Joseph of Cordoba had used more care decorating his work. He had sketched in little ships, crossing the various oceans with their sails unfurled. Insect-sized animals poked out of the different land masses, helping to identify them. There was a tiger in India, a dragon in China and, at the North Pole, what could have been a polar bear.
“I don’t know how much you know about old maps,” Richard said, “but for what it’s worth, I studied them a bit at university. I did politics and geography. This one is fairly typical of the sixteenth century. That was a time when maps were becoming more important. Henry VIII was one of the first monarchs to realize how much they could give away about a country’s defences. And everyone was using them to steal everyone else’s trade routes. You see these little bags here?” He took out a pencil and pointed. “They’re probably bags of spice. Joseph may have drawn them to represent the Spice Islands because that was what everyone wanted.”
“There are stars,” Jamie said.
They were scattered all over the pages; the five-pointed stars that he and Matt knew so well.
“That’s right. There are twenty-five of them – one for each door. The only trouble is, like a lot of the maps being drawn at the time, this one isn’t very accurate. As far as I can make out, there seem to be doors in London, Cairo, Istanbul, Delhi, Mecca, Buenos Aires and somewhere in the outback of Southern Australia. There’s one here, close to the South Pole. But the world’s changed quite a lot in five hundred years and trying to identify the exact locations isn’t going to be easy.”
“You mentioned a list,” Tarrant said.
“Yes…” Richard turned a page and sure enough there was a long row of names, all of them in tiny handwriting. “The problem we’ve got here is that the names don’t quite match up with the modern places and half of them are in Spanish. Here’s one, for example. Muerto de Maria. It took me half the night to work that one out.”
“The death of Mary,” the bishop translated.
“Or Mary’s death,” Richard said. “Do you get it? Marydeath. Or the church of St Meredith in London. It’s like a crossword clue although I don’t suppose Joseph was doing it on purpose to confuse us. Coricancha isn’t named at all. It’s just represented by a flaming sun – but then, of course, the sun was sacred to the Incas.”
“Is there a door in Hong Kong?” Matt asked.
“There’s certainly a door somewhere nearby,” Richard said. He turned the page back to the map. “You can see it here… and if you look at the list, there’s a reference to a place called Puerto Fragrante and a little dragon symbol. But that could be anywhere.”
“May I see?” Mr Lee reached out and took the diary in both hands, holding it as if he was afraid it was about to crumble away. He looked at the map, then the list, then turned another page. “Someone has written in pencil,” he said. “The words ‘Tai Shan’.” He glanced at Richard. “Was that you?”
Richard shook his head. “That must have been Ramon,” he said. “He made notes all over it when he was trying to decipher it for Salamanda, but as far as I can see, he didn’t have time to work out too much. Anyway, he was mainly focusing on the Nazca Lines.”
“There is a door in Hong Kong!” Mr Lee exclaimed. “I can tell you that for certain. And I can even tell you exactly where it is.” He laid the diary down. “Puerto Fragrante – the Spanish for Fragrant Harbour, I think – is another clue,” he said. “In Cantonese, Fragrant Harbour translates as Heung Gong. Or in other words, Hong Kong. The city was originally given that name because of the smell of sandalwood that drifted across the sea. Whoever studied the diary has been good enough to confirm it for us. Tai Shan means ‘the mountain of the East’. It is where the sun begins its daily journey. It is also the place where human souls go when they die. There is a very old and very sacred temple with that name in Hong Kong, in a part of the city called Wan Chai…”
There was a sense of relief in the room. It was as if they had all made their minds up. Even Susan Ashwood nodded her head in agreement and seemed to relax. Only Matt didn’t look so sure.
“You could leave tonight,” Harry Foster said. “If things went your way, you could actually be there to meet her at the airport. You could pull her out before the Old Ones even knew you’d arrived.”
