The Diamond Dragon (Kip Keene Book 4) (2 page)

“I heard Striker’s back, dude,” Linus said. “Thank God.”

“That sounded kind of like an insult, Linus.” Keene stepped into the room and shut the door, immediately feeling like he had been sucked into an alternate dimension. Or stuck in laser tag hell. Linus’ office—which the gangly idiot insisted on referring to as “The Mothership” at every opportunity, of which there appeared to be a nigh unlimited number—was completely dark, illuminated only by neon wall lights and the high-wattage array of monitors that graced a minimalist stainless steel desk.

“She all right?” Linus rose from his custom-designed ergonomic chair and rushed over to Keene. He offered him a fist bump. Keene declined, flicking the oversized baseball cap from Linus’ greasy head instead.

“It smells like pot in here.”

“Dude,” Linus said, running over to a far corner of the radioactive man cave. “You gotta see this.”

Linus shifted his weight from foot to foot, wiggling like a tied-up dog who had just spotted his owner exiting a store. Keene made sure to drag and stall for as long as possible. It would be more exciting to see the kid pee himself from excitement than whatever was stashed in the corner.

“Come on dude, hurry up.” Linus finally flung open the door to a waist-high black box. Two plants stood inside, a fluorescent bulb bathing them in a heavenly glow. “SoCal lifestyle, baby. Four-twenty, three-sixty-five.”

“Please stop.” A sharp mixture of skunk and faint wisps of orange hit Keene’s nostrils. “Where’s your new friend?”

“Carmen?” Linus shrugged his shoulders and then winked awkwardly. “You know.”

“No, I don’t. That’s why I asked.”

“Well, we got a little stoned, and then we, you know. But I’m a gentleman, so that’s all I’ll say.”

Keene stifled a snort, then wondered why he’d bothered. “Of course.”

“She’s asleep upstairs.”

“Fantastic,” Keene said. “Glad you’re happy. You had something for me?”

“Yeah, yeah, dude,” Linus said. He dove into the chair and began banging at the keyboard with feverish abandon. “I found it. After a couple months of research, I finally found it.”

“That means nothing to me, Linus.”

“What that last key from Ben’s will goes to.” Linus pulled one of the monitors closer, the plastic stand squeaking. “Notice anything?”

“It’s a blueprint of the house.”

“There are only thirteen rooms,” Linus said. “Doesn’t that seem odd?”

“Too few for your tastes?”

“Did a little research on the architect,” Linus said. “Marios Sonica. Famous for being a total weirdo, into the occult, séances, all sorts of stuff.”

“So the house is clearly haunted.”

“I’m trying to help here, dude.”

“You’d be helping if I needed to win a quiz show,” Keene said.

“Basically, Sonica would
never
have designed a house with thirteen rooms in it. Way too superstitious. Demons, spirits, whatever, who knows. There’s gotta be a fourteenth room hidden somewhere.”

“You gonna tell me where?”

“I don’t know.”

Keene craned his neck back to look at the criss-crossing beams of red and green light on the ceiling. Even if Linus knew where this fourteenth room was, chances were it would only be filled with more questions. Or nothing at all.

“You got anything else?” Keene said.

“I thought you’d be stoked, man.”

“I’m gonna go back outside.”

Keene shut the door with a moderate thud. Who knew what secrets the old man’s house held—thus far, however, the mansion hadn’t revealed anything besides Ben’s vociferous thirst for quality antiques. He rubbed his shoulder as he passed by the large bay window overlooking the dock. Forget relaxation.

What he needed was a run.

Keene dragged himself up the driveway and stumbled through the double doors into the massive foyer. Running was the worst. So were weights. And the meals. Everything about fitness was terrible. He didn’t know why he’d started doing this to himself.

Maybe he’d finally embraced the fact that, if he was going to save the world, he needed to pretend to play the part.

Either way, he missed his days of no responsibility. Not that he’d ever done anything exciting with them. Keene gingerly walked up the steps, headed for a shower. At the top of the second floor landing he spotted Strike crouched at the far end of the hall.

“Well that’s not creepy,” he called.

She didn’t respond.

