One Last Thing

by Kim Baldwin

“If anyone can afford to have it stolen, it’s him.”

  “A bit of a long shot,” Pierce said. “I can’t see why a renowned man such as he would risk getting involved in theft.”

  “Well, aside from the fact that he can afford it, there’s also the well-known fact that he owns one of the largest antiquity collections worldwide.”

  “Interesting.”

  “To say the least. I want to look into it, if that’s okay.”

  “You’re on the payroll, so let’s say I give you a week to find out if he’s a suspect. If it turns out he is, then we can figure out your next move.”

  “I’m going to need Reno.” The EOO’s computer op could break into nearly any database worldwide and was an invaluable asset to almost every mission.

  “You know where to reach him.”

  “Talk to you in a week.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Pierce asked.

  “You know I like to stay busy, especially when it concerns stolen artifacts.”

  Pierce laughed. “And that’s what makes you so good at tracking them.”

  “Ah…yeah.” Switch wasn’t used to the EOO chief being chummy or complimentary, on the phone or otherwise. He was always strictly professional and to the point and never exchanged pleasantries with anyone. Then she remembered the scuttlebutt she’d heard through the EOO grapevine—that he’d admitted fathering ex-op Phantom, aka Jaclyn Harding. Maybe his newfound daughter had something to do with his mellowing out, or maybe it was just age. “So, later.”

  “Good luck.”

  Switch disconnected and dialed Reno’s number.

  “Hey, Switcheroo,” he said.

  “Hey, dude.”

  “Are you working as you or your alter?”

  “Alter.”

  “Then, hey dude to you, too.”

  Switch chuckled.

  “Still in Greece?”

  “Always.”

  “Things are messy over there.”

  “Yeah, but it’s home.”

  “I know what you mean. Same here.”

  “I need you to check on someone,” she said.

  “That’s what I do. Name?”

  “Konstantinos Lykourgos.”

  She heard Reno typing away.

  “Massively rich shipping magnate worth roughly five billion. Born in 1950, lives in Glyfada, Athens with his spouse Christine, daughter Ariadne, and son Nikolaos.”

  Switch tried not to laugh at his pathetic pronunciation but failed.

  “Snicker again and I’ll start slurping this soda so hard it’ll give you permanent audio impairment.”

  “It’s charming.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “Anything on his collections?” she asked.

  “Says here he’s got one of the largest private collections in the world. Art, artifacts, antiques, manuscripts, you name it. I’d say the guy has enough to start his own museum.”

  “Where does he keep it all?”

  “Insurance forms indicate most are at a building he owns in downtown Athens, though I’m sure he keeps some in his house as well.”

  “They all do. What’s the point if they can’t flash it in front of guests,” Switch said. “And then there are the illicit items that never see the light of day.”

  “I can understand flashing what you’ve got,” Reno replied. “But why buy something you’re never going to be able to display or talk about?”

  “Because they can, or because it makes them feel superior to have an expensive secret.”

  “So, what did this Greek dude do to have you on his ass?”

  “I suspect he may be behind a stolen icon.”

  “As in celebrity?”

  “As in religious icon. The Theotokos. Its existence is one of the world’s best-kept secrets, and its location even more so.”

  “Inside job,” he offered.

  “Help from an insider. I’m sure the dead monk involved was either bought or threatened, in order to reveal its location.”

  “But if no one knows about it—”

  “Except for a handful of hardcore collectors who consider it the holy grail of antiquities. Some of them may even believe in its healing powers.”

  “And Lykourgos is in that handful?” Reno asked.

  “I don’t know, but he’s on my list of suspects.”

  “With who else?”

  “It’s all I got.”

  “So, where to from here?” he asked.

  “Can you locate him?”

  “I can locate anyone who owns a cell. Give me sec.” Reno typed away while Switch sipped her Greek coffee and gazed at her sailboat.

  “She’s gonna need a fresh coat soon,” she mumbled to herself.

  “You lost me,” Reno replied.

