Chyna Stone Adventures: The Complete 8-Book Series

by K. T. Tomb

  “Welcome, King Ishme-Dagan and the court of Assyria, to Babylon,” Hammurabi announced as loudly as he could.

  Dagan stepped forward and bowed slightly. At that Hammurabi stood from the throne and descended the raised dais. He extended both hands to Dagan and, accepting the gesture, Dagan stepped forward and they embraced. As if on cue, both kings extended their left hands and their consorts approached the men. Ishtari to Hammurabi’s side and Kashira to Dagan’s.

  “May I present Ishtari, Queen of Babylonia,” Hammurabi said.

  “May I present Kashira, Princess of Assyria,” Dagan replied.

  The four bowed courteously to each other and separated. As she approached the dais, Ishtari’s slave brought her chair back and unfolded it for her. When she was seated, the table was also replaced and she immediately took up the fabric and began to sew again. There was a murmur again from the crowd; half of whom expected her, like the other women, to excuse herself from the proceedings and the other half who were outraged that she would then begin to do menial tasks in front of strangers.

  The queen anticipated the hubbub and took the opportunity to say to her husband under her breath, “Not even a royal princess, husband? He brings us a bastard daughter to seal his deals for him? Who does this upstart mongrel think he is?”

  “Be quiet, wife,” he replied with a broad smile on his face. “Let him think that we are satisfied. There is better cheese made from the milk of a fat cow than from that of a skinny one.”

  She laughed and said, “Indeed.”

  Ishtari heard everything but said nothing as the men and their various advisers bickered back and forth about the business of reopening the roads and maintaining access and commerce between the two nations. Soon she was finished with the beautiful piece of gauze which she had fashioned into a bedding veil. She continued to fiddle with it touching the rows of beads with drops of the liquid from the tiny vial. When the negotiations had come to a favorable conclusion, the court of Assyria presented Kashira to Hammurabi and Ishtari again; this time she was dressed in the red dress of a lesser bride. The King and Queen descended the dais together and each extended a hand for the woman to kiss.

  There was a long pause as Ishtari met Kashira eyes and glowered at her for a moment, then suddenly the girl lowered her eyes and the queen announced, “She will do, husband and I will attend the bedding. Kashira, I have made you a bedding veil. Here in Babylon, concubines are not permitted to share the passion in their eyes with the king.”

  The court gasped but Ishtari did not care. She turned and strolled from the room, taking the garment with her.

  ***

  Three nights later, after the great traditional feast, the caravans of the Assyrians withdrew from the walls of Babylon heading north towards their home. The king and queen silently turned from the steps of the palace and walked hand in hand towards the staircases. They went up to the chamber levels and then to the concubine’s rooms.

  Kashira had been bathed in almond oil and milk, perfumed and dressed according to Ishtari’s specifications that evening. She had been given a meal of dried fruit, soft cheese, freshly baked bread, olives and grapes. Her wine was spiked with the strong grain alcohol the farmers produced. When they arrived in her bedchamber, she had been stripped and lain out on the silks of the bed for them to appraise. Ishtari approached first. She stroked the hair back from the girl’s face and then unfolded the veil she had made, wrapping it carefully over the girls’ head and face until her features were completely obscured.

  “We will speak in the morning, Kashira,” she said. ‘You look very beautiful.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the girl replied.

  The queen stood back from the bed and kneeled in a corner of the room. Hammurabi had watched her silently as she performed the ritual. He wanted to feel badly for her but it was how things worked in their world. He knew he only felt that remorse because of how much he loved her. If he did not love her, and their country, so much he would not have to do such things. As a man, he smiled to himself; the tasting of a new wife is never a bad thing for a man or a king. He would gladly do his duty.

  ***

  The next morning, a scream rang out through the palace. While servants bolted toward the sound to see what had happened, Ishtari gracefully sauntered towards the concubine’s rooms. At the dressing table, a distraught Kashira sat pawing her face in the polished bronze mirror.

