Milo... Treasury

        By Pattie Lawler

 

            Albany closed the door to the jet’s bedroom and slipped onto the sofa, pressing herself against Milo. She nodded toward the computer on his lap. “You’ve been reading your email obsessively the past week. What’s so interesting? Tell me if I should be jealous, please.”

            He chuckled, shaking his head. “Only if you’re threatened by police reports.”

            “About the piece of wood?”

            He nodded, reaching for his coffee. “There have been five attempts—”

            “To steal it, you said. You’re reading about how they were done?”

            “Yes.”

            “And what do they tell you?”

            “That the person or persons involved in the pseudo-thefts aren’t professionals.”

            It was her turn to laugh. “The fact that they’ve tried five times and failed wasn’t enough proof?” She took the cup from his hand and drank.

            “I’m examining their methods, not their record. Thought I have my doubts, they could be doing a lucrative business in stolen goods but find the security at BNF a true challenge.”

            “To say the least. And what have you learned?”

            “That they’re short on imagination. Did you ever see the movie How to Steal a Million?”

            She shook her head, drinking.

            “Well, our thieves have. Peter O’Toole gets the museum to turn off their very loud alarm system by repeatedly tripping it late at night. Once it’s offline, he simply takes what he wants and walks out the next day amidst the confusion.”

            “And these people have tried the same trick?”

            He nodded. “You will be shocked, I’m sure, to learn that silent alarms are the fashion these days.”

            “What else have they tried?”

            “Their most original idea was having a man, well, a woman actually, on the inside. She worked in acquisitions and claimed to suffer from mild dyslexia.”

            “So she was able to switch catalog numbers?”

            “Exactly. They were hoping to lose,” he made air quotes for her benefit, “the Bois in the storeroom and remove it at their leisure. By the time anyone noticed, they would, in theory, be well away.”

            “I’m to believe that some eagle-eyed cataloger caught the slipup before the damage was done?”

            “Actually, no.”

            She sat forward, placing the empty mug on the table. “And so we come to the point.”

            “Am I that obvious?”

            “To me, yes. May that never change.” Wrapping her robe more closely around herself, she resumed her position against his side. “Something magical must have happened or they would have stuck with the police, not that they were needed.”

            He frowned, drawing back an inch. “Magical makes it sound so...Hollywood. So prestidigitation.”

            “Well, teach me a better word and I’ll be happy to change.”

            “Unexplained.”

            “Too many syllables.”

            He chuckled, kissing her head. “It has three, just like magical. Inexplicable has too many.”

            Albany smiled, snuggling closer. “Getting back to the point.”

            “Yes, the dyslexic cataloger did indeed try something magical while on the grounds and as a result tripped a silent alarm of a completely different type.”

            “Something you installed?”

            “Not me. My uncle.”

            “The one who left you the house and titles.”

            “The one and only.”

            “And just what did he set up?”

            “Well, we’re going back a way, perhaps before I was even born. And Uncle Peter wasn’t trying to protect the Bois specifically. His spell was all encompassing. As a result, the library was at a loss when that attempted thief took place. I was invited to expose the thief, and from her extracted enough of a confession to learn that she and her group believe that the walnut tree whose wood was used for the Bois was once part of a sacred grove.”

            “You mean she was a Druid?”

            “No. But she was the member of a pagan group who claim to have their origins in the distant, misty past.”

            “And what exactly did she try to do to the Bois?”

            “Like I said, they weren’t trying to steal it right away. She was placing a redirect, like an invisibility cloak if you will, on the Bois.”

            Albany smiled, worming her feet under his thigh. “I had a witchy friend who used to do something like that with her car whenever she parked in the city. She claimed to be able to park smack in front of Grand Central and not get ticketed.”

            “Your feet are cold.”

            “I agreed to marry you for your body heat. It’s mine now.”

            “And what do I get in return?”

            “The pleasure of my frigid feet.” She leaned to his ear. “You’re a lucky, lucky man, Milo Scarlet.”

