Read Online The Lost Throne by Chris Kuzneski - Free Book Online Page B

he seems shady in any way, I say we wish him well but tell him we’re on vacation.”
    Jones nodded. “Agreed.”
    “In the meantime, why don’t you dig up some background on him.”
    “I’m way ahead of you.” He turned his laptop toward Payne and pointed at the screen. “As soon as Petr mentioned his name, I ran an Internet search and came up with a few articles. It seems the two of you have something in common.”
    “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
    “You both come from money.”
    Payne sat at the hotel desk and studied the image on the screen.
    Richard Byrd was a handsome man in his late forties. He had sandy brown hair that was gray at the temples and a deep California tan. In the picture he was standing on the deck of his yacht, the
Odyssey,
while Catalina Island loomed in the distance. He looked cool, confident, and in total control—the exact opposite of how he had sounded on the phone.
    Underneath there was a short biography, detailing his academic and professional careers. He had graduated from Stanford with a degree in history but never worked in that field. Instead, he had taken control of his family’s fortune, which had been amassed during the gold rush of the 1800s, and multiplied it many times over in the banking business. According to this website, he had retired a few years ago to pursue outside interests, although none were listed.
    “Let me guess,” Payne said. “His hobbies include traveling, antiques, and Greece.”
    “Is it just me, or does he look like a catalogue model?”
    Payne smiled and handed the computer back to Jones. “Enough with the fluff. Why don’t you get some dirt on this guy? Anything that might suggest criminal activities. I want to know as much as possible before he calls again.”
    As if on cue, Payne’s phone started to ring on the nearby table.
    “Speak of the devil.”
    “Don’t answer it,” Jones shouted as he scrambled for his laptop bag. He quickly unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a short black cord that he plugged into the back of his computer. “Give me your phone.”
    Payne did as he was told and watched Jones attach it to the cord. This would allow them to listen through the laptop’s speakers while recording the call as a digital file.
    Meanwhile, the phone kept ringing. Three rings, then four.
    “Are we good?” Payne asked.
    “Yeah, we’re good.”
    Payne took a deep breath and answered the call. “Hello?”
    A loud blast of static filled the room. Jones leaned forward and lowered the volume on his computer. It helped with the sound level but didn’t help with the clarity. Static still filled the line.
    “Hello?” Payne repeated.
    There was a two-second pause before they heard a response.
    “Hello,” said the voice. It was soft and meek and feminine.
    Payne glanced at the number. It was restricted, just as before. “Who is this?”
    She ignored his question. After another pause, she said, “Is this Jonathon?”
    “Yes. This is Jon. Who is this?”
    Static filled the line for a few seconds. Followed by a gasp and a sob.
    “Are you all right?” Payne asked, keeping his tone as calm as possible.
    “Is this Jonathon?” she repeated.
    “Yes. This is Jonathon. Who is
this
?”
    A slight delay, then an answer: “This is Allison.”
    “Allison who?”
    “Taylor.”
    Payne looked at Jones, who shrugged. Neither of them knew who she was.
    “Allison, where are you calling from?”
    A few seconds of static. “Russia. I’m calling from Russia.”
    “Are you with Richard?”
    She let out a soft wail. No talking, just crying.
    “Allison, where’s Richard?”
    A slight pause, then a thunderbolt. “Richard’s dead.”
    “What?” Payne said, stunned. “What do you mean?”
    “They killed him. They killed Richard.”
    “Who is
they
?”
    “I don’t know. But they killed him.”
    Payne paused, not sure what to ask. “Allison, how did you know Richard?”
    Static for a few seconds. “I was helping him.”
    “With what?”
    “His