by K. T. Tomb
“Leave him alone!” she screamed as she reached the group. “Back off or I will call the authorities!”
The commotion seemed to pause for a moment as the crowd parted to reveal a one-eyed man who laughed and pointed at her.
“Child, we are the authority here! Go away! And take this piece of shit tourist with you! This is not your war.”
One Eye spoke with a slight accent that Chyna knew was characteristic of Lithuanian people, but she thought she also picked up a little accentuation in the hard syllables, like Germans usually had.
“When a government-certified U.S. official has business with the victim, it is her war.”
Chyna lied through her teeth, hoping they wouldn’t catch it. Maybe if she fibbed about being a diplomat, they would be less inclined to hurt her and Mark. The logic seemed sound until she saw the look on Mark’s face the moment he heard what she had said. Chyna knew instantly that she had made a mistake, and a huge one at that. But before she could ponder it over, One Eye narrowed his eyes and addressed her.
“And what does a U.S. diplomat have to do with a Lithuanian Left-wing radical like Emilijus Kuklys?”
Holy shit.
Well, at least that explained the look. Chyna had just done the thing she had been most worried about. There was a political war going on in this country, and she had landed smack in the middle of it, not to mention the implications she had just made by lying about being a U.S. diplomat. However, she knew she could not lose her mind just then, the charade would have to ensue until she and Mark—and Emilijus, of course—were safely out of the line of fire.
“Well, I do believe I have some diplomatic immunity, and I don’t need to cite the rules to thugs like you,” Chyna huffed with as much pride as she could muster. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting with my client. And if anyone tries to harm us, they will have the U.S. government to answer to.”
With that, she helped Mark pick Emilijus up and they walked back toward their car.
***
Emilijus Kuklys’s house was nothing short of resplendence and opulence; every bit a reflection of Užupis. As Chyna could have guessed, Emilijus was clearly an art aficionado. Chyna could identify many originals by famous painters that he said he had collected over the years. In spite of the splendor, Emilijus’s house had a homey feel to it that endeared Chyna to him greatly. He had good food, a warm hearth and, as she found out on their ride over to his house, a generous and lively disposition as well. Despite his status, he was a simple man who loved culture and art; just like the place he lived in reflected, which Chyna noticed was devoid of Internet cafes and big malls.
Emilijus’s housekeeper, Bertha, had taken over nurse duty since the team had arrived at his house. Chyna and Mark sat huddled around him in his living room as she cleaned his wounds and put the bandages on. Oscar and Sirita had already sought permission and were now setting up a temporary tech camp in one of the rooms.
“God, look at these wounds,” Bertha murmured in disapproval, and Chyna nodded, agreeing with her completely. It seemed that Chyna and Mark had arrived at just the right time and had saved Emilijus from what would have been a very painful ordeal.
“Who would do this to you? Who were those men?” Chyna asked Emilijus, all the while eyeing the many places where he was bleeding.
“They were thugs. They belong to LNDP.” Emilijus’s words elicited heavy sighing from Bertha. “They had come to warn me, I suppose.”
“Warn you? About what?” Mark asked him as Chyna studied his features.
Emilijus was in his late forties or early fifties. He was a tall, lean man, with a receding hairline that might have been black once in his life, but was now bordering on completely gray. He had sharp features, and piercing, gray eyes that screamed of honesty and determination. So far, Chyna trusted the way he looked and liked how he carried himself. He was a humble, stoic man, with a sheer strength and quiet fire that burned inside him.
“I have been writing some things against the government’s neo-Nazi policies lately. I suppose they didn’t like that.”
It was astounding how easily Emilijus could shrug off whatever had happened to him.
“That was a very painful way to show you.” Chyna snorted disdainfully.
“That’s what I am thinking as well,” Emilijus nodded at her, taking Chyna by surprise. “You see the LNDP care too much about their position and privilege. They have already been trying to throw people off the trail about the Nazi theories related to them. They would never sabotage something as important as that by having their thugs assault a radical left-wing member, and a famous one at that.”
“Maybe they’re only just starting to realize what deep waters they are treading in. They don’t want to drown, so they sent a message,” Mark guessed.
“No, that’s not possible.” Emilijus shook his head, and Chyna could see that the motion hurt. “You see, the LNDP are not considered extremists. Their behavior does not conform to that pattern. They are only radicals; you know, all bark, no bite. These kinds of things don’t happen over here. They have never resorted to such violence.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything though, right?” Chyna shrugged.
She was feeling as puzzled about the whole affair as he was, and she couldn’t help but agree with the hidden meaning when she thought about what Mark had said.
“Yes, or it could be that they targeted only me. That’s a first too, right?” Emilijus looked deep in thought.
“Well, if that is the case, let’s hope we don’t have a repeat performance.” Mark sighed as their conversation came to an end.
***
“So tell me about this historian,” Chyna asked Emilijus as she, Mark and Emilijus turned the corner beside a little café and came upon a street lined with beautiful, post-war era houses. They had come a long way from Užupis to the newer, more luxurious part of town. The afternoon was just starting to withdraw and the shadows were starting to get longer. The sedan cruised through the street, right up to the very last house with an exquisite garden out front, on a gorgeous cul-de-sac.
