by K. T. Tomb
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 the
y 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 y
ou 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.