Shell Game (39 page)

That left the human element. Ricardo and Adolfo needed to convince Brand that they held the key to a great treasure. They needed to get Brand to instigate the wire transfer for five hundred thousand dollars. Then they needed to get the hell out of there. Because once Brand knew he had been scammed, there would be the devil to pay.

Taylor was directly in harm's way. She would be at Monte Alban, scrambling along a dangerous mountainside, trying to evade the guards as they came running to see the cause and the extent of the fire. Her timing had to be perfect. Adolfo would have seconds, not minutes, to link up with her and for them to get back to the vehicle he brought to the meeting. Then they had to get off the mountain and back to Oaxaca City. From there it was overland by secondary highways to Minatitlan, on Bahía de Campeche. If all went well, Ricardo would travel back to Oaxaca City with Brand and Carlos, then steal away in the middle of the night. He would also head for the Caribbean coast. Nothing to do with Mexico City. Once Brand knew he had been taken, he would be watching. If Taylor were right, what they were doing would almost demolish him financially, but he may still have some resources to come after them. That's why Brand could never know who was behind the con. Ricardo and Adolfo were the front men. They would have to meld back into Mexican society and keep a low profile because Brand would be targeting them. Things would be very different if Brand managed to tie Taylor and him into this.

Very different. Probably fatal. They could never hide from him.

Kelly took a deep breath and stared at his computer. It was all there, waiting. The program that would track the call from the satellite phone, then capture the millions of bytes of digital information between the man at Monte Alban and his banker. The program that would initiate a second transfer. The program to decode the data in case it was encrypted.

In theory, everything was perfect.

A fully loaded Browning pistol sat on the bed. A second clip, complete with bullets, lay beside it. Across the expansive hotel room, Carlos Valendez was sitting by the window oiling a Smith & Wesson 1911. A classical guitar CD played on the stereo. The music was barely audible to Edward Brand, on the balcony overlooking the gardens. The quiet of the late afternoon was exactly what he wanted. Time to sit and reflect.

He closed his eyes, the waning sun still warm on his skin. He had just checked his watch and knew it was six-thirty. Five and a half hours until the meeting at Monte Alban. There were certain aspects of this deal he liked, certain ones that he didn't. Ricardo's story was believable—stuff like this did happen. There was an abundance of undiscovered treasure out there, the actual amount unknown simply because it had yet to be found. Everything and everyone had checked out just fine. Brian Palmer, the murdered CIA agent, was real. He had filed a report indicating the treasure at Monte Alban not only existed, but it was substantial. Worth well into the millions. That was one of the deciding factors that had convinced him to get involved.

The second was Manuel Sanchez. Brent Hawkins had called an hour ago with the news. Manuel Sanchez was the Director of Antiquities, stationed in Mexico City. He was out of the office on holidays. By all appearances, Brand had stumbled onto a goldmine. That was what worried him. He didn't like packages that fell in his lap. All neatly tied up, no loose ends. It reminded him of what he did for a living. When things looked too good to be true . . .

Brand hoisted himself out of his chair and wandered back into the cool of the air-conditioned room. A fan beat out a slow tempo, and the music was slightly louder inside. He walked over to the bed and stared down at the gun and the extra bullets. Would he need them tonight? He had no idea. Would he use them if he had to? Absolutely.

Ricardo Allende had better be exactly who he said he was. Manuel Sanchez had better produce once the artifacts were out of the tomb and safely stashed. He had already rented a panel van and would pick it up the next day around noon. Then, tomorrow night he would return to the site and plunder the cave. He didn't like waiting an additional twenty-four hours, but there was nothing he could do. This was Sanchez's show, and it moved at the speed he wanted. Ricardo was simply the messenger boy.

Brand reached down and picked up the gun. The metal was cool in his palm. Cool and reassuring. He wondered if anyone would die tonight.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTY

Taylor left the hotel at ten o'clock. She drove a Suzuki 4x4 she had rented earlier in the day during her only outing from the constricting stone room. The ride was bumpy, the suspension in the five-year-old vehicle completely shot. The streets of Oaxaca City were lively, many locals just finishing their evening meal and sitting on plastic chairs in front of their small adobe and brick houses. The smell of fried beef and onions was heavy in the still night air.

