by K. T. Tomb
“Yeah,” Mark joined in. “Are we all getting fired or something?”
“Of course,” Chyna teased. “That’s why I brought in the extra security.”
“What is it really?” Lana asked.
“I was going to wait until we finished eating, but since you asked…” Chyna plunged ahead. “I had a visitor last night. Some of you might know him, Anthony Stewart.”
Except for Thorin, Demetri and the other two security members, everyone stopped eating and stared at her. Not a single one of them could form the words for a response, even Oscar.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen all of you shut up at once,” she laughed. “I’m fine, as you can tell. He just wanted to talk. He told me that he was in a deep undercover operation and that he needed my help…”
“And you believed him?” Mark asked, interrupting her.
“No. I didn’t believe him.”
“What did you tell him?” Oscar asked.
“I told him to fuck off,” Chyna replied.
With those words, the team began eating again. They were still shocked into a state of semi-silence due to the fact that Tony had paid her a visit.
“However, a very wise man,” she glanced at Thorin and winked, “advised me that it is best to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“Meaning?” Mark asked, drawing the word out.
“We’re going to help him recover Marie Antoinette’s crown.”
Chapter Five
As Oliver Branko, his life had held little meaning. In fact, it had begun in the most dismal of circumstances that a person’s life could begin. He had been left on the stoop of the Eastern Orthodox monastery Rakovica in the countryside outside of Belgrade, Yugoslavia by parents who had found that it was difficult enough to feed themselves and their other six children without the seventh edition, whom they hadn’t even bothered to name.
He’d been named in the orphanage to which he was delivered on the very same day that he was found, by one of the nuns whose father had died when she was very young. She had believed that she could honor his memory by naming an abandoned orphan after him. Oliver had detested that name all of his life. He had detested the parents who had seen fit to abandon him even more.
He kept to himself, focused all of his energy on whatever physical or academic challenge was presented to him and rarely failed to win. Because he was so often victorious in athletics and academics, he began to look down upon the other children, believing them to be inferior to him in every way. Needless to say, he wasn’t well liked.
He knew that he was unique and vastly superior to all of his peers and knew that it had something to do with both his history and his destiny, though the limited resources at his disposal in the orphanage library would hardly serve to help him to discover it. At the age of 16, however, Oliver Branko got a chance to widen his perspective greatly when his arrogance had grown to such a point that he had challenged the authority of a visiting monsignor. After this, he was summarily removed from the orphanage and cast out into the street without much ceremony.
For a time, Oliver Branko lived a much humbler existence, which was mostly focused on surviving from one day to the next. He made use of both of his greater attributes and was able to provide for himself, mostly by stealing whatever he needed or tricking others into turning it over to him.
He found belonging among fellow Serbians in and around Belgrade as they began to protest the extravagance, injustice and bureaucratization of the Yugoslavian federation. His acceptance was based on nothing more than the fact that he was a Serb and bore the name of a Serb. That bond, for the first time, made him feel like he was really part of a family.
As the Yugoslavian federation splintered and war broke out between ethnic groups, Oliver found that he was very adept at the art of making war. His physical prowess, his tendency toward superiority and his ability to quickly grasp and make use of intelligence, made him as proficient at commanding troops as it had in every other endeavor that he’d undertaken in life.
Oliver was in the perfect position, as the Republic of Serbia came into being and he capitalized on a number of opportunities that came to him, manipulating the markets around him in such a way that he began to become very wealthy.
His superiority in wealth suited him in a similar way as had his earlier expertise in athletics and academics. He began to look upon others around him in the same way that he had the other children in the orphanage. The consequence of his narcissism led to a life of isolation once more. He accepted that life as a consequence of being a unique individual with a special, greater purpose than everyone else around him.
It was because of that belief in his superiority that he began a search for his parents. He was successful in tracking down his parents, who he found, still living a very humble existence in a very poor part of Belgrade. He made it known to them who he was, made them believe that he had come to rescue them from their fate and then in a cruel twist of vengeance, simply turned away and never laid eyes upon them again.
Finding his parents had started him along the trail of tracing his roots. A trail that was full of disappointment after disappointment. He learned that it had been a rather common occurrence for his ancestry to abandon children, give them up for adoption or to turn them over to other family members to raise. The branches of his family tree had been extremely difficult to follow, but he had continued following them as a man possessed, knowing that the hardships that had befallen those who went before him had only been a sort of tempering of the steel that he’d become.
The long, grueling search eventually paid off in a way that he could never have imagined. After ten years of difficulty and disappointment mixed with triumph, he finally found the link that he had been searching for. It was at the end of his search that he changed his name to Louis Charles Bourbon, for he had discovered that he was a descendant of the eldest daughter of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. He was, in essence, Louis XX; the real one, not the pretty boy pretender Louis Alphonse the Duke of Anjou—who everyone seemed to believe to be the leading pretender—to the defunct royal family of Bourbon.
