The Kingdom

by Clive Cussler

  They crawled forward a few inches until they could see around the corner of the entrance. A group of two dozen or so workers were walking down the ramp flanked by four guards. At the head of the column was a small female figure in a black jumpsuit. Once the group reached the bottom of the pit, the guards herded the workers into a line facing in the direction of Sam and Remi’s hiding spot. The woman continued walking.

  Sam grabbed his binoculars and zoomed in on her. Sam lowered the binoculars and looked sideways at Remi. “You’re not going to believe this. It’s Crouching Tiger, Scary Lady herself,” he said. “Zhilan Hsu.”

  Remi grabbed her camera and stared snapping pictures. “I don’t know if I got her,” she said.

  Hsu stopped suddenly, whirled on the assembled workers, and began shouting and gesticulating wildly. Remi closed her eyes, trying to catch the words. “Something about thieves,” she said. “Stealing from the site. Missing artifacts.”

  Hsu stopped abruptly, paused, then pointed an accusatory finger at one of the workers. The guards were on him immediately, one slamming the butt of his rifle into the small of his back, sending him sprawling forward, a second guard heaving him back to his feet and half dragging, half walking him forward. The pair stopped a few feet before Hsu. The guard released the man, who fell to his knees and began chattering.

  “He’s begging,” Remi said. “He has a wife and children. He stole only one small piece . . .”

  Without warning, Zhilan Hsu drew a pistol from her waistband, took a step forward, and shot the man in the forehead. The man toppled sideways and lay still.

  Hsu began speaking again. Though Remi was no longer translating, it took little imagination to understand the message: if you steal, you die.

  The guards began shoving and prodding the workers back up the ramp. Hsu followed, and soon the pit was empty again save the man’s corpse. The klieg lights flickered out.

  Sam and Remi were silent for a few moments. Finally he said, “Whatever sympathy I’d developed for her just went out the window.”

  Remi nodded. “We need to help these people, Sam.”

  “Absolutely. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do tonight.”

  “We can kidnap Hsu and feed her to—”

  “With pleasure,” Sam interrupted, “but I doubt we could do that without raising the alarm. We wouldn’t make it a mile before we’d be caught. The best we can do is blow the whistle on King’s operation.”

  Remi considered this, then nodded. “Pictures won’t be enough,” she reminded him.

  “Agreed. One of those trailers up there has to be an office. If there’s any hard documentation, that’s where we’ll find it.”

  After waiting until they were fairly certain the commotion had died down, they visited each of the tunnels in turn, Sam standing watch as Remi took pictures.

  “There’s a Chalicotherium specimen in there. It’s in almost pristine condition.”

  “A what?”

  “Chalicotherium. It’s a three-toed ungulate from the Lower Pliocene era—a long-limbed horse-rhino hybrid. They died out about seven million years ago. They’re very interesting, really—”

  “Remi.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe later.”

  She smiled. “Right. Sorry.”

  “How valuable?”

  “I’d just be guessing, but maybe half a million dollars for a good specimen.”

  Sam scanned the ramp and clearing for signs of movement but could see only one guard patrolling the area. “Something tells me they’re not so worried about people getting in as they are about people getting out.”

  “After what we just saw, I’d have to agree. What’s our plan?”

  “If we stay low, we’ve got a blind spot almost to the top of the ramp. We stop there, wait for the guard to pass, then sprint to that first trailer on the left and dive under. From there, it’s just a matter of finding the office.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  Sam gave her a grin. “Like taking a fossil from a billionaire.” He paused. “Almost forgot. Can I borrow your camera?”

  She handed it over. Sam sprinted into the middle of the pit and knelt beside the corpse. He searched the man’s clothes, then rolled him over, took a picture of his face, then sprinted back to Remi.

  He said, “By morning, Hsu will have the body buried in this pit. It’s a long shot, but perhaps we can at least let his family know what happened to him.”

  Remi smiled. “You’re a good man, Sam Fargo.”