Once out of the city and on the road to Monte Alban, the traffic was light. The drive took her less than fifteen minutes, then another ten to find a suitable place to conceal the Suzuki. She tucked it in an overgrown pull-off, about four hundred yards from the top of the road. From there, she hiked along the side of the road until she could see the tops of the north palaces. The museum and parking lot were directly ahead—and the guards. She veered off the path to her right and followed the edge of the plateau until she reached a point opposite the museum. The light from the half moon silhouetted the guard house against the sky as she crept along the far west side of the ruins. The guards' outlines were visible through the windows. If she could see them, they could see her. Taylor cut off the edge of the plateau onto the rocky mountainside, trying to stay out of their line of vision.

From here on, it was dangerous. The rocks were uneven and often loose, the cliff beneath them steep and unforgiving. One wrong foothold and she was dead. The moonlight, which had moments before acted against her, was now on her side. She could see where she was stepping, and as long as she concentrated on her footing and didn't hurry, she was safe. About halfway along the six hundred-yard plateau she checked her watch. Five minutes after eleven. She should be okay for time.

Twenty minutes later, she was almost at the south end of the ruins. She started to break twigs off the dead and dried shrubs that had sprung up between the cracks in the rocks. By the time she had reached the far south end, she had a good armful of wood for the fire. She piled it on the edge of the plateau, to the east of the south platform so the location was visible to the guard shack. Then she checked her supply of matches, turned on her walkie-talkie and sat on a rock.

Half an hour and it would happen. So close now.

Adolfo drove the Jeep to a place close to the top of the road, turned it around so it was facing downhill, then parked. He didn't worry about concealing the vehicle as Taylor had; Brand would expect him to drive. He walked up the incline to a position about fifty yards from the parking lot and sat on the side of the road. He pulled the walkie-talkie from his suit pocket and turned the dial to the on position, then adjusted the squelch. He swore softly in Spanish. The button that needed to be depressed in order to talk didn't have a switch on it to hold it down. He had not brought any tape with him to keep it in the talk position. Taylor was on the other side of the ruins, expecting him to leave the line open so she could hear what was happening. How was he going to do that? He couldn't keep his hand in his pocket with his thumb on the button. What to do?

A small bush, mostly dried twigs with an occasional sign of green, was growing beside the rock. He snapped off one of the dead branches and then broke off the very end so he had a tiny piece of wood in between his fingers. He depressed the talk button and gingerly slipped the twig in the narrow gap between the housing and the button. When he released the pressure with his finger, the button stayed down. Taylor could now hear everything. He glanced at his watch, the hands readily visible in the moonlight. Eleven-fifty-three.

He didn't have long to wait. Another set of headlights pulled up close to where he had parked, then went dark. A moment later, he saw three figures walking up the side of the road. Ricardo was in the middle, flanked by Carlos Valendez and Edward Brand. He took a deep breath and said a quick prayer to the Almighty. This was it. Time for the performance of his life.

There was the sound of gravel crunching under the men's feet, but other than that the night was entirely silent. It was eerie. When they were ten feet away, Edward Brand gave a nod.

“Good evening, Senor Sanchez,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine.”

“Then let's have a look at what you've found.”

Sanchez shook his head. “We wait for the guards to leave. I have something planned.”

Brand's face changed slightly—took on an ominous look. “What have you—planned?” he asked.

“I'm not sure in English of the word. A fire. To take the guards away.”

“A distraction?” Brand asked.

“Yes, that is it.” He glanced at his watch. “Any minute now.”

Almost on cue, exactly at twelve o'clock, there was activity in the guard shack. The two men began talking excitedly and pointing. A few seconds later, they left the shack, heading south at a good pace.

“Now we go,” Adolfo said.

The four men moved quickly, Ricardo leading the way. They skirted the parking lot and museum, then dropped over the edge of the plateau onto the thin path leading to the cave. Single file, and moving now with more caution, they snaked their way along the worn rocks to where the boulder they had embedded in the cliff side hid the entrance. Ricardo carried a crowbar and used it to lever out the smaller rock. He set the stone aside, against the cliff and away from the edge.

