by JB Sanders
"Mr Conrad, do come in. Have a seat." This was from the man in the center chair, directly opposite the empty chair he motioned Tyler towards. He was dressed impeccably in his form-fitting tuxedo. He was an older gentleman, perhaps in his late fifties, early sixties. He had black hair, greying at the temples in a most elegant manner, and sported a black goatee with just a hint of grey.
Around him, to the left and right, were seated four other men, all over fifty and each dressed as well or better than the rest of the Billionaire's Club upstairs.
Glen could see Tyler's mouth tighten in anger, and he could understand why. Obviously the men knew that Tyler would bring Glen, and had intentionally slighted them both. Then Tyler pulled in a breath, let it out and pulled Glen forward by the hand he was holding. Tyler put on a fake smile. He sat, and kept Glen's hand. Glen leaned against the high back of the chair.
"Mr Von Tieler, gentlemen." Tyler glanced around at the group. "Thank you for the invitation."
Von Tieler, the man with the goatee, smiled. Glen took an instant dislike to the man, and it only took him a second to realize why. He resembled Tyler's father, both superficially in terms of looks and strongly in terms of attitude.
"Seymour, please get Mr Conrad a glass of that excellent cognac." Von Tieler nodded at the portly man to his right, a man who although large seemed just as well dressed and dandy as the rest of the crowd. "Alain found us quite a nice little bottle of Clos De Griffier Champagne Cognac De 1738. Truly remarkable. He's our host tonight, since Paris is his city."
Glen felt his eyebrows going up his face despite himself. He'd read about that cognac on a history blog. It was thought to be the oldest French cognac still in existence, a single bottle of which was uncovered in a Paris restaurant's wine cellar and recently sold off by the new owners. Glen thought the thing should be in a museum, not drunk like it was today's table wine.
Seymour brought over a snifter and handed it carefully to Tyler, who swirled it a little and sniffed. "Smells nice. How about a glass for my husband?"
Several of the men winced when Tyler said "husband", but Von Tieler just smiled wider. "Of course. Seymour?"
Tyler sniffed the cognac again, and then took a sip. Glen watched him melt slightly as it went down. Must be good stuff.
"So, gentlemen, to what do I owe the honor of this august meeting?" Tyler swirled the cognac some more and glanced around the semi-circle of men.
Seymour handed Glen a glass with a modicum of liquid in the bottom. Glen swirled it, let it warm a little bit, and then took a sip. It was like drinking a bouquet of flowers, tinged with a bite of oak and bathed in an invigorating fire. It was amazing, and Glen almost let go of Tyler's hand. Instead he sighed, and squeezed Tyler's hand.
"Not an honor, Conrad. This is more of a ... business meeting." Von Tieler shifted slightly in his chair. Glen thought the man was enjoying whatever was about to happen a little too much. "We're going to make you an offer, and you're going to take it."
"Oh?" Tyler set down his cognac.
"Yes. You see, you owe us quite a bit of money. The money your grandfather was supposed to leave to us in his will. Instead, he came up with this ridiculous scheme to groom the next great Conservative Messiah." Von Tieler sneered, and it looked like he'd had practice.
"That would be me." Tyler said, slightly amused.
"It should have been." Von Tieler gestured at Glen without looking at him. "Obviously that didn't work out. You see, our group, the King's Club, is by way of a ... civic organization. We do good works. We make sure things go the right way, so that traditions are maintained, culture is preserved. We guide events in the world so that the proper order is protected. And we have quite a lot of history on our side."
A lightbulb went off in Glen's head. That explained why the butler was wearing a badge from the House of Este on his uniform. The ancient House of Este spawned numerous other royal and noble houses, among them the Hapsburgs and the Austrio-Hungarian Empire. To claim descent from the House was essentially to declare that you had royal blood -- in about four kingdoms.
Tyler nodded. "I'm guessing the title says it all."
"Indeed!" Von Tieler smiled like his favorite pupil had just gotten the right answer. "Each of us can trace our lineage back to royalty, houses of great power who have always guided the Western world, and tamed the unruly savages of other lands." He sipped his cognac. "Unfortunately, our work incurs certain ... costs."
