"I wish there was another way into the mountain."
Pitt shook his head. "It can only be done with a diveraft operation."
"Bring Loren and Rudi back," replied Sandecker, fighting off a surge of emotion.
"You'll see them soon," Pitt promised.
And then he was gone.
The voice of his radio operator roused Captain Juan Diego from his reverie, and he turned from gazing out his command tent at the cone-shaped mountain. There was an indescribable ugliness about Cerro el Capirote and the bleak desert that surrounded it, he thought. This was a wasteland compared to the beauty of his native state of Durango.
"Yes, what is it, Sergeant?"
The radio operator had his back to him and Diego couldn't see the puzzled look on the soldier's face. "I called the security posts for their hourly status reports and received no response from Posts Four and Six."
Diego sighed. He didn't need unexpected predicaments. Colonel Campos had commanded him to set up a security perimeter around the mountain and he had followed orders. No reason was given, none was asked. Consumed with curiosity, Diego could only watch the helicopters arrive and depart and wonder what was going on up there.
"Contact Corporal Francisco at Post Five and have him send a man to check Four and Six." Diego sat down at his field desk and duly noted the lack of response in his daily report as a probable breakdown in communications equipment. The possibility there was a real problem never entered his mind.
"I can't raise Francisco at Post Five either," the radioman informed him.
Diego finally turned. "Are you certain your equipment is working properly?"
"Yes, Sir. The transmitter is sending and receiving perfectly."
"Try Post One."
The radioman adjusted his headphones and signaled the post. A few moments later, he turned and shrugged.
"I'm sorry, Captain, Post One is silent too."
"I'll see to this myself," Diego said irritably. He picked up a portable radio and headed from the tent toward his command vehicle. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and stared dumbly.
The army command vehicle was sitting with the left front end jacked up, the wheel and the spare tire both nowhere to be seen. "What in hell is going on?" he muttered to himself. Is this some sort of prank, he wondered, or could Colonel Campos be testing him?
He spun around on his heel and started for the tent but took only two steps. As if conjured up out of nothingness by a spell, three men blocked his way. All held rifles pointed at his chest. The first question that ran through his mind was why were Indians, dressed as if they were on a cattle drive, sabotaging his equipment?
"This is a military zone," he blurted. "You are not permitted here."
"Do as you're told, soldier boy," said Billy Yuma, "and none of your men will get hurt."
Diego suddenly guessed what had happened to his security posts. And yet he was confused. There was no way a few Indians could capture forty trained soldiers without firing a shot. He addressed his words to Yuma, whom he took to be the leader.
"Drop your weapons before my men arrive or you will be placed under military arrest."
"I'm sorry to inform you, soldier boy," Yuma said, taking delight in intimidating the officer in his neatly pressed field uniform and brightly shined combat boots, "but your entire force has been disarmed and is now under guard."
"Impossible!" snapped Diego haughtily. "No mob of sand rats can stand up against trained troops."
Yuma shrugged indifferently and turned to one of the men beside him. "Fix the radio inside the tent so it won't work."
"You're crazy. You can't destroy government property."
"You have trespassed on our land," said Yuma in a low voice. "You have no authority here."
"I order you to put those guns down," commanded Diego, reaching for his sidearm.
Yuma stepped forward, his weathered face expressionless, and rammed the muzzle of his old Winchester rifle deep into Captain Diego's stomach. "Do not resist us. If I pull the trigger, your body will silence the gunfire to those on the mountain."
The sudden, jolting pain convinced Diego these men were not playing games. They knew the desert and could move through the terrain like ghosts. His orders were to prevent possible encroachment by wandering hunters or prospectors. Nothing was mentioned about an armed force of local Indians who lay in ambush. Slowly, he handed over his automatic pistol to one of Yuma's men, who stuffed the barrel down the waist of his denim pants.
"Your radio too, please."
Diego reluctantly passed over the radio. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Don't you know you are breaking the law?"
"If you soldier boys are working with the men who are defiling our sacred mountain, it is you who are breaking the law, our law. Now, no more talk. You will come with us."
In silence, Captain Diego and his radioman were escorted half a kilometer (a third of a mile) to a large overhanging rock protruding from the mountain. There, out of sight of anyone on the peak, Diego found his entire company of men sitting nervously in a tight group while several Indians covered them with their own weapons.
They scrambled to their feet and came to attention, their faces reflecting relief at seeing their commanding officer. Two lieutenants and a sergeant came up and saluted.
"Is there no one who escaped?" asked Diego.
One of the lieutenants shook his head. "No, sir. They were on us before we could resist."
Diego looked around at the Indians guarding his men. Including Yuma, he counted only sixteen. "Is this all of you?" he asked unbelievingly.
Yuma nodded. "We did not need more."
"What are you going to do with us?"
"Nothing, soldier boy. My neighbors and I have been careful not to harm anyone. You and your men will enjoy a nice siesta for a few hours, and then you'll be free to leave our land."
"And if we attempt to escape?"
Yuma shrugged indifferently. "Then you will be shot. Something you should think about, since my people can hit a running rabbit at fifty meters."
Yuma had said all he had to say. He turned his back on Captain Diego and began climbing an almost unrecognizable trail between a fissure on the south wall of the mountain. No words were spoken between the Montolos. As if on silent command, ten men followed Billy Yuma while five remained behind to guard the prisoners.
The ascent went faster than the last time. He profited from his mistakes and ignored the wrong turns he had taken that curved into blind chutes. He remembered the good handholds and avoided the ones that were badly eroded. But it was still tough going on a trail no self-respecting pack mule would be caught dead on.
He would have preferred more men to support his assault, but the ten men struggling behind him were the only ones who were not afraid of the mountain. Or that was what they claimed. Yuma was not blind to the apprehension in their eyes.
After he reached a flat ledge, he stopped to catch his breath. His heart was beginning to pound, but his body was tensed with the nervous energy of a racehorse ready to burst from the gate. He pulled an old pocket watch from his pants pocket and checked the time. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and held the watch face for the others to see. They were twenty minutes ahead of schedule.
High above, on the mountain's summit, the helicopters hovered like bees around a hive. They were loaded with I as much of the treasure as they could lift before struggling into the sky and setting a course for the airstrip in the Altar Desert.