  “Nothing. Talking about Nostos.”

  “The homecoming as a literary theme, especially as it pertains to Homer’s Odyssey,” he replied, obviously pleased that he recognized the word.

  “Also my sailboat.” She sighed. “What’s taking you so long?”

  “I can’t get a signal for Lykourgos. Hold on.”

  “GPS turned off, like most billionaires.”

  “I don’t know if it’s any help, but his daughter is…hang on.”

  “I don’t care where his dau—”

  “In the middle of the Aegean Sea.”

  “You don’t say.”

  More clicking. “The son is there, too. That help any?”

  “I’ll let you know. Also, I’m emailing you a list of visitors to the Holy Mountain of Athos for background checks. See if any of them have criminal histories for theft or expertise in security systems.”

  “Will do. Easy peasy.”

  “And I need you to work your magic on some surveillance tape. There are a few grainy shots of the thief and some footage of Lykourgos’s boat.” As she spoke, she went below to her computer to send him the material.

  “That’ll take a bit longer, but I’ll get right on it.”

  “Thanks, Reno. Gotta run.” Switch hung up.

  Chapter Five

  Aegean Sea

  Kostas Lykourgos waved at Theodora Rothschild as his helicopter touched down on the landing pad atop the yacht. Her faint smile told him she’d seen him. The copter messed up his hair, so he ran his hands through it before he walked up to greet his guest. “You look wonderful this beautiful afternoon,” he said loudly over the noise of the dying rotors as he offered his hand to help her out. With her cold smile and red kaftan wafting in the wind, she looked malefic.

  Rothschild frowned. “As opposed to?” She stepped out onto the yacht.

  Kostas chose to ignore the question. Today was a grand day and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of his exuberance. He put his arm around her waist. “I have a lovely dinner prepared for us.” When he saw Rothschild wasn’t holding his last hope and imminent cure, he looked back to see who else would get out of the copter.

  “The cyclopic Asian has it.” Rothschild turned to the helicopter. “Move it!” She shouted so loud that both Kostas and the young woman currently disembarking jumped. “So hard to find decent help.”

  The diminutive servant—probably still in her late teens and with a black eye patch over one eye—hurried to her side, and Kostas let go of Rothschild.

  “Hello and welcome,” he said to the girl. “My name is Konstantinos Lykou—”

  “Don’t bother. She’s just the help,” Rothschild said. “Give me that.” She grabbed the hard case the girl was holding.

  Kostas had had plenty of maids, butlers, and domestics since birth, but he’d never treated any of them with anything other than appreciation and respect. “Theodora.” He smiled. “Why so moody? It’s a wonderful day today for both of us.”

  Rothschild gave him one of her cold smiles, devoid of any genuine emotion. “Indeed, Konstantinos. Please, forgive my testiness. Helicopters always aggravate me. They…move too much.”

  “Of course.” He offered
his arm and she took it. “Off to my quarters for wine, seafood, and the unveiling?”

  “Lead the way.” Rothschild walked a few steps with him before apparently realizing her servant was trailing them. “Have someone show her where she can iron my clothes.”

  “Of course.” Kostas summoned the nearest steward to take charge of the girl and retrieve his guest’s luggage from the helicopter, before he led Rothschild below to his quarters.

  The master stateroom covered more real estate than many private homes, with a large bedroom, two enormous closets, Italian-marbled bathroom, dining area, and an expansive sitting area with his desk, custom couches, a bar, and an eighty-inch flat-screen TV. Many of his favorite artifacts and paintings were displayed here, so the room had museum-quality controls of temperature and humidity variations.

  The dining table had been set with the ship’s finest china and linens, monogramed with his company’s logo, and the cutlery was solid gold. A trio of uniformed stewards stood by in one corner, waiting for Kostas to give them the go-ahead to serve.

  “I’ve chosen a marvelous 1996 Domaine Leflaive Montrachet Grand Cru for dinner, but what can I offer you while we marvel at the icon?”

