Ramsey's Gold

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Again.”

Jack’s face was beaded with sweat and red from sunburn as he stood in a fighting stance, waiting for Drake to make his move. The field on the far edge of town was vacant in the late morning, the inhabitants all busy on the river that sustained them, be it with trade or food. They’d watched from their breakfast perch at a hut near the malecon as long, thin wooden boats eased into the flow of muddy brown water while young men tossed nets from their knee-deep positions along the bank, hoping to trap some of the fish apparently teeming in the noxious soup.

“Come on. That last pass was pretty good. Let’s see if you can do it again,” Jack said, having risen and dusted himself off after Drake had downed him for the fourth time that morning. Drake had improved as they’d practiced, to the point where he was now giving almost as good as he received. Allie sat beneath a tree fifteen yards away as the two men slowly circled each other, their T-shirts drenched with sweat as well as the remnants of a momentary cloudburst that had hit fifteen minutes earlier, before they’d had a chance to find cover.

The sun filtered from between the clouds, raising the already blistering temperature another few degrees. Drake eyed Jack, waiting for a tell — something that would give him an indication of what he was expecting, so he could do the opposite. The sparring had come naturally to him after years of karate and wrestling, yet he was consistently surprised by how fast the older man was.

Drake feinted left with a blow and followed with a sweep kick with his left leg, crouching as he spun, hoping to knock Jack’s legs from under him with the sudden change in tactics. His shin connected solidly with the side of Jack’s knee and he felt it buckle. Drake was already up as Jack tumbled backward, and it was over before it started as the ground knocked the wind out of Jack with a loud “oof.”

Jack lay flat on his back and looked up at Drake. “Looking good. I never saw that coming.”

Drake leaned over and offered his hand to pull Jack to his feet. “I got lucky.”

“No, that was actually a great move. And it worked. My only caution would be that if I’d had a knife, it would have been sticking out of your back before you had a chance to finish the kick.”

“Which is why we agreed that getting into a fight with a guy with a knife is a losing proposition.”

“So you were paying attention.”

“I told you, I have a good memory.”

Jack checked the time and stretched his arms overhead. “Let’s call it quits. I’m getting hungry.”

“What about Allie? When does she get the crap beaten out of her?” Drake asked.

“Son, I wouldn’t say that too loud. She’s about as good as any I’ve seen, and I’m not kidding. Lightning fast, and a lot of power behind her strikes.”

Allie’s voice rang out. “I heard you. Just let me know whenever you feel like you’ve graduated, and I’ll take you for a few rounds, tough guy,” she called from her position, the smile on her face belying her words. “I used to take down Dad with regularity.”

The two men gathered their backpacks, and Jack hefted the rucksack with the guns, which Jack hadn’t thought prudent to leave in the room for whoever cleaned to discover. The last thing they needed was to land in a Peruvian jail for possession of illegal weapons. He shouldered it and led the way back into town, taking long, economical strides. Drake hung back and chatted with Allie, who’d apparently warmed up to him again and was being increasingly friendly as they spent more time together. But even as they walked, in the back of Drake’s mind was the tension Spencer would bring with him. With an act of will, he decided not to worry about it — Allie was an adult, and if she preferred Spencer over Drake, that was her choice.

They tried a different place for lunch, a large palapa by the river, where several groups of laborers from the boats were digging into their food with gusto. Allie read them their choices and all three opted for the fish after eyeing the neighboring tables, where heaping plates of fresh catch were being devoured.

Training continued until another rainstorm passed through at 5:30, this one sustained. They soldiered down the muddy roads back to the hotel, soaked but at least not baking. That night passed much as the prior night had, and when Drake collapsed onto the bed after covering himself with a film of insect spray, every muscle in his body was sore. His last thought as he drifted off was of Allie taunting him.

The following afternoon, after another long session, this time with knives as well as more unarmed technique, Jack powered up the satellite phone just before they left the field and called Spencer. He had a hurried discussion and stabbed the phone off before rolling his head around to loosen the stiffness in his neck.

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell us what he said?” Allie asked.

“He said he’d be here tomorrow. And to be ready to move out the following morning. That was it.”

“At least he answered his phone. That’s a plus,” she observed, and Drake had to reluctantly, if silently, agree.

