The Thieves of Legend

by Richard Doetsch

  Simon was tucking Xerox copies into an envelope and slipping the book back into the velvet slipcase. He passed the book to Michael, who tucked it in his black satchel.

  Jon and his team approached the door. Busch and Simon grabbed their guns.

  “Don’t,” Michael said. “I need to find KC.”

  “They’re coming in here to kill us.” Busch pointed at the book in Michael’s bag. “They’re going to shoot us and take that bag from your dead body.”

  Michael looked around the room, his mind working, searching for a way out, a solution.

  He suddenly tore open the armory closet, grabbed three hunks of C-4, and ran to the workbench where he had created the chips and tracking devices. It was still cluttered with electronics. He swiped up three chips with LEDs, jammed their protruding wires into the puttylike blocks, and placed them in plain sight around the room. He pulled the small black box from his pocket, the one he had used to track the chips, and placed his thumb on the side button.

  “So, you’re going to blow us all up?” Busch asked in shock.

  Michael said nothing as Simon smiled.

  Michael walked to the door and stood to the side of it; Simon and Busch aimed their weapons.

  And they all watched on the monitors as Jon and his team pulled their guns, bracing themselves for attack.

  Jon pressed his finger to the pad, punched the code into the door, and it released with a click.

  Two of the gang members rolled into the room, firing their guns. Busch and Simon dove for cover.

  From behind the metal door, Michael shouted, “Dead man’s switch.”

  Jon’s eyes fell on the scattered C-4 and he instantly understood, barking orders to the three gang members, who stopped firing, realizing they were within a trap. If Michael was killed, the button beneath his thumb would be released and the room would be torn apart, killing all of them.

  Jon walked into the center of the room, looking at each of them. There was rage in his eyes for being outsmarted. He stepped toward the box of artifacts as each of three gang members squared off in front of Michael, Simon, and Busch. No one lowered his weapon, the air thick with tension.

  Jon looked at each of the artifacts, picking each one up in turn, examining it, smiling. He picked up the Kusanagi and it took his breath away as he recognized it, handling it as if he were holding an angel. He turned it about, swinging it in a large arc, feeling its power, revering it. He finally placed it back in the box and picked up the katana, far lighter, and far more deadly. He unsheathed it, cut the air with it, spinning it about in quick figure-eights, stabbing at ghosts. He turned to Michael and pointed the katana at him.

  “Where’s the book?”

  Michael didn’t answer.

  Without warning, Jon raised the blade in the air.

  CHAPTER 48

  THE FORBIDDEN CITY

  KC floated to the surface, emerging into a large open room. Her head throbbed, her body ached as she crawled from the water into the room. Her chest heaved and she coughed violently, expelling water. She rolled onto her back and shined her light about.

  The room was large, appearing ancient, but the rusted compressor against the wall made her realize she wasn’t the only person who’d been here in the last several decades.

  Rising to her feet, she looked around and saw abandoned construction debris, shovels, jackhammers, and pickaxes scattered about. There was a single door, metal—again, rusted. She opened it and walked out into a large hall, which she followed, emerging into what could only be described as an enormous tunnel. It was as wide as a six-lane highway, nearly one hundred feet across, and the ceiling was over twenty-five feet high. As she shined her light down the passage, she saw the beam disappear into darkness, the tunnel stretching on for a straight shot as far as the light would carry. She turned and looked behind her, finding the same situation, a passage into permanent nighttime. There were lights strung from the ceiling, but all were dark.

  She had no idea in which direction to go.

  She pulled out the map that Jenna had given her and saw that the tunnel stretched on for over twenty-five miles into the foothills. It was the government escape route carved over fifty years ago to afford passage away from a nuclear holocaust. But as the years had passed and the Cold War ended, the route was no longer maintained.

