by K. T. Tomb
“He says his name is Fernando. He is the head of the Medici—a very famous crime syndicate here in Barcelona. They are the ones who have been transporting the rosary across Spain. They received a tip some weeks ago from an unknown source, who told them the location of the rosary. They were paid a handsome advance to retrieve it from its location and transport it across Spain to Geneva. The rosary is going to be exported to an unknown location after that.
“He says he and his team stole it from the Cathedral of Valencia, but as they moved cross country, each one of his crew members went mad. They went the same way the other victims did: hallucinations, voices, and visions and so on. He is the last one left.”
Tacho leaned in close to Chyna, signaling for her to come closer, and whispered in her ear, “Chyna, I think he is going mad too.”
Chyna gasped, her head turning to take in Fernando’s profile, bent over the altar again, praying fervently.
“Look at him,” Tacho continued. “He was barely coherent when I was talking to him. He kept saying things about God and his wrath and whatnot; listen, he’s speaking again.” Fernando sobbed prayers out through clasped hands, and Tacho translated in real time for Chyna to hear. “He has come here to beg forgiveness. He says that he realizes now what a grave crime they had committed, and has come to beg forgiveness. He says he will return the rosary to the priests in the cathedral in the morning and leave.” Chyna slapped her hand on Tacho’s shoulder.
“Wait a minute, are you saying he has the rosary?”
Tacho nodded at Chyna’s with a grave expression on his face and pointed toward the altar, where Fernando was praying. It was only then that Chyna looked closely enough at the prostrate man when she realized that he wasn’t actually apologizing to God per se, but to a wooden box; the rosary itself.
Chyna felt a tremor go through her: the very item she had heard of and had been chasing across Spain was right in front of her in all of its majesty and delightful danger. She looked at Fernando and the box to which he was praying and imagined the rosary inside of it. The thrill that coursed through her was something she could identify as being closest to what Tacho must have felt while talking about the Cathedral. She wanted to touch the box, but she realized that Fernando was standing between them like a wall. If Tacho was right, then Chyna needed to take her next step very carefully. A slight misconception and the mobster could potentially turn this situation into a very violent one.
“What do we do now? We need to get the rosary out of here, or at least get it to safety until morning. Fernando can hand it over to the priests tomorrow.” Chyna whispered.
“I know. Also, if those highway policemen really were following us, it wouldn’t take them long to catch up and figure out where we are,” Tacho reasoned. “Fernando isn’t in his right mind. He will tell them what he told us. And Chyna, they will not be as cooperative as we are.”
“That, my friend, is very true,” a voice announced from the back.
The hair on the back of Chyna’s neck stood up as she heard the tone and cadences. She felt like a robot, turning mechanically to follow the source, eyes widening when she found it. Her arms and legs went numb momentarily, and she found herself unable to react.
The cops from Cordoba were there emerging from the shadows along with One Eye and their leader.
Anthony Stewart.
Chapter Eleven
RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014
Calm before the storm: When Cristoforo was preparing to leave for his first voyage, Isabella declared on March 31, 1492, that all Jews had four months to be baptized into the Catholic faith, or else they would be forced to leave Castile y Leon and Aragon. Some agreed, but most fled. England and France closed their borders to those expelled from Castile y Leon and Aragon, so most were forced to find refuge into Portugal. Italy, Greece, and Turkey also opened their doors to the refugees. Others found their way to the New World. Isabella believed that she was doing God’s work, but the horror and cruelty of the Inquisition stains her reign of many achievements. During her reign, Isabella created a new Espana, many of the Spanish kingdoms joined together. She financed voyages that led to the discovery of the New World, and created one of the most cultured and powerful kingdoms in Europe.
“Well, here we are again.” Tony smiled at Chyna, and for the first time in months, Chyna felt like she was getting the closure that she had so longed for. The Anthony she had known and the one facing her now were two different people, and she knew that hers was lost. He had been a lie given to the world by the gods of betrayal and greed. This man standing before her disgusted her.