  They waited for the roving guard to again disappear from view, then slipped from the tunnel and ran along the pit’s wall to where it met the ramp. They turned again and followed this route to the base. Thirty seconds later they were lying on their bellies near the top.

  They now had a mostly unobstructed view of the entire clearing. On either side of it were eight trailers, three in a line to the left, five in a wide crescent to the right. The curtained windows of the left-hand trailers were lit, and Sam and Remi could hear the murmur of voices coming from inside. Of the five trailers to the right, the closest three showed lights and the last two were dark. Directly ahead of where Sam and Remi lay were four warehouse-style Quonset huts; between these, the main road leaving the camp. Mounted above the door of each hut was a sodium-vapor lamp, casting the road in sickly yellow light.

  “Garages for the equipment,” Remi guessed.

  Sam nodded. “And if I had to put money on which one of these trailers is the office, I’d go with one of the dark ones.”

  “I agree. Getting there is going to be the tricky part.”

  Remi was right. They did not dare head straight for the trailers in question. All it would take was the sudden appearance of a guard or a glance out a window, and they’d be caught.

  “We’ll take it slow and use the first three trailers for cover.”

  “And if the office is locked?”

  “A bridge we’ll cross if we have to.” Sam checked his watch. “The guard should be along anytime now.”

  As predicted, twenty seconds later the guard walked around the corner of the nearest Quonset hut and headed for the trio of trailers on the left. After scanning each trailer with a flashlight, he walked across the clearing, repeated the routine with the other five, then disappeared from view.

  Sam gave him twenty more seconds, then nodded at Remi. In unison, they stood up, jogged up the remainder of the ramp, then veered right for the first trailer. They stopped at its back wall and dropped down, using one of the trailer’s support pylons as cover.

  “See anything?” Sam asked.

  “All clear.”

  They stood up and crept along the back wall to the next trailer, where they stopped again, looked and listened, before moving on. When they were stopped behind the third trailer, Sam tapped his watch and mouthed the word “guard.” Through the wall above their heads they could hear voices speaking in Chinese and the faint strains of radio music.

  Sam and Remi spread themselves flat on the ground and went still. Their wait was a short one. Almost precisely on time, the guard walked into the clearing to their left and began his flashlight scan. As he drew even with their trailer, they watched, collective breath held, as the flashlight beam skimmed over the ground beneath the trailer.

  The beam stopped suddenly. It tracked backward to the support pylon shielding Sam and Remi, then stopped again. They were lying side by side, their arms pressed against each other, when Sam gave Remi’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Wait. Don’t move a muscle.

  After what seemed like minutes but was probably less than ten seconds, the beam moved on. The crunch of the guard’s boots on the gravel faded away. Cautiously, Sam and Remi got back to their feet and circled the trailer. Looking left and right for signs of movement, they crept around the front of the trailer and picked their way to the steps of what they hoped was the office.

  Sam tried the knob. It was unlocked. They shared a relieved smile. Sam eased open the door and peeked i
nside. He pulled back, shook his head, and mouthed “Supplies.” They moved to the next trailer. Again, thankfully, the door was unlocked. Sam checked inside, then stuck his arm back through the door and gestured for Remi to enter. She did, and carefully swung the door shut behind her.

  The back wall of the trailer was dominated by filing cabinets and storage shelves. A pair of battered gray-painted steel desks with matching chairs flanked the door.

  “Time?” Remi whispered.

  Sam checked his watch and nodded.

  A few moments later the guard’s flashlight beam flickered through the trailer’s windows, then disappeared again.

  “We’re looking for anything with detail,” Sam said. “Company names, account numbers, manifests, invoices. Anything investigators could sink their teeth into.”

  Remi nodded. “We should leave everything as is,” she said. “If anything goes missing, we know who’ll get the blame.”

  “And a bullet. Good point.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got three minutes.”

