Deep Fire Rising

“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.

Mercer froze. He wasn’t surprised Harry had figured out what was driving him so hard; he probably understood Mercer’s motivations even better than Mercer did. He was just startled that Harry had brought it up. In their unwritten code, neither man discussed their emotions much. Each carried several lifetimes’ worth of scars and saw little need to irritate them further.

“Do you love her?” Harry prodded.

“I don’t know.” Mercer’s reply was slow, deliberate. “Maybe. We only spent one day together, not enough time to know for sure.”

“When it comes to love, no one’s ever really sure.”

“That sounds like something you heard on Oprah.”

Harry smirked. “Jerry Springer. Overweight teen cross-dressers in love with their teachers was the show’s topic.” He turned thoughtful. “The amount of time you spend with someone doesn’t matter. A day, a week or a year. It’s all the same. Christ, there are couples who spend a lifetime together only to finally admit they’ve hated each other since day one.”

“Too true. More than anything, Harry, I’m pissed that some asshole has denied us the opportunity to find out.”

“And what if it isn’t love?”

“I’d still go after her for no other reason than the chance to kill Donny Randall.”

Harry smiled and slapped the bar. “Now that sounds like the Mercer I know.”

“So what the hell do I do?”

“Pour us that drink for one thing and I guess keep doing what you’re doing. Only don’t think about why you want to find her. It’ll cloud your judgment. Concentrate on the how.”

Not bad advice, Mercer admitted, considering the source. “What’s the longest you’ve ever spent with a woman?”

Harry gave him a lecherous look. “An hour and ten minutes, but that was at midnight when the clocks roll forward.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously? About six months. This was years ago when I first moved to Washington and thought it was time to settle down.”

“What happened?”

“I realized that when I was with her I wasn’t being true to myself. I was already settled by then and was using her just to legitimize my life. For a while I hid my feelings in a misguided attempt to protect her. Big mistake. The night I broke up with her, she was expecting me to propose. She had no idea how I really felt. It was one hell of an ugly scene. I know it was for the best. I could have faked it for a while longer, years maybe, but in the end it wouldn’t have worked. I’m sure someday she realized it too. I guess in your situation, you have to ask yourself if you are still who you’re supposed to be when you were with Tisa. And that’s a trickier question than it sounds.”

“I know it is,” Mercer agreed. “And the truth is I don’t know yet.”

“But when you were with her?”

Mercer didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Harry sat back in his stool, a smug expression on his weathered face. “There you go then. Go back to work, but at three o’clock we’re going to Tiny’s and I’m going to buy rounds until one of us is blind drunk. That’s not an offer. It’s a threat.”

With a fresh pot of coffee in hand, Mercer left Harry to his crossword puzzle and went down to his office. The room was decorated like the bar, with green carpet and plenty of oak and brass. In one corner was one of Mercer’s prize possessions, a blackened piece of lightweight metal that had once been a girder of the airship Hindenburg. Passing the credenza by the door, Mercer’s hand brushed a slab of a bluish mineral called kimberlite. He considered this particular rock, which was the lodestone for diamond mining, his personal good-luck charm. It had been presented to him by a grateful mine manager whose life Mercer had saved.

He sat at the antique desk and ramped on to the Internet. He typed “Leper Alma” into a search engine and