Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) (7 page)

Both men took appreciative sips of the rich hot brew before setting the cups down to cool. Jack leaned back in his chair and resumed talking.

“You say she left some papers?”

“Right. About my father. His history. About you and him going to South America. Where he died.”

Jack nodded. “That’s correct. Another sad day.”

“I want to hear about it. She says he was murdered.”

Jack looked away, seeming to drift to another place, then took another gulp of coffee. “That’s right. Killed in the jungle. In Peru.”

“How did it happen?”

“You want the long version or the short one?”

“I just flew hours to hear it. Might as well take the scenic route.”

Jack exhaled and nodded again. “Like I said. I always knew this day would come. You know, I recognized you from twenty yards away. You look that much like him. A young version, but still, you got his build and his face. Eerie, really. Like a carbon copy.”

“I’ve seen photos of him. We do look a lot alike.”

“Yup. Well, I suppose there’s no point in beating around the bush. Patricia was right. He was killed like a dog by Russians.”

Drake’s eyes widened. “Russians? What were Russians doing in the South American jungle? And why kill him?”

“That’s where the story gets complicated.”

“Complicated or otherwise, I want to know everything…”

“Then I’ll start at the beginning. With two men. Vadim Olenksi, formerly of the KGB, and his sidekick, Sasha Berekov. Two of the worst miscreants to ever walk the earth. Dangerous as diamondbacks and twice as mean. They were looking for the same thing your father was. I guess they wanted to eliminate the competition. So they killed him.” Jack gave him a bleak look, tormented, as though the wound he was opening was as fresh as the morning frost. “They killed him without a second thought. And the reason we all changed our names and moved the hell away from wherever we were, dropping everything, leaving whatever we had behind, was because we were all worried they’d do the same to us.”

Chapter Nine

“I don’t understand. Why would two former KGB operatives want to kill everyone connected to my father?” Drake asked.

“Because of what they thought one of us had. Your father’s journal. The key to finding the treasure they were after.”

“His journal?”

“Yes. Your father had a nearly photographic memory, but he was a writer, and he liked to set things down on paper. He laid out all his reasoning, including the result of his research, which took him years. Almost a decade, actually. This was before the Internet, so you had to go to libraries and museums in whatever country had the resources you were looking for. He must have taken a half-dozen trips to Peru and Bolivia and Brazil before the final one. He was like a man with a disease.” Jack stopped, considering his next words. “Your dad ditched the journal before he went south. He never told me where he hid it.”

“I inherited his memory, too, I guess. It’s not eidetic, but it’s close. Why would he hide the journal?” Drake asked.

“Even then he understood it contained a lot of information some might do anything to get their hands on.”

“Sounds paranoid.”

“Paranoia becomes prudent planning when a threat appears. He learned that from me. You learn to live by that maxim in Special Forces.”

“I expect you do,” Drake said, trying to be polite.

Jack took another pull on his coffee. “What do you know about what he was looking for?”

“What I learned from Patricia’s notes. Something about a lost Inca city of gold. You mean he actually thought it was real?”

“Not at first. But over time, he became convinced of it. Paititi. Where the pre-Columbian treasure of the Incas was stored, lost forever to history when the Spanish systematically eradicated their culture. But he wasn’t the first to believe that the legend was based in fact, so not as crazy as it sounds. Plenty of bright minds have gone in search of it, only to come up dry. From all over the world. As recently as in the last few years.”

“Maybe because it doesn’t exist. Like the El Dorado. Or any of the other treasure myths.”

“Perhaps, but your father didn’t believe that. And he was the smartest man I’ve ever known. And the man was like a lamprey once he latched on to something.”

Drake paused. “How did you know him?”

“Met in high school and were buds ever after. Only he went to college and I went into the service. When I left after seven years, it was like nothing had changed. Except, of course, for the bullet wounds and scars. I was in the Rangers. Caught the tail end of ’Nam. Trust me – the movies got that completely wrong. Even the most realistic can’t capture what it was like. It takes a lifetime to get over that kind of thing. I’m still working on it.”

