimacing.

Lux didn’t say anything. She remembered the creature she thought she dreamed the night before, its dark body, smooth gait, thick horns. She remembered the quiet noises it had made. Was there a chance that she had not dreamed it? No, she decided. There was no chance that she hadn’t dreamed it. Demons were never real; she knew that. They broke camp and Lux quickly found the trail of the animals again. It was thinner, partially washed away by the light rain. Lux cut a quick pace, hoping to follow it as deep as they could; moving uphill, there was a greater chance of the land being exposed to the elements, and therefore of the trail going completely cold. It was only thirty minutes before they came across a fresh print atop the old ones. No one moved. Five pairs of eyeballs were glued to the raised and pressed dirt, scanning the ground for the next print, which Lux with her experienced eye found first. The new route ran away from the first, down deeper into the forest.

“Um.”

Julie poked her head around Lux’s shoulder.

“Yeah, um,” Lux agreed.

“So, that means whatever made these tracks is less than a day ahead of us, right? If the print is laid in fresh mud…” she trailed off leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Yeah,” Lux agreed again. “Let’s go, but quietly. Follow only in my exact footsteps. Whatever it is we’re tracking knows these woods better than we do. No deviation from my path, got it?”

“Yeah,” everyone said almost in unison.

At half the usual pace, Lux led the party down, following a near random, twisting route that nearly circled the bluff the first set of tracks had followed, then doubled back on itself, and again. It was infuriating, animals rarely behaved like this, being creatures of habit in the main. Animals hunted the same spots, went to the same places to get water. They liked routine, just like humans did. Two hours passed in this slow pursuit, but before long and without warning, the tracks disappeared entirely.

Lux swore under her breath, the low curses reaching the others’ ears.

“What?” Samuel said, his previous animosity gone for the moment, presumably thanks to the progress they had made.

“The tracks, they stop,” she growled, scanning the dirt. Tracks didn’t just stop. She had been neck deep in the woods for her whole life. Tracks didn’t just disappear, not when there was nowhere to go.

Then she saw it, the heel of one of the prints disappearing into the brush to the side of the trail.

Crouching low, she followed the path, weaving around the bush.

“Here,” she mumbled to the rest, following the faint pattern.

“I don’t see anything,” Julie frowned.

“It’s here, I swear,” Lux said, skimming the ground.

A cracked twig here, a dip in the ground there. She came up face to face with a thick tree trunk. There were little nicks in it like claw marks, but nothing as clear as what they had found earlier. She craned her head back, scouring the trees for any form at all that shouldn’t be there. High up in one corner, there rested a leafy squirrel nest, but nothing else.

She swore again. How could she have been so stupid?

“It took to the trees,” she told the concerned looking team.

“Can you track it in the trees?” Samuel said.

Lux, just for a moment, hated him.

“No,” she ground out. “I cannot.”

What a ridiculous question. What they really should be concerned about is what kind of animal moves for miles on the ground, and then takes to the branches and moves amongst them like a chimpanzee? She regarded the upper branches, warily now. Where she had felt the rise of the predatory blood in her when following footprints on the ground; now the tables had turned on her. Danger could come from above. Samuel sneered derision at her, but before he could say anything, Hal piped up from the back of the group.

“We should follow the old trail then.”

As reluctant as she was to take orders other than her own, she knew he was right.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Come on.”

The trail went nowhere fast. They walked all day, going in random loops and twists. Something smelled wrong to Lux. The air played through her mouth, tantalizing her with the knowledge that something was off, but not telling her what it was. She had always been able to read the forest like that, feeling its moods.

“Hey,” Ben said to her, quietly. “You look like a cat.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically.

“When cats do it, it’s called a grimace.”

“Something seems off.”

“What do you see?” he asked, the joking tone gone.

“I don’t know, nothing. And it’s driving me nuts. Something is very strange about this place, I can taste it.”

She scanned the trees over and over like she was reading the same message and not understanding it. But the message was there, she knew it was. Somewhere hidden out there, the trees were trying to tell her something. But it was hidden away in a code she did not speak.

“There is a disturbance,” Ben agreed, his face pointed out deep into the forest. “I just don’t know what it is either.”

She looked away from the forest and into his eyes. There was definitely the same ability lurking down in there that she had. She wondered what insurance policy had really meant. When she was the insurance policy, it meant she was the heavy weight when the situation called for it. She had been told to kill people if needed before; luckily it had never come to that, though close. There had been a few times where she had her pistol at a man’s temple, the metal warm from her body and pressing deep into his skin. There was the same steel, the same almost meanness in his eyes. It was a necessary meanness.

It was the kind of determination, the will, that pushed things; that made things happen. He could be the heavy weight. He could be the killer. But he could also keep them on track. Maybe that was why he was there, just to keep the peace. Maybe he was there just to track the group as she tracked the creature.

She hesitated, then said, “Do you really believe that there’s something out there, something like Bigfoot?”

Ben didn’t say anything for several long seconds. His eyes stayed on her face, tracing the lines there. “You mean a ‘real’ mythical creature?”

She nodded.

“Yes,” he said, simply. She felt like it was the first honest answer he had given her, the first honest answer that meant anything. She swallowed. Maybe she could push her luck. “Why?”

Ben smiled slightly and shook his head.

“See, I knew you would ask that.”

“Are you going to answer?”

“Maybe.”

She took a deep breath, hiding her frustration. Why? Why couldn’t he just give her a straight answer? Was it really that hard?

“Why don’t you? Answer for an answer?” she asked.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed. “I answered yours first. Your turn.”

Lux thought about arguing, but she was too curious.

“Because,” she said, “there’s nothing we’ve seen that a human could not easily recreate.”

“You don’t believe that.”

No, she didn’t.

“Yes, I do.”

“Lux, you’re not a great liar. I am.”

She looked away. There was no other answer. She did not want to believe that something as ridiculous as Bigfoot haunted these woods. There would be more substantial evidence for it based on what they were finding.

“I believe there is because…” He hesitated. “Because there is evidence.”

Lux gave him a sad smile.

“You’re not that good a liar, Makarios.”

He laughed. It was not a happy sound, but she couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Touché.”

“Do over?” she asked, and Ben nodded his assent.

“Why did Dr. Stevens select you as the insurance policy?”

“I’ve worked for him before, successfully. I make sure things stay on track when people lose their heads. My turn. Why did he select you as the tracker?”

“I don’t know, probably because I could do the job and most trackers are more selective about the contracts they take. I was desperate. Have you seen what it is that we are looking for?”

“Yes,” he said, slowly meeting her eyes. “Why?”

“It comes here by night.” It was not a question.

“You’ve seen it too.” His was not a question either.

She didn’t say anything. There was no point, because he was right.

Minutes of silence passed as the trail wound on.

“It can’t be real though.” Lux said.

Ben shrugged.

“The woods, they change reality.”

The woods had always been reality for Lux. The city was a weird state of dreaming to go and visit, but the trees stood as an army forever. But Ben was right. Humans only wrote the rules under city skies surrounded by metal and concrete, rules that couldn’t always be followed in the forest.

“Why though?” Lux mumbled. “Why are they here? Why are they out there?”

Ben laughed. “I’m not God.”

Lux smiled weakly.

“Good to know. He might come strolling by any minute.”

