Shrouded in Secrets

by Kim McMahill

  He wondered if she viewed him in the same wayan old dog in need of attention and affection. She had tended his wounds and held him. Uncomfortable with the comparison his mind drew, he had to admit Diane might be right. He didn’t always treat the women he dated the best. He loved women, but after Zara he refused to trust anyone or commit enough to get burned, so often he ended up hurting the undeserving ones. He had become cold and jaded, and the thought that Olivia’s tenderness toward him might’ve been offered out of pity settled like a stone in his gut. His gaze left Olivia and focused on the front of the house as he heard a screen door slap shut.

  “Come in. Welcome to my home,” Benny stated as he waved and motioned them forward. “But Olivia dear, please leave that mutt outside.”

  “Benny, you always talk so tough, but I’ll bet if I peek in the cupboard, it’s stocked with dog treats,” Olivia said as she hugged the old man and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  Benny laughed and turned to Diane. “Look at you…boy have you changed. I haven’t seen you since you were about fifteen. I think I had to pull you off Danny Standing Bear before you beat him senseless.”

  Cash burst out laughing. “Actually it doesn’t sound like she’s changed a bit.”

  Diane slugged Cash and then gave Benny a big hug. “It’s good to see you again. I would love to catch up on things, but as Olivia has told you, we have a huge problem on our hands, and she thought maybe you could help us.”

  “Sit and explain what you are looking for.”

  Cash held back and let Diane do the talking. He figured she would understand better than he how to get the old man to tell them the information they needed.

  “We all know some version of the legend of the crystal skulls. We don’t have time to debate which points are fact or fiction. Bottom line, someone is trying to amass the relics and they now possess ten of the thirteen. They clearly will stop at nothing, including wiping out an entire village, to obtain these objects. Benny, if you know where any of the remaining artifacts are located, you must tell us so we can hide the item somewhere safe and provide you with protection. I don’t want anything to happen to you or to our people.”

  Diane pulled out the photos of the Asháninka village massacre. Olivia gasped when she saw the violent destruction, and a single tear slipped down Benny’s leathery cheek.

  “I hate showing you these horrific images, but you must understand the importance of ensuring none of these objects are anywhere near the reservation. I won’t let this happen to those I love.”

  Benny continued to stare at the pictures, sorrow etched on his face. “Prophecy predicted the rediscovery of the ancient artifacts, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. According to the legend, at a time of great upheaval for humanity, the crystals will be reunited and reveal knowledge vital to our survival. The tale warns if the caretakers are not sufficiently evolved, both ethically and spiritually, the power could bring about our demise rather than our salvation. Whoever did this does not possess the moral principles or divine beliefs to serve as guardian of the sacred relics.”

  Olivia wrapped her arm around the old man. “You see why I felt compelled to bring my friends to you, Benny. I’m afraid for you, our people, and for all humanity. I can’t promise divulging the location of the crystal to Diane and Cash will prevent devastation, but maybe removing the relic from the area can spare us the same tragedy which destroyed the Asháninka.”

  Silence reigned. Cash sympathized with the chief’s quandary. Benny was responsible for the well-being of his tribe and he now faced a decision that weighed heavily on him. Both women covered the facts and presented convincing arguments. Cash could think of nothing else that might help sway the man to cooperate, so he gave him space to think about the options. He could understand the chief’s reluctance to place his trust in the hands of the government. In the past, that strategy had not served any of his people well.

  The dogs began howling. Benny walked to the door and let them in. All three rushed to Olivia and sat obediently at her feet. Benny returned and stopped in front of Cash, who had stood when Benny did. He studied Cash for several moments.

  “You ever ridden a mule?”

  Cash hesitated, caught off guard by the unusual question. His eyes darted to Diane for help.

  “Sure, all the time,” Diane hastily replied. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Be here at 5:00 A.M. tomorrow, and be prepared to camp in the wilderness for several days.”

