by K. T. Tomb
“Could you take a reply to this email please?” Chyna asked, handing her the printed email from Sir Robert.
“Sure.”
Sirita turned the paper over on its blank side and sat ready to take notes.
“Dear Sir Robert, it would be an absolute pleasure to join you at Dordogne to get a better feel for your concerns and the details behind the disappearance of the Aquitaine Armor. Please expect myself and Agent Stewart to arrive within a week. Our office manager, Miss Sirita Patel, will forward the details of our travel arrangements to you as soon as possible. Attached are our standard release and authorization forms we require to be processed for the licenses and permits in order to bring our necessary equipment for the investigation. See you in Bristol. Chyna Stone.”
“Gone so soon, again?” Sirita asked, concerned.
“It’s the life we live, darling,” Chyna said. “If you want to become an investigator, you have to have your firearm and passport ready at all times. Always having a bag packed and ready to go doesn’t hurt either.”
Sirita smiled wistfully at the comment.
“You’ll see so much of the world doing this job, Sirita. I just hope you don’t mind being so far from home all the time.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to travel; my dream came true that day when you called me and offered me this job, Chyna.”
Sirita stood and went to her desk to send off the email to Robert Montgomery and make airline reservations for Chyna and Tony. After a few minutes, she called Chyna on the intercom.
“You leave tomorrow afternoon at twelve thirty, arriving at Heathrow at 2:45, GMT. Sir Robert’s email said he will arrange for his plane to take you on to Bristol so I’ll wait for his response before booking anything further. I assume you will be staying at the estate?”
“That is correct.”
“All done then. Your e-ticket is in your inbox.”
“That’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Shall I get Tony on the phone?”
“Please, that would be great.”
Chapter One
A few days later, Chyna and Tony touched down at Heathrow Airport in the afternoon amid the bustle of the summer tourist season.
People were converging on the six weeks of fair English weather to take in the rich history, fantastic sites and, of course, the incomparable shopping that London had to offer. They would certainly try to carve out a few days to do the same, but for now, they were preoccupied with navigating the crowds and finding their way to the private aircraft section of the airport. A few directions from security staff and a short shuttle ride later they were comfortably ensconced in the shameless luxury of the VIP lounge in the jet terminal.
There was a skycap waiting for them at the door who almost accosted Tony in an effort to help them with their bags.
Eventually, Chyna placed her hand firmly on Tony’s arm and met his eyes with hers before leading him inside to allow the man to do his job. Attractive attendants invited them in and confirmed their identity before reassuring them that their aircraft would be arriving within the half hour and that they were still on schedule for a five o’clock departure.
“Wonderful,” Chyna replied, trying her best to validate the woman’s seemingly genuine enthusiasm.
“May I offer you some afternoon tea? The flight is rather short, so we’ll only be having a beverage service on-board.”
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Chyna said. “We’re famished.”
They allowed themselves to be led by the attractive woman into a cozy restaurant area which was dominated by a huge glass wall overlooking the back runways of the expansive airport.
There were no other passengers there.
When they were seated at a table by the window, a waiter came with a tall tea tower brimming with sandwiches, cakes and biscuits. Chyna helped herself to a sandwich from the lowest tier that looked remarkably like the Benedictine sandwiches of her youth. When she bit into it, a smile of familiarity spread across her face as she sat back and purred softly.
Tony smiled in appreciation.
“What is that?” he asked, curious about what had given her so much pleasure.
“I’m sure it’s just a cucumber sandwich… very British, but it tastes so much like my grandmother Missy’s Benedictine sandwiches, that I had a ‘mini flashback’ to hot afternoons under the giant mossy dogwoods on her ranch in Georgia.”
Just then, the waiter returned with a menu for Tony.
“Some more substantial teatime offerings, sir?” he asked. Then, turning to Chyna and asked, “What type of tea would the lady prefer?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of having a choice,” Chyna floundered. “What do you have?”
The waiter smiled. He was certainly enjoying the opportunity to ply his expertise on his obviously American guests.
“This afternoon, we have a classic Ceylon Black, an English Afternoon blend, Earl Grey and of course, Darjeeling teas available, madam.”
“I love the orangey taste of Earl Grey. I’ll have some of that, thank you.”
“Excellent choice, madam. And does the gentleman see anything which he might like from the menu?”
Chyna was a bit thrown off that the waiter hadn’t offered her a menu as well, but she assumed that she probably wasn’t up on the proper teatime protocol of the British aristocracy. It was either that, or it was presumed that a lady would have tea and petit fours at four o’clock while the gentlemen may partake of something heartier.
All in all, she didn’t mind having the tall tray’s offerings to herself, which was more than would be needed to slake her appetite.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Tony said in his most hoity-toity voice which made Chyna chuckle. “I’ll have the salmon en croûte with the watercress salad, but no roasted potatoes, please.”
“Certainly, sir. May I offer you some grilled asparagus or sautéed green beans instead of the potatoes?”
