The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3) (15 page)

As far as he was concerned, any of those cities was better than here.

Cobb climbed down and grabbed the M60 from the rear of the Land Cruiser. He stepped onto the asphalt and hoisted the barrel of the machine gun skyward with a single arm, allowing the weight of the weapon to pin his elbow to his side. The pose was meant as a display, not as a threat, and it freed his left arm to flag down the approaching visitors.

Cobb stopped in the middle of the road and waited.

He could clearly see the vehicle speeding toward the ruins of the helicopter. Moments later the truck slowly picked its way around the wreckage and approached the human blockade.

Cobb didn’t move.

He simply stood there and stared.

The driver stopped the truck a hundred feet away. From this distance, the Pakistani was the only man that Cobb could see. All the others were hunkered down in the back, completely out of sight. Were they praying? Getting weapons? Planning an attack?

Cobb didn’t know, but he kept his cool.

He slowly moved his finger to the trigger, just in case.

The driver, who didn’t know what to make of the scary man with the M60, started to whisper to his brothers behind him. At their urging, he called out in his Uyghur dialect.

Cobb countered with a single word. ‘English?’

‘Ah! I can speak!’ a different voice yelled out.

A man’s head popped up in the rear of the truck. He wore a white and blue skullcap over black hair, and his face sported a short beard. Cobb put him at no more than twenty-five.

‘I speak the English good! What you are needing?’

‘I need transport to Kashgar. My friend is hurt.’

The young man’s face darkened as his eyes darted lower, toward where McNutt sat slumped in the interior of the SUV. Cobb could hear the others mumbling to the man in Uyghur and Urdu, but not loudly enough for Cobb to make out any words.

‘Okay,’ the young man said. ‘One moment.’

Then he ducked his head back down behind the headboard of the truck. A heated discussion arose, and occasionally a loud voice would bark something out for the driver’s attention. He routinely answered in monosyllabic grunts or with the word ‘
acha
’, which Cobb knew to mean ‘good’ in both Hindi and Urdu.

Finally the man popped his head up above the board again. He looked a little sheepish when he spoke, as if bargaining hadn’t been his idea. ‘How much?’

Cobb had been prepared for this. Haggling was a way of life in western Asia, and it stretched well into the interior of China too. ‘I have two hundred American. It’s yours if you get us to Kashgar – but no police or army … Two hundred. That’s all I have.’

Of course, that wasn’t true. Cobb had a few thousand in hundred-dollar bills stashed in watertight bags on his body and a few thousand more in the SUV, but he knew he’d need most of that for a back-alley doctor who wouldn’t ask questions and the rest to cross the border back into Kyrgyzstan.

The negotiator ducked his head down and informed the others of the deal. There was some thoughtful bickering, but no more outright arguing. Cobb took that to mean they would accept the deal. One lone voice still sounded like it wanted more.

There was always a greedy one
.

Then he raised his head above the barrier with a sad look. ‘Two hundred? Is all you have? Nothing else? They are wanting
baksheesh
.’

Cobb knew the word meant ‘gift’, but in practice it was more like a bribe.

He slapped his free hand on the M60. ‘You get the machine gun, too –
after
you get us to where we need to go.’

The young man’s face erupted into a wide grin, full of genuine joy. He only had a few teeth left, but the smile was the best thing Cobb had seen all day.

Saturday, March
29

Papineau was worried about Cobb and McNutt. As far as he could tell, it had been a few days since anyone had heard from them. Their last communication was Wednesday, right before the transmission of their GPR data had stopped abruptly.

Based on his conversations with the team, he sensed they were worried too.

Particularly Sarah. He had never seen her so uptight.

It made him wonder if she had fallen for Cobb.

Though it pained him to admit it, Papineau realized his presence at the compound only added to the tension of the team, so he decided to give them some space. Upon returning from California on Thursday night, he had boarded his yacht and set a course for the blue-green waters of the Atlantic. Normally a few days at sea would melt his tensions away, but not this time. He had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to enjoy the scenery.

