by K. T. Tomb
“OK. Where do we aim?”
Kang pointed at the window to the stars.
“There, the ceiling is weakest.”
Both of them raised their weapons, as another volley of booming shots impacted on their disintegrating cover and the walls above their heads.
“On three!” Kang had to yell over the din, “One…two….Three! FIRE!”
Both men emptied their shotguns into the roof, pumping to reload. On the third joint shot Manny could see the ceiling of the chamber splitting its structural integrity, failing as simply as a house of cards that had been hit by a light breeze.
Rocks tumbled, and men’s voices shouted in panic. Manny dropped the shotgun and, grabbed Kang under the armpits dragging him as close to the wall of the chamber as he could and praying that it would be enough to stop them from being buried.
The world went red, then black.
Manny passed out of time, and everything was good. He forgot where he was. There was no pain in his beaten body. He forgot all concerns about treasure, and about the man he had killed. He forgot about Kang, mysterious and aloof. He forgot that Kang was bleeding out, feet away. He forgot about the men trying to kill him, and he forgot about his grandfather.
An old man’s voice read words he had not heard. Colors blind the eye. Yes, he knew that now. Sounds deafen the ear. Of course, Manny understood. Flavors numb the taste. He had gorged himself, flavors of all types, stupid flavors that he didn’t need. Flavors that hurt others. Thoughts weaken the mind. He thought nothing. Desires wither the heart. He wanted nothing, except to live. And live, and live, and live; and do that to the fullest of his ability. Was he alive? He couldn’t tell in the black nothing that was also red and gold. He was nowhere and everywhere at once, and he felt no pain, or shame, or guilt, or wanting.
Manny came to with an uncomfortable rock nestled in the base of his spine. In his head was the sound of a dozen breaking windows, and he felt slightly pudgy hands moving over him. He tasted the salty iron of his own blood which was running down the side of his face; it reminded him that he had a body, and that it was alive. He opened his eyes to see Quincy searching his pockets. The Governor of Montserrat punched him hard in the face. Quincy was covered in a claying yellow dust, matted blood and sweat, looking like a golem dragged from ancient myth. Manny felt his pocket grow tight against his leg as Quincy shoved his hand in and retrieved the ancient treasure map of Captain Boysie Marlowe.
“You did well finding this place, my friend,” Quincy said, “but you are not the only one who knows of the hidden treasure of Captain Marlowe. There are records in the government offices that go back for generations, with the stories of people who have tried to find it, and failed. Now, before you die, know that you will join them in failure, and I will claim the fortune for myself. Of course, it will be heartbreaking to tell your family, and the leash holders of this Chinese agent, how you tragically died after escaping arrest for the murder of some of your fellow prisoners.”
Quincy studied the map for a moment, then laughed without humor.
“I am unsurprised you made it this far. Of course, that is where it is. Sous frère is the Soufriere Hills Volcano, of course. The theatre, is this place, formed centuries ago when the volcano last erupted. Sleepy Selene…”
He looked up at the exposed sky, and Manny’s sluggish gaze followed his.
“That must be the moon, referring, naturally, to the Goddess Selene; and her bed chamber will be where the moon sets.”
Quincy pulled out a mobile phone, dialed, and spoke briefly into it. Manny was in danger of passing out again, but he was sure that he said something about bringing a vehicle to where they were. Maybe he had passed out again because he was woken by a firm slap to the face. Quincy. He had almost forgotten about that bastard.
“I really should thank you. Your little adventure has cost me some good employees, but on the other hand, with the treasure I’m going to find, I can pay the Cartel, buy more product, and live comfortably for a long time, but I have to know; who are you?”
Quincy actually looked curious. Manny could barely answer.
“My family’s map… Padraig sent me to find it. Stupid idea really.”
Quincy laughed, and drew his pistol, pressing the barrel to Manny’s forehead.
“On that, we are agreed. Goodbye.”
Quincy pulled the trigger. The hammer struck no bullet. His clip was empty. Manny barely noticed Quincy give a disappointed look.
“Alas! Saved from the firing squad. I guess I’ll have to let you die under these rocks instead. I have somewhere I need to be.” Quincy tucked his weapon back in his belt, put the map in his pocket, and walked away.
Manny could not stay conscious any longer, and he retreated to where there was no pain.
Chapter Eleven
Manny woke up suddenly.
He was coughing and had the strange sensation of moving backwards while still lying down. Looking up, he could see Kang, exertion writ large on his face, half his torso was fully covered in his own blood and caked in dust and detritus. The shotgun that Manny had taken from the soldier was now being used as a means to pull him from the debris. His arms were looped over it, with his hands ending up behind his back. It was incredibly uncomfortable.
“Wait, Kang” he said “I can stand, I think.”
