He smiled and poked her in the stomach with a chopstick. ‘Just because I’m not being rude like Fernando doesn’t mean—’
‘The name is Hector.’ To emphasize his point, Garcia stood and pointed his fork at McNutt. ‘And I wasn’t being rude. I said thanks, too. Just not in Chinese.’
McNutt continued to eat. ‘You called her the maid, nerd. That’s rude.’
Garcia’s eyes opened wide, the full gravity of his faux pas suddenly dawning on him. His face turned bright red. ‘Wait! You said she was the maid!’
McNutt looked like he’d swallowed a cockroach. ‘No, I didn’t!’
Sarah watched the exchange in silence, trying to make sense of things. Wow, that race must have messed with my mind more than I thought.
‘Yes, you did!’ Garcia argued as he stamped his foot like a three year old. ‘I said I was hungry when I got up, and you said, “Why don’t you ask the maid to get you something?”’
McNutt rolled his eyes. ‘I was being sarcastic, genius.’
Sarah caught movement out of the corner of her eye and jolted again. The Chinese woman was standing behind her. ‘Gah! I’m going to tie a bell on you or something.’
A dark look fell over the woman’s face. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘Wait,’ Sarah said. ‘If you aren’t the maid, who the hell are you?’
‘I’m guessing she’s our new historian,’ said a new voice.
All eyes turned to the doorway to see Cobb walk in, carrying a green duffel bag that looked like it had survived several wars. He dropped the bag on the soft rug covering the entryway and looked past the others, toward the far end of the room. ‘Isn’t that right, Papi?’
All heads swung the other way to see Jean-Marc Papineau standing in the archway to the library. Garcia was sure the room had been empty a moment before. He made a mental note to search for a secret door when he had the chance.
Papineau wore a light-colored linen suit with an expensive tie. His gray hair and mustache were perfectly styled as usual. ‘You are correct, Jack,’ he said as he stepped toward the woman. ‘Allow me to present Miss Maggie Liu of the People’s Republic of China. If you are going to find the next treasure, you will most certainly require her assistance. And while she is a first-class chef among other things, I can assure you that she is not the maid.’
The focus of the room shifted to Maggie, who didn’t flinch in the white-hot glare of the spotlight. Instead, she remained composed and confident; two traits that Jasmine lacked when she had first joined the team. ‘It’s nice to officially meet everyone. I am truly honored to be here. Jean-Marc told me about your last mission. I am deeply sorry for your loss. Just so you know, I am not trying to replace Miss Park, but, if you’re willing, I want to become a part of this group.’
Cobb studied his team to see how they took the news. Although three months had passed since Jasmine Park’s funeral – a somber affair where they had met her family and were forced to lie about her cause of death because of the secrecy of their mission – this was the first time the team had met in the house without their historian. He knew there would be some emotions early on, but he figured they would work through them together as they considered their options.
Never one for subtlety, Papineau had wasted no time with the hire.
Not only had he found an Asian woman to replace Jasmine, as if the team was made up of interchangeable parts that could simply be plugged in, but he had done so without consulting the team leader who would ultimately be in charge of the mission.
In Cobb’s mind, it was a major misstep on Papineau’s part.
Thankfully, the team took the announcement in stride. Maggie had already won over McNutt with her cooking skills, and Garcia was still so embarrassed about the maid comment that he would do anything to make up for it. Even Sarah, who had been slow to warm to Jasmine’s charms but had eventually taken her death the hardest, seemed willing to give Maggie a chance.
All in all, the group’s reaction was much better than Cobb had expected.
6
After the brief introduction, Papineau moved the conversation from the dining room to a more appropriate location. The upstairs portion of the house was fine for everyday conversations, but it didn’t cultivate the sense of focus he demanded when the topic turned to team objectives. So he led them to an underground room that had been specifically designed to host such discussions.
