The Kingdom fa-3

by Clive Cussler

  “No chance.”

  They both climbed out, ducking and weaving their way through the foliage surrounding the Rover until they reached the front bumper.

  “And no valet, either,” Sam muttered.

  To the right, Remi said, “I’ve got a path.”

  Sam walked over. As promised, a narrow, rutted trail disappeared into the trees. Sam dug out his compass, and Remi checked their bearing against the map.

  “Two miles down that trail,” she said.

  “So, translated to Nepalese distances . . . ten days, give or take.”

  “Give or take,” Remi agreed.

  The trail took them through a series of down-sloping switchbacks before bottoming out beside a river. Flowing from north to south, the water crashed over a series of moss-covered boulders, sending up plumes of spray that left Sam and Remi dripping wet in a matter of seconds.

  They followed the path south along the river to a relatively calm section, where they found a wooden suspension bridge barely wider than their shoulders. The canopy from both banks spanned the water; vines and branches draped over the bridge and obscured the other side.

  Sam shed his pack and, with both hands clenched on the rope side rails, crept onto the bridge’s head, probing with his foot for cracks or loose planks before transferring his weight. When he reached the bridge’s midpoint, he tried a test hop.

  “Sam!”

  “Seems sturdy enough.”

  “Don’t do that again.” She saw the half smile on his face, and her eyes narrowed. “If I have to jump in after you . . .”

  He laughed, then turned and walked back to where she was standing. “Come on, it’ll hold us.”

  He donned his pack and led the way back on the bridge. After two brief pauses to let the bridge’s swaying slow, they reached the other side.

  For the next hour they followed the trail as it weaved up and down forested slopes and across gorges until finally the trees began to thin ahead. They topped a crest and almost immediately heard the rumble of diesel engines and the beep-beep-beep of trucks backing up.

  “Down!” Sam rasped, and dropped to his belly, dragging Remi with him.

  “What?” she said. “I didn’t see anything-”

  “Directly below us.”

  He gestured for her to follow, then turned his body left and crawled off the trail into the underbrush. After twenty feet he stopped, glanced back, and curled his finger at Remi. She crawled up beside him. Using his fingertips, Sam parted the foliage.

  Directly below them was a football-shaped earthen pit, forty feet deep, two hundred yards wide, and nearly a quarter mile long. The sides of the pit were perfectly vertical, an escarpment of black soil dropping away from the surrounding forest as though a giant had slammed a cookie cutter into the earth and scooped out the center. In the center of the pit itself, yellow bulldozers, dump trucks, and forklifts moved to and fro on well-worn paths, while along the edges teams of men worked with shovels and picks around what looked like horizontal shafts that disappeared into the ground. At the far end of the pit, an earthen ramp led up to a clearing and, Sam and Remi assumed, the main service road. Construction trailers and Quonset-style huts lined the sides of the clearing.

  Sam continued to look around the site. “I’ve got guards,” he muttered. “Stationed in the trees along the rim and in the clearing.”

  “Armed?”

  “Yes. Assault rifles. Not your run-of-the-mill AK-47s, though. I don’t recognize the model. Whatever it is, it’s modern. This isn’t like any exploratory mine site I’ve ever seen,” Sam said. “Outside of a banana republic, that is.”

  Remi stared at the steep slope of the pit. “I count thirteen . . . no, fourteen side tunnels. None of them are big enough for anything but men and hand tools.”

  The bulldozers and trucks seemed to be skirting the edges of the pit. Occasionally, however, a forklift would approach one of the tunnels, pick up a tarp-covered pallet, then scale the ramp and disappear from view.

  “I need the binoculars,” Remi said.

  Sam dug them out of his pack and handed them over. She scanned the pit for half a minute, then handed them back to Sam. “Do you see the third tunnel from the ramp on the right side? Hurry, before they cover it up.”

  He panned the binoculars. “I see it.”

  “Zoom in on the pallet.”

