Ramsey's Gold

Chapter Twelve

When he was finished skimming the article, he placed the paper back on the table and took several deep breaths. Jack raised one eyebrow and said nothing, waiting for Drake to comment. Eventually Drake regained his composure and did.

“Yes, that’s him.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. That’s the Russians’ style. Brutal, obvious, and completely unconcerned about the law. Unless you think a torture-murder, as the papers are calling it, is unrelated.”

“I…I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, I do. I don’t need to wait to hear back from my spook friend. Whether it’s the same two or their newer twins, they’re coming after the journal. Which makes you nothing but a liability.”

Drake bristled. “Then I’ll leave.”

“That won’t solve anything. Guys like this just keep coming. You weren’t at the attorney’s, and that didn’t stop them from slicing him up like a Christmas turkey, did it? Do you really think they’ll come in, ask Allie and me some polite questions, and then apologize for the bother and leave when we tell them that we have no idea what they’re talking about?”

“I just talked to my boss. Nobody’s asking about me.”

“That’s your first lucky break. Maybe the trail stopped at the attorney. Did he have your address?”

Drake thought about it. “Yes.”

“Then you are, as they used to say in the game, blown. You can’t go back home. They’ll be waiting.” He hesitated, calculating quickly. “Damn. You have a cell phone, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

Jack held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“Why?”

Jack scowled. “Drake, let’s get one thing straight. Not to be rude, but when I tell you to do something, do it. Your life may depend on it. This is not make-believe. You’re in very real danger. Two people have died so far. I say ‘so far’ because I can guarantee that this is only the start. If you want to stay alive, don’t ask questions. Just give me the phone. Now.”

Drake bit back the surge of anger at the older man’s tone and told himself that it wasn’t personal — Jack was used to issuing terse commands, he could tell, and had probably never learned to soften his style. He handed Jack his cell, and Jack flipped the back open and removed the battery. “I don’t know if these have a secondary power source in them, but we have to assume so. You can be tracked with your phone. Anywhere in the world. You say you’ve got a photographic memory?”

“I said almost photographic.”

“What does that mean? Almost?”

“It means it’s almost photographic. I don’t know how to explain it. I can see a document I read once, clearly, but it will fade over time.”

“Can you memorize your phone contacts and email lists?”

“I already have. It’s not that big a list.”

“All right, then. Come with me.”

Drake followed Jack to the rear door and out into the sunshine. They moved to the barn, and once inside, Jack went to a tool shed and opened it. When he turned back to face Drake, he held a sledgehammer.

“What are you going to do?” Drake asked.

“What do you think?”

They walked back outside into the brisk morning air. Jack tossed the phone onto the hard-packed dirt and with a single powerful swing, crushed it. Plastic pieces flew everywhere, and Drake watched as his lifeline to the real world disintegrated before his eyes.

“Did you really have to do that?” he asked.

“Depends. Do you want your appendages cut off and fed to you, one at a time?”

“Let’s assume that’s a no.”

“Did you read the article? That’s what they’ll do if they find you. Or maybe they’ll be more creative. A blowtorch. Acid. Broken glass. Bleach. Depends on how much they believe you when you tell them where the journal is. Of course, they’ll still kill you when all’s said and done, but by the time they do, you’ll be begging for death, so they’ll actually be doing you a favor.”

“You aren’t kidding, are you?”

Jack leaned aside and spat. “Drake, do I seem possessed of a whimsical nature?”

Drake studied his expression. “Not really.”

“Then you can assume I don’t kid.”

“What…what do I do now? I mean, assuming these guys are looking for me?”

“Oh, I think that’s a safe assumption. But that’s a good question. The problem, as I see it, is the same as your father had after he told the Russians to go to hell. There’s only one way you’ll ever be safe. And you’re not going to like it. Hell, I don’t like it.”

“You…you can’t be thinking…”

“We need to get out of here and head to South America. The only way they’re going to quit is if you find Paititi and the treasure’s out of their grasp. As long as they think it’s there and that you have information that could get them to it, you’re dead meat. And unfortunately, so am I. And so’s Allie. That’s just the way it’ll play. It’s not right or wrong. It just is. But my biggest problem is that you’re not ready. How much do you know about hand-to-hand combat?”

“Some. Like I told you, I did take martial arts.”

“Ever been in a street fight?”

“A couple of times I got into it with bail skips.”

“How about weapons? You ever fired a gun?”

“No.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve had any survival training.”

“Nope.”

Jack sighed and then went back into the barn and put the sledge away. When he came out, he waved a hand towards the black plastic pieces all over the ground. “Pick those up. Don’t leave any, or when they get here, they’ll find whatever you missed, and they’ll know we’re onto them.”

Drake watched him walk back toward the house. “What are you going to do?” he called after Jack.

“Try to explain to Allie why she’s in mortal danger, and then load a bunch of guns before I pack a bag and empty the safe. I want to be out of here in twenty minutes.”

“Where are you going?”

“We. Where are we going.” Jack turned and studied Drake. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

A kit of pigeons flapped from the sidewalk in front of the downtown building’s tired green façade. The New Start Bail Bonds sign blinked on and off, its “Open 24 Hours” tagline not entirely accurate since the option after seven at night was to contact a call center that would in turn take a message and forward it to Harry’s phone. Scattered clouds drifted lazily across the turquoise sky, the prior day’s storm having hit with full force in the afternoon and spent itself by midnight. The air smelled like wet grass and exhaust from the nearby freeway, and the birds flapped higher before turning as one and shooting south.

Betty had been out to lunch for ten minutes when the front door chimed, alerting Harry that someone was there. That was always how his day played — business came on its own schedule, and it was always a big hurry, someone’s freedom at stake.

“Just a second,” he called from his office, and when he didn’t hear a response, he put down his pen and rose. “Hello?”

Nothing.

He opened his door and stepped out to find two men in long overcoats standing by Betty’s desk.

“Can I help you?” Harry asked.

Vadim grimaced slightly, and Harry realized as his face cracked that it was his attempt at a smile, the effect as inviting as the toothy grin of a moray eel.

“I certainly hope so.”