Treasure

by K. T. Tomb

  Jing stopped talking for a moment.

  “The feelings that I should have had for Ben, I had for someone else,” she whispered.

  “Carol?” the investigator asked.

  Jing confirmed the assumption.

  “Carol convinced me that it would be the only way to gain his trust completely. Once I married him, I would have easier access to the museum pieces. The coins belonged to my father. That collection was the one thing of value that our family possessed. The relationship between our families was always rife with tension regarding our status. Ben’s father eventually bought my father’s company and along with it, my father agreed to sell him the coins. With the money from that sale, my family could afford to send me to a good school. They wanted to give me a chance at a different life, a better life. But even the degree from the prominent Shanghai business school could not allow me to save my family. That was when I became involved with the black market; smuggling goods and relocating money.”

  There was a long, pregnant pause and then they heard Ella’s voice come over the tape saying,

  “We will have to tell Ben about this. You know that, right?”

  “I welcome it,” Jing said with finality.

  ***

  The next morning, Charlie loaded the last of their bags onto the luggage cart outside the door of their hotel room. Ella checked the drawers for any last items, and walked over to pull the blinds closed. She paused at the patio window, taking in one last view of the islands as the sun had just begun its descent into the sea.

  “It really is beautiful here,” she mused.

  “Yes, it is,” Charlie said. “I’m certainly enjoying the view.”

  Ella turned to see Charlie looking her over and laughed.

  “Of course you are! We’d better get going.”

  They exited into the hallway. When they arrived in the lobby, they found Benjamin Lee waiting for them with Mitch Berger.

  “Oh, good,” Mr. Lee said. “I caught you before check out. Please, do you have a moment?”

  “Of course, Mr. Lee,” Charlie said, greeting the man.

  “I wanted to thank you for everything. One for returning the necklace to me; I plan on putting it on display for the summer season as part of the Mayan collection. Even beyond that, you helped me realize the truth of something that I had known for a long time. For that, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Lee,” Ella said. “About Jing.”

  “You have no reason to be sorry,” he said, waving his hands. “It is better to know the truth. Of course, I am saddened, but I wish Shi Jing the best of luck. I am certain that we will remain close after all this is over.”

  Ella gave him a warm smile.

  “We want to thank you for the wonderful stay at the Elysium. Everything is so beautiful. This truly is a remarkable resort.”

  Lee bowed his head at the compliment.

  “My sincerest thanks.”

  “Uncle Mitch,” Ella said, throwing her arms around her uncle’s neck. “I’m going to miss you so much. It was so nice to visit with you outside of the family Thanksgiving scenario. Not having to share you with all the rest of the family.”

  He laughed and returned her hug.

  “You too, kiddo. Remember what I said. If you are ever in this part of the world, you have a room.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Mitch.”

  “We’d better head out. Our flight is in an hour and we still have to go through customs,” Charlie said.

  He took Ella by the hand and together they walked toward the awaiting taxi which would take them to the airport.

  “So,” Ella said. “Colton and Colton, Incorporated.”

  “First case?” Charlie said. “We’ve been working together for five years.”

  “Yeah, but this time was different.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for one, when we get back we’ll be able to add the words ‘Relic Recovery’ to the list of accolades on our door.”

  “That’s the only difference?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s a big one, wouldn’t you say?” Ella responded.

  Charlie leaned in and put his arm around her and Ella lowered her head onto his shoulder. They both smiled as the taxi left the grounds of the Elysium and drove toward the airport.

  The End

  Return to the Table of Contents

  JERUSALEM GOLD

  A novel by

  K.T. TOMB

  Jerusalem Gold

  Published by K.T. Tomb

  Copyright © 2016 by K.T. Tomb

  All rights reserved.

  Jerusalem Gold

  Introduction

  Aberdour Castle,

  Fife, Scotland

  Applicant’s Name: Judge Foster.

  Occupation: Archaeologist/ Author.

  Key Accomplishment: Recovery of the First Menorah of Israel

  Proof provided: Yes

  Type of proof: Artifact returned to museum

  Applicant status: Pre- selection

  Lucy Coswell was the second most experienced administrator at Quests Unlimited.

  She was a pleasant person, always cheery, a hard worker and very diligent. She paid attention to details… always. Not just to the contents of the hundreds of files that were on her desk in three different piles, but also to her colleagues.

  Today was no different. She’d gone through her day as she mostly did with not much out of the ordinary happening except for a file that she’d opened earlier that afternoon. It was one she liked to call a unicorn. That is, the stuff that legends.

  The applicant was one Judge Foster, an ex-Army Ranger with advanced degrees in linguistics and archaeology, who has a penchant for espionage. His success as a bestselling thriller novelist also provides the perfect cover for his clandestine missions.

  She sat back, reading more of the file.

  A unicorn indeed...

