The Lost Throne

54

Payne read the words aloud. “The coat equals the key. What does that mean?”

Allison shrugged. “I have no idea, since I don’t know what the coat is. I could have asked Ivan on the phone, but I figured that would’ve appeared suspicious.”

Jones nodded in agreement as he returned to his chair. “Any theories?”

“It might be referring to a coat of arms. Many cities in Europe, both new and ancient, use decorative shields as a symbol. Perhaps the coat is pointing toward a specific location.”

“Look in the French column on the tablet,” Jones suggested. “Coat of arms is the translation of a French term, cote d’armes. It might be listed there.”

Payne stared at him like he was speaking French. Which, in fact, he had been. “How in the hell do you know that?”

Jones shrugged. “Doesn’t everybody?”

Payne wanted to tease him, but Allison interrupted him before he could.

“Sorry. There’s no coat mentioned in French.”

“What about Schliemann’s family?”

“What about them?” she asked.

Jones explained. “Many important families in Europe have their own coat of arms. That sounds like something Schliemann might’ve had done to boost his stature.”

“Hmmm, I never thought of that. I don’t remember seeing one during my research, but I can look through my notes. I have some pictures of Iliou Melathron. Maybe I’ll spot one there.”

Payne grimaced in confusion. “What is Iliou Mel—?”

“Melathron. It is Schliemann’s former residence in Athens. The term translates to the Palace of Ilium, which was the name of the Roman city built on top of the site of Troy. Schliemann’s mansion was so extravagant it was purchased by the Hellenic Ministry of Culture for the Athens Numismatic Museum. It now houses over six hundred thousand coins.”

“That’s a lot of change,” Jones said.

Allison smiled. “We were going to visit it when we went to Greece. It’s near the Acropolis.”

Payne recognized the look in her eye. She was about to go off on a wild tangent, probably talking about the Parthenon or some other site that she hoped to see. Payne knew if they were going to get out of Russia before he died of old age, he had to keep her rambling to a minimum.

“Let me ask you a question,” he said to Allison. “Even if Schliemann had a coat of arms, what does it really matter? I mean, I doubt it was a family secret. That would have gone against his motivation to get a coat of arms to begin with. So what good would it do us?”

Allison sighed. “You make a good point.”

“For the time being, I think it would be best if you kept working on the journal. See if you can figure out why Richard rushed to Naples to buy it and then spent so much time translating it. Obviously, he thought it was important.”

She nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Richard didn’t like wasting time. He must have been looking for something in particular. I’m not sure what, but something.”

“What about a throne?” Jones suggested. “Schliemann mentioned it several times in several different languages. He must have done that for a reason — even if he was delusional at the time. According to Richard’s notes, the coat is supposed to be the key. But Schliemann didn’t mention a coat. He mentioned a throne, over and over again.”

She corrected him. “Not a throne. The throne. Like a very specific throne. Unfortunately, it doesn’t sound familiar to me. I’ve been studying Schliemann for two years, and I don’t remember him searching for any thrones.”

Jones glanced at Payne. He was sitting quietly, listening to their discussion like an outsider. “Hey, Jon, while we’re looking through Richard’s stuff, why don’t you run an Internet search for ancient thrones? Maybe you can find something related to Schliemann.”

Payne stood up from the table. “I can do that. Where’s her computer?”

“On the writing desk in the corner.”

Normally, computer searches would have fallen into Jones’s area of expertise. He wasn’t as skilled as Randy Raskin — then again, nobody was — but Jones had majored in computer science at the Air Force Academy and spent half his free time designing and building computers in his garage. He simply loved tinkering with electronics. Making things faster and more powerful.

Payne, on the other hand, used his computer for simple tasks, like checking e-mail and sports scores. Other than that, his knowledge was pretty limited. In some ways that embarrassed him — especially since his company, Payne Industries, had its own high-tech division — but when it came right down to it, Payne didn’t like being stuck behind a desk, typing on a keyboard.

In fact, he hated it.

But, in the context of this particular mission, Payne knew that his computer skills were far more advanced than his knowledge of ancient history. And Jones realized it, too, which was the reason he asked Payne to use the Internet to get some background material.

Payne couldn’t read multiple languages, interpret historical data, or discuss the most important moments in Heinrich Schliemann’s life.

But he was fully capable of running a search for ancient thrones.

He could handle that like a champ.

Payne took his job seriously, even though it didn’t seem quite as important as the work going on behind him. But in missions like this, he knew a breakthrough could occur at any time.

He remembered a similar situation at the Ulster Archives when he and Jones had been asked to help some colleagues look for information about the crucifixion of Christ. Payne had been relegated to menial tasks while Jones dug through a series of ancient texts. Yet it was Payne who had made the most important observation, one that led to a major archaeological discovery.

To this day, he still teased Jones about it every chance he got.

Viewing this opportunity in the same light, Payne went to his favorite search engine and typed “ancient thrones.” A split second later, he had several hundred thousand links to choose from. He scrolled through the most popular choices and ignored anything that seemed unlikely — relics from Asia, Africa, and Western Europe. Instead, he focused on the areas that could be linked to Heinrich Schliemann, particularly Italy, Russia, and Greece.

Payne changed his search query to “ancient thrones + italy” and scanned the results. One article stood out. A Roman throne had been recently discovered in Herculaneum. Payne clicked on the link and read the entire story.

“How big of a discovery am I looking for?”

“Why?” Jones asked from the table.

“Back in December, experts found a wood-and-ivory throne in Herculaneum. It was discovered in the house of Julius Caesar’s father-in-law. According to this, it’s the first original throne from the Roman era ever to be recovered.”

Allison spoke up. “I remember reading about that. Academically speaking, it was a wonderful discovery. But that’s not the type of item that Richard would have been interested in. Think much bigger. Something that would’ve put him on the cover of Time.”

“Like a huge treasure?”

“Exactly.”

“Also,” Jones cracked, “you probably shouldn’t look for things that have already been discovered.”

“That is a very good point.”

Payne tweaked his search criteria for Italy a few different ways and found nothing of interest. So he decided to move on to the next region on his list.

He typed “ancient thrones + russia” and scanned the results.

At first glance, Saint Petersburg seemed to have more thrones per square mile than any other place on earth. The Winter Palace, which was part of the Hermitage Museum that Ivan Borodin once worked for, had multiple thrones — including the Great Throne Room, where the emperor and empress used to receive their guests. There was also a different throne at the Peterhof and a few more in locations near Nevsky Prospekt that Payne had seen during the past day.

But they weren’t looking for thrones that were on display.

They were searching for thrones that hadn’t been found.