Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) (9 page)

“No need. They’re yours. With my compliments, young man. Your father would have wanted that.”

“No, really. They’re just as much yours as mine. A part of history.” Drake paused, having grappled for most of the night with whether to come clean with his father’s friend. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Jack, I haven’t been completely honest with you. When I told you that Patricia left a few notes, I mean. She left a lot more than that. I’ve…I’ve also got my dad’s journal.”

Jack stared at him and leaned forward, his tone hushed. “The journal? You have it?”

“Yes. Patricia left it to me. I just didn’t understand its significance until I spoke with you. I didn’t realize that it was anything more than the notes of a deluded man chasing a dream.”

As Jack took a pull on his coffee, Drake could have sworn that his hand shook, just a little.

“So you’ve read it?”

Drake nodded. “I have. Taken in context, it’s a remarkable document. What was missing was context, which you provided.” Drake hesitated. “But there’s more to the story than just Paititi. Which might explain why ex-KGB thugs were in the mix.” Drake told him about the government forcibly recruiting his father, and when he was done, Jack looked like he’d been gut-punched.

Jack set his cup down. “I had no idea your father was working for the government. That’s almost impossible for me to believe. I wonder what they wanted, and why he never said anything…” Jack squinted at Drake suspiciously. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It was his last entry in the journal.” He stopped, unsure of how to continue. “And I’m telling you because I wanted your take on it…and because I’m thinking that having the journal may present an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” Jack repeated. “What kind of opportunity?”

“I know this will sound crazy, but a chance to fulfill my father’s vision. To succeed where he failed.”

Jack frowned and shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Your father was killed chasing that phantom. I’d say that’s enough Ramseys sacrificed on the Inca altar.”

“I agree. Which is why I’m not sure what to do. Part of me is looking at my life up until now, and realizing it’s a big fat zero. I live in a society I don’t particularly like, doing a job I hate, and I have no…nothing to work toward. I thought I wanted to be an investigative reporter, but now I’m beginning to think that’s just another side of the same coin my father was living. He was researching where the greatest treasure of all time was hidden, and I chose a career researching big stories. The point is, it’s all research. But until I read the journal and talked to you, I didn’t know why I’m so drawn to it. Maybe it’s genetic. Something in the Ramsey blood. I don’t know.”

“Son, I’m going to tell you straight. Paititi has killed more men than Everest. It’s not something you just sort of try to do because you’re bored. That jungle takes no prisoners. It’s filled with every variety of toxic threat on the planet and then some. Snakes, spiders the size of your fist, alligators, jaguars, Indians who would just as soon cut your throat as spit, drug traffickers, smugglers, thieves…it’s the most dangerous place on earth. Nobody in their right mind would go in there. Nobody.”

“Maybe I’m not in my right mind. Maybe my father wasn’t, either. But at least he felt alive. I don’t. I feel like I’m sleepwalking through the only life I get, like I’m playing a part where they got the casting wrong. I couldn’t have put my finger on it before, but it’s taking shape now.”

“Your father’s dead because of that damned treasure, boy.”

“No, he’s dead because he was murdered by Russians. You said it yourself. I think we’ve got it wrong. Blaming his objective for something that happened along the way.”

Jack snorted derisively. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if I decide to go after Paititi, I’m going to need help.”

Jack stood. “You’re gonna need more than help. You’re gonna need a thorough psych workup, because you’ve got a screw loose. I knew I should’ve shot you when I saw you.”

Drake met his gaze without flinching. “Maybe you should have. But it’s a little late now.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

“Look, I’m not saying I want to go charging into the jungle. I’m saying that I’m thinking about it. I’ve got some money and a lot of time. That seems like a good start.”

“You’ve got exactly none of the survival skills you’d need to last even a week.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re underestimating me. I’m a quick learner.” Drake rose and collected the photo and the knife. “I just thought I’d see how you reacted. You obviously think it’s a bad idea.”

“Where’s the journal?” Jack asked.

“In a safe place.”

