The Kingdom

by Clive Cussler

  “Some more over here,” Sam said, crossing to the other side.

  They found a semicircle of stone benches enclosing a round basin wider than Sam was tall. Remi repeated her routine but could not touch the bottom. Sam found a chunk of stone that had fallen off a nearby bench and dropped it into the basin.

  They heard a muffled thump.

  “About ten feet deep,” Sam said.

  He crouched and shone his light down the shaft but could see nothing through the web of vines and roots. “Hello!” he called. There was no echo.

  “Too much vegetation,” Remi guessed.

  Sam found another rock and prepared to drop it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Indulging my curiosity. We didn’t see any sign of this shaft on the floor below, which means it was behind a wall. It has to have a purpose.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Sam leaned over the shaft, angled his arm, then hurled the stone. Unseen, it thumped against the bottom, then again, then clattered against a hard surface.

  Remi said. “Good call. It’s got to lead somewhere. Do you want to—”

  Sam’s radio crackled to life. In between bursts of static, faint staccato voices came through the speaker. The snippets were hurried and overlapping.

  “I think it’s Gupta and Ajay,” Remi said.

  Sam pressed the Talk button. “Ajay, can you hear me? Ajay, come in!”

  Static. Then Jack’s voice: “Sam . . . Gupta . . . has spotted a . . . is taking off.”

  “He’s leaving,” Remi said.

  They turned and ran down the stairs, Remi trailing with her slight limp. They crossed the den and headed down the tunnel.

  Remi called, “What do you think he spotted?”

  “Only one thing I can think of that would panic him,” Sam replied over his shoulder: “Helicopter.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  An oval of light appeared ahead. Sam and Remi skidded to a stop before reaching it and crouch-walked the last few steps. In the clearing, the Chetak’s rotors were spinning rapidly; through the side window they could see Gupta furiously punching buttons and checking gauges. He grabbed the radio handset and started talking.

  His voice burst through Sam’s radio: “Sorry, I will try to return. Try to hide. They may go away.”

  Gupta then lifted the collective, and the Chetak lifted straight up. At thirty feet, it banked, nose down, and zoomed from view.

  Out of the corner of their eyes Sam and Remi saw Karna and Ajay step from a tunnel entrance. Sam waved, caught their attention, then gestured at them to retreat. They slipped back out of sight.

  Preceded by only a few seconds of thudding rotors, an olive green helicopter rose into view at the far edge of the plateau. Sam and Remi immediately recognized the nose cone and rocket pods: a Chinese PLA Harbin Z-9.

  “Hello, old enemy,” Remi muttered.

  She and Sam backed up a few more feet.

  The Z-9 continued to rise, then pivoted, revealing another fond memory: an open door and a soldier crouched over a mounted machine gun. The Z-9 slid sideways over the clearing and touched down.

  “Let’s go, Sam,” Remi said. “We need to hide.”

  “Just wait.”

  A figure appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh, no,” Remi muttered.

  They both recognized the lithe, willowy body shape.

  Zhilan Hsu.

  She stepped down from the doorway. Dangling from her right hand was a compact submachine gun. A moment later two more figures stepped from the doorway to join her. Russell and Marjorie King, also armed with compact submachine guns.

  “Behold, the Wonder Twins,” Sam said.

  Zhilan turned, said something to them, then stepped to the Z-9’s side door, which opened to reveal a mid-forties Chinese man. Sam withdrew a pair of binoculars from his pack and zoomed in on the pair.

  “I think we’ve found King’s Chinese contact,” Sam said. “He’s definitely PLA. Very high ranking, either a colonel or general.”

  “Do you see any more soldiers inside?”

  “No, just the door gunner. Between him, Zhilan, and the twins, that’s all they need. I don’t know why they haven’t shut down the engine yet, though.”

  “How in God’s name did they find us?”

  “No idea. Too late to worry about it now.”

  The PLA officer and Zhilan shook hands, then he closed the door. The Z-9’s engine rose in pitch, and then the helicopter lifted off. It pivoted so its tail was facing the plateau, then headed off.

  “Our odds just improved,” Sam said.

  “What’s Zhilan doing?”