  KC noted a red circle that Jenna had drawn; it was a half-mile north, indicating an escape hatch to the surface. The only problem was that KC had no idea which way was north; the paths in front of her and behind her were nearly identical, with no direction indicators. But then she realized that those for whom the escape route had been intended would all be racing away from the city, and they surely knew what direction that would be.

  But to her…

  She reached into her pocket, pulled out the black silk pouch, and smiled as she opened it.

  She wished she could see Annie’s face as she finally got the red puzzle box open, watching as the triumph in her eyes faded into defeat, stunned by the sight of the empty box.

  When KC had arrived in the cavern, she knew she needed to act fast. She’d pulled the red box from her pouch and examined it.

  It wasn’t about locks, hasps, or seams. All were internal, the six-hundred-year-old craftsmanship rivaling anything today. She had held the box close, examining the edges.

  On the face of the small case was an etched drawing. It was Zheng He.

  She placed her thumb on his chest and could feel the slight play. She turned the box over, looking at the yin and yang, small, elegantly carved. She pressed upon it, holding it down while turning the box back over and pressing Zheng He’s chest simultaneously. The mast of the ship rose a quarter inch.

  And the box popped open to reveal the black silk bag.

  Looking upon it now, she reached in and pulled out a circular brass disk; in its center, and nearly the same circumference, was a polished, glass convex window. Around the brass case were markings, small and intricate: dragons, tigers, monkeys, and clouds, houses, ships, and graves. The arrow in its center floated about.

  It didn’t matter that it wasn’t marked north, south, east, west. The needle didn’t need to know in which direction to point; the magnetic poles took care of that. The ancient, elegant compass was meant to guide admirals and men of the sea. Today it would guide her to freedom. That which she had stolen would be her savior.

  As she walked north through the tunnel, shining her flashlight about, she passed abandoned military vehicles, cars, and trucks of 1970s and 1980s vintage, windshields cracked, tires flat. She was amazed that the Forbidden City, created nearly six hundred years ago, had stood the test of time, but vehicles built by modern man couldn’t last a quarter-century.

  She finally came to the point on the map that Jenna had circled. The Chinese lettering was upon the wall; though she had no idea what it said, she knew what it meant. The long ladder that climbed twenty-five feet up into the ceiling made that clear.

  The rungs were still sturdy, and surprisingly rust-free. She tucked the compass into its silk pouch and back into her pocket; she rolled up the map, slipped it away, and began her climb.

  At twenty-five feet she disappeared into the concrete ceiling, a narrow tube that was obviously an escape hatch for fleeing the tunnel in the event things down there were worse than things up top. It was another twenty-five feet before she arrived at a circular hatch. A spoked wheel was centered upon it, like a submarine hatch.

  She wrapped her legs around the uppermost ladder rung and gripped the wheel, trying to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. She reangled her body and tried again, but once more it was useless.

  It was on her third try that it budged—it was as if something snapped within—and the wheel began to turn freely, unspooling its seal like a nut upon a bolt. As she continued to turn, she paused a moment and was quickly wracked with fear…

  The wheel was turning by itself.

  Unsure whether it was the design, momentum, or worse, she looked down, th
inking to escape once more. But then she grabbed the wheel and its movement halted.

  She took a breath and continued turning one more revolution, and the seal released with a gasp. She pushed against the hatch and it rose. Cautiously, she climbed out to find herself in a basement where a dark, foul odor filled the air. She quickly shined her light about, but there was no one there, and she was thankful that it was just her imagination that had made her think the wheel had been turning by itself. She walked out of the room to find herself in an old abandoned food processing plant. Animal bones filled dried vats, rusted machinery and racks lined the walls. And though the room hadn’t been used in decades, the stench seemed like that of fresh death.

  As KC turned around once more, the shadows came alive; she shined her flashlight in the corner, its beam glinting off the barrel of a gun.

  “Hello, KC,” Annie said as she stepped forward.

