by David Wood
Instinctively, they dove behind the questionable shelter of a juniper. They lay silent, listening. They heard nothing—no voices, no footsteps, and most important, no more gunshots.
“Who do you think it is?” Bones asked.
“Shipman or one of the jokers who shot at us the other day would be my best guesses.”
“Not the person who was following us?” Bones asked.
“Why wait all this time and take a shot at us from a distance?”
Bones slowly turned his head and fixed Maddock with a speculative look.
“Maybe we’re getting too close to something.”
Another shot rang out, but they couldn’t hear where the bullet struck.
“I’d really like to get behind more cover,” Maddock said.
“Follow me.” Bones hit the dirt and belly-crawled down the slope. Maddock followed along. The hot sand burned beneath his palms, and twice he ran afoul of a yucca and was rewarded with a jab that burned like a bee sting. Another shot rang out, closer this time. “We run on three,” Bones said. “Three... two... one... go!”
“That wasn’t on three,” Maddock said as he followed his friend in a dead sprint.
They dodged around the graying remnants of tree branches, half buried in the sand, and kept running. Up ahead, the bleached skeletal remains of some large animal lay stark white against the unrelenting brown and yellow. Before Maddock could identify the creature, a bullet smacked into it, shattering two ribs.
“Almost there,” Bones said.
Up ahead lay a sunken area the size of a swimming pool. They dashed forward as another shot boomed in the distance, then skidded down the slope and into the soft sand at the bottom.
“No one will see us here,” Maddock said. “Unless they stumble upon us, in which case we’re trapped, and they’ve got the high ground.”
“Always looking on the bright side.” Bones drew his pistol. “I’ll climb up to the edge and take a look around.” He made to turn, then halted. He looked down at his feet and frowned. “I think we’ve got a problem here.”
“What’s that?” Maddock’s hand went to his own pistol. He scanned the rim of the bowl-shaped depression. Was someone coming?
“Well,” Bones said, “we’ve just confirmed one part of Charley Clusker’s story.”
Maddock turned and looked at his friend. Bones was still staring down.
“Which part is that?” Maddock asked.
Bones slowly raised his head to meet Maddock’s eye. “The part about quicksand.”
Chapter 26
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“This is impossible.” Spenser flung the journal to the side and rested her face in her hands. She’d spent hours poring over the damn thing and it had been one giant fail.
“Hey, now,” Riv said. “That thing’s an antique.”
“A worthless antique.”
“Well, that Jimmy dude did say it was crap. Looks like it was just another Striker smokescreen.”
“Yes, but Jimmy only analyzed the first four pages. I was sure there would be something buried deeper in the text.” She trembled with suppressed anger and frustration.
“It’s okay,” Riv said. “These legends and clues almost never turn out to be true.”
“But the dungeon room is real. And the caverns!”
“Exactly! We’ve already got fantastic material to work with. The journal is great! We’ll make deciphering it a minor story line, stretch it out. And we’ve deciphered the random bits of Morse code. That will be enough to keep viewers on the tips of their toes.” She reached out and took Spenser’s hand. “You’re doing great! Grizzly and I think you’re a natural. Go easy on yourself.”
Spenser wasn’t in the mood to be placated.
“I want it to be real. I need it to be real.” She clenched her fists. It was the only way to stop her from grabbing something and flinging it. She hadn’t made a scene like that since she was a teenager, but right now she couldn’t think of anything more satisfying than smashing something. Maybe a couple of wine glasses. Riv’s eyes were rimmed with concern. “Why is this such a big deal?”
“He thinks I’m Willie. I need to show him I’m Marion.”
Riv’s face screwed up in a puzzled frown. “Oh, Indiana Jones.” She thought for second and then her features softened. “Oh,” she said again.