“Green beans sound excellent and I’ll have a beer with that; whatever you have on tap.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, his meal and Chyna’s tea had arrived and they both dipped into the food in silence. Neither had realized just how hungry they were until they began to eat. They were so engrossed in the food that they hardly noticed the stunning Asian woman who sauntered in and sat down a few tables away from them. Tony cut and shoveled a slice of his salmon onto Chyna’s plate and picked one of the sandwiches she had commented on from the tray.
When the meal was over, their waiter reappeared and began clearing the table. He was rather impressed with how they had fared.
“The flight staff would like to inform you that your aircraft will be boarding in a half an hour. Weather is forecasted to clear and the flight will only be twenty minutes into Bristol Airport.”
“Thank you,” Tony said as he stood from the table.
When he passed the waiter to pull out Chyna’s chair, Tony slipped him a ten pound note, which made the man beam with delight. They nodded courteously to the woman at the neighboring table as they exited the restaurant. She returned the gesture and promptly returned to sipping her glass of wine.
The Gulfstream G650 jet was certainly an extension of the immense luxury that Chyna and Tony had experienced in the departure lounge. The spacious eight passenger cabin was way more than the two of them could occupy and the clean, white leather interior just spoke of all kinds of opulence.
After takeoff, the two curled up on the large couch and napped off their large meal, sleeping soundly until the pilot announced their descent into Bristol Airport.
Being a domestic flight, there was no airport bureaucracy to deal with, and the couple found themselves on the outside on the concourse in no time.
As if knowing they would have been suitably impressed up to that point, Sir Robert had a uniformed driver waiting at the curb holding a monogrammed sign with their names neatly printed on it. He was standing in front of a black Rolls Royce Phantom.
Tony let out a low whistle and tried to contain his facial expression so as not to give his awe away to the chauffeur. He walked up to the man and extended his hand, introducing himself.
“Good evening. I’m Anthony Stewart and this is Chyna Stone.”
“Good evening, sir,” he said, shaking Tony’s hand, then turned to Chyna, took his cap from his head and bowed a little. “Good evening, madam.”
He put his hat back on before he continued to speak to them.
“My name is Ramsay and I’ll be driving you to Dordogne Estate this evening. Sir Robert is awaiting your arrival.”
Chyna chuckled as she imagined Tony fighting the urge to reply, ‘Very good, my dear chap. Carry on!’
As they drove through the scenic countryside toward Sir Robert’s ancestral estate, Chyna was overwhelmed by the spectacular scenery that went past the car window. Apparently, despite being the bustling center of industry that Bristol was, the particular care for the natural environment surrounding the town was evident.
Lush, verdant fields rolled over the hillsides in every direction while spectacular hedgerows in full bloom lined the neighborhood roadways. The estates in the area were expansive. Still fenced, they were divided by the ancient, low cut stone walls that were probably placed there by the original landowners centuries ago.
It made Chyna feel nostalgic seeing the four foot tall embankments that ran in straight lines toward the horizon and parallel to the road. To her, they were beacons of a time when all one had to contain within or keep out of one’s property were the livestock; a time when there was nothing to fear of encroachment from one’s neighbor.
She sighed loudly as she envisioned a simpler, kinder time in history.
“What’s wrong, Babe?” Tony asked, pulling her closer to him in the spacious back seat. “You still tired?”
“No, I’m fine, just reminiscing a little.”
“Really? About what? I thought this was your first time in Bristol.”
“It is, but certainly not my first time in England. In perfect honesty, Tony, as much as the towns and cities here may differ, the countryside is exactly the same everywhere in the country. Excepting maybe way north; but otherwise, exactly the same.”
Tony gave her a small smile and turned back to watching the road through the windscreen.
When they pulled up to the gates of Dordogne Estate, they were both sufficiently in awe. The double gate swung open automatically as the car approached and closed again behind them as it started up the long driveway. Tony chuckled and pointed down the driveway nudging Chyna on the arm.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“‘Run, Forrest. Run!’” Tony said, still pointing down the drive.
Chyna instantly joined Tony in the joke. The road leading up to the enormous manor house was straight and tree lined. On both sides there were ancient oak trees heavily hung with the gray lichen sometimes called Spanish moss or old man’s beard; it looked exactly like the ‘run’ scene in Forrest Gump.
The Rolls Royce pulled in silently under a large porte-cochère that stood as shelter over the front door. Sir Robert was uncharacteristically waiting for them at the door. Chyna got a bad feeling about that as they pulled up in front of him. He stepped back and allowed an older gentleman to open the car door for them and once they were out he stepped up and extended his hand, first to Tony and then to Chyna.
“Welcome to Bristol and to Dordogne,” he announced ceremoniously.
“Thank you, Sir Robert,” Chyna replied as Tony went around to the back of the car to help the driver and elderly butler with the bags.
They both shot Tony a deathly look and he unwillingly backed off to leave them to it. Sir Robert laughed at the spectacle and invited them into the house.
“You look like you’re going somewhere, Sir Robert,” Chyna continued. “Or were you just very eager to see us?”
He gave her a rueful smile.
