The Crowns Vengeance Page 6

  Parker still wasn’t convinced. “If you’re right, how do we know which drawer he’s talking about? You’ll break those off if you try to force them towards each other.”

  Erika responded by reaching into her back pocket and removing a small white tube.

  “That’s why I brought this.”

  His mouth nearly fell open.

  “You have to be kidding. You’re going to use superglue?”

  “It should hold for a few hours, until we can get out of here.”

  Without waiting for his approval, Erika squatted down and began her search with the top left drawer, shoving the two designs at one another, biceps straining with effort. Parker looked around, expecting a museum attendant to walk through at any moment.

  “It won’t move.”

  Erika pulled the drawer out, her fist knocking the wooden piece, one ear in close.

  “It doesn’t sound hollow. Here, you try and push these together.”

  Realizing there was no other choice, Parker knelt down and put one hand on each triangular decoration. Despite his best efforts, the two designs wouldn’t budge.

  “These things aren’t going anywhere.”

  Erika was already on the third drawer, forehead strained with effort.

  “Try the other ones. Your muscles must be good for something.”

  He tried the second drawer with similar results. Whoever had installed the decorations had done a fine job. They didn’t move an inch. As Erika was inspecting her fifth drawer, Parker took the fourth one in his hands, which now ached from the exercise. As he struggled to shove the silver-coated triangles together, his hand slipped.

  The decoration had torn from the drawer’s surface, ripped cleanly off.

  “Shit. I need that glue.”

  Erika took the broken piece in her hands, though her attention was focused on the drawer itself.

  “Look, you can see where this was nailed on.”

  He noted the tiny piece of metal that protruded from the damaged decoration.

  “And here, you can see the wood behind this decoration is a single piece,” Erika noted. “There’s no way these things could move.”

  Parker didn’t respond, a swell of anger growing inside his chest. He was sweaty, pissed off, and slightly hung over. The last thing he needed was to be caught breaking Paul Revere’s furniture.

  “This is a waste of time. Let’s get out of here before an employee calls the cops.”

  Erika slid the broken drawer back in, the silver triangle attached once again.

  “Stop being a baby. We only have two more.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but Erika laid a hand on his forearm, her eyes wide, pleading.

  “Please?”

  “Fine, but after this, we’re out of here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

  The next to last drawer did not yield either, and Parker began to think they’d be on their way. As he slid the fifth drawer back into the bureau, Erika gasped.

  “Parker, this one moved.”

  He peered at the drawer in her hands.

  “Give it to me.”

  With the drawer now bathed in sunlight, Parker studied the centuries-old piece. Right away, he saw it. The triangular design had shifted. Years of sun and dirt had dulled the drawer’s polish, but where the silver arrow had been, the wood was bright where it had been protected from the elements.

  Erika’s eyes flashed. “Push the triangles together.”

  For a moment, the designs held fast, stuck like all the others. Parker redoubled his efforts and was rewarded as the two arrow-shaped decorations jerked closer to each other by several inches.

  “Damn, this thing is tough to move. The arrows are stuck.”

  She smacked his arm. “Stop making excuses and push harder.”

  Her face was alight with anticipation as he squeezed, certain the wood was going to splinter apart in his hands. Just as his arms were about to give out, the arrows shot together with a terrible clatter. The unexpected movement sent the drawer flying from his grasp, and he could only watch as it tumbled to the floor with a tremendous crash.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  “Not before we see what’s inside.”

  There were no visible changes other than the arrows, which now sat inches apart. Erika ran her fingers around the interior, probing the polished wood. “I don’t feel any hinges inside. Those arrows had to have done something.”

  With a gentle touch, she lifted the drawer and turned it upside down. On the bottom, a previously invisible panel had retracted to reveal a slender leather pouch, secured to the underside. Before they could speak, the door behind them creaked open.

  Chapter 11

  An elderly man walked through the door.

  “Is everything all right in here?”

  Parker said nothing as the man tottered their way, a kind look on his wizened features.

  “I’m glad you’re here, sir.” Erika pushed Parker aside, holding the drawer in front of her like a peace offering. “When we came in here, this drawer was sitting on the ground. I almost tripped over it.”

  The frail old man ran one hand through a thick shock of snowy white hair atop his wrinkled forehead.

  “Where, uh, where did you say you found it?”

  “Right here.” She gestured emphatically at the ground. “We were walking through, and oh my, it was just sitting there. I don’t know what to do.” Before the old man could respond, she said, “Oh my goodness, would you look at that. I found where it goes.”

  Just as the bespectacled man reached for it, Erika turned around and slid the drawer back into its proper slot.

  “It must have fallen out. You can’t be too careful.”

  “Yes, I suppose you can’t.”

  Bewildered, the old man nodded slowly as he spoke.

  “Do you work here?”

  Erika flashed a megawatt smile his way. She grabbed Parker’s arm and slid closer to the poor guy, so close they nearly touched the nametag on his chest.