“How did you wind up hooking up with him to go to South America?”

“It was a natural fit. He needed someone who knew his way around the jungle and was combat hardened – someone who could handle a gun and a knife in case we ran into trouble. Don’t get me wrong. I trained him to be about as good as anyone could get, but his heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t a fighter. He was an explorer. Anyway, I spent a couple of months in the rainforest with him. It’s my deepest regret that the Russians got to him when I was making a supply run. Only a three-day trek roundtrip, but it was enough.”

Drake leaned forward. “How? How did he die?”

“It was probably painless. Do you really want to hear this? Why? What’s it going to change?”

“I need to know. Everything,” Drake said softly.

Jack shook his head and then shrugged. “All right. When I got back to our camp, I found him by a stream. He’d been shot in the head, execution style. I don’t know whether he’d been beaten or tortured…the animals had gotten to him.”

“How do you know it wasn’t the natives?”

“I’m confident it wasn’t them. Early on in our jungle days he rescued a small Indian child who was drowning and returned her to her father. From that point on, he was untouchable to them. I wouldn’t say they were in love with him, but they let him do his thing while they went about their business. Plus, deep in the Amazon, the Indians don’t have guns. They use bows and blowguns. And back then, the drug cartels hadn’t moved in – Colombia was the primary cocaine-growing region, so the jungles of Brazil and Peru weren’t infested with killers like I hear they are now. That leaves the Russians. Your father and I knew they were in the area, looking. But obviously, we misjudged what they would do to find the treasure.”

Drake studied Jack’s face. “Tell me more.”

“Not much to tell. Cutthroats. Vicious. No conscience. Ex-KGB, they were trying to find the treasure for their employer, an oligarch – one of the bosses that wound up running the filthy place. The only positive is that seventeen years ago both of them wound up in a Siberian prison. So they got what was coming to them, even if it wasn’t for your father’s death.”

“How do you know?”

“I have friends in the intelligence community. We still talk, although not as much as we used to since I quit drinking alcohol. They were willing to do me a favor. You never know when you’ll need one in return. Last I heard, the Russians were in for the duration in an arctic wasteland – a frozen hell nobody could survive for long. The life expectancy in that camp is five years. Need I say more?”

“They never found the city?”

“No. If they had, they wouldn’t have returned to the mother country and fallen low enough to get arrested.” Jack finished his coffee. “All ancient history.”

“But you still changed your name, so the threat couldn’t have been completely neutralized.”

“Even if the two scumbags wound up in the gulag, there was about a two-year period when we didn’t know what would happen. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

“How do you know about the Russians?”

“They approached your father on that last trip and suggested joining forces. Actually, it was more like they threatened him if he didn’t help them. I was at the meeting. Let’s just say it got tense. Two things you need to know about your father: he was stubborn as a mule, and he didn’t take kindly to bullying. Like I said, it got tense.” Jack looked at Drake appraisingly. “I’d say you take after him in respect to being stubborn.”

Drake ignored the observation. “My father stared down two former KGB killers?”

“You’ve never seen anything like it. You’d have thought he was bulletproof. The man didn’t know what fear was, unfortunately. Guns came out, and looking back, it was only because they needed him alive that it didn’t escalate. Anyway, that’s how I knew I was still at risk after the expedition. Following that meeting, your father made me promise that your mother and Patricia would go into hiding if anything happened to him. Gave me notes to hand-deliver to them. It was like he knew…”

“I understand why the name changes. But I still don’t get how grown men could believe that some golden city has remained undiscovered for centuries.”

“Many believe the legend’s true. I still follow all the latest developments. In fact, after your dad died, an Italian researcher discovered a report by a Spanish missionary squirreled away in the Jesuit archives in Rome. I think that was 2001 or 2002. The report talked about a hidden city in the jungle overflowing with treasure – precious gems, gold, you name it. The Spaniard had been on good terms with the Indians and they’d shared the story with him, if not the exact location.”

“Do you believe it’s real?”

