“Nothing’s hurt but my pride. I should have had that guy with my first shot.”
“Seriously, how did they get here?”
“Same as us. They followed the trail from the Flying Dutchman. What I really want to know is what they hoped to find.”
“Unless they’re as nerdy as Mark and Eric, they’re not looking for Devereaux’s treasure.”
“And we’ll never know. The rubbing burned up in the kitchen, and I’d already given the journal or log, or whatever it was, to Ronish.”
Max fished around in his jacket pocket and tapped something on Juan’s wrist. He felt the spongy mass of latex-sheathed papers. “I nabbed this when I tackled him.”
“I could kiss you.”
“Let me shave first so you really get to enjoy the experience.” Humor had always been their way of decompressing from a high-stress situation. “So what’s our play?”
Where Max had always been the dogged one, the person who would bull through any challenge, it had always been Cabrillo who came up with the plan. Hanley really didn’t see what to do next while Juan had figured it out the moment he leapt up and tossed the picture frame into the growing kitchen fire. If he was honest with himself, he’d known the instant the Argentine Major had shown up on James Ronish’s doorstep.
“It’s simple really,” he said, turning on his back so that the rain washed the taste of gunpowder from his mouth. “You and I are going to solve the mystery of the Pine Island Treasure Pit.”
THIRTEEN
A group of five Latinos, one of whom was wounded, would have stood out in a town as small as Forks or Port Angeles, so Espinoza and his men were forced to return to Seattle. Their injured comrade, shot through the side, suffered in silence for the hours it took to drive to the city. It wasn’t until they were in the seedy hotel on the outskirts of the city that they were able to treat the wound properly. It had been a clean in and out and hadn’t perforated the intestine, so unless he developed an infection he should be fine. They loaded him up with over-the-counter medications and half a bottle of brandy.
Once his men were settled, Espinoza returned to the room he shared with Raul Jimenez. He asked his friend to excuse himself and powered up a satellite phone. He wasn’t sure how his father would react to the call. He was nervous nonetheless.
“Report,” his father said by way of greeting, no doubt recognizing the number.
Espinoza hesitated, well aware that the computers of the American NSA monitored nearly every wireless transmission in the world, trolling through the mountains of data for key words that would make the call of interest to the intelligence community.
“We ran into competi
tion. The same man I saw a couple of days ago.”
“I wasn’t sure they would be interested, nor did I expect them to move so fast,” the General said. “What happened?”
“The target was collateralized, and one of my men was grazed.”
“I don’t care about your men. Did you learn anything? Or have you failed me again?”
“I retrieved a document,” Espinoza replied. “I think the American tried to destroy it by throwing it into a fire before making his escape. However, we entered the target’s house before it was damaged. You said it was possible we’d find evidence that the target knew something about China, so when I saw it on the kitchen floor I grabbed it.
“It appears to be a rubbing of some kind, like when families make tracings of headstones. It shows the map of a bay, but no location is given. There are glyphs on it that almost look like some Asian language.”
“Chinese?” The General’s tone was eager.
“It looks like it.”
“Excellent. If this leads where I think it might, we are going to change the world, Jorge. Were you able to speak to the target?”
The elder Espinoza hadn’t explained what it was he was after, but the words of praise made his son swell with pride. “He was already gone when we got inside. We burned his house to the ground afterward. I doubt they will bother checking the body for any sign of foul play, so we’re clear.”
“Where are you now?”
“Seattle. Do you want us to return home?”
“No. Not yet. Tomorrow, I want you to overnight the rubbing to me.” The General paused. Jorge knew his father was considering angles and odds. He finally asked, “What do you think the competition will do now?”
“It depends if they extracted any useful information from the target. I checked the hood of their truck when we reached the house. It was still warm, so they hadn’t been there long.”