by Gray Gardner
“Baylor, please,” Ferguson sighed, wanting her to get to the point. The “Bay-luh” part sounded a little annoyed.
“A Christian motto. So why would a Jew be buried inside?” she continued, pressing her lips together and fighting a smile as she looked at everyone’s surprised faces.
“Say that again?” Austin asked, frowning and stepping closer to the image projected on the wall.
“I’ve been here,” Burton replied, pointing to the picture. “But I never knew it was our mausoleum…”
“A lot of headstone engravings say something about the day Christ was born and that we should give glory to God,” Ferguson sighed, growing annoyed.
“True,” she nodded, zooming in on the second engraving. “But were a lot of headstones commissioned by sons who hated their communist fathers and wanted to really stick it to them after forty years?”
Austin yanked his glasses out of his pocket as Ferguson’s mouth dropped open.
“Capitalists of the world, unite,” Connor said out loud, frowning as he read. Good God, had she really discovered something this significant?
Ferguson stepped back as he began to realize the gravity of the situation. He could hear Chilton and Reddy breathing in the background, dying to see the images that he was seeing and frustrated that they were stuck at Scotland Yard.
Austin’s arms dropped to his side as he finally peeled his eyes away from the picture and looked down at Burton.
“You are the only person on the planet who could have figured this out,” he quietly said. “Everyone thinks his grave is in Mexico. No, no one could have possibly known that your dad went to Mexico, exhumed your grandfather, and buried him here, in Virginia.”
“Along with the little black book he’d been sworn to guard,” she nodded, looking excited. “He was done with my grandfather, with communism, with guarding secrets. He buried him, a final resting place near his home, with what I’m betting are banking records and washed his hands of the whole thing.”
“A bank book,” Austin nodded, dollar signs glowing in his dark eyes. “With accruing accounts. Communist stocks. How much would those accounts be worth eighty years later.”
She smiled over at Connor. She’d figured it all out. Her father and her aunt had always called her their little treasure. She thought it was just some Russian term of endearment. She had no idea that she was actually a treasure map. There must be hundreds of millions of dollars, rubles, whatever, out there waiting to be discovered by her.
They hadn’t thought she was just some dumb little girl.
They’d known something could happen to them. And they’d trusted her to discover the truth.
And all of those assholes who’d tried to kill her for this information had been right. She did know something. She just didn’t know that she’d known something. Maybe that’s why her dad and Aunt Nina hadn’t just come out and told her.
They were protecting her.
“Baylor,” Austin began, but she shook her head.
“Don’t ask,” she said, and smirked, holding up car keys and jiggling them. “It’s my property. My call. Let’s go exhume ourselves a communist.”
Against the strong objections of the medical staff and Connor, a handful of other agents and Burton got to ride out to the cemetery and oversee the exhumation of one of the world’s foremost communists. She found herself on edge and smiling. It was thrilling.
She suddenly realized why Austin had been so passionate about it when they’d first met. It was exciting.
Ferguson was biting his lip as the chain cutters clipped the lock and Austin pulled open the heavy door to the mausoleum. The air was stale and rank. Cobwebs zigzagged all around their heads as their flashlights swept across the small room.
The tomb was at shoulder level with Burton. She slowly reached out, her collar bone objecting, and ran her fingers along the surprisingly smooth marble. The history, the bloodshed, the years of exile, and the secrets all lay underneath. Her hunch about the bank book was more than a hunch. There was communist money in there…perhaps in Lenin’s name, in stocks and bonds, invested in Russian companies. Who knew how spread out the investments were?
Ferguson placed a hand in front of her just as a reaction when Austin and Connor shoved their shoulders into the horizontal tomb and slid the lid open. She looked down at his hand, then up at him. He didn’t even know he’d done it. He just wanted to protect her like everyone else. She was starting to appreciate that much more in everyone.
“Wait,” she suddenly said, as everyone began peering through the small opening as they slid the top further and further back. Everyone turned to look at her. “I don’t care what’s in here, or who claims it, or what government it belongs to. I don’t want my name involved. And, I want out of my stranglehold with the CIA.”
Connor gave her a sympathetic look as Ferguson and Austin frowned down at her. She was leveraging what she had, and they were willing to agree to anything at that moment.
To everyone’s surprise, Marty Austin took a step back and studied her for a moment. “Baylor, from what I hear, you were meant for this job. You’ve proven every step of the way that this is where you’re meant to work, what you’re meant to do with your life. You have instincts, knowledge, and just downright courage.”
Her mouth dropped open as the compliments flew at her in the darkness of the mausoleum. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted.
She wanted to help people, to be in the US Armed Forces.
Marty Austin reached out and shut her mouth with his finger.
“You can’t go back to the army,” he sighed, shaking his head. “It’s just bad blood. They don’t need that kind of publicity if your past ever gets out.”
She looked down at her tennis shoes and frowned. Ouch.
“We’ll let you put down roots in DC. Local assignments, only. You can still be a part of something where you can help people. And I understand. All you really want to do is help people. Stay with us and you can do that.”
