The Thieves of Darkness (47 page)

The jet taxied before rolling to a stop on the far side of the runway. KC could hear movement within the cabin and the mechanical wind-down of the jet as the main door was released with a hiss. She sat waiting for the door to her cabin to open, but no one came. She peered out the port-side window to see Iblis and Cindy descending the gangway stairs followed by seven of Iblis’s men.

The hustle and bustle died off, the plane falling silent. KC waited at least a half hour before the door was opened by one of Iblis’s men. He wasn’t armed, nor did he say a word as he turned to exit. She followed him out of the plane into the chilly morning air; the surrounding temperature couldn’t have been more than fifty on this summer day, confirming that they were at least several thousand feet above sea level.

They were in the midst of undulating hills covered in thick blankets of varying shades of green, thick grasses, rolling shrubs, and enormous trees. But for the makeshift airport, there was no sign of modern civilization. No towns, roads, no planes overhead. It was a timeless world that was imbued with a sense of peace.

KC followed the man, arriving at a wooden and tin hut that was covered in a spongy green moss. A stovepipe protruded from the slanted roof, light gray smoke floating out before evaporating into the cool morning.

The guard remained silent as he opened the door. KC peered into the shack to find an old woman kneeling at a cooking fire; she wore a deep red vest over a loose-fitting orange dress, with large Timberland boots. Her dark hair was pulled back, revealing a deeply tanned face that was painted with a smile that creased the skin about her eyes. The smell of food filled the air as she worked several pots and pans of eggs, stew, and meat. She nodded in welcome and dished out the meal on tin plates, filling dented mugs with coffee, pulling seasonings and utensils from a shelf.

As KC’s eyes adjusted, she saw a large rough-hewn table on the opposite side of the room. It was covered with the Asian Piri Reis chart, the center of attention of the three who stood before it. They all turned as KC stepped in, their eyes falling upon her. She was struck by a fit of anger like nothing she had ever felt. Her sister stood with Iblis, her enemy. Both looked upon KC with expressionless eyes, and both remained silent, subservient to the man who stood between them.

KC’s eyes fixed on the older man. She had merely glimpsed him in passing that night at his office. He was tall, at least six foot two inches, and what little hair he possessed had long gone to gray. He was dressed
like someone out of an old Abercrombie and Kent safari brochure: tan khaki pants, a leather and fleece vest worn over a thick lumberjack shirt, all brand-new. There was no question that this was a man who thought his money could buy his way up a mountain.

As he took a step closer, KC became nauseated, for she truly saw the resemblance. She had his eyes, the same high cheekbones. He stood ramrod straight, his shoulders held back and confident. The man possessed an aura that filled the room; his presence commanded Cindy and Iblis, but KC ignored it, seeing it simply as arrogance.

“You’re taller than I expected,” Venue said as he stepped uncomfortably close, eyeing her as if assessing an object for purchase.

KC stared up into eyes that were much like hers.

“Far prettier than your sister,” he said, not in compliment but merely as a point of fact. “Are you ready for a little family journey?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” KC said through gritted teeth.

Venue stared at her, his eyes filling with anger; he was not accustomed to noncompliance. He slowly raised his arms, reached out, and gave KC a tight, unreciprocated hug. He tilted his head, coming cheek to cheek with her, his hot breath falling upon her ear. “Oh, my dear, you most certainly are.”

Venue released KC and stepped back to the table. The three turned their attention back to the map.

KC stood in total shock at the man’s conceit; she did everything she could to quell her emotions. “You sent me to die,” she said defiantly.

“Yes, I did,” Venue said without looking up from the map. “Now, why don’t you come join your sister and me and see where we are going?”

KC ignored the invitation and the man’s overconfidence and looked at Iblis. She saw something in him that she had never seen before. KC had known the man for years, had borne witness to his disregard for life, to his cavalier attitude in the face of danger. He could kill a man thirty times over, yet now she saw the one emotion she had never expected of the man: fear. Venue truly terrified him as he stood in his presence. Cindy, on the other hand, couldn’t have been less afraid. She
was enamored of Venue, a sense of pride drifting into her eyes as she looked at him. Seeing her naive admiration, Venue warmly rubbed her back, coaxing a smile, further ingratiating himself, further drawing her under his spell.

