The Lost Throne

59

While Payne called Jones to make sure the street was clear, Allison said good-bye to Ivan. She promised to be in touch in the near future, hoping to hear as many stories about Schliemann as Ivan was willing to tell. He assured her that it was a conversation worth living for.

Payne walked outside first, followed by Allison. She carried the garment bag with both hands, clutching it against her chest as if it was the most valuable treasure in the world.

“You know,” she said, “that was a really nice thing to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The money. You gave him all the money.”

“It wasn’t my money. It was Richard’s money.”

“Still,” she assured him, “it was very sweet.”

He shrugged and said nothing. The old guy had reminded Payne of his grandfather. Full of wit and wisdom until his body finally gave out. Maybe the money would help Ivan live a little bit longer. Or at the very least, a little more comfortably.

When they reached the car, Payne sat in the front seat and Allison climbed into the back. She hung the garment bag from a hook above the window, trying not to wrinkle its contents.

“What’s that?” Jones asked as they pulled away from the curb.

“The coat,” Payne answered.

“The coat? You mean the coat was a coat?”

“Trust me, I had the same reaction.”

Payne turned around and looked at Allison. “I thought you said that Richard wasn’t the sentimental type, that he only cared about the treasures.”

“He did,” she assured him.

“Then why did he risk his life to buy a coat?”

“I don’t know. I’m just as dumbfounded as you.”

Payne turned back around and stared out the front windshield. Buildings were blurred as Jones navigated through the traffic like a lifelong resident. It was amazing how quickly he could adapt.

“Where to now?” she wondered.

“To the hotel,” Payne replied.

“And then what?”

“Then we go to the boat. It’s time to leave Russia.”

Jarkko was waiting when they arrived at the dock. He waved to them from the boat until he saw Payne and Jones weren’t alone. One look at Allison and he came running.

“I am Jarkko,” he said proudly. “I am captain of ship. Come, we must drink!”

He grabbed her by the hand and half-dragged her to the boat. Meanwhile, Payne and Jones were left carrying the luggage, which they didn’t mind at all. It was worth the laugh.

“Maybe we should have warned her about Jarkko,” Jones said.

“Why? This is much more fun.”

Their trip got under way without incident. No police interference or trouble of any kind. Before they got too far from shore, Payne called the car rental office and told them the location of their car, claiming it wouldn’t start. Jones had made sure of that by disconnecting the battery — which also made it tougher to steal, since he had to leave the keys on the front seat.

Once they were in international waters, they turned their attention to Allison. She was sitting in the back of the boat, staring at the Gulf of Finland. Jones sat next to her on a hard metal bench and asked her how she was doing. She shrugged and didn’t say much.

“What’s wrong?” Payne asked as he leaned against the rail of the boat.

“I was just thinking.”

“About?”

She paused before answering. “Richard.”

“What about him?”

“Ivan said some things that make me wonder if I misjudged him. I mean, on the day that he was killed, he was waiting for me at the Peterhof. He didn’t have to do that. He knew someone was following him, yet he chose to stick around for me. If he had just hopped on a boat and left Saint Petersburg, he probably would have survived.”

“Maybe,” Payne admitted. “But the odds are pretty good that they would have found him eventually — whether it was in Russia or somewhere else.”

She shrugged again, not quite ready to accept reality. “Well, what about the coat?”

“What about it?”

“This whole time I thought Richard only cared about a treasure. Now I find out he had a soft spot for Schliemann, too.”

Jones spoke up. “Actually, I’m not quite sure about that. Jon told me about your conversation with Ivan, and I think something else might be going on here.”

She looked at him, confused. “Like what?”

“Richard wrote, the coat equals the key. But when we did our translations, three words—coat, key, and location—were always linked together. We assumed it was a coat of arms that would reveal the location, or something like that, right?”

“Right.”

“What if the key was actually a key? Just like the coat was a coat.”

She scrunched her face. “I don’t follow.”

Payne explained. “Ivan said that Schliemann never took off his coat. He kept it with him at all times. What if there was a reason for that? What if he kept something in his coat that he never wanted to leave his possession?”

Her eyes widened. “Like a key!”

Jones smiled. “That’s what I was thinking.”

Payne said, “We know it’s a long shot, but we’ve got some time to kill.”

“I’ll get the coat,” she said excitedly. She went and got the garment bag from the waterproof bin where Jarkko kept his valuables and brought it back to Payne and Jones. “I haven’t even opened it yet. I didn’t want to expose it to the sea air.”

“If you’d rather not,” Payne teased.

“No, that’s quite all right. The coat’s lasted this long. A little moisture won’t hurt it.”

She unzipped the bag and carefully removed the overcoat, which was black and single-breasted. The material was soft and solidly stitched, as a rich man’s coat should be. She reached into the side pockets and found nothing. The same with the interior pockets. Either Schliemann was carrying nothing at the time of his death, or the items were removed long ago.

“It was worth a shot,” she said, frustrated.

“That’s it? You’re giving up?” Jones grabbed the coat from her. “Please do me a favor and never take a job with airport security. That was the worst search I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Jones removed the coat’s hanger and handed it to her. “Hold this while I look.”

Right away he noticed that Schliemann was a small man. He figured that out when he placed his hand inside one of the sleeves and nearly got stuck. He repeated his search on the other side and then patted down the sleeves just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. After that, he looked underneath the collar. It was a great place to hide items because it was rarely searched.

Next he turned his attention to the lining of the coat. It was black with faint gray pinstripes. He ran his fingers along the seams, searching for any bulges. This process continued for several seconds until he felt something. It wasn’t solid like a key; it was flat. He moved it back and forth and felt it crinkle.

“Allison,” he said glumly, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”

“Let me guess. The coat’s empty?”

“Actually, I think I found something. And if I did, I’m never going to let you forget it.”