“Yes.” Ken rubbed his forehead distractedly. “Remind me of the riddle’s wording again.”
“Past the golden road of Boreas, where his islands kill the sea,” the scion repeated helpfully. “Seek the great river’s mother. Her reliquary holds the key.”
“Right.” The trove keeper nodded. “It occurred to me that Sakhalin Island is meant to be nothing more than your starting point. The reference to islands killing the sea suggests a location near the Strait of Tartary but that isn’t where you’ll find the Sage Stone. It’s where you’re supposed to begin looking for it. I focused instead on the line about the great river’s mother. As you already know, the Amur River empties directly into the Strait of Tartary near Sakhalin Island. It’s the ninth longest river in the world, so I think that qualifies it as ‘great.’”
His listeners nodded their agreement.
“But your riddle tells you to seek the great river’s mother. The Amur branches off into smaller rivers, so I’d advise you to follow its course westward. The pythia might be able to sense the presence of the Minoans along the way. The river’s drainage basin is in the Yablonovy Mountain Range in eastern Siberia.”
“Once we get there, what’s our target?” Cassie urged. “We usually find our relics stashed in some holy mountain or other. Is there anything like that in the Yablonovy Range?”
“No,” Ken said. “But there is a lake where three hundred different rivers flow in and out.”
“The mother of rivers. That makes sense.” Daniel sounded pleased.
“Lakes are great landmarks!” the pythia exclaimed.
“We found our last artifact on the shores of Lugu Lake,” the scrivener added.
Ken scratched his chin, pondering their comments. “If that’s the case, then I’d be willing to lay odds that you’ll find the Sage Stone hidden at Lake Baikal.”
“Lake Baikal!” Griffin registered dismay. “But that’s near the Altai Mountains. It’s thousands of miles from here. And you’ve told us to follow the Amur River all the way. That would mean a daunting overland trip.”
“Not so daunting if you go by rail,” Ken said enigmatically. “And I know just the tour guide to get you there.”
Chapter 24—Sure as Shootin’
Leroy Hunt darted a glance toward a scribbled note sitting on the passenger seat of his truck. He muttered a few choice words to himself and continued to drive. The old coot had given him directions to a rendezvous point someplace out in the sticks. The preacher’s timing sucked lemons given that Leroy was on the verge of a breakthrough in his search for Mr. Big.
A few days earlier, the cowboy had gotten a brainstorm. He’d been cogitating about the old lady who owned the house where little Hannah hid herself. Blondie had said that the granny was Mr. Big’s go-between. But what if she wasn’t the only one? Leroy remembered the kid with the noisy car—little Hannh’s boyfriend. He came around to do errands for the old lady because she was his kin. If Mr. Big’s operation was a family business, it might be the kid was delivering more than groceries.
Now that the farmhouse was locked up tighter than a drum, Leroy was forced to look farther afield for answers. Reasoning that even a blind pig might turn up an acorn or two, Hunt decided to tail Hannah’s boyfriend to see if he went anyplace interesting. Luckily, Leroy had taken down the kid’s license plate number during his initial round of surveillance. It was a small matter to find out the name and address that went with the plate.
That very morning, the cowboy had left the city intending to stake out the kid’s house. He took all his usual precautions just in case Mr. Big was still having him watched: driving to the airport, ditching his truck in the long-term lot, changing clothes inside the terminal, renting a white cargo van. He’d even bought a new magnetic logo which he stuck to the vehicle’s side doors. It announced to the world that he was in the pest control business. The notion tickled Leroy’s funny bone because it was true. During the course of his career, he’d had occasion to exterminate many a pest for his various employers. He was halfway to the kid’s address, feeling the exhilaration of closing in on his quarry when he got the call that completely hosed up his plans for the day. He grudgingly turned the van around and pointed it toward his new destination.
Leroy squinted through the windshield, trying to scout for any road markers up ahead. He’d already driven a good ten miles past the compound and wasn’t familiar with the area. Snapping to attention, he spotted a sign for an approaching intersection. According to his directions, he was getting close. A mile beyond the crossroads he found an unmarked dirt trail and turned right. Then he drove another mile through cornfields and scrub brush until the road dead-ended at an odd-looking structure.
It was nothing more than a cinderblock foundation sticking a few feet out of the ground and capped by tar paper. He climbed out of the van and walked warily up to the entrance. Two metal doors were set into the concrete at a slanted angle. It looked like the hatch to his mama’s root cellar. When he pulled the handle on one of the doors, it squealed on its hinges.
The cowboy peered down a long flight of stairs that led deep underground. Fluorescent light fixtures had been set into the walls to light his way. He paused a few seconds at the top of the stairs to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Then he descended, allowing the metal door to slam shut behind him. Unsure what awaited him at the bottom, he moved warily, reaching into his shoulder holster just in case.
“Hello, Mr. Hunt,” a voice called from somewhere below. “I see you found the place.”
It was the preacher. Hunt relaxed his grip on the gun. “Yessir, I found it alright, though I’m a mite puzzled as to