Besides discovering the source of his ancestry, Oliver/Louis had also made another dark discovery. While struggling to survive the harsh streets of Belgrade as a teen, he’d discovered a powerful cult that had secretly grown in the Serbian underworld and was heavily embraced by Serbia’s soldiers. It had its roots in the Roman worship of the sun and was called Sol Invictus (the Unconquered Sun). As he rose in military rank, he also rose in power within the secret society.
Realizing that he had been empowered and enlightened by the unconquerable god of the sun, he began to understand the reason behind his superiority over everyone around him. From that understanding came a great purpose. It was toward that great purpose and an approaching phenomenon to which all his energy was focused.
The great purpose was to rule the earth and the approaching phenomenon was a coming full moon at midnight on the summer solstice. For that event, he had begun to gather items of great, magical, feminine power. And, he would have the Jeweled Crown of Marie Antoinette, the greatest feminine force in history, from whom he was descended.
Chapter Six
Versailles. 21 May 1770.
Madame, my very dear mother,
I have not received one of your dear letters without having tears come to my eyes. I am wracked with sickness for missing my home and family and I long to see you all.
Life at Versailles has proven to be very different than in Austria, it is true that I expected it to be as such; however, the routines and ritualistic manner of how things are conducted here in general, strikes me an utter ridiculousness.
The morning after Monsieur le Dauphin and I were married, the whole world changed for me. Scores of women, and even some men, invaded my bedchamber, insisting that allowing them to wait on me was customary. I was attended by easily thirty courtiers that morning and it took almost all morning just to get me into a single completed o
utfit.
Marie.
“What can I do for you, Miss Stone?” Laurette LeFebvre, curator of the royal collection at the Louvre asked after Lana and Chyna had greeted her. “We had sure hoped that the armor of Eleanor of Aquitaine that you recovered would one day find its way to our collection. It was very unfortunate that it has gone missing again.”
Lana had known Laurette since the two of them had studied abroad together as university students. Though Laurette was very familiar with Chyna, it had been their first meeting together.
“Very unfortunate,” Chyna smiled. She was working on forming the words that would explain the reason for her visit. Coming right out with her purpose wasn’t really an option; it required a certain amount of savoir faire to approach.
“Perhaps there is some other great treasure that you’ve uncovered which you’d like to add to our collection, then?”
“It isn’t that, exactly,” Chyna responded. “I’d like to ask some questions about a piece that you already have in your collection.”
“I’d be happy to answer questions about any of our pieces.”
Chyna hesitated for a moment and then decided to forge ahead. “We are interested in information about the Jeweled Crown of Marie Antoinette.”
Chyna watched Laurette’s face go pale, watched her swallow a lump in her throat and then lean forward across her desk and speak in a low tone as her eyes dodged back and forth between Lana and Chyna. “Why are you interested in that particular item?”
Chyna leaned forward and matched Laurette’s tone. “We have been informed that it has been stolen.”
“Had been stolen,” Laurette corrected.
Chyna looked at Lana and then back to Laurette. “What do you mean?”
“It arrived back here this morning in a neatly packaged parcel. Without a return address, of course. Do you have knowledge about who might have had it in their possession?”
“We do not,” Chyna replied.
“Things have been maddening around here after the theft. To pull off such a feat, with our security system…”
Chyna decided to let the other shoe drop. “It’s a good thing that it was only a replica, right?”
“You’re telling me…” She froze, realizing that she had just confirmed something that no one else was supposed to have knowledge of.
“Relax, Laurette,” Lana jumped in. “We already knew it was a replica.”
“But, how?”
“Don’t ask,” Lana smiled. “You really don’t want to know and you really shouldn’t be that surprised either. I mean, look who you’re talking to right now.”
The curator sighed at her faux pas. “I’m really not comfortable having this conversation,” Laurette responded, shifting in her chair. “It hasn’t been pleasant around here the past few days and there have been a lot of accusations about the heist having been an inside job.”
“We don’t want to talk about the heist,” Chyna rejoined. “We want to ask about the original crown.”
“I don’t think it is appropriate for me to be having this discussion with you. Even given your credentials, Miss Stone, I…”
“How about I just ask yes or no questions and you give me a response?” Chyna broke in, afraid that if she didn’t do something quick, Laurette would clam up on them and they would have wasted their time.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s very simple. If we come to something that makes you uncomfortable, then you can just nod or shake your head, if you prefer.”
“Miss Stone, please.”
Chyna stood for emphasis. “Please. This is very important. The FBI has knowledge of someone trying to get their hands on the original crown. They’ve already made an attempt on what they thought was the original and discovered that it wasn’t. We have to recover the original before they do. There are very grave consequences if we don’t, correct?” She had gone well beyond what she knew to be the truth, but Chyna could see that her words had sunk in.
