The Lost Throne paj-7

by Chris Kuzneski

  It’s why they were considered the best of the best.

  Although they were no longer on active duty, their years of training and experience were still a part of them. They knew what to do and when to do it-whether that was on the war-torn streets of Baghdad or in the jungles of Africa. Their formula for success was simple. Pinpoint their objective. Accomplish their goal. Then get the hell out.

  Everything else was meaningless.

  But as things stood, they had a problem. A major problem. Their objective was ill-defined. What started out as a rescue mission had turned into something else along the way. Something messy. Payne used to call it a potluck mission because it had a little bit of everything. Part fact-finding, part rescue, part mystery, part death. The problem was, they wouldn’t know what they were dealing with until they jumped into the fray. And that was dangerous.

  Especially against an unknown opponent.

  To make sure they didn’t do anything reckless, they would get a good night’s sleep in a nice hotel. They would shower, change, and eat a large breakfast. Maybe even go for a walk to clear their heads. After that, they would discuss everything they knew and make sure they were in total agreement on the mission’s parameters. If they were, they would get started right away, doing whatever was required. If not, they would hash things out until their goal was clearly defined. Until both of them were comfortable with the stakes.

  With their lives on the line, they figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

  But first, before they slept-before they were able to sleep-they had a promise to fulfill. One they had made to a scared stranger who was counting on them for survival.

  Everything else could wait until morning. Everything except their pledge.

  They had to rescue Allison Taylor.

  30

  Allison Taylor didn’t need to be rescued. She wasn’t the type.

  She was a doctoral student at Stanford who had lived on her own since she was eighteen and knew how to fend for herself. She paid her own bills, had several jobs, and still found time to research her thesis-which she planned to finish if she got out of Russia alive.

  But that was the problem. She was stuck in Saint Petersburg.

  The murder of Richard Byrd had been a shock to her. It had shaken her to her very core, leaving her vulnerable for the first time in years. It was a feeling she despised. The tears, the grief, the displays of weakness. None of those things were a part of her life. Normally, she was the strong one. The rock in the raging storm. The one her friends clung to for support.

  But this was different. Completely different.

  What did she know about guns? Or assassins? Or sneaking through customs?

  She was a student, not a spy. The rules of espionage were foreign to her.

  A long time ago, when she was a little girl and her father was still alive, he used to say, “A smart person knows when they don’t know something.” For some reason, that expression had always resonated with her. It gave her the confidence to ask for help when she was confused or out of her element. It wasn’t a sign of weakness. It was a sign of strength. It meant she was smart enough to recognize her limitations and secure enough to get assistance.

  And this was one of those times.

  She knew she needed help. And she hoped Jonathon could provide it.

  In reality, she knew very little about him except his name. But what she had learned during her frantic phone call was enough to soothe her. At least for the time being.

  Jonathon was confident, not arrogant. He had listened to her problem, then offered a sensible solution. Go to the American consulate. Get its protection. It was a simple answer, but one that revealed a lot about his character. He hadn’t suggested something dangerous or illegal. Instead, he had suggested the safest thing available: getting help from the American government.

  Any other time, that would have been her first choice. But on this particular trip, she knew things weren’t that simple. There were other issues to worry about. Byrd had made sure of that. Otherwise, she would have left the Peterhof and gone directly to the consulate.

  On the phone, when she had balked at Jonathon’s idea and said she couldn’t go, she had liked the way he had kept his composure. He hadn’t yelled or tried to change her mind. He had simply offered another solution. He had calmed her down, reassured her of his expertise, and then said he was coming to help. Before she could reject his offer or question his abilities, he was telling her what she needed to do and where she needed to go. And she followed his instructions like scripture.

  She booked a suite at the Nevskij Palace Hotel, one of the most exclusive hotels in the city. She paid in cash, not by credit card. She registered under a false name. When the clerk asked to see her papers, she told him they had been stolen but replacements would be delivered within forty-eight hours. He was reluctant at first, until she asked for her money back and a cab ride to the Grand Hotel Europe, another five-star hotel in the area. Suddenly, he was willing to make an exception. She thanked him by giving him a large tip in American currency.

  She had been told to sit tight after that. When she got hungry, she ordered room service. When she got lonely, she was supposed to talk to herself. No one else. Not friends. Not family. Not even the busboy. The lone exception was if Jonathon or his friend D.J. called her cell phone. Other than that, she was to remain silent, in her room, until they showed up at her door.

  And if anyone else came knocking, she should fight for her life.

  The knocking started at 2:37 A.M. It was soft but forceful.

  She was wide awake, staring at the ceiling above her bed, when she heard it. Her heart instantly leapt into her throat. She was wearing an extra-long T-shirt and panties, just as she would at home. Now she regretted her choice. She Suddenly, felt vulnerable.

  A chair was wedged under the door handle. Both locks were set. The safety chain was attached as well. If someone tried to break in, it would take a lot of effort and make a lot of noise. But not as much noise as her screaming. If necessary, she would wake the whole damn hotel.

