by Tom Hunter
“Fine. Take off, then, but you’ll get nothing from me. No help here, but you better make sure you get back to me – both of you,” Thomas said, with a nod toward Howard. “Betray me, and you’re out. Off the team.”
Ramon shrugged, “It’s not like I never been on my own. Besides, he said elbowing Howard, I’ve got the kid to help, so I sure as hell ain’t on my own. Now am I?” he taunted. “Fire me if you want. It makes no mind to me. I’ll just sell off what I find to the highest bidder and make my money back that way.” Ramon fired back over his shoulder, falling in step with Howard, further into the darkness of the cave. Their backs straight and determined, Thomas and Pediah watched them leave.
Shaking his head at the drama of the standoff between Ramon and Thomas, Pediah watched Howard and Ramon strike out on their own. “Wow. That was interesting. So… want to turn back? I’m with you, whatever you decide.”
Frowning, Thomas spoke slowly, as he absentmindedly finger combed his beard, “No. He’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot – my idiot, and I’m responsible for him. He’s part of the team, whether we like it or not. We can’t just leave him, much as I’d like to.”
“Got ya, Thom.” Pediah nodded in understanding and stuck two thumbs under his suspenders, rubbing them as if for luck. He followed Thomas, who was already following Ramon and Howard. Pediah prayed silently that things would move more smoothly as they went deeper into the caves. He took a deep breath before letting it out slowly, to try to slow his frantic heartbeat.
Three
They were glad to be long out of the sun, the steady winding down the slope further into what could only have been a mine; their legs burning from the strain of cautious downhill walking, Howard, Ramon, Thomas and Pediah at last found themselves in a large room. A chamber.
The ghosts of its past were still present, in the long forgotten and left behind rusted mining equipment; a cart full of dirt and debris, as if it’s owners were digging somewhere, as it awaited their return, pick axes, and a long table with cradling drafting plans. Gnarled wood handles suggested the age and craftsmanship of the owners of the pickaxes, as did the long table, now dry-rotted with time. Somehow, the yellowed pages spread across it were a testament to its demise.
As the team took in their find, their eyes roved also to another large opening, across the room. It was a natural tunnel, bored through, as if being opened up to create another rail line before the mine was abandoned.
Something moved. It was the faintest of noises, but Thomas, now alert to the rumblings and grumblings beneath Death Valley, cocked his head to one side. What was that? Not the grinding again? No, this was different. Footsteps? Do I hear footsteps?
Questions and concerns raced through Thomas’s mind. I am not paranoid, he chastised himself. But, nearly losing a man might have something to do with it. His heart thumped at the thought.
We are much further down than I imagined we could go. I must be hearing things. But, just to be sure, he asked out loud. “Anyone hear that? Ramon? Howard?” Thomas turned, and asked half over his shoulder.
Ramon and Howard shook their heads. “You hearing things, man. Maybe you need a rest.” Feigning concern, Ramon spoke slowly, playing up his accent, pretending to not know as much English as he did. He’d been around. Had the scars to prove it. He had to be careful here, he knew, and was glad Thomas was now in front of him, so he couldn’t see the truth in his eyes. Normally, he would ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ as the saying went. But, right now, he played his part. Thought he was doing a damn good job of it, too.
“Hmmm…maybe…” Thomas raised his shoulders, then dropped them in an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe not.” Then, straightening his shoulders, he made a circling motion with his hand, “Okay team, take a look around the chamber. See what you can find.”
He heard the team move off toward other areas of the chamber. Pediah and Howard headed toward the carts and tools. Ramon joined them. Thomas was drawn to the table – the yellowed pages of plan diagrams drawing his interest – and, most curiously, a book. A leather bound journal, from what he could see. From time to time, the team shouted their reports from other parts of the chamber.
The table itself, which held the plans and the – yes, it could only be a journal of some kind, a miner’s journal. The table looked more than rickety, like a house of cards about to fall. Thomas’s fingers brushed the table gently, as he swept the book into his hands. At his touch, the dust cleared, and the table collapsed. Thomas stepped back casually, already steeped in the book’s pages.
