The scene reminded Lora of a modernistic version of settlers and Indians, with the feds taking the role of the embattled pioneers. She stared goggle-eyed down at the circus below. Max and Tunafish watched with no less astonishment. The feds had dropped to their bellies and knees behind every conceivable cover, but the rocks and squat bushes that dotted the base of the cliff were scant pretection from the darting enthusiasm of the bikers.
In the confusion, DiAngelo and the rest of the mob group managed to break away from the preoccupied policemen and flee in great leaps to the jungle. A few of the cyclists fired desultory bursts after these unarmed escapees, but, judging from the way they dived into the undergrowth, they managed to keep from being seriously hit. The cyclists obviously considered the policemen their main opponents, and they continued to roar around them in a circle, firing and laughing gleefully as the bullets tore into bushes and ricocheted twangingly off rocks. The feds gamely returned fire, but few of the cyclists fell. The cyclists had gradually tightened their orbit until they formed a circle around the hapless feds when the most mind-boggling thing of all happened: out of the jungle, big as Ike and trampling down small trees and undergrowth in its path, rolled something that looked like a cross between a bulldozer and a World War II vintage tank!
It stopped just short of the jungle, its long gun pointing in the direction of the hard-pressed feds. The hatch opened, and from the hatch emerged a rotund figure in a white silk business suit topped incongruously with a combat helmet.
“Ortega!” Max stared, then collapsed against the wall, chuckles turning into full-throated laughter as he took another good look at the antics going on below.
Ortega—for it was he who had half emerged from the hatch—had a bullhorn to his lips and was shouting something in Spanish at the stunned Federales.
“Surrender or die,” Max translated for Lora’s benefit. The shooting had stopped with the appearance of the tank (presumably the feds were as taken aback by its arrival as the three of them were) and there was a tense moment as Lora waited with baited breath for it to resume. These Federales were the Mexican equivalent of the FBI, after all. They would not just tamely surrender to a man of Ortega’s stamp. They would lob a grenade or something, and go on to carry the day. . . .
A white handkerchief attached to the muzzle of a rifle rose from behind a rock and was waved slowly back and forth. As Lora watched, the cyclists whooped and zoomed enthusiastically while the feds got to their feet, threw down their weapons, and were taken prisoner by the dismounting riders. Meanwhile, Ortega and the tank rolled to the foot of the cliff. Ortega looked up at the cave, and raised the bullhorn to his lips again.
“Don’t anybody move! You’re all under arrest! This is the DEA!”
A rush of green uniformed soldiers emerged from the jungle without warning, and wild pandemonium ensued below. Ortega’s men, thinking the battle was over, were caught unprepared. Most of them had dropped their cycles, and there was a mad scramble for rifles and bikes. They got off a few wild shots, but it was clear from the beginning that this new adversary had the advantage of discipline, weaponry, and surprise. Ortega’s men were quickly rounded up. Ortega fared better. He popped back inside the tank, the hatch slammed shut, and the tank rolled back into the jungle, seemingly impervious to the shots fired at it, while a small contingent of the newly arrived soldiers ran after it.
“That you up there, Maxwell?”
“Good God, it’s Barney,” Max said to no one in particular, staring down at the crisply uniformed man who stood at the base of the cliff with his hands cupped around his mouth.
“Who’s Barney?” Lora demanded, while Max leaned out of the cave, grinning widely.
‘Yeah, Barney, I’m up here. What the hell are you doing here?”
The man below snorted. “We’re backing up the Mexican feds now. Mutual cooperation, if you can believe it. Can I come up?”
“Come ahead.” Max waved him up and drew back inside.
“Who’s Barney?” Lora asked again, while Tunafish looked glum.
“He was my boss at the DEA. Colonel Bernard Brackinridge. Great guy, Barney,” Max replied, looking more cheerful than Lora had ever seen him. He was grinning, his hands stuck in his pockets as he watched the man called Barney ascend the cliff.
“Yeah, a real great guy.” Tunafish agreed sourly.
