SKELETON GOLD: Scorpion (James Pace novels Book 3)

by Andy Lucas

  ‘It is,’ promised McEntire. ‘It has been authenticated by several sources. There’s no chance that it is a forgery.’

  ‘I don’t plan to sit here and read for an hour so why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind,’ said Pace. ‘There’s obviously more to the story than an old diary.’

  ‘You could say that,’ explained McEntire wryly. ‘How about twenty tons of missing gold, for starters.’

  Pace let out an unintentional whistle.

  ‘Correction,’ added McEntire. ‘It was never reported lost. In fact, there are no known records related to it. Even Sherlock Holmes would have a job to prove it ever actually existed.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Did it exist or not?’ Pace could feel his curiosity rising as the suggestion of a mystery unfolded before him. ‘Perhaps I do need to read the rest of this,’ he suggested.

  ‘Later,’ agreed McEntire. ‘I’ve made another copy of the contents for you to take away and read at your leisure. In a nutshell, this is what we know.’

  An hour later, Pace left the polished marble tranquillity of the McEntire building, with a great deal of new information running around inside his head. McEntire’s headquarters were virtually adjacent to London’s Liverpool Street railway station but he was not interested in catching a train. Instead, he crossed over to the kerb and flagged down a traditional black cab. Giving the driver the name of an exclusive restaurant nearby, he was soon seated in a private booth, being waited on by an attractive brunette with an efficient, pleasant manner.

  The woman seated across the table from him had no need to worry about possible competition for his affections. Sarah McEntire was beautiful. In her early thirties, with shoulder-length, raven hair with just the faintest tint of red within the strands and full lips that drew the eye. She was naturally slim, with firm curves at her breasts and buttocks. Her hazel eyes were flecked with emerald and they shone with mischievous sensuality. They were also fixed firmly on him.

  Withdrawing with their order, the waitress disappeared and they were left alone. The booth was softly lit, in a private section at the rear of the restaurant, so they could talk openly.

  ‘I will kill him,’ Sarah complained bitterly, after he explained the content of his meeting with her father. ‘He knows we haven’t seen each other properly for weeks and I want you to myself for a while. You’ve done enough for the company for the time being.’

  ‘Look, I have to go,’ he soothed. After hearing the full tale of the notebook from her father, wild horses wouldn’t have stopped him. ‘It does mean an ocean cruise,’ he smiled. ‘I was also able,’ he added hastily, as he saw her mouth open to object again, ‘to remind your father of the little promise he made me when he convinced me to sign up with the McEntire Corporation.’

  ‘Which was?’ Sarah asked, seething inside and forming a vicious series of sentences to deliver to her father as soon as she could get hold of him.

  ‘He promised,’ Pace continued calmly, ‘that I could always choose my own team to take with me on any mission he threw my way. So, I chose you, amongst others.’

  Sarah hadn’t dreamed that she would be allowed to accompany him on another field trip, not after nearly being killed in the Amazon. She’d been sure her father would force her to stay at home this time.

  ‘He must really need you to go if he agreed to let me tag along,’ she decided as her immediate excitement began to cool. ‘That means it’s probably not going to be too dangerous?’ she ventured, hopefully.

  ‘Not too dangerous, no. Africa tends to have a far worse reputation than it should, especially in the lesser known countries. Most are perfectly fine, even if some are not known for their welcoming approach to foreigners. I served in several theatres with the Royal Air Force and most of them are perfectly okay if you use your common sense and stay on your guard.’

  ‘At least we’ll be together.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  She smiled, leaned over the table and kissed him firmly on the mouth. ‘I should probably get back and carry on packing then. Care to join me?’

  Pace looked at the beautiful woman in front of him and wanted nothing more than to go home with her. Unfortunately, he had accepted a job that now needed rapid staffing and he reluctantly declined. Her whispered promise in his ear, as she finished her dessert and headed for the door, served to spur him to a swift settling of the bill. He now needed to get the calls made very quickly.

  He had parked his car at the rear of the restaurant earlier that morning, before taking a cab to the McEntire building. Normally reserved only for staff, McEntire knew the owner personally so a few spaces were permanently reserved for his people. This came in handy when using the Corporation building’s underground car park needed to be avoided, or simply when it was full. The restaurant was also heavily secured, with all staff vetted by McEntire and a wealth of covert cameras and recording devices fitted throughout, to ensure the safety of his staff.

  Pace did not have an extravagant nature, so even the huge swell of cash in his bank account had not swayed his judgement when it came to buying a new car. Also, he had wanted it quickly, so opted for a second-hand vehicle that he was able to test drive, pay for and pick up all in the same day. It was much better than his old saloon, it was true, but he’d still only paid ten thousand pounds for it.

  The Landrover Defender was metallic grey and only two years old, so it was hardly a relic. The interior was comfortable, with cloth seats and a range of simple gauges, and dials. The manual gearbox was meshed to a large, diesel engine that would allegedly power the beast for several hundred thousand miles before needing to be replaced. Having the classic and boxy look that had first appeared over six decades earlier, it exuded a sense of solid dependability that Pace loved. True, there were other, more refined four-wheel drive models on the market, including some from the same manufacturer, but this particular vehicle suited him.

