The Emperor's Treasure

by Daniel Leston

  Apparently reminded of his tight schedule, Ruiz glanced at his wrist.

  “I do, indeed,” he said. “I have a couple of ideas concerning our future shipments to Zurich. At the moment, however, I’m more curious about what plans you have regarding Hogan.” He took a leisurely draw on his cigar. “Considering our last conversation, he looks—how shall I say?—remarkable healthy, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “It’s hardly been forty-eight hours, sir. Did you expect I’d have already moved on this?”

  “I suppose not,” admitted Ruiz with slight shake of his head. “Nonetheless, I do want this situation resolved before I return. Which brings me to the status of our young ‘guest’. As I implied over the phone, my interest in any information she might possess has waned. I assume you’ve learned nothing. Since the gentle approach didn’t work, go ahead and use whatever harsher methods you think appropriate. Just do it quickly. Like Hogan, I want this all put behind us by the time I get back. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now let’s get back to what’s really important. Are we still on track to make tomorrow’s shipment?”

  Marino nodded in the affirmative.

  “The latest bars are being weighed and stamped as we speak,” he said. “The final tally and boxing will be finished by this afternoon. Everything is proceeding on schedule.”

  “Excellent! Then let’s take what remaining time I have and discuss some of my ideas. Nothing we need to act on immediately, mind you, but things I want you to mull over while I’m gone.”

  A hundred yards to the northeast, a nervous Camilla watched from her parked sedan as a man from the facility carried a small package across the otherwise empty lot to her brother’s helicopter. When he returned empty-handed, a quick check of the clock on her dash confirmed the time as 10:43—well within the narrow parameters that she and Marino had carefully worked out the previous evening. Pleased that phase one of their plan was now complete, she breathed a tentative sigh of relief.

  Yet she likewise understood they were still only halfway there.

  Phase two now became critical.

  All that remained was for Carlos to adhere to his flight schedule and depart for Mexico at roughly eleven o’clock. With the timer on the plastic explosive already activated, the box would detonate in approximately forty minutes—which by Marino’s calculation should place the doomed craft inside Mexican airspace.

  Now came only the waiting.

  If everything fell into place, she knew less than an hour would finally see her free of her brother’s tyranny—not to mention make her an extremely wealthy woman!

  The anticipation of it brought a smile to her lips even as she detected movement off to her right. A tan truck was approaching, slowing down as it neared the facility’s designated delivery entrance. Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she paid scant attention as it then swung in and pulled up to the overhead door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  David sat at the wheel of the delivery truck, a loaded Glock 19 pistol under his waist belt with the handle concealed by his shirt. Before pushing the intercom button to announce their presence, his eyes connected a last time with Torres.

  “This is it,” he said. “You ready?”

  Torres gave a firm nod, his expression resolute, his matching service pistol hidden from view beneath the company clipboard positioned on his lap. Without hesitation, he replied, “Let’s do it.”

  It had come down to this, David thought. A virtual crap shoot, at best. Both their lives—and probably that of Pilar—now hung perilously on events outside their immediate control. Who knew what confronted them inside? Or even how many adversaries they’d have to confront, for the corporate helicopter parked relatively close to the north entrance in the otherwise empty parking lot was a surprising new wrinkle. It sure as hell wasn’t there yesterday! Topping everything else, they recognized that their makeshift plan for Pilar’s rescue was so nebulous as to be just this side of foolhardy. All they really had going for them was the element of surprise—which could only carry them so far. It was now all in God’s hands.

  David extended his arm and depressed the button.

  Their long, sleepless night had been spent in a near-by motel, impatiently waiting for dawn and repeatedly examining the building’s floor plan. The accuracy of the miniaturized blueprint was still open to debate. There were no guarantees. Who could say what additional alterations might’ve been made? The overriding challenge, of course, was narrowing down the most likely place where Pilar was being held. Assuming that Ted’s print was correct—and Pilar still alive—only two locations struck them as possible candidates. Both appeared to be relatively small storage rooms of approximately the same size; one located at a midway point down the western interior wall, the other a tad larger and much closer to the northern end. They agreed the latter seemed the most probable. Firstly, it was positioned fairly close to the building’s original office area; a place doubtless now housing whoever was in charge. Presumably, that was John Marino. Secondly—and again only if the blueprint was accurate—the indication was it once contained a functioning sink and toilet. Logic dictated this one should be their focal point.

  Obtaining the truck earlier that morning had presented no major problems.

  At 9:30am they were parked outside Frontier Equipment & Supplies on the eastern side of the city, watching and waiting as the first loaded trucks began heading out on the day’s deliveries. It was simply a matter of choosing the appropriate vehicle to commandeer—this selection process based entirely on what direction the individual trucks took upon leaving the company lot. The criterion was straightforward. Those turning left were driving even deeper into the inner city, an area far too congested to accommodate a successful hijacking. Those turning right, however, were heading out onto the Anderson Loop, a four-lane highway encircling the outer regions of the city.

  The fifth truck to leave turned right, perfect for what they intended.