With Kang’s help, he got to his feet, and looked around at where they were. Kang had managed to drag him quite a considerable distance despite his injuries. They were now standing close to the lip of the crater that used to be the chamber. The trail of Kang’s blood showed where they had come from, which told Manny he had been out for quite some time. Not two miles away, now in the open air, they could see the ominous shape of the Soufriere Hills volcano, smoking happily into the sky. The moon was now very low, and through a trick of perspective it seemed to be heading into the mouth of a cave, on the upper right hand side of the volcano. The strangest sight was the houses all around them. They were covered in ancient ash which still pulsated with latent heat as if they had not been covered to the roof tops in the pyroclastic flow for over two decades. Here and there street lamps protruded a foot or so from the solidified lava, giving the illusion that perhaps the town was populated by a race of tiny people. In truth, the town was evacuated deserted and dead. He looked at Kang, who was clearly exhausted.
“Thanks, man. You’ve saved my life twice now. I feel bad for thinking you were a bit of a prick.”
Manny tried a grin, but his body was punishing him through every pain receptor available to it. Kang responded weakly.
“Not a problem. I owed you, remember, for coming back for me in that tunnel. Manny, there is something important you must do for me. First, please help me here.”
He pointed to his shoulder.
Peeling back Kang’s shirt, Manny sucked in his breath at the sight of the puncture wound and shredded flesh. Not that he was any kind of expert in gunshot wounds, but it looked pretty bad. Kang seemed to be holding up surprising well, all things considered. Kang instructed him to dust off his shirt, and then tear it into pieces to make a crude compress. With a bit of effort, and Kang’s own button down shirt converted into a makeshift sling, Manny managed to patch him up a little. His hands were now slicked with Kang’s blood.
“Good, now, we must stop this Governor Quincy. I don’t know what he is seeking, but he must not get it.”
Manny looked at him quizzically.
“Why do you care? He’s running dope, so what? His stuff goes to the United States, not China.”
Kang nodded.
“That is true, but China is a new market. Our borders are opening, and there is trade between the opium gangs of China and the cocaine cartels of South America. Money, drugs, and firearms are being traded freely. One branch of the money trail led one of our diplomatic attaches here; to Montserrat. He expected to find a money laundering, or minor distribution network. What he discovered was that the Governor himself was running a major cocaine supply chai
n. You see? The money flows from here to Columbia, cocaine comes back in return and the money, in U.S Dollars, is used to purchase opium and weapons from China. The opium dealers then buy more weapons, and produce more opium. It’s perfect capitalism.”
He managed a wry smile. Manny was taken aback by his frankness. Kang had been so tight lipped before. He had to know more.
“So,who are you, Kang? Who do you work for?”
Kang almost brushed his question off, but then relented.
“Chinese secret service; I came here to protect our diplomat, and put an end to this evil business, if I can. Kang Xiaoping is the diplomat, by now he should be well on his way back home. He is far more important to my country than I am. When we found out that Kang Xiaoping had been uncovered as our source of information, I arrived here in secret, and replaced him. I am the man they send to die for important men. So this is what I must ask you to do; we must stop Quincy, and if I die in the attempt, I need you to survive and tell my government what you and I have learned here.”
Manny nodded slowly. This was some deep crap he was in. Chinese spies and a pan continental drugs and arms trade is not what he signed up for. Manny felt that the only right thing to do was to tell Kang, or the man who was calling himself Kang, his own reasons for being on Montserrat. He recounted the tale of Captain Marlowe and how the map came to be in his family so long ago. He told Kang about his grandfather, the king of Motown, and his birthright that he had been denied. He found himself laughing, for the first time since he had stepped off the tiny plane from Antigua.
“It’s funny, Kang. I know that’s not your name, but… it seemed so important at the time for me to prove to everyone that I was worthy of getting something for nothing. I don’t want the treasure anymore. I’ll help you stop Quincy from getting it, but I don’t need it now. There was something else, I forgot all about it until I was losing consciousness after Quincy hit me. Do we think when we are unconscious? Because It was… like something out of a dream.”
He recounted the awful poetry that his grandfather Padraig McMillan had left him in the briefcase, two days and a lifetime ago.
“Colors blind the eye.
Sounds deafen the ear.
Flavors numb the taste.
Thoughts weaken the mind.
Desires wither the heart.”
Now Kang was laughing despite his injury; seeing the bemused look on Manny’s face, he explained.
“This is Chinese philosophy, from the Tao Te Ching! Your ancestor clearly had a keen mind, which you perhaps will develop in time. What do you suppose this means?”
Manny thought hard, and eventually spoke uncertainly.
“Well… I thought it was just some cryptic rubbish to begin with, but now I’m not so sure. I thought the bit about ‘desires withering the heart’ was a bit brutal, like Grampy Paddy was telling me off about not doing anything with my life, but then, if I desired to do something, wouldn’t that weaken the heart too?”
It felt surreal to be standing here, covered in dirt, blood and gunfire residue, discussing ancient poetry. Kang didn’t seem to mind and Manny got the impression that the discourse was helping him ignore the agony his wound must be surely causing him. Kang motioned for Manny to walk, and without a word on that topic, they set off towards the volcano.
“This is only half the passage. The verse ends;
The Master observes the world
but trusts his inner vision.
He allows things to come and go.
His heart is open as the sky.”
Kang had clearly memorized much of this book. Manny guessed it must be popular.
