Once a Hero

by Jan Thompson

  “Right now, we still have a puzzle to solve,” Beatrice said. “If we mess up here, we could all die in a cave-in. Maybe you should go upstairs and wait.”

  “No,” Dad snapped. “Imogen stays here with us. If we die, she dies with us.”

  Molyneux laughed. “Look at you two. You just found each other twelve hours ago and already you’re bickering.”

  Beatrice took a deep breath. She coughed. The air in this end of the tunnel wasn’t that great. She wondered how much oxygen they had. “How’s the oxygen level in here?”

  “It’s fine. Shut up and open the door.”

  Dad drank some water. He offered the bottle to Beatrice. She quickly shook her head. Biological father or not, she wasn’t going to drink from the same water bottle.

  “Isn’t it ironic, Imogen?” Dad wiped sweat off his head. “You want us to open the door carefully, but you made us wear vests with explosives all around. If we explode, the whole church explodes with us.”

  “We already established that.” Molyneux paced the floor. She motioned to one of her guards surrounding them. In minutes, a director’s chair appeared and she sat on it.

  “Dad, help me figure this out.” Beatrice reached for the brooches. “I think if we put the cabochons on the right intersections in succession, the door would open.”

  She looked up. The steel door had an array of indentations in a grid. She looked down at her brooches. Maybe the cabochons fit into those indentations.

  She started with the two-amber brooch because she knew it was real. She could not pry the amber off the brooch.

  “What are you doing?” Molyneux looked alarmed.

  “Testing something.” Beatrice knew that if she succeeded, then she would immediately fail with the other two brooches since they were fake amber.

  She wondered if the indentations checked the weight of the amber pieces. If they did, she was a goner. Molyneux would immediately know that the brooch box she had stolen from Beatrice at the San Francisco bank the other day was all a set-up.

  God, help us get out of here ASAP.

  “Your father and I were quite a team,” Molyneux said. “We would probably have found the Amber Room a long time ago if he had been able to control his urges.”

  “You were gone a lot,” Dad said.

  “Still, no excuses. A marriage is a bond of lifelong trust.” Molyneux turned to Beatrice. “Remember that when you get married.”

  Beatrice nodded. Taking advice from a mass murderer?

  “He cheated on me so many times I lost count,” Molyneux said. “I never expected he would go for your nanny, but now I know she wasn’t a real nanny after all. It was only a ruse—for which I paid fifty percent!”

  Beatrice didn’t want to get into her parents’ issues, but here they were. “He lived for another twenty years after you tried to kill him the first time.”

  Molyneux shrugged. “Longevity runs on his side of the family.”

  “How did you find him again a second time?” Beatrice asked.

  “Yeah. Tell her how I ended up here,” Dad said. “You never told me.”

  “One name: Philomena. Your greatest love was also your greatest downfall.”

  Beatrice wondered what could have happened had Philomena still been alive. “She sold her family treasures to make ends meet after Dad ghosted her, and you tracked her to Cannes and California.”

  “Your boyfriend was in the way.” Molyneux snarled. “If I see him again, he’s dead. You can find someone else.”

  There is no one else.

  Beatrice was surprised at her own thought.

  Very surprised indeed.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Leaves rustled in the night but there was no breeze. Crouched behind a mausoleum, Benjamin and Jake drew their weapons.

  A shadow moved.

  Ansel?

  Jake thought the security chief had gone round the old church to secure the perimeter on the other side, around the large narthex entrance.

  Jake adjusted his night vision goggles to see better as several shadows came closer. He held his breath.

  Benjamin didn’t move either.

  Then they heard whispers. Men and women. Russian.

  Someone large and heavily armed approached the two men, weapons down.

  “FSB. We’re here to assist.” In English now.

  “To take home the Amber Room or parts of it?” Benjamin asked.

  “Whatever you find belongs to Russia.”

  “Of course. May I see some identification?”