  “Thanks, Benny. You’re doing the right thing,” Diane said as she stood and hugged the old man.

  “For all of us, I certainly hope so.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  September 28, 5:00 A.M.

  Langely, Virginia

  OWEN WASHBURN BACKED his gold Lexus out of its bay in his three-car garage. A beautiful fall day greeted him in his upper-class suburban neighborhood, tranquil and quiet in the early morning hours. Several other doors had risen and expensive cars rolled out, waiting politely while he passed by. Owen waved at his neighbors, thankful to be part of such a safe and comfortable community.

  He didn’t miss field work in the least. He enjoyed coming home to his loving wife and two children each night, and leaving the killing to men like Cash Luker. He probably should feel guilty about what had transpired in Hong Kong all those years ago, denying Cash any hope of ever experiencing a top management career or a quiet life in the suburbs. The guilt ate at him every now and again, but Cash was such a thorn in his side that the tiny tugs at his conscience usually faded quickly. Cash’s legendary ability to track and dispatch the worst of the worst grated Owen’s nerves. Women loved him, and their colleagues worshiped him like some kind of action-adventure movie hero, so as far as Owen was concerned, the sooner Cash’s line of work caught up to him—and it always did—the better.

  Owen made two rights and a left, freeing him of the impressive homes and streets he knew well, and sucking him into the heavy early morning commuter traffic. An odd sensation overcame him. He glanced in his review mirror, but saw no suspicious vehicles. He took the next exit, made several turns off his usual route, and still he couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed, despite seeing nothing to support the paranoia edging into his consciousness.

  Even after all his years behind a desk, he trusted his instincts and they screamed out in warning. A sixth sense was a skill good agents developed that often saved their lives. He checked his mirrors again—nothing—yet a familiar scent filled his nostrils. He struggled to place the smell, and as his mind rifled through his past, a sense of dread edged into his consciousness. As he honed in on the perfume, the reality struck him like a punch to the gut, forcing all the air out of his lungs.

  Jerking the steering wheel, he whipped his head around, sending the car dangerously close to the shoulder of the road. He corrected and straightened his direction, his knuckles white from the effort and his pulse racing.

  “You’re losing your edge, Owen. Pull over before you kill us both.”

  Owen did as instructed.

  “You promised to never contact me again,” he said without looking back.

  Owen wiped his sweating palms on his pants as he waited for a reply, forcing himself to level his breathing to disguise the panic attack welling up inside him.

  “I need you to keep me in the loop, just like before, and maybe I’ll reward you the same way. You remember how you enjoyed your rewards,” she said, leaning forward until he could feel her breath on his neck.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The sinister laugh made Owen wince. After Pete described the woman who had tried to kill him in Bimini, Owen feared his time might be running out and his past would come back to haunt him.

  “Let me remind you. While we made love in a hotel room in Hong Kong, you told me all about Cash’s sting operation to catch a double agent.”

  “I didn’t know the traitor was you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Bottom line is, yo
u leaked the information, costing six agents and a contact their lives. You never admitted your culpability to anyone. You accepted a big promotion out of the field, let Cash beat himself up all these years—not that he didn’t deserve it—and you’re living a happy little life out in the suburbs with your naïve wife.”

  Owen had nightmares about the possibility of this day. Even though she had promised to disappear and never contact him again, it was foolish to trust a double agent, though he didn’t see a lot of other options. The idea of trying to find and kill her had entered his mind several times over the years since Hong Kong, but he was no match for this deadly woman. He was never a good field agent like Cash. He didn’t have the stomach for killing, nor did he possess the instincts and nerve needed to stay alive in that line of work.

  “So, Owen, what will it be?”

  “I won’t let you use me again. If Cash’s life was the only one at stake, maybe, but I can’t live with unnecessary casualties a second time.”