  Nervously, Allison stared through the peephole. Two men were standing in the hallway. One black, one white. Both of them looked muscular and lethal. “Yes?”

  Payne answered, “I’m Jonathon. This is D.J. We’re here to help.”

  “Just a minute,” she lied. “I’m getting my gun.”

  “Great,” Jones mumbled. “I feel safer already.”

  Allison hurried away from the door and grabbed her cell phone, the one that Byrd had given to her. It was programmed with only one number. She hustled back to the peephole before she placed the call. A few seconds passed before she got the response she was hoping for. Payne looked at his phone and smiled. Then he held it up to the door. It was vibrating in his hand.

  “Yes,” he said, “it’s really me.”

  “Just checking,” she said through the door. “Give me a minute. I have to get dressed.”

  “Take your time.”

  Jones leaned forward and whispered to Payne. “She’s smart, naked, and carrying a gun? She’s my kind of girl.”

  “Keep it in your pants, soldier.”

  “Good point. She’s scared enough already.”

  A few minutes later, they saw the door rattle as she pulled the chair away. Then they heard the locks, one after the other. Finally, she opened the door and peeked through the crack.

  She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. No shoes. No makeup. Yet she was stunning. Her hair was blond and hung to her shoulders. Her eyes were the color of sapphires. Payne offered his hand in greeting, and she grasped it firmly. Her skin was soft, but her grip was strong.

  “I’m Jon.”

  “Allison,” she said as she opened the door wider.

  “Nice to meet you. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. But I’m glad you’re finally here.”

  He smiled. The feeling was mutual. “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” she said, still holding the
door.

  “Thanks.” Payne brushed past her as he eased into the suite. He glanced around, making sure that she was alone. “That’s D.J. He’s harmless.”

  She smiled and shook his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Thanks for the invitation.”

  She laughed nervously. “Aren’t we a polite bunch?”

  Payne gave Jones a nod, letting him know the place was clear. Only then did he come inside and lock the door. It was a simple precaution, but one that could save their lives.

  “Nice suite,” Payne said as he roamed from the master bedroom to the sitting room. There was a couch, a few colorful chairs, and a glass coffee table. A plasma TV hung from the far wall. In the corner was a writing desk, right next to the entrance to the guest bedroom.

  “It better be,” she said. “I spent all my money on it.”

  “Don’t worry. I told you to come here, so it’s my treat.”

  She didn’t argue. The room was expensive. “I have to admit, I’m kind of surprised you chose this place. Aren’t people supposed to hide out in seedy motels?”

  “Dumb people do.”

  “So do dead ones,” cracked Jones.

  She grimaced. “I don’t follow.”

  Payne sat on the couch and signaled for her to sit on one of the chairs. This way, he could study her as they spoke. He still had a lot to learn about her. Including her truthfulness.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “Did you feel safe in the lobby?”

  She nodded as she took her seat, folding her legs underneath her.

  “Would you have in a seedy motel?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted as she grabbed a pillow. She clutched it against her chest like a security blanket.

  “So right off the bat there’s a problem. Not only would you have to worry about the guy who’s following you, but you’d have to worry about the crack dealer with the baseball bat.”

  She smiled. “Good point.”

  “How about security? Does a roach motel have top-notch security?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not. No security guards, no video surveillance, no key cards or deadbolts. Even worse, seedy motels are reluctant to call the police for any reason because they don’t want the cops snooping around. It’s bad for their side businesses, like drugs and prostitution.” He shook his head. “By comparison, this place is Fort Knox.”

  “I have to admit, I never considered that.”

  “That’s okay. That’s why you called us. For our expertise.”

  “Speaking of which-”

  “Uh-oh,” Jones teased as he sat on the couch. “This is when she asks for our résumé.”

  She blushed slightly. “Not your résumé, but . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Payne assured her. “You don’t know us. We don’t know you. All of us are tired and a little confused. What do you want to know?”

  She gave it some thought. “How did you know Richard?”

  Payne shook his head. “We didn’t.”

  Allison clutched her pillow tighter. “Wait. I thought you were friends.”

  “Nope, we never met the guy. Never heard his name until Sunday.”

  “But he gave me your number. He said to call you if something happened.”

  Payne nodded. “I know, but we never talked to him.”

  “Then . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “How did he get my number? A friend named Petr Ulster. He runs a facility called-”

  She interrupted him. “The Ulster Archives.”

  He looked at her inquisitively. “Do you know Petr?”

  “No, but I know the Archives. They’re legendary in my field.”

  “Which is?”

  “History. I’m a doctoral student at Stanford.”

  She paused for a moment, waiting for the obligatory blonde joke that was sure to follow. Or a stupid question about her looks. How could someone so pretty be so smart? No matter where she went it was always the same. Especially with guys. For some reason, they were amazed that beauty and brains could exist in the same package. It was pathetic. And so predictable.

  But Payne surprised her. “How’s your thesis going?”

  The question made her smile.

  “What?” he asked. “Did I miss something?”

