The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3)

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘In the meantime, we have to worry about the Fists. What can you tell us about them?’

  ‘Rumors, mostly,’ she admitted. ‘Their full name in English is The Brotherhood of Righteous and Harmonious Fists. They are quite famous in the south of China.’

  ‘Famous for what?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘They are a secret society, well trained in the martial arts. But more than that, they are fiercely anti-Christian and against all involvement of foreigners in China. They became convinced – most likely through cult-like dogma from their leaders – that they were mystically imbued with a resistance to foreigners’ weapons. They believed they were bulletproof.’

  ‘Bulletproof? I proved that wrong,’ McNutt bragged.

  Maggie nodded. ‘Disgusted with imperialist tactics by the Western nations and the wishy-washy politicians that allowed the West to interfere in Chinese issues, the Fists marched on Beijing. They started a siege that lasted for two months, while diplomats, foreigners, and Chinese Christians all took cover in the Dongcheng District near Tiananmen Square.’

  ‘What happened?’ Sarah wondered.

  ‘What usually happens with such things,’ Maggie said with a tinge of sadness. ‘Politicians were divided, some throwing their support behind the Fists, and others claiming the desperate need to stamp out any public disobedience. They called for foreign aid: the exact thing the Fists were fighting against. The army split, half of them joining up with the Fists while the rest teamed up with international troops from Japan, Russia, five European countries, and the United States. There was chaos in the streets and rampant vandalism and plunder. Rioting, rapes, murder. Looting and atrocities of all sorts, until the uprising was crushed and the situation was brought under control. Then there were the inevitable recriminations and the prosecutions.’

  ‘How come I’ve never heard of this?’ McNutt asked.

  ‘Because these events occurred in 1898. In the West, it is often called the Boxer Rebellion.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Garcia said. ‘The Boxers were those dudes with the front of their heads shaved and the long braided ponytails that you always see in martial arts films.’

  McNutt grinned, thinking back to the kung fu movies that he used to watch as a child. ‘I loved those guys! Anyone who’s willing to cut their hair like that is a badass in my eyes.’

  ‘Actually,’ Maggie said, ‘that hairstyle was forced on the men of China by imperial edict, beginning in the seventeenth century. Those who refused were put to death.’

  ‘That’s insane!’ Sarah blurted.

  ‘Nevertheless, it lasted for centuries and was seen as a sign of loyalty to the Qing rulers. The Fists eventually rebelled by letting their hair grow.’

  Cobb interrupted them. ‘That’s all well and good, but how are these guys still running around? And why are they after us?’

  ‘I can answer the first question only,’ Maggie said. ‘They were clearly not eliminated, and they stayed underground. There were always whispers through the early part of the twentieth century that the Fists were still in operation. Whenever anything went wrong for foreigners or Christians in China, people claimed the Fists were responsible.’

  ‘Regular boogeymen,’ McNutt said.

  ‘Indeed. Eventually they became gangsters, with hands in all manner of illicit activities. By the 1980s, they were mainstream enough that they were mentioned in the Western media.’

  ‘And now?’ Papineau asked.

  ‘They diversified,’ Maggie said. ‘Rumors are that they moved a lot of their resources into legitimate enterprises like utilities and steel.’

  Cobb suddenly made a connection. ‘What about mining?’

  ‘Probably,’ Maggie conceded.

  ‘Damn,’ McNutt said, reaching the same conclusion as Cobb.

  ‘They must have spotted me and Josh when we were in the desert,’ Cobb said. ‘If their helicopter had a camera, they could have taken our pictures without us knowing it.’

  Papineau took a deep breath. ‘So these men – these Fists – they spotted you in Loulan, and they again spotted you again in Hong Kong? Then they followed us to Guangzhou? And later to Tibet? Pardon me for saying so, but that seems unlikely at best.’

  ‘Not really,’ Maggie said. ‘The Fists are fanatically opposed to foreigners being in China at all. If they thought Jack and Josh were looting the ruins in Loulan, they would have been very keen on stopping them. And clearly, at some point they put our locations together and figured out that we are looking for something valuable, something hidden in their homeland.’

  Garcia seemed worried. ‘Will they follow us here?’

