The Huguenot Thief

by L. K. CLEMENT

“Come on Frank,” said Thompson. “Do you have a car? I walked over here and need to go by my condo to pick up Strong’s case file. I’ve got a hundred pages on Kate Strong that your office is going to want.”

  Chapter 24

  Jack had been to the Charleston Police Department only once, to file a missing person report. At the sight of the building, Jack experienced a wave of fear so unnerving that he turned the truck, ready to go back home.

  A car with city tags swerved in front of him and parked. Jack halted, recognizing the driver, and got out of his truck. “Hey, Detective Edson. It’s me, Jack Strong.” Edson was half out of his car, and seeing Jack, said something to his passenger, who was also getting out.

  The other passenger was Thompson Denton.

  “Thompson, what are you doing here?” Jack looked at the two men, standing by the car. “Is he under arrest? He’s not that bad a designer.” Jack laughed, and after a beat, both of them did too.

  Thompson walked over to Jack. “I had a theft at my condo, so I came here to fill out the reports.” He pulled out a couple of sheets from his briefcase and waved them in the air.

  “Yeah, you know, reports,” added Frank. As Frank turned to gesture to the building, he bumped into Thompson, and the sheets came loose and fluttered to the blacktop. Jack reached down to pick up one, and heard an intake of breath from Thompson, just as he brought one of the pages up to his face. It was titled:

  Conclusions on the role of Dr. Kate Strong:

  Jack stared at the sheet, not fully comprehending the words, as Detective Edson and Thompson scrambled to pick up the rest of the fallen papers. Backing away from the two men, Jack felt a rushing sound in his ears and read the next few lines.

  Interpol has received a reliable tip that Anton Bunin, a Russian individual involved in stolen antiquities, is holding Dr. Kate Strong in Istanbul, Turkey. Dr. Strong may be involved with the illegal . . .

  Thompson jerked the page away. Jack stared at his hands, looking for the words he had just read. He lifted his head, made a growling sound, and launched himself at Thompson, propelling them both to the ground. Jack heard shouting above him and saw multiple feet in shiny, black shoes, scuffling around him. He felt a sharp burning pain, and his hands came loose from Thompson’s neck.

  Chapter 25

  Richard and Amarintha brought the wooden artifact to the back garden and placed it on the small table by the fountain. Richard put on his reading glasses and examined the entire surface of the little rectangle.

  “I can’t see a way to open it. It might be valuable, but that red stone could be glass for all I know.”

  Amarintha said, “Burying something in the ground is strange, especially if you wanted to preserve it. It’s almost as if whoever buried this didn’t want it to survive, but then why protect the box with a leather bag, and pebbles? I still think Thompson might be the best person to look at it. Surely an interior designer knows more about this type of thing than we do.” She laughed and realized she missed Thompson.

  At that moment, Amarintha’s phone vibrated. She looked at her phone and said, “I need to go. My daughter is on her way to my mother’s house. Will you hold onto this and ask Thompson what he thinks? It’s kind of late, I know, but he was supposed to come by the job site this afternoon.”

  Richard said, “I’m thinking that maybe you should put it in your car. It is your property.”

  Amarintha went to pick up the box, but her hand collided with Richard’s as he put his hand on the table to stand up. The box fell, and split into two.

  “That’s one way of getting it open.” Amarintha reached down, carefully picked up the pieces, and put both on the table. The box had come apart unevenly at what had looked like a natural irregular variation in the wood. Inside were small rounded objects the size of small pearls. She touched one with her finger. “What could these be?”

  “Amarintha, this could be a reliquary—a container that the Catholic Church would put relics in. Those things could be teeth. Given how the box was hidden, it might have been stolen. I can call somebody over at the FBI if you want me to. I retired from the Charleston FBI a few years ago and still know people over there.”

  ”What? I never knew that you had been an FBI agent.”

  He grinned. “Well, I was just a librarian, but don’t tell anybody.” Richard leaned over the table and studied the two pieces of the box. “Why don’t we put it back in the leather bag?”