  “You can, and you will, or a recording of our conversation that night in Hong Kong gets sent to your wife, the Director of the CIA, and maybe a few news stations. I might even walk your children to school while your wife is sobbing her pretty little eyes out over your deception. Do we understand each other?”

  Owen nodded his head, but didn’t speak. He refused to hand down a death sentence to Diane, Pete, Ian, Marjorie, Diego, and Diane’s sister, who was currently serving as a civilian advisor. He was even starting to wonder if there might be something to the legend, and if so, the idea of helping her hammer nails in millions of coffins, including his and that of his family, forced bile to rise in his throat. But the consequence for refusing to cooperate with her included the loss of his job, his family, his reputation.

  “What do you really want, Zara? This pointless venture has nothing to do with money. You get paid well for the services you provide to terrorists, unscrupulous governments, and those operating outside the law, not to mention all of the wealth your father skimmed from the Afghanistan government before we caught up to him.”

  The cool barrel of her gun pressed tight to his temple. Owen froze, knowing it would take little goading to convince Zara to pull the trigger. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of her ending this deception, seeing no better way out of his predicament.

  “Don’t you ever refer to my father as anything other than a martyr. He earned every dollar, and he required much money to rid his country of the likes of you and your pompous organization.”

  “I just don’t understand what you hope to gain with this ridiculous treasure hunt. Murdering innocent unarmed women and children has never been your style. You used to enjoy taking out the strong and confident, while protecting the disadvantaged. What happened to you?”

  “Innocence in this world has gone extinct. Besides, I’m bored, and I love a good adventure. If my colleague is wrong about the crystal’s power, I’m sure the relics can be sold for a fortune. There are plenty of people with more money than sense. I’d much rather become the most powerful woman in the world, but either way, I’m having fun in the process. The added bonus of taking revenge on Cash is gravy and long overdue.”

  Owen turned around in his seat and looked at Zara. Her stunning almond-shaped green eyes twinkled with excitement. He had been captivated and intrigued with her as a young agent, as was every man she came into contact with, an asset that made her very effective at her job. She was fearless to the point of reckless, and a little crazy in a dangerous high-stakes adrenaline-pumping kind of way, but now as he looked at her he interpreted something different. She wasn’t a little crazy, she was insane, and she was no longer a little dangerous, she was deadly.

  “I want the names of everyone on Cash’s team, their current locations, and any plans in the works, sent to me at this email address by noon today, your time, or copies of the tape will be distributed. If I get regular updates from you, I may consider giving you a taste of what you used to enjoy so much,” she said, kissing him on the cheek before slipping out of the vehicle and out of sight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  September 28, 6:00 A.M.

  Argentina

  MARJORIE DIDN’T FEEL rested, even though they had turned in early the night before. The temperatures were comfortable and cool once they left the coast and skirted the mountains as they headed north. The remote village they stopped in had been quiet, creating the perfect conditions for a good night’s sleep, but it hadn’t happened.

  After arriving, they ate a nice dinner at a small cafe, enjoyed several drinks, and strolled through nearly empty streets in the moonlight. Diego had been a perfect gentleman, so Marjorie wasn’t sure what bothered her enough to keep her awake. Tossing and turning all night long, she fought the urge to seek comfort in Diego’s arms, knowing the door separating their adjoining rooms remained unlocked.

  Opening the small black case, she took out her laptop computer and satellite uplink. Once connected to the Internet, a message from a colleague at the British Museum with a subject line stating “Pay Dirt” caught her eye. She couldn’t believe her luck. The origin of one of the Smithsonian heads had been traced to Easter Island. Marjorie pulled out the world map and placed a tiny red dot on the location and drew a line through Easter Island, Boke, Guinea in Africa, and the spot in Egypt where the Sphinx once stood.

  She didn’t even bother to knock as she burst into Diego’s room, map waving. He whirled to face her, hair wet and slicked back, and dressed in nothing but a threadbare towel wrapped around his waist, and a gun in his hand.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, stowing his weapon.