  He drove it through the heavy London traffic, enjoying the regal sense of superiority that the Landrover’s high driving position gave over other road users, before hitting the motorway and heading north for half an hour.

  Turning off the motorway, the big car easily handled a series of ever narrowing country lanes until he finally nosed it through a huge set of gates and set the tyres crunching merrily on a wide and sweeping gravel road that snaked uphill for nearly a quarter of a mile until he pulled up in front of the impressive main house.

  Doyle McEntire had purchased the house, mainly for its land, some years before. The grounds stretched for several dozen acres in every direction. He had planned to demolish the existing eight bedroom house and build something far grander but had yet to start the project. The house was serviced by a small staff, who lived there rent-free and well paid, to keep the doomed property secure.

  But Pace wasn’t there for the house. His attention was on his own new home, albeit temporary, that had been set up within the vast grounds.

  He eased the Landrover around the building and down a smaller track on the other side, following the contours of a gentle slope downhill until the track entered a large expanse of established woodland.

  It was this large area of ancient forest that had been the main attraction for Doyle McEntire. He knew it would provide a tranquil escape from the hustle and bustle of his hectic life, if he ever actually managed to find time to get the building work started.

  Summer was already aging, as July gave way to an unseasonably cool August. The trees still proudly wore their mantle of green, yet a few of them were beginning to show premature autumnal hues of gold that freckled their appearance.

  Pace felt immediately at home as he drove into the thick woodland and the trees pressed in on the car from either side of the track, closing in protectively. It lent a familiarity that he enjoyed; a sense of being close to nature that he had been recently forced to enjoy through many days and weeks of slogging through the Amazon jungle; in the name of charity, animal welfare and (though he didn’t know it at th
e start) political subterfuge.

  There was no way that a building of any sort would have been allowed to spoil the landscape but Pace was not looking for a structure. He slowed down as he rounded a slight bend and then brought the car to a stop in a small, specially gravelled lay-by, set off the track.

  Getting out, he locked the car with its electronic key fob, automatically setting the alarm and immobiliser, and walked over to an old oak tree that stood sentry nearby. The tree was over seventy years old and impressive in size for English woodland, though it was a baby when compared to the gigantic hardwood trees he’d grown used to in Brazil.

  Strangely, a metal ladder encased in a protective, semi-encircling cage, was fixed to the trunk of the heavy tree. Smiling to himself, Pace gripped the rungs tightly and started to climb, feeling totally safe within the protection of the tubular steel, exactly the same as those that protected commercial crane drivers on their lengthy ascent to their control cabs, often hundreds of feet off of the ground.

  Thirty feet up, the trunk began to thin and by the time he reached the top, at a little shy of forty feet, he was grinning broadly at what was to come. The top of the tree had been decorated with a small platform, identical to the one he had clambered up onto in the depths of the Amazon.

  A very familiar rope bridge then led him upwards, away from the platform, until he reached a dizzying ten feet above the uppermost leaves, where he was finally deposited onto a further platform.

  This was the entrance to his new home.

  2

  Sarah knew that James would love her ‘surprise’ gift of a new home. After all, the McEntire Corporation had involved itself in his life and been responsible for him losing his old one, torched by a would-be killer in a vain bid to dissuade him from running in Race Amazon.

  His involvement with her father’s covert activities had nearly cost him his life, on more than one occasion, so it had been the least she could do.

  Although she had asked him to move in with her, reality made it difficult. Her home was too small, and part of her really didn't want to start the relationship by cramming him inside her own world. She had given it a lot of thought while he had been running Race Amazon II, the re-run of the hijacked, devastated original.

  She parked her own car next to his and began the same ascent that he had made a couple of hours earlier. She was wearing a sheer black blouse, with no bra underneath, matching black jeans and a pair of knee-length leather boots; low heeled. Perfectly kitted out for the climb, if a little chilly, she set off up the tree. Once she reached the top of the tree platform, she cautiously made her way up the nylon rope bridge to the entry platform, which was deserted.

  Being back on the platform reminded her of the trials in the jungle. Late afternoon was thickening darkly around her and, up there amongst the treetops, the solitude seemed total.

  The entry platform resembled a large elevator car, open to the elements on one side only, bolted to the base of a huge habitation disc. The disc, in turn, hung beneath a monstrous gas envelope, shaped like a ring donut, and the whole assembly was tethered to several nearby treetops by plastic-coated, steel cables.

  The ring stretched over one hundred feet in diameter and stood some thirty feet high. The skin had been carefully painted in various uneven shades of green and light brown, to camouflage it from snooping eyes in the sky above. The strangely shaped gas envelope was stretched taut and looked to be new.

  The habitation disc was as wide as the balloon and built to the height of a single storey, perhaps fifteen feet in uniform height across the entire disc. It too was painted in a camouflage style, with the exception of the entire outer rim, which was made of a slightly tinted, clear polycarbonate, to provide a perfect observation rim. It hung about twenty feet below the gas envelope, ten feet above the treetops.

