Book of Cures (A Thomas McAlister Adventure 2)

by Hunt Kingsbury

  The day he’d met Lisa, he’d been in the Caribbean, scuba-diving on an underwater structure, thought to be man-made, called the Bimini Road. In 1938, Edgar Cayce had predicted such a structure would be found, and in 1968 it was.

  After meeting at a bar, Lisa had decided to crew on his boat while finishing her dissertation. She was getting her doctorate in marine biology at the University of Miami.

  In the beginning, McAlister had been successful at viewing her objectively, as a genderless graduate student, but he remembered the day that had changed.

  Lisa was a tall Irish girl, over 5 feet 9 inches, from California. The edges of her dark hair were tinged the color of honey by the Caribbean sun. Well into her marine research, she had become Indian brown. McAlister had met her between sets at a pub called Rotten Ralph’s Saloon, in Nassau, where he’d been playing blues guitar a few nights a week. At that time, she was wearing a ring given to her by a boyfriend back in California.

  One day while they were sitting and talking in the boat’s saloon, McAlister received an email from a man who had been referred to him by an old friend. The e-mailer wanted to talk about going after a lost treasure.

  It had been a scorching day, windless, and Lisa was wearing the faded red bikini she always wore when it was that hot.

  “Lisa, come here and tell me what you think about this note.” She’d peered over his shoulder at the computer screen. As she did, he’d felt the warm heaviness of her breast on the back of his shoulder--another innocent touch like so many others he’d been growing increasingly aware of.

  She read the email and went back to sit at the galley table, the only surface big enough for her to spread her work out to the degree a doctorate student needs to.

  She crossed her legs and smiled quizzically. “It’s hard for me to tell you what I think you should do next without knowing what you do for a living.”

  It wasn’t a question. Prior to this, she hadn’t pushed, and McAlister hadn’t volunteered. She had moved aboard to save rent money, and had only wanted assurance that McAlister wasn’t married, particularly interested in her, or involved in anything illegal. He had assured her he was a researcher, like herself, but left it at that.

  “I mean, you’ve told me playing guitar at Rotten Ralph’s is not covering dock expenses, and this is one hell of a big motor-sailor. So I guess I’m inclined to say if there’s an opportunity you should take it, just for the chance to make a little money.

  “On the other hand, you don’t seem that worried about money. When you’re not fishing or working on the boat, you spend most of your free time reading Tibetan history or books about someone named Edward Beale. So you tell me, aside from playing guitar, what the hell do you do for a living?”

  After only a slight hesitation, he’d pushed his chair back and said, “I was a dedicated professor of Egyptology at a major university, and I got fired for teaching an unapproved curriculum. I found myself with a lot of free time on my hands, and I stumbled onto a clue. The clue led me to a certain biblical treasure. It didn’t...belong to anyone, no one would miss it, and taking it wasn’t illegal. I found it, brought it back to the States, sold it, and I’m currently living off the money from the sale.”

  “Is that how you bought this boat?” She was referring to the forty-five foot motor-sailor they were sitting in, a Beneteau that was oddly named The Moses Riddle.

  “I invested most of what I made. Left some in cash and bought this boat. I try to live off the interest, the cash I set aside, and my meager income.” He smiled. “But she’s a beast to maintain. Right now my cash supply is dwindling, I don’t want to dip into the principal, and frankly, I’m getting a little anxious. No--antsy would be a better word.

  “Anyway, treasure hunting is my passion. It’s what every archeologist wants to do when he grows up.”

  Lisa listened with a level, assessing gaze. He continued.

  “After I was fired, I made it my life’s goal to find the ten greatest lost treasures. About three-quarters of the planet is covered by water, so there’s a limited amount of earth. In recorded history, there have been a total of twenty- to thirty-billion people who have inhabited the earth. Many made or found very valuable artifacts.

