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He looked at the number, then answered. “Yes . . . ?” His pale eyes narrowed as he listened to whatever was being said. He answered in Spanish, a language Rolfe didn’t understand. The man ended the call, almost slamming the phone down on the table.
“What’s wrong?” Rolfe asked.
“The man they picked up escaped.”
“How?”
“He had help, obviously. Five of their men are dead. The sixth barely made it out alive.” Leopold drummed his fingers on the tabletop, upset by the turn of events.
As well he should be, Rolfe thought. Apparently, the Guard wasn’t as infallible as they’d have everyone believe. “One man against six? What was it you were saying about anyone traveling in Guard territory?”
“He told them he was alone, a student. Clearly, they believed him or they wouldn’t have let their guard down. It’s possible he was exactly that.”
“You’re deluding yourself. Someone who happens to be studying in the very area we need to travel escapes, kills five Guardsmen? It has the Fargos written all over it.”
“You may be right.”
“May be? They’ve been one step ahead of us on everything. Which needs to change. I’m not paying you all this money to let them get to the treasure first.”
Leopold pulled the map closer. “The survivor said the man they captured was heading north. There are villages here and here . . . That’s where I’m going.”
“You’re going?”
Leopold folded the map, putting it into his pocket. “You’re certainly welcome to come. Unless, of course, you’d rather stay here and trust that if I find Dietrich before the Fargos do, I’ll pass that information to you.”
“Trust?” Rolfe said. “I want to know what you plan to do about the Fargos?”
“I’ve already dealt with that. The entire compound is aware they may be in the area. They’re starting the search for them as we speak.”
“And Dietrich?”
“They’ll be looking for him as well. The good news is, thanks to the Fargos and their intervention in this kidnapping, we have a promising lead on where Dietrich might be. If the Fargos make contact, the Guard will be ready. They won’t last long.”
“Good. When do we leave?”
“Within the hour.”
74
After putting considerable distance between themselves and the ruins, Sam, Remi, and Nando set up camp. When it was Sam’s turn to sleep, he leaned back against his pack, covering his eyes with his hat to eliminate the sunlight filtering through the thick canopy of leaves. The next thing he knew, something was nudging his foot. He shifted position. When it continued, he reached up, shoving his hat back, squinting at the silhouette of his wife, looking down at him.
“Rise and shine, Fargo. We have a lot of miles to cover before nightfall.”
He lowered the hat again.
She kicked the bottom of his boot with a bit more force. “Up and at ’em.”
“Okay, okay . . .” When he sat up and looked around, he realized they were alone. “Where’s Nando?”
“Exploring.”
That got him to his feet. “He shouldn’t be out there alone.”
“Nothing to worry about,” she said, pointing. “Just on the edge of camp.”
Sam looked that direction, seeing Nando just a few feet outside the clearing, bending down, picking up something from the ground, then reaching up and shaking a vine. A few minutes later, Nando returned with an armful of passion fruit. “Breakfast!”
“Perfect,” Remi said.