Clive Cussler - Inca Gold

"Quite all right," said Zolar. "Now that the fools from NUMA have led us directly to Huascar's gold, we made good use of your tardiness by discussing methods of bringing it to the surface."

Amaru nodded and looked around the room. There were four men there besides himself. Seated on sofas around the fireplace were Zolar, Oxley, Sarason, and Moore. Their faces were expressionless, but there was no concealing the feeling of triumph in the air.

"Any word of Dr. Kelsey, the photographer Rodgers, and Albert Giordino?" Sarason inquired.

"My contacts over the border believe Pitt told you the truth on the ferry when he said he dropped them off at the U.S. Customs compound in Calexico," answered Amaru.

"He must have smelled a trap," said Moore.

"That was obvious when he returned to the ferryboat alone," Samson said sharply to Amaru. "You had him in your hands and you let him escape."

"Not forgetting the crew," added Oxley.

"I promise you, Pitt did not escape. He was killed when my men and I threw concussion grenades into the water around him. As to the ferryboat's crew, the Mexican police officials you've paid to cooperate will ensure their silence for as long as necessary."

"Still not good," said Oxley. "With Pitt, Gunn, and Congresswoman Smith gone missing, every federal agent between San Diego and Denver will come nosing around."

Zolar shook his head. "They have no legal authority down here. And our friends in the local government would never permit their entry."

Samson looked angrily at Amaru. "You say Pitt's dead. Then where is the body?"

Amaru stared back nastily. "Pitt is feeding the fishes. Take my word for it."

"Forgive me if I'm not convinced."

"There is no way he could have survived the underwater detonations."

"The man has survived far worse." Sarason walked across the room to a bar and poured himself a drink. "I won't be satisfied until I see the remains."

"You also botched the scuttling of the ferryboat," Oxley said to Amaru. "You should have sailed her into deep water before opening the seacocks."

"Or better yet, set her on fire, along with Congresswoman Smith and the deputy director of NUMA," said Zolar, lighting a cigar.

"Police Comandante Cortina will conduct an investigation and announce that the ferryboat along with Congresswoman Smith and Rudi Gunn was lost in an unfortunate accident," said Sarason.

Zolar glared at him. "That won't solve the problem of interference from American law enforcement officials. Their Justice Department will demand more than a local investigation if Pitt survives to expose the blundering actions of your friend here."

"Forget Pitt," Amaru said flatly. "Nobody had a stronger reason for seeing him dead than me."

Oxley glanced from Amaru to Zolar. "We can't gamble on speculation. No way Cortina can hold off a joint investigation by the Mexican and American governments for more than a few days."

Sarason shrugged. "Time enough to remove the treasure and be gone."

Even if Pitt walks out of the sea to tell the truth," said Henry Moore, "it's your word against his. He can't prove your connection with the torture and disappearance of Smith and Gunn. Who would believe a family of respected art dealers was involved with such things? You might arrange for Cortina to accuse Pitt of committing these crimes so he could grab the treasure for himself."

"I approve of the professor's concept," said Zolar. "Our influential friends in the police and military can easily be persuaded to arrest Pitt if he shows his face in Mexico."

"So far so good," said Sarason. "But what about our prisoners? Do we eliminate them now or later?"

"Why not throw them in the river that runs through the treasure cavern?" suggested Amaru. "Eventually, what's left of their bodies will probably turn up in the Gulf. By the time the fish get through with them, about all a coroner will be able to determine is that they died from drowning."

Zolar looked around the room at his brothers and then to Moore who looked oddly uneasy. After a moment he turned to Amaru. "A brilliant scenario. Simple, but brilliant nonetheless. Any objections?"

There were none.

"I'll contact Comandante Cortina and brief him on his assignment," Sarason volunteered.

Zolar waved his cigar and flashed his teeth in a broad smile. "Then it's settled. While Cyrus and Cortina lay a smoke screen for American investigators, the rest of us will pack up and move from the hacienda to Cerro el Capirote and begin retrieving the gold at first light tomorrow."

One of the hacienda's servants entered and handed Zolar a portable telephone. He listened without replying to the caller. Then he switched off the phone and laughed.

"Good news, brother?" asked Oxley.

"Federal agents raided our warehouse facilities again."

"That's funny?" asked a puzzled Moore.

"A common occurrence," explained Zolar. "As usual, they came up dry and stood around like idiots with no place to go."

Sarason finished his drink. "So it's business as usual, and the treasure excavation goes on as scheduled."

The great room went silent as each man conjured up his own thoughts of what incredible riches they would find under Cerro el Capirote. All except Samson. His mind turned back to the meeting with Pitt on the ferry. He knew it was ridiculous, but it gnawed at his mind that Pitt had claimed to have led him and his brothers to the jackpot. And what did he mean when he said they had been set up?

Was Pitt merely lying or trying to tell him something, or was it sheer bravado from a man who thought he was going to die? The answers, Sarason decided, were not worth his time to ponder. The warning bells should have been clanging away in the back of his head, but there were more important issues at hand. He swept Pitt from his thoughts.

He never made a bigger mistake.

Micki Moore stepped carefully down the steep steps into the cellar beneath the hacienda as she balanced a tray. At the bottom, she approached one of Amaru's thugs who was guarding the door of a small storeroom that held the captives. "Open the door," she demanded.

"No one is allowed in," muttered the guard unpleasantly.

"Step aside, you stupid cretin," Micki snarled, "or I'll cut your balls off."

The guard was startled by the abusive coarseness from an elegant woman. He stepped back a pace. "I have my orders from Tupac Amaru."

"All I have is food, you idiot. Let me in or I'll scream and swear to Joseph Zolar you raped me and the woman inside."

He peered at the tray and then gave in, unlocking the door and stepping aside. "You do not tell Tupac of this."

"Don't worry," Micki snapped over her shoulder as she entered the dark and stuffy cubicle. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Gunn was lying on the stone floor. He struggled to a sitting position. Loren was standing as if to protect him.

"Well, well," murmured Loren testily. "This time they sent a woman to do their filthy work."

Micki pushed the tray into Loren's hands. "Here is some food. Fruit and sandwiches, and four bottles of beer. Take it!" Then she turned and slammed the door shut in the guard's face. When she refaced Loren, her eyes had become more accustomed to the dark. She was stunned at Loren's appearance. She could make out puffy bruises on her lips and around the eyes. Most of Loren's clothing had been torn away and she had knotted what little remained to cover her torso. Micki also saw livid red welts across the top of her breasts and discolorations on her arms and legs. "The bastards!" she hissed. "The no-good sadistic bastards. I'm sorry, if I had known you'd been beaten, I would have brought medical supplies."

Loren knelt and set the tray on the floor. She gave one of the bottles of beer to Gunn, but his injured hands could not twist off the cap. She removed it for him.