Santiago Moncada stood on the catwalk that stretched over the empty excavation, absorbing the night’s silence. He’d had a dizzying day of ups and downs—sorrow, anger, incredible loss… and incredible gain. The peace of the unmanned dig site was just what he needed to cool his fevered thoughts, to remind him that empires could fall, but they could also be restored.
If I’d waited only a few hours longer… But no. Father had practically cut his own throat, and it was done, a thing of the past. The press had reported by lunchtime that Armando Moncada and his driver had been robbed and murdered while visiting La Sagrada Familia. Santiago had released a statement in the afternoon, asking for privacy during their family’s difficult time. A tragedy, that was how he would remember it… And it was. His father had died the very day that Santiago’s dreams were finally within reach.
He heard a car pull up outside, the second in an hour. A moment later, Jo Braddock walked into the site. She had to work to keep her expression blank, he saw. She had bad news.
She stopped at the edge of the platform beneath the catwalk, looked up at him. She took a deep breath before she started talking.
“Mr. Moncada, we’ve run into some difficulties. The gold was never here, beneath the city.”
He stared out at the ruins, then up at the portraits of his ancestors, his gaze settling on Magellan’s patron.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “It’s quite embarrassing. Carajo, if Fulgencio only knew…”
“We can still find it,” Braddock said, quickly. “I think there was a clue down there, and we know who has it. A Miss Chloe Frazer. My people are out looking for her.”
The young Aussie chose her moment well. She stepped out from behind the draped scaffolding in the hall, a crooked smile on her face as she joined Braddock on the platform.
“You mean the big guy who doesn’t talk, and his sidekick, the Highlander?” Chloe Frazer said. “Yeah, they didn’t find me.”
Braddock’s mouth fell open, and stayed that way. She stared at the younger woman, a Aash of murder in her eyes.
“Diversified investment,” Moncada said. “I hired Miss Frazer when I hired you. No hard feelings, I hope. Of course, she’ll lead the operation from here on out.”
A bitter pill, he saw, with some amusement. Braddock’s jaw worked, her hands clenching and unclenching. When she finally spoke, she managed a cool, professional tone.
“As long as we get the gold, I’m good,” she said.
Of course, she would acquiesce; there was no other choice. It had been Chloe Frazer who’d brought him what he needed; she’d earned her percentage point and the right to plot the expedition. Braddock had proved to be a decent assassin but little else. He could fire her, erase her… Except now she had a real ticket to the treasure of her simple, greedy dreams, and would do whatever he asked to stay in. A lethal asset, to be sure.
Moncada smiled, rapping the catwalk’s metal railing with both hands. “Then it’s settled.”
So much to do now: a plane to ready, equipment to be packed, extra workers to hire… But that was for his employees to manage. He could just enjoy the moment, revel in it. For five centuries the Moncada investment had been denied, their House cheated of its due by a handful of spiteful, illiterate sailors… but he was going to reclaim it, and ensure that the Moncada legacy lived on. His own portrait would be looked upon by future generations with respect and veneration, he’d be remembered as a great man.
If only his father could have been here, the moment would have been perfect.
* * *
Nate slept badly and woke up aching in every way. Sam was dead and Chloe had ditched out and he had a thousand scrapes and bruises. And all of it was thanks to Victor Sullivan.
Nate had found his own way back to Chloe’s apartment and crawled in through an open window, shutting himself into the guest room. When Sully had clattered in an hour later, he hadn’t come to Nate’s door, which was a wise move on his part. Nate was so done with him. Chloe had been right about Sully, it was no wonder she’d bailed, and Nate had slept crappy because it had been a struggle not to charge into Sully’s room and start punching. Of course, his restlessness could also have been from the light concussion Chloe had dealt out. Really, they could both go to hell.
