Chapter 1
Of foes and Friends
L.A. Sway
The shrill ring of the telephone brought Lara out of a deep sleep. She lazily grasped for the phone, her eyes still shut. "..what?" she growled, as she finally managed to bring the receiver to her ear.
"Lara? Lara, its Lawrence Stanford, I'm sorry to call you at such an hour-"
"Lawrence?" her now polite British accent cut in, "No, no It's perfectly alright. Is everything okay?"
"Oh, everything is quite alright my dear, I just seemed to have had a lapse of memory at the hour over there."
She was now sitting straight up in bed, pulling her hair back into a tight bun. Lawrence Stanford had been a long time friend and associate of Lara's, and an even greater friend of her fathers. After her father's death he became much a father figure to her, and a wonderful mentor. He now spent most of his time traveling, and Lara rarely had the opportunity to see him.
"No matter the hour, its wonderful to hear from you Lawrence, how have you been?" Lara was already out of bed and venturing towards her closet, the cordless phone held to her ear. "Oh, I'm doing just fine for an old man," he said, laughing to himself on the other line, "But this really isn't a social call Lara. I've discovered something amazing."
Lara stopped in front of her closet, "What is it?" His voice lowered before he continued, "Do you recall only a few years ago, when Alfred Stevens, an American fellow I believe, discovered what he claimed to be half of the key of saints."
She paused for a long moment, searching her memory. The key of saints was said to open to chest of St. Michael, containing his sword. Archeologists had very little information on it, so when Alfred Stevens had made public that he had discovered the piece, no one had really taken him seriously.
"Yes I remember." He cleared his throat, and again continued with his voice lowered. "We've been digging in a small village just outside of Havana, just yesterday one of my diggers found something that gave the locals quite a fright." He laughed shortly to himself at this, the laugh of an old man, sounding much more like a cough these days. "It's the other half, Lara. I'm sure of it. I can't seem to decipher the markings on it, but I know I'm right." Lara thought for a moment, feeling a bit of excitement within her. "When do you return to London?" "Within the week, I have to see you at once."
* * *
Lawrence Stanford sat back in his seat with a sigh of satisfaction. He let his fingers run over the dulled steel of the key, feeling the thousands of years that had surpassed the relic. He closed his eyes, resting a moment. The sounds of the jungle had become lessened in the late hour, the calls of birds and creatures fading into the distance, and the jumbled Spanish of his diggers had now become hushed as they slept. He had a small cot inside his tent, but he knew he would not be using it tonight, there was still much work to be done. He was still attempting to decipher the markings that covered the key, but had made little success.
The story of St. Michael had fascinated him for much of the past 2 years of his life. After the other half had been discovered by Alfred Stevens, the American archeologist, he had become engrossed in the sword's history. The other half of the key had been towed away shortly after its discovery, to London, and now after the death of the archeologist who had discovered it, it was going up for bids at Sotheby's. It was a shame what men do for a worthless penny.
That fellow Alfred would be rolling over in his grave to know that his only descendent was giving up the one item of worth that he'd left him. Though in Lawrence's youth he would have most likely made the same decisions. But it had been a long while since he had been a young man, his hair had become a dulled gray, and his strength had long ago been weakened. He had grown to be a man of great wealth and success and it was only now, in the late years of his life, that he realized that those things mattered so very little to him. He pondered what his life would have been if he had married and had children. The thought caused a smile to touch his lips, when had he come to an age where he spent his time reflecting on life? He now found himself thirsty for a good bottle of brandy; to sit in his den in front of the fire in his home in Yorkshire. But he would be returning home soon enough.
A shriek from outside his tent suddenly sounded, and he found himself standing immediately. "Mario?" He called, to his associate, "Mario? Is everything alright?" He waited with uncertainty for a moment, hearing no answer. He finally took a step towards the front of the tent, when he was caused to retract those steps. A large well built man had entered the tent, dressed as if he were attending a business meeting, rather then a dig in the middle of the Cuban jungle. "What are you doing? You cant be in here. Mario!" The large man remained silent, but instead revealed his intentions by removing a small pistol from the cover of his jacket.
Lawrence locked his eyes on the pistol, and in panic he searched his mind for some sort of solution. He knew what they had come for. He backed up slowly, grasping for the key. He had only brushed his fingers upon it when the sound of gun shots rang out into the still night. Lawrence hadn't felt it at first, but instead stared in confusion at the blood on his finger tips from touching his chest. He stumbled forward, his hands outstretched towards the bitter face of the stranger, the pain in his chest like he had never known before. He was falling; his senses dulled now, and his breaths shorter. The last thing he felt was the dirt of jungle floor beneath his burning face, and then the sounds and sights of this world faded, and darkness replaced all his pain.
***
The late afternoon sun had become barely visible over the garden walls, as Lara, once again, retreated to the beginning of the assault course. She glanced at her stop watch in frustration, and wiped away the sweat that had begun to bead at the top of her head. She had just begun to climb upon the first crate, when Winston shuffled outside. "Lady Croft? There's something inside you'll want to see." She didn't even look up from the crate, "Really Winston, I haven't the time right now." "Lady Croft,-" Winston broke off and looked at her in distress. She eyed him warily, "Alright." She followed him into the kitchen to see the small white television turned on. Winston laid his fingers shakily on the volume button. The elderly news anchor began to speak, "Lawrence Stanford , a British archeologist, was found dead with 10 other co workers on a dig site just outside of Havana. Officials have verified that their deaths occurred several days ago, and were victims of gun shot wounds. They have no suspects as of yet."