“Wait a minute,” Matt said. “We flew here from Miami because we didn’t think the doors were safe. Why has anything changed?” Nobody answered so he went on. “Salamanda had the diary. He’ll have found out about the temple…”
“Not necessarily,” Foster insisted. “This guy, Ramon, was working on it. But he may not have passed on everything he knew. Anyway, Salamanda’s dead.”
“Maybe there is an element of risk…” Susan Ashwood began.
“It’s more than a risk. It’s a trap.”
Matt hadn’t sat down and worked it out. It was just that all the doubts that had been in his mind had somehow come together and he could suddenly see everything very clearly.
“The whole thing is a trap,” he said. “And it always has been, right from the start. Why were we attacked in Nazca? Why was Professor Chambers killed? It’s because the Old Ones wanted to get us on the move. They wanted us to do exactly what we’ve done.
“Think about it. Scarlett Adams goes through the door at St Meredith’s and suddenly the whole world knows about her. She’s in all the newspapers and the Old Ones find out who she is. And then, the very next day, a university lecturer called Ramon turns up in Nazca. Somehow he’s managed to track us down. He tells us that he’s managed to steal the one thing we most want and he hands it across without even asking for money. Why? Because he goes to Church! Because he’s planning to get married! His whole story was ridiculous. And it wasn’t true. The Old Ones wanted us to have the diary.”
“They killed him to get it back,” Nathalie said.
“Did they? I think Ramon was as surprised to get that fence post through his chest as we were to see it happen. He must have been programmed – either drugged or hypnotized – to stop Scott and Jamie seeing into his mind. And then they killed him to make us believe that he had been telling the truth. Otherwise, it would have all seemed too easy.”
Matt took a breath. Normally, he didn’t like being the centre of attention but this time he knew he was right.
“All along, there was something that bothered me about that night in Nazca,” he went on. “If they really wanted the diary back so badly, why did they send such a small force? What happened to the giant spider, the fly-soldiers, the shape-changers, the death-riders?” He turned to Jamie. “You’ve seen them. You’ve fought them. Nazca was peanuts compared to what you went through.”
Jamie nodded but said nothing.
“They want me to come to Hong Kong. That’s what this has all been about.” Matt was getting tired. He had no idea what time it was according to his body clock. He just wanted to crawl into bed and forget everything for ten hours. “First of all they got us out of Nazca. They managed to split us up. And now they’ve given us a nice invitation to walk straight into their hands. The moment I go through that door, I’ll be finished. They’re using Scarlett to get at me. I hurt them. I wounded their leader, Chaos – the King of the Old Ones, or whatever he calls himself. They want to make me pay.”
There was a long silence.
“What do you want to do, Matt?” Susan Ashwood asked. And that made a change. Normally the Nexus told him what they wanted him to do.
“I still have to go to Hong Kong,” Matt said.
“Matt…” Richard began.
Matt stopped him. “What Miss Ashwood said was right. They’re not going to let any of you get anywhere near Scarlett. It has to be the two of us, Jamie and me. And you too, Richard, if you want to come. But maybe we can use this situation to our advantage. The Old Ones expect us to turn up in the Temple of Tai Shan. That’s how they’ve arranged the trap. But suppose we arrive another way? We could still take them by surprise.”
“You could go in by sea,” Foster sai
d. “There are cruise ships going in and out of Hong Kong all the time.”
“May I suggest something?” Mr Lee interrupted, asking permission again. “The best way to enter Hong Kong might be through Macau. It is part of China, a small stub of land on the South China Sea – and like Hong Kong it is a Special Administrative Region, which is to say, it is – at least in part – independent. You can fly from one to the other in a very short time. Helicopters make the journey several times a day.”
“And how do we get to Macau?” Richard asked.
“You cannot fly there direct. I believe you will have to go via Singapore. But it is, if you like, a back door into Hong Kong – and one that the Old Ones may have overlooked.” He took out a handkerchief and polished the lenses of his glasses. “More than that, I have a connection in Macau who may agree to help you. He has many resources. In fact, if anyone knows the truth about what is going on in that part of the world, it will be him.”
