seeking, but I don’t believe he has.”
“ Without belief,” Ahmed said, “redemption is hollow.”
Stubb slapped Ahmed on the back. “Enough of that. We found the bloody ship, the San Salvador , sunk in a storm in this very spot 429 years ago. We’ve got the conquistador’s treasure now. After all these centuries, it will be Captain Bertoni who returns in triumph to Europe with the New World’s bounty.”
Ahmed could almost believe it. He could almost picture Captain Bertoni returning to his father, opening wide the strongbox brimming with gold, silver, emeralds and turquoise. But he knew Mishad and his bloodthirsty pirates were out there, just beyond sight, waiting greedily to rip his captain’s dream from his grasp.
Ahmed couldn’t fathom how Mishad had learned the secret of the Emerald. When Ahmed was deep inside the medina on their last supply run, he had been pulled aside by the pirate. The cat’s eye Emerald, Mishad had said in his hiss of a voice, was of special interest to his “patron.” When the Emerald had been recovered, Ahmed was to press this button, signaling them to attack. Mishad, with his dirty hand, shook Ambar’s favorite doll . It was so easy to get it , he had hissed, just as it would be to get her if you don’t do as I command .
Stubb bounded down the stairs to the deck, jovially greeting the men. He tightened the lashing on one of the crates.
Ahmed had devised a plan. He had pictured himself saving his family, the men of the Aquila , and, most daring of all, the Tear of the Moon Emerald. But now that it was time to take action, an almost incapacitating dread crept over him. The risks were great. His plan could save them, or lead them all into a bloody, painful death. All this, like a poison vine sprouting from a single seed, a gemstone which was better left nascent on the bottom of the Atlantic.
Time had run out. Ahmed saw in his mind’s eye little Ambar’s smile when she invited him to tea. He felt the silk of Leila’s black hair, smelled her lavender perfume. Ahmed fingered the device in his pocket. He flipped it open. He pressed the button.
CHAPTER 3
Christa pawed around for the next notch that the ancient ones carved out of this vertical slab of a sandstone cliff 1,000 years ago. They called this a toe and hand trail; each notch was only big enough to fit the toe of her hiking boot and the tips of her fingers. Back in their heyday, the Anasazi, or ancient ones, had climbed down to the river valley every morning to hunt and gather. Every evening, they had climbed back up so they wouldn’t be hunted and gathered.
After centuries of erosion, the notches were more like dares. Climbing in the middle of the night was crazy. She and Joseph had no choice. Using only the feeble beams of their two headlamps, Joseph had followed Samuel’s blood trail from their camp to the river, and then picked it up again after they forded the frigid waters. At the base of the cliff, they didn’t find a body, only the crushed creosote bush where Samuel’s assailant had fallen. A trail of blood and broken branches led upriver, most likely to his back-up. The tenacious bastard wouldn’t be coming back to haunt them. He’d be coming back to kill them. She and Joseph had to reach that cliff dwelling first or all would be lost.
Every loose rock looked like a notch in the shadows cast by her headlamp. She relied more on touch than sight. They had to be about ninety feet above the valley floor, but it was so dark below that it looked bottomless. About ten feet above her, she could just make out the lip of the plateau.
The bang of a rifle split the night. The bullet drilled into the rock three feet above and to the right of her. She snapped back her hand. Slipped. Scrabbled to regain a foothold. Oh God, she was going to fall. She pancaked herself against the cliff. Her heart hammered.
“ Headlights,” Joseph said. “Opposite rim of the canyon. Quarter
“ Without belief,” Ahmed said, “redemption is hollow.”
Stubb slapped Ahmed on the back. “Enough of that. We found the bloody ship, the San Salvador , sunk in a storm in this very spot 429 years ago. We’ve got the conquistador’s treasure now. After all these centuries, it will be Captain Bertoni who returns in triumph to Europe with the New World’s bounty.”
Ahmed could almost believe it. He could almost picture Captain Bertoni returning to his father, opening wide the strongbox brimming with gold, silver, emeralds and turquoise. But he knew Mishad and his bloodthirsty pirates were out there, just beyond sight, waiting greedily to rip his captain’s dream from his grasp.
Ahmed couldn’t fathom how Mishad had learned the secret of the Emerald. When Ahmed was deep inside the medina on their last supply run, he had been pulled aside by the pirate. The cat’s eye Emerald, Mishad had said in his hiss of a voice, was of special interest to his “patron.” When the Emerald had been recovered, Ahmed was to press this button, signaling them to attack. Mishad, with his dirty hand, shook Ambar’s favorite doll . It was so easy to get it , he had hissed, just as it would be to get her if you don’t do as I command .
Stubb bounded down the stairs to the deck, jovially greeting the men. He tightened the lashing on one of the crates.
Ahmed had devised a plan. He had pictured himself saving his family, the men of the Aquila , and, most daring of all, the Tear of the Moon Emerald. But now that it was time to take action, an almost incapacitating dread crept over him. The risks were great. His plan could save them, or lead them all into a bloody, painful death. All this, like a poison vine sprouting from a single seed, a gemstone which was better left nascent on the bottom of the Atlantic.
Time had run out. Ahmed saw in his mind’s eye little Ambar’s smile when she invited him to tea. He felt the silk of Leila’s black hair, smelled her lavender perfume. Ahmed fingered the device in his pocket. He flipped it open. He pressed the button.
CHAPTER 3
Christa pawed around for the next notch that the ancient ones carved out of this vertical slab of a sandstone cliff 1,000 years ago. They called this a toe and hand trail; each notch was only big enough to fit the toe of her hiking boot and the tips of her fingers. Back in their heyday, the Anasazi, or ancient ones, had climbed down to the river valley every morning to hunt and gather. Every evening, they had climbed back up so they wouldn’t be hunted and gathered.
After centuries of erosion, the notches were more like dares. Climbing in the middle of the night was crazy. She and Joseph had no choice. Using only the feeble beams of their two headlamps, Joseph had followed Samuel’s blood trail from their camp to the river, and then picked it up again after they forded the frigid waters. At the base of the cliff, they didn’t find a body, only the crushed creosote bush where Samuel’s assailant had fallen. A trail of blood and broken branches led upriver, most likely to his back-up. The tenacious bastard wouldn’t be coming back to haunt them. He’d be coming back to kill them. She and Joseph had to reach that cliff dwelling first or all would be lost.
Every loose rock looked like a notch in the shadows cast by her headlamp. She relied more on touch than sight. They had to be about ninety feet above the valley floor, but it was so dark below that it looked bottomless. About ten feet above her, she could just make out the lip of the plateau.
The bang of a rifle split the night. The bullet drilled into the rock three feet above and to the right of her. She snapped back her hand. Slipped. Scrabbled to regain a foothold. Oh God, she was going to fall. She pancaked herself against the cliff. Her heart hammered.
“ Headlights,” Joseph said. “Opposite rim of the canyon. Quarter
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