The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake Book 10)

by David Leadbeater

  Inside, the lobby was surprisingly small, no doubt designed that way. Glass formed partitions and walls everywhere. Mai could imagine the guns bristling on the other side of the two-way mirrors.

  A sparse front desk, several women working the phones and computers—the first she had seen—and then a cramped trip in a highly polished elevator. Unsurprisingly it was down she went, into the bowels of the earth, even though the buttons only went in ascent from one to thirty five. Mai couldn’t help but turn a wry smile upon her closest guard.

  “Got that tip from the CIA? Or Hollywood?”

  With no answer forthcoming she caught her reflection in the walls. Not good. She looked exhausted, white and ill. Hikaru, to her right, noticed and nodded.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll fix you up for your trial.” He mimicked injecting her with a needle. “Best cocktail you ever had.”

  Mai looked up at the roof, seeing at least the fiftieth CCTV camera so far. She badly needed to heal in order to take charge. They weren’t going to give her that chance. And in this city she was isolated beyond belief. Yakuza here wore expensive suits, operated from offices like this and carried business cards. She found it odd that the trial would take place here and not at the walled compound in one of the wealthiest areas of Kobe, but perhaps with the arrival of so many significant Yakuza figures the office building could be better protected. It could obviously house more men.

  Several floors down, she knew not how many, the elevator stopped and the doors glided open. A man in a doctor’s robe sat waiting for her. He took one look at her form and rose quickly.

  “More antibiotics,” he said. “Before she gets locked away for the day. Otherwise you might have nobody to put on trial at all.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hayden stepped to the middle of the room.

  “All right, guys, we have a number of questions that need answering. Why was a US submarine in the straits of Taiwan that day? Why did it sink a hospital ship? Why does the United States possess the Peking Man, lost for over fifty years? Why the hell does Callan Dudley want it? What’s he after next and where is this second vault? We have a lot of odd pieces to this jigsaw, guys, and no way of fitting them together.”

  “And why did he leave that poor family alive?” Karin added. “Or rather, the other men he’s working with.”

  “MI5 are checking,” Hayden said. “As well as the Irish. We’ll soon know all there is to know about Dudley and his degenerate friends.”

  “What will happen to Walcott?”

  “Nothing. He was acting under duress. Perhaps now the government will pass some kind of bill that deals with this problem.”

  “Yes,” Kinimaka said with his CIA hat on. “Don’t forget there’s the other side of the coin—a man pretending to be under duress and getting away with some priceless relic.”

  Komodo nodded in agreement. “Some of the twisted outlaws I’ve met would sell their family out that way just to make a few bucks.”

  Hayden waved her hands a little. “Okay, okay, let’s focus. The sub and the ship are at the root of all this. Obviously the ship’s long gone but what about the sub? I need the name of the captain.”

  Karin checked the records. “A John Kirby. You know he’ll be subject to something like the Espionage Act.”

  “Sure.” Hayden nodded. “But I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

  Karin sniffed. “Yeah, scratch that. John Kirby died in the eighties. His son would have been seventy nine this year but he also died. Now his son is forty five and still very much alive. Wow, I feel like I’m clutching at secondhand bendy straws here.”

  “Well, that’s because we are.” Hayden huffed. “If you have a better suggestion let’s hear it, but we’ve very rarely been presented with a crime that doesn’t actually make any sense. Our only lead has vanished. The Peking Man clearly plays a big part in all this so let’s follow the damn fossil.”

  “Assuming it was on the Awa Maru,” Kinimaka said. “Off Singapore dock, it should be at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “Shark infested,” Komodo pointed out with a shudder.

  “Or salvaged by the Chinese in the eighties.” Karin nodded. “But it turns up here, in Washington. And at the Smithsonian of all places. Why?”

  “I believe Hayden is way ahead of you,” Smyth griped. “That’s why she asked about the ship’s captain.”

