Treasure

by K. T. Tomb

  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.”

  ***

  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.

  Chapter Ten

  “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 Special Operations personnel 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.

  “10-4! 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 exactly what Oscar 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 security cameras Oscar had hacked into 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 starting.”

  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 Special Ops 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, running the short handcuff chain through the briefcase handle.

  “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, meekly followed by Petrovik, the rest of the FBI team had successfully neutralised 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!”

  Chapter Eleven

  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 stretching down one side of the room. Waiters in dapper black tuxedoes carried around tray after tray of 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 about twenty-five years ago when it vanished; 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.”