“And what do I get?”
“I could say you get to live, but that’s old school. What you get is the chance to do the right thing. Plain and simple.”
“The right thing? What are you talking about?”
“You’re famous. And I presume from your statements to the Secretary of State that you intend to pursue other…adventures. Since that’s the case, there may come a time when we need help with something, well, delicate. Where having someone with a rock-solid résumé could prove useful. It’s just an idea. That’s all. There’s no specific event at present. But there could be…in the future.”
“I see. And if I agree, you’ll leave me in peace?”
“Why, Mr. Ramsey, I’d like nothing better than to never speak with you again. You have my word that if I call, it’ll be because I have no other alternative.”
Spencer and Drake exchanged a glance.
“Do you have a card?” Drake asked. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise.”
“I don’t carry cards.”
Gus and Abby pushed back their chairs and stood. “Good luck with your future ventures, young man,” Abby said.
“Wait. How will you get in touch? I don’t even have a cell phone.”
Abby smiled, a humorless gesture with the warmth of a freezer. “Oh, don’t worry about that.”
The two men left as abruptly as they entered, leaving Spencer and Drake staring at their backs as they pushed through the door.
Drake took a long pull on his beer and shook his head. “Tell me that wasn’t freaky.”
“Sorry. No can do. It was completely freaky.”
“I know. I mean, how did they know we were here having a drink, or that I wired money…” Drake’s prior suspicions about Spencer’s relationship with the Agency flitted back through his thoughts, but he kept his expression neutral.
“They’re the CIA. I told you. Just assume they can do anything. Because they can.” Spencer finished his beer. “But it doesn’t sound like they want to hurt you. It was actually interesting. I wonder what they have in mind?”
“Whatever it is can’t be good for me. I’m pretty sure of that.”
“Maybe. But it sounded pretty open-ended.”
“I don’t like either of them.”
“I got that. It didn’t seem like they have you on their Christmas list, either. But in my experience, if the CIA comes knocking, it’s best to pay attention. That’s all I’m saying.”
Drake signaled to the bartender and a second round arrived. They watched the game on TV, silently nursing their drinks, lost in thought. When they finished their beers, Spencer paid the tab. As they walked to the car, Spencer took a deep breath, the spring aroma of blossoming flowers heavy in the air.
“Well, buddy, you gotta admit. Life’s interesting, if nothing else.”
“That it is.”
“Are you going to think about the Southern Cal thing? Or do the nomad bit for a while?”
“I could check it out. I really have no plan.”
“Sometimes having no plan is the best plan.” Spencer stopped and felt in his jacket pocket. “Oh, before I forget. Jorge made me promise I’d give this to you.” He handed Drake a manila envelope.
Drake opened it and slid a large color photo out. It was one of the pictures from the treasure chamber. Spencer had his arm around Drake’s shoulder, and they were both beaming as one of the gold relics was craned from the cenote in the background. Drake read the inscription across the bottom: two words scrawled in black felt pen.
He shook his head. “I wish they wouldn’t call it that. It’s embarrassing.”
“What?”
Drake turned the photo so Spencer could see it.
“Ramsey’s gold,” Drake said, tapping the script with his fingertip.
Spencer grinned.
“Get used to it, Señor Hero. That’s how everyone refers to it. Ramsey’s gold. Not the Paititi treasure. Not the Inca treasure. Ramsey’s.”
Drake stopped and gazed at the traffic rolling down the wide boulevard. Just another blustery day with ordinary folks going about their business, hurrying to whatever important destinations they’d filled their lives with, immersed in their individual dramas.
“My dad would have been…” He couldn’t continue, his voice cracking.
“Yes, he would have,” Spencer said, eyeing the photo of the magnificent artifact, a depiction of the Inca sun god, Inti, rising from the water like an avenging spirit, its stylized glower seeming to fix on the two tired men as they smiled for the camera. “Yes, he would.”