She gave a half grin but quickly wiped it off her face when she made eye contact with him. How did he know that was what she was thinking?
“Where are you going to go, Baylor? Your life is here,” Austin continued, making a hard sell. He was the Director of Central Intelligence after all. Then he added a sting. “Your boyfriend already agreed to five more years with us.”
She jerked her head up and looked at Connor, who looked just as surprised as she did.
“Now, wait,” Connor began, holding his hands up. He didn’t want to spook her, but he had been making plans. He’d agreed to work at Langley for a five-year period in exchange for housing in Georgetown, a pay raise, and the promise that Burton could work there for five years, too. He hadn’t told anyone that there was a sweet 1 karat diamond burning a hole in his pocket, though. That was for when Burton had made a full recovery and he could spank her for storming Wolinski’s house, make passionate love to her over and over, and end the evening with a heartfelt proposal.
“You want to stay here?” she asked incredulously, as Austin and Ferguson busied themselves with the tomb and sticking their flashlights inside.
Connor shook his head and walked towards her, wanting to grab her shoulder but knowing that it would just hurt her.
“What, you thought I’d want to stay with these creeps?” she asked, frowning. “These people who blackmailed and extorted and physically forced me to work for them?”
“No, I just want to be with you.”
“I want my life back!” she shouted, holding out her arms and cringing from the pain.
Connor rubbed his forehead and sighed heavily. This was not how things were supposed to go down. Like a good soldier, he had a timetable.
“Did you really think that this is what I’d want?” she asked, not sure he knew her at all. Yes, he knew her, but did he know what she desired for her future?
He glanced at the two men over his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and decided that now was as good a time as
any.
“I thought you’d want to be with me,” he said, looking a little self-conscious as he said it in the cramped space.
She stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. She had to admit it was part of what she wanted, but there were other things mixed in there, too. She couldn’t seem to produce any examples as she stared at his serious eyes, staring right through her.
“Tell me you don’t want to be with me,” he softly said, stepping forward, crowding his broad, hard body against hers.
She stepped back again and let her hands fall to her sides, thought for a second, and then put them back on her hips. “That’s not it…”
“So you do want to be with me,” he nodded, his eyes scrunching up as he fought a smile and tried to look serious. She just made him want to smile, he couldn’t help it.
“Yes, of course I do,” she admitted, shaking her head as she tried to remember what her point was. He was so good looking, though, and it was very powerful.
“I know you’ve been hurt. I just want to be close to you again,” he confessed, stepping forward.
She stepped back and bumped into the cold, hard, dirty wall of the mausoleum’s interior. Her heart raced as she looked up at him and pressed her hands flat against the textured wall. Feelings rushed back inside of her as she remembered their time together on the base, in his bed, the several times in her bed, and even just being together in The Basement at Langley. It sounded weird, but it was kind of perfect.
Heat rushed throughout her body as he lifted his hands and placed them against the wall behind her on either side of her head. His mouth was right in her line of sight as he leaned in. She hadn’t kissed him for over half a year. And it was all she wanted. She had to admit, he was all she wanted.
“Are we in your way?” Austin asked from behind Connor, very annoyed. He didn’t like this Army captain moving in on little Baylor. He kind of felt like a father after watching her for all those years. And Ferguson was fuming with jealously as he watched and squeezed the chain cutters in his hands.
“Get out!” she ordered, leaning over and widening her eyes at the two men. “This is still my tomb! Now give me a god damned minute!”
Connor laughed to himself as they slowly shuffled out and gave him the evil eye and the ‘don’t you hurt her’ eye and every other eye they could think of. He turned back down to look at her when they’d finally exited and found a tear running down the side of her face.
“Hey,” he said, reaching out and wiping it with his thumb. He continued to hold her face. “I know you’re mad at them and frustrated with your family and scared because Ferguson was a douche and never really wanted to marry you…but I’m not going to do anything like that to you. I love you, kid. You can trust me.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, another couple of tears streaming out. “I know. I know. I trust you and I do love you, Connor. More than I’ve ever loved anything. And I am scared but it still feels good. That’s not why I’m crying.”
He put both hands on either side of her face and hunched over to catch her eye. “Then what’s all this about?” Even with Baylor, someone he knew so well, love was still very confusing.
She shook her head but he persisted until she looked up at him with watery eyes.
“Tell me.”
She sniffed and caught her breath in her throat, slowly reaching out with the too long sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her wrists, and placed her hands gently on either side of his waist. Now the heat was rushing through his body.
“I just, I want to be close to you, but I know I can’t,” she whispered, leaning in and gently resting her head against his chest. “We can’t hold each other because my collar bone will break again and it’s all I want to do.”
He grinned at the frustration in her voice. It was what he’d been feeling for months. He could wait a little longer. She however, looked like she was about to burst. He leaned over and spoke in a low voice in her ear, something he knew drove her crazy.
“That’s all you’re worried about? There’ll be plenty of time for that when we’re married.”
She suddenly became so stiff that he almost had to pry her hands off of his waist as he dug for the black velvet box in his pocket and knelt down in front of her. Now was the time. It was just a feeling, but he knew it was now or never.