"And Grandfather was your financier." Tyler said.
"Yes. Now that you've been so damned public in obtaining your fortune, and in throwing around our money on frivolous charities, we can't touch it. Our work would be in peril if it could be traced that easily." Von Tieler looked like he was working on getting angry. "There are still some government elements that we don't have control over. People who would be quite bothersome about the sums we spend to ensure the loyalty of their more reasonable colleagues." He sighed. "Foolishly idealistic. So, instead of you giving us the money that should be ours --"
"Hear, hear." Said the man to his left, a lean man with a heavy German accent.
"--You'll retrieve the fortune your idiot grandfather stashed away for a rainy day."
"What fortune?" Tyler said.
"Shortly after World War Two, your grandfather, then a young man, was freelancing for the Allies. When I say freelancing, of course, I mean espionage. I believe that's how he met that rather alarming woman you call Nanna. But that was later. For our purposes, we go to the time he was in Austria. Quite by happenstance, Elias stumbled across a German High Command memo which was supposed to have been burned. If I recall correctly, it had a bit of blood on it. The intriguing details of that memo led to a played-out copper mine in the Austrian Alps, and sixteen train cars filled with gold, art, stocks and quite a large amount of cash. The entrance had been sealed, but your grandfather was a resourceful man, and he found the air shaft the Germans hadn't remembered to close off. He quickly realized what he had, and using his own personal wealth, which was already quite considerable, arranged to have the contents of the treasure train hidden away. There's no good way to estimate how much that fortune is worth, but based on what your grandfather had seen, we conservatively plan on two to three billion euros in realized value. That is the fortune which you will retrieve for us."
Tyler took a sip of the cognac. Swirled it around his mouth. Then he carefully set his glass down again.
"Why do you think I would help you people at all?" Tyler said.
"Why? My dear Tyler, you'll find that treasure for us, or your husband's brother will be put into the darkest hole the French justice system can find." Von Tieler smiled in the most offensive way. "Our people in the French government will ensure that."
Glen counted back from ten. Tyler squeezed his hand but didn't shoot Glen the warning look he normally would have.
"I see." Tyler said. His tone was even, uninflected. Calm. Glen knew it was Tyler's dangerous sort of calm, right before his metaphorical tiger dropped out of the trees and tore someone's throat out.
"Fortunately for you, your grandfather left behind a ... failsafe. There is a painting that will provide you clues to the whereabouts of the treasure. You must simply decipher these clues to find it." Von Tieler tugged at the seam of his elegantly tailored slacks. "There is one complication, however. The painting has been stolen."
Tyler tilted his head to one side, regarding Von Tieler. "And you know who had it stolen, don't you?"
There was some fidgeting from the other men, and Von Tieler made an irritated face. "Yes. Unfortunately, we used one of our older allies to find the treasure without you, and they proved ... unreliable. They had the painting stolen and are pursuing the treasure for their own ends."
"So, let me get this straight." Tyler sat forward in his chair. "You are blackmailing us into finding this treasure for you, and the only clues to its location are in a painting that dangerous treasure hunters have already stolen."
"Yes. So it will not be a simp
le task. Considering your success in fending off your parents and slapping those Russian criminals in the face, this should be child's play."
Tyler sat back in his chair. "Ah."
"Yes, as you say, ah." Von Tieler went back to his oily smile. "We have always been watching you, Tyler, and we have contacts everywhere. But this task shouldn't be that difficult. Find us the treasure, and your little Lance will be released without harm. You have until Monday, six days from now. That is when Lance will be brought before a judge for trial. If you have the treasure by then, all charges will be dismissed. If not, he will be put into the general prison population." Von Tieler took up his cognac and sipped it. "Oh, and should you even consider going to the authorities, know that all the relevant ones are in our employ. Doing so will simply make Lance's situation worse. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly." Tyler sounded angry. Not good. Tyler stood up, quickly.
