Enemy Mine

by Kay Hooper

  Tyler drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, scowling faintly as she stared at him. “What’s your theory?”

  Kane matched her pose and answered amiably. “Obviously the man is after the cache. Also obviously, he doesn’t know where it is. Which is why he’s following us. As to why he shot at us the other day . . . Maybe to hurry us along?”

  “He isn’t shooting now,” she noted.

  “We have to rest sometime.”

  Tyler shifted her gaze to the fire as she frowned in thought. Then she looked back at Kane, her eyes intent. “He’s out there with a gun, and you aren’t worried about it. Why not?”

  She had been chewing on her lip again. Kane forced himself to be coherent. “I think I know who he is. If I’m right, it wouldn’t do either of us much good to worry about him.”

  After a moment Tyler’s mouth twisted and she said irritably, “Will you stop making me ask why every few seconds and just tell me what you know?”

  “You’re just so cute when you’re in a snit,” he explained solemnly.

  “Kane . . .”

  “Okay, okay. If I’m right—and that’s a pretty big if since I hardly got a good look at him—our shooter is Drew Haviland. And you should know his name.”

  She blinked. “I think—Damn! He’s a collector, isn’t he? But he goes after antiquities himself.”

  “He certainly does. And he’s beaten both of us more than once. Remember that jade necklace about eighteen months ago? He got it.”

  “I thought you did,” Tyler said, remembering her own disappointment at having missed both the necklace and Kane.

  “No. As near as I could figure, Haviland got to Shanghai about two hours before I did. I was a step behind him for about twelve hours, then lost his trail.”

  A bit ruefully, Tyler said, “The trail was cold by the time I got there. I just assumed you got the necklace because I knew you’d been there.” She sighed, then said, “So this time he’s planning to let us lead him to the cache.”

  “Seems likely.”

  “So what’re we going to do about it?”

  Kane dug the tin cups out of his pack and poured coffee, handing one cup to her. Sipping the dark, strong brew, he said slowly, “We won’t shake him off, that’s a given. We could—” He broke off suddenly, his big body going taut like an animal sensing imminent danger.

  “You could offer me coffee,” a new voice commented helpfully.

  Tyler heard herself gasp, and stared across the hollow as a patch of darkness moved in out of the rain and joined them.

  He was wearing an enveloping slicker and carrying a rifle. He was a handsome man about Kane’s age—mid-thirties—but where Kane was rugged Drew Haviland possessed the finely drawn yet hawklike good looks of an aristocrat. His vivid blue eyes were mild and perpetually amused, as if he found the world to be an excellent joke, and his voice was deep and calm. British by birth, American by inclination, he had no accent, but his voice carried the slight lilt of the cosmopolitan.

  Without a word Kane dug into the pack again, pulled out the ceramic mug and poured coffee into it. He handed it to Haviland as the other man hunkered down by the fire on his left. It was the visitor who spoke first after sipping the coffee, his gaze flickering from Kane’s expressionless face to Tyler’s startled one.

  “I thought it might be smarter if we teamed up,” he said.

  “Why?” Kane asked, his voice mildly curious.

  “You two left that lady bandit in a hell of a bad mood,” he told them. “She and her boys are a few hours behind us. They seem to know the area fairly well, so they may not have stopped for the night.”

  “I assume they’re armed,” Kane said politely.

  “Heavily. And not inclined to discuss the matter, I think. It might be best if we moved on pretty soon.”

  “No doubt,” Kane agreed.

  Tyler was getting a little annoyed by this civilized discussion. Staring at Haviland and ruthlessly changing the subject, she demanded, “What are you after?”

  Pleasantly Haviland replied, “The cache, of course. By the way, I have your backpack and rifle, Miss St. James; I left them outside, against the cliff. Sorry I caused you to lose them. That wasn’t what I’d intended.”

  “Why did you shoot at us?” Kane was still being polite.

  Haviland reached over casually to lean his rifle against the rock wall as an amused smile curved his mouth. “Curiosity, mostly,” he admitted in a dry voice. “I wanted to see if you two would team up. Your partnerships in the past have been interesting to observe.”

