David ed. - Face Off (2014) Anthology

As they watched and waited for their nearly twin duffel bags to pass through the X-ray machine, Hunt said, “All I want is to get past the security gate. I don’t think they’ll storm the airport.”

Trona shrugged. “They’re still tied up. Israel not as tight as some, that’s all. And Hector and his boys? Who’s going to cut ’em free? The villagers?”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Trona said, “I’m keeping my eyes open.” He lowered his voice. “I just hope nobody notices we’re not boarding with any gold. Which might make somebody wonder where it could be.”

“Who’s going to notice? It’s not like Hector’s going to go to the cops. ‘Hey, those two gringos just stole the gold that I just stole.’ I don’t think so. Instead, we just walk on the plane and stay cool. As far as Hector’s concerned, we got clean away, and the gold with us. And he’d never think—he’d never believe—that we put it back in Israel’s panga. ”

“I know. Although he has vowed to take back his gold and kill us, remember?”

Hunt broke a smile and shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Just like he’s not going to find any gold in test pit ninety-six.”

· · ·

With only the ten minutes or so that they’d had to go over their plan with Israel’s sister, they’d had to play things by ear. When they’d arrived at Israel’s home, for example, first thing they’d had to contend with was a very distrustful and hostile Joaquin and his fifteen years’ worth of testosterone. Why should he believe that Hunt and Trona were going to steal the gold from Hector and then return it to Israel and the good people of Agua Amarga? How could Angelica believe or trust these two gringos whom she had just met? Who were they anyway?

It had been a close thing, Joaquin getting the Colt from its hiding place, only to hold it on Joe and Wyatt for a tense few moments until Angelica could convince him that they really had no other choice. Hector and his narcos would be there within minutes. If Hunt and Trona were in fact planning on stealing the gold and keeping it for themselves, there was nothing Joaquin or anyone else could do about it.

“We could kill them right now and then kill as many of Hector’s men as we could before they kill us,” Joaquin said.

“We know that there is more gold in the ground,” Angelica had said. “No one needs to die over the gold we already have.”

And in the end, only two or three minutes before Hector and his men had arrived, Joaquin had given in.

And still, there had been one element of the plan that had worried Joe—they had no provision for Hector’s return to claim the rest of the gold from Joaquin’s secret mine. Everyone knew that Hector would not rest until he knew where Joaquin had found the gold, and even if Hunt and Trona were successful in keeping the town’s gold from him that night, Hector would eventually cause more trouble when he came again.

“He’s going to need to know where you found it,” Trona had said, “and he will torture you until you tell him. So there is only one thing to do.”

“What is that?”

“Tell him the wrong mine,” Joe said, “and sting him.”

“Sting him how?”

“That is for you and your father to figure out.”

FOUR DAYS AFTER HUNT AND Trona had landed safely back in the States, Narcisso Rueda, a longtime angling customer of Israel’s, sat in the bow of the panga about a hundred meters offshore. He was awaiting the long run-up at full power into ever more and more shallow water until Israel with perfect timing lifted the screaming, whining propeller up out of the water and killed the engine as the water became the beach and the panga sheared its way through the sand until it came to rest twenty or thirty feet up onto the strand, high and dry. No matter how many fish they caught, and today Narcisso had landed two dorado and two tuna, the beaching of the pangas always provided an adrenaline rush, a last moment of excitement and pure, simple fun.

But today, though they were in position to rush the shore, Israel kept the engine in neutral. Narcisso was, in fact, head of security for the government’s gold mining operations near La Paz. He had, of course, never made any kind of gold deal with Israel’s son. In fact, he was widely known as an incorruptible official. Unlike so many of Mexico’s security forces, especially those dealing with the narcotrafficantes, Narcisso had successfully investigated and prosecuted both gold thieves from among the miners and corruption at the corporate level. No fewer than two dozen men now sat in federal prisons because of Narcisso’s efforts.

After he listened to Israel’s story, a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I have heard something of this Hector Salida. A nasty piece of work. He thinks he can bribe me?”

Israel nodded. “I took him out off Cerralvo last week,” he lied. He has a reckless mouth, and he has heard of gold in one of the abandoned mines. Gold that, supposedly, you don’t know of.”

This made Narcisso laugh. “Ah, that gold. And I let him mine that vein and turn the other way. For a cut. That’s the idea?”

“It’s what he bragged about. You might be expecting him to contact you.”

“I’ll look forward to the conversation, which I’ll be certain to record. He is not the first one to have this idea. And our judges have found such recordings to be . . . persuasive.”

“I just thought you would want to know.”

Narcisso nodded. “It is always good to have knowledge. It keeps the vermin down.”

STEVE BERRY

VS. JAMES ROLLINS

In his 2006 thriller, Black Order, Jim Rollins dispatched his hero, Gray Pierce, to Denmark. While there, Pierce spent two days “visiting the dusty bookshops and antiquary establishments in the narrow backstreets of Copenhagen. He discovered the most help at a shop on Højbro Plads owned by an ex-lawyer from Georgia.” No name. Just enough information that, if you were a fan of Steve Berry’s hero, Cotton Malone, you’d know instantly who Pierce was talking about. Jim’s purpose was to see if readers were paying attention and could discover the extent of crossover between his and Steve’s work.

He learned things on both counts.

Readers definitely noticed. Jim and Steve together received several thousand e-mails (and still do to this day). When Steve reciprocated and included a reference to Sigma Force (Jim’s clandestine agency where Gray Pierce works) in his next novel, people noticed again. Together, they continued the experiment for several more books. Eventually, fellow thriller writer Raymond Khoury (who’s part of this anthology) joined the mix. It was fun, but it also alerted the writers to the fact that their readers wanted to see the characters together.

That wasn’t possible, until the opportunity provided by this anthology.

There are a lot of similarities between Malone and Pierce. Both are ex-military. Single. With issues. They each work for a covert government agency—Pierce with Sigma, through the Defense Department—Malone, though now retired, freelances with his former employer, the Magellan Billet at Justice. And where Pierce deals more with science and a little history, Malone focuses on history, with a touch of science.

Steve came up with the broad idea of something in South America, on the Amazon. Jim took that thought and wrote a first draft of the entire story. Steve then revamped that draft, which Jim gave a final edit.

The result is about three hours in the lives of Gray Pierce and Cotton Malone.

On a riverboat, in the middle of nowhere.