David Gibbins - The Tiger warrior

“It’s about two British adventurers, former soldiers, who go north to Afghanistan in search of a fabled lost kingdom. They find it, and one of them becomes king, ruling like a god. But he accidentally cuts himself and the people see his blood and realize he’s mortal, and he comes to a sticky end. I also found James Hilton’s Lost Horizon, published in 1933. That’s about Shangri-la, somewhere in the mountains to the northeast of India, the fabled place where people were nearly immortal.”

“These are both modern legends,” Hiebermeyer said, walking into the cabin with Aysha, both carrying steaming mugs of coffee. Costas followed behind.

Rebecca shook her head determinedly, and pointed at a book on the desk. The cover showed an image of an exploding volcano at sea, superimposed on an underwater photograph of a rock-cut stairway leading to a dark entranceway surrounded by mysterious symbols. Across it was the single word Atlantis. “My mother sent a copy of that to me even before I knew you. That first chapter on the ancient Greek philosopher Plato. Atlantis is also a modern legend, but there was a kernel of truth in it.”

“So you think we’re looking for a lost kingdom, for Shangri-la?” Hiebermeyer said dubiously.

Rebecca shook her head and pointed at a small pottery statue of a Chinese warrior used as a paperweight on Jack’s desk. “I’ve been thinking about that warrior.”

“Uh-oh,” Costas murmured. “I think we’re in for a bit of Howard lateral thinking.”

“You remember, Dad? You took me to the terracotta warriors exhibit at the British Museum in London the day after we flew in from New York.” She turned to Aysha, suddenly breathless with excitement. “It’s amazing. This guy, the First Emperor, had himself buried with everything, and I mean everything, under a mound the size of an Egyptian pyramid. They haven’t even excavated it yet, can you believe it? There’s only some ancient Chinese account of what it’s like. There’s a complete model of the world with mercury rivers, and even the heavens. The stars were jewels. And around the mound is what they’ve actually dug up, those warriors, all life-sized, thousands of them. It’s the coolest thing you’ve ever seen.”

Hiebermeyer began tapping his fingers. “What’s your point, Rebecca?”

“I think it’s all about immortality.”

“That’s what tombs are usually about,” Hiebermeyer said, still tapping. “Equipping people for the afterlife.”

“I don’t mean the afterlife, I mean immortality,” she said impatiently. “With the First Emperor, it was a complete obsession. You remember, Dad? In the exhibit it said he sent out a huge expedition in search of some fabled islands in the Pacific, the Isles of the Immortals. I asked whether you’d ever hunted for them.”

Costas had a faraway look in his eyes, and began humming the Hawaii-Five-Oh tune. “I think I know where they are.”

Rebecca’s face crumpled with frustration. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

Jack looked at the statue. “The Chinese concept of the afterlife was close to the notion of immortality. You didn’t go to heaven as we might understand it. Instead you remained in a kind of parallel universe, shadowing the real world. For the First Emperor of China, Shihuangdi, in the third century BC, the idea of heaven couldn’t offer him more than he already had on earth. That’s what the terracotta army was about, a copy of what he had at his command during his mortal life.”

Rebecca was silent, looking down and fiddling with her fingers. Aysha leaned forward and looked at her. “I know what you’re driving at. It’s the allure of the east, isn’t it? Do you think that’s what Howard was after, when he disappeared? For some, it was remote fantasy valleys, Shangri-la, lost kingdoms, heaven on earth, places where you could live forever in earthly paradise. For others, it was where you might find the secret of immortality. Always it was the allure of eternal life, the greatest of treasures.”

“But what about our Roman legionaries?” Costas said. “Is this what they were after too? I thought all they wanted was glorious death, to join their brothers-in-arms in Elysium.”

“Out there, on the Silk Route heading east, they may have thought they were in that shadowland already, marching alongside their dead companions,” Jack said. “But they were still alive, and we should never underestimate human desire. For those among them who still hankered after it, immortality might have seemed their only hope of ever making it back to Rome.”

“How could they have known what lay ahead?” Aysha murmured. “What might have drawn them on?”

“I was getting to that,” Rebecca said. “The First Emperor’s tomb was at the end of the Silk Route, right? Full of treasure, just as it is today. If traders coming down from the Silk Route could tell the author of the Periplus about legionaries escaping from Parthia and heading east, then traders could also have told the legionaries about the fabled tomb of the First Emperor. Maybe a trader told them the story in the hope they’d spare his life.”

“Maybe we’re being too mystical about this,” Costas said, rubbing his stubble.

“What do you mean?” Rebecca said.

“Maybe you have the right idea, but it wasn’t some mystical allure. Just good old-fashioned treasure.”

“Dad says you’re wrong about him, he’s an archaeologist, not a treasure hunter.”

“When I see an elephant, I call it an elephant.” Costas stood up. “We need to get to the Zodiac. And I wasn’t being flippant. Hawaii is paradise. The west shore of Kaua’i, you know? There’s a beautiful beach with some shady palms just beyond Hanalei, and the perfect little bar.”

“Dad says you’re a beach bum,” Rebecca said.

“Now you know why I have to go.”

Jack turned to Rebecca. “Keep on reading John Howard’s diary. There might be more in it I’ve missed. And pretty good thinking, by the way. We might just sign you up. All you have to do now is learn to dive.”

“It’s a done deal, Jack,” Costas said. “I’m taking her out from Kaua’i next week.”

“She might not want to, of course,” Jack said. “She might want to learn to fly helicopters instead.”

“Oh, I’ll do anything for Uncle Costas,” Rebecca said, waving a diving textbook at them as she followed Hiebermeyer and Aysha out of the door.

Jack turned to Costas, his expression serious. “I’m dog-tired, but I’m looking forward to this.” He jerked his head toward the pile of khaki clothes and jungle boots beside his bed. A shoulder strap and holster lay on top, the butt of his Beretta 92 automatic poking out. “It’s been a while since I’ve worn that.”

“Too long, Jack. We don’t want to lose the edge.”

Jack was suddenly exhilarated. It had been an extraordinary twenty-four hours since he had first seen the shards with the text of the Periplus, and he was still reeling. They had begun to fathom out a story from the past, a lattice of possibilities and connections. Already he had begun to see images, the first few pictures in his mind that told him his instincts were right. Gnarled, weatherbeaten faces-Roman faces-the sheen of sunlight off a blood-soaked blade, swirling snow, then something else, the image of a warrior, something he could not shake from his mind. He turned and looked at the pictures above the sea chest, the faded images of the British officer, of his wife and child. Jack felt as if he were about to walk into that image and join his ancestor on his foray into the darkness, to a place Jack had yearned to know all his adult life. He took a deep breath, picked up the holster and looked at Costas. “Good to go?”

“Good to go.”