The Lair of Beowulf (A Phoenix Quest Adventure) Read online

  THE

  LAIR OF BEOWULF

  A Phoenix Quest Adventure

  #3

  by

  K.T. TOMB

  Acclaim for K.T. Tomb:

  “Epic and awesome!”

  —J.T. Cross, bestselling author of Beneath the Deep

  “Now this is what I call adventure. The Lost Garden will leave you breathless!”

  —Summer Lee, bestselling author of Angel Heart

  “The best adventure novel I’ve read in a long time. K.T. Tomb. I can’t wait to read the sequel. Count me a fan. A big fan.”

  —P.J. Day, bestselling author of The Sunset Prophecy

  “K.T. Tomb is a wonderful new voice in adventure fiction. I was enthralled by The Lost Garden...and you will be, too.”

  —Aiden James, bestselling author of Plague of Coins

  OTHER BOOKS BY K.T. TOMB

  STANDALONE ADVENTURES

  The Last Crusade

  The Kraken

  The Adventurers

  The Swashbucklers

  The Tempest

  Sasquatch Mountain

  Ghosts of the Titanic

  The Honeymooners

  Curse of the Coins

  Drums Along the Hudson

  THE CHYNA STONE ADVENTURES

  The Minoan Mask

  The Mummy Codex

  The Phoenician Falcon

  The Babylonian Basilisk

  The Aquitaine Armor

  THE EVAN KNIGHT ADVENTURES

  The Lost Garden

  Keepers of the Lost Garden

  Destroyers of the Lost Garden

  THE PHOENIX QUEST ADVENTURES

  The Hammer of Thor

  The Spear of Destiny

  The Lair of Beowulf

  THE CASH CASSIDY ADVENTURES

  The Holy Grail

  The Lost Continent

  The Lost City of Gold

  THE ALPHA ADVENTURES

  “A” is for Amethyst

  “B” is for Bullion

  The Lair of Beowulf

  Published by K.T. Tomb

  Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  The author wishes to dedicate this book to the late

  Lawrence Sanders.

  The Lair of Beowulf

  Prologue

  Cecil Bullock had always been a kind man, especially where his family was concerned. He made sure that they never had to do without. In his younger days, he had been a valued computer programmer and Cecil had a knack for being able to hack into any system and reprogramming it to meet his specifications. There had been a point where he thought no one could trace his I.P. address or counter his programming. At one point he had been right.

  He was also a literary scholar and had a great affinity for the classics, mostly from the 9th and 10th centuries. He dreamt of being in on one of the greatest archeological finds of all times, based on one of those masterpieces of fiction, but he had no idea where to even begin. That’s when he’d met Simon Kessler. Treasure hunting was the one thing they had in common.

  It took him 4 years to get his security clearance at N.A.S.A. For him it was worth the wait. In 1994 they approved him for the highest level of authorization. On certain projects, he worked with the Department of Defense and answered only to the Vice-President or the President himself.

  He had been approached many times by private organizations as well as foreign nations, who had tried diligently to persuade him away from his government work. Kessler Industries had been one of the corporations that wanted Cecil’s brilliance all for themselves. Even after all the refusals, Simon Kessler had always expected Cecil to land back on his doorstep, but he’d never dreamed it would have happened quite the way it did.

  ***

  Whenever Simon Kessler was in Geneva on business, he stayed in the Presidential Suite at the Hotel d’Angleterre and tried his best to travel alone whenever he could. His son Jonathan was with him that time. Jonathan was busy on his laptop as his father was ready to call it a night. It was 9:04pm when there was a frantic knock at the door.

  “We aren’t supposed to have visitors right outside the door,” Simon said. “You know the procedure, Jonathan.”

  His son grabbed his laptop and headed straight for his room, while Simon took a more hands on approach. He opened the drawer on an end table near the sofa, pulled out his Glock 17 and inserted the fully loaded clip. He then made sure to turn off all of the lights except the one near the door. Simon unlocked the door and stepped back into the darkness, dropped to one knee, and aimed his gun at the entryway.

  The doorknob turned slowly as Simon held his breath to get off a straight shot. The door opened to reveal a figure silhouetted against the hallway light. The figure seemed to have trouble with gravity as it fell over into the suite.

  Simon got up, turned the lights on, and pulled the body into the room closing and locking the door immediately. The figure rolled over to face Simon.

  It was Cecil Bullock.

  Cecil had just turned sixty-five and had always loved to celebrate his milestones in Geneva, a fact that Simon knew quite well. Cecil’s unconscious face showed his age. His face resembled that of a much older man, with wrinkles and bags under his blue eyes. His hair was practically gone except for the tufts on either side of his head. He’d always loved his woolen trench coat, which he wore then. His glasses were held tightly in one hand, while something else was gripped in the other. There were two bullet holes in his lower abdomen.

  He opened his hand and let the glasses fall, while he struggled to lift his other hand as he opened it. There was a crumpled up envelope that he held up to Simon, who took it and straightened it out before opening it. Cecil tried to sit up but just flopped back down to the floor. He glared at Simon and uttered his final word, “Beowulf.”