  “Dom Pérignon.” Rothschild took a seat on one of the plush white couches and placed the case next to her.

  “Americans have a fondness for beverages I don’t relate to.” Kostas turned to one of the stewards and smiled. “You heard the lady,” he said in English for her benefit.

  Seconds later, the man returned with a bottle. He filled a crystal flute, set it before her, and bowed before he returned to the corner of the room.

  “We need to be alone, guys,” Kostas said in Greek. Once the staff had left, he clapped so loudly his guest almost choked on her champagne. “I’m sorry but…I’m excited.”

  Clearly irritated, Rothschild placed her flute on the table in front of her and looked at the case on the couch. “Have at it,” she choked out, then coughed.

  Kostas was barely able to contain his excitement and practically ran to the couch to pick up the case. He took it to his desk and gently set it down. Though he still needed to have the icon authenticated, he knew immediately it was the real deal. He could feel it as he placed his hands reverently on the cool case.

  Soon, his faith—together with this divine assistance—would help him return to the man he used to be. A man full of life, optimism, and love for his family and friends. A father who would be there for his daughter: to teach her all she needed to know about the future of their company, to love her, support her, and defend her choices, regardless of what anyone in his pretentious circles thought.

  He released the two latches and took a deep breath before opening the satchel. The icon was wrapped in a piece of fine, white linen. He gently pulled it aside. “My God,” he whispered. Before him lay the most striking depiction of the Virgin Mary he’d ever seen: the gold so vibrant, the Virgin’s expression one of complete harmony, the detail astonishing.

  “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

  Kostas was so absorbed in the sight before him he barely heard or saw her approach his side. “It’s magnificent,” he replied quietly, never taking his gaze from the icon. He itched to touch it, to feel its powers, but he needed to be alone for that.

  “So, now what?” Rothschild asked.

  “Hmm?” He turned to look at her and hoped the irritation of her presence wasn’t obvious on his face. His appetite had vanished.

  “How do you intend to protect this gem?”

  He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you need to be careful with something this precious.”

  “Of course I do, but why would you ask me something of such a personal nature?” Was he already becoming paranoid about the safekeeping of this treasure? “I’m sorry.” He waved his hand. “I didn’t mean to sound rude.”

  “Not to worry. I would be paranoid, too, if it were mine.”

  Kostas fought back a cough and cleared his throat. “I’m going to keep it close.”

  “So that it cures you?” she asked.

  “Yes. And once that’s happened, I will have it returned to the Holy Mountain.”

  “What?” Her reaction came out as something between a shriek and a squeal of shock.

  “I don’t want to keep it,” he explained. “That would be stealing.”

  She looked at him as though he was deranged. “It’s already called stealing.”

  “Hardly.” What didn’t this woman understand? “I have simply borrowed it for the purpose of salvation.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not a thief,” he insisted. “Nor do I think it decent to add this marvel to my private collection. That would be selfish when it can also save so many others.” He covered the icon again with the protective cloth.

  “Kostas, be reasonable. You have the holy grail of icons in your possession.”

  “Like I said, Theodora.” He was getting impatient with the woman’s ignorance. “I need a miracle, not a relic.” He placed the Theotokos back in the hard case and snapped it shut. “I already have more than any man should. I don’t need anything. Not another artifact, not money, nor possessions. I can buy anything I want but my life.” He shouted the last sentence.

  Rothschild shrank back a half step. “Of course.” She returned to the couch.

  Kostas wanted to pay this shark with her cold smile and ask her to leave forever, but proper manners prohibited such rudeness. He walked to his bedroom and placed the case on his bed. “So.” He clapped his hands loudly when he stepped back into the living room. “Shall we dine?”

  “Let’s.” Rothschild walked over to the dining table.

  He summoned his stewards back with the touch of a button and was about to take the seat opposite his guest when a knock on the door stopped him. “Yes?”

  The security guard positioned outside his suite opened the door. “Ms. Lykourgos to see you.”

