Into the Wild (24 page)

River had seen pictures. Master stonemasons, the Incas had built impressive structures—temples, sanctuaries, residences, water fountains and irrigation systems…

“For a primitive culture, they're quite advanced,” Henry said, sounding almost giddy. “Communal, highly structured.”

Spenser angled his head. “Fascinating.”

River raised a skeptical brow. “How is it no one's ever stumbled upon this village?”

“There are parts of the Llanganatis—so wild and remote—that have never been mapped. Aerial views are faithfully obscured by a massive, thick blanket of clouds. The village is well hidden.”

“Like the treasure.”

Henry smiled.

“You honestly expect us to believe that you've been living in an ancient village with a lost tribe, guardians of a legendary treasure?”

“If you had read my journal—”

“I
tried.
It was too cryptic. I didn't recognize half the words—”

“Bovedine would have translated.”

River refused to blow her top, refused to waste the energy. She was already operating on fumes. “Then why didn't you send it to him in the first place?”

“Because I wanted you to have it. It was a gift.”

“The family photos were a gift,” River gritted out. “The journal,
that
was your way of trying to convince me, or maybe yourself, that your chosen lifestyle, one without me, was justified. A discovery of a lifetime.
Eureka!
” River's head was going to explode. Overall, none of this made sense and Spenser wasn't helping to work the puzzle. He was just soaking it all in, apparently taking Henry on his word. “Since we're discussing your journal,” she snapped, “just so you know—”

“It was stolen,” Henry said.

“I filled him in before you woke up,” Spenser said.

“Maybe it's in my bag,” River said, gesturing to her recovered sling pack.

Spenser shook his head. “I looked. And according to Henry, the guardians searched the thief who attacked us and found nothing of consequence, except his wallet.”

“His name was Gator Wallace,” Henry said.

The name meant nothing to River. “Did you know him?” she asked both men, and both responded no.

“At least you thought to tear out the map,” Henry said. “Hopefully, whoever is in possession of my journal will chalk up the contents to gibberish. If they do break my code, then we must hope they consider my data a hoax, or at the very least, the ravings of a lunatic.”

“Everyone we've encountered so far definitely thinks you're mad,” River said.

“Or dead,” Spenser said.

He rubbed his hands together in a maniacal fashion. “Another victim of the ancient curse. Excellent.”

“How so?” River asked.

“If they think your dad's crazy or dead,” Spenser said, “no one will bother to look for him.”

Oh, right. She knew that. She massaged her temples, alarmed by her muddled thoughts. She squinted at Henry. “So your secret's safe. Maybe.”

“Hopefully.” Henry wiggled his fingers at River. “I want my map back.”

“I only have the second half.”

“The most important half.”

“If you didn't want me to have it, why did you send it to begin with?” She struggled with her jacket zipper. Her right hand was useless. Her left was shaky. Finally she ordered Henry to look away so Spenser could retrieve the map from her bra. Her skin tingled when his fingers brushed it. She would have cursed herself as shallow, except she had a weird tingling sensation head to toe. Nothing sexual. Just pins-and-needles. As if her whole body was falling asleep.

She nailed Henry with bleary eyes. “If it's such a big stinking secret, why did you document the location of the gold?”

“I documented the location of the lost village and I did so because that's what scientists and explorers do.”

She felt sick when Henry took the map and tossed it into the campfire. She wondered how Spenser felt.
Wondered why he didn't protest. Then remembered they had backup. Somewhere.

Can't think straight.

Henry regarded River with a bizarre mixture of pride and anger. “You weren't supposed to come here, River.”

Of all the insensitive… “Bastard,” she mumbled. She realized suddenly that, deep down, she'd hoped for some sort of emotional, affectionate reunion with her dad. To form some sort of father-daughter bond. She'd been an optimistic fool. She'd risked so much, and for what?

