‘Thank you, sir,’ McNutt said as he took the tray and set it on the coffee table in the center of the sitting area.
Papineau wasn’t sure what stunned him more: the sniper’s good manners, or the fact that McNutt called him ‘sir’ instead of ‘Papi’.
Cobb noticed the change in McNutt as well, but the truth was Papineau had earned it with that miracle at the border. Cobb wondered idly whether the favor from the French Air Force was provided courtesy of loyalty or massive stacks of euros. He would have Garcia dig into Papineau’s military days later. Not that he suspected he would find anything damning; he simply wanted all the pertinent information on the background of his people. If he had known about Papineau’s military connections, he might have used them earlier instead of relying on Papineau to think of doing so at the last minute.
McNutt passed coffee around to everyone, and they all took sips of the imported brew before Papineau looked around expectantly. Cobb noticed he did not attempt to retake command of the room by asking everyone to begin. Cobb appreciated the gesture.
‘Okay,’ Cobb said. ‘What do we have?’
Garcia answered first. ‘We have a shit-ton of photos of two separate books. We’re running the translation program on the pages right now. It should be done any minute.’
Maggie took over from there. ‘The first book is an official account from a clerical monk named Thokmay. He was basically the right-hand man to the Sakya lama, who was the head of the religious administration unit in Tibet during the thirteenth century. Thokmay’s account will hopefully mention Marco Polo’s visit to Lhasa. Unfortunately, I haven’t found such a section yet. The book is a massive volume consisting of over three thousand pages. It will take some time to dig through everything.’
‘Okay, not a problem,’ Cobb said. ‘And the other book?’
Maggie pointed at Garcia. ‘Still waiting on that one.’
Cobb rubbed his tired eyes and thought back to the events at the Potala. Based on the urgency in the old monk’s voice and the death grip that he’d had on his arm, Cobb had assumed that the contents of the USB drive would be staggering. Then again, maybe he had misread the situation. The palace was under attack and the monk was obviously scared. Maybe his superhuman kung fu grip had more to do with the adrenaline surging through his veins than anything else.
A ding on Garcia’s computer pulled Cobb out of his thoughts.
It was soon followed by a shriek of feminine joy.
Strangely, the sound had come from Garcia.
‘No way!’ he shouted, his voice cracking in midsentence. ‘Maggie! Take a look at this!’
She rushed to his side. ‘At what?’
He pointed at the translation on his screen. ‘Can this be right?’
She looked at the computer, then at Garcia, then back at the computer.
Sarah stood as well. ‘What is it? Is it important?’
‘Very important!’ Garcia shouted.
Maggie’s face broke into a huge grin as she turned to explain their discovery. ‘Obviously I haven’t had a chance to go through the data yet but, if this translation is correct, the second book on the drive is much more significant than the first.’
‘Why? What is it?’ Cobb demanded.
She smiled at him. ‘It’s the personal diary of Marco Polo.’
56
Papineau was the first to speak. ‘Well done, everyone!’
The team celebrated with high fives and hugs, a moment of pure joy that temporarily made up for all they had been through in China.
Their efforts had paid off. They finally had a solid lead.
Despite her happiness, Maggie held up her hand and asked them to stop. She needed them to understand that their search was far from over.
‘People,’ she said, ‘listen to me. There’s still a lot of work to be done.’
Cobb agreed. ‘Okay, guys. That’s enough fun for today. There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate after we find the treasure.’
‘There’ll be plenty to drink, too,’ McNutt added.
Maggie shook her head. ‘Joshua, don’t plan your party quite yet. Just because we have his diary doesn’t mean we’ll find his treasure.’
‘Why not?’ McNutt asked. ‘Seems pretty simple to me. “Dear Diary, Today I buried my treasure in the yard behind my house. I hope no one looks there. Signed, Marco.”’
Maggie smiled at the comment. ‘Obviously, I wish it were that easy, but the truth is I haven’t had time to read the document yet. Assuming there are no maps or step-by-step directions to the prize, I will still have to search for details about the treasure. Also keep something in mind: this book was most likely left in Tibet before the Polos set out on their return journey. For all we know, it could have been toward the beginning of his trip — before he even had a treasure.’
‘Understood,’ Cobb said before McNutt could crack another joke. ‘But it will certainly give us a better picture of the man himself, even if it contains no direct clues.’
‘True,’ she said. ‘That’s why I’m smiling.’
‘In the meantime, we have to worry about the Fists. What can you tell us about them?’
‘Rumors, mostly,’ she admitted. ‘Their full name in English is The Brotherhood of Righteous and Harmonious Fists. They are quite famous in the south of China.’
‘Famous for what?’ Sarah asked.
‘They are a secret society, well trained in the martial arts. But more than that, they are fiercely anti-Christian and against all involvement of foreigners in China. They became convinced — most likely through cult-like dogma from their leaders — that they were mystically imbued with a resistance to foreigners’ weapons. They believed they were bulletproof.’
‘Bulletproof? I proved that wrong,’ McNutt bragged.
Maggie nodded. ‘Disgusted with imperialist tactics by the Western nations and the wishy-washy politicians that allowed the West to interfere in Chinese issues, the Fists marched on Beijing. They started a siege that lasted for two months, while diplomats, foreigners, and Chinese Christians all took cover in the Dongcheng District near Tiananmen Square.’
‘What happened?’ Sarah wondered.
‘What usually happens with such things,’ Maggie said with a tinge of sadness. ‘Politicians were divided, some throwing their support behind the Fists, and others claiming the desperate need to stamp out any public disobedience. They called for foreign aid: the exact thing the Fists were fighting against. The army split, half of them joining up with the Fists while the rest teamed up with international troops from Japan, Russia, five European countries, and the United States. There was chaos in the streets and rampant vandalism and plunder. Rioting, rapes, murder. Looting and atrocities of all sorts, until the uprising was crushed and the situation was brought under control. Then there were the inevitable recriminations and the prosecutions.’
‘How come I’ve never heard of this?’ McNutt asked.
‘Because these events occurred in 1898. In the West, it is often called the Boxer Rebellion.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Garcia said. ‘The Boxers were those dudes with the front of their heads shaved and the long braided ponytails that you always see in martial arts films.’
McNutt grinned, thinking back to the kung fu movies that he used to watch as a child. ‘I loved those guys! Anyone who’s willing to cut their hair like that is a badass in my eyes.’
‘Actually,’ Maggie said, ‘that hairstyle was forced on the men of China by imperial edict, beginning in the seventeenth century. Those who refused were put to death.’
‘That’s insane!’ Sarah blurted.
‘Nevertheless, it lasted for centuries and was seen as a sign of loyalty to the Qing rulers. The Fists eventually rebelled by letting their hair grow.’