Relics

by K. T. Tomb

  Tony wasn’t listening anymore. He’d already started trying to sort out his own dilemma. He couldn’t afford to blow his cover in order to solve it.

  “Seriously, though, what do we do with it?” Alfonso asked.

  “That’s up to you,” Tony replied, disconnecting the call and focusing on his own problem. He had to figure out where the real crown was and he had to have it in his hands to deliver to his client or all of the work that he’d done, all of the sacrifices that he’d made, everything that he’d lost would all be for nothing. Everyone that I’ve lost. The moment the last thought entered his mind, he thought of Chyna.

  “There’s not a single chance in hell,” he whispered aloud.

  Chapter Two

  A faint sound… a movement. Something. Chyna Stone didn’t know what. Keeping her eyes closed and focusing on the source and direction of the sound, she slowly reached for the SIG under her pillow. In the same moment that she realized that it wasn’t there, she heard a familiar voice.

  “I suppose you’re looking for this,” Tony said, clicking on the lamp and making a show of tucking the pistol into his own waistband. “We’ll just keep this tucked away safe until we finish talking.”

  Rage rushed through her and she sat up. “Talk?” she hissed. “I’d rather watch you bleed to death or put a bullet through your head.”

  “I deserve that,” he said quietly.

  She’d never seen Anthony Stewart acting the way he was in that moment. He was humble, apologetic even.

  “Oh hell, no,” she said through clenched teeth. “If you came here to apologize or to try to…” She couldn’t get the words to come out because of the fury that had taken her over inside.

  “That’s not why I came,” he replied in a quiet voice. “That’s not the main reason, anyway.”

  “Have you forgotten the fact that I put a bullet in your leg in Cordoba? Are you aware that I wished that I’d put it into your head? There is nothing for us to talk about, so just get the fuck out!”

  “I need your help,” he said, pushing forward.

  “You need my help?” In spite of the fact that the situation was anything but funny, she started to laugh. “After the shit that you’ve taken me through, the lies that you’ve told me, the slick double-cross that you pulled, you need my help? Oh, Jesus, I’ve gotta hear this, I’ll bet it’s rich. Go ahead, tell me, what kind of help do you need from me?”

  “I need you to find something for me,” he replied. Continued with the act of humility, she wasn’t buying it, but it was certainly a new approach.

  “It gets better,” she smirked. “I found out that you were able to get the rosary after all, by the way. You’ve about completed your collection, what’s next? What do you want me to find for you?”

  “The Crown of Marie Antoinette,” he replied.

  “Have you tried looking in the Louvre?”

  “It’s a replica,” he replied.

  “So, you’ve already stolen it, but it was a fake.” She couldn’t help the mocking laughter. “Do go on, please. Tell me why this crown is so important to you. What is important enough to break into my room… No, wait, assume that I would help you, break into my room and put on this elaborate act of fake humility on for me. Come on, now, why do you need me to help you find Marie Antoinette’s crown, if that is really why you’re here?”

  “You’re the only one that can find it,” he replied.

  “Well, then you’ve got a big problem, because all I’ve got to say to you and your request is fuck off!” It felt good to say the words. She’d tortured herself over his betrayal. She’d nearly driven herself mad over him. She’d nearly killed him and she’d finally gotten closure, but there was nothing like spitting out those two words to bring a final bit of bliss to her heart and mind.

  Tony didn’t respond. He just sat there. He didn’t even look at her. He kept his eyes focused on the floor. It was strange behavior, even stranger than whatever the hell it was that she’d seen in him in Dresden and in Cordoba. She was beginning to wonder, more than ever, who the real Anthony Stewart was. She thought she knew once, but none of what she had known about him had been true.

  “I gave you your answer,” she replied. In spite of herself, she couldn’t resist the taunt, though even as she was saying the words, she wondered if she was baiting the bear. “So, are you going to kill me now or let me go back to sleep?”

  “Things aren’t the way you think,” he replied.

  “What the hell do you know about what I think?”

  “I can’t. Not specifically. I supposed I’d be as angry as you are if the shoe was on the other foot.”

  “The shoe on the other foot!” she snapped. There was no more humor in the acidic words that came out of her. “The shoe would never be on the other foot, Anthony Stewart. I am not arrogant enough, evil enough, lacking in integrity and honesty, nor black-hearted enough to ever do to you what you’ve done to me. I trusted you and you lied to me. I counted on you and you betrayed me. I…” She almost said that she had loved him, but she didn’t want to give him even that tiny bit of acknowledgment.

  “I had to!” he snapped, filling in her pause with the first bit of emotion that he’d shown the entire time that he’d been there and looking directly into her eyes.

  “You had to?” She glared at him. “No one in history has ever HAD to do what you’ve done to me.”

  “I’m undercover,” he said. “There was more to the role that I played in Kiev when I went to meet with Ionesco. Connections that we made through our interrogation of Petrovik started us down a path that led me into a cover that involved the Masons and the Illuminati. I can’t explain it all to you, but there is some very deep, very serious, world dominance shit going down and I’m right in the middle of it.”