“Ethan and I have been friends for years. He works at the National Museum of Lithuania, and has been interested in post- and pre-war history for a long time. He came across Karl Wiligut while studying the German army. He’s been following up on him ever since. If there is anyone who can tell you anything about this Ivory Bow, it is he,” Emilijus told them, as they walked up the driveway and rang the doorbell.
A middle-aged man with green eyes and gleaming white teeth opened the door and engulfed Emilijus in a warm hug. From their demeanor, Chyna guessed that this had to be Ethan Vitrak. He was a short, stout man, with white hair that was long and wiry like a wizard’s. He ushered his guests in, and introductions were made quickly.
“So, you’re Chyna Stone?! It is so good to finally meet you. I admired your father’s work just as I now admire yours. You are both very talented!” Ethan exulted, and Chyna wondered when his energy would get too much for her.
“I’m honored, Mr. Vitrak, really. This is my new field investigator, Mark Gunnar. We were wondering if you could tell us something about the Ivory Bow.”
Chyna did not miss the look Mark gave her when she introduced him only as a colleague and not as a friend. She dismissed it; it was too soon for such familiarities between them.
“Of course, of course! And please, call me Ethan,” Mr. Vitrak insisted. “If you would please follow me.”
Ethan led them through his excellently furnished house and into a personal library that was more extensive than any Chyna had ever seen held privately before. It appeared that Ethan was just as much of an art aficionado as Emilijus was; the room was regularly dotted with masterpieces and first editions of novels and books from all over the world. Ethan led them to a small table that had some maps and diaries placed on it. They had all been turned to specific pages so as to find the required information easily.
“How much do you know about the Ivory
Bow, Miss Stone?” Ethan asked her once they had all settled around the table.
“Chyna, please, and I don’t know much. I only know that it belonged to Christina of Sweden and that she had to sell it to an unknown buyer when she was passing through Denmark during her exile. Wiligut believed it had powers, supposedly magical, that would render its bearer incredibly powerful and the master of the entire world. He and a team of Nazi officers retrieved the bow in 1934 from Denmark, but he passed it on to the Freemasons nine years later because he knew the Nazis would misuse it. It hasn’t been seen since.” Chyna shrugged.
“Oh, that’s debatable as to whether the Ivory Bow had magical properties or not, but it is true that it was something entirely special. The bow held a place in Christina’s heart, and we are talking about a woman who abdicated her throne for her religion. She had shipped most of her belongings out of her castle before leaving, but she insisted on carrying the bow with her on her journey. No one knows why, but she did.
“The bow itself was very popular during those days. It was the only one of its kind in the world. Delicate, yet strong, and what perfect aim! You would be proud to wield one like that. Christina, however, was forced to sell it to someone—I think he was a trader or such—when she realized how infamous this particular possession of hers was. She’d heard stories, of course, that people all over coveted it, but once she realized the lengths they would go to procure it, she decided it was better to sell it than continue risking her life to keep it.
“There’s not much specified about it in history after that. The trader supposedly kept it and passed it on to his sons and grandsons. I think it was during a local feud that they decided to hide it in a cave. I did some research and found that the cave where Wiligut found the bow was situated near a cathedral that had later been razed to the ground. I’m guessing the priests guarded the bow for the same reason that its previous owners had.”
Ethan fumbled through some of his diaries and came to a stop at some of the older ones.
“This is the diary in which I kept track of the sightings of the bow and its look-alikes during the pre-war period. You’d be surprised at the amount of hokum that some people have claimed. It took a long while to—”
A loud boom and shaking interrupted the discourse and soon after, all they could hear were the telltale sounds of a fire alarm. Chyna shook her head to dispel the ringing in her ears. In her periphery, she saw Mark bent over Emilijus. What had happened? Had she fallen and hit her head? She looked around again and sure enough, she had.
There was a jabbing pain in her left arm as she sat up on the floor and looked around the library. It was wrecked. The shelves had been torn down, books had toppled over, there were still pieces of paper in the air gently swaying their way back down to the ground; some of them were on fire. The table where they had been sitting down with Ethan was overturned. Its contents spilled to the floor. Lethargically, she dragged herself up to the huge bay window in the library. The sun seemed to hurt her eyes, but she thought she saw the outline of a chopper in the distance. She spun from the opening and sat on the floor beside it, pulling her SIG Sauer pistol from its holster beneath her jacket.
When the ringing finally subsided and her eyes regained focus, Chyna looked around. All her senses were on high alert. Her heart was pounding frantically in her chest, as she wondered what would happen next.
“Chyna!” She heard Mark call out to her and point at something just outside the door of the library—flames.
They had been firebombed. She quickly holstered her weapon.