“You know, I started off skeptical and wound up a believer. Mostly because of your father’s conviction – that it was real, that he had a good idea of where it was, and that not only was it possible to find it, but that he’d be the one to do so. Does that mean it is real? Hell no. Would I bet the farm on it? No. I’m too old for that kind of gamble. But if you’re asking me whether somewhere in the jungle at the ass end of the world there are ruins of an Inca city with unimaginable treasure in it, the answer’s a cautious yes.”

“Cautious? Why? That hardly seems consistent with a commando’s nature.”

“You take enough risks when you’re a kid, you see enough, and you start to appreciate your own mortality. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Yeah, I remember those days well. You’re only a couple of years older than Allie. When you’re young, you think you’re invulnerable and have all the time in the world to live out your life. Once you’re an old fart like me, you understand there are no guarantees, and if you see the sun rise tomorrow, it’s a gift, not a right.” Jack cleared his throat. “Now you can answer some questions for me. How do you know how to skip-trace well enough to find me? I’m pretty much unfindable. No criminal record, not even a traffic ticket. I’ve kept my nose clean. I live in the middle of God’s country. My nearest neighbor is a half mile down the road. How did you do it?”

Drake explained about his career as a bounty hunter and the painstaking process he’d gone through to locate him.

Jack appraised him with a knowing eye. “See? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Your father was convinced he could find Paititi – that he could find anything. Whether you know it or not, you’re the same.”

Drake shrugged, the praise uncomfortable. “It’s a living.”

“I’m sure it is. But given how smart your old man was, I’m surprised you’re not a doctor or a lawyer or something. How did you wind up in the bounty-hunting game?”

“It’s just one of those things you fall into.”

“Being a short-order cook or a car salesman’s the kind of thing you fall into. There aren’t many bounty hunters. Did you go to school?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a journalism degree that’s good for lining the bottom of a bird cage. It’s tough out there these days. No jobs. Newspapers folding right and left. Christ, there are lines for openings at fast-food restaurants. It’s crazy.”

“We’ve certainly made a mess of it, I’ll give you that.”

“So I got a tip from a buddy that his brother needed some help with his bail bond business, and after talking to him, I interned there for a few weeks – unpaid, of course – and learned the ropes. I nailed my first perp at month number three and pocketed six grand, and then another the next month and made four. Following month, took home ten. That was it for me.”

“Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d be good at. No offense, but you’re not exactly the type to take on a three-hundred-pound fugitive.”

“You’d be surprised. I used to wrestle in school, and took some martial arts courses. I’m not saying it’s easy, but like I said, it puts food on the table.”

Allie entered, looking at her watch. “Speaking of food on the table, is he staying for dinner?” she asked Jack.

Jack eyed him. “Well? You heard the lady. You staying for dinner?”

Drake tried his most winning grin on Allie and got polite indifference in return. He decided not to let it faze him.

“I’d love to. You need any help in the kitchen?”

“I was just going to microwave a couple of TV dinners. I think I can handle it.” She spun on her heel and left.

Jack shook his head. “Don’t take it personally. She’s had a rough patch lately. Same as you. No jobs. A bum for an ex-boyfriend. So she’s a little angry.”

“No offense taken.”

“Atta boy. Now tell me about everything you’ve patched together about your dad, and I’ll try to fill in the gaps for you.”

Chapter Ten

Contrary to Allie’s verbal menu, dinner consisted of thick, juicy steaks and garlic-sautéed spinach that would have been the envy of any high-end restaurant. The dinner discussion centered primarily around Drake’s father and his exploits before leaving for South America, with Jack providing a running commentary throughout the meal. When they were done, Drake insisted on helping Allie with the dishes. He donned a pair of rubber gloves, stood next to her, and dutifully rinsed in the huge double farm sink after she washed.

“That was a wonderful meal, Allie. Thanks again,” he said as he ran water over a plain stoneware plate.

“You’re welcome. It was my pleasure.”

He placed a matching dish in the rack beside him. “What’s it like living on a farm?”

“A ranch. We have sixty head of cattle.”