“Leave him!” the guard said. “He’s not going anywhere. Follow me.”
They ran toward the trail in the direction of the explosion, each man jumping over the first trip wire. The moment the last one disappeared from view, Remi let go of Nando’s hand. “This way.”
Nando followed her into the thick foliage. “Where are we going?”
“To find Sam.”
She pointed toward the trail that led toward the ruins, keeping low. Nando followed behind her. When they reached the path, Remi stopped at the sound of rustling leaves up ahead. She aimed her gun. Relief flooded through her as Sam emerged on the other side. He held up his hand, motioning for them to stay where they were. He looked across the clearing, then waved at them. “Go!”
Remi took Nando’s hand, leading him down the moonlit path, watching for the pile of stones that indicated another trip wire. She stopped, pointed, then carefully stepped over it. Nando followed suit while Sam brought up the rear.
“The prisoner!” someone shouted. “Gone!”
“Maybe he set off the explosion?” another asked.
“Impossible. He was tied. You three, head south. You two, with me toward the ruins.”
Remi looked back at Sam.
“Keep low,” he said quietly. “Nando, let Remi go first. We moved some of the trip wire markers.”
He nodded, stepping behind Remi, matching his pace to hers, stopping when she did at the next wire. They stepped over it, Sam following. When they reached the ruins, Sam took a quick look around. “Inside. If we’re lucky, they’ll pass us by.”
Another explosion rocked the air. The ringing in their ears dulled the sound of someone screaming in agony. A gunshot cracked, and the screaming stopped. “Keep going!” the first guard shouted.
The moment they entered the ruins, Sam went for his pack, digging out the extra ammo and the speed loaders for his gun and the box of rounds for Remi’s.
“They’re coming,” Nando said to Sam. “Shouldn’t we try to outrun them?”
“Three-foot stone walls,” Sam said. “It’s the closest thing we have to a bunker.” He handed the box of ammo to Remi. “What do you say we go for that nice chilled champagne when we’re done?”
“Perfect plan.”
“See you at the bar, then.”
Nando, who was leaning against the wall, shook his head. “How is it you two can joke at a time like this?”
“Passes the time,” Sam said, giving the place one last look. His gaze caught on the top of the ruins and the thick vines that grew up the side, providing plenty of cover at the one window that looked out in the direction of the trail. “You’re the sharpshooter in the family,” he told Remi. “What do you think?”
She followed his gaze, then tugged on the vines. “Looks doable. Where are you going?”
“The window. They’ll be looking for us on the ground before anywhere else,” he told her. “Don’t give your position away unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Got it.”
She holstered her gun, slipped the box of ammo into her pocket, and he gave her a boost up.
Nando watched as she climbed to the top. “What about me?”
Sam took up a position near the window on the right side, where the leafy vines created decent cover. “Keep your head down. If we’re lucky, this’ll be over soon.”
Remi stretched out along the top of the wall, the sharper stones digging into her as she drew her gun, aiming toward the trail. “And if we’re not?” she asked, glancing down at Sam.
“The champagne will have to wait.”
72
The reflection of the moonlight cast a blue glow on the thick vegetation—a cruel illusion of coolness in a jungle that refused to let go of the day’s heat. Sam wiped the sweat from his brow before it dripped into his eyes, then leaned into the wall, listening. The air vibrated with the sound of a million insects. Beyond that, nothing. Using the barrel of his gun, he nudged the leaves aside until he had a view of the trail. Nothing moved. He heard Remi shifting on the wall above. “Anything?” he whispered.
“No—wait. Movement. Two o’clock.”
Sam shifted his gaze to the right, searching until he saw the leaves move just off the trail. He tracked it with his sights, finger pressing on the trigger, waiting . . . waiting . . . A head popped up. He fired. The man fell back. Suddenly, someone jumped out on the opposite side, muzzle blast lighting up as he sprayed the walls with gunfire. Bits of rock flew up, hitting Sam in the face as he pressed back.
Crack! Crack!
Those shots came from above. “Time to move, Remi.”
Remi slid to the edge, swinging her legs down. Nando got up, catching her by her waist as she dropped to the ground.
Sam turned his attention back toward the trail. “Get him?”
“Them.”
“That’s my girl.” Nothing moved out there. “Don’t suppose you saw the other two?”
“No.”
“We need to flush them out.”
“I have an idea . . .”
He glanced over at Remi and saw her looking at his pack, trying to figure out what she was thinking—until he realized what she was focusing on. “Anything but that.”
“It worked in Madagascar.” Remi picked up his panama hat, twirling it on her finger, a slightly devilish look in her eye as she looked at him.
“That’s my favorite hat.”
Her brow furrowed in mock sympathy. “We’ll be very careful.”
“Not careful enough,” he said, hoping he could find the other two gunmen first. Unfortunately, nothing moved out there. He waited a few more seconds, just in case. “Fine. Just. Be. Careful.”
Remi looked around for a suitable stick.
