She believed so.
Perhaps not quite on the same level, she knew, but enough to render the question moot. After five years as committed lovers, what more could she ask or expect of him? Though basically sexual in nature, the duration and intensity of their relationship spoke for itself. As for him having complete trust in her, the mere fact that he’d bared everything to her was likewise telling of his commitment. As further proof, he’d requested she not give him an immediate answer. It was important to him that she first carefully consider the pros and cons of his dangerous proposal before giving him an answer.
This she’d now done.
What allegiance she might’ve felt to her obsessively domineering older brother was virtually nonexistent, long negated by Carlos’ refusal to provide her access to any part of the vast Ruiz fortune. As she well knew, this was based entirely on his dismissive view of women in general. There was no security in a future under his oppressive thumb. Therefore the prospect of his death wasn’t even remotely troubling to her. And if Marino could devise a legal way to install her as acting head of the Ruiz family during the minority of young Miguel—which he firmly believed possible—then all the better. If successful, that alone would make her present financial limitations disappear.
Too, there was that enormous pile of secret gold to be considered!
She found the scope of all this quite overwhelming, yet what finally tipped the balance for her was the man lying beside her. If what she now understood was indeed true, Carlos was even at this minute plotting her lover’s murder.
This simply couldn’t be allowed. Not now, not ever! He’d already deprived her of far too much!
Twenty minutes later, as the first light of dawn began to filter into their shared suite, she reached down and began fondling Marino’s exposed genitals, watching his features as this enjoyable manipulation gradually stirred him awake.
The pleased expression on his face only expanded as she then quietly informed him of her irrevocable decision. And there was more. Not only did she intend to actively help enact his plan, she wanted it begun as soon as conceivably possible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The first ring of the cell phone woke David just around dawn, a mere four hours after he’d stretched out on the couch and succumbed to exhaustion. The intrusive sound elicited a faint groan, his initial instinct to ignore it and return to sleep.
It took the second ring to bring him fully around.
He immediately sat up, knowing it would have to be Torres. A bleary glance at his wristwatch confirmed it was precisely 6am, the early hour they’d mutually agreed to prior to the officer leaving around midnight.
“You sound rough. Get any sleep after I left?”
“Enough,” replied David unconvincingly. “You?”
“About the same. I’ve packed everything I can think of. It’s a long enough way to San Antonio that if need be we can spell off on driving and each grab another hour.”
“Good point.”
“Anything else from Ted after I left?”
“Actually, yes, but nothing that can’t wait until you get here.”
“Well, there are still a few things yet to do on my end. Nothing major. Won’t take me long. Grab a hot shower and order us up some nourishment. I’ll be over in another hour. Seven-thirty at the latest.”
“Works for me.”
David replaced the phone and took Torres’ advice.
Thirty minutes later and now dressed for travel, he ordered up coffee and rolls in advance of the officer’s arrival, using the time to review the pertinent information received from Ted the previous afternoon and evening. The sheets were stacked alongside his printer in order of priority. When the welcome coffee arrived, he then sat and perused the information one last time, reassuring himself he possessed everything they might conceivably need.
Ted had come through for him yet again and he was immensely grateful.
It was still a mystery to him as to exactly how he and his people managed to procure the original floor plans of the San Antonio facility. Any foreknowledge of its layout was absolutely vital to David and Torres gaining access. Without it, they would be virtually flying blind in their attempt to rescue Pilar—and this, God willing, presupposing she was even there and still alive.
He had to believe this was the case.
Like Torres, he completely appreciated they’d no recourse but to act outside the law in making the effort. The urgency of the situation allowed for nothing else. To do otherwise was simply unworkable. After all, what concrete evidence of anything criminal going on did they actually possess? Basically, there was no physical proof whatsoever. Thus trying to convince the proper authorities in San Antonio to even listen would be a complete waste of crucial time—and the clock on Pilar’s survival continued ticking.
Hence their dilemma.
On a brighter note, what lingering doubts he’d earlier held that perhaps they’d zeroed in on the wrong facility were no longer a consideration. Ted’s last three fax transmissions overruled this possibility. Arriving well after midnight, they were compelling enough to banish all such uncertainty. Knowing this was also a great concern for Torres, he was anxious to review the sheets with him.
A check of the time told him he hadn’t long to wait.
Minutes later, a casually dressed Torres arrived, dropping a full army duffel bag inside the door. It was the first time David saw him out of uniform. Noting the direction of his eyes, Torres said, “I wasn’t planning to, but thought it probably made sense to pack a set anyway. One never knows when being dressed as a police officer might come in handy over the next few days.”
“Makes sense.”
Torres poured a cup of black coffee, then wolfed down two of the larger rolls. Between mouthfuls, he said, “You say more information came through after I left?”
David nodded and pulled the top three sheets.
