by L C Hayden
As soon as they settled, Andrew began speaking. “Let’s begin with introductions. He pointed to the young woman. “You met Linda, my fiancé. She’s not only beautiful, she’s also gifted. She’s my accountant, and as such, I invited her to the meeting.”
She glided over to Andrew, and he wrapped his arm around her.
Next, he pointed to a slightly overweight middle-aged man sitting on the right-hand side of the couch. “That is Eric Stapleton, my second-hand man. I never make any decisions without his approval.”
“Good to know,” Bronson said and nodded a hello.
“Next to him is Larry Web.”
Finally, Bronson thought. A man who fits the description of a true Texan from his cowboy hat right down to his pointed boots.
Andrew continued, “He’s in charge of making all of the arrangements, so I thought he should be included in the conversation.”
Bronson and Larry exchanged hellos.
“There’s one more,” Andrew said. “But Nick is a flake. I don’t know if he’ll show up although he knows he’s supposed to.” He sat down and Linda sat next to him, leaving enough space between them to let everyone in the room know this was a business meeting, but still close enough to claim him as hers.
Once everyone settled in, Andrew said, “With that, I’ll turn the floor over to Mr. Bentley. Tell us exactly what you have and what you expect from us.”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
“That must be Nick.” Andrew raised his voice. “Enter.”
It wasn’t Nick. It was a maid—a different one this time—bringing in the drinks and a tray filled with cookies and what looked to be scones. From a silver kettle, she poured two cups of tea and offered one to Andrew then to Mike. “Is the tea all right, sir? Do you want milk or sugar?”
Mike sipped his and made a pleasing face. “This is perfectly fine.”
Andrew waved her off.
She handed Bronson his coffee. “You, sir? Is it all right?”
Bronson sipped the coffee. “It’s more than all right. I’ll probably want seconds later on.”
“Yes, sir.” She took a small bow. “As you wish.” She backed out of the room and didn’t give them her back until it was time to open the door.
When the door closed, Andrew began speaking, “I’ve been to your website. It’s very impressive. What else can you tell me?”
Bronson set his cup down. “Not much. I’m a man of few words.”
Eric leaned forward, rubbed his belly as though it ached, and smiled. “Action. You’re strictly a man of action.”
“You could say that.”
Andrew reached for a cookie, broke it in half, and ate it. “In that case, let’s cut to the core. You claim you found the El Dorado treasure—a treasure that has eluded thousands of treasure seekers. Why were you so lucky?”
Bronson opened his hands and spread out his arms. “Simple. They all looked in the wrong place.”
“And you knew where to look?”
“Exactly.”
“Care to expand on that?” Andrew sipped his tea but did not remove his sight from Bronson.
“The fools continue to search for a city so rich that its streets are paved with gold. They search the mines. They search the caves for signs of the buried treasure.”
Eric leaned forward and smirked “And where did you search?”
“I searched the lake. Specifically, Lake Guatavita.” He told them about the Muisca people who lived in Central Colombia from AD 800 to modern-day. Bronson spoke of their king and how he offered the lake gold, emeralds, and other precious objects. He told them about the three villagers finding a gold raft in a small cave in the hills just to the south of Bogota and thus authenticating the story. “It took me three long years to work the area until one day I was successful.”
Eric clapped. “Bravo, Mr. Bentley. That was a fascinating story. But there’s a huge hole in your story.” He reached for his Bloody Mary and took a large gulp. He stared at Bronson.
45
Bronson took his time sipping his coffee. He was a man in no hurry. He had nothing to worry about. “And what hole are you talkin’ about?”
“Surely the Columbians knew you were digging around, searching for their treasure. They certainly don’t plan to let you keep it. So how can you sit here and tell us otherwise?”
Bronson raised his cup in a salute. “Ah, very good, Eric. Of course the Columbian government knows that I’ve recovered their treasure, and they are at this very moment digging it up and gettin’ it ready to display in their museums.” He lowered his cup. “And that’s precisely why we have to move fast on this.”
