Price of Glory;Fate of Fortune
Chapter One:
A/N-Hey guys! I'm back! So just to fill you in, it's been 3 years since Fortune and Glory. That's all you really need to know really-I think the story will fill everything else in (eventually, of course). This sequel is still TENTATIVE, so I need feedback on wether I should keep it! So reviews would be awesome! Enjoy!
------------------------------------------------------
Chapter One:
The chamber was quiet at night. Buried deep under the ground, far from the traffic and noise below, the nearby lake lapping at the rocky shore was a barely discernable background.
During the day it had been teeming with people, not only tourists but historians, examining the cavern on various federal grants from a plethora of countries. Scientists also came in droves, battling the historians for samples of the walls, the ceiling and lake.
But now it was nighttime, and all of the tourists, historians and scientists were long gone, sleeping at home or accommodated in one of the ritzy hotels that lined the island beaches.
All except for one.
A lone woman stood in the middle of the chamber, dressed in a matching black skirt and suit jacket coupled with a white collared shirt. The only color she wore was a bright red identification tag clipped to her breast pocket with an aged photo, name and highest clearance level. Everyone who visited or worked in the cavern more than once knew that the tag was a mere formality, for nothing affecting this chamber or the landmark surrounding it happened without her knowlege.
The young woman stood in the near-bare room, her eyes tracing the empty space and remembering what used to inhabit it. Three years ago, this cavern was covered with mountains of gold, jewels, and silver that portrayed a scene from The Arabian Nights. The treasure was now long gone, shipped off to private collections and museums. Only a few pieces remained. A few large statues, bolted to the floor and too large to carry out. Two showcases displayed jeweled crowns and goblets, choice pieces donated by the founders of the treasure. And off in the corner of the room, still illuminated by the same shaft of moonlight that bathed it three years before, was a stone altar.
She leaned over the altar, tracing the dark brown stains that covered the surface in a fluid manner that suggested habit, her gaze meandering around the top with a faraway look instilled in them.
"Evening, Doctor."
She whipped around fully before the phrase was even finished, her eyes wide and startled before they settled on the shadowy form in the doorway.
"Oh." she sighed. "It's just you."
A tall, curly-haired man stepped through the stone doorway, the mounted strobe lights illuminating his honey-colored hair and laughing brown eyes.
"Exactly who were you expecting, Claire?" he asked, mocking indignation. "Having clandestine meetings in the treasure chamber, are we?"
Claire Howe smiled slightly and shook her head. "No, Grant."
Grant Powell was one of the only other Americans working at the Blackbeard Institute, having arrived a year ago as the director of biological studies. He was in his mid thirties with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, and thus was simultaneously the most liked and hated person in the institute.
He was also Claire's boyfriend.
"Well, I should hope so," he joked, winding his arms around her waist. "The only person you're supposed to be having clandestine meetings with is me."
Claire placed her hand against his chest, lightly warding off his descending head.
"Not in here, Grant." she said quietly.
Grant looked around and shivered. "Yeah," he agreed, "this place always gives me the creeps."
"Me too." Claire answered, looking back at the altar over her shoulder as she guided him out of the cavern and down the long stone hallway.
"What were you doing down there so late anyway?" Grant asked curiously as Claire masked as yawn, helping her into one of the motorboats that lined the shore of the underground lake. "It's past twelve; I thought security closed this place down at eleven thirty."
Claire waved a hand and fought off another gaping yawn. "Jerry always lets me stay down. Probably because I employ him. Or that he thinks I live down there. Either one."
"About that," Grant began, looking concerned. "Claire, I really think you're spending too much time here. You're the first to work every morning, and yes, security is hedging bets that you sleep in your office."
"I like my job." Claire said stubbornly.
"Believe me, I know. And I realize that you're social life is here as well since we started dating. But you really do work too much. Take a vacation"
Claire smiled sleepily at him. "I'm guessing this vacation would also include you?"