  Maggie pondered the question. ‘Normally, I would have said “no” since the Fists are so focused on China. But with such a treasure on the line, who can say? These men will assume that the treasure is composed primarily of riches that originated in their homeland and they are violently hostile to the theft of resources and archeological artifacts from Chinese soil. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re going to follow us to the ends of the Earth.’

  57

  Friday, April 11

  Late the following day, they all met in Papineau’s suite for a briefing.

  This time Maggie had called the meeting.

  Maggie and Garcia arrived together and were the last ones to show up. She carried a notebook and an iPad in her arms, while Garcia walked in with his laptop. She was dressed conservatively, but Garcia wore shorts, flip-flops, and yet another T-shirt. This one read: NERD? I PREFER THE TERM INTELLECTUAL BADASS.

  The room was nearly identical to Garcia’s suite, and the others had all taken the same positions they had occupied the day before. Garcia set his computer on the desk and flipped it open. His screen was split into six columns, each streaming different sets of data. Papineau glanced at the program but couldn’t figure out what he was looking at.

  ‘Okay,’ Maggie said as she faced the group, ‘we’ve finished the translation of Polo’s journal. The software is terrible at colloquial expressions and outdated terms, but I’ve had a chance to skim through the diary a couple of times.’

  ‘And?’ Cobb asked.

  ‘It’s a tragic tale, really. Our Marco found the love of his life, the Chinese girl Yangchen, at a time when interracial relationships weren’t just frowned upon, they were unheard of. As it was, Westerners themselves were pretty much unheard of in China, so you can imagine the furor that it caused.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ Sarah said.

  ‘As Professor Chu told us, Yangchen acted as his guide in Lanzhou, and they quickly fell in love. Unfortunately, everyone they met in the province was full of hatred and scorn. No one was actually violent toward Marco – he possessed the golden tablet after all – but most people they encountered let them know how they felt. Worried for her emotional well-being, Polo decided to take Yangchen to Tibet where he hoped the Buddhist population would be more receptive.’

  ‘Was it?’ Papineau asked.

  Maggie shook her head. ‘Not really. Polo and Yangchen pretty much faced the same reaction that they had in Lanzhou. The lone exception was the clergy. They were a bit more open-minded.’

  ‘Sounds like a first for clergy anywhere,’ McNutt cracked.

  Maggie smiled at the joke. ‘Yangchen’s brother, Lobsang, was a monk at the Songtem temple, which was on the same hill where the Potala sits today. On the couple’s behalf, her brother begged his superior for permission to let them reside in Lhasa. If the lama approved of the interracial relationship, the locals would all come around eventually, and the couple would have been able to get married and live out their days peacefully in Tibet.’

  ‘I’m guessing that didn’t happen,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Afraid not,’ Maggie said. ‘The lama refused to give his blessing, but he did show some compassion by giving them sanctuary while they searched for a new place to live. By then, Polo had realized that his original plan of bringing Yangchen back to Italy would be met with even worse scorn and disapproval than he had encoun
tered in China. After all, in Europe he would be just an ordinary man with a foreign bride, and he would no longer have the protection of the Khan. Not sure where to go or what to do, Polo turned to Lobsang for advice.’

  ‘What did her brother say?’ Cobb asked.

  ‘He strongly recommended the island of Taprobane.’

  ‘Taprobane?’ McNutt said. ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘Thankfully, Polo had – he had been there previously on a secret mission for the Khan. Nowadays the island goes by a different name: Sri Lanka.’

  McNutt grinned. ‘Now that’s a name I know. Quite well, in fact. Did I ever tell you guys about the time that I took a live chicken and—’

  ‘Hold on,’ Cobb said, cutting McNutt off. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, Sri Lanka wasn’t on the list of countries that Polo had visited. Are you saying your initial list was wrong?’

  Maggie didn’t flinch. She knew Cobb was being thorough. ‘I’m saying that my initial list needs to be updated based on new information from the diary. Although the island is mentioned twice in the Rustichello version of things, it’s implied that Marco didn’t personally visit. According to Rustichello, the king of the native people, known as the Sinhalese, had a ruby the size of a human fist. Polo and others in China had heard tales of the stone, and the Khan had sent an unknown emissary to the island to offer a city’s worth of riches in exchange for the ruby, but the Sinhalese king had refused.’