  “Maybe the US kept the fossil as leverage,” Lauren suggested. “In my line of work—my old line of work—I came across this many times at high-class parties and establishments. They used facial recognition software to identify their shyer, more influential clients so they could leverage against them later.”

  Smyth looked wary. “Really?”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. I doubt anyone would try to blackmail you.”

  “Oh, very funny. I’ve never—”

  “Save it. I’m no judge.”

  Hayden acknowledged Lauren with a nod. “Leverage is possible, yes. Producing the fossil at the right time would give its owner immense power over the Chinese. Karin, where does John Kirby’s son’s son live?”

  *

  Several hours later, Hayden and Kinimaka parked their government-issue Escalade, with Smyth in the back, outside a house that sat on a pretty but quiet street in Virginia. The three SPEAR members had taken advantage of the steady drive and warm air-conditioning to unwind a little, sparing the conversation. For Smyth this wasn’t a problem. For Kinimaka, concentrating on driving, it gave him chance to think about what he might say to his sister, Kono, when he finally greeted her. For Hayden however, it started out like a balm, soothing her anxieties and helping her relax recently bruised muscles, but after about sixty miles another concern intruded on her consciousness.

  The air vent to her right on the passenger side was pointed straight at her.

  So what?

  Irritably she returned it to its normal position. Of course this might be her regular ride whenever she needed it but she imagined it wasn’t assigned only to her. Was it? I guess that’s something I’m gonna have to look into.

  The glovebox still held her cheap sunglasses but there was a fingerprint on one of the lenses. Her packet of chewing gum was more than half gone. None of these things were unexplainable but, together they caused a little twisting inside her gut.

  Why?

  No reason that she could fathom. It was as if . . . as if something wasn’t quite right. Like the blackness in the corner moving when it shouldn’t. The tree throwing too many shadows. The floor squeak that might have been totally innocent . . .

  Might have been.

  Hayden buried it deep as Kinimaka stopped the car. Together, the three walked side-by-side up a well-tended garden path and stopped outside a freshly painted door. Kinimaka knocked, his large knuckles producing a heart-stopping sound.

  “Chill, dude.” Smyth winced. “You’re gonna break the door down.”

  Kinimaka grimaced. “Yeah, sorry.”

  Nevertheless, the door swung open. A good-looking man stood there, well-groomed, his tight white T-shirt bearing a designer slogan. “Help you?”

  Hayden held up a badge. “Hope so. Are you James Kirby?”

  “Yup.” The fit-looking, middle-aged man peered hard at her credentials. “SPEAR? Really? I never heard of you.”

  “Probably a good idea to keep it that way,” Smyth grumbled.

  “We need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Kirby.” Hayden flashed a smile. “Could we come inside?”

  “Geez, I guess. I mean you know the FBI. You know the cops. But what are you supposed to say when SPEAR come knocking?”

  “It’s a fair point,” Smyth said, stepping over the threshold. “The police don’t even know we exist.”

  Hayden winced a little as she walked past Kirby. “He’s just messin’ with ya. You can always check our legitimacy later by calling the FBI.”

  “Later?” Kirby repeated. “Gee, thanks.”

  Hayden walked into a front room with a wide bay
window. Kirby moved toward the deep sill and parked himself. Smyth sank into a chair, probably trying to appear less threatening. Kinimaka remained upright and large, as imposing a figure as Kirby had probably ever seen.

  Hayden smiled once more. “Listen, Mr. Kirby, I’ll be honest with you. Much of what I’m about to tell you will seem crazy. Bizarre—”

  “I get it. You have your secrets, right? Truly I get it. My family has its fair share.” Kirby laughed aloud.

  Hayden paused, blinking. “It does? Well, that’s interesting. What do you do for work, Mr. Kirby?”

  “Don’t you already know? You are part of the US government right?”

  Smyth brayed from the corner. “My kinda guy. I like this one.”

  Hayden chuckled. “Of course. Builder by day, barman by night. Your wife lives with your son about two blocks south of here. Amicable break-up, amicable arrangements. You even play squash with her new boyfriend.”

