Читать книгу Hit Hard - Amy J. Fetzer - Страница 6

Archaeological Restoration Dig

Udon Thani Caves

Northern Thailand

“Xaviera, I found something.”

Viva flinched, smacking her head on the tunnel ceiling. If she didn’t recognize the voice, she’d have known who it was instantly. No one ever called her that anymore. Viva backed out of the narrow tunnel, giving the dig workers and Dr. Nagada an embarrassing view of her butt in shorts. Clearing the tunnel, she rolled to her rear, pulled her scarf off, then blotted her face.

“More pottery?” That’s all there was here. Aside from heat. Spending long, humid days brushing at powdery bits of dirt to reveal a single shard was, well, a real snoozer. Probably why she never did it for very long. Face it, you never do anything for very long.

“Would I truly bore you with something so uneventful as that?”

“Yes. You would. Remember the dig outside Giza? The third one,” she said before he could ask. “I trekked through the Sahara to see some pieces of a sarcophagus.”

He looked adorably affronted for a wizened old man. “For a queen to Ramses I.”

“Whoop-dee-do. He had hundreds, and just as many kids. Which is so the way to go if you’re a pharaoh, but if you’d found the rest of her, that would be something to crow about.” She stood and didn’t bother to untie the rice sacks strapped to her knees.

“You were more fit and eager for the discovery then.”

“Yes, well, so were you.” She tugged a lock of his long white hair. He had a dashing look about him: white hair, dark brows, rugged features, and she adored Salih. He let her join his digs whenever she had the urge. “So what’s this find?”

“Come see.”

“The suspense is killing me.” Probably a whole pot this time.

He handed her a bottle of cold water. She cracked it open, drank and when they stepped out into the sun, she poured half over her head, shook like a dog, then wiped her face. Then she dumped a bit down the front of her shirt.

He stared at her, neither frowning nor smiling. “You are such an odd woman.”

She fanned the material. “I don’t see you in the tunnels baking like pita bread.”

His face, weathered from years in the desert sun, wrinkled like a dried apple as he grinned. “I promise, this you will like.” They walked.

“You’re so sure?”

“It’s jewelry.”

“Will it go with my shorts?”

He laughed, guiding her to the second cave. A portion was a dwelling where they’d found more than pottery—a rudimentary hearth, sleeping quarters, and even a drainage system. Got to love those ancient Thai, she thought. They were quick on the draw. Imagine, plumbing in the BC days. They didn’t even have plumbing on the dig. That was just wrong.

She ducked under the canvas tarp and into the cave. Low rock ceilings tickled her hair, the corridor lit with electric lamps, yards of cables leading to the generator outside. She wished they had enough juice for air-conditioning. Wasn’t in the budget.

She almost ran into Dr. Nagada as he squatted, pointing to the corner of two blocks. “See? And it appears to be gold.”

Viva knelt, pulling her brush from her back pocket and swiping lightly.

“Your technique has improved.”

“I’m trying the Van Gogh style of brushwork. Oh, wow, this is incredible. Get that side, it’s sandwiched between something else.” She glanced up to make certain she wasn’t going to pull the whole dig down on top of them. Which would be so her.

She brushed and worked the rocks loose, and was suddenly touched that he’d let her do this. With Salih’s direction, she gently pulled the item out, then handed it to him. He brushed it, blew off the dust, and she stood, then moved with him to the lights.

“It’s a bracelet, a cuff. Excellent condition, must be gold.” The two inch wide band was hammered and etched with markings almost too worn to see. “It’s particularly small. A child’s perhaps.”

“In here?” Viva said. “This was just the average Joe’s cave dwelling, and we haven’t found anything like that before.”

“And we are not done, either.”

The man had the patience of a saint. No, two saints. After years of excavating around Egypt and Israel, and digging up all there was, he’d offered his services elsewhere. Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and once on the island of Timor. If it was lost, he’d find it. Even if it took years. Viva admired that kind of diligence. She could barely find her panties before breakfast.

Salih walked toward the entrance and Viva dogged his heels. At a worktable shielded with a shade tarp, he brushed the cuff some more, then dipped it in a solution, rinsed and dried it.

He met her gaze. “It has stones.” He held it out.

She took it, tipping it to the sun. The gleam of old gold blinked greenish in the morning light. “Small ones, but look at the faceting. And two cabochon cuts. Rubies, you think?” Thailand was famous for blood rubies and sapphires. “And if these are sapphires, they’re good ones.” So blue they were nearly black.

“Even more rare.”