“What it means,” Kang continued, as they made their way over the streets submerged in volcanic rock, “is that your grandfather knew you better than you thought. Desire is the enemy of compassion, it destroys it utterly. You can desire to do good things, but it will eventually just feed your ego; this is not the path. By living in the world and regarding it, you can grasp it. You cannot run from it, or from life, and stay on holiday forever. You must find yourself, who you are. To trust your inner vision is to prevent your external reality from telling you how to think, how to feel. By trusting in this, you are in control of your reality, and then you will be able to open your heart to the sky, and achieve true compassion. Do you understand?”
Kang labored the last words, he looked exhausted from the effort. Manny nodded.
“I think so. It means I have been waiting to get something I never earned, and that I’ve been more interested in having fun than using my life to make a difference, right?”
He felt despondent, annoyed with himself for his lifetime of laziness.
“It is, as you say, a two edged sword. Yes, you are being admonished for laziness and desire. But I do not think your ancestor would have given this task to you if he did not think you had the potential to do good things. You did, after all, show compassion to a stranger. You came back and saved my life. For that, I am grateful to you, Manny.”
At these words, Manny felt an overwhelming sense of appreciation for this strange Chinese man. Yes, he saw now, that he had lived his life selfishly. He made a silent promise to himself, Padraig, and the mysterious man with no name, that if they got out of this alive, things were going to be different.
As the two battered men stumbled away from the sunken town, they passed into an area of great beauty. New life had taken hold all around them, away from the structuring, rigid cornered world of mankind. With the enforced exclusion of humanity by the active volcano, trees and wildlife had made an unfettered return. Orioles regarded the humans below their dark trees with curiosity, and brightly colored lizards nested where they wished, invisible to the human eye, sleeping through the calm Caribbean night. If it wasn’t for how badly bruised he was, Manny might have thought himself in a paradise. Dawn was rising in the east, illuminating the sides of the smoking mountain ahead. The moon fled before it, dropping right down into the lip of a cave about halfway up the side of Soufriere Hill.
“Kang, I know where Quincy is,” Manny pointed to the cave “That is Selene’s Bedchamber.”
Kang nodded.
“Good. Now we must catch up with the Governor and kill him. It is the only way he can be stopped from his evil business.”
Despite their wounds, it felt like they were walking on lighter limbs now, with the quarry in sight. They redoubled their pace, intent on vengeance and murder.
Chapter Twelve
In spite of their injuries and the substantial head start that Quincy had earned following the collapse of the volcanic chamber, Kang and Manny made good time on the overweight Governor.
The older English diplomat was not physically cut out for trekking through jungle and climbing rocks; by the time he had reached the entrance to Selene’s cave, Kang and Manny could see him from the foot of the path. It seemed from their position that Quincy had been forced to double back on himself several times, zigzagging up the steep slopes to avoid particularly difficult rock formations and the steeper proportions on the path. Their eyes were drawn to the summit. To Manny’s mind, the volcanic activity was definitely increasing. He had not regarded the mountain from quite so close, so it could be a trick of the morning sun breaking over the summit, and the more acute angle he was now standing at in relation to it. Even so, Manny felt sure that even from far away the small blazing boulders that were now being spat from within the mountain were very much noticeable. Kang saw it too, and looked grim, although it could have been the pain of his wound as they began to ascend.
The temperature seemed to be building with every step, the air seeming to burn inside his lungs and aggravate Manny’s over-wrought limbs and anaerobic blood. The strap from the shotgun dug into his shoulder. Even though there was only one shell left and absolutely no doubt about the ineffectiveness of his aim, he felt slightly better for having it. He hoped that they would not have to kill Quincy in the end. Kang certainly had no doubt that one of them would have to do it, and in his condit
ion Manny was unsure if the agent would be able to do it alone. He held onto the hope that maybe he could convince Quincy that it was over. They could take him to the police, if there were any that would not obey their Governor, or maybe they could get word to one of the other islands. The hope was almost certainly futile, and Manny knew it when he considered the options in his mind. The image of the man he had killed less than two hours ago still lingered with him. It must have been easily read on his face, because Kang seemed to know his thoughts, too.
“If you had not killed that man, what would have happened? We killed two more when we caused that cave in, you know.”
Manny had forgotten all about Quincy’s other guardsmen. More deaths on his conscience. How would he be able to meet his father’s eye, now that he was a killer three times over?
“I don’t know, Kang. I guess he would have killed us, or one of the others would have. I know it was him or us, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me. I’m not like you, I’m not a spy, or whatever it is you do. I’m just a dumb kid who’s done nothing with his life.”
He helped Kang climb a particularly tricky boulder, at which point they had to turn back, facing the sun across the mountainside to continue the ascent. The volcano glowed in the dawn, orange tinted smoke billowing now from the top.
Manny had to change the subject of conversation. He couldn’t go and face Quincy with this burden of guilt on him.
“I think we may be in trouble. This volcano seems to be firing up for something big.”
As if to punctuate his words, the volcano spat out the largest boulder yet, and for the briefest moment Manny could swear he saw lava actually fly into the air with it. This was insane. He didn’t want to take another step, but he knew that if nothing else, even if he himself did not get Marlowe’s gold, he had to stop Quincy at all costs.
