“Wait!” Colts grabbed Danny’s wrist; his grip was firm, like that of a young athlete. In the quietness, Danny noticed the man’s breathing was becoming excessively laboured. He held his gaze while Colts held his grasp, his lips suggesting he was on the verge of speaking.
Then, from down below, they heard the sound of two gunshots.
*
Nicholl stopped close to the statue, distracted by the sights close to his feet. The bodies were mangled; he counted five in total. As he stepped over the two largest, he judged that they were of Spanish origin and had had little or no forewarning of their deaths. He lowered his rifle and unloaded it, emptying the barrel. He looked down at the fifth body, seeing nothing but stillness. Too bad, he thought.
I kinda liked the American.
He moved on, his attention again taken by the statue, every aspect of its appearance a source of delight. The shiny surface, the exquisite pattern on the shield, the false embroidery on the cloaks, the way the spear was pointing down instead of up.
All the signs pointed to an emperor standing over a vanquished foe.
It still seemed incredible he was looking at something so real.
He heard a noise coming from nearby, loud but not unfamiliar. The coinage was slipping again. There was so much of it, he accepted such things as nothing out of the ordinary. Anything could cause it: a slight tremor, the movement of an animal or insect, sound vibrations.
As he wiped his face and head with a handkerchief, he heard the sound again, this time louder. Confused, he moved away from the statue, passing once more over the bodies of the deceased. Something was nearby, moving.
“Hello?”
He heard nothing, silence except for the sound of the moving coins. Heading towards the summit of the ridge, he thought he saw something, a shadow maybe. Were his eyes deceiving him? His mind playing tricks?
“Hello?” he called again, again receiving no reply. Slightly anxious, he moved faster, looking to reach the top, reloading the rifle as he moved. He heard something, footsteps, unmistakable, not loud but clearly audible. In a mine, sounds echoed, and the slightest noise could be distorted. This was different, unlike anything he had heard previously in the mine. Before today he had been the only person who knew of its existence.
He rushed to the summit, gun aimed, cocked, at the ready.
Nothing.
Darkness.
He kept the gun at eye level, keeping himself covered. The sound had started again, this time down below. He walked without watching his feet, concerned one moment of weakness would be critical.
The end was near – that was the fear. The fear was growing.
He heard something from behind him, then another sound, this time to his left. Yet as far as he could see, there was no movement. He moved to where the sound had come from, closer, closer.
The gun was fired from behind him.
3
Ben flinched instinctively, fearing the bullets were intended for him.
The sound of the first gunshot echoed, as did a second. They appeared to have come from somewhere below him, clearly aimed elsewhere. In the midst of the chaos he heard a cry, burly but panicked. The voice was male, old, familiar.
But noticeably weak.
Seconds earlier, he had seen Nicholl take the pathway up across the brow of the ridge and continue all the way to the statue. As the innkeeper approached, Ben decided to follow his instincts. The man was armed, clearly a deadly shooter.
He didn’t need to see surveillance footage of recent events to work out the man had been responsible for shooting him.
He turned his back to the pathway and prayed Nicholl would pass by without paying him close attention. The moments that followed had been the longest of his life. With his eyes closed, Ben sensed Nicholl’s heavy footsteps pounding on the ancient pathway, the force causing nearby coins to move. Despite the intense bleeding from his leg, his heart rate was increasing, a throbbing sensation pulsating through his wrists and neck. He felt new blood ooze from the wound, causing a tickling sensation on his skin. Though his lungs were tight, desperate to draw in fresh air, he forced himself to take short, shallow breaths, fearing any noise could be his last.
As the seconds passed, he sensed the footsteps were becoming more distant. The low volume suggested the innkeeper was leaving, retracing his steps along the path. Recent smells had also dissipated, the familiar stench of tobacco and scent replaced by the more natural aroma of surrounding rock. As he opened his eyes, he saw Nicholl had disappeared. A significant question remained unanswered.
How had Nicholl entered the mine?
The latest gunshots had come in quick succession; he estimated from below the ridge. As the sounds faded, he raised himself to a sitting position and chanced observation. He focused his attention on the area where the pathway led down towards the old railway tracks. Nicholl was still there, standing rigidly upright, his eyes staring ahead intently. He remained deathly still for over a second.
Before slowly dropping to his knees.
*
Valeria’s hands were shaking. She had seen Colts’s gun only once before – in the cellar of the North Atlantic Inn – but she had seen enough television over the years to know it was a classic Smith & Wesson, the trademark gun of the old cowboys.
She had never fired a real gun before. Television had also taught her enough to know that pulling the trigger would cause the gun to recoil. Lining up the long silver barrel with Nicholl’s chest, she breathed in deeply and considered squeezing the trigger.
Holding it for several seconds, she refrained and lowered the gun.
Everything felt wrong. Apart from the lingering memory of her mother’s voice telling her that every human life was sacred, she had known the man so long. Loved him. She owed the man everything. Built a new life thanks to him.
Yet suddenly there were new considerations. The man was on the warpath, killing in cold blood. She knew she was no longer safe – that leaving the mine alive was now a matter of chance. Worse still, he had possessed the treasure all along.
