Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) (13 page)

“Only a matter of time.”

“Yes, well…which brings us back to question of what we do now.”

Vadim’s eyes narrowed to slits, rage building in him, driving him forward as his blood dried on his face. “I don’t know. But we will think of something – just as we always do.”

“I wish we had accessed some heavier artillery,” Sasha complained, patting the Ruger 9mm in his jacket pocket. “I, for one, did not expect the boy to travel with an arsenal. The only things missing were grenades and a bazooka.”

“A mistake we will certainly not make again.”

A frigid gust blew across the adjacent field, carrying with it the scent of freshly plowed soil. Tendrils of ground fog seeped over the furrows, the land stretching as far as they could see in the gloom, the only sound in the quiet night their footsteps crunching on the gravel underfoot and the hiss of their labored breathing.

“The larger oversight was underestimating their resourcefulness…that they were onto us. That changes the situation. But it also tells us something – they either have the journal, or they know where it is.”

“The lawyer already told us the boy has it.”

“But the boy probably does not understand its significance. Now that his father’s associate is involved, we have to assume he does. And that he also realizes that no place is safe for him. For any of them.” He paused, thinking. “What would you do if you knew that the devil was coming for you and you couldn’t go home?” Vadim asked rhetorically.

“I would go after whoever was hunting me.”

“Ah, but that is impossible for them. We don’t exist. The old man isn’t stupid. He knows the stakes. The only thing we can assume is that they’ll try to find the Inca city themselves.”

“But can we be sure of that?”

“It is the most probable outcome.”

Sasha spit. “I hate that jungle. Hated it then, and I hate it even more now.”

“As do I. But it holds our future. And this time we will prevail.”

~ ~ ~

Allie emerged from the twenty-four-hour drugstore on the outskirts of Corpus Christi with a roll of gauze, a bottle of iodine, tape and pads, two liters of orange juice, and a container of Pedialyte. Jack gulped the juice greedily, his body depleted by blood loss, and downed the Pedialyte by the time they’d rolled out of the lot.

The engine was still holding out, although strained to its limits. Drake was relieved when they eased to a stop in front of a fleabag motel that wouldn’t care much about formalities like identification as long as their cash was green. He went in with Allie and got two rooms from a sleepy East Indian clerk listening to a radio broadcast that sounded like cats rolling down a slope in a barrel.

Drake helped Jack to the first room as Allie backed the truck into a dark recess by a dumpster so that the bullet holes in the tailgate wouldn’t be obvious. Upon her return, she stripped the clotted T-shirt from Jack’s side and examined the damage before twisting the cap off the iodine.

“This is going to hurt. It’s a flesh wound, but deep. Looks like it cut through one of your love handles,” she warned, and Jack nodded.

“I’m not using them for anything. Do your worst.”

His sharp intake of breath hissed as the liquid bubbled into the wound, and Drake could see moisture well in his eyes, an involuntary physical response to the pain. Allie fished a small first aid kit out of Jack’s bag and poured another dollop of iodine onto the bullet hole – thankfully a clean entry and exit that had missed any organs. After blotting it, she squeezed two drops of Dermabond adhesive into the entry wound, and Jack reached down and held it closed with his fingers. She went to work on the exit hole and repeated the procedure, pressing the flesh together until it had sealed.

“That’s pretty amazing stuff,” Drake said as she returned the tube to the kit.

“A friend of mine who works in the ER got me some. It’s prescription, but it’s basically superglue without the compound that generates heat. I use it for mountain biking spills. It can be a lifesaver out in the boonies,” Allie explained.

“Only a graze, it was the blood loss that was worrying me,” Jack said, and looked up at Drake. “I suppose we should add some basic first aid to the bag of tricks I teach you. If we hadn’t had the Dermabond and we’d been in the jungle, you might have had to heat your dad’s sword up and cauterize it. Trust me. I’ve had to do that, and you never forget the smell.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Drake looked around the shabby room, whose sickly cream-colored walls reminded him of pus. The carpet was stained and threadbare in places, and the bathroom door hadn’t been properly repaired where a prior guest had punched a hole in it. The impressionist print of a woman staring off over a field of wildflowers made him unaccountably sad, and he realized that it was lack of sleep more than anything that was wearing at him. He checked the time and saw that it was 4:20 a.m., and couldn’t help but yawn. “Sorry. I’m beat.”