As he came closer, he realized that she was outside the door to Linus’ bedroom, peering through the keyhole with rapt concentration. Her eye was mashed against the tiny opening, her nose bending to the side.

“Didn’t know you got off on computers and Google searches that much, Strike.”

She waved for him to be quiet, refusing to move away from the door. Keene fell silent, holding his breath for good measure. His pulse pumped in his ears. The strains of two people either simultaneously having terrible heart attacks or engaging in aggressive
activities
slipped beneath the door and into the hallway.

“I don’t trust this girl,” Strike said.

“You don’t even know her.”

“She’s way too hot for Linus.”

“They really kept you on a tight leash the past few months, huh?”

“I spoke with Linus again right after you left, ‘cause I couldn’t nap. Said this girl was in his room sleeping.”

“Yeah, he told me the same thing.”

“Well I came by his bedroom, and the door was wide open. No girlie,” Strike said. “What gives?”

“Maybe she needed a water break. Apparently the kid’s a Greek god.” Keene winced as the noises grew to a deafening crescendo.

“I’m telling you, there’s something off.”

“Yeah,” Keene said. “Like you’re crazy.”

Strike glanced up at him for the first time. Her jaw dropped a little. “Since when do you work out?”

Keene looked down at his sweat-stained T-shirt. “Since—I don’t know, whenever. Come on.” He tugged at the sleeve of her jacket. She slapped his hand away.

“I wanna see what she does after he goes to the bathroom.”

“You need to get out more.” Keene reached over her head and turned the thick mahogany door’s brass knob. Strike didn’t have time to get out of the way before he flung it open. She catapulted head first into the room while Keene stood in the doorway.

Linus and the girl stopped, like two dogs caught ripping up the couch. But they’d frozen in an awkward, off-kilter position, with the desk chair tilted back. It gradually tipped over and then pitched them both to the ground in a tangled heap.

The girl’s short dark hair swished as she scrambled to cover herself, tan skin flushing a deep shade of crimson. Even contorted and twisted beneath the chair and Linus, it was easy to tell her legs went on for miles.

“Jesus, Keeney, you could’ve knocked,” Linus said. His spindly limbs clutched a wad of strategically placed clothing.

“Strike doesn’t trust your new friend because she’s way too hot.”

“That’s not the reason,” Strike said. “Only like ten percent of it.”

“You two mind?” The girl finished untangling herself from the wreckage and slowly rose to her feet. Any trace of embarrassment previously present had disappeared, her deep brown eyes narrowed into slits. She clutched her clothes between crossed arms. “I need to get dressed, if we’re done with the impromptu meet and greet.”

Keene turned around and stared at the ceiling. Plain—white paint, flat roof. Other rooms seemed to be inspired by some maniacal devotee of Leonardo da Vinci’s work in the Sistine Chapel. He scratched his cheek. This had quickly become awkward.

He really needed to find out where this fourteenth room was.

“So uh, Karen, right?”

“Carmen,” the girl said.

“Nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met like six times,” Carmen said. She slid into her pants and snapped on her bra, having clearly given up hope of receiving any privacy.

“Right,” Keene said. “I thought you were a hooker the first few times, though, if I’m being honest.”

“Classy.” Keene felt a brush against his elbow as the girl slid by, out the door. “Jackass.”

“Fair enough.” Keene craned his head around the corner, watching the girl disappear down the hallway. Once he was satisfied she was out of earshot, he turned to Linus. “Come on.”

“You’re telling
me
that?”

“We got stuff to do,” Keene said.

“Yeah? Where is it? You find the room? Didn’t think so.” Linus finished pulling his baggy T-shirt over his pale, skinny arms. He adjusted the oversized flat-brim Red Sox hat perched at an angle on his head, then slammed it down against the ground. “She liked me, dude. She actually liked me.”

“You sure it wasn’t for your money?”

“What? No, it was—you know what, screw you.”

“That was a joke,” Keene said. “Obviously I’m the one with all the money. Quite the turn of events.”

“Hilarious. Try standup.” Linus picked his hat up off the ground and brushed it off. He shot a look at Strike. “And I don’t know what
your
deal is, but you were the one telling me I needed to get laid all the time, so…”

“I think your girl left something behind.” Keene walked across the room to get a better look at a shiny glint on the corner of the Persian rug. Kneeling down, he found a pocket watch with an inscription on the back. “Might have some competition.”

