by JB Sanders
Every last crate was marked with the swastika and eagle.
"Oui, oui, oui, oui," Theo muttered.
He gestured impatiently at one of his men, who stepped forward and handed him a crowbar. Theo put a hand reverently on the nearest crate, smiled, then he ratcheted at the top of it with the crowbar. In a moment, he had it off.
Again, he gestured and one of the men with a lantern stepped forward. Immediately, Theo's delighted face was lit from below with a reflected golden light, which shown out of the crate like -- well, like the guy was in the wrong part of an Indiana Jones movie. Apparently Glen couldn't get that out of his head; must be all the Nazis.
Theo reached into the crate, and lifted out a large gold bar. It too was stamped with the swastika and eagle. Reflections from the bar played across Theo's exalted face. He was triumphant, victorious.
His men pressed forward, some forgetting their captured charges to get a better look at the vast quantity of gold. The captured bodyguards didn't move, or give any sign of the opportunity.
Then Theo frowned. He hefted the bar several times in his hand, his frown growing each time. He tilted his head wonderingly, brought the gold up to his face, and sniffed.
Surprise blossomed, and he turned to his men. "C'est--!"
From the entrance of the vault, there was an intense blast of light, like a giant flash bulb had gone off, accompanied by a low buzzing sound that Glen could feel in his bones.
Glen immediately hit the ground, per Tyler's earlier warning, and Glen could feel that Tyler had done the same next to him.
There was a brief flurry of activity, a sense of motion and then silence.
Glen's eyes gradually stopped having spots, and he could hear more going on around him. Tyler got him up.
There were a lot more of their security forces in the room, men and women who had not been captured with them. Neo-nazis lay here and there, on the ground and over crates, little darts sticking out of them.
One of the bad guys made to get up and rush them, no gun just his angry hands, and he was promptly tasered.
Glen and Tyler got up. Glen looked into the crate. It sure looked like a lot of gold bars. He reached in and picked one up. It didn't weigh nearly enough to be gold, but it was solid. Then Glen brought it to his face and he too sniffed it.
Glen laughed.
He turned to Tyler and at his grinning face, Glen laughed even harder.
"Chocolate?!" Glen finally got out.
Tyler grinned even wider, and then turned on his joke-making face. Glen felt a sudden wash of horror as he realized what was coming.
"It was like taking candy from a baby," Tyler said.
Everyone groaned.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Phoning It In
Saturday afternoon, a bit later
Back above ground, Tyler flipped open his phone, called the number and set the phone on speaker. Outside the new SUV, since the "old" one was evidence, Paris police swarmed, moving in and out of the entrance to the catacombs. Bald men were being hauled away in cuffs and ankle restraints. Few of them were conscious.
"Yes?" Said the polite voice on the other end.
"Found it," Tyler said.
"Excellent. Why don't you stop by with a sample?"
"Where?"
"Hotel Burgundy. Top floor. Penthouse suite."
"Be right there."
Tyler closed the phone and tossed it to Tim, who had joined them in the new SUV when they'd emerged into the sunlight. Tim caught it and pocketed it.
"So, uh, what the hell was that in the vault?" Glen asked.
"Chocolate? Fake Nazi crates?" Tyler looked confused.
"No, that bright flash of light. By the way, nice homage to Raiders."
"Thanks. That was an experimental, nearly-approved non-lethal weapon. We borrowed it from our company that's doing the research for the French Ministère de la Défense. Super-bright light, along with some viscous subsonic tones. Acts like a stun grenade went off, only it's a little more reliable and a lot more stunning."
"Oh, that's why the earplugs." Glen smiled and kissed Tyler.
"What do we have left?" Tyler directed this at Tim.
"Just the crew at the hotel."
"Need me to make the call?"
"Yeah, it would probably help."
Tim silently handed Tyler another phone, this one a scrambling satellite job. Tyler pressed several buttons, fewer than a phone number should be and a red light blinked on.
