The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3) (34 page)

‘Okay,’ Cobb said. ‘What do we have?’

Garcia answered first. ‘We have a shit-ton of photos of two separate books. We’re running the translation program on the pages right now. It should be done any minute.’

Maggie took over from there. ‘The first book is an official account from a clerical monk named Thokmay. He was basically the right-hand man to the Sakya lama, who was the head of the religious administration unit in Tibet during the thirteenth century. Thokmay’s account will hopefully mention Marco Polo’s visit to Lhasa. Unfortunately, I haven’t found such a section yet. The book is a massive volume consisting of over three thousand pages. It will take some time to dig through everything.’

‘Okay, not a problem,’ Cobb said. ‘And the other book?’

Maggie pointed at Garcia. ‘Still waiting on that one.’

Cobb rubbed his tired eyes and thought back to the events at the Potala. Based on the urgency in the old monk’s voice and the death grip that he’d had on his arm, Cobb had assumed that the contents of the USB drive would be staggering. Then again, maybe he had misread the situation. The palace was under attack and the monk was obviously scared. Maybe his superhuman kung fu grip had more to do with the adrenaline surging through his veins than anything else.

A ding on Garcia’s computer pulled Cobb out of his thoughts.

It was soon followed by a shriek of feminine joy.

Strangely, the sound had come from Garcia.

‘No way!’ he shouted, his voice cracking in midsentence. ‘Maggie! Take a look at this!’

She rushed to his side. ‘At what?’

He pointed at the translation on his screen. ‘Can this be right?’

She looked at the computer, then at Garcia, then back at the computer.

Sarah stood as well. ‘What is it? Is it important?’

‘Very important!’ Garcia shouted.

Maggie’s face broke into a huge grin as she turned to explain their discovery. ‘Obviously I haven’t had a chance to go through the data yet but, if this translation is correct, the second book on the drive is much more significant than the first.’

‘Why? What is it?’ Cobb demanded.

She smiled at him. ‘It’s the personal diary of Marco Polo.’

Papineau was the first to speak. ‘Well done, everyone!’

The team celebrated with high fives and hugs, a moment of pure joy that temporarily made up for all they had been through in China.

Their efforts had paid off. They finally had a solid lead.

Despite her happiness, Maggie held up her hand and asked them to stop. She needed them to understand that their search was far from over.

‘People,’ she said, ‘listen to me. There’s still a lot of work to be done.’

Cobb agreed. ‘Okay, guys. That’s enough fun for today. There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate after we find the treasure.’

‘There’ll be plenty to drink, too,’ McNutt added.

Maggie shook her head. ‘Joshua, don’t plan your party quite yet. Just because we have his diary doesn’t mean we’ll find his treasure.’

‘Why not?’ McNutt asked. ‘Seems pretty simple to me. “Dear Diary, Today I buried my treasure in the yard behind my house. I hope no one looks there. Signed, Marco.”’

Maggie smiled at the comment. ‘Obviously, I wish it were that easy, but the truth is I haven’t had time to read the document yet. Assuming there are no maps or step-by-step directions to the prize, I will still have to search for details about the treasure. Also keep something in mind: this book was most likely left in Tibet
before
the Polos set out on their return journey. For all we know, it could have been toward the beginning of his trip – before he even had a treasure.’

‘Understood,’ Cobb said before McNutt could crack another joke. ‘But it will certainly give us a better picture of the man himself, even if it contains no direct clues.’

‘True,’ she said. ‘That’s why I’m smiling.’

‘In the meantime, we have to worry about the Fists. What can you tell us about them?’

‘Rumors, mostly,’ she admitted. ‘Their full name in English is The Brotherhood of Righteous and Harmonious Fists. They are quite famous in the south of China.’

‘Famous for what?’ Sarah asked.

‘They are a secret society, well trained in the martial arts. But more than that, they are fiercely anti-Christian and against all involvement of foreigners in China. They became convinced – most likely through cult-like dogma from their leaders – that they were mystically imbued with a resistance to foreigners’ weapons. They believed they were bulletproof.’

‘Bulletproof? I proved that wrong,’ McNutt bragged.

