Jack joined her. “Yeah, but did you ever hear the expression, ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire’?”

She waved him through the doorway. “Then by all means, you go first.”

Jack ducked through the low door and found the stranger standing by another window, his back to them.

Beyond the window, a small dark boat floated in the lapping waters. As Jack moved nearer, he recognized it as a sampan, one of the ubiquitous fishing vessels of the eastern seas. Made of wood, it was short and narrow-beamed, with its stern half covered in a frame of bamboo and tattered tarpaulin. Two other men were aboard the sampan. One held the mooring line and kept glancing nervously to the south.

“Chinese come,” the leader said, indicating that Jack should board the vessel. “We take you to Okinawa.”

Karen joined Jack and gave him a gentle nudge. “We could always jump overboard if there’s trouble.”

Gathering his pack in one hand, Jack climbed over the stone sill. The man with the mooring line offered him a hand of support, but Jack ignored it. Instead, he dropped to the boat and eyed the men. Dark-skinned and short, they were clearly South Pacific islanders, but he could not place where exactly. He noticed that both men wore holstered weapons.

With a moan of complaint, Karen landed beside him. She grabbed his elbow as the boat shifted under her weight. He steadied her, but she kept her grip on him. “Okay, now what?”

Behind them a few terse words were passed between the leader and his men before he climbed in to join them. Once aboard, he waved for Karen and Jack to follow him under the overhang.

The other two men used long paddles to push away and propel them between the buildings. Jack now understood how he had been ambushed. The sampan moved silently through the waters, its dark wood matching the sea.

As they glided, Jack searched for the Chinese submarine. It was gone — as was the pontoon full of armed men. They could be anywhere.

For close to twenty minutes, the sampan slowly drifted among the ruins, moving skillfully through the dark. No one spoke. Distant thunder warned of the war to the south. At last, two large structures towered to either side.

The Chatan pyramids.

From his spot under the overhang, Jack allowed himself a sigh of relief. They were almost free of the ruins.

Rifle fire suddenly tore through the tarpaulin fabric. Bullets chewed into the old wooden sides of the boat. Jack pulled Karen to the floor, shielding her. The leader yelled orders.

A motor at the stern suddenly roared. Jack felt the bow end lift as the prop dug into the water. The sampan lurched forward.

A small explosion blew not far from the stern. A column of water flumed up. Grenade.

Hurry, he urged silently. Rifle fire continued to pepper the boat.

The leader, busy with the rudder, leaned toward Jack. He held out his pistol, offering it. Jack hesitated, then took it. The man pointed to the bow.

Jack crawled forward.

“Jack?” Karen warned.

“Stay down. I’ll be right back.”

Jack inched his way toward the other two men, who crouched with pistols in hand. When he reached them, he silently pantomimed that they should wait for his signal.

Free of the shelter, there was a light breeze. Jack listened as rifle fire pelted the starboard rail over his head, digging away chunks of teak. He waited for a pause in the attack.

When it happened, he jerked up, firing blindly in the direction of the rifle blasts. The other two followed suit. Jack fired for a count of five, then ducked down. Again the other two men followed his lead.

Covering his head, the next barrage was less riotous. Most shots whizzed by harmlessly. By now the sampan had gained sufficient speed to race and bounce away. Jack stayed down. When they were past the range of the rifles, the men tentatively stood.

Jack rolled to his feet and slipped under the overhang. He found Karen sitting up, eyes worried. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

The leader met Jack’s gaze. They stared at each other quietly for a moment, then Jack handed the pistol back. The man took the weapon, slipped it back into its holster, and waved them to a worn teak bench.

Karen sat down, but Jack remained standing. He wanted answers. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Mwahu, son of Waupau.”

“Why did you help us?”

This earned a scowl from the man. “Elders say we must. To punish us. We failed our great ancestor.”

“Failed to do what?” Jack jerked a thumb in Karen’s direction. “Failed to kill her and her friend last week?”

“Jack…” Karen cautioned him under her breath.

Mwahu leaned on the rudder, glancing away. “We want to hurt no one. Only to protect. It is our duty.”

“I don’t understand,” Karen said softly. “Protect who?”

The man remained silent.

“Who?” Jack repeated.

He raised his eyes to the roof. “Protect the world. Oldest teachings say that none must disturb the stone villages, or a curse will come to destroy us all.” He glanced back toward the fires near the horizon. “Already the curse comes.”

Jack leaned toward Karen. “Do you recognize any of his mumbo jumbo?”

She shook her head but kept her eyes on the leader. “Mwahu, tell me more about these teachings. Whose are they?”

“The words of our great ancestor, Horon-ko, were written long ago. Only elders read it.”

“Elders of which island? Where is your home?”

“No island home.” He cast an arm to encompass the open seas. “Here is our home.”

“The ocean?”

He frowned and turned his back on Karen. “No.”

“Mwahu—”

“I no speak no more of it. The elders tell me to help you. I help you.”

Jack interrupted. “Why did they tell you to?”

The islander fingered the coiled serpent tattoo. “Elder Rau-ren says you cannot put poison back into snake’s fang once it bites.” He lowered his arm, signaling the end to this discussion. “Killing the snake, no good. Only help can save you.”

“In other words,” Karen whispered to Jack, “the cat’s out of the bag. The wrong can’t be undone.”

“What wrong?” Jack asked.

“Something about us taking the crystal out of the pyramid.”

He frowned. “Everything keeps coming back to the crystal.”

“If his elders have some ancient text that warns about these ruins, it must have come from the same era in which they were built.” Karen stood up, excited. “Mwahu, can you read any of the ancient writings?”

He glanced at her. “Some. My father was an elder. He teach me before he die.”

Karen shuffled in her pack for pen and paper. Moving closer to Mwahu, she held the paper to the deck and scrawled a crude rendition of a few of the symbols. He leaned over, one hand still on the long wooden rudder.

“Can you read any of this?” she asked.

As he stared at it, his breathing became harder and his eyes widened. Then, abruptly, he ripped it from the deck, crumpled it and tossed it into the sea. “It is forbidden!” he said between clenched teeth.

Karen backed away from his vehemence and sat down. “It must be the same language,” she said to Jack. “But clearly there’s some taboo about putting it to paper.”

“Maybe it’s their attempt to maintain the language’s secrecy.”

She was thoughtful for a moment. “You’re probably right, but I’ve never heard of any island sect like this. Why the mystery? What were his ancestors warning against?”

Jack shook his head. “Who knows?”

“Perhaps there might be an answer in the inscriptions. If we could get Mwahu to help us, it might accelerate our work.”

“That is, if you can trust anything this man says.”

Karen sighed. “He seems sincere enough. And he clearly believes what he said.”

“Just because he believes it doesn’t make it true.”

“I suppose. Still, it’s a place to begin.” She leaned back, her eyes glazing as she stared out at the sea.