Hunt Among the Killers of Men (20 page)

Kuan-Ku Tak Cheung stared dourly at the dead man’s arm sticking out of the base of the giant bronze idol in the shrine room. His expression seemed to say:
Hmm, he almost made it.

Gabriel was the focus of two aimed guns, in the hands of the pair of Cheung men who had accompanied them in an armored limousine to the leaning pagoda. Shorthanded, Cheung had snatched them off guard duty in front of the Peace Hotel and both men, smelling imminent promotion and favor in the boss’s eyes, were eager to comply.

They seemed just as eager to fill Gabriel up with bullets.

“A booby trap,” said Gabriel. “As I warned you.”

“It certainly seems that the obvious way in is not
the
way in,” said Cheung.

“My brother. What assurance do I have you will release him?”

“You have no assurance, Mr. Hunt. Once my needs are seen to, then I shall consider the disposition of your brother.”

“Then you are not a man of your word,” said Gabriel.

“And you are not naïve,” said Cheung. “It is your duty to acknowledge who holds the power in our brief relationship. You have cost me immeasurable time and resources. Your help inside this tomb could compensate for all that, but in the meantime you are at my command.”

The two Cheung men glanced at each other.

“I was you, mate,” said the taller Cheung man in an Australian accent, “I’d answer direct questions as asked, and otherwise keep my big yap shut.”

“But you’re not me,” said Gabriel. “Too ugly and stupid, cowboy.”

The guard bristled but kept his place.

“Now, Mr. Hunt,” Cheung said. “As you say in New York: Time’s wasting.”

Under the gaze of the guards, Gabriel climbed down into the trench and brought up the big, faceted orb of crimson glass.

“There were two at some point,” he told Cheung. “Now there is only this one. Watch.”

As Cheung and his bodyguards looked on, Gabriel climbed the bronze idol and mounted the jewel in the socket. Under direct lamplight, they all saw the arc of backward ideograms projected on the far wall.

“Now, if we move it to the other socket…”

Gabriel had a good grip on the jewel and hated to let it go. The thing was at least a century old and surely unique. But survival called for sacrifice. He made a show of carelessness and let an expression of not entirely false horror emerge on his face as he allowed the orb to slip from his fingers. It shattered into a million crushed-ice fragments on the floor.

“What have you done?” demanded Cheung, growing red in the face, but when he looked up again he
was staring into a pistol in Gabriel’s hand. There’d been more in the trench than just the jewel.

The Australian leveled his .45 automatic at Gabriel, but Gabriel said, “Don’t move or your boss gets it.”

“Shoot him,” said Cheung, regaining his composure. “Just not fatally. We still have need of him.”

A pair of gunshots erupted—but not from the Australian’s gun and not from Gabriel’s. The blasts came from the other guard’s M4. The Australian, Bennings, clenched tight with hits and fell down dead.

Cheung quickly raised his own pistol and blew the other man apart at the seams with three perfect shots.

“Poor Jintao,” said Cheung. “I was hoping Ivory had not gotten to him.” He prodded Jintao’s corpse with the toe of one boot. “You see, Mr. Hunt? Betrayal at every turn.” He waved his gun in Gabriel’s direction. “Come down off that statue, please. And throw the gun away. You will not shoot me, not when I hold your brother’s life in my hand. Let us stop wasting each other’s time, shall we?”

Slowly, reluctantly, Gabriel tossed his gun and began to descend.

“Tell me how my sister died,” said Mitch. She was having difficulty keeping focus. The headaches were starting to belabor her skull again.

Pan Xiao had conducted them to Ivory’s safe haven deep within the monastery. From supplies he had on hand, both herbal and medical, Ivory had prepared an injection that would help Mitch cycle down from the effects of the xipaxidine.

“You will feel weak,” he said. “The effect is compensatory. This is a buffer, it is not a cure. Your body will have to cure itself. But while that happens, this
will at least keep you from hurting yourself or suffering too severely.”

“Thank you,” she said, shivering.

Ivory lowered his gaze. “Do you trust me?” he said.

She extended her arm to him to accept the waiting needle.

“Your sister Valerie was a very strong person,” Ivory began as he swabbed alcohol over her skin. She felt the prick as the needle went in. “As you may have guessed, Cheung is tied into banks all over the world. Stocks, securities, laundered money, much of it from illicit business enterprises. Big money, high security. Valerie gained intimate knowledge of this information stream. But Cheung is not the only man with such connections—all men at his level of wealth and power have similar secrets, and Cheung asked your sister to tap into their information streams on his behalf. To engage in industrial espionage. He wanted details on his enemies’ activities, their resources. Valerie had learned so much so quickly about him; Cheung simply tried to turn this talent to more useful ends.”

“And she balked,” said Mitch, beginning to drift, her eyes growing large and dark. “She found the line she would not cross.”

