by K. T. Tomb
“Angus,” Chyna asked curiously, “Outside of it once belonging to Eleanor and the fact that a woman in that time would never need a suit of armor made for her, much less worn by her, what’s so special about it?”
“Well, lass, if you were listening and put two and two together, you’d have gotten that both of her husbands went on crusade and both times, Eleanor went with them. Both times she ended up pregnant in the field.”
“So?”
“So, Eleanor’s armor wasn’t just designed for a woman; it was designed for a pregnant woman,” Angus said, sitting back and smiling widely at her as he lit another cigarette. “A very pregnant queen. A one of a kind piece of history, Miss Stone; it’s absolutely priceless. There isn’t another like it.”
***
“Sir… umm… I mean, Robert, how are you? How’s London been?” Chyna asked, as soon as he had come on the line.
“It's been wonderful, Chyna. London at this time of year can be overrun with tourists, but it must still be quite early in the season. The weather is lovely, though.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“How have things been on the estate? Are you and Tony adequately enjoying yourselves? Is everything to your satisfaction?”
“Absolutely, Robert. We’re having the time of our lives and everybody is so nice to us here; I really can’t thank you enough. We haven’t had any quality time like this in a long while.”
“It's my pleasure, Chyna. But I’m sure you didn’t call me just to check up on how I’m doing. How can I help you?”
“Well, Robert, it’s more a matter of how I can help you. I spoke to my technical director today and he’s agreed to join me on the investigation. Lana, my senior investigator, is a bit busy planning her wedding back home. So we’ll take your case, if you still want us to investigate it.”
“Of course I do. I’m truly astounded by the news. Absolutely gobsmacked.”
“We’re happy to be of assistance, Sir Robert. Oscar will be here at the end of the week and we plan to get started right away.”
“Excellent. Do keep me in the loop since I won’t be back in Bristol for another couple of weeks.”
“We will do that, Robert. Take care.”
“You too, Chyna.”
As she hung up the telephone and looked up at Tony, Chyna felt conflicted. Their time together was coming to a close. That made her sad but in the same breath, she and Oscar would officially be launching their dig into the mystery of Eleanor of Aquitaine’s missing armor. How many archaeologists across the planet would give their ten toes to be sitting in her seat right then?
Every one of them, she reckoned.
Chapter Two
It wasn’t long before Chyna realized that there was much more information to be had from Angus McKinley than she had expected. There was some disconnect between the history of the armor and how it actually could have gone missing; which was what she really went there to find out. She decided that she would pay the old man another visit that afternoon to talk more about what happened that year when the theft occurred at Dordogne.
“Angus!” Chyna called from the little garden gate.
“Aye! Chyna, how are you today, lass?”
“As well as can be expected, Angus. I wondered if I could ask you a few more questions.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Come on in, I’ll put the kettle on.”
Chyna smiled at the English connotation of preparing tea when one had visitors; their version of basic hospitality. When the man was seated opposite her under the tree in his garden, she began asking him the questions she had been thinking about all morning.
“Angus, tell me what was happening on the estate the year the armor was stolen?”
“Let me see now, I remember that the house was closed for the season, but it was also undergoing renovations at the time. The entire place was empty; even the regular staff were gone.”
“Where did they go?”
“Some went to the London house with the family, the others went home for their annual holidays or to work at the other properties.”
“I see. How were renovations to be done with everything still inside the house though?”
“We cleared the whole place out before the staff left. Everything was stored in the carriage house and the antiques were placed in the old bunker at the edge of the estate. Sir Montgomery was very afraid of items being taken from the estate and even more so of taking anything more to London. There was quite a bit of civil unrest in the city, what with labor strikes and increased attacks and bombings by the IRA that were happening at the time.”
Chyna nodded and asked, “Is there anyone else you think we should speak to?”
“Well, there was also a police investigation, so you could see if they still have a copy of the reports. And then there are the Spencers.”
“Okay, but who are the Spencers?”
“That would be Marion Spencer née Wainwright and John Spencer. Marion was head maid at the manor house when the theft occurred; in fact, even though it was closed, she would have been at the house. Marion was an orphan, she didn’t have any other home but Dordogne. John was Sir William Montgomery’s valet since his minority. He was retired by Sir Robert when Sir William died and then he and Marion moved away.”
“That sounds very promising, Angus. Anything else you recommend us doing?”
“Possibly. Evan Montgomery would be helpful as well. Evan’s design company wasn’t doing too well in the seventies, what with the economic crisis and political instability of the time and all. Sir William had arranged for his firm to handle the complete renovation of the manor house as a means of income for Evan; that and the fact that the place was getting rather run down.”
“That was very generous of him.”
Angus laughed heartily at the comment.
“Sir William always felt guilty for being born first, I think.”
“What do you mean, Angus?”
“Well, all the family lands and property went to Sir William when their father died. Evan was expected to carve out a life for himself outside of the family wealth. Sir Geoffrey only left him Dordogne Place in Bristol and an annual pension of about £24000 to be paid out of the family joint fund and if Sir William didn’t keep the fund viable, then Evan would lose that as well.”