  “Yes, I’m the curator.”

  “This is just the loveliest place.” Erika didn’t give him a chance to think. “Would you tell us about the house? Is there anything here that Paul Revere actually used?”

  Parker nodded as she pinched his arm, an absurd grin plastered across his face. For a few moments, the old guy scratched his head, completely overwhelmed.

  “Actually used? Why, yes, there are many items here that date from Revere’s time.”

  With one final glance at the bureau, the curator launched into a lengthy description of the home’s contents, pointing out period furnishings and original construction. Nearly an hour later, the trio emerged from the small structure, Parker and Erika waving good-bye to their impromptu tour guide. As soon as the door closed behind them, Parker grabbed Erika’s arm.

  “What were you thinking? Now there’s no way we can get back inside the drawer. That guard is going to go back and find the hidden compartment.”

  A playful light flashed in her eyes.

  “No he won’t, because there’s nothing to find.”

  “What do you mean, nothing to find? There was a leather pouch hidden inside the drawer. We both saw it.”

  “Do you mean this leather pouch?”

  With a flourish, one hand slid down her shirt and removed the container in question. He couldn’t believe it. As he reached for it, she pulled the artifact away.

  “Not here, dummy. Let’s get away from this museum before that old guy comes looking for us. If he does go look at the drawer, he’s going to find the hidden compartment.”

  Erika turned on her heel, leaving Parker flat-footed, mouth hanging open. He couldn’t believe what she’d done. Not until she was halfway to the street did he start moving, adrenaline speeding his pursuit to learn what had been secreted away in Revere’s hidden drawer.

  Chapter 12

  Spencer Drake stared at the phone in his hand.

  It had begun.

  A
tinge of fear knifed through him. The man who had called was perhaps the most unsettling individual he’d ever spoken with. Their conversation had lasted less than ten minutes, and Drake had said very little. For one of the few times in his life, decisions were completely out of his control. Simply put, Drake had just contracted for a service to be performed. Nothing more.

  If that was the case, then why did it feel as though he had freed a caged lion? Pushing the thought from his mind, Drake called Nigel Stirling.

  “Yes?”

  “It will happen within a week’s time. The operative couldn’t be more specific than that.”

  “Under what circumstances?” Stirling asked.

  This was what had left Drake with a sense of unease.

  “He declined to specify. The only issue is access, which is why we have such an open-ended time frame.”

  Music was audible in the background, what sounded like a string quartet.

  “Hold for a moment, please. This dreadful charity function has absolutely no privacy.” The music soon faded. “That’s better. As much as I abhor these soirees, one must attend when Her Majesty is the host. As you were saying, we must wait for a week?”

  “At the most. If he is able, the assignment will be completed more quickly. He also declined to provide me with any updates until it is finished.”

  “Frustrating, but understandable. In that case, I shall keep an eye on the evening news.”

  After Stirling hung up, Drake flicked on his television. If their man completed his mission, every person in the country would learn of it immediately. A soft knock came from his office door, and he looked up just as Liz strutted around the corner, her flowing hair pulled into a loose bun supported by only a pencil. The glasses she wore paired nicely with the tartan skirt that hugged her slender hips.

  “There’s a message for you, Mr. Drake. From one of your personal numbers.”

  He shot out of his chair and snatched the paper from between her manicured fingernails.

  “Thank you, Liz. That will be all.”

  To better facilitate the private operations Drake participated in with Nigel Stirling, Spencer maintained several open lines of communication with an eclectic collection of individuals the world over. These lines were specified for use by one person only, each with unique instructions for when the individual was to contact Spencer. Infrequently used at best, no one besides Drake and Stirling knew of their true purpose. Drake punched in the return number. Nearly a dozen rings later, it was answered.

  “Hello?”

  The voice could have belonged to his grandfather.

  “What happened?”

  “Well, sir, I’m not sure if you’re even interested in this.”

  This particular line was assigned to a museum employee with whom Drake had a unique financial arrangement, one that had existed in one form or another for over a century, ever since the museum had opened its doors.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me everything.”

  The initial arrangement had been made with this man’s great-grandfather, the first curator. Ever since, once a year, a suitcase filled with cash had been delivered to the current museum curator’s home. In exchange, the curator agreed to call this number any time there was an unusual occurrence at their workplace. The instructions were intentionally vague, and the curator had no idea who was on the other end of the call.

  “We had a strange thing happen today here in the Revere House.”

  Chapter 13

  Drake listened silently to the elderly curator’s tale.

  “Did you find anything in the drawer?”

  “Well, sir, it was the darndest thing. When I went back inside, I thought that maybe I should take a look at the drawer, make sure it wasn’t damaged or anything. When I pulled it out, everything looked just fine, until I flipped it over. On the bottom, there was some kind of opening, sort of like a hidden panel.”

