OLCANOVILLE WAS ONE of the hundreds of towns and mining camps that had sprung up in California after James W. Marshall, an employee of John Sutter’s lumber mill, discovered gold flecks in the tail race in January of 1848. By the end of that year, word had spread and hundreds of thousands of people from around the world had flocked to the most recent member of the United States.
The mining camps and towns had risen up like dandelions, springing full-born almost overnight, then dying in the same quick fashion when the gold ran out or was never found. Hell Roaring Diggings, Whiskey Flat, Loafer’s Hollow, and others had each left behind something of a history in the area. But separating the true stories from those that had been embroidered later, or from the lies they’d been mixed with from the beginning, was almost impossible. As with any history, murder, betrayal, success and failure were all part of the tapestry.
Huangfu gazed at the ramshackle buildings that stood under a thick canopy of trees. Many of the trees showed signs of repeated lightning strikes. Broken limbs, shattered trunks, and places bare of bark were scattered around the site.
Not exactly a place to inspire hope, Annja thought as she turned to Huangfu. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
The man offered her a faint smile. “That’s good. Because at the moment it looks impossible.”
“If we were just going off the journal you found, maybe it would be. Fortunately the California Historical Society, as well as dozens of other branches and genealogists in the area, collected stories, journals, and newspapers.”
“I trust your expertise in this matter.” Huangfu smiled. “That’s why I hoped you would help me.”
Annja slid out of her backpack and placed it beside the nearest building. The wind picked up and caused the branches to rattle against the roof. No trace of paint remained on the weathered boards. It was possible the exterior of the building had never been painted.
Working quickly, she paced off the dimensions of the buildings. Most of them appeared to have been constructed roughly the same. She guessed that the building she was searching for would be similar. When she finished, she returned to the backpack.
Huangfu didn’t say a word.
Crouching, her back against the building, she took a bound journal from the backpack, as well as two energy bars, offering one of them to Huangfu. The man took the snack and crouched beside her.
“What’s that?” He pointed at the book.
“A journal I made for the search we’re going to conduct here.”
The journal contained hand-drawn maps Annja had created from topographical surveys she’d found of the Volcanoville area, as well as ones she’d found in newspapers and letters collected in the historical societies she’d visited. Tabs separated sections on known facts, rumors, and stories she’d gleaned from her research. All of the notes were handwritten, and she’d made the sketches, as well.
“You have maps?” Huangfu sounded doubtful.
“I made them, based on geological surveys of the area, as well as stories I found. The forest and the stream, they’re there in the right places. The map of the town is purely guesswork.”
“I thought you’d arrived in Georgetown only this morning.”
“I did.” Annja smiled at him. “The Internet is a wonderful tool.”
“You do this for all of your projects?”
“When I can. I like to have an idea of what I’m getting into before I arrive. Usually time at dig sites is limited. You have to know what you’re looking for and where to look for it. Not all nations welcome archaeologists with open arms.” Annja flipped through the maps she’d created. “A lot of that has to do with the fact that in the early twentieth century a number of archaeologists served as spies for the Western world.”
Huangfu laughed. “Have you ever been a spy, Miss Creed?”
“No,” Annja said flatly.
“Would you be one if you were asked?”
“I guess it would depend on the circumstances. That’s not what I’m about. I’m an archaeologist.” Annja looked around at the buildings, trying to see through the present into the past that had existed over a hundred years ago.
Huangfu drank water from his canteen and sat silently. From the man’s relaxed posture, Annja believed he could have sat that way for hours. She hadn’t yet gotten a fix on him and that left her feeling a little unsettled.
When she’d first connected with Huangfu over the Internet and then the phone, Annja had guessed he was a corporate worker. But from the money involved in his quest—and the fact that he’d generously arranged her flight out and her bed-and-breakfast accommodations in Georgetown—she’d figured he was near the top tier. A background check on him had confirmed that Huangfu Cao worked for Ngai Enterprises, a Shanghai-based international pharmaceutical company.
Bart McGilley, the New York homicide detective who was one of Annja’s closest friends and who had done the background check on Huangfu, had wanted to dig deeper. But Bart tended to be overly protective where Annja was concerned. She hadn’t wanted to wait any longer. Huangfu had volunteered to pay her expenses, and he’d said he only had the next few days to attempt to locate his ancestor’s remains. She’d assumed he’d taken leave to attend to the matter.
Annja was all too aware that her own free time turned on a dime and was often gone before she knew it. She’d already turned down a Chasing History’s Monsters assignment to track down the legend of a vampire living in Cleveland. Vampires were perennial ratings winners on the television show, and her producer, Doug Morrell, had a special interest in them that she hadn’t quite figured out. Given her options, she’d jumped at the free trip to California.
Within minutes, Annja found the few remaining landmarks she’d identified from the stories and the geographical maps. Once she was oriented, she grabbed the straps of her backpack, hoisting it to one shoulder.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Huangfu fell into step beside her. “Do you know where the building we’re looking for is located?”
“I think so.” Annja pointed. “Chinatown was up on that ridgeline. Mining towns were usually segregated by race. Chinese immigrants poured into California in the 1850s and 1860s.”
“For the promise of gold. I know.”
“Not just for the promise of gold.” Annja started up the incline, grabbing an exposed tree root as she leaned into the ascent. “They were also escaping the Taiping Rebellion that occurred after the British defeated the Chinese in both Opium Wars to force British trade.”
“I’ll take your word for that, Miss Creed.”
Annja was surprised that Huangfu wouldn’t know that. Those times had been hard on the Chinese people. The British had usurped the emperor’s control and spread opium throughout Shanghai and other provinces through gunboat diplomacy.
The Chinese had invented gunpowder for fireworks, and had even used it somewhat for cannon and flamethrowers, but they had never mounted cannons on ships for use in war. The British had done that with success unmatched
