To whom it may concern:
For many years I have kept to myself a fabulous secret; a concealed knowledge which I have believed the world unready for. The time has come however, to share my discovery with the scientists of our modern era. The treasure of which I speak has for years been secreted away in a cavern, or perhaps it would be better to say that it is a part of the cavern for the treasure is a natural wonder unlike anything else on the planet. Within is an underground pool, where flames dance on the surface of the water. Moreover, the pool is possessed of magnificent properties, which cannot be adequately explained until witnessed directly. It would not be too much to say that it seems to defy the very laws of creation. I have held back this secret for too long. The world is in need of such a wondrous thing.
Kismet read the letter aloud and finished with the signature. “‘With deepest regards, Henry Fortune.’”
“Sounds like something for the bloody X-Files,” scoffed Higgins. “What do you suppose he was on about?”
“What he described might be something as commonplace as luminescent lichens or methane discharges. Still, the chance to find and map a previously unknown cave would be enough to make any spelunker salivate.”
It was then that he realized his search had returned two results. He didn’t remember a second letter, but according to the database, someone had attempted to follow up on the report. He clicked on the file and gazed at the second scanned document. Though it shared the same return address, general delivery to a postal office in Charleston, South Carolina, the handwriting was very different.
“This is interesting. Listen: ‘It is with great sadness that I must inform you of the death of Mr. Henry Fontaine. He took his secret to the grave. With regrets, Joseph King.’” Kismet reread the letter, noticing the different spelling for Fortune's last name. It seemed to accentuate the link between Fortune and Hernando Fontaneda.
“Well, that’s that,” sighed Higgins. “Another one for the blokes who write books about unsolved mysteries. But, you never answered my question: why are you interested, now after all these years?”
Kismet stared back at the burly Kiwi. “There was something in the Sultan’s collection that made me think this might be important. It’s a complicated story and if I tried to explain it, you’d think I was crazy, but I am starting to believe that I need to find this cave.”
“Important? How important?”
Kismet spread his hands. “Maybe a matter of life and death. Maybe even bigger than that.”
“That’s how it always is for us, isn’t it?” A smile flickered across the big man’s hard face. “Listen, I did some caving as a lad, and I know a thing or two about caves. The southern United States is honeycombed with karst — interconnected limestone caverns, most of them underwater. You could spend a lifetime — ten lifetimes — splashing around and not find a damned thing.”
“An eternal lifetime,” Kismet murmured, thinking about Leeds’ words from the previous evening. “What if Mr. Joseph King of Charleston knows more than he's telling?”
“That was fifty years ago. What are the chances he’s still alive?”
Kismet knew the Kiwi was probably right, but it was his only lead. “I’m going there. The sooner I get off this tub, the better. I’ll leave from our next port, whatever that is.”
“Macao.”
“Good enough. I’ll start making the arrangements now.” He looked at Higgins again, thoughtfully. “What about you?”
“I’m for the unemployment line, I suppose. I doubt His Royal Highness would take me back, and I can’t say I’m terribly interested in working for him anyway. And Elisabeth…” He let the sentence trail off.
“How would you feel about working for me?”
“You serious, mate?”
“You said you’d done some caving. I could use your expertise.”
“My expertise is in killing people, Nick. Cave exploration was something I did at summer camp one year.” But something about Kismet’s offer softened him after a moment. “Oh, what the hell? I could use a change of pace.”
Kismet was heartened by the Kiwi’s enthusiasm, but deep down, he knew the reason he had made the offer to the former Gurkha had nothing at all to do with his ability as a spelunker. He took another deep breath. “Listen, there's something you need to know about.
It’s possible that some people — some very bad people — might think there’s a connection between this cavern and the Fountain of Youth—”
Higgins registered a blank expression. “Fountain of Youth?”
“In the year 1512, a Spanish explorer named Juan Ponce de Leon was told by natives in the West Indies about a pool of water capable of rejuvenating the old; literally, restoring their youth. The natives told him that the Fountain could be found on island called Bimini, somewhere to the north of what is now Cuba. Ponce de Leon got permission from the king of Spain to go looking for this Fountain.”
“There’s a legend like that in the South Pacific, too. Captain Cook searched for it. I take it this de Leon bloke never found it?”
“Since he is no longer with us,” remarked Kismet, “I would say that’s a safe bet.”
“Do you think such a thing could really exist?” Higgins seemed alternately skeptical and intrigued. “I mean, if it did, wouldn’t everyone know of it by now?”
Kismet nodded. “Most historians believe what Ponce de Leon was really after was the gold of the New World, which makes more sense. It’s doubtful that Spain, in the grip of the Inquisition, would have sanctioned any kind of a search for eternal life. The very thought of it would run contrary to the dogma of the Church — no salvation except through Christ. Whatever his reasons, he did explore the Caribbean, found Florida and established the first permanent Spanish settlement in what would become the United States.”
Higgins leaned back in his chair. “So you think that the 'fire on the water' described by Henry Fortune has something to do with this Fountain of Youth?”
“Ordinarily, I would call that a wild leap of deduction. But last night I read a letter written almost four hundred years ago, describing the exact same thing, in almost exactly the same words, dictated by a man named Henrique Fortunato.”
“Fortunato sounds an awful bloody lot like Fortune. But this letter from Joseph King says that Fortune died. Would that be possible if he had access to a Fountain of Youth?”
“I don't know. It's a place to start.” Kismet leaned forward to catch Higgins’ eye. “But that’s not why I want you along. I don’t know if this cavern really exists, and the odds of it actually being the site of the legendary Fountain of Youth…” He shrugged. “But there are people who believe things like that are real, and worth killing to protect.”
The light dawned in former Gurkha’s eyes.
“I see. Once more into the breach.” Higgins raised his mug to toast the venture. “Just like old times.”
“God I hope not.”
The tiny speaker in the earpiece of the cell phone trilled as the call was sent. It rang three times before the person on the other end initiated the connection without speaking. The person making the call spoke immediately.
“We are the chains of God. ID number 145211212.” The voice, sent electronically through the ether was in no way recognizable, thanks to the small auto-tuning device that had been affixed to the mouthpiece. The device randomly altered the pitch and cadence of the speaker, making any kind of positive identification impossible.
The call would most certainly be monitored by the American National Security Agency’s Echelon program — their computers eavesdropped on every phone call in the world, listening for keywords that might hint at some possible terrorist plot or act of espionage — but the caller wasn’t worried. Nothing would be said to raise an alarm, and even if something did cause the call to be flagged, there would be no evidence left behind. In a few minutes, the phone — a throwaway purchased months earlier but not activated until this very call — would be sitting at the bottom of the ocean.