  “Orchestrating it, you mean?” she responded, still not believing his story.

  “It has to appear that I am in order for us to get to the root of all of this.”

  “Just for laughs, because my original ‘fuck off’ still stands, how will my finding this precious crown for your help out your deep, undercover investigation?”

  “Because it is the key to actually getting to the head of the organization that is stealing the artifacts.”

  “You’re the organization that is stealing the artifacts.”

  “Not true. I’m just filling an order so that I can reach the source. But the crown is different. It has no powers of any significance, not like the others. It’s the last item on the order and it’s personal. That means that it is something that only has value to whomever the head honcho is.”

  Tony stood, pulled Chyna’s SIG out of his waistband, dislodged the clip from the pistol, tossed the clip out of reach and then tossed the pistol to her. They both knew that there was a cartridge in the chamber. They stared at each other for a moment, silently acknowledging the opportunity that was before her and then Tony turned and moved toward the door, he opened it and turned back toward her.

  “By the way, did you notice that all of the artifacts that have been stolen belonged to powerful women?”

  He slipped through the bedroom door, closed it behind him and was gone.

  Chapter Three

  Chyna was still sitting up in her bed and holding the pistol when she heard the main door close. She still had no idea why she couldn’t shoot the man. She had loved him once, but there wasn’t a trace of that left after all that he’d done; all that he’d put her through. She had hesitated before, but she’d also shot him before. Why couldn’t she shoot him again? Why couldn’t she put an end to all of it?

  “Screw it,” she said aloud, moving across the room and getting down on her hands and knees to search for the clip. She located it, reached under the dresser, retrieved it and snapped it back into place. “If he comes back, I’ll put a cap in his ass.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was just a release of tension or the fact that she had just used that stupid gangster phrase, but she started laughing. The laughing didn�
��t last long, a sure sign that she was, in fact, losing her mind. What if he’s telling you the truth?

  “Oh hell, no!” she shouted. “We’re not even going there again. We got that out of our system and we’re not going back. Jesus, I’m talking out loud to myself. Just go to bed, Chyna.”

  She lay back down in bed, slipped the SIG under her pillow and turned off the lamp. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that she could go back to sleep. Her eyes suddenly snapped wide open again. She sat up, reached for her cell on the nightstand and pressed the speed dial button for Thorin.

  “Yeah, boss, what’s up?” he answered when the call connected.

  “Could you send someone to keep a watch on my place?”

  “I’m on my way,” he said.

  “You don’t have to come. You can just send somebody. It’s no big deal, really.”

  “Yeah, right,” he chuckled. “I’m on my way.”

  The call disconnected before she could respond again. She knew that Thorin would check in with her as soon as he arrived, so there wasn’t any point in going back to bed. She’d just wait on him, let him check the place out and then she could go back to bed.

  While she waited on Thorin, she sat down at the kitchen table with her laptop. In spite of herself, she did a search for Marie Antoinette and started reading.

  Marie was an excessive queen whose extravagance probably helped spell the end of the French monarchy. Born in Austria to Marie Therese, who had a knack for placing her daughters in great houses throughout Europe, she was flamboyant in every sense of the word. Where her husband Louis XVI was reserved and sometimes at a loss for words, Marie had no problem with being the life of the party. She was a fashion icon and likely responsible for the fact that Paris had become the capital of the fashion world.

  “Let them eat cake,” a cold phrase concerning the plight of the common man, which was wrongly attributed to Marie, nevertheless reflected her mindset toward the bourgeois. That attitude brought the monarchy to a very violent end…

  Chyna looked at her watch. It was just after 4 a.m.; too early to call Sandra in New York. If the team was going to find this lost crown, they’d need everything they had in their arsenal and that included her father’s extensive archives. Inside the climate-controlled rooms where the Found History private collection of documents was housed, was a large leather-bound portfolio containing several original pieces of correspondence predating and originating around the time of the French Revolution. Many of Marie Antoinette’s personal papers were included among these.

  Chyna remembered being allowed to read them as a child. She remembered the comfort she got while imagining the life of that fantastic princess and how she came to her tragic end.

  The brief text message on her cell phone followed by the knock on the door was a signal that Thorin often used to let her know when he’d arrived. She left her computer and went to the door, looking through the peephole to make sure that it was, indeed, her giant, blonde bodyguard.

  “So, what’s up?” Thorin asked as he stepped into the foyer. His eyes scanned the interior automatically as he asked the question.

  “Nothing,” Chyna replied. She really didn’t want to tell him about her visitor. “I just got a little spooked.”

  “Huh.” A half smile came to his mouth. “I know you, Chyna. You don’t get a ‘little spooked.’ Tell me the truth.”

  “I had a visitor,” she responded, still not wanting to reveal too much.

  “Uh huh,” he growled. “Who?”

  “Nobody, really.”

  “Tony,” he said.

  “How the hell did you know?”

  “Because pretty much anyone else would be laid out on the floor bleeding.”

  “Fine,” she sighed. “It was Tony.”

  He looked her over for a moment.

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Tony is good. Maybe even the best.”