***

It was nearing evening when the marked trees began to show up again. The marks were deeper, older, repeated. The marking stench around them was getting stronger too. The smell was thicker and wilder, almost making anyone who sniffed it too closely to involuntarily gag.

“We’re getting close to something,” Lux said to Julie, eyeing the sky around them.

She had not been pleased to know they could take to the trees. Julie was on her haunches, untangling something from the root of one of the trees.

“I don’t like it,” Samuel said as he drew up next to her.

“No,” she agreed, “nor do I.”

“Look at this,” Julie said, holding something up. It was mud encrusted, which hid the form of the object somewhat.

“What is it?” Lux said, leaning in close.

“A necklace?” Julie said.

It could have been a necklace. A dull and rather shapeless lump of rock hung from a leather strip. The leather was rough, a length of animal skin perhaps, that had been treated with feces and dried in the sun. There was what appeared to be a hole worn through the middle of the small rock, shaped by something about the size of a man’s finger, and that was what it was strung through.

Samuel looked at it like he had found a shaft of gold in the middle of west Harlem. Lux stepped back and let him take over. He was, after all, the anthropologist.

“Lux,” Ben said very low, almost whispering. The other three were still inspecting the stone jewelry. “Come look at this.”

The look in his eyes was one she had to follow. He knew something, and she had to know what that was. “This,” he mumbled, reaching and pulling the thick branch of a low and bushy tree aside. It took Lux several long moments to absorb what she was looking at. Stacked in a neat pillar, a cairn of stones stood. She looked up at Ben. He let the leaves fall to mostly hide the stack again. It was easy to see how she missed it; the light dappled color of the stones hid them naturally. Ben was like her. He saw.

“What is it?” she managed to get out.

“I don’t know, but it’s too human for comfort,” Ben said.

“There could be people,” she insisted.

Ben raised a dark eyebrow.

“Where did you see any human signs, anything that would suggest intelligent life other than that lump they’re marveling over? If this is human, it’s from a culture that is totally untouched by modern society. This is Texas, not the Amazon.”

Lux swallowed deeply, and drank a little water from her nearly depleted supply.

“Should we tell the others?”

She was surprised he would ask her that.

“You’re the insurance policy,” she said before she could stop herself. His face clouded. “So I should be asking you,” she hurried, but it was too late.

“Let’s just go,” he said irritably. But as he stepped back, he bumped the brush again and she saw beyond it. He turned to face the others and took a step, the brush swallowing her view rapidly.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing for him with one hand and reaching forward with the other.

“Are those... graves?” Ben asked. The carefully placed rocks were deliberately organized into neat rows, perhaps a half dozen of them in a cleared area of the woods. A cleared area, which meant that somebody, or something, had done the clearing.

“What else could they be?” Lux said.

“We need Samuel for this.” Ben crept through the brush and silently gained Smith’s attention and brought him to Lux.

“What?” he snapped. “That artifact is clear evidence of intelligent life!”

“Keep your voice down, damn it!” Lux said in a whisper. “You’re going to want to see this.”

He muttered some choicer expletives under his breath, his eyebrows forming a formidable furrow on his face.

“What?” he groused again, clearly wanting to go back to the jewelry.

Ben pulled aside the dark vegetation to reveal the unsettling scene before them.

“You tell us,” Lux said.

Smith exclaimed, far too loudly and barged through the vegetative barrier, accompanied by Hal, who had followed him to see the new discovery. Ben and Lux went around, leaving the foliage undisturbed and Julie followed suit. Three other stone pillars marked a small rectangle of land, and smooth rocks a foot high and clearly selected for their uniformity jabbed up from the earth like fingertips of some giant statue, buried deep underground and attempting to claw his way out. The rows were neat and tidy, measured. There was no writing on them, although they all bore a number of gouges, similar to those already seen on tree trunks, but without any urine stench.

Samuel turned to Lux.

“We need to stay here and document this, right away. This could be the anthropological find of the century. With the information we can get here, we’re going to be incredibly famous, do you understand? I’m talking Nobel Prize level of fame here.”

His eyes lit up with the scholar’s thirst for information. Lux feared it, it was the same fervor radical preachers and political extremists had when soapboxing.

“Mark this place on the map. We’ll come back in the morning,” she said.

The look on his face was that of a disappointed child. Then it hardened into anger.

“We need to see if we can find any of these creatures and see them alive,” Lux said, before Samuel could say anything. “And we are not splitting up.”

“It’s almost night; we should make camp, and we should make it here,” Samuel said hopefully.

Lux frowned. They could cover more ground if they kept going for another hour or so.

“We’re not spending the night in a graveyard. We don’t know what it is, or who tends it.”

“I thought you weren’t superstitious? Yeah, ok, it looks like a graveyard to our eyes, but who knows what it is. Could just as easily be a stone circle, like they had in Celtic Europe,” Hal said, with wryness in his smile.

Lux shrugged.

“Do you want to spend the night in this?”

Julie inched towards Lux, “No. Lux is right; this isn’t a good spot, at all.”

“Then let’s move out. We can still cover quite a bit. We’ll come back, Sam.”

She could tell by his face that he didn’t believe her, but went along with the will of the group. Perhaps he wasn’t quite so unreasonable as Lux had thought. Passionate, fervent for sure, but maybe he could be reasoned with.

***

The tree they slept in wasn’t marked up with unknown territory gouges, but it was in the minority of the trees in this area, and they had had to move a half mile or so to the south before they found a suitable place to make camp. Lux didn’t feel any more comfortable in the tree than she did on the ground, but it didn’t matter. They would be safe, or they wouldn’t, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

She strung up her hammock tent and squatted on the branch, tiredness in her bones leaking out.

She really should have pulled herself out of the tracking business a long time ago. Maybe set up her own guide company or hunting outpost in Alaska and had younger, dumber guides working for her. Something to strive for, she guessed.

Her fingers found the charms she wore around her neck. The thin dog tag was just like one of the graves out there in the trees, only they were unnamed. Her brother had at least been recorded when he died. His name was cast forever in the steel of the tag and the marble of his grave up in Corsicana. The indentations always felt rough when she touched them, the name standing out so strong like a part of his soul was in it. Lux did not believe in that, but she wished she did. The tag in itself was not her brother, and she desperately wanted it to be. Ben watched her. Lux let the tag go and the lump of charms disappeared into her shirt, the sweaty collar swallowing them hungrily. The thump of metal braced against her skin, reminding her why she had left the woods in the first place.

“Whose were those?” Ben’s voice said from a branch a few feet over her head.

Lux looked into the gnarled eyes of a tree far away. The swirls of bark almost gave it a perfect human face, but it was miserable and a little angry, so she looked away.

“My brother,” she said finally. “He was in Afghanistan. Probably the only member of my family to do anything good. Not that that war is anything good, but you know what I mean. He believed in serving his country, and he got repaid with an IED because he was in a country he shouldn’t have been in.”

She stopped herself. It would be too easy to continue, which would lead to an argument with someone in the team for sure who didn’t share in her liberal views on interventionist foreign policy. This was Texas after all.

“My sister died in war,” he said, something in his eyes moving like a snake in water. It was a sad look, but one that held the slickness of the city. “But not overseas.”