“Connor?”
“Will you marry me?” he asked, handing her the opened box. His tough guy exterior had melted away and he just looked up at her with hopeful and terrified eyes.
She stared at the ring, tears coming again, and finally took the box and smiled.
“Yes,” she nodded, taking the sweet little princess cut diamond and placing it on her finger. It was perfect. It wasn’t gaudy like Ferguson’s, or pretentiously screaming out that she was owned by whoever had given it to her. It was just perfect. “I want to do this with you. I want to live you. I want everything with you.”
Now he’d wished he’d waited. All they both wanted to do was be swept up in each other’s arms and kiss and find their way to a hotel. She grabbed his upper arms and pulled gently so that he’d stand, then stopped him and held his face, pulling it into hers.
He had nowhere to put his hands except on the wall behind her, so as they continued to kiss and as things grew a little more heated both of their heads smashed into marble and they had to stop.
“Ow,” she groaned, holding the back of her head.
“Yeah,” he sighed, trying to keep it together as he held his forehead and tried to keep his libido in check. This would have to wait.
“You proposed in a mausoleum?” Austin smirked, bursting through the iron door with a green Ferguson on his heels.
“Hey,” Burton frowned at the eavesdroppers.
“You just agreed to marry somebody in a tomb and you’re frowning at me?” Austin grinned, getting his flashlight out and sticking it back into Trotsky’s final resting place. “So does this mean I get to keep you?”
She glanced up at Connor with a grin, then down at her pretty little ring, then nodded. “I’m in. Except you can’t spank me anymore.” That last part was said with a frown.
“Yes, well, with you I seem unable to stop myself,” Austin sighed, giving her an infuriating wink. “You’re incorrigible.”
“It’s a hard no, Austin,” she growled, as Connor held up his hands and widened his eyes at his little fiancé running her mouth off at the DCI.
“Excellent, now can we please get on with finding this bleeding book?” Ferguson huffed, reaching around and feeling for it as he glared at Connor.
“Wait,” Austin whispered, pausing and looking around. He slowly pulled his arm out of the marble tomb and carefully revealed what he had thought was true for years and years.
Lenin and Trotsky had kept a black leather book.
“This is it.”
Ferguson shone his light on the dusty, dimpled leather and wrinkled yellow pages inside. Burton and Connor leaned forward.
“I shouldn’t,” Austin finally said, after a long pause of pure bewilderment. He turned to Burton. “But you should.”
She raised her brow as she looked back and forth between his hungry look and the old book, and then quickly snapped on white latex gloves she’d retrieved from her pocket and carefully took the old, fragile book.
So this was what her whole life had come to. This was why everyone wanted her dead. This is why everyone else wanted what she knew. She took a breath and slowly opened it, smiling instantly.
“I was right,” she nodded, holding the open pages in front of the three men. Grid lines and sharp manuscript numbers appeared before their eyes. “A bank book. Oh my God, it’s thorough records of money given to the Bolsheviks and, oh man, there’s some powerful donors listed here. So much money. Wait.”
She carelessly flipped to the last page, then back to the front, then to the last again. Austin reached out and gave painful whimpers as she yanked the pages around.
“What’s wrong?” Connor asked, s
tudying the old, yellowy pages.
“This can’t be right. Trotsky died in 1940,” she stated, a look of disbelief on her face.
“Is there an entry after 1940?” Ferguson asked, still annoyed as he eyed Connor.
She looked up at him as Austin carefully took the book out of her hands. “Just one. In the 1980s.”
Austin flipped through the pages with his latex gloved hands and frowned down at her. “This was written by your father.”
“Well he didn’t steal it,” she indignantly said, more to herself than anyone else.
“Technically it seems it was his money,” Austin frowned, looking at entries in the middle of the book. “Your grandfather transferred everything over into Nina’s and his name.”
“But, I’ve seen my dad’s bank statements, I make payments from that savings account every month, There’s nothing like that kind of money in there,” she huffed, shaking her head. Yes, her dad had probably left her about five million dollars after estate taxes, but she had no idea he had an account somewhere with nine figures in it.
Austin shook his head. “It’s all here. But where is the money? Who would know?”
“The accountant,” Ferguson and Connor said at the same time, giving each other a look as it happened.
“Larry?” she whispered, suddenly remembering her dad’s instructions to call him whenever she needed money answers after he was gone. Is this what he could have meant?
Connor came up behind her and placed his hands on her waist. “What do you want to do?”
“Yes, yes, I do seem to remember your father coming in here right after you were born.”
Burton stood in front of Larry Nisbet’s desk flanked with three large Central Intelligence agents. Larry’s discomfort was well founded, and he nervously tried to answer his friend’s daughter’s questions as he brought up her files on his desktop computer.
“Anything unusually big?” she asked leadingly, as Larry’s hair fell out of its thin part.
“Well,” he sighed, looking at his computer screen in his large office in downtown DC. A largemouth bass striking quite a resemblance to him sat mounted behind his head. “Just your monthly stipend, your stocks he gave you, your savings account, and what looks like a treasury bond.”