  “Leave us!” the queen commanded as soon as she arrived.

  The slaves and other attendants went scurrying through the door.

  “Kashira, you are not well,” Ishtari started.

  “Mistress, my face!” she wailed. “Look at it.”

  Kashira turned to the queen to reveal a face whose skin was raw and red. Tiny bumps were forming in aggravated patches, filling with white ooze.

  “Did you enjoy your bedding?” the queen asked unaffected by the spectacle.

  “What?” the girl replied, surprised.

  “I asked you if you enjoyed yourself with my husband last night!” Ishtari said, “Do not enjoy his company again, girl. This was just a small dose of the poison I carry for women who would try to place themselves on my throne. This is only a warning; heed it well. Mariah will bring something to heal you.”

  Satisfied, Ishtari returned to her rooms.

  “You poisoned her?” Hammurabi asked.

  “Yes, husband.”

  “How?”

  “It was the veil. The minute she heated it with her breath and her sweat, it leeched into her skin.”

  “Will the antidote work?”

  ‘Yes, Master. She will be well again by dinner tonight. It was only a small dose, not lethal at all.”

  “And she knows that you did it? And why?”

  “Yes, husband. She is a clever girl; I didn’t have to explain much.”

  “Good. I want her to inform Dagan as quickly as possible about the threat to her life here. It’s time that Assyria stopped being an obstacle between us and Phoenicia; I’m tired of their pretending to be a kingdom when all they are is a country of bandits and brigands.”

  “He will know before the next moon, husband, so we may as well prepare for war.”

  “Excellent!”

  Chapter One

  UNESCO Headquarters, Place de Fontenoy, Paris, France.

  “Director,” Petrovik said, as he stepped into the office.

  “Yes, Petrovik,” she replied, without looking up from the computer screen. “What is it?”

  “We still haven’t been able to make contact with the dig team in Iraq. They should have returned last week but when they arrived in Baghdad, we lost contact with them completely.”

  “I know all about it. What happened to the investigator we sent? Hasn’t he been able to make any progress finding them yet?”

  “He hasn’t been able to find so much as a clue of what happened to them, Ilea.”

  “That’s absolutely preposterous!” she shouted, standing up from the desk so quickly that her chair flew back into the wall behind her.

  She gathered her emotions hastily as she tugged at the ends of her blazer. She turned and looked over the city through the wide expanse of window.

  “Should we file a missing persons report? Alert the authorities and enlist the assistance of the Iraqis to locate them?”

  “No,” she replied, “We shouldn’t bring any unnecessary attention to this matter until we know more about where we stand and possibly who’s responsible for this. If it is really an abduction then it’s just a matter of time before they contact us to tell us what they want.”

  “But in the meantime we can’t just sit here and wait, can we?”

  “Absolutely not! We’re talking about nine of our best scientists and researchers here, not to mention their project was sanctioned and funded by UNESCO. We have to keep searching for them.”

  “The liaison team lost contact with the other seven last night as well, Director.”

  “What? Petrovik, when were you
planning on telling me that? Where were they the last time they reported in?”

  “At the base camp, Director.”

  She ran her fingers through her short, straight bob anxiously and turned back to the desk. Pressing a button on the phone, she initiated a call to her receptionist.

  “Call Miss Stone right away!” she ordered the woman on the other end of the line, before pressing the button again to end the call. “Say nothing to the media or the rest of the administration and get the liaison team in here right away.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m bringing the rest of Found History in on this, Petrovik. Chyna’s lead investigator was with the others at the base camp. She was supposed to help them break down the operation and secure the artifacts for a quick evacuation. If they’re off the grid now, Chyna is the only person who will be able to help us.”