Max said to Lora, “Barney and Tunafish never hit it off. Barney has a prejudice against former burglars.”
“He’d like to fry my ass,” Tunafish said gloomily, and then Barney was walking into the cave.
He was a tall, spare man with short sandy hair and military precision. He shook hands briefly with Max, acknowledged Lora with a smile, and nodded to Tunafish. When he saw Minelli, still bound and bleeding in the center of the cavern, he lifted his eyebrows.
“He’s part of that mob group your boys are rounding up now,” Max explained, and Barney frowned.
‘What I want to know is, how the hell did the mob get mixed up in this?” He looked at Max, then shook his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know after all. I assume it’s a long story.”
Max grinned. “It is.”
Barney nodded. “With you, it usually is. We had a fix on your position two days ago, you know. But we wanted to wait until we could haul in some warm bodies along with the dope.” He chuckled. “Boy, did we ever get our wish! The Federales spotted a group searching the jungle this morning. They tailed them, thinking they were the Mexican druggies looking for their own downed plane. They thought they’d catch them red-handed with the goods. But damned if they weren’t following the wrong bunch! The druggies were behind them the whole time! Lucky I held my men back. This mutual cooperation thing is crap, let me tell you. Talk about your screwups . . . Well, that’s beside the point at the moment.” He looked at Max again, his eyes growing suddenly keen. “You do have the drugs?”
Max nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“If you’ll just tell me where they are, I’ll have some guards posted until we can get them lifted out of here. This is a hell of a big drug bust, you know.” Barney sounded tough, cool and efficient as he took charge.
Max grinned slowly at him. “Not quite so fast, Barney. I want some insurance first.”
“What kind of insurance?”
“Immunity from prosecution, for one thing. You know I didn’t have anything to do with running the drugs—at least, not on purpose—but I want your word that none of us will be prosecuted for that, or anything else we may have done.”
“Like kidnapping, Max?” Barney’s voice was dry. His eyes sought Lora, who smiled feebly at him.
“Among other things.” Max was still grinning, but Lora felt about two inches tall as Barney turned to her.
“You’re the victim, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to press charges?”
“No.”
“Mmmm.” He looked her over, unsmiling, then turned back to look at Max. “I don’t think you have a problem there.”
“Actually, that wasn’t quite the charge I was concerned with.”
Barney grimaced. “You want me to try to persuade the Mexican authorities to forget murders, jail breakings, bombings, kidnappings—two besides the lady here—car theft and God knows what else? Oh, yes, I know what you’ve been up to. We’ve been keeping tabs on you.”
“At least you didn’t leave anything out,” Max responded dryly.
“I can’t speak for the Mexicans, Max.”
“Then you’ll just have to search the jungle for the drugs. They could be anywhere.”
Max smiled sweetly at Barney while Tunafish muttered something about God and mercy under his breath.
“Tell me where the drugs are, and I’ll do what I can to see that they go easy on you.”
Max shook his head. “Not good enough, Barney. Come on, you’re talking to me, remember? I know you can give me immunity. I’ve seen you do it before, in other cases.”
“Yeah, but t
hen we weren’t supposed to be assisting the Mexicans. They want to hang you out to dry, Max, and the situation between our two countries isn’t too good right now.”
“There’s about ten million dollars’ worth of smack here, Barney. And some cash. A hundred thousand dollars of drug money. May be traceable.”
Barney stared at him, looking undecided. Lora clasped her hands in front of her and prayed. Tunafish shut his eyes. Finally Barney nodded curtly.
“I’m probably going to get my ass kicked over this, but you’ve got it. Immunity from prosecution for any and all past crimes, in return for the drugs.”
“You’re a good guy, Barney.” Max was grinning, and even Tunafish opened his eyes and looked brighter. Lora sighed with relief. Everything was working out perfectly. None of them would go to jail. . . .
“So where are the drugs?” Barney demanded.
“One more thing.” Max’s grin was wider than ever.
Barney groaned and said, “What?”
“I want a finder’s fee. After all, I’m not working for the agency now.”