Large security men loomed out of the shadows, but didn't cross completely into the light.
"You shouldn't have threatened my family. I'll make sure you pay for this." Tyler's voice was tight.
"Please don't make idle threats, young man. It does not become you." Von Tieler casually sipped his cognac.
"We Conrads never make threats, Von Tieler. We just tell you how things are going to go."
"We will expect regular reports on your progress." Von Tieler looked directly at Tyler, making the dismissal plain.
Tyler pulled Glen along to the double doors, which opened for them with the same ease they had before. Seymour the butler trailed behind them. At the elevator, Seymour cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, sir, if I could take that glass?" Seymour said.
Glen realized with a start that he was still clutching the cognac. He downed the rest in a gulp and passed the snifter to Seymour, who frowned very slightly at him. The butler than passed Glen a card.
"Please call this number to make reports," Seymour said. Then he turned and left.
Glen and Tyler turned as the elevator binged, and stepped inside. The guard turned the key and the elevator rose.
"So what--" Glen said, and stopped when Tyler shot him a look.
They rode the elevator up silently. Despite the quiet, Glen could see that Tyler was seething.
They stepped out into the jovial hubbub of the regular party, and were immediately surrounded by their bodyguards.
Their little cluster was well away from the elevator when Glen spoke again.
"What--?"
"All part of the show." Tyler said, cutting him off. He had switched off his burning angry look, as if he'd never been angry at all, and now wore a very apologetic face. What he'd said was another code phrase, and it meant "hang in there, there's more going on than I can say right now."
"Ok, so what are we supposed to do now?" Glen said, sounding plaintive even to his own ears.
Tyler stopped cold, turned and clutched Glen's shoulders in both hands. He spoke with such conviction that Glen was a little scared how intense Tyler was. "We are going to find the goddamned treasure, get Lance out of trouble and make these people pay." Tyler took in a breath, and then turned on his devil-may-care smile. "And right now, we are going to scandalize all these old fogies by dancing that tango they just started playing."
Glen laughed, took Tyler's hand, and they danced.
Chapter Eleven
There's a Fire
Tuesday night
Tyler watched as Glen, followed by Kevin and George, walked to one of the party's bars. Tyler thought Glen was simply amazing in a tuxedo -- he'd have to get the big guy into a suit like that more often.
A woman slinked up to Tyler while he was watching his husband. There was no other word for it, the woman slinked. She wore a green sparkly dress that hugged every curve -- and she had a lot of curves. Her fiery red hair was bobbed neatly close to her head, flapper style. Her eyes were her most striking feature -- and on a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a glamour magazine, that was saying something. Those eyes took in Tyler coolly, looked around as if seeking someone, and then glided back to him. This time there was a little more heat in her expression, and Tyler got the impression that whoever she had been looking for, it was him she had decided to find.
"Bonjour," She said. Her voice was smokey and smooth and sexy as hell. It gave Tyler a tingle at the base of his spine.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle. Comment allez-vous?" Tyler replied.
She switched to French-accented English, and Tyler couldn't help thinking that her accent was just as sexy as Antoine's. "Are you alone, monsieur? Such a big party to be alone at."
"No, uh, I'm ..." Tyler cleared his throat. Holy shit, he thought, I'm clamming up at the sight of a sexy woman. Get it together, Tyler! "Not at all, mademoiselle. I'm here with my husband."
She quirked an eyebrow. Ok, Tyler thought, I'll say this for the French, the gay thing just doesn't seem to faze them.
"Oui? But that's too bad. Such a ..." She looked Tyler up and down, slowly. "...Delightful male specimen such as you shouldn't be trapped with just one person. Surely you have a mistress, or a ... what is the English word for a maîtresse des hommes?"
"Ah, no, that's--"
"But why!? A virile man," She paused to run her finger down the front of Tyler's shirt. "Should have two mistresses."
She smiled, her eyelids closed slightly in obvious pleasure.