“Maybe not safe enough.” Jack took a slow sip of his coffee and studied some spots on the carpet by his feet, obviously weighing what to say. “I was on the phone this morning. Talking to my buddies in the intelligence community. You weren’t the only one doing a lot of thinking last night. I started doing some of my own, and at about one a.m., I got on my computer and looked up the details of Patricia’s death. That crash…it looks sketchy. They estimate she had to be going a hundred when she sailed off the road. A hundred. The woman owned a flower shop and drove a frigging Buick. That’s not someone who joyrides at triple digits at night.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I smelled a rat. I got a bad feeling in my stomach, so early this morning I called one of my buds. The one who works with an alphabet agency agreed to check on something for me.”

“What?”

“Whether those two Russians are still alive.”

“And?”

“I’m waiting for a call back.”

“That’s it? You’re waiting for a call?”

“What is it with you? Yes. That’s it. But if they’re alive, and anywhere but in the middle of Siberia, you’ve got a real problem. Or maybe I should say, we do. You were able to track me down in only a couple of days, so that means I could have a problem, too.”

“You can’t possibly think–”

“I don’t jump to conclusions. I plan. I prepare. But I’ll tell you – on its face, that accident is just plain wrong. That’s the canary in the coalmine. I could ignore it and be surprised, but that’s not the kind of surprise I like. Or I can put out feelers and see what comes back. That’s what I did. Now I’m waiting. A smart man takes small but significant actions and waits to evaluate their effect.”

“Nobody knows I’ve got the journal.”

“Who gave it to you? How exactly did you come by it?”

“An attorney. In Seattle.”

“Then he knows. And so does anyone he’s talked to about it.”

“No, he only knows I got a package. That’s all.” Drake stopped. “Except…you’re right. He saw me reading it, so at the very least he now knows I got a book from Patricia.”

“Look. It could be nothing. Could be Patricia decided life wasn’t what it should be, and took that way out. Could be she was drunk, or high, and got her thrills in a way that wasn’t wise. But that’s not the Patricia I knew. That woman was conservative, deliberate, and very smart. The obituary says she owned a flower shop. That says it all. Does that sound like the kind of person who guns it to a hundred on a dead-man’s curve?”

“Not really.”

Jack’s tone hardened. “Who knows you came to see me?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody knows you’re in Texas? You’re positive?”

Drake stared at the ceiling, a sense of dread creeping through him. “Crap. My boss. I told him I was coming to Austin.”

“Then we already have two people who could compromise you. The attorney and your boss. What else haven’t you told me?”

“Now you’re being seriously paranoid.”

Jack ignored his comment. “What was the attorney’s name?”

“Lynch. Michael Lynch. In Seattle. Why?”

“You got a number for him?”

“Sure. Let me double-check it on my phone.” Drake pulled up his calls and thumbed through them until he found the number. He gave it, along with the address, to Jack.

Jack grunted. “Stay put. I’m going to go do some research. You want some more coffee?”

“Sure. What do you mean, some research?”

“Call it a hunch. If I was running an op to find the journal, I’d be looking for whoever handled Patricia’s affairs.”

“How could they even know that?”

“How would you do it if you were skip-tracing someone?”

Drake blinked twice. “I’d talk to her landlord. See if someone put a stop on the mail. Nose around to see who requested a death certificate.”

Jack nodded and reappraised Drake. “Huh. Maybe you do stand a chance, after all. Look, I’m not saying anyone’s after you. But it never hurts to be cautious. I told your dad that a hundred times. Now I’m telling you. Always expect the unexpected. It’s like playing chess. All strategy. Predict what your opponent will do next, and then prepare for the move. Know your options. Think two moves ahead so you can block him. And be proactive once you understand your opponent. Otherwise you’ll be reacting, which means he’s controlling the pace and the direction of the game.”

“Remind me not to play chess with you.”

“I’m the least of your worries if those two are on the loose – or worse, if they told someone and it’s a new player.”

“Why? Why would new players be bad?” Drake asked.

“Better the evil you know. And I know these two. Again, if you can cut the learning curve down and understand what you’re dealing with early, you have an advantage. Anyway, I’ll be back in a few. Might want to touch base with your boss to see if anyone’s been looking for you – suspicious calls, that sort of thing. Tell him to get in touch with you if anything weird happens.”

