The Prisoner's Gold

17

Papineau took a small bite of the succulent crab cake, swallowed, then wiped his mouth with a fine linen napkin. ‘You knew this would happen, sir. You planned for it.’

Maurice Copeland nodded, chewing his food with the grace of a camel.

Papineau smiled and marveled at his apparent new stature in his boss’s organization. On his last visit, Copeland had hinted none too subtly that Papineau might soon find himself out of work — or worse — but on this visit, he had been treated regally. Copeland had sent a limo to bring his guest from the airport to the fortified home. For the first time ever, Papineau had enjoyed the scenic ride to the private hilltop community. He had paid no attention to the electrified gate that momentarily blocked their path or any of the other security measures that protected the land from intruders.

Instead, he admired the house and the distant Pacific Ocean.

When Papineau had reached the residence, Copeland had welcomed him warmly at the front door. In the past, Copeland’s beautiful-but-broken wife had always greeted him, but she was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had finally found the courage to leave Copeland, or if his boss had killed her and buried her somewhere on his spacious estate.

Papineau knew that the second option was far more likely.

‘Yeah, I planned for it,’ Copeland said, taking a swig from a bottle of Dos Equis. Papineau watched as the lime slice the man had shoved down the neck of the brown bottle jammed in its throat, flavoring the Mexican beer. ‘He surprised me, though. I didn’t think Cobb would have the stones to dig deeper into who was pulling the strings until the fourth mission.’

While his face showed nothing, inside Papineau raised a mental eyebrow. His boss — the man who had ruined him in the world of business and then offered him a lifeline of servitude — had let it slip that there would be another mission after the Polo treasure.

That is, of course, if they were successful.

For all his own private investigations, Papineau had failed to discover why Copeland was so intent on discovering these treasures. The man was already fabulously wealthy, and he didn’t really seem to want them. He had repatriated a good portion of the Romanian treasure to Bucharest and had allowed the Ulster Archives to examine the findings in the tomb of Alexander before the treasure was carefully packaged and shipped to Cairo. Copeland’s only desire had been to visit the burial site before Papineau had notified anyone else of its location.

Copeland took another sip of beer. ‘Obviously you can agree to all of Cobb’s terms. Let’s also throw him a small bone; something that will get him to slow down his search for me. You can confirm that you work for a nameless benefactor. Tell him I prefer to remain anonymous for the time being, but if the team is successful on this mission I’ll reveal myself to him and him alone. The others must never know my name.’

Copeland smiled, but it did little to improve his bulldog looks. With a cauliflower ear and a nose that had been broken many times, his grin only made him look constipated.

‘I don’t think he will accept those terms,’ Papineau said with just the right hint of uncertainty in his voice. He looked out past the massive swimming pool to the expansive view, feigning uncertainty as to how he might sell Cobb on the idea.

He knew full well that Cobb would accept the terms.

He was merely playing to Copeland’s ego.

‘He’ll agree to it,’ Copeland assured him. ‘And in the meantime, he’ll still be hunting me. So we’ll throw him a bone there, too. Something that makes him feel like he’s getting closer.’

Copeland inhaled his last crab cake in one giant bite and started speaking again before he was finished chewing. ‘Where is the team on Polo?’

Papineau hid his disgust. ‘Hector has finished the computer translation of the Rustichello manuscript, and Maggie is done with her contrastive analysis. Jack and Joshua are in northwest China while Sarah and the others are planning a trip to Florence to retrieve a different manuscript that might have some leads.’

Copeland leaned forward in his wrought-iron chair. He was a short man with an even shorter fuse. ‘In other words, you have nothing.’

Papineau was prepared for Copeland’s reaction. ‘You knew this one would be tougher than the others. They are working with very thin leads. The manuscript you procured is full of Rustichello’s suspicions, not maps. There is no “X marks the spot”.’

‘Then why is Cobb in Asia?’

‘They are performing reconnaissance in Xinjiang. Obviously, they’ve stumbled upon a clue of some sort. It’s in Cobb’s M.O. to investigate a location before bringing the team in. He calls these trips “rekkys”.’

‘But this time he’s done it without telling you the reason why,’ Copeland goaded.

‘Or so he believes. It’s all part of my calculated management style. I’ve actually been taking pointers from you.’

Copeland leaned back. ‘Are you trying to flatter me, Jean-Marc?’

‘Never, sir.’

Copeland let loose a throaty laugh, then stood and began to walk around the infinity pool set into the side of the verdant hill. Papineau stood and followed the man without being told.

The immense estate might have looked like just another lavish home in yet another exclusive neighborhood, but Papineau knew that it was actually the centerpiece of a sprawling collective. All of the surrounding mansions were also owned by his employer, making the entire hilltop his personal dominion. It was an act of both convenience and arrogance. While he loved a good fight, he was uninterested in spending any time with adversarial neighbors he considered beneath him — at least not when victory could be bought instead of battled for. To ensure his complete control over both his property and his privacy, Copeland had convinced the local zoning board to declare the land outside of the township’s authority. It had been money well spent.

He not only owned the land, he ruled it.

It was his kingdom.

The estate was surrounded by a low stone wall and landscaping that was so perfect it looked like it had been planted by a robot. The compound made the security at the house in Fort Lauderdale look primitive. The house itself resembled a reinforced castle piercing skyward out of the soil of the hilltop. The stones had been quarried from all over the country and presented a tapestry of shades of gray against the piercing blue of the California sky. The inside of the home was just as impressive, with tasteful artwork, handcrafted furniture, and multitudes of skylights to fill the place with natural light. Despite all the man-made luxury, the thing that Papineau liked best about the home was the view.

He walked in silence as he absorbed the transcendent vista of the Pacific Ocean.

‘Just be sure he’s still on mission,’ Copeland said, shattering the moment. ‘I need him hunting for me, not hunting for me. Understand?’

Papineau understood the distinction. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘One more thing, Jean-Marc. I may not want him looking for me, but it is the only acceptable alternative. If you ever sense that he’s lost interest in the treasures and my identity, I need to know immediately.’

‘May I ask why?’

Copeland stopped walking and stared at Papineau. ‘Because if he’s no longer trying to find a treasure or find out who I am, it’ll be because he’s figured out what I’m doing. And once he does that, I’ll be forced to kill him … and his whole fucking team.’