  “Wonderful! Let her in.” He hadn’t expected to see Ariadne, who’d arranged to have dinner with her friends on the aft deck. His wife and son had gone ashore for the evening.

  “Hi, Da—” She froze when she saw who was with him.

  Kostas noticed the deep frown lines between her brows. Ariadne only did that when he entertained a new client she didn’t trust. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally his daughter would insist he not make a deal with someone. It had taken him a few years and a handful of regrets to discover his little girl had been right. She had a sixth sense when it came to people, or was it just business?

  “Theodora, you’ve met my daughter, Ariadne.”

  Rothschild’s cold eyes appraised his daughter at length. “I certainly have.” She looked away before she added, “Good evening, Ariadne. Nice to see you again.”

  “Uh-huh” was all Ariadne said before she turned to her father. “I saw the heli landing earlier.”

  He settled into his chair. “That was Mrs. Rothschild.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Ariadne looked at the other woman coldly. “May I assume Mrs. Rothschild brought the new acquisition you mentioned earlier?”

  “That’s correct.” Rothschild smiled at Ariadne in a way that reminded Kostas of an animal baring its teeth.

  Ariadne never took her eyes off her father. “I’m as surprised now as I was when she first appeared here.”

  Kostas was getting uncomfortable with the power struggle and obvious antagonism between the two women. “Ariadne.” He smiled to mellow her out.

  Ariadne shrugged. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

  “Oh?” Rothschild ran a long fingernail across the smooth surface of the table.

  Ariadne stepped closer and crossed her arms defiantly. “What with her being arrested for trading in black-market organs, illegal weapons, and who knows what else.”

  “False accusations, dear,” Rothschild replied insouciantly. “I wouldn’t be here if I were guilty.”

  Ariadne’s smile was equally devoid of any wa
rmth. “So it was innocence that got you off and not extortion.” She laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Ariadne.” Kostas scarcely recognized his daughter. Ariadne had never been this ill-mannered and blunt before. “Theodora is my guest.”

  Ariadne slowly turned to him. “I’m sorry, Dad.” But it was clear from her tone she didn’t mean it.

  “It’s Theodora you need to apologize to.”

  “Oh, pish posh.” Rothschild waved Ariadne off. “Kids will be kids.”

  “And criminals will be criminals,” Ariadne replied.

  This was getting out of hand. Kostas stood. “Ariadne, I’ll see you later.” His tone left no room for argument or discussion.

  “Very well, Father.” Ariadne pivoted and headed for the door.

  “Don’t believe everything you read,” Rothschild called after her.

  Ariadne opened the door and stopped, but didn’t look back. “I don’t have to read anything to see what you are.”

  *

  Late that night

  “Darling? Are you sure you’re all right? Should I summon a doctor?”

  Kostas tried valiantly to stifle his wracking cough with a towel, but this episode was a particularly bad one and he could scarcely catch his breath, let alone answer his wife with any convincing reassurances. He could hear her trying the door to the bathroom, which he rarely locked.

  “Kostas? You’re scaring me. Please open the door or I’m going for help.”

  He coughed again into the towel and glanced at himself in the mirror. The toll of his illness and too many sleep-deprived nights was etched in the gaunt hollows of his cheeks and the expanding dark circles beneath his eyes. There was no way he would have been able to hide the truth from Christine and the rest of his family much longer.

  But now he wouldn’t have to, because the Theotokos would cure him. He was certain of it. He just had to spend every moment he could with it. He’d hoped to be instantly cured when he first touched it this afternoon, but though he’d felt the Holy Mother’s presence during his two hours of prayer, she apparently wanted to test his faith.

  That was no problem. His faith was strong and resolute. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he cleared his throat and opened the door. “I’m fine, dear,” he told his wife, embracing her tightly to calm her. “I told you, the doctor said it’s only a bit of lingering irritation in my lungs from that flu that was going around last winter. It’s not uncommon, and nothing to worry about.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’m just sorry I woke you again. Come on. Let’s try to get back to sleep.”