  They began with the filing cabinets, checking each drawer, each folder and file. Remi’s camera could hold thousands of digital pictures, so she photographed anything that looked remotely important using the ambient light from outside the trailer.

  As the three-minute mark approached, they stopped and went still. The guard passed by, performed his scan, and was gone again. They resumed their search. Four more times they repeated the cycle until satisfied they’d collected all they could.

  “Time to go,” Sam said. “We’ll retrace our steps to the Rover and—”

  Outside, an alarm began whooping.

  Sam and Remi froze for a moment, then he said, “Behind the door!”

  They pressed themselves flat against the wall. Outside, doors banged open, footsteps pounded on gravel, voices shouted.

  Sam asked Remi, “Can you make out anything?”

  She closed her eyes, listening intently. Her eyes sprung open again. “Sam, I think they found the Range Rover.”

  14

  LANGTANG VALLEY, NEPAL

  Before Sam could reply, the trailer door swung open. Using his fingertips, Sam stopped the door a few inches from their faces. One of the guards stepped across the threshold, his flashlight skimming through the space. The guard stopped. Sam saw his shoulders begin to pivot, signaling a turn in their direction.

  Sam hip-bumped the door closed, took a single stride forward, then lashed out with a toe kick that stuck the guard behind the knee. As he fell, Sam grabbed his collar and heaved forward, smashing the man’s forehead on the edge of the desk. He groaned and went limp. Sam pulled him backward and dragged him behind the door. He knelt down, checked the man’s pulse.

  “He’s alive but won’t be waking up anytime soon.”

  He rolled the man over, tugged the slung rifle off his shoulder, and stood up.

  Wide-eyed, Remi stared at her husband for several seconds. “That was very James Bond–ish.”

  “Dumb luck and a steel desk,” he replied with a shrug and a smile. “An unbeatable combination.”

  “I think you deserve a reward,” Remi replied with a smile of her own.

  “Later. If there is a later.”

  “I’d like there to be a later. You have a plan?”

  “Auto theft,” Sam replied.

  He turned around, moved to the nearest of the trailer’s rear windows, and pulled back the curtain. “A tight squeeze, but I think we can make it.”

  “You check the front,” Remi said, “I’ll get the back window.”

  Sam walked to the front window, fingered back the curtain, and peeked outside. “The guards are assembling in the clearing. About ten of them. I don’t see the Dragon Lady.”

  “She probably just stopped by to do King’s dirty work.”

  “It looks like they’re trying to decide what to do. We’ll know in a second if they realize they’re missing a man.”

  “Window’s open,” Remi said. “It’s about an eight-foot drop to the ground. There are some thick trees about ten feet away.”

  Sam let the curtain slip back into place. “We might as well go now before they have a chance to get organized.” He unslung the rifle and examined it. “This is state-of-the-art.”

  “Can you handle it?”

  “Safety, trigger, magazine . . . hole where the bullet comes out. I think I’ll manage.”

  Abruptly the alarm went silent.

  Sam walked to the front door and locked it. “It might delay them,” he explained.

  He grabbed the nearest chair and carried it to the rear window. Remi climbed up and began squeezing out the window. Once she was down and clear, Sam followed.

  They ducked into the tree line and began picking their way toward the Quonset hut. When the rear wall came into view through the trees, they stopped and took a few moments to scan their surroundings. In the distance they could hear the guards still shouting over one another.

  Sam and Remi moved forward, Sam in the lead, his rifle lowered and tracking back and forth. They reached the Quonset hut. Remi whispered, “Door,” and pointed. Sam nodded. Remi now in the lead, they slid along the wall until her shoulder bumped the jamb. She tried the knob. It was open. She opened the door silently and peeked her head through. She pulled back.

  “There’s two trucks inside, parked side by side. They look military—green, double tires, canvas sides, a tailgate.”

  “Feel up to driving?” asked Sam.

  “Sure.”

  “You get behind the wheel of the one on the left. I’ll disable the other one, then join you. Be ready to start the engine and tear out.”