“To my mind,” he said, “there’s no question we’ve got the right building. Look here. These are copies of building permits that Coahuila Corp applied for and were granted within weeks of acquiring the facility five years ago. In many ways, they’re totally vague as to actual intent—so much so, in fact, that Ted believes a fair number of people within the city planning board were almost certainly being paid off. Probably still are. Take this first one, for example.”
He placed it beside a copy of the original floor plan.
“According to this, you can see where they immediately added two internal block walls—one here and another over here—neither of which make any sense structurally. Hell, the building was practically brand new. As you can see, both closed off considerable space—which then takes us to this next permit. It gave them permission to take the larger of these two enclosures and install a half dozen rooms, separate sewage connections, shower and toilet facilities—plus additional areas whose purpose we can only guess at.”
David paused before continuing.
“Is this starting to look and sound a bit familiar?” he asked.
“Very much so. It’s a different configuration, of course, but they’ve pretty much replicated the layout we found at En-Tex Environmental. And what about this third permit?”
“It may be the most telling of all. It gave Coahuila Corp permission to install what is apparently a high-tech air purification system directly over the second of their newly created enclosures, venting it straight out through the roof so as not to contaminate the rest of the building.”
“You’ve lost me,” Torres admitted. “What kind of contamination would they be concerned about?”
“Potassium cyanide and mercury.”
“What—? You’re serious?”
“Last night I did some research on my laptop as to what the exact process was for smelting down gold objects. Seems it’s not quite as simple as you’d first think. The older the gold, the more likely it will contain trace elements of other minerals. The only accepted way of removing such impurities is by carefully introducing t
hose two chemicals into the heated furnace as the gold is being melted down prior to pouring it into ingot molds.”
Torres took a moment to digest this.
“Then I suppose it all makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?” he finally said, his thoughtful expression indicating he was now likewise convinced. “And since we know this is the right facility, I’m beginning to believe we may actually have a real shot at finding Pilar.”
“That’s my fervent hope.”
Torres hesitated as he caught David’s eye.
“It’s none of by business,” he asked curiously, “but have you told Elizabeth any of what’s gone down over the past few days? The trap set for us at En-Tex; the abduction of Pilar . . . ”
David came close to smiling.
“You’ve clearly never been married, have you?” he said, giving an amused shake of his head. “Trust me, Russ, there’ll be ample time when this is all over.”
“Aren’t you afraid Ted is keeping her abreast of all this?”
“I sure as hell hope not.” David again checked his watch. “That said, we’d better head out. As my father used to say, we’re already burning daylight.”
An hour later and over four hundred miles to the east, Ruiz entered his opulent Dallas office in anticipation of a spending a few uninterrupted hours of privacy before his day’s first scheduled meeting at 11am. On his earlier instruction, his competent secretary, Trudy, had efficiently rearranged his otherwise full morning schedule, providing him the time he wanted to properly sort through recent developments.
After first loosening his tie, he placed his briefcase atop the polished antique desk, then sank into his comfortable, swivel chair. The events of the past couple of days had given him much to contemplate—and not the least being the possible significance of the young woman secured in the San Antonio facility.
Now he pondered if she was even worthy of the effort.
Maybe . . . maybe not.
Upon reflection, he found that this little puzzle no longer troubled him to the extent it once did. And, realistically, why should it? he now wondered. Whatever her involvement may have been in Manning’s annoying and costly investigation was fast proving irrelevant, something he presently considered more of a mild curiosity rather than a potential future threat. Besides, if she truly represented any sort of danger, then it surely would’ve become apparent by now.
Still and all, it nevertheless remained somewhat intriguing.
Particularly the old painting found in her possession.
Ruiz opened his briefcase and retrieved the frayed piece of vellum for additional examination. He knew that it was ancient for an absolute certainty. When he first saw it in Marino’s office he’d immediately recognized the hand that created it over half a millennium ago.
No question whatsoever.
The image was basically a larger rendering of the miniature version detailed on the bottom corner of the Aztec map that he’d stumbled upon and studied years earlier in the Ruiz family archives. The artistic style, the coloring—even the scaled proportions—all matched to perfection. A single, talented artist had definitely painted both, which raised the obvious question of how this came to be in the young woman’s possession all these centuries later.
After giving this some thought, he mentally shrugged, returning the enigma back into his briefcase. It was unlikely he’d ever learn the full truth of it with any real certainty. And even if he did, to what end? Such understanding was ultimately of no consequence to him one way or the other—not unlike his acceptance that he’d never know the circumstances of how the Aztec map first fell into the hands of his own distant ancestor. It was enough that it happened, the complex and clearly misunderstood artifact going unrecognized for what it actually represented. Instead, it was deposited in the Ruiz family archives, there quickly forgotten as being nothing more than a curious native item of no decipherable meaning—and certainly of no intrinsic value.
How incredibly naïve his ancestor had been!
The buzz of the intercom drew him back from his speculative musings.
