The Thieves of Legend

by Richard Doetsch

  “Well, if you feel like driving that boat out of here when we leave, I have no problem with it,” Busch said.

  “Seriously?” Jon asked with a half-smile.

  “Fine with me,” Michael said. “As long as KC’s okay, I don’t care what happens to any of the ships.”

  It was less than four minutes before they spotted their boat up ahead, unlit, looking more like a large outcropping, but as they got closer, pulling adjacent to the ship, Busch’s eyes filled with concern. “Oh, shit.”

  And that’s when they saw the second boat directly behind it, at anchor.

  Michael leaped from the Zodiac, Busch behind him, guns drawn.

  Michael scrambled up on deck and ran through the doors, through the salon down into the stateroom, but KC wasn’t there.

  “KC?” Michael called out.

  And as the seconds ticked by, dread began to fill his heart. He raced around the lower level, up to the main salon, but there was no one there.

  KC was gone.

  “Nĭ hāo. Wŏmen de yìsi shì nĭ de shānghài,” Simon said in Chinese, greeting the large man and his companions, telling them he meant no harm.

  The men didn’t respond, the tension in the room palpable. Their eyes turned to the large man who was painting.

  “If you meant no harm,” the robust man responded in Chinese as he pointed to Simon’s holstered pistol, “why do you come bearing weapons?”

  “Protection from the unknown,” Simon answered.

  “Are you afraid of the unknown?” The man laid down his brush.

  “No, just cautious, prepared.”

  “Your friend beside you arrived two days ago.” The man stood from his chair; he was nearly as large as Busch. “He said he meant us no harm, yet one of his men killed one of our friends.”

  Simon looked at Lucas. “He said a member of your team killed one of his men.”

  “It was an accident.” Lucas bowed his head in contrition. “You can tell him that the man who committed the act has died.”

  “How?”

  “He was the man you shot from your boat when you sailed upriver.”

  Simon turned back to the man and continued in Chinese, “I’m sorry, as is Colonel Lucas. He wants you to know the man who killed your friend is dead.”

  “An exchange of death should give no man comfort.” The large man shook his head.

  “My name is Simon.”

  “San Bao.” The man’s robust voice echoed in his chest.

  “Are you a man of faith?” Simon asked, looking at his mode of dress.

  “I believe in many things, if that’s what you mean.” San Bao smiled. “Are you a man of faith?”

  “I am a priest.”

  “Yet you travel with a gun.”

  Simon nodded. “I never said I was a saint.”

  San Bao smiled broadly, his face relaxing, which seemed to ease the tension of the other men in the room.

  “Is your name truly San Bao… ?” Simon asked.

  The man shook his head and smiled. “Your friend who has no idea what we are saying asked the same question.”

  “Are you a monk?”

  “Just a man.”

  “You’ve been here a long time?” Simon looked around the room. It was simple: Shelves lined the wall, porcelain jars dotted with various inks and paints covering their surfaces. There was a large window facing the waterfall, the image seeming like something out of a dream.

  “I’ve been here the majority of my life.”

  “Then you know this island better than anyone who’s read a book.”

  “Depends on the book.”

  “Is this Penglai?” Simon asked.

  “Ah, children’s books. For a man of the cloth you sound like you believe that the legends are reality as opposed to allegory. You are a Christian?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you found a beautiful garden with an apple tree in the middle and a snake within its branches, would you assume that was Eden?”

  “Point taken,” Simon said. “A woman with us is infected by the Dragon’s Breath.”

  “For how long?”

  “Five days. She is dying.”

  “Life is finite,” San Bao said.

  “Is it?” Simon said as he looked at the man, allowing the question to linger. “There is someone else coming to this island, and he is dangerous.”

  “It’s getting very crowded on this island.”

  “That man is also poisoned and seeks the cure you used on this man, but I’m afraid his methods of procuring it will be violent.”

