“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, boys,” I point out. “What’s to stop them from finding the treasure and simply walking off with it?”
“I guess that would leave you guys shit out of luck,” Edge says, snorting.
Sam goes to Edge, sticks the blade under his left ear, presses against the fleshy appendage.
“Ahhhh Jeeze,” Edge grunts. “Stop it already, will ya?”
“Then keep your damned trap shut, Edgerton,” Sam says, lowering the knife. “You keep spouting your mouth off, I’ll really give you something to write about.”
I glance beyond Edge to Rob. He’s no longer weeping, but his chin is resting against his sternum, almost like he’s asleep. But how can that be possible? My eyes then shift to the steel table, where Sergey Jr. is seated, his elbows planted on the table, his battered head resting in his hands.
Sam’s wide eyes are glued to the smartphone screen. “Progress report!” he barks. “You there yet?”
I can make out some words coming from Sarah and the cops on the other end. Words like, “Descending.” “Just a minute.” “Almost there.” After another beat or two, I hear, “Put Baker on. We’re just about there.”
Sam holds the phone in front of my face.
“That’s no good,” I say. “I need to hold the phone on my own.”
“No way,” Sam says. “Your hands stay where they are.”
“I can’t work this way,” I insist. “I need to hold the phone, play with the angles. It’s a digital broadcast. The screen is weird. I need to spot every detail in the rock, every crack and crevice. Every bit of light and shadow. Angle positively means everything.”
“Don’t do it,” Sergey Senior says. “He’s bullshitting you.”
But Sam ignores the fat Russian. He stares at the phone.
“What do you think, Sarah?” he says.
“Free his hands,” she says, over the Facetime app. “Just keep an eye on him.”
Sam gives me a look. He doesn’t like the idea, but then what if his boss gets hurt over his decision to do the wrong thing? Going around the back of my chair, he sticks the cold blade in between my wrists and cuts the tape.
Pulling my wrists free, I bring them around in front, rub the life back into them.
“Lucky you,” Edge says. “Now how’s about me, little man?”
Sergey Senior rears back with his hand, slaps Edge across the face.
“That stings, bitch,” Edge says, his face a mask of just plain pissed offness. “Mark my word, Russian. I will shove a hammer and sickle up your ass before this day is over.”
“Keep talking,” Sergey says. “You are pig who will die today. Before night falls. Then I will dance on your unmarked grave.”
“Don’t get them mad,” Rob says. It’s the first sign of life I’ve seen coming from the kid in what feels like ages.
“Are you there yet?” Sam says into the phone.
“Put Baker on,” Sarah says over the phone. “We’re at the bottom of the falls.”
“You heard her,” Sam says, handing me the phone.
I take it but hold it face down against my thigh.
“What are you doing?” Sam says, sticking the blade in my face. “No funny business or I start cutting up you and your friends.”
“Listen to me for a minute, Sam,” I say. “Just hear me out.”
“What?” he presses. “What the hell is so important?”
“Listen,” I say. “I’ve been all over the world looking for lost treasure and antiquities. And do you know what the golden rule of treasure hunting is?”
“No, what’s the golden rule?” he asks with a roll of his eyes.
“Don’t trust anyone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says.
“Deep down inside, do you really trust Sarah and those two corrupt cops? You really think they’re gonna dig up that loot and then cart it all the way back here so it can be distributed evenly? Fairly?”
His face goes tight, and he shoots Sergey a look.
“He’s right, Sammy boy,” Edge agrees. “I’ve robbed more than a couple banks in my time and in every case, someone always tried to double-cross somebody else. Somebody always dies in these situations. Take it from one who knows, man. People wanna keep the big kahuna for themselves. The fewer splits, the better. It’s only human fucking nature.”
“And did you notice that those three took the cop cruiser to the falls? My guess is when they find Dutch Schultz’s box of goodies, they’re gonna cart it back up to the cruiser, load it in back, and take off with it. What I mean is, who’s going to question the contents of a cop car? It’s not like they’re gonna get stopped for speeding or blowing a traffic light.”
