Gunn stared at Micki incredulously. Then he said cynically, 'Your husband must be one tough anthropologist.'
Perhaps you might better understand if I told you we met and fell in love when working on an assignment together for the Foreign Activities Council.'
'Never heard of it,' said Gunn.
Loren gave Micki a bemused stare. 'I have. FAC is rumored to be an obscure and highly secret organization that works behind the scenes in the White House. No one in Congress has ever been able to come up with solid proof of its existence or its financing.'
'What is its function?' asked Gunn.
'To carry out covert activities under the direct supervision of the President outside the nation's other intelligence services without their knowledge,' replied Micki.
'What kind of activities?'
'Dirty tricks on foreign nations considered hostile to the United States,' replied Loren, studying Micki for some kind of sign. But her expression was aloof and remote. 'As a mere member of Congress I'm not privy to their operations and can only speculate. I have a suspicion their primary directive is to carry out assassinations.'
Micki's eyes turned hard and cold. 'I freely admit that for twelve years, until we retired from service to devote our time to archaeology, Henry and I had few peers.'
'I'm not surprised,' Loren said sarcastically. 'By passing yourselves off as scientists, you were never suspected of being the President's hired killers.'
'For your information, Congresswoman Smith, our academic credentials are not counterfeit. Henry has his doctorate from the University of Pennsylvania and I have mine from Stanford. We have no misgivings about the duties we performed under three former Presidents. By eliminating certain heads of foreign terrorist organizations, Henry and I saved more American lives than you can imagine.'
'Who are you working for now?'
'Ourselves. As I said, we retired. We felt it was time to cash in our expertise. Our government service is a thing of the past. Though we were well paid for our services, we weren't considered for a pension.'
'Tigers aren't known for changing stripes,' mocked Gunn. 'You can never achieve your objective without killing off Amaru and the Zolars.'
Micki smiled faintly. 'We may very well have to do unto them before they can do unto us. But only after enough of Huascar's gold is brought to the surface for us to carry out.'
'So the trail will be littered with bodies.'
Micki passed a weary hand over her face. 'Your involvement in the treasure hunt came as a complete surprise to everybody. Stupidly, the Zolars overreacted when they discovered another party was on the trail to the gold. They ran amok, murdering or abducting everyone their greed-crazed minds saw as an obstacle. Consider yourselves lucky they didn't murder you on the ferryboat like your friend Pitt. Keeping you alive temporarily is the hallmark of rank amateurs.'
'You and your husband,' murmured Loren caustically, 'you would have--'
'Shot you and burned the boat down around your bodies?' Micki shook her head. 'Not our style. Henry and I have only terminated those foreign nationals who have indiscriminately gunned down unfortunate women and children or blew them to pieces without blinking an eye or shedding a tear. We have never harmed a fellow American, and we don't intend to start now. Despite the fact your presence has hamstrung our operation, we will do everything in our power to help you escape this affair in one piece.'
'The Zolars are Americans,' Loren reminded her.
Micki shrugged. 'A mere technicality. They represent what is perhaps the largest art theft and smuggling ring in history. The Zolars are world-class sharks. Why should I have to tell you? You've experienced their brutality firsthand. By leaving their bones to bleach in the Sonoran Desert, Henry and I figure to save the American taxpayers millions of dollars that would be spent on a complicated and time-consuming investigation into their criminal activities. And then there are the court and prison costs if they're caught and convicted.'
'And once a portion of the treasure is in your hands?' asked Gunn. 'What then?'
Micki smiled like a wily shrew. 'I'll send you a postcard from whatever part of the world we're in at the time and let you know how we're spending it.'
A small army of soldiers set up a command post and sealed off the desert for two miles around the base of Cerro el Capirote. No one was allowed in or out. The mountain's peak had become a staging area with all treasure recovery operations conducted from the air. Pitt's stolen NUMA helicopter, repainted with Zolar International colors, lifted into a clear sky and dipped on a course back to the hacienda. A few minutes later, a heavy Mexican army transport helicopter hovered and settled down. A detachment of military engineers in desert combat fatigues jumped to the ground, opened the rear cargo door and began unloading a small forklift, coils of cable, and a large winch.
Officials of the state of Sonora who were on the Zolars' payroll had approved all the necessary licenses and permits within twenty-four hours, a process that would normally have taken months and perhaps years. The Zolars had promised to fund new schools, roads, and a hospital. Their cash had greased the palms of the local bureaucracy and eliminated the usual rivers of red tape. Full cooperation was given by an unwitting Mexican government misled by corrupt bureaucrats. Joseph Zolar's request for a contingent of engineers from a military base on the Baja Peninsula was quickly approved. Under the terms of a swiftly drawn up contract with the Ministry of the Treasury, the Zolars were entitled to 25 percent of the treasure. The rest was to be deposited with the national court in Mexico City.
The only problem with the agreement was that the Zolars had no intention of keeping their end of the bargain. They weren't about to split the treasure with anyone.
Once the golden chain and the bulk of the treasure had been hauled to the top of the mountain, a covert operation was created to move the hoard under cover of darkness to a remote military airstrip near the great sand dunes of the Altar Desert just south of the Arizona border. There, it would be loaded aboard a commercial jet transport, painted with the markings and colors of a major airline company, and then flown to a secret distribution facility owned by the Zolars in the small city of Nador on the north coast of Morocco.
Everyone had been ferried from the hacienda to the mountaintop as soon as it became daylight. No personal effects were left behind. Only Zolar's jetliner remained, parked on the hacienda's airstrip, ready for takeoff on a moment's notice.
Loren and Rudi were released from their prison and sent over later the same morning. Ignoring Sarason's orders not to communicate with the hostages, Micki Moore had compassionately tended to their cuts and bruises and made sure they were fed a decent meal. Since there was little chance they could escape by climbing down the rocky walls of the mountain, no one guarded them and they were left on their own to wander about as they pleased.
Oxley quickly discovered the small aperture leading inside the mountain and wasted no time in directing a military work crew to enlarge it. He stayed behind to oversee the equipment staging while Zolar, Sarason, and the Moores set off down the passageway followed by a squad of engineers, who carried portable fluorescent lights.
When they reached the second demon, Micki lovingly touched its eyes, just as Shannon Kelsey had done before her. She sighed. 'A marvelous piece of work.'
'Beautifully preserved,' Henry Moore agreed.
'It will have to be destroyed,' said Sarason indifferently.
'What are you talking about?' demanded Moore.
'We can't move it. The ugly beast fills up most of the tunnel. There is no way we can drag Huascar's chain over, around, or between its legs.'
Micki's face went tense with shock. 'You can't destroy a masterwork of antiquity.'
'We can and we will,' Zolar said, backing his brother. 'I agree it's unfortunate. But we don't have time for archaeological zealotry. The sculpture has to go.'
Moore's pained expression slowly turned hard, and he looked at his wife and nodded. 'Sacrifices must be made.'
Micki understood. If they were to seize enough of the golden riches to keep them in luxury for the rest of their lives, they would have to close their eyes to the demolition of the demon.