Lux looked from his face to one of the tattoos on his arm. She knew the symbol, but she also knew not to say it out loud. Tracking had pulled her into the gang world a long time ago. Staying unaffiliated had been the hard part and key to her continued survival. Ben saw where she looked. “You’ve tracked one of them before, haven’t you?”

Lux said nothing.

“I got out,” he said, knowing what she was thinking. The sun was setting bloody on his face. “I got out when I started working for Stevens.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she said.

“Just making conversation.”

She smiled, but there was no happiness in it.

“True. I have tracked some cartel members. I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. All I’d done prior to that was haul some missing kids out of a forest and some petty thieves out of their buddies’ attics. Kinda threw me for a loop.”

“That was right after, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. When Jonathan died, Lux ran, leaving all her contacts with the cartel behind.

“Yes,” she said, but it came out very quietly.

“It probably saved your life.”

“Yes, I think it did,” she agreed.

He was silent, staring out into the wild. She could see it in him too, permeating his being, the wild. It was there, a strong wind that blew right out of most people. But his skin was strong enough to hold it in. He was like her.

She let her fingers skim the necklace.

“This was my mother,” she said, the bent cross showing. She didn’t know why she was talking, but it was like she suddenly couldn’t help it. And she told the truth. “She died when my little sister Trix was born.”

“Trix, Lux, Jonathan.”

“Trix is short for Bellatrix. It means warlike. She’s gentle as a lamb though. I think we were misnamed. She should have been Lux.”

“You don’t wear anything from her?”

Lux shrugged, still partially confused why she was even telling him any of it. “I’ve got this locket, and there’s a picture of her in it. There’s me and her and John and our mother.”

“Where’s your sister?” Ben asked, his eyes curious but innocent. He was curious just for the sake of it, and Lux relaxed in the feeling of not having to gauge political motivations.

“She went to New York; still there, last I heard. We don’t talk.”

Ben looked at her questioningly, but she wasn’t going to talk about her and Trix. He had the sense not to ask. Something felt very tight in her throat, and she knew she should not have spoken of her family. That was her rule for a reason. She would never see Trix again, and she had adapted to knowing that, but it did not make the idea more comfortable.

“My father taught me tracking,” Lux said, the words spilling like a tipped glass. She pulled the locket out into the air and nearer to Ben. “He tried to teach all of us, but it only really caught with me.”

Ben continued. “My mother taught my brother, who taught me. She was from El Salvador, never learned English.

“My father was in and out of prison most of the time we were young, and when he was out he wasn’t around. Julian was seven years older than me, hauled me after him everywhere.” Ben had half a smile at the memory, just barely visible in the moonlight.

Where is he now? she wanted to ask, but she didn’t. Ben already answered that with his tense face.

But he saw the question on her face.

“He went home,” he said.

Going home, she had learned on her first tracking assignment with Ben’s old gang, meant suicide.

***

Lux did not like the morning the instant she woke. Whatever had been wrong in the air for the past several days was much stronger. The musky scent in the air had her gagging out the side of her hammock, her stomach dry-heaving its empty contents. They had penetrated too deep into forbidden territory, and now the very air itself was angry. Lux was glad they had left the graveyard. There was a sullenness in the air over breakfast and as they broke camp. The heavy smell of anger and animal permeated every thought, and Lux was sure she felt the cold rake of unnatural eyes on the back of her neck the whole time.

“Where are we headed?” Hal asked.

“East,” Lux grunted.

“Why?” Samuel said.

“Because I said so,” Lux said.

“That’s not good enough.” Hal dropped his pack from his hand, demanding an answer.

“Hey, we follow the tracker, so deal with it,” Ben interjected,shutting down any argument.

Lux tied her pack up and set off, the others following. The watched feeling only increased, along with the soporific, cloying smell infesting the forest. A nagging fear – no, not fear, more subtle than that, a gloaming dread – swelled and bit away at Lux. What if there were monsters in the forest? She had never considered it before, but flashes of the horns she had seen by night flitted through her brain. Those horns had definitely been there, and definitely had not been natural. Whatever she had seen had not been natural, couldn’t be an animal born out of evolution. Bipedal, with horns. That didn’t make sense. And that scared Lux. They had only been walking for about thirty minutes before Julie called a halt. “Guys, wait,” she said.

“What?” Lux said, trying not to let her annoyance crawl into her voice. She was not annoyed with Julie per se, more the situation. Being turned from predator to prey was not in the mission brief.

“I don’t like this. Can you guys feel it? It’s like… the air pressure before a thunderstorm, but the sky is clear.”

“This is what we’re looking for,” Hal said excitedly.

Julie gave him an incredulous look. “But did you really expect to find it?”

“Yeah, why else would I have come?” Everyone looked at Hal.

“You’re the only one then,” Samuel said.

“We came out here to find Bigfoot. So we’re going to find something because I’ve worked with Stevens before. He doesn’t make mistakes. He says there’s something here,” he shrugged, “then something’s here.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see it and then go, I guess,” said Julie.

“I really don’t like this,” Julie said. “We have no idea what we’re walking into here. We should be cautious.”

“After today or tomorrow, we’re headed back,” Lux said. “We’ve found evidence, and that’s what we’ll do today, find more. Then all that’s left to do is leave.”

Even as she spoke, Lux saw a flash of dark movement in the trees.

Keep calm, she told herself, keep calm. It wasn’t working. It was stupid to be afraid of something in the woods. She had been in much worse situations, much more dangerous situations. But there was an eerie feeling to the forest that made it absolutely impossible to calm down. It was the fear of the prey animal, when faced with something larger, smarter, and more dangerous than itself.

She patted her holster, finding the reassuring weight of her pistol. The solid feel of it let her pull in a deep breath that pushed her lungs open.

She looked across Julie to Ben. His bird eyes were dark, almost supernatural in their own right. He had seen it, too. But the other three were oblivious. Fools! They had not paid attention, and now they would not believe even if Lux and Ben both told the group what they had seen.

Lux felt a panic swelling and billowing in her. She had to find a way to lead them out without becoming Bigfoot’s next meal or garden decoration. The absurdity of Bigfoot stalking them was gone, replaced by the very real sensation of terror. Lux started a loop to lead them back around to the west. There was safety the way they had come, she hoped. They were deep in the creatures’ territory now, so they just had to navigate their way out of it, as a little boat must run before the coming hurricane.

Chapter Four

She failed. Despite her best efforts to lead them to salvation, the devil himself had cornered them, not far from where they had camped the night before. It had been a mistake to pass this close to the graveyard. With her team in single file behind her, she stood frozen, gazing into green eyes wilder than the wild trapped inside of her and Ben. No one moved, all of the others could now see what Lux and Ben had already witnessed. Lux couldn’t feel her hand as it gripped the butt of her pistol, she wasn’t sure if she could even draw it, let alone fire. Intelligence, mean and flickering brightly, shone from the eyes holding her. If she moved, it would charge, she knew that. But if she stayed, it would eventually do something. The creature stood just taller than her, pale brown fur standing up along its shoulders. It was dappled like a hyena, horned like a goat, built like a bear.

Its mouth was prickled yellow with teeth that made her want to throw up in horror. Nature had certainly never made such a creature. But there was another behind it. Slightly darker, slightly larger. It looked hungry, as all wild predators did when faced with an easy meal.

