Chyna Stone Adventures: The Complete 8-Book Series

by K. T. Tomb

  Chyna was dumbstruck. It was just as the description from the Minoan cuneiform tablet had said. The mask was delicately wrought, clearly by a master craftsman. Its features were smooth and graceful, perfectly rounded. The forehead, the brow, the bridge of the nose and the shape of the nostrils, the apples of its cheek, the jaw line and the chin; all depicted the face of a beautiful, intriguing young woman. Remarkably, the bronze was not darkened by its time beneath the waves. It was the color of dark maple syrup with hardly any evidence of the encrusting that was typical of ocean salvage. Chyna attributed that to the incredible smoothness of it which would hardly have been a suitable surface for such formations.

  What was most unbelievable about the piece was the exquisite gold work that almost completely surrounded the circumference of the mask. She could not decide if the intricacy of it was completely atypical of the time period. The Egyptians and Mesopotamians had been renowned for their prowess in the art of working gold but she had never encountered this level of excellence. It’s true that jewelry of this level of intricate craftsmanship had been unearthed in Greece many times before, but not a single piece had been dated earlier than the second century B.C. An entire new course in world history had just been rewritten with the discovery of this mask.

  Chyna could only describe the design as filigree, even though the gold appliqué was at least a half inch thick. The band of designed gold ran from the mask’s right cheekbone all the way around the left side of the face and ended at its chin. Below that there was a layer of embossed gold that had been fused to the bronze of the mask in a sort of overlay and covered most of the left side of the forehead as well as the entire left side of the face. She had never seen anything even remotely like it before.

  “Put them back in their cabins,” Doyle commanded the guards and they began to usher the explorers back below decks.

  “Call the base house and ask for Agent Watson,” Anthony whispered over Chyna’s shoulder. She nodded slightly to indicate that she had heard him. “Tell him I said to cooperate fully with Perez. Tell him the code is ‘Esperion’.”

  Chyna lay on the bunk in her cell looking up at the cabin ceiling; she could not get over how magnificent the mask was. Doyle had put it on and made her stare at it for quite a while as he gloated about having got the best of her and Found History once and for all. She listened for the sound of the guards passing her door as they left the corridor to return to the ship’s deck. It took them a while but eventually they did, closing the bulkhead door as they left.

  Chyna rolled over and took the phone from the inside her mattress through a slit she had made in the seam. There were three messages: one email from Sirita, a freelance administrative attaché in New Delhi that worked in conjunction with the Found History offices in New York. Chyna had found it useful to hire the freelancer to coordinate correspondence on that side of the world to mitigate against the time differences. Sirita had received her S.O.S. and had alerted Turkish and Greek authorities as well as the consulate in Izmir where she spoke to Agent Perez. He had told her that he knew of the situation and that the C.I.A. and the F.B.I. were both already involved in the investigation. What she did give him, which was news to him, were the coordinates of the ship. Sirita told him that she was forwarding the updated coordinates to Agent Perez as she received them and that she wished them all good luck.

  The other two were text messages. One from Perez to tell her things were in action and they were to sit tight and the other from Agent Watson asking simply, “What’s the code?”

  Chyna smiled as she responded to Watson’s text with a single word, ‘Esperion’. As an afterthought she sent a second response, “We’re kept locked in our cabins below decks. The Greek girl is compromised. Do what you must.”

  The routine at dinner went the same as it had at lunch, they lined up along the counter to be served whatever it was that the guards had managed to rustle up quickly from the pantry and sat randomly to eat in silence. This time Chyna positioned herself behind Anthony.

  “Watson got the code,” Chyna said softly.

  “Good,” he replied.

  “I also told him we were locked in our cabins so he should do whatever he needs to do.”

  “Perfect! Do they know where we are?”

  “They get the coordinates every half hour.”

  Chicken nuggets and French fries were the fare that was served up for dinner that night. Everyone insisted on having something else to drink besides the water.

  As the guards led them in a single file line back to the cabin decks, they could hear the sounds of boisterous celebration on the ships’ deck. Doyle and his little crew were hooting and hollering most certainly under the influence of excessive alcohol. They were listening to the broadcasted commentary of a sporting event it seemed and heavy betting was taking place between the men. Chyna smiled to herself. She knew deep down that it was most likely they would be rescued tonight. If their captors were rowdy and inebriated, it would only make the agents’ job that much easier. This mismatched group of wannabe criminals didn’t stand a chance in hell meeting the forces that were coming from Izmir at high noon, much less under the cover of night and drunk out of their skulls. Just before they got to her door she said over her shoulder to Anthony, “We got this!”

  ***

  Agent Perez was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Silently, he stood in the middle of the living room in the brown house on ‘Embassy Row’ and tightened the straps of a black tactical vest with the letters ‘C.I.A.’ printed on the back. Being assigned overseas to a small consulate, he had never imagined ever getting the chance to be part of a covert operation like the one they were embarking on that night. It was clear just by looking around him that the F.B.I. took the recovery of their agents and their colleagues extremely seriously and the C.I.A. was only too happy to get involved, there wasn’t much action to be had this far from home.