“Wait a minute…” Richard was worried and he didn’t try to hide it. He was wishing he’d never mentioned the diary in the first place. “Matt… are you really sure you have to go there?” he asked. “You’ve already said that it’s you that they want. You say it’s a trap. Now you’re walking straight into it.”
“We need Scarlett,” Matt replied, simply. “They have her. We can’t win without her.” He looked round. “Jamie, will you come with me?”
Jamie shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see Hong Kong.”
“Then it’s agreed.” Matt turned back to Mr Lee. “How quickly can you get in touch with your friend?” he asked.
“His name is Han Shan-tung,” Lee replied. “He is a man with great influence. He has many friends inside Hong Kong. But it may not be easy to find him. He travels a great deal. You may have to wait.”
“We can’t wait.”
“It will just be a few days. But trust me. It would be foolish to enter the city without his support.”
A few days. More waiting. Matt thought about Scarlett. In a few hours’ time she would be landing in Hong Kong. What would she find when she got there? How would she manage on her own?
But there was no other way. Somehow she would have to survive until he got there. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too long.
WISDOM COURT
The nightmare started almost from the moment Scarlett arrived at Hong Kong Airport.
She was still a Skyflyer Solo and the airline had arranged for an escort to meet her at the plane and to take her through immigration and customs. His name was Justin and he was dark-haired, in his early twenties, dressed like a member of the cabin crew.
“Did you have a good flight?” He spoke with an Australian accent and seemed friendly enough. “It was OK.”
“You must be tired. Never mind. I’ll see you through to the other side. Is this your first time in Hong Kong?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to love it here!”
He prattled on as Scarlett followed him to passport control. It would have been easy to find her own way – there were signs written in English as well as Chinese – but she was glad to have company after eleven hours sitting on her own in what had felt like outer space. The worst thing about the flight hadn’t been the length or the boredom. It had been the sense of disconnection. She was going somewhere she didn’t want to go, not even knowing why she was going there. What could be so urgent that her father had made her travel all this way? And why hadn’t he been able to tell her on the phone?
The airport was surprisingly quiet, but then it was only six o’clock in the morning and perhaps there hadn’t been that many international flights. Even so, Scarlett felt uneasy. She examined the people around her as they stood on the travelator, being carried down the wide, silver and grey corridors. The other passengers looked more dead than alive, bleary-eyed and pale. Nobody was talking. Nobody seemed happy to be there.
And there was something else that struck her. Everyone was heading the same way. They were all pouring into the main building. People might be arriving in Hong Kong but, this morning at any rate, no one seemed to be leaving.
They arrived at immigration, joining a queue that snaked back and forth up to a line of low, glass booths with officials in black and silver uniforms, seated on low stools. They all looked very much the same to Scarlett – small, with brown eyes and black, spiky hair. She put the thought out of her head. She was probably being racist.
And then it was her turn. The official who took her passport and arrivals card was young, polite. He opened the passport and examined her details and as he did so, she noticed a surveillance camera just above him swivel round to examine her too. It was quite unnerving, the way it moved, without making any sound, somehow picking her out from the rest of the crowd.
“Scarlett Adams.” The official spoke her name and smiled. He wasn’t asking her to confirm it. He was just reading it off the page as if he didn’t quite understand what it meant. Then he reached out for his stamp, inked it and brought it down on the passport with a bang.
And at that exact moment, he changed. Did it really happen or was her mind playing tricks with her after the long flight? It was his eyes. As the stamp hit the page, they seemed to flicker as if someone had blown smoke over them and suddenly they were yellow. The pupils, which had been brown a second ago were now black and diamond-shaped. The passport official glanced up at her and smiled and right then she was afraid that he was going to leap out of his booth and tear into her. His eyes were no longer human. They were more like a crocodile’s eyes.
