Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  His brain warned it was nothing but a smokescreen. She had an iron will and combat skills to match. His body said otherwise, demanded he touch her, taste her lips, explore her curves. When she kissed him back, lust had hit him with the force of a freight train. She had to have felt it, too. No way that kind of intensity could be one-sided.

  Was any part of her response last night real? Or was it another tool in her war chest? The thought stabbed him with a sharp bolt of anger.

  “For the record,” Oscar said, “the devil you’re talking about is the movie scout who’s actually some underworld spy after a top secret whatever, right?”

  Put like that it sounded like a B-rated soap opera. Dallas climbed in the passenger seat and stared out the windshield, furious with himself for letting his guard down and enjoying last night instead of acting like a trained agent and doing his damn job.

  “Saw you and her last night,” Oscar said as he settled his breakfast on the console between them. “You were having a romantic picnic in the garden.”

  “It wasn’t a picnic,” Dallas snarled. “It was a negotiation. One that ended badly.”

  “You got a thing for her, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely not!” His answer sounded harsh, steeped in denial. “She’s caused me nothing but grief since the day I met her over two years ago.”

  “Ah…a long-term relationship then.”

  “It’s not a relationship at all.” It was a frustration. A ticking time bomb. “I’ll be handcuffing her and hauling her off to jail before this is over.”

  “Right.” Oscar flipped open his breakfast container and speared a sausage link. “She’s cute, though, isn’t she?”

  “She’s got a rap sheet with Homeland Security, the FBI, and probably a dozen other agencies. She might be gorgeous, but she’s trouble.”

  “Gorgeous?” Oscar gave him a sly glance. “You got trouble, all right.”

  What just happened here?

  “What I have is a missing woman, a Japanese crime lord in town following her, and cab driver who is sitting in a parking lot going nowhere.”

  “I get it. You’re mad because she’s going to beat you to whatever it is you are after.”

  “No, dammit.” Dallas slammed a fist against his thigh. “She’s going to find herself in serious trouble real soon.”

  “This worries you?”

  It sure as hell did and, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. “She’s in over her head. She just doesn’t realize it yet.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you said you’d be hauling her to jail soon.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Right now you sound like her bodyguard or something.”

  Dallas snorted. “If anyone needs a babysitter, it’s her.”

  “Seems to me she’s doing a fine job of staying ahead of the rest of us.” He took a big bite of scrambled eggs and fired up the truck. “The Chinamen included.”

  “They are Japanese and, trust me, we need to steer clear.”

  “This woman turns you all sorts of inside out, doesn’t she? One minute you’re ready to lock her in chains, the next you are trying to protect her.”

  Did he really seem that psychotic? What was wrong with him? As soon as this job was over, he was checking into therapy. “I can’t arrest a dead woman. She needs to stay alive long enough for me to win at least one battle against her.”

  Oscar laughed. “I don’t know much about women, never could figure them out. But even I know that’s a war you’ll never win.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. Maddox seemed to hold all the cards and, as usual, he was left trying to figure out how the hell to turn the tide in his favor.

  Chapter 11

  Riki and Craig had headed north, taking the Endeavour Valley Road out past the airport and following the river for miles. Within an hour, they had passed Endeavour Falls and took a right onto Battlecamp Road. They were snaking through the Great Dividing Range, pushing as fast as a barely maintained dirt road would allow and aiming for an old abandoned outstation they’d seen from the air yesterday.

  The borrowed Jeep turned out to be a charcoal gray Land Cruiser. Air conditioned, four-wheel drive, double fuel tanks, an engine snorkel, and fully loaded for a week-long luxury expedition. She had no intention of taking that long. A day in, find the plane, a day out.

  “No sign of your friends following us,” Craig said. “Don’t even see a plucky kangaroo, and they are busy in the morning. We’re the only souls out here. Feels kind of lonely.”

  It did, but Riki didn’t mind the isolation. It felt peaceful to her, a rare commodity in her world. “It’s only a matter of time before someone figures out our direction.”

  “Right you are,” Craig agreed. “But we had an aerial advantage, and I’m fairly certain that old cattle station has been off the grid for a while. That gives us a head start.”

  She’d heard that before, and it had turned out wrong.

  “Of course,” he added, “the race against the Yakuza adds a certain edge. Still, we should be in and out before anyone realizes our intent.”

  The memory of Dallas holding her hand above the chocolate chip cookie rose to torment her. She’d been careful to keep her words generic and never actually stated she’d work with him. He had to know that was an impossible demand anyway. Her job wasn’t conducive to working with a federal agent. She crossed too many lines for that.

  Not that it mattered. His stunt with handcuffs had made any agreement null and void as far as she was concerned.

  What bothered her the most, though, was how much she enjoyed spending time with him last night. Starry skies, nocturnal critters scurrying about as they dined al fresco in the garden, even their sparring back and forth was fresh and different. And despite her fury at being held hostage in her own room, if she were blatantly honest with herself…that kiss… She’d never experienced anything like it. She wanted to kiss him again.