“But here is the unusual part,” said Ivory, his voice low. “Cheung wanted to convince her so badly that he flew to the United States himself. He exposed himself to capture, to great physical danger, even possible assassination, hoping that his gesture would impress your sister. Valerie showed no appreciation. It wasn’t just that she said no—that he might have accepted. But she didn’t respect the gesture.”

It’s a face thing
, Valerie had told her jokingly before
heading off to the late-night in-person meeting.
It’s all very Chinese.

“Cheung told Valerie he thought she was extremely talented. He wanted to leave the door open for a possible future reconciliation. Valerie said no. She would be happy to return any file Cheung requested, sign any release, pay back the salary she had received, but her decision was final.”

Ivory also remembered how Cheung’s gaze had gone flat, reptilian and metallic, as he merely answered Valerie by saying, “A pity.”

“I asked you how she died,” Mitch said again, half-asleep.

“It was…unpleasant.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Ivory called up strength. “He struck her, one time. Not too brutally. I think she expected that to be the end of it. But then he gave her to his men, instructed them to ruin her. There were five. One to hold each arm, one for each leg, and the fifth to…to defile her. They switched off the fifth spot, each man took a turn. She was unconscious before long. They brought her to with water, waited till they knew she could feel it, then continued. It went on for more than an hour. And then they cut her throat.”

“You stood by and watched this,” Mitch mumbled. “You did nothing.”

“My responsibility was Cheung’s security,” Ivory said in a voice redolent with shame. “I did my job. And they did theirs.”

Mitch tried to lift her head but it seemed to weigh a million pounds. “And you have suffered ever since,” she said softly.

“Yes,” Ivory said.

“And then you saved me, when you could have let me die.”

“Yes,” Ivory said.

Mitch felt herself slipping out of consciousness, felt oblivion creeping up on her. “I forgive you,” she murmured. “Valerie forgives you.”

She was swept away, as on a gently rocking boat, to the sound of Ivory’s tears.

“The vent is corkscrew-shaped, with a switchback,” said Gabriel when they had reached the rockfall that disguised ingress to the cavern. The climbing had been steep, and Cheung had made Gabriel go first, knowing of his physical abilities and desirous of keeping his gun.

“The Killers of Men are inside?” said Cheung.

“Just inside. I can show them to you.”

“And this climbing equipment?” Cheung indicated the gear still scattered around the vent.

“Turned out to be unnecessary,” said Gabriel.

“This is an interesting conundrum, Mr. Hunt. If I let you precede me, you might enact some futile ambush. If I go first, you could conceivably slam the door on me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have shot your other bodyguard,” said Gabriel.

Cheung steamed briefly. “Pah! Bodyguards are no more than physical extensions of my command. Without my authority, no power exists in the first place, do you understand? Kangxi Shih-k’ai, the Favored Son, was unafraid to lead his men into battle. No
warlord fears to put himself at risk above all. That is why I do not fear you.”

Gabriel said nothing. He knew his brother’s life was dependent on making Cheung believe that whatever happened next was Cheung’s own decision.

“Snap these tight, so I can see them,” said Cheung, tossing Gabriel a pair of manacles retrieved from some inner pocket of his jacket.

“The funnel is difficult to negotiate.”

“You will cuff yourself and hold the lamp as we both proceed.” The ever-present gun terminated further debate.

Gabriel dropped the loose climbing gear back into the pile. Why hadn’t he thought to leave himself an extra gun here as well? He cinched the cuffs onto his wrists. Cheung checked them, tightened each to make sure Gabriel was secured. Then they went into the hole.

With his hands locked together by four links of tempered steel, Gabriel was reduced to the motility of a snake, his own lamp blinding him as Cheung squirmed through close behind. The rock jags made even a lucky kick impossible.

Several strands of climbing rope were threaded through the passage, like bright blood vessels.

“What are these for?” demanded Cheung.

“I was going to haul out some of the artifacts,” said Gabriel. “There wasn’t time.”

“Yes—robbing the graves of other cultures is a pastime of yours, isn’t it? And what is that
smell
?”

“There are bats in the cave.”

“And my men?”

“I doubt any survived.” Gabriel had to fold up, then extend himself to scoot along, clearing the way for
Cheung to follow, never forgetting the pistol pointed at him from behind. The way widened slightly as they proceeded toward the wide end of the funnel. “Kangxi Shih-k’ai rigged the entryway with a series of traps. Once the idol locked shut, there was no way in or out.”

“Except this way.”

“Yes—see for yourself.”

Gabriel expected Cheung’s lust to get the better of him as he approached his goal, and sure enough, Cheung was wriggling past him now like an eager child. But there was no room to move. No leeway for a blow or a chokehold. Gabriel felt the gun against him as Cheung passed.

Cheung swept his light across the blunt heads of the Killers of Men far below, his heart pounding, his breath short with astonishment.

“There must be…thousands of them,” he said in awe. Then he levered his fist right into Gabriel’s throat. “You didn’t say anything about there being a drop! You climbed out!”

“I thought that was obvious,” Gabriel said, chocking his boots against the nearest outcrop of rock.