  “You could have killed us,” Tyler reminded him.

  Coolly he said, “No, I think not. I’m a very good shot. And though there was certainly some danger of one or both of you falling, I had complete faith in your uncanny survival instincts—to say nothing of your abilities.”

  Tyler stared at him speechlessly for a moment, vaguely aware of Kane’s low chuckle. “Rats in a maze,” she muttered angrily, disliking the idea of having been under observation.

  “I didn’t build the maze,” Haviland told her. “I just watch. During your past . . . encounters, I was only slightly interested in the antiquities you were after; it was much more enjoyable to tag along and try to guess what you’d do next. In case you weren’t aware of it, Miss St. James—”

  “Call her Tyler,” Kane grunted.

  Haviland nodded his thanks as if Tyler had given him permission herself. “Tyler, then. Ours is a relatively small community, and among those interested in acquiring antiquities the two of you have gained quite a reputation. Your . . . antics in trying to best each other are becoming legendary.”

  Tyler stared at him. “Mr. Haviland—”

  “Drew,” he insisted courteously.

  A laugh sputtered abruptly from Tyler as her sense of humor overcame anger. “This is ridiculous. This is a ridiculous situation. We’re rivals, all three of us, and neither of you seem to give a damn!”

  Haviland chuckled softly. “Not as bad as that, Tyler. You and Kane are after, I believe, a gold chalice. I was promised the other valuables in the cache. I’m the buyer Tomas had found.”

  “Then why aren’t you waiting in Panama?” Kane asked. “Is it us you don’t trust, or Tomas?”

  “I knew that whichever of you returned with the cache would keep your word to Tomas,” Haviland said. “But I also know that Tomas was very nervous and needed money badly because of gambling debts, so I decided to keep an eye on him. Only hours after the two of you were sent on your way, he was killed.”

  “Because of the cache?” Tyler asked quickly.

  “No. A senseless brawl in a bar. He was too quick to pull his knife—and not quick enough to use it.” Haviland shrugged. “So I set out after you two.”

  He could have been lying, but Tyler believed him. Like both herself and Kane, Drew Haviland had the reputation of being honest in his dealings with others in the small “community” of people interested in art objects and antiquities.

  “So you want the cache, but not the chalice?” she asked him intently.

  “I’d like the chalice, as well,” he said frankly with a faint smile. “But since you two want only that, I’ll settle for the rest. There are supposed to be several good bits of jewelry and at least two figurines that might be Egyptian. With any luck, at least a piece or two will lack rightful owners.”

  Tyler had heard that Haviland was more scrupulous than some collectors, choosing to return any traceable items to museums or universities in the countries that claimed them. Like Kane and her, he refused to participate in the worldwide black market of antiquities.

  In the beginning of her relationship with Robert Sayers, Tyler had twice refused to go after artifacts whose ownership was legally established; after that, he had always taken pains to assure her that whatever he wished her to find for him was legally “available” to a private collector. She never took his word for that, a fact that she made no secret of and he was ruefully amused by.
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  On giving her this particular assignment, Sayers had been, as Kane had described his own employer, almost stuttering with excitement. Tyler, restless because it had been a few months since her last task, had checked her sources at Interpol and various museums very quickly, and had found no mention of a gold chalice that had been stolen from its country of origin or otherwise wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Her Interpol contact had merely said, “If it’s part of the loot Hitler raided, Tyler, God knows if it belongs to anyone. Let me know.”

  And she would. She wanted to believe that Kane would also relinquish the chalice if it turned out that some country or family could rightly lay claim to it. She thought he would.

  Kane was digging in his pack again. “Well, I think we should have a quick meal and then get out of here. If Valonia wants my blood, she’s going to have to work for it.”

  Unable to stop herself, Tyler murmured, “It isn’t your blood she’s after.”

  “I know what she’s after,” Kane returned politely but with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “However, if she got close enough to use a knife, she’d get blood, as well. And I still say she’s going to have to work for it.”

