'And the metal box?' Maddox said, pointing to the object he had retrieved from Weathers's burro. 'It looks to me like there's a computer in there. Maybe on the hard disk-'
'That's the central unit of Weathers's homemade ground-penetrating radar unit. It has no hard disk-the data's in the notebook. That's why I wanted the notebook-not a worthless map.'
Maddox turned his eyes away from Corvus's stare, slipped his hand into his pocket, and retrieved the chunk of rock, putting it down on the glass table. 'Weathers also had this in his pocket.'
Corvus stared at it, his whole expression changing. He reached out with a spidery hand and plucked it gently from the table. He retrieved a loupe from his desk and examined it more closely. A long minute ticked by, and then another. Finally he looked up. Maddox was surprised to see the transformation that had taken place on his face. Gone was the tightness, the glittering eyes. His face had
become almost human.
'This is... very good.' Corvus rose, went to his desk, slipped a Ziploc bag out of a drawer, and placed the rock inside with the utmost care, as if it were a
jewel.
'It's a sample, right?' Maddox asked.
Corvus leaned over, unlocked a drawer, and removed an inch-thick stack of hundred-dollar bills bound in a block with rubber bands.
'You don't need to do that, Dr. Corvus. I've still got money left over-' The man's thin lips gave a twitch. 'For any unexpected expenses.' He pressed the book of notes into Maddox's hand. 'You know what to do.' Maddox parked the money in his jacket. 'Good-bye, Mr. Maddox.'
Maddox turned and walked stiffly toward the door Corvus had unlocked and was holding open for him. Maddox felt a burning sensation prickling the back of his neck as he passed. A moment later Corvus arrested him with a firm hand on his shoulder, a squeeze that was just a little too sharp to be affectionate. He felt the man bending over his shoulder, whispering into his ear, overpronouncing
each syllable.
'The note book.'
His shoulder was released and Maddox heard the door close softly. He walked through the now empty secretary's office into the vast, echoing corridors beyond.
Broadbent. He'd take care of that son of a bitch.
6
TOM SAT AT the kitchen table, leaning back in his chair, waiting for the coffee grounds to settle in the tin pot on the stove. A June breeze rustled the cotton-wood leaves outside, stripping the trees of their cotton, which drifted past in snowy wisps. Across the yard Tom could see the horses in their pens, nosing the timothy grass Sally had pitched them that morning.
Sally came in, still wearing her nightgown. She passed before the sliding-glass doors, backlit by the rising sun. They had been married less than a year and everything was still new. He watched her pick up the tin coffeepot on the stove, look into it, make a face, and put it back down.
'I can't believe you make coffee that way.'
Tom watched her, smiling. 'You look bewitching this morning.'
She glanced up, swept her golden hair out of her face.
'I've decided to let Shane handle the clinic today,' Tom said. 'The only thing on the docket is a colicky horse down in Espanola.'
He propped his boots on the stool and watched Sally prepare her own elaborate coffee, foaming the milk, adding a teaspoon of honey, then topping it off with a dash of powdered dark chocolate from a shaker. It was her morning ritual and Tom never got tired of watching it.
'Shane'll understand. I was up most of the night with that. .. business up in the Maze.'
'The police have no theories?'
'None. No body, no motive, no missing person-just a few buckets of blood-soaked sand.'
Sally winced. 'So what are you going to do today?' she asked.
He sat forward and brought his chair back down on its four legs with a thump, reached into his pocket, removed the battered notebook. He placed it on the table. 'I'm going to find Robbie, wherever she is, and give her this.'
Sally frowned. 'Tom, I still think you should have given that to the police.'
'I made a promise.'
'It's irresponsible to keep evidence from the police.'
'He made me promise not to give it to the police.'
'He was probably up to something illegal.'
'Maybe, but I made a promise to a dying man. And besides, I just couldn't bring myself to hand it over to that detective, Wilier. He didn't strike me as being the sharpest knife in the drawer.'
'You made that promise under duress. It shouldn't count.'
'If you'd seen the look of desperation on that man's face, you'd understand.'
Sally sighed. 'So how are you going to find this mysterious daughter?'
'I thought I'd start up at the Sunset Mart, see if he stopped in to buy gas or groceries. Maybe explore some of those forest roads back up in there, looking for his car.'
'With a horse trailer attached.'
'Exactly.'
Unbidden, the memory of the dying man once again came into his mind. It was an image he would never shake; it reminded him of his own father's death, that desperate effort to cling to life even during those final seconds of pain and fear when all hope is lost. Some people could not let go of life.
'I might also go see Ben Peek,' Tom said. 'He spent years prospecting in those canyons. He might have an idea who the guy was or what this treasure was he was looking for.'
'Now there's an idea. There's nothing in that notebook?'
'Nothing except numbers. No name or address, just sixty pages of numbers- and a pair of gigantic exclamation marks at the end.'
'You think he really found a treasure?'
'I could see it in his eyes.'
The man's desperate plea still rang in his ears. It had affected him deeply, perhaps because his father's death was still fresh in his mind. His father, the great and terrible Maxwell Broadbent, had also been a prospector of sorts-a tomb robber, collector, and dealer in artifacts. While he had been a difficult father, his death had left a huge hole in Tom's psyche. The dying prospector, with his beard and piercing blue eyes, had even reminded him of his father. It was crazy to make the association, but for whatever reason he felt the promise he had made to the unknown man was inviolate.
'Tom?'
Tom blinked.
'You've got that lost look again.'
'Sorry.'
Sally finished her coffee, got up, and rinsed her cup in the sink. 'Do you realize that we found this place exactly one year ago today?'
'I'd forgotten.'
'You still like it?'
'It's everything I always wanted.'
Together, in the wild country of Abiquiu at the foot of PedernalPeak, they had found the life they had dreamed of: a small ranch with horses, a garden, a riding stable for children, and Tom's vet practice - a rural life without the hassles of the city, pollution, or long commutes in traffic. His vet business was going well. Even the crusty old ranchers had begun calling him. The work was mostly outdoors, the people were great, and he loved horses.
It was a little quiet, he had to admit.
He turned his attention back to the treasure hunter. He and his notebook were more interesting than forcing a gallon of mineral oil down the recalcitrant throat of some ewe-necked, rat-tailed bucket of guts down at Gilderhus's Dude Ranch in Espanola, a man legendary for the ugliness of both his horses and his temper. One of the