Lux felt like she should say something, but it was a beast, no matter how humanoid the eyes were. And beasts could not speak. The dark music of the wind and the wild stirred the forest, sucking more of the beasts out from the trees.

There was no getting out of this, she realized. They would die right where they stood. Their blood would turn the dirt red for only a few days. Then the Texan heat, wild, and weather would erase their remains. Lux felt a hysterical laugh brim and bubble up her esophagus. Maybe it was vomit.

“Stand opposite of how it is, mirror it,” Samuel said, his voice high and sudden in the stillness.

Lux expected a war to break out at the simple sound, but nothing happened. The creatures exchanged looks, intelligent looks, she reminded herself. Samuel’s words sunk in.

The beast held a strange posture of being curled forward. His shoulders were hunched to offer protection to his chest, and his head was thrust forward and downwards slightly. Lux sucked in a deep breath and decided she didn’t have anything to lose. She jutted her shoulders back and tilted her head to expose her neck slightly. The angle was small as she could not bring herself to completely bare her skin to the beast. The creature advanced to within a couple of feet, close enough to touch and close enough to smell the damp animal stink of it and Lux stiffened with fear, but held her ground, her heart bounding in her chest and blood pounding in her ears. The wait was agonizing hours, though perhaps only a moment or two, until the beast let his stance drop into something more relaxed looking, though not by much.

He took a step forward and reached out. His fingers were claw tipped, but fingers all the same. One thick claw grazed the taut skin of her neck, and caught on the chain hanging from it.

He bared his teeth and gave the chain a slight tug, though not enough to break it. The sight of all of those sharp teeth so close to her almost made Lux soil herself.

“I think he wants the necklace we found,” Samuel said.

Lux didn’t care where the conclusion had come from, anything to get those teeth away from her face. “Then please get it, at once.”

Her voice cracked with the stress, but the beast didn’t move. His face was vaguely simian, although what she had thought had been horns were in fact merely boney protuberances of the skull, still covered with flesh, skin and fur. These didn’t quite correspond to the legends of the Bigfoot she had been told as a child. Another of the creatures crept forward, this one clearly a female from the swollen teats on her chest. She was dark, almost blacker than pitch, her fur like night wrapped around a strange body.

The male gave the chain another tug and his other hand, for it was a hand, landed on the female’s back, just where her neck ended and her shoulders began.

In the voice of an earthquake, the male said one meaningless yet unmistakable word.

“Taj.”

“Do you have the necklace yet?” Lux demanded, again in a croak that she kept as calm as she possibly could, given the circumstances. Clearly, in their human error the team had stolen the female’s necklace. Lux guessed that these… beings, not animals, had no concept of keeping things in a container, or wardrobe. Hell, that tree that they had found the necklace on might well be a wardrobe to them.

“It’s on Julie somewhere.”

Hal’s voice came from behind her. Great, her life lay in the hands of the packing skills of a botanist.

Movement rustled behind her. Lux did not move a centimeter. The beast had no weapon on him, just the claws. The claws were more than enough. She felt like she was at gunpoint. In fact, she would prefer gunpoint.

“Here,” Hal’s voice whispered in her ear, and the ape-man’s eyes darted to where Hal had moved, over Lux’s left shoulder, and bared his teeth in a snarl. The leather touched her hand and she closed her fingers around it. She brought it out, the shapeless rock dangling down. Every beastly eye sunk through the air to land on the rough stone.

“Here,” Lux said with a gasp, holding it out to them. In a moment, the female was upon her, but the killing blow never came, and when Lux’s right hand was only halfway through drawing her pistol, the necklace was tugged free of her fingers, and she had bounded back to join their three fellows, waiting in the tree line.

The female’s sharp fingers cradled the stone reverently. There was no mistaking reverence, and Lux could see it in every eye, every warped face and body. The hanging rock meant much to them. The male met her eyes again. His breath whistled between his glistening teeth, wafting the scent of fetid meat and decay over Lux’s nose. He grimaced in a threatening brace of teeth. One curved claw ran delicately along the line of her clavicle, nicking just the tip and bringing a trickle of blood to the surface of her skin. It was a warning, and Lux had no trouble understanding that. He stepped back, and then again. The rest of the creatures melted into the forest, their glowing eyes disappearing one by one and then all at once until just the male and female stood in the shade of stout oak.

Then they, too, were gone.

Lux braced her hands on her knees and retched on the foliage covered ground. She was a girl of the forest, but her fear betrayed her. Panting, she reached for her canteen to rinse away the filth.

***

They did not stop for lunch and kept walking well into the night, although in the dark they had not made as much distance as Lux had hoped. Whilst time had calmed her, she could still taste the creature’s breath on her, and the scratch on her chest itched. Perhaps she had been poisoned, some foul toxin that the creatures carried in their deadly fingers. When they finally stopped, the low glow of the moon was the only light they had to string their hammocks up by. Lux was relieved to have the others there, their hammocks rocking gently into hers in the breeze and restlessness of their sleep. But Lux did not sleep. Her eyes would not close.

All she could see when she stared at the solid overhead in her hammock was a pair of glowing green eyes. That intelligent face was there, burned into her open eyes with an invisible cattle brand.

***

The morning brought no respite.

“We need to go back to the graveyard,” Samuel said.

“Are you nuts?” Julie said. Her face was pale and sunken, which actually made Lux feel a little better about her own mental state. At least she wasn’t alone in madness and fear.

“We need proof,” Samuel insisted.

“We have this proof,” Hal said, his thick finger gesticulating wildly to Lux’s neck. “They did that to get back a lost necklace. What’s going to happen when you go in and dig up a body?”

Samuel did not say anything, but Lux could see he was still just as determined.

“Look,” she said. “I’m leading everyone out, and I’m leading everyone out now. We don’t split up, and you aren’t calling the shots. We have photographs of the graveyard, and we have a map leading directly to it. Stevens can send someone else in.”

“We’re going back,” Samuel said.

“Fine,” Lux growled. “Go back, but don’t expect me to haul your ass out of here. We’re leaving. I don’t care where you go.”

Hurt flashed through his eyes, though they had never been friendly. Lux felt guilt flood her. She knew she was too stubborn to leave someone behind on a mission.

“I will,” Samuel threatened.

“Do it then,” she sneered.

The camp was silent. Then Samuel picked up his pack and shouldered it.

“I will,” he repeated.

Lux was so tired that her eyes shook and she felt dizzy. She hadn’t slept for a single second the night before, and just barely the night before that. Exhaustion was like lead fishing lures puncturing every square inch of her skin, dragging her to the ground.

But when he walked away, Lux recognized her failure and shouldered her pack, too.

“Get your shit,” she barked at the others.

“Are we leaving?” Julie asked, her sunken face drawn.

Lux sighed.

“Not quite.”

“Are we leaving Samuel?” Hal asked.

“No,” she said.

The three faces blinked at her expectantly, ready to go, awaiting her leadership.

“Samuel,” she called out. “It’s this way.” She pointed.

He looked relieved, but Lux marched out before he could say anything. She was too tired for talking, sick of the job, sick of these foolish scholars who seemed hell bent on getting them all killed, but she knew that without empirical proof of what they had seen, no one in the real world would believe any of them, even if all their stories were the same. She would be ruined professionally, as would everyone else with her. The graveyard was well lit in the dawn. Having brought the team to their destination, she looked Samuel square in the eye.