Nate got up and got dressed, khakis and a soft white Henley, his gentlest clothes. When he dropped Sam’s ring around his neck, he saw his brother’s determined face for just a second, how he’d looked when Nate had last seen him. Sam had figured out that Elcano’s journal had been buried with him. He’d been hot on the trail of the hidden gold before Braddock had killed him, before Sully had run out on him. Sam had been living their shared dream: of discovering some incredible treasure, even dodging thieves and killers to get to it… Only Sam hadn’t dodged, in the end. Nate understood a little better why Sam hadn’t come back for him, remembering how he’d felt when he’d first seen those urns. He’d never felt more alive, or happier.
Nate emptied out the still damp bag from the trip through the tunnels and shifted what he could into his backpack, rearranging his few items for the trip back to New York. He had enough in his account to buy a ride, and stuff to hock or sell once he got home, to hold him over until he got another bartending job.
Even the thought was exhausting, like a weighted vest. Nate lifted the baggie of Sam’s postcards and pulled them out, Aipping through the colorful pictures. Sam had touched each one, picked it out, written on it. He’d walked foreign streets to find a mailbox or a post office so he could keep in touch with his little brother, he’d been young and alive and happy.
And I’ll never get another postcard. Nate was holding the last of the series.
Sully dropped something in the living room, pulling Nate out of his head. He put the cards back in his pack, took a last look around, then headed out, straight for the front door.
When he hit the living room, he took in Sully standing by the coffee table, packing his own bag, but didn’t look at him directly.
“I know where she took the map,” Sully said. Nate clenched his jaw, kept walking.
“Moncada,” Sully said. “Think about it. Who else has the resources she’s gonna need? And Braddock and her goon squad finding us at the church? He had to have someone on the inside.”
Nate had reached the door but he paused, struck by the idea. He hadn’t really thought about it, but if she’d been working for Moncada all along, she’d planned to cut them out before they’d even met.
She planned to cut Sully out. I was collateral damage.
“You hate me, I get it,” Sully said, talking fast, walking toward him. “I’d hate me, too… But Braddock? After what she did to your brother? You gotta hate her even more. We can’t let her win, kid. All I’m asking is—”
Nate whirled around. “Stop trying to play me. For like five seconds. Just stop.”
Sully stood still and shut up. In the blessed peace, Nate sorted through what was a good idea versus what he wanted. Cutting ties with Sully was a good idea, Sully wasn’t his friend or a decent person… but he was finally a known quantity. Sam had died looking for the fabled lost gold, and Nate wanted to find it. For Sam, and because of him. Most of all, he wanted more of what it had been like, turning the crosses in that final lock. Feeling the history, pulling back the veil, knowing that even better was ahead.
In the end, it wasn’t even a close call.
* * *
Sully waited, watching the kid think about it. He felt pretty shitty about how the Sam news had gone down, but there was no way Nate would turn his back on following that gold.
Except maybe he will, because you should have told him sooner. Which was true, but when would have been the right time to come out with it? The kid was sharp, Sully had wanted him on board, he’d needed the hook. Maybe on the plane ride over, that could’ve worked…
Nate finally looked at him. “For years, I told myself that Sam would come back. That he wasn’t gone, he was just… lost. We always said we were going to go out there and find the things nobody could find, together. Me and him. It’s how we took our minds off the shitty hand we were dealt. Instead, I’m stuck with you.”
Sully felt a sliver of hope.
“So, here’s how it’s going to go,” Nate continued. “From now on, it’s fifty- fifty. We’re not buddies or pals, it’s business. I’m going to finish what my brother started. We find the gold, then we go our separate ways.”
Sully was surprised at his relief. He liked the kid, who’d turned out to be useful. He needed Nate’s quick brain to guide him to the prize. And, he didn’t want Nate to hate him. The kid reminded him a little of himself at that age— optimistic, daring, crooked as hell. The bravado of youth and all that. They could always renegotiate shares somewhere down the line.
Plus, he gave me a cat.
“Okay, kid,” Sully said. “It’s a deal.”