Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) (36 page)

His lower leg shrieked in white-hot torment as a round caught his calf, and he landed hard, wincing as his ribs radiated agony – too far to reach the gun. Another round sprayed dirt and leaves on his face, and then a voice called out from the trees.

“It is over, Mr. Ramsey. One more move and I will shoot you.” The Russian accent was as thick as maple syrup.

Drake froze, the few feet between his hand and the rifle a cruel joke. The two Russians emerged from the brush, Sasha limping badly from where one of Drake’s slugs had hit him in the thigh. Vadim held his machine pistol almost casually as they neared to within fifteen feet of Drake, who was still trying to gauge whether he could make it to the rifle before they cut him in two.

“Do not even think about it. I will blow your head off and enjoy it,” Vadim snarled. “Move away from the gun. Now.”

Drake glared daggers at him but did as instructed, retracting his arm and pulling himself a few more feet from Allie’s rifle. Vadim chuckled, his barrel never leaving Drake, and moved to the weapon before toeing it out of reach. He gave Allie’s comatose, pale form a once-over and issued a terse command to Sasha before he returned to Drake. Sasha focused on the jungle where Spencer had disappeared, in case he’d survived and tried a surprise attack.

Vadim sneered at Drake. “So. Thank you for leading us straight to Paititi. Something your father was not willing to do.”

“You killed him, didn’t you?” Drake growled.

“Your father? Of course. In the end he cried like a baby. As he begged for his life, he whimpered like a little girl.”

Drake closed his eyes, his leg on fire. “You’re lying. I can tell. You killed him because he wouldn’t give you what you wanted.”

Vadim laughed, a dry, ugly sound. Sasha took the opportunity to unfasten his belt and fashion a tourniquet around his wounded leg, which was streaming blood, his attention still on the tree line.

“I owe you thanks for exterminating our little group. You saved us the inconvenience. Now, tell me – where is the treasure?”

“I don’t know. We just got here.”

Vadim eyed him suspiciously. “Never mind. We will find it. We have all the time in the world. But not you, perhaps, or the whore.” Vadim grinned, his features contorting into those of a gargoyle.

Drake spit at Vadim and gritted his teeth. “You’re a miserable bastard, aren’t you? This is a big area. I hope you never find it. And with most of your men dead, you’ll be easy pickings for the other tribes.”

“This is such big talk for a boy with only seconds left to live. You are about to meet your idiot father in hell. Say hello from me when you get there.” Vadim raised his gun and pointed it at Drake’s head.

Drake didn’t blink, didn’t flinch.

A shot rang out. Vadim’s shirt blossomed with a crimson stain from an exit wound. He stood, frozen, staring at Drake unbelievingly, his eyes uncomprehending.

Drake wrenched his knife free and hurled it at Sasha, who was whipping his gun around to fire. The handle struck him in the face, buying Drake the time to dive for Allie’s rifle and fire six rounds. Sasha jerked like a marionette from the bullets pummeling him before he collapsed in a heap.

Vadim seemed to move in slow motion as he brought his weapon to bear. Drake squeezed off a burst that knocked Vadim off his feet and slammed him backward. The Russian groaned as he hit the ground, his gun tumbling harmlessly beside him, and then he shuddered and lay still.

Allie still clutched her SIG Sauer in a bloody hand, the barrel shaking as it pointed at Vadim’s inert form. Drake dragged himself over to Allie and took the pistol from her.

“You did it. You saved my ass again. That’s twice in an hour,” he said softly.

Her eyes searched his face. “Drake…I…”

“We’ll get a helicopter to haul you out of here,” Drake said.

“Have…Spencer…look at the…wound. He’ll know what…to…do.” Allie’s eyes drifted shut, the morphine hitting full force, carrying her with it to a warm, welcome numbness.

Drake pulled closer and took Allie’s hand, the jungle around them now quiet. He looked at his calf. The bullet had seared through the muscle and exited cleanly. But he knew that infection would be only a matter of time. For them both.

They had to get out of there.

Allie shifted next to him, her breathing slow and steady, her top soaked with her blood. Drake considered trying to do something, but realized he might cause more harm than good. He felt so helpless and impotent as he moved closer to her and pulled a shirt out of his backpack, which he held against the wound, trying to keep pressure on it. He stayed like that for several long minutes, mind working over their alternatives, and then jolted back to reality when he heard a rustle from the brush – a heavy body moving through the undergrowth.