“Weird.”

“Right.”

Jack trundled back to his bedroom and Drake went into the kitchen. Allie stared at him without expression as he set his cup in the sink.

“I heard some of that. Are you really thinking about trying to find the treasure?”

“There’s a big difference between thinking and doing.”

Her high-wattage blue eyes seemed to bore holes through him. “That sounds like it would be incredible. Really cool. I mean, it’s what I dream of doing, you know? Hell, it’s what I studied to do.”

“It sounds like your dad doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You let other people make your decisions for you a lot?” she asked.

He eyed her. “So you think I should do it?”

She gave him a smirk. “You’re a big boy. If you’re afraid to try on Dad’s shoes, I don’t blame you. Bail skips sound a lot more interesting than treasure hunting for billions.”

Drake bristled at her tone. “I’m not afraid.”

“Right. Obviously.”

“Don’t hold back if you have an opinion.”

“What do I know? I’m just a disinterested bystander. The kitchen help. That’s all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time to mop the floors. Then I’ll go milk the cows and sew some shirts. You know what they say – woman’s work and all…”

“I’m not saying you don’t have a point.”

“I’m sorry. Would you like anything else to eat or drink? Or maybe your clothes washed?”

Drake held up his hands. “Can we call a truce? I don’t know why you’re upset, but whatever I said or did, I’m sorry.”

She folded her arms across her chest. Her ample chest, he noted, the buttons of her flannel shirt straining to contain the swell of her breasts. “I’m sorry too. It’s just that nothing like this ever happens to me, and here you are, with no training or education, with the opportunity of a lifetime dropped in your lap, and you’re waffling. If it was me, I’d have been packing my bags at first light. But hey. It’s not my choice. It’s yours. I accept that.”

“Thank you.” He offered her a smile.

“You’re welcome.” She turned away and opened the pantry, muttering, almost inaudibly, “Even if you’re being a pussy.”

Drake elected not to push it. He sensed that whatever was bugging Allie was bigger than her opinions about how he should handle the journal, and he didn’t want to get in the middle of it. He decided on a graceful retreat to the living room, and pretended he hadn’t heard her.

Thinking through Jack’s concerns, he retrieved his phone and called Harry. Betty answered on the second ring.

“New Start Bail Bonds,” she chirped.

“Betty, it’s Drake. Can I speak to Harry?”

“Sure, hon. Just a sec.”

Harry’s voice boomed from the tinny phone speaker. “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal. How’s it hanging, my man?”

“Going well. Day two in the land of big. How about you?”

“More crooks need another shot at life than usual. Thank goodness. And they’re all innocent! I’m the luckiest guy on earth – every single one of ’em’s as free of guilt as a newborn. They tell me so. And I believe them. The system’s just keeping them down. Oppressing them, and all.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad business is good. Listen, has anyone asked about me?”

“What, you feeling unimportant? Like who?”

“I don’t know. Have there been any calls asking for me? Trying to get info?”

Harry turned serious. “This have anything to do with why you got out of town?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

Harry paused. “You sure, kid? You can tell me.”

“Nah. I just wanted to know if anyone’s sniffing around. I can’t say why, but it’s nothing illegal. I promise.”

“You and every other derelict that walks through my doors.”

“Harry…”

“I’m just busting your chops. No, everything’s copasetic. Nobody’s asking about you. Remember, you’re not an employee, so you don’t show up on most records.”

“I know. Hey, if anything weird happens with the computers, or if anyone noses around, would you try to get as much info as possible and call me?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a long beat. “Now you got me worried. What are you into here, Drake? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

“That’s your story…”

“…and I’m sticking to it,” Drake said, finishing his sentence for him.

“Then I’m cool with that. Will do on calling you. Meanwhile, go get some of that Texas hospitality. Austin’s a college town. Lots of coeds.” The leer in Harry’s voice was exaggerated. Even though he’d been happily married for fifteen years, he liked to live vicariously through Drake.

“I hadn’t noticed.”