THE
ORACLE’S TOLL
A LARA CROFT and MELISSA GALLANT
ADVENTURE
by The Third Thane
Thanks to Melissa Gallant, collaborator on
this story and inspiration for its main character.
Thanks also to L’espion for his help and
editing.
This story is based upon his work and
characters. If you like this story,
you’ll LOVE his serials.
CHAPTER ONE
Sacrifice
It took a little research, but Melissa had the right spot. She sat down on the ornate bench and waited. Patrons of the arts mingled with disinterested children through the open gallery. Voices echoed off the stone walls. She looked at the photograph again. Clearly a match.
The plain skirt and blouse did not do her figure justice. Melissa stood nearly six foot, with a statuesque build and remarkable breasts. She had the toned physique of a volleyball player, only the curves were more fun. Her eyes were rich brown, the color of the morning’s first black coffee. The hue that breathes life. Her hair was thick auburn, pulled back in a bun. Only the pair of 4 inch peer-toe heels whispered anything but libraries and research.
The two figures before her were
stark and each over 12 feet tall. The warrior
pulled her attention high toward the ceiling and skylights. Several people stopped to take in the enormous
sculpture, checking their guidebooks or listening to provided headsets. Lara’s note was printed on the back of
picture of the stone couple. “Meet me at
“They’re Perseus and Andromeda. The artist’s name was Puget.” The man was standing directly next to her, breaking her concentration. “He did the piece at the personal request of the Louis XIV.” Melissa nodded, looking past him. Given her striking looks, this was not the first time she attracted unsolicited attention from men. The man sat down next to her on then bench, oblivious to her very clear disinterest. He folded a trench coat across his lap. Lara was now ten minutes late.
The meeting at her office the
week prior had been tense. Lara asked
her about a map she had found of the 14th century
“She was a Princess in
“Look,” Melissa interrupted mid-factoid. “You sound like at nice guy, but I’m really here to meet someone. I’m sure this place is full of girls just dying to hear your views on French art. I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to move on, Thanks.”
She turned back to a large group entering the front door, thinking for a moment that Lara was in mix. The people were led away like lemmings by a tour guide with a tall flag. Lara wasn’t there. Could that silly myth be the reason Lara had chosen this bench. She’d give her 5 more minutes. Then...
“I’m very sorry to have bothered you. Puget just captures her peril, her personal sacrifice so well. But, art is subjective. Perhaps there is another piece in the museum which you would find more scintillating, Ms. Gallant.” Without turning her head, Melissa’s brain snapped to attention.
“Croft didn’t send that note, did she? Who are you? Why did you ask me here?” Melissa continued to look forward, yet sized up her opponent. Medium built, vaguely athletic but certainly was no fighter. Expensive shoes. A signet ring on his right hand. Bet he isn’t ready to get knocked on his ass!
“I need you to leave the museum with me as quickly as you can. I can explain everything later.” He was looking up at the sculpture. Melissa leaned in, as if to give a kiss. Her hand gently brushed his cheek. As if by magic, a small knife appeared in her palm. The obscenely sharp blade was instantly against the man’s neck. Her speed was alarming, but not drastic. No one in the crowd took notice as she whispered in his ear.
“I’ve a better idea. You tell me where Lara is, and I let you live to bore someone else tomorrow.”
“The surveillance cameras will record my murder. There are at least three looking at this area right now.” He nodded toward several glass domes.
“Just suppose I don’t care.” She pushed the knife slightly higher. “You’ll be dead before your head hits the bench. I’ll be in the next state before anyone can check the replay.”
“There is a new exhibit that just opened downstairs. It is the best collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings in North...”
“I don’t give a damn about any paintings!” Her voice rose louder than she intended. He regained composure. “Enough about the art. Where’s Lara!”
“There are three things you should
know about that exhibit. First, there are
12 paintings valued together at over 7 million dollars. Second, that group of seniors from
Melissa paused. She pushed the knife tighter. “You’re lying”.
“That is a possibility, Ms. Gallant. The bomb is the latest in military technology, a confined blast with only a 30 foot radius. But everything in that radius will be completely incinerated by 3500 degree heat.” Melissa paused again, the knife didn’t move. “You have only about two minutes now to decide.” She waited, searching for a tell. “Willing to be chained to a rock to save her people. Are you that brave, Ms. Gallant?”
She slid the knife back into her pocket with practiced grace. “Where are we going?”
“In due time, Ms Gallant. Please stand up and put this coat on over your shoulders. Melissa rose and buttoned the top closed. “In the inside pocket you’ll feel a set of solid metal cuffs. They’re called Irish Eights. Please place your wrists behind your back.” She placed her palms together behind her, under the coat. “No, wrists in the opposite directions, please. Melissa crossed her wrists, and the man locked the eights shut under the coat. She was familiar with the cuffs. Hard to pick at the kitchen table, impossible with your hands crossed. “We need to hurry, we’ve less than a minute.”
The eights were not tight, but her wrists rubbed on the stainless. None of the guards dutifully checking camera bags and purses suspected that the woman leaving was in danger. They walked out the doors and down the steps to the street. Melissa scanned the sidewalk for exit or advantage. There were none. A long black Audi with smoked windows pulled up on the street. A driver exited, opening the back door. “After you, Miss.” Melissa slid into the back seat, followed closely by her captor. The door closed, and the driver pulled away. The man tried to be subtle in pulling a chloroform soaked rag from the seat compartment, but Melissa was expecting his movement. In a flash, she swung her head, striking the bridge of his nose. The pain was intense, and blood trickled onto the black leather. The man forced the rag across her face. The eights and the chemicals conspired against her, and she slumped onto the seat.
“Jesus, Boss, you OK?!”
“No Phillip, I’m not. Ms.Gallant may very well have broken my nose. Please take us to the receiving warehouse, then have someone clean these seats.”
The three drove in silence.
“Um, how were the Ralphie paintings Boss?”
“It’s Pre-Raphaelite, Phillip, and you know that exhibit doesn’t arrive until October.”