Once he moved from their native Spain to Ecuador, he was supposed to be spending his time in cafes and bookshops, relaxing for the rest of his life. So, the old saying was true. You couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. “But why, father?” she asked finally. “It’s not like you need the money. All those years of looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone was coming for you, this was your chance to leave all that behind.”
He smiled tiredly at her. “I know, dear. I know. But sometimes we have to do things that don’t make sense. There are still a lot of bad people in this world. And there aren’t enough of the good guys to go around. I have to keep going until someone else can take my place.”
She sighed heavily.
It was an argument she knew she could not win. Her father was a stubborn man, very set in his ways. Perhaps it stemmed a little from when her mother had died or maybe he was like that before. He’d watched the cancer eat away at his wife for eight long months with the same steel resolve he had always possessed. When she finally passed, only a solitary tear found its way to the corner of his eye. How someone could be so unmoved by such a tragic event boggled her mind. Adriana might never know the real answer. And, while she didn’t hold it against him, she always wondered why he wasn’t more upset by her mother’s passing. Maybe she just wished she was a little stronger.
“So what do you do? Call the CIA or Interpol every time you find something unusual?” she asked after a moment of thinking about where his reconnaissance would lead.
“Something like that,” he grinned as he took another draw on the cigar. “Although, my role now is more direct than it used to be.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean, more direct?”
“I’ll tell you more later, dear. Are you hungry? Thirsty? How long can you stay?”
She shook her head. “Don’t try to change the subject, papa. I want to know what you’re up to.”
Suddenly, her cell phone started ringing.
Her father looked surprised by the interruption.
It was Sean. She held up a finger suggesting that their conversation would continue after she got off the phone. “Hello?”
“Adriana, it’s Sean. Where are you?”
“I’m in the city at a friend’s house,” she decided to keep things secretive about her father. “Why? Is everything ok?”
“I don’t know. We just got back to the hotel but there’s no sign of Tommy. He and Will were right behind us.”
Concern washed over the young woman’s face.
“How soon can you get back here?” Sean asked.
“I’m on my way now,” she said and ended the call.
It was her father’s turn to look worried.
“What’s going on?”
She faced him as he stood. “I have to go. Do you still have the old motorcycle?”
“Si. Of course. The keys are hanging in the garage,” he answered, still confused.
“I will explain later, Papa. And I have not forgotten our little conversation. You have some more explaining to do when I return.”
He forced a smile. “Okay, Ija.”
She gave him a quick but firm hug then stalked quickly back up the stairs. Adriana didn’t see the sad expression on his face as she rounded the corner at the top and disappeared from sight.
A few moments later, she opened the old door into the garage. The fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating a simple workshop with tools hanging around on the walls, a workbench, and the bottom of a motorcycle. The top half was covered by a canvas tarp so that only the wheels and the lower part of the motor were visible. Quickly, she yanked off the cover revealing the work of art she hadn’t seen in so long. The Vincent Motorcycle company stopped production in 1955. There were literally only a few hundred bikes still left in the world. The 1948 Black Shadow was part of the company’s series “c” line and an extremely rare item. Vincent bikes were far ahead of their time in performance, capable of speeds that other stock motorcycles could only dream of. It was one of the first motorcycles she’d ever ridden as a young girl. She didn’t have time for nostalgia at the moment, though, and grabbed the keys off the ring by the door. After flinging open the garage door, she hopped on the two-wheeler and hoped her father had kept it properly maintained. One push down on the kick-starter told her he had as the old machine rumbled to life. She shifted into gear and twisted the throttle, bursting from the garage and into the dark, rain-soaked street.
The team inside the SUV saw the motorcycle emerge from a garage a few hundred feet away. They’d been sitting, waiting for the woman to leave. The man who’d chased her earlier wasn’t sure exactly which building she’d gone into but he knew the general area so when the rest of his team had shown up it had been a matter of just being patient. The driver didn’t turn his lights on immediately since he did not wish to alert the target to their presence. Instead, he just turned on the ignition and pulled out of their parking place between a few three story buildings. She was driving fast making it difficult to keep up, especially in the tight streets of Cuenca. They couldn’t lose her again.
Angela was standing in the street on the backside of the Iglesia de Maria Auxiliadora. She was soaking wet from the rain and frustration was beginning to take over. The best assets she knew of were at her disposal yet they had been unable to make any progress. She wondered how had Wyatt been able to escape again? Their vehicles must have gone around and met them in the back. A terrible feeling began to creep up inside of her. The Prophet was a man not to be meddled with. As fearless as she was, Angela knew just how far his reach really could go. If she failed him, there would be no mercy. And there wasn’t a place on earth she could hide where he couldn’t find her.
“Agent Weaver,” a familiar voice came through Angela’s earpiece, interrupting her thoughts. “We are following her now. Looks like she is heading towards the mountains. Will let you know once we get an exact destination.”
Angela considered the information. There was a chance after all. Perhaps the Spaniard would lead them to Wyatt and his friends. They could eliminate him and the others, leaving Schultz to lead them to the treasure.
Chapter 58
Eric Jennings eased open the door to Emily’s bedroom as slowly as possible, fearful that it might creak and alert her to his presence. A mixture of pale white and orange lights seeped through her window curtains from the street outside. In the dull illumination, Jennings could make out the outline of Emily Starks’ body in the bed underneath a pile of down comforters and blankets. She was the last loose end, the only one left who knew about the Prophet’s involvement. Of course, he was assuming that the others had been taken care of in South America. And why would he think otherwise. He had his top agents on it. He stepped carefully across the threshold of the bedroom, hoping the old wooden floors did not give away his presence. In a gloved, right hand, Eric held his gun equipped with a narrow sound-suppressor. In the other hand, he held a pillow he’d been given by Emily earlier in the evening.
Jennings crept closer, inching his way over to the sleeping woman. It was dark in the room but, he could see her long, brown hair poking out from under one of the blankets where she’d tucked her face. He stared at her momentarily as he stood over her. The only noise in the room was a small floor fan that was humming loudly in the opposite corner.