The Lost Kingdom

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Tyler Webb was a happy man. Not only had Dudley now secured two major bargaining chips; not only were the Chinese about to be made to sit up and beg; not only had his small, expensive team of translators pinpointed the location of the Lost Kingdom so accurately he already had men heading to the site — he had now sent Dudley and his highly capable crew to the site too.

And that wasn’t the best part. Not by a long shot.

His train of thought broke as two monitors set before him flickered to life. Clifford Bay-Dale and Nicholas Bell stared out at him.

“We are the Pythians,” he said. “What news have you?”

Bay-Dale, architect of the lost kingdom project, spoke up. “We are the Pythians. As you know we have located the ancient site. It’s too early to provide any absolute proof yet, but we are working on it. Incontestable proof would take many months, perhaps years, but we can provide a formidable corroboration when the find is combined with evidence provided by the Niven Tablets, the American expedition of 1945 and the Peking Man. Startling corroboration. The Chinese will be forced to give us all that we want once our ultimate terms are laid out on the table.”

“Superb,” Webb said. “And Nicholas?”

“Zoe Sheers, our new primary member, is up to speed. I will have her ready to speak at the next meeting. Do we have news on your Lucas Monroe?”

“As you say — up to speed. And Clifford? Last we spoke you hadn’t found the time to vet a new member.” He allowed the sentence to hang.

Bay-Dale surprised him. “I made time, Tyler. If we make time then we make things happen. I do have a candidate, a man called Julian Marsh, ready to go. Such an excellent choice I’m surprised I didn’t think of him before. Anyway, as you both say, next time we convene…”

“Good. Good.” Webb shut his misgivings away. He didn’t enjoy giving the others even a modicum of control, but the way the Pythians were branching out meant he had no choice. “Now, Clifford, what about the haters? What about those who would seek to derail our new discovery?”

“The press,” Bay-Dale admitted. “I have made a short-list of some of the rags that take themselves too seriously. Men in power who would seek to profit.” He coughed delicately. “The ridiculous academics who are so short-sighted they barely see what’s beyond their own snooty noses—”

Now Bell coughed, only raucously. Webb knew why. Such words coming from a man like Bay-Dale — a controller of energy prices — sounded ludicrous.

“Prices rising again are they this year?” Bell clearly couldn’t help himself. “Price of oil up is it? Another tsunami maybe? Extra investment? How many houses do you have now anyway?”

Bay-Dale ignored him utterly and completely. “We have eyes on as many haters as possible. And we have leverage. I believe a significant amount of haters can be swayed to our side. Enough to make all the difference.”

Webb claimed both their attention by declaring operations open on the hugely important next level of their project. “So onward. The Chinese are teed up, waiting for our call. Shall I make it now?”

His question was designed to magnify excitement within Bay-Dale and Bell and it certainly worked. Bell sat up straight, eyes widening with pleasure and even Bay-Dale appeared surprised.

“You have them interested already?”

“I have my go-between standing by. He’s more a… procurer… of wishes. He makes things happen. He will get our demands to the government of the People’s Republic and in particular up to the State Council and all the way to the top — the Paramount Leader. We will be taken very seriously, gentlemen.”

“Fire across his email,” Bell said in a predictably crass manner. “I have more than one wish list I’d like procuring.”

“He has no email.” Webb sighed. “No address. No paper or digital trail. He does not exist apart from to those whom he invites to be his clients. Now, be quiet whilst I contact him.”

The process was laborious, necessarily so, as the call rerouted through half a dozen countries and servers. Despite all that, when the line started ringing it was answered immediately.

“Yes.”

“This is Mr. Webb. Following on from our last conversation we now hold both the Peking Man fossil and the location of the lost kingdom of Mu, either of which will cause a stir in the Chinese government the like of which you have never known. Not one but two legacies are at stake. Now, as we all know the Chinese like to play hardball in their negotiations and are masters of the double-cross. Please tell them there will be no negotiation beyond the provision of authenticity. And any double-cross will end in unprecedented disaster. Our demands will be met within forty-eight hours or the fossil will be destroyed live on YouTube. What will happen to Mu will be far worse.”

“Worse?”

“The whole area between China and Taiwan is being secured by a primed daisy-chain bomb.”

“And your demands?”

“The code boxes we spoke of, your so-called Z-boxes. The Chinese may not have developed a quantum computer just yet, I know, but those little boxes are almost as good for code-cracking. You say the People’s Liberation Army and their Cybersecurity Division have developed three? I want three.”

Webb signed off to quiet laughter.

Later, alone, he spoke to Callan Dudley, the Irishman on his way to China.