  Sam focused his binoculars on Zhilan in time to see her pull a cell phone from her jacket pocket. She punched a series of numbers into the keypad, and then she and the twins turned and watched the helicopter recede into the distance.

  In a mushroom of orange and red, the Z-9 exploded. Chunks of flaming debris plummeted toward earth and then out of sight.

  Sam and Remi couldn’t speak for several seconds. Finally Remi said, “That ruthless—”

  “King is tying up loose ends,” Sam said. “He’s probably already shut down his black market fossil operation: the dig site, his transportation system—and now his contact in the government.”

  “We’re the last loose ends,” Remi said. “Can we shoot them from here?”

  “No chance. Our snub-noses aren’t worth a damn beyond twenty feet or so.”

  In the clearing, Zhilan had traded her cell phone for a portable radio. She brought it up to her lips.

  Over Sam’s radio they heard, “Do you have him?”

  “I have him.” Ajay’s voice.

  “Bring him out.”

  Sam and Remi looked right. Jack Karna stepped from the tunnel entrance, followed by Ajay. The barrel of his gun was pressed against the base of Karna’s skull. The other hand clutched the collar of his jacket.

  Prodded by Ajay, the pair walked halfway to the clearing, then stopped. They were forty feet to Sam and Remi’s right.

  “Why, Ajay?” Karna asked.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Karna. Truly I am.”

  “But why?” Karna repeated. “We’re friends. We’ve known each other for—”

  “They came to me in Kathmandu. It’s more money than I would make in ten lifetimes. I can send my children to university, my wife and I can buy a new home. I am sorry. But she gave me her word. None of you will be harmed.”

  Karna replied, “She lied to you.” Then louder to Zhilan: “Your spawn I’ve already met a few months ago in Lo Monthang. But I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

  Zhilan said, “My name is—”

  “The Dragon Lady, I know. You’re too late, you realize. This is not the place. The Theurang is not here.”

  “You’re lying. Ajay, what do you say?”

  “We only started searching, ma’am. Mr. Karna and the Fargos seem sure this is the location of Shangri-La.”

  Zhilan said, “Speaking of the Fargos . . . Come out, both of you! Your helicopter is gone! Come out now, help me find the Golden Man and I’ll signal for our transportation. I will land you safely back in Yingkiong. You have my promise.”

  “You forget, Dragon Lady, Sam and Remi know you,” Karna said. “Your promise is worthless.”

  “You are likely correct,” Zhilan replied. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo! Come out now or I will kill your friend!”

  Remi whispered, “Sam, we’ve got to help him.”

  “That’s what she wants,” he replied.

  “We can’t just let her—”

  “I know, Remi.”

  Karna called, “Dragon Lady, they can’t hear you. All this behind me is a temple—a complex so big, it will take months to search. Right now, they probably don’t even know you’re here.”

  “They would have heard me on the radio.”

  “Not from inside. The reception is nonexistent.”

  Zhilan considered this. “Ajay, is
that true?”

  “About the radios, mostly true. As to the temple, it is vast. They may be unaware of your arrival.”

  “Then we’ll have to go find them.” Zhilan said.

  “Besides,” Karna added, “if they were watching, they would know what I wanted. I’ve spent my entire life searching for the Theurang. I would rather be dead and have them destroy it than give it to you.”

  Zhilan turned toward Russell, who was standing behind her right shoulder, and said something. In one smooth motion, Russell lifted the machine gun to his shoulder.

  On an impulse he immediately regretted, Sam shouted, “Jack, duck!”

  Russell’s weapon bucked. The left side of Karna’s neck exploded in blood; he crumpled to the ground. Russell fired again, a three-round burst that slammed into Ajay’s chest. He stumbled backward and fell dead.

  Zhilan shouted. “They are there! In that tunnel! Go after them!”

  Machine guns raised, Russell and Marjorie began sprinting. Behind them, Zhilan began walking toward Karna’s body.

  Sam turned and grabbed Remi’s shoulders. “Go! Hide!”

  “What about you?”

  “Right on your heels.”