  David then followed at a discreet distance as it accessed the thruway and headed south. Two miles down, at a nod from Torres, he pulled up alongside the truck and gave a light tap on the horn. When the young driver looked over, what he saw was a uniformed officer adamantly pointing at his rear wheel and waving him off to the shoulder. From then on it was uneventful. The mere sight of two armed men was more than adequate to insure his complete compliance. After tossing the man’s cell phone into the rear of the vehicle, Torres waited as David got into the truck and eased it back out onto the highway. He then followed in the SUV. How long it would take for the driver to eventually flag someone down and report the incident was anyone’s guess. Once they neared the industrial complex, Torres parked David’s van and jumped into the truck’s passenger seat. From that point on it all became a moot point.

  Which now brought them to this crucial juncture.

  With the intercom button depressed, David found himself actually holding his breath as he heard the closed circuit camera above them begin to pivot. One of two things would now happen. Either the man at the other end would begin questioning their reason for being here—which would prove disastrous—or hopefully recognize the tan truck from yesterday afternoon and simply open the overhead door.

  “Okay, gimme a second,” came a relaxed voice from inside.

  A moment later, the motorized door began to rise.

  Pilar felt increasingly weak. Uncounted hours had elapsed since Kurtz last bothered to provide her any nourishment. By itself, this cruel denial indicated that the actual hour of her demise must soon be at hand. Why else would her sinister keeper regard her continuing health as being inconsequential?

  Had she waited too long to act?

  She feared so.

  The rapid decline in her physical condition was so self-apparent that she now despaired of having the ability to make any kind of meaningful gesture of defiance against her fate. Yet she must!

  With the handcuffs securing her wrist to the cot’s metal frame momentari
ly removed, Kurtz pushed her roughly toward the toilet. Feigning more weakness than she actually felt, she stumbled awkwardly at his shove and sat down on the lid with a low moan. No surprise, this seemed to amuse him as she looked up into his hard face. At most, she calculated she’d only a few moments to put him off his guard. One way or another, the smug bastard must be rendered vulnerable!

  But how?

  Seeing the now familiar direction of his eyes, it abruptly came to her—and her desperation gave way to a faint glimmer of hope. Could she possibly pull it off? Surely such a predatory creature as this wouldn’t be easily deceived. But it was all she had—thus worth a try.

  “I—I’m not a total fool,” she whispered in a timid voice. “I—I know you’re going to soon kill me.”

  Kurtz appeared unconcerned to hear this.

  If anything, it only seemed to further enhance his growing amusement.

  “Perceptive of you,” he responded. “So, are you now going to beg for your life? If you are, go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Pilar now intentionally lowered her eyes to his waist, accurately sensing that it wasn’t only his amusement being aroused. Her words had struck a chord. Though it sickened her to do so, she managed a helpless smile, wetting her lips ever so slightly as she said, “I—I know there would be no point. But it’s the manner of my death that most frightens me. If I beg for anything, it will be for you to make it quick and painless. If you can grant me this, then I—I would be very grateful.”

  Kurtz clearly understood the implied offer.

  Edging closer to where she sat—though still not within range of her striking—his hand shifted noticeably to his groin. “A tempting proposal,” he said in a softer tone. “But I make no promises without first seeing just how grateful you can be.” His growing smile now verged on obscene. “It depends on how prepared you are to please me. Do I make myself clear?”

  She nodded; then masked her revulsion as her tormentor responded by slowly lowering his fly. This done, he stepped forward, positioning himself directly before her. Clasping the back of her head with one hand, he extracted his swollen member with the other. His rising lust made him not only vulnerable, but also careless as she further deceived him by timidly extending her hand.

  The opportunity was now!

  Pilar shocked Kurtz by suddenly gripping him painfully tight, twisting and gouging his erect manhood with her fingernails—then slammed her knee upward into his unprotected testicles. Not once, but twice. As he cried out in surprised agony and doubled over, she followed by driving her forehead as hard as she could into the middle of his stunned face. Blood spilled from his broken nose onto the tiles below as he collapsed backward.

  She then leaped past him and bolted for the door.

  As she pulled it open, the shrill sound of an alarm bell met her on the other side. What this meant, she neither knew nor cared. Instead, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  After gaining admittance, events went quickly from bad to worse for David and Torres within a matter of seconds. As they opened the cab doors to exit the truck, the unmistakable blare of an activated alarm bell filled the building—and this coincided with a bullet that suddenly blew a ragged hole in the passenger side window, narrowly missing Torres’ head.

  Seeking cover, both of them dove down and out the driver’s side door.

  “Where the fuck did that come—?”

  “Back there!” David answered.

  Keeping low, he made his way to the rear of the truck. There, he pivoted around it, firing off two rounds at the gunman who controlled the delivery entrance. The shots forced the man to likewise dive for cover inside his block cubicle as the overhead door began its descent. Near as David could see, only one bullet hit its mark—and it not centered enough to be lethal. At best, it struck high in the arm. Probably not enough to incapacitate him.

  “Did you get him?”

  “Not sure.” David cursed at their bad luck. “Somehow or other he must’ve recognized us as we drove past him.”