His trips out west to see Copeland always made his blood boil. His hatred for the man was extraordinary, so much so that he often stayed up late thinking of ways to knock him from his perch. As it was, his best plan involved Cobb and his treasure-hunting team. If the team leader had gotten himself killed on his advance fieldwork in Asia, everything would be lost.

As the yacht gently nuzzled against the private pier, Papineau pulled his mind into the present. He stood from his lounge chair and donned his linen jacket, waiting for the captain to finish with the lines and the gangplank. After stepping ashore, he strolled through the grounds of his estate, studiously avoiding direct looks into any of the cameras. He knew the others must have detected some or even most of them by now – he’d have been disappointed if they hadn’t – but he didn’t want to tip them off to any they might have missed. Instead, he breezed past the palms and assorted flowers without a glance, moving directly into the living room through the sliding glass doors off the patio.

Not surprisingly, Garcia was nowhere to be seen. He would be secluded down below in the room that Papineau had dubbed the Control Center, but which the members of the team insisted on calling the War Room. Even without the cameras secreted around the compound, Papineau knew he would find Garcia there.

He also knew Maggie would most likely be in the library. She seemed to have staked out that space as her primary working area, spreading her printouts and documents across the surface of the large antique table. Unlike the others on the team who had fully embraced the digital world, she worked almost exclusively with paper. Maybe that was a generational thing as she was slightly older than the others, or maybe it was her field of study.

Papineau was well enough versed in the subject of Marco Polo to understand that not only were there multitudes of varying accounts but, in some cases, scholars had even taken to adding copious notes in the margins of different versions of the tale. The
marginalia
, as they were called, despite being anonymous in many cases, were often deemed by scholars to be as useful as the main document. In fact, many of the most well-known theories concerning the Venetian’s travels had come from these additions.

Papineau made a mental note to ask Maggie if she had discovered anything useful in the marginalia of any of the copies of the book she had obtained.

But he would do it later.

Right now, he needed to speak with Garcia.

Unfortunately, Sarah was in his way. She was pacing in the kitchen, wearing low-rise shorts and a bikini top while eating a piece of fruit. Her skin was a deep tan and her blond hair was lighter than it had been before his trip. Her small, bare feet slapped on the marble floor as she walked. Despite the elaborate swimming pools out on the patio, he realized this was the first time he had seen her in an actual swimming suit.

‘Sarah,’ he said, startling her from her thoughts. ‘Finally enjoying the pool? I hope you’ve been getting some work done as well.’

Instead of responding with her typical defensiveness, she looked relieved to see him. ‘I’m actually going a little stir crazy without the others here. Hector’s locked himself in with the computer, doing God knows what. Maggie’s busy with her books. I’ve already done as much of the advance prep work that I can without knowing exactly where we’re going. Do you know how hard it is to devise an exit strategy from a dozen different nations for a treasure of indeterminate size?’

Papineau smiled with compassion. He had been in charge of that same task on the previous two missions. ‘I cannot imagine, my dear.’

‘Let’s just say it isn’t easy. But I did it, plus I acquired some new equipment for the team as well. Now I’m left wondering what to do with myself. Do you want to look over some of the new gear? I’d be happy to show you.’

Papineau wondered if she was acting or if she was really bored. He suspected a bit of both. ‘That would be fabulous, but first I need to speak with young Hector. If you’ll excuse me.’

‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘I’ll be around.’

As he made for the stairway that led down to the War Room, Sarah pulled her cell phone out of the tight back pocket of her shorts and sent an emergency text message.

* * *

Garcia’s phone emitted a soft tweeting noise, and he leaped up from underneath the tabletop computer where he had been planting his own listening device. He jumped into his usual chair, which had an array of empty snack packets in front of it, and quickly tapped the tabletop touchscreen, activating five different windows on the glass surface of the table.

Now, when Papineau walked into the War Room, he would see the hacker embroiled in research, coding, and reports from three different international news stations on events in China and India. The empty wrappers for the Twinkies and Snickers candy bars – consumed over the past few days – were just set dressing to make it appear he’d been at work for hours.

To complete the illusion, Garcia began tapping at the virtual keyboard displayed on the table’s surface just as the Frenchman entered the room.

‘Good morning, Hector,’ Papineau said.