  “Most of the valuable objects are in museums, banks, or private collections, but a few of them are still out there--temporarily lost. People hide them and then die, or entrust them to the wrong people. Or things are stolen, or sink when a ship goes down. I’ve decided to look for all of it. Since looking for these things is expensive, I’m trying to go in order of value.” He shrugged. “That’s my job.”

  “Isn’t it difficult? I mean, aren’t people already looking for most of the stuff?”

  “Yes. In many cases, people are already looking. If you’re extremely lucky, there’s a map or a code that might give you direction. Sometimes there are just general descriptions. Most often there is nothing but lore, and you have to learn as much as you can about the person who had the object last.”

  “Is that what you’re doing now? With Beale?”

  “For the last six months, I’ve been doing research in two areas. The first is learning more about an ancient Tibetan healing book called the Blue Beryl. People who know about the book and have studied its history believe that it can cure any ill.

  “The second thing I’ve been researching is the life of Edward Beale. He left three ciphers that should lead to a treasure trove of gold and silver. He used the Declaration of Independence as the key for one, and I think he used a similar one-page cipher for the others. Unless you have the key, the codes are unbreakable.

  “I’ve tried brute force code-breaking with computers. I’ve consulted with some of the world’s top code-breakers, mathematical geniuses, but we can’t get a foothold. So I’m trying to find out more about Beale’s life. Learn about his interests, friends, and associates. So far, I’ve gotten some vague leads, but nothing even close to what I’d need for the project to move forward. Finding the Blue Beryl is far more important.”

  “So your guitar playing is just a hobby, and your worrying over expenses is just talk?”

  Thomas smiled. “Well, the mooring fees here are a little high, don’t you think?”

  Lisa smiled too as she walked over to the cooler and took out a bottle of Harpoon Ale. Before letting the lid fall, she looked at Thomas with raised eyebrows.

  “No thanks, got one already.” As she walked back to the table, the strings at the sides of the bikini swung smoothly back and forth like the bar of a metronome. In the history of bikinis, it was one of the more risqué styles. The knots on the sides were tied shoestring-style. As the day wore on, they could loosen and come undone, creating an embarrassing situation for the wearer and anyone who happened to be nearby.

  McAlister had noticed Lisa always double-knotted hers. But that day they were tied with only a single knot. Later, he’d found out why.

  McAlister smiled, remembering that day, the day it all changed with Lisa.

  The stream water was cool and soothing. He took another drink of the wine while the water continued to rehabilitate his feet, which were sore and swollen from working in the cramped catacombs. The pipe tobacco complemented the wine.

  He was close enough to Lhasa to get a few bars on the pre-paid wireless phone that Dr. Bertram had picked up for him. He decided to take the chance. They’d probably be listening, but right then he didn’t care. She picked up after the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel.

  “Lisa, it’s Thomas.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

  “I’m just calling to check on you. I can’t talk long. I’m calling to say I love you.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you so much. When do you think you’ll . . . be able to come back? The police have been here almost every minute. They’re outside on the street now.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t know. Can’t say.”

  She was silent. He knew that she was crying but trying to hide it.

  He said, “I love you, and I’ll see you soon, darling.”

  She answered “I love you,” and McAlister closed his phone and turned it off.

  He took a final drink of the wine and slid the cork back in. He and Bertram needed to discuss what they were going to do next, but when he went back over to the camp, Bertram was sound asleep.

  They hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep since leaving New York. He’d been pushing Bertram hard. He smiled, thinking of Lisa’s feline face, and then set his watch alarm to go off in four hours.

  Chapter 31

  For Elmo Fisher, posing as Dr. Bertram had been a difficult assignment, but what happened the next day made him proud. He’d never considered himself a persuasive conversationalist. He could pull, tease, and coax information out of any computer in the world, but he couldn’t argue his way out of a paper bag. His debate skills had further diminished over the years because his partner, DJ Warrant, was so doggedly convincing.