  REUNITED WITH HER backpack and rifle, Tyler was able to change into dry clothing that belonged to her. The men politely turned their backs while she changed, and she silently turned hers while Kane, grumbling, got back into his damp jeans. She had a slicker tied to her pack, and Drew produced an extra one for Kane, who, for some unfathomable reason, never carried one himself despite his dislike of getting wet.

  “How’s the ankle?” Kane asked her.

  “No problem.”

  “That isn’t what I asked,” Kane said, staring at her. “You’d walk on it if it were broken. How is it?”

  She returned his stare, ignoring Drew. “Fine, Kane. There’s no swelling, and not even a twinge. Satisfied?”

  He wasn’t. With Drew an amused observer, Tyler irritably submitted to having her ankle thoroughly examined and then wrapped tightly in an elastic bandage which was, according to Kane, “Just to be on the safe side.”

  Within an hour they abandoned the hollow and continued on. Tyler walked between the two men, with Kane in the lead. They were climbing steadily through the rain and darkness, and the temperature dropped as they moved higher into the mountains. A bit ruefully, Tyler found herself grateful for the elastic binding her ankle; it had begun to throb dully not ten minutes after they moved out, and she knew the extra support was needed.

  Kane was always right. It was annoying as hell.

  They moved in silence, with only an occasional comment or direction such as, “Watch that branch,” or “Careful, the rock’s slippery here.” Most of the comments were from Kane.

  Dawn found them well into the mountains. The rain had finally stopped, leaving a cool mist behind it, and they encountered fewer obstructions as the forest thinned out. All three of them were experienced hikers and were blessed with the strong endurance that came from active lives, so their pace was steady. They halted once, briefly, for a quick breakfast, but didn’t linger.

  By 10:00 A.M. Kane was moving more slowly, his keen eyes picking out landmarks as he began searching for the cave where Tomas had promised the cache to be. Their position was about a hundred miles southwest of Bogotá.

  Tyler almost bumped into Kane when he stopped suddenly. She sidestepped to peer around him, and instantly recognized the area from Tomas’s description. They were standing on the edge of a narrow, inhospitable valley, the floor of which was thickly covered with tangled shrubs that had crept partway up the steep slopes. Kane double-checked his compass, sighting across the valley to a high peak recognizable for its odd shape, then looked at the others and nodded.

  “This is it. The cave should be on the north slope, low down with the entrance hidden behind a boulder.”

  Tyler studied the north slope intently, then shook her head. “All I can see are bushes.” With a sleepless night and hours of hard travel behind them, she was tired, but she also knew that she would press on as long as necessary. Still, an unconscious sigh escaped her as she eased the straps of her backpack and flexed her shoulders.

  Kane looked at her steadily. “All right?”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  She was aware of Drew behind her as they moved cautiously down into the valley, but most of her attention was focused on Kane. He shouldered his way through the chest-high tangle of shrubs, making a path for the two behind him, moving steadily. They had all removed their slickers once the rain stopped because the gleaming black garments had made them too visible, and she fixed her gaze on Kane’s khaki backpack and shining black hair.

  To her surprise and vague uneasiness, she felt little excitement about being so near the chalice. Granted, they didn’t have it in their hands yet and, granted, there was still a long way to go before they were safely out of Colombia, and quite a trip after that back to England. But she didn’t think that was why she felt this way. She felt . . . suspended, a part of her detached and waiting, another part disturbed and uncertain.

  But not here. And not now.

  That was it. Kane wanted her, and if she knew anything at all about him it was that he was a fighter. What he wanted, he went after with all the strength and will in his big, hard body and tough mind. The very thought of that kind of fight between them made her legs feel wobbly.

  “Watch it.” Drew caught her arm firmly from behind as she stumbled.

  “Thanks.” She didn’t look back at him, afraid of giving her thoughts away even to a stranger. This was absolutely ridiculous, she told herself fiercely. Bandits bent on murder or something worse behind them, harsh terrain all around them, a hideous trip ahead of them, her very life in danger, and she was worried about being seduced.