“A finder’s fee!” Words seemed to fail Barney. “How much?”
“One percent. A hundred thousand dollars. Pretty reasonable, considering the value of the shipment.”
“Out of the question!”
“Face it, we did the agency a service. Think what this bust will look like in the papers! We deserve to be paid for our time and trouble.”
“You are a pushy son of a bitch, Maxwell,” Barney said bitterly. “All right, you have your finder’s fee!”
“Thanks, Barney.” Max clapped him on the shoulder while Tunafish and Lora looked at each other in disbelief.
“Now, where are the drugs?” Barney asked impatiently.
Max said nothing, merely crossed the room with a half smile curling his lips.
Lora, Tunafish, and Barney stared after him with identical expressions of confusion. Max walked right up to the wall with the mysterious cave drawings, put his hand on a rock just beneath the first warrior’s spear, and pushed. With a creak and a groan, the whole wall moved.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Tunafish muttered in amazement, while Barney walked slowly forward to stare into the small room revealed by the sliding wall.
Lora followed him, slack-jawed. Who ever would have guessed. . . .
“You mean it was here the whole time?” Lora stared into the small chamber, which was filled to the roof with the crates of white powder, while Max and Barney walked right inside. “What is it?”
Max looked back at her, an engaging twinkle in his eyes. “A Mayan burial chamber, I presume. At least, I think that’s roughly the equivalent of a sarcophagus.”
He gestured to one side of the chamber, where Lora saw a skeleton wrapped in tattered bits of cloth lying on the dilapidated remains of a wooden bier. The room itself was painted with highly stylized figures, still intact pieces of pottery lay about on the floor, and it looked like it belonged in one of the tombs of Egypt.
“I suppose we’ll have the archeological people bitching because you destroyed priceless antiquities,” Barney grumbled, scarcely glancing at the sarcophagus as he counted the crates. “Where’s the cash?”
Max pointed to where the brown leather suitcase leaned against a crate.
“You say there’s a hundred thousand dollars here?” Barney picked up the suitcase, hefting it in his hand.
Max nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then here’s your finder’s fee. Keep it under your hat.” Barney thrust the suitcase at him. Max accepted it with a slight bow.
“Now we’ve got to get you out of here. I think I’ll have a better chance of persuading the Mexicans not to prosecute if you’re nowhere to be found.”
“Thanks, Barney.” Max sounded suddenly sincere.
Barney shook his head. “Yeah, well, you were one of the best agents I’ve ever had. If you ever want your job back . . .”
“I’ll think about it,” Max said, and then Barney was leaving the burial chamber and crossing to the cave’s mouth. He yelled down for someone called Burrows. Minutes later, an out-of-breath young man appeared, saluting smartly.
“Burrows, I want you to escort these three to my helicopter. Have Dennis take them anywhere they want to go.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Burrows—it might be best if it looked as if you were placing them under arrest.”
“Yes, sir.” Burrows’s expression remained carefully wooden, but he shot a furtive glance at Lora.
He was no doubt madly curious, but she doubted that his curiosity would ever be satisfied. She certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell him what was going on.
“What about him, sir?” Burrows pointed at Minelli, who was lying lifelessly on the floor.
“Is he dead?” Barney asked the question without much interest. Burrows went to check, bending to feel for a pulse and then straightening.
“No, sir.”
“Then he is under arrest. Really under arrest.”
“Yes, sir. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll get some of the men up here.”
“You do that, Burrows.”
Burrows went to the mouth of the cave and yelled down. In moments six more men appeared.
“Michaels, Gibbons, and Patterson, you’re to escort these three individuals at gunpoint to the colonel’s helicopter. I’ll be coming with you. Todd and Zigler, you’re to mount guard over this cave. No one save the colonel or myself is to enter without permission. Raymond, this gentleman is under arrest. He is to receive emergency medical treatment and then be kept under guard. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” answered a chorus of voices, and the men deployed as he had directed. Two of the soldiers were required to carry Tunafish down the cliff in a makeshift litter, while Burrows and an even younger man marched alongside Lora and Max, who parted from Barney with a handshake and an hasta la vista, escorting them at gunpoint from the cave and down the mountainside.