“It’s nothing. Just a stupid joke between me and a guy who thinks I’m a walking SoCal cliché.” Spenser couldn’t meet her friend’s eye.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that,” Riv said. “You know, I’ve got a different problem. My man got Indy’s reckless courage and Willie’s critical thinking skills. It’s not a good combination but I love him in spite of it.”
Spenser patted Riv on the arm, stood, and turned away. It took a lot to make her cry, and she was right on the edge. Lying open at her feet, the journal swam in and out of her vision as she blinked back unshed tears.
And then she saw it.
She blinked twice and wiped her eyes just to make sure it wasn’t her imagination.
“Riv, would you look at this?” Her heart was in her throat. She almost didn’t dare hope.
“I’m looking.”
“No, stand beside me and look at the journal. It might help if you squinted a little bit.”
Riv did as instructed. She squeezed her eyes almost closed and looked at the journal. They popped open immediately.
“There sure are a lot of capital Xs. They’re big, too.”
“And dark,” Spenser added. “He was bearing down on that paper like he was mad at it.”
“So, what does it mean?”
“Give me a second.”
Heart racing, she hurried to her room and returned with the note pad she’d taken down into the caverns.
“I did my best to map the passages as we went through them. I went back and tried to piece everything together. Obviously, it’s not perfect, but I think I did a fair job. Anyway, take a look at this.” She pointed to a spot on her map where three looping passageways formed a clover. “This is one spot I’m absolutely certain I got right, because we looped around three times. Drove Bones crazy. Compare it to the journal.”
A broad grin spread across Riv’s face. “It’s a perfect match!”
She picked up the journal and the two women went back to the beginning and started over. The first nine pages still seemed to be useless, and they had already deciphered page ten, but the rest of the journal was something different. It was a map.
They quickly sketched it out. It twisted and turned in a chain of dark, blocky Xs across twenty pages. Along the way, side passages branched off, many running off the edge of the page. They quickly identified patterns in Striker’s code that showed which was the correct passageway to follow. After an hour of work, they had a map.
But where did it lead?
“Here’s the thing,” Riv said. “As far as we know, Striker never found the treasure. Which means this could be useless.”
Spenser considered this. “Could be. Or maybe he did discover the treasure, but decided he wanted to keep it for himself. It wasn’t like he needed the money.” “You could be right,” Riv said. “If he’s everything we think he is, I could see him taking pleasure in that.” She looked at Spenser. “I just wished we knew for sure.”
Spenser saw mischief sparkling in the woman’s eyes.
“You know,” she said, looking down at the map they had made. “This clover- shaped chamber is right by the hidden entrance Bones and Maddock found. It’s not much farther from there to the end of the map.” She forced a fake sigh. “I just wish I knew when the guys were coming back. I mean, I’ve done plenty of caving but I guess you need a Y chromosome if there’s treasure involved.” In truth, she’d been caving once with her Girl Scout troop as a kid, and had toured Carlsbad Caverns a couple of times, but she wasn’t about to admit that.
Riv cupped her chin, thinking hard. “I did promise Grizzly that the two of us wouldn’t go anywh
ere. I think he’s worried Shipman is going to go all Jason Voorhees on us.”
A knock at the door made Spenser nearly jump out of her skin. Through the window they saw Orry Rockwell standing on the porch.
Spenser looked at Riv and smiled. “You did promise that ‘the two of us’ wouldn’t go anywhere, right?”
Eagerness burned in Riv’s eyes. “That is exactly what I promised.”
––––––––
The late afternoon sun baked the ground upon which Terry Gold and his team stood. He raised his binoculars and scanned the horizon, his eyes on the distant peaks. They stood hazy gray on the horizon like the humps of a sea monster. Nothing he saw looked anything like a turtle.
“What do you see?” Roddy asked, tugging at his elbow.
“Don’t touch me, son.” Terry bared his teeth in something just short of a smile as Roddy backed away.
“We’re looking for anything that might resemble the image of the turtle mound we found carved on the cave wall,” Roddy said to the camera.