“Give me that,” Linus said, reaching for the watch but missing.

Keene read the inscription aloud. “For my baby girl, love S.M.S.”

Linus froze, a stunned half-frown frozen on his lips. “What’d you say?”

“It’s on the back,” Keene said. “Sorry, buddy, guess you aren’t the one for—”

Linus snatched the watch from Keene’s fingers and flipped it over. He tapped it against his leg, like he was trying to process something that he couldn’t believe.

“She must’ve found it.”

“Who found what now,” Strike said.

“The fourteenth room,” Linus said. “Carmen found it.” He slumped to the ground and sighed.

“Guess we all gotta watch out for gift horses,” Keene said. “What do you think she found?”

“I have no idea,” Linus said, his head in his hands. The watch ticked loudly, punctuating the silent seconds. A furious ringing pierced the air. Keene reached into his pocket to look at his phone.

A voicemail chimed. He tapped the screen to listen to the missed call.

“Don’t go to Tillus, Mr. Keene,” a voice said, garbled by static. “Not if you ever want to return.”

The call cut off, the static dying suddenly. Keene lowered the device slowly, thoughts swirling in his mind.

Maybe boring days on the beach were underrated after all.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news,” Linus said, his feet propped up on the desk. His bedroom workstation was modest in comparison to his office setup, featuring only four monitors. “I can’t trace the call, Keeney. Government grade encryption.”

“Wonderful.” Keene paced, kicking at the rug. His mind flooded with questions, with one bubbling above all the others. Why had he wished for excitement? It was tempting fate. And now the jaws of the dragon were closing in around him, ready to roast him alive.

Or maybe fate had prepared something slightly less dramatic, like a gunshot wound or a knife to the collarbone. Having already experienced both, however, he could do without a redux. His fingertips tingled with nervous anticipation, so he shoved his hands inside his pockets.

“So about that good news,” Strike said. “Since I’m not really hearing much of that.”

“I found the fourteenth room,” Linus said. He tapped on the keyboard, and brought up a flashing three dimensional map of the house. A dot moved through the halls, down to the first floor, then into the wine cellar. “I tried pulling up Carmen’s phone logs, but got zero pings off the cell tower. Then I remembered that I thought mine was missing earlier. Turns out it wasn’t. It went on quite the little journey today.”

“She must’ve taken it to look through it,” Strike said. “Apparently she was expecting something other than anime porn.”

“I store a lot of important stuff on there,” Linus said. His face turned into a sour pout. “More than I can explain to either of you.”

“Ooh, burned by Casper the friendly neighborhood ghost,” Strike said. She pushed herself off the rug with both hands and exhaled sharply. “Goddamn, just one Vicodin. I swear that’s all I need.”

Linus and Keene shot each other a look, but neither said anything. Strike limped towards the door, her gait gradually straightening.

“Y’all coming or what?” She leaned against the thick doorframe, breathing heavily. “Or you going to worry about me falling off the wagon?”

“Lead the way,” Keene said.

They followed her down the wide hall and massive stairs in silence, wending their way to a basement cellar which contained an impressive selection of rare wines. The bottles were housed from floor to ceiling on wooden racks. A vent kicked on as they reached the bottom of the basement stairs, cold air blowing about the frigid room to replace whatever had escaped.

Keene looked at the bottles, taking one labeled in French off the rack. It was almost a hundred years old. Despite its age, the label was crisp and showed few signs of decay, other than a light layer of dust.

He blew it off and placed it back.

“Anything pop out at you guys?” Keene said.

“It’s somewhere over here,” Linus said, heading two rows over, “generally speaking.” He walked to the far right corner of the room and gestured in a wide circle.

“Very specific, kid,” Strike said. “Only about two thousand bottles in this section.” Even the far right corner of the massive cellar contained more vintages and variety than the average distributor.

“Maybe we should move the racks, see what’s along the wall,” Linus said.

