The sergeant opened his mouth to speak, a look of reproach on his face, when his cap blew off along with half his skull. The corporal took a second to register what had happened—the final second in his short life as a tiny red dot danced over his sternum and then two rounds slammed into his chest. The private he’d been telling his story to was swinging his weapon up to fire at the invisible assailants when a slug tore through his throat and he collapsed in a heap, his dying breath gurgling as he shuddered, his rifle now lying uselessly by his feet.
From the surrounding field, eight men clad in black moved toward the site, their passage stealthy and practiced. Three more soldiers succumbed to the puffs of the sound-suppressed 9mm pistols, their subsonic ammo making them as quiet as air guns, and then a cry went up from one of the remaining soldiers when he spotted the huddled body of one of his squad near the edge of the field. The leader of the attacking group murmured into his earbud and all eight of the black-clad figures opened fire on the remaining soldiers, making short work of them.
The battle was over before it began; the soldiers had been mown down without getting off a shot. The leader of the intruders rose from his crouched position and moved through the carnage, stopping occasionally to fire into one of the moaning wounded. When he was sure the area was secure, he fished a cell phone from his black windbreaker pocket and pushed one of the speed dial buttons.
Two minutes later, three large vehicles approached—SUVs running with their lights off. The lead truck pulled to the edge of the site and all four doors opened. Guerrero stepped out and waited for Reginald, who was only a moment behind him.
“It’s done. But we should hurry. I have no idea if they have to radio in to the base on a regular schedule or what their protocol is,” Guerrero said, eyeing the corpses, his expression calm—the sight of dead Mexican soldiers an everyday part of his business.
Reginald nodded. “Have the men bring the holdalls. We’ll want the gold, of course, but also any icons or ceramics. There’s a thriving market for those if you have the right contacts.”
“Which, of course, you do.” Guerrero grinned, and a stray moonbeam glinted off a gold-capped incisor, lending him a demonic cast in the gloom.
“Rather makes me the ideal partner, doesn’t it? This could be worth a fortune.”
“Then let’s go see what we got, eh? Lead the way,” the cartel chief said.
Reginald picked his way around the bodies to the ramp that had been excavated for easier access to the tomb. Inside, he flicked on his portable lamp, as did Guerrero, and soon the other men had joined them. Four remained above to ensure their looting wasn’t interrupted. Reginald entered the crypt and knelt by one of the three mounds. He carefully lifted a gold figure and hefted it with a grunt and then wrapped it carefully in a towel before sliding it into his bag.
“There isn’t as much as I’d hoped, but this alone weighs at least two kilos. No question this will be a profitable night. Let’s take everything—this will hardly fill four or five bags, so there’ll be more than enough room. But remember what I said: careful with everything and don’t just throw things into the bags. Wrap each item completely. We’ll take inventory once we’re well away from here.”
The men went to work. One dug out the priceless artifacts and his partners wrapped and stowed the goods. The vault was cleared out within twenty minutes. Reginald stared at the mummy before glancing at his watch.
“That’s it. Our business here is concluded,” he said, taking a last sweep of the crypt to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. Satisfied, he joined Guerrero, who extended a hand in an offer to carry Reginald’s bag.
“What do you think?” Guerrero asked as he took the heavy sack’s handles from Reginald.
“No way to tell at this point, but I’d guess millions. How many is really determined by the market and how long we need to let the inventory cool down before offering it to a few discriminating collectors.”
“Why don’t we just melt the gold and convert into cash immediately?”
Reginald shook his head as if appalled by the notion. “Good heavens no, old boy. The value in those icons is in their history, not the weight of the gold. They’re likely worth a thousand times more than the raw value of the metal.”
