Ramirez stood beside him. Now that the mining engineer pointed it out, he could see what had happened. He turned to Perez. “Perhaps the mystery is solved, my friend.”
“So you think the body is buried below?”
“A very good chance.” At least that was what Ramirez intended to put in his report.
“Do you want me to bring in some heavy equipment and dig it up? I will tell you though, it would take a few days to do so.”
“No need. It is better that this man be left buried here in peace.”
“But what if he survived and is still alive?”
“No one could have survived the accident that took place here.” Ramirez turned and led the engineer back toward the truck.
“You are probably right, Captain,” Perez said. “And if someone did survive and was trapped inside the mine, it would be a long walk out.”
Captain Ramirez froze, glaring at the mining engineer. “You told me this is the only entrance to the mine.”
“No, Captain, I said it was the only mine in the valley.”
“Explain.”
“This area has a history of mineral extraction dating back many years. This mine has been opened and closed at least three times. The first was to bring out a small deposit of copper. The second, in the sixties, was for nickel. And finally a year ago, we opened it to search for korium.”
“So there are other entrances?” Ramirez asked.
“I know of at least two. The oldest is about a half-kilometer to the east. The second is on the other side of the mountain. But it is an old mine, Captain. There may be others as well.”
Captain Ramirez ran to his Jeep, his hands shaking as he grabbed the microphone to his radio. He knew that if he allowed the American to escape, his military career would not only end in disgrace, but probably with a bullet from a firing squad.
Just when Harper felt he could not take another step, he saw a light ahead, and he struggled forward. Rounding a turn in the tunnel, the passage ended and daylight came through cracks between planks and vines covering an opening. He pushed on the wood. Even in his weakened state, it took little effort for the old boards to fall away. Slipping off his goggles, he groaned as he pulled himself through the opening.
Harper breathed in the fresh clean air. The area, heavily overgrown, showed little signs that it had once been a busy work site. He spotted the remains of a road and stumbled toward it. Nothing had passed this way for years, he realized.
The sun was low to his right and the road lay straight ahead. He knew that if it continued in this direction, it would eventually take him to the beach where he and the Rangers came ashore — their small raft lay hidden among the dunes. With his remaining strength, he started forward and prayed that luck was still with him.
“No one has been here,” Perez said. He shined a searchlight at the opening in the side of the mountain. Jungle growth hid the boarded-up entrance to the mine.
“We have made a bad choice,” Captain Ramirez said, “and lost considerable time as well.” He walked back to his Jeep. As he looked up at the first stars of evening, he said, “Take me to the other entrance.”
GARGOYLES
“I have two pieces of bad news.” White House Chief of Staff, Nathan Templeton whispered into the President's ear as they smiled at the crowd of churchgoers and reporters. They stood beside the Episcopal bishop on the steps of Washington's National Cathedral. Behind them, fearsome gargoyles and stately flying buttresses formed an imposing backdrop for the weekly Sunday morning photo opportunity.
“It's always a pleasure, Mr. President,” the Bishop said as they shook hands. “Our prayers go with you.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency. I need all I can get.” The President made a practice of attending services at a different denomination each week. As he spoke, he felt Templeton's hand touch his arm.
Flanked by Secret Service agents, the President waved to the crowd and moved down the steps of the cathedral to the limousine and the line of black SUVs.
“What have you got, Nathan?” The President settled into the back seat.
“It's what I don't have, sir. Any contact with Harper and the Rangers since yesterday afternoon.”
“What's your best guess?”
“Captured or dead, sir.”
“This is exactly what I feared would happen.”
“I know, sir. I'm sorry.”
“What's the second item?”
“It's Dr. Thorpe. If you'll remember, we were told he was last known to be working for a Mexican pharmaceutical company. It turns out that a Colombian drug cartel owns the company — it’s a front for the production of illegal drugs. Thorpe disappeared about six months ago and is believed to be somewhere in South America working for the cartel.”
“About the time the Project Candle Power files were copied and erased?”
“Exactly.”
“I need you to brief the National Security Adviser so we can consider our options.”
“I understand, sir.”
The President stared out the window of the heavily armored Cadillac known as ‘The Beast’. Then he said, “Do you think all this is just coincidence?”
“No.”
LAST WORDS
“Dick Miller told me you were as drunk as he was,” Mickey Gates said. “He didn't understand why the cops were only hassling him and not you.”
“And he's right.” Skyler took a sip of coffee. “It's all in who you know, partner.” He had flown to OceanQuest Headquarters in Key West, and from there taken a sea plane to meet up with Gates on the Pegasus.
“Anyway,” Gates continued, “Dick said the only Yankee-class boomers still around are part of the former Black Sea Fleet. After the collapse of the USSR, the Republic of Ukraine hung on to some of the subs as a bargaining chip to stay on equal footing with Russia. They eventually ran out of money so they had sort of a military surplus sale and got rid of them. Some of their customers were South Africa, North Korea, India, and a few South American countries. The Ukrainians removed all the missiles, but even those can be bought on the black market and fitted with conventional warheads.”
“How comforting,” Skyler watched the relentless Caribbean sun reflect off the ocean. They were sheltered from the heat in the Video Analysis Center of the Pegasus. The report was thorough as Skyler knew it would be. Like brothers, his trust in Gates went deep. On more than one occasion, that mutual trust had saved their lives. He turned to face his friend. “Last time I checked, none of those countries were flying the Jolly Roger. So what did you find out about Aztec Cruise Lines?”
“On the surface, it's legitimate. They're owned by an investment consortium out of Orlando called TexSys Financial.”
“Doesn't sound too sinister so far.”
“Agreed. So I dug a little deeper. Guess who their numero uno stockholder is?”
“I give up,”
“Banco de National, Colombia's biggest lender.”
“Pablo Escandoza?”
“The one and only. He's never made any attempt to hide the fact that he owns the largest bank in the country.”
Skyler rubbed his chin in thought. “So what's the connection between Escandoza and the sub?”
“No idea. I've looked at everything backwards and forwards and it still doesn't add up.”
Backwards and forwards, Skyler thought. He stared at the coordinates of the German U-boat on the white board in front of him. “Mick, get me the transcripts of the Allied documents on U-396.”