He leveled his gun at her.
Sam fired.
Fisk jerked back. He looked at Sam, shocked, as he staggered to one side, his gun falling from his hand. “You were out of ammo.”
“I lied.”
Fifty-six
I hope you haven’t gone to too much trouble searching for those caverns,” Lazlo said after Sam and Remi called to check in. “We may have sent you on a bit of a wild-goose chase.”
“No trouble at all,” Sam said, watching the multitude of cops on the premises, many of them from the firearms unit—the only officers in Great Britain authorized to carry guns. “Why?”
“Turns out, we were wrong. Definitely a fourth chamber, not cavern. In fact, we’re fairly certain the treasure can’t possibly be anywhere near Nottingham Park. I’m not sure why Nigel would have sent you there. It just doesn’t fit.”
Sam and Remi exchanged glances as they ended their call home, then looked at Nigel. “Why did you send us there?” Remi asked.
He drew his gaze from Alexandra, who was giving her statement to one of the investigators. “It was the only thing I could think of that might convince them they needed me. I’d been to the four caverns on a tour years ago during one of my university classes.” He shrugged, giving a faint smile. “I figured if I could make them believe the treasure was there and that I could take them to it . . .”
“It worked,” Sam said. Fisk was in custody. Ivan and Jak were dead. Alexandra had a small cut on her forehead from shrapnel but was otherwise unhurt.
Remi gave him a tired smile. “It was a good run. Getting that close to possibly solving the mystery of King John and his treasure.”
“It was. But, on the bright side, our schedule’s wide open. So where do you want to go on vacation?”
“I thought you had that all planned out?”
“I did, sort of. Where did we leave off?”
“Carmel.”
One of the investigators poked his head out of the tunnel entrance. The ivy had been pulled back and tied with a cord, giving them easy access. The investigator looked over, calling out to the two officers standing guard. They walked over, conversing quietly.
Remi leaned her head against Sam’s shoulder, watching them. “Nice shooting down there, by the way.”
“Likewise.”
One of the officers walked over, taking out his notebook. “About your pistols . . .”
“We have visitor permits for them,” Sam said. Handguns were prohibited in Great Britain. They’d confiscate theirs in a heartbeat, and Sam liked his Smith & Wesson. “They should be on file in London.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll pass on the information.” He walked back to inform the investigator.
Sam waited until he was out of earshot, telling Remi, “Remind me to call Rube as soon as we get out of here.” If anyone could pull strings to make permits magically appear in the files, Rube Hayward could.
Alexandra, finished with her statement, returned to the wall, sitting on the other side of Sam.
He looked over at her, curious. “You turned on Fisk. Why?”
She gave a cynical laugh as she reached up, touching the small bandage on her forehead that one of the paramedics had put there. “I never wanted anyone hurt. Ever. I only wanted to find this treasure to get back at Charles. And then . . .” She glanced at Remi. “I knew that once Fisk got what he wanted, they were going to kill me like I was nothing. And dump my body down there.” Her eyes teared up, and she brushed them with the back of her hand. “He was going to do the same to you. I just felt I had to take a stand. I wanted my two kids to know I finally did something right.” She gave a ragged sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Charles might not have the treasure, but he’ll get away with trying to kill us like he does everything else.”
“That,” Sam said, “we can probably do something about.”
“How?”
“Trust me,” he replied, thinking about the security reports Archer had been forwarding to him on Charles Avery. “I’ve got an entire team gathering evidence on him as we speak.”
“If you do find it—the treasure—do me a favor and send me a picture? I’d like to forward it to Charles.”