GABRIEL HUNT
HUNT
At The Well Of Eternity AS TOLD TO JAMES REASONER
LEISURE BOOKS 
NEW YORK CITY
The jungle remained nearly impenetrable, right up to the point where it suddenly thinned out and they stepped onto a grassy verge about ten yards wide. After that, the ground dropped away into the yawning nothingness of the chasm Mariella had spoken of. The Blade of the Gods was a good name for it. Fifty yards wide, evidently hundreds of feet deep, its sides were perfectly sheer and dropped straight down.
Mariella had led them unerringly to the only spot where they could cross the chasm. A four-foot-wide bridge made of thick ropes and rough-hewn planks extended across the giant slash in the earth. Cierra muttered, “Dios mio,” when she saw it, and when Gabriel glanced over at her he saw the fear in her eyes. A breeze drifted along the gorge and, at its touch, the bridge swayed back and forth.
They stepped out onto the span, walked cautiously forward. The bridge sagged under their weight. Gabriel saw the ropes attached to the anchor posts tighten around the wood.
This would be a heck of a place for a trap, Gabriel thought.
As if reading his thoughts, Alexei Podnemovitch stepped out of the jungle at the western end of the bridge. He had a gun in his hand. He leveled the revolver at Gabriel. “Not another step, Hunt…”
Chapter 1
Gabriel Hunt tugged at the tight collar around his neck and grimaced as he failed to loosen it. He stuck the thumb of his other hand inside the cummerbund cinched around his waist and pulled it out a little.
“I hate tuxedos,” he muttered.
His brother Michael leaned closer to him. Without altering the beaming smile on his face, Michael said from the corner of his mouth, “Stop figeting.”
“Easy for you to say, yours probably fits.”
“You could have had one made as well,” Michael said. “Thomas would have been delighted. If instead you choose to rent from some off-the-rack dealer…”
“Best part of wearing a tuxedo’s getting to give the damn thing back,” Gabriel said. Then he spotted something that interested him more than the collar’s constraints.
Someone, actually.
The loveliest woman he had seen in quite some time.
She moved toward the Hunt brothers, her natural grace allowing her to glide with apparent ease through the crowd that thronged the Great Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She was as beautiful as any of the masterpieces hung on the walls in the museum’s many galleries.
A mass of midnight-black curls framed a compelling, high-cheekboned face dominated by dark, intense eyes. Those curls tumbled over honey-skinned shoulders left bare by the strapless evening gown of dark green silk that clung to the generous curves of her body. She possessed a timeless, natural beauty that was more attractive to Gabriel than anything the multitude of stick-thin, face-lifted society women attending this reception could ever muster.
And she appeared to be coming straight toward him.
“Who’s that?” Gabriel asked his brother.
“I have no idea,” Michael replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.”
“You’d remember if you had,” Gabriel said. “I thought you knew everyone here.”
Tonight’s reception was in honor of a new exhibit of Egyptian art and artifacts, many of which the Hunt Foundation had provided on loan to the museum. Gabriel had brought several of those artifacts back with him from a recent trip to Egypt—some of them even with the knowledge of the Egyptian government. The exhibit would open to the public the next day, but tonight was an advance showing for the museum’s wealthiest benefactors.
Gabriel snagged a couple of glasses of champagne from a tray carried by a passing waiter. The beautiful young woman might be thirsty, and if she was, he was going to be ready.
“What’s that she’s carrying?” Michael asked in an undertone.
It was Gabriel’s turn to say, “I have no idea.” Instead of some glittery, fashionable purse, the young woman carried a cloth-wrapped bundle of some sort. The cloth was a faded red, and to Gabriel’s eye, it appeared old. The fabric looked distressed, the edges frayed.
A waiter moved in front of her, offering her a drink. She shook her head and looked irritated that the man had interrupted her progress across the hall. When Gabriel saw that, he tossed back the champagne in one of the glasses he held, then pressed the other into Michael’s hand.
Either the lady didn’t drink, or she had something else on her mind at the moment.
Gabriel set the empty glass on a pedestal supporting a clay vase, then turned to greet the young woman with a smile as she finally reached the spot where he and Michael were standing, near one of the pillars that ran along the sides of the hall.
“Señor Hunt?” she said. He caught a hint of a South American accent, but only a hint.
“That’s right,” Gabriel said, but before he could ask her who she was, she spoke again.
“Señor Michael Hunt?”
Gabriel shot a sidelong glance Michael’s way and Michael stepped forward, smiling. Shorter, younger, and studious-looking rather than ruggedly handsome, he was accustomed to paling into insignificance next to his more dynamic older brother. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“I’m Michael Hunt,” he said. “And you are…?”
“My name is Mariella Montez,” she told him.
“And what can I do for you, Miss Montez?”
Before she could reply, the waiter who had stopped her on her way across the hall appeared behind her sleek, bare left shoulder. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I believe you dropped this.”
With an annoyed look again on her face, she turned toward the red-jacketed man and said, “I didn’t drop anything—”
But what the waiter was extending toward her was a pistol, aimed directly between her ample breasts. He reached out with his other hand to snatch the bundle she was carrying.
Mariella jerked back and said, “No!”
Incredulous and instantly tensed for trouble, Gabriel stepped between Mariella and the waiter. “Hey, buddy, put that thing down. This is a museum, not a firing range.”
“This is not your concern,” the waiter said, and swung the pistol at Gabriel’s head.
Instinct brought Gabriel’s left arm up to block the blow. His right fist shot up and out in a short, sharp punch that rocked the waiter’s head back and bloodied his nose.
With his now crimson-smeared face contorted with anger, the waiter swung again. This time he slashed at Gabriel’s throat. Gabriel leaped backward and collided with the young woman.
Such a collision might have been pleasurable under other circumstances, but not now. Not with a madman of a waiter swinging a gun that he could just as easily start firing at any moment.
Gabriel felt Mariella push him away, then say, “Señor Hunt, you must take this!” But she wasn’t talking to him. He heard Michael, behind him, saying, “What is it?” She was probably trying to give Michael the cloth-wrapped bundle, what ever it was. Gabriel didn’t have the time to check whether the hand-off had been successful. Instead, he lowered his head and tackled the waiter around the waist, driving the man off his feet. The gun went off as they fell, the bullet shattering a pane of glass in the ceiling twenty feet overhead.