“You are very perceptive, Miss Stone. I have only just been called away to London on business. I was still hoping we could have dinner together, but should I delay, it would mean a very late night for Ramsay.”
“Oh, I see. But at the weekend?”
Robert laughed heartily at her concern and replied, “In London society, there is a great deal of business that gets done on the polo field in the summer, Miss Stone. Public relations firms such as mine thrive on the connections made at such events.”
She was visibly disappointed. Tony recognized her mood change and immediately volunteered his services.
“Well, if you’d allow me to, I don’t mind driving you to the airport after dinner, Sir Robert.”
The gesture was, in Robert’s mind, extremely generous. They had just made a ten hour trip from Istanbul and yet they would have his company so earnestly that they would leave the comforts of his home to take him to the airport.
“I would hate to impose so much on my own guests,” he started, but Tony stopped him.
“I won’t hear of it. You have been extremely generous to host us here and since you will now be away on business, we wouldn’t feel comfortable at all unless we at least had dinner together.”
“You have made it an offer I cannot refuse, Tony; at least, not without being terribly rude and an ungracious host at that. I promise to at least make it fun for you.”
“Really? How so, Sir Robert?”
“Just Robert, please, and that goes for you too, Miss Stone.”
Chyna laughed and replied, “Only if you call me Chyna.”
“Agreed,” he responded, then turned to Tony to finish what he had been saying. “Well, I won’t have you drive that boring monstrosity, that’s for sure. I’m positive we can find something a little, ummm, sportier in the garage when we’re ready to leave. I only have my briefcase with me, after all.”
With pictures of Maseratis and Bugattis running through his head, Tony grinned widely.
“Shall we go in for dinner?”
“Absolutely.”
***
“Ichita,” Keiko said into the phone as she stood at the window of the lounge, watching the jet taxi away from the gate.
“Moshi moshi, Keiko.”
“They are both on their way to Bristol. Robert Montgomery must be taking this business very seriously. He’s gone to great lengths to get Chyna Stone to Dordogne safely and quickly.”
“I take it that you were unable to intercept them then.”
“There was no way, Ichita. He’s clearly done his homework.”
“We have to know exactly how much he knows, Keiko. There’s much more to this story than meets the eye. You know how much I hate to be in the dark.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll find out what’s going on. I doubt he knows that much since he’s brought her in to investigate, though. I mean, how much could she possibly find out? It’s already thirty-five years after the fact.”
“Keiko, I am sure you have read everything that was sent over on this woman and her international feats. Take it from someone who has been underestimated his whole life, I am certain that the majority of her success has come from people consistently making the same mistake that you are right now.”
Keiko said nothing in response; she just listened, allowing him to continue speaking.
“She is a prolific researcher, Keiko. It seems that if it’s out there at all, she will certainly find it. It’s your job to make sure she doesn’t get within spitting distance of anything even remotely useful. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ichita.”
“By the way, you need to get to Hashimoto-san urgently.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Our systems were almost hacked into this morning. The team is still trying to find out what they were after and how much information they got. I think it’s just the formulas, but with everything that’s happening right now, I’d rather to err on the side of caution.”
“Understood.”
“It’s not just the Montgomerys that my father and I
have pissed off in our love for priceless acquisitions.”
He didn’t wait for a reply from Keiko before he ended the call.
The less they said over the compromised network, the better. He knew she would contact him once she had picked up the package of new, secure equipment from Hashimoto’s shop in London.
***
Chyna and Tony had been at the expansive estates of Dordogne in Bristol, luxuriating in the opulent hospitality of Sir Robert Montgomery for the entire weekend.
It had been the sort of peaceful vacation that they had needed after their dealings with the UNESCO hostage situation in Iraq. Sufficiently relaxed after three whole days of not doing much, Chyna was ready to get working on what they had actually come to England to do.
The morning Tony left to go hunting with Sir Robert’s valet, Marcus, Chyna took a leisurely walk down to the business end of the estate to search out Angus McKinley, the estate’s ancient caretaker.
He had lived at Dordogne his whole life of seventy-two years and had been the property’s caretaker for fifty of them. He knew everything there was to know about the place; even more than Robert himself.
She found the old man sitting under a big oak tree in the garden of the caretaker’s cottage sipping a mug of hot tea and fumbling with a folded copy of the morning newspaper.
“Mr. McKinley?” Chyna said as she stood at the garden gate.
“It’s Angus, lass,” he replied without looking up from his reading. “Mr. McKinley was me da’ and he been dead now for thirty years.”
He waved her into the garden and stood as she approached, as any proper gentleman would. They sat together and Angus immediately started asking questions.
“You the lass Sir Monty said would be coming to chat with me about the stolen armor?”
“Yes, sir… I mean… Angus,” Chyna stuttered.
“Very well, it’s a good day and a good time for a chat. There isn’t much left to do around here this time of year. All the crops are in the ground, the orchards aren’t ready with anything yet and the boys are out from school to deal with the livestock. It’s downright boring really. You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would ya?”