Andrew leaned forward. “That didn’t answer the question. How can you get the treasure out without the Columbian’s approval?”
“What none of you understand is the vast number of gold, silver, and precious stones that I’ve unearthed. With the help of a few trusted men, we dug and hid the best of the treasures. Even as we speak, my men are continuing to do that. After that initial find, we did our civic duty and notified the authorities.”
Andrew nodded. “And the hidden ones, those are the ones you want us to help you bring here?”
“Exactly.”
Andrew and Eric exchanged looks.
Eric rubbed his forehead as though digesting all the information into neat compartments. “These treasures that you have, how much are they worth?” He shrugged. “A million? Maybe two?”
“Try. More. Like. Five-hundred. Million.” Bronson leaned back and the room filled with silence.
Eric grabbed his Bloody Mary and emptied the glass. “Can you prove any of this?”
Bronson shot to his feet. “I can, but if you’re so filled with doubt, perhaps Andrew is not the man I’m lookin’ for. Thank you for your time.” He grabbed his backpack and began to walk out.
Andrew bolted out of the couch. “Mr. Bentley, please wait.”
Bronson stopped but did not turn around.
“You’ve got to understand that we need to be careful. We have to thoroughly research everything before we give our approval. Eric here was just doing that. No offense.”
Bronson turned. “Fair enough.” He sat back down. “My coffee cup is empty.”
Andrew pressed the intercom button. “We need more coffee. ASAP.”
“Right away, sir,” came the voice over the intercom.
Larry stroked the brim of his cowboy hat. “Could you tell us what plans you have? How can we help you get the goods over here?”
“I’m assumin’ you have connections.” Bronson leaned back and relaxed.
“What kind of connections are you looking for?” Larry asked.
“Whatever it takes. That’s not my department. I need for you to arrange for an airplane to land in Bogota. We will load the plane and fly it back here.”
“That will take some time to arrange.” Larry reached for a scone and bit into it.
“That’s not good enough.” Bronson hoped his firm tone left no doubts in everyone’s minds. He was a man in a hurry.
“What I meant to say,” Larry quickly corrected himself, “is that I’m sure it will be done.” Larry pointed at Andrew. “Our host, as you know, is very well connected. His best friend is Thomas Morris, our senator’s only son.”
Andrew cleared his throat and Larry hushed.
Eric immediately picked up the void. “Before we make any arrangements, can I ask what kind of merchandise we’re talking about?”
Bronson bent down, picked up the backpack, and opened it. He carefully unwrapped the gold medallion that Pablo had loaned him. He handed it to Andrew.
Andrew whistled as he admired its beauty. “I would like to keep this so I can authenticate its origin. Can I do that?”
“I rather not,” Bronson said. “You’ve got to understand. It’s very valuable, and I’m not lettin’ it out of my sight. However, whenever you’re ready to authenticate it, let me know where and when and I’ll be there.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Bronson assumed it was the maid bringing his second cup of coffee. Instead, a lanky cowboy in his early twenties with a big Adam’s apple stepped in. The big, bushy Texas mustache straight out of a nineteenth-century painting made him look somewhat comical. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?” His mustached bopped as he spoke.
Andrew walked over to him and signaled for Linda to join him. “Nick. So nice of you to join us.”
Ah, Nick. The flake. He definitely looked the part.
“Linda and I were just about to leave. Dad—huh, Senator Morris—” He stopped when he saw his guests’ stunned faces.
“He’s not my real dad. I have a dad. Sort of. Hardly ever see him or know him. The senator felt sorry for me, so he adopted me.” He put air quotes around the word adopted. He cleared his throat. “What I was trying to say is that he’s giving one of his fund-raiser parties. It’s rude to be late.” He turned to Bronson. “Mr. Bentley, please fill Nick in on what was discussed. We will meet again tomorrow to finalize the details.” He looked at Mike. “Nice seeing you as always.” Hand-in-hand, Andrew and Linda made their exit.
