She’d apologized and begged off spending time with him until she could get situated, but what he’d hoped would be a few weeks had stretched into months, with all too infrequent phone calls to maintain their connection. His last trip to Texas had been met with a distant attitude, and he hadn’t known what to think about her preoccupation. She insisted that this was just a road bump, but he wasn’t so sure. He’d toyed with the idea of hopping on a plane and sitting on her doorstep until they could have time together, but had discarded the idea after talking it over with Betty, who had transitioned from the office manager at the now-defunct bail bond outfit where he’d been working before striking it rich, and was now working as his assistant from her home in the Bay Area.
“Give her some space, Drake. She’s been through a lot,” Betty had said.
“I know. I was there, remember?”
“But she lost her father. That’s hard at any time, but it affects some more than others.”
“The legal pressures and trying to clear up all the land issues can’t be easy,” Drake conceded.
“Look, Drake, I know that it seems super urgent, but in the scheme of things, what’s a few weeks one way or another? If the lady says she needs time, give her what she asks for, or she’ll resent you for it. That’s my advice.”
“You’re right. But I want to do something.”
“Then send her a bouquet of roses or buy her an island. But don’t smother her.”
That had been a month ago, and since then they’d spoken three times. Which wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind.
He was pulled out of his pity party by a nearby voice. “Looks like a good set,” his new friend Seth called out from twenty yards away.
“Cowabunga,” Drake agreed, nodding and squinting against the sun’s glare on the water.
The waves neared, and Seth caught the first. Drake waited for the second and was rewarded seconds later by a larger twin. He paddled furiously, caught the curl just right, and pushed himself to his feet. The ride lasted only ten seconds at most, but Drake felt the same sense of exhilaration as he had in the old days up north, when he’d had to don a full neoprene body suit with a hood to catch waves off of Santa Cruz using a short board. The warmer water here helped him feel more relaxed, as did the easy camaraderie of his companions, which was unlike the standoffish competitive attitude he’d experienced on surfing forays further south in Huntington and Newport Beach.
When the wave had exhausted itself, he dropped into the water beside his board, glanced at his waterproof watch, and waved to the others.
“I’m pooped. You guys hang loose,” he called. Their rides also over, they returned the wave, and Drake made his way against the pull of the surf to the golden stretch of sand. He unzipped his Rip Curl spring suit and shrugged the top loose, and then retrieved his board before padding toward his bungalow. Even after only a few months he’d already decided he liked the area enough to want to buy property, but he couldn’t get past the embarrassment of being a snobby pretender whenever he looked at the listings online. And the numbers seemed astronomical to him for a collection of rooms. Even though he was now wealthy, it seemed insane to pay seven to ten million for fifty feet of beachfront with a neighbor jammed up against each side.
As he approached his wood-shingled house, its small deck a postage stamp compared to the adjacent homes, he saw a tumble of blonde hair poke over the blue-tinted glass railing of the home to his right, followed by a waving hand connected to a stunningly beautiful young woman – Kyra, the daughter of a movie mogul, staying at her father’s place while she tried to make a name for herself in the business. Twenty years old and a product of genetic perfection, she would have stopped traffic anywhere in the world. He noted that her bikini was little more than string, and that she’d been sunbathing topless as she struggled to tie her top, failing to protect her modesty in the process – whether by accident or design, he couldn’t be sure.
“Hey, Drake. Looking good, surfer dude,” she called out, her voice musical on the light breeze.
“Thanks, Kyra. How’s it going?”
“My agent got me some more auditions. I really feel like this is my year, you know?”
Drake ran his hand through his hair and tried not to gape at her flawless, tanned skin and blazing sky blue eyes. “Yeah, it could be. I hope so. It’s been a pretty good one for me so far.”
She eyed him like a cat eyeing a baby chick, her gaze lingering on his chest and abs. “Understatement of the year.”
“I’m sure you’ll get something that makes you famous, Kyra. It’s only a matter of time.” Which it was. She could read lines with all the conviction of a rock with a painted face, but with her dad’s connections, she’d eventually be a star, he was sure.
“Easy for you to say. You already won that lottery. You should write a book or something. Ooh, or maybe a reality show! Right here, on the beach!”
“I’m afraid my life isn’t all that exciting, Kyra.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s all BS. They just make stuff up and you play along. Hey – I could be in it! Playing the struggling actress! It would be awesome. Let me make a couple of calls…”
“Not on my account. I moved here to get away from all that. But thanks anyway.”
She gave him an appraising look. “See? That’s why you’re one in a million. Anyone else would be totally sucking up to have their own show. You? You couldn’t care less.”
“I probably just need more medication,” Drake joked, offering her a grin. She feigned a pout and then beamed at him.
“You should come over later and have a margarita or something,” she said, her voice all innocence but her expression making clear that she had definite ideas about what the something might entail.
