Inca Gold (Dirk Pitt 12)

Oxley banked the twin turboprop-engined Baffin CZ410 for a better view of Isla Danzante, a steep-sided, 5-square-kilometer (3-square-mile) rock formation that jutted 400 meters (1312 feet) above the Sea of Cortez just south of the popular resort town of Loreto. "Has the right look about it," he commented, staring down. "Two small beaches to land boats. The slopes are honeycombed with small caves. What do you say, brother?"

Sarason turned and looked at the man in the rear passenger seat. "I say the esteemed Professor Moore is still holding out on us."

"You'll be alerted to the proper site when I see it," Moore said curtly.

"I say we throw the little bastard out the hatch and watch him try to fly," Sarason snapped harshly.

Moore crossed his arms smugly. "You do, and you'll never find the treasure."

"I'm getting damned sick of hearing that."

"What about Isla Danzante?" asked Oxley. "Has it got the right features?"

Moore snatched the binoculars from Sarason without asking and peered at the broken terrain running across the ridge of the island. After a few moments, he handed them back and relaxed in his seat with an iced shaker of martinis. "Not the one we're looking for," he proclaimed regally.

Sarason clasped his hands tightly to prevent them from strangling Moore. After a few moments, he regained a degree of composure and turned the page of the same boater's guide that was being used by Pitt. "Next search point is Isla Carmen. Size, one hundred and fifty square kilometers. Length, thirty kilometers. Has several peaks rising over three hundred meters."

"That's a pass," announced Moore. "Far too large."

"Your speedy response is duly noted," Sarason muttered sarcastically. "After that we have Isla Cholla, a small flat-topped rock with a light tower and a few fishing huts."

"Skip that one too," said Moore.

"Okay, next up is Isla San Ildefonso, six miles offshore east of San Sebastian."

"Size?"

"About two and a half square kilometers. No beaches."

"There has to be a beach," said Moore, taking another slug from his martini shaker. He swallowed the last few drops and his face took on an expression of deprivation. "The Incas could not have landed and unloaded their rafts without a beach."

"After San Ildefonso we come to Bahia Coyote," said Sarason. "There we'll have a choice of six islands that are little more than huge rocks rising from the sea."

Oxley eased the Baffin amphibian into a slow climb until he reached 700 meters (about 2300 feet).

Then he set a course due north. Twenty-five minutes later the bay and the long peninsula that shield it from the Gulf came into view. Oxley descended and began circling the small rocky islands scattered around the entrance to the bay.

"Isla Guapa and Isla Bargo are possibilities," observed Sarason. "They both rise sharply from the water and have small but open summits."

Moore squirmed sideways in his seat and peered down. "They don't look promising to me--" He stopped talking and grabbed Sarason's binoculars again. "That island down there."

"Which one?" queried Sarason irritably. "There are six of them."

"The one that looks like a floating duck looking backward."

"Isla Bargo. Fits the profile. Steep walls on three sides, rounded crest. There is also a small beach in the crook of the neck."

"That's it," Moore said excitedly. "That must be it."

Oxley was skeptical. "How can you be so sure?"

A curious look crossed Moore's face for a fleeting instant. "A gut feeling, nothing more."

Sarason snatched back the glasses and studied the island. "There, on the crown. It looks like something carved in the rock."

"Don't pay any attention to that," said Moore, wiping a trickle of sweat from his forehead. "It doesn't mean a thing."

Sarason was no fool. Could it be a signpost cut by the Incas to mark the passageway to the treasure, he wondered in silence.