Guerrero gave Reginald a skeptical look. “Remember the deal: fifty-fifty. No tricks or there isn’t a corner of the planet remote enough to hide in.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Reginald said, doing his best to sound every bit the honest upper-crust Brit to this pretentious savage. Of course, no matter what the trove brought, he would ensure that at least seventy percent stuck to Janus and him. The cartel thug would have no way of knowing the actual terms of each sale, and, if necessary, Reginald was confident that he could do side deals for secret payments over and above what was wired to his account.
He couldn’t wait to see Janus’s expression when he appeared with the treasure. While his older sibling slept, Reginald had taken the initiative and made them a small fortune. It had occurred to him to cut Janus out altogether, but the truth was that he needed his brother’s expertise to value each piece, as well as needing his network. Perhaps in another five years he would know all the players, but for now Janus ruled that roost whether it rankled Reginald’s pride or not.
With any luck, they would be safely back in Mexico City by the time roadblocks barred the surrounding roads and vehicles were searched in a manhunt that would be too little, too late.
Reginald could only imagine how the Fargos would react when they discovered their thunder had been stolen, that their big find would be remembered as an unmitigated disaster.
A wolf’s grin flashed across his face as he envisioned their expressions.
Payback time.
Lazlo was waiting in the clinic lobby when Sam and Remi’s taxi pulled up outside the imposing building the next morning. He practically ran from the doorway when Sam got out of the car and waved and within minutes the three of them were comfortably ensconced in a booth at a nearby restaurant.
After they’d ordered breakfast, the discussion turned to the tomb.
Lazlo took a sip of his black coffee. “I want to take my time going over the location today. I’m afraid that your Mexican colleagues are a little too quick to declare victory, for my liking.”
“They just aren’t as naturally suspicious as you are,” Sam said.
“Years of poor behavior and cynicism mold one, in that regard,” Lazlo agreed.
Sam’s cell trilled as their meals were delivered. He glanced at the number, puzzled, and answered it as Remi and Lazlo dug into their eggs. After a hushed discussion, he hung up and placed the phone on the table next to his plate, the blood drained from his face.
“Sam. What’s wrong?” Remi asked.
“It’s the site. It’s been attacked. Everyone killed, the treasure gone.”
“How is that possible?” Lazlo asked incredulously.
“Late last night. Someone murdered the soldiers and raided the crypt. All the artifacts . . . everything gone.”
“How many soldiers were there?” Lazlo asked.
“A dozen. That was Antonio on the phone. He’s absolutely devastated, as you might imagine.” Sam went on to fill them in on what Antonio had relayed. When he was finished, they stared at each other in stunned silence, the reality of the attack taking a while to settle in.
“So there’s nothing left?” Remi finally asked.
“At least they didn’t take the mummy.”
“Who even knew about the find? Had it been reported?” Lazlo asked.
Remi shook her head. “No. But, obviously, somebody talked. Could have been one of the laborers or one of the students or even one of the soldiers. Way too many fingers in the pie.”
“Antonio says that the place is crawling with Federales and TV crews. He said we were welcome to come up but to wait till the end of the day so the cops can do their thing.”
“This is unbelievable. We’re only rock-throwing d
istance from Mexico City . . .” Remi said, her thoughts a blur.
“Are there any theories on who perpetrated it?” Lazlo asked.
“A criminal gang. Cartels. Take your pick. But whoever it was had to be very, very good. Nobody heard anything until the day shift showed up at seven. Which means the attackers killed a dozen heavily armed soldiers in silence. None of the soldiers had even fired their weapons. It had to be almost instant.”
“Like SAS. Commandos. Nigh on impossible, I’d have thought.”
“They’re taking tire impressions, but Antonio didn’t sound positive. Something tells me that the Federales aren’t TV-style CSI.”
“No, I wouldn’t expect so,” Remi agreed.
Sam’s shoulders sagged. “I’ve pretty much lost my appetite.”
Remi pushed her plate away. “Me too.”
Lazlo continued plowing through his food as Remi sipped her coffee. After a final forkful of omelet, he sat back and gazed through the picture window at the traffic on the street outside.
