CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sa Calobra, Mallorca
December 8
On the following night, Cam was waiting for her.
“Miguel, you’re early.”
“I think I have solved your puzzle,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I was in this room today eating lunch, and I was thinking about our search.” He withdrew a sheet of paper with a rudimentary map sketched out. “You found the first marker here.” He pointed to the X that represented the cave where he first found her. “I found another marker in this room.” He pointed with his chin to the corner. “We found a third in this cave.” He touched the paper again. “What do you notice?”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “The markers all surround this blank space on your map.”
“Exactly. So I looked at the three surrounding areas more closely, and…”
He walked to the far side of the room and stood in front of a lightweight steel storage cabinet. With a heave, he pulled it away from the wall. There, on the ground, was another marker. Next to it was another opening that had been sealed off with the same man-made clay. Silt and water had masked the outline; it was nearly impossible to see unless someone was looking for it.
He barely had time to brace for impact. Evan let out an audible squeal and threw herself into his arms. Her cinnamon eyes went to his then traveled to his lips. In that moment, Cam wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to breathe.
He couldn’t break cover for any reason. Up until now, that hadn’t been a problem. Cam could withstand torture, commit crimes, fuck women and never compromise the persona of Miguel Ramirez. But he knew like he knew how to break down and reassemble his Sig, if he kissed Evan, he would break.
He set her on her feet and ran a finger down her cheek. “Ready to find your treasure?”
He saw her swallow her disappointment at his rejection as she nodded. Cam stifled the pang of guilt. The last thing he ever wanted to do was cause her pain. He withdrew his hand before he did something stupid and grabbed the sledgehammer from the row of tools on the opposite wall.
Then they heard voices.
Cam held a finger to his lips, and they both stood stock still. The voices faded. Cam crossed the room and stood in front of her. “No one should be in these mines at this hour. I need to see what they’re up to. If I’m not back here in ten minutes, leave through the caves. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow.”
“Can I help?” she asked.
Every word from her mouth burrowed into his heart. “You’re helping me if I’m not worried about you. You’re helping me by doing what I ask.”
“Okay.” She moved to a stool by the tools and sat. Then she examined the row, extracted a standard hammer, and held it.
Cam nodded his approval. “Be right back.”
Cam peeked out of the storage room and, finding the tunnel empty, turned in the direction of the voices. Silent as snowfall, he navigated the mine until he found the danger sign he had noticed on his first day. The chain barring entry to the tunnel was still rocking back and forth after being disturbed. Following the path the men took, Cam ducked under the chain and crept down the tunnel until he again heard voices.
He moved forward on silent feet and peered around the corner. Three men passing a joint stood to the side of a heavy fire door propped open with a cinderblock. Beyond was a large room, and inside was a sight sadly familiar to Cam: a heroin lab. This was no two-bit operation. The equipment was new and expensive. Workers in headcovers and surgical masks stood working at long stainless steel tables. Others were piling vacuum sealed bricks into crates stamped with the familiar double M of the March Mining logo.
Cam pulled back and leaned against the tunnel wall. Copper wasn’t the only product coming out of this mine.
Cam wandered through the labyrinth to get back to Evan. He had to admit, the men behind the drug lab had devised a brilliant operation. Mallorca was First World. It was nearly unthinkable to suspect it could be the source of heroin production. Fields of pristine poppies blanketed the meadows above the mines, carefully tended by farmers and monitored by officials. In the spring, their red blossoms would be a beacon boldly declaring innocent beauty. Cam suspected they were the perfect bright red herring, that the men didn’t use the opium in the poppies for their drug manufacture. The cheap, easily-obtained chemical ingredients were far less conspicuous and far more potent. On the surface, the area emanated innocence and beauty; it was a different story in these dark depths.
The tunnels were also an impressive component, Cam grudgingly admitted. Safety inspectors could never explore every inch of this underground maze, and tunnels not in use were sealed off. The heroin operation was not only hidden but also remote. There was no odor, no noise, no conspicuous byproduct, and the drugs could be transported with the copper ore and offloaded at any point in the journey.
Cam headed back to the storeroom. When he entered the room, Evan stood, still holding the hammer. Her look of relief launched his soul. This time he didn’t hesitate to return her embrace.
She looked up at him with concerned eyes.
He spoke with his lips to her forehead. “We need to get out of here.”
“What's going on?” she asked.