The man spoke into a small radio in a language Amy didn’t recognize. On the tablet screen, she watched in horror as the helicopter’s position shifted, moving closer to the boat. The image zoomed in, and she could see what looked like mounted weapons protruding from the aircraft’s sides.
“No!” Amy cried out. “Don’t hurt them!”
“Then read the map,” the man said simply. “Tell us what it means, and your friends live. Refuse, and watch them die.”
Amy’s hands shook as she looked down at the document. Every instinct screamed at her not to cooperate, not to give these monsters what they wanted. But the image of Nash, oblivious to the threat above, made her decision for her.
“Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll read it.”
The man smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I thought you might see reason.”
Amy leaned forward, studying the map more carefully. Her years of research had made her familiar with various types of historical cartography, and this document was clearly old—possibly from the late 1800s, based on the style and materials.
“This shows Utah Territory,” she said, tracing the geographical boundaries with her finger. “But there are markings that extend farther east …” She paused, her academic mind working despite her fear. “Into what would be Wyoming Territory.”
“Continue,” the man said.
Amy followed the trail of symbols across the map. “These symbols … they’re similar to ones I’ve seen in Porter Rockwell’s documented activities. The broken arrow, the circle with the cross …”
Her voice trailed off as understanding dawned. The map wasn’t just showing random locations—it was documenting a deliberate trail, a carefully planned route for moving something valuable.
“The gold,” she breathed. “This shows how it was moved from Utah to Wyoming.”
The man leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Where in Wyoming?”
Amy studied the eastern portion of the map, where the trail of symbols ended at what appeared to be a specific geographical landmark. Her heart sank as she realized the implications of what she was reading. “I can’t understand it.”
“Yes, you do.” The man stood and gripped her shirt. “Tell me.”
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. “I don’t know.”
He pointed to the screen and spoke into the radio. “I’ll kill all of them.”
Her heart raced. “I will. But …” She tried to think of how to get them out of danger. “Not until I see they are on land.”
“No. Now!” the man yelled.
“No.”
The other man said, “Boss, we need her. We have to wait.”
“Fine!” He pushed her down.
Amy grabbed the map and studied the final symbol on the map, a complex marking that combined several of the elements she’d seen throughout the document. Her mind raced, remembering conversations with Nash about his family’s ranch, about the missile silos, about the strange symbols they’d found, plus the broken symbol.
Was this why her father had relocated to Cross Creek? Her mind raced. She hated thinking her father had put them all in danger over this.
She suddenly had an idea. Tears came to her eyes. Nash had been inspired, telling her about the SOS.
She wasn’t sure how long they’d been sailing when the boat slowed; she looked up and saw them heading to a port on shore she didn’t recognize. Taking a chance while the men weren’t looking, she ripped off a piece of the map, the one that indicated where she thought the gold was, and crumpled it, sticking it in a couch cushion.
When they docked, the bearded man pointed to the screen. “See? Your precious people are on shore. Where is the gold?”
She rolled up the map and handed it to him. “It’s on a reservation called Windsong. Let’s go.”
He hesitated, taking the map.
She tried to play the part. “Hey, you know I’ve been studying where this treasure is. For a cut, I’ll take you right to it.”
