A Ton of Gold (Crystal Moore Suspense Book 1)

by James R. Callan

  “I’ll be there,” said Mark.

  Crystal and several others nodded.

  “Anything else?” Mark asked. No one spoke, so Mark continued. “Monday afternoon, Crystal and I will go get our preview of the consultant, at his talk at UT.”

  Crystal’s stomach tightened and her strength ebbed at the thought of seeing Dr. Krupe. Just the mention of his name caused her to feel inadequate. She didn’t know what would happen when she met him face to face.

  Mark looked around the group, but no one offered anything. “Okay. Let’s get hopping. We want to wow them on Tuesday. Crystal, I need a few minutes of your time. Shall we talk in my office?”

  #

  Mark closed the door to his office and sat on the edge of his desk. “Phil is a real asset to IRS. I think you know that. What he did was ... well, I don’t know what he was thinking. I can imagine his enthusiasm and blurting out the idea to me. But there is no excuse for not correcting that, particularly when I credited it to him in the meeting. He apologized to me again, after you left. Said he had never provided a new project for IRS and when I told the group he had this great new idea, well, he just couldn’t muster the nerve to stop me. He said he admires you and all the original ideas you come up with.” He paused just a second. “Maybe, he’s a little jealous.”

  Mark shrugged. “I’m not defending what he did, Crystal. I’m just telling you what he told me. Which is that he didn’t set out to steal your idea. He said he knows he was wrong; has known it for two weeks. But, well ... .”

  He walked around his desk and sat down. “He has offered to resign if you or I want him to.” He looked at Crystal, but she said nothing. “Phil is a good worker, and personally, I don’t want to lose him. He brings a lot to the company, for example, his comments on the Bowen contract this morning. He runs his projects smoothly, deals with his people well. He’s not creative, but he’s smart, organized, thorough, and has a great eye for details.” He paused for several moments. “But it’s your call. And I will back you one hundred percent, whichever way you choose.”

  Crystal looked past Mark and out the window, not really focusing on anything. One part of her said she wanted Phil fired. He stole, or tried to steal, her idea. And yet, how could he have hoped to do that in such a small company, unless he figured she wouldn’t say anything? Which she didn’t, at least for a week. Was part of the problem her own weakness? No. Just because a person is weak doesn’t make it okay to steal from her. The weak need protection more than the strong.

  She thought of JT. Only three days ago, she might have fired JT on the spot, if she’d had the power. Looking back on it now, she realized how wrong and very damaging to JT that would have been. With all the things happening to JT——Eddie Ray’s death, the threat of Luis being kidnapped, Joe and Al coming after her—firing her could have pushed her over the edge.

  Crystal could understand why JT did what she did. It was harder to rationalize Phil’s actions.

  Still, the wrong had been straightened out.

  “I’m sure that will never happen again,” said Mark. “I believe he is truly sorry.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Crystal answered. She recalled how Mark handled the incident in the general meeting. He had taken the blame, indicating that he had misunderstood. Of course, it wasn’t Mark’s idea that had been stolen. In research, ideas were the most valuable property you had. She thought of Brandi’s philosophy: if it isn’t worth protecting, it isn’t worth having.

  “Part of me says he should be fired for intellectual piracy,” Crystal admitted. “But part of me says, in this small company, the only way he could have succeeded is if I let him. And he knew that.”

  The hard line of Mark’s mouth softened. “How about this? We’ve had a trial and I, the judge, find the defendant guilty. In fact, he confessed. What if I put him on probation?”

  Crystal nodded several times. “I’m angry with him, though even that is dissipating.” The picture of JT, weeping at her kitchen table, edged into Crystal’s mind. “Don’t fire him.”

  As she got up to leave, Mark said, “Don’t forget our strategy meeting tonight. Rod said he’d be over about eight.”

