Inca Gold (Dirk Pitt 12)

"That won't stop these men, believe me," said Pitt seriously.

My people will make a protest to our local police authorities."

"If the Zolars run true to form, they've already bribed your law enforcement officials."

"These evil men you speak of. They are the same ones who sold our sacred idols?"

"As I suggested, it's very possible."

Billy Yuma studied him for a moment. "Then we do not have to trouble ourselves with their trespass onto our sacred ground."

Pitt did not understand. "May I ask why?"

Reality slowly faded from Billy's face and he seemed to enter a dreamlike state. "Because those who have taken the idols of the sun, moon, earth, and water are cursed and will suffer a terrible death."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"I do," Yuma answered somberly. "In my dreams I see the thieves drowning."

"Drowning?"

"Yes, in the water that will make the desert into the garden it was for my ancestors."

Pitt considered making a contrary reply. He was not one to deposit his money in the bank of dreams.

He was a confirmed skeptic of the metaphysical. But the intractable gaze in Yuma's eyes, the case-hardened tone of his voice, moved something inside Pitt.

He began to feel glad that he wasn't related to the Zolars.

Amaru stepped down into the main sala of the hacienda. One wall of the great room was filled by a large stone fireplace removed from an old Jesuit mission. The high ceiling was decorated with intricate precast plaster panels. "Please excuse me for keeping you waiting, gentlemen."

"Quite all right," said Zolar. "Now that the fools from NUMA have led us directly to Huascar's gold, we made good use of your tardiness by discussing methods of bringing it to the surface."

Amaru nodded and looked around the room. There were four men there besides himself. Seated on sofas around the fireplace were Zolar, Oxley, Sarason, and Moore. Their faces were expressionless, but there was no concealing the feeling of triumph in the air.

"Any word of Dr. Kelsey, the photographer Rodgers, and Albert Giordino?" Sarason inquired.

"My contacts over the border believe Pitt told you the truth on the ferry when he said he dropped them off at the U.S. Customs compound in Calexico," answered Amaru.

"He must have smelled a trap," said Moore.

"That was obvious when he returned to the ferryboat alone," Samson said sharply to Amaru. "You had him in your hands and you let him escape."

"Not forgetting the crew," added Oxley.

"I promise you, Pitt did not escape. He was killed when my men and I threw concussion grenades into the water around him. As to the ferryboat's crew, the Mexican police officials you've paid to cooperate will ensure their silence for as long as necessary."

"Still not good," said Oxley. "With Pitt, Gunn, and Congresswoman Smith gone missing, every federal agent between San Diego and Denver will come nosing around."

Zolar shook his head. "They have no legal authority down here. And our friends in the local government would never permit their entry."

Samson looked angrily at Amaru. "You say Pitt's dead. Then where is the body?"

Amaru stared back nastily. "Pitt is feeding the fishes. Take my word for it."

"Forgive me if I'm not convinced."

"There is no way he could have survived the underwater detonations."