The Prisoner's Gold

35

Despite the fertile soil of the Pearl River Delta, Panyu is known more for factories than farming. A former suburb of Guangzhou, the expansive urban sprawl has effectively consumed Panyu, folding it into a megalopolis that continues to grow. More than sixty million people reside in the region, making it one of the most densely urbanized areas in the world.

The tightly packed population of the delta was a double-edged sword. Cobb knew that people in large cities often kept to themselves, but he also realized that distinct faces stood out in a crowd. Here, his chiseled American features would stick out like a sore thumb — especially if he visited the same spot twice.

In his mind, a rekky was simply too risky.

‘Lorenzo, are you sure this is the right place?’ McNutt asked as he peered down at the warehouse from a hillside overlooking the industrial neighborhood.

Garcia grinned from the safety of his suite at the Westin a few miles away. McNutt had yet to call the computer whiz by his proper name, and he had all but given up correcting him. At this point, the teasing actually made Garcia feel more accepted.

‘I’m sure,’ Garcia replied.

Garcia had found the facility, and a brief description of the artifacts housed inside, by hacking into the database of the State Administration for Cultural Heritage. The SACH, as it was known, was a subsidiary of the Ministry of Culture responsible for the management of China’s museums, including the cataloging of the country’s historical relics.

‘Well, I’m pretty sure,’ Garcia continued. ‘The site didn’t list the exact info we were looking for, but Maggie agreed that it’s our best target.’

‘Pretty sure?’ McNutt repeated. ‘Now he tells us.’

McNutt wasn’t complaining. He had covered countless incursions, and as far as vantage points were concerned the warehouse was nearly perfect. It had been built at the base of one of the few protected nature parks that remained in the city and from his hiding place on the wooded slope McNutt had full view of the warehouse, the surrounding neighborhood, and the highway that encircled both. He could protect the team’s entrance and their escape, just as long as they stayed within the two-thousand-yard range of his custom-made EDM Arms Windrunner: the present he had purchased for himself during their visit to Hong Kong.

Cobb interrupted them. ‘Josh, are you in position?’

‘Affirmative,’ McNutt replied.

They were using a sophisticated communications set that utilized tiny buds placed in the inner-ear canal and a thin film with an embedded microphone that had been attached to each team member’s molars. Garcia had tweaked the software to filter out both mouth noises and background hiss, and he had boosted the level of encryption to such degree that every hacker at the NSA would grow old and die before cracking it — or so he claimed. As a result, Cobb felt comfortable using their real names on the operation.

‘And ladies,’ Cobb said, encouraging Sarah and Maggie to finish the radio check, ‘how are you doing tonight?’

‘Reading you loud and clear,’ Sarah said.

‘Me, too,’ Maggie added.

‘Last chance for “no-go”,’ Cobb instructed. It was military-speak to let them know that any of them could call off the mission if they felt that something was wrong. All they had to do was speak up.

The radio channel was silent.

‘We’re go on Sarah’s lead,’ Cobb said.

‘Approaching now,’ Sarah replied.

McNutt dropped the binoculars and pressed the scope of his rifle to his face. He didn’t have eyes on Cobb, but he took that as a good sign. He reasoned that if he couldn’t see Cobb, it was unlikely anyone else could either.

Sarah and Maggie drove to the warehouse in an inconspicuous Mercedes A-class hatchback that Papineau had chosen because of its ubiquity throughout the region. They parked the Mercedes behind a small outbuilding across the street from the main warehouse and immediately exited the vehicle. The pair walked purposefully toward the building, their confident strides giving off an air that they belonged there. Even their attire failed to attract attention.

The women were both dressed in the new dark uniforms Sarah had put together. The fabric was designed to absorb light, but the material could pass as eveningwear instead of tactical clothing. Despite their chic appearance, the trousers concealed several hidden pockets that held first aid and survival gear. Their tops had been constructed with built-in holsters for their 9 mm handguns and sheaths for their ceramic, T-handled knives. The outfits were complemented with all-purpose boots that also fit the style of well-moneyed tourists.

‘Going in,’ Sarah said.

McNutt watched as she made short work of the front door’s lock. A moment later, the women disappeared into the warehouse. He turned his attention to the facility grounds, then continued outward to the surrounding buildings. It was his job to warn the others if anyone approached. He switched his scope to night-vision mode, hoping to illuminate the shadows. When he still saw nothing, he activated the scope’s infrared capabilities and looked for the heat signatures of anyone who might be lurking nearby.

He spotted Cobb for the first time that night.

The team leader was resting against the wall of a bus stop canopy roughly one hundred feet from the warehouse entrance, on the other side of the street. He held a map of Guangdong in one hand, keeping the other hand free for the Glock that McNutt knew he had strapped under his shirt. If anyone approached the warehouse from his direction, it was Cobb’s job to run interference.

McNutt watched as Cobb subtly adjusted the bud in his ear.

‘How we doing in there?’ Cobb asked.

‘This place is pathetic,’ Sarah answered. ‘I opened the lock on the front door in two seconds, and that’s the only security we’ve found. No cameras. No guards. Nothing. Maggie could have kicked in the door and done this job without me. The place is all boxes on shelves with Chinese characters and numbers. You know that last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark? It’s like that. The shelves run on forever.’

‘Stay cautious,’ Cobb warned. ‘You never know what’s around the next corner. Until you find the manifest, stay radio silent—’

‘I found the manifest,’ Maggie interrupted.

Garcia chuckled at the timing. ‘Can you translate it?’

This time, Garcia didn’t have access to a live feed of what they were seeing. That would’ve required an active laptop to stream the Bluetooth connection from the cameras in their eyewear, and Garcia didn’t want to risk leaving a computer in the car unattended.

‘Yes,’ Maggie answered. ‘It’s all numbered descriptions. Just give me a few minutes.’

She fell silent as she flipped through the pages of the printed ledger, which were filled with cramped Chinese characters etched in a careful scrawl.

The book was over five hundred pages thick.

She had her work cut out for her.

After nearly ten minutes of silence, Papineau’s patience was wearing thin. Like Garcia, he had been listening from the hotel suite, but even in his posh surroundings he was growing uncomfortable.

‘Anything?’ he asked.

Maggie finally filled them in. ‘We’re looking for two boxes. I’ve got the identification numbers; we just need to find them.’

‘Easier said than done,’ Sarah added.

Cobb knew she was talking about the seemingly endless rows of shelving that she had described earlier. ‘How much time?’

‘No way to say for sure,’ she admitted. ‘Ten minutes? Maybe fifteen?’

Cobb watched as a patrol car cruised down the road toward him. It slowed slightly as it neared the outbuilding, then came to a stop as the men inside noticed the parked Mercedes.

‘Sorry ladies,’ Cobb said, ‘but you don’t have that much time.’