  “Can you take some pictures first?”

  “Sure.” Richard used his cell phone to take pictures of the box and the inside contents. Amarintha placed the top and bottom together, then nestled it back in the bag.

  “Richard, please let me leave this here. If Thompson comes by, you can show it to him.”

  “Ok, you got it. Have fun with your daughter.”

  Chapter 26

  Thompson sat outside the cell in the holding area at Charleston’s Police Department, waiting for Jack to wake up. He and Frank were in an area typically used for juveniles. It had one cell, a few chairs, and was out of the way of the normal bustle of the department. Jack Strong lay on a cot inside the cell, breathing, but still out of it. The red spot

  on Jack’s neck where the rookie cop tased him seemed to be glowing.

  Frank had been almost incoherent in his anger, yelling at the rookie after the young officer tased Jack. The detective had run into the building as a crowd gathered, leaving Thompson sitting on the pavement, cradling Jack’s head. Discovering that the police department had a defibrillator, epi-pens, enough gauze to wrap a hundred mummies, but no stretcher

  to carry an actual patient, Frank resorted to calling the fire department.

  Thompson and Frank had watched as the EMT checked Jack’s vitals. The firefighters wanted to transport the fallen man to the hospital, but the detective overruled them and directed the stretcher to the cell. He wondered if Jack would even remember seeing the papers. Maybe the tasing had zapped his short-term memory.

  Jack was groaning now.

  “We need to move him out of the cell.” Frank’s phone rang. “Detective Edson.” He listened for a minute. “Ok, what’s the number you want me to call you on? Got it.”

  He walked over to Thompson. “Come on. The FBI has something to show us right away. I need to use one of the computers to do a video conference.”

  Thompson looked over at Jack, still moaning, lying on the bunk in the cell. “What about him?”

  “We’re just going over to one of the conference rooms. We’ll hear him if he wakes up.”

  The two of them walked across the hall from the holding cell. Frank used his badge to enter a room that was equipped with a computer and a large monitor, and propped the door open with a chair. He turned the equipment on, waited, and then entered a phone number. After a few seconds of electronic buzzing, the same conference room they had been in earlier in the day appeared on the screen. Brook Reynolds and Chad, the FBI computer support person, entered and sat down in front of the video camera.

  Frank said, “What is it you’ve got to show us? We have a little situation here.”

  Brook raised her eyebrows, and Thompson hoped that Frank didn’t choose this time to share that a civilian had seen confidential documents. Eventually, they’d have to tell her, but not yet.

  “We got lucky, guys. Very lucky. You remember the picture of the missing reliquary that the Vatican sent? Brook was clearly excited. “Chad, show them the picture.”

  Chad moved a piece of paper closer to the video camera. A picture of a small rectangular box, the top a mosaic depicting a saintly figure with its hands outstretched, appeared. In one hand the figure held a baby, and in the other a flower. The flower had a red stone in its center. In spite of the stone, the box was somewhat unadorned compared to most reliquaries Thompson had examined.

  “This is a photocopy of a painting of the missing reliquary.”


  Chad leaned towards the camera. He face loomed in the screen, and Thompson instinctively reared back. “The description that Interpol received from the Vatican estimates that the stone, which is a diamond, is about 100 carats, which means the diamond alone could be worth millions. That doesn’t even include the value of what’s supposed to be in it. The contents themselves might be worth even more to a collector.”

  “Jesus, are you kidding me?” said Frank. “No wonder the Vatican wants it back. What’s supposed to be in the thing? ”

  Chad said, “The documentation found in the altar states that one reliquary, the one that has tested positive for anthrax, contains bones from a saint.”

  “That’s pretty typical,” said Thompson. “Reliquaries can have thorns, nails and cloth from the resurrection of Jesus, blood and sweat from apostles, bones from saints, and so on.”

