The Lost Throne

31

Payne and Jones were exhausted. Their bodies and brains craved a full night of sleep. But Allison’s answer piqued their interest enough to keep them awake a little while longer.

“Did you say treasures?” Jones asked with a mischievous grin.

“Yes,” she answered, “ancient treasures.”

“I like treasures.”

Allison smiled. “Most people do.”

Payne leaned forward. “What does that have to do with Byrd? What was his project?”

“Richard was fascinated with Ancient Greece. He spent half of his life looking for ancient relics. It was his obsession.”

“Was he successful?”

She shook her head. “He spent millions to find thousands.”

Jones said, “I’m pretty good with math, and, well, that sucks.”

Payne rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He’s tired. It’s been a long trip.”

“You know,” she admitted, “when we spoke, I never asked where you were.”

“Actually, you didn’t ask much.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry about that. I had just seen Richard… I think I was in shock.”

“There’s no need to apologize. You weren’t that bad. And you seem much better now.”

She shrugged. “I think it’s a different kind of shock. I’m no longer blubbering like I was on the phone, but I can’t believe this is happening. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to me.”

“Really?” Jones said through a yawn. “Happens to us all the time.”

Payne shook his head at the comment. “D.J., it’s late. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“I can’t,” he whined. “You’re on my bed. Unless you’re giving me the guest room.”

“Not a chance. I’m too tall for the couch.”

“Exactly. So get off my bed.”

Allison looked perplexed. “Wait a minute. You’re staying here?”

Payne nodded. “That’s why I told you to get a suite. So we can stand guard. You’ll be safer this way. I promise.”

“I don’t know,” she stammered. “I wasn’t really expecting…”

“Listen, if you’re not comfortable with us, we can get a room down the hall. But I assure you, we didn’t fly in from Florida to hurt you.”

“Wait. You were in Florida when I called?”

“Coincidentally, we were in St. Petersburg. Talk about a small world.”

She gaped in amazement. “You flew in from Florida to help me? Why would you do that?”

Payne shrugged at her surprise. “I made a promise.”

“Who does that?” she asked. “My friends promise me stuff all the time, and they never follow through. But you came here from Florida? They won’t even meet me at the mall.”

He laughed. “Maybe you need new friends.”

“Maybe I do.”

“On the other hand, maybe we’re just special.”

She smiled. “Maybe you are.”

“Maybe you need to get off my bed!” Jones growled.

Payne stood up. “Maybe he’s right.”

Allison laughed at their antics, which was a mini-miracle considering the violence she had seen at the Peterhof. She knew she should have been uncomfortable with two total strangers in her hotel suite, but for some reason, she wasn’t. In fact, she felt the opposite. After two days of being scared for her life, she felt strangely confident — as though everything would be all right.

“Fine,” she said. “You guys can stay the night, but I’m locking my door.”

Payne smiled and secretly pointed at Jones. “That’s fine. So am I.”

By five in the morning the suite was filled with sunlight, a byproduct of the White Nights. But it didn’t bother Jones, who was curled up on the beige couch. His guns sat next to him on the coffee table, and his shoes were on the floor. Other than that, he was fully dressed, ready to spring into action if someone breached the front door. Jones could nap on a mortar range and not even bat an eye, but a squeaking floorboard would pull him from the deepest REM sleep.

Thankfully, nothing woke him until nearly ten, when Allison wandered into the small kitchen. His left eye popped open and then his right. He glanced at her, looked at his watch, then decided he should wake up. They had a long day ahead of them, and a lot of decisions to make.

“Morning,” he said as he sat up. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not too bad. How about yourself?”

“Better than Jon.”

“Really? Did you talk to him already?”

“No. But I always sleep better than Jon.”

He didn’t explain his comment as he trudged into the guest bathroom, carrying both of his guns and a black travel bag. Allison shook her head at the sight. Weapons had always made her uneasy, but Jones handled his like they were a part of his morning routine. Some people carried coffee and a bagel. He carried two semiautomatics and a toothbrush.

Who in the hell were these guys?

Allison needed to find out before they left the suite.

She was wearing the same clothes as the night before with one addition: a casual white blouse covered her T-shirt. It was the same outfit she had worn to the Peterhof; the same clothes she had worn for two straight days. Everything else — her suitcase, her personal items, her research — was at a different hotel, waiting for her return. After the shooting, she had been forced to leave everything behind, afraid that someone was watching her room, afraid that she might be murdered. So for two days, she made do with the clothes on her back and a hotel robe.

