Hawkins shielded his eyes against the sun glare. “The Valley of the Dead,” he murmured.
“Yes, that’s right,” Amir said. “It is still called that even though the valley was flooded decades ago by artesian wells. How did you know its name?”
“I read Dr. Everson’s research paper.” Hawkins pivoted on his heel and gazed at the rocky hill shaped like a camel hump. “That’s the land mark you mentioned, Dr. Everson. Which means the treasure cave should be under our feet.”
Cait clapped her hands lightly.
“Bravo, Mr. Hawkins. If you were my student I would give you an A. But actually, the cave is about two dozen paces in that direction.”
Cait led the way to the metal cover, which Amir’s men moved aside. Hawkins knelt at the edge of the opening and winced at the foul exhalation. He could see timbers set around the walls near the top.
“Kurtz’s mine shaft?” he asked Cait, who knelt beside him.
“I believe so. I explored it a few days ago. It’s flooded at the bottom where the restraining timbers caved in. I found evidence that a diver might have died in the cave-in.”
Hawkins brushed some rocks from the edge of the shaft and counted the seconds until he heard the echoing splash. “Deep,” he said. “Why would Kurtz go through the trouble of digging this hole when his diver could have gone into the lake and found the cave entrance?”
“I’m hoping you and your friends will soon answer that question,” Cait said.
“Unfortunately, I can’t allow them to proceed with the treasure hunt, Dr. Cait,” Amir said.
“What are you saying, Amir? We’re on the verge of one of the most important historical finds of the century.”
“The historical significance hasn’t escaped me. But we’re talking about the possibility of a fortune falling into the wrong hands.”
“But that’s why these people are here. To keep it out of the wrong hands. Do you want the Taliban or some other terrorists to get their hands on it?”
“No, of course not. No offense, Mr. Hawkins, but I consider the Americans as just another occupation force in a long line of foreigners who have taken over our country for their own purposes. When I fought the Russians, it was to have an Afghanistan for our people alone. Why should I allow you to take the treasure or allow it to go to the corrupt people in Kabul?”
“I can’t argue with you there,” Hawkins said. “But if you feel that way, why did you show us the lake?”
“We share a common goal to keep the treasure out of the wrong hands. The unanswered question has to do with the ultimate ownership of the treasure.”
“Where would you like it to go?”
“To a place where it would benefit the people of my country.”
Hawkins thought about it, then said, “Maybe I can offer an enticement to change your mind.”
The sheik pinioned Hawkins with his eagle gaze. “Go ahead,” he said.
“The treasure’s last owner of record was Prester John. Its intended destination was the Vatican. It’s in Afghan territory. So the ownership seems to be in some dispute, although I’d lean toward finders-keepers. My mission is to find the treasure so it can’t be used by terrorists. The treasure’s ultimate fate is immaterial to me.”
“Then you’d turn it over to me? No conditions?”
“If it’s found on your territory. Yes. No conditions.”
“I’m glad to hear that is your position, because if not, I would have to take it away from you at gunpoint. You have my permission to go ahead.”
“Thank you, Amir,” Cait said. It would embarrass the sheik if she showed her thanks with any type of physical display so she instead threw her arms around Hawkins. Hawkins had no such reservations, and reciprocated her embrace. Then he caught Abby’s glare.
The stony expression on Abby’s face suggested that he had missed some signals, and despite her detached manner she retained more than a little affection for him. Or, if he were cynical, it was only her natural competitiveness. He was relieved a moment later when Cait went over and hugged Calvin, then Abby.
Hawkins glanced at the position of the sun in the western sky and turned to Amir. “We could move faster if we had a hand unloading our gear.”
“Done.” Amir relayed a series of commands.
Hawkins went around to the rear of the dune buggy and undid the bungee cords and ropes. He carefully peeled back the dust-covered tarp and he and three other men lifted the submersible and placed it near the edge of the cliff on a line with the mine shaft.
The claw-like caliper had been packed separately, as had the computer used to communicate with the submersible. While a portable generator charged Fido’s batteries, Hawkins reattached the manipulator and he and his crew lowered the docking station at the end of its cable down the slope of the cliff into the water.
Calvin and his crew cleared the gear off the side carriers. Abby directed the placement, stacking the equipment in order. Food, water and other supplies. Dive gear. Gas generator. Calvin moved the lockers containing his arsenal on his own, placing them in one of the three pop-up tents that had he and Hawkins had erected.
Within an hour, they had established a search and salvage operation at the edge of the lake.
Amir circled the submersible, much as he had the desert vehicle, asking incisive questions about its operation. Hawkins explained how the vehicle would be programmed to conduct a search of the slope in a series of parallel lines. Its television cameras would make a visual record of all prominent features and side-scan sonar would probe under the slope. Once the data were analyzed, the dive could get under way.
Amir watched as the AUV was lowered into the lake. It was attached to its docking station to get its instructions and after a few minutes, backed away on its own and submerged.
“Marvelous! What next?” Amir said.
