Kat frowned. “They stole a police car?”
“Probably borrowed it from an inside friend,” corrected Sebastian. “The same one who let them into Felix’s house. And who told them about Senora Martinez.”
“But how did they find us?”
Sebastian had considered the question already, had known the risks. Starkly, he explained, “The phone call I made. I assume they triangulated my call. The Three Stooges must have already been en route.”
“You led them to us?”
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t they come after us?” Kat fought the reflex to turn and the grinding of her stomach in distress. Trust, she reminded herself sternly, did not allow for reservations. Her declarations meant nothing if she undermined with nervous queries. Still, the apprehensive question tumbled out before she could stop it. “Are they going to kill us?”
“No!” Sebastian snaked a comforting arm around her waist and tucked Kat into his side. He bussed the loose fall of hair with a comforting kiss. “No, they aren’t. Because right now, they believe I am on their side.”
“I know you’re not.” She patted his hand.
“I’m on nobody’s side, Kat.” Not even my own, he raged silently. In a day’s time, he’d possess everything he’d ever dreamed about. Everything but the person who mattered most in the world to him. A woman who’d shared her body, her heart, and her soul with him, seeking nothing in return. Determined, he captured Kat’s wrist, dragging her toward the car at a breakneck pace.
“Sebastian?” Kat went into a jog, trying to keep up or risk losing her hand. When he didn’t answer, she decided not to ask again. The grip on the vulnerable bones wasn’t tight, but the fingers held firm. A hasty glance at his profile revealed a saturnine mask, his eyes nearly obsidian. He wound them through the milling crowds of tourists, cutting across the square to the truck.
At the truck, he hauled open the passenger door and boosted her inside. Sebastian stalked around to the driver’s side and leaped into the vehicle. The engine turned over on the first twist of the key, and he shoved the gear into place and peeled out of the lot.
Kat half turned in her seat to scan for the police car, which pulled onto the street behind them. She noticed another car, a gray sedan, fall into line behind the police unit. “There’s another car,” she warned quietly. “Gray Mercedes. Two cars back.”
Checking the rearview mirror, Sebastian spotted the tail. The Mercedes was more Helen’s style than fraternizing with the police, no matter how corruptible. He drummed the steering wheel, plotting. “How well do you know Huanco?”
Kat shook her head. “Not well at all. Tio Felix and I came here a couple of times, but that was years ago.” They merged into the traffic of the main thoroughfare. Cars clogged the four lanes, the drivers a mix of tourists eager to head for the coast for the weekend and residents keen to get home. The truck inched forward lethargically, and the police car and Mercedes kept up the snail’s pace. She counted three traffic lights between their car and the turnoff for the highway.
In the expanding silence of the truck, Sebastian sifted through options, discarding them one by one. He faced an intractable problem—a dissatisfied client who demanded her merchandise and forfeit of his soul in the process.
He threaded the truck through the meandering cars, thoughts racing. Helen Cox had tentacles that reached far beyond London, beyond the U.S. If she threatened to kill Katelyn for being with him, she’d find a way to murder her and flaunt the death. But no authority would believe him, and he’d have to explain the whys and wherefores of her hatred.
Confession had never been his strong suit.
Guile and cunning and evading authority, those he handled with aplomb. Soon, he’d have to return Kat to Canete rather than taking her to the Mutambo village. By tomorrow, she’d be on a plane to Miami, and the Mutambo would lose a veritable fortune without ever knowing it existed.
Yet sunshine had always been the best cure for midnight.
“Did you mean it?”
Kat swiveled in her seat. “Mean what?”
“What you said at the store this afternoon. Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
His eyes demanded honesty. “All of it?”
“Yes,” Kat smiled, a promise that she wouldn’t break. “Yes, love, I did.”
Sebastian clasped her hand, believing. “Then I need your help.”
Chapter 24
The return to Canete passed quickly. Sebastian and Kat used the passageway to collect what they needed for the journey to Mutambo. They needed to travel light, since the map showed a single point of entry to the village—from a cove on the Pacific Coast.
