“Neither have I. But it seems like the kind of thing you should start doing.”
“I’ll add that to the list. You get your money?”
“Yeah. Courtesy of Peru. Thanks again. Five hundred big ones. I’m still trying to get used to the idea.”
“I know what you mean. Like, where do you start?”
Spencer shrugged. “You heard from Allie?”
“Yeah. She’s back in Texas. Dealing with ranch issues. I’m supposed to head out and help her tomorrow.”
Spencer nodded. “Did you ever figure out what you were going to do about the shaman and his daughter?”
Drake had debated donating some of his cut to providing health care and other essential services to the tribe.
“In the end, anything I did would just destroy what they have, so it’s one of those situations where if I tried to help, I’d do more harm than good. I decided to just let them be. They’ve managed for thousands of years without me. Who am I to play god and change everything for them?”
“The beginnings of wisdom.” Spencer surveyed the apartment. “Can’t see why you’re moving. It’s got walls and everything. Electricity. A view of that hedge.”
“Time for a change, I guess.”
“I’m kidding. It’s a dump. And it smells like ass.”
“Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”
“So where are you moving to?”
Drake paused. “I haven’t figured that out yet. Sort of trying to get the hang of my new lifestyle.”
Spencer eyed him. “Maybe Texas?”
“Too flat.”
“What about Florida? It’s warm there.”
“Too many hurricanes.”
“Ah. Right. Then what about Southern California? San Diego? Malibu! You could go full-tilt Baywatch. Get a place on the beach. Bug your famous neighbors for Grey Poupon. Walk around naked. Surf.”
“Surfing sounds fun. I used to do it out by Santa Cruz, but it’s been a while.”
“You should pick it back up. Everyone’s doing it. It’s the new ‘I’m not a yuppie’ yuppie thing to do.”
“Good to know.”
“I read that in the in-flight magazine.”
“You should have taken a private jet.”
Spencer smiled. “And the pupil becomes the master.”
Drake went into his bedroom, slipped his computer into his duffel and shouldered it. “You ready to hit it?”
“Sure.”
“Just a second. I need to leave a note for the movers.” Drake pushed by him, scribbled on a piece of binder paper, and carried it to the door, where he tacked it on the outside after closing it. Spencer glanced at the note.
“Nice. ‘Door’s open. Haul everything to the dump. There’s five hundred dollars in the drawer by the fridge. Enjoy the six of beer.’ Why get tied down with material stuff?”
“I was going to put everything in storage, but I realized just now that I don’t care about any of it. So why keep it?”
“Right. Better to start fresh. In Malibu. Surf’s up, dude.”
Drake nodded. “Cowabunga.”
“I rented a car. We can take mine,” Spencer said.
“Sounds good. Let me throw this in my trunk. Just give me a lift back, would you?”
“You expect a lot for thirty-three million. I already hauled that damned ore box for you. My back still hurts.”
The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, warming Drake as he walked to his car — another possession he couldn’t wait to get rid of, he realized. He absently wondered whether it would start, and decided that it didn’t matter. Part of him hoped it wouldn’t. It would make it easier for him to leave it there, to be towed whenever the city tired of it collecting dust. He threw his bag into the trunk and met Spencer at the curb, where he was sitting in a red economy sedan.
Drake slid into the passenger seat and ran a hand over the dash. “Wow. Real plastic. You’re living large, aren’t you?”
“Screw you. I got the extra insurance. I know how to spend money, too. You’re not the only one, big shot.” He paused. “Where’s the bank?”
“Go west to the El Camino and hang a right. Eight blocks up. Can’t miss it.”
Spencer signaled and pulled into traffic, the engine whining like a chained dog, expensive luxury cars flying by them as they made their way to the main drag.
“Have you figured out what you’re going to do?”
“Allie and I talked after the award ceremony. There’s still that smaller Inca city just waiting to be found. I haven’t had time to look into it yet, but there has to be a thread to follow on that…”
Spencer smiled. “Told you so.”
“All right. Fine. You were right. There. Happy now?”
“Couldn’t be happier.”
Spencer found a spot a quarter block away from the bank. The manager escorted them into her office and handled the transaction, wiring thirty-three million dollars to Spencer’s account without comment. The two men in front of her looked more like pizza-delivery boys than multimillionaires, but she was used to everything this close to Silicon Valley. They were done within ten minutes, and when they stepped out onto the sidewalk, they both seemed unsure of what to do next.
“You got time for a beer?” Spencer asked.
“You buying?”
“Cheapskate. Sure. But no imports. Domestic only.”
“Deal.”
They walked down the block to a small tavern and entered the dark room, its polished wooden walls evoking a time long past. Drake selected one of the many empty tables and ordered from a bartender who offered them a sour expression. He brought their beers and Spencer toasted with his bottle.
“To the future.”
“Hear, hear,” Drake agreed with a clink of glass. “Although I still hate all the attention. Don’t people have anything better to do?”
“You’re a celeb. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Yeah, right. Enjoy it. I’ll remember that.”
They discussed vague ideas about how they would spend their time now that they were of secure means. Neither noticed the two men who entered until they approached the table. Drake looked up and his heart skipped a beat. It was Gus, accompanied by an older man in a gray suit who looked like he’d lost one too many street fights.
“Mr. Ramsey, what a small world,” Gus said, pulling up a chair.
“What do you want?” Drake demanded, his voice tense.
“To congratulate you on your success. And introduce you to someone who wanted to meet you. This is Jed Abby. He’s with the same outfit I am. But higher up.”
Abby sat down and crossed his legs, studying both Spencer and Drake before speaking.
“Mr. Ramsey, I wanted to meet you because I had an idea, and I wanted to see your reaction to it. Call it a proposal, if you like.”
“I’m not in the proposal market. Thanks anyway. Is that all?” Drake snapped, annoyed that the CIA still seemed to want more out of him.
“You haven’t heard it.”
Spencer eyed Drake and tilted his head in warning.
Drake took the hint. “Fine. But make it quick.”
“Of course — you’re obviously a busy man. Here’s the proposition. There might come a time when we need someone like you to help us, as you did this time. Someone who isn’t a pro. Money obviously won’t be the motivator anymore, because now you’re rich. And you apparently think we’re liars and cheats, so I can’t appeal to your patriotism.”
“You can’t buy me or pump me up.”
“Exactly.”
“Then why would I want to help you?”
Abby took a long time to answer. “Because I’ll tell you the truth about what’s at stake so you can decide for yourself. And because it will be the right thing to do. Like with Palenko’s ore. It might take another twenty years, but we’ll figure out how to replace power plants with it. Not make bombs. There’s no need for bombs anymore. Now it’s all about economics. Cheap resources to power a hungry planet.” Abby paused. “If I get in touch, it’ll be because I need you, and only you, to do me a favor.”