The Prisoner's Gold

5

The concrete stucco and simple tiled roof of the team’s headquarters gave the impression of an industrial compound rather than a lavish house. Built with practicality in mind, not prestige, the building looked more like a bunker than a beach home. The squat architecture, perfect for withstanding the tropical storms and powerful hurricanes that threatened the Florida coast each year, was unassuming in almost every way.

From the outside, it reeked of modesty, not money.

But inside was a different story.

Nicknamed ‘La Trésorerie’ — the Treasure House — by Papineau, the four-thousand-square-foot home was adorned by the trappings of wealth. Exotic rugs, valuable paintings, and expensive chandeliers decorated the interior of nearly every room. Although the building was designed to keep them safe and included air filtration and water purification systems, as well as walls that could withstand a missile assault, the Frenchman saw no reason to sacrifice comfort.

Ironically, the team couldn’t have cared less about such opulence. As long as they had beds to sleep in, couches to sit on, and food in the refrigerator, everything else was unnecessary. They were here to train, not entertain guests.

Gaudy works of art meant nothing to them.

Unless they were part of a mission.

The morning had been relatively quiet at the team’s headquarters when Sarah Ellis burst through the front door like an angry bull. ‘Where is he? I know he’s here somewhere!’

Sprawled in a wingback chair in the living room, McNutt froze when Sarah stormed into the house. He didn’t think he had done anything to piss her off in the past three months, but he braced for impact just in case. Thankfully, she blew right past him without so much as a glance. McNutt merely shrugged and went back to reading the latest issue of Guns and Ammo, as if this type of thing happened every day.

Meanwhile, Garcia had a much different reaction. Dressed in a Skyfall T-shirt, knee-length shorts, and sandals, he grabbed his laptop and retreated to the opposite side of the dining room table from where he had been working. Behind him was a huge picture window that looked out on a magnificent terrace interspersed with interlocking swimming pools and palm trees. He figured Sarah was less likely to throw something at him if he was standing in front of glass.

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Garcia shouted in his defense.

Sarah glared at him. ‘Not you, Hector. You were just the messenger boy. I’m looking for Papi. I know he’s here. I saw his yacht in the marina.’

At that moment, a short Chinese woman in her early forties entered the room from the kitchen. She carried a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and bacon, which she set down in front of Garcia as if she was a waitress at his favorite diner.

Garcia thanked the woman quietly, then sat down to eat.

Stunned, Sarah rocked back on her heels and examined the stranger.

She had a flat nose, black hair pinned back behind her head, and bright red lipstick. Her outfit was a dark exercise suit partially covered by a white apron.

She smiled at Sarah. ‘Mr Papineau assured me he would be here for breakfast.’

‘Um … thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’ the woman said before slipping back into the kitchen.

Sarah remained frozen. ‘Who the hell was that?’

Garcia shrugged and mumbled, ‘Looks like Papi’s got himself a maid.’ Then he shoveled some eggs into his mouth, grateful to be eating something other than Twinkies.

‘A maid? How do we know we can trust—’

Before Sarah could finish her question, the woman came sweeping out of the kitchen again, this time with a bowl of spiced beef and rice in one hand and a pair of silver-tipped ebony chopsticks in the other. She set them down on a side table next to McNutt.

He smiled and bowed politely. ‘Xièxiè.’

Sarah’s mouth hung open as the woman scurried back to the kitchen again without a wasted step. Somehow she appeared to glide rather than walk. Sarah looked from the doorway to the kitchen, back to McNutt, then over to Garcia, then back to McNutt.

‘What did you say to her?’ she demanded.

McNutt picked up a piece of beef with the chopsticks. ‘I said, “Thank you”.’

Garcia stopped eating. ‘You speak Chinese?’

‘Hell no. Learning Putonghua is like trying to herd cats in the nude. You can do it, but you’re gonna hurt yourself.’

Garcia was confused. ‘Wait. But you just said—’

‘I can say “thanks” and order beer in a bunch of languages. I can also say “How much for the girl with the donkey” in Tagalog, but that’s a loooong story with lots of graphic details.’

Sarah rubbed her eyes in frustration. ‘Dear God, please don’t tell it.’

A moment later, Sarah sensed someone behind her. She opened her eyes, and the Chinese woman was standing a foot away. Somehow she had slipped back into the room without the whisper of a sound. Sarah jolted back away from her.