The group took the back stairs past the entrance to the indoor swimming pool, which seemed like overkill since there were two pools and an ocean outside, before they descended an additional level to the ‘war room’ in the sub-basement of the compound. The thick door that guarded the space was identical to the one that protected the White House Situation Room. When properly sealed, it would keep out water, toxins, and McNutt when he had too much to drink.
The interior of the room was also modeled after the president’s command center, but this one was slightly more luxurious. Climate-controlled to museum standards, the lavish room was decorated with fine art and thick tapestries. Despite these regal trappings, the space had a decidedly serene feel. Recent additions included a variety of low-light houseplants, an ionizer, and lighting that mimicked the outside sun.
A railing separated the room into two different meeting areas: a casual section with leather couches and plush easy chairs, and a formal space with a state-of-the-art computer table.
Papineau surprised everyone by heading to the casual side of the subterranean lair. This was a markedly different approach than for their previous missions when he had been nothing but business during their initial briefings. He encouraged everyone to find a seat while he stood with his back against the far wall like a professor waiting for his students to arrive.
Instinctively, Maggie chose one of the armchairs by herself.
The decision was not lost on Cobb, who sat on a couch next to Sarah.
Maggie doesn’t feel like she’s part of the team yet, Cobb thought. Papi might have hired her, but she knows she still needs to prove herself.
Cobb decided to speed the process along.
‘Jean-Marc, why don’t we jump right into Maggie’s qualifications?’ Cobb said it like a challenge, but he knew that a quick review of her résumé would do wonders for the team’s confidence. After all, Papineau wouldn’t have hired her if she wasn’t the best of the best.
Papineau nodded, understanding the request for what it was. He had seen Cobb efficiently slice through group dynamics and tension on more than one occasion. ‘Sarah, Jack, Hector, Josh – this is Miss Maggie Liu. She’s worked in China as an elite tour guide for nearly two decades, which is a much greater undertaking than it may seem. More than handing out maps and reciting trivia, her position demanded an encyclopedic knowledge of anything and everything about the region. She has an extensive knowledge of Chinese and Asian history, speaks a dozen languages fluently, and has an academic knowledge of two dozen more lingua francas.’
McNutt whispered to Sarah. ‘What the hell are “lingua francas?”’
‘I think it’s French linguine,’ she whispered back.
‘Sweet! I’m eating that for lunch.’
Garcia ignored their whispering while tapping away on his ever-present laptop. ‘Miss Liu is also accomplished at wing chun, one of the more mysterious Chinese martial arts.’ He looked up from his screen and smiled a sheepish grin. ‘My apologies for earlier, Miss Liu.’
Maggie nodded at him. All was forgiven. ‘While Chinese names are traditionally surname first, many of us choose Western names for ourselves because we prefer them – so please call me Maggie. In addition to competitive-level wing chun, I’ve also studied tai chi and kung fu since I was a small girl. That came in handy when dealing with some of my free-spirited clients. I needed to protect them when we went into dangerous areas along our way.’
She sat erect in her chair, her posture perfect.
‘Why did you take them to sketchy areas?’ Cobb wondered.
‘
My job was to lead them where they wanted to go, no questions asked. For many people, the adventure does not begin until after you’ve left the beaten trail.’
Cobb knew from experience that she was right.
He was one of those people.
‘So who did you work for?’
‘I can’t mention any names, but you would be impressed with my client list.’
‘Billionaires?’ Garcia asked.
‘Definitely.’
‘Royalty?’ Sarah asked.
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘Rock stars?’ McNutt asked.
‘Unfortunately.’
‘In any case,’ Papineau said, ‘Maggie is talented both academically and physically. She has book smarts and street smarts, plus a wide swath of experience in unusual situations, which I’m confident will work to your advantage on this mission.’
‘Which is where?’ Cobb wondered.
Papineau glanced at him. ‘I honestly do not know.’
‘But Asia is a good guess, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are we looking for?’
