The Secret Crown (2010)

by Chris Kuzneski

  Thanks to a mid-week thunderstorm that had caused minor flooding in the region, the current was unusually swift. It tugged on his shoulders like an invisible spectre. To remain in place, he had to swim hard, his arms and legs pumping like pistons. Eventually, his movements stirred up the sediment round him, turning the bottom of the river into a murky mess.

  One moment it was as clear as vodka, the next it looked like beer.

  Equipped with goggles that barely helped, he probed the silt for anything shiny. He found an empty can and a few coins but not the object he was looking for. Yet he didn’t get frustrated. If anything, his lack of success sharpened his focus and made him more determined. This was a trait he had possessed since childhood, an unwavering spirit that kept him going when lesser men would quit. A quality that had lifted him to the top of his profession.

  A trait that made him dangerous.

  In the darkness behind him, something large brushed against his feet. He turned quickly and searched for a suspect. Weighing over twenty pounds and nearly three feet in length, the channel catfish had four pairs of barbels near its nostrils that looked like whiskers. Known for their ugliness and indiscriminate appetite, the catfish swam next to him for several seconds before it darted away. All the while he wondered if the fish had swallowed the sunken treasure and was simply there to taunt him. During his years in the Special Forces, he had heard so many fish stories from navy personnel that he didn’t know what to believe. Even if only 1 per cent of them were true, then anything was possible underwater.

  No longer distracted by the catfish, he continued his search. From the burning in his lungs, he knew he had less than a minute before he would have to surface - but he refused to do so empty-handed. With a powerful kick, he propelled himself closer to the riverbed, careful not to scrape himself on the rocks that dotted the terrain. Then, using his boat’s anchor as a starting point, he allowed the current to push him downriver for a few seconds so he could gauge its strength. Since it was strong enough to move him, a 240-pound man, there was no telling how far it might have moved the artefact. Ten feet? Twenty feet? Maybe even fifty? Or would its size and shape prevent it from being affected at all?

  From experience he knew weapons sank fairly straight, regardless of the force of the river. Drop a gun or knife in a body of water, and it would sink directly to the bottom - even in a strong current. But something this small? He had no idea where it would land or what it would do when it got there.

  In the end, all he could do was guess and hope for the best.

  Careful not to stir up more sediment as he coasted along, he let the river guide him, hoping it would lead him in the right direction, praying it would take him to the treasure. With every passing second, his lungs burned more and more until it felt he had inhaled a flame.

  Time was running out, and he knew it.

  If he didn’t give up now, he would soon be dead.

  Reluctantly, he tucked his legs underneath him, ready to launch himself from the riverbed, when he felt something metallic under his foot. Without looking, he reached down and grabbed it, then propelled himself towards the world above. Time seemed to stand still as he swam and kicked his way through the murky water, unsure where he was or how far he had to go until he reached the river’s surface. The instant he did, he gasped for air, filling his lungs with breath after breath until the burning subsided. Until he knew he would survive.

  Then, and only then, did he notice the world around him.

  The city of Pittsburgh to his east. The football stadium to the north.

  And the crowded boat that had waited for his return.

  ‘So?’ someone asked. ‘Did you find it?’

  Too tired to speak, Jonathon Payne simply nodded and lifted the lost bottle opener over his head. The instant he did, the partygoers erupted - not only would they be able to open the remaining bottles of beer, but most of them had wagered on the success of his mission.

  ‘Shit!’ shouted David Jones, who had lost big money on his best friend. Although DJ had served with Payne in the military and knew what he was capable of, he hadn’t thought anyone could find such a small object on his first dive into the murky river. ‘Hold up! Let me see it.’

  Payne swam slowly to the boat and handed it to Jones. ‘Please don’t drop it again.’

  ‘What do you mean again? I didn’t drop it the first time.’

  ‘Well, someone did, and it happened on your watch.’

  ‘My watch? Why is it my watch? It’s your boat.’

  Payne used the dive ladder on the back of his yacht to climb out of the water. Per tradition, he threw a party on the last weekend of summer to commemorate the end of the boating season. After today, his boat would be dry-docked for the cold months ahead.

  ‘As captain of this vessel, I’m putting you in charge of the bottle opener.’

  Jones handed him a towel. ‘And what if I decline?’

  ‘Then you’re in charge of clean up.’

  ‘Screw that! I don’t do garbage. I’ll guard this opener with my life.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Payne grunted, ‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’

  To the outside world, the two of them didn’t appear to have much in common, but that had more to do with their looks than anything else. Payne was a hulking six foot four with muscle stacked upon muscle, his white skin was littered with bullet holes and stab wounds, his brown hair perfectly dishevelled. He had the look of a gridiron legend, an ex-athlete who had lived his life to the fullest but still had more worlds to conquer. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had decided to sharpen the handle and use it as a weapon, serving several years in the military until his grandfather died and left him the controlling interest of his family’s corporation.

  Unfortunately, he had been craving adventure ever since.