“Are you sure you’ve got everything on the list?” Sebastian asked for the third time. He carried the Cinchona and diary in his bag, along with the items from his trusty toolkit. The jump drive with records of Felix’s communications with Burge were included as well, as insurance. “Once we get on the boat, we’re not coming back until we’ve finished.”
After changing out of her new dress and into the pants and shirt she’d purchased, Kat collected samples of the plants for the Cinchona and essentials.
“I know, I know.” Kat placed a vial of the Cinchona elixir in a hollow carved out of styrofoam. The foam chamber sat inside a polyester carrying case that fit neatly inside her satchel. Three additional chambers contained specimens the Mutambo might recognize but few outsiders ever glimpsed. She zipped the contraption and put it in her bag. “Ready.”
Sebastian headed for the door and ushered Kat into the tunnel. Their feet scraped the rough gravel as they raced to the boat moored at the other end. Senora Martinez’s truck had been parked, the keys in the glove compartment as they’d agreed.
At the edge of the slip, waves lapped at the pier. Following Kat’s instructions, he detached the docking lines and climbed aboard. Kat was already in the cockpit. Using short bursts of the throttle, she guided the runabout into the choppy waters of the ocean.
“Ahoy.” Sebastian teased, impressed by how easily she handled the boat. It was larger inside than he thought, room for four if they were all friendly. His experience with boats had been limited to necessary escapes. Sailing held little appeal to him, as he preferred the certainty of solid ground. Had God intended him to be on the water, he’d have gills instead of lungs. Sitting, he unrolled the map and took post as navigator. “According to this, the Mutambo live just off a cay between Bahia and Ecuador. We can dock the boat there and reach the village on foot.”
“Got it.” Kat tossed him a sly look and opened the throttle, engine racing. Above the roar of the water and motor, she warned with a grin, “Fasten your seat belt, Sebastian. If you like the way I drive a car, you’ll love me in a boat.”
The runabout glided to a stop and Kat killed the motor. Sebastian fairly leaped from the boat, grateful for the feel of dry land beneath his feet.
“I didn’t scare you, did I?” Kat asked innocently, jumping down to stand on the sandy beach.
Sebastian glared at her, waiting for his stomach to stop pitching in distress. “Next time, I drive.” When he was certain his legs wouldn’t fold beneath him, he lurched forward, muttering beneath his breath.
She’d docked the runabout near the shoreline in a cove constructed of massive rock formations. Blue-green waves rushed onto the shore, the whitecaps tugging at their feet. Together, they jogged inland, feet sinking into the dark sands. Sebastian held Kat’s hand as they picked their way along the beach toward the interior.
“We’re being watched,” Sebastian whispered to Kat. Though the beach was empty, he felt the awareness trickle down his spine beneath the weight of his pack. Fifty feet away, trees swayed in the late winds coming off the ocean.
Kat squeezed his hand in understanding and edginess. Though she made a living venturing into new communities, the stakes this time were impossibly high. “Can you see anyone?”
“Not yet. But I know they’re out there.” His internal
alarm never failed. Plus, Felix’s map indicated that the Mutambo inhabited a village six miles inland, close to the Yarapa tributary of the Amazon. The Yarapa was an offshoot of the Maranon tributary that swung near Ecuador. He was certain that beyond the dense stand of trees, the descendants of the Mutambo wouldn’t be quite as welcoming as their ancestors.
Squinting into the distance, Kat saw the movement seconds before the men appeared. Sebastian clutched her arm, drawing her to a halt. They stood side by side as first one, then two, then ten men materialized out of the trees.
“Who are you?” A slight man standing in the center of the party leveled a rifle at their position, his Spanish throaty and harsh. He wore a cotton shirt stained with sweat and a wide-brimmed straw hat. On his feet, he sported scuffed boots that had seen much better days. The other men were similarly attired and equally unfriendly.
Speaking the universal language of no resistance, Sebastian tugged Kat’s hand up and lifted his hands, palms out. “Visitors. We’d like to speak with your leaders,” he explained in Spanish. He felt silly asking to be taken to their leaders like an extraterrestrial, but he couldn’t find a better question.
