“What about GPS?”
Busch flipped a switch, and they all looked at the video screen. “GPS triangulates your positions off satellites, pretty simple algorithms. The big ships use it, the new sailors use it, but the old seadogs still rely on the compass. Since the island is not on the shipping routes it’s not even thought of, but anyone looking for the island locks in the heading on their GPS and this is what they find.”
Busch pointed at the screen. It said Searching for signal.
“There are seven sats to pull from, you need three to triangulate position, but this GPS never finds more than two—the magnetic field is somehow interrupting the signal.”
“So the island, by virtue of this magnetic field, is invisible?”
“No, not at all, just invisible to technology, and since man relies on technology so much, we’ve blinded ourselves to this world and who knows how many other places.”
Jon removed his hand from his pistol and pulled the shirt over it.
“WHAT DO YOU mean it’s not there?” Lucas demanded.
“I mean there is no island at these coordinates, sir,” the young Navy lieutenant said.
Lucas looked at the GPS screen, which was blank. “That’s not even working.”
“We’ve been riding the compass for several hours. The GPS signal has been weak at best.”
Lucas spun around and faced Annie, his eyes bloodshot, his face gray and fatigued. “You screwed up.”
“Absolutely not. I did the calculations; they were based off a glitch in the Xeroxed map. I spoke to Jon a few hours ago and gave you the modified heading that they are following; theirs was based off the diary and the compass, and they didn’t make a mistake.”
“Well, the island is not there. You care to explain how Jon was right?”
Annie pulled out her sat phone and hit Send. She waited thirty seconds before doing it again, but there was no signal.
“Turn the boat around,” Lucas shouted.
“Where?”
“To someplace where we are not lost,” Lucas shouted. “Take us back to the point where we have a GPS signal.”
Lucas drew his pistol and pointed it at Annie’s head. “You better pray we find that island in the next three hours, because if we don’t, the last thing I will do before I die is kill you.”
CHAPTER 56
The island appeared on the horizon as a small dot.
As they approached the designated coordinates, Busch could see the point of the compass shift two degrees, an infinitesimal amount, one that a ship’s autopilot would immediately correct for, and they would have missed the island. But he maintained his original course, and within an hour, it was there. It was just a blip, a small dot on the horizon, easily mistaken for a distant ship or mirage, but as they continued closer, it rose out of the sea, slowly climbing into the air until it loomed ahead.
Unmistakable, it was larger than Michael had expected, a volcanic island, its mountainous cone climbing several thousand feet, the entire expanse green and lush. Busch kept one eye on the depth gauge and one on the copy of the map.
“You sure about this?” Busch said.
“Without question,” Simon said.
As they got closer to shore, Busch could see the change in the sea. While the waters he currently rode were calm, those surrounding the island appeared far more agitated; heavy waves and cross currents ringed the island despite the blue skies above.
At five miles out, Simon flipped open Zheng He’s diary, tore out the ancient Chinese drawing, and taped it to the side window. The painting was intricate, detailed, reflecting topography, the rise and fall of the hills, the clipped edge of the volcano’s cone. Busch turned the boat to port and began to circle the island in a clockwise fashion, cutting his speed to fifteen knots as he kept one eye on the painting and the other on the island. He had no idea whether there had been an eruption in the last six hundred years, something that would surely have changed the appearance of the island.
Busch kept the boat steady, staying five miles out from shore just as the diary had described. Simon and Michael hung over his shoulder, staring at the island as they circled, all silent in anticipation.
And then, as if in some child’s game, they saw it. The image of the island was a near perfect match to the picture: the rock outcroppings, the far west cliffs, the sharp drop off the cone’s eastern flank.
“Son of a bitch,” Busch mumbled.
“Told you,” Simon said.
Busch couldn’t believe it as he turned in toward shore. He pulled the painting from his side window and affixed it to the windshield in front of him, making sure the two images before him matched.
“Zheng He said there was but a single approach to the island, a narrow channel laid by the gods to keep the unworthy out. He described the reef as an enormous water dragon that ringed the island, protecting it, waiting to snatch the unworthy into the depths.”
At four and a half miles out, the seas grew from a light chop to a heavy swell. Though the sky above was clear and the winds out of the southwest were only at five knots, the waves were becoming stormlike.
“The water we were over was three thousand feet deep,” Busch said, “but for the last hundred yards, we’ve been at 150. If it was land, it would appear like a half-mile-high wall.”
It was the base of the island, thrust up thousands of years ago, the lower base of the volcano that leveled off for four miles until reaching the island, where it climbed again.
The coral reef that surrounded the island rose to just feet below the surface for the entire circumference except for the two-hundred-foot section Busch was heading through now. And as he slowly motored in, he realized there was a second ring, which appeared to be volcanic, with several subsurface channels that cut through the lava rock.
The inflow of water through the channels exceeded what the outflow over the two reefs could handle, creating a pressure where the waters were churned up, proving nearly impossible to navigate. With the shallow reefs, ships were thrust upon the sharp rocks and coral, their hulls compromised, sending them to the depths. It was for the same reason Bermuda had nearly four hundred sunken ships ringing its island, captains unaware of the forbidden beauty that lurked just beneath the blue waters.
