Treasure

by K. T. Tomb

  They bent over the half dozen maps in amazement as the professor spoke freely to them about how he had made his discovery and come up with the theories to support his investigation. He took them through his years of research and they were all understandably intrigued. Looking around the room, Chyna felt satisfied. Everyone was happy to be reunited with friends and colleagues; deep in fellowship with each other and enjoying good company. Even Oscar was engrossed in a jaunty exchange with the F.B.I. technical analysts from Anthony’s team about the latest gadgets and programs and techniques.

  “Where’s Fariha?” she asked Oscar.

  “I don’t know. I think she said something about going down to the orchard out back.”

  The girl’s absence puzzled Chyna but she decided it wasn’t any cause for alarm. She probably just needed a little air, the house was filling up faster than an air-conditioned movie theatre in the middle of a heat wave. Thirty minutes later, the missing Greek girl strolled in carrying a basket of fruit, citrus, vegetables and herbs and started preparing a marinade for a huge bowl of cubed beef and lamb for what Chyna thought must be souvlaki. Even though she knew that they would be leaving for the Oglakcioglu Park Hotel soon, Chyna couldn’t stifle her groan and the desire to catch a moment of relaxation. Her body felt like it was someone else’s. Her shoulders were tense. Just some quiet and a drink, she told herself as she searched for a place to be alone.

  ***

  Anthony found her seated in a wing chair looking out the enormous windows at the darkening evening.

  Her hair flowed over her shoulders and onto one arm of the chair as she reclined deeply within its generous folds and stretched her legs out in front of it. Those long, lustrous tresses were the color of Kuwaiti crude shimmering as the light from the fireplace played along the length of it. She still wore the tight, black tank top and sleek leather pants from their raid at the warehouse earlier that day. The line of her long neck, her smooth shoulders and sleek arms sang to him as he approached her. She dipped her head to take another sip from the glass of whiskey she was drinking, breathed its oaken aroma deeply and let the amber liquid pass over her lips and tongue.

  The sight of her in the firelight caused an ache in his chest that Anthony Stewart had only known since his first encounter with Chyna more than five years ago. He continued to watch silently as she set the glass down and put her hands to her shoulders and rotated her neck in small deliberate circles. She must be tired, he thought. His breath was caught in his throat as her watched her place her hand under the straps of her tank top and rub each aching shoulder blade and the nape of her neck. She sat back in the chair again and raised the glass to her mouth sipping some of the strong liquid it contained before placing it back on the table beside her. He shook his head violently, trying to clear his mind and walked up to her chair.

  “It’s time to go,” Anthony whispered in her ear, delighting at the soft moan his breath against her neck invoked.

  ***

  As they drove across town, Chyna called the manager at the hotel to check on the progress.

  He confirmed that the front desk had received a call check on the availability of suite 1945 but that reservations never got a call to reserve it. “Perfect!” she thought, and then asked him if he could have the card key ready and at the valet station when they arrived. There was no need to draw unnecessary attention to herself as she entered the hotel. The others would be going in the back way of course, considering all the heavy weaponry they were carrying.

  Once they were in the suite upstairs, they all settled into the darkness of the master bedroom to wait. At around midnight, the call came. Surveillance had a visual of Jackson and two other men gaining access to the building through the unmanned staff entrance at the back of the building.

  “On point people,” Anthony announced. “They’ve entered the building.”

  Soon they heard the lock on the front door being blown and the men entering the suite. They waited until the door swung open and then an agent hit the light switch.

  “Freeze. Don’t move a muscle.” Agent Stewart said.

  The agents cuffed the three men and led them out of the room. Agent Stewart advised them of their rights, though it wasn’t necessary in Turkey, if they were tried in the U.S., it would be a critical element. Without ceremony, they were escorted from the suite and out through the back of the hotel without a single person knowing that anything out of the ordinary had taken place.

  “You all go ahead back to the house,” he said to his team. “Lock them up downstairs with the other two and get some rest. We’ll tidy this place up and join you later. It’s back to business as usual tomorrow. Good job everybody.”

  They all filed out leaving Anthony and Chyna behind. He locked the door behind them and turned to her.

  “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day you little tease,” he said.

  “Me?” she replied coyly, unstrapping her gun holster and dropping it to the couch beside her. “I never teased you one second today. If I had you wouldn’t have made it this long.”

  She pulled the tactical vest off, dropping it to the floor, turned and walked back into the bedroom. He followed, dropping his jacket and vest in a heap on top of hers and stepping out of his boots. As he stepped through the doorway, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Anthony’s hand ran over every inch of her back as he ravished her mouth passionately.

  They didn’t get to see each other often, with all her travelling and his being reassigned to embassies and consulates all over the planet almost every six months or so, but they always knew each other’s whereabouts and did their best to see each other whenever they wound up in the same city. It wasn’t a real relationship by any stretch of the definition but it was the most either of them could hope for considering their chosen professions and the mitigating circumstances. They each knew that the other would wait a lifetime for a moment like the one they were having right now.