“We wait for Fido to do its job. It will run into the night. We should have a clear picture of the slope by the morning.”
“I have to get back to my village,” Amir said, “I’ll return at dawn. Dr. Cait?”
“I think I’ll go with you. I need to clean up and change.”
Abby noticed the exhaustion in Cait’s face. She said, “If it’s okay with you, Matt, I’ll go with Cait and lend a hand.”
Amir ordered four of his men to remain with the troop carrier. Then he got into the touring car with his two passengers and drove off into the fading light. Dusk was falling and the surface of the lake had gone from glittering silver to pewter.
Hawkins heard the sound of his name. Calvin was stirring a pot on a camp stove and Hawkins’ nostrils almost quivered like a hound’s as his nose picked up a succulent fragrance.
Calvin’s famous New Orleans gumbo.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sutherland hit the wall in the wee hours of the morning. Her eyes felt as if they were on fire. The words marching across the computer screen were doing jumping jacks. She stretched out on the sofa and pulled a blanket over her body, intending to take a five minute break. The twittering of birds flocking to the window feeder woke her up. When she opened her eyes it was daytime.
She stretched her jaws in a mighty yawn, rose from the sofa and walked stiffly to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. The inn owner breezed in to prepare breakfast. While she stirred eggs for a vegetarian omelet, the inn-keeper said, “Most of the hummingbirds haven’t arrived yet, but there may be a few in the upper reaches of the canyon, if you feel like a climb.”
“Thanks. I might do that,” Sutherland said, only half listening.
She munched on a slice of buttered multi-grain toast and pondered the results of her computer search. She’d found bits of information that bolstered her original findings linking Arrowhead, Trask, Murphy and the Newport Group, through Captain McCormick. She had found no connections between Arrowhead and the other members of the Newport
group.
She finished breakfast and helped clean up in the kitchen. The inn-keeper had an appointment in town and said she’d return in a few hours. Sutherland was alone in the inn again, staring at the beautiful sunny morning on the other side of the window. She tried to contact Hawkins on his satellite phone. No answer. Damn you, Matt! Didn’t he know she was numb with worry?
Maybe a walk would help. She gathered up her Canon digital camera, a compact pair of powerful binoculars, a sketch pad, pencils, bottled water and protein bars, and stuffed everything into a day-pack with her computer. She slung the pack onto her shoulders and stepped outside, eyes blinking in the bright sun.
She checked on her Harley, then went over and climbed the low fence into the nature preserve, unaware that unfriendly eyes followed her every move.
Tyler Lee Clayton was a crude, violent man, but he was not stupid.
When Tech had sent the picture of Sutherland on his smart phone, it had triggered memories of the assault on the young army recruit. He remembered planning the attack as if it were military operation. He had watched her leave the barracks every night at the same time for a cigarette. He had enlisted his drunken buddies to help him, knowing it would be her word against theirs that it was consensual. He knew that she would be reluctant to report the attack because she would have to admit going out without her weapon.
And he remembered the hummingbird tattoo on the pale skin of her right shoulder.
He had flashed back on the tattoo as he burned the hummingbird painting, but gave it no further thought until he had come across the promotional brochure in the lobby of the Sierra Vista motel where he and Vinnie had taken rooms for the night.
He plucked the brochure from the case and stared at the photograph of a ruby-throated hummingbird, under the headline, “Hummingbird capital of the world.” The text said that fourteen different species of the “flying jewels” could be found within the three-hundred acre nature preserve on the eastern flank of the Huachuca Mountains.
He handed the brochure to Vinnie. “I know where our little biker girl is hiding.”
Tartaglia looked at the folder with the map showing that the preserve was around five miles from the motel. He wrinkled his brow.
“What makes you think she’s hiding here?” he said.
Clayton put his arm around his friend’s shoulder and brought his mouth to Vinnie’s ear.
“A little bird told me.”
Sutherland hiked along a shaded-trail and crossed a wooden bridge over Ramsey Creek, eventually breaking out of the woods after about a half a mile. She walked along the grassy floor of the canyon at the base of the mountain, past the ruined wooden buildings that harkened back to Ramsey’s days as a mining camp. The mountain was a vertical stone wall, hundreds of feet high that looked as if it had been sheared by a gigantic meat cleaver. The sky was a crystalline, Delft blue.
With every breath of fresh air she pulled into her lungs she seemed to inhale the limitless energy from her wild natural surroundings. Each exhalation purged her mind and body of the memory of her burning house and blew away the dark mists that had been gathering in her brain.
The trail angled up, gradually at first, eventually going back and forth in a series of narrow, hair-pin switchbacks as the slope steepened. Log stairs helped her navigate the steeper parts. She was overweight, not in the best of physical condition, and made good use of the benches built along the trail.
A third of the way up the mountain she was startled by a loud crashing in the woods. She caught a glimpse of brownish gray and realized she had spooked a mule deer. The animal made several bounds down the mountain then stopped and froze in place. Sutherland took a few steps off the trail, raised the camera to her cheek and squinted through the viewfinder. She shot a picture of the doe and was narrowing the focus to its head when her eye caught movement beyond the animal’s ear, through a break in the trees.