  After suffering what seemed like a breakdown on a dig in Iraq, Judge had returned to work at the American Museum in Washington, D.C. despite being the subject of an ongoing CIA investigation. Soon after, he partnered with archeologist and Jewish artifact expert, Dr. Sara Goldstein, and the two were on a plane to the Middle East to retrieve a long lost religious relic thought for centuries to be only a myth--

  Suddenly, an alarm chimed and Lucy was snapped back to reality from the compelling report in the file. The alarm was from the cell phone of her cubicle partner, Donovan.

  3:30 p.m.

  His regular tea time, and boy did he look like he needed it!

  ***

  Donovan was indeed tired.

  It was 3:30 p.m. and he was dying to leave his desk, grab a cup of tea and take a break from the computer screen and the damn yellow manila folders.

  His department, ‘Member Administrations,’ was open from 9 to 5 so he had at least an hour more of work to get back to after he’d had his afternoon tea. With that in mind, he tossed the folder he’d been reading on the ‘digital filing’ pile and stood up.

  “You taking your tea break, D?” Lucy asked from across her desk.

  “Yeah, I’m feeling a bit frazzled today. I think a strong cup of Earl Grey will do the trick though.”

  “And a scone?”

  “And a scone,” he agreed as he stepped through the door heading for the cafeteria.

  It wasn’t long after Donovan had settled in with his tea and scone when Lucy appeared and sat down across from him at the table.

  “What is it?” he asked, looking up. “Don’t tell me I’ve got to cut my break short and get back in the office?”

  “Seriously, Donovan?” Lucy scoffed. “I never seen one of those folders jump up off the table demanding immediate attention. They can all wait their turn until one of us gets to them.”

  “What is it then?”

  Lucy laughed. “Well, apart from it being my break time, too, I wanted to tell you about a file I sent up to Librarian Morton’s office this morning.”

  “You know
she’s still in Wales don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want to take the chance of it getting mixed in with the rest of them on my desk.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the half of it,” she replied smiling.

  “Try me.”

  “Let me get a cup and I’ll tell you everything...”

  Prologue

  586 BCE.

  Kaapo heard someone running toward The Chamber he guarded, and instinctively crouched to face the coming threat, his spear pointed toward the entrance.

  For days, scouts had brought word that the Babylonians were drawing closer to Jerusalem, killing every man they met and stealing everything of value. Kaapo had sworn no foreigner would get past him and defile the holy artifact he guarded. He knew its history better than any other man of the faith, and what it would mean if it was destroyed or fell into the wrong hands. So, it was understandable that he almost skewered Eamon as the older man rounded the last corner and appeared in the doorway. At the last second, Kaapo realized who he was, and shifted his strike higher. Instead of plunging the head of the spear into Eamon’s heart, it grazed his bald head, leaving a six-inch bloody scratch that started on his forehead.

  “OWW! Kaapo! It’s me! Why do you attack?” Eamon said, clapping his hand over the wound.

  Kaapo remained in attack mode. “Why do you come to The Chamber in such a hurry and without announcing your presence?”

  “Because the Babylonians are at the gate of the city,” Eamon said, “and I must safeguard the Menorah.”

  Kaapo examined the point of his spear, to make sure Eamon’s hard head hadn’t damaged it. “And that is the reason I attacked so precipitously. I thought you were one of those pagan thugs.”

  “Well, now that you know I am not one of those pagan thugs, as you call them, so let me pass. I must see to the safety of the Menorah,” Eamon said. He adjusted the satchel that hung across his body and tried to brush Kaapo aside. Instead, Kaapo easily pushed Eamon back.

  “That is why I am here, Eamon. I have sworn to guard the relic with my life. The Babylonian dogs will have the fight of their lives killing me to get it,” he said, once again taking a defensive position as if he could already hear the battle cry of the Babylonian looters.

  “You are a fool, Kaapo! One man cannot stop the hordes from taking it from The Chamber. You will forfeit your life and lose our most sacred vessel, all in one fell swoop—and it will be because of your shameless pride.”

  Kaapo sneered at the bleeding, bald and skinny old man. “And where exactly do you plan on hiding it, Eamon? In your bed? Among your clothes? How will you protect it?”

  Eamon shrank at Kaapo’s derision. “I’m sorry, Kaapo, you are right. I am just an old fool who has become quite desperate in a time of tremendous chaos. May I at least look at it once more? Then I will stand by your side and help defend it.”

  Kaapo bowed his head, and both men walked into The Chamber. The Menorah sat at the top of a giant altar that King Solomon himself built out of solid olive wood. He had even carved an intricate pattern into the timber, which some said God had designed himself. After all, it was God who had ordered Moses to craft the holy instrument, the first Menorah, out of gold. Its seven branches glowed in the sunlight shining through The Chamber’s only window. Eamon kneeled in front of that which was the most important symbol of his faith and nearly wept. Kaapo joined him, but the noise of several people running down the hall made him jump to his feet and turn back around. During the distraction, Eamon pushed down on two levers hidden within the altar’s intricate pattern, and the Menorah disappeared through a trapdoor. Eamon let go of the levers, and the trapdoor closed again. He got to his feet, took another menorah out of his satchel, and placed it at the top of the altar.

