“Get us back to the hotel,” Delgado ordered the driver. The guard didn’t hesitate and stepped on the gas.
Tommy arrived at the front passenger’s door and flung it open as Will opened the back.
They were greeted by a pale, damp face and a gun extended across the center console.
“Get in right now, or I will shoot you both.” Tommy glanced to his right as the other SUV sped off. He started to get in, but Will stood still.
“Leave your guns on the ground,” the stranger’s voice added.
His eyes were cold, full of resolve.
Tommy obeyed and dropped his weapon. Will hesitated for a second then dropped the gun he’d been given earlier by Maurcio. The black metal clanked against the wet street.
Both men slowly got in the car. Will peered angrily at the driver of the vehicle.
“If you get any ideas back there,” the stranger spoke firmly, “I will kill your friend here and then you.”
He kept the gun trained on Tommy as he closed the door.
“Who are you?” Tommy asked.
“Don’t concern yourself with the inconsequential,” the man replied. Then he noticed the wooden cylinder in Schultz’s hand. “Now what is that thing?” he asked.
“We aren’t sure,” Tommy responded angrily.
The man put his clammy hand out in a silent request for the item. Tommy shook his head, clearly not wanting to give up the map. “I can just shoot you and take the thing if you want.”
“Yeah. You could. But what if you can’t read what’s inside?” Schultz played the only hand he had.
“Ah,” he said with sudden realization. “So that is the map. “Very well, then. Hand it over, and I won’t shoot you in the leg.” This time, he lowered the weapon and pulled the hammer back on his weapon.
Tommy held his breath for a moment and then handed over the wooden object.
The man only glanced at the top with the verse from the Bible burned into it before he set it down in the cup holder next to him. He stepped on the accelerator and turned the SUV down a side street in the opposite direction that Wyatt had taken. Things were finally going Hunter Carlson’s way.
Chapter 57
Cuenca
Adriana gazed at her father with a mix of anger, confusion, and curiosity. The cigar smoke lingered in the room, filling her nose with the sweet, earthy smell.
He seemed to read her thoughts. “What, my dear? You think me too old for things like this?”
She didn’t know what to say at first. Her father had been in the intelligence game for a long time. On the outside, the family had many thriving businesses. They operated in such a transparent manner that no one would ever question anything that may have happened behind the scenes. It was from beyond that veil, though, that her father had helped Western agencies bring down terrorists and criminals all over the world. Diego Villa’s resources had helped cripple communism in the late 1980s. He’d been influential in helping find Saddam Hussein during the American war with Iraq. But Adriana thought he had retired.
Once he moved from their native Spain to Ecuador, he was supposed to be spending his time in cafes and bookshops, relaxing for the rest of his life. Apparently, the old saying was true. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. “But why, Father?” she asked finally. “It’s not like you need the money. All those years of looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone was coming for you; this was your chance to leave all that behind.”
He smiled tiredly at her. “I know, dear. I know. But sometimes we have to do things that don’t make sense. There are still a lot of bad people in this world. And there aren’t enough of the good guys to go around. I have to keep going until someone else can take my place.”
She sighed heavily.
It was an argument she knew she could not win. Her father was a stubborn man, very set in his ways. Perhaps it stemmed a little from when her mother had died, or maybe he had been like that before. He’d watched the cancer eat away at his wife for eight long months with the same steel resolve he’d always possessed. When she finally passed, only a solitary tear found its way to the corner of his eye. How someone could be so unmoved by such a tragic event boggled her mind. Adriana might never know the real answer. And while she didn’t hold it against him, she always wondered why he wasn’t more upset by her mother’s passing. Maybe she just wished she was a little stronger.
“So what do you do? Call the CIA or Interpol every time you find something unusual?” she asked after a moment of thinking about where his reconnaissance would lead.
“Something like that,” he grinned as he took another draw on the cigar. “Although my role now is more direct than it used to be.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, more direct?”
“I’ll tell you more later, dear. Are you hungry? Thirsty? How long can you stay?”
She shook her head. “Don’t try to change the subject, Papá. I want to know what you’re up to.”
Suddenly, her cell phone started ringing.
Her father looked surprised by the interruption.
It was Sean. She held up a finger suggesting that their conversation would continue after she got off the phone. “Hello?”
“Adriana, it’s Sean. Where are you?”
“I’m in the city at a friend’s house,” she decided to keep things secretive about her father. “Why? Is everything OK?”
“I don’t know. We just got back to the hotel, but there’s no sign of Tommy. He and Will were right behind us.”
Concern washed over the young woman’s face.
“How soon can you get back here?” Sean asked.
“I’m on my way now,” she said and ended the call.
It was her father’s turn to look worried.
“What’s going on?”
She faced him as he stood. “I have to go. Do you still have the old motorcycle?”
“Sí. Of course. The keys are hanging in the garage,” he answered, still confused.
“I will explain later, Papá. And I have not forgotten our little conversation. You have some more explaining to do when I return.”
He forced a smile. “OK, Ija.”
She gave him a quick but firm hug then stalked quickly back up the stairs. Adriana didn’t see the sad expression on his face as she rounded the corner at the top and disappeared from sight.
