Sydney, Australia
Gray Lombard studied the CNN footage of the latest death at Valle del Sol. He’d caught the edited version on the morning news. That had been frustratingly brief, but interesting enough that he’d gone directly to the source and pulled in a favor from an ex-SAS contact who now worked as a foreign correspondent, and obtained a copy of the direct satellite feed.
The footage was choppy and unedited, and showed a lot more than the ten-second spot that had finally been aired. He watched as the camera tracked a tall dark man, and listened to the curt series of orders issued in a mixture of English and Spanish. The camera zoomed in on the man’s face. A second later a hand covered the camera, blotting out the feed, and the tape ended.
“That’s it,” he said curtly to the dark-haired man sitting at his side. “It’s Jake.”
By nightfall, Jay’s men had cleared the ruin and closed it off to the public. They didn’t have official support, and Jay wasn’t holding his breath waiting for it, either. With the series of earthquakes that had occurred all the way along the cordillera, disrupting power and water supplies, the military and the police were up to their necks with disaster relief and controlling looting. Another dead huaquero at Valle del Sol wasn’t enough to make them come running.
By nightfall most of Cain’s canvas encampment had disappeared. A few tents and several students who were stuck with no transport still remained, along with two television crews, who had stubbornly resisted leaving.
When Jay and Quin reached the mission, the lights were on in the clinic, and Luis was standing guard over Cain, who was occupying one of the clinic beds.
Luis grinned. “Look who we found hiding in his tent. Didn’t wanna go home, did you, Cain?”
Cain’s face was pale, and he was sweating.
Hannah rose from the edge of the bed. “He’s sick,” she said calmly. “Only it’s not a virus, or food poisoning, or any of that hooey about an ancient curse.” She indicated the ECG monitor Cain was presently hooked up to. “At first I thought it might be either Ross River or Dengue Fever, because some of the symptoms were consistent—but it’s neither.” She pointed to the screen. “See that? At the bottom here the wave is long and shallowed out with each beat, when it should kick up in a sharp vee. That’s textbook for an overdose of Digoxin.”
Jay studied the heart rhythm wave. “A standard heart drug.”
“Uh-huh. Derived from digitalis. Give it in high doses and people suffer from tiredness, nausea, diarrhea, depression, hallucinations—you name it. Dehydration makes the effects worse, because Digoxin alters the salts.”
“Which would explain why the Peruvian team went down so fast. They were doing the heavy work.”
“And taking water from the communal water supply. Most of Cain’s crew had bottled water.”
Jay’s gaze shifted from the ECG monitor to Cain. “And if a person is already on heart meds, like Garcia was, they die fast. The first dose would have knocked him over.”
Cain sat up, ripping off the wire to the heart monitor. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t kill Garcia, and I don’t know anything about poisoning the water.”
Quin’s expression was cold. “What about killing Pedro Chavez.”
Cain uttered a crude phrase.
Jay caught him by the shirtfront, stopping him from leaving. “Cain’s no organizational genius. Despite the degree, he couldn’t put a taco together without assistance. It’s his partner who makes the decisions and sets up the deals.”
Cain’s face reddened. “All I know is that no one’s been paid but the security team,” he said shortly. “Hathaway was trying to get our sponsorship renewed, but after the Honduran government lodged a lawsuit, our backers wouldn’t play ball. The foundation went belly-up a couple of weeks back.”
“So you’re broke—”
“Bankrupt,” Cain interceded viciously.
“—and out in the cold. What lawsuit, exactly?”
“I don’t have to tell—”
Jay tightened his hold. Cain’s face turned beet red.
“I’ve got no time,” Jay said curtly. “Hathaway’s gone AWOL, and that makes me nervous. If I have to hurt you to get the facts, I will.”
Raw fear flickered on Cain’s face, and Jay eased his hold.
Cain sucked in a breath, his color turning from puce to gray. “The Honduran government claimed that certain artifacts had gone missing.”