“Names,” barked another man, nearly twice as tall as the one holding the gun. “Tell us.”
“Katelyn Lyda and Sebastian Caine,” Kat offered with a respectful nod. Taking a chance, she added, “We would like to talk about Father Juan-Carlos Borrero.”
Whispers streaked through the crowd of men, and three hurried to stand with the main two. The conversation lasted for nearly two minutes, punctuated by guttural shouts and an occasional shove. Finally, the smaller man gestured them forward. “Come with us.”
Tucking Kat close to him, Sebastian fell into step behind the men, and the rest of the group circled around them. The men led them between two groves of trees to a clearing where three aged Ford trucks waited.
“I am Huáscar Cajamarca.” The older man bowed deeply. “Welcome.”
Huáscar opened the door to a black truck with gray primer showing and gallantly assisted Kat inside. Sebastian followed. Huáscar clambered into the driver’s seat and more men climbed into the truck bed. He honked the horn twice and set out.
Kat peered out the window as the truck rumbled through the rain forest. Disturbed by the sound, birds cawed madly, answered by other creatures of the forest.
“We do not often get visitors to Mutambo and we are protective of our home,” Huáscar said suddenly. “The fighting that happens too near us sometimes tries to come inside. We do not permit it.”
Sebastian inclined his head, understanding the reference to the guerilla wars waged in Peru and Ecuador. “I would protect my home too.”
Huáscar did not speak again until the trucks reached the village. Adobe structures and wooden huts dotted the town as they descended into a shallow valley. He parked the truck and sounded the horn several times. A few villagers poked their heads out to see what the commotion was about. Children, dusty and rambunctious, raced around a well, under the watchful eye of several women filling their buckets with water. Kat noted the threadbare clothes and the ramshackle buildings.
“Come.” Prompted by their driver, Sebastian got out and helped Kat down from the truck. The taciturn Huáscar began walking, and they kept pace. He led them to a yellowish building with a carved sign announcing it as city hall. “Enter.”
Sebastian went first, scanning the interior. He noted a simple desk and two low benches and not much else. Oil lamps burned on the windowsill and on the desk. Poverty held Mutambo by the throat. No running water, no electricity.
“Sit.” Huáscar pointed to the bench and disappeared behind a door Kat took to be the mayor’s office.
“Verbose, isn’t he?” She settled onto the bench, legs crossed. For comfort, she turned her satchel to rest in her lap. “I imagine he’s conferencing with the mayor.”
“I’m just glad he left the rifle in the car,” commented Sebastian.
“Did you see their reaction to Father Borrero’s name?” Kat sidled closer, her voice a soft murmur. “I couldn’t tell if they were pleased to hear his name or not.”
“I’m glad you said it at all. The big guy was ready to pitch us into the ocean.” He hadn’t been able to make out their argument, but the gist had been clear. Huáscar wanted them to meet the leader, and the big one didn’t. Father Borrero’s legacy seemed as mixed as every other European’s in South America.
The office door opened, and Huáscar appeared. “Come.”
With his hand on the small of her back, Sebastian escorted Kat across the floor and into the room where Huáscar waited. Inside, a man of medium build sat behind an identical desk. Black hair parted in the center and swept into two wings laced with gray. His skin was nearly Kat’s hue, with deep wrinkles that pegged his age at around seventy.
Two chairs angled toward him on the other side, and he gestured to them. Huáscar stood sentinel, his hat removed. As they sat, he lifted a ceramic pot. “Coffee? Ms. Lyda? Mr. Caine?” He asked the question in heavily accented English.
“Thank you,” Kat accepted, and he filled a cup with thick brown liquid drenched liberally with milk.
Knowing she hated coffee, Sebastian decided to follow her lead. He refused the offer of sugar and sipped at the creamy brew. “Gracias.”
“You are welcome,” The mayor continued in English. “I understand from Huáscar that you both speak Spanish, but I do not often have a chance to practice my English. It is rusty, but good, I think.”
“We appreciate the courtesy.” Kat sipped at her coffee, used to drinking and eating what she was offered. “And we appreciate your taking the time to speak with us.”