  When Frank snorted and started to speak, Thompson held up his hand. “Whether you believe that the items inside are truly what believers claim them to be is not the point. The point is that many people believe that a reliquary and its contents are sacred and would pay big bucks for either the contents or the container—some Catholics that is.”

  “It wouldn’t be a Baptist, that’s for sure,” scoffed Frank.

  Brook said, “Gentlemen, you can argue about that later. I told you, we got lucky. The FBI has the ability to scan an image into our computers, and then compare the image to every single picture on every worldwide webpage to find a match.” She paused, and then added. “We got a hit. The picture that the Vatican sent us of the missing reliquary matches a picture taken in Charleston, in 1986.”

  Thompson said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Brook smiled. “I called the Vatican. They are sending an envoy to take possession of it when we find it.”

  “Didn’t they tell Interpol the reliquary was in Charleston? How’d they know that?” asked Frank.

  Thompson said, “I forgot to ask my boss that. Still, even though we know it was in Charleston in 1986, aren’t the chances of finding it pretty slim?”

  “Not really. Anybody who once saw it would remember it, especially since the picture is from a newspaper article,” said Brook.

  The FBI SAC picked up another picture from the table. She held it up to the camera for Thompson and Frank to see. “What is it?” asked Thompson.

  “It’s a picture that was found on a dead site,” said Chad.

  “Dead site?” asked Frank.

  “Yes, an Internet site that isn’t currently active. It’s a photograph. Can you see it?”

  “Move it a little,” said Thompson. The picture came into view. “Now hold it there.”

  The picture was in color and showed a smiling man standing in front of a long table. Various objects sat on the table: a locket, an old bottle, an ancient shoe, and a small box.

  “Look at the bottom of the picture. It’s the very reliquary we are looking for,” said Brook.

  “Jesus,” said Frank again.

  Thompson asked, “What is this, and who’s the man?”

  “It’s an article from the Post and Courier. The man’s name is Charles Sims,” said Brook. “He apparently worked at the DOD site in 1986. He was there when anthrax broke out.”

  Chapter 27

  Thompson and Frank left the conference room and returned to the cell across the hall.

  “You bastard. You hit me.” Thompson whipped around to see Jack sitting on the cot, glaring at him. “Detective, why in the hell am I in jail?” Jack moved to the bars and began pounding on them, his voice rising. “Where is she? Where the hell is Kate?”

  The detective moved to the cell, motioning for Thompson to step back. “Nobody hit you. A rookie cop saw you and Thompson on the ground, and tased you. Thompson is one of the good guys, just like me. If you calm down, I’ll let you out.”

  “Is she alive? What’s in those papers? You need to let me see them.” Jack collapsed onto the cot. He took a breath. “I want to call a lawyer.”

  Thompson spoke from behind Frank. “We’ll tell you what’s going on, but not if you call your lawyer. If you do that, I can’t help you.”

  “I don’t need your help. Frank, tell me, is my wife alive?” Jack was now at the bars, holding them, his voice cracking. “Please.”

  “Yes, Jack, we think Kate is alive.”

  Jack began to weep. “Oh my God, she’s alive. She’s alive.” Frank opened the cell’s door. Jack stood straight and brushed his eyes with his sleeves. “Frank, what’s going on? Please, tell me.”

  “Come on out, Jack; let’s sit down and talk. Here, read this.” Reaching into his attaché, Thompson handed a couple of papers to Jack. “I can’t give you the rest of the report, not without approval from the FBI, but at least you can read the rest of what you saw outside.”

  Jack sat down and quickly read the summary pages of the case report. He looked up, his expression quizzical. “I don’t get it. Why would you be investigating my wife?”

  Relieved that Jack was willing to look him in the face, Thompson said, “I’ve been in Charleston for a year investigating your wife’s boss, Adam Chalk. He was involved in an antiquities theft scam as an appraiser, dealing with items from the Middle East.” Thompson rubbed his eyes. “I won’t lie to you; Adam Chalk was involved with some bad guys. For some reason, he was able to persuade your wife to go to Istanbul. We think she’s there being held by the same crime ring that was running the theft ring—”

  “Hold it, Thompson. We can’t say anymore until we talk with the FBI. I’ll call the SAC to see whether she can give you an update now.”