Nando watched with interest. “What are you planning on doing with that?”
“Not us. You,” she told him, placing the hat on top of the fork-like end, balancing it.
“Me?”
“You’re going to hold it in the window just high enough.” She moved the stick in an up and down motion. “If we’re lucky, they’ll shoot at it.” She glanced over at Sam, then quickly back to Nando. “Or, rather, the hat.”
“How will that help?” Nando asked.
“Muzzle blast,” Sam said, hoping one of the men would make a move before they had to resort to sacrificing his hat. “The reason why Remi had to move from her sniper position. Like a beacon in the night.” He and Remi were going to have to move outside the ruins if they had any hope of taking out the last two kidnappers. The steps leading up to the doorway were high enough to hide behind. He looked to the right, where the buttressed roots of a tree snaked out toward the crumbling wall, providing decent cover. “Remi, take the stairs. I’ll take the right side.”
Remi dashed out the doorway. Nando held the stick and hat, his expression one of uncertainty.
“You’ll be okay,” Sam said.
“How will I know when to show the hat?”
“After I fire a few rounds from the window. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know. Just raise it high enough in the opening so that the moonlight hits it. Make it look like someone’s underneath. Got it?”
Nando nodded. “Got it.”
“Good.” Taking one last look through the vines, he noticed a fruit bat swoop down from beneath the broad leaves of a tree not too far from where Remi had taken out one of the men. “Get ready.”
He fired twice in that direction, then quickly moved back, out of sight, making his way to the right side of the wall. Nando crouched beneath the window, hat low. Sam peered through an opening in the wall, finger on the trigger. “Now!”
Nando bobbed the hat up and down.
Sam’s gaze swept over the landscape. Nothing happened.
“Higher!”
The hat went up.
Twin mu
zzle blasts flashed again and again as the gunmen peppered the stone walls. Sam fired twice. One of the men cried out, his rifle flying from his hands as he fell back. Remi hit the second man, vines rustling as he fell into the branches.
“Nando, move the hat again. See if we get a response.”
The hat danced in the window. When nothing happened, Sam made his way inside the structure, climbing up the wall where Remi had been earlier, looking out over the jungle and trail.
“Sam?” Remi asked.
“Counting bodies . . . So far, three . . .”
“Don’t forget the one who died on the trip wire.”
“That makes four.” He spotted the fifth body where he and Remi had shot the last two, near the trail. “Number six is missing,” he said, spying a blood trail leading away from them.
“Do we go after him?”
“It will take him at least twenty-four hours before he can return with help. I say we put some distance between him and us. The farther away we are from here, the better.”
73
Rolfe, still jet-lagged, poured the last bit of coffee from the carafe into his mug before returning his attention to the map that Leopold was looking over. They were holed up in a suite of a downtown Buenos Aires hotel, the remnants of their room service breakfast on the cart waiting to be picked up. “And why is it we think they’d be contacting this Dietrich person?”
“He’s the last-known relative of Ludwig Strassmair.”
“All well and good,” Rolfe said, “but my understanding was that Strassmair, being a Nazi, was estranged from his sister’s family. Why on earth would he have entrusted the treasure to one of them?”
“He wouldn’t have. But the possibility exists that he contacted his sister’s family when he arrived. They might know something about his last days in Buenos Aires.”
“You’re assuming they even spoke.”
“Hoping. Something we won’t know unless we find Dietrich.”
“And what are the odds of that?” Rolfe asked, examining the area Leopold had circled. “Even with the number of Guardsmen you say are here, that’s a lot of land to cover.”
“Except a lot of that land is controlled by the Guard. Advantage, ours.”
“Controlled, how?”
“They run arms and drugs for support. Trust me when I tell you no one is moving across that land without them knowing about it.”
“You’re sure?”
Leopold looked up at him. “I have no reason to question their authority and competence. Their training is my training.”
“Then how is it that Dietrich managed to stay off their radar?”
“I said they controlled the land down here,” he said, tapping the map. “Dietrich is reported to be living and working outside their control. At the moment, anyone looking for him will be heading through Guard territory.”
“And the man they picked up last night? Have they determined whether or not he’s searching for Dietrich?”
“No,” Leopold said, when his cell phone lit up from an incoming call. “They were under orders to wait until we arrived at their compound. The less people who know about our true purpose here, the better.”
“At last, we agree on something,” Rolfe said as Leopold picked up his phone from the table.
He looked at the number, then answered. “Yes . . . ?” His pale eyes narrowed as he listened to whatever was being said. He answered in Spanish, a language Rolfe didn’t understand. The man ended the call, almost slamming the phone down on the table.
“What’s wrong?” Rolfe asked.
“The man they picked up escaped.”
“How?”
“He had help, obviously. Five of their men are dead. The sixth barely made it out alive.” Leopold drummed his fingers on the tabletop, upset by the turn of events.
