The Thieves of Legend

by Richard Doetsch

  Michael pulled and kicked with everything he had, but there was no end in sight, the tube seeming to go on forever. And it suddenly occurred to him: What if there was no other passage, what if they were swimming to nowhere? As the fire in his lungs began to burn and dots appeared in front of his eyes, he knew they were past the 150 mark, there was no chance of turning back—and if an exit didn’t appear soon they would both drown.

  XIAO TURNED TO his two guards. “Keep your eyes on the water. As soon as they surface, kill St. Pierre and the priest, but be sure not to harm the man they bring,” Xiao said.

  “No,” KC screamed, her anguished voice filling the cavern.

  “Get her out of here,” Xiao said to Annie. “Toss her in one of the rooms to die, and come back here.”

  “What if she tries to escape?” Annie asked.

  Xiao looked at KC in her weakened state, her eyes barely open. “She’s having enough trouble just trying to stay alive.”

  “No, Michael,” KC screamed as Annie took her by the arm, pulling her to her feet, and dragged her away.

  AN ORANGE GLOW appeared up ahead. With his lungs on fire, Michael wasn’t sure if it was an illusion or the manifestation of his pain. He dropped the flashlight and kicked and pulled with everything he had, emerging from the tunnel into another open pool, and made for the surface, his head breaking the water, gasping, coughing, and relishing the air. Two seconds later, Simon burst to the surface.

  “My God,” Simon gasped. “And we have to head back the same way?”

  As Michael crawled out of the water, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The cavern was lit in flame: Torches lined the walls, their orange light dancing about the large open area. The ceiling was nearly fifty feet high, and on the rear wall was another temple, smaller than the one outside but equally exquisite, with sweeping roofs and dragon-capped corners, its red walls appearing like fire under the torches’ glow.

  As Michael and Simon climbed up out of the water, San Bao emerged from the building. He was dressed in loose-fitting black pants and a shirt.

  “They have your men,” Simon said quickly in Chinese.

  San Bao nodded.

  “They have killed one already. He said if we don’t bring you back with the Phoenix Tears, he will kill the rest of them and our friends.”

  Without a word, San Bao walked into the small structure and emerged with a small white porcelain jar.

  “As I said, there is only enough for one,” San Bao told Simon.

  “We’ll have to worry about that when we get to the other side,” Simon said.

  BUSCH STOOD OUTSIDE in the nighttime shadows of the Chinese junk. He had watched helplessly from the jungle as his friends were marched into the temple and disappeared.

  With his rifle on his back and a Sig Sauer gripped tight in his hand, he had slipped into the temple and had gone from room to room, but found no one there. The echo of voices came through the black tunnel that sat at the back of the temple; he approached but knew it was certain death to enter, coming up against who knew how many bullets as he emerged on the other side.

  So he had gone back up to the ships to formulate a plan.

  Suddenly Jon appeared, emerging from the temple door, his gun held high as he began to look about. Busch stayed in the shadows as he watched him walk across the courtyard, along the dock, and up the plank onto the Japanese warship. Jon looked over the rail, shining his flashlight around before slipping below deck.

  Busch quietly boarded the ship, and with his gun held before him, made his way across the deck. He removed the rifle from his back, tucking it behind a deck storage box, and followed Jon into the ship. Busch did everything in his power to resist shooting the man, as he knew that somehow there was a way to use him to his advantage.

  Noise resounded from the forward hold. Busch made his way down the hall and peered inside to find Jon removing the lid from a large wooden crate, the sixty-five-year-old nails groaning in protest. Jon laid the wooden lid on the ground, and as he shined his flashlight inside the crate, the room exploded in light, the beam refracting off bars of gold. Busch could see Jon’s smile in the golden light, his body filling with excitement as he moved from box to box, lifting the lids to find the same sight. There were hundreds of similar crates, filling the entire forward hold.

  “This was all about the gold for you,” Busch said as he aimed his gun at Jon. “Convincing everyone you were pro-America, convincing your girlfriend you were trying to save her, convincing us you had switched sides.”

