these crimes so he could grab the treasure for himself.'
'I approve of the professor's concept,' said Zolar. 'Our influential friends in the police and military can easily be persuaded to arrest Pitt if he shows his face in Mexico.'
'So far so good,' said Sarason. 'But what about our prisoners? Do we eliminate them now or later?'
'Why not throw them in the river that runs through the treasure cavern?' suggested Amaru. 'Eventually, what's left of their bodies will probably turn up in the Gulf. By the time the fish get through with them, about all a coroner will be able to determine is that they died from drowning.'
Zolar looked around the room at his brothers and then to Moore who looked oddly uneasy. After a moment he turned to Amaru. 'A brilliant scenario. Simple, but brilliant nonetheless. Any objections?'
There were none.
'I'll contact Comandante Cortina and brief him on his assignment,' Sarason volunteered.
Zolar waved his cigar and flashed his teeth in a broad smile. 'Then it's settled. While Cyrus and Cortina lay a smoke screen for American investigators, the rest of us will pack up and move from the hacienda to Cerro el Capirote and begin retrieving the gold at first light tomorrow.'
One of the hacienda's servants entered and handed Zolar a portable telephone. He listened without replying to the caller. Then he switched off the phone and laughed.
'Good news, brother?' asked Oxley.
'Federal agents raided our warehouse facilities again.'
'That's funny?' asked a puzzled Moore.
'A common occurrence,' explained Zolar. 'As usual, they came up dry and stood around like idiots with no place to go.'
Sarason finished his drink. 'So it's business as usual, and the treasure excavation goes on as scheduled.'
The great room went silent as each man conjured up his own thoughts of what incredible riches they would find under Cerro el Capirote. All except Samson. His mind turned back to the meeting with Pitt on the ferry. He knew it was ridiculous, but it gnawed at his mind that Pitt had claimed to have led him and his brothers to the jackpot. And what did he mean when he said they had been set up?
Was Pitt merely lying or trying to tell him something, or was it sheer bravado from a man who thought he was going to die? The answers, Sarason decided, were not worth his time to ponder. The warning bells should have been clanging away in the back of his head, but there were more important issues at hand. He swept Pitt from his thoughts.
He never made a bigger mistake.
Micki Moore stepped carefully down the steep steps into the cellar beneath the hacienda as she balanced a tray. At the bottom, she approached one of Amaru's thugs who was guarding the door of a small storeroom that held the captives. 'Open the door,' she demanded.
'No one is allowed in,' muttered the guard unpleasantly.
'Step aside, you stupid cretin,' Micki snarled, 'or I'll cut your balls off.'
The guard was startled by the abusive coarseness from an elegant woman. He stepped back a pace. 'I have my orders from Tupac Amaru.'
'All I have is food, you idiot. Let me in or I'll scream and swear to Joseph Zolar you raped me and the woman inside.'
He peered at the tray and then gave in, unlocking the door and stepping aside. 'You do not tell Tupac of this.'
'Don't worry,' Micki snapped over her shoulder as she entered the dark and stuffy cubicle. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Gunn was lying on the stone floor. He struggled to a sitting position. Loren was standing as if to protect him.
'Well, well,' murmured Loren testily. 'This time they sent a woman to do their filthy work.'
Micki pushed the tray into Loren's hands. 'Here is some food. Fruit and sandwiches, and four bottles of beer. Take it!' Then she turned and slammed the door shut in the guard's face. When she refaced Loren, her eyes had become more accustomed to the dark. She was stunned at Loren's appearance. She could make out puffy bruises on her lips and around the eyes. Most of Loren's clothing had been torn away and she had knotted what little remained to cover her torso. Micki also saw livid red welts across the top of her breasts and discolorations on her arms and legs. 'The bastards!' she hissed. 'The no-good sadistic bastards. I'm sorry, if I had known you'd been beaten, I would have brought medical supplies.'
Loren knelt and set the tray on the floor. She gave one of the bottles of beer to Gunn, but his injured hands could not twist off the cap. She removed it for him.
'Who is our Florence Nightingale?' asked Gunn.
'I'm Micki Moore. My husband is an anthropologist, and I'm an archaeologist hired by the Zolars.'
'To help them find Huascar's golden treasure?' Gunn rightly guessed.
'Yes, we deciphered the images--'
'On the Golden Body Suit of Tiapollo,' finished Gunn. 'We know all about it.'
Loren didn't speak for a few moments while she ravenously consumed one of the sandwiches and downed a beer. Finally, feeling almost as if she had been reborn, she stared at Micki curiously. 'Why are you doing this? To build up our spirits before they come back and use us for punching bags again?'
'We're not part of your ordeal,' Micki replied honestly. 'The truth is, Zolar and his brothers are planning to kill my husband and me as soon as they've recovered the treasure.'
'How could you know that?'
'We've been around people like these before. We have a feel for what's going on.'
'What do they plan on doing with us?' asked Gunn.
'The Zolars and their bribed cronies with the Mexican police and military intend to make it look as if you drowned while attempting to escape your sinking ferryboat. Their plan is to throw you in the underground river the ancients mentioned that runs through the treasure chamber and empties into the sea. By the time your bodies surface, there won't be enough left to prove otherwise.'
'Sounds feasible,' Loren muttered angrily. 'I give them credit for that.'
'My God,' said Gunn. 'They just can't murder a representative of the United States Congress in cold blood.'
'Believe me,' said Micki, 'these men have no scruples and even less conscience.'
'How come they haven't killed us before now?' asked Loren.
'Their fear was that your friend Pitt might somehow expose your kidnapping. Now they no longer care. They figure their charade is strong enough to stand against one man's accusations.'
'What about the ferryboat's crew?' asked Loren. 'They were witnesses to the piracy.'
'They'll be kept from raising the alarm by local police.' Micki hesitated. 'I'm sorry to have to tell you why they are no longer concerned about Pitt. Tupac Amaru swears that after you were transported to the hacienda, he and his men crushed Pitt to jelly by throwing concussion grenades at him in the water.'
Loren's violet eyes were grief-stricken. Until now she had harbored a hope Pitt had somehow escaped. Now her heart felt as though it had fallen into the crevasse of a glacier. She sagged against one wall of the stone room and covered her face with her hands.
Gunn pushed himself to his feet. There was no grief in his eyes, only iron-hard conviction. 'Dirk dead? Scum like Amaru could never kill a man like Dirk Pitt.'
Micki was startled by the fiery spirit of a man so sorely tortured. 'I only know what my husband told me,' she said as if apologizing. 'Amaru did admit he failed to retrieve Pitt's body, but there was little doubt in his mind that Pitt could not have survived.'
'You say you and your husband are also on Zolar's death list?' asked Loren.
Micki shrugged. 'Yes, we're to be silenced too.'
'If you'll pardon me for saying so,' said Gunn, 'you seem pretty damned indifferent.'
'My husband also has plans.'
'To escape?'
'No, Henry and I can break out any time it's convenient. We intend to take a share of the treasure for ourselves.'