"Agent Hoeg, please." There was a pause. "Yes, Tyler Conrad speaking. No, ma'am, the actual person, I'm not a secretary or a flunky, this time." Tyler shot Tim an apologetic look.
Tim shrugged.
"What? Oh, yes, it's very important. Yes, I know he's in the middle of an operation, that's why I called on a secure line." Tyler shook his head and rolled his eyes at Tim. Phone cradled between his head and shoulder, Tyler pulled off one shoe and then another. Tim had brought along a change of clothing for Tyler, since apparently whatever was happening next required his best tuxedo. And shoes.
Tyler grunted in frustration, wrestling with the hook on his pants, trying to get them off. Glen batted away his hands, and got them unhooked. Glen had more than a little practice at this maneuver, and had Tyler's pants off in a second. Tyler shot him a look halfway between thankful and heated.
Tyler spoke into the phone: "Look, ma'am, this is urgent. The code word of the day is Olivia. Please put Agent Hoeg on the phone immediately."
Tim was obviously trying to hide a smile. Glen got the impression Tim had dealt with this person before.
There was another pause, and Tyler used it to wrestle himself into the good pair of pants. Glen helped, though he was far less used to putting pants on Tyler.
"Yes, perhaps I should have lead with that. Yes, it is that urgent." Tyler shot Tim a look, his hand over the talking-end of the phone. "How the hell did you deal with her?"
"Patience and devising twenty-two ways to kill her while I waited," Tim replied, his expression bland.
Glen shot Tim a worried look. Apparently, everyone's nerves were starting to fray.
Tyler laughed, and slipped on his best shoes.
Finally, something happened on the other end of the phone. "Agent Hoeg, so good to finally speak to you. How are things going?"
There was another pause, during which Tyler, with Glen's help, got out of his suit jacket.
"Excellent. Just one thing, I'd like to handle this last part personally."
There was a loud exclamation from the phone that made Tyler wince. He then finished pulling on the suit that they all referred to as the James Bond. They'd never discussed how much the bespoke tailor had charged, but no one seeing Tyler in it was ever less than impressed -- and often more than impressed.
"Just give me about thirty minutes, Agent. ... Yes, I know, but if I speak with them, I can guarantee they'll ... come quietly." Tyler nodded to himself as he talked.
Glen helped by straightening Tyler's bow tie, and brushing off his shirt. It would do.
"Right, see you after. Thank you." Tyler closed the phone and handed that to Tim. "Ok, folks, we're a go. Glen, briefcase?"
Glen hefted the unnecessarily heavy brief case -- the thing felt like it was lined with lead -- and handed it to Tyler, who held it on his lap with a smile.
"Let's go end this."
Part 4: The House Wins
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bye Bye Baby
Saturday evening
Dictators ride to and fro on tigers from which they dare not dismount. And the tigers are getting hungry.
Winston Churchill, "Armistice - or Peace?", published in The Evening Standard (11 November 1937)
***
At the Hotel Burgundy, their security guys -- not without some complaint -- stayed in the lobby.
Glen and Tyler rode up the elevator in relative quiet. It was the first time they'd been alone since ... well, since Glen didn't know when.
"We're going to
have a big meal after this," Glen said firmly, as if issuing a command to his field staff.
Tyler looked up from his distracted thinking, as if seeing Glen for the first time that day. "What?"
"Neither of us has had lunch, and you barely slept last night. So we're having a big meal after this."
Tyler practically gaped at him. Glen very seldom took charge, outside of the bedroom, and it was obviously catching Tyler off-guard.
"Ok," Tyler said softly. "Sorry, things have been--"
"-- Crazy, I know. Don't sweat it, but we'll need food, and you'll need a quiet few days after this."
"Definitely." Tyler smiled up at him. "Thanks for hanging in there, I know this has been hard."
"I'm not worried." Glen's statement was said so confidently that it was as if he'd said "The Earth goes around the sun."
"You're not?!"
"You've got this, I can tell. You've had it in the bag since the river cruise."
Tyler grinned at him. "Yup. Time to light the lamp."