  “Got it.”

  Remi opened the door just wide enough for them to slip through. They were halfway to the trucks when they heard footsteps pounding on the road outside. Sam and Remi skidded to halt against the right-hand truck’s tailgate. Sam peeked around the corner.

  “Four men,” he said. “They’re climbing into the trucks, two in each cab.”

  “Part of their emergency plan?” Remi suggested.

  “Probably,” Sam replied. “Okay, Plan B. We stow away.”

  Almost in unison, the trucks’ engines rumbled to life.

  Stepping carefully lest their shifting weight alert the guards, Sam and Remi mounted the truck’s bumper, then high-stepped over the tailgate. With a loud thunk, the transmission engaged, and the truck surged ahead. Arm in arm, Sam and Remi stumbled and fell face-first into the bed.

  Their truck was in the lead. Lying flat in the relative darkness of the bed, with the second truck’s headlamps glowing green through the tailgate’s canvas flap, Sam and Remi allowed themselves to take a full breath for the first time in ten minutes. On either side of them, wooden crates of various sizes were strapped to eyebolts in the truck’s bed.

  “We made it,” Remi whispered.

  “Cross fingers.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I’m pretty sure this is a Chinese Army truck.”

  “You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

  “I am. It seems clear King is in bed with someone in the Chinese military. The guards are Chinese, and so are their weapons probably. And we know what’s in these crates.”

  “How far to the border?”

  “Twenty miles, maybe twenty-five. Four hours, give or take.”

  “Plenty of time to make our exit.”

  “The question is, how far from civilization will we be?”

  “You’re starting to spoil my otherwise sunny disposition,” she said, then laid back in the crook of Sam’s shoulder.

  Despite the hardness of the truck’s bed and the constant jostling, Sam and Remi found the muffled growl of the engine soothing. They half dozed in the twilight, Sam occasionally waking to check his watch.

  After an hour of traveling, they were jolted awake by the squeal of the truck’s brakes. The following truck’s headlights enlarged and brightened through the rear flap. Sam sat up and poi
nted the rifle toward the tailgate. Remi sat up beside him, her eyes questioning, but she said nothing.

  The truck slowed, then ground to a halt. The following truck’s headlights went dark. Cab doors opened, slammed shut. From either side of the bed came the crunch of footsteps. They stopped at the tailgate, and voices began murmuring in Chinese. Sam and Remi could smell cigarette smoke.

  Sam turned his head and whispered in Remi’s ear. “Stay perfectly still.” She nodded.

  Moving slowly, carefully, Sam curled his legs beneath him, then rose into a crouch onto the balls of his feet. He took two crab steps toward the tailgate and turned his head to listen. After a moment, he turned back to Remi and held up four fingers. Four guards were standing on the other side of the tailgate. He pointed to his rifle, then in the direction of the soldiers.

  She handed him the rifle. Sam laid it across his legs, then pressed his wrists together. She nodded. He gestured for her to lie flat. She did so.

  Sam made sure the rifle’s safety was off, adjusted himself and took a deep breath, then reached up with his left hand, grasped the canvas, and jerked it aside.

  “Hands up!” he shouted.

  The two soldiers closest to the bumper spun around while simultaneously backpedaling. They stumbled into their comrades, who were struggling to unsling their rifles.

  “Don’t!” Sam said, and raised his rifle to his shoulder.

  Despite the language gap, the soldiers got the message and stopped moving. Sam gestured with the barrel of his rifle several times until the men got the message. Slowly each man unslung his rifle and let it drop to the ground. Sam backed them up a few feet, then climbed over the tailgate and hopped down.

  “All clear,” he said to Remi.

  She dropped to the ground beside him.

  “They look terrified,” she said.

  “Perfect. The more terrified they are, the better for us,” Sam said. “Would you do the honors?”

  Remi collected their rifles and dumped all but one into the truck bed. Sam said, “Safety off?”

  “I think . . .”