The Prisoner's Gold

38

Lim Bao had been at the warehouse for several hours, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. What should have been an ambush had turned into a bloodbath.

And his team was on the losing side.

Despite the presence of his men, the foreigners had infiltrated the warehouse, pulled down two boxes from the storage shelves, emptied the contents, then put the two boxes back on the shelves. If not for footprints on the dusty floor, Lim wouldn’t have known even that much. According to the ledger, the boxes contained records of the Great Wall of China during the Mongol era.

Lim had no idea why the Westerners wanted the ancient records, and neither had the old professor from Peking University. The man had been quite forthcoming when questioned — especially when his grandchildren had been threatened. The Fists had informed Lim that the Westerners would be searching for records from the Mongol era pertaining to the Wall, but the old man had been unable to shed any light on what specific questions the group hoped to answer.

Given the Fists’ connections in China, it hadn’t taken long to figure out which warehouse the foreigners would be visiting. Unfortunately, business in Hong Kong had kept Lim from personally supervising the ambush.

Now he had no choice but to visit Panyu himself.

He needed to know why his men had failed.

Local law enforcement was not a problem for Lim. No one questioned him or even asked to see his identification. They’d simply given him a cup of coffee and asked if he needed anything, then they had left him alone at the scene. They knew who he represented, and that was enough.

They dared not interfere with the Fists’ investigation.

McNutt had destroyed all of their vehicles, but he hadn’t killed every man. Those who had survived the assault had removed the bodies of their deceased brothers before the police had arrived. Having cleaned the scene of evidence, they had provided Lim with a detailed account of the incident. Feng was dealing with them and their failures while Lim examined the site.

He knew what had happened.

It was his job to figure out why.

When he was certain nothing else had been disturbed besides the boxes, he left the warehouse and asked a uniformed officer to take him to the hillside where the sniper had been perched. He didn’t expect to learn much over there, but if Feng questioned him he wanted to be able to respond that he’d been thorough.

An hour later he phoned Feng, who was out of breath when he answered the call. In the background, Lim could hear a noise that sounded like a whimper.

‘Yes?’ Feng said.

‘Sir, I’ve examined the site. They were after something specific, and it appears they found it. Two boxes of records were removed. And as the professor told us, those records concerned the Wall.’

‘Anything special about them?’

‘They are normal governmental records from the Mongol period. Information about the Wall’s restoration efforts, information about payments and taxes. Ordinary things. Unfortunately the records had yet to be scanned, so we don’t know the exact details of what they contained.’

‘Very interesting. First the Loulan ruins, and now this …’

Lim could tell when his boss was thinking aloud, so he didn’t respond.

‘The Loulan ruins were from when again?’

‘Some estimates say as early as 1800 BCE, sir.’

‘Goodness,’ Feng said. ‘Eighteen hundred years before the current era.’

Lim noted his boss’s use of ‘current era’ instead of ‘Christian era’ with pleasure. Even though Lim wasn’t a believer in Jesus, at times he still found himself using Christian terminology to describe things. The long reign of the Christian church was so very embedded in modern language. Feng, however, had eliminated all Christian references from his vocabulary.

‘Which part of the Mongol era are the missing records from?’ Feng asked.

‘The last quarter of the thirteenth century,’ Lim answered.

‘That’s three thousand years apart! What is the connection between them?’

‘I’m not sure, sir. It will take some researching, but we’ll figure out what the foreigners are after.’

‘You better, Lim. They have killed several of our people and made us look like fools. We will not let that stand. I want you on this issue full time now. Find out who they are, and find out what they want. Bring them all to me — dead or alive. Preferably in pain.’

Five hours later Lim was back in Hong Kong, rushing through the lobby of the hotel where he and Feng lived. Only now he was heading to the basement to find his leader. He’d heard that Feng was still downstairs after all this time. He pitied the men who had botched the job in Guangzhou and hoped never to find himself on the receiving end of Feng’s wrath.

Lim had spent the duration of his train ride searching the web for information on Loulan, the Great Wall, and the reign of the Mongols. By the time he had arrived at his destination, he had put together a theory. He still didn’t know everything, but he was certain he had enough to convince Feng.

Lim had the elevator to himself. The bell chimed and the doors opened on the concrete space of the empty parking level. Lim always liked that this level was closed off for the Fists. He made his way diagonally across from the elevator toward the small office in the corner. It was the same place where his leader had chopped off the Australian’s hand.

Lim entered the office to find Feng seated at the desk. He was covered from head to toe in blood, his eyes wide open and staring at nothing. If Lim hadn’t seen the man’s chest rising and falling, he would have thought he was dead. The guards that were typically around on this level were nowhere to be seen — which meant they hadn’t been able to stomach the afternoon’s festivities. Or Feng had sent them away. Or the leader’s rage had overwhelmed him completely, and he had killed them as well.

Lim knew each scenario was just as likely as the others.

‘Sir?’ he asked gently.

Feng stirred out of his trance and glanced at Lim.

‘Can I get you anything, sir?’

As if finally registering where he was and what he looked like, Feng shook his head. The scent in the room was one of slaughter, but Lim had smelled worse.

‘I’ve done some research, sir. I might have an answer.’

A hungry light appeared in Feng’s eyes. One that still needed to be fed. ‘Already? Well done, Lim. What have you learned?’

‘Because of the drastically different time periods, I started looking into people who might have passed through Loulan during the Mongol era. Armies. Emperors. Explorers. I started thinking outside the box while trying to connect the two locations, and I realized that only one well-known traveler was in that region during that particular timeframe.’

Feng caught on instantly. ‘You don’t mean the Venetian?’

‘I called some historians and a few other experts in Asia who specialize in the Mongols. I also called a professor in Oxford. They all had the same thing to say: there’s been a rash of recent inquiries into all things related to Marco Polo. These are people who are not used to having outside interest in their work, but in the last month they have been contacted by the Ulster Archives and a Chinese woman who claimed to be studying Polo for a graduate thesis.’

‘The Han woman?’

‘My thoughts, sir.’

‘So Marco Polo connects Loulan with the Great Wall somehow, and these Americans …’ Feng’s voice trailed off.

Lim waited. He preferred Feng to make the connection for himself.

Finally, Feng smiled. ‘They are searching for Marco Polo’s fabled lost treasure!’

Lim nodded but said nothing.

Feng stood, excited. ‘We need to find them at once.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But do not intervene. Let them solve the mystery. Once the treasure is found, it goes to Beijing — where most of it undoubtedly originated.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Forget what I said about dead or alive. As soon as that treasure is located, I want you to bring them to me.’

Lim didn’t understand. ‘Sir?’

Feng grinned like a wolf. ‘I want to kill them myself.’