“And we’re keeping an eye out for our buddy, Segar,” Gold added. There had been no sign of their competition since spotting them on the ridge near the cave.
“Somebody’s coming this way. West northwest.” Platt, short for Platinum, was Terry’s twenty-five-year-old son. He was a virtual clone of his father, both in physical appearance, tall and lean, and in personality, intense and enthusiastic. Some would say overbearing, but Gold wasn’t one of those people. “Doesn’t look like Segar.”
“Can I see those?” Roddy reached for Platt’s binoculars but was ignored.
Gold swung around and zoomed in on the spot his son had identified. Two men, Latino if he didn’t miss his guess, stood on a ridge line in the distance. Gold frowned.
“They’re wearing suits. Black suits out here in the middle of the desert. What the hell is that about?”
Roddy immediately jumped in front of the camera.
“Legends of men in black are part and parcel of the lore of this part of the country. Remote, isolated stretches of desert make the perfect setting for things like secret laboratories or even alien bases.”
As Gold watched the men, one of them took out his own binoculars and raised them to his eyes.
“Everybody down!” Gold said.
Everyone obeyed except Roddy, who turned slowly about, a puzzled look on his face.
“On the ground!” Ace, Gold’s best friend, snarled through gritted teeth. He grabbed the actor by the belt and hauled him roughly to the ground. It was a good thing, too, because a moment later, a bullet whizzed through the air so close Gold could hear it.
“Oh my God! Did somebody just shoot at us?” Roddy asked, too shocked to be frightened. “That’s crazy.”
Gold let out a little whoop.
“Looks like we’ve got us a fight on our hands, boys!”
“Why a fight?” Roddy asked. “Let’s just get the hell out of here!”
“You take a shot at Terry Gold, Terry Gold takes a shot at you. And he keeps shooting until he’s put one between your eyes.” The truth was, Gold had never shot at a man in his life, but he was fed up with the false accusations of draft- dodging. He was going to prove to everyone, here and now, that he was a true warrior. When it came down to it, shooting a man was the same at least in principle, as shooting a deer. And he was death on deer. “Keep the camera rolling,” he ordered.
He sighted the ridge through his scope. The men had hunkered down behind cover, same as Terry and his team. It was a hell of a long shot, farther than he could hope to hit his target, but he’d give them something to think about.
“Son, you got eyes on them?”
“Yes sir,” Platt replied.
“Tell me where the bullet hits.” Patiently, he squeezed off a shot. The report of the rifle, the familiar buck, were better than a kiss.
“You almost got one, Pops! You hit right between them.”
“So, you just shoot a foot to the left and it’s all good?” Roddy asked.
Gold shook his head. “Best to remain silent and be thought a fool,” he said softly.
“Man on the left is taking aim,” Platt warned.
Terry fired.
“I don’t know if you got him, but he hit the deck hard.”
“This could go on all day,” Ace said. “Think we should go after them?”
“What the hell are you saying?” Roddy said. “It’s not a war.”
Ace grabbed him by the collar and gave him a shake, an odd sight since both were lying on their bellies. “This is war at its most basic. Mano a mano, with only the rifles God gave us.”
“We’ve got two men approaching from the east,” Platt said. “They’re trying to flank us.” He dropped his binoculars, took aim, and fired. “Missed. They’re gone now.”
“Were they wearing black suits?” Gold asked.
“Looked like they were dressed for hiking. A weird-looking pair. A blond dude and a big Indian. The feather kind, not the dot.”
“Give Roddy your binoculars and have him keep an eye out for them. I’m not convinced those guys are on the same team as these jokers.” He squeezed off another shot for emphasis.
“Three separate parties out here in the middle of nowhere?” Roddy asked. “And none of them is Segar’s crew? What are the odds of that?”
Gold was struck by a sudden thought.
“If we’re finally getting close to the treasure, I’d say the odds are pretty good.”