Her thoughts and emotions grew more chaotic. Losing control wouldn't do. Not here. Not now. “I came because I thought you were in danger,” she rasped. “I wanted to help. And I wanted I wanted to say I'm sorry. Sorry for damning you to hell when Mom died. Sorry for not being the son you wanted. Sorry for…” Her mind went blank. She palmed her forehead. “I know there was more. I know…” She focused on Spenser, saw the anguish in his eyes. “I'm sorry about Cy,” she managed before twisting in his arms and retching into the dirt.

S
PENSER SOAKED A BANDANNA
with water and wiped River's clammy face. “You're okay, angel. Hang on.”

“Tougher than I look,” she mumbled.

“Fucking superwoman,” Spenser said close to her ear.

Henry, the eccentric bastard, at least had the decency to look concerned. “Is it a reaction to the guardians' tranquilizer,” he asked, “or severe altitude sickness?”

“Don't know.” Spenser eased River back on the blanket. “Maybe a combination. She definitely exhibited signs of AMS earlier today.”

He'd been watching her closely for the past few minutes, more focused on her well-being than Henry's discovery. It's not that he wasn't intrigued. He burned to see that Inca village—if it truly existed—and to meet that lost tribe. As for the treasure, the air vibrated with an unusual energy. An energy that twisted Spenser into a feverish knot. His gut said Atahualpa's ransom was buried nearby. That the lost tribe and village existed. His mind warned there was no proof, no evidence to support any of this. Just Henry's word, and the professor didn't strike him as wholly competent. His daughter, on the other hand, struck him as fully compromised.

“Can't afford to wait until tomorrow. Need to get River to a lower altitude now.” Spenser surveyed the area. He couldn't distinguish familiar landmarks. Given the dense forest, the darkening sky and disorienting mist, he couldn't even determine east from west. The guardians had carried them here, wherever
here
was. Though he hadn't been unconscious as long as River, he'd definitely lost track of time and direction. “I don't know where I am, Henry.”

“As was intended by the guardians. They meant to disorient you. The village isn't far from here, but the location—”

“Is secret. Got it.”

“They brought you this far as a courtesy to me. I can't direct you.”

“You realize that's warped, considering two minutes ago we were in possession of a map
you
charted.”

“A map intended for River and Bovedine's eyes only.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine. A map intended for future generations. Later down the line. Just as there was Valverde's guide and Brunner's map and—”

“At some point you wanted your place in history,” Spenser said. “I get that, Henry. But we're talking about River, your daughter. Her health—”

“We've come so far,” she said. “Must see treasure.”

“Forget it,” said Henry. “Even
I
haven't seen the treasure.”

River forced herself up on one elbow. “But the amulet you sent me…sweat of the sun.”

“A small sampling of the buried treasure,” Henry said, eyes bright. “Given to me by the tribe council. One of a few gifts. Along with tears of the moon, which I sent to Bovedine. As I've chosen to live out my life here, I have no need for such things. I thought—”

“For Christ's sake, Henry. I have to get River down from here. At least point me to Brunner's Lake.”

The older man pushed to his feet. “I'll summon the guardians. They'll take you, but you'll have to be drugged.”

“Whatever it takes.”

Henry fled.

River squirmed. “I have to pee.”

Spenser helped her to her feet. “I'll come with you.”

“Just get me somewhere private, then leave. I may be loopy but I have my pride.”

“To hell with pride.”

“I just threw up in front of you,” she said in a shaky voice. “At least spare me another indignity. Besides, I feel a little better. Guess it helped to get whatever out of my system.”

“Fine.” Spenser guided her to a private area. “I'll give you space, but talk to me.”

“Fine.”

He propped her against a tree. He distanced himself, but not too far. He had a bad feeling. Not just because she was ill, but because Henry was unreliable and the
heavy mist that had been hanging high above now swirled in a downward motion. Between the fog and the encroaching dark… “Talk to me, River.”

“Are you sure the journal wasn't in my sling bag?”

“Positive.”

“What about my camera?”

“Negative.”

“I don't understand,” she said. “Maybe, what was his name? Gator? What kind of name is that? Maybe he wasn't working alone. Maybe he had a partner. Kind of like I have Ella. I inherited my grandfather's headache. I mean, business. Did you know that?”