Quin’s voice was flat. “The Copatyl sun totem, and the jade owl that was in with the burial goods. Not the most important finds, but two of the jewels in the crown. Who’s he selling to?”
“I don’t know, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you—”
“He doesn’t know,” Jay cut in, “because Hathaway’s always taken care of the finances. Cain’s just the window dressing.”
Cain swore. “All right. It is Hathaway you’re looking for. Hathaway and Ramirez.” He bent forward, retching. When he was finished, his face was ashen, and spittle glistened on his chin.
Jay tossed him a towel and nodded at Luis. “Keep him restrained. Lock him in the cellar if you have to.”
It was an hour shy of midnight by the time the news crews finally decided there was no more to be gained by hanging around an almost deserted valley, staking out a ruin that had been shut down.
As dramatic as the earlier broadcast had been, featuring yet another body and with guns clearly in evidence—not to mention the theories about Maoist insurgent forces taking over the temple ruin—the story was now dead. The Maoist forces, according to a local source, weren’t Maoist at all, but a lone member of a local gang—a huaquero—looting the ruin, and the only artifact found on him had been a labeled shard of pottery pilfered from Cain’s tent.
With no sign of incipient guerilla warfare, and with the theory of an ancient curse brought to life by a killer plague in tatters following the discovery that Garcia’s death could now be attributed to a drug that was routinely prescribed to millions of heart patients every year, the news crews had lost their mandate.
Quin let the library curtain drop as a set of vehicle lights disappeared over the bridge. “That’s the last one.” She sank back into the wing-back chair that was positioned near the window and picked up the notes she’d been working on. The desk was presently occupied by Jay and the mission accounts. It was a sad fact that, despite murder, plagues and earthquakes, taxes were still due. “So that’s why Cain’s people were leaving.” She shook her head. “They haven’t been paid.”
Jay dropped his pen and sat back in his chair. “Once the temple had been opened up, Hathaway didn’t want them around. Especially not the Peruvian team. He wanted the whole place to himself so he could have a clear run at whatever he thinks is in there.”
Smothering a yawn, Quin gave up on studying glyphs that were beginning to merge on the page. She was beginning to get a feel for them. The inner excitement that came when she was close was fizzing just below the surface. She had found a common thread in the symbols, something to do with time or numerals of some sort, but she hadn’t quite figured the context. Her mind was teetering on the brink of grasping…something…but so far nothing had gelled. What she really needed was sleep.
As she strolled past the desk, a hand caught hers. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To bed.”
Jay rose to his feet. “Then you’re heading in the wrong direction.”
Twenty-Three
Hammering on Jay’s front door woke Quin.
Reluctantly, she lifted her head from the pillow. The luminous dial on the bedside clock said it was four in the morning. She had had less than two hours’ sleep.
A hand on her shoulder kept her in place. “Stay there, I’ll get it.”
With quick grace, Jay pulled on the jeans he’d dropped on the floor, then collected the gun he’d left on the bedside table. The sound of the magazine slotting into place as he left the room brought her fully awake.
When Quin heard Hannah’s voice, s
he pushed back the covers and dressed.
By the time she made it downstairs, Hannah was seated in the kitchen in her nightgown and robe, a glass of something alcoholic in her hand. Jay was on the phone.
Jay’s glance fastened on hers. “Olivia’s been kidnapped.”
Hannah’s hands shook as she took a sip of her drink. “Hathaway found out who she is. He saw her photo on the back cover of one of her books. He’s taken her into the ruin.”
Jay roused Luis, who was sleeping in the accommodation block. Minutes later, Luis climbed into the Bedford and headed for the village to get help.
Jay tossed a fleece-lined jacket at Quin. “Dress warmly. If we’re underground for any length of time, the cold’s going to affect us.”
She pulled on the jacket, not bothering to ask exactly how Jay knew so much about working underground. She watched as he loaded two daypacks with sandwiches she’d made, water, flashlights and spare batteries, then slipped the large black handgun in, along with a spare magazine.
