American Heroes Series - 01 - Resurrection (2 page)

Cydney nodded patiently. “Pretty cool, I agree. You should see the artsy-looking set we built for it. Anyway, I’ll tell you more when I get home.”

“But…!”

“When I get home, Olivia Grace. I’ve got to get back to work or they’ll fire me and we won’t
have
a home. Get it?”

“I get it. See you later.”

She hung the receiver up with a smile on her lips, knowing that Olivia was already on the Internet furiously looking up everything she possibly could on The Lucius Robe. Her daughter was an educational militant, voraciously filling her head with knowledge with things that interested her like relics and Egyptians and anything to do with that fictional place called Middle Earth. The Lucius Robe was another of those fascinating things she wanted to know about. For Cydney, however, Biblical relics weren’t her thing - a wing renovation and museum security for the new exhibit opening were.

The door opened again and the head of Security strolled in, distracting Cydney from her thoughts. Stu Longe was one of the most decent people that she had ever known, an ex-Marine in his mid-thirties, devoutly Catholic, with buzzed blond hair and big blue eyes. Stu had made it his mission in life to find the right girl, a virgin and a Catholic, to have a gaggle of kids with. So far, he hadn’t had much luck and at his advanced years of thirty-five, he was still single.

“Hey,” he plopped his big body down in her guest chair. “What’s going on, Cyd?”

Cydney glanced at him from her computer screen. “Not much. What’s happening in your world?”

“Any luck on hiring more people for the exhibit opening?”

As the Director of Operations for the Western Pacific Museum of Art and Antiquities, security management fell under Cydney’s jurisdiction. The museum wasn’t big enough to warrant a full-fledged security department, which was odd considering the priceless status of their collection, but since they’d never had any real security trouble the Board would never approve additional funds. 

Cydney repeatedly told them that it would only take one incident for there to be a real security issue, but the old boys on the Board wouldn’t hear of it. Never let it be said they took advice from a woman, and a beautiful young one at that.

“I’ve got four of them for you, part-time, starting Thursday,” she said. “I put their resumes in your In-box.”

“I haven’t looked,” he grunted. “I’ve been up in the gallery.”

“Did you see the case for the robe? They finished it this morning.”

He nodded. “Pretty space-age stuff.”

Cydney was proud to agree. “Hermetically sealed, temperature controlled, and virtually vandal-proof.”

“That’ll give us one less thing to worry about.” He sat back in the chair, crossing his big arms. “Have you seen the thing?”

“The Robe?”

“Yeah.”

Cydney was typing and talking at the same time. She stopped filling out the purchase order to buy parts for the antiquated HVAC system.

“They brought it in a crate that’s big enough to put a car in,” she told him. “Did you see that thing?”

Stu snorted. “I sure did. And all of that private security that came with it; I swear, some of those guys thought they were James Bond. I don’t think they liked it when I told them that their services were no longer required.”

Cydney joined his laughter. “Unbelievable,” she agreed. “But, then again, we are talking about the most controversial relic since Noah’s Ark, so I guess it’s fitting. As for the robe…,” she shrugged, “I saw the curator open the crate. All I saw was the corner of something that looked like acrylic casing and that was from a distance. My job is to make sure the exhibit and the display case are ready.”

Stu nodded his head faintly, thinking of his own job. “I just wish they’d let us hire special security for this.”

“We were lucky to get the special case.”

He let out his irritation, something that had been building for months.

“I’ve got twenty-two people, three-quarters of which are retirees who couldn’t do much if the situation got critical,” he said. “I’d hate to have them try; someone might fall down and break a hip with all of the excitement. With the crowds we’re expected to have, I’m really dreading this opening.”

“I explained that to Mr. Hemeshuk,” Cydney said patiently. “He thinks that allotting money for the special viewing case was enough of a security measure.”

“It’s sure as hell not.”

“I know,” she agreed. “Look; the guy wasn’t made the Museum Director because he was qualified for the job. I think it was part of the dowry when he married the Chairman of the Board’s daughter.”