That evening, after dinner, Drake wasn’t tired yet and decided to see what, if any, after-dark entertainment the town offered. He wasn’t hoping for much, and when he bid Jack and Allie goodnight at the hotel, he was surprised when she offered to join him, ignoring Jack’s stern look.

“Just remember, if anyone starts something, walk away. You can’t afford to be on the radar. Keep a low profile.”

“Yes, Dad,” Allie said, her voice light.

“This is a really bad idea, just so you know,” he warned. “These small working towns can get rough at night. But I know better than to try to talk you out of anything by now.”

“We won’t do anything. Just grab a beer, and hit it. I promise,” Allie said, and she sounded sincere.

Occasional clouds drifted above them like luminous cotton painted against the night sky. They could smell the rushing water as they ambled wordlessly along the riverbank to a bar they’d noticed tucked away under two huge trees at the far end of town. When they made it inside the hut, they found a short, chubby man with an elaborately waxed black moustache tending bar. A dozen blue plastic tables sat crookedly on the hard-packed dirt floor, mostly empty. Seeing them, he left the small portable television he’d been watching and approached. Allie went back and forth with him for a minute, and when he turned away to get their drinks, he had a broad smile on his face.

“What was that all about?” Drake asked.

“I asked him why his establishment wasn’t packed on a Thursday night. He said that the workers get paid every Saturday. They’re out of money by now, so Thursdays and Fridays are usually dead. But look out come Saturday.”

“That was it?”

“Then I asked if what I’d heard was true: that his bar served the coldest beer in town. That’s when he laughed. He said he served just about the only beer in town, but that he’d do his best to find a couple of cold ones for us.”

“I guess at some point I’ll have to learn to speakee.”

“We can add Spanish to your long list of learning experiences, if you like. I’m not fluent, but I’m pretty decent at it.”

“Sounded fluent to me.”

“That’s because you had no idea what I was saying. A native speaker would know the difference.”

The bartender returned with four bottles of beer in a bucket of ice. He sat the dented metal pail on the table and popped the tops off two, adding something in drawling Spanish. It was Allie’s turn to laugh, and then they were alone, the proprietor returned to his TV program, the other patrons focused on their drinking and conversations.

“He said we get the special treatment because I’m so nice,” she explained.

“A bucket of ice?”

“Yes. Because the beer would be warm thirty seconds after it sat out, and he didn’t want to disappoint me.” She batted her lashes.

Drake held his beer out in a toast. Allie clinked hers against it and took a long sip. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and emitted a contented sigh before opening them and setting the bottle on the table. Drake took a swig of his own, enjoying the icy bite in his mouth before placing it beside hers. They sat quietly for several minutes, watching beads of sweat form on the bottles and tear down the sides, and then he drained another third in two gulps and stuck the bottle back into the ice, which had already melted into a frosty soup. Allie did the same as she looked around the bar.

“Not really that lively a place, is it?” she asked.

“Maybe the band doesn’t show up till later.”

She shook her head. “How would you like to live in a dump like this? Most of these people will never leave this town. They’ll spend their entire lives here, by the river, fishing like their parents did before them, living and dying oblivious to the outside world.”

“Maybe there’s something to be said for the simple life. I mean, we’re from the outside world, and they don’t look that unhappy to me. Perhaps they know something we don’t.”

“I’m not sure about that. I think it’s about lowered expectations. If you don’t know any better, then you’re happy raising chickens and wearing rags. But there’s more to life than eking out a sustenance existence.”

“Sure there is. But at its essence, isn’t this the same as anywhere else? Boys meet girls, they start families, they do the best they can, they raise their kids, and eventually get old and die. In between, they enjoy what they can, living off the land in a place time forgot. I’d say they have everything.”

“The noble savage? Really, Drake? You believe that?”

“I’m not saying that their lives couldn’t be better, but for the most part, they’d just be different lives, not necessarily improved ones. Okay, sure, modern health care would be nice, but do they really need the Internet and text messaging and designer everything? I mean, do we? What have we got to show for it? Everyone I know is kind of miserable. Maybe with a fifty-thousand-dollar car, but still, not all that happy. There’s a certain simplicity to knowing your place in the scheme of things. A satisfaction that always wanting bigger, faster, better kills.”