The air was cool and thin, the stars hard and bright in the night sky, as Quin put an arm around Hannah and helped her to the house, while Jay loaded their gear into the Range Rover.
Concern turned to fear as, for the first time in her life, Hannah leaned on Quin. She felt light, little more than skin and bone.
Hannah reached into the pocket of her robe and came out with a piece of paper. “If you’re going into that hellhole after Olivia, you’d better take this.”
Quin examined the sheet.
“It’s a map of the maze,” Hannah said. “Cain had it in his pocket. We had to give him a change of clothing before Jorge drove him to the police station at Vacaro. Olivia found it when she did the laundry.”
The map only covered part of the maze, but it was precisely drawn. Quin’s chest squeezed tight. “Olivia should have taken this when she went with Hathaway.”
Jay’s expression was grim. “She left it for us. If Hathaway needs Olivia, chances are Cain’s made sure he doesn’t have a map, and Olivia doesn’t intend to take Hathaway anywhere he wants to go. That was her way of making sure she can’t.”
“Just get Olivia back,” Hannah said rawly.
Jay held the door of the Range Rover open and waited while Quin climbed into the front passenger seat. “Don’t worry about Olivia, she’s as tough as rawhide. We’ll have her back before dawn.” He turned the key in the ignition and headed toward the workshop.
Before the whole place came down like a rotten stack of cards.
Ramirez was a killer, and so was Hathaway. It was an unholy alliance, and Jay didn’t know which one was worse. They had kidnapped Olivia in the belief that her extensive archaeological knowledge would lead them to the artifact—but Olivia had deliberately blinded herself. She would lead them by the nose precisely nowhere, stalling for time until either she was rescued, or Hathaway and Ramirez lost their patience and killed her.
Jake brought the Range Rover to a halt next to a windowless concrete block shed. The shed was small and squat, a bunker for storing dangerous goods. The weakest part of the building was the door, which was solid steel. But, strong or not, the building had been breached; the thick steel door was hanging off its hinges—the steel hasp that had fastened it cut through.
Jay examined the hasp, the telltale discoloration and warping of the metal. Whoever had broken in had used a gas axe, probably stolen from his workshop.
Pulling the door wide, he stepped into the room, switched on the light and scanned the shelves. Normally, chemicals and inflammables were stored in here, but lately, with the bridge construction, they had also stored explosives.
And the shelf that had held the C4 was empty.
When they reached the temple gate, Luis was already there with a crew from the village.
“Hathaway’s closed the gate,” Luis said curtly. “We’re working on it, but the stone’s thick, and it looks like he’s collapsed part of the tunnel inside.”
Jay examined the solid partition of stone and jerked his head at Ramon. “Keep working on it. We’ll go in another way.” He sketched a map of the second entrance and handed it to Ramon, along with a string of orders. Hathaway and Ramirez would be armed, and it was likely he had also set a trap at the door, so once the door was safely breached, no one was to move into the ruin unarmed.
Quin climbed back into the Range Rover, fear literally making her blood run cold. “What if it’s already too late?’
Jay turned the key in the ignition. “Don’t worry. Hathaway might not know this game, but Ramirez does. Even if Olivia can’t lead them to the artifact, they won’t kill her. Whether they find anything or not, they’ll still want to get out of this with their skins, and for that they need a live hostage. It might sound cold, but in their situation, it doesn’t make sense to kill Olivia.”
The hidden entrance to the temple loomed, the brush covering it dark and tangled in the fading moonlight. Jay studied the ground, looking for evidence that anyone other than he and Quin had been there. “Wait here. I’ll check it out first.”
“No. I’m coming with you. We don’t have time for that kind of caution.”
Jay’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t superstitious, but this whole place gave him a cold itch up his spine. He was no archaeologist, but he was experienced at pot-holing and cave diving and—
For a molten instant memory flashed: a man in a dripping wet suit, black hair cropped military short, a wide, white grin.
