The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3)

by Chris Kuzneski

  Sarah stared at the barrel of Feng’s gun. There was no fire. There was no smoke. There was no projectile hurling its way toward her face at the speed of sound.

  The knife had sunk securely into his left eye, the blade tunneling deeply into his skull and the handle lodging firmly up against his orbital bone. Yet it was the right half of his face that had left her in awe. It wasn’t just damaged, it was shredded, the skull beneath having been pulverized into skeletal fragments.

  The reality of the moment slowly crept into her brain.

  Feng never got off a shot.

  Someone else pulled the trigger.

  Feng’s body tipped over to the side, and Sarah glanced over her shoulder to see who had joined the fray. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Cobb; she didn’t have the strength to fight more of the Brotherhood.

  ‘Nice timing,’ Sarah croaked before dropping to the ground in exhaustion.

  Cobb raced forward to catch her, but she held up a hand to signal that she was okay. He crouched beside her. ‘I think what you meant to say was, “Thanks for saving my life.”’

  Sarah grinned as she gulped in air. ‘Nah, I had him. The knife killed him first. You just made things messy.’

  Cobb was about to laugh when he noticed Maggie’s crumpled body near the other side of the room. He sprang up to investigate, but Sarah grabbed the cuff of his pant leg.

  ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘She’s not worth it.’

  Cobb’s troubled stare told her that she needed to explain.

  ‘She was working for Feng. She sold us out for a paycheck, then she turned on me.’

  Cobb was confused. ‘She couldn’t have been in his pocket all along. Not with all the help she gave us. That doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘I don’t know when he flipped her,’ Sarah admitted. ‘All I can tell you is that she definitely wasn’t working for us at the end. Xenophobia. Nationalistic fanaticism. I really don’t know. But it was either her or me.’

  ‘Well, you made the right choice,’ Cobb said.

  He went through Feng’s pockets and found a small electronic device. He dropped it on the floor, then stomped on it with his boot. As he ground the remnants into dust with his heel, they heard Garcia in their ears.

  ‘– repeat. Radio check. I have no audio. Jack? Sarah? Maggie?’

  ‘Hector, we’re here,’ Cobb replied. ‘Sarah and I are back on comms.’

  ‘Any sign of Maggie?’ Garcia asked.

  ‘She’s dead,’ Sarah explained. ‘So is Feng. They were working together. We don’t know when or how, but he turned her.’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Garcia replied incredulously. ‘That explains how they were able to tail us so relentlessly.’

  ‘Everyone else is dead, too,’ McNutt said as he entered the chamber. ‘The bad guys, I mean. And Rodrigo still has the satellite keeping an eye on things up top.’ McNutt looked down at Maggie’s corpse. ‘So Miss Maggie was a traitor, eh? And here I thought our luck was changing. I wonder if anything she said about Polo or his treasure was true.’

  ‘It was,’ Sarah assured him. She had caught a peek inside just before the confrontation with Feng. She walked over to the wooden door that was still ajar and pushed it open wide. ‘I think we found it.’

  On the other side of the door was a massive chamber, bigger than any of the natural caverns they had seen so far. The room was filled with ornate wooden chests, all of them bigger than a military footlocker. Cobb guessed there were as many as a hundred chests filling the space. He swept his flashlight around the room slowly so Garcia could record it all.

  ‘You getting this, Hector?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s a lot of chests,’ Garcia replied.

  Sarah moved to the nearest one. None of the chests were open, but their lids did not appear to be locked in any way. Instead of swinging upward on hinges, the tops had been seated straight down onto the crates, like the covers of cardboard file boxes. She set her flashlight on the ground and hefted a heavy wooden lid, using the light from the glow sticks to peek inside.

  A moment later, she dropped the lid and grinned at the gold.

  ‘Well?’ Garcia asked.

  Cobb could only smile as McNutt’s boisterous laugh echoed throughout the chamber.

