The two leapt up and began shooting. The six remaining men, who had just started to rush them, were completely stunned by the sudden outpouring of fire. They broke and scattered, heading for cover. Every last shot of Watts’s found a mark, including Fountain: Morwood saw the lawyer spin away under the bullet’s impact, a gout of crimson blossoming before he collapsed into the darkness and out of sight. Firing with his left hand, Morwood was more noisy than he was dangerous, but Watts’s shooting made up for it.

And then, just like that, it was over. Watts was back down, crouching next to Morwood.

“We got five, but did you see that guy—Bellingame, or whatever his name is—escape?”

“I did. Christ, that was some shooting.” He popped out his magazine, examined it, slapped it back in. “I’m out.”

“I’ve got one round left—for Bellingame. Let’s go get him.”

Morwood peered over the wall. The headlights from the two trucks still illuminated most of the town, casting long shadows. There were many areas of darkness in which a man could hide.

Morwood shook his head. “It’s going to be hell smoking him out without calling in the cavalry.”

“The bastards shot up our car,” said Watts. “So we’ll have to take one of theirs. And I’ll bet that’s exactly what Bellingame’s anticipating. He can’t let us go. The shootout ain’t over yet.”

And he holstered his empty Colt, then patted the other affectionately.

57

A SOLDIER MOVED to the old juniper door and gave it a push. With a crackle of dry rot it swayed inward, splintered off its hinges, and fell to the ground with a dull clatter.

“Wait,” said the general.

The soldiers paused while the general pushed past them, his flashlight beam probing the cloud of dust disturbed by their entrance. As he stepped over the fallen gate, his light played about the room. Nora saw, between pale sheets of falling dust, dazzling flashes of gold and gemstones as the beam roved back and forth, revealing what lay within. There were audible gasps. The general stepped inside, Woodbridge following. Everyone else remained still.

Nora watched the general move deeper into the treasure chamber. His face glowed golden from the light reflected off the glittering heaps. It was a fantastical sight: golden chalices, crosses, monstrances, vestments spun through with threads of precious metal, miters, reliquaries encrusted with gems—all hastily stacked together, without any organization. And surrounding it all sat rotten boxes and burst leather sacks, spilling gold doubloons and palm-size gold and silver bars.

The general finally looked back at the group, slowly, as if emerging from a dream. “What are you doing, standing around?” he barked. “We’ve got work to do!”

The soldiers snapped to attention and moved in, pushing Nora and the two others in with them.

“Put them in the rear with a guard,” the general said. “Well away from the exit. We need to move all this—now!”

A soldier ushered the three past the heap of treasure to the back of the chamber, then stood guard before them. Nora took in the almost incredible quantity of riches around them with a strange dispassion. But she would never have the chance to study any of it.

The general and Woodbridge wasted no time organizing the soldiers. Three of them left briefly, then returned with a rack of batteries and a bank of bright lights, along with canvas stretchers to carry out the treasure. They also brought in a small wooden box with lettering stenciled on the side in military fashion. Nora could see this was a well-planned, well-rehearsed operation. They were going to empty the chamber right then and there.

It was also clear to Nora that she, Skip, and Corrie were very soon going to be killed and their bodies left there. Something was tugging at the back of her mind, like a voice whispering over and over. She had faced death before, but never like this—cold-blooded, with no chance to fight for her own life. She looked at the stenciled box. It probably contained explosives. They would be shot sooner or later—probably sooner; the mine would be emptied; and then all traces of it, and them, would be dynamited into oblivion, never to be seen again.

There was no hope of escape, no hope of rescue. She glanced at Corrie, whose eyes remained strangely empty. Skip’s head was bowed.

The bank of lights was quickly erected and hooked up. The glittering heap of gold and silver was set ablaze in sudden light, and for a moment everyone seemed stunned all over again. Nora took advantage of the light to glance around the chamber. It was much bigger than necessary to hold the treasure. It was so large, in fact, that from where they stood—near the back of the cavern—the bright light faded off behind them into shadow and darkness.

There it was again—that odd tugging sensation at the back of her mind.

And then, quite suddenly, Nora recalled the text of the Spanish letter.

We concealed the south entrance to the mine and made the mark of the cross on a stone five paces to the right … We concealed the northern entrance to the mine with no mark.

The northern entrance to the mine. She glanced again at Corrie, then Skip, and then their guard. The guard wasn’t paying any attention to them at all; his gaze was riveted by the heaps of gold suddenly afire in the lights. The general was shouting orders to start loading the stretchers.

Nora edged up to Corrie. “Remember the letter?” she whispered. “‘The northern entrance to the mine.’”