  Sam did so. After a few seconds, he lowered the binoculars and looked at Remi. “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s not my area of expertise,” Remi said, “but I’m pretty sure it’s a goliath ammonite. It’s a type of fossil, like a giant nautilus. This isn’t a mining camp, Sam. This is an archaeological dig.”

  13

  LANGTANG VALLEY, NEPAL

  “A dig?” Sam repeated. “Why would King be conducting a dig?”

  “No way to tell for sure,” Remi said, “but what’s going on here breaks about a dozen Nepalese laws. They take archaeological excavation very seriously, especially anything dealing with fossils.”

  “Black market trade?” Sam speculated.

  “That’s the first thing that popped into my head,” Remi replied.

  In the last decade, the illegal excavation and sale of fossils had become big business, especially in Asia. China in particular had been cited as a primary offender by a number of investigative bodies, but all of them lacked the teeth to enforce penalties within her borders. The previous year, a report by the Sustainable Preservation Initiative estimated that of the thousands of tons of fossil artifacts sold on the black market, less than one percent of them are intercepted-and, of these, none led to a single conviction.

  “It’s big money,” Remi said. “Private collectors are willing to pay millions for intact fossils, especially if it’s of one of the sexier species: Velociraptor, Tyrannosaurus rex, Triceratops, Stegosaurus . . .”

  “Millions of dollars is pocket change to King.”

  “You’re right, but there’s no denying what’s in front of us. Wouldn’t this qualify as leverage, Sam?”

  He smiled. “It would indeed. We’re going to need more than pictures, though. How do you feel about a bit of skullduggery?”

  “I’m a big fan of skullduggery.”

  Sam checked his watch. “We’ve got a few hours until nightfall.”

  Remi turned around and retrieved their digital camera from her pack. “I’ll make the most of what daylight we have left.”

  Whether a trick of light or a genuine phenomenon, twilight seemed to last hours in the Himalayas. An hour after Sam and Remi hunkered down in the foliage to wait, the sun began dipping toward the peaks to the west, and for the next two hours they watched dusk ever so slowly settle over the forest until finally the bulldozers’ and trucks’ headlights popped on.

  “They’re finishing up,” Sam said, pointing.

  Along the perimeter of the pit, digging crews were emerging from the tunnels and heading toward the ramp.

  “Working from dusk till dawn,” Remi remarked.

  “And probably for pennies an hour,” replied Sam.

  “If that. Maybe their pay is, not getting shot at.”

  To their right they heard a branch snap. They froze. Silence. And then, faintly, the crunch of footsteps moving closer. Sam gestured to Remi with a flattened palm, and together they pressed themselves against the ground, their faces turned right toward the sound.

  Ten seconds passed.

  A shadowed figure appeared on the trail. Dressed in olive drab fatigues and a floppy jungle hat, the man carried his assault rifle diagonally across his body. He walked to the edge of the pit, stopped, and gazed down. He raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and scanned the pit. After a full minute of this, he lowered his binoculars, then turned, stepped off the trail, and disappeared from view.

  Sam and Remi waited for five minutes, then rose up onto their elbows. “Did you see his face?” she asked.

  “I was too busy waiting to see if he was going to step on us.”

  “
He was Chinese.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam considered this. “Looks like Charlie King’s got himself some partners. One bit of good news, though.”

  “What?”

  “He wasn’t carrying night-vision binoculars. Now all we have to worry about is bumping into one of them in the dark.”

  “Ever the optimist,” Remi replied.

  They continued to watch and wait, not only for the last of the men and equipment to make their way up the ramp and out of sight but also for any signs of further patrols.

  An hour after night had fully fallen, they decided it was safe to move. Having decided against bringing rope of their own, they tried the organic approach and spent ten minutes quietly rummaging about the forest floor until they found a vine long enough and strong enough for their needs. After securing one end to a nearby tree trunk, Sam dropped the coil over the side into the pit.

  “We’ll have a drop of about eight feet.”

  “I knew my paratrooper training would come in handy someday,” Remi replied. “Give me a hand.”

