Upstairs in the room, Drake took a tepid shower and then coated himself head to toe with bug spray before pointing the fan at the bed and pulling back the single sheet to confirm there were no insects lurking beneath it to feast on him. Satisfied he was safe, at least for the moment, he switched off the light and rested his head on the flat pillow, the only sound the occasional laugh from the drivers on the street below and the atonal hum of the fan’s motor.
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 drin
king 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.”
Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) Page 18