David Golemon - Legend

"What in God's name is Farbeaux up to?" Niles asked, not wanting to comment on the lost opportunity.

Jack just sat there and shook his head. "You can bet your retirement pay it's not good, Niles."

Farbeaux was feeling the jet lag. He sat and listened to the tirade of Joaquin Delacruz Mendez, chairman of the board, Banco de Juarez International Economica, as Mendez paced in front of him. The spacious boardroom was empty save for the two men.

"What's done is done, my friend, screaming will not return the professor to us. She has five, almost six weeks on us but, regardless of that, if we move quickly we can reach the area in a quarter of that time. It's a very good thing we did not go down and chase after her with the documents we had in hand; we would have gone the long way around through Brazil instead of the direct route through Colombia to the north. I can't believe she went right under our noses, through your own country."

Mendez didn't respond to the slight insult of having Professor Zachary and all her team and equipment take a route that had brought them through his own nation, but he did force himself to calm down. His temper had climbed in the years that followed the collapse of the larger and most organized of the Colombian drug cartels. Cartels in which he had garnered an immense financial empire by handling the money end of their drug transactions. While those he served were tracked down and killed one at a time or thrown into prison, he had stayed safely behind the scenes, actually assisting in a few captures and ambushes on the government's behalf, for his self-benefit.

"What about your equipment?"

"I took the liberty a week ago of ordering replacements from the States when I found out the good professor double-crossed us. We can be ready to travel in three days. With the equipment that was left on the dock in San Pedro with her little note attached, we should be fine. I guarantee, an hour after we arrive on site, whatever Zachary has found will be in our possession."

"You are very confident for a man that was so easily fooled by this woman," Mendez said with a mocking smile that made his thick mustache look comical.

Farbeaux was tempted to tell him just how ridiculous he looked, and then thought better of it. As he looked around the richly appointed conference room at the antiquities he had personally collected for Mendez, he was reminded of just how ruthless this man could be.

"My estimation is that she could not have arrived on site any sooner than eleven days ago. Her interest lay in areas outside of the El Dorado aspect. So she will be making time-consuming exploration in areas outside of the mine, looking for her amphibious legend."

"You're sure of that?" Mendez asked as he thought of the riches that the legend of El Dorado described — the very gold mine that had supplied the great Incan and Mayan empires of the gold they had used for thousands of years.

"My friend, I have never let you down. All your treasures here and in your home are there thanks to me. Because you trusted me to get them for you, so trust me on this."

"In the past year I have been pleased with your work and the many objects of beauty and wonder you have recovered for our mutual benefit. I will stake my entire fortune for a chance at El Dorado. And then I will gladly trade that for the mineral, if it is truly there. That is where the real El Dorado lay."

Farbeaux thought about Mendez and his last statement. Yes, he was positive there was gold in that small valley and, according to Padilla's description of the mine, it had to be the legendary El Dorado. But unlike himself, gold didn't interest Mendez any longer. The Colombian was after something far darker and less shiny than gold. As the American's say, Mendez was after the gift that keeps on giving. And it had nothing to do with diamonds or gold.

"You are right, my friend, there has never been anything like this, all of this," Farbeaux said as he gestured at the priceless antiques of the Incan and Mayan civilizations, "is nothing compared to what awaits us."

Mendez paced to the large window looking down on Bogota, placed his hands behind his back, and rocked in thought.

"Very well, I approve of your expedition," he said without turning.

"Excellent, I will get started right away," Farbeaux responded.

"There is one thing more. I will be accompanying you."

The Frenchman was taken aback for a moment, but showed nothing. Then he smiled. "Either here or there, does it matter where you receive what's coming to you? Of course, you are most welcome."

As Farbeaux left, Mendez turned and watched the large double doors close in his wake. Then he went to the long table and pushed a button on the console in front of his large chair.

"Yes?" a voice answered.

"This is Mendez; I have approved the operation in South America," he said.

"What is it you wish me to do?" the voice asked.

"I want wire taps on this Professor Zachary's phone at Stanford, and I want her office watched. I am curious to know if her absence has caused curiosity from the outside."

"Yes, I can do that."

"Anything else?" Mendez asked.

" Si, jefe , it seems your French partner has recently made another large purchase of equipment not associated with the articles he told you about, which included ultrasound and other equipment stolen from a shipment belonging to Hanford National Laboratory. This fact and his failure to cover his tracks in Madrid make me believe he has his own agenda. Why this particular shipment should come from that field is suspicious, yes?"

"Enough so that we must keep a closer eye on our friend," Mendez answered thoughtfully as he broke the connection with Los Angeles.

Family law attorney Stan Stopher sat in his rented Chevy and made sure the address was correct. He glanced at the envelope and the name, and they matched with what was on the old neon sign out in front of the building. Stan opened the car door and stepped into the Las Vegas heat that hit him as if someone had just opened the door of a blast furnace. He walked back to the trunk, retrieved the aluminum box, then hesitated. This act of delivering the case was tantamount to admitting that he would possibly never see her again. He knew she was in trouble, but for the life of him couldn't figure out why she was sending the fossil to a pawnshop.

He closed the trunk, walked up to the door, and pushed down on the old thumb plate. The door easily opened. He didn't notice that the cameras placed in the doorway and three more across the street followed his every move. He felt the blessed air-conditioning strike him in his face, instantly cooling his sweaty brow. He set the case down and removed his sunglasses as his eyes adjusted to the brightly lit shop, then retrieved the case and followed a cramped aisle toward the back of the shop. Two young girls were going through the used CD collection, but other than them, the pawnshop was empty of customers. A large black man was seated behind the counter, reading a newspaper, both of his muscular arms resting on the glass. At least, to an untrained eye, he was reading. Stan was an observant man and he saw the black man's gaze take in his thin frame. Then the man closed the paper and looked up at him overtly. His left hand stayed on the glass countertop but his right disappeared.

"Hi, there," the black man said. "What have you got? I hope it's not vinyl LPs; can't get rid of 'em anymore," he said, indicating the aluminum case.

Stan placed the shiny box on the counter and smiled. "No, I would never sell my collection of phonograph records."

"Oh, then how can I help you?" the clerk asked. His right hand was still not in view.