  Before Sam could protest, Remi was wriggling sideways, sliding her lower body over the edge. He grasped her right hand as she clamped onto the vine with her left.

  “See you at the bottom,” she said with a smile and dropped from sight. Sam watched her descend to the bottom of the vine, where she let go, hit the ground, and performed a shoulder roll that brought her back to her knees.

  “Show-off,” Sam muttered, then went over the side. He was beside her a few moments later, having performed his own roll, though not as gracefully as his wife. “You’ve been practicing,” he told her.

  “Pilates,” she replied. “And ballet.”

  “You never did ballet.”

  “I did as a little girl.”

  Sam grumbled and she gave him a conciliatory kiss on the cheek. “Where to?” she asked.

  Sam pointed to the nearest tunnel entrance fifty yards to their left. Hunched over, they dashed along the pit’s earthen side and followed it to the entrance. They crouched just inside.

  “I’ll have a peek,” Remi said, then slipped inside.

  A few minutes later she reappeared beside him. “They’re working on a few specimens, but nothing earth-shattering.”

  “Moving on,” Sam replied.

  They sprinted to the next tunnel and repeated the drill, with similar results, then moved on to the third tunnel. They were ten feet from the entrance when, on the far end of the pit, a trio of pole-mounted klieg lights glowed to life, casting half the pit in stark, white light.

  “Fast!” Sam said. “Inside!”

  They skidded to a halt inside the entrance and dropped to their bellies. “Did they spot us?” Remi whispered.

  “If they had, we’d be taking fire right now,” Sam replied. “I think. One way or another, we’ll know shortly.”

  They waited, breaths held, half expecting to hear the pounding of footsteps approaching or the crack of gunshots, but neither happened. Instead, from the ramp area they heard a woman’s voice shout something, a barked command.

  “Did you catch that?” Sam asked. “Is it Chinese?”

  Remi nodded. “I missed most of it. Something like ‘Bring him,’ I think.”

  They crawled forward a few inches until they could see around the corner of the entrance. A group of two dozen or so workers were walking down the ramp flanked by four guards. At the head of the column was a small female figure in a black jumpsuit. Once the group reached the bottom of the pit, the guards herded the workers into a line facing in the direction of Sam and Remi’s hiding spot. The woman continued walking.

  Sam grabbed his binoculars and zoomed in on her. Sam lowered the binoculars and looked sideways at Remi. “You’re not going to believe this. It’s Crouching Tiger, Scary Lady herself,” he said. “Zhilan Hsu.”

  Remi grabbed her camera and stared snapping pictures. “I don’t know if I got her,” she said.

  Hsu stopped suddenly, whirled on the assembled workers, and began shouting and gesticulating wildly. Remi closed her eyes, trying to catch the words. “Something about thieves,” she said. “Stealing from the site. Missing artifacts.”

  Hsu stopped abruptly, paused, then pointed an accusatory finger at one of the workers. The guards were on him immediately, one slamming the butt of his rifle into the small of his back, sending him sprawling forward, a second guard heaving him back to his feet and half dragging, half walking him forward. The pair stopped a few feet before Hsu. The guard released the man, who fell to his knees and began chattering.

  “He’s begging,” Remi said. “He has a wife and children. He stole only one small piece . . .”

  Without warning, Zhilan Hsu drew a pistol from her waistband, took a step forward, and shot the man in the forehead. The man toppled sideways and lay still.

  Hsu began speaking again. Though Remi was no longer translating, it took little imagination to understand the message: if you steal, you die.

  The guards began shoving and prodding the workers back up the ramp. Hsu followed, and soon the pit was empty again save the man’s corpse. The klieg lights flickered out.

  Sam and Remi were silent for a few moments. Finally he said, “Whatever sympathy I’d developed for her just went out the window.”

  Remi nodded. “We need to help these people, Sam.”

  “Absolutely. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do tonight.”