“I have new information for you, Mr. Dudley.”

“Oh, aye? And what might that be?”

“You’re headed to Asia, yes? Well, I have news that the SPEAR team, including the woman who beat you, are currently somewhere in Japan. If you come through for me, I will do my very best to facilitate some kind of… meeting.”

“Yer very best? Hey boys, the people who locked me up be in this part of the world too. Looks like we might get a showdown.”

Webb heard drunken cheering in the background. “I’ll be in touch.”

Webb sat back in silence, allowing his thoughts to drift. Today had been another major step forward for the Pythian movement. The wheels were turning. China would relent and then Taiwan would protest. The code boxes would be delivered. The US would shudder. New primary Pythians were on the way. From this lofty tower the world below was nothing but a game board to be played, manipulated and controlled. With that idea in mind he pressed a button to call the private elevator and allowed himself to be whisked fifteen floors down to an equally private lobby. There, a chauffeur awaited, the car already burbling. Webb stepped straight into the back seat, stretching out across the luxury leather.

“The hospital,” he said quietly.

His driver knew which one. His driver knew all the local addresses of the entire SPEAR team after multiple visits from Webb and other furtive operatives. As they negotiated traffic, Webb changed clothes and added spectacles and a comb-over to his appearance. The good thing about a city’s CCTV cameras was that they were all passive outside of extremely sensitive areas, which meant Webb could move freely without too much worry about facial recognition software. Only if authorities suspected he was in the vicinity would proactive measures be taken.

You can’t police all of the city all of the time.

Webb entered the hospital along with everyone else, wincing at the too-warm entry area and ignoring the information desks. Lines of people waited at the coffee shop to his right and at the convenience store to his left, as if there weren’t two deserted duplicates directly across the road. His eyes turned up briefly to check the signage, ensuring he was headed in the right direction. Inside, deep down, he was so fully alive his heart was racing, his temples practically pulsing. The prowl was on. The danger was exquisite, the outcome potentially delicious. A nurse smiled at him. The corridor bent at a right angle, passing a restaurant and an employees’ shop. A bank of elevators took him to the first floor and now Webb forced himself to slow down through fear of overexcitement. Her private room stood one hundred yards away. He strode on, a confident visitor to all appearances, but when he reached the small window he slowed. It was covered by a closed blind but he knew who lay on the other side.

The door handle turned. He didn’t bother to hide his face. The syringe lay cupped in his pocketed right hand, not that he wanted to use it.

And look at that.

He grinned outwardly. She lay sleeping, face turned away, monitors beeping nicely. The room was cozy, perfect for the recovering plague victim. Webb knew this woman was an expensive escort, but had no clear idea how she fitted in with the SPEAR team’s international efforts. No doubt she was a procurer of information, but he didn’t like to hang presumptuous hats on a person until he’d properly stalked them and learned their every inner secret — dirty, precious, miserable, heart-rending, the more priceless the better.

He opened her personal drawer, rummaging through the items of clothing there. The top drawer was locked but there was the key — right next to her water glass. How quaint. He sipped from the glass, flicking his tongue around the entire rim. He pawed through her locked drawer, finding a purse and a cellphone, which he quickly cloned. Many people kept information on their cellphones that couldn’t be accessed elsewhere, even by him — house alarm codes, obscure passwords, pin codes, highly personal details… for instance, the way to contact her escort service. All the time Lauren Fox lay sleeping at his side, breathing softly.

He slipped in beside her, ever so careful, ever so quiet. The syringe was now exposed, but he really didn’t want to use it. It was so much better when they were fully conscious. The sheets covered them both. A little snore escaped her luscious lips. Her hair smelled of almonds. He savored it for one more moment before climbing out, ecstatic.

Even in his rapturous state Webb didn’t want to tempt fate too much. It was time to leave a memento and get back to the real world. Why do these moments have to end so quickly? For that was all they were — moments. Yes, he could enter their lives, their homes, prowl around whilst they were out, but the truly perfect encounter was right here and now. In his mind it had a name — the Live Prowl. It was real time, full risk, and gave him the most intense thrill.

Webb drew a stylized ‘P’ on Lauren’s wall, right beside her peacefully sleeping face. This was the first of many, and would be necessarily large, obvious and crass. The ones to follow in the days and months to come would be far more intimate and thus more shocking.

Job done, Webb exited the room, but before he did so he placed his lips so close to Lauren’s own he could almost taste them; her breath mingled with his own. It was enough.

For now.

More was to come and soon. Excited, he decided he wasn’t yet done for the night.

Tyler Webb left the hospital and told his driver to head for home.

“Theirs,” he said. “Not mine.”