Stu pursed his lips in disgust. “Milt Hemeshuk, former sports agent, makes good by marrying into money.”

“Don’t sound so bitter.”

It was a light-hearted comment and he smiled. “Better him than me, I guess.” He got up out of the chair. “Well, I think I’ll wander down to the vault and see if I can catch a glimpse of this thing.”

“Like I said, the last I saw, they were opening the crate. That was about an hour ago.”

“Want to come?”

It was the best offer she’d had all day. “Okay, twist my arm.”

The basement level of the museum, where the business offices were located, was a dank place.  Stu held the door leading into the hallway open for Cydney, admiring the rear view as she passed by.

It had become habit to him to check people out, purely from a security standpoint, but he seemed to check her out more than most.  Cydney was of average height, about five feet five inches, with nice legs, a slender waist and larger than average breasts that he spent a lot of time attempting to figure out if they were fake or not.  She had dark blond hair with a hint of red in it, cut into one of the long layered styles that could be really sexy with a toss of her head. 

As nice as that package was, it was her face he really liked – big hazel eyes and a beautiful smile complete with a big dimple in her left cheek. And she was a lot of fun, too. They’d gone out with fellow employees after work and she was hysterical when she had a couple of drinks in her.  Guys around the museum called her drop-dead gorgeous and Stu couldn’t disagree. Too bad she wasn’t Catholic, or a virgin, as he’d regretted far too many times since he’d known her.

Cydney’s heels made a clicking noise on the old concrete hallway as they made their way down to the massive art vault.  It had a fire suppression system that, when activated, sealed the only door and evacuated all of the air from the room in less than twenty seconds to smother the fire. It was state-of-the-art, nearly the only system that was updated in the old building that housed the museum. 

Built in the nineteen twenties, the three story stone and concrete structure had once been a school before the patron of the Museum, philanthropist Walter Ridenour Frank, purchased the building to house his private collection. In fifty years, it had grown into a world-class institution.

The door to the vault was open. It was enormous, like a bank vault door. Cydney went inside, followed by Stu. It smelled like chemicals inside and, as was usual when inside the vault, Cydney let out a sneeze. Several feet away, surrounded by the museum preparators who tended the artwork up in the galleries and kept the vault in order, sat the enormous open shipping container. 

The curator was a trim woman with brown eyes and brown curly hair. Hearing the footsteps, she looked up from the crate. “Hey there,” she greeted. “You’ve come at the right time.”

Cydney came to a halt a few feet away. “How’s that?”

As Stu moved in for a closer look, Anne-Michelle Thompson, known as Am, took a moment to stand away from the crate. She removed a glove and scratched the itch on her arm she’d been feeling for the better part of an hour.

“We’re going to remove the casing and move it up into the exhibit,” she gestured at the forklift in the corner.

“So you’ve inspected the exhibit case?”

“I have. We’re good to go.”

“And the rest of the exhibit?”

“You’ve done a beautiful job. Everything looks great, down to the last detail.”

Cydney was relieved; part of her job was also setting up the exhibits, from having the cases built to hanging banners and arranging security.  Anne-Michelle was hard to please, but the women had worked well together over the years and Cydney knew what she expected.

“Thanks,” she replied. “With the exhibit opening in two days, I’ll feel better having some time to make sure our main relic settles in nicely before everything goes on display.”

Before Anne-Michelle could reply, a male voice suddenly interrupted.

“This is the biggest show we’ve ever had,” he announced.

They turned around to see Milt Hemeshuk entering the vault, butting in to the conversation uninvited. Milt had to make sure he had the loudest voice and was heard above all else. He’d only been with the museum for two years and, so far, hadn’t shown much aptitude for running a multi-million dollar organization.  He was just a fast-talking man with a big mouth who had married well.

But in spite of that, Milt was lean and attractive, with gray hair and blue eyes. Every time Cydney saw him, she couldn’t get over the story Stu had told her about Milt standing in the men’s bathroom, spitting into the urinal and relieving himself at the same time.  He would just stand there and let spittle drip out of his mouth, watching it go down the drain with his urine.  Stu wouldn’t go in to the restroom now when Milt was using the facilities because it freaked him out.