  “What can I say?” Kirby spread his hands. “I’m a stand-up guy.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have a problem helping us out then. We have a few questions about your grandfather, John Kirby.”

  “Grandpa John? What’s he done now? Talked the ear off a cherub?”

  “Enjoyed a good tale did he?” Kinimaka asked.

  “Every chance he got. Why is the government asking about my grandpa?”

  Hayden bit her lip for a moment, thinking best how to phrase her next comment. “Well, we’d like to know how he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or was it the right place at the wrong time?”

  “Say again?”

  “Yup, you lost me too,” Smyth said.

  Hayden rubbed her forehead. “The USS Queenfish. Your grandfather was court martialed after he sank the Awa Maru, though later, incredibly, he continued his career and attained flag rank. I realize it’s fifty years ago now, but did your grandfather or father ever mention those times?”

  Kirby stared at them for a long minute, the confusion apparent in his eyes. After a while the military bearing and authoritativeness of his guests must have won through because he started speaking. “Are you kidding? It was all he ever talked about. Especially in his later years. Grandpa was what the English might call a crackpot; that’s eccentric to you and I. Poor old man . . .” Kirby tailed off.

  “Did he ever say why he was near Taiwan?” Hayden asked. “Or talk of an old fossil called the Peking Man?”

  Kirby suddenly looked cagey. “Y’know, it’s all just bullshit. No need to repeat all that crap now. Like I said, poor guy lost it after retiring, that’s all.”

  “It might help us out with a related case,” Kinimaka prodded. “That’s all.”

  “Related?” Kirby looked doubtful. “How can anything be related to the Lost Kingdom?”

  “Please.” Hayden thought about the Pythians and Dudley and their past atrocities. The Pandora plague was only the beginning. Other campaigns were afoot. What if this was worse? “We need your help. Just knowing about this lost kingdom could save lives. Hundreds, thousands of lives.”

  “You’re not telling me it’s all true.” Kirby started laughing despite the solemn faces around him. “How can it be? The lost continent of Mu? It never existed.”

  “That may be,” Hayden agreed. “But some very, very bad men think otherwise. And they’ll do absolutely anything to locate it.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hayden saw disbelief mingled with suspicion make a dangerous mix in Kirby’s eyes. In the end, though, the man’s what-the-hell attitude won through and he found a neutral spot to stare at above their heads.

  “Long time ago now. Even then my dad pitied him. Believe me, I was only eight, but I knew. Kids know. They pick up on everything, it’s crazy.” Kirby shook his head as if picturing his own son. “Grandpa John talked a lot about his sea voyages—he was a salty old dog. He spoke of his rescues, mostly, of which there were many. And how he commanded a ‘wolf pack’. Typhoons and unknown waters. Islands that can rise or sink depending on the time of year.” He shook his head. “But that was only the start of it. As he aged, he became less sure of his faculties and less able to keep his secrets, and Grandpa John started to give some away. Not that it mattered anymore. The war was long over. But that one voyage, that damn voyage to Taiwan, it became the only thing he ever talked about.” Kirby took a deep breath.

  Hayden sat down on the couch. “Go on.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grandpa John sailed to the straits of Taiwan on the orders of the US government at the time. He told the story as though he were given a map with directions, a map that led straight to the lost continent of Mu.”

  “Hang on,” Smyth said. “I don’t even know what this Mu is.”

  Hayden spoke fast, not wanting to dam Kirby’s flow. “It’s believed that early in our planet’s history an extremely advanced technological civilization existed which was called Mu. It was destroyed by a natural disaster, probably flooding.”

  “Of course it’s a myth,” Kinimaka said. “Which makes Mr. Kirby’s story here all the more interesting. You say the government gave your grandfather this map?”

  “Yes . . . and no. It wasn’t exactly a map. To explain I first have to shed light on something else. The Niven Tablets. Have you heard of them?”

  Hayden swung the term around her mind, a trawler’s net trying to snag a memory, but came up only with snippets.

