Jack Du Brul - Deep Fire Rising

“Ira, Tisa Nguyen laid her life on the line to convince me that her group can predict earthquakes. I’m sure she didn’t do it just to impress me. I think something big is coming, something she wanted, no, needed me to know. She’s giving us a warning, or at least part of one.”

“This Leper Alma she mentioned?”

“Yes. She told me the where, but didn’t have time to give me the when. Now I admit I have no idea what Leper Alma means, if it’s a place or the name of a nuclear power plant or what. But I think that whatever it is it’s about to be destroyed by an earthquake or a volcano.”

“We’ll look into it, of course.”

“Look into it?” Mercer snorted. “I’m the one who brought you this information and you’re cutting me out of the loop.”

“I’m not cutting you out,” Ira shot back, “but Christ, look at yourself. You’re a mess. You’ve pushed yourself for the past month without a break. Let the analysts do their job while you get some rest. In a day or two I’ll call and let you know what they’ve come up with.”

“Meanwhile Tisa is God knows where and no one’s going to lift a finger to help her.” Mercer was disgusted.

“For the time being that’s out of my hands. You’ve given us a lot and it’s going to take a while to substantiate your claims.”

“Claims? How many people died when Donny Randall blew up that ferry? Forty? Fifty?”

“Forty-seven.”

“Wouldn’t you call that substantiation that these bastards need to be stopped?”

“And they will be, but I’m not going off half-cocked.”

“The way you’re acting I doubt you even have half a one,” Mercer said angrily, twisting Ira’s cliche. “Are we through here?”

Ira held Mercer’s gaze but said nothing. As soon as Mercer closed the door behind him, Lasko shook his head and reached for the phone book in a bottom desk drawer. He found the number he wanted.

“Tiny’s.”

Ira recognized Paul Gordon’s high-pitched voice. “Paul, this is Ira Lasko. I’m a friend of Mercer’s. I’ve been at your bar a few times with him.”

“Yeah, I remember. What can I do you for?”

“Have you seen Harry White?”

“Morning, noon, and night.”

“Any idea where he is right now?”

“In the can. Hold on, he’s coming out now. Want to talk to him?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Admiral,” Harry boomed. “What’s going on? Where’s Mercer?”

“He’s back. Just left my office.” Ira paused, thinking how he wanted to phrase his next statement. “I’m worried about him. Something happened to him in Greece. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“What happened?”

Ira told Harry about how the ferry was sunk.

“That ain’t it,” Harry said. “Mercer’s been in worse jams than that. What else?”

“Well, there was this woman.”

“Ah, now we’re getting someplace. What happened to her?”

“Mercer went to meet her. She had some information. After they escaped the ferry she was kidnapped by the group she belonged to.”

“Terrorist group?”

“We’re not sure yet.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Harry said. “You’ve known Mercer a couple of years, but not the way I do. What you gotta understand is he’s basically an overgrown Boy Scout and he takes responsibility for everything and everyone around him. It’s what drives him. Right now he’s blaming himself for that woman getting nabbed and he’s not going to stop until he gets her back.”

“I know all that. This seems more somehow. He’s taking this personal.”

“He takes everything personally.”

“No, Harry, you’re not listening. Personal, as in to heart.”

Harry needed a moment to get what Ira was driving at. The idea was shocking. “You don’t think he’s… I mean he can’t be in…”

“I don’t know,” Lasko answered. “All the signs are there.”

“Holy shit! Who would have thought it? Our boy in love. I admit this is new territory for me. As long as I’ve known him, he’s never fallen for anyone. He came close once with an oil heiress, good-looking girl with more money than sense, but even that was just a temporary thing.”

Harry paused. He was torn. Part of him wanted Mercer to find that kind of happiness while an equal part feared for what that would do to their friendship. Nothing, he decided quickly. Mercer wouldn’t fall for a woman who didn’t appreciate the company of a crippled rummy and his stinky dog. And when he accepted that, he knew he’d do everything in his power to help Mercer get her back.

“I wanted you to know,” Ira said. “Can you keep an eye on him? Try to get him to talk. He’s bottled up pretty tight and I don’t want to see him blow.”

“You don’t have to worry. No matter how tight he gets wrapped, Mercer knows his limits. He needs a little time, is all. But thanks for the heads-up. I’ll watch him for the both of us.”

“You’re a good friend, Harry White.”

“Yeah, well, truth be told, so are you, Ira. I’ll talk to you later.”

Harry had hung around Mercer’s place in the days since, watching and waiting for his friend to open up. Meanwhile, Mercer spent his time on his computer searching for everything he could about the legend of Rinpoche-La. What he found confirmed much of what Tisa had told him about the Chinese treasure fleet and the extraordinary voyages of Admiral Zheng He. There was little about Zhu Zhanji and the fabled treasure he’d spirited away and absolutely nothing about her organization. He did learn that the Chinese were the first to attempt developing accurate earthquake sensors. These were delicately balanced porcelain pots that when filled with water became unstable. The slightest tremor would cause water to spill from one of the multiple dragon mouth spouts. The direction and amount of water spilled would tell those watching it where and how strong the quake had been. The earliest one found was almost two thousand years old.

As for the mythical village, the Internet provided a great deal of conjecture but little in the way of fact. Most of what he found was on Web sites dedicated to mysticism and New Age mumbo jumbo. They said Rinpoche-La was the last truly unspoiled place on earth, a sort of terrestrial Nirvana where the inhabitants were free from the daily burden of human existence. They put the village’s location high in the Himalayas, deep in the Gobi Desert and a thousand locations in between.

The writers sounded so flaky, Mercer determined that no one had ever tried a scientific approach to finding the hamlet. He contacted a commecial satellite imaging company in La Jolla, California, and requested every high-resolution photo they had of the north flank of the Himalaya Mountains for the past five years. That’s where Tisa indicated she’d been born, and at five hundred dollars per picture, the cost of expanding the search beyond that area would be staggering.

As it stood, the weeks he’d spent consulting in Canada for De Beers would cover just a portion of the price of the two thousand prints that had been delivered late yesterday afternoon.

Until he studied the pictures, he would put the search for Rinpoche-La out of his mind and concentrate on the second puzzle Tisa had given him. Leper Alma.

“Yup,” Mercer finally answered Harry’s question about his day’s plans. “Another wasted effort on the computer. I can’t do much else until I hear from Ira.”

“Sure you can.” Harry held up his empty drink. “Pour yourself one of these and relax for a while. I’ll call Tiny and see if he’ll open early or maybe we can take a ride up to Pimlico to watch the ponies.”

As tempting as it sounded, Mercer shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Killing yourself won’t get her back,” Harry said softly.