  “Eamon, your chance to fight and die for the Menorah is at hand,” Kaapo said without turning around. “Finish your prayers and prepare!”

  “I am ready to meet my fate, Kaapo. Thank you for letting me see the Menorah once again,” Eamon said. He tried to copy Kaapo’s stance, but he was a poor excuse for a warrior. Eamon’s knees shook and sweat covered his body as five Babylonian soldiers cautiously entered The Chamber.

  “Surrender, and we will give you a quick death,” the leader said while pointing a sword at Eamon.

  Kaapo spit at the man and said, “There will be death, but not ours!”

  Ten more Babylonians then appeared, all sneering at Kaapo’s words. The leader slashed at Kaapo’s spear and the rest of the men rushed toward the two Israelites. Eamon fell to a blow to the neck that nearly decapitated him. His life departed his body before his blood could even begin to soak into the stone floor. Kaapo fared a little better. He managed to wound the leader with a long slice along the man’s chest. Kaapo then split the next man’s skull as he swung the butt of the spear around to the right. He kept the momentum going by spinning the spear back to the left, slicing into four other Babylonians, but then, the close quarters of The Chamber betrayed Kaapo. The head of his spear bounced off the stone wall of the room, and the delay in his parry allowed the soldiers enough of an opening to pounce. Five swords pierced Kaapo’s body, all at the same time, sending his blood spraying all over the walls. Kaapo sank to his knees, dropped his spear, and tried to keep his intestines from falling out.

  “You should have surrendered, Israelite. Now, I will make you suffer for having touched me with your filthy weapon,” the Babylonian leader said. He kicked Kaapo so that he fell back onto the floor. He then took his sword and sliced Kaapo from his groin to his upper chest, just deep enough so his opponent would slowly bleed to death. “Take the gold and destroy the altar. There’s nothing else of importance in here.”

  While one man put the menorah into a sack, the others hacked at the olive wood. King Solomon’s carpentry proved hard to destroy, but the Babylonians finally accomplished their pointless vandalism. When they left the room, wood from the altar was thrown all over the room. If Eamon had survived, he would have smiled at the fact that none of the Babylonians noticed the difference in the stones beneath the altar, compared to the rest of the floor; for under those stones lay a hidden passageway. Eamon’s son Micah had replaced the stones after the Menorah had dropped through the altar and into his hands. Eamon had given the boy strict instructions to make his way through the labyrinth under The Chamber and place it in a spot they had earlier designed to make safe for the precious cargo. Micah did as his father had directed him, but his grief at losing Eamon and most of his friends and family, had made the task a difficult one.

  He got lost dozens of times, and didn’t emerge from the labyrinth until two days later. Dizzy from lack of water and food, Micah lost his footing, and tumbled head over feet down a hill. His fall ended when his head smashed into a large rock. Micah was able to get back up onto his feet and walk to a nearby shanty. He knocked on the flimsy door, but passed out before the man or his daughter who lived inside the shack could answer. The father recognized Micah as the son of Eamon, so they took him in. For three days, they tried to take care of him, but Micah’s brain had become too scrambled from the fall and his grief.

  He mumbled several indecipherable phrases as the fever burned the life out of his body. “The seven lights can be found in the dark once you’ve fallen from the chamber… your rights after the altar will equal your commandments… the sand is fast but not bottomless… hold the right hand of the star.”

  The father ordered his daughter to write down every word, despite not understanding what they meant. When Micah died, the father performed the Tahara and buried him. The whereabouts of the original Menorah was buried with him.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Thock…thock…thock…

  The sound repeated through the museum’s third basement level all morning long.

  Thock…thock…thock…

  The paintings in their protective crates didn’t care about the noise, and neither did the busts of George Washi
ngton and Winston Churchill, whose stagnant, vacant stares remained in a state of perpetual surveillance of nothing. Only one person could have been driven crazy by the sound, and he was the person who was responsible for it. As for being driven crazy, most would say Judge Foster was already out of his mind.

  Judge sat on the concrete floor of the small room he had created by arranging some of the museum’s larger crates. Over the last year, he had somehow sneaked in a cot, an indoor propane heater, and the rubber ball he was currently bouncing off the side of one of the crates.

  Thock… thock… thock…

  Judge threw the ball with his right hand and caught it with his left. The tempo of the thocks mirrored his heart, which presently beat at a leisurely pace, but his brain was moving at a thousand miles a minute. He hadn’t been able to slow his mind since his return from the United States two years ago. During the first year, Judge had toured the country on a 1965 Indian motorcycle he had restored while in high school. He had been searching for something he had lost, but Judge knew he wasn’t going to find it, at least not near California’s Shasta Dam or Maine’s Presque Isle.

  At the end of that year, Judge had asked for his job back, and the head of the American Museum hadn’t hesitated.

  “Of course, Judge. You know you are always welcome here. To be honest, I never filed your resignation letter, just put you on sabbatical after you left the site in Iraq last year,” Michael Steward said.