Busch understood why the island had remained uncharted. The compass correction sent people away from the island while those who sought it out or happened upon it were soon shattered upon the rocks and coral, pulled to the depths, dying before they had the chance to tell their tale.
Busch held tight to his course, ensuring the picture and the image of the island remained lined up. Watching his depth gauge, he could see the ocean floor climbing, while on the side-scan radar, images of the deadly coral reefs loomed on either side, seemingly in wait to tear open the hull.
Busch held tight to the wheel as the heavy seas tossed them about, desperately trying to force them toward death.
A half-mile from shore, the seas began to calm. Busch checked his gauges and turned the ship hard to port, circling about the island again. It was like a rat’s maze as he weaved through the hazards.
He finally made the other side of the island and could see the mouth of the river ahead, a natural channel carved from the depths, the river’s flow dredging away the silt and buildup. The waters again grew rough from the delta, where the ocean and fresh water met.
Busch pressed the throttle and muscled the boat toward the mouth of the river.
IT WAS TRULY a jungle, like something out of an adventure story: a rain forest thick with vegetation, dense trees, heavy foliage, bushes, and vines. The sound of wildlife filled the air, the songs of birds, the screech of mammals.
The river wound through the jungle, the lone roadway to the heart of the island. It flowed outward at a gentle pace, the crystal-clear waterway teeming with fish. Suddenly, a heavy downpour turned the river into a boiling froth, the air into flowing sheets of water that prevented them from seeing past the bow of the boat. But as quickly as the
rain had come, it ended, the humidity level surging. Steam poured off the rocks and trees as the river seemed to swell.
Shots rang out, strafing the side of the boat. Jon dove for cover behind the bulkhead, peering out to see the shooter lying prone across a tree branch at the river’s edge. Michael, Busch, and Simon grabbed their guns but were waved off by Jon as he crawled back to the pilothouse, grabbed his rifle, and climbed the interior ladder to the second deck.
Jon lay out on the deck, propped his rifle up in front of him, and peered through the scope. The man, dressed in black pants and a black T-shirt, lay there, no doubt, believing he was protected by the jungle, clutching a Heckler & Koch PDA rifle, military issue. And as the man leaned forward, placing his eyes against the sight, it was too late.
Jon pulled the trigger and the right side of the man’s head exploded, his body tumbling from the branch to the jungle floor.
LUCAS’S SHIP THREADED through the needle of the narrow channel, cutting through the waves, the front- and side-scan radar illuminating the precarious passage. Finally making it to calmer waters, they began to loop around the island.
Lucas had summoned Annie out on deck, and they watched in silence as the ship rode around the island, neither saying a word until…
“Were you planning on killing me now or after we got to the island?” Lucas said suddenly to Annie.
Annie stared at the island, doing everything she could not to give herself away. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You and Jon are lovers—that is not a secret. The reason he left me was out of fear, and the reason he is now with them is money, treasure, the things that are rumored to be here. And his radioing you? That was to keep you safe, to ensure your arrival on time so he could get you cured.”
“You hired me, I shot that young man on the streets of New York, putting myself in danger. I kidnapped KC Ryan, persuaded her to help me in Spain, ensured her compliance in the Forbidden City, killed others along the way. I even stole back the compass to decode your map—”
“Which you failed at—”
“I’ve done everything you hired me for. I’ve killed, stolen, put my life in danger, and yet you poisoned me.”
“A dying man—or in your case, woman—becomes more than resourceful. I needed someone who shared my motivation,” Lucas said. “When time is ticking and death is seconds away, one pulls rabbits out of hats every time. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You tried to kill me.”
“Oh, no, not tried,” Lucas said. “Shortly, I will succeed unless you share in what I’m about to retrieve.” Lucas paused. “How’s the pain, by the way? I don’t know about you, but it’s crawling up my spine.”
“You’re a son of a bitch.”
“That I am, so if you want this son of a bitch to save you, tell me how you were going to try to kill me. What was it going to be, gun, knife, tossing me overboard, or something more elegant?”
Lucas opened up a large duffel bag and withdrew a black-scabbarded jian; he folded his hand about the leather-wrapped hilt and withdrew it, turning the polished double-edged blade over in the air.
And without warning, Lucas snapped the blade like a whip, stopping its point upon Annie’s heart. “Elegant, wouldn’t you say? But you prefer other means, I know, so what was it going to be?”
Lucas pushed the point slightly forward, cutting through her shirt, nicking her skin.
“A bullet to the head,” Annie said. “Dump you overboard.”
“Clean, no body.” Lucas nodded in approval. “Now, tell me, how would you like to die?”
BUSCH DROPPED ANCHOR by the right bank of the river.
“Look,” Jon said as he peered through binoculars from the upper deck at the front of the boat.
Busch put his own field glasses to his eyes and focused them upriver toward a wide lagoon. It was large, but the edge of a dock could be seen to the right, though it was mostly obscured by jungle. In the distance, beyond the white beach, were the footings of a large building.
“Look left, by edge of the river,” Jon said.