“But how could they have cut these? They didn’t have the equipment, not to facet, create a bevel like this. Amazing.” She stared at it for another moment, then handed it back. “So what are the markings?”

“That, my dear Xaviera—” She loved the way his Egyptian accent made her name sound. “—is the real question. I think they are Thai royalty.”

“No kidding.” She glanced back at the cave, and noticed a couple of dig workers listening to the conversation. “Hiding during an uprising or something?”

“We are near the Laos–Cambodian border and there are four temples in a straight line right to this area.”

“A summer home, how lovely for them.”

“I was thinking a pilgrimage. These markings are Thai, but the design is Cambodian. Though I am not well versed in its ancient text.” He frowned at the piece a moment longer, then drew a small box onto the table, filled it with shredded material, and set the bracelet inside. “I want you to take this to Dr. Wan Gai in Bangkok.”

Her brows tightened. “Okay, I give up, why me?”

“You’ve had that look lately.”

She made a sour face. “Darn, I thought I was hiding it so well this time.”

“You have been on five digs with me since you were in college. It is not hard to recognize. You stop chattering constantly.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Smiling, he pressed the box into her hands. “Take it to him, see the city while he makes his findings. Then perhaps you will come back and enjoy yourself.”

She doubted it. Viva knew herself well, and her biggest flaw, her indecision, her complete and utter incapability to stick with one thing for longer than a year—no, wait, six months—was embarrassing. At her age, she should have a real paying career in something.

She looked at the small wood box, then up at Dr. Nagada, and thought, Oh, goody, Bangkok. Great hotels, a decent shower, food, and some real girl clothes were just too wonderful to turn down. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll make you some babaganoush when I get back.”

He grinned. “I am already missing you. In the morning?”

“It will take me that long to scrape off the dust. Get all dolled up.” She turned away, still talking. “And look fashionably cute for the train ride.”

He frowned. “A plane ride, Xaviera.”

“Is boring. On, up, down, off. What fun is that? At least with the train I get to commune with the locals, see more of this country.” She walked backwards, smiling.

“And the dangers.”

“Well, you know what they say?”

“No, what?”

“You’re the expert on old stuff, figure it out.”

“Tree!” he shouted and she turned, smacking into it.

“I meant to do that.” Rubbing her forehead, she kept going to her tent, and Salih thought, she’d be lucky to survive the trek.

Twelve hours later

West of Chao Phraya River

Thailand

Sam parked his ass on a mossy rock at the river’s edge, pulled off his hat, then scooped up some water. He poured it over his head, but wasn’t dumb enough to drink the bacteria-infested stuff. To make the point, a lizard slid into the stream a couple feet away. Instead, he pulled the tube from his Camelbak water supply and drank fresh. Texas heat had nothing on Thailand, he thought. On so many levels. The air hung, and in the darkened jungle it dripped with humidity. Damn beautiful, though. Kingfisher birds darted overhead, as if warning him of their presence, then dove into the water for food. Hornbills, the bullies of the bird pack with thick, colorful faces and long, hawkish bills strong enough to chop a finger clean off, weighted branches overhead. And then there were the monkeys. Food for the local hill tribes and an annoyance. They threw stuff, mostly their own shit.

Sam fell back, then noticed banana trees a couple yards away, bright yellow fruit in the blanket of green. He shouldered off his pack and stared up at the trees, contemplating how to get up there. The locals could do it in a heartbeat, kids shimming up the trees and cutting down bundles. He stood, took several steps back, then pulled the whip from his belt, and unrolled it.

He raised and snapped it, the crack soft in the dense forest. The rawhide whip caught the bundle, ruined a few, but had a good hold. He yanked. It tore free and dropped to the ground.

“Like roping a calf,” he muttered, crossing to the cluster and ripping off a banana.

He peeled and ate, then checked his GPS. A couple more miles to the meet, he figured, then glanced the way he’d come, pulling the shotgun over his shoulder to aim with one hand. “Come on, Max, show yourself.”

“Don’t shoot, my mom will be pissed at you.” Max Renfield strolled into the open, splashed through the stream. A slung Uzi bounced against his side, and he stopped a few feet from him.

“Go away.”

“You like pissing off all of us at once?”

“I don’t need backup.”

“Yeah, sure, and if I was someone else?”

“You’d have a hole in your head. I could hear you a mile back. You tromp like my dad’s prize bull.”

Max shrugged, not the least bit ashamed that he lacked the quintessential silent-and-deadly skills. “I’m not Recon, just the go-to guy.”

