Fortune Favors (12 page)

“Was it true?”

“I don’t know. As near as I can tell, no one ever looked into it.”

“That’s fifty years ago. What’s changed? What made you decide to go looking for a cave in America, while sitting here on a cruise ship in the South China Sea?”

Kismet drew a breath. The more he talked about it, the more he wondered about that himself. Earlier, in the privacy of his own thoughts, the idea of beating Dr. Leeds to the prize, or maybe finding something that might draw Prometheus out of the shadows seemed so much more desirable. But really, what was he looking for? The secret of eternal life? Yet, as preposterous as that sounded, there was no denying the eerie similarity between the cavern Fortunato had described to Rodriguez, and the one Henry Fortune had written of more than 300 years later.

The letter was addressed with an anonymous:

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.

After a brief pause, the person at the other end, his voice similarly disguised, spoke again. “Was your mission successful?”

“Not exactly, but there’s been an important development.”

“Go ahead.”

“Nick Kismet. He’s here.”

Another pause and a strange noise that might have been a sigh. “That’s very interesting.”

“There’s more. Guess what he’s looking for.”

The person on the other end listened in rapt silence as the information was relayed. When the caller finished, he asked, “Do you think he will find it?”

“If it really exists. He may have information that we don’t.”

“This could lead to the Source. We cannot risk letting him get too close. Find out what he knows, and then dissuade him from the search. I leave the question of ‘how’ to your discretion.”

“Does that mean the first order has been revoked?”

The man at the other end laughed. “Are you asking for my permission to kill him?”

“Well, yes.”

The man at the other end thought for a moment, then in a voice that, despite the effects of the modulator, was still icy and grim, said, “Do what you have to.”

* * *

Alex Higgins had a lot on his mind.

He stood on the forward observation deck, staring out at the sun-dappled water, trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last few days.

Nothing was ever certain in a soldier’s life, and despite the fact that he had been retired from the military for more than a decade, he was still very much a soldier. Recent events had, like a well-placed explosive device, completely obliterated everything familiar, but it was a soldier’s duty to regroup and get the fight. The only problem was, he didn’t know what to fight for.

His mind turned over Kismet’s proposal. It had seemed simple enough when he had agreed to it. Tramp around for a while in the United States, looking for a cave that probably wouldn’t ever be found, and some crazy Fountain of Youth that certainly didn’t exist. As he had intimated to Kismet, it might even be fun. He wasn’t that concerned about the project itself. No, the thing was eating at him, like a grain of sand embedded under his skin, was being with Kismet himself.

Seeing the American again had opened an old wound, and he was only now starting to feel it. They had fought together, been captured by the Republican Guard and brutally interrogated, and by some miracle that he had never really comprehended, Kismet had gotten free, rescued him, and hauled his ass across the desert to safety. He owed Nick Kismet his life.

And maybe that was the problem. The life debt was something he could never repay.
When you owe someone a debt that can’t be repaid, you feel like their slave.

It didn’t help that Kismet had shagged Elisabeth.

He couldn’t very well blame Kismet for that. Higgins was a believer in the notion that “all's fair in love and war.” If Elisabeth fancied Kismet over him, then so be it. But it was so bloody obvious there was no chemistry there. Kismet could barely conceal his contempt for the former Sultana, while Elisabeth was plainly just using the American for...comfort? Sex? Who knew what she really wanted, but whatever it was, Higgins would have willingly...eagerly given it to her.

Why didn’t anyone care how he felt?

“Bitch,” he muttered, and then instantly regretted it as he spied the source of his turmoil leaving the observation deck in the company of a silver-haired man dressed entirely in black. Higgins had almost missed her.

“Beth!” When he had been her bodyguard, she had insisted that he call her that, at least in private.

Elisabeth Neuell stopped and slowly turned to face him. A quick smile greeted him. “Alex!”

The black clad figure at her side continued moving, never looking back. Higgins felt an almost overwhelming curiosity about the man’s identity, but Elisabeth commanded his full attention. He rushed forward, as if to embrace her, but stopped short an arm's length away. She however did not hold back. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head down to hers and quickly kissed him on the cheek. It seemed an innocent enough gesture, a token of affection between two friends, but Higgins felt the blood rushing to his face.

“What happened to you?” He finally managed to say. “You just disappeared.”

Elisabeth's smile slipped a notch. “Oh, Alex. I behaved so awfully. I realized that I was using you, and Nick, to protect me. When I saw that clearly, I knew I had to stand on my own.”

“But we—I was so worried. I wish you had told me.”

She smiled again, and Higgins felt his volition melt. “Alex, I can take care of myself. In fact, I realized that I had to. You risked so much for me. I do appreciate it, too.” She reached out, looping her arm through his, and tugged him into motion.

“The truth of the matter is,” she continued, in a less serious tone. “I met the most extraordinary man...no, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I don't understand. You met someone? When?”

“Right after Nick and I were attacked. You do know about that, don't you?”

“Yes. But—”

“His name is Dr. Leeds. He’s a fascinating man.” Something almost like embarrassment tinged her cheeks. “I know this will sound silly, but he’s a...well, he has these special abilities. Psychic abilities. I didn’t believe it myself at first, but then he proved it.”