He held the book and flipped toward the front of the book, and stared at the owner’s signature scrawled across the top: Reginald Ashbridge III.
Holy shit. It can’t be, Thomas thought. Then, a little louder, but still under his breath, and shaking his head, “No, it’s just a coincidence. This can’t be ‘his’ relative.” Then, in a strained voice barely audible, “Ashbridge. Noah. Noah Ashbridge.”
Heavy footsteps approached. Ramon. “What have you found?”
Still holding the book, and ruminating on the name, Thomas responded, “Looks like an old miner’s journal…” his voice trailed off, as he weighed the options of mentioning anything about the name written inside. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, he went on, “It’s strange. There’s a name written here that’s familiar.” Thomas tensed slightly as he spoke, a subconscious shudder. “It reminds me of someone I know.”
“Mind if I hold onto it?” Ramon asked reaching out his hand to take it.
“Naw, I’ve got it. You’ve got enough to carry. I’ll take care of the artifacts.” Especially this one. “I’m all suited up in heavy spelunking gear for a reason. This is my expedition,” he reminded Ramon. “I’m responsible for everyone and everything.”
Ramon’s attempt at clearing his throat politely, evolved into a growl, and he spoke again, this time through clenched teeth, “Let me put it another way. I would appreciate it greatly if you would let me have it.”
With his back still turned, Thomas tensed and jerked upright at the click of a gun’s safety being released. Why the hell did Ramon have a gun?
Before he could ask the question out loud, Thomas heard Pediah’s frantic shouting, “Ramon! What are you doing?!”
Slowly, Thomas turned to face Ramon, with Ashbridge’s journal still in his hand. His finger pointed to the name as if still reading it, and he found himself not looking at the barrel-chested Brazilian, but at his steady hand. The gun in it was trained on Thomas.
Four
The Brazilian manufactured Taurus CIA (Carry it Anywhere) gun lived up to its name, and Ramon’s sure, steady hand was its master.
Thomas didn’t think it possible, but the tension in the room got thicker. He could sense Pediah and Howard in their corners of the room, and knew what they must be thinking, wondering. He hoped neither of them got the idea to be a hero. This was between him and Ramon. Alone.
Howard and Pediah, their feet like lead, were glued to the spots they’d been standing in when they heard the click of the safety release. Their hearts thumping, it seemed more like something out of a movie, not real life. Wishing they could do something, but not wanting Ramon to train the gun on them, they stayed still, silent, not daring to move. Their team was rapidly falling apart. They looked at each other in confusion, as Pediah shook his head at Howard in a silent “no, don’t move.”
“Really? Just what do you think you’re doing?” Thomas sneered.
Matching Thomas’s sneer with his own, Ramon shrugged, “I do what I’m told, and orders are orders. I was sent here to, ah, infiltrate, er, keep an eye on you. And to report back should you find something of interest. Looks to me like that book is pretty interesting.”
Ramon went on, waving the gun more directly toward the journal in Thomas’s hands, “It also looks like it belongs to my client. I think you know the name.” As Ramon spoke, his eyes moved from Thomas, off to the right, took in Pediah and Howard, then seemed to look past Thomas at something in the
distance.
“So, what you’re saying is…I should have let you drop. Back there.” Thomas gestured back up the slope, from where Howard and Pediah had pulled Ramon to safety, after the quaking and rumbling that they’d survived, to make it this far into the caves, and this room. “Is your client worth the betrayal of the man who saved your life?” Thomas asked.
The two were nearly toe to toe, and somehow in the stand-off, through the dialogue, they’d gotten even closer. Thomas had been gauging where Ramon’s eyes had been roving, looking around the room, up and past Thomas. It was in one of those instances, the split-second Ramon’s eyes left Thomas’, that he took his chance. Thomas sucker punched Ramon and ducked, just as he heard the click of the trigger pull. A deafening bang echoed around the chamber.
That was close! Thomas thought.
In the next instant, the wind was knocked out of him. Ramon had him in his grip. Ears thrumming, fists flying, Thomas wrestled him for the gun, hoping there was only the one bullet in it. In these close quarters, if another shot was fired, only one person would stand up again. In the melee, Ramon’s grip on the gun loosened, giving Thomas the chance he needed. He grabbed the weapon and tossed it away. Which only infuriated Ramon further.