  Chapter One

  Thalia Phoenix was the kind of woman who enjoyed being involved with her community in Taos, when she wasn’t off treasure hunting. The Museum Association of Taos had created a special award for Phoe for all of the help she had given them. She’d also donated several of her artifact reproductions to the association to distribute throughout their museums as they saw fit.

  Eloise Rojas was a big fan and follower of Phoe and lived vicariously through her exploits. Eloise’d had a love of archeology since she was a little girl digging holes to China in her backyard and had been with the association almost all of her adult life. She was born and raised in Albuquerque, but moved to Taos when she found out about the wonderful history being presented through the museums there.

  It was only a matter of time before she received her archeology degree and settled into her life’s dream of being surrounded by artifacts that represented the near and ancient past. Authentic or reproduced, it was all real to Eloise.

  She made sure that Phoe would show up for lectures and even accompanied her when she took the speaking engagements on the road. Eloise spared no expense in honoring Phoe for her contributions to archeology.

  Eloise was in her mid-40s, five feet tall and stocky. She had short black curly hair and still wore the same thin framed-glasses she’d had for years. But it was her smile that warmed up even the coldest of hearts; Eloise simply had a way with people.

  The celebration was booked at the El Alcalde Room inside the Taos Convention Center and even though there was a maximum capacity of forty-five people, she had gotten the Fire Marshall’s permission to s
queeze in another fifteen. That night was going to be Eloise Rojas’ defining moment.

  ***

  Phoe was running late because she had absolutely nothing to wear for anything as fancy as an award dinner. She’d known about it for two weeks but hadn’t had the time to go out and buy a dress, mostly as a result of all the time she had been spending with Charlotte at Simple Treasures.

  She put on a pair of black jeans with some heels and a blue silk blouse. She finished the ensemble by wearing her black leather jacket which stopped at her waist. She hated to wear makeup…so she didn’t, except for a little bit of mascara and a touch of flesh colored lipstick.

  She had Charlotte help her put her long black hair up. Charlotte thought Phoe should leave a few strands of hair falling on both sides of her face. She reluctantly agreed.

  Phoe burst through the doors of the El Alcalde Room to see a packed room with Eloise at a podium in the middle of the room near the far wall. There was a large banner with a picture of Phoe’s head directly behind Eloise.

  Eloise smiled.

  “Here she is now, Ladies and Gentlemen! The woman of the hour…Thalia Phoenix!”

  Phoe looked around as everyone rose to their feet and began applauding. She made her way slowly while waving awkwardly to her fans. As she approached the podium, Eloise held a plaque and a two-foot statue made from bronze in Phoe’s exact likeness. The statue was on a marble base.

  “Wow,” Phoe said, quietly.

  Eloise handed her the awards and hugged her, then walked away from the podium. Phoe clumsily tried to hold on to her prizes, but decided instead to put them down before she dropped them. She took her place to address the crowd and saw Simon and Jonathan Kessler standing near the door in the back. They both had tuxedoes on.

  She giggled as she shook her head and raised the microphone to her mouth.

  “I am truly touched by all of this admiration and appreciation, but I feel somehow lost in all this attention. I never do anything for the attention.”

  Jonathan laughed. Simon poked him with his shoulder.

  Phoe sighed.

  “I just love giving back to the community that embraced me and my store, Simple Treasures. I thank you and will continue to give to the arts because I truly believe that everyone has the right to enjoy our precious history.”

  She glared at Simon.

  “These treasures are not just for a handful of people to own. They belong to all of us.”

  The crowd cheered and applauded again as Phoe made her way down from the podium. She looked over all the faces of her admirers as she made her way over to Simon. The one person that she thought for sure would be there to congratulate her, or at least to show support, wasn’t.

  Peter Kellerman was noticeably absent.

  Phoe shook hands and smiled until she stood in front of the Kesslers. She was ready to let Simon have it for allowing Jonathan to interrupt her speech when she realized that she forgot something important.

  Her awards!

  Phoe turned toward the crowd and made up her excuse.

  “I left my awards at the podium for everyone to enjoy until I leave! Please feel free to…touch them!”

  She turned back around and lost her smile immediately.

  “I don’t mind you showing up to support me. But can you keep your pet on a leash if he’s going to misbehave?”

  “Hey!” Jonathan huffed. “We came to…”

  Simon shook his head, before Jonathan had a chance to finish.

  Phoe looked suspiciously at Simon.

  “You didn’t come here for support. Did you? What is it, Simon?”

  Simon actually looked nervous as he handed Phoe a folded up piece of paper. She took it and unfolded it. She looked puzzled.

  “Is this a joke, Simon?” she asked, as if she already knew the answer.

  He shook his head. Jonathan crossed his arms in front of him and looked down at the floor.

  Phoe knew something was wrong, but what he handed her was unbelievable. She wondered whether she should follow her gut and wait until they were in private, before she grilled him about his strange behavior. Her other gut wanted her to confront him right where he was.