“Huáscar tells me that you seek information about Father Borrero.” The mayor studied Kat and Sebastian, his gaze hooded. “He holds a special place in our community.”
“One of honor?” asked Sebastian.
“One of mystery.” Reclining, the mayor explained, “The priest lived with my people for much of his life. However, he left us for a time and stole our most precious secrets. Because my people practice the Catholic forgiveness, we accepted him back into our fold, but he did not repent.”
Kat ventured, “We have reason to believe that Father Borrero thought to protect you.” She glanced at Sebastian, who signaled her to continue. “Sebastian and I have come to return your secrets to you. The Cinchona.” She opened her bag and removed the case. “Look inside, please.”
The mayor unzipped the case and stared down at the clear vial and the other plants. With careful hands, he raised each plant, sniffed, and touched the roots and leaves that grew only in Mutambo. Shocked, he lifted his head, wanting desperately for this hoax to be true. “I studied in Lima at the university. Botany, for my people. Since the time when the Spanish came, we have been told a legend of a white man saved by our shaman, and that he in return captured our secrets into pages. Every man in my family line learned about the Cinchona, and we hunted for the recipe, never able to find it again.” He handled the vial with exquisite care, the future of his people in his hands. “Are you sure that this is the Cinchona? The elixir of life?”
“Dr. Lyda completed the formula,” Sebastian concurred. “It is yours.”
The mayor regarded them for a moment, then demanded abruptly in Spanish, “What do you want in exchange? Our village is poor, but we will do what we can to recompense you.”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, sir. We don’t want anything from you. This is yours. As is this.” He brought the Cinchona manuscript out of his pack and laid it on the desk. “The manuscript Father Borrero wrote for your people five hundred years ago. And his diary.”
“Why are you doing this?” the mayor asked, curiosity narrowing his eyes. “You could be very wealthy if you kept these things. My people no longer believe that the manuscript existed. Father Borrero and the Cinchona are fairy tales told to our little ones at night.”
Kat spoke first, her voice husky with regret. “My uncle, Felix Estrada
, stole this from the Brothers of Divinity. They should have returned it to your people long ago. Consider it the penance for many sins.”
“However,” Sebastian added, “I do have a proposition for you. If you’re interested.”
“Chief Montoya, thank you for your help.” Sebastian stood in the foyer of Estrada’s home and walked with the police chief to the dining room. The charcoal gray suit was a welcome respite for Sebastian, after too many days of jeans and T-shirts. The suit had come courtesy of one of their guests for the final act. “We’ve assembled in here.”
Montoya entered the room behind him, studying each of the faces already gathered inside. Three women stood in a loose circle, standing near two men. They stopped speaking when he entered. Montoya recognized the disapproving stares and turned accusingly toward Sebastian. In smooth English, he railed, “I didn’t realize you intended to hold a party, Mr. Caine. My agreement with you was to allow Mr. Estrada’s niece to collect her uncle’s belongings, nothing more. I’m going to have to demand that you all leave.”
Sebastian crossed to his company and rested a hand on Kat’s shoulder. “I don’t think you will, Chief. If I leave here before I’m through, I will have to report to the Bahian federal authorities my suspicions about your operation.”
“Suspicions?”
“That you have knowingly assisted American criminals who committed murder in this very house. After all, any lab test will prove that the damage to the kitchen is the result of one of your police cars ramming into the house. And there is the eyewitness who saw a Canete police car in her front yard, driven by one of the criminals while the other two threatened her.” Sebastian’s smile was thin and menacing. “I expect you will do your part, Chief, if you want to keep your job.”
Subdued by the threat, Montoya skulked into a corner of the dining room. “I have another appointment, Caine. This had better be quick.”
“It will be.” Sebastian turned to the taller of the men standing beside him. “Allow me to make introductions. Mr. Gabriel Moss, editor of the Bayou Ledger and a budding media empire in the South. His wife, Dr. Erin Abbott, professor and amateur sleuth.” Sebastian glared at the man he considered his brother-in-law. “If I’d known she was pregnant, I wouldn’t have asked her to come.”
Secrets and Lies Page 25