Allie studied him without saying anything, and then finished her beer. “You surprise me. That’s unexpected, coming from a California boy raised in the heart of progress.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since reading my dad’s journal. He didn’t seem all that impressed by the modern world — it comes through loud and clear in his notes. That was part of the appeal of finding a big treasure. He wrote several times that if he wound up rich, the first thing he’d do was to move his loved ones someplace with a slower pace.”

“Really? Like where? Did he say?”

“He mentioned a couple of islands. In the South Pacific. Away from the crowds, as he put it.”

“And what will you do if we find a fortune, Drake? Have you thought about it?” She pulled the two sealed bottles of beer from the bucket and opened the first with the top of the second and handed it to him, then popped hers open on a section of the pail handle. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. No, I haven’t. Something about staying alive long enough to find it keeps intruding.”

“Well, think about it. What would you do?”

He drank a large swallow of beer. “You know what? I have no idea.”

“None? At all?”

He shook his head. “Pretty lame, huh?”

“No. It just means that maybe you aren’t that motivated by money.”

“What about you? What would you do?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’d start an archeology team and go in search of the most elusive legendary finds out there. And buy a really cool house and a super obnoxious car. And probably hire a dozen hot pool boys.”

They laughed easily together. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have to hire them,” he said.

“No, that’s the whole point. I’d want to. They’d have to wear little outfits with no shirts, and wander around the house barefoot, attending to my every need. Don’t spoil the fantasy with them being free. I’d want to be ugly rich. Screw being graceful about it. Hot and cold running Sven and Zack. That’s my speed.”

“Would you really do that?”

She giggled, offering a flash of white teeth that made Drake’s breath catch in his throat. “Probably not. It sounds dumb. But I want to buy something to prove to myself that I made it. Maybe a plane or something. That’s what you should do, too.”

He toasted her again. “Well, let’s find it first. Then we can worry about how to spend it.”

“Killjoy.”

Drake held his beer up to the light and peered through the final dregs. “You think he’s got any more of these cold ones back there?”

She gave him another long, appraising look, and stood. “I’ll ask.”

An hour later and two more beers apiece, they were feeling a glow almost as warm as the night air. Drake paid and they left the bar, the streets dark except for an occasional porch light and an intermittent glow from the moon as it silvered the surface of the river. They ambled along the waterfront in silence, two stray dogs ahead of them scavenging for scraps, and when they neared the halfway point to the hotel, Drake took Allie’s hand and pulled her toward him. He stopped and drew her into his arms and kissed her. She pushed away initially, but then responded in kind, her fingers entwined in his hair as she met his urgency with her own.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the direction of the bar. Drake’s eyes opened and he swiveled toward the sound. Three figures were approaching, sticking to the shadows. Drake disengaged from Allie and whispered in her ear.

“This could be trouble. Go back to the hotel. Now.”

“No. Remember, we’re supposed to avoid any drama. I’m not leaving without you.”

She began walking hurriedly toward the familiar cross street a hundred and fifty yards up the bank, and Drake accompanied her. The footsteps increased their pace behind them, and then broke into a run.

“Go on. Move. I’ll slow them down. You don’t want to get raped, Allie. All they can do is rob me.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the last of his American cash and handed it to her. “Quick. Get to the hotel and tell Jack I’m in trouble. Get going.”

Her eyes caught the moonlight and he could see fear in them. Then she was running, fortunately faster than the approaching footfalls behind him. He watched as she sprinted down the street, and turned when he judged that whoever was giving chase was ten yards away.

The three men were nothing like what he’d been expecting, which had been laborers from the bar, or possibly indigents looking for easy prey in a frontier town. Instead, the men were obviously Caucasian, well groomed, wearing reasonably expensive tropical-weight clothes. A tickle of fear crept up his spine as his eyes met those of the man in the lead — the cold, expressionless eyes of a predator.

Drake looked for weapons, but didn’t see any. That was good. He might be able to take them with nothing but hand-to-hand, especially after all the training. He turned slightly and began bouncing on the balls of his feet as he prepared for their first assault.

The lead man, easily in his fifties, shook his head. “There’s no need for that, Mr. Ramsey.”

Drake maintained his stance, but the unaccented English threw him. He’d been expecting…Russian. This man sounded American. He squinted at them. “You know who I am. What do you want?”

