by K. T. Tomb
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 Brownstone 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 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 serious and the C.I.A. was only too happy to get involved, since there wasn’t much action to be had that 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. Were they losing their touch or getting careless?
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’ shoulders 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, but try to stay the hell out of the way and not get yourself killed, okay?”
Watson turned away and called out the go order. “Come on, let’s roll out.”
Perez, pale as a sheet of typing paper, followed along behind.
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 and in a briefing, which Watson and the others joined and added the extra bit of intel they were able to provide concerning the situation that had already been explained in detail.
“Seal team,” the XO of the Odessa took over, when Watson nodded in his direction. “You have priority over this mission until you get our F.B.I. and C.I.A. colleagues on board that vessel. Once that is accomplished, Mister Watson will take control. Understood?”
“Oohya!” was the boisterous response of the assembled seals.
“This mission launches at oh-one-hundred hours. Dismissed!” said the Odessa’s executive officer. Out of courtesy and respect for his rank aboard the vessel, Watson had turned over command of the briefing and the operation 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, rafts were inflated and checked for leaks that had been checked several times before. The gas canisters for each of the six 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 chattered, joked and laughed 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 platoon of 16 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 frogmen gloated. “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; sand, 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?”
“I ain’t no goddamned sailor, sir,” the seal responded with a threatening look and tone.
Sudden silence surrounded him as everyone turned serious. Perez was pretty sure that he was about to be beaten to death by the commandos and shrank away from him, his eyes wide with fear. “I… I’m sorry… what did I say? I…”
“Give him a break, Spoons,” one of the others muttered.
A broad smile spread across the commando’s face and proudly said, “Forks! Forks, Washington. I’m a Forks Frogman and everybody calls me spoons.”
“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 seals 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 another 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 as they prepared to lower the rafts and the Navy Seals down into the water. He noticed that they took Agent Watson and the technician with them and that he had his camera buckled securely to his vest.
Perez looked on with admiration and a little jealousy.
“There’s room for one more, Spooky,” the seal called Spoons announced, slapping him hard on the back.
“Spooky?” he asked.
“Yeah. That’s what we call all the Christians In Action,” Spoons beamed.
Perez looked toward Watson, not sure whether it was okay for him to go with the group or not. Watson shrugged.
“Sure, I…” he started to respond, but was shoved toward the raft Watson was in before he finished speaking.
“Gadget,” Spoons called out. “Let Spooky ride with Mister Watson, you can ride with me.”
The technician hurried from Watson’s raft to the other raft and Perez joined Watson.
“You know that a lot of that shit I said back at the Brownstone was just B.S., right?” Watson grinned as Perez took his seat in the raft. Before Perez could answer, Watson slapped him on the back. “Take it all in. Just don’t get yourself killed.”
His nerves back at the Brownstone were nothing compared to the midnight ride he took in the raft with the seals as they stormed across choppy seas toward the Renaissance on what the Teams referred to as “flying mattresses.”
Perez spent most of the ride trying to keep from being thrown out of the raft and keeping from feeding his dinner to the fish.
As they neared the Renaissance, the motors on the rafts went silent. He heard little more than a few, quiet plops, which sounded like a fish jumping in a lake, and then he and Watson sat in the darkness several hundred yards from the vessel along with the drivers of the rafts. They waited for the sound of weapons firing or screaming to come to them across the water, but those sounds never came. Had the seals swam right into a trap?
Perez hated to think that his new friends might all be captured right along with the rest. Though it seemed like an eternity, little more than 30 minutes passed before the call came.
“Renaissance secured.”
That single announcement set off a rapid-fire chain of events, which all started with the firing up of the engine on the raft that he and Watson were sitting in as they sped toward the vessel.
The taking of the Renaissance was the easiest mission that platoon 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 Perez and Watson were pulled up over the side and onto the deck of the Renaissance, they were only minutes ahead of the helicopters, which approached and landed on the deck unloading F.B.I. and C.I.A. agents who were hardly needed for anything more than processing their subdued captives. The Seals moved back into perimeter positions and kept a watchful eye for any stragglers which might appear with guns blazing as Watson took command of the operation. Within moments, both Agents Stewart’s and Chyna’s teams were freed and Ethan Doyle and company were cuffed and lined up against the same wall where their captives had been earlier. .
Stepping up to Chyna, Perez extended his hand toward her. Chyna looked carefully at it and then at him before swinging her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
“Miss Stone, are you okay?” he asked, surprised by her reaction.
“I got a bump on the back of the head and my pride is wounded, but I’m okay. Damned good to see you!”
His face turned red as she hugged him and he moved on sheepishly to Agent Stewart and shook his hand.
“Thanks for helping to bring the cavalry,” Stewart smiled. 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, Gadget, came around and gathered their little team together. He fired off several bright 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 and Chyna was still hard pressed to get the smell of Anthony Stewart 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.
He had accompanied Watson and the rest of the F.B.I. and C.I.A. teams as they loaded their captives on the Blackhawks to transport them back to the Odessa and on to the U.S. Their goodbye had been a silent one; little more than a smile and a nod toward each other as they turned to take command of their teams.
Her team began the work of sorting out what had been brought up onto the deck of the Renaissance by Doyle and spent another few days exploring the underwater site before turning the vessel toward port with Turkish authorities in command. Once in port, they and their gear had been taken to the Brownstone and given a few days to recover.
She hadn’t been that sure when she was going to see Anthony again, but it was all part of the lives they had chosen to live and she had grown accustomed to it and the loneliness that came along with it.
Chyna and her team had started preparing to head back to Found History when she had received a diplomatic envelop. 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, especially since 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 in Egypt discreetly and in the early morning hours. They stocked the kitchenette and locked themselves in for three straight days. The concierge had been instructed 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. While her team was out seeing the sights of Cairo, she accompanied Anthony to the airport.
“We always find each other again, Anthony,” she said to him as he was about to board the flight back to Turkey. “You always saythat 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 little pieces we get of everything.”
***
A week later, as Chyna and her team 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 are on the verge of finding ‘The Mummy Codex’.”