  He pulled the sexy black tank top over her head and his nostrils were filled with the scent of her. She always smelt like that. A mixture of the perfume she always wore, Cabotine de Grès, and the almond oil she used on her skin and in her gorgeous black hair. Today, it was mixed with a little sweat and maybe some adrenaline; she smelled awesome. He lowered his head to kiss her neck and shoulders, he remembered how she had rubbed them earlier and they were hurting from the stress of the day. Her hands went over his back and to his waist, clawing at his shirt and pulling it free of his pants. She moved back to lift it over his head and then nestled to him so he could kiss her on the neck again. He undid the clasp of her bra and slid the straps from her shoulders, pulling the garment away and free of their bodies. When his lips moved to her breasts, she put both her arms around his neck and threw her head back in ecstasy. They had hours to please each other, nowhere to be until four o clock that morning. They would take their time and make it last. Who knew when they would see each other again?

  They were kissing again. He pulled the buckle of her belt and she pulled his, letting their slacks fall about their ankles on the floor. Anthony lifted her, she swung her legs around his waist instinctively, and he took the few steps to the bed. When she was gently nestled among the plush bedding he quickly dispatched the rest of their clothing and lifted her again. He sat on the edge of the bed, relishing the feel of her lean, strong thighs wrapped around his waist. She moved erotically on his lap as they kissed deeper and deeper. Then, unable to wait a second longer, Chyna raised herself and joined their bodies with one smooth motion. Her head went back and a moan of satisfaction and excitement escaped her throat. Her eyes were closed and she clung to his shoulders for support. Anthony watched her move her body against his in amazement. He lived to see her in these moments of complete abandon. As her colleague, he was too used to seeing her in full control. She was authoritative, commanding, professional, intelligent, maddeningly so; but here, with him, in these times, she was a goddess. Feminine, sexy, passionate, erotic; a wo
man. He kissed her breasts again and heard her pleasure in her moans. He would let her take her pleasure how she wanted, while he played her supporting actor before taking her body to the highest peaks of ecstasy over and over again.

  She moved with him, smooth and hot like flowing lava until she cried out, pulling him in close to her and shaking all over, breathing raggedly. He let her calm down and waited for her breathing to slow and become soft against his shoulder before turning around and laying her tenderly on the bed. She could see the need in his eyes now, the pride on his face from experiencing the raptures of her satisfaction. She moaned when he joined with her again, gripping the sheets tightly in her fists and as he moved with his desire and lust, they were soon climbing peak after peak of pleasure in each other’s arms.

  ***

  “Come on Tony,” Chyna said. “We’ve got to go. It’s almost three in the morning!”

  “I’m up, I’m up,” he grumbled. “Guess we have a room to pay for now huh?”

  Chyna laughed at his joke as she quickly got dressed.

  “We’ve got to get back to the house to shower, change and pack in time to get over to the dock and take that ship out to sea this morning. You put yourself together and meet me out front, I’ll go take care of this room and get us some coffee.”

  As she left, picking up her vest and holster in the living room, Anthony couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly they had gone from Chyna and Tony back to Miss Stone and Agent Stewart. He shook his head in amazement. What a woman.

  ***

  The house on ‘Embassy Row’ was a hive of activity for just after 3 a.m. by the time they got there.

  Chyna and Anthony went straight up to their rooms to shower and prepare themselves to leave. Lana had already packed Chyna’s bag and laid out another pair of black slacks and tank top for her. When she came out of the shower, she brushed her long hair back into a high ponytail and got dressed, placing all her toiletries and the dirty clothes into the suitcase and zipping it closed. The holster was buckled in place and her jacket was again slipped over her shoulders.

  In the living room, the professor and his team were rolling up maps and putting folders into briefcases for the move. All of Oscar’s equipment was back inside their black cases and being loaded carefully into one of the vans. Fariha was being helped by two agents to put the suitcases in the back of an Escalade while Lana made and packed sandwiches into brown paper bags with fruit, water and Cokes for everyone.

  “We move out at oh-four-hundred hours!” Anthony called as he placed his suitcase with the others by the door and went to take Chyna’s from her hand.

  “Looks like we are all on schedule, Agent,” she said.

  “It seems so, Miss Stone,” he replied.

  They smiled at each other and Chyna went to help Lana in the kitchen. When the last of the suitcases were loaded, Fariha came to take over for her, allowing Chyna to go to the basement and assist with the securing of the detainees for transportation. They looked ready to go as well.

  “Hans, you’ll be with me for this one and I want your full cooperation,” Chyna instructed. “Agent Stewart will deal with getting everyone and everything on board but you and I will be on the bridge. Don’t get any cute ideas, I’ll put a bullet in your head and throw you overboard faster than you can say ‘Hello’. Got it?”

  “Yes, Miss Stone,” he replied.

  “Good. Now all of you, listen up. This is how it is; you can either consider yourself fully integrated into this mission, after which you will be considered witnesses of the State against Ethan Doyle and be granted the leniency and consideration that affords, or you can decide to get stupid and try to double-cross us. Either way, only one choice is going to see you live through this, the other turns you into shark food. Personally, I’d recommend playing nice; the outcome is bound to be better for all involved. We’re all watching you.”