“So what is it you want me to do?” Sam says.
“If you wanna be a gangster, Sam, you gotta think like a gangster,” I encourage him.
“Baker is right,” Edge says. “What you have to ask yourself is this, Sam. What would Dutch Schultz do?”
Sam bites down on his bottom lip.
“I still need Sarah and them cops to dig up the goods,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t send the Russians out after them. Make sure they stay on the up and up, so to speak. Maybe that’s what Dutch would do. Something like that.”
“Now you’re cooking with gas, Sam,” I say.
He turns to Sergey.
“You and the mummy boy,” he says. “Go to the falls, make sure they don’t steal nothin’ from us. Especially those ice blue diamonds. Go now.”
Sergey Senior nods, turns to his son seated at the table.
“Sergey!” he barks. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get up. We have work to do. Da?”
The beat-up boy rises slowly, a glob of blood and drool dripping off his bottom lip onto his black shirt. He shuffles to the staircase.
“I hope cops and Sarah keep promise,” Sergey Senior says. “Because if not, I will kill them both myself.”
He and the injured boy climb the stairs and exit the basement.
“Now,” I say, “let’s see what’s happening with the treasure hunt.”
I turn the phone over.
28
On the screen, I see Sarah’s face, and behind her a wall of solid rock. Within that solid wall of rock is a depression or narrow fissure that resembles a cave.
“How’s it going, Sarah?” I say. “You find what you’re looking for yet?”
She looks into the camera and smiles nervously, but also like a ravished dog that’s come upon a pile of red meat. “I’m so close I can smell it, Chase. If only you were here with me right now. But then, you sort of are.” She focuses the never still phone camera on the fissure. “I’m guessing this is what we’re looking for.”
“So head on inside and see what’s in there,” I exclaim. “What are you waiting for?”
My eyes catch Sam’s eyes. He’s giving me one of those squinty-eyed looks that tells me he doesn’t trust me and neither should Sarah. He pulls the phone away from me.
“You be careful, Sarah,” he says peering at me with his beady eyes. “I don’t trust our tour guide.”
“You know what to do if he doesn’t tell the truth, Sam,” she says. “You can start by cutting Edge’ ear off.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” Edge shouts. “This wasn’t even my idea.”
I turn to him. “Traitor,” I say.
“You do what you gotta do, Chase,” he says. “Remember, I saved your life on those train tracks.”
“I seem to remember you freezing up while the train was bearing down on me.”
“You tell it your way,” Edge says. “I’ll tell it mine.”
My eyes go back on Sam. He hands me back the phone.
“Get her safely in and safely out and do it quick,” Sam barks.
I stare into the phone, ask Sarah to zoom in on the opening. She does it. Recognizing that the opening is pitch black, the camera light engages. But all I can make out are two rock walls that face
one another and not much else.
“You’re going to have to step inside, Sarah,” I say. “Right now, I’m not seeing anything that can be constituted as a booby trap.”
“How can you be sure, Chase?” she says.
“I can’t be,” I say. “You’re just going to have to test the waters so to speak.”
Sam checks his watch. “That alarm is going to sound soon,” he says. “And when it does they have one minute to get out of there and up the shale river wall to the river bank.”
“Tell you what, Chase,” Sarah says. “I’m going to send the police in first.”
“Good idea,” I say. “It’s a man’s job.”
“Why, Chase,” she says, smiling into the phone. “That’s rather sexist if I don’t say so myself.”
She places her hand over the phone, and I can barely make out some mumbled words. She then takes a few steps back and aims the camera at the two men as they draw their service side-arms and begin walking in the direction of the fissure. But that’s when I see her raise her right hand. Gripped in that hand is a semi-automatic.
Two shots follow, and both men drop on the spot.
“What the hell was that?” Sam says, alarmed.
“Yeah, dude, what was that?” Mohawk Rob queries.
“Gunshots, Baker,” Edge says. “Those were most definitely gunshots.”