Glancing through the mini-fridge, she realized they needed food. Lots of food. Payne and Jones were big guys who looked like they could eat a lot. So she took it upon herself to call room service. Two days of dining had made her familiar with her options. She ordered half the menu and told them to hurry, hoping brunch would arrive before Payne and Jones emerged from the guest wing. Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Jones heard the front door as he exited the bathroom. She assured him it was only room service, but he took no chances.

He ordered Allison into the main bedroom, then closed the door behind her. Meanwhile, Payne emerged from the guest room and checked the peephole. He saw a waiter in his mid-fifties. No one else was in the hallway. Payne opened the door while Jones covered him from the back of the room. Everything went smoothly, and within five minutes, they were helping themselves to a huge Russian breakfast — boiled eggs, cheese, black rye bread, cold cuts, oatmeal, fruit, and a pot of Nescafé. Their favorite item, by far, was the blinis, yeast-leavened buckwheat pancakes served with sour cream, smoked salmon, caviar, and an assortment of fruit spreads. Jones went the American route, stuffing his with eggs, cheese, and cold cuts, while Payne and Allison opted for the more traditional Russian toppings.

They ate their meal at the dining room table, anxious to learn more about each other.

Payne said to Allison, “I’m glad you’re wearing the same clothes. That means you followed my advice and came straight here.”

She nodded. “I did everything you told me. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“That’s good to know. If you keep that up, you’ll be fine.”

“About that,” she said, not quite sure how to word things, “don’t be mad at me, but I need to go back to the other hotel. Just for a minute or two.”

Payne shook his head. “No way. You can buy new clothes.”

“It’s not my clothes. I couldn’t care less about my clothes. It’s my research. All of my research is at the other hotel.”

Jones put his hands in front of him, then moved them up and down like a giant scale. “Your research… your life… Your research… your life… Sorry. I’m with Jon on this one. Your research isn’t worth the risk.”

“It is my life that I’m worried about. My name and personal information are all over my research. If someone finds it, they can find me.”

“Shit,” Payne mumbled. “That changes things. We’ll have to get it for you.”

Jones put his hands back out in front of him. “Her life… our lives… Her life… our lives… That’s lives with an s. This one’s a little tougher for me.”

“Knock it off.”

“See, the s makes it plural.”

Payne ignored him. “Where were you staying?”

“At the Astoria Hotel. It’s across the street from the Hermitage Museum.”

“I know the place. One room? Two rooms? A suite?”

“Definitely two,” she stressed. “I wasn’t staying with Richard.”

“You weren’t a couple?”

She scrunched her face and shook her head. “Not a chance. That guy was a player. Good-looking, lots of money, and lots of girlfriends. I know he was hoping for something extra on this trip, but I was here to work. Nothing else.”

Payne nodded. “That’s a relief.”

“Why is that?”

“Why? Because if you were a couple, a good assassin would be able to figure out your name in a heartbeat. All it would take is a single call to California, and he’d know everything about you. But since you weren’t together, I’m hoping you’ll get lost in the shuffle.”

Allison turned pale as she set her fork down. “You think an assassin is after me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But…”

Payne believed in being up-front with people. “From what we saw, a professional killed Byrd. Since we don’t know why, we don’t know if he’s looking for a second target. If Byrd owed someone money or screwed someone over, then you’ll be fine. This was a one-and-done, and you’ll never be bothered again. On the other hand, if the two of you saw something or did something that you weren’t supposed to, then that’s a different story. Then I’d be worried.”

A moment passed before she spoke. “What do you mean you saw him killed?”

“Good question,” Payne said. “To help you understand, let me explain who we are.”

He gave her a brief rundown of their military careers. Nothing too in-depth. Nothing too personal. He didn’t even tell her their last names. But he explained that they were ex-Special Forces, they were close friends of Petr Ulster, and they had a wide network of government contacts. And one of those contacts provided them with security footage from the Peterhof.

“You actually saw the killer?” she asked.

Payne nodded. “Couldn’t see his face, though. We were kind of hoping you did.”

She shook her head. “I was too far away.”

“In that case,” Jones said, “we need to figure out why Byrd was killed.”

“His name was Richard. Can you guys please call him Richard?”

Jones corrected himself. “Sorry. Force of habit. Why Richard was killed.”

She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes, afraid that she was going to get emotional again — which was something she didn’t want to do in front of Payne and Jones. They had flown halfway around the world to rescue her and weren’t looking for money or anything in return. The least she could do was keep it together when she was in their presence.

Allison said, “For the past two days, I’ve thought about everything I’ve done in Saint Petersburg, and I don’t have any answers. I simply don’t know why Richard was killed.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Payne stated, “because you won’t be safe until we know.”