  ‘Let me guess: Polo was the emissary,’ Sarah said.

  Maggie nodded. ‘In his diary, Polo mentions how impressed he had been with the island and how kind and generous he had found the people to be. That’s in direct contrast to the account in many published versions of Rustichello’s book, where Polo refused to go there because he had heard the Sinhalese were “paltry and mean-spirited creatures”.’

  ‘That doesn’t add up,’ McNutt said.

  ‘You’re right, Joshua. It doesn’t. Polo was obviously lying to Rustichello about the people of Sri Lanka. My guess is he did so to throw him off the scent.’

  ‘Either that,’ Cobb said, ‘or the descriptions are from different points in Polo’s life. Maybe he was impressed by the Sinhalese when he first met them, but later when he took Yangchen to the island with hopes of settling down, they treated him poorly.’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie admitted, ‘that’s another possibility, but a good one: it would mean Polo actually went to Sri Lanka.’

  Papineau rejoined the conversation. ‘What do we know about the brother? I’m assuming Polo trusted him if he left his diary at the temple for safekeeping?’

  Maggie nodded. ‘Marco spoke very highly of her brother. He mentioned that Lobsang was an academic who was studying the regional differences between Buddhism in Tibet and Buddhism in Sri Lanka. Much like Polo, he had done a lot of traveling himself. Back then, monasteries sent scholars abroad from time to time to bear gifts and good wishes. Based on Lobsang’s travels, he felt that Sri Lanka was a place where the couple could spend the rest of their lives in peace.’

  ‘Did Lobster mention anywhere specific? Sri Lanka’s roughly the size of Scotland. A hell of a lot warmer, though,’ McNutt said.

  Maggie smiled. ‘Lobsang mentioned a few landmarks that impressed him, but nothing more than that.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Cobb asked.

  ‘One more thing,’ Maggie said. She held up her iPad and showed the others a picture of one of the pages in Polo’s diary. It was mostly in Latin letters, with a few swirly, round symbols. ‘The letters you can’t read are Sinhala, one of the two major ethnic languages spoken in Sri Lanka. Although Polo doesn’t say so explicitly, I believe Lobsang was teaching him the language.’

  ‘Which makes sense if Polo was planning to move there,’ Sarah said.

  Cobb nodded in agreement. ‘What’s your next step?’

  Maggie glanced at Garcia. ‘I’ll need Hector’s help to narrow down any possible sites in Sri Lanka. I also need to finish the Thokmay manuscript. It might have further clues for us, but it will take some time.’

  ‘Actually,’ Cobb said, ‘you can do your research in the air. As much as I like this hotel, I’d prefer to keep moving in case the Fists are closing in.’

  ‘In the air to where?’ Papineau asked.

  Cobb smiled. ‘I thought that was obvious. We’re going to Sri Lanka.’

  58

  Saturday, April 12

  Galle, Sri Lanka

  Papineau dreaded the call he was about to make. He had received a simple text message from Maurice Copeland, which read: CALL NOW. It had been typed in all caps, which was undoubtedly his boss’s way of shouting at him from halfway around the world. Delaying the moment for as long as he could, Papineau took a deep breath and glanced out from the deck of the Wijarama Princess, a rented yacht he had docked in the quiet waters of the harbor.

  Just as Polo had claimed, it really was a beautiful country.

  The walled city of Galle was eighty miles south of the capital city of Colombo. With a population just shy of 100,000 people, the fourth-largest city in Sri Lanka was a shining example of Portuguese and Dutch colonial artistry. The walled portion of the city was the largest standing fortress built anywhere in Asia by colonial hands. By day, the walls and ramparts were a sight to behold, but now that the sun had set, the sleepy city had little to offer.

  Papineau tried his best to enjoy the moment.

  Away from the chaos. Away from Copeland.

  Even away from his team.

  Separating had been Cobb’s idea, but he happily went along with the plan.