All this time he’s been lying to me.
Looking again through the gaps between the epic pillars, her view across the mine was excellent. She saw Nicholl reappear close to the railway tracks and continue up the central pathway towards the Montezuma statue. He paused there briefly, his eyes on the pile of bodies that lay in a heap. Her view confirmed that everyone up there had been shot. Presumably dead.
Including Juan.
And Ben.
Nicholl seemed indifferent to the sight of the bodies. Taking advantage of his preoccupation with the statue, Valeria sprinted to the foot of the path and took shelter behind a series of rocks. From her new position, Nicholl was no longer visible. She concluded that if she had got her bearings correct, the pathway that led down from the ridge was his only way back.
Sure enough he reappeared moments later, emerging slowly over the ridge. She saw him pause to wipe his forehead with a handkerchief before removing the cartridges from his gun.
He was there in the open. Effectively unarmed.
She felt movement beneath her left foot, accompanied by the noise of loose debris. Instinctively she moved deeper into cover, holding her mouth with her free hand.
Quietly, she monitored the ridge, careful not to expose herself. Nicholl had heard the sound; even twenty metres away, she could see the fresh, alarmed look in his eyes. Panicked, she saw him reload new bullets into his rifle and scan his surroundings for the source of the noise.
Composing herself, she circled the nearby rock, using its thick body to conceal herself from sight. Holding her breath, she edged her way into the main clearing, heading for the ridge. Nicholl was still in the same place, facing the opposite direction, the heavenly aura of the lake of gold glowing teasingly beyond the ridge. Tentatively, he began to climb the path, gripping his gun tightly.
Slowly, Valeria moved into the open, holding the revolver with outstretched arms. She felt her chest tighte
n, her lungs near bursting point. Her vision was starting to cloud, her eyes watering, her pupils contracting from exposure to the new light.
She was getting closer. She had made it to the bottom of the ridge, less than ten metres from Nicholl. Any second he would turn, perhaps fire instinctively. One second and it would all be over.
She lined the barrel up with the back of his jumper, cocking the trigger as she walked. She saw him flinch, then move.
She fired.
The barrel lit up; the gun recoiled, nearly hitting her square in the face. She knew immediately she had missed the target. Nicholl was alive, albeit stunned. Instinctively she fired again, aiming quickly. The second bullet entered his back, possibly close to the shoulder. She saw him pause, then turn, his senses all at sea.
He collapsed to his knees.
*
From up above, Danny saw everything. Valeria was shaking as she pulled the trigger, causing her to need two shots to hit her target. As Nicholl fell to the floor, the shock of proceedings began to intensify. Valeria dropped the gun, overcome with emotion.
She fell to her knees and broke down, crying.
Danny felt himself become frozen to the spot. Nicholl was bleeding, perhaps dying. It was unclear being so far away whether the wound would be fatal.
He heard a groan nearby. Colts was becoming weaker. Blood continued to trickle from his abdomen; fortunately, the flow was far slower than before thanks to the folded handkerchief that had been pressed firmly on the wound. If Colts was to survive, Danny knew he needed to improvise; any stopgap measure would be better than doing nothing.
Removing his jacket, Danny secured it tightly around the wound.
*
Nicholl was no longer visible. The last Ben had seen of him, he had fallen to his knees before disappearing somewhere below the ridge. Though Ben had been too far away to witness the actual gunshot, it was obvious from the way Nicholl had fallen that at least one bullet had entered his body.
Ben shuffled for comfort. He knew that his injured leg would struggle to carry his weight without assistance, but time was running out for him to leave the mine alive. He figured his chances were slim anyway; at least one shooter remained at large, and the entrance to the mine was over a mile away. It was a thirty-minute walk back to the house even in good health.
And that included a stairway and a ladder.
Using all of his remaining strength, he rolled on to his front and pushed himself upwards. As he strained to keep his balance, beads of sweat gathered across his forehead, dripping along his brow and cheeks. With his arms at full stretch, he forced his legs into a squatting position and attempted to extend to his maximum height. Slowly he rose. Three feet. Then four. Five.
He stumbled forwards and crashed back to the floor.
*
Danny couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Though four of the bodies remained perfectly still, another was clearly moving. He recognised the American from his clothing, particularly the hat.
Ben and Colts seemed to have a thing about their hats.
Ben was struggling. His jeans were tattered, particularly around his left thigh. Though Danny was too far away to make out the full extent of the wound, it was obvious that he had been shot in the leg. Danny saw him try to raise himself, seemingly hoping to get a glimpse of Nicholl.
Beyond the ridge, the magnate was still slouched against the pathway.
He watched quietly as Ben rolled on to his front, straightened his arms and attempted to stand. Slowly he was getting there. Slowly but surely.
He saw Ben find his feet for barely a second before losing his balance.
Danny grimaced, desperately hoping the fall hadn’t made Ben’s leg any worse. From what he had seen moments earlier, he guessed Ben would be capable of leaving the mine with assistance.