Garcia made a show of acting startled. ‘Papi! You’re back.’

The man frowned. ‘Please, don’t call me “Papi”.’

‘Are the others back, too?’ Garcia asked.

Papineau slid into a chair at the table, opposite Garcia. ‘Actually, I was hoping you could tell me where they are and when they’ll return.’

Garcia felt a quick moment of fear. He’d started as the Frenchman’s informant, but now his allegiance had shifted to the team. He was afraid Papineau was about to ask him to spy again and he wasn’t sure he could act as a triple agent.

As it was he’d been busy ferreting out the cyber intrusions into his own systems, which he assumed were the work of Papineau’s people. The snoops were definitely there, as evidenced by the malware they had placed in his Denver system. He’d spotted it covertly, and it was enough for him to know that he would need to write off the whole facility and all the hard work he had done there.

‘I wish I knew where they are, but I don’t.’

The Frenchman just stared at him, unsure if he was telling the truth.

Garcia opted to change the topic. ‘Did you speak to Maggie? She said my computer translations were incredibly helpful. I think she’s done with her own translations, and now she’s just sifting through the information. She said most of what was in the original document echoes the account in the first third of most copies of the book we have today: descriptions of the Middle East, the journey to China, and the meeting with Kublai Khan.’

The Frenchman rubbed the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath of the basil-scented air. The other plants in the room had been his idea, increasing oxygen and making the space homier, but Garcia had added the basil, knowing the scent increased mental acuity and also had anti-viral properties. Plus he liked the rich smell.

‘Are we closer to a location?’

‘Yes, sir. We’re getting there. Any day now.’

‘Good,’ Papineau said as he stood up. ‘I’d like to have a destination ready to go as soon as we obtain a new team leader.’

Garcia did a double take. ‘A new team leader? You’re firing Jack? I know he was a little demanding in the last meeting, but—’

‘No, Hector. It isn’t that. He’s long overdue from wherever he’s gone. We cannot wait on him any longer. Once we have a location, we must proceed without him.’

‘Well, I’m waiting on him,’ a voice said from behind.

Papineau and Garcia turned and saw McNutt standing in the doorway with an aluminum crutch under one beefy arm. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the slogan T
HE
H
ELL WITH
Y
OUR
M
OUNTAINS,
S
HOW
M
E
Y
OUR
B
USCH
on it, with a can of beer superimposed against a distant mountain range. His blue jeans were faded, and his beard hadn’t been shaved since he had left Florida. He was starting to look very much like the biker he was.

Both men noted the crutch.

‘What happened to you?’ Garcia blurted.

‘And where have you been?’ Papineau demanded.

‘Nice to see you guys, too.’

Garcia ignored the sarcasm. ‘Seriously, Josh, are you okay?’

‘Yes, Penelope, I’m fine. Just a minor accident. I met this really hot Asian chick during the rekky, and I got sooooo excited my boner actually pierced my leg. Doc says I need to use this damn crutch for a while, but I should be up and running by summer.’

‘Summer?’ Papineau shrieked.

McNutt laughed as he limped into the room. He loved messing with Papi. ‘Don’t worry, if we need to mobilize, I’ll ditch this sucker and keep up. Oh, and as for where I’ve been, I was doing what I was supposed to be doing: checking out China and arranging supplies for our mission. Jack and I separated a few days ago in Kashgar. I haven’t heard from him since … Why? Is he missing?’

‘Yes,’ Papineau said. ‘For some time now.’

‘And you don’t think we should wait for Jack?’

‘What?’ Sarah said as she entered the room. ‘Who’s not waiting for Jack?’

Papineau took a deep breath. ‘I merely mentioned the possibility of moving forward without him. This mission is time-sensitive, and our leader is nowhere to be found. If I don’t hear from him soon, well, I’ll have no choice but to move in a different direction.’

Although this was merely a bluff – he hoped that someone on the team would contact Cobb and get him to return – he sensed that time was of the essence with Maurice Copeland’s plans for the treasure. That meant time was crucial to Papineau as well. And if Cobb didn’t return soon, Papineau really would need to find another man to lead the team.