The two other men drew abreast of the first and Drake stiffened. The speaker held out a hand to hold them back. When he answered, his words were measured, his tone reasonable.

“To talk. We have a proposition for you.”

“I see. Why don’t we start with who you are, and how you know who I am?” Drake countered.

The man shrugged. “Names are unimportant, but you can call me Gus if you like. As to how I know who you are, that’s equally unimportant. Let’s just say that we’ve been watching you for some time.”

“Very dramatic and mysterious, Gus, but not an answer.”

“Perhaps. More importantly, we know why you’re here. We know your history, and we know what you’re after.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed. “You may. Or you may be bluffing.”

“Hardly. You’ll find we don’t bluff.”

“We. Again with the we. Who’s we?”

“Let’s just say that we represent a powerful organization that shares the same interest you do.”

“Could you be any more vague?” Drake asked, stalling for time. Allie would be back at the hotel by now. Given a few minutes to rouse Jack and for him to get dressed, Drake needed to buy himself four to five minutes, tops, before the cavalry came over the hill.

“Fine. We’re with the Central Intelligence Agency.” Gus paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in. “You haven’t asked about the proposal.”

“Maybe it’s because I don’t have important discussions while outnumbered three to one in dark alleys by people claiming to be American spooks.”

“This is hardly an alley. In any event, we’re interested in getting your assistance with a matter we believe you can help with. And we can guarantee your safety if we work together.”

“Work together? Guarantee my safety? The CIA wants me to work with them, and had to come to the armpit of Peru to ask me?”

“I’m up to speed on the regrettable story of your father, Mr. Ramsey. I’m also aware that the same adversaries who were responsible for his death are closing in on your location and will be actively pursuing you.”

Drake tried to blink away the fogginess from the beer. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“We want the journal, young man.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gus’s tone hardened. “Stop playing dumb. We want the journal.”

“I don’t have it.”

Gus didn’t flinch, but his voice dropped to a whisper. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“I haven’t broken any laws, and I’m not guilty of anything,” Drake countered.

Gus gave an impatient shake of his head. “Drake, we’d like you to work with us. This is a matter that we’ve been pursuing for over twenty years.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t know what you’ve gotten into. Drake, does the journal mention a man named Palenko?” Gus watched Drake’s eyes for a reaction and saw nothing. “Your father was working with us when he went into the jungle the last time, you know.”

“Working with you? Why?”

“He discovered a connection between Paititi and the Soviets. He met a Peruvian who’d been treated for congestive heart failure in the same hospital room as a Russian who was dying of encephalitis. A Russian who claimed to have lived in Paititi for two years.”

“What? And he believed that?”

“Aren’t you wondering why Russians are involved in this?” Gus asked softly.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“What I’m about to say is classified, do you understand? Never to be repeated.”

“Do I have to sign something?”

“Believe me, we’ll know if you talk.” Gus eyed him. “At the end of the Cold War, a brilliant but unbalanced Soviet scientist — Grigor Palenko, one of the regime’s top weapons developers — left Russia, taking with him a container of some ore he’d mined from a meteor he’d discovered in the Peruvian jungle decades before. He believed an element in the ore could be used to create new kinds of weapons of mass destruction; or if used for peaceful applications, might accommodate most of the world’s energy needs. He’d spent years working to extract the element and refine it, and had created a theoretical technology that he believed had the potential to change the world order.”

“What does that have to do with the journal, or my father? Or me, for that matter?”

“Palenko had been consumed by two passions in life: developing that technology and the legend of Paititi. But as the Berlin wall crumbled, it became obvious to him that Russia was no longer safe, and that he’d be persecuted by political enemies ascending to power. He slipped out of the country with the only twenty-four pounds of the element in existence, accompanied by several cronies, determined to locate Paititi and fund the development of his ultimate invention — the equivalent of cold fusion.”

“And you believe he found Paititi? Doesn’t that sound a little like a fairy tale to you?” Drake asked, his scorn obvious.

“The Russian, who we believe was Palenko’s assistant, died shortly after telling the Peruvian his story. And the Peruvian died only a few days after selling your father the account for five hundred dollars.”

“Sounds like there are con artists all over Peru. I can’t believe anyone would buy that load of malarkey.”

“Drake, Palenko has the ore, and we need to locate it at all costs. We’ve been looking for a long time.”