Busch scanned the area, finally seeing a lone man, shirtless, sitting in the sun. His hair was dark, and there was a hint of Asian heritage in him—then suddenly he turned, almost looking directly at Busch.
“Holy shit,” Busch whispered.
Michael and Simon crawled up on deck beside them.
“Who is that?” Michael asked. “Xiao?”
“No tattoos,” Jon said.
“Lucas?” Simon said.
“How the hell did he get here before us?”
Jon continued to study him through his binoculars. “Oh, my God.”
LUCAS STOOD ON the bow, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose as he unbuttoned his dark shirt.
Annie stood behind him, leaning against the wheelhouse.
“Do you want to live?” Lucas asked Annie, though not turning her way.
Annie remained silent. Her body was beginning to ache; her head pounded with a headache like she had never known. And while the symptoms would subside, she knew they would come back stronger, again and again, until she could no longer stand it, until it finally consumed her and she was released into death.
She thought of her mother, of the pain she had endured, of her sister and grandmother, of all the women in her life dying before the age of thirty. She thought of how she herself had feared death all of her life, had made herself hard, strong, seemingly invincible. And now, months shy of her thirtieth birthday, her once healthy, strong body had been poisoned by this man. She thought of fate and how no matter what she did she couldn’t escape it… Staring her demise in the face, she broke. She would do whatever it took to save herself, whatever it took to overcome the curse that had befallen all of the women in her family.
“Yes,” Annie said. “I want to live.”
“And you will do what I ask when we arrive?” Lucas removed his button-down shirt, revealing a white long-sleeve shirt beneath it.
“Yes,” Annie said.
“Then I will let you live.” Lucas removed his undershirt, baring his torso. It was a tapestry of color, an enormous demon dragon, its teeth bared in attack, its bloodshot eyes filled with death, that horrifically wrapped his torso, shoulder, and arms. Bloody gauze dangled from his muscled stomach, revealing a large burn at his waist; fresh, raw scar tissue melted his skin, corrupting the tattoo into a vision that terrified Annie.
But not as much as the realization of whom she had been working for, answering to for the last several days. She’d thought she had been hired by the colonel and was working with the support of the U.S. government on a deep-cover mission, but it had all been a ruse. She knew they were brothers, knew the death wish they had for each other. She had simply thought she was working for Isaac Lucas, not his brother. She’d thought she was killing for a noble cause, not for some vainglorious head of a Triad, a ruthless man who was far more lethal than she was.
He reached in his duffel bag and withdrew a black box. He laid it upon the deck table in front of Annie. It was etched with a dragon entwined in battle with a snarling tiger, the black lacquer finish dazzling in the midday sun. He ran his fingers over the design and the lid popped open to reveal a black porcelain bottle.
“So small, yet so deadly,” he said, holding up the small bottle. “Something we can both attest to. Selective extermination. Dropped into the food stores of a military base, devastating; poured into a city’s water supply…
“And yet the virus brought on by the Dragon’s Breath is not contagious; mother nature at her finest. Once we arrive at the island, once I have the Tears of the Phoenix, I will hold the power of life and death in my hands. The power of gods and emperors.”
Jacob Lucas finally turned and stared out at the open sea.
Annie had been told he was dead, had never heard anything to the contrary; she’d heard he had burned to death while going down with a ship. But the news of his death had been premature. For the man known as Xiao was sta
nding before her, and she had just pledged herself to him.
CHAPTER 57
“You’ve been working for the enemy, a terrorist,” Busch said as he laid his gun down beside him. He was huddled in the back of the boat with Michael, Simon, and Jon.
“I had no idea,” Jon replied.
“Really?” Busch snapped.
“He fooled us all.”
“How?” Michael asked.
“Does it matter?” Simon asked.
“I don’t care who he is,” Busch said. “It doesn’t change the fact that he wants us all dead.”
“Xiao isn’t just looking for a cure for himself,” Simon said. “He’s looking to master the Dragon’s Breath. And there’s plenty more of that here. In the hands of someone like him—”
Busch picked up his gun and said to Simon. “It doesn’t change the fact that when I see him, I’ll kill him.”
MICHAEL STOOD OVER KC, who was slowly waking; her skin had gone pale, taking on a gray hue as life slipped from her body. Her deterioration was accelerating; Michael could see the pain in her eyes as she struggled to move. He rubbed her head, her shoulders, did whatever he could to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry,” KC said, forcing a smile.
“Hey, nothing to be sorry about,” Michael said as he handed her a mug of hot tea.
She wrapped her hands around the warm mug and struggled to sit up.
“Stay where you are. You need to rest, conserve your energy.”
“I’m fine,” KC said. She looked Michael over, noting he was dressed in black, a pistol in a shoulder holster, his knife at his side. “Going for a moonlight stroll without me?”
“I need you to stay here, sit tight, no lights. I’ll be back in a few.”
Michael kissed her warmly, slowly, letting his feelings pour into her.
“I look awful,” KC whispered, inches from his face.
“Not to me,” Michael said.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to do what I do best,” Michael smiled. “I’m going to go steal your life back.”
The Thieves of Legend Page 35