            Milo laughed, rocking forward to place the laptop on the table. “Come on. Time for a shower, then breakfast.”

            “But I didn’t hear the end of the story.”

            “I’m coming with you.” He rose and turned toward her, his hand out. She smiled as he pulled her to her feet.

 <0>

            Milo frowned at the scrambled eggs, bacon and English muffins on his plate. “It ain’t the Ritz, that’s for sure. We’ll have to address the kitchen when we land.”

            Albany shrugged, reaching for the coffee pot. “Works for me. So, getting back.”

            “Yes. We were with the dyslexic cataloger and her sacred grove. Well, the one thing I was unable to wring from her is the group’s plans for the Bois.”

            With a thump, Albany set the pot down. “Isn’t it obvious?”

            He looked up, fork poised. “I guess not.”

            “Sure. Imagine someone breaking into a church, stealing a couple of crucifixions and using them to string clotheslines between. The parish would be incensed and would probably move heaven and earth to get them back.”

            Milo sat back, his gaze inward. “To reconsecrate.”

            “Or destroy, if they felt the items were too tainted. Better destroyed by their own hands than by heathens.”

            He nodded. “I can see that.”

            The ringing of his BlackBerry made him set his fork down while retrieving the phone from his pocket. He set it on the table and connected.

            “Good morning, Simon. You’re on speaker, so behave. We’re just eating, is it important?”

            “I’ll be quick. Lawrence has the DNA test results. As suspected, the on offer Bois is genuine. And the third sample matched as well.”

            “Excellent! Call du Montefort, if you would please. He can tell Leveque the good news.”

            “I’ve questioned Leveque’s security company and they’ve confirmed no attempts. Ever.”

            “Understood. We’ll be in town in about,” he looked at his watch, “three hours. I’d like to go directly to the treasury.”

            “We’ll be waiting.”

            Milo disconnected, picked up his forked and began eating his cold breakfast.

            Albany watched him for a few seconds. “The DNA test was to prove the Bois being offered is from the same tree?”

            He nodded. “Sorry, but I’m suddenly starving.”

            “That’s fine. And the third sample?”

            He continued to nod. “I’ve been aware of the central piece of the Bois for years. The current owner—”

            “Leveque.”

            He saluted her with his coffee cup. “Exactly. I offered him the opportunity to prove his piece’s pedigree, once and for all. Not that anyone doubts it. But now there’s chemical proof, should he need it.”

            “And no one’s ever tried to steal it.”

            “Right again.”

            “Which means the dyslexic cataloger doesn’t know where it is.”

            “About a handful of people do, present company excluded.”

            “And the treasury?”

            “At Notre Dame. There’s a manuscript I need to consult before heading for the BNF. Would you like to tag along, or would you like to shop?”

            “Just so you know, I shop when I have to. I don’t enjoy it the way Fanny does. I won’t tell her, however, and if you do, I’ll break both your knees.”

            “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m too fond of my knees, though I admit, I’ve rarely spared them a second’s thought.”

            “Well, if you know what’s good for you and your knees, you’ll file that fact beside the other Bois thingie.”

            “I never thanked you for last night.”

            Albany smiled over the rim of her coffee cup.

            “Well, yes, that too, but I meant for the karaoke. You and Halley singing some of Fanny’s favorites was a master stroke.”

            “So you’re not mad at me for snooping around her CD collection?”

            “She might be, but I’m not. In fact, I’m flattered.” He set his coffee down and lifted her hand. “You’re so wonderful, and I don’t tell you often enough. Thank you, Albany Wendel, for loving me and Fanny so completely.”

            Albany pulled his glove down enough to expose skin and bent to kiss his wrist. “I do love you both, completely.”

 <0> 

            When the limousine stopped beside a relatively unadorned door, Milo was out in the flash, his hand out to help Albany. He nodded toward the cathedral. “Have you been here before?”

            “Once. For a concert.” Her gaze rose to the massive building, and she squinted in the bright light. “We did a little touring before it was too dark but nothing I remember. Though the rose windows left an impression.”

