by Neil Hunter
CONTENTS
About DEVIL’S GOLD
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
copyright
About Piccadilly Publishing
The Jason Brand series
Jason Brand’s latest assignment has him pitted against Kwo Han, Chinese Tong Master, in a struggle to gain control of Confederate gold, lost for over twenty years. Brand has to battle the odds, violence and betrayal as he moved from New Mexico to Yucatan, gaining a new partner and facing blazing action. In his return to duty Brand brings his own justice to the lawbreakers ... and they are no match for his deadly skills!
Chapter One
‘Your trouble is not being able to relax,’ Frank McCord said. He had been watching Brand pace up and down the hotel room for almost ten minutes and his patience had almost run out. ‘Remind me sometime to ask Kito to show you his methods for relaxation.’
‘The only methods that Oriental son of a bitch knows are designed to cripple and maim,’ Brand said.
He was tired of waiting and tired of the place in which he was doing that waiting. The Windsor Hotel had the reputation of being Denver’s most prestigious edifice. None of those statistics impressed Brand. The fact that its three hundred rooms boasted gas lighting, and a large percentage of them also had bathrooms, meant less than nothing to him. The hotel was like the city itself. Denver had gone soft, Brand reckoned. He had been in the city long enough to take a look at the ornate gas lamps along its paved streets. He had seen the electric streetcars and the new telephones. None of those inventions eased his feeling of discomfort. Once or twice he had found himself wishing he hadn’t returned to Washington with the man McCord sent to find him at Sarita’s place. Barely three weeks had passed since Brand’s return from the affair of Nante’s runaway Apaches. On his return to Washington Brand found himself preparing to leave after a couple of days. Frank McCord had accompanied him on the long train ride to Colorado where they had now been for the last three days.
They were waiting for someone. McCord refused to say who. In fact he had told Brand very little. McCord seemed to have things on his mind and Brand left him to his thoughts.
‘Why don’t you go for a stroll?’ McCord suggested. ‘Find yourself a bottle and a woman for a few hours.’
Brand poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. ‘What? And miss all the fun going on here?’
‘If nothing else your unofficial spell of leave seems to have sharpened your sense of humor.’
Staring at him over the rim of his cup Brand wondered, not for the first time, just how deeply McCord had been involved in the Apache problem with Nante and Benito. Something in McCord’s manner hinted that he knew a damn sight more than he was saying. Brand would not have been surprised to learn that McCord had worked the whole deal. The man employed any and all kinds of devious methods to achieve results, and that included working behind the backs of the people who did his dirty work for him.
A sharp rap on the door brought McCord out of his chair. He opened the door to admit a gray suited figure. Brand took a second, and longer look before he realized who he was facing.
‘Hello, Jason.’
Brand took the outstretched hand of his old friend Colonel Alex Mundy. He took a critical look at Mundy’s outfit and nodded.
‘You look better in a suit than I do.’
Mundy smiled. ‘Still wearing black, Jason. Maybe I should give you the name of my tailor.’
‘Black suits his moods,’ McCord said.
They sat down and for a moment there was a strained silence. McCord cleared his throat and Brand glanced at him out the corner of his eye. Maybe now he would get to know what all the secrecy had been about.
‘Alex, I think you had better begin,’ McCord suggested.
Brand turned his attention to Mundy, aware that this was for his benefit.
‘This affair began back in 1864,’ Mundy said. ‘The Confederacy was hard at work behind the scenes trying to raise money to buy equipment and time. A group of Southern sympathizers in California, mainly mine owners, rallied support and pledged so much of their gold to the Confederacy. Apparently the response they received was overwhelming. By the time they were ready to ship their gold they had close on two-million dollars’ worth. It was melted into ingots and loaded on a wagon. A group of Confederates, posing as migrants, took the wagon across country. Its destination was Texas. At the coast it would have been put aboard a ship bound for Europe. There the gold would have been used to buy arms and equipment. The Union Army heard about the shipment and sent out patrols across the Southwest to intercept it. One patrol did locate the wagon. According to reports there was a fight and the Confederates died to a man. The reports also stated that the Union patrol was hit later by Apaches. Only three men out of six survived.’
‘The gold?’
Mundy shrugged. ‘Supposedly lost during the fight with the Apaches.’
Shifting his gaze from Mundy to McCord, Brand waited for a continuance. He knew there had to be more. Mundy’s story had no conclusion.
‘You don’t believe the Apache connection?’
McCord shook his head.
‘The Army was suspicious at the time but they had nothing solid. And remember there was a war going on. So the matter was left until later. Even after the war there was too much to settle. Nothing was done then.’
‘But not forgotten? Even after more than twenty years?’
‘The Army never forgets,’ Mundy said. ‘The three men who supposedly survived the Apache attack had their names kept on file. They didn’t know it but a close watch has been kept on their movements. But during the intervening years nothing significant happened. Until recently.’