  San Bao stared at Simon. “There is a cure, but only enough for one, it is all that remains. Your friend arrived infected, came with guns, demanded to be cured, and as I just told you, one of his men killed my friend before we cured him. He is a man of war; when he leaves this island, will he be bringing death to others? Imagine when a man of medicine saves a murderer, and that murderer kills again. Is the man of medicine culpable? Does he have blood on his hands because he saved an agent of death?”

  “This woman is innocent,” Simon said, “as kind and giving as anyone I have ever known. By saving her, you will make the world a better place. I will not take this cure from you, but I will beg you…”

  San Bao stared at Simon.

  Outside, in the distance, gunfire erupted.

  BUSCH TURNED THE Zodiac around and drove upstream; no one said a word as they tied up to the dock and cut the engine. The world around them was silent; the sounds of jungle wildlife had disappeared as if something dangerous, more vicious had arrived. And then shots rang out, bursts of gunfire, coming from the deck of the naval ship, shattering the night.

  Michael ran up against the hull of the naval boat, taking cover as Busch and Jon raced for the woods.

  And as quickly as the gunfire had started, it stopped. There was no movement, no voices, just the lapping of the water against the hull of the boat. Michael held tightly to his gun, craned his neck up, and peered onto the deck to see nothing but death.

  Lucas’s men lay motionless on the steel-gray deck, a pool of blood forming around them, their heads lying at their sides, separated from their bodies.

  “He’s here,” Michael whispered into his microphone as he ducked back down.

  But Michael fell to silence when he saw Simon and Lucas emerge from the temple, guns at their backs, stripped of their weapons, escorted by two men. And he heard the footstep behind him.

  Michael turned to see a large Asian, dressed in black, two-fisting a Sig Sauer at him.

  FLAMES DANCED TO life aboard the Chinese junk, their orange glow painting the night, casting enormous shadows along the water.

  Xiao sat in a large ornate captain’s chair, his shirt off, the horrific tattoos on his body seeming alive in the glow of the dancing firelight. Behind him, lying upon the deck, was KC, her eyes closed, her body shivering. Annie stood above her, her eyes bloodshot and sallow as she pointed her pistol at KC’s head.

  Michael, Simon, and Lucas were forced across the deck at gunpoint by Xiao’s three men.

  Xiao and Lucas locked eyes, a world of hate flowing between them.

  “You look a breath away from death,” Isaac Lucas said.

  Xiao stood up and circled his brother. Though his face was pale and blood was encrusted about his nostrils, he showed no sign of pain in his movements. In his left hand dangled his jian, which he held close to his side as he appraised his brother. “Despite your survival, I think you’re closer to death than I.”

  “Maybe, but you won’t be far behind me.” Lucas smiled.

  “Was there anyone else in the temple?” Xiao said to his men, who silently shook their heads in response.

  “Well”—Xiao turned back to Lucas—“seeing your condition, it’s here and you didn’t just find it on your own. So, before you make me resort to the things that bring me pleasure, why don’t you tell me where the Phoenix Tears are?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Not a chance.”

 
“Oh, there’s every chance—”

  Without warning, two gunshots exploded from the jungle and one of Xiao’s guards fell dead upon the deck.

  BUSCH AND JON were at the jungle’s edge, Busch’s eye tucked in the scope of a rifle, Jon holding tight to his HK.

  They had leaped from the Zodiac when the gunfire erupted on the naval ship, splitting off from Michael into the jungle only to emerge and see Michael, Simon, and Lucas being escorted across the dock and up onto the Chinese junk.

  They quickly took up position fifty yards away under the safety of the jungle canopy, Busch kicking out the legs of the sniper rifle, adjusting the scope as Jon called out the targets.

  “Three guards.”

  “One down.” Busch lined up his sight and with a single bullet took the man down with ease.

  Busch spun the gun sight onto Annie, who was ducking down, scanning the jungle, her gun still pointed at KC. “Smile for me, you bitch—”

  And out of the corner of his eye, Busch saw Jon turning his gun on him. Without a thought, Busch let go of his rifle and grabbed the barrel of Jon’s gun, thrusting it upward as he drove his fist into Jon’s face, crushing his massive weight into the blow, sending the younger man to the jungle floor. Busch was enraged that Jon had used them, pissed off that he hadn’t listened to his instincts and dumped him back on the mainland.