            He led her forward. “Well, tell me if you’d like a more thorough and lasting impression.”

            “I’d rather get on with your business, if you don’t mind. I have a feeling that the sooner that’s dealt with, the sooner I get your undivided attention.”

            He paused, his hand upon the door. “I’m sorry. Have I been neglecting you?”

            “Aside from the seductive lure of your laptop, no. However, I know what you’re thinking, Milo, and know you’re excited about this,” she cast about for a word, “assignment. I want to indulge that.”

            Concern melted into a smile and he kissed her. “I love you.”

            She smiled back. “I love you, too. And I really did mean sooner!”

            “Slave driver.” He turned back, pulling on the large, wooden door.

            Once in the cool interior, they were met by a crowd of at least twenty people, all grinning at them. Smiling in response, Milo stepped back to whisper in her ear.

            “I hadn’t thought of that.”

            “What?”

            “Our reception, now that we’re official.”

            “Ah.” She nodded knowingly, returning the idiotic smiles that beamed at them. “Who are they?”

            Milo stepped forward again, his hand out. “Monsieur le Secretary, please allow me to present my fiancée, Albany Wendel.”

            “Monsieur Scarlet,” the secretary gushed, “your joyful announcement has reached the Prime Minister, and while he looks forward to congratulating you in person, his schedule did not allow him away from less interesting engagements.” He released Milo’s hand and turned to Albany. “Mademoiselle Wendel’s reputation precedes her,” he caught her hand, raising it as he bowed, “though reports of her beauty fall short!” He bestowed a kiss upon her knuckles. “It is an honor and a pleasure, mademoiselle.”

            “You’re too kind,” Albany murmured, looking to Milo of guidance. He smiled encouragement, and she relaxed. Several minutes passed, each one filled with names, faces, titles and endless good wishes. Albany had given up any hope of remembering who was who when Milo stepped in, reminding the secretary that time was an issue.

            “Of course, Monsieur Scarlet, I beg your pardon. Your assistant, Monsieur Ruelle, is already in the annex. We will detain you only long enough to extend an invitation to join the Prime Minister at the opera tomorrow evening.” He turned back to Albany. “Your presence would be an honor.”

            Albany smiled prettily as she accepted. The secretary bowed again and stood aside as Milo took Albany’s hand and lead her into the treasury annex.

            “It’s never a dull moment with you, Milo Scarlet,” she said as they descended the few stairs into the large, square room. Empty display cases huddled together in a distant corner leaving the rest of the room devoid of furnishing. What it didn’t lack was books. Thousands of them crowded the shelves that covered every wall, floor to ceiling. The only breaks in the collection were two, tall clear windows. Sunlight streamed in making everything dazzling and airy. The scent of leather and mold was strong.

            Behind them, the door was pulled shut with a resounding thud. Simon immediately joined them.

            “The perimeter is secure. We’re alone. Jason and Lawrence are at the doors.”

            “Good. You and Albany should get out of the way.”

            Simon nodded, his hand out to guide her. “Ms. Wendel.”

            Albany stretched up to place a kiss on Milo’s cheek before following the bodyguard to lean against the closed door.

            Alone in the center of the room and in a pool of sunlight, Milo looked at the stacks, turning a slow circle. The manuscript collection was ancient and familiar. Even at this distance, he could feel the presence of beloved volumes. A smile tugged at his lips as he bowed his head and reached in his pocket for the five silver coins. No matter his degree of comfort, life was without guarantees.       

            For a moment, there was absolute silence in the annex.

            Milo felt the approaching manuscript, guessed its velocity, heard Albany’s gasp, and his hand shot out, snatching the book from the air as it flew at his head. He slapped a coin against the cover, and the book dropped to the floor.

            Another and another launched themselves at him. In mere seconds he was ringed by five volumes, each held down by a silver coin. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned to wink at Albany.

            “Now the fun begins.”

 

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