  ***

  Chyna’s laughter burst from the slightly ajar door of her office again. Rashid Abdullah, Head Curator of the Hagia Sofia museum had taken to visiting her at the office regularly since they had been open for business. He had become a dear friend to them all after they met while Chyna’s team had been working on the assignment they all now referred to as the case of the Mummy Codex. Rashid had been a key player in the solving of that mystery. As it turned out he was actually the modern day protector of the book that had been hidden from humanity for almost three thousand years by one of Egypt’s most famous and ill-fated princesses, Ankhesenamun-Tasherit-Ma’at. Rashid, they later found out, was a direct descendant of Pharaoh Djoser’s High Priest, Imhotep, and like all his descendants before him he had guarded the Book of Life, with a little help from his friends, of course.

  Since they had come to Istanbul, Rashid had been sending a few jobs at the museum their way and that had been particularly helpful to the Found History team. They had met the who’s who of Istanbul society, had the chance to showcase some of their finer talents with the exhibitions and curating they did, and establish themselves as appraisers to the merchants in the region. It had been a beneficial relationship for all involved. Sirita had even hired an assistant investigator and taken on two interns from the local university just to keep up with the work.

  “How are our friends in Luxor doing?” Chyna asked Rashid. “I haven’t heard much from Nassir, Mohammed or Jamila recently.”

  “They are quite well,” her friend replied confidently as he poured fresh çay into both glasses on the table. “They miss us and insist we visit them for some sport soon.”

  “Sport?” Chyna asked, as she lifted the glass carefully and blew on the hot beverage.

  “Ah, yes. Mohammed would like to introduce us to the ancient Egyptian sport of falconing. He says the camp is overrun by destructive, but delicious jerboa.”

  “Now, that’s different. I may have to take him up on that; I really miss Luxor.”

  “Perhaps when Agent Stewart returns to Istanbul, a little holiday will be in order,” he said, winking mischievously at her.

  Chyna smiled a telling smile and blushed a little at the comment. She missed Tony too. He was busy closing up the affairs of his assignment to the consular agent in Izmir and wouldn’t be reporting to the Istanbul consulate for another three weeks.

  “Perhaps,” Chyna replied, sipping her tea.

  “Mohammed and Jamila spend their time watching the Valley of the Kings for grave robbers these days, but they are content; they feel useful and the Watchers are all still comfortably supported by the foundation.”

  “It’s good to know that Nassir and his colleagues have such dedicated and skilled protectors.”

  “It’s true. Where are Oscar and Lana? I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

  “Oscar is in New York. He bought a whole shipment of equipment for the company and he and that genius assistant of his are waist deep in getting them ready for installation. They should be here next week to outfit our office here in Istanbul. As for Lana, she’s in Iraq on contract. An archaeological team there is about to ship out and needed help to document and package the artifacts for transport. I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days but she should be back any minute.”

  Sirita walked into the office carrying a beautiful white cattleya plant and placed it on the entryway desk. She could hear Chyna’s bubbly laughter flowing from her office as she spoke to someone animatedly.

  “Who’s with Miss Stone?” Sirita asked Mina, the receptionist.

  “Mr. Mohammed is visiting from the museum, Miss Patel,” she replied without looking up from the files she was organizing.

  “Thank you,” Sirita replied.

  She turned from the desk and was just walking towards Chyna’s door when the phone on her desk rang. Sirita stopped dead in her tracks. That phone was the direct office line which they only gave to their highest ranking clientele; and only to be used by them in abject emergencies. She ran to the desk and snatched up the receiver.

  “Found History Istanbul, Sirita Patel speaking.”

  “Oh, Sirita!” the voice on the other end said. “It’s Ilea Le Gal, UNESCO. Is Chyna there?”

  “As a matter of fact she is, Ilea. Let me just connect you to her.”

  She put the call on hold and grabbed the UNESCO files from her tray, moving rapidly towards Chyna’s office door.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Abdullah,” She said bowing her head slightly and turned to Chyna. “It looks as if we may have our first adventure.”

  “What’s up, Siri?” Chyna asked standing to follow her to the desk.

  Rashid put down his tea glass and followed them as well.