  “We can kidnap Hsu and feed her to-”

  “With pleasure,” Sam interrupted, “but I doubt we could do that without raising the alarm. We wouldn’t make it a mile before we’d be caught. The best we can do is blow the whistle on King’s operation.”

  Remi considered this, then nodded. “Pictures won’t be enough,” she reminded him.

  “Agreed. One of those trailers up there has to be an office. If there’s any hard documentation, that’s where we’ll find it.”

  After waiting until they were fairly certain the commotion had died down, they visited each of the tunnels in turn, Sam standing watch as Remi took pictures.

  “There’s a Chalicotherium specimen in there. It’s in almost pristine condition.”

  “A what?”

  “Chalicotherium. It’s a three-toed ungulate from the Lower Pliocene era-a long-limbed horse-rhino hybrid. They died out about seven million years ago. They’re very interesting, really-”

  “Remi.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe later.”

  She smiled. “Right. Sorry.”

  “How valuable?”

  “I’d just be guessing, but maybe half a million dollars for a good specimen.”

  Sam scanned the ramp and clearing for signs of movement but could see only one guard patrolling the area. “Something tells me they’re not so worried about people getting in as they are about people getting out.”

  “After what we just saw, I’d have to agree. What’s our plan?”

  “If we stay low, we’ve got a blind spot almost to the top of the ramp. We stop there, wait for the guard to pass, then sprint to that first trailer on the left and dive under. From there, it’s just a matter of finding the office.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  Sam gave her a grin. “Like taking a fossil from a billionaire.” He paused. “Almost forgot. Can I borrow your camera?”

  She handed it over. Sam sprinted into the middle of the pit and knelt beside the corpse. He searched the man’s clothes, then rolled him over, took a picture of his face, then sprinted back to Remi.

  He said, “By morning, Hsu will have the body buried in this pit. It’s a long shot, but perhaps we can at least let his family know what happened to him.”

  Remi smiled. “You’re a good man, Sam Fargo.”

  They waited for the roving guard to again disappear from view, then slipped from the tunnel and ran along the pit’s wall to where it met the ramp. They turned again and followed this route to the base. Thirty seconds l
ater they were lying on their bellies near the top.

  They now had a mostly unobstructed view of the entire clearing. On either side of it were eight trailers, three in a line to the left, five in a wide crescent to the right. The curtained windows of the left-hand trailers were lit, and Sam and Remi could hear the murmur of voices coming from inside. Of the five trailers to the right, the closest three showed lights and the last two were dark. Directly ahead of where Sam and Remi lay were four warehouse-style Quonset huts; between these, the main road leaving the camp. Mounted above the door of each hut was a sodium-vapor lamp, casting the road in sickly yellow light.

  “Garages for the equipment,” Remi guessed.

  Sam nodded. “And if I had to put money on which one of these trailers is the office, I’d go with one of the dark ones.”

  “I agree. Getting there is going to be the tricky part.”

  Remi was right. They did not dare head straight for the trailers in question. All it would take was the sudden appearance of a guard or a glance out a window, and they’d be caught.

  “We’ll take it slow and use the first three trailers for cover.”

  “And if the office is locked?”

  “A bridge we’ll cross if we have to.” Sam checked his watch. “The guard should be along anytime now.”

  As predicted, twenty seconds later the guard walked around the corner of the nearest Quonset hut and headed for the trio of trailers on the left. After scanning each trailer with a flashlight, he walked across the clearing, repeated the routine with the other five, then disappeared from view.

  Sam gave him twenty more seconds, then nodded at Remi. In unison, they stood up, jogged up the remainder of the ramp, then veered right for the first trailer. They stopped at its back wall and dropped down, using one of the trailer’s support pylons as cover.

  “See anything?” Sam asked.

  “All clear.”

  They stood up and crept along the back wall to the next trailer, where they stopped again, looked and listened, before moving on. When they were stopped behind the third trailer, Sam tapped his watch and mouthed the word “guard.” Through the wall above their heads they could hear voices speaking in Chinese and the faint strains of radio music.