Grant smiled charmingly. "Obviously. C'mon, let's go back up to the States! I haven't been there for months, and I'm starting to lose track of what season it is."
"It's October." Claire said shortly, suddenly awake and alert. "Fall."
"Exactly! We need to go look at some real weather, see trees die and all that. Let's go up to Connecticut or Massachusetts and stay in one of those bed and breakfasts."
Claire shook her head. "I can't right now, Grant. We're swamped with the new wing opening, and you just got those lake results. Maybe in the spring."
She climbed out of the boat silently as they stopped at the other side of the lake and started to ascend the narrow staircase up to the museum. Grant trailed behind her, protesting.
"Claire, have you even been to the States since you came here?"
"No."
"Not even to visit your brother?"
Claire turned to face him as she bounded up the last stair, stepping into the museum's study. "Ian's rich, remember? He flies down once a month, you know that."
"What about that friend of yours, Abigail?"
Claire walked out of the study quickly, navigating her way through the old fort with ease. "I talk to her all the time on the phone" she informed him over her shoulder as he followed her out the door and into the parking lot.
"Claire! Claire, c'mon stop running away from me." Grant pleaded as he finally caught up with her by her car and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Why haven't you gone back to the States?".
Claire shrugged. "I just don't feel like it, okay?"
"You've been here for two years. Every time I propose we go up you either avoid the question or just flat out refuse."
Claire crossed her hands over her chest defensively. "I like it here."
"Did something happen there?" he persisted. "Is there something I should know about?"
"No!" she yelled, more agitated than Grant had ever seen her. "And it's really none of your business!"
Looking at the confused and hurt expression on her boyfriend's face, Claire immediately felt like an idiot. "Look Grant, I'm really sorry. I'm just tired, I need to get home and get some real sleep. It hasn't been happening much lately, if you could tell."
Grant ran a hand through his unruly hair and sighed, nodding. "Do you need a ride home?"
"No. I'm good. My car's still here." She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight." he echoed as she turned and climbed into her car, smiling and waving slightly as she backed out of the lot and drove into the night.
Claire pressed a hand against her forehead, keeping the other firmly on the wheel as she let out a weary sigh and yawned. That had been a disaster. She had worked so hard to keep her job and Grant from her past that eventually he was bound to wonder why she never went back.
"It's nothing." she convinced herself. "it's stupid, it's trivial. Just tell him, he won't even care."
She hadn't even told him about Robinson. Well, of course he knew about Robinson, he worked at the damn place. Everyone knew the story of the cold-blooded murderer who almost killed her and her colleagues and met his untimely end in the very cavern they were just standing in. Of course, it was never released exactly who had pulled the trigger and given Robinson his untimely end.
That is what she should have been worried about telling him. That would be normal.
But what she was worried about telling him had nothing to do with Robinson. Not directly, anyway.
Pulling up to her driveway, Claire stepped out of her car, scooping up all of the files in the passenger seat with one arm.
Struggling up the three stairs to her front door, Claire couldn't help but give a smile at her house, which, during all times, never failed to tug the corners of her mouth.
Once a small plantation manor, it was a pale yellow with white shutters and two looming pillars in the front, native flowers of all colors overflowing in the window flowerboxes. While certainly impressive, Claire thought of it as cozy, despite that it was still cluttered with moving boxes.
It had been the first thing she ever bought when she arrived here two years ago, distraught and confused and in need of a pillar, someplace to come home to. It had been her promise, her confirmation to herself that she was not going back to the States.
Claire juggled her files from hand to hand as she searched for her keys in her purse and finally unlocked the door, throwing her papers down on the nearest available surface and kicking the door shut with her foot.
"I'm home." she mumbled to her empty house, knowing that there would be no response.
Carrying her black power heels in one hand, she slowly climbed up the white spiral staircase to her room, the one place in the house fully unpacked despite her two-year inhabitance.
The walls were a cheery blue, their only adornment rows and rows of bookshelves, full of Claire's favorite worn, dog-eared novels competing for space with research books full of annotations.