“You know, one of the things I was studying last night was accounts of these sorts of tombs. For all intents and purposes, if you’re going to hide something, you should keep it a secret. But even so, secrets can leak. So if you have a treasure that’s unlike anything anyone’s ever seen before and it’s buried with your glorious leader . . . what would you do?”
“I give up.”
“Well, in a few instances, there’s been a decoy tomb. The one that makes everyone stop looking because they think they found it. Typically, with adequate riches to satisfy everyone that it’s the real thing. Ingenious buggers, some of them were.”
“You think this could be . . . a head fake?”
“Anything’s possible, isn’t it? It’s just an observation—based on what you were expecting and what you found.”
“You’ve seen the photos. Does this strike you as a treasure fit for a king? Even by Toltec standards?”
“Not really. I think that’s rather my point . . . and yours.”
“But if it’s not the real tomb, then why memorialize it in the carvings?”
“That’s what’s got me thinking. Perhaps the location’s correct, but the crypt we discovered . . . was designed to be discovered so that any hunt for it would end there.” Lazlo sighed. “Which, you have to admit, it effectively did.”
Remi considered the idea and looked at Sam. “Didn’t I tell you that Lazlo is a genius?”
“Well, the jury is still out, but still . . .” Sam replied, smiling.
“No, seriously.”
“Interesting, and it does make a certain sense. But, frankly, the Mexican government probably isn’t going to be thrilled with us digging randomly in the hopes that maybe that hunch is valid. We have nothing to go on,” Sam said.
“But there has to be a way.”
“I didn’t say there wasn’t. Just that they won’t let us excavate in a proven historical find just for giggles.”
Remi studied his expression. “But you have an idea, don’t you?”
“I do. One of the things Antonio told me on the call was that the sonar finally showed up, albeit too late to do us any good. Only, I’m thinking maybe it’s not too late after all.”
Sam paid for breakfast and they stepped out onto the street. Remi waved at a cab and waited as it pulled to the curb, traffic surging past it.
“Does this mean that our glorious stay at the St. Regis is over? Back to the Teotihuacan motel?” Remi asked.
“Only if you want to give this one more go.”
“Of course I do. Lazlo’s instinct is the same as mine on this one. We may have discovered the only chamber and it’s just a wildly exaggerated tale or we fell for a tricky Toltec ruse.”
“Human nature hasn’t really changed in a thousand years, has it? Anyone normal would have found this, seen some treasure and a body, and called it a day,” Lazlo agreed.
Sam held the rear door open and slid in next to her while Lazlo climbed into the passenger seat.
“But we’re not normal, are we?” she said.
Sam smiled. “Thank goodness, no. We’d be bored to death.”
LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA
Kendra leaned back in her chair, another long day of research concluded, and sneaked a glance at Pete, who was shutting down his computer. Wendy had taken off a half hour earlier, leaving the two of them to their devices as they worked on their latest assignment.
“Any luck?” Pete asked as he stood, a two-day dusting of stubble on his face. He brushed a boyish lock of hair off his forehead and smiled at Kendra, who shook her head.
“No, but we weren’t really expecting any miracles. This is going to take a long time. Nothing’s jumping out at me,” she said.
“That’s why they call it a job, right?”
“Beats flipping burgers.”
Pete approached her desk. “Are you speaking from experience or in a hypothetical burger-flipping way?”
Kendra batted her eyes. “I’m not going to give up all my secrets so easily. A girl’s got to have her mysteries . . .”
Pete seemed suddenly uneasy and shifted from foot to foot before clearing his throat. Kendra raised one eyebrow, waiting for his next utterance.
“You have any plans for tonight?”
“I was going to get another tattoo. Why?”
That threw him, but he continued now that he’d begun his pitch. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about heading into Old Town and grabbing a beer at a new microbrewery that opened up. I read about it online. It’s supposed to have awesome pizza.”