Tyler blinked. He didn't think anyone, man or woman, had ever come on to him as strongly as this. Well, ok, except for that drunk rugby player in London but after one solid grope of Tyler's ass, Glen had pointedly asked the guy to leave. And Glen could be pretty pointed when it came to Tyler.
"Mmm, after all that manliness, don't you miss the more ... feminine side?"
"I uh, I'll have to check with Glen. I mean, about this. Uh." Tyler could feel sweat breaking out and running down his back. Damn, this woman.
"Oh but we could have a little fun now, yes?" She leaned into him, running a hand down his side. She smelled like lilacs and cinnamon, and her eyes were like twin moons mesmerizing him.
"No. Nuh unnh," Tyler muttered. Even he could tell he didn't mean it.
"Dance with me."
"I, uh..." Tyler was very warm, and vivid erotic thoughts were flashing through his mind like fireworks. Then, over the woman's shoulder, some movement caught his eye, and he saw Glen. All thoughts of this woman dropped away. Glen was talking with someone, his head turned slightly to one side. He had a glint in his eye, and his mouth was slightly upturned in a smile. Against the black of his tuxedo jacket, Glen's pale face stood out like a marble statue. He was breathtakingly good looking.
The woman in front of him said something and Tyler didn't hear it. She said it again.
"Dance with me while this song is playing. Surely you cannot refuse a lady's request, monsieur." Her voice was husky and although Tyler could sense how sexy it was, the magic just wasn't there anymore.
Tyler looked away from Glen to face the woman. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but as I've said, I'm spoken for -- and my husband has my next dance."
The woman pulled back with a cold look on her face. "Quelle domage. Perhaps another time, oui?"
Tyler shook his head. "I doubt it, but you're welcome to keep trying."
She moved away and Glen came up. He glanced at the woman walking away and then to Tyler's face. Tyler wasn't watching her, he was watching Glen. Intently.
"What? Is my hair mussed?"
Tyler smiled, shaking his head. "No, you're perfect. Dance with me."
Glen raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought you needed a drink after all that dancing and flouting convention?" He gestured with the two champagne flutes he had in his hands.
Tyler took the drinks from Glen's hands, put them in Tim's and took Glen's hands in his own. "I'm serious, if you don't dance with me right now, I'm going to go back to letting that woman try to seduce me."
Glen got a fierce look on his face, and moved his feet in preparation to sp
in Tyler away to the dance floor. "Oh, is that how it is?"
Tyler nodded mutely. Glen pulled him away, leading him in a waltz.
They danced for several minutes -- several calming, perfect Glen moments, from Tyler's perspective. It was exactly what he needed to come down from whatever hormone had taken over his brain.
"So, what's up?" Glen asked. He was using his casual voice, but the question wasn't casual.
"I was almost seduced."
To Tyler's mild alarm, Glen didn't miss a step at this statement. More than that, he was silent.
"Didn't you hear? I said I was almost seduced." Tyler must have sounded slightly anguished -- he sure felt that way -- because this did cause Glen to miss a step.
"Hey, do you know what I heard just now?" Glen smiled, which was good.
"No?" Tyler was confused.
"Almost."
"What?"
"That word: almost. That's the most important part of what you just said. You were almost seduced, which is a pretty far cry from actually being seduced. Besides, how was this different from Rebecca Sterling?"
Tyler swallowed. "The mystery woman came on to me, just me and you weren't there. Rebecca has always made a point of coming on to both of us, serious or not serious."
"Ah."
"Ah? That's all you're going to say?"
Glen continued with that contented-looking smile. "Tyler, I'll let you in on a little secret: I trust you."
"Yeah, but--"
"That's it: I trust you. Full stop. No qualifications, no conditions. I trust you utterly and completely. I have to, you have my heart."
Tyler swallowed. "Oh, man. You really know how to put it out there, don't you?"
Glen flashed a grin. "I really do. I think loving you is like my superpower or something."
"One of them, anyway. You also make love like a demon -- you know, that male one whose whole thing is sex."
Glen snorted.
They danced silently for a moment. Then Tyler looked up at Glen. "You know I trust you, too, right?"