  “Huh.” It was her turn for a half smile. It was hard to argue with him on that point. After all, unless you were a ghost, it was nearly impossible to penetrate the security that she had in place, and yet, Tony had been there, had a perfect opportunity to make it so that she never woke up and he didn’t take advantage of it. She wasn’t sure how to process that little bit of information.

  “You look okay. He didn’t hurt you. So, what did he want?”

  “To talk,” she replied.

  Thorin raised his eyebrows and spread his hands in the universal sign that she was stating the obvious and that he expected a little bit more.

  She could trust Thorin with her life and with anything else. He wasn’t the type to run his mouth about anything. He was, in fact, the very best person for her to confide in at that moment.

  “He had some bullshit story about being deep undercover and needing my help. Can you believe that? Deep undercover? I mean, the shit that he’s put me through… us, all of us through. What he did in Dresden and what he did in Cordoba. How am I supposed to believe such a stupid story? How could I even consider helping him? What kind of arrogance does he have to think that he could show up here and ask for my help?”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to fuck off.”

  Thorin nodded.

  “What do I do? I got him out of my mind. I got closure. I was moving on and now, this. What do I do?”

  Thorin shrugged.

  “That doesn’t help. Tell me what to do.”

  “I won’t tell you what to do, but there are really only two ways to look at this. He’s either telling you the truth or he’s setting you up.”

  “Okay?” Chyna raised her eyebrows and spread her hands, waiting for more.

  “If he’s telling the truth and he needs your help for a major undercover op, then you’d be doing what you’ve always done; helping save the world,” he grinned.

  “And if he’s setting me up?” she asked.

  “Then we ought to bring the bastard down,” Thorin growled.

  “Are you seriously suggesting that we ought to take on Anthony Stewart?” Both her mouth and her eyes were wide open with shock.

  “You’ve heard the adage: keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chyna cocked her head to the side and stared at him as she narrowed her eyes.

  “No matter what happens, it gives us an opportunity to keep an eye on him.”

  “It could get us all killed.”

  “Everything we’ve ever gotten into could have gotten us killed.” Thorin shrugged. “But if anyone has a chance at taking on Tony, it’s you.”

  Chapter Four

  Though after their conversation, Thorin and two other members of his security team did a thorough sweep of the home and everywhere near her home, it did little to help her sleep. Even having the big Swede posted by her door made little difference.

  The suggestion to take on Anthony Stewart thrilled her and terrified her at the same time. It was like grabbing a lion by the beard and only having a club for a weapon and yet…

  Her buzzing phone interrupted her thoughts. She opened the text message.

  Got your text. I’ll call you back at a decent hour.

  Chyna pressed the speed dial for Lana and listened to it ring twice before her second in command answered the phone.

  “So, I see that ‘decent hour’ doesn’t mean much to you. What’s up?” Lana asked.

  “Do you have a number to the curator of the royal artifacts at the Louvre?”

  “Okay, well, I’m awake now. I do, but why do you need it?”

  “Can you get me an appointment?”

  “Well, uh, yeah, but why?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  “I just love it when you keep me in the dark on things.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out how to explain everything.”

  “Do you have an ETA on your explanation?”

  “I’ll have one at our team meeting.”

&nb
sp; “I suppose you want me to call the team too?”

  “You’re so good,” Chyna laughed.

  “Lunch?”

  “Actually, I’m feeling like brunch.”

  “How savoir faire of you… or should I say cosmopolitan?”

  “Cosmo,” she responded.

  “Any preferences?”

  “Surprise me,” Chyna replied, disconnecting the call.

  Surprisingly enough, that short conversation had given her a boost of confidence and pushed away the fogginess of her sleepless night. Thorin was right. If anyone could take down Anthony Stewart, Chyna Stone and the Found History team were the ones to do it.

  Thorin’s advice to keep Tony where they could keep an eye on him made perfect sense. The best way to do that was to jump right in and play Tony’s own game. She’d find Marie Antoinette’s crown and in the process, figure out what he was really up to. The fact that the other artifacts that had been recovered had disappeared again, had gotten under her skin. The fact that they were all feminine, just as Tony had pointed out had gotten under it even further.

  If Tony wasn’t the mastermind behind those thefts, then who was? More importantly, what purpose did having those artifacts serve? “If it is really you who is doing this, Anthony Stewart, I’ll figure it out and I’ll take you down,” she said aloud as she stripped out of her pajamas and stepped into the shower.

  ***

  At 10:30 a.m., flanked by Thorin and Demetri, she entered the conference room in the Found History East offices and examined the spread that Lana had surprised her with.

  Lana waved at the mountain of food that was spread out on the conference table and then began to read off the menu. “On this end we have:

  Eggs Benedict on toasted sourdough with Amish hickory smoked ham,

  Brioche French Toast with toasted pecans and Belgian style waffles,

  New Hampshire country sausage links and applewood smoked bacon,

  Hash browns, watermelon salad and tomato salad.

  On the far end is:

  Smoked Atlantic salmon with brown butter caper sauce, chives, red onions and crème Fraiche.