Are We Partners? | ✓

• e x p l a n a t i o n

As soon as Clark left, Hopkins accepted that it was all over.

He was going to die alone, abandoned again by the same woman. There you go, Hopkins. What a fucking wonderful way to die. Angrily, he kicked the beam again. Not a single inch moved, and Hopkins gave up, lying on floor.

So, against all odds, she reappeared, holding a piece of iron and smiling like a maniac. "What the—" he gasped when Clark crammed the iron bar under the beam, creating a lever system.

"Get out of there, Hopkins!" Clark screamed. He dragged himself out, breathing heavily. She let go of the iron bar and helped him get up on his feet. "Shit. Broken leg?"

"No, but I can't... touch the ground." He puckered his lips, feeling a wave of pain run through his leg. "Where the hell were you?!" Hopkins inquired, coughing and leaning on Clark's shoulders. She smirked. "I thought you were gonna back stab me again."

"Afraid of being alone, darling?" Clark teased, carrying him through a rotten door. "I was searching for an exit. Now shut up and let's get out of here."

The fresh air exploded into Hopkins lungs and he closed his eyes, sitting on a broken stone bench with Clark's help. Heavy breathing, he said, "No more small palaces from the 18th century, please."

"Deal," she nodded, leaning on her knees.

▬▬▬▬▬

At the lodge, Spankin' sat on the coffee table, turning the notebook to Hopkins and Clark. He grunted when the girl made room for herself, pushing his sore leg aside.

"Right, we have some... interesting information here," Spankin' smiled and pressed a key. The portrait of Richard Holt filled the screen, his gray eyes piercing Hopkins' soul. "The guy's the only son of two famous Swedish archaeologists, and was raised in Russia because of his parents' job. Well, other than that Holt's pretty... normal. Straight A student, very rich and a little temperamental. The only blotch in his file is a police problem involving a prostitute. According to the records she accused him of beating her up during a... meeting. And by 'beating up' I mean 'almost killing her with a pipe'. But, of course, he got away.

"Well, you can't deny he's... interesting," Clark said, smirking to Holt's picture. Spankin' laughed and Hopkins knitted his eyebrows. "What?"

"The guy almost ripped your eye off and tried to set fire on you. Literally. What's wrong with you? Jesus Christ," Hopkins snapped. She shrugged.

"What can I do if I like a little rough sometimes?"

"Hey, focus," Spankin chuckled, before Hopkins could say another word. "The small palace was built in the beginning of the 18th century and was the home sweet home of this guy." She pressed another key and the portrait of a black-haired man with a thin mustache appeared on the screen. "Grigoriy Victorovich Simonov."

"Wait a minute," Clark tittered, raising one hand. "Grisha Simonov? The crazy doctor?"

"The one and only." Spankin' chuckled. Seeing Hopkins a little lost, she continued, "Grisha was known for... maverick experiments, such as implanting rakes on peasants' heads and udders on prostitutes' breasts. You know, light stuff."

"A nice guy."

"The important thing about Grisha is that he was crazy about riddles, puzzles and enigmas. And when Peter The Great, ascended the throne in 1721, he built the Romanov's Vault to keep the treasures of the dynasty safe. At least that's what the legend says. And guess who was responsible for the vault?"

"Our friend Grisha," Hopkins said, smiling.

"Exactly. I analyzed some documents yesterday, and no monarch mentions the Vault, except—"

"Catherine The Great," Clark completed, shaking her head. "So you're telling me that somewhere in Russia there's a treasure hidden for three hundred years, and that no one, except from our Catherine, knew how to found this place."

The girl considered. "Yep."

"Okay, but why would she send a fake necklace to her lover?" Hopkins asked. "I mean, why not send him the real one? And why the fake necklace was in a fucking jewelry? And why, Jesus Christ, put wrong coordinates on a necklace?"

"The real necklace was at Grisha's house, so Catherine didn't have the true one," Spankin' explained. "The fake necklaces act like a decoy. You think you own the real one, follow the trail and voilá, you're at Grisha's house, not in the Vault. Maybe she thought Stanislaw could... investigate, but their relationship wasn't very good at the time, so he probably ignored the gift and everything."

"And if you pay some good cash, any goldsmith can say copper is diamond," Clark shrugged.

"So," the girl continued, excited. "Where's the real necklace?"

"Holt has it," Hopkins said, apologetically.

"Oh, shit."

"Fear not, my friends!" Clark raised from the couch, giggling. She pulled a little piece of paper from her back pocket. "I thought this kind of shit could happen, so while Hopkins was freaking out because of Holt's men, I wrote the coordinates here. We just need to find the next step."

"Liz, you rock!" Spankin' took the paper, typing the numbers on her computer.

Standing in front of him, Clark smirked to Hopkins. "I admit that a 'thank you for saving my ass and our mission' would be great now, handsome."

"You're fucking unbelievable."