  Chapter 46

  FOR nearly an hour, Mark, Crystal and Rod had discussed, argued, puzzled and even laughed over the “ton of gold” situation. The laughs were few, generated by various statements made out of frustration. “Maybe the fire-breathing car will burn up with Joe and Al in it.” Or “With all that gold, we can put in a first class security system.” Or “We leak the story, then sell rights to dive for gold at $1,000 an hour.”

  Mostly, a feeling of discouragement held center stage. The Dallas police had no hard evidence. Crystal had been shot by some, as yet unknown, thug in Wooden Nickel—maybe Joe or Al; maybe not. Eddie Ray, who never talked to the police and was now dead, claimed that Joe and Al (no last names) believed there was gold in Eula’s lake. No real leads had developed on the firebombing.

  Bill Glothe agreed that the attempts on Eula’s life and the shots at Crystal were related. Tom Hawkins felt certain the firebombing and Eddie Ray’s murder were linked, although no evidence confirmed that. Both Glothe and Hawkins saw the probable connection between the Wooden Nickel incidents and the Dallas crimes, Eddie Ray providing the link. But while Eddie Ray’s murder was likely a result of gold fever, no concrete evidence established this, and the connection to the firebomb was tenuous at best. Bill and Tom had talked on the telephone, but no strong evidence connected the incidents sufficiently to allow either to allocate any manpower to work with the other.

  Mark looked at his two guests. Rod was calm. It wasn’t his grandmother who had been attacked. He hadn’t been shot or had his business firebombed. Of course, knowing Rod as he did, Mark decided Rod would be relaxed even if it were his office.

  Crystal, on the other hand, had much more at stake than even Mark had. It was her grandmother, the woman who had raised her, her only living relative. And it was clear to Mark that the things happening to JT had shaken Crystal badly.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Crystal for the tenth time. “We can’t just sit around and wait for them to attack again. They’ve killed two people already.” She slammed her fist on the arm of the chair.

  “The police are on the lookout for the car,” Mark said. “Tom is trying to get a line on Big Man. Bill Glothe is keeping an eye on Eula. JT is out of harm’s way. Like it or not, that’s the best that can be done for now.”

  Her frustration voiced itself in a question she already knew the answer to. “Why can’t Bill put an around-the-clock guard on Nana?”

  “You know—”

  Mark was interrupted by his computer. “Mark, you have a visitor I do not recognize. Here is a picture of the vehicle.”

  Mark walked over and looked at the computer’s monitor. He clenched his teeth and stared at the image. “Damn.”

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s not a great picture. But there are flames dancing on the hood.” He felt the same adrenaline rush as when he approached the loading chute at a rodeo. He looked at his two friends. “Let’s get out of here.” Mark started for the door, retraced his steps and picked up his cell phone.

  Crystal detoured enough to look at the picture on the computer’s monitor. There on the screen was a picture of the black car with fire painted on it, as if an inferno under the hood was beginning to escape. She shuddered, as the flames caused a chill to race through her.

  “We’ll go downstairs, Crystal,” Mark said taking her hand and guiding her to the stairs. Rod closed the door behind them.

  “Can we make a run for it?” she asked.

  Mark’s mind raced through several options. The fire-breathing car was probably blocking the drive. At best, they’d have to go over flowerbeds and bushes. His Chrysler was too low to the ground to do that very fast. The truck would stand a better chance of getting out quickly. Even at that, Joe and Al might get off several shots at them. And with three
of them in the cab, even a wild shot would have a good chance of hitting someone.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He looked around the garage. “Let’s get out of here.” He headed toward the outside door, stopping just long enough to snatch a lariat off the wall and slip the circle of rope over his shoulder.

  “You’ve got a truck,” Rod whispered. “Why don’t you have a gun rack mounted in the back window?”

  Mark knew Rod hated guns. “Right about now, I wish I did.”

  He turned off the lights in the garage and eased the door open a crack. The night appeared black as pitch. Mark stepped outside, Crystal right behind him. A thin sliver of moon offered no illumination except to backlight a wispy cloud that floated in an inky sea. Millions of stars crowded the black sky, some winking at one another, others shinning as unwavering beacons. On an ordinary night, Mark would have stopped to marvel at the grandeur. Now, his mind was clouded by flames that brought cold rather than warmth.