Scarlett gasped out loud. She couldn’t help herself. She was paralysed, staring at the thing in front of her. The escort, standing next to her, hadn’t noticed anything wrong. Nobody else had reacted. There was a stamp as another visa was issued in the booth next door and Scarlett glanced in that direction as a student with a backpack was allowed through. When she looked back, it was over. The official was normal again. He was holding out her passport, waiting for her to take it. She hesitated, then snatched it from him, not wanting to come into contact even with the tips of his fingers as if she was half expecting them to turn into claws.
“We need to pick up your bags,” Justin said.
“Right…”
He looked at her curiously. “Is something the matter, Scarlett?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Everything’s fine.”
The cases took about ten minutes to arrive. Scarlett’s was one of the first off the plane. Justin picked it up for her and the two of them went through the customs area, which was empty. Presumably nobody bothered smuggling anything into Hong Kong. The arrivals gate was directly ahead of them and Scarlett hurried forward. Despite everything, she was looking forward to seeing her father again. He wasn’t there.
There were about a hundred people waiting on the other side of the barriers, quite a few of them dressed in chauffeur uniforms, some of them holding names on placards. She saw her own name almost at once. It was being held by a black man in a suit. He was tall and bald with a face that could have been carved – it showed no emotion. Somehow, he didn’t seem to belong in Hong Kong. It wasn’t just his colour. It was his size. He towered over everyone else, staring over the crowd with empty eyes as if he didn’t want to be there.
There was a woman standing next to him and Scarlett took a dislike to her at first sight. Was she even a woman? She was certainly dressed in women’s clothes, with a grey dress, anorak and fur-lined boots that came up to her knees. But she had the face and the physique of a man. Her shoulders were broad and square. Her neck was thick-set. She wore no make-up although she was badly in need of it. She had skin like very old leather. She was Chinese and half the height of the chauffeur, with black hair hanging lifelessly down and thick, plastic glasses that wouldn’t have flattered her face even if there had been something to flatter. She reminded Scarlett of a prison warden. It was impossible to guess her age. Forty? Fifty? She didn’t look as if she had ever been young.
Scar
lett went over to her.
“Good morning, Scarlett,” the woman said. “Welcome to Hong Kong. I hope you had a good flight.”
“Who are you?” Scarlett asked. She wasn’t in any mood to be polite.
The woman didn’t take offence. “My name is Mrs Cheng,” she said. “But you can call me Audrey. This is Karl.” The man in the suit lowered his head briefly. “Shall we go to the car?”
“Where’s my dad?” Scarlett asked.
“I’m afraid he couldn’t come.”
“Where is he?”
“I will explain in the car.”
The escort – Justin – had listened to all this with growing concern. It was his job to hand Scarlett over to the right person and that clearly didn’t seem to be the case. “Excuse me a minute,” he interrupted. He turned to Scarlett. “Do you know these people?”
“No,” Scarlett said.
“Well, I’m not sure you should go with them.” He turned back to the woman. “Forgive me, Mrs Cheng,” he went on. “I was told I was delivering this girl to her father. And I’m not sure…”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Mrs Cheng interrupted. “You can see quite clearly that we were waiting for her. We are both employed by the Nightrise Corporation and were sent here by her father.”
“I’m sorry. She doesn’t know you and right now I’m responsible for her. I think you’d better come over to the desk and talk to my supervisor.”
Scarlett was beginning to feel embarrassed with two adults quarrelling over her, especially in the middle of such a public place. But Justin and Mrs Cheng had reached an impasse. The Chinese woman was breathing heavily and two dark spots had appeared in her cheeks. She was struggling to keep her temper. Suddenly she snapped out a command, her voice so low that it could barely be heard. The chauffeur, Karl, lumbered forward.
“Now hold on a minute…” Justin began.
It looked as if Karl was going to punch him. But instead he simply reached out and laid a hand on Justin’s shoulder, his long, black fingers curving around the escort’s neck. There was no violence at all. Then he leant down so that his eyes were level with the other man.
Necropolis pof-4 Page 15