  With that she nodded to the agents, who drrew black hoods over the prisoners’ heads and moved them out of the cells and up to the first floor. They placed them in the back of one of the vans and locked the doors. Chyna got into the car beside Anthony and the convoy eased out onto ‘Embassy Row’ and in the direction of the Izmir Canal.

  Early that morning under the cover of darkness, eleven dark figures crossed the pier at Reneseree Industries and boarded an empty stationary platform vessel called Renaissance which pulled out to sea hours before the break of dawn.

  ***

  Thirty-six hours out to sea, they could see the island of Psara coming into view.

  They would take the strait that ran between Psara and Chios. They couldn’t approach the site directly from the North between the Cesme coast and Chios because the water around the island of Inousses was too shallow for the platform vessel. That was probably the same reason why Artemesia’s ships had been wrecked there almost 3,000 years before. They would reach their intended location in another twelve hours or so, but for the moment they were waiting for word from Doyle.

  Chyna found it strange that he hadn’t radioed the ship as yet. The map had been scheduled to be delivered at his apartment at noon. Her concerns were soon put to rest when at 6 o’ clock that evening the radio buzzed to life. With a stern look at Hans, Chyna motioned for him to pick it up and respond.

  “This is the Renaissance. Cargo vessel 5 5 3 4 8. Hans Svennson speaking. Come back.”

  “Renaissance, Doyle. Hans, is everything on schedule? Come back.”

  “Mr. Doyle, everything remains on schedule. The Renaissance is making way South in the Psara channel and awaiting further instructions. Come back.”

  “Very good, Hans. The target coordinates are 38.318230, 26.231997. What is your ETA to that location? Come back.”

  “I’d say twenty-four hours to that location, Mr. Doyle. Come back”

  “Perfect. Expect me onboard at six o clock tomorrow evening, Hans. Over and out.”

  The radio went silent and he handed it back to Chyna so she could put it back in the cradle. It seemed as if everything was going according to plan and Chyna breathed a sigh of relief. She sat down in her chair by the door to the bridge and opened her brown paper bag. Lana had been preparing portable meals for everyone during the days and a hot dinner at night. It was a good plan since most of the crew were on the move all day onboard the vessel. The work never seemed to end. Anthony stepped through the door just then.

  “Any news?”

  “Yeah. Doyle just called. He’s meeting the ship tomorrow around 6 p.m. at the wreck site.”

  “Perfect.”

  He opened the cuff that secured Hans’ left hand to the controls of the ship and slipped it over his right wrist. Then he led him to an empty chair across the room and handed him a paper bag.

  “Eat something, you look exhausted. I’ll take over for a while.”

  Hans looked grateful. He took the pastrami sandwich out of the bag and bit into it voraciously. There was an apple and a bottle of orange juice as well, which he polished off in no time. After the short break, Anthony cuffed Hans back to the wheel. He seemed resigned to his status as captive now. He was just glad to be treated like a human being in light of how badly things could have gone if he had remained a part of Ethan Doyle’s plan or chosen to take the Turkish prison course.

  At eight, one of the other agents, James, came to relieve them so Anthony and Chyna could go down to the galley for dinner. He was drinking a bottle of water and handed Hans one to refresh himself as well. Lana had made lasagna and James had already told them that it was amazing. He would watch Hans until they returned, at which point they would allow their prisoner to take a break and eat. Anthony stopped by his cabin and came back out showing off a small 250ml bottle of Chianti he had smuggled on board with him. Chyna smiled and shook her head in amusement. In the galley, everyone was noisily chatting in their little groups about this and that and enjoying their supper immensely. Fariha was helping by handing out bottles of water to everyone, one table at a time. She put water down for them and L
ana brought over two plates of lasagna, Oscar passed them a basket of garlic bread.

  “If I had known you guys eat so well in the field I would have insisted on tech support for every mission,” he said, laughing. Lana cuffed him on the back of his head and the whole galley burst out laughing at his expense.

  Anthony shared the contents of the bottle of wine between their two glasses and then made a toast.

  “To us,” he said.

  “To us,” Chyna repeated, “and to finding the Minoan Mask.”

  ***

  Two hours later, there was a strange silence on the platform vessel.

  After eating his dinner and gulping down another bottle of water, Hans had been unable to keep his eyes open to sail any longer. James had agreed when he suggested that they station it for a few hours to rest, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open either. Hans pulled up the brake on the rudders, killed the engines and set the moors down and curled up in his handcuffs in a corner of the bridge where he had laid out his sleeping bag. Neither he nor James heard the choppers approaching nor did they see the tiny figure on the deck of the vessel laying out the lit flares to signal the landing area.

  ***

  Snuggled into the muscular chest of Anthony Stewart, Chyna heard the rhythmic sound of the rotors breaking through her bliss. At first she tried to push the sound out of her mind and snuggle in closer against the warm body beside her, and then recognition of what she had heard rushed into her mind and her eyes snapped open.

  “Shit!” she called out, rising up from the bed and groping for some shorts and a t-shirt to pull over her nude body. “They came early.”