The only surface was a small side table beside her bed that held the only two photographs in the room. One was a twenty-one year old Claire standing with her brother Ian at her college graduation.
The other, adorned in a pure silver frame encrusted with tiny fish cutouts made of gold was a picture of four smiling people with their arms around each other's shoulders, the background a giant sloping lawn in front of a Tudor mansion.
The two in the middle, a young man and woman, had their arms wrapped around each other and were smiling, blissfully happy and completely ignorant of the outside world. The young woman's arm, the one not wrapped around the man, was in front of her, her hand splayed out on her chest so the glittering diamond ring was impossible to ignore.
"Happy 25th Birthday, Claire" the inscription on the bottom of the frame read. "Love, the History Squad; Ben, Abbie and Riley."
As she collapsed onto her bed, Claire reached for the photograph for the millionth time in morbid tradition. She stared at the young man and woman and the ring that commanded the picture and smiled sadly.
"I can hardly even recognize myself." she whispered, glancing at the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. She glanced at her bureau, where, at the bottom drawer, the ring in that picture was hidden, hiding in a pair of pink fuzzy socks.
Clenching her jaw to keep the tears from coming, a old trick that she had mastered, Claire returned the picture to the table and reached over to the pill container situated conveniently next to it, swallowing four dry with practiced ease.
As the sleeping medication washed over her, Claire lay back on her bed, reveling in old memories as the medication guided her into a happily dreamless sleep.
---------------------------------------
The next morning came as a bright and sunny day, with barely a cloud in the sky and a cool breeze running though that kept the temperature from being unbearably hot in the late morning heat.
The man who walked down the street was sweating bullets anyway.
Dressed in a black suit, he stood out from the pastel-clad natives and tourists like a sore thumb, but ignored the stares as he briskly stalked down the street.
When he finally arrived at his destination, he couldn't help but marvel at the changes that had beset it. Yes, the giant fort was still there, a majestic fortress slightly worn by age, but around it a gigantic modern building had been constructed out of simply glass and steel, completely transparent, so one could see the hundreds of people bustling around inside, working on various machines and microscopes.
In the front of it all where he now stood, a glass sign matching the building read "The Blackbeard Institute of History and Science."
Straightening his tie and wishing to be anywhere else in the world but here, the man walked through the steel doors into the hubbub inside.
Two guards immediately stepped to his sides. "Can we help you, sir?"
The man stood up as straight as he could and tried to look important. "I'm here to see Claire Howe."
The guard nodded, pulling out a walkie-talkie. "Do you have an appointment?"
The man ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Well, she's not really expecting me…."
"Hey Jerry!" came a voice behind them. The man turned to see a tall blond man com striding through the doors, clapping the guard on the arm in greeting. "Who are you bullying today?"
" Hey Dr. Powel. This guy wants to see Dr.Howe." Jerry said, inclining his head toward him.
Dr.Powell raised his eyebrows. "Claire? Why don't I take him, I'm going up to see her right now."
Jerry shrugged and nodded, and Dr.Powell beckoned to him, the two men quickly falling into step as he guided him through the crowds of white-coated individuals and up a winding glass staircase that seemed to extend several stories.
"Sorry about Jerry, he can be a little paranoid." he apologized. "I'm Grant Powell, the Director of Biology. Dr. Howe is a friend of mine. Can ask I why you want to see her?"
He fumbled with an answer, knowing that the truth would not be believed. "There's been a, ah, historical find over at my workplace. We wanted her to check it out."
Dr. Powell grinned. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled. Sorry about the stairs. Claire figures that if she puts her office up high enough no one will come to bother her."
He winced at the tone of familiarity in the Doctor's voice, reminding himself that he shouldn't be bothered by that anymore. He wasn't here to see her. He was just doing this for Ben.