  But beginning the following morning, before sunrise, he’d used all his persuasive powers to convince McAlister that it was Ming Wu who’d used his knife to assassinate fellow soldier Hai Cai.

  He’d laid out all the facts and reminded McAlister that Hai Cai had gone AWOL after the engagement. When he was through, McAlister agreed that Bertram was right, that was the most likely scenario.

  Next, Elmo explained to McAlister that he was on the research technology committee at NYU, and that through his work on the committee, he was privy to an incredible database called the ICD, or Inter-Continental Database. It was a name that Elmo had made up, but he liked it so much that he planned to propose it to the real team when he returned home.

  Once McAlister understood the database and what it could provide, he was supportive of Elmo going alone to the Archival Library in Lhasa to see if he could find out whether anyone named Hai Cai had surfaced outside of Tibet shortly after the incursion.

  Then McAlister ate a Snickers bar, drank a quart of water, and left their camp to spend more time exploring the catacombs to see if they’d missed anything.

  Elmo slunk through the narrow lanes of Lhasa on his way to the Archival Library, always watching for Detective O’Brian, whom he knew was prowling the streets in search of them. He met the librarian just as he was opening the door to the library at 8 a.m.

  Elmo estimated he could cut his search time by 300 to 400 percent if he first wrote a simple computer program that would help him focus his search on countries west of Tibet.

  He’d completed the program by 8:20 a.m. He leaned back in his chair, looked around to make sure no one was nearby, took a sip of the strong coffee he’d brought with him, then clicked “run.”

  The program began sorting through records. The database predicted it would be done in five minutes, but it took only three. When it stopped running, it had located one thousand Cais, but only three Hai Cais whose lineage could be traced to the country and time period Elmo had specified. Elmo was surprised at the low number, so he ran the query again. Another three minutes passed. Same result.

  Clearly, while Cai was a popular name in China, it was not popular in the countries to the west. Additionally, there were less people in the world in 1751, and even at that time the Chinese government did not grant many visas.

  The database indicated that one of the Cais settled for a time in Ankara, Turkey, but then moved on to France. Elmo made a note to add France to his next query. The other two men had gone to India and Russia.

  Using the database, Elmo was able to trace and follow each person’s forward genealogy. The man who had settled in Russia had had a daughter who died at a young age. After her death, there was no one to carry on the family name, and that lineage died.

  The man who had settled in Turkey now had a large and diverse family tree, but they had all settled within a one-hundred mile radius of Delhi, India. If he and McAlister needed to investigate them, it would be easy, since they were so geographically concentrated.

  Elmo turned his attention to the man whose name had come up first, the one who’d gone to France. France was a long way to go from Tibet, but it was the type of journey someone might make if they were running from something.

  This Hai Cai had surfaced in Ankara, Turkey, stayed there for five years, and then traveled to France. He had died in Paris in 1865. He’d lived through the French Revolution and died just after the American Civil War. Elmo did not know his birth date, but if he’d been twenty during the time of the incursion in 1751, that would have made him 105 years old when he died.

  His only son, Su Cai, also had one child, a boy named Nuan. Su Cai lived in France before moving to the United States, ultimately dying at the age of 101. Elmo double-checked his math but it again showed an impressive lifespan of 101 years.

  Elmo opened another Internet browser, logged onto a more standard government database and ran a mortality rate algorithm for nineteenth-century United States citizens. He found that the average life span was 42. Su Cai and his family were living over twice as long as the average human during that time period.

  In 1860, after his father’s death, Su Cai showed up on the manifest of the Empress of Japan while it was being used as a passenger ship bound for New York City. Elmo checked the digitized Ellis Island online records, and sure enough, Su Cai was there, signed in officially as Mr. Su Cai, written in French.

  Elmo then moved forward in time, accessing the New York State database, and found that Cai’s son, Nuan Cai, third descendent of Hai Cai from Tibet, now had an address in Manhattan. Nuan Cai had been born in 1910 and was now 97. Yet another extraordinary life span for a Cai family member.