  The man complied.

  Jake wasn’t sure how Benjamin could read the ID in such low light with only the glow of his wristwatch. Besides, it was probably in Russian.

  Benjamin took a photograph of the identification card.

  The Russians wanted an assessment of the situation. Jake hesitated to say anything. They didn’t know for sure what was going on inside the church.

  All doors were heavily guarded.

  Jake noticed that Benjamin did not mentioned Ansel or his team.

  “Is Molyneux inside?” FSB asked.

  “Presumably.” Benjamin didn’t say more.

  “Then we take her home in a body bag. She is wanted in Russia.”

  Jake remembered that Beatrice wanted Molyneux alive so that she would have more opportunities for repentance. Truth be told, some people had gone too far to repent. While he hoped that Molyneux had more chances yet, he also knew that only God could read the human heart.

  As a former FBI agent, Jake no longer had jurisdiction here. He had come as a civilian working for Hu Knows, Inc. If he still had his badge, he could claim that Molyneux was his to take home to the USA or to hand over to the International Criminal Court in The Hague.

  From the corner of Jake’s eye, he spotted more people fanning out. “Ben, better let Ansel know.”

  Benjamin nodded. He texted Ansel.

  Ansel replied that he had already met his FSB counterparts. It helped that Ansel spoke multiple languages, including Russian.

  When Jake saw the weapons moving all around him, he was more than worried.

  Beatrice was inside.

  But inside where?

  Jake prayed silently that God would let Beatrice know that they were coming to rescue her. He wasn’t sure if such a prayer would be answered, but God could do anything. It said so in Luke 1:37.

  For with God nothing shall be impossible.

  Jake whispered the verse into the wind. Then he felt little drops of water on his exposed forehead, and more water on his night vision goggles.

  Then the rain poured.

  Great.

  Jake could barely hear Benjamin in the pouring rain. They were the last people ones behind the mausoleum.

  Benjamin checked the map on his waterproof phone strapped to his wrist. He tilted it so that Jake could see the map of the thirteenth century church.

  “Not too many heat pockets on the main floor,” Benjamin said.

  “I think they’re in the basement.”

  “In the undercroft,” Benjamin said.

  “Or further down. The crypt. Somewhere an old golden key could be used.”

  “Does this place have catacombs?” Benjamin swiped his phone. Shook his head. Then he pointed to what looked like the transept of the church.

  Jake nodded.

  They made a dash in the rain. Hampered by the wet soil and grass, Jake dragged a bit with his bad leg. It wasn’t too bad, but it had only been days. He could use a few more weeks of healing.

  Ansel’s men stood watch at the transept nearest them. They let Jake and Benjamin inside. At least a dozen of Ansel’s men followed them in.

  “Look out for friendly fire,” Jake told Benjamin through their headsets. He saw a door, just like what Benjamin’s phone was showing. “That way.”

  Crossing silently across the dusty mosaic floor under arches and pillars, Jake and Benjamin headed toward the heat source. The signal from the fake brooch box was stronger now, mo
re than ever.

  Jake was confident they were getting to the box.

  Whether that also led to Beatrice was another matter.

  As they turned a corner, Jake heard voices. Molyneux and a man were talking.

  Apparently, Benjamin heard their voices too.

  They slowed down. There was light coming out of the hallway.

  When they reached the end of the hallway, Jake realized the voices had echoed out from one floor below. The crypt?

  However, the crypt was empty. There was a small chapel there with stone benches in front of the altar. No one was there.

  How deep is this small church? Perhaps the builders had envisioned a cathedral but never got there?

  The voices kept coming.

  Jake followed the voices. He could also hear the rain pelt the church roof outside.

  As he neared the stone stairwell, he heard two women talking.

  “I don’t have children of my own, Amber.” It was Molyneux’s voice.

  “My name is Beatrice.”

  She’s alive. Thank God!