“Yes or no questions, then,” Laurette agreed.
Chyna considered how to word the series of questions that she has so that she could get the most information possible out of such a simple answer. The first one was an easy one.
“Did the Louvre ever have the authentic crown?”
Laurette nodded.
That was helpful. She had at least eliminated a portion of the 225 years since Marie had last been seen wearing it.
“Was it stolen?”
Laurette nodded.
“Stolen from the Louvre?”
She received another positive response.
“When?” Chyna rushed ahead with her next question without thinking.
Laurette only stared at her.
She fired off the next question in order to start narrowing down the date. “This century?”
She received a nod.
Chyna realized that she still sometimes forgot that they were in the beginning of a new century and that she often considered herself still living in the 20th century. She clarified with another question. “Since 2000?”
“Yes,” Laurette replied.
“This decade?” she asked.
Laurette nodded.
“So, since 2010?” she clarified.
“Yes.”
“This year?”
Laurette shook her head.
“Last year?”
Another shake.
“The year before that?”
Laurette nodded.
“So, 2014?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to tell us that the authentic crown had been stolen in 2014?”
Laurette nodded, her smile broadened and then she burst into laughter. Lana and Chyna couldn’t keep from joining her.
When she had gotten control of herself again, Chyna asked another question. “Was there an investigation?”
“Yes.”
“Are we going to continue with the yes/no stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Who headed that investigation?”
Laurette shrugged.
“Shit, really, Laurette?” She’d have to have an entire list of investigators to go through if she was going to get a name. “Can you just write down the name and then eat the paper or something?”
“Ew, no,” Laurette replied, making a face. She took a pen and sticky note and scribbled down a name, passing it to Chyna. “The glue tastes disgusting.”
“Oh Jesus,” Chyna whispered when she saw the name on the paper. She showed it to Lana and then wadded the paper into a tiny ball.
“Seriously?” Lana responded.
“What?” Laurette asked. “Who is that?”
“More of the stuff you don’t want to know,” Lana responded.
“You have been an enormous help,” Chyna said, rising from her seat and extending her hand toward Laurette.
“I don’t see how, but I’m glad to have been of assistance,” she responded, rising and taking Chyna’s hand.
“When we have recovered it,” Chyna said, careful not to be specific in case anyone was listening, which she assumed was the only reason she could come up with for Laurette’s behavior, “we’ll make sure to put it back in your hands personally.”
“I would be eternally grateful if you did,” Laurette replied.
Lana and Chyna departed from Laurette’s office and were escorted to the door by her receptionist. They spoke of casual things until they were outside and walked down the sidewalk toward the rented Range Rover and the two giant security guards leaning against it.
“Isn’t Antoine Dubois that guy who Tony called to help us out when we were in Bordeaux?” Lana asked.
“One and the same,” Chyna replied.
Chapter Seven
It was a twisted up mess and Chyna wasn’t sure how to process it. On the one hand, it implicated Tony in the theft of the authentic crown, but on the other, it didn’t make sense that he would try to steal a crown that he knew wasn’t there or already had. It
made her dizzy trying to figure out all of the different reasons why he might try to steal a crown that he knew wasn’t real in order to make someone think that he was stealing the authentic one.
“He could just be setting us up?” Lana commented, having read her mind.
“That was actually my first consideration,” Chyna said. “If that’s the case, then there is really no point in pursuing this any further.”
“Which isn’t the case, because he’s trying to draw you into something and he would know that you would draw that conclusion first and quit investigating,” Lana replied.
“You realize that you’re scaring the hell out of me, right?”
“Why?”
“Cause that is the same twisted shit that’s been going through my head. I’m getting a headache.”
Lana pulled out a tin which had previously held mints, popped the lid open and extended the container with its red and white capsules toward Chyna. “Extra-strength.”
“Thanks,” Chyna said. She took two of the capsules and downing them with a long swig on a bottle of water. “How about we table this and throw it out there to the rest of the team back at the hotel?”
“Ah, come on,” Lana teased. “You and I are the brains of this operation.”
“Yeah, and I’m already fried. Sandra’s gone into Dad’s old files back in New York. He had a collection of French Revolution-era documents, including some of the queen’s own correspondence. I’ve asked her to read through what we have in case there’re any clues in there.”
“Clues?”
“Hey, I’m clutching at straws here. Tony said the artifacts hold some metaphysical properties and that’s what this fellow is gathering them for. Maybe something in the papers will clue us in. I’ll get Oscar and Mark started on some research, and then I’m going to close my eyes and just veg until we get back to the suite.”
Chyna speed dialed Oscar.
“Yes, your highness?” Oscar said, answering the call.