Chapter 27
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Steven Segar sat cross-legged atop a boulder, gazing at the sun as it sank beneath the hills. Sunset was his favorite time of day. The open vistas and low horizons made it a sight to behold. Gold turned to orange, which yielded to scarlet, then purple. It was the perfect time to reflect on his day and prepare for the next. There had been no sign of Gold and his crew. Clearly, Segar’s map had diverted them. The downside was, he and his group were making no headway. He put on a good front, never let on that he had no idea where he was going. In the brief lead-up to the contest, he’d tried to do as much research as he could on the Lost Arch Gold Mine, but found little more than the traditional story, the one Terry Gold had convinced him was untrue. And then, at the last hour, one of his staff had found a clue.
They had discovered a bible belonging to a Spanish missionary. At first glance it looked like the twisting branches of a bare tree. But upon closer inspection, it had proved itself to be a treasure map. There was a squiggly line which they had matched up to a section of what had once been the shoreline of Lake Cahuilla, and then a series of landmarks that led to... Segar didn’t know what. At least, he wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but the fat, twisting lines on the page looked to him like a series of canyons or arroyos. They’d tried and failed to match it up with satellite images in the short time they had to prepare, but he wasn’t giving up. He was certain it was an important clue.
“Where are you?” he whispered to the desert.
He closed his eyes, reached out with his senses, absorbing the spirits of this place. The desert was alive with mystery and wonder, a place where the spirit world touched the physical. A place of such power that it even drew visitors from other worlds.
“The answers are out there somewhere,” he whispered.
“Sir, could you say that again, but louder?”
He nearly jumped out of his skin. “What are you doing, Yoshi? I wanted to be alone.”
“I didn’t know that. Sorry.” Yoshi hesitated. “But as long as I’m here, can we go ahead and get a shot of you meditating?”
“I’m not meditating, I’m communing with spirits. You should know that. Spiritual communion is part and parcel of Chinese mythology.”
“I’m American of Japanese descent.”
“That’s what I said.” Segar let out a tired sigh. “Fine, let’s do this.” He stood and turned to face the camera. Yoshi counted him down and gave the signal.
“It’s sunset on t
he Mojave,” he said to the camera, “and as night falls, the spirits rise. This area has long been a hotbed of alien and paranormal activity and a legendary place of power. Spiritual people have long made pilgrimages to this region to connect with the forces that lurk here. Tonight, I am going to do the same.
I will reach out to the spirit world and ask them to help us find the treasure.”
With that, he returned to a seated position, crossed his legs, rested his hands on his knees, and closed his eyes. He reached out with his aura, letting it stretch toward the horizon in all directions. He felt his body relax as his energy flowed fully into his mind.
What is out there?
“I feel something,” he whispered. “A shadow approaches. Darkness.”
“Well, it is sunset,” Yoshi said.
Segar opened his eyes. “Why do you insist on breaking my connection?”
“Oh, I thought you were making a joke.” Yoshi said. “You want to try again?”
“No. I need to work uninterrupted for a while. How about you give me my privacy for the rest of the night. I’ll let you know if I need you.” He didn’t need to see the way Yoshi’s smile slipped for a moment to realize he’d behaved boorishly.
“You’ve worked very hard, my friend. Take the night off.”
Now Yoshi really did smile. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
After the cameraman left, Segar waited a full five minutes before trying again, but he couldn’t achieve the requisite level of focus. He kept expecting to be interrupted.
“I need to get farther away.” He climbed down off the boulder and set off into the desert. He hiked for ten minutes until he found the perfect spot— a big, round boulder with sides so smooth it took him three tries to scale it. When he reached the top, he was able to quickly resume his communal state.
“I have to beat Gold,” he whispered as calm enveloped him.
––––––––
“This is not fair. I’m definitely sinking faster than you,” Bones said. “I always knew the world was stacked against the big man.”
“I don’t know about that, but when it comes to quicksand, the odds are definitely stacked against the guy who moves around too much.”