“Oh, you think brown-eyed beauty did that between riding you, do you?” Strike shook her head and winced. “Unless she’s the Flash, I doubt it.”

“What flash?” Keene said.

“You’re hopeless. Totally hopeless,” Strike said.

“We all knew that anyway,” Keene said. His eyes scanned the tile floor, searching the grout for cracks or imperfections. No secret trap doors presented themselves.

“He couldn’t have just told you where to stick the key, could he?”

“I guess there’d be no fun in that. Check out the dust,” Keene nodded towards the necks of the bottles. Most of them hadn’t been touched in years.

“It’s a basement. It’s dusty. Yippee.”

“One of the bottles has to be a switch,” Keene said. “Pull it, and—”

“And maybe a rabbit pops out of a hat floating down from the ceiling?” Strike yanked one of the bottles from its cubbyhole, causing the entire rack to wobble and clink. Then she chucked it across the cellar, a streak of dark purple exploding against the wall with a loud crash.

“That was probably three thousand dollars you just ruined,” Linus said.

“Shove it,” Strike said.

Keene’s fingers fell over bottle after bottle as he searched for clues. The one that had significant dust displacement, presumably, would be the switch that revealed this secret compartment. Or maybe they were just in the middle of a normal wine cellar, surrounded by alcoholic beverages worth millions of dollars, and Carmen had come down here for some totally unrelated reason.

Like she really dug a good Pinot.

He went up and down the corner, his eyes scanning the shelves. Keene’s heart jumped as he passed over a label. Newer than the others, a bright white that almost glowed in the soft light.

The relief of a handprint stood in the middle of the dust.

But that wasn’t what caught his attention the most.

As he pulled the bottle out, the name and vintage stood out far more.

The Diamond Dragon. 2001. Tillus, IA.

A series of gears and pulleys creaked after the bottle cleared the rack. Keene watched as the shelves in front of him disappeared, the wall spinning around to reveal a passage to a small room. Bottles rumbled and quaked, then, as suddenly as the disturbance had begun, it stopped.

A muted click indicated that the production was over.

Keene glanced at the bottle, placed it down, then walked through the narrow doorway.

When he stepped across the threshold, he was hit by a slight dampness in the air and the scent of unfinished dirt floors. The room was dark, but from the dim light trickling in from the wine cellar, he could make out some unlit lanterns hanging from the walls.

“You got a lighter, Linus?”

“Sure.”

He felt Strike and Linus slip by him. With all three of them present, the room seemed even more cramped, no larger than a walk-in closet. The kid lit the lamps. A single wooden lectern stood in the center. The rest of the room was bare.

“Killer secret room,” Strike said. “Maybe our new friend took all the good stuff.”

Keene walked up to the lectern and touched the surface. His fingertips traced over the dust to an empty circular spot. He gestured towards Linus.

“Give me the watch.”

Linus handed it over.

Keene lined up the chain with the outline. Perfect match.

Keene bent over, his nose only a few inches from the dark stained oak. There were no other disturbances in the thick dust that suggested anything else had been removed.

“I think this is all Carmen took,” Keene said. He let the watch sit in its rightful spot on the lectern. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Don’t look at me, dude,” Linus said. “Marios Sonica hid a pocket watch in each of his finished houses. It’s the only thing that bears his full initials—Seneca Marios Sonica. A sort of blessing for his new baby.”

“The house was his baby?” Strike said. She snorted. “Artists.”

“Yeah, he was out there,” Linus said. “But it’s just a watch, is all. No hidden powers.”

“Maybe she was looking for more,” Keene said, sliding past the lectern to examine the plain white walls. Time and moisture had warped the plaster, spotting it yellow. “But she ran out of time and decided to take the watch back to whoever she works for.”

Keene rapped his knuckles against the wall. Solid. He took a few more steps and repeated the process.

“That’s hollow,” Strike said. “Holy shit, it’s hollow.”

“You got something I can cut with?” Keene said. He tapped the wall again, confirming that the sound was different. Something was hidden back there.

“Sure.” Strike disappeared into the cellar and returned a minute later with the broken bottom of the wine bottle. “Here.”