“Right. For what did you say — twenty years? How’s that going?” Drake asked. “And if it’s so important, why not just come up with some excuse about shutting down drug trafficking in the region and send in the marines?”

“That’s not how these things work.” Gus paused. “The man’s a lunatic, Drake. Lunatics can be problematic to track, but our mission hasn’t changed. We have to find him.”

“What do I have to do with that?”

“You’re in considerable danger. The Russians are after the same thing, and they’ll stop at nothing. The shooting in Menlo Park should have been your tipoff. You need to choose which side you’re on. If you’re on ours, we can protect you.” Gus’s eyes scanned the street. “We’re back to your father’s journal. We know you recently came into possession of it. We’re willing to pay quite a bit to get it. That’s where the proposal comes in.”

“What’s ‘quite a bit’?” Drake asked, his curiosity aroused.

“Enough to do anything you want with your life. To live anywhere. Be anything you can dream of.”

“I can dream pretty big.”

“I’m sure you can. But I’m sure you know the old saying about a bird in the hand, right?”

“Of course.”

“We’re willing to offer you a very big bird indeed. Enough for you to take care of your associates and still be rich.”

“How much?”

Gus stepped closer, but Drake detected no obvious threat. Gus leaned into him and whispered near his ear, “Fifty million dollars.”

Drake swallowed hard, the beer fog now gone.

“Fifty…fifty million dollars?” he stammered. “Did I hear you right?”

“You did. You can give your friends five million apiece, and take thirty-five million and live a dream. Anywhere in the world. With no risk to yourself, and nothing to fear from the men who murdered your father. We’ll deal with them.”

“And all I have to do is give you the journal.”

“That’s correct.”

“How do I know you won’t kill me the second you have it?”

“If we make a deal, we’ll arrange for a wire transfer to the account of your choice, anywhere in the world. Once you confirm that the funds have been received, you turn it over to us. There are more safeguards for us both, but those are details.” Gus waved a hand. “The important thing is that you agree.”

Drake hesitated. He had difficulty imagining actually having fifty million dollars. Even after paying off Jack and Allie, and throwing a small bone to Spencer, he’d still be filthy rich.

If.

If Gus wasn’t lying. If Drake could figure out a way to guarantee his own safety.

Fifty million for doing nothing. No risk, no jungle expedition, no homicidal Russians, no possibility of coming up empty.

A smart man would take the sure thing and leave the risk to his new associates.

“The treasure’s rumored to be worth much, much more than fifty million. Billions. Many billions. Possibly tens of billions,” Drake said.

“Possibly. Assuming you locate it. And assuming the Peruvian or Brazilian government is willing to give you even a small percentage of it — which isn’t a given, no matter what you’ve been led to believe. And of course, if the Russians don’t get to you first. Besides which, we’re not that interested in the treasure. It’s Palenko we’re after.”

“Then why can’t I turn over the journal and continue hunting for Paititi?”

“Because if you found it, you might lead them right to it, and we would have lost the advantage we paid for. That, and we can’t protect you in the middle of the rainforest.”

Drake said nothing. Gus made a compelling argument.

“How did you know about me?” Drake asked.

“Your buddy Jack contacted his friend to check up on the two Russians who were in prison — connected to this in the most intimate possible way. That flagged us. Figure it out. We have a lot of resources.” Sensing his wavering, Gus stepped back, giving Drake more space to think, and tried a friendlier tone. “Think about what you could do with that kind of money. You’d be a king anywhere in the world. Nothing would be off-limits or out of your reach. Imagine it, and you can have it.” Gus paused. “An opportunity like this comes along once in a lifetime, Drake. You’re an intelligent guy. Do the right thing.”

Drake glanced at his watch. Where was Jack?

“I…how do I know you’re for real? Talk’s cheap.”

“All you have to do is say the word, and we’ll put gears in motion to consummate. Then you’ll discover we’re as serious as it comes,” Gus said, and Drake believed him. “Take the evening to think about it. We’ll touch base tomorrow. I can assure you that you’re not going to get a better offer. The Russians will…well, they play differently than we do.”

“You know them?”

“We know everyone involved. They’re a particularly nasty bit of business — you wouldn’t want to meet up with them. They’re crude and extremely brutal as a matter of course. As your father learned, unfortunately.”