The elevator dinged, and opened on to a short, wide hallway. It was sumptuously decorated in rich, masculine tones of burgundy red and gold. Four men lounged professionally. They wore body armor and sported submachine guns. One of them walked over to them.
In French he said, "Monsieur. We'll have to scan you and the bag."
"Bien sûr," Tyler replied. "You'll want to open the bag, I assume?"
"Oui."
They scanned both of them with wands, eliciting no beeps from either of them. They had no phones, no guns, not even their hotel room key-card.
Tyler set the briefcase on the side table, and after twisting the locks, opened it. All the men in the room who could see into the briefcase sighed. It was turned away from Glen, so he wasn't sure what they saw.
The man who had talked to them, the only one who had said a word, nodded.
"Very well. As arranged?" He said.
"Oui. Eighteen separate ones, as requested." Tyler handed the man a sheet of paper with a lot of numbers on it. The man briefly scanned down it and nodded again. Then he winked at Tyler.
Glen wasn't alarmed to see Tyler wink back. He loved his husband, but he was the most awful flirt.
The men then went to the double doors behind them and knocked.
***
The first thing Glen thought when walking into the penthouse apartment of the King's Club was: this is more like it.
This place was a modern day palace, every touch the epitome of the interior designer's art. It was mostly glass, marble and metal sculptures. The furniture was leather and looked incredibly comfortable. Several mirrors around the room were placed strategically to make the large space seem even larger. Glen figured that some or all of them were also TVs, in the latest high-end trend of putting flat-screens behind reflective glass. Where there weren't mirrors, the art was either an abstract or cubist masterpiece.
And the view of Paris was spectacular, of course.
The men of the King's Club stood up from their chairs, all but Von Tieler. He sat calmly and regarded Glen and Tyler, a drink in his hand.
The guards brought them forward, then retreated from the room, closing the double doors behind them. Glen and Tyler were now alone with the King's Club.
"You have something for us, Tyler?" Von Tieler looked extremely self-satisfied.
Tyler hefted the briefcase onto a nearby table, spun the locks, opened the case and swiveled it for the men to look at. Inside, a gold bar reflected the light of the room and glinted.
Several of the men smiled, and there were sighs. Glen finally understood what all the sighing was about -- the gold bar looked like the embodiment of wealth. It was both the symbol and the thing itself: the ultimate treasure.
Rast picked up the bar and hefted it. "These things always weigh more than you'd think, looking at them." He smiled.
"And when can we expect delivery of the treasure, Conrad?" Von Tieler sipped from his drink.
"Oh, you know: never." Tyler grinned.
"What did you say?" Von Tieler didn't look amused. He put down his drink.
Tyler pointed at the gold bar, the real gold bar. "That is as close as any of you yahoos will ever get to the treasure."
"What?" Exclaimed one of the other men.
"Archibald! Do something!" Rast appealed.
"Calm yourself, Alain. It's just useless flailing." Von Tieler regarded Tyler blandly. "We never really needed the treasure anyway."
The other men in the room looked surprised.
"We don't?" Rast said.
"Really, Alain, I sometimes wonder why we put up with you." Von Tieler gave him a frown. "Our collective wealth is more than enough for the bribes we need to pay, even at the extortionate rates some ministers want to charge us. This treasure hunt was just a test for young Conrad. One he quite obviously failed. It hardly matters, our hold on the European governments is strong enough. And Conrad will pay the price for his disobedience."
Von Tieler took a swig of his drink, derisively.
"Oh, no, I don't think so. It all ends here." Tyler leaned against the table and folded his arms.
"Really, Conrad, what can you do?" Von Tieler shrugged. "Shortly, your little Lance will be sent into the general prison population and suffer an unfortunate accident. Possibly several accidents."
Tyler snorted. "Even if I didn't have enough money to buy his complete safety inside any prison you cared to name, Lance left the French justice system an hour ago -- a free man. Apparently, the real thief agreed to testify against your subordinates."
Von Tieler tensed his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Tyler.
