Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“Maribela, why don’t you take Reginald down to see the emerald while I sort out this unpleasantness?”

“Very well, Janus. Reginald?” Maribela said.

Antonio stared at her, confused, and then he shook his head and cursed in Spanish. “No. Why on earth …?”

Maribela shrugged. “Shut up, Antonio. This is for the best. We have the photographs. The actual emerald isn’t going to do us any good — it’s not like we’re going to get a bonus for locating it. You yourself said that the treasure of the Toltecs was their history. We’ll still have that.”

Sam shook his head. “What kind of woman are you? Men died because of … what, greed? How much is he paying you? How much does it cost to betray everything you’ve worked for? I’m curious.”

Janus waved his statement off. “That’s none of your concern. Though I can’t deny that the lovely Maribela will be handsomely rewarded for her efforts. Now, go. We don’t have much time.”

Antonio looked devastated. “Maribela …”

“Let it go, Antonio. Trust me on this. In a week, we’ll be able to fund our own explorations and not have to beg for coins from the government. You may be fine living like this but I’m not,” Maribela said scornfully, and then pointed to the opening in the floor. “Come on, Reginald. I’ll show you the way.”

“Wait. I am going with you,” Guerrero snarled in heavily accented English.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Janus said. “You’re rather more in need up here, I should think.”

“I am going,” Guerrero insisted, eyeing Reginald distrustfully.

“Ah, well, then, I see. But who will take care of this lot in your absence?” Janus asked, his civilized demeanor cracking, if only momentarily.

Guerrero walked over to where he’d kicked the guard’s Beretta pistol and scooped it up, then handed it to Janus, who held it like it was a live snake.

“You can. I’ll be back. When I am, I’ll finish the job for you,” Guerrero said with an ugly smirk. He called outside and a gunman holding an assault rifle filled the temple doorway. “Come in and watch these two,” he ordered in Spanish. The gunman moved inside.

Guerrero turned to Maribela and switched to English. “Lead the way. Your boyfriend’s right about one thing — we need to hurry. It won’t be long before the security force from the plant gets here, and we don’t want to have to shoot it out with a squad of soldiers.”

Maribela stepped down into the gap. Reginald descended the stairs behind her, his pistol in his belt, a look of false bravado on his face as his eyes nervously tracked the tunnel ceiling.

“Don’t worry. It’s held up for a thousand years. It should be safe for five more minutes,” Maribela said.

“I’m not worried. I just don’t much care for confined spaces,” he said, his voice cracking on the final words.

“Many people don’t.”

They made their way to the cave, where the work light was still illuminated, and approached the emerald.

“Bloody hell. That’s bigger than I thought it would be. Massive, isn’t it?” Reginald said in awe.

Maribela nodded, her gaze locked on the stone. Reginald stepped closer to it.

“The Eye of Heaven. It’s magnificent. Truly breathtaking,” he whispered, avarice and cunning in his eyes as he took in the priceless jewel.

“It is. There’s no telling how much a collector will pay. Many millions. Perhaps hundreds of millions,” she said, calculating her likely cut.

Reginald drew his pistol and turned to Maribela. “You really are a greedy bitch, aren’t you?”

Shock and fear played across her face. “No. I’ve … I’ve done everything you asked.”

“Which makes you stupid, in addition to greedy.”

She shook her head, panicked. “Your brother gave me his word …”

“Yes, well, I didn’t. I’ll take care of Janus. He’ll see the light when he’s saved the twenty percent he was going to pay you.”

The 9mm parabellum round struck Maribela in the center of the forehead. Her body stiffened and she collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. The sharp crack of the pistol reverberated in the stone chamber like a bomb detonating. Reginald slipped the weapon back into his belt and returned to the emerald. Guerrero grinned and clapped Reginald on the shoulder as they eyed the priceless jewel.

“So, cabrón , you like your money as much as I do, eh? Good. More for us!”

In the temple, the cartel gunman’s eyes never left the Fargos, his finger on the trigger of his Kalashnikov rifle, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Janus held the Beretta on Antonio, distaste evident in his expression at having had to sully his hands with the vulgar task.

The deafening sound of Reginald’s shot exploded from the stairwell, and then time seemed to compress and move in slow motion. The gunman instinctively turned to face the noise, if only for a moment — but long enough for Sam to pull his knife from his pants pocket and flip it open in a single move and fling it at the man’s throat. It plunged into his neck, the three-and-a-half-inch razor-sharp blade slicing through his trachea. His finger reflexively jerked the trigger of the assault rifle, sending a volley of rounds into the skeletons. Ricochets whistled and whined in the space. Sam threw himself at the killer as he fell backward across the entryway threshold, where bullets from his murderous colleagues outside peppered his dead form.

Janus tried to aim the Beretta at Sam but Remi’s booted foot connected with his wrist, sending the weapon spinning to the ground. He lunged for it, but Remi was a split second faster and he was almost on the gun when she grabbed it and slammed the butt into his temple. His eyes went out of focus and he slumped to the ground as Sam got hold of the cartel gunman’s rifle.

Sam dove for the work light and switched it off, plunging the temple into darkness. More shots rang out from the exterior of the building, but Sam held his fire as he waited for his eyes to adjust. He knew that without the light to target him and the others inside, the gunmen would be firing blind at the entry — a slim advantage but the only one he had.

“Antonio. I’m betting the gunman had a pistol. You ever use one?” Sam asked.

“I’ll figure it out.”

Guerrero’s voice echoed from the stairs. “Jaime! What’s going on up there?”

Remi crept to Sam’s side and murmured, “I’ll take them. You take the shooters outside.”

Sam quickly sized up the situation and nodded. “Deal.”

He saw movement in the dim exterior moonlight and sighted down the barrel of the rifle, then squeezed off three shots. Sam heard a grunt outside and crept forward to where the gunman’s corpse lay on the step. More shots sounded from outside and thumped into the body. Sam gritted his teeth and ignored the fire, focused on reaching the man and checking his pockets. He reached the entry and groped with his free hand, the rifle pointed into the night as he felt for the telltale shape of a thirty-round magazine or a pistol. He found a revolver in the man’s belt and pulled it loose, then slid it across the stone floor to Antonio.

Sam heard a rustle from the brush to the left of the temple and emptied the rifle into it. His fingers felt two magazines in one of the windbreaker pockets. He tore them free and rolled away as a hail of bullets blasted overhead. Sam ejected the spent magazine and slapped a new one in place and then chambered a round and squeezed off measured bursts at the killers outside.

Remi waited soundlessly near the stairwell opening, ears straining for any sound, the high ring from the gunfire dampening her hearing. Antonio crawled to her side and whispered, “What should I do?”

“Shoot down the stairs when I do.”