‘Over the last few weeks two of the survivors have died,’ McCord went on. ‘Both were murdered, and everything points to the third survivor as the killer. We have also discovered that one of the soldiers reported killed by the Apaches was still alive until a week ago. Now he is dead – again murdered.’
‘Jason, from what we’ve been able to put together, it appears the Apache attack was pure fabrication. Three of the Union squad were shot by their own companions and the gold stolen. It was hidden and three survivors came back with their Apache story. Then they were sent back to their units, intending to return at a later date for the gold.’
‘So why all the delay?’ Brand queried.
‘Were still making educated guesses,’ McCord said. ‘But think about the man left for dead. Shot by his so-called friends and deserted. He must have watched them leave with the wagon and hide the gold. He must have been a bitter man. Wanting revenge. A good way of getting it would have been for him to move the gold to another location. Which only he knew about.’
‘So when the others come back looking for the gold it had gone.’ Brand glanced at Mundy. ‘If this man wanted revenge why didn’t he take his story to the Army? A witness could have had those three hung for murder and the gold recovered.’
‘Perhaps he decided he’d paid the price and the gold was his. No way we can read what’s in a man’s mind. Whatever the reason he did not come back. We now know he changed his name and moved to another part of the territory. He even married, though his wife is dead now. But there is a daughter.’
‘So we know how it all started. What about the present?’
‘This man – McAdam was his
name – must have been recognized by one of the original squad. It must have been a shock for them to find there was a witness to what they’d done. It would not have taken them long to put two and two together and connect his being alive to the disappearance of the gold.’
‘They go after him and try to get the location of the gold from him. Something goes wrong and McAdam dies.’
McCord nodded. ‘One other thing. Only one of the three survivors went after McAdam. Both his partners in crime were recently found dead. And not from natural causes.’
‘Sounds a pleasant character.’
Mundy spoke up.
‘His name is Harvey Ruger. Forty-two years old. Been on the fringes of the criminal world since he left the Army after the war. He has ideas about moving up the criminal ladder. For a good few years he’s been in close touch with organized crime groups. Those based mainly in California. San Francisco and the Barbary Coast. They are beginning to expand and he wants to go with them. Unfortunately Ruger is a gambler. A bad one. He owes a great deal of money. If he could get his hands on that gold shipment he could pay off his debts and buy his way into the criminal fraternity.’
‘Has he found it yet?’
Mundy shook his head.
‘I don’t believe he has. The daughter, Jenny McAdam, vanished right after her father died. Ruger has been spotted in the area. He’s probably still looking for her. It could be she knows something about the gold. It could get her killed, too.’
‘Any ideas where she might be?’
McCord nodded. ‘Perhaps. We have one lead for you. Town of Jubillo, New Mexico. Jenny McAdam has family in the area.’
‘Just what are we after here? The gold? Ruger? The girl?’
‘All that,’ McCord said. ‘And more. I have a suspicion that Ruger’s plans for the gold involve more than just a few West Coast criminals. I’ve been in touch with the British. We’ve exchanged information and it’s possible there could be a connection between matters both sides have been investigating. What I want you to do is locate Ruger, and if he finds the gold, see if you can follow it to its destination. Try to curb your natural enthusiasm to shoot everyone until you’re able to establish where the gold is going.’
Brand ignored the jibe as he got up.
‘And then?’
‘Put an end to it,’ McCord said. He handed Brand a folder. ‘This should give you the information you need.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Brand said. He nodded in Mundy’s direction and left the room.
McCord poured a couple of shots of whiskey, handing one to Mundy.
‘You think I’m too hard on him?’
Mundy smiled. ‘You know your job. And I think you know Jason.’
‘There are times when I’m not so sure. He’s a complex character, Alex. I use him the only way I know how. Send him on the kind of assignment that calls for unique talents. Like this one. We have certain facts. A number of leads that need bringing together. Brand will make that happen. He has the knack of making things happen. He creates all kinds of havoc along the way, but he gets results. And we’re not in the peace and love business. I don’t believe in using a glass hammer to knock in iron nails, Alex. Brand is a hard man. Used to a degree of violence that would turn a lot of men pale. The thing is he can still function, despite the things that have happened to him. He’s adapted to a way of life he hates most of the time. The day he turns against it is the day he stops being useful to me. Until then I want him working for me because he’s the best I’ve ever had, but for God’s sake, Alex, don’t ever let him know I said it.’
Chapter Two
Climbing down from the stage Brand felt his boots sink into the soft mud of the street. He waited until the driver passed down his bag, with his rifle strapped to the side then tramped across the street in the direction of the building advertising itself as a hotel. He hunched his shoulders against the cold wind and rain coming down from the clouded New Mexico sky. He was chilled from the long hours he had endured in the creaking coach. Hunger gnawed at his stomach and tiredness stung his eyes. One way and another it was a hell of a way to start an assignment.