“Don’t take anything with you when you’re done except pictures and notes.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she turned her back, leaving him, Julie, and Hal to the graveyard. She tied up her hammock twenty yards away and slid in, her eyes shutting. Ben was awake, his sharp eyes on the forest, the others too. She could finally sleep.

When she woke, the sun was high in the sky, mid-afternoon. Tiredness scratched at her eyes, but she sat up and climbed her way out and to the ground, desperate to pee. The graveyard was still a buzz of scientific research, and she could hear Smith directing the works. Lux walked into the brush to relieve herself. As she squatted, she found herself thinking about the creatures again. How many were there? These woods could probably support a fairly large population, but not without discovery. The discovery was a problem. How had they never been found before? Piney Woods was a wild place, but people were a common sight even deep within the woods; although, they had not come across any human trails within the creatures’ territory. Was it possible that this place was truly isolated? Lux did not believe that. The creatures had been doing something proactive toward it, something to keep humans away. Whatever it was, it had not kept them away.

Lux briefly considered that it was an elaborate hoax. It was possible, but highly improbable. She wiped on a leaf and pulled her britches up. She wondered what would happen to this place when they returned with the pictures to Dr. Stevens. They would need to search around the other end of this territory, further to the south, and around the bluff that was the highest peak, and around which the team had been making their way for what seemed like weeks. To truly finish the project, they would need to spend months in the trees. They needed a linguistic anthropologist to work on the language of the beasts, if they could be found again – one more friendly than Samuel, for sure. Stiffly, she climbed back up the tree. Her hammock looked beautifully soft and inviting, and her chest was burning. She felt a little feverish after all. She crawled down and stretched out in it, zipping herself shut. She had her knife and pistol and the creatures were nowhere to be seen. She was safe to drift back off.

When she woke, Samuel was digging. As Samuel dug dirt, it flew from the ground around him. Julie documented, the camera clicking rapidly. Hal reviewed notes with Julie, the pages of their notebooks flipping in still morning air. Unzipping, flying down the tree, sweating like a marathon runner, Lux kicked the small shovel from his hands.

“What did I say?” She couldn’t keep her voice down. “Are you a total moron? Do you not remember what we are dealing with here?” She slapped Smith hard in the face. Smith slapped her back, backhand, knocking her to the ground. Makarios shoved him in the chest, but Smith did not swing for him. The confrontation was over, as a physical contest. Instead, he yelled at her over Ben’s shoulder.

“Don’t give me that rubbish, Lux. This is the most important work I will ever do as an anthropologist. Look at this!”

She looked to where he was pointing. The creatures did not bury like westerners. They dug narrow tubes straight down into the dark earth and left their dead to stand in their graves. The shafts were hard to find as the grave marker apparently gave no detail to where the body was in relation to it. North, east, south, or west, it seemed completely random. Lux got to her feet.

“These aren’t some ancient human ancestors you’re digging up, Smith. These creatures are here, alive, and I don’t think they like us too much.” Samuel was about to retort, but Ben beat him to it.

“I see both your points,” Ben said. “But you’re right, Lux, I don’t like it either. They aren’t stupid. They bury their dead.”

“That makes them human, doesn’t it?” Julie said.

“No,” Ben corrected. “It makes them sentient. It’s a human arrogance to assume that we have the monopoly on conscious thought.”

Lux dug her toe into the ground and kicked dirt into the air. Sweat rolled down her neck, probably leaving a streak in the dirt that had collected there since the day before. Other traces that she had worked had not taken this long in the wild. Actually, that wasn’t true, she realized. She had once been in the Arizona desert for two weeks tailing one woman. But somehow, that had not been as bad. The woman had only been human. There had been nothing to be afraid of. Out here, fear had oozed its way into every tree and every root. It leeched out into the atmosphere like noxious gasses, possessing everything. She was tired of that fear, but everywhere she looked, there were green eyes to remind her that it was there for a reason. The woman in Arizona had been human, though she had truly been a master of the desert like no other. But these creatures, she couldn’t call them Bigfoot, they were different. There was true knowledge in their green haunting eyes, but they were animal, surely.

They wore decoration, but no clothes. If she paid attention to her memory of the previous day’s encounter, she could see little beads in their mane-like hair or deliberate designs painted on their hairy skin.

The temperature at noon that day was over a hundred degrees, and the wet air made it feel hotter. The men had long ago abandoned shirts and she wasn’t very far behind. Lux had to instruct Julie and Hal to keep Samuel from overheating as he dug enthusiastically into someone’s last resting place. Makarios, like herself, was more interested in keeping the live creatures at arms-length and getting out alive than bringing up a dead one.

“We’re due back in town in three days,” Lux said. “It will take at least that to get back.”

Ben gave Samuel a dark look over his shoulder.

“I don’t like people with doctorates. This is a really, really bad idea. I don’t mind taking a look, but taking bones…”

Lux snorted. “What if I told you I got my doctorate last year?”

“I would ask if they did degrees in tracking and woodcraft.”

“Have you ever been on a trip like this?” she said changing the subject. She also was uncomfortable with the mood in the camp.

“No. I’ve worked pretty much strictly in the city until now. It doesn’t matter, I can read these woods well enough to know that the longer we stay here, the more likely we end up dead.”

Makarios didn’t seem overly concerned about his own demise. Objective, really.

Samuel photographed, sketched, measured, and took samples from the skeletons in what Lux was sure was every way possible. When he reburied them, every lump of dirt disappearing back into the dark depths was a relief. Lux did not like messing with the dead, human or animal. It felt taboo, and Lux did not want to anger the creatures.

“I do believe they are what people call Bigfoot,” Samuel said, a little pompously. Ever the lecturer.

Lux glared at him. “Well spotted.”

“They are certainly a new species of hominid,” he continued as if Lux hadn’t spoken. “This research trip shall be documented in history!”

Lux turned away from him and let him continue to prattle on to whoever was left behind her.

The sky was a low burnished red, darkening in the evening. No time to move on today. Another night in the woods. She instructed the team to take turns at watch. Although she was sure that the creatures – whatever they really were, sentient primates like humans or not – must sleep at some time, it was unclear if they were nocturnal animals by nature, or even if they had a conventional sleep cycle at all. It was with these thoughts in her mind that Lux found sleep escaping her entirely. She perched in a forked branch just above her hammock and listened to the night. Now that they were leaving, she was remembering all the reasons why she loved the woods. The drone of insects in the distance could be a lovely sound. An owl in the distance. The almost silent rustle of small animals under the leaves. Movement.

Lux straightened, all her senses trying to fire up at once giving her brain an overload. There was something moving below. She squinted through the night, thankful for the full moon. The mane of one of the creatures was visible in profile, identifiable by the arching of its horns. It moved slowly, not like it was old, just cautious almost. Her eyes followed it as it dodged through the trees, the moonlight shining on its horns.

It went into the graveyard and Lux felt a chill run through her. Species didn’t matter; nighttime graveyard visits were always concerning. But all it did was sit. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that it was performing some ancient type of voodoo magic to bring the dead to life. She shook herself. There was enough going on without making matters worse by imagining things.