Maggie nodded. ‘Disgusted with imperialist tactics by the Western nations and the wishy-washy politicians that allowed the West to interfere in Chinese issues, the Fists marched on Beijing. They started a siege that lasted for two months, while diplomats, foreigners, and Chinese Christians all took cover in the Dongcheng District near Tiananmen Square.’

‘What happened?’ Sarah wondered.

‘What usually happens with such things,’ Maggie said with a tinge of sadness. ‘Politicians were divided, some throwing their support behind the Fists, and others claiming the desperate need to stamp out any public disobedience. They called for foreign aid: the exact thing the Fists were fighting against. The army split, half of them joining up with the Fists while the rest teamed up with international troops from Japan, Russia, five European countries, and the United States. There was chaos in the streets and rampant vandalism and plunder. Rioting, rapes, murder. Looting and atrocities of all sorts, until the uprising was crushed and the situation was brought under control. Then there were the inevitable recriminations and the prosecutions.’

‘How come I’ve never heard of this?’ McNutt asked.

‘Because these events occurred in 1898. In the West, it is often called the Boxer Rebellion.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Garcia said. ‘The Boxers were those dudes with the front of their heads shaved and the long braided ponytails that you always see in martial arts films.’

McNutt grinned, thinking back to the kung fu movies that he used to watch as a child. ‘I loved those guys! Anyone who’s willing to cut their hair like that is a badass in my eyes.’

‘Actually,’ Maggie said, ‘that hairstyle was forced on the men of China by imperial edict, beginning in the seventeenth century. Those who refused were put to death.’

‘That’s insane!’ Sarah blurted.

‘Nevertheless, it lasted for centuries and was seen as a sign of loyalty to the Qing rulers. The Fists eventually rebelled by letting their hair grow.’

Cobb interrupted them. ‘That’s all well and good, but how are these guys still running around? And why are they after us?’

‘I can answer the first question only,’ Maggie said. ‘They were clearly not eliminated, and they stayed underground. There were always whispers through the early part of the twentieth century that the Fists were still in operation. Whenever anything went wrong for foreigners or Christians in China, people claimed the Fists were responsible.’

‘Regular boogeymen,’ McNutt said.

‘Indeed. Eventually they became gangsters, with hands in all manner of illicit activities. By the 1980s, they were mainstream enough that they were mentioned in the Western media.’

‘And now?’ Papineau asked.

‘They diversified,’ Maggie said. ‘Rumors are that they moved a lot of their resources into legitimate enterprises like utilities and steel.’

Cobb suddenly made a connection. ‘What about mining?’

‘Probably,’ Maggie conceded.

‘Damn,’ McNutt said, reaching the same conclusion as Cobb.

‘They must have spotted me and Josh when we were in the desert,’ Cobb said. ‘If their helicopter had a camera, they could have taken our pictures without us knowing it.’

Papineau took a deep breath. ‘So these men – these Fists – they spotted you in Loulan, and they again spotted you again in Hong Kong? Then they followed us to Guangzhou? And later to Tibet? Pardon me for saying so, but that seems unlikely at best.’

‘Not really,’ Maggie said. ‘The Fists are fanatically opposed to foreigners being in China at all. If they thought Jack and Josh were looting the ruins in Loulan, they would have been very keen on stopping them. And clearly, at some point they put our locations together and figured out that we are looking for something valuable, something hidden in their homeland.’

Garcia seemed worried. ‘Will they follow us here?’

Maggie pondered the question. ‘Normally, I would have said “no” since the Fists are so focused on China. But with such a treasure on the line, who can say? These men will assume that the treasure is composed primarily of riches that originated in their homeland and they are violently hostile to the theft of resources and archeological artifacts from Chinese soil. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re going to follow us to the ends of the Earth.’

Friday, April
11

Late the following day, they all met in Papineau’s suite for a briefing.

This time Maggie had called the meeting.

Maggie and Garcia arrived together and were the last ones to show up. She carried a notebook and an iPad in her arms, while Garcia walked in with his laptop. She was dressed conservatively, but Garcia wore shorts, flip-flops, and yet another T-shirt. This one read: N
ERD?
I
PREFER THE TERM
I
NTELLECTUAL
B
ADASS.