  “Nothing. Sorry. I just got a message from my colleague, and I think we’re on to something. Look.”

  Marjorie held up the map, waiting patiently as Diego studied the image. His eyebrows drew together as he focused on the dots and the line she had drawn. She tried to interpret his expression, but her gaze kept lingering on his dark muscular chest, then her eyes wandered down to the narrow hips hidden by the short white towel. She could feel the humid warmth of his damp skin, so she took a step back in order to return her thoughts to the purpose of their mission. The clean smell of soap and man filled her nostrils and she realized the room was too small to avoid his unintentional onslaught on her senses.

  “It seems like a pattern is developing, but what does it mean?”

  Marjorie forced her focus back to the map. “I’m not sure. My co-workers and your staff can keep working this angle, and I think we’ll start piecing together a clearer picture. We might even get an idea where to search for the remaining relics. This alignment must mean something—the ability to connect the dots in a nearly perfect straight line can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Things seldom are.” Diego walked to the window and pulled the shades back to allow in more light so he could get a better look at the developing pattern. His gaze landed on a new black Land Rover parked across the street. He’d seen the vehicle several times the day before. Being completely out of place in the poor rural villages they had passed through, the SUV had caught his attention. He stepped behind the curtain and watched two men emerge, easing the doors shut behind them and scanning the street.

  “Come here, but stay away from the window.”

  Marjorie made her way to Diego and peered over his shoulder.

  “Oh my gosh—that’s Ahmed!”

  “Do you recognize the other man?”

  “No. I’ve never seen him before.”

  Diego pulled a T-shirt over his head, stepped into his jeans without letting the towel drop, and then began stuffing his belongings into his duffle.

  “Gather your stuff as quickly as you can and stay out of sight.”

  Marjorie darted to her room, shoved her few possessions into her pack and stowed the computer and map. With one glance around to verify she had forgotten nothing, she returned to Diego’s adjoining room.

  “Take our bags and slip out the back door of the inn. Be very caref
ul, and make sure no one is covering the alley. We don’t know if there are others. Load the Jeep and be prepared to get out of town as quickly as possible.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Marjorie’s bravado of earlier faded as she thought of Diego taking on the two men alone. She wasn’t sure how skilled he was in these situations, since his job with Interpol involved primarily desk work and supervision. He started his career as a field agent many years ago, but that did little to ease her fears. Ahmed had tried to kill her already, and with no knowledge of the other man’s abilities, she had to assume he was at least as dangerous.

  “Do you know how to use this?” Diego asked as he handed her a 9mm SIG-Sauer.

  Marjorie nodded and took the gun from his hand. Giving it a quick scan to familiarize herself with the weapon, she stuffed it into the waistband of her jeans. She had never shot this particular make, but she was no stranger to firearms. Her father had loved to mix guns and alcohol, and from a young age, Marjorie had taught herself how to unload the weapons in the house when he went on a drinking binge, and reload them the next morning before he realized what she had done and punished her for insolence.

  She grabbed both bags and turned to leave, but was stopped by the heavily accented English of Diego’s voice.

  “Be careful, and if anything goes wrong, drive as far from here as you can. Do not come back for me. Call my office for help.” He closed the distance between them and gently smoothed the hair away from her forehead, looking directly into her eyes. “You are much stronger than anyone can ever imagine. Protect yourself at all costs. Now go.”

  Marjorie didn’t know how to respond, so she secured her load and slipped out into the dark hallway and made her way to the back of the inn. She eased the door open just a bit and peeked through a small slit—no one. Silently she stepped outside, jogged to the Jeep, and stowed their gear. She slid into the driver’s side seat and stuck the key in the ignition. Marjorie glanced around again, looking for anyone out of place and praying Diego had followed her out, but he was nowhere to be seen on the empty early-morning streets. Even all the stray dogs seemed to be sleeping in, or afraid to venture out, sensing a showdown.