“Tell me about it, Edge,” I say.
My pulse pounds, heart races, breathing grows shallow.
Sarah turns the phone back around. “Oopsies,” she says. “Those two idiots just stepped in front of my gun.”
“Why did you do that?” I ask, the words feeling like their peeling themselves from the back of my throat like dry, dead skin. “Where the hell did you get a gun?”
“Never mind where Janey got a gun,” she says, happily singing the tune to the famous Aerosmith song. “Just know this: when it comes to treasure . . . especially a treasure of priceless blue diamonds . . . one is not only the loneliest number. It’s also the smartest and the richest.”
“You can enjoy your riches from prison,” I say.
“Chase,” she says, “spare me the morality lesson. I need to get to Dutch’s treasure and do it now before the alarm sounds. So, if you don’t mind, it’s time you took the lead once more.” Her smile fades. “But knowing how pissed off you are right now, I’m sure you’ll allow any danger lurking inside there to injure or kill me. So, that being said, I’m taking precautions. Sam? You there?”
“Yes, Sarah,” he says, his voice raised.
“Cut Edge’s ear off, Sam.”
“Jesus Christ!” Edge shouts. “What the fuck?! What did I do?!”
Sam swallows something, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. Maybe he figured he’d never have to make good on his promise to cut Edge. Maybe he doesn’t have the stomach for it. He makes his way over to Edge regardless, brings the blade to the author’s earlobe, prepares to cut. He begins pressing the hard sharp blade against the soft skin when I make out a distinct thunk.
It’s like hard wood slapped against a watermelon.
Turning, I immediately make out the source of the noise.
It’s Uncle Pat, and he’s got a Louisville Slugger gripped in both his hands.
29
Sam is lying face first on the filthy concrete floor, a stream of blood flowing out the back of his head and down his scrawny neck. He’s either out cold or dead. Serves the bastard right.
“Chase, you there?” Sarah says.
An idea comes to me. I press my hand flat against the screen.
“Edge,” I whisper, “scream your ass off. Like you’re being cut.”
His eyes go wide, and he grins. He’s a plot master, and he knows exactly where I’m going with this.
Edge screams, “Aayyyyyyyyy! My fucking ear!”
I slip my hand off the phone, stare into it.
“You happy, Sarah? Poor Edge. Now he’ll be disfigured . . . for life.”
“Sorry ‘bout that, Chase,” she says, not a hint of a sympathy in her voice. “Price of doing business. But tell Edge not to fret. If he makes it out of this alive, I’ll save him a diamond. He can buy all the plastic surgery he wants. Hell, he can buy a plastic surgery hospital.”
Edge’s grin turns into a Cheshire Cat smile.
“What about me, dude?” Mohawk Rob says under his breath. “Maybe we can pretend to cut me up too.”
The palm of my hand still covering the phone’s built in mic, my eyes drift to Uncle Pat. He purses his lips.
“Do what you have to do, Mr. Baker,” he whispers. “Sarah is no longer my grandniece.”
I nod. Then, removing my hand and returning my gaze to the phone and the Facetime app.
“I’m watching out for you, Sarah,” I say.
“Great,” she says. Then, pointing the phone camera at the fissure, she steps over both dead bodies as she enters the opening.
30
“Uncle Pat,” I say, “please hand me Sam’s knife.”
The old man slowly bends over, picks the knife up. The knife looks so big in his hand, I fear he might tip over from its weight. He hands it to me. Stuffing the still live phone into the chest pocket on my bush jacket, I cut my legs free of the duct tape, stand, feel the stiffness in my joints.
No time to waste.
I cut Edge free, then Rob.
“’Bout time you got us free, Baker,” Edge says quietly. “You’re supposed to be the king of slipping out of tight spots in record time. You must be losing your edge.”
The train tracks come to mind, the Amtrak bearing down on us.
“You’re alive to drink another day away, aren’t you?” I whisper.