‘That,’ the Frenchman said, ‘is also a mystery.’
Cobb scowled. He was about to lay into Papineau when Maggie spoke up first.
‘There’s only one thing it could be,’ she said.
Papineau’s mouth hung open in surprise.
So did Cobb’s.
‘Don’t worry, Jack. You didn’t miss anything. I’m the other variable in this equation,’ she assured him. ‘Based on my range of expertise and my knowledge of Chinese history, I feel there is only one treasure that might fit the bill. Jean-Marc is speaking of the merchant.’
‘What merchant?’ Cobb asked.
Papineau smiled at Maggie. ‘Please continue.’
She was happy to oblige. ‘He was just a youngster when his adventure began in 1271 AD. He traveled with his father and his uncle across the whole of Asia, to Dadu, which is present-day Beijing. But rather than just sightseeing or seeking their own fortunes, the boy’s family was on a mission of utmost importance. You see, on a previous journey they had met Kublai Khan, the grandson of Genghis Khan, and had been welcomed to his court. While there, he had tasked them with bringing a special item back from the Vatican.’
‘What was it?’ McNutt wondered.
‘Oil.’
‘Couldn’t they get that from Kazakhstan in those days?’
‘Not that kind of oil,’ she said kindly. ‘He wanted special oil from a lamp in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which was rumored to be the resting place of Jesus Christ. In addition, the Khan also wanted the brothers to return with a hundred Christian scholars from the Vatican who could bring the teachings of the Bible to China.’
Garcia continued to type on his laptop. ‘According to these figures, that didn’t turn out well. Christians comprise only around three percent of the populace.’
‘It’s actually closer to four percent, but that is today. Would it surprise all of you to know that, at one time, nearly half of China was a Christian kingdom?’
‘Really? When?’ Sarah asked.
‘America was busy with its Civil War when interest in Christianity peaked in my homeland.’ She turned her attention back to Garcia. ‘China has had a long, complicated history with Christianity – the citizens are both fascinated by it and repelled by it in equal measure.’
Cobb had already figured out who Maggie was talking about when she mentioned Kublai Khan, but he could tell that Sarah and McNutt were still in the dark. After several months of studying the members of his team, he could read their behavior. Sarah’s arms were crossed in frustration, and she looked like she was about to start complaining. Meanwhile, McNutt sat quietly and refrained from his usual silliness.
‘So,’ Cobb asked, ‘the brothers brought the scholars back to Beijing?’
‘Yes and no,’ she said. ‘Their mission was complicated by the sede vacante.’
‘I am not familiar with that term,’ Cobb admitted.
‘It was a period of vacancy between Pope Clement IV’s death in 1268 and his successor, Pope Gregory X, taking over three years later. Niccolò and Maffeo – the brothers – managed to bring the oil to the Khan, but the date of their arrival is uncertain. They also tried to bring some Dominican monks with them, but the men were terrified and turned back long before the group reached China. Along with Niccolò’s son, the brothers stayed in China for another seventeen years before they returned to Europe. During that time they amassed an immense fortune, yet when they returned to Italy the riches that they had with them paled in comparison.’
‘In other words,’ Sarah suggested, ‘they hid the bulk of their treasure before they reached home.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Perhaps. There are certainly those who believe that is what happened. The brothers were not stupid. They knew upon their return that the government and the church would seize most of their wealth, and that is precisely what occurred.’
‘So,’ McNutt said, ‘what happened to Nico and Muffy?’
‘Niccolò and Maffeo,’ she corrected gently. ‘Very little is known about what happened to the brothers. Most assume they died shortly after they returned to Italy because the legend no longer focused on them. Instead, it shifted to Niccolò’s son. Now a man, the son went to war in a conflict between Venice and Genoa. He was captured by the Genoese and imprisoned for nearly four years. During that time, he told a fellow prisoner of his adventures.’
Sarah grinned. ‘And the prisoner wrote a book about him.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Yes. You have it.’