“What are you watching?” Ben asked. He had somehow managed to scale from his hammock to her branch without her noticing.

“There’s one of them in their graveyard,” she said very quietly.

“How long has it been there?”

“I dunno, ten minutes?”

He followed her eyes. She watched his focus in on the creature and then relax again once he had found it.

“It’s just sitting there?”

“So far as I can see. I think Samuel really upset them.”

Ben nodded. “We should have just left him,” he said, without bitterness.

Lux watched her feet swing in midair. There was something entrancing about being in a tree so high up. The branches were thick and sturdy and could hold more weight than the team had to offer. It was so stable, yet an easy drop to serious injury if she wasn’t careful.

The creature stood in the graveyard, the moon sending out a shadow making its already tall frame even longer. Samuel had estimated their average height to be about six foot for males, five-seven for females. They seemed to be just slightly taller than the average homo sapiens.

“I feel like they’re planning something,” Ben said.

“Why?”

“What would you do if you watched some psychotic creatures come along and start digging up your dead?”

She nodded. She would be planning something.

“I really want to get out of here.”

“Me, too,” Ben confessed.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered. “I liked dealing with things that had rules. I mean, I broke them all the time, but they were there. Rules are nice, even if you don’t follow them.”

Ben snorted. “You’ve got a way with words.”

The creature was leaving the graveyard, its shadow warping in the night lines. It made its careful way back towards them, following the path it had arrived by, passing right beneath their feet without an upward glance, though Lux was sure that the beast knew exactly where the humans were. When it had finally erased itself into the darkness once again, she felt like she could breathe again.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asked Ben.

“Couldn’t,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Lux stared back out at the night. They needed to get out of the woods desperately. It was changing them, warping them like the shadows in the night. Lux wanted to walk free of the trees. Maybe she would go to New Mexico. She’d never been there, but she’d heard it was quite beautiful.

“Where are you going after this?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe Washington State or New Mexico. I’m done with Texas,” she said. “What about you?”

“Dallas for a week or two, then I’m going down on assignment in Australia.”

“Another mythical animal hunt? Vampire kangaroos?”

Ben’s white teeth flashed in the night.

“Can’t tell you that or I’d have to kill you.”

The thing was, she wasn’t entirely sure that he was joking, despite the half smile.

“I’m not going to track again after this.”

“Really?” He clearly didn’t believe her.

“No. I think I’ll do something boring and normal like nursing school or agriculture, or be a cop or something.”

“It’s not boring if you like it,” he said. Lux was sure that there was something sad hiding in his words, but she couldn’t find it.

“Australia, huh? That’s exciting.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” His eyes did not agree.

Lux looked away. She was going to leave everything about this trip behind, Ben included. But Ben was like her, was her, but with ten more years in the business. Hiding out up in a tree, she knew that if they survived and made it back to civilization that she would slowly become like this vulture-man, predatory but impassive, doing the terrible things that no one else could or wanted to do because it was all he knew. All she knew.

“I’m going to sleep,” she said eventually. The night had developed a pressure that she did not want to think about. Makarios said nothing, but shimmied back around the tree trunk to his own hammock.

She was awakened by a scream. At first she thought it was part of her dream, a twisted half-nightmare about being trapped in a great green glass bottle she couldn’t climb out of, but then she realized the scream had not been her own. Dropping down the tree, she was on the ground at the same time as Ben and Hal, who had similarly been awakened, rubbing sleep out of their eyes, but alert. Looking around wildly, she yanked out her Bowie knife and thumbed the safety on her pistol, prepared to fend off a whole tribe of warrior monkey things descending down on them. There were none.

At first all she saw was Julie, unconscious in the dirt by the banked fire which was now long fizzled out and cold.

A half congealed pool of red in the dirt. A shadow swinging ever so slightly. A body. Lux wanted to puke. She wanted to pass out like Julie. She wanted to just run and not stop.

Dead bodies were not foreign to her. She had touched her fair share of the recently deceased. But this was different. This was disgusting. She shivered, her fingers wrapping around her knife tighter and tighter and tighter.

The disemboweled body of Samuel Smith swayed gently in the wind from where it hung from the elm. The purple and swollen white intestines dripped down, catching on his foot. His lungs were pulled half out, the ribs cracked at horrid angles in the bright sunlight. She had read a story once, about a method of execution performed by the Vikings. The blood eagle. It was performed by cutting the skin of the victim by the spine, breaking the ribs so they resembled bloodstained wings, and pulling the lungs out through the wounds in the victim’s back. If they suffered in silence, the executed man would be granted access to Valhalla. Samuel had not been able to scream at all, she saw, as his own tongue had been removed and then used as a gag to stifle his screams.

Chapter Five

When was the first time you realized you would die one day? Ben’s words played through in her head.

Samuel’s dead eyes held nothing. They were misted over, foggy. It was life that kept them clear, and now he was like an abandoned car, smashed, broken.

They had to go. The green eyes were in the trees somewhere, watching. They did this on purpose. They wanted to send a message. Go! Her brain screamed at her. She had to get out, run. She was a tracker, a pursuer. The pursuit was over. Survival was all that mattered now.

They scrambled through the tree, hauling their gear down in a rush, carelessly tearing the fabric of their hammocks clean of their rigging. Lux packed Julie’s things and Hal scooped up Samuel’s research. Julie came round, but there was no time to provide comfort to her. She had been close to Smith, and his death would hit her hardest of all, though later. Now they must go.

Lux was afraid now, truly afraid for her life. Not the fear of facing down a wild creature, but the fear that the mouse knows in the split second that the wings of the owl blot out the moon. The sound of footsteps encroached on the camp. Lux didn’t know how to think anymore. She just stood, her pack strapped to her and her knife in her left hand, pistol now free of its holster for the second time in these woods. The male that had led the last encounter came towards them. His gait was slightly ataxic and labored. He came unarmed, but for the claws tipping his fingers.

Lux looked into his eyes and knew she was going to die. It wasn’t the first time in her life that she had made eye contact with what she thought was her death. He stopped, not twenty feet from her.

There was no threat in his poise, unlike the last time. He made several rumbling words like a storm coming in, but there was no understanding it. No language that she could know. Lux felt dizzy. This wasn’t real. None of this was real. She had contracted a fever the first few days in the woods. The bugs were killers. They had shared a crazy disease with her, that was all.

Ben’s warm arm brushed hers, offering support. Hal was there too, standing just in front of Julie. Lux felt like crying again. There was a monster standing there, a monster that in no uncertain terms was not real. They stood behind her anyway. The creature spoke again, his voice sounding vaguely assertive, but she couldn’t be certain. His hand waved, the claws glinting in the light. Kill it, she thought, and her pistol rose to point at the creature’s chest. From this distance it would be impossible to miss.

But she didn’t. Her trigger finger could not close. She thought back to the firing range, a lifetime ago. How could she fire seven shots in seven seconds? It would take her an hour now to fire just one.

The creature reached behind him and all three of them bristled like angry porcupines.

He was preparing to kill them all. He could pull anything out from behind his back. Anything. Very carefully, the male stooped, his arm lowering deliberately to the ground. From the strong seat of his large hand, a grubby form appeared. Wearing only a filthy pair of bloomers, a girl no older than three looked up at them. Her body was dirty but not harmed. Her hair was wild and two mud beads hung in the wispy tips. In very deliberate and prolonged syllables, he said, “Kah Bay.”