KC turned in disgust and spied the two leather tubes tilted against the wall of the ramshackle hut. She reached over and picked up the first, opening the top. It was empty, its contents being scrutinized on the wooden table by Venue. She picked up the second and began to open the lid. She thought twice about it, remembering the effect the rod had had on her when she first gained possession of it.

“I must give credit where credit is due,” Venue said as he looked at the tube in KC’s hand. “Iblis trained you well, but you exceeded my expectations. When I sent him to watch over you, to teach you the ways of the street, I thought your life of crime would be short-lived. Who knew it would become a lifelong career? You—” Venue cast a quick glance toward Cindy. “Sorry, my dear. You, KC, are truly my daughter.”

KC ignored Venue, his words of praise falling on deaf ears. She was looking into the tube at the entwined snakes, at their silver teeth, their ruby eyes, and thought of the twin serpents as Iblis and Venue. She pulled it out halfway, looking at the blood-red ruby eyes of the opposing snakes, at their flexed jaws poised to strike each other, wondering what would possess someone to create such a vile piece.

“Do you realize what you hold in your hand?” Venue didn’t wait for an answer. “That stunning object you stole is the key to a world few have ever laid eyes upon. It is the answer I have sought for thirty years.”

Only the slightest of grins appeared on KC’s lips as she fought to hide her smile, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t laughing on the inside. The rod had no effect on her: no sense of vertigo, no swirling images, no nausea. The rod was not encumbered with the disorienting effect she had felt when she first removed it from the sultan’s tomb. And she knew why. Michael was far more resourceful than she had imagined, possessing a great deal of forethought. She realized the sultan’s rod in her hand was, in fact, a fake.

KC’s internal laughter warmed her soul, for as she looked at Iblis and Cindy, as she looked at Venue standing over his chart, patting himself on his prideful back, she knew that they might make it up the mountain, the chart might lead them to the place Venue had sought, but without the real rod, he would never get in.

T
HE
B
OEING
B
USINESS
Jet roared out of Istanbul and across Asia. Michael and Busch had hurriedly packed up, gathering their gear and weapons, stuffing them in the three large duffel bags and tucking them in the storage wells in the belly of the jet.

“Do you have any idea where we are going or what we are getting ourselves into?” Busch asked.

“Not exactly to the first question, but yes, I know what we are getting into.”

“People don’t climb the Himalayas in August unless they have a death wish,” Busch said as Michael glared at him. “I’m just saying…”

“We’re not going to the top. In fact, where we’re going we won’t need oxygen or many supplies.”

“I thought you said you don’t know where we’re going.”

“Not exactly. We’ll follow the chart, but more important, we’ll follow them. Michael pointed at the GPS screen in Busch’s hand. “I did the heavy lifting for Iblis, now he can pay me back by showing me the way.”

Busch looked at the GPS readout. The two red dots were merged, appearing as one. The tube containing the chart and tube containing the false rod were on the move again, traveling north out of Darjeeling, India.

The four giant blades cut into the air, beating up a gale-force wind that swept the tarmac free of leaves, clippings, and debris like some enormous leaf blower. The HAL Dhruv helicopter slowly lifted off, its forty-three-foot-long rotors thundering over the lower valley.

The seventeen passengers sat in silence as the bulky tan copter, manufactured in Bangalore, India, pierced the midmorning sky. They were packed in and cramped, lined up as if for military deployment, sitting on two long rows of leather benches that rested against the metal sides of the spartan helicopter. Besides Venue, Iblis, KC, and Cindy, there were eleven formidable guards, Iblis’s men. They were a mix of nationalities, a mix of criminal and military backgrounds, hailing from divergent parts of the world though united through their ability to speak English. In addition to being tough and skilled in the art of death, each possessed a quality that couldn’t be taught: Each was completely loyal to Iblis as their leader, friend, and, most often, beneficent employer. They all had worked to varying degrees for the small man over the years, always on call, for everything from breaking into museums and private homes to driving and kidnapping sisters on a moment’s notice. Dressed in heavy wool pants and dark sweaters, each wore a sidearm, had a radio piece in his ear, and avoided eye contact with the other passengers.