“That’ll do.” Keene worked the jagged edge over the plaster. The wall was pliant from the moisture and soon gave way, allowing him to tear at the growing hole with his bare fingers. He chucked the soggy drywall over his shoulders like a dog digging in the backyard.

A sharp breath forced itself from his lungs when he saw what was inside.

“What the hell?”

Strike edged past him to look. “Ooh, fancy.”

A glittering stainless steel wall safe sat recessed about three feet behind the false wall. It had a standard key lock, but the flashing band of red lights running across its front indicated that it also featured more formidable security.

As in a voiceprint password.

“Goddamnit,” Keene yelled, and slammed his fist against the wall.

“Passphrase not recognized,” a robotic voice announced. “Two attempts remaining.”

“Don’t yell,” Strike said in a measured, steady whisper. “I don’t think it likes that.”

Keene shook his head and fished the key from his pocket. It was a perfect fit for the lock. He jerked the handle, but the door refused to budge. Half of the lights flashed green, but the others remained an angry shade of red.

Without turning around, Keene kicked the lectern with the back of his heel, sending it against the wall. Linus yelped like he’d been stung by a bee.

“You almost kneecapped me, Keeney.”

Keene didn’t answer. He stared down the taunting lights, trying to think of why Ben would send him down here, to a safe he couldn’t open. No wonder Carmen had left emptyhanded. Even if she had found the safe, cracking this thing was impossible with the old man was dead.

Deep in thought, Keene didn’t notice Strike slipping by him.

He heard the words, though.

“The Diamond Dragon. 2001. Tillus, Iowa.”

A loud screeching sound exploded from the safe, causing Keene to wince. The furious red lights strobed across the room, hurting his eyes.

“Incorrect passphrase recognized. One attempt remaining before incineration protocol is activated.”

Keene turned to look at Strike. “Really?”

“Figured it was worth a shot.”

“Only Ben’s voice can open it,” Keene said.

“Maybe,” Strike said with a casual shrug. She let the wine bottle slip from her fingers. It hit the ground with a lifeless thud. “But unless you can raise the dead, that’s not much of an option.”

“Our only lead is gone if we screw up.”

“It’s gone if we don’t try, too,” Strike said. “Seeing how no one here has x-ray vision.”

Keene opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard a throat clear. He glanced over his shoulder to throw a disgruntled look towards Linus. The kid wore a sheepish expression, but was trying to stand tall.

“
What
?”

“I, uh, think that we might have a shot.” Linus held up his phone. “It says the LMSOWR 6500 Voice and Key SecuriSafe can be programmed to accept either an exact voiceprint match, or a voice password match. Most people set it to a password, since the voiceprint recognition is kind of spotty. This one guy on this forum had a head cold, and then the safe accidentally torched all his gold bricks—”

“I got it.” Keene stepped forward, leaning his head inside the small crevice. No mistakes. Last shot. He took a deep breath. Maybe the old man had already given him the other half of the key. He just hadn’t seen it until now. “Open the portal to save the girl. Protect the girl to save the world.”

For a long second and a half, the room was more silent than an abandoned funeral parlor.

Then the safe chimed, the lights flashed green, and the door swung open, almost clipping Keene in the face.

He fell backwards on to the floor.

“Smooth,” Strike said, stepping over him.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

“Check it out, Captain Keene.”

Keene looked up at Strike, who had a smirk on her lips and a leather book clutched in her right hand. She dropped it on his chest and gave him a sarcastic wink.

Dust shot out from the pages, tickling Keene’s nose. He coughed and sat up, reaching for the book with eager anticipation. He flipped to the first page, where a familiar couplet was handwritten.

Open the portal to save the girl.

Protect the girl to save the world
.

Beneath that, in an uneven and hurried hand, a more impassioned plea came.

If this message in a bottle is ever received, please come before it is too late for my daughter
.
The guardians hold the secret in a bank vault box.

The signature was unreadable, faded by time and ruined by inkblots.

Keene turned to the next page. A beautiful drawing, of a valley hidden deep between two mountains, stared back at him.

“What’s it say,” Strike said. “If I knew you’d keep everything to yourself, I would’ve read the damn thing first.”

“Shambhala,” Keene said. “It’s a drawing of paradise.”