Chyna felt a volley of fireworks going off in her head with Angus’ last revelation. She decided it was enough to end the interview on. She had some important phone calls to make.
“Thank you, Angus. I’ll come back if I have any more questions.”
“Very well, lass, but let me give you my card. You can just as easily call me if you need to. I don’t get to give out too many of these things; I don’t even know why Sir Robert had them done up.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the small rectangle of white paper, handing it to her.
“Thank you, Angus. I’ll stay in touch.”
***
Ichita Nagasaki looked up from his desk and thought calmly about all the things he could have people do to Chyna and her FBI agent boyfriend if they ever got too close to finding out about his wonderful and extremely venerated collection of ancient and medieval artifacts.
There was a knot of nervous energy in the pit of his stomach, as the scenarios of what could happen should they be discovered in his possession started to play themselves out in his mind. He shook himself free of the disturbing thoughts and stepped toward the door of his enormous office. Outside, he turned down the hallway, silently waving away the constant stream of secretaries and junior executives who stepped forward with papers or questions. He pressed the call button for the elevator and when it arrived, he went in and pressed ‘P’ for the building’s penthouse. The doors closed, but the elevator did not move. As he was about to lose his temper, Ichita remembered that he had not gone through the security protocol required to get to that floor. He placed his palm on the scan pad and once the machine was satisfied with his id
entity and his security clearance, it jolted to a start and delivered him smoothly to the penthouse.
Ichita had spent six months and an obscene amount of money remodeling it a few years ago when he had decided that he and the people in the upper echelon of his corporation spent too much time in the offices of IchiCo to not have a place to relax, center themselves and recharge their bodies and minds. They all practically lived there after all; some of them actually did. He stepped into the atrium and stopped to close his eyes and take a few very deep breaths. Before he could open them again, a young woman in a white uniform removed the suit jacket from his shoulders while another kneeled at his feet to remove his black leather Testoni shoes.
Already feeling better, Ichita stepped onto the plush tatami mats that lined the floor from wall to wall. He had intentionally done the room in the style of a traditional Japanese teahouse. He found the setting relaxing. It was classic and from a time when life had made sense; when Japan was a center of civilized culture, not the parody it had become as a result of the failures of the second world war.
He then proceeded to his private changing room and removed his clothes, donned a soft white Egyptian cotton robe and went to the acupuncture room. The therapist came in as soon as he was reclined on the table.
“Konichiwa, Nagasaki-san,” the elderly man said, bowing slightly from the waist.
Ichita mumbled his reply, not even looking up from the table.
“What seems to be the problem this afternoon?”
“I am nervous, Osamu-san.”
The man tsk’d at him and opened the cabinet drawers, taking out sterile packages of acupuncture needles, gauze and swabs.
“That is no good.”
“I do not wish for it to affect my liver function. You know how much trouble I had with that last year. Liver trouble for someone who has never even lifted a sake cup to his lips, who takes wine only in moderation and when I do, it is only red.”
“Life is cruel and kind, Nagasaki-san. We must always be taking the good with the bad, the yin and the yang; all we can hope to do is maintain it all in a good enough balance. That business last year with the redesign of that muscle relaxant drug threw your body and its components into a tailspin. It was bad business.”
“Hai, Osamu-san. That is exactly how I am feeling again, so I came directly to you.”
“Very well; let us begin the treatment.”
After Ichita had completed the acupuncture session with the old doctor and steamed the toxins from his body in the sage water steam of the sauna, he felt a great deal better. He showered, got dressed and went into the tearoom to be served a tea ceremony by four beautiful geishas dressed in their full makeup and other traditional regalia. As he drank the hot, bitter green macha tea, there was a vigor gradually returning to his disposition that he reveled in. A broad smile suddenly spread across his face and he promptly bowed to each of the women who had served him, rose from the tatami mat and left the penthouse.
***
The end of the week came much too quickly for Chyna’s liking and on Friday morning, she was standing on the concourse at Bristol Airport kissing Tony goodbye... again.
“When will it stop being a life full of goodbyes?” she asked him sadly.
“Oh, Chyna, don’t be like that,” he admonished her. “A year ago when we were saying goodbye, we had no idea at all when we would be seeing each other again. It didn’t even make sense for us to make plans back then because anything could happen at any moment to change them; and it usually did. Look at it this way; when you’re done here and you get off that plane in Istanbul, you can bet I’ll be standing there to pick you up and kiss you and welcome you home.”
She smiled at his response, knowing he was absolutely right.
“That’s true, and when we leave the airport that’s exactly where we’ll go, together; home.”
“I love you, Babe,” he said, kissing her deeply again, holding her body against his as if he would try to make her a permanent part of him.
“I love you, too, Babe.”