“You’ve mentioned him a number of times. Did you know him?” Drake asked.

“I didn’t know him personally, but I was aware of his demise. A tragedy. Hopefully the same won’t happen to you.”

Drake registered the threat. “Not a very nice way to talk to your prospective partner, is it?”

“I’m being genuine. Enough people have already died. It would be a shame for you to be added to that list.”

“But you’re not concerned.”

“No. I’m confident in our ability to protect you.”

Drake studied Gus’s flat eyes and saw the truth. As he looked away, he realized he was torn. It was an incredible offer. If it could be structured so it was foolproof…

“I need time to mull this over.”

“Like I said, take the evening. We’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

“How will I contact you?”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll find you.” Gus fixed Drake with a hard stare. “Choose wisely, Mr. Ramsey. Don’t do anything stupid. There’s no assurance that you’ll find anything if you try this on your own, and there’s a high degree of certainty that you’ll never come back. Whereas with our proposal, you’ll be a rich young man with an unlimited future. I’ve tried to frame this so there’s really no choice. And I think that’s the conclusion you’ll arrive at.”

Gus turned, apparently unconcerned about defending himself from Drake, and strode across the street, back toward the bar, his henchmen in tow. Drake watched them disappear into the gloom and heard something behind him. The scuff of a sole on pavement. He spun and saw Jack approaching at a trot, the unmistakable shape of one of the SIG Sauer pistols in his hand. When he reached Drake, he stopped. His gaze swept the deserted waterfront.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes roving over their surroundings.

“Yeah. I thought I was in trouble there, but it turned out all right.”

“What happened?”

Drake considered telling Jack about the offer, but something made him hesitate. He shook his head and shrugged it off. “Harmless. Some drunk fishermen. I think they were just screwing around. They were more interested in asking me for a few coins than in rolling me.”

Jack grunted. “That’s a relief. But as you’re discovering, taking these kinds of risks is a bad idea. You could have just as easily been hacked in two with a machete.”

“Nah. I’ve been told to avoid machete fights. Oh. Wait. That was knife fights. I’d imagine machetes are worse.”

“Okay, smartass. So you’re no worse for wear?”

“Never better.”

“Then let’s get back to the hotel. I was fast asleep when Allie got me.”

“Sorry.”

“No problem. But we’re up early, and I’m beat.” Jack took a last look down the street before turning and heading back to the hotel with Drake by his side, the pistol now nestled in his belt at the small of his back, covered by his shirt.

Allie came out when she heard them opening their room doors and wanted to know how it had gone. Drake told her the same story he’d told Jack, and she seemed relieved, although still a little worried. He liked that — Allie worried for him. I could get used to that, he thought to himself as he entered his quarters. Very used to it.

The room was stifling, but that wasn’t what kept Drake tossing and turning. His sweat-soaked sheets seemed to radiate his anxiety, and at two in the morning he sat bolt upright. He hadn’t understood his impulse to keep the conversation he’d had from Jack, but he’d come to the conclusion that it had been the wrong call.

Drake pulled on his shorts and unlocked his door, then stepped softly down the hall to Jack’s room, after pausing briefly outside Allie’s, the memory of their kiss still vivid. He rapped on the door and, when he didn’t hear any response, tried again.

Footsteps approached and Jack cracked the door open, his eyes red. “What is it?”

“We need to talk.”

“Now?”

“Sorry. But yes. Now.”

“Damn. Come in, then,” Jack whispered, and pulled the door toward him. Drake slipped through and sat on the bed, and told him what had happened, as well as about Palenko. When he was done, Jack whistled softly. “Drake, this changes the entire game. This is way larger than a search for lost treasure. Now we’re mixed up in something much more dangerous, and the best thing we can do is recognize when we’re way out of our league.”

“It doesn’t really change our basic objective, though. Just throws another variable into the mix.”

“Yeah, like the CIA. I wouldn’t screw around with them, Drake.” Jack hesitated. “Fifty million. That’s a lot of money. A lot.”

“They suggested I give each of you five million, then go have a nice life.”

“Man, with five million I could disappear forever. The Russians would never be able to find me. More importantly, they wouldn’t have any reason to. Wow. I mean, think about it. Thailand. Russia. Argentina. Fiji. With that kind of money…”

“I know.”