  Her average for guessing correctly about which gut to follow, was never exceptionally high. She had a disgusted look as she moved closer to Simon.

  “The…lair of Beowulf?” she asked quietly.

  He nodded.

  “You better start talking Simon, or you’re going to piss me off,” was her response. “You can’t just hand me this bullshit and then stand there like a damned mannequin.”

  She looked around to see if anyone watched the trio but it seemed that everyone else was preoccupied with touching and admiring Phoe’s awards.

  “Alright Simon,” Phoe snapped. “First of all, if I am reading all this right, you want me to find something based on a poem about a fictional character, that’s over twelve centuries old. Then you want me to find this fictional character’s lair?”

  Simon looked at Jonathan, who then sighed and left the room. He glared at Phoe, hoping she would understand that something was amiss. To her, it was the whole Hammer of Thor all over again.

  “Simon,” she said, as she gritted her teeth. “I understand that something is keeping you quiet. My question then is why would you show up in a public place, to get me to go after yet another of your little fantasy things. The lair of Beowulf, Simon? Guess what? There is no record, in prose or otherwise, that depicts Beowulf of ever having a lair.”

  Phoe got closer to Simon, more out of intimidation than anything else. His eyes pleaded with her. His pleading looks fell on blind eyes.

  Her frustration mounted with each word he didn’t say and soon she’d had enough.

  “The lair of Beowulf?”

  Her voice carried throughout the entire room. Everyone turned and stared at Phoe. Her outburst was unexpected by almost everyone.

  Phoe no longer cared about living up to appearances as she continued to verbally berate Simon.

  “That’s worse than asking me to find Mjolnir! That’s like asking me to find Thor’s favorite goat! Beowulf was an epic poem and nothing more! And he didn’t have a lair! Now Grendel! He had a lair!”

  Simon looked stressed out as he finally spoke.

  “You have no idea how sorry I am, Phoe. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Suffice it to say that I believe you will now find the item I seek.”

  Phoe looked around the room to see if there was someone there who spooked him. She saw no one suspicious.

  “Suffice it to say that I am not on board with your crazy adventure. You can hire Peter for this. I’m busy!”

  Simon did something completely out of character, even for him. He embraced Phoe. While his head was close to hers, he whispered, “I’m afraid, dear Phoe, that you no longer have a choice.”

  Phoe’s mouth dropped open in surprise as Simon hurried out of the room and the building.

  Chapter Two

  Charlotte had her feet up in the living room. She was watching Downton Abbey while she munched on a big bowl of popcorn. She had her hair up in curlers and she was dressed in her long, oversized nightgown; the one with the flowers and lambs on it.

  Phoe stormed into the house and almost broke the glass in the back door that led to the kitchen when she slammed it shut behind her. She was more than upset. Simon had gone too far. There had to be a limit to Simon’s eccentricities and she’d had enough of his whims.

  The lair of Beowulf? Really?

  Charlotte rushed into the kitchen where she saw Phoe pulling out a carton of chocolate milk. She had already started to drink from the carton when Charlotte walked up to her and placed a hand on Phoe’s shoulder.

  “I guess I’m not going to ask you how the award ceremony went, sweetie.”

  Phoe took a big gulp of milk and set the carton on the counter top.

  “I can’t handle it anymore, Charlotte! I can’t do this running around the world looking for things that aren’
t supposed to exist! I’ve seen some insane and unexplainable things! I…I just can’t do it anymore.”

  Phoe stood in front of a small kitchen window as she grabbed the carton for another large gulp. As she raised the carton to her mouth and tilted it upward, the kitchen window shattered and the carton exploded from her hand. Phoe stood in shock, there was chocolate milk all over her clothes, the countertop, and the floor. Slowly she turned to look at Charlotte who was holding her left shoulder with her right hand. When the hand came away, it was covered in blood.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened as she dropped to the floor.

  ***

  Phoe stood by Charlotte’s bed in the hospital. She had spent a few hours in surgery as the doctors had removed the 9mm bullet from her shoulder. Charlotte slowly opened her eyes as Phoe held her hand and wiped the tears from her swollen eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. Somehow I know this is my fault.”

  Charlotte smiled weakly. “I’d never blame you for anything that was beyond your control, sweetie.”

  “Maybe the bullet wasn’t meant for Charlotte,” said a familiar voice that came from the doorway.

  Phoe turned to see Peter standing there with a dozen roses. He seemed genuinely concerned.

  Phoe walked to the back of the room and continued to dry her teary eyes. Charlotte smiled at the roses. “Are those for me, Peter?”

  “Of course, Charlotte,” he answered. “Who else could they be for?”

  She pointed to an end table near the bathroom. “Thank you so much. Please put those beautiful things over there, would you? Perhaps you’d like to talk with another beautiful thing while you’re here.”

  Phoe turned around and gave Charlotte a dirty look. Peter walked up to Phoe and forced a smile. “Why don’t you let me drive you home, Phoe? The doctors said that Charlotte needs rest.”