  Crickets and katydids were chirping away, with the occasional hoot from an owl adding to the late summer symphony. Underneath nature’s music, Mark could hear tires slowly crunching gravel.

  “They don’t have their headlights on, just parking lights. And they’re not to the cement drive yet. So they can’t see us. Let’s just slip out and head for the woods. Crystal, hold my hand. Rod, take her other hand. We don’t want to trip over each other. It’s about fifty feet straight across the grass.”

  Without a word, Crystal reached out and found Mark’s outstretched hand. They crept across the grass like three kids in a graveyard on Halloween night. They were about halfway to the trees when the car rolled quietly off the gravel and onto the cement drive. Mark turned his head and stared into the darkness. From this point, he should be able to see the car. On cue, the soft amber running lights came into view. He still could not make out the car’s form, but the image from the computer monitor glowed brightly in his mind.

  When they reached the trees, Mark turned to the right, moving slowly and cautiously. Leaves and twigs covered the ground under the trees. They walked carefully but their footsteps sounded incredibly loud to Mark and he worried that the gunmen might hear them.

  Mark stopped and Crystal bumped into him, but no sound was made. He strained to listen for manmade sounds. The car engine was purring. They’re still inside the car, probably with windows rolled up. Good. They can’t hear us. Just as he started to move again, the engine stopped. The three crept forward until Mark judged they were almost straight across from the car.

  Mark hadn’t formulated a plan, but suddenly, he knew what he would do. What he didn’t know was whether it would work.

  He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and punched in some numbers. Pressing the phone to his ear, he listened to a short ring and then his computer answered with a single word: “Yes?” Mark cupped his hand around the phone and whispered into the phone, his lips touching the mouthpiece. “Shannon, this is Mark. Lock all outside doors. Turn the music on, now.” Within a few seconds, the sound of classical music drifted from the house. “Louder,” Mark said into the phone. The volume increased a little. “Louder,” he repeated. “Add outside speakers.” Abruptly, the music cascaded over them, drowning out all other sounds.

  Mark turned to Crystal. “Stay right here, so we can find you when we come back. We’ll be gone only a few minutes. Rod, let’s go.”

  The two friends moved out of the trees, crept across the grass and soon were crouched behind a large pyracantha bush not ten feet from the fire-breathing car. They had been there only a few seconds when they heard a car door open. Then another. Mark put his mouth near Rod’s ear. “I’m going to turn on the lights. Cover your eyes. When I call you, grab the rope and pull as hard as you can.” Then into the cell phone, he said “All outside lights on.”

  In an instant, blazing light flooded the area around the house. The sudden change from pitch black to brilliant light overwhelmed the human eye. Mark had shielded his eyes and now peeked between two fingers to look at the car. One man stood on each side of it. The closest one covered his face with one hand trying to block out the light. His other hand held a gun, but it was clear he couldn’t see anything at the moment.

  “What the hell’s going on?” one yelled. The other simply screamed curses at the lights.

  Mark studied the position of the nearest man, mentally measuring the distance and angle, then spoke into the phone. “Lights out.” Immediately, the area plunged into total darkness. He stood up, swung the rope over his head a few times and let it fly.

  Mixed in with the music, Mark heard a metallic thunk. He jerked the rope. It came back to him with no resistance.

  “What was that? You hit the car?” yelled one of the men.

  “No, didn’t hit the god dammed car. Didn’t do nothing. See anything?”

  “Naw.”

  By now, Mark had recoiled the rope.

  Rod whispered into Mark’s ear. “What’re you doing?”

  “Trying to lasso one of them. I’m going to try again.” Into the phone he said, “Lights on.”

  Again, the bright flood lights turned night into day. The two intruders were obviously confused by the blaring music and erratic changes in light. They were yelling back and forth, and although Mark couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, it seemed to him that neither was paying any attention to the other.