  CHAPTER 49

  MACAU

  The katana in Jon’s hand arced down, the blade invisible, its speed seemingly faster than light. Michael had no time to react as it split the air…

  . . . And sliced through the gang member in front of him, cutting him down with a single stroke, the edge severing the arteries of his neck, continuing down through his chest. But Jon didn’t stop: His balletlike moves carried the blade outward in a sweep, cutting through the gang member standing before Simon, piercing the man’s belly, slicing him through, nearly carving him in half.

  The gang member before Busch had the most advantage, he had all of a third of a second to react, but it was enough time for his finger to begin to squeeze the trigger. But Jon simply adjusted his attack, turning the blade over, modifying his arc to cut the man’s hand off at the wrist. It fell to the ground still clutching the butt of the gun. Before the man could even gasp, before the pain ran through his nerves to his brain, the sword drove up into his chest, slicing sideways, cutting his heart from its veins and arteries.

  Michael stared at Jon, at the bodies around them, the volume of blood like nothing he had ever seen before.

  “We’ve got thirty seconds at most,” Jon said.

  Michael removed his finger from the button and tucked the box back in his pocket; there was no explosion.

  “Nice ruse,” Simon whispered to Michael.

  Busch stared at Michael, confused.

  “Those weren’t detonators,” Michael said, “just LEDs.”

  The four charged out the door and down the rear stairs, which led into the basement, Jon in the lead. The gang member at the door raised his gun, but hesitated as he saw Jon in front. And with his hesitation, the gang member died, as the blade silently slipped through his throat.

  They emerged onto the narrow street.

  “I don’t know where KC is,” Michael said. “I left Annie’s file up there.”

  “We’ve got to move,” Jon said. “Lucas has more men coming.”

  Busch grabbed Jon by the neck, slamming him into the wall. “You are the type who would kill his own mother for a nickel, so tell me why slaying those men back there will wipe away your deeds of the last four days and make me trust you and convince me that you’re not setting us up.”

  “Simple. Just as I was to execute you and Michael, I was to be killed after I slew you.”

  “Bullshit. This was a money grab for you, you’re not the seeking-redemption type. Why didn’t you just cut and run?”

  “Because… where you’re going, I can still get paid and disappear. You’re right, it’s a money grab, and you just became the highest bidder with the best survival rate. And I just became your best hope to find KC Ryan. So let’s get the hell out of here before those guys coming around the corner start shooting.”

  Busch relented and they ran down the narrow streets, past the old locked and gated shops. Rounding a corner, Jon threw a set of car keys to Simon as they arrived at a silver Mercedes 500. They jumped in; Simon started the car and pulled out.

  “Where were you planning on going?” Jon said.

  “We’ve got a plane to catch,” Simon said.

  Jon took a moment, looking around, and a black Range Rover tore around the corner.

  The street to their left was narrow and several cars were crawling along, their brake lights flashing intermittently. The street ahead was cordoned off, terminating at a wooden fence. There was nowhere to go.

  “Through the fence,” Jon shouted. “Go!”

  And the gunfire behind them exploded.

  Simon punched the accelerator as Michael ducked down in the front seat. Jon pulled out his cell phone, quickly barking an order as he looked at the approaching SUV behind them.

  Simon exploded through the wooden fence to find himself faced with a metal guardrail that wrapped a long corner. He threw the wheel to the right and raced down the sidewalk, narrowly squeezing between the rail and the brick building on his right until the guard rail ended and he found himself in the middle of an open street, the roadway ahead clear of not only people but cars, bikes, carts, and any sign of life.

  He hit the accelerator and pushed the Mercedes as hard as he could, the speedometer quickly climbing above one hundred miles per hour. The Grand Prix racecourse was wide open, the streets cordoned off for the first race at 7:00 a.m. Simon pushed the Mercedes to its limit. They were moving at nearly 120 miles per hour, the old buildings whizzing by, the explosive sound of spitting air reverberating every time they passed a small shop.