  His guess proved accurate.

  Viewed from his vantage point behind the truck’s cab, Torres now glimpsed a man—presumably John Marino—fling open his office door holding what appeared to be a machine pistol and shout over the din, “Hogan, what the hell is going—?

  “Get back! It’s Manning and the deputy!”

  Recognizing the potential of this formidable weapon was enough for Torres to shoot first—and but for a split-second distraction of a running figure farther to his left, he might’ve taken out Marino then and there. Instead, his hesitation was an instant too long and the bullet tore chest high into the wooden door as it was slammed shut.

  Close, but not good enough.

  “I think I just saw Pilar,” he informed David.

  David spun and looked at him.

  “Where?”

  “Running from an open door over there and across and into what we figured is the gold room—and I’m afraid she’s about to have company!”

  David edged over, instantly seeing what Torres alluded to. An armed, heavy-set man was momentarily visible peering out from the door, apparently waiting for an opportunity to go after her. To dissuade him, a shot fired by Torres chinked the cement block just inches from his head.

  Crying out in pain, the man immediately jerked back out of sight.

  “Keep him pinned down,” David instructed over his shoulder as he again moved to the rear of the truck. He wanted the wounded man called Hogan taken out of play as quickly as possible. “And if you get any kind of shot, Russ, nail that bastard! Unless I’m mistaken, there was blood smeared on his face. She’s escaped him and he desperately wants her back.”

  “You got it.”

  But a sudden shattering of Marino’s office window from the inside froze them in place, followed immediately by a further hail of bullets that now began systematically raking the entire length of the truck. Worsening matters, the flimsy vehicle provided no adequate protection from the onslaught. A full third of the bullets penetrated both sides, these blowing the thin metal outward as they passed through.

  “Christ Almighty!” declared Torres, crouching behind the front wheel. “We can’t stay here! This piece of shit might as well be made of tin!

  David agreed.

  But retreat to where?

  Torres looked at the horizontal line of three transport trucks well behind them, raising his shoulders in speculation. But David shook his head, instinctively recognizing this move as a last resort. It would eventually gain them nothing. At most, only delay the inevitable. Besides, he’d already spotted something far more suitable to their purpose.

  “Over there,” he said, pointing at a heavy-duty forklift. Not as far back as the transports, it was parked at a right angle to the west wall. Unfortunately, it was a good thirty feet away, attainable only by crossing an open space directly exposed to Marino’s machine pistol. Yet the value of reaching it would definitely strengthen their ability to return fire. Unlike their present location, it would open up their field of vision not only on the office—but also on the man attempting to retrieve Pilar.

  Torres saw the distinct advantages without being told.

  “Why not?” he said. “Who knows, maybe the keys are still in it. Nothing I’d like better than to drive it full tilt down that bastard Marino’s throat.” He took a deep breath. “Okay then—on the count of three?”

  They almost made it unscathed.

  But not quite.

  Racing through the spray of bullets, Torres took one in the calf a mere yard from reaching their goal. Lurching, he managed to fall forward, further propelled to cover behind the heavy steel vehicle with David running close behind.

  As the hail of bullets momentarily ceased from the office, both heard a shouted command—one obviously made to the man still trying to retrieve Pilar. “Now’s your chance, Kurtz! I’ll keep them pinned down! Go! Go! Get the girl and it’s over!”

  The
hell you will! thought David.

  Despite the renewal of gunfire now again racking the forklift, he clamored over the prone Torres to the narrow gap between the west wall and the machine’s engine housing. Bullets were pinging and ricocheting off the thick metal all around him. Forced to transfer his revolver to his less accurate left hand, he nevertheless extended his arm along the block wall. As the man scrambled full tilt toward the door of the assumed gold room, David managed to fire three times in rapid succession just as the figure reached his goal and darted inside.

  Did he hit him?

  He believed at least one bullet had struck its mark, but couldn’t be certain.

  His doubts—plus a growing fear what this meant for Pilar—reflected in his eyes as he looked back at a grimacing Torres. It was crunch time. One way or another, they must somehow dislodge Marino from his office—and damn quickly!

  But how to do it?

  He scanned the surrounding area where they were crouched, his brain searching for an answer. Any answer! Then it came to him! Maybe the idea voiced earlier in jest by Torres wasn’t outside the range of possibility!

  David checked his revolver. By his estimation, between returning fire and shooting at Hogan and Kurtz, his clip was close to being empty. Torres hadn’t used quite as many bullets.

  “You still have a second clip in your pocket?”

  Torres nodded. “As do you . . .”

  David surprised him by now handing over his Glock pistol and full clip.

  “Use up what’s left in both guns to keep Marino hunkered in his office. Once they’re depleted, snap in full clips. By then I should have the forklift ready.”

  “Ready for what? In case you haven’t noticed, David, there’s no fucking key in the ignition! And even if there was, how could it possibly be driven half the length of this building?” He stabbed his thumb toward the exposed driver’s station where the covered seat and backrest were already visibly shredded from strafing gunfire. “It would be instant suicide to even—”