“Cool. Thanks. I might take you up on that,” Drake said, and then his attention was drawn to his house, which he habitually left unlocked – he had nothing worth stealing, and half his neighbors did the same, he knew – just another reminder of how different Malibu was from the real world over the hill. He spotted two men in suits standing inside his open glass terrace doors, watching him, hands folded, stone-faced. “What the hell–”
The tallest of the pair stepped forward. “Mr. Ramsey, sorry for the intrusion, but we knocked and it was open. Probably not a good idea to leave it unlocked,” he said, his voice as welcoming as fingers on a blackboard. “Please, come in. We need a moment of your time.”
“And you are…?”
“Someone you’d do well to speak with,” the second man said, glancing over at Kyra before lowering his voice. “We’re from Washington.”
“Drake? Is everything okay?” Kyra asked, turning toward his house as he mounted the stairs to the deck.
Drake regarded the pair, who stepped further into the gloomy interior so they couldn’t be seen by her, and nodded. “Yeah. But if I’m not back in ten minutes, call the cops.”
Chapter 4
“I can assure you that won’t be necessary, Mr. Ramsey,” the first man said as Drake leaned his surfboard against the rickety wood railing. “I’m Collins. This is Ross.”
Drake squared his shoulders and faced them. “What do you want? And what gives you the right to barge into my home?”
“You and my boss had a discussion a few months back. Perhaps you recall it?” Collins said, ignoring Drake’s indignant question.
Drake nodded, his heart sinking. He remembered as though it were yesterday. “Sure. Like a bad smell.”
“I’ll cut to the chase. We have a situation we could use your help with. Step inside and we can talk about it.”
“I kind of like being out here, if you don’t mind,” Drake said.
“Ramsey, do us all a favor and get off the high horse, will you?” Ross growled. “Come in, have a soda or whatever, and hear us out. Then we’ll leave. No strings attached.”
Drake’s right eyebrow rose. “No strings?”
“You heard right,” Collins confirmed.
Drake s
ighed, pulled off his spring suit, and draped it on the railing. “Make it fast. I need to hose all this gear off.”
Drake entered the living room wearing only board shorts. He looked at the sofa and shrugged, and then sat down, ignoring the soaking he was giving the white fabric. Collins walked over and sat in the easy chair. Ross remained standing by the dining room table.
Collins cleared his throat. “We could use your help. We have a delicate situation, and we need someone with your pedigree.”
“My…pedigree?”
“Yes. You’re a famous treasure hunter. You have access to places our agents wouldn’t.”
“Your agents,” Drake repeated flatly.
Collins nodded. “Two days ago, a private plane went down somewhere around the border of Laos and Myanmar. Thai radar had a fix on it until it disappeared. There was a storm in the area, and we’re afraid the worst has happened.”
“I’m sorry,” Drake said, his expression puzzled. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“The plane was carrying a woman named Christine Whitfield. She’s the daughter of Senator Arthur Whitfield. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
Drake shook his head. “I don’t pay much attention to politics.”
“He’s a veteran lawmaker who some say has as much clout as the president,” Ross said.
Collins sighed. “The senator is frantic over his daughter going missing, Drake. He’s pulled strings. A lot of them. One of them was to the director, who is also a friend. The director promised to help. Which is where you come in.”
“I’m still not getting it.”
“We need you to mount an expedition to the area immediately. We’ll get permission from the appropriate parties, but we need someone visible, someone known, to look for her. They’d never approve it otherwise.”
“Why not? I thought you guys ran the world.”
Collins smiled for the first time, and the effect was chilling. “I’m afraid YouTube overstates our reach. We may be able to hide aliens and plot a new world order, but we can’t get the Laotian government to allow us to poke around their territory. They’re still a little sensitive about certain regrettable incidents during the Vietnamese war.”
“And forget about Myanmar. They hate us more than Iran and North Korea’s love child,” Ross added.
“But they’ll let me tromp around in their jungle? Why, exactly?”
“Crap, kid, you’re famous. And very high profile right now. Of course they’d never let you go looking for a plane…which is why you won’t be.”
“What will I be looking for? Assuming I decide I’m interested?” Drake asked, curious.
“Have you ever heard of the Emerald Buddha of the Khmer Empire?” Collins asked, his gray eyes drilling into Drake’s.
Drake shook his head. “No.”
“You can Google it. When the Thais overran what’s now Cambodia, legend says that the Khmer king hid the country’s most precious treasure in a distant land. We have reason to believe that’s near the Laotian and Myanmar border, which is coincidentally where the plane was last observed.”
“Lost Khmer treasure? Who exactly were the Khmer? I’ve only heard of the Khmer Rouge.”
“That name was taken from their ancestors. The Khmer people were at one point the most powerful empire in the region. They built extraordinary temples, were renowned for their advanced civilization, and were as close to a superpower as you could get in the Middle Ages. Angkor Wat is the most famous of their temple complexes. They ruled for centuries before Thailand ate their lunch in the fifteenth century.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know where the treasure is?”