McNutt grimaced. ‘Am I the only one who doesn’t know this story? What was the title of the book?’
‘The book has several names,’ Maggie explained. ‘Its author called it Livre des Merveilles du Monde.’
Papineau translated the French. ‘Book of the Wonders of the World.’
‘In Italy, it was called Il Milione – which means “The Million”.’
‘Now we’re talking,’ Sarah said as visions of treasure danced in her head. ‘The Million Dollars? The Million Diamonds?’
‘Nope. The Million Lies.’
‘Ugh. I’m guessing the Italians didn’t believe his story.’
‘Many of them did not,’ Maggie admitted.
McNutt stared at her, waiting for the punchline. ‘And what do we call it in English?’
Maggie smiled. ‘The Travels of Marco Polo.’
7
FBI Field Office
New York City
Special Agent Rudy Callahan stared at his calendar and groaned.
It was a torturous routine that played out every morning when he reached his desk and several times throughout the course of the day. Like a prisoner scratching lines on a wall, he was obsessed with the length of his confinement. Only instead of a cell, Callahan was trapped in a windowless office at the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building.
The previous August he had been doing what he loved most: chasing down leads on the streets of New York. Now he wondered if he would ever see that type of action again. He realized that his last assignment had ended poorly, but he also knew that he wasn’t to blame. Unfortunately, his superiors viewed the episode as a colossal failure and decided to make an example out of him and his partner, Special Agent Jason Koontz.
Seven months later, they were still paying the price.
All because of a single incident in Brooklyn.
While conducting surveillance on the waterfront estate of Vladimir Kozlov – a Russian criminal who ran a local syndicate known as the Brighton Beach Bratva – Callahan had gotten caught in the middle of a firefight. On one side were Kozlov’s guards. On the other, a team of highly skilled thieves who were trying to escape the mansion under a torrent of gunfire and a series of well-placed explosives. The skirmish had left several gunmen dead, even more wounded, and the neighborhood engulfed in flames. Yet, for some reason, the thieves had gone out of their way – even returning for him at one point during their
escape – to make sure that Callahan was okay.
It didn’t make sense then, and it didn’t make sense now.
Not that he was complaining.
Though his superiors were thrilled that he had survived, they had been furious to learn that neither he nor his partner, who had been parked outside the mansion in a high-tech surveillance van that was able to detect a mouse fart from over a mile away, had recorded anything but static during the confrontation.
No thieves. No gunmen. No crimes of any kind.
Both men had sworn that the equipment had been functioning perfectly throughout the evening, and each was at a loss to explain what had happened. Their best guess was that someone had scrubbed the signals to cover the incident. Their bosses had laughed at the notion, claiming that it would have taken an elite hacker with inside knowledge of the FBI’s technology to access their surveillance feeds, much less alter them.
Little did they know, that was exactly what had happened.
Hector Garcia had worked his magic and erased everything.
Regardless of the cause, the result was inexcusable. For their efforts, or, more accurately, the lack thereof, Callahan and Koontz had been pulled from the streets for the last seven months. Assigned to a drab office in Federal Plaza, they were forced to watch old recordings of news from around the world, while writing tedious reports that explained how the events might be relevant to the FBI: a government agency that had no authority outside the United States.
It was the Bureau’s version of busy work.
And it was wearing Callahan down.
Even though his shift was just starting, he grabbed a black magic marker from his desk and drew a giant X through the seventeenth day of the month. Then he sat back and admired the string of identical markings that covered the previous blocks in March. ‘Two more months. Just two more months until I’m free.’
‘Talking to yourself again?’ Koontz asked from the office doorway. ‘My grandfather used to do that, too, right before we had him committed.’
Callahan defended himself. ‘I’m not senile. I just want this torture to end. Only two more months, then we can get the hell out of here.’
The Prisoner's Gold (The Hunters 3) Page 4