  Elmo clicked the box next to this man’s name and then clicked on the “More Detail” icon. For the first time since he’d arrived, the computer paused, and an hourglass appeared on the screen. Elmo checked to see if he’d lost his Internet connection, but it was still live, so he waited.

  Finally, the hourglass disappeared, and a message popped up on his screen. The words

  RESTRICTED ACCESS

  blinked at him in bold, red type. Directly below were spaces to enter a username and password.

  This was a first. He’d consulted on the design of this system, and the passcode and username he’d used to log in should have given him full, unrestricted access. Someone had entered the database without his knowledge and put in an extra layer of security around Mr. Nuan Cai.

  Elmo was an experienced cryptologist, but with blank username and password fields, there were no clues to help him get a toehold. He’d have to resort to one of his brute force programs, randomly throwing as many computer-generated combinations as he could at the security screen in as short a time as possible, hoping that one would work.

  Thousands of brute force programs existed. Creating them was a favorite pastime of computer programmers who like cryptology. Elmo had three of the National Security Agency’s best programs loaded on his computer. His computer did not possess anywhere near the processing power of one of the NSA’s mainframes, but it was outfitted with the fastest prototype processors available to government labs.

  The three latest code-breaking programs Elmo had were Excelsior, The LazyR, and Ganglion Mass. Excelsior was the oldest, and therefore the least effective. Ganglion was the newest program the NSA had developed that would run on a laptop.

  Elmo moved the well-worn eraser head-style mouse on his laptop so that the cursor hovered over the icon for Excelsior. He double-clicked; the program opened and began to throw millions of alphanumeric combinations at the username and password fields. In five minutes, Excelsior was finished. It had been unsuccessful. LazyR took ten minutes to come back unsuccessful; Ganglion, fifteen.

  Combined, the three code-breaking programs had tried billions of combinations. That would’ve broken into 98% of the entire username password programs in the world. Whoever had created this one was a pro.
Elmo decided to call Harvey Weintraub, his friend who managed the mainframe cipher division at the NSA, to get some help.

  Before removing his phone from his backpack, he carefully looked around the library. The only person present was a Tibetan girl who seemed to be in her twenties. She was sitting at a table behind Elmo. When he looked back, she displayed no interest in what he was doing. She had a stack of books in front of her that she seemed to be studying. Elmo didn’t give her a second thought.

  Certain it was safe, he pulled the phone from the hidden compartment in his backpack. He turned it on, walked over to a private reading area near a window, and dialed the NSA operator. If anyone on earth could get him through this security screen, it was Harvey Weintraub.

  Chapter 32

  After a long day of digging in the catacombs, McAlister returned to camp. His search had been fruitless. He was tired, frustrated, hungry and dirty.

  When he arrived, he found that Bertram had picked up bottled water, dinner, two Coca-Colas and a six-pack of beer.

  McAlister took a beer, toasted Bertram, drank half, then said, “No luck today. Shovel-full after shovel-full of mud. Other than a few small pottery shards I sifted out, I think the breastplate and dagger were the only things of substance down there. I hope you had more luck with your database.”

  “I did well today. The IDC database is an incredible repository. I was able to identify three men named Hai Cai who surfaced West of Tibet within one month of the incursion at the Potalla Palace. I can find no previous records for any of the three men. It took me hours to trace their lineages. It all boils down to this…” he paused and took a drink of his beer.

  “Yes?”

  “Number one Hai Cai died with no descendants to carry on his name. Number two Hai Cai had about one hundred descendants, all living within a one-hundred mile radius of Delhi, India.

  “Number three Hai Cai first moved to Turkey, then on to Paris, and lived to be 105. His son was named Su Cai. Su Cai lived to be 101. Su traveled to America in 1895--went in through Ellis Island. His signature was in the Ellis Island database. He had one son, Nuan. Nuan Cai is still alive. Guess where he's living?”