When they finally arrived on the fifth floor, he could immediately tell which office was Claire's. The only untranslucent room in the building, wooden bookshelves were pushed up against the glass walls to prevent the outsider from seeing in. The glass door, the only window into the room, was engraved with the words "Dr. Claire Howe-Director"
Inside, through the enormous stacks of paper and books cluttering the room, Riley could somewhat make out the top of a blonde head bent over a desk and concealed by a enormous tower of dusty books.
Dr. Powell knocked on the door. "Oh, I forgot." he started, turning to him as a muffled "Come in!" sounded from inside the room in a familiar voice. "What's your name?"
The man swallowed hard. "Riley," he answered hoarsely. "Riley Poole."
--------------------------------
Claire squinted at the ancient writing on the gold plate, trying to translate the second line.
"And the oceans will….something something…blood." she muttered to herself. "Well, that sounds interesting."
The phone on her desk beeped and she reached over to press the speakerphone button, her eyes not leaving the inscription.
"Doctor Howe."
"Hey Claire, it's Jerry. Just letting you know that I sent Dr.Powell with a guy that's here to see you."
Claire frowned. She had purposely no scheduled any appointment today so she could study this Aztec plate and apologize to Grant.
"Did you catch his name?" she asked curiously. Jerry knew what her brother looked like, and she couldn't think of any other men who would come to see her without an appointment.
"Nope. He looked like a Feeb, though."
"A what?"
Jerry chuckled. "A Fed. A Federal Agent."
Claire shrugged. "Okay, he's probably a friend of Ian's. Thanks for telling me."
"No problem"
Clicking off her phone, Claire bent back down to the plate, determined to translate the second line before she was interrupted.
A knock on the door immediately followed. Claire gritted her teeth.
"Come in" she yelled without looking up from the plate. Come one, I know that verb…derramar…it's something to do with juice…mixing the juice? No, it's something reflexive….
"Morning Claire!" Grant called as he strolled in. Claire sighed and relinquished her plate, standing up and turning around.
"Morning Grant" she replied, "Jerry told me you brought me a-"
Her words got lost in her throat as she caught sight of the man standing behind Grant. Her hand shot out to grip the desk behind her to keep her from simply falling over from shock.
Jerry was right. In a black suit he looked like a Federal Agent, the kind Ian was forever working with. She'd never seen him in a suit without wearing a colorful tee-shirt underneath it, usually promoting some overly loud rock band, and his Converse. He was wearing a light blue collared shirt underneath his suit, and she couldn't help but sneak a look at his shoes. Black dress. Definitely not Converse.
His hair was longer, but strangely neater than she had ever seen it, and he was wearing his glasses, which he had always hated.
He looked good, Claire admitted, but he didn't look like Riley. Not her Riley, anyway.
For a moment she wondered if he wasn't really Riley, just some obtuse historian who looked freakishly like Riley. That would explain the dress. He was probably wondering why Dr. Howe had been gaping at him for the last few minutes in silence. How embarrassing.
"Hello Claire" the obtuse historian finally said quietly, his eyes boring into hers. She could see the emotion in his eyes, the intensity as he stared straight at her.
Yep, it was Riley. No one else had eyes like that.
Claire wished she could faint, like those heroines from old movies that fell dead to the floor whenever they encountered a shocking situation. At the time, it had seemed impossibly cowardly, but during times like these, she found the idea quite clever.Your ex-fiancé shows up after two years of no communication, obviously wanting to talk to you while your current boyfriend is in the room. Bam, you're on the floor, no worries, got yourself at least an hour of unconscious contemplation. After all, no one's going to interrogate a woman who just fainted.
Claire closed her eyes and willed herself to fall gracefully to the ground, but the dizziness wouldn't come. She opened her eyes, and Riley was still standing there, staring at her in that intense way of his, and Grant was still looking completely out of the loop. Damn
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, struggling to keep her voice even and failing.
Riley's eyes flashed in anger. "It's nice to see you to," he replied sharply.
Claire felt a surge of dormant fury that the man in front of her always managed to call up. "What the hell to you want me to say?" she snapped, the angry words stabling her from the verge of tears. "Gee Riley, sit down, have a cup of damn coffee. Bye the way, long time no see!"