  The Range Rover kept up its pursuit, coming through the fence, squeezing between the building and the rail seventy-five yards back, its engine straining as it began to catch up.

  The sidewalks surrounding the temporary racetrack were empty at 5:00 a.m., but as they neared the grandstands, the pit stops and storage compounds for the race cars, they could see the beginnings of early-morning activity.

  “Where the hell are we going?” Simon said as he pushed the car to its limit, past the fuel tanks, past the empty viewing stands, toward the sunrise, which was just beginning its glow over the water ahead.

  “Just straight ahead. I’ve got a friend who’ll help us.”

  “We can’t run this course all day.”

  “Don’t worry, we run out of track in thirty seconds.”

  And Simon could see the water ahead. They were bearing down on a bridge, the section of racetrack that ran over the water. The track took a sharp left ahead, but Simon could see the way was blocked by a large street-sweeping truck that was cleaning the track for the day’s races.

  The Range Rover was fifty yards back and closing fast.

  Simon would be out of the roadway within ten seconds.

  Jon rolled down the window, leaned out.

  “That’s not going to do any good—”

  And Jon rapid-fired his gun.

  A fuel tank to their right exploded, a huge fireball rolling up into the sky, the high-octane race fuel superheating the air. Michael could feel the heat on his face from nearly one hundred yards.

  And the Range Rover skidded into a spin, trying to avoid the liquid inferno that spilled out on to the roadway, a wall of flame blocking its way.

  Simon slammed on the brakes, the tires squealing on the bridge as they ran out of roadway. The street sweeper was completely blocking any hope for escape as its driver jumped out, staring in awe at the conflagration behind them.

  “Great,” Simon shouted. “You just blocked our only way out!”

  They all jumped out of the car and looked back at the fire.

  Without a word, Jon ran to the edge of the bridge and leaped over the guardrail. Michael ran up behind him and looked down to see a speedboat in the water eight feet below.

  “Well?” Jon yelled. “Let’s go!”

  LUCAS WALKED INTO the safe house, barely able to control his rage. He was alone as he looked at the bodies, the blood everywhere.

  And then he saw it, on the floor, a white envelope. He picked it up, opened it, and found a Xerox copy of the map of the island.

  He pulled out hi
s cell phone and quickly dialed.

  “Yeah?” Annie answered.

  “Do you have it?”

  “I will in a moment.”

  “Good, then kill the woman.”

  “I thought we were—”

  “Kill the woman.”

  CHAPTER 50

  THE FORBIDDEN CITY

  “How did you find me?” KC asked as Annie led her at gunpoint out into the China predawn.

  “Where is the compass?” Annie asked.

  KC stepped from the abandoned building, its parking lot peppered with weeds that pressed through the cracked concrete. “Wasn’t it in the box?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m impressed you figured out how to open it,” KC said.

  “Open it? I smashed it with the butt of my pistol. I’m not one for puzzles. Now, where is it?”

  “How could you possibly have found me?” KC asked. “There are dozens of escape hatches along the way.”

  “You underestimate me,” Annie led KC across the lot toward a white Town Car that sat in the glow of a lone streetlight.

  KC smiled. “So says the woman who fell for the empty-box routine.” But her smile quickly faded as they arrived at the car and KC saw Jenna tied up and blindfolded in the backseat.

  “Let her go, she has nothing to do with this,” KC said. “No one else has to die.”

  “That might be unavoidable,” Annie said.

  As KC looked at Annie in the glow of the streetlight, she understood how true Annie’s words were; she finally saw the dark stains, nearly imperceptible against Annie’s dark shirt; there was a hint of blood around her left nostril. “Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  Annie said nothing as she held her gun on KC.

  “How long have you been infected?”

  “Give me the compass,” Annie said.

  “Why, so you can give it to your boss, the man who poisoned you?” KC said. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d just roll over and die. You shoot innocent people in the back. What do you do to those who want you to die?”