“Unless I missed them,” Gage said, “I didn’t see any gold bars.”
“No, but—”
The sound of a helicopter overhead interrupted their conversation. It settled in a field behind the house. The helicopter bay doors slid open, and a dozen uniformed soldiers wearing flak vests and carrying weapons leaped to the ground.
Victor Alamán, in a perfectly tailored black suit, climbed out of the chopper and strode toward them.
He glanced at the blood and death, the bodies scattered around the field. “Looks like you didn’t need my help after all.”
“We managed,” Gage said. “Mostly they killed each other.” He pointed. “You’ll find the treasure at the bottom of those stairs. Mayan plunder,” he said.
Alamán frowned. “Mayan? I thought you were looking for gold ingots.”
Gage shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe next time.”
Victor scrubbed a hand over his face. He sighed. “We’ll have to turn it over to the antiquities department at the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. There are laws restricting the sale or removal of any national treasure.”
“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll be leaving soon. If we find anything else before we go, I assume our deal still stands.”
Alamán nodded absently, his gaze sliding toward the top of the stairs. He motioned to a younger man also wearing a suit, apparently his assistant, who came forward. The two men briefly conversed, then disappeared down the stairs.
Around them, soldiers checked on the men lying on the ground. Those still breathing were transported aboard the chopper. Gage watched Paulo limping toward the helicopter at gunpoint. Santos was dead, along with most of the cartel crew. Tomás was being carried to the helo. Gage still didn’t know which cartel group the village men belonged to.
“Hector is back at the hotel,” Abby reminded him.
Gage nodded as they headed for their vehicles. “We’ll send him back to Velásquez with the bad news.”
“What? There’s no gold?”
Gage’s mouth edged into a weary smile. “Not for him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ABBY SAT ATKING’S BEDSIDE, HOLDING ONTO HIS HAND.GAGEstood a few feet away. Zuma had left to give them time alone.
Abby kissed King’s liver-spotted hand.
“Tell me . . .” he wheezed. “Say it. It’s written . . . all over . . . your face.”
She took a deep breath. “We found the treasure, Grandfather. Mayan gold. It was underneath the hacienda’s outside kitchen.”
King’s eyes narrowed. He looked paler, thinner than he had just that morning. Her throat tightened. He was fading fast, and there was nothing she could do.
“You found Mayan treasure? Mayan gold . . . under the kitchen?”
She nodded. “A room full of ancient gold artifacts. It was incredible. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. But . . . you know the antiquities laws. We had to give it to the Mexican government.”
A slow smile curved King’s lips. “You found your own . . . treasure, sweet girl. Not mine. You have the blood of a true . . . treasure hunter.”
Abby felt a tug in her heart. She smiled. “Gage thinks whoever plundered the Mayan treasure must have started collecting it years after the Peraltas were gone and the hacienda was in ruins. The underground room was just a convenient place to hide it. Maybe the thieves were caught and never gave up the location, or maybe they were killed. Gage still thinks there’s more gold out there.”
King’s smile broadened into a grin. “I know . . . there is.” His amber eyes slid toward Gage.
“The Peralta gold,” Gage said, coming away from the wall. “There were no gold ingots in that room, but I think we’re close to finding them.”
They told King everything that had happened since that morning and that they were free of Velásquez’s hold.
“Why didn’t you bring the gold out when you first found it?” Abby asked King.