“I think we all are. Let’s get a few hours of shut-eye and then figure out what we’re going to do,” Jack suggested. “Figure nine we’ll hook up?”

“Fine by me. I’m right next door if you need anything.”

“I’m just going to get the rest of our stuff so nobody steals it out of the truck. I’ll be back in a second,” Allie said.

Drake caught Jack’s worried look. “I’ll go with you.”

Allie didn’t argue, and as they walked to the darkened form of the Chevrolet, Drake instinctively scanned the lot. Nothing. All quiet.

“How much time do you think we have before they find us?” he asked.

“Who knows? Hopefully my dad has some idea. He usually does. It’s his world, not ours.”

“It’s ours now.”

Drake helped her with the shotguns and backpacks. They carried the bags back to the room, and Drake saw the dark circles under her eyes when the light hit her face. The night had been hard on all of them.

He hung out the Do Not Disturb sign and locked his door before setting his backpack onto the bed. How had it all spun so out of control so quickly?

Drake brushed his teeth, shrugged out of his clothes, and set the alarm clock for eight thirty. He laid the SIG Sauer next to it, within easy reach. After a quick look around the room, he moved the lone wooden chair to the door and leaned the back against it, wedged under the knob, as additional insurance against intruders. He was so tired it didn’t even strike him how odd that would have seemed to him just a few short days before. Now, it was just something he did. Automatic. Reflexive. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was to wonder how much else about his life was going to change before this was over.

His dreams were uneasy. Silent figures lurked in the shadows outside his room and, before he could come fully awake, were inside and pointing the ugly snouts of silenced pistols at him, the SIG Sauer now useless only a foot away. Both had stockings pulled over their heads, distorting their features. The nearest one, with a body like a bear, swung his pistol and slammed the butt into Drake’s head. Drake saw pinpoints of light.

Drake bolted awake, the sheets soaked with perspiration, his heart trip-hammering in his chest, his hand groping for the SIG Sauer. It took him a few seconds to realize he was still in his bed, the chair undisturbed, his only companion the slow ticking of the heater grate.

Drake stood, shaking his head, and shuffled to the bathroom half asleep. The tap water was icy cold and tasted like metal and chlorine, but he didn’t care. He drained the cup in two gulps and peered at his watch. 5:47.

The rest of his slumber he spent tossing and turning, a headache pulsing behind his eyes as his body tried to get the sleep it needed. When he cracked a lid open to check the time, warm sunlight streamed through a slit in the curtains, and he saw it was 8:00. He threw the covers aside with a sigh and switched off the alarm before heading to the bathroom, any further chance of sleep lost to the day’s advance. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror – his red eyes, face drawn with fatigue, three day’s scraggly growth on his normally chiseled jaw – and a single word sprang to mind to describe his reflection.

Hunted.

Chapter Sixteen

The interior of the restaurant was jarring, all bright yellow and orange veneers apparently deliberately chosen for their perkiness. The other patrons were also travelers – grizzled truckers with weary scowls, families in transit – all looking out of place and ill at ease, counting the minutes until their time was up in the cheery purgatory and their journey could continue. Jack sat next to Allie on one side of the booth, Drake on the other, drinking bottomless cups of mediocre coffee, after they ordered from a waitress who’d greeted them with a toothy smile and vacant eyes.

Of the three, only Jack looked better; his color had returned along with his trademark steely determination in his gaze. Like Drake’s, Allie’s face showed signs of the stress, her easy grin nowhere in evidence, replaced by a thin humorless line as serious as a firing squad.

The server arrived with their meals and set platters of artery-clogging lumps before them before strutting off to the next patrons with a swish of her ponytail. Allie’s fruit plate was probably the only thing that hadn’t been churned out of a slaughterhouse, but at that moment it all smelled heavenly, and Drake attacked his meal like it owed him money.

