within hours of landing in New Guinea, Braddock was on the way to Demar, aboard a large cargo ship with a strong engine and a dozen burly freelance mercs, strong men ready to work. Moncada had reserved the mighty Victoria before they’d left Barcelona—Santiago’s idea of clever, choosing a vessel with the same name as Magellan’s only surviving ship—and as far as the boat’s crew was concerned, the billionaire was still calling the shots; he’d sent his faithful employee ahead to do some recon on the site.
Braddock made some purchases, set the workers to loading, and slept for an hour. They were ready to go by early afternoon. The ride out had been uneventful, except for the rising glee in Braddock’s gut, spiraling into giddiness as the gold got closer. When she’d seen the rounded, smoking peak of Demar’s volcano, rising over a carpet of dense green, she’d actually laughed out loud.
They anchored off Golden Cove and broke out the Zodiacs. Braddock rode in with her team, smiling as she examined the pristine sand, deserted but for crabs and gulls. Sully hadn’t beaten her to the gold, nobody had. Alvaro and his men rode in with them, the new mercs following. The beach was wide but not deep, the sand a crescent against its curving shore, strewn with black rock and backed by a wall of lush jungle.
Braddock walked the length of the beach, looking for any features that might stand out—a curve of rock, a particular view of the volcano, one of the many clusters of rough boulders—but nothing struck her eye. Whatever—the beach wasn’t all that big, they’d dig the whole thing up. It would be somewhere well above the tide line, heavy digging, but they had machinery and explosives. They would find the treasure, it was just a matter of time.
They spent the day shuttling equipment and breaking ground along the line of sweaty jungle, birds shrieking in the trees, tiny, furred things crashing away from the growling backhoe and the screech of saws as the workers chopped through roots. When the sun set, they put up banks of lights and kept digging… but the men couldn’t continue indefinitely. Frustrated, Braddock sent them back to the ship for food and sleep, and camped out on the beach, Hugo and Scotty in a tent next to hers; they rotated a three-hour guard, so they all got some rest, but Braddock woke up cold, sore, and irritated. She’d fully expected to find the treasure within hours of their arrival. What if Chloe Frazer had been wrong? But no, Braddock had seen the map, the X had been on Golden Cove… The gold was here, somewhere. Braddock got up and spent an hour walking back and forth, deeper into the thick, buggy mass of vegetation that rioted between the stony hills to either side of the cove, looking for a symbol, a clue. Tiny Aies swarmed her arms and face, and she waved them off, foul mood intensifying. The ugly noise of roaring motors dogged her every step.
Where the fuck is it? Braddock stepped out of the jungle, back to the increasingly pitted beach. Men shoveling, cutting down trees, sand Aeas bouncing through rotting kelp, the smell of dead fish sharp in the morning sun. Hugo was helping lug rocks, but Scotty hung back in the shade, binoculars out. They’d been here long enough, Braddock wanted somebody watching for incoming full-time. Sully was top of the list, but Braddock didn’t know much about the Victoria’s crew, they were Moncada’s hire. A call to the cops and she’d be in hot water for tearing up the habitat of some endangered beetle or lemur or something. Since she was Moncada’s employee, the cops might try to find him, might even try to search his plane, still parked at Port Moresby… and the knife that had cut his throat was still strapped to her thigh.
Stop it. None of that matters. It’s here, you just have to be patient.
Not her strongest attribute, but she had no choice. She’d come too far, worked too hard for this. If anyone tried to stop her, she’d just have to kill them, too. Nobody was stealing her gold.
* * *
Nate dreamed that his whole life was different. His last name was Morgan, and he rode a motorcycle that Sam had given him when he took him out of St. Francis—Sam came back for him, after all. He dreamed they went on adventures together, and that he met Sully in Colombia, trying to lift his wallet… And then everything got weird, and Sister Catherine was bawling him out for fighting; and then he was in the Arctic, walking through an underground cavern… But Chloe was there, arching one fabulous eyebrow, and she was about to kiss him…
Nate woke up, blinking against the full morning light. He was alone on the bed.
“Chloe?”
No answer. Nate sat up, looked around. Her bag was gone, and her boots. He got up and stretched, walking to the coffee table—and the photo with the coordinates on it was gone, too, but she’d scribbled a note and left it in the print’s place.
Nate picked it up. I’m sorry, Nate. I told you I don’t share.
“Yes, you did,” he said, and smiled. That was why he’d put the coordinates on the photo. Not the correct coordinates, obviously. He’d sincerely hoped they’d wake up together, have sex, eat breakfast, more sex, set out for the gold, celebrate with sex, etc.… But on the off chance she decided on a head start, she’d end up on a secluded island beach out of everyone’s way, digging holes by herself.
It’s like I’m starting to get the hang of this or something.
Nate pulled another map out from under the table, where he’d tucked it the night before, and checked his watch. The boat he’d reserved would be prepped and waiting, at a pier less than a mile away. Not that there was any need to hurry, but he didn’t want to wait a minute longer.
Nate put in a call for a ride, threw all the other maps and papers away, and took a last look at the bed where he and Chloe had slept and played. She was an amazing woman, if criminally greedy. He figured they’d cross paths again— he hoped they would, but not today. Today it was just him and Sam.