In a flash, he had Thomas on his back, holding him down with one knee on his stomach and one hand on his shoulder. He counted on his thick, muscled frame to keep Thomas immobile. His big meaty hand moved to take Thomas by the throat. As quick as Ramon was, using every bit of his military training, Thomas was quicker. It helped that Thomas was light, athletic, and desperate.
On his back now, held down by one of Ramon’s knees, Thomas reached up to grab at the fingers he saw headed for his throat or his eyes. Somehow, he found his voice, and called out to his other team members, “Somebody! Grab the gun! Hurry!”
Pediah was frozen in place. He was in shock, and watched Howard make a dash for the gun. Then, as if watching a movie in slow motion, he saw Howard pause. Why did he stop? Oh…
A foot held the gun to the floor, much like Ramon held Thomas. The unfamiliar voice above it, shouting at Ramon to “stop killing my friend”, sounded strange to his ears.
Howard looked to Pediah mouthing, Friend? But, Pediah had seen the look on Thom’s face when he heard the voice, and shook his head solemnly at Howard.
Bastard. Noah. Noah goddamned Ashbridge. Thomas turned his head and looked up to confirm that the voice fit the name. Ramon stopped his pummeling and looked up, too. But, not before he picked up and dropped Thomas, shoving him into the ground. Satisfied for the moment, he rolled off Thomas and stood up to greet the newcomers.
With the weight of Ramon lifted, Thomas caught his breath and sat up. It was just the break he needed to recharge and take that Brazilian bastard down. But, though he’d confirmed the voice belonged to Noah, he saw there was someone with him. A woman. Both of them held pistols.
Noah Ashbridge was a few years younger than Thomas Knight and, once upon a time, they’d been friends. Well, maybe not friends. Partners was how Thomas preferred it. Friends don’t betray or try to kill friends. So, there was that.
The youngest member of the Ashbridge family, Noah had only ever known it was riches that got you places, not hard work or pride or ethics. Their wealth was hard won by his grandfather, Reginald Ashbridge III, after he discovered rare gems and artifacts in Death Valley. This was 120 years before Noah and Thomas arrived on the scene, to make their own fortunes: Thomas in academic glory, and Noah in gold.
Noah’s father, Clark, had built the family business into the empire Noah now enjoyed. Clark had invested heavily until his death, and not always wisely; though he had managed to keep his family afloat. Noah now sought to return his family, and their status, back to its former glory. The ideology of youth, entitlement, and the almighty dollar were his only masters.
But, though Noah was a few years younger, his style of dress, his stature and seemingly frail physique, belied his age. His out-of-style cane, and penchant for fine hats, made him seem like a living antique. Coupled with intelligence and wealth, he more often than not got what he wanted, whether it was given freely or not.
The cane rested on the same wrist which held the gun. Noah’s companion, Thomas knew only as “Miss Welker.”
She wasn’t much older than twenty-one or twenty-two, Thomas guessed. But, her slightly Asian features meant she could be anywhere from early twenties to early thirties. With a lithe gymnast’s build, on the tall side, Miss Welker was a renaissance woman. She was the Mata Hari of the twenty-first century: spy, classy assassin, a chameleon in social settings, and beautiful.
Thomas noticed, even through his terror, her green eyes set into caramel porcelain skin, framed by dark hair. It was disconcerting to see someone so beautiful holding something so deadly. Her gun aimed first at Howard, then Pediah, and back to Howard.
Noah, at last, took his foot off Ramon’s gun, bent down and picked it up. He turned to Ramon, “Tsk, tsk, you really should be more careful with your toys.”
In the exchange between Noah and Ramon, Howard saw his opportunity. He ran toward Noah, in an effort to sucker punch him in the back of the head. “Howard! Nooo! Stop!” Thomas yelled. And in that instant, Miss Welker’s gun flashed, firing with deadly aim at Howard. She was an expert markswoman. Howard crumpled in mid stride.
“You bastard! He was just a kid!” growled Thomas.