  Pace’s temporary home was identical to the secret base they had sought refuge within, tethered above the rainforest canopy and acting as a surveillance tool for the McEntire Corporation as they tried to locate a missing aircraft. That one had met an unfortunate end in a hail of gunfire but she had persuaded her father to spend a small fortune and procure another from his shadowy suppliers. She knew it would appeal to James’s sense of adventure.

  McEntire’s land was private, so nobody questioned the multitude of trucks that had delivered the pieces, nor did they hear the noise of dozens of workers assembling it on site. Once fully assembled, it had been inflated out on a stretch of open ground before being manoeuvred carefully into its mooring.

  She pressed a button on a newly-installed metal panel, which sounded in the control room, situated at the very top of the habitation disc. Pace had been waiting for her; she was over an hour late, and he was eager for her to make good on her promise.

  McEntire’s engineers had installed a complicated intercom and access panel. Mindful, perhaps, of Pace’s need for decent security, they had wired their security system to the magnetic lock of the entry portal; situated in the base of the habitation disc, which was also the ceiling of the entry platform. Designed like a naval door, it was round and opened by a spinning wheel-lock, similar to those found on submarines and naval vessels the world over.

  Only entering a special code on the keypad could open it from the outside, though a button in the control room would release it, in the same way as a standard, domestic entry-phone system.

  A click told her that she was being invited in. Smiling, she watched the wheel spin slowly around – it was now powered by electric motors – and then slowly open inwards, with a powerful humming sound. To complete the act, a small, similarly powered aluminium ladder, descended from the gaping hole until it touched the floor of the platform, where it dutifully stopped, awaiting her.

  No expense spared, she thought, with a smile. When she had last entered one of these hatches, they had not known what to expect inside and soldiers had gone up first to be sure the coast was clear. The hatch had been manually operated back then, and the ladder likewise. This time, she knew exactly what to expect.

  The ladder deposited her inside a central chamber, no wider than the platform below. Two doors broke the uniform smoothness of the metal walls, this time with standard door handles.

  The single, circular floor was split exactly in half down the middle by a solid wall; the second door, she knew, led into the other half. This particular half section housed a large bank of machinery, empty livestock cages, sample containers filled with assorted plants and four hi-tech computer stations on the left side.

  A kitchen-cum-dining area occupied the right side. The floor was covered with some type of cream coloured resin flooring that matched the cream paint covering all exposed metal surfaces, including the interior walls. A few simple tables were screwed to the floor, as were the seats in front of each of them.

  The kitchen was well appointed and boasted stainless steel surfaces, in-built cooker, refrigerator, freezer and microwave oven. A faint aroma tickled her nostrils pleasantly and she noted a pile of pots and pans stacked in the sink. Someone’s been busy, she thought happily.

  An archway led out into the observation ring. Several tiny lights were countersunk into the smooth ceiling plates and were already switched on, casting a bright, cheery glow throughout the room. The sky outside the rim was growing darker, as evening settled over the small forest.

  The second half had been set aside as living quarters and had housed five sets of neatly made double bunk beds, two showers cubicles, three toilets and a tiny, three-machine gymnasium, when the habitation disc was moored above the Amazon.

  On her instructions, engineers had left everything else as it was for now, and concentrated on refitting the living section with a large master bedroom, complete with king-sized bed and boasting a well-equipped ensuite bathroom, as well as a small spare bedroom, with a single bed. The small gymnasium remained as it was.

  She didn’t expect Pace to be living there for long, before they found their own ideal home together, so refitting the work ar
ea could wait.

  Pace was nowhere to be seen but she knew where to look. Heading out into the observation rim, she paused to take in the view as the sun’s crest settled below the treetops. The clear, reinforced plastic offered magnificent views, beneath and all around. In daylight, she would be able to see for miles.

  She walked halfway around the circumference of the rim, stopping at a small metal ladder that led up to another hatchway. The hatch had been removed, so she climbed nimbly up onto the roof of the disc.

  By design, she was not exposed to the elements because she was ensconced within a similarly transparent tinted-glass corridor.

  It ran across the roof and into a small glass dome at the centre, again tinted to prevent glare.

  The central dome had been designed as a mixture of relaxation area and command centre. There were several large, comfortable chairs set before computer consoles and telephones set on a couple of desks, as well as several sofas and armchairs. The floor was richly carpeted, in dark green. It looked exactly as Sarah remembered.

  Sitting comfortably in a large armchair, Jack Daniels in hand, Pace was marvelling at the sight of early evening stars as they began to twinkle at him through the hole in the centre of the ring-shaped envelope above the disc. A soft smile was set on his lips. Wearing a pair of Levi 501s and a matching jean shirt, hanging loosely outside them, and a pair of brown leather ankle boots, he looked totally relaxed.

  ‘I thought you would meet me in the kitchen, ready with a sumptuous banquet of gourmet delights to pamper my taste buds,’ Sarah breezed, crossing over, leaning down, and planting a kiss on his lips as he turned his head to greet her. He made a grab for her but she spun out of his grasp just in time and stepped back, pouting seductively.

  ‘Where do you think you’re off to?’ Pace asked, noting her tight jeans and pert breasts, easily visible beneath the sheer material of her blouse.