  But Jon quickly recovered, rolling back. Though he was dazed, his left foot snapped out and caught Busch in the ribs, a loud crack echoing through the jungle. He spun in and delivered a quick series of jabs and strikes, pummeling Busch’s head and torso, quick, precise, each blow placed to slowly take the larger man down.

  Busch hated martial arts: the elegant dancelike moves, the philosophy behind each kick or punch. He preferred street fighting, boxing, and brute force. Now, he unleashed it all, his fury pouring through his fists. He drove Jon back, pounding upon him with blow after blow. And though Jon was able to block every other punch, it didn’t matter, for Busch’s six-foot-four size leveraged through blows that made contact, weakened him, driving him back into the ground.

  “You son of a bitch,” Busch said as he stood over Jon, catching his breath as he stared down at the bloodied man. He looked up to see the deck of the Chinese junk empty except for the dancing flames; everyone had run for cover.

  And as he looked back down, he cursed himself for not listening to his instincts, for allowing his judgment to be clouded—and cursed himself again, for Jon had slipped away.

  XIAO GRABBED KC by the hair and hoisted her up into a headlock, his other hand holding the jian to her throat. He dragged her across the deck, her feet struggling to keep up.

  “If your friend takes one more shot, she dies.”

  Michael turned to the woods, held up his hands, and shook his head. Annie and the two surviving guards were ten feet behind Michael, Simon, and Lucas, their guns forcing them to follow Xiao down the gangway.

  Jon appeared on the dock, his face bloodied as he walked past everyone to Annie. “Are you okay?”

  Annie shook her head, her once-dark eyes fading, her face filled with pain.

  Xiao stared at Jon. “You’ve betrayed everyone: me, them, even Annie. I think your death is the one thing we could all agree on. But… not yet.”

  “Isaac,” Xiao said. “Please take me to the man who cured you or I will start killing these people, starting with this lovely blonde.”

  CHAPTER 60

  They walked up the white walkway and entered the temple. Xiao’s two guards and Jon fanned out down the halls in search.

  “Incredible,” Xiao said. “A monument to the past, how touching.”

  Moments later, the guards led four Chinese men through the central chamber to Xiao.

  “Which of you controls the Phoenix Tears?” Xiao asked in Chinese.

  The four similarly dressed men stayed silent, eyes cast down.

  “None of these is the man in charge,” Xiao barked at his men. He turned to Lucas and switched to English. “Where is he?”

  “I have no idea,” Lucas said.

  “We searched every room,” one of Xiao’s men said.

  “Except that one,” Xiao said as he pointed at the three rear doors and began walking, everyone following him. Unlike the palaces within the Forbidden City, the rear doors of the structure did not open to another courtyard; they led to a flame-lit cavern, a tunnel that crawled back into the volcanic mountain.

  As they passed through the center doorway into a dark tunnel, it became clear the passage had not been excavated but rather had been there for hundreds if not thousands of years. It was a volcanic vent, the walls and ceiling like black glass, made of rapidly cooled lava. The torches reflected off the black obsidian like a mirror, refracting about the space in an eerie manner.

  As Michael looked up, he could see stars in the ceiling sparkling, winking at him. And he knew what he was staring at; this being a volcanic vent, a passage into the depths of the planet, it was dotted with diamonds, like the great mines of Africa; it was within the tubes of volcanoes where the rich man’s crystal was carried up from the depths.

  They continued forward until the tunnel opened up into a large cavern, a dead end where a clear pool of water rested on the far side, smooth as glass.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jon said. “So, what? He just swam away?”

  “Who?” Xiao asked.

  “Zheng He.”

  Xiao didn’t react as he released KC. Michael raced toward her, but the guards held him back as Xiao walked about the cavern.

  Isaac Lucas looked at Annie. “You’re infected, too?”

  Annie stared at Lucas but remained silent.