Once they finished with breakfast, Jack cleared his throat and began to speak in a low voice.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought. A private investigator might have done the phone tracking, and could probably, with enough time, get bank records and credit card statements. So we should assume they’ll do exactly that. We can use that to our advantage by creating a false trail for them to follow to oblivion.”

Drake nodded. It made sense.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. How much money do you have on you?” Jack asked him.

Drake eyed the ceiling and did a quick calculation. “A little over thirty grand.”

Jack looked surprised. “With you?”

“Yeah. It’s a long story.”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s a stroke of luck. With that kind of cash, you can do whatever you want, within reason. It buys you a lot of flexibility, so you don’t have to use your credit cards at all unless you’re deliberately leading them on a goose chase.”

Allie finished her coffee. “How much do we have?” she asked Jack.

“I’ve got almost fifty thousand in gold coins, and fifteen in cash. I can convert the gold wherever. For now, we’re set. If this goes longer than a year, then it gets sticky.”

“But your pension payments go into the bank during the interim, right?” she asked.

“Correct.”

Drake sat back. “I’ve also got seventy grand coming from Patricia’s estate. For all I know, it’s already in my account.”

“Then you’re set. But getting it out without leaving a trail could be difficult.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to have to go to the bank anyway to get my passport. Like I said, it’s in a safe deposit box there. I can always withdraw a bunch of cash when I pick it up. Now that I’m carrying thirty around, I can see that it’s not as bulky as I’d have thought. Two pockets in my cargo pants. Piece of cake.”

“The good news is that there are no forms to fill out or boxes to check leaving the U.S. So if you don’t declare it, you’d only be in violation of your destination’s laws. And my experience is that places in South America aren’t doing full body searches on arriving passengers,” Jack said.

“That’s good to know.”

“So here’s what you’re going to do, Drake. Book a flight home, paying cash. Take a taxi to the bank. Pull the money and the passport, and then get the hell out of there. Hightail it to a border city and walk across. From there, you can get to wherever. Peru. Brazil. Bolivia.”

Drake nodded. “What about you?”

“We have different issues. The truck’s going to need to be repaired. Fortunately, I can easily find a radiator to replace this one. That’ll be my errand for the day. I’ll buy some tools, slap one in, and she’ll be as good as gold. I’ll use my credit card to do it, so they’re looking for us down here. By the time it shows up anywhere, we’ll be long gone. Same with you. You can buy something here – anything – either a jacket or shorts or whatever, and that will put you in Corpus. Of course, right after you buy it, you’ll be heading to San Antonio to fly home.”

“I’ll just wait for you to get the truck fixed, then. I can help. I’m pretty good mechanically.”

“No. I want you out of here. They’ll probably be looking for three people. The sooner we’re two, the better. But one thing, son, and I’m not kidding about this. Don’t go anywhere near your apartment. That’s dead to you. Stay away. Do you understand? Because the odds are good they’ll be watching it. Waiting for you to make a rookie mistake. So don’t do it.”

“There’s nothing I can’t replace.”

“Exactly. Grab the cash and your passport, and either fly, or hitch, or take a bus to Tijuana. Once you’re out of the U.S. system, I’ll have a lot more confidence.”

“Fine. What else?”

“Buy a disposable cell phone. Don’t call anyone you know with it. Use it only to call ours.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed. “You still have one?”

“Not yet. But that’s going to be our first purchase while you’re still here, so we have each other’s numbers – two phones. Once you call us, toss it. Buy another phone somewhere else before you call. Give us that new phone number and lose the one you called on.”

“Okay.”

Jack studied his face. “When was your passport issued?”

“Two years ago.”

“So it won’t be expiring any time soon. That’s good.” Jack took another sip of coffee. “Now to timing. The sooner we get to South America, the more of a jump we get on the Russians. It’s only a matter of time until they figure out our end game. I’d propose hooking up in Brazil in five days. Think you can manage that?” Jack asked.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll call you when I’ve gotten my passport to confirm.”

Allie exchanged a glance with her father and pushed her coffee cup aside.

“Now let’s pay and get phones. Then you’re on the first bus to San Antonio after buying a jacket somewhere.” Jack waved for the check.