  “Do you know what this is?” Jon said as kept looking through the boxes, never looking Busch’s way. “This cache was one of those military legends of lost riches like Hitler’s gold, Alexander’s tomb—the only difference is, this is real.”

  “And you and Annie, you’ve been together all along?”

  “Help me kill Xiao and his men and I’ll give you as much of this as you can cart out of here,” Jon said as he turned and looked Busch’s way.

  “What about Annie?”

  “What about her?”

  “You stopped me from killing her; I saw the two of you together. She looks as sick as KC.”

  “And she is, but there is only enough cure for one. Help me kill Xiao and you can have the cure for KC, you can save her.”

  “You’d give Annie up that easily?”

  Jon looked at the crates and nodded.

  Busch stepped back into the hall as Jon came out of the hold.

  “Keep your hands out,” Busch said.

  “Don’t you trust me?” Jon said as he pointed the flashlight at Busch while keeping his other hand open and away from the gun in his holster.

  “Never have,” Busch said as they emerged on the ship’s deck. “Never will.”

  “Smart,” Jon said as he hurled his flashlight at Busch, startling him. Jon immediately leaped into a roundhouse kick, his foot catching the distracted Busch in the hand, knocking his gun from his grasp. Jon spun around, but instead of striking Busch, he drew his own gun, swinging it up as his finger wrapped the trigger.

  But Busch was ready, his hand reaching out and grabbing the barrel, twisting it away, tearing it from Jon’s grasp. And in a single motion, Busch continued his momentum, picking Jon up, hoisting him over his head. And he threw him over the rail into the lagoon twenty feet below.

  Jon hit the water and immediately scrambled for shore, swimming as fast as he could.

  Busch turned to the storage locker and grabbed his rifle. He flipped out the legs, resting them on the side rail.

  Jon emerged from the lagoon, looked back to see Busch prepping his rifle, and raced toward the temple, running as fast as he could, running for his life.

  But this time, Busch stuck with his instincts; there was no hesitation. He rested his eye in the gun sight, quickly focusing on his target; he held his breath and pulled the trigger.

  THE BULLET CAUGHT Jon in the left side of his chest, heart-high, a perfect kill shot, the force of the bullet driving him back against the red wall of the building. And as he crumpled to the ground, unable to move, the world slowly began to fade. There was no epiphany, no sudden understanding of life or ironic moment when the meaning of it all became clear. His thought was the irony that he had found the treasure his Japanese father, the man who had raped his Chinese mother, had helped amass during World War II, and that no one would ever know he had found Yamashita’s gold.

  SAN BAO ENTERED the water as he tucked the white vial in his pocket.

  “We need to catch our breath before we go again,” Simon said in Chinese.

  “I will meet you on the other side,” San Bao said.

  “Can you do me a favor, though you owe me nothing?” Simon asked. “Can you not give him that medicine yet, at least wait until we arrive?”

  San Bao nodded as he took a single breath and dived under the water.

  CHAPTER 61

  As Annie and KC walked out of the tunnel and into the temple they heard the single gunshot and saw Jon fall down dea
d by the door.

  Annie charged for him, but KC, despite her condition, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.

  “You stick your head out that door, it’s going to get blown off.”

  Annie stared at Jon’s body and relented.

  With no more energy, KC collapsed in the center of the temple’s hall. Her body was wracked with pain, every movement was agony, the feel of the air against her skin like a raw fire, the sound of voices like deafening thunder in her ears.

  Annie sat down beside KC, staring out toward the door where Jon lay dead. Tears formed in her eyes, which she quickly wiped away, trying to keep KC from seeing them.

  “How can you align yourself with Xiao?” KC whispered. “How can you defend him, his false promises? You know we are both going to die. You heard what Lucas said, there is only enough for one.”

  Annie stared at KC.

  “Does that mean Michael has to die, too? Please.” KC looked into Annie’s eyes.

  “Jon is dead,” Annie said, more to herself than to KC.