Riley snorted derisively. "Well, you could have started with 'Hi, Riley, how've you been? Since, you know, I haven't seen you in two years since I ran off to the fucking Caribbean Islands."
Claire blinked in surprise. Riley barely ever swore, not even during the fight they had two years ago that drove her here.
"I distinctly remember you being pretty encouraging in that decision." she replied acidly, when she had found her bearings.
"Well why wouldn't-"
Grant cleared his throat loudly. Claire blinked, completely forgetting that he was still in the room.
"What's going on?" he asked, looking from Claire to Riley. "Claire, who is this guy?"
Claire looked at Grant's confused face and felt like the most despicable person on the planet. Why hadn't she told him when she had the chance?
"He's my, um," she started; staring at the floor and wishing God would smite her already and get it over with. "He's my-"
"I'm her ex-fiancé." Riley cut in. "Do you mind?"
Grant bristled. "Actually, I do. I'm her boyfriend."
Claire closed her eyes, but not before she saw Riley looked like he'd gotten punched in the stomach. A long, ugly silence stretched over the room.
"Well," Riley finally replied when he'd recovered, a disgusted look on his face. "You certainly didn't waste any time, did you?"
"Hey!" Grant yelled, rounding on the shorter menacingly, as Riley stepped to meet him, an equally angry look on his face. Claire hurriedly stepped between them, her hands thown out.
"Both of you calm down. Grant, Riley didn't mean it, he was just being an asshole." Claire sighed and turned to her glowering ex-fiance.
"Riley." she finally stated as calmly as possible, "Why are you here?"
Riley seemed to remember something and sank down into a chair, looking exausted. Claire remembered it was very early in the morning in D.C and wondered how much sleep he had gotten in the last 24 hours.
"I'm here as a favor to Ben," he explained, his expression grim. "He's been contacted by a group of people who want him to find something."
Claire's eyebrows collided in confusion and she took a seat across from Riley. "Like another treasure?"
Riley hesitated. "Sort of. And we need your help."
"Why?" Claire asked bluntly. Ben, of all people, should know that the chances of her working with Riley again were slim to none, leaning heavily towards none.
He winced. "The group that contacted him specifically requested that you work with us. They won't allow anyone else."
She frowned. "Then you can tell Ben that I'm very sorry, but he's going to have to turn them down-"
"-Claire," Riley pleaded, "wait, there's something I haven't explained yet. Ben…isn't working for these people…voluntarily."
Claire's face turned from annoyance to concern. "What happened? What did they do?"
Riley broke her gaze, staring down at the floor, but she could see that his eyes were overly bright.
"They took Patrick."
Claire stood up, a hand flying to her mouth reflexively and a myriad of questions fighting each other to be the first out of her mouth. Patrick, Ben's now six year old son, was Riley's godson, and might as well have been his son. The two were incredibly close, and Claire couldn't even imagine how Riley must be feeling right now.
"How fast can we get there?" she asked, ignoring Grant's noise of protest.
Riley lifted his head, his shining eyes conveying to her what his mouth couldn't. "I have a jet waiting. We could stop at your place to get your things."
As Claire began to gather random items from her desk and throwing them into her bag, Riley's outstretched hand stopped her.
"There's one more thing." he began, his eyes apologetic. "They…they people that took Pat…..I guess they thought that they needed another way to secure your cooperation."
Claire closed her eyes, knowing what was about to come next and trying to deny it.
"They took your brother." Riley said hoarsely. "And they're going to kill both of them if we don't do what they say."
Claire shut her eyes tighter, screwing up her eyelids until the world was as black as tar, but Riley's words were still echoing in her head, sickeningly lucid, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't goddamn faint.
-----------------------------------
Thanks for reading! I've already written up the second chapter, so it's up to you guys to tell me whether I should keep the story or not. I accept constructive criticism, of course.