  Epilogue

  Sunday, April 13

  Papineau had risen early to ensure his privacy. While the team continued to sleep – aided by more than a few celebratory libations from the previous evening – the Frenchman knew there was still work to be done. Finding Polo’s fortune was only the beginning of his mission.

  Papineau still needed to locate the true prize of the treasure.

  A single item that Maurice Copeland had requested.

  The air was warm in the pre-dawn hour, with a steady breeze that made for a pleasant morning. In the coming months the region would be blanketed by the rainstorms of monsoon season, but for the moment the humidity was still tolerable. The beads of sweat rolling down Papineau’s brow were a result of his anxiety, not the weather.

  As with everything his boss demanded, failure was not an option.

  Approaching the base of the Lion Gate on foot, Papineau quickly noticed the squadron of patrolmen assigned to protect the mountain. He had half expected to see soldiers from the Sri Lankan Army, but he understood that it would take a day or two to mobilize the proper forces. In the meantime, the Ministry of Defence had used the local authorities to safeguard the rock against any and all visitors.

  Officially, the historic site was closed because of a helicopter crash – the newspapers had even run notices describing possible damage to the site itself. Not even the men surrounding the structure knew the truth. Besides Papineau and his team, only a handful of select political officials were aware of the battle that had been fought there and the priceless discovery found within.

  It would stay that way until they could devise a plan.

  The last thing the country needed was a war with China.

  In the meantime, Papineau flashed credentials identifying him as an engineer with UNESCO sent to inspect the damage and was immediately granted entry. As part of Copeland’s deal with the heads of state, he – and he alone – was given unfettered access to the site. The paperwork he carried even included the Sri Lankan government’s seal of approval.

  The cover story was fake, but the president’s signature was real.

  The cops never questioned Papineau’s arrival.

  Nor did they help him climb down to the secret chambers.

  Thankfully, the team’s rappelling gear had been left behind.

  When he reached the newly discovered cavern of riches, Papineau paused, taking it all in. As he moved the beam of his flashlight throughout the space, sparkling gems and precious metals glinted back at him in the darkness. The team had rooted through the chests to determine the extent of their find, and the disturbance to the tightly packed vessels had left it impossible to close many of their lids. The effect was that they now appeared to be bursting at the seams.

  It was truly a sight to behold.

  Papineau breathed a sigh of relief – his first moment of contentment in weeks – and stepped forward to inventory the haul. As he did, he felt a draft in the room as something took position behind him. A moment later, he felt the cold steel of a pistol barrel pressed against the base of his neck.

  ‘That’s far enough.’

  Papineau recognized the voice. ‘Jack? Is that you? How did—’

  Cobb ground the barrel into Papineau’s flesh. ‘Shut your fucking mouth. I’m the one asking the questions here.’ Cobb pressed hard on Papineau’s shoulder. ‘On your knees.’

  Papineau dropped to the ground immediately. Behind him, he heard the distinct snap of a glow stick, followed by the eerie glow of the chemical reaction. Suddenly the cavern was filled with amber light. Papineau blinked as Cobb stepped forward, the shadows on his face exaggerating the bloodthirsty glare in his eyes. Papineau desperately wanted to speak, but he could see t
hat the man staring back at him was in no mood to be tested.

  This wasn’t the leader of the hunters.

  This was a killer, hell bent on punishment.

  The previous evening Cobb had celebrated with his team, but he had never returned to his room. When the revelry was over he had made his way back to the Lion Gate and easily slipped past the preoccupied guards. He had found the cave in the darkness, and then he waited. The next person to enter would not leave until Cobb had answers … if Cobb let him leave at all.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Cobb demanded.

  Papineau tried to keep his cool. ‘There is one item of special importance. I came to retrieve it before we surrendered the rest to the local government.’

  ‘Which item is that?’

  ‘A cross,’ Papineau answered. ‘A ruby cross, trimmed in gold. A gift from Kublai Khan to the Pope himself. It’s known as the Blood Cross.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Cobb growled. ‘We’re surrounded by gold and jewels. We didn’t go through hell for a goddamn cross. Don’t lie to me! Or I swear to God I’ll kill you in this fucking tomb!’