“Then go-to somewhere else.”

Max’s lips tightened. “You need me, two heads are better.”

“Like we have a clue where the bastard is, or the diamonds?” Sam offered a banana.

“He’s here, we know that much.” Max squatted, removed his pack, and fished in his gear. “And the next buyer.” Max pulled out a small packet, tore it open, and squeezed peanut butter onto the banana.

Sam shook his head, amused. All former military, Dragon One was a retrieval team for hire, and Max was logistics and supply. A damn good mechanic, he could find food and equipment where no one else would look, and amazingly, knew where he was without a compass. A GPS had nothing on him.

Max shoved a wad of banana and peanut butter in his mouth and Sam thought, the guy’s a bottomless pit, never without some chow.

“You were right. Happy?”

Sam sat, his back against a tree. “That I missed the jet? No. Rohki’d be dead if I’d found him.” He was the only one close enough to have shot Riley at that range.

Yet word was out that the diamonds were for sale and the Sri Lankan government’s threat—that anyone dealing with the Tigers or anyone else for the stones would end up in a cell in Welikada Prison—wasn’t much of a deterrent. Just the image of that hellhole should be, but there was enough intel traffic in the Congo, Sierra Leone, and Angola to know that more than one terrorist group has stones mined on the backs of babies.

Evidently, someone had found a large geode and was hot to sell.

Sam would get the stones back and find their intended purpose. He had a sneaking suspicion it was Turkish missiles, made in the USA. Buying the stones off the market was still an option. Well, they hadn’t planned to actually buy them in the first place. Confiscate was a better word. If all else failed, then they’d fork over the cash. Riley had developed a plan to intercept the cash too. It made no sense to take the stones off the black market and give the assholes the money they needed to buy weapons.

But the dam break destroyed that and everything else in its path. Which meant they had to start from scratch.

“If Rohki had washed up in the debris from the flood, this still wouldn’t be over. Pisses me off they got in the air so fast.” He arrived in time to see the small jet cross the sky.

“We had other priorities.”

They were both quiet for a moment, Sam thinking of Riley hooked up to tubes, and a machine helping him stay alive.

Max broke the silence. “Someone paid to get the jet off the ground ASAP. No customs search, and no manifest. Who’s got that kind of pull? Never mind, forget I said that,” he added at Sam’s sarcastic look.

“Aside from the fact that the stones are worth millions, and those were just the ones we tracked, Al Qaeda has cells all over the place.” Add the Thai mafia, the Chinese–Thai Chiu Chow mafia, gunrunners, drug cartels, prostitution, and human trafficking. “There’s plenty to choose from around here.”

“We go nosing in their business, it’s going to get really hairy.”

Sam waved that off. “We find Rohki, we find the stones and the weapons,” he said, climbing to his feet.

“You plan on beating it out of him?”

“For starters.” He wanted Rohki to pay—so bad he could taste it.

Max stuffed the leftover bananas in his pack and stood. “Your confidence overwhelms me.”

“Nowhere to go but up.”

And the climb would be tough. This meeting was the easy way to Rohki. And risky. Jumping in bed with the Thai mafia gangs would get him inside fast. Finding the jet, the manifest, anything on the dealers from the locals was…hell, it’d be easier to open a can with a fork. Behind him, Max adjusted his pack and knew Sam was taking this far too personal. A damn good reason to be close. Sam had a tendency to seek the quickest and most deadly route into a situation. “Lead the way, I got your back.”

Sam stopped, let out a sigh, and after a moment said, “Thanks, Max. For showing up.”

Max smiled widely. “Man, bet that had to hurt.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re welcome. One of us has to be smart. And for a flyboy, you weren’t easy to trace.”

“Yeah, but you were.” Sam walked, hacking through the jungle. “Let’s find this snitch.”

Max withdrew his machete, spied a palm, then cut a thick frond. He drank the sweet liquid from the stalk as they walked.

“Quit eating the damn flora,” Sam said. “You’re leaving a trail.”

The southbound train from Udon Thani wasn’t the fastest way to the next stop in Ayutthaya, but it was certainly colorful. Viva cradled the box, watching the scenery roll by. The river paralleled the trains, another line, a bit more modern on the opposite side. They ran so often it was more productive to have both in each direction. Her side was more scenic, like a throwback in time. Rural, vast stretches of jungle between cities so modern, they put the US to shame. Yet here, clusters of villages lined the river and jungle, wood homes on stilts half on the water. Children played despite the threat of crocs, snakes, and the really gross water monitor lizards.