“Here we are again,” she announced, staring down the length of her arm, past her raised pistol and into the eyes of the man she once loved. There was no fear in her, only cold determination wrapped her fingers, her arm, her shoulder and her heart in steel. Chyna felt like she was meant to act in that moment, meant to face Tony at that particular point in time within the walls of the Cathedral de Barcelona on a summer night.
“I must say, you bounced back faster than even I ever expected you would, Chyna.” Tony raised an eyebrow in appreciation, and Chyna remembered all the times the gesture used to turn her on. It curled her lip in disgust, her breathing betrayed her and her heart rate rose unbidden. The barrel of her pistol wavered slightly, and Tony smirked at her to see the effect he still had.
“You know me, Tony. I have never been one to dwell on things, especially the little things,” Chyna sneered.
His expression didn’t falter, but the way his lips pursed slightly told her she had gotten under his skin. It was her turn to smirk.
“Yeah, that’s why you moved on with Mark. I’m sure I’m no competition in the bedroom to a cripple. How’s his leg, by the way? Still limping, I imagine. Like other things, there I suppose. I imagine a good stiff dose of PTSD does wonders for the libido.”
“You don’t hold any sway in my life now, Tony. And after what you did, I’m pretty sure you can’t hold me responsible for anything I did while we were together. What’s even more certain is that I should have finished you in that church two months ago.” She raised an eyebrow, hoping an implication of infidelity would splinter his resolve, make him slip.
“It doesn’t even matter, Chyna. I’ve won again, you see,” Tony countered. “I never loved you. You were just a means to an end. I needed the pieces; you had the resources and oh so much energy to go chasing around the world after them, getting into danger to gather up these precious items, and all for my friends to swoop in and collect them all in one night. Pretty effective strategy, don’t you agree?”
“Yeah, about that: I had some questions. Why do you need them, Tony? Is it for the money? They’re just pieces of history. They’ll probably end up in the vault of some rich collector. I had a higher opinion of your career prospects than you being a petty mercenary. I guess that was all an illusion as well.” Chyna tried to play it cool because she knew he would never give up important information easily. When Tony opened his mouth, she could hardly believe her luck.
“Why does anyone do anything, Chyna? Why does anyone need anything? Because they want to be the best. Deep down, every person is hungry. They need opportunities; they need money; they need fame. Me? I realized long ago that all that really matters is power, and the right to exercise that power, Chyna. Once I saw how toothless the FBI really was, I knew I had to follow some new allegiances.”
Chyna didn’t want to admit it, but she was a little disappointed. By the way Tony had conducted himself those past years, she had really expected him to be more creative and less mainstream. But here he was, reciting rhymes of world domination and whatnot when she had expected all of his extensive planning to go into something much more worthwhile.
“Really, Tony? World domination? By you? You’re nothing but a glorified gigolo, a fame whore.” She frowned comically. “I had really expected something better. I don’t understand how a little rosary will help you to dominate the world.”
“Not me
—us. We have a plan, Chyna. We always have a plan.” Tony looked over his shoulder briefly while speaking. “And now that I’m ahead, I think I’ll just quit. I know you, Chyna Stone. I know all the mind games that you play with people. You’re not getting anything else from me, not tonight at least. Maybe after I’ve led you on another wild goose chase for my own amusement,” he laughed.
She looked past Tony to see One Eye grabbing Fernando and picking him up. The mobster was all but spent because of his weeping and whimpering, but One Eye showed him no mercy while hauling him to his feet. He screamed at the poor man to pick the rosary up and walk. Tacho was backed up against the transept wall, hands in the air and a gun pointed squarely at his chest.
They were going to walk out of the cathedral with the rosary in their possession, and Chyna knew that chances would be she would not be able to do anything about it. She saw more tears leave Fernando’s eyes and drop to the floor of the cathedral as he picked the rosary up and started walking, with sluggish feet, toward the door.