  Drake’s knuckles went white.

  “What was inside?”

  “That’s the thing. It was empty. Just two little straps dangling there, holding nothing at all.”

  “I need you to think very carefully. Is it possible there was something inside the drawer those two visitors could have removed?”

  Silence for a beat. “You know, it might be possible,” the curator replied. “I don’t move like I used to, so when I first heard the racket going on, it took me a little bit to get over there. Those kids might have taken something with them, but I’ll be damned if I saw anything.”

  All those cash deliveries had finally paid off.

  “Do you know who the two people are?”

  “I thought you might ask, so I pulled out the guestbook. Lucky for you, they actually signed it. Most people walk on by without bothering, but these two, they took the time—”

  He cut off the old man’s rambling. “What are their names?”

  “That would be a Ms. Erika Carr and a Mr. Parker Chase.”

  Drake scribbled the names down.

  “Does your museum have a surveillance system?”

  “We do, but the cameras are only outside.”

  How convenient. “I need copies of the tapes from this morning, anything that shows the two suspects.”

  “Sure, my grandson can do that. I’ll tell him we need a copy for the security company.”

  “Fine, just make sure you send it to this address today.” Drake gave him a post office box he kept in Boston, registered under yet another shell corporation. “If for some reason those two come back, call this number immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. If you don’t mind, what makes you believe there was anything in the drawer, and why is it-?”

  “I do mind.”

  Drake disconnected before the old man could respond. One finger punched the intercom button.

  “Liz, get in here.”

  She scurried through his office door, lipstick in hand.

  “Put that damn makeup away and get someone from IT on the phone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As a multi-national securities firm with a half-trillion in total assets, Aldrich Securities employed some of the finest technical minds in the country. Information was the backbone of their business, and every second they spent waiting for it was not only time wasted, but also money lost. Moments later, the phone rang.

  “Drake.”

  “Mr. Drake, this is Luke Atwater, Senior Technician with IT.”

  “Luke, I was told you’re the best guy we have, and I need your help. Security recently uncovered the identity of two people who we suspect are orchestrating a money laundering operation and plan to involve Aldrich Securities. However, at this point we’re not positive of their intentions, and as such, cannot involve the authorities.”

  “I take it you require background information on the pair?”

  “You’re correct. I need to know anything and everything about them.”

  “Can you tell me anything to help narrow down the search field?”

  “Only that they are currently in Boston.”

  “And you would want this to be quiet, I assume? Everything kept in-house?”

  “Correct again.”

  He sensed the tech’s hesitation, but Drake still had a few cards up his sleeve.

  “Of course, you would be compensated for your efforts. I believe a one-time bonus of fifty thousand would be in order.”

  Drake heard Luke Atwater gasp. Fifty grand represented half his yearly salary.

  “When would you require the information, sir?”

  “Yesterday. I’ll have my secretary deliver what we know about the pair so far to you immediately.”

  “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

  Drake had long ago learned that the best way to get things done was with a smile on your face-and a large amount of money in your hands.

  “Liz, get this down to Luke Atwater in IT right now.”

  Once Drake learned something about these two, he would make a report to Stirling. It was hard to bel
ieve, but a two-hundred-year-old piece of information, gained in the torture chambers beneath the Tower of London, may have just saved their plans.

  One hour later, Drake had his answer.

  “Here is the report on Parker Chase.” Atwater handed him a thick manila folder, “And this is for Erika Carr.”

  “How do you know these are the ones I’m looking for? There must be hundreds of people with those names.”

  “This pair is currently registered at the Intercontinental Boston hotel.”

  Drake’s eyes lit up.

  “Excellent work. I’ll arrange for your bonus to be paid immediately. Of course, Mr. Atwater, you understand this assignment was confidential. I value a man with discretion such as yours.”

  Atwater took the hint. “I understand completely, sir. Thank you for the opportunity.”

  After his entrepreneurial employee had departed, Drake ripped the files open. Twenty minutes later, he leaned back in his chair, not sure what to make of the pair, and impressed with Atwater’s work. The man was extremely thorough.

  What troubled him the most was Parker’s chosen profession. It may have just been a coincidence, but then again, it could be much more. He needed to bring Stirling up to date. Surprisingly, Nigel answered on the first ring.

  “What did you learn?”

  “Their names are Parker Chase and Erika Carr. Both in their late twenties. The female is an assistant professor of history at the University of Pennsylvania, hired two years ago. She lives in Philadelphia. The male is in finance with a firm out of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He’s worked there for almost a decade, seems to be doing rather well for himself.”

  “Any idea how they know each other?”

  “They attended college together, and each participated in varsity athletics. Mr. Chase was an American football player of some renown. Tax records indicate they shared an apartment in Pittsburgh for some time, though Ms. Carr relocated to Philadelphia when she began her employment with the university.”

  “So we have a pair of lovebirds on our hands. Interesting.”