Close to the ridge, Nicholl was also trying to move. The man had a strange, shocked look on his face, as though he had lost all sense of direction. As he turned his attention to the pathway, Danny suddenly noticed the cause.
Valeria was walking towards him.
*
Valeria didn’t feel how she had expected to feel, not that she had known what to expect. The man still looked the same, apart from the blood; the face that she had come to love over the last seven years was unchanged, just like another day working at the Gibbous Moon.
Much had changed since the day she had arrived on St Mary’s. Despite her early reservations about the man’s intentions towards her, she had grown to regard his qualities as endearing, his quirkiness typical of his generation – and sex. He had never taken advantage of her, nor attempted to. For seven years he had been her provider. Her mentor. A surrogate father.
A fraud.
She edged her way along the pathway, heading for the ridge. Beyond it, the light of the nearby gold pit appeared far brighter, shining tantalisingly like a beacon to a lost sailor. She had seen the statue from the pathway above, but was yet to view it up close. Even now she was desperate to see it, to touch it, hold it, experience things for herself. Despite everything, she knew she was close. The realisation of a lifelong dream, her birthright, the reason for her trip to the Isles of Scilly all those years ago.
Nicholl was blocking the way, his breathing audible even from a distance. He sounded like a man who was nearing death, yet strangely he still didn’t look it. Again she felt movement beneath her feet, loose rocks falling, testing her balance. A fine dusty mist rose across her jeans and jacket; she sensed it attempt to intrude her nostrils. The movement of the rocks caught Nicholl’s attention. She saw him look up at her, unsure whether he recognised her or not. The look in his eye was ambiguous. It was clear to her he was suffering from shock.
Possibly delusion.
*
Nicholl squinted. Someone was walking along the pathway; he could tell from the way the shadows were moving it was a woman. After seeing Colts and the American already done for, logic told him it could only be one person.
But that was impossible.
The woman was getting nearer, now less than ten metres away. He saw her stumble then quickly regain her footing. Dust rose around her, soiling her clothes and rising close to her eyes.
Exactly what happened next never fully registered. She stopped about five metres away, her features still partially in shadow. He sensed she was looking at him, perhaps in pity. He attempted to speak, but the words failed to come. As she stepped into the light, he saw her face. She was different than he remembered. Her jaw was tight, as were her shoulders, as if her conscience was wrestling with a great personal dilemma. He sensed anger in her. Fear. Was it planned? Retribution for things she had recently witnessed? Or something more selfish?
In truth, he knew he would never learn the answer.
He saw her raise her right arm slowly and squeeze her index finger against the trigger.
*
Ben moved as if he had been jolted with a defibrillator. The latest gunshot had been uncomfortably loud, emanating, seemingly, from directly behind him. Time and distance no longer registered clearly; whatever control he once had over his senses was fast fading.
Panic was setting in.
The recent fall had caused the wound to expand. He felt light-headed from recent blood loss, his vision blurred. He placed his right hand to where the skin had broken and felt fresh blood stain his fingers and palm.
He knew he had made a stupid mistake.
A figure appeared at the brow of the ridge where he had last seen Nicholl. Unlike the bearded innkeeper, this person’s hair was long and brown, sumptuous despite the dirty surroundings. The person he saw was also far more petite; around five feet four, he estimated. The first thought that occurred to him was how the hell had she survived, let alone obtained a firearm? Further analysis, he knew, would have to wait. His mind was no longer capable of logical thought. The only thing that mattered was that she had survived.
And she was there.
*
Valeria froze. She t
hought she heard someone call her name. The voice was faint, distant; it was unclear whether it had come from a man or a small child. Her gut feeling told her it had come from up above, though she realised the acoustics of the mine could be misleading. Nicholl and Colts aside, the only people present in the mine she knew to be currently lying unconscious close to the emperor’s statue, perhaps dead. She walked to the top of the ridge and gazed towards the statue.
Ben was alive. Sitting up.
*
Ben saw Valeria staring back at him. Her expression was strange, unlike anything he had seen of her before. Was it remorse? The reality of what she had just done beginning to kick in? He sensed she was experiencing shock, desperate for the nightmare to end.
He feared she was losing control of her actions.
He called out again and she began to move towards him, keeping to the pathway. Clear of the ridge, she upped her pace to a jog; he willed her to move faster.
She stopped less than a metre away, kneeling down alongside him. Her skin was red around her eyes, her cheeks puffy from recent tears. Stains covered her jacket and jeans, dirt as opposed to blood.
Unlike himself, she had clearly not been shot.
Ben felt the relief flow through him on seeing her approach. The pain in his thigh was beginning to intensify, causing him to growl in pain. It felt as though a knife had been thrust into him, its blade twisted by the hands of unseen foes. As blood continued to seep from his leg, he realised the light-headedness was increasing, a strange drunkenness that made it difficult to concentrate. As she looked at him, he saw her smile through the tears.
“Valeria . . .”
“Shhh.” She got down on one knee and placed her hand to his forehead, massaging his hair and temples. Her touch felt amazing, soothing, but not a cure.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 32