  That scared her. The stakes were much too high for her to lose focus over something as futile as the lure of forbidden fruit. He was off limits. Trouble. Absolutely the last person to get tangled around.

  And yet, she’d lost all coherent thought the second his lips touched hers. How do you combat magic like that? By blocking the memory and focusing on work. That was how.

  The sun finally lifted above the tree line, so Riki unfolded the topographical map they’d brought with them. She studied the terrain. Roads were few and far in between. Most of those listed were categorized as unnamed. She worked to memorize intersecting points, then focused on Mount Webb National Park, imprinting the direction of their upcoming hike.

  “I met your father once, a long time ago.”

  Craig’s abrupt words startled her and set off an unexpected surge of emotion. She fought to contain it, and yet, at the same time she desperately wanted to know.

  He didn’t seem to notice her struggle. “I’ve been thinking about the days Menita and I worked the digs,” he continued. “There were several archeologists. One was named Charles Maddox. He was your dad, wasn’t he?”

  Her heart squeezed. “Yes.”

  “We were in the Philippines. The Cagayan Province in northeastern Luzon. We worked for a Consortium interested in the history surrounding the Second World War. The Cagayan Valley endured heavy battles.”

  She knew the cover story. Most of it was true. Kai and her father recovered everything from buttons to bayonets to bombs, even an occasional downed aircraft. But there existed a deeper significance to their work. Specific Philippine war sites were alleged burial locations of Yamashita’s plunder. Conspiracy theories said the Japanese recovered most of it, some claim the Americans. But there were over one-hundred-seventy-two secret locations. No one knew the full extent of the treasure, and the chance existed that not all had been found. Even today, the lure continued to entice. In t
oday’s market, a find could be worth millions. Maybe billions.

  “What was my father like back then?” Her memories were that of a young girl, of a doting father who would lift her in his arms and spin her around. A man who enthralled both her and her mother with his exaggerated tales of daring-do straight from an Indiana Jones movie. His love of history came through in every word.

  “Charles had an easy manner about him,” Craig said. “He wasn’t in charge, but people responded to him, always seeking his advice on the job. Some days I’d see him out in the field, covered in mud, and moving from one worker to another. One minute he’s helping the bomb team carefully lift a grenade, the next he’s showing an intern how to use a horsehair brush to clean away debris. He had true enthusiasm for the job and a desire for everyone to succeed. He told me once that we all had something to contribute to this world. That’s why he treated people with respect.”

  She could picture him doing just as Craig described. For her and her mother, her dad had been a light in their lives. Once extinguished, it left a darkness that couldn’t be erased.

  “My father died in nineteen-ninety-eight, at Ilocos Norte, Luzon. Were you there then?”

  Craig shook his head. “I got out in ninety-seven. Moved back home to Queensland.”

  “Dad came home that year, too. But he was called back to handle a special find. He was only supposed to be gone four weeks.” She closed her eyes against the memory. “Official record says he was at Paoay Church, an UNESCO World Heritage site, and tragically murdered by robbers.”

  A mile went by with only road noise to fill the cabin. Then Craig asked, “And the real story?”

  “It’s a complicated three-way campaign. Yakuza are criminal, but they have the Imperial blessing when it comes to Yamashita’s treasure. Getting the pieces returned to the royal vault takes precedent. According to Kai, the Consortium worked in direct opposition to that. They were motivated by profit. They also came too close to a tunnel under the protection of the Imperial family. They were warned to back off, but refused to listen. My dad was sent to negotiate an excavation treaty, but was murdered by Yakuza soldiers instead.”

  Silence reigned for a short distance before Craig quietly stated, “I’m sorry, Riki.”

  He used her name, a sure sign he meant the words of sympathy.

  “Earlier, you asked me why I do what I do.” She smoothed the fold wrinkles from the map. “That’s the answer.”

  “You can’t get much stronger motivation than that.” He glanced sideways at her. “Still, would your dad want you doing this?”

  She didn’t like the question. This wasn’t about what Charles Maddox would’ve chosen for his daughter. It was about her need to bring his killers to justice. She never cared what it took, legal or illegal, none of that mattered. She’d dish out payback any way she could.

  “My father understood the world he lived in.”

  “He certainly seemed that way to me,” Craig said, “which is why he wouldn’t want you mixed up in this mess.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Maybe not, but I remember one evening when a few of the team gathered for a rare hour spent eating and drinking local brew. Charles pulled out a picture of a little girl. Said she was the love of his life.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the image he painted, against the pain that always hovered beneath the surface. Guilt took its place and left no room for the sense of restlessness that haunted her lately. She had a job to do, and she was ready. Find Phantom Pearl and beat the Yakuza to the prize of the century. That would go a long way toward avenging her father’s murder.

  She took a deep breath of resolve and found her way again. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” She meant it. Despite the pain it caused, she craved to hear anything about the man who left such an impact on the people around him.

  “No worries, mate.” He pointed to the map. “We there yet?”

  She smiled at his attempt to change the subject, but returned her attention to the map. “I think we’re getting close. The road in should only be another two or three kilometers.”

