When they were still a few miles away, Dane fired off one of their signal flares and the freighter responded with a blast from its horn. Half an hour later, they were plucked from the sea by one of the ship’s loading cranes, and welcomed aboard by the captain, an American and a grizzled old sea veteran, who’d evidently gone soft in his twilight years.
“Do you kids need a lift, or is this some kind of hazing stunt?”
“A lift would be nice,” Dane answered affably. “Are you headed for Manila?”
“The old salt shook his head. “Hong Kong. Will that do?”
“Anywhere is better than here.”
“You sure about that?” muttered Bones, taking stock of their new environs. The freighter, which inexplicably flew the Iranian flag, was a dilapidated rust-bucket, stinking of decay and neglect.
“Our mess hall is in a bit of state,” explained the captain, escorting them into what Dane assumed was a rec room for the crew. It too was ‘in bit of a state,’ decorated with depressing clown paintings on velvet and thrift store reject furnishings.
“We don’t take passengers as a rule,” continued the captain. “So I’m afraid our creature comforts will leave something to be desired, but we will put you on the dock in Hong Kong by sunrise tomorrow, and I’ll wager that’s better than you could have hoped for in your little raft.”
Dane put on his most winning smile. “That it is, sir. And if it’s not too much trouble, could I make a ship-to-shore call, to let folks know we’re still alive?”
The captain seemed about to demure, but then his expression softened. “Come with me. I’ll see what I can do.”
Dane followed the man through the dingy corridors of the ship, up a set of stairs that creaked noisily under their weight, and finally to a cramped compartment full of antique-computer and radio equipment. A young crewman sat hunched over what looked like a 1960’s era HAM radio set, but the captain shooed him away, and pointed to a surprisingly sophisticated looking telephone handset. “Use that. Just tell the operator what number you’d like to call.”
Dane thanked him and took a seat at the console. He gave the operator Maxie’s personal cell phone number and waited for the connection to be established. When Maxie’s groggy voice murmured over the line — reminding Dane that it was the middle of the night in San Diego — he quickly said, “It’s Maddock. This line is not secure.”
Maxie was instantly alert. “Maddock? Speak of the devil. I was just talking to Sanders and Chapman, and your name came up.”
Dane was relieved to hear that Professor and Willis had successfully reached port. “How are my old friends?”
“They’re fine. Where are you?”
“You might say I’m on the slow boat to China.”
“China?” There was genuine concern in Maxie’s tone.
“Hong Kong,” Dane amended hastily. “And this boat’s actually moving a bit faster than the last one I was on.”
“Glad to hear it. Can’t wait for you to get back here and tell me all about your trip.”
That gave Dane pause. He had hoped that, once the situation was explained, Maxie would give him the go-ahead to see things through to a conclusion. “I’ll think about it.”
Maxie’s response was stern. “I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say. I would love to tell you to take some time to visit with your friends Charlie and Mike, but your boss wants you back home, pronto. Do you understand?
Charlie and Mike were the phonetic alphabet equivalents of C and M, and were commonly used together as shorthand for “continue mission.” Maxie was saying that, if it were left up to him, he’d give Dane the green light, but the word to curtail their activities was coming from higher up, no doubt from the same person who had sent him out in the first place. Implicit in the message was the warning that if he didn’t come back promptly — if he continued to pursue the matter — Maxie would be unable to protect him from the consequences.
“I understand. I’ll make my way back by the best route possible. Maddock, out.” He hung up without letting Maxie ask him to explain what he meant by “best route.” Dane’s best route would neither be the quickest, nor the most direct.
CHAPTER 19
Although Hancock Manor had most certainly entered the twilight of its prosperity, it was currently in the midst of a modest surge in activity. Outwardly, it did not look much different than when Alex had first walked up the drive almost a week earlier, but there were three cars parked near the main entrance and lights were burning in several of the rooms on both the ground and upper stories.
“I think we’re expected,” Alex remarked, staring out from the cover of the tree line, more than half a kilometer away.
“They’re expecting somebody,” agreed Dane, as he swept the grounds with a pair of binoculars. “They know that people are actively looking for their treasure, and they control access to the map.”
“Do you think Ray has been here already?”
That was the question that preoccupied Dane’s thoughts during their journey from Hong Kong to London.
It had been a long, expensive and time consuming journey. Dane had almost completely exhausted his supply of cash. He didn’t even bother with the money belt; the remaining bills fit easily into the wallet he’d bought to hold his newly acquired driver’s license and credit cards — the license was an expert forgery and the credit cards issued to his alias had only a token amount of available credit, just enough to pass the registration process at a hotel or car rental agency. Their false identities had been easily enough procured in Hong Kong, where the business of creating such documents for Chinese nationals hoping to escape the island colony before the British government returned it to China before the end of the century, was booming. Just like with Chinese food, you could get it fast, cheap, or good, but not all three. They needed documents that would stand up to close scrutiny and they needed them in a hurry, so…they paid. Their standby plane tickets had been less expensive, and perhaps more discreet than rushing out on the first available plane, but the trade-off had been another full day lost.
Ray was now at least three days ahead of them. If he had visited the chapel, perhaps without attracting the attention of the Gatekeepers, then he might already have found the treasure vault. Dane left Alex’s question unanswered.
With dusk deepening around them, they crept through the woods toward the hill which concealed the entrance to the Templar chapel. Bones had scouted ahead, channeling the woodcraft of his Cherokee ancestors, and moving with complete stealth despite his size. Dane and Bones each carried a small walkie-talkie, with an ear bud and lip mic to minimize noise, and Bones had reported seeing a foot patrol, in the form of a game-keeper walking an old hound, but there was no sign of permanent surveillance in the area. That left Dane with an uneasy feeling, however there was no putting off what had to be done.
He keyed the mic. “We’re moving. If anyone comes along, make a ruckus.” He knew from experience that a radio signal probably wouldn’t work once they were underground.
There was a scritch of static and Bones soft answer. “Roger.”
Dane took Alex’s hand and led her out of the woods. The covering rock had been rolled back into place and he took a moment to inspect it, ensuring that no booby traps or motion sensors had been placed beneath, before rolling it out of the way.