  “Did you think you were working for me, for the U.S. government?” Lucas asked in a whisper.

  Annie’s silence answered his question.

  “He used you, manipulated you,” Lucas said, trying to get Annie to react. “And he’s going to kill you. I know the pain you are in; I was infected. The pain gets far worse. Look at her.”

  Lucas pointed at KC, who lay on the rocky ground next to them, shivering, her face pale.

  “You should both know that the Phoenix Tears exist, but there is only enough to save one life, and my brother has never been very good at sharing.”

  “Isaac,” Xiao shouted from across the cavern as he stood before the pool of water. “Is that where he went?”

  “That pain’s feeling real good,” Isaac replied. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “You decide who you want me to kill first,” Xiao threatened.

  It was a long moment as everyone looked at Isaac.

  “Yes,” Lucas relented. “That’s where he went.”

  “I’ll go,” Jon quickly volunteered.

  “No, you get back to the entrance and make sure no one else comes in here,” Xiao ordered, then looked at Simon. “You, priest, you’re going. You and St. Pierre. You find this man Jon thinks is Zheng He and you bring him back with the Phoenix Tears or I’ll start killing everyone, starting with her.” Xiao pointed his sword at KC.

  “And in case there is any doubt…” Xiao grabbed one of San Bao’s men from behind and drove his blade through his back, its bloody tip exploding out of his belly. Xiao withdrew the jian and kicked the dying man into the water, blood spilling around him. “Just in case there is any doubt how I will do it.”

  Michael muscled past the guard, trying to get to KC, but the guard grabbed him violently about the neck.

  “Let him go,” Xiao barked. “Let him speak to her, she’s his only motivation.”

  Michael tore out of the man’s grasp and knelt at KC’s side. Her eyes were at half-mast, her body shivering. “Hey.”

  “Hey back,” KC whispered.

  “You need to hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  KC’s eyes opened fully and she forced a smile. “Don’t be late.”

  “I don’t think I need to emphasize the urgency,” Xiao interrupted. “And be sure he brings a vial of whatever cure
d my brother. If not, you might as well stay on the other side.”

  MICHAEL AND SIMON stripped off their shoes, socks, and shirts; the pool was nearly fifty feet wide and seventy feet across. The cavern ceiling sloped down sharply on the far side, descending until it met the surface. Reflections of torchlight danced along the water, reflecting up to illuminate the black volcanic rock, creating an eerie glow that portended something dark on the other side.

  They had no idea where they were going, how deep, how far, or if the pool would just lead to an airtight pocket where they would drown.

  Michael flipped on his flashlight, dipped it in the water to confirm it was waterproof, and began swimming out. Simon was behind him as they approached the far wall.

  “How’re your lungs?” Michael asked.

  “Nothing like yours, but they’ll hold.”

  Michael ducked his head underwater and shined the light around. The pool was far deeper than he had imagined, at least seventy-five feet down, its bottom a black mirror image of above, with the sparkle of diamonds refracting the light’s beam. He swam down ten feet and held his position; the water was cool, fresh, and crystal-clear. He looked about, studying the wall until he found it.

  “Okay,” Michael said as he surfaced. “There’s a tunnel, more like a tube, about fifteen feet down. You ready?”

  Simon nodded as they both began to hyperventilate, clearing their lungs, expelling as much CO2 as they could, inhaling air in gulps, and with a final intake, they dived down.

  The beam of Michael’s light pierced the water as they descended. Simon was a body length behind Michael, following as Michael disappeared into a narrow tunnel. It was no more than five feet in diameter, an old lava tube, and it felt like swimming through someone’s dark nightmare. The tube went on and on, twenty-five feet, fifty feet… seventy-five. Michael’s light danced about as he pulled and kicked through the water, unable to keep the beam pointed straight. At one hundred feet, Michael began to feel the burn in his lungs; it was low, but he knew it would grow quickly and would spread to his head. But Michael was not concerned for himself. Simon was at least ten years his senior, and while he was in great shape, swimming was not his strong suit.