  “Cross your fingers it’s passable,” Craig said. “Anything can happen this time of year.”

  They almost missed it. Time had choked the narrow entry with vegetation and overhanging trees, but Craig managed to squeeze the Land Cruiser through. Roughly a hundred yards in, they reached a clearing where he stopped to engage the four-wheel drive.

  “Batten down the hatches,” he warned. “It’s going to get a little bumpy.”

  He didn’t exaggerate. The deeper into the track they got, the worse it became. Eventually they were bouncing down a rutted-out roadbed that was little more than a donkey trail. It began to get fun when they slowed to a crawl, entered a stream, and skated across solid bedrock slick from river silt and algae. Then they climbed out the other side, drove up a short rise, and came to a stop.

  “There’s nothing left of the road,” Riki said as she leaned closer to the windshield to see the downhill terrain better. “Can this thing make it?”

  The Cruiser hadn’t even blinked at the abuse so far. If anything, the engine purred at being put through the paces. But the path ahead of them defined the word challenge.

  Craig revved the engine. “See that handle bar on the dash board?”

  She grasped it. “This one?”

  “Yeah, it’s called the ‘oh shit’ bar. Hang on. We’re going down.”

  Another rev of the gas and Craig popped the Cruiser into low gear. They began to roll. Within a few feet, a small fallen tree branch blocked their path and he drove right over it, bouncing her sideways. Her grip on the bar tightened, and she held on through another hard bump, then a series of drunken swerves to avoid deep ruts, exposed sandstone, and tire hazards looming on both sides of the track. Spots of deep sand made forward progress sluggish. Then suddenly two wheels climbed onto a rock shelf, and the Cruiser lifted high on Riki’s side, flinging her toward Craig. She kept a white-knuckle grip on the handle bar until they righted again.

  Several bruises later, they drove into what was left of an old cattle station.

  It was a ghost town, complete with a rundown windmill standing to the right of the main compound, its blades frozen in place. Beside it sat an old water tank platform, the wood base splintered and falling away in pieces. Several piles of rusted, twisted tin lay haphazardly around, along with burnt-out metal barrels and broken down equipment.

  Age and neglect blanketed everything, but a few structures still stood. There was a three-sided lean-to with a misshapen tin roof. A weathered wood clapboard structure complete with broken windows and a front door in jeopardy of breaking free. Beside it was a thirty-foot length of narrow, open-sided walkway, covered by the same rusted tin as the buildings and edged with cowboy-style hitching posts. It had an old western feel, perfect for sheltering horses from a relentless tropical sun or the torrential rains capable of soaking the coastal regions.

  The far end of the walkway had partially collapsed, the victim of several gum trees pushing against the supports. Craig circled around behind the downed section and parked the Cruiser under the shade of those trees. It helped conceal the vehicle, not that there was anyone out here to see it, but caution always ruled the day in this line of work.

  It was still early morning, but there was little time to spare. Riki opened the back hatch and dropped the gate, then got busy pulling their backpacks free from the secure cargo hold. She piled up enough food and water for two days of hard hiking. Then added bedrolls, a change of clothes, and the all-important first-aid kit, before systematically organizing everything into their packs.

  Craig joined her at the back and laid a pistol beside her pile. “Just in case,” he said and began digging around in a square, metal locker tucked inside the custom drawer system.

  She checked the safety, then tucked it into a side
pocket for easy access. The Pearl’s special case came next, and she secured it to hang over the outside of the pack. It made her load twice as thick, but at three feet in length, it was the only viable option.

  “Knew there had to be one of these stashed back here,” Craig said as he pulled out a handheld GPS unit from the locker.

  As he switched it on and programmed in the coordinates, she pointed to a portable fridge strapped down on a sliding shelf. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a battery-run refrigerator. Whoever this guy is, he likes his luxuries.”

  “Bloke lives in Sydney.” Craig secured two extra battery packs into a side zipper pocket of his backpack. “Keeps this rig stocked for when he wants to get away.”

  “Nice friend.”

  “Did a job for him once.” Craig tapped the GPS unit against his palm. “He owes me a big favor.”

  “Something wrong?”

  He stared at the device with a frown. “Screen flickered. Didn’t do that last night.”

  “It’s working though, right?”

  “Seems to be.” Craig slung his pack over his shoulders. “Nothing more to do except start walking. Ready?”

  Chapter 12

  “Where to?” Oscar asked as he pulled away from the resort.

  “Mount Webb. How far a drive is it?”

  “Three hours, give or take. It’s not an easy one either. Pretty much the middle of nowhere and roads are unsealed after Hope Vale. Lots of wilderness. Hasn’t been much of a wet season, though. Should be clear enough.”

  “They have a two-hour head start,” Dallas reasoned as he pulled out his phone and opened the photos he took last night. They were good, but hard to read on his phone. He enlarged a picture of the full map and scrolled.

  Oscar leaned over to look at the screen. “Where’d you get the map?”

  “Photographed it last night.”

  “You get that from the girl?”

  “More like appropriated.”

  “So last night was about work.”