  ‘I swear, Jack! I’m telling you the truth! All I want is the cross!’

  ‘Bullshit!’ he yelled again. ‘You didn’t spend millions of dollars to get a single cross. Why are you here? What’s your end game?’

  The question caught Papineau off-guard. To him, the most obvious scenario had been that his boss had grown tired of him and had sent Cobb to permanently terminate his employment.

  Papineau now understood the error of this assumption.

  Cobb didn’t know about Copeland.

  Cobb was here for answers.

  ‘I’m not in this for the riches,’ Papineau assured him. It wasn’t a lie. He actually didn’t care about the money; he simply did as he was told to buy time.

  Cobb grinned at him, the smile of the Devil as he confronts a sinner. ‘Well, you’re not in it for the fame. The train and the tomb were both discovered by anonymous parties. I know because I saw it on the news. And I’m willing to bet my entire paycheck that your name will never be linked to Marco Polo. So if you don’t want the money, and you don’t want the credit, then what’s left? And don’t you dare tell me a fucking cross.’

  ‘The satisfaction,’ Papineau answered defiantly. ‘Knowing that you accomplished what no one else in history could achieve.’

  Cobb laughed. ‘What you accomplished? You didn’t accomplish shit. All you did was foot the bill. My team made the discovery. They made this happen, not you.’

  Papineau could feel the rage building inside his captor. He knew that Cobb had taken lives – he had seen it on multiple occasions; and he wondered if he was next.

  ‘You don’t understand that, do you?’ Cobb continued. ‘You see yourself as the king, and the rest of us as pawns. You’d replace us in a heartbeat if you could find better pieces to fit your needs; in fact, you did. Human life means nothing to you.’ Cobb came closer to Papineau, bearing down on him like the Grim Reaper. ‘You felt nothing when we lost Jasmine. I bet you felt the same when you had Seymour killed for following you.’

  Papineau’s emotion was instant. It couldn’t be faked.

  The look in his eyes told Cobb that he was wrong.

  He could see the pain the Frenchman felt for Jasmine’s death, and the anger he suppressed following Cobb’s accusation. Even worse, Cobb could sense Papineau’s surprise at the mention of Duggan’s death. In a flash, Cobb knew that Papineau hadn’t ordered his execution. In fact, Papineau didn’t even know that Duggan had been following him.

  A sickening mix of confusion and shame flooded Cobb’s mind.

  For the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Seymour is dead?’ Papineau dared to ask.

  Cobb could only nod. He had been absolutely certain that Papineau was responsible for Duggan’s death. He had convinced himself that Duggan’s man in California had confessed Duggan’s involvement and that Papineau had called for his grisly murder.

  Now, he knew none of that was true.

  ‘It wasn’t you, was it?’ Cobb asked.

  Papineau said nothing. He was suddenly struck by the full magnitude of what he had learned. He had no idea that he was being tracked – by a former associate, no less. But Copeland knew. Copeland obviously knew. And when his boss sensed a threat, he took care of it immediately. Anyone who learned of Copeland’s involvement would be silenced forever.

  It was only a matter of time before Copeland would turn against him.

  Papineau didn’t have a choice. He had to strike first.

  For that to happen, he would need help.

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ Papineau finally answered. ‘But I know who it was.’

  ‘Who?’ Cobb demanded.

  Papineau had been given permission to string Cobb along, to lure him in with assurances that he would someday meet the man pulling the strings, but that timeline had changed. Papineau knew he would have to give up more information than that if he hoped to weather this storm.

  Copeland pushed him from one direction.

  Now Cobb pushed back from another.

  The time had come to make a choice.

  ‘I’ll give you his name,’ Papineau said, ‘but you must promise me one thing.’

  ‘Name it,’ Cobb growled.

  ‘When you meet him, you have to kill him.’