  F.B.I. agent Watson seemed to be taking it the hardest of all. He must have considered it a slap in the face that the two-bit criminal they knew as Ethan Doyle had somehow gotten the better of his commanding officer, his fellow agents and his companions. Even the knowledge that he had only managed to do so because he had the help of a mole was no consolation, in fact it made him angrier. She had been in the house with them all along and there had been no detection of her treachery by any of them; maybe they were losing their touch.

  He shook his head savagely; there was no way they were getting soft. The girl had infiltrated them from the grassroots up. She had been a part of Professor Cartwright’s team for years, clearly she hadn’t been a plant; Doyle must have gotten to her while he was working with the professor at the Knossos dig. He planned to take twenty-one F.B.I. agents with him out to the platform vessel that night as well as eleven C.I.A. There were three UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters waiting at the Adnan Menderes airport to move them out. The choppers would get them to the ship faster than anything else could but his concern was stealth so to counteract that he had engaged the help of the U.S. Navy. He had found out from the Pentagon that the U.S.S. Odessa was in the region and had more than enough of the resources they would need, all of which would be at his disposal.

  The plan was to take the choppers to the Navy aircraft carrier and enlist the assistance of the Seals to raft in on the Renaissance. Once they had boarded, the rest of the team would fly in on the helicopters and assist to take control of the vessel. It was a sound plan; clean, quiet, effective, just the way he liked it. With everyone suited up and ready to go, Watson put his arm around Perez’s shoulder and pulled him to one side.

  “Hey kid,” he started. “I know this is probably the first piece of real action you’re going to see and, in all honesty, as an embassy jock, it may be your last.”

  Perez nodded solemnly; he knew it was the truth.

  “I want you to see everything, hear everything and say nothing. Learn everything you can, both from your guys and mine, because you never know what the nex
t step might be in your career, or where the next big opportunity is going to crop up. Take everything you can from this so you can learn and then use that knowledge to your own benefit one day.”

  Perez smiled at Watson and shook his hand, “Yes, Sir!”

  “You’re a good kid and you know good people when you come across them. I bet you never knew that by being a gentleman and befriending Miss Stone and her team, you would have the chance to be a part of something like this. She trusts you, and let me tell you, with the men and women of this command, that means a whole lot. Come on, let’s roll out.”

  It took the agents twenty minutes to rendezvous with the aircraft carrier off the peninsula west of Alacati. When they got there the Navy Seals were all ready to go.

  “This mission launches at oh-one-hundred hours. Dismissed!” said the Odessa’s commanding officer. Out of courtesy and respect for his rank aboard the vessel, Watson had given precedence over the meeting to him.

  They had three hours to kill so after their detailed debriefing, the operatives set to checking their gear and cleaning and loading their guns. The choppers were refueled and rafts were inflated and checked for leaks. The gas canisters for each of the twelve three-man rafts were lowered and secured off the side of the vessel where the rafts would be launched; lowering lines were tied to the rings of each of the rafts. With everything ready to go, all the men had to do was eat and wait.

  The men cheerfully chattered over the hearty meal of Brunswick stew, mashed sweet potatoes and collard greens. For most it was the best meal they had eaten in weeks. Perez got to learn that the Navy Seals who would be heading up the mission had just arrived onboard the U.S.S. Odessa that morning from a tour in Afghanistan and were finishing up the last week of their tour before heading back home to the United States. They were happy to be going on such a simple, straightforward mission for the first time in a year. They introduced themselves to him and told him a little bit about what they each did. There was even a technical support guy among them who kept their radio and gadgets working and also doubled as the liaison for the Navy Information Service. He took pictures and wrote news reports which he sent in to their commanding officer twice a day.

  “This time we get to swim,” one of the soldiers said. “A Seal is always the most comfortable in water. I can’t wait to get out there tonight, all I’ve seen is bone-dry sand and stone desert for the past eleven months. I felt like I almost lost my goddamned mind out there. Everything’s just one color; white, and it’s always just one temperature; hot.”

  Several of the men laughed at the Seal’s comment but every one of them was nodding in agreement.

  Out of curiosity, Perez asked him, “Where are you from, Sailor?”

  The Seal looked at him and proudly said, “Forks! Forks, Washington.”

  “Hot damn!” Perez exclaimed. “No wonder you’re so bent out of shape. Forks to Kabul; that would be like comparing a Burmese python to a feather boa.”

  The sailors all laughed at Perez’s joke. He was happy, they made him feel at home. It was so different from the strict environment and often solitary existence at the consulate. Here he had a taste of what he knew was real, honest camaraderie. He liked it. Soon it was time to clear out of the mess hall, so the men took Perez with them to the deck. One of the pilots let him climb up and sit in his F-22 Raptor jet, he even showed Perez through all the controls and flight checks. Then one of the sailors showed him how they would lower and launch the inflatable rafts they were going to use to get over to the Renaissance that night. Everything they had to show him, he soaked in eagerly and thanked them profusely for; he intended to follow Agent Watsons advice, he saw the value and truth in it.