  “The ‘sack’?”

  “The FBI’s Special Agent in Charge, Brook Reynolds.”

  “Am I free to leave? Maybe I don’t want to go to the FBI.”

  Thompson spread his arms. “Don’t be stupid. If you leave here and call your lawyer, the FBI and Interpol won’t share any information with you. Come on, man.”

  Jack ignored him and turned to the detective. “Will you help me? Are you sure she’s alive?”

  “If she is, our department will do whatever we can to get her back. I give you my word on that.”

  Istanbul

  Chapter 28

  The single door into Kate’s prison opened and Atay came into the room. “Good morning, Dr. Strong. I hope you are well today.”

  With him was a woman she had not seen before. The woman had her hair covered with a loose scarf, but otherwise was in Western dress. She was close to sixty—twenty years or so older than Kate, short and stout, with a leathery tan face

  “Dr. Strong, I’d like to introduce you to Professor Zora Vulkov. Dr. Vulkov has been studying some of the work you have done and has some questions. Please, let us sit.”

  It had been two days since Atay and Bunin had studied the walls. Kate had barely been able to get herself out of the bed, and had forced herself to get dressed. She now sat in one of the rolling office chairs, lethargically pushing herself back and forth. Frenetic Red Kate was gone. Depressed Black Kate was in charge.

  “Dr. Atay, has your guest been told I am being held here without my consent? That I wish to speak to the Embassy? That I have a family in the United States that likely believes I am dead?” Listless, Kate spoke without raising her voice. “I demand to be allowed to call my family. What else could you possibly want from me?”

  He pointed to the walls. “Dr. Vulkov needs to validate your work. We will take you home soon.”

  Kate looked at him. “I don’t believe you.”

  Atay motioned for Dr. Vulkov to go to the other side of the room. Kate watched the woman study the writing that covered three walls of the room. Atay leaned down, his face close to hers, his words surprisingly kind. “I assure you, we are going to send you home. If you talk about your stay here, it will be regarded as somewhat unbelievable giv
en your medical history.”

  Kate glared at Atay. “I suppose I will have to add theft of personal information to the long list of crimes you and Bunin have committed.”

  Atay leaned further to whisper to her. “Dr. Strong, when you arrive in Charleston, you will unfortunately be quite ill. You will recover, with little memory of the last weeks. The supposed abduction will be explained by the fact that you went off your lithium. Listen to me. This plan will save your life.”

  He stood up and very briefly touched her hand. Kate couldn’t take her eyes off his face.

  If Atay were telling the truth, then she would be drugged in Istanbul, taken back to the U.S. on a private jet, and dumped somewhere. She would not be able to tell Jack or anyone else what exactly had happened. Jack would believe she had had a manic episode, similar to one early in their marriage. She felt a tremor run through her at this memory, a longing for the manic Kate, a Kate that might be able to muster enough energy to fight her way out of this room.

  Kate’s eyes filled with tears; she let them fall in full view, hoping that Atay would leave the woman with her.

  Atay stood up and said to his female companion, “Perhaps you can speak to Dr. Strong and impress upon her our urgent need to complete the project.”

  With that, he left the room.

  Dr. Vulkov waited for the door to close, then leaned over, and whispered, “I would like to help you. How can we communicate more freely?”

  Dumbstruck, Kate considered the woman for a long time. She had hoped that she could persuade the woman to help her, but the thought that Vulkov might be an ally cracked through her like static electricity. Think. Think. Think. She couldn’t let herself trust this woman, but might at least get information from her. Kate finally walked over to the computer, motioned the woman over, and typed:

  This will make the people watching us believe we are working. What day is it? How long have I been here? Who are you? Why would you help me?