“Tell me.” Christ. Her thoughts were all over the place. Not good. He listened to River ramble incoherently about Forever Photography while he worked the puzzle.

She was dead-on about one thing. Gator must have been in cahoots with someone. Someone other than the second road bandit killed by Mel. Someone on the outside. Someone with connections. How did Gator know where to intercept River on the day she'd left Baños? How did he know she was staying at the Jungle Lodge? Who could have alerted the thug in both instances? Mel-fucking-Sutherland.

Spenser's mind worked double time. When Mel had asked about River's well-being, when he'd asked if they were headed back to Baños, Spenser had mentioned he was taking her to the Jungle Lodge.

The night before that, the Aussie had spent time with River before Spenser had arrived at El Dosel. He'd plied
her with liquor. How much had she told him about her hunt for Professor Kane? Had she mentioned the journal? The map? She must have. But then, why not take it from her himself? Why stage a shoot-out and pretend he'd been injured? To keep his identity secret?

Spenser was still pondering the mystery when he realized River had stopped talking.

He spun around, thinking she'd passed out, but instead she moved toward him.

She wasn't alone.

They moved as one through the swirling fog—River and her captor. He half carried, half dragged her, holding a gun to her head.

Spenser locked down a frenzy of panic and fury. He mourned the loss of his Beretta, taken by the guardians, he assumed, or left behind. He met River's wide eyes as they moved closer to the campfire, noted similar emotions—panic, fury—and overall confusion. He willed her calm while his mind spun for alternative ways to thwart the bastard holding her captive.

Then his brain froze.

Not Mel, but…

No. It couldn't be.

“Look like you've seen a ghost, Spense.”

It couldn't fucking be.

“Had some reconstructive surgery done. The fall fucked up my face, but surely you recognize your old army buddy.”

Andy Burdett.

He looked different, older, altered, but Spenser
recognized his voice, his eyes, the way he moved. His friend was alive. The only thing that kept Spenser from rushing forward and catching the man up in a bear hug was the fact he was holding a gun to River's temple. Confusion and fury pulverized his being. “What the hell, Andy? Let the woman go.”

“Not on your life.” He tapped the gun to her head. “Or should I say, her life.”

Spenser drew on his military training. Hostage situation. Establish communication.
What does the gunman want?
He blurted the obvious icebreaker. “I thought you were dead.”

“You mean you wanted me dead. With me out of the way, Jo was yours for the taking.”

Spenser didn't answer. Couldn't answer. He felt as though he were in the middle of any one of the hundred nightmares he'd had over the past few years. Disturbing dreams involving Andy. He suddenly wondered if he himself was suffering ill effects from the altitude. Surely this was a hallucination.

“Obviously,” Andy said, “I didn't fall as far as you thought. Landed on a jutting ridge, part of an old Incan path—so I was told.”

“The fog,” Spenser said. “You fell through it and disappeared. I couldn't see…I thought…” He dragged a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “We searched when the weather permitted but—”

“I'd already been saved by an Andean farmer and his son. I don't remember anything between falling and waking up under the loving ministrations of a beautiful
young Indian woman. The farmer's daughter,” Andy said with a sardonic gleam in his eyes. “I don't remember much of the first few months after. In addition to a broken body, my memory was fractured. But this family practiced old Indian ways and, because of their care and my stubborn determination, I healed.”

“Why didn't you let your friends and family know you were alive?” River choked out.

Her shaky, frustrated voice shredded Spenser's soul. That's when he knew for certain this wasn't a dream. This was real, this was now, and River was in mortal danger.

“Because, sweet thing,” Andy said, while tightening his grip, “death was preferable to life. My old life, anyway. I was in dire financial debt. A couple of loan sharks had threatened my life, and my ex-wife had promised to make my world hell for the rest of my days. As for friends, they're fickle and fleeting. Even old friends. Duke was obsessed with his lodge and his woman, and Spenser here was obsessed with lost treasures and my woman.”

“Jo loved you,” Spenser ground out. “She was traumatized by your death. How could you let her suffer all these years?”