As well he should be, Rolfe thought. Apparently, the Guard wasn’t as infallible as they’d have everyone believe. “One man against six? What was it you were saying about anyone traveling in Guard territory?”
“He told them he was alone, a student. Clearly, they believed him or they wouldn’t have let their guard down. It’s possible he was exactly that.”
“You’re deluding yourself. Someone who happens to be studying in the very area we need to travel escapes, kills five Guardsmen? It has the Fargos written all over it.”
“You may be right.”
“May be? They’ve been one step ahead of us on everything. Which needs to change. I’m not paying you all this money to let them get to the treasure first.”
Leopold pulled the map closer. “The survivor said the man they captured was heading north. There are villages here and here . . . That’s where I’m going.”
“You’re going?”
Leopold folded the map, putting it into his pocket. “You’re certainly welcome to come. Unless, of course, you’d rather stay here and trust that if I find Dietrich before the Fargos do, I’ll pass that information to you.”
“Trust?” Rolfe said. “I want to know what you plan to do about the Fargos?”
“I’ve already dealt with that. The entire compound is aware they may be in the area. They’re starting the search for them as we speak.”
“And Dietrich?”
“They’ll be looking for him as well. The good news is, thanks to the Fargos and their intervention in this kidnapping, we have a promising lead on where Dietrich might be. If the Fargos make contact, the Guard will be ready. They won’t last long.”
“Good. When do we leave?”
“Within the hour.”
74
After putting considerable distance between themselves and the ruins, Sam, Remi, and Nando set up camp. When it was Sam’s turn to sleep, he leaned back against his pack, covering his eyes with his hat to eliminate the sunlight filtering through the thick canopy of leaves. The next thing he knew, something was nudging his foot. He shifted position. When it continued, he reached up, shoving his hat back, squinting at the silhouette of his wife, looking down at him.
“Rise and shine, Fargo. We have a lot of miles to cover before nightfall.”
He lowered the hat again.
She kicked the bottom of his boot with a bit more force. “Up and at ’em.”
“Okay, okay . . .” When he sat up and looked around, he realized they were alone. “Where’s Nando?”
“Exploring.”
That got him to his feet. “He shouldn’t be out there alone.”
“Nothing to worry about,” she said, pointing. “Just on the edge of camp.”
Sam looked that direction, seeing Nando just a few feet outside the clearing, bending down, picking up something from the ground, then reaching up and shaking a vine. A few minutes later, Nando returned with an armful of passion fruit. “Breakfast!”
“Perfect,” Remi said.
They sat down to a meal of protein bars, passion fruit, and water. The tart, wrinkled dark purple fruit had a scent that was a cross between overripe apple and banana. A refreshing addition to what they’d been eating the past few days, Sam thought, tossing the rind out into the jungle.
He took a drink from the canteen, then turned his attention to Nando. They’d had little opportunity to talk the night before. “You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” Nando said.
“Tell Sam what you told me while he was sleeping.”
“They’re called the Wolf Guard. I heard them talking around the campfire last night. They’re all being called in for the arrival of a captain of the Guard from Germany.”
“I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised,” Sam said. “The tattoo I saw on the man’s arm . . . As big a Nazi enclave as Argentina was after the war, it makes sense they’d have a branch of the Guard here.”
Remi tightened the top on the canteen. “Must mean we’re on the right track? That Ludwig
Strassmair came here?”
“At the moment,” Sam said, “all it means is that we’ve got more Nazi wolves to deal with, and Leopold is probably headed this way.” He looked at his watch. It was after eight. “Let’s get moving. The sooner we find Dietrich, the better.”
—
THEY REACHED the village the following afternoon, chickens scattering as they traveled along the dirt road leading up to the first few houses. A woman sweeping the porch of a green bungalow paused to watch them.
“Might as well start here,” Sam said. He smiled at the woman, then, in Spanish, asked if she knew Dietrich Fischer.
She shook her head and went back to sweeping.
The three continued up the road toward a man loading something into a donkey cart. When they reached him, he was tying a canvas over baskets piled high in the back of the cart.
Sam repeated the same question he’d asked the woman.
“Dietrich?” the man said. “No. But if anyone knows of him, it would be Avi.”
“Would you know where to find him?”
“Sí. At el avión.”
“The plane?” Remi said in English.
“El Avión, la cantina.” He pointed farther down the road. “You will find a lot of the men there when they come down from the river. That is where Avi tends bar.”
The cantina was about a half mile up the dirt road. There was no sign in the window, but there was a faded painting of a 1940s era propeller airplane on the front.
Sam pulled open the door, looked inside, then held it for Remi and Nando. The brown-haired, blue-eyed bartender looked up from the drink he was making, saw them, and nodded. Behind him, an old plane propeller was attached to the wall, with shelves around it holding liquor bottles. The three approached as the man squeezed a slice of lime into a drink, the citrus scent drifting toward them. Sam held a chair for Remi as he and Nando took a seat on either side of her.
The Romanov Ransom Page 27