Eric shifted his weight and wiggled out of the chair. “I need to go, too. But Larry will be here.”
Great. Bronson and Mike would be left with the two cowboys.
Eric shook hands with Bronson and Mike and departed.
As soon as the door closed, Larry began speaking. “You know, Senator Morris considers Mike to be as much of a son as his own kid.”
“Interestin’,” Bronson said. “That’s not goin’ to create a problem.”
“No, of course, not. The senator is oblivious about Andrew’s going-ons.”
“I agree with Larry,” Mike said. “I’ve been working with Andrew on and off for a while. He’s very careful to keep this part away from the senator’s attention. Andrew would never jeopardize the senator’s chance of becoming our future president.”
As Bronson and Larry chatted, Bushy Texas Mustache stared at Bronson and the air shifted. Or maybe Bronson was reading something out of nothing. Nick’s eyes widened as though remembering something. Then they went dark. A dull, black glass as if there was no life in them.
Bronson blinked and the moment passed.
Nick flopped down on the couch and stroked his mustache as he continued to study Bronson.
The tension in the room could be cut with scissors. Something had changed and Bronson wasn’t sure what it was.
“Mr. Bentley, do you want me to summarize our meeting or do you?” Larry asked.
Nick moved his lips forward and back as though trying to figure out what to say. “If you excuse me for a minute, I have an important call to make.” He walked out.
Bronson busied himself returning the medallion back to the backpack. When he finished, he looked at Mike. “Ready?”
Mike nodded.
Both stood up to leave.
The door opened and Nick stepped in. “Leaving all ready? Surely, you’re not in a rush. I know about the treasure we’re supposed to help you bring in, and I’ve been busy making arrangements. In fact, that’s why I was late.”
Both Mike and Bronson remained quiet. Neither headed to the door.
“Please, I’m eager to show you what I’ve done,” the mustache Texan said. “Mr. Bentley, you must follow me.” He turned to look at Mike. “You don’t mind if I steal Mr. Bentley for a moment, do you? You and Larry can work out the details while we’re gone. We won’t be long.”
“Where are you going?” Mike asked.
“Just to the backyard. Behind this mansion is the guest house. That’s where I’m staying. I want to show Mr. Bentley the details I’ve been working on.”
Bronson cleared his throat. “Mike works with me. If you have somethin’ to say, you can say it in front of him.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that’s true. But what I have to show you is very sensitive. If you approve my plan, I’ll call Mike to join us.” As he spoke, his eyes went darker.
Bronson shifted, buying time.
Nick forced a smile and his mustache bounced up-and-down. “It really won’t take long. Please do me the honors.”
Bronson nodded and Mike sat back down.
Nick led Bronson down a series of hallways that weaved their way outdoors. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Bronson could see the guest house that rivaled the best house in any fancy neighborhood. A bricked walkway led to the guest mini-mansion. “Quite the house,” Bronson said.
“Oh, yes. Andrew doesn’t cut corners when it comes to taking care of us.”
“I can see that.” Flowers accented both sides of the path. Once they reached the front of the house, Nick said, “We use the side entrance. It’s more convenient.”
Bronson followed him around the corner to a sliding door entrance.
Nick stepped back and remained behind Bronson. “Go on in. It’s open. I’m sure you’ll find it quite comfortable, Mr. … Bentley. Or should I say Mr. … Bronson?”
Shiiit!
46
Nick’s shove to Bronson’s back felt as if the blow had come from a chunk of granite.
Bronson, staggering from the blow, did his best to maintain his balance. The couch in front of him prevented the fall. In the following mini-seconds, Bronson accessed the situation as best as he could. A giant stood by the open sliding door and another man, although smaller than the giant, would make any bouncer proud. This man with short-cropped hair and beady eyes stood on the other side of the couch, and worse, he held a gun pointed at Bronson. Nick lurked somewhere behind him.
Bronson prayed Nick remained far enough behind so as not to interfere with his plan. In one quick stride, Bronson closed the distance between him and the bouncer.