A few moments later, she opened the old door into the garage. The fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating a simple workshop with tools hanging around on the walls, a workbench, and the bottom of a motorcycle. The top half was covered by a canvas tarp so that only the wheels and the lower part of the motor were visible. Quickly, she yanked off the cover, revealing the work of art she hadn’t seen in so long. Vincent Motorcycles stopped production in 1955. There were literally only a few hundred bikes still left in the world. The 1948 Black Shadow was part of the company’s series C Line and an extremely rare item. Vincent bikes were far ahead of their time in performance, capable of speeds that other stock motorcycles could only dream of. It was one of the first motorcycles she’d ever ridden as a young girl. She didn’t have time for nostalgia at the moment, though, and grabbed the keys off the ring by the door. After flinging open the garage door, she hopped on the two-wheeler and hoped her father had kept it properly maintained. One push down on the kick-starter told her he had as the old machine rumbled to life. She shifted into gear and twisted the throttle, bursting from the garage and onto the dark, rain-soaked street.
The team inside the SUV saw the motorcycle emerge from a garage a few hundred feet away. They’d been sitting, waiting for the woman to leave. The man who’d chased her earlier wasn’t sure exactly which building she’d gone into, but he knew the general area, so when the rest of his team had shown up it had been a matter of just being patient. The driver didn’t turn his lights on immediately since he did not wish to alert the target to their presence. Instead, he just turned on the ignition and pulled out of their park
ing place between a few three-story buildings. She was driving fast, making it difficult to keep up, especially in the tight streets of Cuenca. They couldn’t lose her again.
Angela was standing in the street on the backside of the Iglesia de Maria Auxiliadora. She was soaking wet from the rain, and frustration was beginning to take over. The best assets she knew of were at her disposal, yet they had been unable to make any progress. She wondered: How had Wyatt been able to escape again? Their vehicles must have gone around and met them in the back. A terrible feeling began to creep up inside of her. The Prophet was a man not to be meddled with. As fearless as she was, Angela knew just how far his reach really could go. If she failed him, there would be no mercy. And there wasn’t a place on earth she could hide where he couldn’t find her.
“Agent Weaver,” a familiar voice came through Angela’s earpiece, interrupting her thoughts. “We are following her now. Looks like she is heading toward the mountains. Will let you know once we get an exact destination.”
Angela considered the information. There was a chance after all. Perhaps the Spaniard would lead them to Wyatt and his friends. They could eliminate him and the others, leaving Schultz to lead them to the treasure.
Chapter 58
Washington, DC
Eric Jennings eased open the door to Emily’s bedroom as slowly as possible, fearful that it might creak and alert her to his presence. A mixture of pale white and orange lights seeped through her window curtains from the street outside. In the dull illumination, Jennings could make out the outline of Emily Starks’s body in the bed underneath a pile of down comforters and blankets. She was the last loose end, the only one left who knew about the Prophet’s involvement. Of course, he was assuming that the others had been taken care of in South America. And why would he think otherwise? He had his top agents on it. He stepped carefully across the threshold of the bedroom, hoping the old wooden floors didn’t give away his presence. In a gloved right hand, Eric held his gun equipped with a narrow sound suppressor. In the other hand, he held a pillow he’d been given by Emily earlier in the evening.
Jennings crept closer, inching his way over to the sleeping woman. It was dark in the room, but he could see her long brown hair poking out from under one of the blankets where she’d tucked her face. He stared at her momentarily as he stood over her. The only noise in the room was a small floor fan that was humming loudly in the opposite corner.
No one would find her for a day or so. He would help lead the investigation, vowing that the criminal would face justice. Of course, he would find someone to pin it on. One of his lower assets would do. It would be easy to arrange a meeting that ended in a tragic shootout. Evidence would be planted. Emily would be given a hero’s funeral. There would be political giants in attendance, perhaps even the president himself. And the whole problem would go away.
He banished the thoughts as he leaned closer to the side of the bed. He could have his way with her if he wanted. She had always been an attractive woman, strong of will and of body. The thought lingered for a moment. Murderer, yes. But he was no rapist. His stable of prostitutes satisfied all of his carnal urges. Tonight he just had to finish this job. Maybe tomorrow night he would call up his escort connection. An evening of fun might be exactly what he needed after all the stress he’d experienced lately.
Very slowly, he held out the pillow and gently placed it on the outline of Emily’s head. He pressed the long barrel to the fabric and pulled the trigger three times. Feathers erupted from the pillow with the popping of the gun. He left the mangled cushion on the body and walked casually out of the room, never even glancing back. And all of his loose ends were tied up.
He felt good about himself as he descended the stairs. The air was brisk outside, chilly from a cold front that had come through, typical of that time of year.
The streets were empty save for a few cars several hundred yards away. They wouldn’t even notice him as he slipped into his own car around the corner and drove off.
The Prophet would be extremely pleased with his work. No doubt he would be well rewarded. He smiled at the thought of the things he could buy with the money he would receive. It would be significant, which meant no more government salary. No more scraping by, dealing with the bureaucratic bull. He could retire to somewhere in the Caribbean, sipping mai tais and playing golf for the rest of his days.