Two dark-skinned mountain guides sat between the guards on the hard-backed leather bench, dwarfed by the massive men who towered over them. Both came from a small village just north of Darjeeling, each bearing a heritage that was an amalgam of local peoples: Sikkimese, Nepalese, Tibetan, and Indian.

They were both aboard despite the protests of their wives and children. Their colleagues in the mountaineering business implored them to listen to reason, to not join the insane party that required their services to scale Kanchenjunga at this, one of the most dangerous times of year.

But to Sonam Jigme, the allure of the compensation, the fact that he was being paid three years’ wage for one trip, caused any fear he had to evaporate. He was young and strong, his body thick and larger than those of most of the people of his village. If anyone was going to survive the impossible, he would. And if he did, his wife would have the home she had always wanted, his three daughters would have their education, and he would have the pride of knowing he had provided a far better existence for them than he could ever have dreamed.

Kunchen Tsering had always been the wisest of guides, the most knowledgeable about Kanchenjunga’s five peaks. He had defeated the mountain eighteen times, more than anyone else on the planet. He was modest and soft-spoken, his hearty appearance belying his fifty-four years. He had been raised in the shadow of the Five Treasures of Snow and knew every approach to its five summits. When the tall, older European had made inquiries in the village, Kunchen’s name was on everyone’s lips. He was expert at knowing the varied terrain, at reading the winds for changes in the weather, at delivering climbers to the heights of the world and returning them home safely.

But Kunchen was a man who couldn’t be bought; his was an uncomplicated existence, and he took his joy from the simple pleasures of family and communing with the great Himalayas that provided for him. He had learned the nuances of climbing from his father’s father, a man who survived avalanches and sudden storms that had taken the lives of countless men. Kunchen’s grandfather had attempted to summit
Kanchenjunga’s highest peak for the first time in 1905 with a party led by an Englishman named Crowley. Four died on their unsuccessful journey and Crowley never returned for a second try. Kunchen’s grandfather spoke of Crowley’s quest, regaling Kunchen and his friends as they sat around the campfires of their youth. He spoke of Crowley’s unsuccessful search for hidden temples and mythic villages secreted somewhere in the reaches of the great holy mountain. He told the story so often that Kunchen would have to pinch himself to avoid nodding off and to keep his eyes from glazing over the way most children’s do as they listen to the twentieth telling of an elder’s tales.

When the tall European upped his offer to five years’ pay, Kunchen asked what so intrigued a man that he would pay such a wage to enable him to face certain death. Venue told him a story, one that Kunchen had not heard for decades, not since the roaring campfires of his childhood. Not since his grandfather had spoken of Aleister Crowley and his great quest.

In the end it wasn’t the money, it wasn’t the pleas of a desperate man that lured Kunchen. It was a chart, a highlighted chart depicting a route no one had ever taken, not only because of its treacherous route but because it ended at an impenetrable pass whose 130-degree rock face was forever covered in ice. Kunchen explained that the summit could never be reached via this route. But it was Venue’s simple words that finally convinced him. “My destination is not the summit, it is something far greater,” Venue had said.

They were the exact words that began Kunchen’s grandfather’s story; they were the exact words Crowley had uttered to his grandfather over one hundred years ago.

T
HE HAL
D
HRUV
touched down on a wide-open stretch of snow-dotted land on the south side of Kanchenjunga. The mountain rose above an abandoned midmountain camp like a stairway to heaven, white-capped and majestic.

Iblis’s men threw open the sliding doors on both sides of the helicopter, disembarking as if on a military mission. The roar of the
helicopter’s engine cut down to idle as the blades began slowing. The eleven guards unloaded ten crates of gear from the rear of the helicopter, quickly carrying it off to the side.

Cindy and Venue jumped out the port side, hand in hand, as if going on vacation. KC chose the starboard side, anything to stay away from the two.