“Abbey!” the toddler chirruped.

The body of Samuel Smith hung from the tree. The girl did not look at it once, her wide eyes on Lux. She felt like the contrast was too much to handle and wobbled. Ben’s hand was clamped into her shoulder, strong fingers digging into her flesh. Hal bent down to meet the girl’s eyes.

“Hi Abbey,” Hal said. “My name is Hal.”

The girl smiled at him, her little baby teeth shining.

“Is that the little girl missing from Belle?” Lux asked to no one in particular.

“Yes,” Hal said. “Hey Abbey, do you want to come over here and we’ll take you home?”

Abbey looked back up to the monster male’s face. There was a kind element on it, soft and gentle. Lux dismissed it. He was a monster, and that was all. Not just a wild beast, a ritual killer of men. But try as she might to dismiss it, the kindness was there.

The male nodded to her and pushed her very gently towards Hal. She wobbled over to him, her little legs trundling ambitiously across the dirt. Lux could hardly breathe.

“The bears found me,” the girl said. “But I miss my mommy.”

“Your mommy misses you, too,” Hal said, picking her up and swinging her onto his shoulders.

“Did she say that to you?” the girl said.

“Yup. She told me that I better come back with her Abbey or else!”

The male turned, his furry back broad in the dappled sunlight at once huge and perfectly camouflaged.

“Bye!” Abbey hollered, waving a chubby fist. She seemed entirely unfazed by what should have been a terrifying ordeal.

The male turned around, and Lux was sure that there was surprise on his terrible face. He mimicked the wave hesitantly, unsure of the motion. It came out jerky and ill practiced. Then he was gone. The glow of green eyes was gone. They were gone, all of them. The trees could breathe again; Lux could breathe again.

Lux turned to look at Ben and Hal.

“I don’t understand,” she confessed.

“Neither do I. They kill one of us and look after a defenseless child? What does that mean?” Ben said.

Lux was glad Hal was there. She certainly didn’t know what to do with a baby or a little kid. She saw the child looking reproachfully at her from her position atop Hal’s shoulders and realized she still had her pistol drawn.

“My mommy says guns are bad.”

“Yes, Abbey,” Hal said, “guns are bad. Why don’t you put that away, Lux? I don’t think we need it anymore.”

Lux nodded, and holstered her useless weapon.

Hal, as it turned out, loved kids. More importantly, he knew how to handle them and Abbey appeared totally at ease. Lux had never thought about kids of her own; after all, that would at least require a relationship of at least one night to occur, but watching Abbey convinced her that she absolutely did not need any. Not yet, at least. The little girl did not stop chattering. By midday, it had slowed to a sleepy drawl, her cloudy Texan accent weighing down her little words, half of which Lux was sure weren’t even real. Julie stumbled along on the other side, still in shock. Her face was pale, drained of something more than blood. Her eyes were wide and did not blink as many times as Lux felt they should.

That night, Lux helped Julie set up her hammock.

“We’ll be back in Belle before you know it,” she said, trying to be reassuring. “Just a little longer, alright?”

Julie nodded numbly.

Lux was tired, but she sat out above her hammock while the others turned in. She wanted to talk to Ben. He was the sane one, the calm one. His face never broke its controlled rigidity, and she needed that.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, folding his long legs up next to her, but not touching her. She appreciated that.

“What do we call them?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I was going to leave that to Julie, but I think maybe that will be Stevens now.”

Lux nodded in the twilight. “They’re like us, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, although she knew that he knew what she meant.

“They have emotions, thoughts. They took revenge for disturbing their dead. I think it might be some form of religion at play. And they looked after a child for no reason other than it was a child and defenseless. That’s altruism, too.”

“Yes.”

Lux felt like a little girl just older than Abbey. But she needed the simplicity of that view to comprehend what she had seen. She needed to be able to categorize in black and white, but the beasts made that impossible.

“They aren’t all bad. They made sense, actually. Brutal sense, but sense all the same. I can’t say as much for some groups of humans. I can respect that.”

Lux shivered. “I really thought I’d seen it all.”

“No one can say that.”

Lux looked over at his face. She was going to miss him. “I don’t think I like the world anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Makarios said.

“The rules have changed. I liked the old ones better. Now, I don’t get to just know what’s real and what isn’t.”

Ben shrugged.

“It’s the same rules. You’ll surely die one day. There’s an abominable hand to do it, or a natural one.” He emphasized his bad pun, cracking a genuine smile.

“Thanks Ben, that makes me feel so much better,” she said sarcastically. But it did. His placid humor was comforting in a way that she was definitely going to miss.

“I try,” he grinned.

“I want to start over after this,” she said. “Start a new life. But,” she hesitated, “we should keep in contact.”

For just a moment, there was a wild and reckless look in his eye, but it was gone before she had the time to process it. Neither of them moved as the night dropped into permanence and the stars began to glow slowly.

He gave her a sad smile. “We’ll see.”

Lux looked away.

The night was alive, and it was calm. The prickly feeling she had been fending off since she entered the woods was gone. She felt like the woods were hers again, like she grew in them just like any of the plants. The trees were no longer keeping secrets.

“I wanted to go back so desperately,” she said. “Now I just want to stay here.”

Ben frowned.

“I was born about fifty miles north of where we are right now.”

“Really?” he asked, a mixture of curiosity and something else weighting down his tone.

She nodded and looked up to the sky. The familiar map of the heavens was only visible in patches through the cover of the treetops. With that stellar cartography, she could find her way home from anywhere, go anywhere she wished, and never be lost.

“I always liked the city,” Ben said, following her wistful gaze.

“Why?”

“Everything about the city is taking things too far. It’s free as the woods in a lot of ways. I like it.”

“I could live in the woods for the rest of my life and never come out,” Lux said. “But maybe not Piney Woods. I think the neighbors might take some getting used to.”

He snorted a laugh.

Lux looked back to his face. It was covered in dirt and sun even in the dark. He was like her, but maybe that was too much. But the wild that had only been in his eyes for an instant wouldn’t leave her. She wanted to bring it back, but she had no idea how.

They broke camp cautiously around Julie. The sight of the flayed body had triggered a near catatonic mania. She refused all food, but was eventually convinced to take on some water before the team left the camp. Makarios took her pack as well as his own, and stuck close to her, whispering gentle words.

The path back to Belle was a slow one, ambling along at the pace of a Sunday stroll. The sunlight streamed through the trees, which were becoming thinner and thinner. The gaps between the foliage were growing with every step. Lux no longer felt the strange wrongness, but she knew the creatures watched them as they exited the forest. Her old truck was still parked up in the same place she had left it. Looking between the vehicle and the woods, it was as if nothing had happened, no time had passed, that Smith had not died. Only the disheveled appearance of the four adults and the addition of a tiny child gave permanence to the memories of the previous days and nights. Grateful for this link to the safety of civilized humanity, all of them piled into the vehicle, and headed back to Belle, in silence.

***

The diner was crowded like the day she had arrived. But this time, she smelled like the petting zoo and probably looked worse. She didn’t care. All she cared about was hot coffee and food that did not come from a can.

