Thieves of the Black Sea. Joe O'Neill

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      “How long have you been having these nightmares?”

      “Since the boys disappeared into the clouds. The day of our victory over the Caid.”

      Zijuan sighed.

      “What is wrong?” Malik asked as they sat across from Zijuan.

      “I have been having the exact same nightmares. I didn’t understand them until I performed an I Ching reading just before you came to my tent. I believe that Tariq and the boys are alive, but are far away. I believe they are, for the moment at least, in safe hands. They must engage on a quest of some kind and we must not interfere. This quest will be very dangerous and some—or all—of them may perish.”

      “What are you talking about? I don’t understand. What quest?” Malik asked.

      “I do not know,” said Zijuan.

      “Can we help them?”

      “No, it was clear to me that they must complete this quest on their own accord.”

      “How is it possible we’ve all been having the exact same dreams?” Sanaa asked.

      “Everything is connected, Sanaa. Our thoughts and our actions, both in the physical world and the spiritual one. Think of everything like a spider web, all woven together. Most people forget, or refuse, to believe in such an interconnected world. But I believe that the world is headed for a dark place, and what is happening now is breaking through our consciousness and enabling us to know the whereabouts of the boys.”

      “And we can do nothing? Just sit back and hope they survive?” Sanaa asked.

      “But they are so young,” Malik said worryingly.

      Zijuan nodded.

      “I will meditate for them each and every day to try to tip the scales in their favor. As I have answers, so will the both of you.”

      Sanaa listened attentively. By nature, she was subdued and stoic, but the disappearance of the boys had been weighing on her.

      “All I care about is that they are alive,” she whispered.

      Zijuan stared at the husband and wife across from her. They were the two people she trusted more than anyone else in the world.

      “I don’t know why we were all given the exact same dreams, but it’s not a coincidence. The Red Hand is reaching out to us—for what reason, I am not sure.”

      Malik nodded his head as he listened.

      “You’ve always had a gift for the metaphysical, Zijuan. We will listen to your premonitions. If we are told that we must not interfere, then so shall it be. Please know that Sanaa and I will do anything for those boys.”

      “I know. And please, if you have any new dreams, please describe them to me immediately.”

      Sanaa stared straight ahead. Her face was lean and angular, and her black hair was tied in a ponytail that hung to the small of her back. A dagger was omnipresent at her side, even at night, in the safety of Zijuan’s tent.

      “I can’t help but think of Tariq when I first saw him being tortured and held prisoner in the Caid’s kasbah. Never once did he complain or cry or whine,” she said.

      Malik took her hand.

      “Or when I started training him with the other boys in the mountains, how eager they were to learn, and how brave.”

      “Perhaps it is not an accident they were chosen for this quest? Perhaps all of their learning and perseverance has been to prepare them for the test and trials ahead?” Zijuan replied.

      “Like training?” Sanaa asked.

      “Exactly like training,” Zijuan agreed.

      “That makes me feel a bit better,” Malik answered before sighing deeply and continuing.

      “We will retire to our tent. Thank you, Zijuan.”

      Sanaa and Malik stood up, bowed gently to Zijuan, and then exited the tent, back into the driving rain.

      Zijuan stared at the scroll she had laid out in front of her. A weight seemed to hang from her shoulders as they slumped when she stared at the scroll.

      She hadn’t told Malik and Sanaa everything. There was an evil force at work in the world. Zijuan had never felt such a malevolent and brutal presence in her thoughts. This evil presence had somehow been awakened and was plunging the world into a darker and more sinister time than any in history. She couldn’t shake the sick feeling in her bones. She’d never felt anything like this—such evil and such terror. The gruesome images and voices of all those suffering people lodged in her mind.

      Even more troublesome was her realization that Tariq, Fez, and Aseem could be on a collision course with this darkness.

      CHAPTER

      — 2 —

      THE CALL OF THE HUNTER

       1914—AMSTERDAM

      The harbor of Amsterdam lay under a blanket of gray and smothering fog. Smoke belched from the many chimneys of the factories that lined the waterfront. Longshoremen and sailors moved slowly, still waking up, as they began unloading ships and preparing freighters for journeys to distant shores.

      A pelican flew overhead. Foster Crowe stood on a creaky dock and watched the harbor come to life. Soon he began walking toward the train station at a brisk pace. After a week-long journey aboard a freighter from Ceylon, his legs were a bit wobbly, but his face was a picture of determination. Carrying only a small leather backpack, he needed to move fast. At fifty-two years old, he had some gray hair around his temples, but was otherwise in peak physical condition. Always dressing as a gentleman, his tan suit coat remained starched and clean, and his brown leather loafers were polished. As he walked, he could feel the tip of a dagger he’d hidden up his left coat sleeve.

      Foster Crowe was on a hunting expedition.

      He was hunting a man by the name of Wu Chiang.

      A month prior, Foster had discovered a temple deep in the heart of the Ceylon jungle. He broke into the temple and stole a journal from Wu Chiang. The journal told of a secret society that had existed for centuries. This society was responsible for countless acts causing death and destruction dating back to the bubonic plague in Europe, and possibly even before that. Using the principles of the Red Hand Scrolls for evil, the society developed inventions and devices built explicitly to maim, murder, and cause mayhem.

      Even more sinister, the diary revealed that Wu Chiang and his agents had been plotting some kind of world war for decades.

      A war that would be the most destructive in the history of mankind.

      Unfortunately, Wu Chiang had escaped on a freighter headed for Bremen, Germany. Unable to follow him to Bremen, Foster had secured passage on a freighter headed for Amsterdam in the hopes of catching up to him once he arrived in Europe.

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