Clive Cussler: The Eye of Heaven

“Drop it or I blow his head off,” Reginald said.

“Shoot him. He killed Maribela,” Antonio hissed.

Reginald shook his head. “It wasn’t me. It was Guerrero,” he lied.

Antonio tried to struggle free. “Shoot him.”

“Give me one reason not to, Reginald,” Remi said, taking another step into the chamber.

“I’ll kill him. I swear I will.”

Another step. “And why should I care? I drop my gun, you’ll just shoot me.”

“This has all gone wrong. I just want to get out of this alive. Don’t make me kill him.” Reginald paused, then shouted at Remi, “You have five seconds and then you’ll be wearing his brains!”

Remi lowered her weapon. “Easy, Reginald. I believe you. If you shoot us, Sam will cut you down when you try to come up the stairs. You’ll be deader than Elvis before you make it three feet.” She saw a flicker in his eyes.

“Shut up and drop the gun.”

“Shoot him now,” Antonio pleaded.

“I’m putting the gun down.” Remi slowly knelt, her eyes never leaving Reginald’s. She saw the moment of triumph she’d been waiting for when she set the gun on the stone floor and began straightening up.

Reginald moved his gun from Antonio’s head to point at Remi as he sneered in victory. “You stupid cow—”

He never saw her other hand slip behind her and grip Guerrero’s gun, all his attention focusing on her eyes and the hand that was placing the Beretta on the floor.

Her left-handed shot caught Reginald high in the shoulder, inches from Antonio’s chest. He spun from the force of the shot shattering his scapula as Antonio threw himself on Reginald and started to beat him with angered fury at the death of his sister. Reginald’s pistol dropped on the floor and Remi raced toward it as Antonio and he fell together. She kicked it out of reach as Sam’s voice called out from the entryway.

“Remi. You’re okay!”

“Of course I am, Fargo.”

Sam handed his rifle to Lazlo, who was leaning shakily against the passage wall, and moved to break up the fight. By the time he reached Antonio, he’d stopped battering Reginald, a glazed look in his eyes as he gripped the younger man’s shirt.

Reginald’s head slumped forward as he lost consciousness. Sam eyed Reginald and nodded at Antonio. “Doesn’t look like he’ll be a problem anytime soon. How about you?”

“He killed my sister,” Antonio seethed.

“I’m sorry, Antonio. I really am,” Sam said. “But you need to let the authorities deal with him.”

Antonio gazed down at Reginald’s battered face as if coming out of a trance and released him. He stood slowly, looking at his swelling knuckles as if considering finishing the job on Reginald.

Sam stepped forward. “This isn’t the way,” he said. “I need you focused if we’re going to survive until help arrives. Pull yourself together.”

“I’m just shaken,” Antonio replied, slowly calming down. “What about the cartel gunmen?”

“I heard two heavy vehicles arriving. If I were them, I’d be long gone. My hunch is that they’re not going to want to take on whatever just showed up.” Sam studied Antonio. “Let’s head back upstairs just in case. Security should be here any minute. They’re probably on their way from the parking area down by the road.”

Antonio looked around the chamber and his eyes locked on his sister’s body.

Lazlo moved into the cave and stood in front of Maribela to break Antonio’s concentration.

Sam leaned down and scooped up Antonio’s revolver, pocketed it, and then took him by the arm. “Come on. Let’s go topside to greet the welcoming committee.”

Remi followed Sam and Antonio out and up the stairs. As they climbed the steps, Remi looked back.

“Lazlo? Are you all right?” she called.

His voice rang out from the doorway. “Have no fear, I’m right behind you.”

When they neared the top, Sam switched on his flashlight, the pistol in his right hand sweeping the room. He stopped abruptly at the top step.

“Sam. What is it?” Remi asked in a hushed whisper.

Saw stood motionless before turning his head and whispering through clenched teeth, “It’s Janus. He’s gone.”

Gone?” Remi said.

“He was right here when I went down to get you. He must have come to. Either that or he was faking and waiting for a chance to escape.”

“You have to catch him. He can’t get away with this,” Antonio growled.

“I’m way ahead of you. I’m going after him.”

Remi stepped out of the stairwell. “Sam, are you sure about this? There are a lot of guns lying around out there …”

“He’s not going to escape. If I know him, the last thing he wants is a gun battle. That’s not his style.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Remi demanded.

He handed her the guard’s Beretta and removed the revolver from the guard’s pocket. “Here’s more firepower. If anyone but me or the police shows up, start shooting and don’t stop.”

“You never answered my question.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Sam shut off his flashlight and moved to the temple entrance. He paused, trying to sense any menace, and then threw himself out, rolling on the flattened grass as he waited for bullets to pound the ground around him.

Nothing.

He scanned the area, noting now he was outside there was more moonlight than he’d thought, and, seeing nothing, considered which direction the Englishman would have taken.

It was no contest. Janus would never choose to walk into the hands of his adversaries.

Sam eyed the ground as he moved away from the temple and came across a dead gunman, his pistol case on his belt open and empty — confirming that Janus was now armed. Sam followed a small trail that the gunmen had used for their approach, stepping softly, careful not to provide Janus with a warning that he was being followed.

Waves pounded the shore below the cliff that was no more than ten yards away and he could smell salt in the air as he pushed deeper into the brush, stopping occasionally to listen in case Janus was blundering along like a wounded ox. But there was only the crash of the surf.

Sam plunged through vine-covered trees over a thick curtain of brush that eventually opened onto a small circular clearing. The clearing ended at the rocky cliffs, high above the pounding surf. Too late, he saw Janus up ahead in the eerie glow of the moon.

Janus stood facing Sam with a pistol aimed at his head, a mere thirty feet between them.

The mouse had turned on the cat.

In the blink of an eye, Sam raised the revolver to firing position. “It’s over, Janus. Throw down your weapon.”

“I don’t think so,” Janus said, a tight smile across his face. “We have what is appropriately called a Mexican standoff.”

“Call it what you may,” Sam said, “you’re still going to pay for your killing of innocent people.”

“I never killed anybody.” Janus’s voice was clear, his tone frigid.

“Liar.”

Janus shrugged. “Believe what you like. There’s no blood on my hands.”

“Maybe you didn’t personally murder anyone, but you’re the cause behind a long trail of dead bodies.”

“Not my doing, old chap. Really. I wasn’t in control of the situation — regrettably, my Mexican associate took matters into his own hands. Like I said, the natives here do things differently. Senseless. Most regrettable.”

“You could have stopped it,” Sam spat.

Janus shook his head. “No, I couldn’t. My position was compromised due to my brother’s misstep. Could have been the death of me, too. I’m afraid there was a limit to my influence. Not my doing, but there it is.”

The distant beat of a helicopter came from the sea. Neither Sam nor Janus spoke as the sound became louder and a spotlight shot through the gloom, framing them in its glare.