“Damn you! It must be twenty meters to the floor!”

“I know,” said Gabriel.

In another two seconds, Cheung would be angrily backtracking to get all the mountaineering gear. Which made this the time to act. Gabriel lunged to his knees, swung his chained hands over Cheung’s head, pushed off like an Olympic swimmer, and launched them both into the black sky below.

Together, Cheung and Gabriel fell from the ceiling of the cavern for half a heartbeat, plunging into the void. Their lights and Cheung’s gun toppled away.

Then the carabiner locked around Gabriel’s belt cinched hard enough to compress several of Gabriel’s internal organs into a space rather too small to hold them all.

He had clipped it on before cuffing his hands during his dalliance over the equipment. The lifeline ran anonymously among the other ropes depending down the funnel. Now it convulsed to guitar-string tightness against the anchor pitons in the rock outside, which groaned with the impact and load, but held.

Leaving Gabriel swinging in darkness, nine feet below the vent, with his arms coiled around Cheung’s collar. It was the stiff, reinforced collar that saved Cheung’s life, since had the chain of the manacles been around his bare throat, he’d have been hanged for sure.

They heard the lights smash against the rocks below; two, maybe three entire seconds after they had dropped.

Gabriel could hardly even see the man below him desperately trying to fight gravity. His arms reached down into an absolute absence of light.

In credit to his nerve, Cheung did not holler or panic. He did not kick his legs. He hung on with grim determination and focused hatred, trying to crawl up Gabriel’s arms. Choice was out of the question. Gabriel could not drop or hold, and all Cheung could do was try to maintain his grip against the beckoning fall as they pendulumed in a slow, lazy arc in the damp darkness. Every movement weighed Cheung’s collar more heavily against the cuff chain…which burden threatened to unsocket Gabriel’s already fatigued arms.

Disturbed bats were beginning to flit around them.

Daredevils, safe crackers, heart surgeons and crazy
psychiatrists call it “supertime”—the moment that elongates under stress. It seemed that they dangled on the tether for an hour, when in fact it was mere seconds.

Every dram of oxygen was vital to both men; for Gabriel, head-down, to keep the blood vessels in his face from exploding, and for Cheung, lathered with terror-sweat, choking on his own knuckles while trying to hang onto the cuff chain that was cinching his hard collar into the flesh of his throat.

“Where…” Gabriel managed to choke out, “is…Michael?”

The body below him twisted in his grasp, but didn’t reply.

“
Where?
I’ll…save your…life if you…tell me.”

Cheung barked out a laugh.

Then, chinning himself with an iron grip on Gabriel’s forearms, Cheung lifted his throat out of the constricting embrace of the chain. “I’ll order him killed,” he spat in a single breath, his face inches from Gabriel’s, “while you hang here for eternity.” Then with a monumental effort he shifted one of his hands to grip Gabriel’s belt. He began hauling himself upward along Gabriel’s body with a fierce, almost incomprehensible strength.

“He’s in the Peace Hotel,” Cheung taunted. “Eighth floor, west side, last room. And what good does this knowledge do you Mr. Hunt? What can you do with it now?”

“This,” Gabriel said, and bending one knee, kicked Cheung hard in the face.

For a moment, Gabriel continued to feel Cheung’s weight pulling him down like a lead apron; then just the scrabbling of the man’s fingertips against his chest;
then nothing, a burden lifted, and seconds later he heard a wet crunch followed by a long, keening wail. All was darkness—but in his mind’s eye he saw Cheung far below, impaled on one of Kangxi Shih-k’ai’s spikes, the previously impaled skeleton crushed to dust beneath him by the impact of his fall. Here was a Killer of Men indeed to add to the ancient warlord’s collection.

Gabriel felt no satisfaction or fulfillment—merely relief that he could draw air again. His vision was spotting and his sense of direction was shot. He tried to pull himself up by the rope, but made little progress; he had no more strength in his arms.

The bats continued flitting around him; he could not have said for how long.

The next thing Gabriel knew, he was being pulled out of the hole on the line that had nearly garroted him at the waist.

Strong hands brushed debris away. Sat him down. Gave him a blessed sip of water.

“You have shown Kuan-Ku Tak Cheung the Killers of Men?” said Ivory.

“Yes,” said Gabriel, finding his voice.

“Then your business here is concluded?”

“You mean, in China?”

“No. This mountaintop.”

“For now,” said Gabriel.

“You must permit me to give you a lift back to the city.”

A moan drifted up from the funnel vent, amplified by the cave acoustics, muffled by the mountain.

“Did you hear that?” said Gabriel.

Ivory nodded. “The history of the Killers of Men is well known. This entire area is full of ghosts, and
sometimes the ghosts speak to those who will listen. Come.”

Gabriel and Ivory picked their way carefully down the mountain.

Behind them, the moaning from the cave became louder, more insistent, interspersed by hysterical laughter, and finally devolving into a long, drawn-out scream. But there was no one there to hear it.