  “I named you Amber after the Amber Room,” Molyneux said. “Your dad wanted to call you Beatrice. I guess he had his chance when you all entered WITSEC.”

  “Let us go,” Beatrice pleaded.

  “After you open the door.”

  Jake touched his cargo pants pocket. He had both brooches in there. Benjamin had taken them out of the lab safe. Somehow, he trusted Jake enough to let him carry them. Technically they had been handed over to the FBI, although Jake had no badge when Benjamin put him in charge of the brooches.

  Why did he do that?

  Was that a test to see how much Jake could be trusted…with his sister?

  At the top of the stairs, Benjamin hesitated.

  Jake stepped forward. He had combat experience from his Army days, and also extensive training in the FBI.

  Quietly, the team went downstairs, toward the voices, and straight into the vortex of no return.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Say goodbye.” Molyneux left her director’s chair.

  “No, please,” Beatrice pleaded. “We’ll try again. Maybe the cabochons needed to be rearranged.”

  “You’ve tried it many times in the last two hours.”

  “We need a laptop to calculate the permutations.” Even as Beatrice said those words, she knew they didn’t need another computer.

  What they needed were the two original brooches back at the lab safe in Charleston. The four fake amber cabochons they had didn’t have the right weight to open the steel door.

  And yes, they needed the circuit board.

  The pattern was there all along.

  Since Dad couldn’t figure it out, Beatrice was even more convinced now that the one person with the answer had been Philomena. And she was dead.

  Perhaps she taped the circuit board to the table so that someone would find it.

  Perhaps she had carried that secret with her for so many years.

  The golden key made sense now, even though Beatrice couldn’t see where it might be used.

  “I want to try again,” Dad said.

  “Let me try again, and please let him go,” Beatrice clasped her hands together. “He’s seventy-seven years old. He doesn’t have long to live. His girlfriend is dead. He missed out on twenty-five years of our lives. Have pity on him.”

  “What about me?” Molyneux said. “I lost my marriage. Lost my lover. Lost my two children. Who pities me?”

  She didn’t retreat far from the door.

  A whole army, dressed in black from head to toe, leveled their weapons directly at Molyneux and her people.

  “Hello again,” a male voice said.

  Slowly, Beatrice stood up. “Jake?”

  The man removed his night vision goggles. The room was bright enough without them.

  Sure enough, it was Jake.

  “Are you okay—oh no!” Jake yelled.

  He must have seen her vest.

  The man next to him took off his goggles as well.

  “Ben!” Beatrice remained where she was. She was so happy that Benjamin had left the house—but a fire was not what she wanted him to walk into.

  “Couldn’t let my baby sister have all the fun,” Benjamin said.

  “Eugene?” Molyneux asked.

  “Stop right there,” Benjamin pointed his weapon at her. “Stop, I say.”

  “Eugene. It’s your mother.”

  “I don’t think so.” Benjamin stepped forward.

  Molyneux was as fast as lightning as she lifted her arm. Her free hand pointed to the detonator. “Do you know what this is?”

  “No!” Beatrice shrieked.

  “Calm down,” Dad said. He was on the floor with his legs stretched out. He wasn’t getting up.

  “Dad’s got the same vest as I do,” Beatrice said. “Molyneux has both detonators.”

  “Dad?” Benjamin stayed where he was. “You’re alive?”

  “She tried to kill me at least three times, at the last count.” Dad started to cough. “Good to see you, Son.”

  Beatrice wondered if the dust in the room was getting to him. “We have to get out of here.”

  “No one gets out.” Molyneux kept her arm lifted, finger on the button.

  Everyone froze.

  “The whole church building will cave in,” Molyneux said. “We’ll be buried together with the crates behind the steel door—”

  Beatrice’s jaw dropped when she saw someone from the crowd of armed soldiers throw a dagger. It spun its way toward Molyneux’s arm, piercing through her hand. She dropped the remote control.