  She told herself to stop worrying about ridiculous things. Five minutes later, she told herself again.

  It wasn’t working.

  NEARLY AN HOUR passed before they were able to reach the north slope of the valley. The cave entrance itself was easy to find once they fought their way through the bushes. What Tomas had called a “rock” guarding the opening was actually a slab of granite that might have fallen from above hundreds or thousands of years before and now leaned back against the outcropping at the base of the slope. It was possible to enter the cave from only one side of the slab, where a space about three feet wide and six feet high was provided by the slant of the granite.

  “No wonder this place stayed hidden so long,” Tyler ventured, studying the granite door and the profuse greenery that made even it invisible from any distance.

  “A nice hiding place,” Drew agreed. “If Tomas hadn’t stumbled onto it, God knows when it would have been found.”

  Kane tossed a stone into the cave, and they all listened for a few moments to make certain no animal inhabitants would be waiting inside to greet them. They shrugged off backpacks and each produced a flashlight, then Kane led the way inside.

  The cave was surprisingly dry, the humidity decreasing as they moved away from the entrance. The shaft slanted upward into the hillside, but it was a gradual rise, and they had plenty of room to stand upright since the ceiling remained consistently several feet above even Kane’s head. The floor was dry and sandy underfoot, and there was no indication that there had ever been a cave-in.

  She wasn’t claustrophobic, but Tyler was no more fond of dark caves than she was of heights. Gripping her flashlight a bit more tightly, she asked, “Didn’t Tomas say this shaft was about sixty feet deep? We’ve gone that far already.”

  Kane shone his flashlight in a wide are before them as he walked steadily forward, and responded to her over one shoulder. “Not much more than that. I think—There.”

  Three more steps brought them to the back of the cave, and they shone their lights on a jumble of boulders among which an iron box sat with the firm air of having been there awhile. It was about two feet square and a foot deep, and there was a heavy hasp closure; about a foot awa
y from the box lay a battered, rusted padlock half buried in the sand.

  “Let’s get it outside,” Kane said calmly.

  Tyler remained silent while the men each grasped a handle on the side of the box and lifted it, then followed them back toward the cave entrance. She had felt the first real jolt of excitement upon seeing the box, and even though her common sense warned that there could still be disappointment in store for them, she didn’t listen to it. That particular caution wasn’t very strong, because Tyler was coping with an unfamiliar and disquieting sensation in addition to her excitement.

  There was still the trip out of Colombia, still the journey back to England, but if the box contained the chalice then there would be nothing left for her and Kane except to decide which of their employers would get it. It wasn’t a decision she looked forward to, but even less did she anticipate a return to London. Because then they’d part again.

  They reached the cave entrance before she could explore that unnerving realization, and Tyler was grateful for the small mercy. She joined the two men in kneeling beside the box, and it was she who flipped up the hasp and lifted the heavy lid.

  Tomas hadn’t lied to them. Inside the iron box were a number of bundles wrapped thickly in burlap. Tyler unwrapped them one by one, revealing two necklaces of sapphire and ruby, a diamond-encrusted gold bangle, several intricate gold chains, three golden figurines—two of which were obviously Egyptian with the third possibly Spanish—and a chalice.

  Drew examined the other artifacts one by one, but Tyler and Kane had eyes only for the chalice. It was about ten inches high from its heavy pedestal base to the lip of the cup, and wrought of solid gold. The metal had been crafted with exquisite skill and astonishing delicacy, and gleamed dully. It had obviously been handled a great deal over its life, because the warrior-figures worked so skillfully around the bowl of the cup no longer stood out in stark relief as they must once have done, as if many hands and polishing cloths had gradually worn them almost smooth. The chalice had no handles, and was very heavy.

  Tyler knew the moment her hands touched the cool gold that this cup was many centuries old. She didn’t recognize the style of the figures, although her instincts said they were Persian; she could barely discern at least two chariot-borne warriors, and the methods used to form those figures held a curious mixture of Greek and Egyptian styles.