The Lost Throne

Admiring the old man’s spunk, Payne did as requested. But he sat on the edge of the couch, ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.

“Is he always this tense?” Ivan asked Allison.

She smiled at Payne. “From the moment we met.”

“Perhaps,” Ivan said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “you should help him relax.”

Allison blushed at the innuendo while Ivan laughed and coughed. After a few short puffs from his oxygen mask, his breathing was back to normal and the smile had returned to his face. He rarely had any visitors and planned on enjoying this conversation for as long as possible.

“Where was I?” Ivan asked.

Payne answered. “The police.”

“Ah, yes. They asked me about Ellis Cooper, a name I did not know. They said he was killed at Peterhof, and my number was found in pocket. They wanted to know why.”

“And what did you say?”

“What could I say? I did not know Ellis Cooper.”

Payne realized Ellis Cooper was probably the name on the fake passport that Byrd had been carrying at the time of his death. Payne wondered what else Byrd might have been carrying.

“When did you realize it was Richard?”

“When police ask about Henry Shoemann. Do you know name?”

Payne grimaced. “No, I don’t. Who is he?”

“Man whose name was written on same paper as my number.”

“Henry Shoemann?” Payne said to Allison. “Do you know a Henry Shoemann?”

She shook her head. “Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Could they have meant Heinrich Schliemann?”

Payne glanced at Ivan and noticed a smile on his lips. A big, broad smile.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Payne. Byrd fell into the fountain at the Peterhof. By the time the cops had fished him out, the piece of paper in his pocket was waterlogged and the ink had run together. The police had tried to decipher the words on the list and had come up with Henry Shoemann instead of Heinrich Schliemann. In addition, they probably had trouble reading the digits of the phone number, which explained why it had taken them two days to call Ivan.

Payne asked, “How many people did they call before you?”

Ivan smiled some more. “I am guessing fifty.”

The answer pleased Payne. He simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with the police. He wanted to complete their transaction and get to Jarkko’s boat as soon as possible.

“So,” Payne said, “I was wondering-”

Ivan interrupted him. “If you do not mind, now I would like to speak to Allison.”

Payne glanced at her. The look in his eye said make this quick. “Of course.”

The Russian swung his gaze to her pretty face. He stared at her for a moment before he spoke. “I was told you are fan of Heinrich Schliemann.”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“I am as well. I am one of few people old enough to have met his wife, Sophia.”

Her eyes widened in awe. “You met his wife?”

“Yes. My father was professor who believed in showing me as much of world as possible when I was little boy. That included long trip to Athens before air travel was popular. He showed me ruins and explained their importance. I am not sure if he planned it or it simply happened, but Sophia was speaking at one of the museums. She shook my hand and pinched my cheeks and I was smitten for life. I knew then and there that I wanted to work in museum.”

“Wow,” she said, virtually speechless. “That is amazing.”

“Over the years, I had chance to speak to his children as well.”

“Andromache and Agamemnon.”

Ivan smiled at the mere mention of their names. Schliemann was so fascinated with Homer that he had named his children after characters in the Iliad. “It is true. You are fan.”

She nodded again. “Schliemann’s the topic of my dissertation.”

“So I was told.”

Allison paused, unable to let the moment pass. She knew Payne didn’t want her to prolong the conversation, but she had to find out what Ivan meant. “Richard talked about me?”

“You seem surprised.”

“Stunned. Richard barely talked to me. I find it hard to believe that he talked about me.”

Ivan smiled. “Sometimes a man does not know how to handle the unfamiliar.”

“Meaning?”

“You were first woman he viewed as colleague and not conquest.”

Allison blinked a few times, trying to hold back her emotions. It was one of the nicest things that anyone had ever said about her. Strangely, it made her view Byrd in a whole different light.

“Had you known him long?” she wondered.

“Sadly, I never met Richard.”

“You never met him?”

Ivan shook his head. “All our conversations were by phone.”

“But in his planner, he had several appointments scheduled with you.”

“And I broke them all. Some days my health will not allow visitors.”

Payne reentered the conversation. “Every appointment but Sunday’s.”

Ivan nodded. “That is correct. When he not show, I thought he was tired of me and no longer interested in coat.”

“No,” Allison assured him. “I’m still interested in the coat. We’re still interested.”

“I’m glad you are. I held on to it for as long as I could, but medical bills are mounting and money is needed. At some point, sentimentality needs to be pushed aside for reality.”

Ivan rocked forward in his chair until he had enough momentum to stand up. He trudged slowly toward the front door, where a wooden rack had been mounted to the wall. A hat hung from the left hook and an umbrella from the right. In the middle was a black garment bag that looked nearly as old as Ivan. He lifted it by the hanger that protruded through the top and carried it toward the couch. As he did, he brushed off every speck of dust that he saw.

“Do you know story behind coat?” Ivan asked.

Payne and Allison shook their heads, stunned that the coat was actually a coat.

“Heinrich Schliemann was man with quirks that could not be explained. They helped define nature of his genius. Normal men who do normal things lead normal lives. But not Heinrich. He liked things in certain way and did not care what people thought.”

Ivan handed the garment bag to Allison and then inched back toward his chair.

“In final months of Heinrich’s life, he wore coat everywhere he went. It did not matter if weather was hot or cold, that coat never left him. His friends and family asked him why, and he told them it was lucky coat. They were familiar with his ways, so they thought nothing of it. He kept his coat and they kept quiet. This way both parties were happy.”

Ivan sat in his seat and sighed. He thought about things for a moment before he spoke again. “That coat stayed with him until end. He was wrapped in it on day he died in Naples.”

“He died in this coat?” she asked, amazed. “How did you get it?”

“It was given to me by Heinrich’s family. It was token of appreciation for all hard work I did at Hermitage Museum. I fought Russian government for many years to display Priam’s Treasure. That coat was their way of