  Jones, too, was an adrenaline junkie, but he looked more like an office clerk than an officer. Known for his brain instead of his brawn, he possessed the wiry build of a track star, someone who could run a marathon without breaking a sweat but wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Although his mocha skin and soft facial features made him look delicate, Jones was lethal on the battlefield, having completed the same military training as Payne.

  In fact, the two of them used to lead the MANIACs, an elite Special Forces unit comprised of the top soldiers from the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force and Coast Guard. Whether it was personnel recovery, unconventional warfare or counter-guerrilla sabotage, the MANIACs were the best of the best. The bogeymen no one talked about. The government’s secret weapon. And even though they had retired a few years earlier, the duo was still deadly.

  ‘By the way,’ Jones said, ‘I heard your phone ringing when you were underwater. What a fabulous ringtone. Is that a Menudo song?’

  Payne growled and shook his head in frustration. A few weeks earlier, someone had figured out a way to change the ringtone on Payne’s phone through a wireless connection. No matter what Payne did to stop it - including purchasing a new phone and even changing his number - the culprit kept uploading the most embarrassing ringtones possible. Apparently the latest was a song from Menudo, the Puerto Rican boy band that had launched many pop stars.

  ‘Did you answer it?’ Payne asked, confident that Jones was guilty.

  Jones laughed. ‘Of course not. I’d never touch your phone.’

  3

  The city of Pittsburgh sits at the confluence of three rivers, which helps explain why there are more bridges (446) in Pittsburgh than any other city in the world - including the previous record holder, Venice, Italy. From the deck of Greek Gold, Payne could see the Allegheny River to the north and the Monongahela River to the south. The two waterways converged near the giant fountain at Point State Park. It marked the beginning of the Ohio River and was a popular gathering place for people of all ages, especially in the summer time.

  As a teenager, Payne used to visit the park with his grandfather, who had founded Payne Industries and built its headquarters
across the river atop scenic Mount Washington. Despite his duties, his grandfather had managed to find the time to raise Jon after Payne’s parents died in a car accident. Back in those days, when the steel industry was still the driving force of the local economy and the rivers were way too filthy to swim in, they used to play catch along the water’s edge, not too far from old Three Rivers Stadium. Now when Payne gazed at the revitalized North Shore, he saw two of the most scenic ballparks in the country, the Carnegie Science Center, a World War Two submarine (the USS Requin), and the newly opened Rivers Casino.

  No wonder a national poll had named Pittsburgh the most livable city in America.

  Still wet from his swim, Payne slowly made his way through the boisterous crowd, receiving hearty congratulations as he passed. Half the people were from work - mostly lower-level staff from Payne Industries who were being rewarded for their performance. The other half were business contacts and their guests. Payne was a generous host and got along with just about everybody, yet he rarely felt like he belonged. Except for Jones, there was no one on board he thought of as his friend. He was equal parts upper class and blue collar but felt stuck between the two worlds, unable to fully connect with either of them. Not that he was complaining. Payne loved his life and knew how good he had it. Nevertheless, there was a part of him that longed for what he had given up to run his family’s company: the action, the adventure, the threat of danger.

  Everything missing from his current life.

  Glancing at his cell phone, Payne noticed the missed call had come from an unlisted number. Based on experience, he knew it was probably someone from his former life. Business contacts, especially those calling the chairman of the board of a major corporation, wanted their numbers to be recognized in case he was screening his calls. But that wasn’t the case with military personnel - particularly the operatives Payne had met in the MANIACs.

  They were more concerned with protecting information than supplying it.

  ‘Who was it?’ Jones asked.

  Payne shrugged and typed in the passcode that unlocked his phone. ‘I don’t know. It came from a restricted number.’

  Jones arched an eyebrow. ‘Maybe it was Ricky Martin.’

  Payne ignored the Menudo reference and checked his voicemail.

  ‘Not even a smile? Come on, man. That was funny.’

  Payne plugged his ear and turned away, trying to hear his message. Behind him, the party raged on louder than it should. Music thumping from his speakers. People laughing and dancing and blowing off steam. Tiny waves lapping against the sides of his boat while his best friend yapped in his ear. Despite it all, he heard the message. Years of training had honed his focus.

  ‘This is Kaiser,’ said the voice. ‘Call me asap.’

  No wasted words. No wasted syllables.

  Call me as soon as possible.

  Payne swore under his breath. This wasn’t good news. It couldn’t be.

  If Kaiser was calling, something bad had happened.

  Payne and Jones had known Kaiser for a decade, but didn’t really know him.

  Not his real name. Or where he lived. Or if he had a family.

  But if they needed anything from the black market, he was the man to contact.

  According to legend, he was an ex-supply sergeant who had retired from the US Army when he realized he could make a lot more money on his own. He started his operation in Germany near the Kaiserslautern Military Community, the largest US military community outside the continental United States. Known as K-Town, it houses nearly 50,000 people. Originally he catered to these displaced men and women, providing simple things from home that they couldn’t get on their own. Food, clothes, movies, books - all at a fair price.

  Then the Internet came along and competed for his business, forcing him to dabble in other things: weapons, smuggling, and phoney IDs. Pretty much everything except drugs.