“Don't knock it over the edge. We need it to reseal the cave,” Ricardo said.

He crawled through the tight opening and turned on his flashlight. Behind him came Adolfo, then Carlos. Then they got lucky. Edward Brand's shoulders were too wide to fit through. No one had thought of Brand's size—whether he would fit through the small aperture. It had always been assumed that both Brand and Carlos would be in the room looking at the treasure.

“For Christ's sake,” Brand said, extricating himself from the hole. “Carlos. Come here.”

The Mexican stuck his head through the hole. “What?”

“I can't fit through. I need you to check things out. Don't fuck this up. I'm relying on you.”

“It's okay. I'll make sure everything's okay.”

“You do that.”

Carlos slipped back into the cave. “Where's the treasure?” he asked.

Ricardo pointed to the back of the cave. “This way.” He walked carefully on the slippery rocks to the alcove at the back of the cave. Water dripped from the ceiling and made plopping noises as the drops landed in small pools. They reached the opening to the smaller room and Ricardo shone his light on the contents. The gold reflected the light and scattered the beam throughout the alcove, showing the rest of the artifacts they had carefully placed on top of each other, then covered with the tarp. Carlos stretched his arm out and grabbed the top piece.

“Don't move them,” Ricardo said. “They could spill all over, and the guards might hear.”

Carlos ran his hand over the smooth surface and pulled on the tarp. It dropped away a touch, revealing more golden objects beneath. He touched each of them, feeling the unmistakable coolness of the precious metal. He wet his lips and grabbed the edge of the tarp, ready to yank it back.

“That's it,” Ricardo said, clamping his hand on the man's arm and pulling it back. “We're out of time. We have to go.”

“I can't tell how many pieces there are,” Carlos said.

“Hundreds,” Adolfo said. “Many, many pieces.”

“But not now. Tomorrow,” Ricardo said. “Now we leave before the guards return.”

They piled out of the cave and Ricardo busied himself with replacing the stone. Brand looked at Carlos and shrugged. “Well?” he asked.

“There is definitely treasure. A large mound of what appears to be gold. But I don't know how many pieces there are. It's in a small room in the back of the cave—difficult to tell.”

Brand turned to Adolfo. “How many pieces?” he asked.

“At least one hundred and twenty, perhaps as many as one hundred and fifty,” he replied.

“The back portion of the cave is very restrictive,” Ricardo said. We've been in a few times now and have yet to get to the bottom of the stack. I think that Senor Sanchez is correct. One hundred to one fifty.”

“You will catalogue them?” Brand asked.

“That is included in the price,” Adolfo said.

Brand was quiet. Handing over a half million dollars without seeing the merchandise was risky, but then again, it was only a half million. The upside to the deal was potentially huge. He had little to no time to make up his mind.

“All right,” he said. “Let's do it.”

Ricardo pulled out the satellite phone and handed it to Brand. With the phone was a slip of paper with a transit number and an account number. Adolfo's secret account. Brand took the phone and the paper, moved a few feet away and dialed a number. He spoke into the receiver for a minute, then returned to the group.

“The money has been transferred,” he said.

Adolfo took the phone and placed a call to the bank where they had set up the account to receive the half million dollars. He entered his code on the keypad and pushed one for account balances. The money was there. He smiled and killed the satellite link.

“All is good,” he said.

They retreated along the narrow path to the far north end of the excavation. The guard shack was still empty, but there was no sign of flames at the south end of the plateau. The fire was out, and the guards would be back soon. Brand dropped behind the other three men and aimed his flashlight at the north palaces. He flicked it once. No one noticed. He fell in behind them, and they continued down the road at a brisk pace. They were eighty yards from the northernmost tip of the parking lot and just out of sight of the guard house when another figure appeared from the direction of the north palaces. In the moonlight it was obvious the man was a
gringo
, his blond hair swaying as he moved at a fast pace toward them. At fifty yards, the man's facial features were discernable.