  “More history,” she said. “Wasn’t William Niven an explorer? Or an archaeologist? And he discovered something previously unheard of, right?”

  “He was by profession a mineralogist, but in 1894 became involved with archaeological discoveries. Sorry if I’m droning on a bit, I’ve heard this a hundred times. He discovered prehistoric ruins in Guerrero for the American Museum of Natural History. He was a respected, connected man. In 1911 he discovered ancient ruins near Mexico City, the old home of the Aztecs, buried beneath layers of volcanic ash, rocks, pebbles and sand, he said the result of an obviously cataclysmic event. He found twenty thousand objects, so they say, most of which now reside in a private museum. Two thousand six hundred of these objects were known as the Niven Tablets.”

  “I never heard of them,” Kinimaka admitted.

  “They’re very real,” Kirby said. “Or they were. Surrounded by controversy since their discovery, the Niven Tablets contain symbols, writing, that has never been deciphered. Associated with Scandinavian petroglyphs and widely interpreted, the translation remains positively unknown even today. Also called the Andesite Tablets, they all bore very similar markings and were said to have also been found in India and Egypt.”

  “Let me guess,” Hayden said. “The tablets are said to be written in the lost language of Mu.”

  “Give that girl the prize.” Kirby pointed at her. “But seriously, you guys want a drink? If I were you I’d be reaching for the friggin’ whisky by now.”

  “I’m good,” Hayden said, just as Kinimaka and Smyth both agreed to black coffees.

  Kirby rose and walked out of the room. Hayden pulled a face at the two men. “Really?”

  “It’s been hours,” Kinimaka complained. “I’m withering away.”

  Smyth snorted. Before he could comment Kirby was back with a plate of Oreos and a bowl full of Lays chips and separate dips. The Hawaiian’s face lit up. Hayden waited patiently whilst both he and Smyth tucked in, trying to absorb everything so far. She wondered how the Niven Tablets and the USS Queenfish might intersect, but couldn’t quite figure it out.

  Yet.

  Kirby returned with four coffees, and when she smelled the strong aroma Hayden was glad he’d ignored her.

  “Thank you.”

  “No worries. Anyhow, it was postulated that the markings on the tablets had their roots in the lost continent of Mu. After its ancient destruction various survivors are said to have found their way to Egypt and India and other places and recorded what had occurred, you see. Some say it’s just another deluge theory. Others say a hoax, me include
d. But even I say: Two thousand six hundred tablets, a hoax? Really? I doubt that even the craziest fame-seeking conspiracy nut would craft that many, don’t you?”

  “If nobody could read the markings how did they decide it was the lost language of Mu?” Kinimaka said with a full mouth.

  “Circumstance,” Kirby admitted. “Tablets with the exact same markings had been found before in India, Egypt and Sinai by another man who told Niven what they were.” Kirby coughed. “Whatever you say, whatever you think, the mystery of these tablets still remains unsolved today, international, and more than a little intriguing.”

  “All right.” Hayden drained her coffee. “So where are they now? We’ve had what? Another hundred or so years to study them. Surely somebody has a theory.”

  Kirby smiled. “Unfortunately the tablets were lost. Niven sold them and they disappeared aboard a shipment from Mexico to the United States.”

  Hayden turned sharply, met the man’s eyes. “The United States?” A link between the sub and the tablets was beginning to form.

  “Yes, in the 1930s all two thousand six hundred tablets vanished whilst heading for the US. All that remained were the rubbings.”

  “I guess nobody thought that odd at the time.” Smyth snorted.

  Kirby spread his hands. “So it would seem. There were no enquiries made.”

  “Fuck,” Kinimaka breathed. “What a fucking mystery.”

  “And it doesn’t end there,” Kirby went on. “The USS Queenfish, captained by Grandpa John, sailed for Taiwan in 1945, about ten years after the tablets disappeared. His ‘map’, he later babbled to us, was taken directly from the Niven Tablets.”

  Hayden somehow managed to stop her mouth from dropping open. “What? How?”