“What if you’re wrong?” Remi demanded.
He handed her the guard’s Beretta and removed the revolver from the guard’s pocket. “Here’s more firepower. If anyone but me or the police shows up, start shooting and don’t stop.”
“You never answered my question.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Sam shut off his flashlight and moved to the temple entrance. He paused, trying to sense any menace, and then threw himself out, rolling on the flattened grass as he waited for bullets to pound the ground around him.
Nothing.
He scanned the area, noting now he was outside there was more moonlight than he’d thought, and, seeing nothing, considered which direction the Englishman would have taken.
It was no contest. Janus would never choose to walk into the hands of his adversaries.
Sam eyed the ground as he moved away from the temple and came across a dead gunman, his pistol case on his belt open and empty—confirming that Janus was now armed. Sam followed a small trail that the gunmen had used for their approach, stepping softly, careful not to provide Janus with a warning that he was being followed.
Waves pounded the shore below the cliff that was no more than ten yards away and he could smell salt in the air as he pushed deeper into the brush, stopping occasionally to listen in case Janus was blundering along like a wounded ox. But there was only the crash of the surf.
Sam plunged through vine-covered trees over a thick curtain of brush that eventually opened onto a small circular clearing. The clearing ended at the rocky cliffs, high above the pounding surf. Too late, he saw Janus up ahead in the eerie glow of the moon.
Janus stood facing Sam with a pistol aimed at his head, a mere thirty feet between them.
The mouse had turned on the cat.
In the blink of an eye, Sam raised the revolver to firing position. “It’s over, Janus. Throw down your weapon.”
“I don’t think so,” Janus said, a tight smile across his face. “We have what is appropriately called a Mexican standoff.”
“Call it what you may,” Sam said, “you’re still going to pay for your killing of innocent people.”
“I never killed anybody.” Janus’s voice was clear, his tone frigid.
“Liar.”
Janus shrugged. “Believe what you like. There’s no blood on my hands.”
“Maybe you didn’t personally murder anyone, but you’re the cause behind a long trail of dead bodies.”
“Not my doing, old chap. Really. I wasn’t in control of the situation—regrettably, my Mexican associate took matters into his own hands. Like I said, the natives here do things differently. Senseless. Most regrettable.”
“You could have stopped it,” Sam spat.
Janus shook his head. “No, I couldn’t. My position was compromised due to my brother’s misstep. Could have been the death of me, too. I’m afraid there was a limit to my influence. Not my doing, but there it is.”
The distant beat of a helicopter came from the sea. Neither Sam nor Janus spoke as the sound became louder and a spotlight shot through the gloom, framing them in its glare.
“Mexican authorities,” said Sam. “I hope you enjoy your ride to prison.”
To Sam’s surprise, Janus laughed in a gloating tone. “Yes, I’ll enjoy the ride, but it won’t end in a Mexican prison. It will be to my yacht, which is in international waters.”
Sam was angered by the cocky reply, but when he saw the helicopter was bright blue instead of military khaki, he knew Janus wasn’t bluffing. “I can shoot you before you board.”
Janus stared at Sam in silence and then dropped his pistol. He shrugged and slowly turned to face the helicopter, his back to Sam. The helicopter set down and two armed men leapt from the aircraft, their weapons trained on Sam.
Sam continued to keep his weapon aimed at Janus even though he was outgunned. “One day you’ll pay for your crimes.”