Tony took ahold of the handle on his bags and walked into the airport terminal before he got emotional. Chyna leaned against the black Jaguar XK and watched him go. Oscar’s plane had already landed and she would wait for him to make it through the airport before heading back to Dordogne. As she waited patiently, she prayed that, considering he knew the case was a light one, Oscar hadn’t brought too much luggage with him. She hadn’t chosen Robert’s most spacious car for the airport run.
As she was just beginning to enjoy the looks she was receiving from the passing travelers, Chyna’s phone rang. It was Lana calling to check in.
“Hey there, Lana girl,” Chyna said cheerfully.
She had missed her friend and wished that she had been able to join her in England as well, but Chyna couldn’t begrudge Lana the time at home in New York after everything she had been through in Iraq. It was her time to detox and take care of herself; she had her fiancé to enjoy, a wedding to plan and an investigator to hire and train for Found History. With the instant success that the Istanbul office had enjoyed, they were badly in need of the manpower.
“Hey there yourself, Boss Lady,” Lana replied, smiling. “How are things going over there?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess. Are you calling to check on your cowboy?”
“Oh, please! As if I even care. But since you brought it up, did he get there okay?”
Chyna laughed loudly.
“As a matter of fact, he hasn’t, not yet anyway; the plane’s landed, but he hasn’t made it through the airport yet.”
“Oh, okay then. I really wanted to update you on my little project over here. I put the word out that we were looking for a new investigator and I got some really good responses.”
“Really, Lana?” Chyna quipped. “You don’t sound very enthused about them.”
“Well, it’s just that most of them looked really good on paper and then turned out to have personalities like wet cardboard; tons of experience and absolutely no soul. I tend to think that we have a fun operation here, Chyna. Serious, by all means, but certainly fun as well.”
“That’s totally correct,” Chyna agreed. “So what was the ultimate outcome?”
“I did the only sensible thing; I chose the greenhorn. A Finnish man named Mark Gunnar. He's Thyri Ragnarsson’s candidate.”
“Oh, now it makes sense. Well, he isn’t as green as all that, Lana. He was in Russia with Thyri’s team. They were all over the news, remember?”
“Yeah, that’s partly why I decided he was best for the job. He has an idea of what can happen in the field, but not too much to be of the opinion that he knows all there is to know. It’s been going well with him so far.”
“I have to admit that’s the best news I’ve had in a while. I’ll be happy to have another investigator on the team soon; things are getting a little hectic without someone permanent in Istanbul.”
“I know. Well, say hi to my cowboy friend and take care of yourself. Keep me updated on the case.”
“I will, Lana. Take care.”
After about another ten minutes of waiting, Oscar stepped through the glass doors of the airport and walked up to Chyna. A smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of the car she was leaning against.
“That’s a step up, even for you, Boss Lady,” he said appreciatively. “I’ve always known you to be quite the SUV type.”
“Welcome to England, Oscar,” Chyna said. Then with a grin, she continued, “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘A change is as good as a rest’?”
“That it is.”
“Lana just called. She said to tell you hi.”
Oscar gave her a hearty laugh and proceeded to place his bags very carefully into the car’s trunk before making a move to the right side door where Chyna was already seated in the driver’s seat.
“What? So now you want to drive it, too?” she asked jokingly.
He shook his head, made his way
to the other side and got in.
“So weird. Even the steering wheel is on the wrong side.”
“Come on, Oscar,” Chyna urged. “I'd like us to get started on some real work today. If we don’t get our weekend plan sorted out, we’ll be left hanging until Monday again. This isn’t like New York. You can’t just turn up at offices and places of interest on a Saturday or Sunday with the assumption they’ll be open.”
***
Ichita was still smiling to himself as he descended to his office in the elevator. He had just started thinking about his antique collection again. He was remembering a conversation he’d had at a party a few years back with a certain Arabian emir.
“The wonderful thing about us Japanese,” he had said, “is that we never feel the need to ask questions about the price that was paid for things or where one may have gotten them from; we consider it extremely rude to question people about their possessions in that manner.”
The other man had given him a puzzled look, but still nodded in agreement. Perhaps he was surprised at how insightful Ichita’s simple observation actually was, once the meaning of it had sunk in for him. Ichita continued his little oration.
“It is somewhat similar with Westerners as well, but for entirely different reasons.”
“How do you deduce that, Nagasaki?” the man had asked him, clearly enthralled by Ichita’s esoteric observations.
“They rarely discuss the matter of cost and procurement of fine things in public; particularly when they strongly believe that they are discussing such matters with one who is superlatively wealthier than they are. Which, in my situation, is almost always the case, Emir.”
The armor that had belonged to Eleanor of Aquitaine had been acquired by his father, Hiroshi Nagasaki. An interest in antiquities and the purity of the past and cultural traditions had been just about the only thing that Ichita and his father had shared. So when Hiroshi had passed away, the entire collection had been left to him. The inheritance had caused quite a scandal in the city, and just as much upheaval in the family, but no one dared to contest the wishes of their dead patriarch.