The Navigator (NUMA Files 7)

Gamay issued another warning. He turned back and homed in on her light. He followed a zigzag pattern that would cover the maximum about of ground.

“See anything yet?” Gamay said.

“Noth—wait!”

He swam toward an amorphous shape.

“You’re moving out of sight,” Gamay said.

Gamay’s beacon had become a smudged pinpoint. It would be suicide to proceed much farther, but Zavala couldn’t stop now.

“A couple more feet.”

Then silence.

“Joe. I can barely see you. Are you all right?”

Zavala’s excited voice came over the communicator. “Gamay, you’ve got to see this! Leave the torch to mark the tunnel and follow my light. I’ll wave it.”

Gamay estimated they had just enough air to navigate the tunnel, rise up the shaft, and make their way to the surface. “We don’t have much time, Joe.”

“This will only take a minute.”

Gamay was known to use salty language, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She placed the flashlight on the floor and swam toward the moving light. She found Zavala next to a circular stone dais about three feet high and around six feet in diameter. The surface of the platform was covered with rotten wood and pieces of yellow metal.

“Is that gold?” she said.

Zavala held a yellow piece of metal close to her mask. “Could be. But this caught my attention.”

In brushing away the wood, Zavala had exposed a metal box around a foot long and eight inches wide. Raised lettering on the top of the box was partially obscured by a black film, which came off with a wipe of Zavala

’s glove. He murmured an exclamation in Spanish.

Gamay shook her head. “It can’t be,” she said.

But there was no denying the evidence of their eyes. A name was embossed on the box lid:

THOMAS JEFFERSON

Chapter 48

THE HORSE THUNDERED TOWARD the gorge like a runaway battle tank. Austin fought to stay in the saddle. He was top-heavy from his weapons and armor. One foot had slipped from a stirrup. His steel-encased head bounced like a bobble-head doll’s. His shield was sliding off his arm. The long lance pointed everywhere except where he wanted.

Val’s hooves clattered onto the metal bridge. Through the eye slits, Austin caught a blurred glimpse of a gleaming spear tip and the bull’s-head emblem on Baltazar’s tunic. Then the horses were off the bridge and back on the grassy turf.

Austin let out the breath he’d been holding and tightened the reins. He slowed the horse and brought it around to face Baltazar, who was on the other side of the gorge calmly watching Austin’s disarray. Baltazar lifted the helmet from his head and held it in front of his chest.

He shouted: “Good joust, Austin. But you seem to be having some trouble keeping things together.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

Austin removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his mailed glove. He ignored the pain from his half-healed rib wound and called back in defiance. “I was distracted by thoughts of my new Bentley.”

Baltazar plucked the car key from the helmet and held it high above his head. “Don’t count your Bentleys before they hatch,” he taunted.

Austin reached into his helmet for the folded paper and held it in a Statue of Liberty pose. “Don’t spend your gold before you find it.”

Maintaining his frozen grin, Baltazar hooked the key back onto the horn and lowered the helmet onto his head.