At the dig, she’d had one crawl into her bed during the night and settle warmly against her back, till she rolled over and squashed it. She cringed at the memory, and braced her feet on the empty seat across from hers. To say the express train was the no-frills version was an understatement. Another train with all the comforts ran later, and as much as she’d have enjoyed air-conditioning, this felt adventurous. Warm wind poured through the open windows, blending with the odor of sweaty flesh, fruit, and the rapid sound of Thai chatter. It wasn’t that bad, she told herself, considering she had no choice for another few hours. She leaned to the window, letting the breeze cool her and saw monkeys swing through trees, then skip deeper into the jungle.

Bet he has a good career in nut gathering, she thought, leaning back in the seat. She wiggled into the lumpy cushion, and had just closed her eyes for a nap when the train suddenly lurched, then slowed rapidly. Viva stood, leaned out the window with the rest of the passengers.

“Bie nie hkrap?” she asked. What’s happening?

“Jao Pho!”

Good God. Bandits. Or more literally, a mafia gang. She glanced at the box left on the seat, then grabbed it. She couldn’t let them take it. It was a piece of Thai history. Wearing the cuff was out of the question. They’d strip it off her. Her own valuables were in her waist belt, making a sweaty trail down the crack of her butt, but she couldn’t let them find the cuff.

Quickly, she pulled her duffel from under the seat, stuffed the box behind it, then put it back. She glanced to the right, and a man just shook his head, and smiled piteously.

“Never walk with your gold,” he said in Thai.

Her smile was tight. Wasn’t my gold, she thought, it’s your country’s.

She waited for the inevitable. For the men to empty the train and search. She could see people standing on the knoll, huddled in the sun as men with big guns yanked off jewelry, emptied wallets, purses, and grass-made sacks, then threw them back at the victims. Salih was right, the plane was safer.

Well, you wanted adventure.

She had a few bhat in her pockets, nothing more than she needed for the train tickets and some food. It wasn’t long before they reached her car. She filed out; none of the passengers spoke. When she stepped out into the blazing sun, the first two cars of passengers were already collecting up their belongings and boarding.

Maybe this will be quick and painless.

A man with half an ear walked a line, stealing, shoving, threatening when people hesitated. She kept her eyes forward as he passed closer. Then Viva noticed his men go inside the train. Baggage and items flew out the windows. A crate with chickens broke and the birds scattered. An old woman in colorful hill-tribe clothing tried to catch them, but the leader pushed her down, then kicked one chicken into the air. Before it landed, he shot it.

Blood and guts rained down on top of them. Viva flicked at something on her bare arm, trying not to look. Gross. One of the men called out to Half Ear, and he crossed the clearing. Viva’s heart clenched when she saw the lesser man hand over her little box.

“No! That’s mine.” She darted forward, shaking off the old man trying to grab her back. Half Ear tossed it like a ball.

“Yours?” he said, offering it.

She ran, grabbed it, held it to her chest. “Please don’t take this. Take anything else you want.” She pointed to her small suitcase.

He put a hand on his hip and regarded her, then muttered something. His man moved quickly and reached to take it. Viva batted his hand away and looked at the leader.

“You gave it back. You can’t take it again. Law of the jungle.” She knew that made no more sense to him than it did to her, but she only had so much to work with here.

His henchman made to backhand her. She ducked. His expression contorted with anger and he lunged, grabbed the box, but she rolled to the side and sent her elbow into his stomach, then her fist smacking into his groin. He howled and stumbled back, grabbing himself, cursing.

“I told you no.”

Half Ear walked near, glancing once at his man still hunched over, then to her. “You cannot fight us all, woman.”

“Clearly. But this I have to keep, it’s not mine.”

“No, it is mine.” He reached and she swatted at him. He holstered his weapon, then grabbed her by the arms. Viva head-butted him, and as she reeled at the impact, he wrestled the box from her. It took her a second to realize she didn’t have it and charged him, jumping on his back. She knew this was stupid, really stupid.

“Farang ba!” Stupid foreigner.

Oh, yeah, like that hurts. She held tight to his hair, but it was greasy and her fingers slid. So she grabbed his face and half-eaten ear. People watched, even his men, no one came near them as he tried to dislodge her. Then he dropped to the ground, rolled till he was squashing her into the dirt. She screamed, kicking wildly.

He wasn’t much bigger than her. Strength was another matter, but that he was laughing at her made her furious. She fought the only way she could, like a woman, clawing his cheek, biting. But when he got to his knees and flipped her over on her back, Viva suddenly realized she might not get out of this alive.