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “I just thought…” Annie said. “I so wanted to live.”

  “Me, too.” KC nodded, struggling to breathe. Taking a moment to focus. “So after we die, how do you want to be remembered?”

  The moment hung in the air, and Annie laid her gun on the ground.

  “I’m sorry for what I have put you through,” Annie said with her head bowed. “In another life, if things were different, I think we could have been friends.”

  “Well,” KC looked up at Annie, “we’re friends now.”

  Annie looked at KC.

  “Will you save Michael?”

  ANNIE EXITED THE tunnel to find Xiao in conversation with his brother. San Bao’s men were sitting quietly against a wall while the two guards stood at the water’s edge, their guns pointed, ready to shoot.

  “Is she dead?” Xiao called out.

  “Not yet,” Annie said.

  “Jon’s in place?”

  “He’s at the door.” Annie’s words were not a lie.

  There was a sudden rippling of the water and the two guards held their guns tighter, their fingers going to the triggers.

  Annie white-knuckled her pistol, looking around to see everyone’s eyes glued on the water, and slowly began to raise the gun.

  And San Bao broke the surface, quickly climbing out of the water, his breathing remarkably under control for a man who had just swum so far.

  The two guards’ eyes scanned the water, both waiting in anticipation as if it was a contest to get the kill.

  Annie kept her gun ready, but Michael didn’t surface.

  XIAO STARED AT the large man. “You’ve brought what I’ve asked?”

  San Bao held up the porcelain vial.

  Xiao held out his hand. “Give it here.”

  San Bao was hesitant, looking down at Xiao, unmoving.

  And then Xiao whipped his sword up, stopping it an inch from the larger man’s throat. Xiao held out his hand again, and this time San Bao complied.

  Xiao turned to his brother.

  “You just drink it?” Xiao asked.

  “Why?” Isaac said to Xiao. “Everything you’ve done, why?”

  “I was stolen away by our mother, thrust into an alien world while you grew up with our father, with the privileges of America.”

  “You were raised by our mother; you mean to tell me—”

  “She was a haunted shell. Your father… our father sucked the life out of her and then had her killed.”

  “So you killed him,” Isaac said.

  “I merely delivered his deserved fate.”

  Xiao looked at the white bottle, unsealed it, and drank the few drops from within. He waited a moment, expecting to feel something. “How long does it take?”

  “You stole my life!” Isaac yelled at his brother.

  “You have no idea how it repulsed me to wear that uniform. Which reminds me.” Xiao reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He held it out for his brother to see.

  It was the jade and ivory comb their mother had given to Isaac when she had abandoned him as a child, the one he had given to Pamela, which she always wore.

  Isaac’s face filled with rage as Xiao held up his sword.

  “Despite my wearing your suit, your haircut, she knew instantly, as soon as that elevator door opened. I could see the fear on her face. Have you ever watched someone’s eyes as the life escaped them?”

  “You son of a bitch.” Isaac leaped at his brother, but Xiao was quicker, with the reflexes of a man half his age. Isaac scrambled to grab him, but Xiao simply toyed with him, swinging the jian in large graceful arcs.

  “Are you done?” Xiao asked as he stopped in his tracks.

  “Not in the least,” Isaac gasped as he finally got close to his brother.

  “Yes, you are.” And Xiao swung the sword, cutting off his brother’s head.

  GUNFIRE SUDDENLY ERUPTED, bullets skipping across the water, the guards furiously shooting.

  And without hesitation Annie raised her pistol and shot both guards in the backs of their head. They fell down dead at the water’s edge, their guns still clutched in their hands.

  Xiao’s head snapped around at Annie. “I thought you wished to live?”

  “You just drank all there was, so fuck you.”

  Xiao held up his sword. “Do you think you’re quicker than I? Do you think I couldn’t make the ten-foot leap and slice that pretty head from your shoulders before you could shoot me down?”

  Annie smiled. She knew the answer, but her smile was for something entirely different. She was okay with not living to thirty, joining her mother and sister in death, knowing that the last thing she did was to save the life of the man her friend, KC, loved.