  At exactly 1 a.m., Perez stood at the side of the U.S.S. Odessa along with his new friends and lowered the rafts and the Navy Seals down into the water. He noticed that they took the technician with them and that he had his camera buckled securely to his vest. When the sailors had fueled up their little outboard engines, they pulled in the empty canisters and then untied lowering lines. Everything was neatly stowed away.

  He was ready and just then he heard Watson call for his men to group.

  “We’re sailing toward the Renaissance right now, the aim is to arrive onboard just as soon as the Seals have secured the vessel. We don’t have a visual on them but we do have audio so as soon as they’ve boarded we’ll be lifting off. I need you all onboard the Hawks in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes Sir!” was the consensus and everyone went their own way to retrieve their gear and get back to the flight deck.

  The taking of the Renaissance was the easiest mission that cluster of Seals had ever undertaken. When they boarded the vessel and gave the okay for the Black Hawks to fly, all they encountered on the deck of the ship were drunken sleeping guards. With a little chloroform to the face, they stayed that way on the deck while the soldiers moved deeper into the ship and up to the bridge simultaneously. It took ten minutes to subdue Ethan and his entire vigilante crew, including the treacherous Fariha Katsakis.

  When the helicopters landed, the Seals already had most of Agents Stewart’s and Chyna’s teams freed and had used the same cuffs they took off of them to handcuff the hijackers. Perez ran from under the chopper blades towards them. He shook Agent Stewart’s hand vigorously before offering his hand to Chyna as well. Chyna looked carefully at it and then at him before swinging her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Just as everyone started to calm down from the excitement of finally being free, Professor Cartwright emerged from Ethan Doyle’s cabin with the mask in his hands.

  “Everyone, everyone your attention briefly, please,” he called out to the crowd. “I’d just like to bring your attention back to the crux of the matter for a moment. This all started with a crazy idea and even crazier theories that Miss Stone and I shared and it’s incredible that this is where we have ended up. I just want to refocus you on the whole purpose of why we’ve just been through all this.”

  He held the mask up over his head so everyone could see it.

  “Behold, Ladies and Gentlemen, the lost but only just now recovered, Minoan Mask of Knossos.”

  Just then the technician came around and gathered their little team together. He fired off several brightly flashed shots and the moment that the mask was recovered into the hands of Chyna Stone was captured for all to see.

  Epilogue

  They had been out of Turkey for a week now and still Chyna was hard pressed to get the smell of Anthony off her clothes or the feel of his hands on her body out of her mind. She would miss him dearly but she was also sure she would be seeing him again soon. She hadn’t been that sure of it as she and her team had started preparing to head back to Found History but then last week she had received a diplomatic envelope at the brown house on ‘Embassy Row’, inside was a Found History envelope. Puzzled, she had ripped it open and pulled out the docket it contained. It was the details of their next assignment. Sirita had told them she would be sending over some paperwork she had received from Dr. Aman Nassir at the Supreme Council of Antiquities in Cairo but she wouldn’t have known what the full contents were. Dr. Nassir had made a new discovery in the Luxor Valley in southern Egypt and upon hearing that Chyna’s team was in the region, he had requested her expertise on his site.

  As Chyna read the letter from Dr. Nassir, she looked up at her team and said, “Who wants to go to Egypt?”

  They delayed their arrival in Luxor for two weeks. Chyna felt they all deserved a bit of a vacation and no one on her team had ever been to Egypt before. She booked them rooms at the unforgettable Nile Hotel and encouraged them to see the city and do all the tourist things there were to do. There was no way of predicting how long they would be in the desert this time, so she was keen on them getting as much rest and relaxation as they could.

  For her, the only relaxation she had required was what she got in the arms of Agent Anthony Stewart. He had arrived at the hotel discreetly late at night and they had stocked the kit
chenette and locked themselves in for three straight days. The concierge had been told to let her team know that she had made a quick trip to Alexandria to visit some family friends. They hadn’t had a chance to say a proper goodbye in Izmir, but even after three days neither of them was ready to let go.

  “We always find each other again, Anthony,” she said to him as he was about to board the flight back to Turkey. “You always say it too; this is the best we can hope for with the way our lives are. It’s the price we have to pay for getting to have it all.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “It’s just that having it all sometimes means that instead of having a whole lot of one thing, you have to make do with the pieces of everything.”

  Now, as they made the long drive through the desert heading south towards Luxor, Chyna had no time to think about his words. There was a task ahead and she was on fire. It had been more than three years since she had been to Egypt and she hadn’t been on a dig site there since before her father had died. The country, and especially its deserts, held a special place in her heart. She felt free here on the Egyptian sand dunes; wild and free like a Berber nomad.

  They would make Luxor by nightfall and she could hardly contain her excitement. What did Dr. Nassir have in store for them down there? She was aware that there was a theory about an area across the river from where King Tutankhamen’s tomb had been found so many years ago which some Egyptologists thought may soon emerge as a royal burial ground that may just come to rival the Valley of the Kings, but the scope of it was a mystery to her. She pulled open the dossier that Dr. Nassir had sent to her at the hotel a few days before and read it again.