Then he straddled her hips, and reached for her waistband.

The little Thai man stood between Max and Sam. Sam was doing the talking and Max could almost count the moments before his patience snapped. They’d been at this for a half hour and Phan wasn’t saying enough. Not wise.

Sam latched on to his shirtfront, hauling him close. Phan’s eyes went round. “Tell me,” Sam said in deadly voice.

“Many hiding. Lots of talk-talk.”

Max wasn’t fooled, and neither was Sam. The little shit could con an old woman out of her teeth and he wondered where the source came from. Sam hadn’t said.

Phan, if that was even his real name, had few teeth and those that remained were black and decayed. Bet dining with that mouth is an adventure, Max thought. Small and tightly built, Phan was barefoot, yet wore clean dark clothes and an expensive diamond pinky ring. Thief, con, a vagrant. All they wanted was information.

“What talk?” Sam pressed.

“Phan do not know. Hear things. Many people want to buy, only few get to—” he stalled, frowning, searching for the words—“be speaking to.”

Sam frowned. “Get asked?”

Phan just stared with the same blank look he’d been giving him for the last half hour. No wonder the enemy used this guy. He gave nothing away.

In the distance, the train moved over the tracks. Phan glanced in the direction and Sam tightened his grip, bringing his attention back. Then he lifted him off the ground. “Where is Rohki?”

“No Rohki. Phan swear, swear.”

“Listen up, pal, I came all the way out here for information. My source says you’re the man. You tell me where he is, or I swear to God, I’ll carve you a new mouth.”

“No Rohki. I not see buy-man here.”

No buyer. Disgusted, Sam released him. Phan landed in the dirt, whined a bit, then climbed to his feet. He stepped back into Max.

“I got no problem with giving you to him,” Max said. “You can see he’s pissed, and right now, I’d cooperate.”

Phan remained silent.

“Oh shit, he’s going to string you up by your thumbs.”

Phan twisted, staring up with wide eyes. Max nodded ahead. Sam pulled out his whip, and let it slither on the ground like a snake. “Now that’s gonna leave a mark.”

Without much effort, Sam cracked the whip and took off a branch above their heads. Max admired his precision and over Phan’s head, grinned at his teammate.

“No buy men, only chop man near! Chop man!” Phan blurted, nodding violently.

Chop man? That could mean a number of things, and he was tired of Phan playing illiterate when he knew from his source he wasn’t.

Sam rolled in his whip, meeting Max’s gaze. They heard the squeal of the train wheels grinding to a stop, then shouting. Max frowned, eyeing Sam. There wasn’t a train stop near here.

Max leaned down, his mouth near Phan’s ear. “What do you mean by chop? Hack, dice, slice, cut?”

At the last word, Phan tensed.

“Cut man,” Max said, looking up. A diamond cutter.

“Who hired him?” Find the cutter and they’d find the stones and the source.

Before Sam could interrogate Phan further, a scream, very female and long, cut through the jungle like a machete.

Phan dropped to the ground, rolled, but as Max reached for him, like an acrobat, the small man dove into the jungle. Max instantly followed, the vegetation closing in around him. Sam was about to go after Max when he appeared, sweaty and winded—and empty-handed.

“No trail, not even a bent branch or a damn footprint.” Max looked back the way he’d come, confused. “It’s like someone plucked him out of the forest.”

“I have another way to find him. Kashir!” Sam called out. “Show yourself.”

From the branches off to the right, a man swung down, dropped to the clearing. Sam introduced Kashir Fokhouri.

“Interpol?” Max said, staring at the narrow man who needed a bath.

“Alexa’s contacts,” Sam said. He was undercover to stop gunrunners, but from what Sam had seen, he didn’t excel at his job.

“How is the beautiful Miss Gavlin?”

“Married.”

Another scream split down Sam’s spine.

“We can’t ignore that.” Max turned in the direction.

“I would advise against interfering. Local Jao Pho stop the express train all the time.” Kashir withdrew a thin knife and cleaned his fingernails. “They are just stealing.”

“Sounds like more than that.”

Sam was heading in the direction Phan disappeared when the shouts came again. He stopped, let his head loll forward, then met Max’s gaze. “I know I’m going to regret this.”

“It sounds bad.” Max started toward the noise.

Sam pointed to Kashir. “You stay put.”

Kashir shrugged. “I have nowhere to be, cowboy.”

