I followed behind him to the hut at the edge of the camp from which he had been watching. I took the field glasses he gave me and focused on the distant figure in white which was strolling across the cleared land.
The light was good enough and the glasses strong enough to show quite clearly that it was Gatt.
Eleven
There was an odd quality in the light that morning. In spite of the high cloud which moved fast in the sky everything was crystal clear, and the usual heat haze, which lay over the forest even at dawn, was gone. The sun was just rising and mere was a lurid and unhealthy yellow tinge to the sky, and a slight breeze from the west bent the branches of the trees beyond the cleared ruins of Uaxuanoc.
As I focused the glasses on Gatt I found to my disgust that my hands were trembling, and I had to rest the glasses on the window-sill to prevent the image dancing uncontrollably. Gatt was taking his time. He strolled along as unconcernedly as though he were taking his morning constitutional in a city park, and stopped occasionally to look about at the uncovered mounds. He was dressed as nattily as he had been when he flew into Camp One, and I even saw the tiny point of whiteness that was a handkerchief in his breast pocket.
Momentarily I ignored him and swept the glasses around the perimeter of the ruins. No one else showed up and it looked as though Gatt was alone, a deceptive assumption it would be wise to ignore. I handed the glasses to Rudetsky, who had come into the hut. He raised them to his eyes, and said, 'Is that the guy?'
That's Gatt, all right.'
He grunted. Taking his time. What me hell is he doing? Picking flowers?'
Gatt had bent down and was groping at something on the ground. I said, 'Hell be here in five minutes. I'm going out there to talk to him.'
That's taking a risk.'
'It has to be done -- and I'd rattier do it out mere man back here. Can anyone use that rule we've got?'
'I'm not too bad,' said Fowler.
'Not too bad -- hell!' rumbled Rudetsky. 'He was a marksman in Korea.'
That's good enough for me,' I said with an attempt at a grin. 'Keep your sights on him, and if he looks like pulling a fast one on me, let him have it.'
Fowler picked up the rifle and examined the sights. 'Don't go too far away,' he said. 'And keep from between me and Gatt.'
I walked to the door of the hut. 'Everyone else keep out of sight,' I said, and stepped outside, feeling like a condemned man on his way to the gallows. I walked towards Gatt across the cleared ground, feeling very vulnerable and uncomfortably aware that I was probably framed in someone's rifle sights. Obeying Fowler's instructions, I walked slowly so Gatt and I would meet a little more than two hundred yards from the hut, and I veered a little to give Fowler his open field of fire.
Gatt had lit a cigar and, as he approached, he raised his elegant Panama hat politely. 'Ah, Mr. Wheale; lovely morning, isn't it?' I wasn't in the mood for cat-and-mouse chit-chat so I said nothing. He shrugged, and said, Is Professor Fallon available?'
'No,' I said shortly.
He nodded understandingly. 'Ah, well! You know what I've come for, of course.' It wasn't a question, but a flat statement.
'You won't get it,' I said equally flatly.
'Oh, I will,' he said with certainty. 'I will.' He examined the ash on the end of his cigar. 'I take it that you are doing the talking for Fallon. I'm surprised at that -- I really am. I'd have thought he was man enough to do his own talking, but I guess he's soft inside like most people. But let's get down to it. You've pulled a lot of stuff out of that cenote. I want it. It's as simple as that. If you let me have it without trouble, there'll be no trouble from me.'
'You won't harm us in any way?' I queried.
'You just walk out of here,' he assured me.
'What guarantees do I have of that?'
He spread his hands and looked at me with honesty shining in his eyes. 'My word on it.'
I laughed out loud. 'Nothing doing, Gatt. I'm not that stupid.'
For the first time anger showed in him and there was a naked, feral gleam in his eyes. 'Now, get this straight, Wheale. I'm coming in to take that loot, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me. You do it peaceably or not -- it's your choice.'
I caught a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye and turned my head. Some figures in white were emerging from the forest slowly; they were strung out in a straggling line and they carried rifles. I swung my head around to the other side and saw more armed men coming across from the forest.
Clearly the time had come to put some pressure on Gatt. I felt in my shirt pocket for cigarettes, lit one and casually tossed the matchbox up and down in my hand. 'There's a rifle sighted on you, Gatt,' I said. 'One wrong move and you're a dead man.'
He smiled thinly. 'You're under a gun, too. I'm not a fool.'
I tossed the matchbox up and down, and kept it going. 'I've arranged a signal,' I said. 'If I drop this matchbox, you get a bullet. Now, if those men out there move ten more yards, I drop this box.'
He looked at me with the faintest shadow of uncertainty. 'You're bluffing,' he said. 'You'd be a dead man, too.'
'Try me,' I invited. 'There's a difference between you and me. I don't particularly care whether I live or die, and I'm betting that you do. The stakes are high in this game, Gatt -- and those men have only five more yards to go. You had my brother killed, remember! I'm willing to pay a lot for his life.'