  “No. It’s just an interesting question. Slightly unexpected.” She bit her lower lip, trying to hide her reaction. “My research was going well until Sunday. Now, not so good.”

  “Wait,” Jones said. “You were here for research? I thought Byrd was your boss.”

  “Technically, he was. He hired me as a personal assistant for his trip to Russia. But since his project fell under my area of expertise, I’ve been working on my thesis as well.”

  “Out of curiosity,” Payne asked, “what is your area of expertise?”

  Her smile grew wider. “Ancient treasures.”

  31

  Payne and Jones were exhausted. Their bodies and brains craved a full night of sleep. But Allison’s answer piqued their interest enough to keep them awake a little while longer.

  “Did you say treasures?” Jones asked with a mischievous grin.

  “Yes,” she answered, “ancient treasures.”

  “I like treasures.”

  Allison smiled. “Most people do.”

  Payne leaned forward. “What does that have to do with Byrd? What was his project?”

  “Richard was fascinated with Ancient Greece. He spent half of his life looking for ancient relics. It was his obsession.”

  “Was he successful?”

  She shook her head. “He spent millions to find thousands.”

  Jones said, “I’m pretty good with math, and, well, that sucks.”

  Payne rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He’s tired. It’s been a long trip.”

  “You know,” she admitted, “when we spoke, I never asked where you were.”

  “Actually, you didn’t ask much.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry about that. I had just seen Richard . . . I think I was in shock.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. You weren’t that bad. And you seem much better now.”

  She shrugged. “I think it’s a different kind of shock. I’m no longer blubbering like I was on the phone, but I can’t believe this is happening. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to me.”

  “Really?” Jones said through a yawn. “Happens to us all the time.”

  Payne shook his head at the comment. “D.J., it’s late. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  “I can’t,” he whined. “You’re on my bed. Unless you’re giving me the guest room.”

  “Not a chance. I’m too tall for the couch.”

  “Exactly. So get off my bed.”

  Allison looked perplexed. “Wait a minute. You’re staying here?”

  Payne nodded. “That’s why I told you to get a suite. So we can stand guard. You’ll be safer this way. I promise.”

  “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I wasn’t really expecting . . .”

  “Listen, if you’re not comfortable with us, we can get a room down the hall. But I assure you, we didn’t fly in from Florida to hurt you.”

  “Wait. You were in Florida when I called?”

  “Coincidentally, we were in St. Petersburg. Talk about a small world.”

  She gaped in amazement. “You flew in from Florida to help me? Why would you do that?”

  Payne shrugged at her surprise. “I made a promise.”

  “Who does that?” she asked. “My friends promise me stuff all the time, and they never follow through. But you came here from Florida? They won’t even meet me at the mall.”

  He laughed. “Maybe you need new friends.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “On the other hand, maybe we’re just special.”

  She smiled. “Maybe you are.”

  “Maybe you need to get off my bed!” Jones growled.

  Payne stood up. “Maybe he’s right.”

&
nbsp; Allison laughed at their antics, which was a mini-miracle considering the violence she had seen at the Peterhof. She knew she should have been uncomfortable with two total strangers in her hotel suite, but for some reason, she wasn’t. In fact, she felt the opposite. After two days of being scared for her life, she felt strangely confident-as though everything would be all right.

  “Fine,” she said. “You guys can stay the night, but I’m locking my door.”

  Payne smiled and secretly pointed at Jones. “That’s fine. So am I.”

  By five in the morning the suite was filled with sunlight, a byproduct of the White Nights. But it didn’t bother Jones, who was curled up on the beige couch. His guns sat next to him on the coffee table, and his shoes were on the floor. Other than that, he was fully dressed, ready to spring into action if someone breached the front door. Jones could nap on a mortar range and not even bat an eye, but a squeaking floorboard would pull him from the deepest REM sleep.

  Thankfully, nothing woke him until nearly ten, when Allison wandered into the small kitchen. His left eye popped open and then his right. He glanced at her, looked at his watch, then decided he should wake up. They had a long day ahead of them, and a lot of decisions to make.

  “Morning,” he said as he sat up. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not too bad. How about yourself ?”

  “Better than Jon.”

  “Really? Did you talk to him already?”

  “No. But I always sleep better than Jon.”

  He didn’t explain his comment as he trudged into the guest bathroom, carrying both of his guns and a black travel bag. Allison shook her head at the sight. Weapons had always made her uneasy, but Jones handled his like they were a part of his morning routine. Some people carried coffee and a bagel. He carried two semiautomatics and a toothbrush.

  Who in the hell were these guys?

  Allison needed to find out before they left the suite.

  She was wearing the same clothes as the night before with one addition: a casual white blouse covered her T-shirt. It was the same outfit she had worn to the Peterhof; the same clothes she had worn for two straight days. Everything else-her suitcase, her personal items, her research-was at a different hotel, waiting for her return. After the shooting, she had been forced to leave everything behind, afraid that someone was watching her room, afraid that she might be murdered. So for two days, she made do with the clothes on her back and a hotel robe.