Sam and Max grabbed up packs and jogged toward the train. The noise grew louder and when they reached the edge of the forest, they hung back enough to get a good view of the express train and the group of armed men robbing the passengers.

His gaze locked on the woman. “She’s nuts,” Sam said.

“She’s an American.”

And a redhead. “Figures.”

“A plan?”

“Nope. You?”

A man had her down on the ground, straddling her hips. He ripped a small box from her hand, tossed it aside, then delivered a grin laced with retribution as he copped a feel of everything she owned, diving his hand between her legs.

“Be ready to shoot something,” Sam said, then stepped out into the clearing. “We got a problem here, fellas?” he said, aiming his rifle.

Guns aimed, the bandits, who were watching the show, took a couple steps toward him.

Sam leveled his shotgun. “At this range I can get half of you in the face.”

The man on top of the woman looked up. At that instant, she kicked her leg high, hitting him in the back. Her attacker lurched forward and she grabbed his nuts, squeezed and rolled him off. She was agile, in a low squat, little fists primed to hit.

“Not nice, is it?” she said, straightened. “My body, my temple, touch me again and I’ll—I’ll—”

“What, lady? What the hell do you think you can do?”

Viva flicked her gaze to the man, and her first thought was great white hunter. A jungle guide. He seemed completely at ease, his relaxed curiosity utterly annoying. “I’m thinking of something.”

“Give him what he wants.”

“No. It’s not his to take.”

“Twenty guns say it is.”

“You’re condoning this?”

“Check the odds.” The weapons were trained more on her than him. How could they be scared of her?

“He can take any tangible possessions he wants,” she enunciated, taking her body off the list. “But not that box.”

The man with half an ear reached for the box. Sam snapped the whip, hooking it and dragging it toward him. When weapons cocked, he sent the group a thin look, then bent to pick it up. “What is it?”

“An ancient bracelet. It has royal Thai markings on it.”

“Is it worth your life?”

She looked at him, into dark eyes so penetrating, she lost her thoughts. “It—it’s an artifact, history…priceless,” she said when he just stared. Didn’t he get it? This was like the Holy Grail of Thailand.

Sam broke open the box, pulled out the bracelet and showed the leader. Half Ear laughed with his men.

“She’s stupid to fight you over it.”

“Please try not to insult me. We’ve just met.”

Sam glanced. Jesus. She understood his crappy Thai. Sam held it out.

“Don’t give it to him!” Viva tried to grab it.

Sam held it out of her reach, then caught her arm and in a soft voice said, “Shut that mouth and we might get out of here alive.”

“Just so you know, you won’t be stealing it either.”

“Just so you know he wants to kill you to save face.”

She looked at Half Ear. “He wants to do something to me, but I don’t think it’s kill.” Half Ear was working his hand over his testicles, and she hoped they stung.

“It’s your culture, a royal artifact,” she said to him in Thai, then switched to English. “I apologize for grabbing you, but you gave me no other choice.”

Out of the corner of her vision, Viva saw the passengers herded onto the train. “Give me the cuff,” she said, out of the side of her mouth.

“Shut—up.”

In the rear of the group, Sam noticed Kashir move up behind the armed men. Damn the man, he was supposed to stay hidden. Then Kashir inclined his head ever so slightly to the leader.

“Maybe we can help each other out? I want in on the deal.” Buying in was the fastest way to find the weapons.

Half Ear’s eyes flared. He looked between Sam and the woman. “Give me the woman first.”

“Tempting.” Behind him, she inhaled sharply. “She’ll eat you alive, man. And you don’t want the US government down on your ass.”

Half Ear considered that for a moment.

The train started moving. Viva grabbed the cuff from the American and ran. Behind her, Half Ear sighed tiredly and gestured. A bandit took off after her, and Sam winced when he tackled her to the ground. She didn’t go down easily.

Sam pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead. Didn’t she realize they’d kill her just for resisting?

“I’ll pay.” Sam pressed as the flunky brought her back. No one noticed that she still had the bracelet.

“Show me.”

Sam withdrew the rough diamond from his pocket and held it up.

“Wow, is that real?” Viva asked, wrestling the gofer’s hands off her.

Half Ear scoffed, turned away, reaching for the woman. Sam pointed his rifle. The man backed off and Sam yanked the woman behind him. “More? How much?”

Half Ear eyeballed him for a moment, then relaxed his posture. “It will cost you more than that—”

He stopped in midsentence, his expression confused, his hand raising sluggishly as if to swat a fly.

Then Sam saw the small dart protruding from the man’s throat.

Half Ear was dead before he hit the ground.