  He looked at Rod, who gave him a thumbs up. Into the phone, Mark once more said, “Lights out.” Not wasting any time, he immediately stood up, twirled the rope three times over his head and threw the loop out. The instant it reached its length, he pulled. With disappointing ease, it came back.

  Rod leaned over and whispered in Mark’s ear. “Roping never was your strong suit.”

  Mark frowned. Unfortunately, it was true. Maybe Eula was right and he failed in the rhythm category. “Just out of practice.”

  “Got anything else in mind?”

  He had played his trump card and hadn’t won the trick. Now what? “One more try at this. Then, we hike out through the woods.”

  “Come on,” the man on the far side of the car was yelling. “Let’s get it on.”

  “Can’t see nothing.”

  “Joe, goddamn it, get your ass over here.”

  Mark commanded the computer to turn the lights on and make the music louder. He resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears.

  In the blaze of lights, which seemed to get brighter each time they came back on, he studied the scene, tried to think of it as a rodeo arena. He imagined his stocky target was a raw-boned maverick, dazed by the lights and disconcerting music, just standing there making it easy to rope him.

  Joe started to amble toward the front of the car. Mark measured the distance and direction to the enemy, then whispered into the phone, “Lights out. Music louder.”

  He pictured the target moving as he twirled the rope. Even in the dark, his mind locked on the man as the rope picked up speed. Without consciously thinking about it, he let the hemp glide through his hand. One second, two seconds, and he pulled it back.

  This time, it didn’t come.

  “Rod, now.”

  He and Rod pulled. The rope came toward them, grudgingly, foot by foot. They could hear the man yelling, although they couldn’t recognize his words. Even over the deafening music, though, they could hear the thug’s voice getting closer.

  Soon, Mark could identify the outline of the man only a few feet away. The rope went around one shoulder and across his chest, trapping one arm to his side. He was desperately trying to free that arm and at the same time grabbing at the grass to slow his movement. He was three feet away when he turned his head and saw Mark. He struggled to turn the hand of his trapped arm.

  The first clear view Mark had was of the nose of a pistol swinging around toward him.

  Chapter 47

  THE sounds of drums and trumpets crashed through the dark void. Somewhere, a man was screaming, but the air was saturated with
noise. It was impossible to pick out just one, distinct sound and the orchestra overwhelmed the man’s feeble shriek. In a single instant, the explosion of a gunshot mixed with the blaring music, and Mark was hammered to the ground.

  The symphony’s crescendo peaked, then subsided, still filling the air with the discordant notes of Sibelius. Mark felt like a big Brahma bull had tossed him into the dirt. He looked up to see Rod, silhouetted against the sliver of moon, standing over an inanimate form. Only then did his mind piece together what must have happened. Rod had pushed him down just as the gun fired. And apparently, Rod had knocked the shooter unconscious.

  “Let’s get this guy into the woods,” Rod said.

  Mark pulled himself up and he and Rod struggled to drag the inert lump back into the cover of the trees. Crystal met them at the edge and helped them haul the man behind some dense undergrowth. Once there, Rod tied the shooter securely to a tree.

  “You need to gag him,” Crystal whispered.

  Rod tore off one of the captive’s sleeves and made a gag.

  “Crystal, can you tell if this is one of the guys from The Park?” Mark asked.

  “I think so. I think this is the one who shot me.”

  “Keep an eye on him. He’s not going anywhere, but if he makes any noise, hit him over the head with this gun,” Mark whispered as he placed the weapon in her hand. “Come on, Rod. Let’s see if we can bulldog another maverick.”

  The two men inched their way back toward the open space. The closer they got, the louder the music was. Near the edge of the trees, Mark stopped and signaled to Rod to shield his eyes. Then, he spoke into the cell phone. “Lights on.”

  Once again, the clearing was as bright as a day in August. Mark had covered his eyes and now eased his fingers apart, keeping the bright floodlights from shining in his eyes, but allowing himself to scan the yard.

  The other gunman was nowhere in sight.

  Again, Mark spoke into the cell phone. “Music, softer.”