“Sir, I know you asked not to be disturbed, but I thought you might want to take this call. It’s your pilot on line three, wishing to speak with you.”
“Its okay, Trudy, I’ll take it.”
The man was concise in his report, passing on the necessary information that Ruiz had requested. The helicopter was fueled and ready to go for tomorrow morning, the pilot prepared to make a single stop in San Antonio prior to continuing on down to the ancestral estate. As required, an appropriate flight plan was duly filed for crossing the international border into Mexico.
Pleased to have this confirmed and out of the way, Ruiz now returned to his deliberations, knowing he should call Marino and give him leeway to go ahead and do whatever he wished with the girl. He no longer cared. Also, he intended to give advance notice of his scheduled arrival twenty-four hours hence. He’d noted how his not doing so on the previous day had become a mild irritant to his longtime partner. This wasn’t a situation he wished to see repeated. Now was the time to nurture their successful relationship—not ruffle feathers needlessly. The very last thing he wanted was for Marino to suddenly develop suspicions concerning his employer’s future intent.
At the moment, he felt confident this was unlikely to occur.
Nevertheless, it was this eventual need that lay behind his decision to spend several days at his estate. Ostensibly, he was doing so to celebrate his twentieth wedding anniversary with Isabella—but this was actually secondary to his true purpose. A well thought out plan to accomplish the removal of Marino required careful development—and there was something about the familiar and peaceful surroundings of his hacienda that he’d always found inherently conducive to clear thinking. In his estimation there was no pressing rush, to be sure, but the time to begin formulating ideas and workable scenarios was growing near and couldn’t be forestalled much longer.
Too bad for Marino, but such was the way of things.
This settled, he dialed the private number.
Ten minutes later, Marino set aside his cell phone, thoughtfully meditating on the information relayed to him by Ruiz.
How timely was this?
But was it the opportunity he’d been seeking?
He soon came to believe it very well might be.
Knowing the helicopter’s I.D. and call numbers, he went to his computer and set up a false proxy routed through a familiar network of obscure servers. He then used this secured connection to hack into the Dallas airports’ main terminal bank and extracted the details of the flight plan Ruiz had filed for his trip to Mexico.
The results brought a smile to his face.
The timing—the location—the parameters were all workable!
Now convinced of his good fortune, he phoned Camilla, telling her to meet him within the hour. A corresponding plan must be immediately devised.
And quickly!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
North-Eastern Mexico. Fall of 1569 C.E.
It was with immeasurably sad eyes that the old man sat and watched the sun begin to break in the eastern sky, the light gradually spreading soft rays of dark red and gold across the distant horizon. Though the colors were as poignantly beautiful as always, his overriding sorrow came from the cold realization that there was no living person with whom he could again share this daily miracle.
For the first time in his long life, Chimuli was entirely alone.
By anyone’s standard, he was indeed old—even considered ancient—having lived well beyond an average lifespan. No one presently in the isolated village he called home came close to matching his venerable longevity of sixty-three years. The single exception had been his beloved Terzi—but she was now dead, having slipped away to her final rest only a few hours before.
His beloved companion was forever gone from him.
He looked down at his gnarled and soiled hands, amazed that he’d actually found the strength to gently consign her
remains to the earth in the darkness preceding dawn. This he accomplished entirely on his own—and in a place he knew she’d surely have approved. Alongside her grave was the garden of vegetables and maize she’d so lovingly nurtured during the past four decades and more.
Her burial had drained him, both physically and emotionally.
His grief at her passage was close to unbearable, far greater than he imagined possible. Not unlike a vast, black emptiness devouring him from within. The opportunity over the previous three days to mentally prepare for this expected eventuality had gone completely unheeded, even though the relentless progress of her illness was evident for anyone with eyes willing to see. Still, he’d not been disposed to do so, for the mounting reality of her approaching death was simply too difficult for him to acknowledge, let alone accept.
He recalled how she clutched his hand throughout the ordeal—their fingers entwined as she slowly relinquished her last tenuous hold on life. Toward the end, the fever had sapped even her ability to whisper, her final means of communication reduced to the loving warmth that emanated from her eyes as she stared up into his haggard features.
Spoken words were no longer necessary between them.
It was soon thereafter that her spirit departed.
Getting to his feet, Chimuli shuffled back into his empty home of plastered adobe and thatch. There the total silence that confronted him served only to further deepen his abject sense of loss. As he stoically looked around, everything at first appeared as it should—but virtually nothing was quite the same. Where had all the years gone? he wondered, shaking is head in amazement, for it seemed impossible to him that almost a half-century of day-to-day living had slipped away since he and Terzi first came to this remote village.
As he now wearily sat and contemplated on this oddity of perception, he found his thoughts drifting back to that distant time—the images gradually sharpening in clarity to the point where it all might’ve just as easily transpired only yesterday.
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