“And Allie would never have to worry about anything again. She could pursue archeology to her heart’s content,” Jack finished.

“Which is why I needed to talk to you.”

“What’s there to talk about? You just won the lottery.”

“I’m not sure I want to do it.”

Jack looked at him in surprise. “Why the hell not?”

Drake stared at his hands in the dark. “Because it feels wrong. Like I’m quitting.”

“Drake, listen to me. Fifty million isn’t quitting. Really. You have nothing to be ashamed of. That’s life-changing money. And as you just said, there’s obviously more in play here than just the Inca city. With the CIA in the mix, it’s bigger than anything you want to be involved with. You should take the deal and run.”

“Maybe. What would my dad have done?” Drake asked quietly.

“Who cares? You’re not your dad. And with all due respect, he made some pretty lousy choices. And look what it got him.”

“No argument. But what would he have done?” Drake asked, steel in his tone.

Jack sighed in resignation. “You know what he would have done. He wouldn’t have taken the money. That’s just how he was. But that doesn’t mean it’s the right choice, Drake. You don’t have to make the same mistakes.”

“So you’d take the cash?”

“Damn right I would. I’m old enough to know a great offer when I hear it.”

Drake sat silently for several endless moments and then stood. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jack. I’m not going to do it. I can’t. I need to see this through to the end, whatever that is.”

Jack looked like he wanted to protest, but nodded instead. “Okay, Drake, it’s your show. I just hope you know what you’re doing. That’s a lot of money. For all of us.”

“I know, Jack. Believe me, I know. Listen, I want to get out of here tomorrow morning, early, before they’re even awake. I can meet you somewhere.”

Jack appeared to think for a few seconds. “If you’re willing to be up at five, we can see about having a boat take you up the river. But if you do that, I’ll want you to go with Allie. I don’t want her around if this gets messy once they find out you’re gone.”

“No problem. I don’t mind. You’ll be right behind us once Spencer arrives. Which reminds me — he’s got to be the leak. I told you I didn’t trust him, and then these guys show up. How else could they have known exactly where we were?”

“I wouldn’t underestimate the CIA, Drake. But even if you’re right, we still need him. Tell you what — I won’t tell him where we’re going, and then I’ll take his sat phone from him once we’re gone. That way he’ll have no way of communicating. Sort of force him to be honest. And I’ll go through his stuff when he’s not around to make sure he doesn’t have a tracking device on him.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“I don’t see how we have much of a choice if we’re going through with this.”

“Damn. Okay, if you can manage it.”

Jack winced. “There’s not a lot I can’t manage.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Vadim looked up from his half-empty glass of vodka as a young Peruvian woman entered the bedroom wearing nothing but a smile.

“You have a call,” she said in fractured English. Vadim grunted and tossed back the rest of his drink, savoring the familiar burn as it spread from his throat to his abdomen.

He rose and followed her into the other room, noting that she could give some of the Russian girls he’d paid for their hospitality a run for their money, and lifted the ancient black phone handset to his ear.

“Yes?”

“We just got word. They’re in Atalaya.” The voice on the telephone spoke heavily accented English, all no-nonsense, the words seasoned by years of hard living.

“I told you. They used that as jumping off point before. It made sense they would use it again.”

“My contact is watching them. Not hard to do considering the size of the place.”

“Very good. We will be on our way tomorrow. Do nothing overt. I do not want them warned that they are under surveillance. Is that clear?”

“Of course. We’ll know when they decide to leave. They suspect nothing.”

“See that it stays that way. Have you sourced the equipment I requested?”

“Yes. We’re ready.”

Vadim checked the time. It was later than he thought. “We will be there by the middle of the day.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Vadim hung up and eyed the young woman, who was seated at the coffee table, helping herself to a line of the local cocaine. Vadim approached her, weaving slightly, the vodka having gone to his head, and clumsily grabbed her, which she pretended to enjoy as she giggled and squirmed. A bruise on her face had taught her not to question the customer’s strange demands, and the drugs at least blunted some of the pain she knew would follow.

Vadim pulled her to her feet and led her back to the bedroom, shuffling like an old bear. She teetered after him on precarious heels that snicked on the tile floor as she went to earn her keep, a professional smile frozen on her face, dreading what was to come.