Knowledge tantalized, then slipped away, like a stone dropping through murky water, and Jay shook his head, his frustration mounting. Every now and then he glimpsed a piece of the past; then the chink in the blankness closed up, leaving him trying to fit yet another disjointed fragment into the puzzle that was his past.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He eyed Quin, tall and lean, her face delicate in the moonlight, eyes with that mysterious, provoking slant. Everything.
He didn’t want her anywhere near the place, but she was fit and experienced at this kind of work, and she was right, they didn’t have time for caution—not when Olivia’s life was at stake.
Pulling back the curtain of trailing vines, he swept the interior of the cave with the flashlight, then stood back as the few bats that had taken up residence whirred out of the opening. When the cave was clear, they picked their way past the first rock fall and paused at the second. An hour later, they’d removed enough rubble to crawl through to the other side of the tunnel.
Skimming the walls and floor with their flashlights, they walked, only pausing when a faint tremor shook the ground.
Quin watched the stone dust floating in the beam she cast. “That’s a two.” Ordinarily nothing to worry about beyond the feeling of displacement that happened when solid ground shimmered like water.
“Watch out.” Jay’s arm snaked around her waist, and she found herself shoved forward in an awkward sprawl, palms stinging, knees bruised, as part of the ceiling peeled off and crashed down behind them.
A choking wave of dust filled the tunnel. Coughing and blinking, Quin attempted to push herself to her knees and found that she couldn’t move. Panic expanded in her throat as she craned around and discovered that the heavy weight pinning her was Jay.
Adrenaline pumped, giving her the impetus to shimmy forward a bare inch, work one leg free, then haul the other out from beneath Jay’s still form.
Feverishly, she grabbed her flashlight, which had rolled off to the side, and turned the beam on Jay. He was lying facedown and was clear of the rock fall—just—but he was unconscious, his stillness frightening. Blood trickling from a cut on the side of his head, along with a goose egg swelling, explained why he was out cold. Just to be sure, Quin placed two fingers at his carotid and instantly picked up a pulse. Relief left her feeling limp. A stray rock must have caught him as he’d flung them both forward, clear of the collapse.
After quickly checking for other injuries, Quin turned Jay onto his back.
Relief that the injury didn’t seem that serious was tempered by a new fear as she gently probed his skull. Jay had experienced a head injury once; a second injury was the last thing he needed and potentially more serious than it might otherwise have been.
After shrugging out of her pack, she searched through it for a handkerchief. As she folded the linen into a pad and pressed it to the wound, Jay’s eyes flipped open.
His fingers took over holding the handkerchief. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
Quin lifted a brow. “How do you feel?”
“Fine, except I’ve got one unholy bitch of a headache.”
“Well,” she muttered, “so much for that fear. Your vocabulary’s still intact.”
A large hand closed around her wrist, and she found herself slowly pulled down onto his chest. “And that’s not all. Takes a lot to shut me up.”
But it had happened once before.
The knowledge of just how close he’d come to dying all those years ago hung between them. Strange and unresolved as their relationship was, she couldn’t lose him again.
His arms closed around her, and they lay, still and quiet, his warmth seeping through thick layers of clothing, dispelling the chill of the tunnel. Despite the fact that they were stuck underground, buried beneath who knew how many tons of soil and rock, she felt oddly content.
“We’ve got two choices,” Jay said quietly, his voice little more than a rumble in her ear. “We can either dig our way out or keep going. Either way, there’s a risk we won’t make it.”
“If we dig our way out, you’ll just go straight back in.”
He didn’t argue. “I can’t leave Olivia.”
“Neither can I.” Quin eased to her feet, brushed dust and dirt from her hair and clothing, and watched critically as Jay rose, too. He might seem nearly invincible, but he had his Achilles heel, and she felt fiercely protective.
They cleared minor blockages as they went, then stepped through into an area where most of the tunnel had collapsed, leaving just enough space for them to walk.
Jay paused. “The stone just changed.”
Touching Midnight Page 17