“Well, truthfully, we don’t. I mean, not exactly. But we have reason to believe we have a fix on the rough area.”
“Right. But the question is how?”
“If you sign up for this, we’ll give you a classified briefing. Among the items you’ll be privy to is an interrogation with a guerilla commander who worked the region during the Vietnam conflict. He had valuable information that could lead a skilled adventurer like yourself to the hidden temple where the treasure’s stashed.”
Drake snorted. “Are you making this up?”
Collins stood. “Mr. Ramsey, we’re on a short fuse. As I said, it’s been over forty-eight hours since the plane vanished. Whitfield is distraught, and he needs closure. And if there’s any chance that she’s alive…well, you’d be doing your country, the director, and the senator an enormous favor they won’t forget. It’s never a bad idea to have people like that owing you one.”
Drake considered it. “How long do I have to decide?”
“Now would be good.”
Drake shook his head. “It’s too little time. I need to think about it first.”
“So think,” Ross snapped.
“Mr. Ramsey, this is really simple,” Collins said, his tone matter of fact. “You fly to Thailand. You go on an expedition accompanied by whomever you like, and one of ours. Maybe you find a treasure that will solidify your standing and show that Paititi wasn’t a fluke. You also keep your eyes open for a plane. In doing so, you earn the gratitude of some of the most important people in the nation. How is that anything but good for you?” Collins hesitated, gauging Drake’s reaction. “If nothing else, think of the girl. If she’s still alive now, in that jungle she won’t be much longer. And you could be the deciding factor in whether she lives or dies. Tell me, Mr. Ramsey, what do you have going on this week that’s more important than potentially saving a girl’s life and discovering a legendary treasure, all at the same time?”
Drake licked crusted sea salt from his lips. “I’d have to discuss this with my team.”
“We’d need you to be in the air tomorrow. It’ll take at least a couple of days to cut through the red tape and get you permission to mount an expedition in Laos and Myanmar.”
“That may not work. Let me make some calls and see.” Drake stood. “Assuming I decide to do it. Give me some breathing room to decide.”
“I’d like an answer now.”
“I’d like to ride a unicorn to Oz. What’s a number where I can reach you?”
“We’re not playing a game here, kid,” Ross said, taking a step toward Drake.
Collins raised a hand to silence Ross and fished a pen from his pocket. He looked around the room and moved to the breakfast bar, where he scribbled a number on a pad by the phone. He tore off the sheet and handed it to Drake. “Can you decipher my scrawl?”
Drake read off the number. “Give me a little time to digest all this.”
Collins shook his head in frustration. “We don’t have a plan B, Mr. Ramsey. You’re the senator’s only hope. If it will help you decide, we can call him right now and you can speak with him. Perhaps hearing a father’s desperation would sway you?”
“There’s no need. I get it. Let me think it over and research what I can of your story. I’ll call with an answer later today. That’s the best I can do.”
Collins nodded. “Sorry to barge in.”
“Don’t let the door hit you…”
The pair of CIA agents strode to the entry while Drake stood by the couch, the note in his hand, until Ross pulled the door closed. Drake covered the ground quickly, twisted the deadbolt, and then moved to his computer, lost in thought. He typed in Christine’s name, and then looked up when Kyra’s voice sounded from outside.
“Drake? Everything okay?”
He twisted and called out to her. “Yeah, Kyra. Thanks. It’s all good.”
“Okay. Remember about the margarita.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Drake watched as his search engine listed page after page of entries for Christine, and clicked on her Facebook profile. A picture of a pleasant-looking young woman stared back at him with startling intensity. Drake tried to imagine what it must be like to have a daughter and not know whether she was alive or dead, and shivered involuntarily.
Next, he ran a search on the Khm
er Emerald Buddha and read about the legends, as well as about the smaller twin at the royal palace in Thailand. That one was considered a holy relic by the Thais, who believed that the safety and well-being of the nation depended on its sanctity. An entire ceremony was involved in the Thai king dressing it in gold at the changing of each season. The term ‘emerald’ was a misnomer, apparently, and described the color, not the gemstone – the Thai statuette was carved from green jasper, which he assumed was the case for the Khmer Buddha as well.
The legends claimed that the royal Khmer treasure was secreted in a hidden temple whose location had been a mystery for almost six centuries, the exact spot lost to history due to a garbling of the accounts in a war-torn land. Multiple searches had been mounted by hopeful Khmers, and later, fortune hunters of many stripes, but none had found it. Over the last hundred years the area thought to be the correct one had become progressively more dangerous, and as war, famine, floods, storms, hostile governments, and roving gangs of drug traffickers had claimed the territory, it had been impractical to continue to search for it.
Drake studied Christine’s Facebook page and read her public postings, perused the selfies under her images, and then returned to the photograph that had stopped him cold.
He looked at the photo for a long time. With a shake of his head, he swore softly under his breath and moved to the phone to call Allie and see if she was game.
Emerald Buddha (Drake Ramsey Book 2) Page 3