Noah shrugged, “It wasn’t me, but I see your point. She was protecting me. He had the opportunity to live, and he chose to throw it away on foolish bravado. Will you and the other guy do the same?”
Anger flared in Thomas’ eyes, and his face flushed red. Then Thomas looked at Pediah. I can still save SOMEONE. Goddamn bastard made a liar out of me. I told Ramon no one would die on my watch, and now…oh God, how will I tell his family? These, and other thoughts, raced through his mind. He had to focus, and he had to make sure they all got out of there, Howard especially, so he could be returned to his family for… Thomas pushed away the word ‘burial’.
Noah stepped closer to Thomas, “Good. I’m glad we got that straightened out. Just so no one else gets any funny ideas…” He flipped the barrel of the gun into his hand, so the butt was out, and backhanded Thomas with it.
After the brawl with Ramon, Thomas couldn’t feel much of anything, and the butt of the gun barely made a dent in his already battered face.
Noah held Thomas’s gaze for a while longer, a power struggle, fighting against his own frailties. He knew he was physically weak, and he knew others knew it too, but he would let no one ever use it against him. He was powerful in more ways than mere physical strength, and he intended to make sure everyone knew it.
Noah looked to Ramon, suddenly curious, “So, why exactly did I – we” – he glanced at Miss Welker, “why did we come upon you two brawling? What happened?”
Ramon shrugged. “You said if I found something interesting. Or if something interesting was found. Well, he,” – he nodded at Thomas – “he found a journal. I think you might find it special. It’s got your name on it. Well, not your name, but your last name. An ancestor, I think. I asked for it for you, he said no, I attacked. End of story.”
“I see,” Noah said, smiling. “Good work, Ramon.” Three guns were trained on Pediah and Thomas. Noah walked to where Thomas had dropped the book, and picked it up. “As Ramon said, it does have my name on it.”
“Books aren’t your style, Noah. Why would you go through all this trouble for a book? Isn’t your M.O. leaving men to die while you steal things to be sold on the black market? That’s your stock in trade, isn’t it?” challenged Thomas.
Noah shrugged, “Call it sentimental value.”
Thomas guffawed. Sentimental value? Ha! There was something in that journal Noah wanted, and he was willing to kill to get it. The warm fuzzies of family had nothing to do with it.
What’s so special about this mine? Thomas wondered, thankful he’d taken such copious notes in his recordings. Too bad he hadn’
t more time with the journal, but he knew Noah, and whatever it was he wanted, it was big. Somehow, the bastard suspected I’d find the journal down here. How did he know?
Noah motioned with his gun for Thomas to stand up, and for he and Pediah to walk further into the cave. “Count to 1,000 as you walk in, and only then, can you turn around and walk back out again. We’ll clean up in here, but if you come back before we’re finished, we’ll put you down the same way we did the kid. What was his name? Howard?” Noah watched them tense at the kid’s name. “Good. I see you get the point. Get moving.” He waved them forward with his gun.
Thomas and Pediah looked back at Howard, lying on the ground. Thomas shook his head. “We’ll work it out later,” he muttered to Pediah, as they turned and headed to the tunnel they’d seen earlier. Thomas hadn’t gotten to look at the plans, but had a gut feeling this was another mine shaft, as yet unexplored, and unfinished since the miners had left their tools and plans behind.
Fading into the distance, they heard Ramon, Noah, and Miss Welker head back toward the cavern entrance. Noah was already breathing heavily up the steep incline. Thomas hoped Ramon was looking nervously over the side. Should have let him drop.
Five
The chamber behind Pediah and Thomas had seemed to be alive with ghosts, and now they’d another one. As he’d been counting, Thomas noticed the cave had widened, with natural alcoves in the walls, which were likely home to various creatures. The miners of old had only just begun laying track, the start of a bridge, to continue their explorations. The rest of the passageway boasted tall cathedral-like ceilings, and were wide enough for four or five people to walk side-by-side. He ran his hand along one wall, and wondered what kind of creatures called these inset alcoves home.
Lost in his own thoughts, Thomas heard Pediah whisper, “So, how do you know Noah? Friend, I think not.”