“I would say this is certainly the most important relic we’ve ever had,” Cydney agreed, trying not to linger on Stu’s story.

Milt was a fast-talker, as if he was always making that big deal.  He clapped his hands together eagerly.

“This relic will bring them in from all over the world,” he declared. “More people will equal more revenue, and Lord knows that won’t hurt us a bit. We’ll route them through the gift shop on their way out. Brilliant!”

Cydney nodded her head; it was always wise to concur with the boss. “We’ve managed to pull together quite a collection even without the robe,” she reminded him, as if he really cared. “Coins with Pilate’s name on them, ankle bones with first century spikes through them. Something for everyone.”

“But the robe is the le morceau lourd ,” Milt insisted. “I’m very excited for the grand opening on Thursday evening. There will be a lot of benefactors and the potential for a lot of donations. This has all got to go off without a hitch, Cydney.”

She took it as a direct threat to her job, which it was. But he moved away from her before she could defend herself. She and Stu exchanged impatient glances.

“Good thing his wife had him take French lessons,” Stu said under his breath. “That’ll be really important when the French ambassador attends the opening. What the hell did he say, anyway?”

Cydney eyed the boss, hoping he didn’t notice they were mumbling about him. “I think he meant to say the best piece, or something like it. He said ‘the heavy piece’.”

Stu closed his eyes. “What an idiot.”

A couple of the preparators moved in with crowbars to disengage the fasteners on one side of the crate.  One of the men, a skinny young kid with a Ph.D. in Art History, was having trouble and Stu took the crowbar from him, using his strength to pop open the side. When the other fastener let go, the entire side collapsed against the floor.

The crowd held their breath as the forklift, with another preparator on board, lurched forward.  Anne-Michelle and the army of employees steadied the acrylic case as the prongs of the lift wedged beneath it and began to elevate. Cydney, Stu and Milt stood back as the case cleared the crate and the forklift began to grind towards the vault door.

“I’m hoping they measured the door to make sure that case fits through it,” Cydney muttered to Stu.

Stu looked as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I would think they did that before anything else. At least, I hope so.  That case has got to be nine feet tall.”

“The doorway is nine feet six inches wide. Not much room for error.”

For the first time, they all received a clear look at the acrylic case that contained the robe. It was covered with a fine sheet of opaque wrapping, a very fine bubble wrap to prevent any scratches to the acrylic. No one had seen the actual robe yet, simply the dark outline through the protective cover. Anne-Michelle and a couple of the preparators moved forward, quickly removing the bubble wrap.   When it came off completely, everyone strained to get a look.

Mounted on a felt-covered mannequin torso, the garment was far less spectacular than anyone had thought. Great care had been taken to ensure that no part of the fabric moved, as the sleeves were carefully secured against the frame with heavy stainless steel pins and the front of the robe was laid open so that the interior could be seen. 

It looked like a simple housecoat that had perhaps been a shade of blue or purple at one time. It was difficult to tell. The lining, however, was of an unbleached linen or cotton, upon which the deterioration of the centuries was evident. But there was no doubt, the closer one looked, that there were many brownish-colored stains across the inside of the robe in the area that would have, theoretically, lain against someone’s back.   Anne-Michelle was in awe as her professional eye moved across the fabric.

“I’ve studied up on this,” she said. “It’s really a fascinating story.”

“Do tell,” Cydney knew something about it, but she wanted to hear what Anne-Michelle knew, being the expert.

The Curator didn’t need further prodding. “Legend says that a knight from the Fourth Crusade brought it back in an old iron chest, having purchased it from gypsies somewhere in his travels through Europe.  His family kept it in that chest for nine hundred years until it was donated to the Bristol Museum of Antiquities. It was the museum staff that took it out of the chest and mounted it without so much as making any attempt to study, repair or otherwise conserve it. They just plopped it on the form and sealed it. What you basically see is a two thousand year old garment that’s hardly been touched.”

“Then why do they call it The Lucius Robe?” Milt sounded like a fifth grader asking the teacher a question.