The room was nearly identical to Garcia’s suite, and the others had all taken the same positions they had occupied the day before. Garcia set his computer on the desk and flipped it open. His screen was split into six columns, each streaming different sets of data. Papineau glanced at the program but couldn’t figure out what he was looking at.

‘Okay,’ Maggie said as she faced the group, ‘we’ve finished the translation of Polo’s journal. The software is terrible at colloquial expressions and outdated terms, but I’ve had a chance to skim through the diary a couple of times.’

‘And?’ Cobb asked.

‘It’s a tragic tale, really. Our Marco found the love of his life, the Chinese girl Yangchen, at a time when interracial relationships weren’t just frowned upon, they were unheard of. As it was, Westerners themselves were pretty much unheard of in China, so you can imagine the furor that it caused.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Sarah said.

‘As Professor Chu told us, Yangchen acted as his guide in Lanzhou, and they quickly fell in love. Unfortunately, everyone they met in the province was full of hatred and scorn. No one was actually violent toward Marco – he possessed the golden tablet after all – but most people they encountered let them know how they felt. Worried for her emotional well-being, Polo decided to take Yangchen to Tibet where he hoped the Buddhist population would be more receptive.’

‘Was it?’ Papineau asked.

Maggie shook her head. ‘Not really. Polo and Yangchen pretty much faced the same reaction that they had in Lanzhou. The lone exception was the clergy. They were a bit more open-minded.’

‘Sounds like a first for clergy anywhere,’ McNutt cracked.

Maggie smiled at the joke. ‘Yangchen’s brother, Lobsang, was a monk at the Songtem temple, which was on the same hill where the Potala sits today. On the couple’s behalf, her brother begged his superior for permission to let them reside in Lhasa. If the lama approved of the interracial relationship, the locals would all come around eventually, and the couple would have been able to get married and live out their days peacefully in Tibet.’

‘I’m guessing that didn’t happen,’ Sarah said.

‘Afraid not,’ Maggie said. ‘The lama refused to give his blessing, but he did show some compassion by giving them sanctuary while they searched for a new place to live. By then, Polo had realized that his original plan of bringing Yangchen back to Italy would be met with even worse scorn and disapproval than he had encountered in China. After all, in Europe he would be just an ordinary man with a foreign bride, and he would no longer have the protection of the Khan. Not sure where to go or what to do, Polo turned to Lobsang for advice.’

‘What did her brother say?’ Cobb asked.

‘He strongly recommended the island of Taprobane.’

‘Taprobane?’ McNutt said. ‘Never heard of it.’

‘Thankfully, Polo
had –
he had been there previously on a secret mission for the Khan. Nowadays the island goes by a different name: Sri Lanka.’

McNutt grinned. ‘Now that’s a name I know. Quite well, in fact. Did I ever tell you guys about the time that I took a live chicken and—’

‘Hold on,’ Cobb said, cutting McNutt off. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, Sri Lanka wasn’t on the list of countries that Polo had visited. Are you saying your initial list was wrong?’

Maggie didn’t flinch. She knew Cobb was being thorough. ‘I’m saying that my initial list needs to be updated based on new information from the diary. Although the island is mentioned twice in the Rustichello version of things, it’s implied that Marco didn’t personally visit. According to Rustichello, the king of the native people, known as the Sinhalese, had a ruby the size of a human fist. Polo and others in China had heard tales of the stone, and the Khan had sent an unknown emissary to the island to offer a city’s worth of riches in exchange for the ruby, but the Sinhalese king had refused.’

‘Let me guess: Polo was the emissary,’ Sarah said.

Maggie nodded. ‘In his diary, Polo mentions how impressed he had been with the island and how kind and generous he had found the people to be. That’s in direct contrast to the account in many published versions of Rustichello’s book, where Polo refused to go there because he had heard the Sinhalese were “paltry and mean-spirited creatures”.’

‘That doesn’t add up,’ McNutt said.

‘You’re right, Joshua. It doesn’t. Polo was obviously lying to Rustichello about the people of Sri Lanka. My guess is he did so to throw him off the scent.’

‘Either that,’ Cobb said, ‘or the descriptions are from different points in Polo’s life. Maybe he was impressed by the Sinhalese when he first met them, but later when he took Yangchen to the island with hopes of settling down, they treated him poorly.’