  “Director Le Gal, from UNESCO Headquarters, is on the line. She wants to speak to you.”

  Chyna went around the desk and pressed the hands-free button. The others turned to leave the room.

  “Stay,” Chyna said. “Both of you. Rashid, could you get the door?”

  He closed it and they both respectfully took seats on the other side of her desk and listened patiently.

  “Ilea!” Chyna said, as the call was connected. “How can I help you?”

  “Hello, Chyna,” the voice said, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Likewise. I have my office manager Sirita and a colleague from Hagia Sofia here with me.”

  “Hello, you two.”

  They both replied cordially to the greeting.

  “So tell me what’s up.”

  “We instructed an archaeological team that we fund to clear out of their camp near Hillah three weeks ago. There’s something brewing in Iraq and we don’t want our people caught in the mix.”

  “Argo,” Sirita interjected.

  “Indeed,” Ilea continued, “Anyway, the American team broke camp, gathered the data and left. They arrived in Baghdad the day after they received their instructions. That was nineteen days ago, Chyna, and we haven’t heard from them since.”

  “What about the group that was handling the artifacts, Ilea? Tell me you know where they are and that my girl is safe.”

  “We lost contact with them yesterday. I’m sorry, Chyna.”

  “Ilea, this is very serious. Have you sent anyone after them? Alerted the authorities?”

  “Nothing has gone public yet. We wanted to see if we would hear from the people responsible first.”

  “Great, but that was three weeks ago and your delay put the rest of the team in danger; now they’re missing as well.”

  “That’s why I’m calling you. We put someone on the ground but he doesn’t seem to be able to come up with anything. We need you and your team to go to Iraq and bring our people home, Chyna.”

  “Oscar’s in the States; he can’t get here until tomorrow at the soonest and Tony is in Izmir.”

  There was a pregnant pause as Chyna chewed her bottom lip.

  “We’ll be in Baghdad by tomorrow night, Ilea,” Chyna finally announced. “Be sure to send everything over immediately. I’m going to need the names of all your people over there, especially the investigator who coul
dn’t find them; he’s going to have to take point on this.”

  “That’s fine, Chyna,” Ilea replied, with a sigh of relief. “Bill us whatever you need to.”

  “Of course, I will,” Chyna said, ending the call.

  ***

  “Where are you taking us?” Lana asked calmly, as the two men, one blond and the other dark-haired, escorted them down the hallway of a rundown hotel.

  “Shut up, bitch,” the blond one responded.

  He spoke with a distinct French accent, confirming to Lana that they hadn’t been taken by Iraqis. She breathed a sigh of relief and decided to obey him. Suddenly the group was stopped outside the double doors of what appeared to be a suite and the dark haired man shouldered his rifle and turned the knobs, throwing both doors wide open. The blond man ushered the eight of them into the room.

  It was dusty but well furnished. Clearly, housekeeping hadn’t been inside the suite for many years. Bullet holes dotted the walls here and there and the window they’d obviously penetrated the room from years ago was still broken even though they had been cleverly blacked out using tarpaulin and plywood boards from the outside; the overhead fluorescent lighting flickered as if on cue.

  The hotel must have been a remnant from the invasion of Baghdad by coalition troops in 1991. Suddenly, Lana was taken back to that world-famous news broadcast. She had to consciously restrain herself from reciting ‘The skies over Baghdad have been illuminated…’. She smiled at the thought of it. The kidnappers had made their second mistake by bringing them to this location. From the damage to the room, Lana didn’t need to look out the window to know that they were probably near the afflicted Baiyaa neighborhood; it was good to have some bearings even if they were only speculation.

  There was no way to know why they had been kidnapped; the group had been taken from their cots in the middle of the night. The little camp outside Hillah had been cleared out by a group of men wearing paramilitary gear; they loaded every crate and box into the back of a truck and put each of them, handcuffed into another. Lana could only think that they must have been after the artifacts that had been unearthed by the dig team.