"Very well. If our pre-arranged punishment won't work, why don't we try something I didn't tell you about ahead of time." Von Tieler set down his glass, now empty, and steepled his hands. Glen wondered if the man had ever watched a Bond film in his life. "A search of your computers in Dunberry Castle will uncover a really appalling amount of ... unfortunate pornography -- the kind the authorities will happily arrest you for and of which the public is completely unforgiving."
Tyler smiled and waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that. My computer spooks took care of that silliness weeks ago. We even traced it back to the hacker you contracted -- then we hired the guy. What else you got?"
Von Tieler stood up, his face gone from tense and angry to considering. He paced to the windows and back. "Fascinating. Is it possible that we were misinformed? I'm getting the impression there's more of your grandfather in you than we thought."
Tyler pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "Let's hope not."
The others watched Von Tieler and Tyler sparring, uneasy that their pawn appeared to have advanced up the board at them.
Smythe-Rohner, the British computer magnate, snorted. "Archibald, why do you toy with him? Ruin him, and then let him find out in the papers. You shouldn't tell him what cards you have."
"Ah, but you miss the point here, Robin." Von Tieler gestured at Tyler. "I want to see him squirm, to know what is coming, what defeat is in store for him and not be able to do anything about it. He may have anticipated some of my moves, but not all." Von Tieler turned back to Tyler, and lobbed another ball. "I have setup a coordinated smear campaign to ruin your reputation, via this social networking we hear so much about."
"Nope." Tyler checked his watch, and looked bored. "Nipped that in the bud. The Socially Yours sites your people setup were flushed yesterday. Just like they never existed. I have a few friends at Socially Yours, by the way, so that tactic is unlikely to ever work."
Von Tieler nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard, frown lines forming on his face. Glen could see the man was starting to get the scope of the problem Tyler presented.
"With a single phone call, I can see to it that you are arrested when you leave here. You will be charged with murder. The paperwork has already been processed, it simply awaits my word."
Tyler picked some lint off his tux. "Oh, that." He waved a hand. "We had that quashed two days ago. Yes, you
have political contacts, people you control through bribes or blackmail. But I have friends. And they don't like you very much."
Von Tieler frowned. "Robin, do you have that hostile take over of Conrad Computer Systems ready to go?"
"It would take less than a week to put it in place, Archibald." The man smiled like he was auditioning for a part as chief villain.
Tyler circled his finger in the air. "Oh no. You'd take away one of three publicly-traded companies I have a majority share in. A whole 6% of my net worth. Whatever will I do?"
Robin Smythe-Rohner looked angry. Von Tieler looked irritated.
Tyler shook his head. "The mistake you all made was thinking that I wasn't prepared for this day. Prepared well before I met you. You people have had it."
"And what do you really think you're going to do to us? You and your soft ways?" Brendan Houston, the oil and gas guy, sneered.
Tyler gave him the shark's smile. "Going to do, Mr Houston? Going to do?" Tyler laughed. "Do you seriously think I'd explain my master-stroke if there remained the slightest chance of you affecting the outcome? I did it yesterday."
Glen quietly geeked out at Tyler paraphrasing the Watchmen movie.
Tyler picked up a remote from the table, pressed a button, and a news broadcast came up on the mirror/TV hanging over the fireplace.
"--Reports are coming in from London, Paris, Madrid, Rome, and Berlin of mass resignations. Government officials are resigning ahead of a wave of arrests. The so-called World Fascist League scandal has implicated numerous government and media figures in an organized campaign to quietly seize power in five large countries. According to the papers given to this station by Tyler Conrad, billionaire, these shadowy figures planned on slowly tightening their grip on the world economy until they could dictate terms to the world's governments. And before our viewers start thinking this is some kind of lunatic conspiracy theory, we have had our experts go over the supporting recordings and documentation. They appear to be very legitimate. Dr Holscom, a professor of political science at Cambridge University, is here to help us through this. Dr Holscom, doesn't this sound like some kind of bad suspense novel? I mean, neo-Nazis, real Nazi gold. This is like a Hollywood movie plot."