“I see you didn’t need much help here. How’s she doing?” Spencer’s voice called from the jungle behind him.

“You kill everyone?” Drake asked, his tone flat.

“Pretty much. I see you did the same.”

“Allie got one of them. Saved my life.”

Spencer walked over to the Russians and turned them over, confirming that they were dead. He picked up Drake’s knife and handed it to him, his eyes on Drake’s wounded leg. “Looks like you got nicked there.”

“Yeah. Hurts like a bitch.”

“They’ll do that. How is she?” Spencer repeated.

“Out cold. And bleeding a lot. You need to look at the wound and see if there’s anything we can do.”

Spencer moved to Allie and Drake rolled away, wincing at the pain in his leg. Spencer removed Drake’s bloody shirt and studied the entry, and then lifted her gently and looked at her back.

“That’s a little bit of luck. The slug looks like it ricocheted off her shoulder blade and exited there, on the side.”

“But all the blood…”

“I can deal with that. I need to clean the wound and stitch it up after making sure no arteries were hit. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Drake’s voice sounded strangled. “We need to get a helicopter here.”

“Sure. And set down where?” Spencer looked up at the canopy over the clearing, the sky only visible in patches overhead.

“They can lower a stretcher or something.”

“Maybe so,” Spencer said, not wanting to argue. “But we’re hundreds of miles from the nearest chopper, assuming we can get one to fly into this area. I still have to work on her, or she’ll be dead by the time it could get here. She’ll have bled out.” He sat down heavily next to Drake. “What a frigging mess.”

“You said it.”

“Palenko, dead. Jack, dead. Enough natives to fill a small town. Dead.”

Drake shrugged. “Those ‘noble savages’ were child murderers and hired killers.”

“I’m not mourning them. I’m just saying it’s a mess.”

“That it is.” Drake hesitated, dizzy. “When you’re done with Allie, think you could do something about the scratch I got?”

Spencer sighed. “Gonna be a busy evening, I see.”

“Work on Allie first.”

Spencer nodded, glanced at her, and then back at Drake. “It’s gonna hurt, you know.”

“Yeah. I guessed.” He paused. “Maybe you can stitch up my head while you’re at it, too?” Drake was about to say something else, something important, when the sky spun and he blacked out. He never felt Spencer catch his shoulders as he fell back, keeping his battered skull from hitting the ground.

Chapter Forty

Spencer stood watch as Drake slept fitfully through the night, the half syringe of morphine having dulled the worst of the pain. The rain had started a few hours after dark and continued until morning. When Drake awoke and crawled stiffly out of the tent, Spencer was sitting with his plastic parka on, his back against a tree, water running off his hat as his eyes roved over the jungle.

“You wanna get some sleep while I keep watch for a few hours?” Drake asked. He took a long pull on his canteen, his throat parched, and looked over at Allie’s tent, which was set up next to his.

“I can sleep when I’m dead. How’s the leg?”

“I’ll manage. Thanks for doing that. And Allie?”

“All part of the platinum-level service I provide. You might want to take a day or two to let it heal.” Spencer stared without speaking for a moment at Allie’s tent. “She’ll make it. She got very lucky on the path the bullet took – it was messy, but ultimately didn’t do a ton of damage.”

“And a helicopter?”

“We need to talk about that. Right now, she’s sleeping, and there’s no point in waking her up. But once she comes to, I want to see how she’s doing. That will determine our next step.”

“In what way?”

“The second we contact the authorities for a helicopter, Paititi’s blown. Assuming they’re even willing to come this far into the jungle, which isn’t a given. And there are going to be a lot of questions about gunshot wounds – questions we might not want to answer.”

“So…what? The answer is to risk her life so we can try to find the treasure?”

“Her life’s not at risk anymore is my point. But that brings up the big question: you got any ideas where it could be?” Spencer asked.

“Some.”

Spencer tossed Drake an energy bar. The rain eased as they sat together munching on yet another dry breakfast, silent. Drake’s head was splitting and his leg felt like someone had taken a hot poker to it, but he was alive. They heard a stirring from Allie’s tent, and both rose and approached it.