  Over the years, Payne and Jones had done so much business with Kaiser that he eventually invited them to dinner to show his appreciation. In his line of work, face-to-face meetings were a rarity, but Kaiser knew if either man wanted to track him down, they could do it within a week. Not because he was sloppy or failed to take precautions, but because Payne and Jones were that good at their jobs. He figured, if they could find and eliminate terrorist strongholds in the mountains of Afghanistan, then they certainly could locate him in Germany.

  With that in mind, he did whatever he could to stay on their good side.

  But up until now, he had never called them in America.

  Jones noticed the concern on Payne’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Jones lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Who was it?’

  Payne subconsciously glanced over his shoulder. ‘Kaiser.’

  ‘Kaiser? Was he returning a call of yours?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then something’s wrong. Kaiser wouldn’t call unless something’s wrong.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Maybe he’s in the States and wants to grab dinner.’

  Jones grimaced. ‘Did he say he wants to grab dinner?’

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  ‘Then what did he say?’

  Payne cleared his throat. ‘This is Kaiser. Call me asap.’

  ‘Good Lord! Someone’s dead.’

  Payne couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Relax, princess. We don’t know that.’

  ‘Speak for yourself. I can tell. Someone’s dead.’

  ‘Here’s a thought. Why don’t I call him before you panic?’

  ‘I’m not panicking. I’m predicting.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like you’re panicking.’

  ‘Come on, Jon. You know me better than that. If anything, I’m excited about the possibilities. Watching you swim for kitchenware isn’t exactly rousing.’

  ‘That’s funny. I don’t remember you volunteering for the job.’

  ‘That’s because I don’t drink and dive.’

  Payne smiled at the pun. ‘Touche.’

  ‘And even if I did, there’s no way I was going to jump in that water. Let’s face it: you’re gonna smell like fish for the rest of the weekend.’

  Payne smelled the towel draped around his neck. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘Let’s put it this way. You’re a good-looking billionaire and no women have flirted with you since your return. What does that tell you?’

  ‘It tells me that you think I’m good looking.’

  ‘What? That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘So what are you saying? It was a Freudian slip?’

  ‘No, Jon. My point is that you smell.’

  ‘Compared to normal?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Payne pressed the issue. ‘In other words, you usually like the way I smell.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You think I’m a good-looking, good-smelling guy.’

  ‘Stop it! Quit putting words in my mouth.’

  ‘Dude, I’m not putting anything in your mouth.’

  Jones blushed, worried some of the other guests might have overheard the comment. At first he was going to speak up and defend himself, then he thought better of it. No matter what he said, it was going to be taken out of context and used against him. So he stood silently waiting for Payne to let him off the ropes. But Payne wasn’t done throwing verbal jabs.

  ‘What’s wrong, DJ? Did I embarrass you? Or are you jealous?’

  ‘Jealous? Of what?’

  ‘That another guy phoned me. I swear we’re just friends.’

  Jones laughed to himself, surprised that Payne was still busting his balls. Normally Jones was the childish one in their friendship, always joking at inappropriate times, and Payne was the adult. The sudden role reversal made Jones wonder if his friend had stayed underwater a little too long.

  ‘On that note,’ Jones said, ‘I’m going to get a dri
nk.’

  Payne smiled in victory but couldn’t resist a knockout blow. ‘I think we’re out of daiquiris. But if you’d like, we can probably get a pink umbrella for your beer.’

  4

  Despite groans of protest from his guests, Payne lowered the volume on his stereo - low enough to return Kaiser’s call, yet loud enough to prevent eavesdroppers - then strolled to the far end of his boat. Some people might have viewed him as paranoid, but not Jones. Years of experience had taught them the value of secrecy. One of their superiors at the Pentagon used to say, ‘the smallest of leaks can sink the biggest of ships’, and they knew this to be true.

  In their world, small leaks were often plugged with bullets.

  Using his encrypted cell phone, Payne dialled 0-1-1, followed by the country code for Germany, and then Kaiser’s number. A few seconds later, he was chatting with the man who ran the largest black market network in Europe.

  ‘Thanks for getting back to me so quickly,’ Kaiser said. ‘I wasn’t sure if a man of your stature would return a call from someone like me.’

  Payne smiled. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I talk to assholes all the time. Including DJ.’

  Kaiser laughed loudly. Very few people had the guts to tease him, and even fewer had permission to do so. Payne was one of the chosen few. ‘How long has it been? Two, maybe three years?’

  ‘Gosh, I hope not. Otherwise we’re both getting old.’

  ‘In my line of work, there is no old. Only alive and dead.’

  ‘Damn, Kaiser, how depressing! And you wonder why I never call?’

  Kaiser grinned, glad their rapport hadn’t diminished over time. If it had, he wouldn’t have revealed the real reason for his call. ‘So tell me, how’s the corporate world?’

  ‘Boring as hell. How about you? How’s the … um … concierge business?’

  ‘Lucrative.’

  ‘Even in a recession?’

  ‘Especially in a recession.’

  ‘Good to know,’ Payne said, although he wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  ‘What about DJ? How’s he doing?’