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Gray checked his watch. “Ready?”
“Let’s go,” Seichan said.
They set off, trailed by Zhuang and two triad members, including the steely-eyed triad deputy, Yeung, who was loaded down with weapons.
On the far side of the bridge, a similar small group split off from the larger party and headed for the rendezvous. Valya had been specific about the numbers allowed to meet on the bridge. She stalked toward them with two of her men and two of the Chinese commandos. One of her mercenaries held a pistol against the back of Guan-yin’s head.
Under his jacket, Gray carried the payment to free Guan-yin. The sheaf of papers was still sealed in the same acid-free plastic sleeve from the museum. Gray had copied the pages already, so there was minimal cost in exchanging them for Seichan’s mother. With the tight timetable, he’d barely had time to do more than glance at them.
A brief reading told of an account of petrified men, a strange autopsy, and a wild claim about a cure and a possible means to appease the gods of the underworld. The rest had been hand-drawn sketches of what appeared to be a type ofcoral, a couple of drawings of anisland, and what looked like a child’s drawing of asnake.
None of it made any sense and was likely intentionally cryptic.
But how did all of this hang together?
With no way of knowing, he concentrated on the immediate threat. The dark waters of the bay lay flat around them, reflecting the sickle of the moon. He searched for any sign of a threat, a hidden ambush out in the waters. But this late, there was not a single boat. The waters were too shallow for any submersible. If there were divers in the water, they swam silently, showing not even a bubble. He had also surveilled the small dark restaurant out on the water, watching for any sign of men lurking there. He had spotted no one, even searching with an infrared scope for body heat.
So far, Valya seemed to be sticking to her word.
Still, Gray knew better. Seichan was undoubtedly right.
This is a trap.
But he could not discern how it would be sprung.
Both sides approached the rendezvous heavily armed. The exchange would happen out in the open with no place to hide. The only guarantee of cooperation was their mutually assured destruction.
As Gray reached the closed restaurant, his heart pounded harder. Zhuang swung his assault rifle, guarding against an ambush from in there. But the establishment was small, barely larger than a coffeehouse. Yeung dashed over and searched past its windows, flashing a light mounted on his rifle. No one was hiding in there.
They continued to where they would meet Valya’s group.
Weapons bristled on both sides.
Gray had a gut feeling this was going to end badly.
12:06A.M.
Dr. Luo Heng slapped a mosquito on his neck. The noise made one of the Falcon commandos flinch. The soldier had an assault rifle at his shoulder, staring down its telescopic sight as the two groups converged.
Around him, a dozen men—a mix of mercenaries and military—guarded this end of the bridge. Major Choi Xue whispered with the leader of the counterterror unit, Captain Wen, who glared at the Russians standing with them. The commander rested his palm on a holstered QSZ-92 sidearm. Much depended on the next few minutes going right, and clearly Wen had no respect for their allies in this venture.
Heng understood Wen’s frustration. While en route from Cambodia, he had been informed of the plans to regain the stolen papers. While the mercenaries had lost the museum documents, they had secured a hostage—along with an artifact, a dented steel box belonging to Stamford Raffles.
After landing, Heng had briefly examined its contents. On outward appearances, the branch of coral from two centuries agodidappear to have the same aragonite structure as the carbonate found in the afflicted submariners, but he could not be certain without studying its crystalline pattern under an electron microscope. He remained entirely clueless concerning the other artifact in the box: the wooden spearhead. It looked old, and it could be unrelated, something tossed into the box over the ages for safekeeping and forgotten about.
Xue shifted over to Heng. “Once we retrieve the papers and confirm their authenticity, I’ve secured a research lab here in Jakarta so you can work.”
“We’re not returning to Cambodia?” Heng had left Min at the naval base with the patients—both Junjie and Wong—to continue monitoring the two men. “There’s still much research to be done there.”
“First, we must confirm if this old account from two centuries ago has any bearing on the present. If so, I’d like to continue investigating this historical angle. Stamford Raffles collected his artifacts here in Jakarta when he was lieutenant-governor. If he left any other clues, they would likely be hidden here.”
Heng nodded, accepting this recommendation. In truth, he was also anxious to study the piece of old coral as soon as possible.
He stared across the water. The two parties had reached the middle of the bridge to make the exchange.
Xue watched, too, tapping a finger on his thigh, both impatient and likely trepidatious. One concern kept him edgy.
He whispered it to the dark water. “Who are these Americans?”