“Run!” Emilijus screamed suddenly, and as if on cue, all four of them sprang into action. Chyna felt the heat rise as the flames began to rapidly consume the library. The fire had spread quickly to all the wood and paper that was strewn around. She held on to Emilijus and started to help him out when she saw the pre-war document that Ethan had been showing them. The table it had been on was on fire.
“Hold on, wait here!” Chyna told Emilijus.
She took off toward the table and kicked the burning frame apart. She did not even think twice as her hand went through the flames and grabbed the diary. It would be blistered later, but the diary was much more important. She secured the diary inside the back of her jeans and went back to Emilijus.
Escape, however, was not so easy. The doorway to the library and the living room itself was a fiery inferno. Mark kicked the burning shelves out of the way and led them out. Another shake through the house stopped all of them dead. They all knew what that meant.
The building was coming down fast.
Suddenly, Chyna felt someone brush past her and into the library. Mindlessly, she ran after Ethan.
“What are you doing?!”
“My books, my diaries! I can’t lose them!” He shook his head, sweat dripping out of his hair as he did so.
“Are you crazy?! The house is going to come down at any moment! Let them go!” Mark shouted at the middle-aged historian. “Chyna, come on! We need to get out!”
“Ethan, come on! You can’t go in!” Chyna insisted.
“No, it’s my life’s work! I have to get it!”
“Ethan!” Chyna screamed, as the historian ran through the doorway of the library, which immediately collapsed in front of her.
“Chyna, no!” She had just started to go in when strong arms secured her to her spot. “It’s too dangerous!”
“No, let me go! He’s going to die!” Chyna screamed and struggled to free herself from Mark’s hold. “ETHAN!”
“CHYNA! LISTEN TO ME!” Mark screamed in her ear. “It’s too late. We can’t help him!”
Chyna blinked silently and saw that the library was already being devoured by treacherous flames. Mark was right: there was no way Ethan would have survived. He would have come out by now if he had.
As Mark dragged her out by the arms, Chyna thought she saw a burning figure move inside the library and then collapse on the rug just as the library ceiling caved in.
Chapter Three
“Tony,” Chyna said after she picked up the phone on the first ring. The relief in her voice was palpable, even for Tony.
“Chyna, are you okay?! Are you hurt?!” Tony was frantic on the other end. Chyna could just imagine him pacing up and down in their bedroom.
“Yes, I’m okay. Luckily, we all are.”
Chyna limped into the kitchen to get some privacy from the others in the living room, who were all attending to Mark and Emilijus. She held the phone in her good hand; the other one had been covered in salve and wrapped up to keep the blistering to a minimum, “Who told you?”
“Oscar did, of course. He called me as soon as you talked to him. Chyna, what the hell happened?”
Of course Tony was enraged. He had expected that Chyna would have called him as soon as she and the others had gotten out the house, but she had called Oscar to ask him to quickly set up a first aid station at Emilijus’ house. There had been no waiting around and talking to the police or for the medics to get to the scene; Ethan was already dead and the authorities would come asking questions. Furthermore, there was no telling if whoever had bombed the house has waiting to ambush them as they came out of the burning wreckage.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I thought I should get the others prepared for our return. We needed medical attention,” she explained in a quiet voice, and that seemed to have an effect.
“I know... I just, I’m sorry too. I freaked out a bit, that’s all.” Then she heard Tony ask, “Are you really okay?”
Chyna didn’t speak for a moment. She hopped up to the fridge, took out a bottle of chilled water, leaned against the counter and took a sip. The dizzying effects of the fire had not waned yet, and she was still a bit unsteady on her feet. That, coupled with the image of Ethan on fire made Chyna very unsettled. She didn’t say that to Tony though, instead she replied, “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”
There was something else nagging her and she decided it was too late not to share it with Tony. �
�I think you might be right about Mark.”
There was silence on the other end. Tony said nothing, but Chyna knew he was still there, listening; she could hear him breathing.
“How so?” he said after a long time, and his voice seemed to resonate, as if he were in a bathroom and no longer in the bedroom of their Istanbul house.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know for sure, it’s just a hunch.” Chyna shook her head, “What I do know is that someone is trying their damndest to get to us. I mean, who could have known that we were at Ethan’s place? We had a little run in with the LNDP, but why would they feel threatened by a historian hosting a bunch of foreign citizens? It just wasn’t possible for them to put a tail on us so soon.”
“You think there’s a mole in the group, and that it’s Mark?” Tony asked, and Chyna almost hated herself for agreeing with him.
“I’m not sure yet. But yes, whoever attacked us must have had some information from the inside, since I don’t think it was possible for anyone to catch up with us that fast,” she said. “I’m just going to keep a closer eye on Mark, just in case.”
“Okay, I’ll do what I can from here,” Tony offered, and then after a short silence, he spoke again, “I have something to tell you as well. It’s about the bow.”
“What’s that?” Chyna straightened herself up to listen.
“I’ve been doing some research of my own, and I found something about a rumor that Christina of Sweden actually passing through Lithuania during her exile,” Tony said, and Chyna guessed he was out in the living room since she could hear the sound of papers shuffling.
“What would she have been doing in Lithuania?”