A speck was moving along the floor of the valley.
She got out her field-glasses and focused on a man dressed in black. He stopped to remove his cap and wipe his face with a sleeve, which is when she saw the bright red hair. She examined his face through the lenses. She couldn’t see his teeth but she knew they were gapped. There was no doubt. Clayton.
More men were moving single file behind Clayton.
It began to come together. Arrowhead employed former military people. Clayton could not have found a respectable job, especially after she had altered his records, so he went to work for Arrowhead. And now he was after her again.
Clayton had scattered pairs of men around Cochise County: Tombstone, Bisbee to the south and Benson to the north, all within a quick drive of each other. With his call, they had converged in four cars at the mouth of the canyon at dawn and drove along the winding road, stopping at houses and checking cottage colonies. He recognized the motorcycle in the parking lot outside a B and B.
He and his men pulled over, melted into the woods near the inn and watched the inn-keeper leave. Minutes later, Sutherland set off for the preserve with a hiking pack and disappeared into the canyon. Clayton stepped out of the woods and went over to the Harley. Damned shame to mess up a nice machine, but he couldn’t take any chances. He pulled his flip knife from his pocket and stabbed the tires.
He told Vinnie to stay behind to keep watch on their rear, then he took up the lead and the column of men entered the preserve. Clayton had studied the map and seen that it was a box canyon. He had caught a few glimpses of Sutherland moving on the upper trail, but then she disappeared. He told his men to double their speed.
Perfect.
When they caught up with her, she would be far into the woods where no one could hear her scream.
Sutherland didn’t know how Clayton had found her, but there was no time to ponder. She had to keep moving.
She stepped back onto the trail and began to climb. In her panic, she tripped over an unseen root and went flying forward. She pushed herself off the ground and picked up the glasses that had fallen from her face. Her knees and palms were scraped raw. She ignored the pain and used it to help her concentrate.
Think.
There was no way she could escape. She was already winded. She needed help.
She slipped the back pack off, pulled out her spare phone, went down her list of numbers and pressed the call button. After a couple of rings a man’s voice answered. He recognized her voice.
“Sutherland. What a relief. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mac. I mean-no. I’m in trouble.”
“We’ve been looking all over for you. Your house burned down.”
“I know my house burned down!” she said. “The guys who burned it down are after me. I need help.”
McHugh’s cool professionalism asserted itself. “Tell me where you are.”
“Ramsey Canyon.”
“Who are these people who are after you?”
“I don’t know,” she lied; she had no time to explain. “I just need help. Please hurry, Mac.” Her voice caught.
“I know where it is. That’s near the major crossing for illegals. There are always patrols in those mountains. I’ll contact one. Keep climbing and see if you can find a place to hide.”
“Thanks, Mac, but it’s too late for that.”
Her pursuers had stopped. One of them was pointing up the mountain. She peered through her glasses and saw Clayton looking directly at her through a pair of binoculars. Then he and the others picked up the pace.
Sutherland started up the trail. She needed time, but she was tired. She climbed with methodical, deliberate steps and forced herself to sit for thirty seconds at each bench before pushing on.
She cursed herself for eating all that pie the day before. She squinted ahead and back, and then decided to strike off through the woods and find a place she could hunker down.
The vines and thorns tore
at her bare legs, and her progress was noisy and slow. Even worse, the woods ended and a rock-studded wall a hundred feet high blocked the way. She couldn’t go back, so she began to climb. There were plenty of natural hand and foot-holds and she was surprised at how quickly she was able to get to the top.
She scrambled over the ledge and stood on jelly legs. She was completely exhausted. Heat beamed from her sweaty cheeks. She put one foot in front of the other and walked twenty feet until she had to stop. She was at the flattened top of a pinnacle that dropped down hundreds of feet to the other side. The sheer rock face was smoother than the one she climbed on the way up. She was half-tempted to try to descend when she heard a wheedling voice calling.
“Suh-ther-land,” the voice said. “We know where you are. Don’t be shy lady hummingbird.”
Sutherland gazed down from her dizzying perch, and knew what she would do if she had no other choice. The jack-hammer beat of her heart began to slow as an inner calm took hold of her fevered emotions. She walked back to the ledge and looked down at the black-clad men standing in a curved line at the bottom of the cliff. One of them stepped forward and gave her a friendly wave.
“Hello, Sutherland,” he called. “Remember me?”
“I remember your ugly face, Clayton.”
“Remember the other part of me? That must have made a big impression on you.”
“Sorry, but I didn’t have my microscope with me at the time.”
There was a ripple of laughter from his friends, but Clayton kept his forced grin pasted on his face.
“I see you’ve still got the big mouth that spread lies about me.”
“How did you find me?”
He flapped his arms like wings. “I remembered how much you liked the little birds. You know, like the tattoo on your pretty shoulder and the paintings I burned along with your house.”
The Emerald Scepter Page 23