  Annie raised her gun, her finger wrapping around the trigger; she much preferred this to the harsh suffering she knew would soon be upon her infected body.

  And from his side, Xiao’s other hand snapped up and fired a single shot from the gun he held. The bullet caught Annie’s forehead. She was dead before she hit the ground.

  BUSCH SLOWLY ENTERED the temple to find KC in the middle of the room, unconscious. He scooped her up from the floor, cradled her like a child, and ran out of the building. Down the courtyard and across the beach he ran, up the gangplank of the closest ship, onto the Chinese junk, and to the captain’s cabin, kicking in the door.

  He laid her on the bed, wiping her blond hair from her face.

  “KC,” he whispered. “Come on, kiddo, you’ve got to hold on. You can’t leave Michael alone. Don’t you dare do it, dammit. He’s counting on you.”

  Busch prayed, he begged, he wished with every part of his being for a miracle. He called on his karma, and his dead father, and every possible intervening force he could think of. And then he realized that he had broken his one rule in life: He had boarded the ship with his right foot. He hoped it wouldn’t destroy the chances of his friend’s survival.

  XIAO TURNED TO the large man who sat silently on the rock.

  “My name is Xiao,” he spoke in Chinese.

  “That is not your birth name,” the large man responded in the same dialect. “That sounds like a name a child would dream up.”

  Xiao suddenly doubled over, wrapping his arms about his tattooed stomach. “Is this how the cure works?”

  San Bao stared at him.

  “What have you done?”

  “You take life; you kill your own brother. And why? What purpose does it serve? Your country, your king, your emperor, your god? None of that. It serves only you. And a man who serves only himself is undeserving of salvation, not only of life on this plane but of life in heaven.

  “Your heart is twisted. I’m sure it is filled with pain from some injustice in your childhood, but men overcome those things, they don’t blame their circumstances on others—on parents, gods, or fate. Men play out the life that is placed before them, overcoming fear, overcoming shame and adver
sity.” San Bao looked straight into Xiao’s eyes. “You are the last person I would give the remedy to.”

  Xiao exploded with rage, raising the sword above his head. “Give me the cure!”

  “I have lived my life, longer and fuller than you could ever dream of doing; I have friends and family awaiting me on the other side. Who awaits you?” He paused. “For you will be dead within minutes from the poison I just gave you, and I believe there is no one awaiting someone like you. You will walk eternity alone.”

  Xiao brought the blade down, flames dancing off its swiftly moving edge as it hurtled toward San Bao’s neck.

  But before the blade made contact, a gun exploded. Xiao was hurled back; the jian skittered out of his hands, his tattooed chest blossoming with blood.

  Michael crawled from the water, gasping for air, clutching the still-smoking gun of the fallen guard who lay by the water. His eyes locked with those of Xiao, who lay upon the ground as his life poured out of the horrific tattooed beast upon his chest.

  Simon emerged moments later to see San Bao walking toward his three surviving friends.

  And without a word, Michael climbed to his feet and raced out of the cavern.

  CHAPTER 62

  Michael charged up the gangplank onto the enormous Chinese junk, heading straight into the captain’s cabin to find KC upon the bed, Busch at her side. As he looked up at Michael, his eyes said the words his lips couldn’t, and he stepped back.

  Michael fell to his knees beside her. KC lay there, her breath shallow, her face pale.

  “Hey,” Michael said, forcing a smile.

  “Hey back,” KC said, pulling the blanket tight around herself. “I’m so sorry…”

  Michael placed his fingers to her lips. “Shhh…”

  “You filled my heart, Michael, you made it whole. Our short time of love was like a lifetime.” KC paused, breathing deep. “I will love you, always and forever.”

  Michael looked down at KC, shocked at her deteriorating state. The color was gone from her face, her once-vibrant green eyes dull like slate, but his love didn’t diminish, for it was her heart that he loved, her warmth, and her unselfish ways of putting others first, of filling a room with laughter and smiles when she entered.