Hal didn’t join them, heading straight down to the police station with Abbey snoring over his shoulder. Julie was still borderline catatonic, her eyes only focusing loosely on anything. Lux hoped desperately that some waffles would help her, but she doubted it. Jane, the same waitress as the first day, sloshed three cups of coffee in their direction.

“What can I get y’all today?”

They ordered and a quiet air set over the table no matter how peppy Jane was or how boisterous the other customers were. Julie never looked up, her short hair lank on her head.

“I’ve never felt like this after a job,” Lux mumbled when Jane was out of earshot. “It’s never been that big of a deal.”

Ben chugged half his coffee. Lux wasn’t sure how as it was so hot she felt like one sip would burn her throat. “A job is a job. But a person is a person.”

“We left him there,” Julie whispered, looking up with tear-filled eyes.

“We didn’t have a choice,” Ben said, “They were communicating with us, you see? Sam broke their laws, and he paid the price. If we had taken him down, I would think they’d do the same to us.”

Julie frowned and lapsed back into silence, and excused herself to go to the bathroom.

“What are you going to do with her?” Ben asked, jerking his head in the direction of the ladies toilet.

“We are going to safely deliver her to Dr. Stevens.” Lux slurped some coffee. “This is his gig, and if nothing else, we need to let him know that Smith is dead. That’s going to be messy. Oh, sorry everyone, he was ritually murdered by a tribe of sasquatches, but they’re not monsters. Oh, you want to napalm Piney Woods? Great. If anyone believes our reports, that is, and we don’t end up arrested on a murder charge ourselves. You know, Ben, I think it’d be in our own interests to get as far away from Texas as possible.”

They ate in silence. The food tasted like heaven, but anything would have right out of the woods. Lux had nothing to say. She just wanted to revel in the glory of civilized food. No matter how much she loved the woods, she was a loyal Texan to her belly. The bad, greasy food was sometimes just the best thing imaginable. To save money, all four of them ended up sharing a room in the Quiet Cloud Motel. Lux crashed onto the bed, feeling a surplus of snores ready to come out and bother everyone and she didn’t care a single bit. She was exhausted. The food had made her sleepy and warm. She let her eyes close. They were out. They were safe. They were free.

Chapter Six

Lux pointed the old truck, now fully outfitted and boasting repaired electrics, northwest and pulled onto the highway. Dr. Stevens had met them in Belle the night before and taken Julie into his custody. She had no more responsibilities. All she had left to do was figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Theoretically, it was easy. But she couldn’t shake the dark form of the creatures in the woods. They had been there for eons, and would continue to be, provided they remained undiscovered and the woods remained unexploited by mankind. Dr. Stevens had said that he had no intention of disturbing them, but whether he could be trusted or not was a debate that she did not wish to have with herself. She had been paid double, with the proviso that she said nothing about the events in Piney Woods. She still had no idea what the purpose of the trip had been, but she was done caring.

Texas disappeared behind her slowly as the woods turned to flatland. The sun just barely a sliver in her eyes when she crossed the border out of the giant state. She could have gone anywhere.

No one would find her. Road disappeared forever under her wheels, putting time, distance and humanity in between her and the woods on the edge of Belle, Texas. Eventually she pulled into the parking lot of a motel. Catching, New Mexico. The name had been chipped away, leaving only a handful of letters that made no words. It smelled musty like the Quiet Cloud, but she didn’t care. It was better than her hammock, which was, of course, now in the possession of the creatures. She smiled at the thought of one of them trying it out for size. Maybe they’d like it.

The apartment she ended up in was clean and tidy and overlooked the desert. It was beautiful and she loved it. Open skies as far as the eye could see, and not a tree in sight. Maybe she could become a desert girl instead of a forest girl. Maybe she could find peace here, and lay all ghosts to rest.

***

Ben stepped out of the airport and breathed in his first breath of real Australian air. It tasted wild like the woods and like the dirt and like Lux. He slung his small bag over his shoulder and started down the sidewalk. He was ready to leave everything about the past month behind, Lux included. He double-checked the address in his pocket and looked at the little restaurant that looked more like a pottery studio than a place that dealt in food. But it was the correct address, so he pushed the door open. The warm smell of pasta and vegetables and roasting meat greeted him and he was instantly pleased with the decision.

“Ben?” a voice asked.

He looked around and made eye contact with a thin man in a worn tee-shirt.

“Tyler?”

The boy he remembered from his childhood was gone. Tyler the boy had been a squirrel, all ADHD and wide-eyed. Tyler the man was a snake; thin, pointy faced, and sly looking.

“Come, sit, let’s eat,” Tyler said, waving his hand around.

Ben followed him, but he was wary. He eyed the other customers, looking for any familiar faces or markings. There were none, but he did not feel at ease.

They sat at a corner table.

“So,” Ben said, not wanting to bother with chit-chat, “what’s this job you have?”

“Straight to business then,” Tyler said. “Very well. I have a small operation up in the Northern Territory, and I really need someone to help manage it.”

Ben suppressed his irritation.

“You told me this was a tracking assignment.”

“Well, it is of sorts.”

“Well?”

“I need you to figure out which of my employees is skimming from funds they shouldn’t be.”

Ben could do that.

“That’s fair,” he said.

“Good,” Tyler said, with a smile that disturbed Ben. He decided to do the job for Tyler and then he was going back to America and finding Lux. She was like him. He would track down one more person; Lux Branson. Then, maybe, he too could perhaps retire from this game. He, too, could have peace.

***

Officer John Rutledge was having a bad day. His wife of ten years had told him that morning that she was leaving him for the mailman. The mailman of all people! His mood only worsened when he entered his small office. Paperwork stacked taller than him up the sides of his desk, leaving only the smallest of cubby holes to poke his head through, so when they received an anonymous tip that there was a body in Piney Woods, Rutledge was eager to go. He leapt up, papers going everywhere, and rushed out the door before anyone could comment on the paperwork. But when he reached the crime scene, he regretted his decision as his lunch landed with a splat on the hard packed dirt.

Thick, bloated ropes of intestines spilled over the ground, dangling grotesquely from a swollen and disfigured... thing. John Rutledge was in no way convinced that the thing dripped all over the ground was even human. Maybe there were clothes, but the flesh had oozed over everything, leaving behind a stench that definitely put a skunk to shame.

Rutledge turned to his partner, O’Leary.

“Sometimes I hate this job.”

But O’Leary wasn’t there. In his place was a creature that went above and beyond Rutledge’s worst nightmare. Certainly he was dreaming, because creatures like that simply did not exist. With exaggerated movements, it smiled, the thick lips spreading thin over a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. This wasn’t happening, Rutledge told himself. It just… well, it wasn’t.

But the creature had other ideas. It reached out a well-muscled hand tipped in claws and closed it around Rutledge’s throat. His last thoughts were of his soon to be ex-wife. How she would cry to know he was missing. At least he wouldn’t die in vain. Missing cops always brought the full force of humanity down on the perpetrator, human or monster like this. Oh, they’d pay. He was crying with fear, and soiled himself. There was a strange popping noise in his neck, and he couldn’t get enough air. Blackness.

The End

Also available:

Sasquatch Found

Sasquatch Series #2

by K.T. Tomb

Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK

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About the author:

K.T. Tomb enjoys traveling the world when not writing adventure thrillers. She lives in Portland, OR. Please find her at:

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