I deserve it, he thought to himself as he got in his car and started the engine. Finally, Eric Jennings was going to get what he had coming to him.
Chapter 59
Southeastern Ecuador
Hunter had driven to a spot about thirty minutes outside of the city. There, he’d turned off the main road in favor of an old dirt one that led through a field to a grove of trees at the foot of a hill.
Once he reached the patchwork forest, he stopped and ordered both of his passengers to get out of the car slowly. He still held the gun firmly in his hand, making sure the two men were aware that he had not wavered since exiting the city.
The rain had subsided on the drive out, and now a cool breeze rolled across the meadow and through the treetops nearby.
After he made his way around the front of the vehicle, Hunter held out the wooden cylinder toward Schultz. “Open it,” he ordered, pointing the gun at Tommy’s chest.
He hesitated for a moment then reached out and took the object. Instead of obeying, he scanned the outside for a moment, again taking a look at the inscription that had been burned into the cap. Then, carefully, he raised the tube to his ear and tilted it back and forth slowly.
“What are you doing?” Hunter asked, shaking the weapon in Tommy’s direction.
Schultz gave him an indignant expression. “You don’t do a lot of this sort of thing, do you?” he asked, sarcasm lathering the question. “Sometimes these have a separate glass filament on the inside. Within that inner cylinder is acid and if opened incorrectly would destroy any paper contents immediately.”
Hunter frowned at this new information and lowered his weapon slightly.
“Fortunately,” Tommy continued as he lowered the container back to his waist, “this isn’t one of those.”
“How do you know?” Carlson looked skeptical.
Schultz sighed, obviously annoyed. “Because if it were one of those, I could hear the liquid sloshing around on the inside. And typically, those types of cylinders have a sort of combination lock to them. They’re called codices. This one,” he held up the container, “has nothing like that.” Satisfied he’d convinced Hunter it would be all right to proceed, Tommy squeezed the cap of the wooden object and started pulling and twisting.
Hunter tensed up for a second, not sure what was going to happen.
The lid popped off, sealed by a cork on the underside. Tommy peered in as Will watched with high interest.
Carlson observed carefully as Tommy turned the container upside down and a small scroll slid out. “What is it?” Carlson asked.
Tommy was already unrolling the tiny scroll very slowly. “It’s vellum,” he said as he continued to work with the old piece. “Made from an animal skin. Whoever created this piece knew that it would stand a better chance against the elements and time than ordinary paper.” He turned toward the car and laid the scroll out flat on the hood. It had been dry for fifteen minutes, so he doubted it would hurt.
Carlson stepped close to get a better look and held up a small key ring flashlight. The LED bulb illuminated the old writing surface, revealing a dull shine. What they saw was a very simple, crude drawing. There was a squiggly line that went from the top right of the writing surface to a point where it forked into two similar lines. At the point of the fork was a darkened circle. “What is that?” Hunter asked and pointed at the dot.
Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s no other information.” He picked up the map and turned it over, hoping to find another clue as to where they were supposed to go, but there was nothing. Not even a hint as to who had drawn up the old piece.
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br /> Carlson stepped away from the vehicle. “Is this some kind of joke? There has to be more to it than just this.”
Tommy stared at the stranger. He had a tired and frustrated look in his eyes.
It was late, and they were all tired. Maybe Tommy could use that to buy some time. “Look, it’s late. We’re exhausted. Let’s hole up somewhere and get some rest, and maybe we can figure this out in the morning.” He tried not to sound like he was begging, but he had the feeling the man with the gun wasn’t buying it.
“You think I’m stupid?” Carlson answered. “Yeah, let’s all just take a nap, and when I wake up you two will still be here.”
Will interrupted. “There’s rope in the back of the truck. Tie us up if you want.”
Tommy nodded in agreement. “Tomorrow morning we can drive to the next town and ask around about this drawing, see if it turns up any leads.”
To Hunter, their idea was starting to make a little sense. He was tired, and they weren’t going to make any progress at this late an hour. He could tie them to a tree in the grove nearby, and in the morning maybe he could find someone who could tell him the location of the circle on the map. “OK,” he said after a few more moments of thought. “Get the rope out of the back. I don’t have to remind you of what will happen if you try anything. And I am a very light sleeper.” Part of him considered killing Will and dumping him on the side of the road. No one would know, and he only needed Tommy. Hunter had learned, though, one could never have too much insurance. At the moment, he felt like he had all the poker chips at the table.
Adriana ran into the hotel after parking her motorcycle at the side of the building. She flashed by the concierge and up to the second floor room where she knew Sean would be.
Catching her breath for a second, she knocked on the door. She heard Sean tell her to come in from the other side.
Sean looked up as she entered the room. Her dark hair was tousled. In the black leather jacket and tight, black pants she was quite the vision. His mind, though, could only think about his friend. The bond he and Tommy had was brotherly. They’d known each other a long time. And they took care of each other. Tommy had offered Sean a way out of the Justice Department. And he’d had always tried to protect his friend from unsavory characters. In the last three weeks he’d failed twice.
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