“I don’t eat carbs or dairy or drink alcohol,” Kendra said and then offered a grin. “I’ve always wondered what I would sound like saying that. I’ve heard it so many times it makes my head want to explode. Now I know.” Pete looked confused and Kendra sighed. “It’s a little humor, Pete. I love pizza and beer. What red-blooded American girl could resist an offer like that?”
“So no tattoo?” he asked, relieved and happy she’d accepted his invitation.
“Depends on how many beers I have. You buying?”
“First round’s on me.”
She clicked her mouse on an icon and shut down her computer, then stood and slid the shoulder strap of her slim purse over her head. “There. I travel light. Two cars or one?”
“That’s up to you. I don’t mind dropping you off later if you only want to take one.”
“Sounds like a deal. Lead the way. I’m actually starving—I kind of forgot to eat lunch today.”
“I thought I was the only one who did that around here.”
“Like minds think alike.”
As they walked to the door Kendra held up a finger and mouthed the name “Selma,” and then she moved across the darkened floor to Selma’s door. Seeing light beneath it, she rapped lightly on the heavy wood. Zoltán let out a protective bark from inside and then Selma cracked the door open and smiled when she saw Kendra.
“I’m just heading out of here, Selma,” Kendra explained. “Do you need me to get you anything in the morning on my way in?”
Selma shook her head. “No, darling, thank you. I’m fine. Have a good night. And remember to set the alarm when you leave.”
“I will. Are you managing any better?”
“Isn’t there an expression? ‘That which does not kill us . . .’”
“Nietzsche had a way with words, didn’t he?” Kendra said with a smile.
“He did indeed. You take care of yourself,” Selma said, then spotted movement in the shadows. “Oh, Pete. You still here?”
“Yes, Selma. I was just walking Kendra out.”
Selma gave Kendra a knowing glance before her face assumed its customary neutral expression. “That’s very chivalrous of you. All right, then, it’s time for this old lady to hit the sack. You kids have a nice time.”
Kendra leaned forward and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “Take care and sleep well.”
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
Janus
Benedict fought to control the simmering rage that was threatening to explode as he watched Reginald’s smug face describe his nocturnal tomb raid. Reginald was high on more than adrenaline, Janus thought, as well as excited at having made off with the treasure under Sam’s and Remi’s noses.
Reginald’s self-preservation instinct kicked in toward the latter part of his account as he registered the flat look in Janus’s eyes—a look he knew well, even if he didn’t understand why his brother wasn’t happy at the news.
When he finished, Janus stared at the ornate ceiling of the Mexico City villa he’d rented for the week, lost in thought.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Reginald demanded. “We got the treasure.”
“Quite. But let’s expand on that a little. You orchestrated and participated in a night attack on a historical location with members of the Los Zetas cartel and slaughtered a dozen soldiers in the process?”
“Yes, I told you. But we got away clean.”
“‘Got away clean.’ You murdered a dozen men and have made yourself and me part of it.”
“Part of what? We have the treasure.”
“Ah. The treasure. Which is hardly the stuff of which dreams are made, looking over your photos. And where is it, pray tell?”
“I told you. Weren’t you listening to anything I said? Guerrero has it in a safe house.”
Janus stood and moved to a window to gaze out at the park. When he turned, his face was impassive. “You don’t have any idea what you’ve done, do you?”
“Well, actually, I do rather know what I did. I got the bloody treasure, didn’t I?”
“No, what you did was partner with the most vicious bunch of lowlife murderers on the planet in a bloodbath that will have the Mexican government scouring the Earth for those artifacts for years to come. So you’ve not only ruined any ability to market the goods, but you’ve made me a bedfellow with killers who would just as soon cut your heart out as eat breakfast. Instead of being a disinterested vendor who supplies these animals with what they require on the arms side, you’ve made me a partner with them. Oh, and if any of these thugs ever gets into hot water and wishes to barter information, they now have something they can exchange—not only about their chief but also about you and, by association, me.”