  Remi spun around and took off down the tunnel in a limp-sprint. Sam raised his .38 and snapped off a round toward Russell and Marjorie. He had no illusion about hitting them, but the gunfire accomplished his goal. Russell and Marjorie split up, each diving behind a nearby boulder.

  Sam turned and ran after Remi.

  He was only halfway down the tunnel when he heard footsteps at the entrance behind him. “Fast bastards,” Sam muttered, and kept going. Ahead, Remi had reached the end of the tunnel. She darted left into the den.

  Bullets ricocheted off the wall to his left. Sam leapt right, bounced off the wall, half turned, saw a pair of headlamp beams bouncing down the tunnel, and fired at them. He turned again, kept running. Five more strides brought him to the den. Remi was crouched beside the near wall.

  “Come on—”

  From the clearing they heard a gunshot, a pause, then a second gunshot.

  Sam took her hand, and they bounded up the ramp. Bullets thudded into the steps behind them. They reached the landing and started up the next flight. Remi’s foot slipped out from under her. She slammed chest first to the ground. She groaned.

  “Ribs?” Sam asked.

  “Yes . . . Help me up.”

  Sam lifted her to her feet, and they climbed the rest of the steps and stopped before the arch that led into the Great Room. Through clenched teeth Remi asked, “Ambush them?”

  “We’re outgunned, and they’re not going to charge up the steps. Sit here for a second and catch your breath. I’m going to check the next stairs.”

  His left foot had just touched the first step when Remi screamed, “Sam!”

  He turned to see Remi stooped over, running through the arch into the Great Room. To the right, a pair of figures appeared on the landing below and began charging up the steps.

  “Mistake, Sam,” he muttered.

  He fired two shots, but the snub-nose was worthless. Both bullets missed, sparking against the stone behind Russell and Marjorie. They ducked and backpedaled out of sight.

  Remi’s voice came through the archway: “Run, Sam! I’ll be okay.”

  “No!”

  “Just do it!”

  Sam eyeballed the distance to and angle of the Great Room’s archway and instinctively knew he’d never make it. Russell and Marjorie would cut him down before he got halfway.

  “Dammit,” Sam rasped.

  Russell and Marjorie popped up on the steps. The muzzles of their machine guns flashed orange.

  Sam turned and charged up the steps.

  Crouched in one of the tubs, her headlamp doused, Remi was just realizing her position was indefensible when the shots rang out.

  Silence.

  Then Russell’s whispered voice: “She’s in there. You take her, I’ll take him.”

  “Dead or alive?” Marjorie replied softly.

  “Dead. Mother says this is the right place. The Theurang is here. Once the Fargos are gone, we’ll have all the time in the world. Go!”

  Remi didn’t think but acted. She climbed out of the tub and crab-walked to the shaft. She took a deep breath, let it out, then jumped.

  One floor above Remi, Sam had found himself in a maze of small interconnecting rooms and corridors. Here, the roots and vines were much thicker, crisscrossing the spaces like monstrous cobwebs. Slivers of sunlight peeked through, casting the labyrinth in a greenish twilight.

  Having left his machete back at the tunnel entrance, there was nothing for Sam to do but duck and weave his way forward and deeper into the maze.

  Somewhere behind him he heard the crunch of footsteps.

  He froze.

  Three more steps. Closer now. Sam turned his head, trying to pin down the direction.

  “Fargo!” Russell shouted. “All my father wants is the Theurang. He’s decided not to destroy it. Do you hear me, Fargo?”

  Sam remained silent. He stepped to the left, under a thigh-sized root and through a doorway.

  “He wants the same thing you do,” Russell shouted. “He wants to see the Golden Man in a museum, where it belongs. You and your wife would be co-discoverers. Imagine the prestige!”

  “We’re not in this for the prestige,” Sam said under his breath. “Idiot.”

  To his right, farther down the corridor, a vine snapped, followed by a barely perceptible “Damn!”

  Sam crouched down, switched the .38 to his left hand, and looked around the corner. Twenty feet away, a figure was charging toward him. Sam fired. Russell stumbled and almost went down but regained his footing and dodged right and through a doorway.

  Sam stepped across the hall and crab-stepped over a root into the next room. He paused, flipped open the .38’s cylinder.