“Stop!” Chyna shouted, pointing the gun straight at Tony. “So help me God, Tony, stop or I will shoot you.”
Tony, who had been strolling toward his group, turned around with a look of amused theatrical shock.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “You took your confidence pills, Chyna. I am so proud of you!”
“Shut up, Tony!” She threatened, “Release him or I will shoot you!”
Tony’s smile vanished from his face. His eyes narrowed into slits and his lips pursed into a hard, thin line. He turned around and threw his gun to One Eye, then spread his arms out and stood facing Chyna, his chest puffed out.
“Do it then. Go ahead. Gun me down, right here and now. Quite fitting, don’t you think? A self-sacrifice in a cathedral?”
But Chyna couldn’t. She knew she should pull the trigger; that she should finish him off before he had the chance to hurt even more people than he already had. She would be doing the world and herself a favor.
What held her back was what she saw in his face; a glimpse of the Tony she had once loved; his valor, his intelligence, and his stupid tendency to jump into anything and everything without thinking too much. She saw the Tony she knew and loved in her heart even after such a cruel betrayal. She saw the one who loved her right back, not this clone who claimed to be him and yet was so very different. She knew it was someone else facing her, but she still couldn’t pull the trigger.
His booming laugh echoed around the high walled, stained glassed cathedral, which only added to the list of reasons why she should shoot, yet her finger remained where it had been—on the verge, but going no further.
“I thought so, Chyna,” he laughed again, and then, with those words, he turned around and walked out of the cathedral. The click-clack of his shoes retreated across the marble floor resonating in her mind as she sank to her knees.
Chapter Twelve
RSS feed. Lana Ambrose, 2014
The New World: Although Isabella accomplished much during her reign, she is remembered most for her funding Cristoforo Colombo, Christopher Columbus. Today she is remembered as a devout woman, and there is a movement to canonize her into the Catholic faith. However, her role in the Inquisition is blocking the way for Isabel’s entrance into sainthood.
Queen Isabella died on November 26, 1504, at the age of 53. Her body was wrapped in a Franciscan robe, which she thought would guarantee her entry into heaven. Her tomb is in the Royal Chapel at Granada, next to Fernando’s, who died twelve years after his wife in 1516. They were succeeded by their daughter, Queen Juana, and their son-in-law, King Philip I.
Chyna was frozen in the place where she had gone to her knees full of disappointment.
Facing off with Tony had been the easiest thing in the world for her to play through in her mind, she had envisioned it a thousand times in her mind’s eye, mentally rehearsed what to say, what to do, whether to talk or to just shoot him dead. She had drawn the gun and pointed it at him, ready to shoot just as she had imagined it. She had thought that she would have had the upper hand and that she would be able to get under his skin. Little had she known that he was like a crocodile, covered in layers of scales and rock hard flesh, seemingly impossible to penetrate. Instead, he had gotten under her skin and into her head. Once again, Chyna Stone was left helpless and frozen in place while her archenemy had walked right out of her hands, playing her weakness to his advantage.
“Chyna!” She felt a hand on her back—Tacho.
“Chyna, we need to follow them!” he insisted. “Hurry!”
Chyna knew she should move, but getting to her feet seemed impossible due to the heavy weight on her shoulders. Would she ever be able to face him? Would she ever be able to exact her revenge? Would she ever get over him? Her present state was evidence to everything being exactly the opposite, which made her want to weep. She had never felt so weak nor so beaten. She was sure that of all of the weak points that could possibly break her, this was the worst; the knowledge of the fact that she wasn’t strong enough, and might never be.
“Chyna! Venga te!” Tacho pulled her hand, drawing her to her feet. She moved with him mechanically. Her brain was trying to grapple with her body and drive it into the chasms of pain and numbness. She kept up with Tacho somehow, but her mind was still stuck in that one moment; the moment when she had had the chance to take Tony out of the equation,n but had not had the strength to fulfill her destiny. It was shameful, embarrassing to admit, especially to herself.