He stepped up onto the slippery veranda, kicking sticky mud from his boots. Though it was barely evening lamps were being lit against the premature gloom. Brand went through the door into the hotel lobby. It was warm if nothing else, the heat coming off a glowing stove in one corner. He crossed to stand in front of it, grateful for the comfort it offered. He unbuttoned his shortcoat, stamping his feet on the floor to aid the circulation.
‘Hell of a day to be traveling, friend.’
Brand glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the speaker, and saw a woman leaning on the reception desk. She had a half smile on her lips and a bold gleam in her eyes. He made his way over to the desk. The woman handed him a pen and he signed his name in the book. He could feel her eyes still on him.
‘Single room?’ she asked, making even that sound like a challenge.
Brand nodded.
‘I’ll let you have number four. It’s on the front. Right over mine, as a matter of interest.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Brand told her.
The woman straightened up. He saw she was tall, around thirty years old and though was not beautiful she possessed a sensual personality that reached out to make itself known. Brand found himself taking note of her physical qualities as she stepped out from behind the desk. The snug gray dress she wore appeared to have been designed to emphasize the full breasts while not detracting from her small waist and curving hips.
‘Can I get a meal somewhere?’ Brand asked.
She nodded. ‘Few doors down there’s an eating house. They serve good food. Nothing fancy but plenty of it.’
‘Just how I like it.’
She handed him his room key. ‘That apply to other things?’
Brand smiled. ‘Never know your luck, ma’am.’
‘The name’s Connie, Mr. Brand. Day I let a man call me ma’am I’ll know I’m getting old.’
‘Mind if I leave my bag down here? If I don’t eat first I won’t make the stairs.’
Connie nodded and took his bag. She slid it out of sight behind the desk.
‘I’ll make sure there are clean sheets put out for you,’ she said. ‘Always make sure my guests are comfortable in bed.’
Connie, Brand said to himself, I’m damn certain you do.
He left the hotel and made his way along the street. He found the eating house and went inside. It was small but looked clean and inviting. Brand found he was the only customer. He chose a table by the front window, took off his coat and sat down. A slender, dark eyed girl took his order, bringing him the pot of coffee he had asked for straight away. Brand poured himself a cup. It tasted good. After the food and drink he’d been suffering for the past few days, even the worst coffee in the world would have been gratefully received.
He thought back over the long hours he’d spent traveling from Denver. First by train, then three different stage lines, to this small town in Northwest New Mexico. It was called Jubillo and it sat on a rise above the San Juan River. Nothing special as far as Brand was concerned, except that a few miles beyond town lived the only relatives of the girl known as Jenny McAdam. There was no proof the girl had actually gone to stay with her kin. She was alone, frightened, and she had gone on the run. Despite it being a thin chance Brand had decided it was one worth taking. He had found out from past experience that when people were in trouble and needed somewhere to hide they most often chose familiar ground. There was also the consideration that the man called Ruger might have discovered the girl had family. If Ruger was as smart McCord had implied he wouldn’t pass up checking such an obvious refuge himself.
When his meal came Brand ate well. The food was plentiful and better cooked than he had expected. The steak that filled his plate was rich and tender. It was accompanied by boiled potatoes and greens. There were fresh baked biscuits and gravy made with the juice from the meat. A sec
ond pot of coffee rounded off the meal. Brand paid his bill and left. He turned up the collar of his coat against the chill. The rain had stopped but the temperature was still down. Brand took a slow walk around town, partly to exercise off the meal, but also to give himself a chance to look the town over. There was not a great deal to see. Jubillo looked like it existed to service the passengers from the various stage lines that crisscrossed the territory. When he spotted a saloon he decided to take a drink. That was secondary to the main reason for going in. Saloons served as clearing houses for a great deal of information.
Brand pushed open the door and stepped inside. The smell of liquor and tobacco smoke wafted through the motionless air as he closed the door behind him. He crossed to the bar, ignoring the curious stares. He had already made a mental note of the occupants. Eight of them – including the red faced individual behind the counter.
‘Beer,’ Brand said. He dropped some coins on the sticky counter. He had seen better places.
‘Passin’ through?’ the bartender asked. He slopped Brand’s glass of beer in front of him.
‘Looking for someone.’
The bartender almost twitched with interest. He leaned closer, his eagerness to please causing sweat to pop out across his face. ‘Maybe I can help.’
Brand lifted his beer and took a swallow. ‘Could be. I’m not expecting to get my answers for nothing.’
The bartender almost fell off the edge of the counter. He scrubbed a wrinkled hand across his nose. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Could be a couple of people I’m interested in. Man called Ruger. Should be in his early forties. Other’s a girl. She’d be on her own. Around eighteen. Likely be on the nervous side. Name of Jenny McAdam.’
The bartender thought for a moment. ‘Can’t help you with the man. But I might know the girl—’
‘Wally don’t know a damn thing, mister, so I were you I’d not ask him any more questions.’
Brand eased around to stare at the speaker. He saw a tall, broad-bodied man. A strong, hostile face. There were two others behind him.