He presses his lips together, cocks his head over his shoulder like he’s saying, No big deal.
“Wonder if there’s any beer left over,” he says a little louder than I’m comfortable with.
Once more placing my hand over the phone so that Sarah doesn’t hear what’s happening, I say, “Keep it quiet. I want Sarah to think we’re still held captive down here. Meanwhile, we’re going to make our way out to the falls now.”
“Think we can still get at that treasure?” Edge questions.
“That would be the plan,” I confirm. “And Sarah is going to extract it for us.”
“Chase,” Sarah says via Facetime. “You there? Where’d you go?”
I pull the phone back out.
“I’m still here,” I say, while issuing a twirling hand signal to Edge and Rob that, when translated, means climb the stairs and get the hell out of this hotel. I also hold out my hand, tap Uncle Pat on the arm, issue him a nod. He nods back. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to realize he wants nothing more than for me to find the treasure while Sarah finds herself a nice comfortable jail cell.
We climb the stairs.
“It’s dark in here,” Sarah says over the phone. “Chase, where are you? Don’t make me order Sam to cut Edge again.”
“I’m here, Sarah,” I say. “I’m just tired is all. I’ve been tied up down here with no food or water. It’s getting to me.”
“You get me in and out of here with the treasure, you’ll have all the food, water, and booze you want. Just concentrate.”
Luckily, she can’t see me since she’s pointing the screen of the phone at whatever is facing her. In this case, the tall, narrow cave is giving way to a wider opening. There’s a high ceiling, and the floor takes on the dimensions of a curving path that’s maybe three feet wide.
“Take it slow, Sarah,” I say. “Hug the rock wall to your left. Don’t walk in the center of the path.”
I put Facetime on mute as we exit the hotel, hop in the Jeep. Rob gets behind the wheel, fires her up, and proceeds to drive us the quarter mile to the falls overlook. During the two-minute drive, I keep my eyes glued to the phone screen while Sarah slowly walks the winding cave path, the LED camera flash on her phone stabbing through the pitch-dark interior.
When we come t
o the overlook, Rob pulls up to the Sergeys beat-up Lincoln Town Car, kills the engine. First thing I notice, besides the half a dozen skull and cross bone warning signs, is the gaping hole in a chain-link fence that must have been breached with wire cutters. From our vantage point up on the overlook, we can see down onto the dry riverbed. The two Sergeys are crossing over it, on their way to the cave entrance inside the exposed waterfall cliff. They might have made it into the cave by now, but Sergey Junior is clearly having trouble negotiating the rough river bottom terrain. His head injuries must be more serious than even I’ve given him credit for. All he can manage is two or three steps before dropping down to one or both knees. At one point, he simply falls onto his side. In each case, his father grabs hold of his arm, yanks him back up again. The Russians sure are a tenacious bunch.
From inside the Jeep shotgun seat, I peer into the phone while Sarah comes upon a small space formed naturally in the rock. The space looks like a small room or chamber. Located at the room’s opposite end is what appears to be a big wood box or chest, but I could be wrong about what I’m seeing. Maybe it’s just a rocky outcropping, but as she gets closer, the lines on it seem to be far too straight, far too precise and man-made for it to be anything other than a chest. The chest also supports what appears to be a padlock that’s attached to a latch. One of those old-fashioned padlocks is made of metal and requires a skeleton key to open it.
“Chase,” she says. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”
I take the Facetime off mute. “I do, Sarah. Be careful. This is where things will get tricky.”
She takes a step and suddenly the phone trembles in her hand. For a split second, I think she’s about to fall. When she points the phone down at her feet, I can see that some of the rocky floor is giving way.
“Sarah, stop,” I say into the phone.
The picture on her smartphone is going in and out of focus and at times cutting out. There’s no internet inside the cave, so she has to rely on whatever satellite signal she can manage from the outside.
She stops.
“I’m guessing that’s your first booby trap,” I say.
Chase Baker and the Dutch Diamonds: A Chase Baker Thriller Book 10 Page 10