  McNutt had arrived first to secure weapons and other supplies on the island. Then Maggie and Garcia had flown to Colombo with a connecting flight to the Maldives that they simply didn’t use. Instead, they had slipped off toward the interior of the country to a small guesthouse in the Hill Country capital of Kandy.

  Sarah had flown commercial into Colombo and connected on a private charter up to Jaffna in the north, where she would make her way down to Trincomalee on the formerly beleaguered and war-torn east coast. She would attempt to secure freighters that could get the treasure out of the country – assuming they could pinpoint where it was.

  Cobb, as usual, kept his own movements to himself.

  Papineau was to fly from Chennai in India, which he had done, although he had refused to fly commercial. Still, he had left the Gulfstream and his pilot behind, instead renting a charter. He then took a helicopter down to Galle with the rental agent for the yacht, a small Tamil man with dark skin and an obnoxious sinus infection.

  The idea was for Papineau to set sail in the morning, around the south of the island and up to Batticaloa in the east, which would put him a three-hour drive from the others in Kandy and only two from Sarah in ‘Trinco’, as it was called locally. With everyone spread out, they would be harder to find, and they had flexibility to get someone on site as soon as Maggie determined the hoard’s exact location. Meanwhile, Garcia was feverishly trying to pinpoint key members of the Fist’s hierarchy in order to see if any of them were headed to Sri Lanka.

  The idea of having to face Copeland’s wrath now, when they were this close, filled Papineau with unease. The man was mercurial, swinging from happy to furious over the slightest things, and Papineau hated to be on his bad side. He suspected the distance between his emotions could mean the difference between a stern lecture and a bullet in the back of the head.

  Still, he needed to make the call or things would be worse. He pressed SEND on his phone and waited for it to connect. It was 6.30 a.m. in California, but he knew Copeland would be wide awake, following the strict boxing regimen of his youth.

  The phone rang six times, and Papineau was about to hang up. The line had no voicemail, so Copeland would either accept the call or not. Those were the only options.

  Just as his finger hovered over the red button, Papineau heard the call connect. Oddly, there was only silence on the other end.

  ‘Hello,’ Papineau said. ‘Are you there?’


  ‘I am, Jean-Marc. Just swallowing a glass of carrot juice and my daily vitamins. I’m also trying to hold on to my composure, but I’m losing the fight. Tell me, how do you expect me to stay calm after your latest fuckup in Tibet?’

  Copeland took a deep breath to rein in his anger. ‘Florence was bad enough. At least in Italy, they had nothing to tie us to the heist at the museum. But in Tibet, I’m hearing things about shootouts at the Potala Palace, car chases with some kind of armored Batmobile, and a border skirmish with an armed group of brigands. That’s the word they used on CNN, Jean-Marc: brigands. The last time I heard that fucking word I was watching Robin Hood, yet you managed to find some in Lhasa. Unless I’m mistaken, I seem to recall having a talk with you after Egypt about your team keeping a low profile.’

  ‘Yes, sir, you did—’

  Copeland cut him off. ‘I’m pretty sure I impressed upon you the need for secrecy. I believe the actual words I used were, “Keep your team out of the spotlight.”’ He took a deep, calming breath, then said in a softer voice, ‘So, explain yourself.’

  ‘It seems there is an organized criminal enterprise in China stretching back to before the start of the twentieth century. This brotherhood was the cause of the Boxer Rebellion in 1900. Today they have their hands in a number of legitimate enterprises. We only just learned their identity on the way out of Tibet. These were the same men that Cobb and McNutt skirmished with in Xinjiang. They also attempted to scuttle our operation in Guangzhou.’

  ‘Jean-Marc,’ he said as the tone of his voice began to rise, ‘I hope you understand that this information is actually making it more difficult for me to maintain my poise. Please tell me you have some good news, or my arteries are going to burst.’

  ‘We do,’ Papineau said. ‘We recently acquired a digital copy of Polo’s diary.’

  ‘Really?’ Copeland’s tone was markedly different. ‘That’s fucking brilliant.’

  ‘Yes, sir, and we’ve narrowed the location to Sri Lanka – the land Polo referred to as Taprobane. We are already making plans to transport the hoard. We haven’t located it yet, but with Polo’s handwritten diary I expect it will be no time at all before we have our hands on the treasure.’