Before the beady-eyed man could shoot, Bronson trapped his attacker’s wrist with both hands. That forced the stainless pistol to fall against his belly. Using the full force of his legs, Bronson lunged forward, snapping the wrist and causing the bouncer to drop the weapon. At the same time, Bronson met him with a fierce head butt that sent a spray of blood spewing out of the newly formed gap where the bouncer’s nose met his brow. The pain made him sink to his knees.
The giant wasted no time in coming to his friend’s aid. He hit Bronson in the side of the head with a staggering left hook. Bronson fought off nausea and forced himself to remain standing. He threw a quick elbow to fend off his attacker’s oncoming powerful blow.
Roaring like an enraged bear, Bronson pivoted and drove forward, shoving his opponent backward. He pummeled the giant’s midsection with all his might. The giant absorbed Bronson’s punches as though they were nothing more than annoying mosquito bites.
Nick, on his hands and knees, located the discarded pistol.
To his right, the bouncer regained enough strength to stand. His features twisted and his eyes narrowed. He became a charging bull. At first, he staggered toward Bronson, but with each step he took, he regained strength and speed.
Bronson continued to dodge the giant’s punches and even managed to land a couple of his own. But no matter how hard he tried, it seemed he was swatting mosquitoes in a jungle infested with them. No matter what he did, the punches kept coming.
From the corner of his eye, Bronson saw Nick raise the pistol. An evil-looking grin spread across his face as he cocked the weapon and pointed it at Bronson.
The bouncer continued his charge. Bronson braced himself, grabbed him, and drew him toward Nick.
The bullet intended to kill Bronson instead met its mark in the bouncer’s heart.
Nick’s eyes widened and his lips quivered, but he didn’t hesitate. He raised the gun, steadying his shaking hand. He aimed for Bronson’s head.
Snarling and growling, Honey dashed past the open sliding door and threw her weight against Nick. For a fraction of a second, Nick hesitated before moving the aim from Bronson to the attacking dog.
But that second had cost him. Honey landed on his chest throwing her full weigh agains
t him. A loud thunk resonated as Nick’s head hit the edge of the glass table shattering it to pieces. The marble-and-onyx sculpture that had graced the coffee table catapulted through the air. As Nick tumbled backward, he fired a bullet into the air.
Honey launched herself toward the giant. He raised his leg to kick the attacking dog. Bronson grabbed the raised leg and twisted it. The giant screamed as he tumbled backward. He did not get up.
Bronson patted Honey’s head as he regained his balance and fought for air. He was too old for this. “Thanks, gal. You did good. You’re a good dog.”
Honey’s tail wagged.
From behind him, Bronson heard a voice. “What the hell happened here?”
Bronson pivoted to stare into Larry’s narrow eyes. But it wasn’t the eyes he focused on.
All he could see was the gun pointed at him.
47
Bronson raised his arms.
Honey growled.
“If you don’t want that dog dead, you better control it.”
“Settle.” Bronson tapped the side of his leg. Honey sat quietly by Bronson’s side.
“Care to explain what happened?” Larry asked.
Bronson straightened his shirt and stared at Larry. “I’m not too sure. Texas Mustache brought me here and—”
“Texas Mustache?” Larry’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, you mean Nick.”
“Yes, Nick,” Bronson corrected himself. “He led me here, and then these two duds were waiting for us. I think Nick planned it all.”
Larry squinted as though attempting to piece the puzzle together. “He planned what?”
“On the way over here, Nick tried to talk to me about givin’ them my business. Andrew could easily be eliminated, he said.”
Larry’s features hardened. “What did you tell him?”
“I said Andrew had been the one who had been recommended. It’d be best if you all talked it over. Then all hell broke loose. One wanted to take over the deal. The other one said he was the ring leader. Angry words were used and soon after that, weapons appeared. I ducked and the three of them fought it out.” Bronson cleared his throat and flopped down on the couch. He didn’t know how long it would be before Nick or one of his men woke up. Bronson wanted to be gone by then.