  Beatrice saw it fall and she ran toward it—and caught the remote in one hand.

  She didn’t know how she did it.

  Loud voices came through the tunnel. Russian spoken very quickly. Their weapons in front of them, the second team of people dressed in black Kevlar and combat boots marked toward Molyneux, execution style.

  Beatrice stepped in front of Molyneux, who held her wounded hand in the other. Beatrice spread arms. “No! Stop!”

  She could hear Jake’s voice, asking the Russians to hold their fire. Ansel translated Jake’s English words into Russian.

  The Russian forces waited, submachine guns in hand.

  “Enough killings,” Beatrice said. “Let her get a fair trial.”

  “Step away from her,” one of the Russians said in English.

  “No. She’s my mother—adoptive, but a mother, nonetheless. Someone please call the police who can arrest her.”

  Ansel stepped forward to tie up Molyneux until the police came. He attended to her wounds and stopped the bleeding on her hand.

  The Russians turned their attention to Molyneux’s guards, rounding them up and disarming them of their weapons, while Jake was all over Beatrice.

  “We’ll get you out of this.” His voice was tense. “I need some tools!”

  Benjamin came over, flashlight in hand.

  With the help of Ansel and the Russian commander, Jake and Benjamin removed the vests from Beatrice and Dad.

  The Russian commander sent someone to take the vests out of the church.

  Nearby, Molyneux sat on the floor, watching everything. She was heavily guarded by Russian forces.

  By the time Beatrice looked up, the cave was not as crowded as before. Molyneux’s guards were gone. She assumed they had been taken upstairs.

  She heard a new set of footsteps.

  The Polish police had arrived. They talked to Ansel and the Russian commander.

  Jake went around Beatrice to Molyneux. “I didn’t throw the dagger.”

  “I know. You wouldn’t have been able to do it.” Molyneux grinned. “Besides, it was Russian-made. How fitting, isn’t it?”

  Jake had nothing to say.

  “Take care of my daughter,” Molyneux said.

  “I will.”

  “I know you will because you love her.”

  Beatrice heard every word. She waited fo
r Jake to deny it. He did not.

  Something in Beatrice’s heart fluttered. She hoped it wasn’t heart palpitations due to the stress of carrying a vest loaded with explosives.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  After the vests were removed from Beatrice and her dad, Jake felt a great relief. He silently thanked God and reminded himself to pray with Beatrice later.

  “Did you bring the brooches and the circuit board?” Beatrice asked.

  Jake handed her the brooches. Their hands touched again. Beatrice gave him a quick hug, and then began removing the amber cabochons from the brooches.

  Benjamin handed the circuit board to his father. They were both silent. Many years had passed them by. Father and son met again, but there was nothing left to say. The damages had been done. The grief had been wept away. What more was left?

  Jake stayed by Beatrice’s side as she and her brother and dad figured out how to unlock the steel door. It seemed to be holding up the ceiling above it—and thereby the undercroft, the crypt, and the church itself.

  The police had handcuffed Molyneux but allowed her to stay to see what was behind the door.

  “I waited thirty years or more for this,” Molyneux told them.

  The Polish police ended up waiting with the Russians, who had been joined by a representative from the Consulate in Poland.

  “The circuit board was embedded inside a postcard, you say?” Chisolm Wright aka Thomas Peterson said.

  Beatrice nodded.

  “Isn’t the circuit board a modern invention, though?” Jake asked.

  “Paul Eisler invented the printed circuit board in 1936, seven years before the Amber Room disappeared,” Beatrice said.

  “No kidding.”

  “Philomena knew about this place.” Chisolm shook his head. “Yet she never said a word. All those years and not a single time did she talk about this place.”

  “Why is that?” Jake asked.

  Chisolm shrugged. “Maybe she felt that history was best left alone.”

  “If so, why did she try to sell the brooches to the FBI?”

  “People do things we don’t understand. Now I realize that I didn’t know her at all.”