“Suffer guilt knowing she'd called out
your
name when we'd made love the night before my fall? Knowing she'd driven me to drink more than I should have?” Andy smirked. “I have no regrets. Meanwhile, I married that native girl. She educated me on the Llanganatis, the history, the landscape. She showed me places where the
ancient Incas would smelt gold. These mountains are full of trinkets.” He smirked at Spenser. “If you know where to look.”

“Let me guess,” Spenser said, wishing Kane and his spear-chucking, dart-blowing guardians would show. “You got rich off of those
trinkets.
Sounds familiar. Valverde married an Indian woman and, after multiple visits into these mountains, became a wealthy man. Sure you're not borrowing from his history?”

Andy just smiled. “On the contrary, old friend. I'm going to
make
history. Unlike all the adventurers and explorers before me, including you, I will unearth the Sun King's ransom. People will remember me long after they remember some hokey treasure-hunting celebrity, and I will be as wealthy as, well, a king.”

“You're crazy,” River whispered.

“Crazy as a fox,” countered Andy. “I have the first half of the map—compliments of Professor Bovedine and that dead idiot Gator. I have your dad's journal—”

“Thanks to Mel?” Spenser asked.

“I'd applaud your brilliant deduction,” Andy said with a taunting smile, “but my hands are full.” He tightened his grip on River. “Sutherland's been my ears and eyes in Baños for quite some time. All transactions were made over the phone and he was reliable until sweet thing here got under his skin. He went ballistic when Gator's hired help reneged on the plan and tried to abscond with Ms. Kane. I had to double his pay and promise no harm would come to her in order to get him to obtain further information on her whereabouts.” His cosmetically
altered face purpled with anger. “Sutherland's no longer in my employ.”

“Did you kill him, too?” River snapped.

“Didn't you know?” Andy chuckled. “No. How would you? He should have visited a more reliable doctor. Back to the journal,” he said coldly, and Spenser had no doubt his old friend was indeed mad. “Took a little time, but I cracked the code. A lost tribe of noble roots. Interesting reading.”

“
My
journal,” River said with more fire than Spenser liked.
Don't agitate him, angel.
“Give it back,” she demanded.

“It's in my pocket, sweet thing, and, like your addled dad I will gift it to you. After.”

“After what?” Spenser asked with dread.

Andy smiled and spoke close to River's ear. “I also have your camera, which contains a beautifully detailed shot of—”

“I can't find the guardians.” Professor Kane pushed through thick foliage. “I don't understand. I…”

“They're dead,” Andy said. “I watched them kill Gator. Watched them carry away River and Spense. I bided my time then…they were no match for me. And no, I don't feel bad. They owed me. The world owes me.”

Henry took in the scene. His face burned red. “Who are you?”

“A ghost from the past,” Andy said. “You may call me The Conquistador.” Spenser frowned.
What the hell?

Henry narrowed his eyes. “As in the Spanish soldiers who massacred innocent Incas in their quest for gold?”

“Seemed fitting. I harbor the same desires and determination as Pizarro, and you, Professor Kane, are my ticket to glory.”

Spenser held River's worried gaze as the two eccentrics exchanged words. Their dialogue sounded like something out of a B-movie adventure. Or something scripted by a ratings-motivated producer like Necktie Nate. He'd give anything if a film crew lurked in the dense foliage, if he and River were the victims of a warped version of a reality show pilot. Anything was possible. Hell, Andy had risen from the dead. Unfortunately, Spenser's gut screamed this wasn't staged, but real. Bizarre payback for his obsession with Atahualpa's ransom. He never should have led River into these mountains. He should have found a way to talk her into returning home. Although his affections were true and his need to protect her sincere, deep down he still suffered the fever. He still wanted to see the legendary treasure—sweat of the sun, tears of the moon. River had been right not to trust him.

“You're holding a gun to my daughter's head,” Henry said. “Do you mean to bully me into sharing my secrets?”

“I know your secrets, old man. Read your journal. I also have both halves of the map.”

“Impossible.”

“Possible,” Spenser countered, spying River's 35mm strapped over Andy's shoulder.