The Federales, having had their freedom restored, were getting their revenge by roping Ortega’s men together and standing guard over the downed cycles. As Lora, Max, Tunafish and their escort passed by them, they saw that the mafia boys, including DiAngelo, had been recaptured and were being roped in with the others. Only Ortega and his tank were unaccounted for.
“Uh, sir . . .” One of the young soldiers spoke up hesitantly, beckoning to Burrows. After a whispered consultation, Burrows nodded and turned to Max courteously.
“It has been suggested that it would be much quicker to transport you to the helicopter on the captured motorbikes. My men can drive them, if you feel comfortable riding behind? Colonel Brackenridge seemed to think that speed was of the essence in getting you out of here.”
“It will be a pleasure,” Max answered with a quick grin at Lora. She was not so sure. She had never ridden a motorcycle before, but then she had never done a tenth of the things she had tackled since meeting Max. Riding a motorcycle was tame in comparison to most of them.
“I’m game,” she said, lying only a little, and when Tunafish nodded it was unanimous.
Three cycles were brought up, and there was a short wait while Tunafish’s leg was strapped to the side of the vehicle so that it would be jostled as little as possible. The boy driving him mounted gingerly, having to sit in an awkward position to accommodate Tunafish’s leg. Max was laughing, and Lora was feeling mildly amused herself by the time the bike roared off to the tune of Tunafish’s laments. After that, she climbed onto the back of the cycle piloted by Burrows with only the smallest hesitation. The young lieutenant probably drove very well, but to Lora it seemed as if he tore off like the hounds of hell were on his heels. She could have sworn she heard fiendish laughter as Burrows gunned the machine over bumps the size of hills and steered between trees that were close enough to scrape Lora’s elbows. Looking to the left, where Max rode behind another boy almost alongside her, she saw that the laughter was not a figment of her imagination. Max was laughing u
proariously at her. Lora turned a cold shoulder on him, clinging to Burrows’s waist like a monkey in a hurricane, and vowed to get her revenge one day.
She made it to the top of the mountain in one piece, much to her surprise. There, on a flat-surfaced rock the size of a baseball diamond, sat three helicopters. Two were enormous, looking as if they belonged in a sophisticated military operation, while the other was small and white with sleek purple markings, obviously Barney’s personal craft.
Lora climbed off the cycle and locked her knees to keep them from buckling, smiling slightly insincere thanks at Burrows, who had climbed off as well and stuck his head inside the helicopter for a word with the pilot. Then with a salute Burrows remounted the cycle, and he and the other young men were off the way they had come, sans passengers.
“I’ll get you for laughing at me, you devil,” Lora said feelingly to Max.
Tunafish, being laboriously helped inside the helicopter through a door that did not want to accommodate both his size and his unbendable leg, grunted in agreement. Max grinned.
“I can’t wait,” he murmured for her ears alone. His eyes were dancing, and the brilliant sunlight that was not shaded at all on this barren mountaintop brought out red highlights in his black hair.
Lora stared at the craggy features with resignation. He was grinning, obviously unrepentant, but looked so handsome she found it hard to hold on to her grudge. Her eyes fell on the battered brown suitcase he held in one hand, and she thought of another grievance she had with him.
“You can’t keep that money.”
“Why not? Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you get a fair share.”
“I don’t want to share! It’s drug money!”
“What do you suggest I do with it, then? Throw it away?”
“Give it back.”
“To whom? If I give it back to Ortega, who is, I suppose, its rightful owner, he may very well decide to have me shot on the spot. I doubt if I’m his favorite person right now. And after I’m dead he’ll just go on to use the money to finance another drug deal. You wouldn’t want the money to go for that, would you? And there’s no point in giving it back to Barney. It would just end up mouldering away in a government vault somewhere.”
Wild Orchids Page 29
