“Eighty five paces,” he whispered through the comms. “Northeasterly. We’re looking for a totem-pole shaped hoodoo.”
The moon and stars glittered down upon them, affording enough light to help their search but also raising their chances of being spotted. Crouch fancied that the militia didn’t post outer perimeter guards, but didn’t want to test the theory too closely. Crouch took point, Caitlyn a step behind. Russo and Healey brought up the rear with Cruz between them. The Mexican guide had been unusually quiet since landing in the US, blaming his reticence on being outside his comfort zone.
Crouch didn’t babysit the man. Soldiers had to deal with that kind of shit their whole lives.
Counting softly in his head, he walked until eighty five paces had passed. At that point a vista opened to their right, its impact tarnished by the darkness, but still with enough effect to take their breaths away.
Crouch pointed ahead. “Totem-pole shaped hoodoo on the edge of the cliff.”
The thin spire of rock protruded above the rim, its length shaped into rounded columns as it climbed to its apex. Crouch knelt down and consulted the map. “Okay, so I know it’s one hundred paces west,” he said. “But that’s toward the militia compound so be careful.”
Small rocks eased their way, providing areas of cover. Crouch pointed out an ancient rock formation, a huddle of bare stones, and a sprouting of trees that formed the second landmark, then cut north again.
“The good news,” he said, “is that the landmarks are actually here. I can understand that one or two may have been lost to time and the elements, but finding none at all would have pointed toward this being a hoax.”
Cruz looked at him. “The elders wouldn’t do that. They gave their word.”
Crouch nodded, saying nothing.
“A wilderness as vast as this,” Caitlyn said. “Those Aztec warriors and whoever came after could have been lost out here for days. I wonder how they ever made it back.”
“Followed their own map probably,” Russo said a little drily but then shrugged in apology. “It is a wild place, doubly so in older times.”
Another formation passed them by and still Crouch followed his map, venturing once more closer to the perimeter fence and then stopping near the banks of a briskly running stream. The sound of rushing water broke the silent monotony, a balm to Caitlyn’s ears.
“Best sound I’ve heard in a long while.”
Crouch took a drink from a bottle of water. “Saddle up yer pony,” he said in a shocking cowboy accent. “The final landmark is at the mouth of this stream.”
EIGHTEEN
Alicia carefully tossed another can into the fire, laughing as she scored a direct hit, slowly shaking her hips to a rock beat. To all but the most observant she appeared inebriated, caught in the moment, happy to be among the bikers and militia men, but inside she was as alert as a fighter pilot in a war zone. Her every move was designed to throw the enemy off guard, to take their attention away from the real events that were taking place tonight. Lex played his part at her side, reveling in the role of leader.
The stories he’d promised to tell, whilst turning out to be the center of militia attention, betrayed the pain he still felt for the loss of his brothers. There was the story of Whipper and how she came by her name; Dirty Sarah and the way she could fight. Then came older stories of men now dead — Tiny, Donkster and Lomas.
Alicia moved in closer as Lex spoke of Lomas, the leader of the Slayers and Alicia’s last beau. He had died in her arms. The pain she’d experienced at his death surpassed all the hurt she’d ever felt in her life. There was no recovery; no going back.
Only the road ahead.
Lex spoke warmly of the gang leader, telling a bevy of stories. The night grew long and the music vibrated into lighter tunes. The beer flowed endlessly and the laughter rarely stopped. But Alicia never let her guard down and neither did the militia men. Pitts was always present, cradling his rifle, and several of his cohorts watched from afar, perched atop jeeps or standing among shadows as if waiting for something to happen. When Alicia put on an impromptu dancing display, wriggling and cavorting, she turned at the end to find Pitts’ eyes on her, evaluating and watchful and totally unmoved.
Lex pulled her back to the trashcans. “Time to hit the sack.”
Wrench and Red Head backed him up, enquiring as to a place to sleep. The latter had been talking to one of the militia women present. With tied back flaming red hair she was a prime candidate for Red Head’s affections, but to his credit he quickly backed the team.
“Sleep by your bikes,” Pitts told them. “Won’t rain around here tonight.”
Lex balked for a moment, unsure how to respond to the potential insult. Alicia laid a furtive hand on his arm.
“Sure, sure,” he blustered. “Don’t matter to me.”
The men began to drift away. Pretty soon there was only a hard core left; hard-eyed individuals that rarely let their weapons leave their hands even when drinking. Alicia wondered about the dangers of such an individual having to take a leak. Feeling buoyant now that they’d gained Crouch and the rest of the team so much valuable time to search, she was about to ask the question when Pitts sidled up close to her.
“Something ain’t right about you, missy,” he said softly. “Those guys they’re blinded and guided by what’s between their legs. And yours. But me and the senior ranks over there” — he nodded toward the jeep and the men courting the darker shadows — “we see past all that.”
“Past that?” Alicia affected a high-pitched tone. “To my ass? It’s great isn’t it?”
Pitts shrugged, slightly tongue-tangled. “All night,” he said. “We’ll be watching.”
Hefting his rifle he purposely swung the barrel so that it crossed paths with all four bikers before ambling away, then glanced back over his shoulder, eyes never straying far. The men of the senior ranks drifted a little closer now, saying nothing.
“So,” Alicia said brightly. “Who’s sleeping tonight?”
Excitement coursed through the team as they climbed the sharp incline alongside the burbling stream. Full darkness had long since fallen, turning the landscape to a light green discernible only through night vision goggles. The hard ground had been worn smooth, making it difficult to find any purchase, so much so that Crouch found himself crawling before too long, breathing loud in his own ears. The stream cut back and forth across the rock, meandering down its own path and vanishing into nowhere.
At last they crested the rise. A flat piece of rock extended in all directions, leading to even higher ground several hundred feet away.
“The mouth of the river,” Crouch said expectantly, “is the pictogram that signifies the final landmark. We’re here.”
“It’s not much of a river and that’s definitely not a mouth,” Russo pointed out. “More like a leaky plughole.”
“Man’s got a point.” Caitlyn crouched down and peered hard into the small square of darkness from which the water spouted. “Pass me that flashlight.”
Healey was already beside her, handing the powerful flashlight over. Caitlyn angled it into the hole, remembering to remove her night vision goggles first. “Just a hollow clogged with pebbles and dust and dirt. If there is anything under there it’s well buried beneath tons of rock that we sure can’t dig through.”
Crouch joined her. “I can’t understand it. They surely had to hide a part of the treasure here. Otherwise why all the clues and markers? We were purposely led to this point — for what?”