  He had one bullet left.

  Remi landed hard at the bottom of the pit and tried to shoulder-roll to dissipate the impact but slammed into something solid. White-hot flames spread across her rib cage. She swallowed the scream and forced herself to be still. She was in pitch-blackness. She was belowground, she guessed.

  From up the shaft came Marjorie’s voice. “Remi? Come on out. I know you’re hurt. Come out, and I’ll help you.”

  Not going to happen, sister, Remi thought.

  She cupped her hands around the headlamp, clicked it on, and took a quick scan. At her back was a wall; directly ahead, a wide, downward-sloping tunnel. Archways lined either side of the tunnel. Remi clicked off her lamp.

  On hands and knees, she crawled ahead. When she’d put what she thought was enough distance between her and Marjorie, she turned her headlamp back on. One hand pressed against her ribs, Remi climbed to her feet. She chose an archway at random and stepped through it. To her left was another arch.

  From the tunnel she heard a thump, then a grunt. She peered around the corner in time to see a headlamp turning toward her. Remi raised her pistol, took aim, and fired three quick shots. The muzzle of Marjorie’s weapon mushroomed orange.

  Remi backpedaled, turned, and darted through the next arch.

  Sam knew Russell was behind him and across the corridor.

  One bullet, Sam thought. Russell had more than that, and probably spare magazines as well. Sam needed to draw him in, ten feet or less, close enough that he couldn’t miss.

  Careful to keep the corridor in his mind’s eye, Sam crept deeper into the room, then stepped left through an archway. He turned right, stepped up to the next arch, and risked a glance into the corridor.

  Through the archway across from him Sam heard a snap. Russell.

  Pistol raised to waist height, Sam back-stepped away from the door. When he drew even with the next arch, he turned to step through it.

  Russell was standing in the corridor. Sam raised his gun, took aim. Russell took a step and disappeared. Sam took two large strides forward and, gun leading the way, sidestepped in
to the corridor.

  He found himself standing face-to-face with Russell.

  Sam knew that Russell was younger and stronger than him, and the King boy was also lightning fast. Before Sam could squeeze the trigger, Russell swung the butt of his machine gun upward, the stock arcing toward Sam’s chin. Sam jerked backward. The butt struck a glancing blow. Sam’s eyesight flashed red. On instinct, he charged forward, engulfing Russell in a bear hug that pinned his arms to his side. They stumbled backward. Russell planted his back foot and spun his body, taking Sam along with him. Sam found his footing again, drew his knee back, and slammed it forward into Russell’s groin. Russell grunted. Sam kneed him again, then again. Russell’s legs buckled, but he managed to stay upright.

  Wrapped up, they stumbled into the next room, bounced off a wall, and then lurched into yet another room. Russell reared his head back, tucked his chin. Sam thought, Head butt, and tried to turn away from it, but it was too late. The top of Russell’s forehead slammed into Sam’s eyebrow. His eyesight flashed red again, then blackness began creeping in from the sides. Sam exhaled hard, drew in a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and held on. His vision cleared slightly. He drew his own head back, but the height difference made a face strike impossible. Sam chose instead Russell’s collarbone. This time, Russell let out a yelp of pain. Sam head-butted again, then again. Russell’s machine gun hit the ground.

  They spun again, Russell trying to use his superior strength to either dislodge Sam or slam him against a wall.

  Suddenly Sam felt Russell’s balance change; he was backpedaling quicker than his feet could keep up. Sam’s judo training took hold. He would capitalize on Russell’s imbalance. Sam put everything he had into his legs and charged forward. Feet scrabbling over the vines and roots, he bulldozed Russell backward, picking up speed. They bounced through an arch, and then they were back in the corridor. Sam kept pushing.

  And then they were stumbling, Russell’s balance having given out. They were enveloped by a curtain of foliage. Sam heard and felt vines snapping around them. Over Russell’s shoulder he saw daylight. Sam released his death grip on Russell and snapped his head forward, catching him in the sternum. Russell disappeared through the curtain. Sam, trying to arrest his own momentum, pitched through the opening and into space.