Allie looked pale and weak, but her eyes were open, though foggy from the morphine. Spencer had fashioned a bandage from one of his clean shirts and the gauze from the first aid kit, and as she tried to sit up, she reached for it, wincing.

“God, this hurts,” she said as Drake climbed into the tent and handed her a full canteen. She drank from it greedily and then lay back. “What happened?”

“We got all the bad guys. And Spencer did a little emergency surgery on both of us,” Drake said. “How do you feel?”

“Like a truck ran over me.”

Spencer ducked his head into the tent. “Any fever? Shakes?”

“No, just really weak.”

“That’s because of the blood loss. You’ll feel stronger as the day goes on. But you need to eat something, and drink plenty.” Spencer tossed Drake two breakfast bars, and Allie reluctantly ate them as he summarized their situation and options.

“So there’s no danger from the wound?” Allie asked, finishing the second bar.

Spencer shook his head. “Nothing immediate. You’re on a high-dose antibiotic that’ll control infection, which is the biggest danger.”

“Then I vote we find the treasure before calling for help,” she said, her voice stronger.

“That’s not such a hot idea,” Drake said.

“We didn’t come all this way just to hand the location to the Peruvians. We need to locate the treasure, or this will have all been in vain,” she countered.

Drake shook his head. “Allie, some things might be worth risking your life for. But this isn’t one of them. We found the city. That’s already a huge win.”

“You heard Spencer. I’ll make it. You just need to get busy and locate the treasure.” She closed her eyes again and smiled. “Slackers.”

After a few more minutes of back and forth, Allie terminated the debate, threatening to crawl off into the jungle if they called for help before they’d located the Inca gold. Spencer went into the brush and emerged with a branch for Drake to use as a staff. After a short discussion about the dangers involved in leaving the tents pitched with Allie waiting by herself, they agreed that she’d keep one of the pistols, for the unlikely event a native appeared to challenge her.

“Anything shows up, shoot it,” Spencer said, handing her the gun.

“I kind of got that. Thanks.”

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Drake asked, eyeing her skeptically.

“Go on. Get out of here. Make us all rich. I’ll be fine,” she said, her blue eyes flashing at him.

Drake backed out of the tent and looked around the clearing and, after hoisting his backpack, set off with Spencer to hunt for the treasure.

“What are we looking for?” Spencer asked.

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

Spencer gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re kind of grumpy after getting shot and brained, you know that?”

“It’ll do that to you.”

Drake limped, supporting himself on the branch, and he realized as they walked through the ruins of the sprawling city that Spencer must have carried Allie and him after tending to their wounds and setting up the tents.

Although it pained Drake to admit it, it occurred to him that he’d misjudged Spencer. Those weren’t the actions of a traitor.

They took their time walking what had at one time been wide boulevards. The temples on either side of them were now eroded lumps of vegetation, most of the structures having been built out of timber that had long ago rotted away. Drake’s leg ached, but when Spencer had shown him how to change the dressing, there had been no sign of infection, and he’d gulped down several more antibiotic pills and injected a quarter of the morphine in the syringe before getting underway.

The day stretched on and they found nothing, and by afternoon they were both exhausted and hot. They returned to the clearing to wait out the worst of it, and found Allie dozing but safe. After a brief report on their lack of progress, Spencer went to the river to get water. Drake gave Allie another half dose of morphine for the pain, and she drifted off in a narcotic sleep after drinking more water and eating another bar. When Spencer returned, he sat down on a log and shook his head.

“This is a big place. There must have been thousands living here at one time.”

“The last holdout of the Inca Empire. I wonder how many years it lasted, and what brought it down?” Drake said.

“We’ll probably know in time. Once you register the find and teams of archeologists descend on the place, they’ll figure it out. They always do.”

“Let’s hope I don’t have a problem registering it. When big money’s involved with a third world nation that’s got plenty of corruption, anything could happen.”

“That’s always a danger. But I may have a way around it. One of my drinking buddies is the curator at the Museum of Natural History in Lima. He went to school in New York and has deep connections with the Smithsonian. If we actually find the treasure, I can reach out and see if he can assemble a team that’s bigger than some bureaucratic larceny. If the Smithsonian announces the find, with your name on it, and flies a bunch of pencil necks out here to catalog the treasure, that’ll go a long way toward eliminating the chance that big chunks of it disappear, or that you get cut out of a reasonable finder’s fee.”