‘Would you care for some breakfast?’ the woman asked. Up close, her face was smooth, with just the hint of laugh lines around her eyes.

‘Uh … no, thanks,’ Sarah managed. She was about to ask the woman’s name, but before she could the woman flitted across the room to McNutt’s chair.

‘You like the Naxi beef, Joshua?’

He smiled. ‘Yes, ma’am. It’s delicious.’

She beamed with pride. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

Then she zoomed off to the kitchen again.

Sarah turned and glared at McNutt. ‘Ma’am? Did you say ma’am? Wow. It looks like someone’s been taking his medication.’

McNutt put the bowl up to his face and shoveled in some rice. ‘What?’ he said with a mouthful of food. ‘I have great manners.’

Sarah walked over to him and placed her hand on his forehead. ‘No, really. Are you okay? Maybe you have a fever.’

He smiled and poked her in the stomach with a chopstick. ‘Just because I’m not being rude like Fernando doesn’t mean—’

‘The name is Hector.’ To emphasize his point, Garcia stood and pointed his fork at McNutt. ‘And I wasn’t being rude. I said thanks, too. Just not in Chinese.’

McNutt continued to eat. ‘You called her the maid, nerd. That’s rude.’

Garcia’s eyes opened wide, the full gravity of his faux pas suddenly dawning on him. His face turned bright red. ‘Wait! You said she was the maid!’

McNutt looked like he’d swallowed a cockroach. ‘No, I didn’t!’

Sarah watched the exchange in silence, trying to make sense of things. Wow, that race must have messed with my mind more than I thought.

‘Yes, you did!’ Garcia argued as he stamped his foot like a three year old. ‘I said I was hungry when I got up, and you said, “Why don’t you ask the maid to get you something?”’

McNutt rolled his eyes. ‘I was being sarcastic, genius.’

Sarah caught movement out of the corner of her eye and jolted again. The Chinese woman was standing behind her. ‘Gah! I’m going to tie a bell on you or something.’

A dark look fell over the woman’s face. ‘I’d like to see you try.’

‘Wait,’ Sarah said. ‘If you aren’t the maid, who the hell are you?’

‘I’m guessing she’s our new historian,’ said a new voice.

All eyes turned to the doorway to see Cobb walk in, carrying a green duffel bag that looked like it had survived several wars. He dropped the bag on the soft rug covering the entryway and looked past the others, toward the far end of the room. ‘Isn’t that right, Papi?’

All heads swung the other way to see Jean-Marc Papineau standing in the archway to the library. Garcia was sure the room had been empty a moment before. He made a mental note to search for a secret door when he had the chance.

Papineau wore a light-colored linen suit with an expensive tie. His gray hair and mustache were perfectly styled as usual. ‘You are correct, Jack,’ he said as he stepped toward the woman. ‘Allow me to present Miss Maggie Liu of the People’s Republic of China. If you are going to find the next treasure, you will most certainly require her assistance. And while she is a first-class chef among other things, I can assure you that she is not the maid.’

The focus of the room shifted to Maggie, who didn’t flinch in the white-hot glare of the spotlight. Instead, she remained composed and confident; two traits that Jasmine lacked when she had first joined the team. ‘It’s nice to officially meet everyone. I am truly honored to be here. Jean-Marc told me about your last mission. I am deeply sorry for your loss. Just so you know, I am not trying to replace Miss Park, but, if you’re willing, I want to become a part of this group.’

Cobb studied his team to see how they took the news. Although three months had passed since Jasmine Park’s funeral — a somber affair where they had met her family and were forced to lie about her cause of death because of the secrecy of their mission — this was the first time the team had met in the house without their historian. He knew there would be some emotions early on, but he figured they would work through them together as they considered their options.

Never one for subtlety, Papineau had wasted no time with the hire.

Not only had he found an Asian woman to replace Jasmine, as if the team was made up of interchangeable parts that could simply be plugged in, but he had done so without consulting the team leader who would ultimately be in charge of the mission.

In Cobb’s mind, it was a major misstep on Papineau’s part.

Thankfully, the team took the announcement in stride. Maggie had already won over McNutt with her cooking skills, and Garcia was still so embarrassed about the maid comment that he would do anything to make up for it. Even Sarah, who had been slow to warm to Jasmine’s charms but had eventually taken her death the hardest, seemed willing to give Maggie a chance.

All in all, the group’s reaction was much better than Cobb had expected.