Tony’s ambling silhouette was still clearly visible in the light outside of the cathedral. He had his gun in his right hand, and his left was in the pocket of his pants as though he hadn’t a care in the world; secure with his henchman, One Eye and the goons in police uniforms. He knew that he had damaged Chyna enough to guarantee that she would not be able to kill him; and that, to him, was the ultimate protection.
Chyna shouted a challenge for Tony to stop, but her voice was muffled by the tires of a vehicle screeching as it turned into the square from the avenue to the north. Chyna turned her head toward the sound and to her relief, and surprise saw Tacho’s minivan speeding toward them in a frenzy with Sirita at the wheel and Oscar beside her. Help had arrived, and they had a snowball’s chance of retrieving what they had come for.
Tony, unfortunately, noticed the shift in power at the same instant Chyna did, because the next thing she saw was him gesticulating toward his group and instructing them in Spanish. For a moment, the fear of the men caused them to hesitate, but their faces changed as Tony spoke. Almost immediately, they took out their handguns and in the next moment had opened fire on the van, which slewed and skidded, presenting the driver’s side of the vehicle to the assailants and giving the team at least some protection from small arms fire. The wheels spun, and the van took off toward the western exit of the square.
Seizing her opportunity to take advantage of a distracted foe, Chyna ran toward the group of men firing toward her team and crouched to minimize the target she would present under the light of the minivan’s whirling headlights. In her peripheral vision, she saw Tacho running for cover behind an external buttress of the cathedral and at the same time typing away on his phone. If he was making notes, Chyna thought it was a bad time and place to draft a story.
As she reached the closest of the men in police uniform, she took him from behind with a firm choking maneuver, preventing him from firing or crying out. She wrenched his cap away from his head, forced him to his knees and as her victim looked up she came face to face with the cop who had bounced off the windshield earlier that evening. His eyes bugged as he tried to gasp for breath and claw her arm away. Chyna hit him hard in the face with the butt of her pistol. Blood sprayed upward into her face, and the man screamed in pain as much as defiance. Chyna released him and he fell forward onto his hands and knees. A sharp kick to the solar plexus and he ceased all noises and movements. One down.
She had just locked on to her next target when a crash resounded from her rig
ht. One Eye had fired a bullet through the windshield of van, causing Sirita, who was driving, to swerve and hit Fernando in order to avoid disaster. In a shock, Chyna realized that the crash had actually been Fernando landing face down on the rough stone of the cathedral square. With the way his body had been twisted and had become still, Chyna was certain that he was dead; killed because of the very thing he had been trying to protect. As Chyna ran toward him, she heard the sound of firing multiply. Sirita and Oscar had quit the van and were now fighting on foot, using their own pistols. Chyna rolled, coming up in a rifleman’s firing stance and put three rounds into another cop who was drawing down on Oscar from his blind side. Two down. In a moment she was up and running toward the body, a hundred yards or more away and effectively in no man’s land between her team and Tony’s minions.
As she crossed the darkened square toward Fernando her mind was focused, clarity of purpose and her many hours of training had returned to her once again. She realized then, that she had forgotten the truth of what that sort of focus brought to her.
“When it feels like the air has completely filled your body and all you can hear is the beating of your own heart… pull the trigger so you can breathe again.”
She heard Rivka’s voice whispering in her ear, as loudly and clearly as it ever had when she had spent day after hot, unbearable day lying on the ground in the Israeli desert behind the sights of her sniper rifle.
Once again, she had reasons to exist; the survival of her team and obtaining the rosary. Tony could be dealt with later. The realization almost made Chyna stop and revel in the resurgent energy which coursed through her veins. She felt like she was finally back in the game, looking for the thrill and the adventure and feeling the excitement surging through her. This was her territory, she realized, and she would mark it.
