The jeeps pulled out and roared toward the tree line, the men standing in back exchanging their pistols for shotguns. He didn’t see Grissom or Julian in any of them. Had they already evacuated the camp?
No, Gabriel thought. Grissom wouldn’t. He was too stubborn and arrogant to alter his plans just because he suddenly found himself under siege. He’d still be in the camp somewhere, letting his henchmen fight for him while he…
While he what?
The Star. Grissom had gotten a portion of what he needed from Noboru and would be trying to use the Star and the map even now, in the middle of a pitched battle, to get as much information as possible before moving on. Gabriel looked around. At the far end of the camp, he spotted a tent with two gunmen posted outside. Everyone in Grissom’s army was fighting the cultists except those two. They were protecting something. Or someone.
“There,” he said, pointing.
“How will we get past the guards?” Joyce asked.
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “We’ll think of something.” He led them behind the row of tents, hoping the jungle beside them wasn’t filled with cultists waiting to unleash their arrows. He kept his head down and hurried, counting on the continuing gunfire to cloak the sound of their running footsteps. He stopped one tent short of their destination, motioned to the others to stay low, then peeked around the corner.
The guards. How to get past—
At that instant, an arrow flew out of the jungle and landed squarely in the chest of the guard on the left. He crumpled to the ground. The other guard turned and started shooting into the trees.
“Now,” Gabriel said.
While the guard’s back was turned, they ran toward the tent. Halfway there, Gabriel glanced back and spotted an arrow cutting through the air in a perfect arc right toward Joyce. He spun and tackled her around the knees, pulling her down into the mud. The arrow whizzed through the air where she’d been.
Unfortunately, their motion caught the surviving guard’s attention. His mouth fell open in surprise and he swung his pistol toward them. Noboru, still running, hurled the dagger. It spun end over end, its triple blade glinting in the sun before sinking with a meaty thock into the guard’s chest. The guard dropped his gun, tilted his head down to look at the ivory handle sticking out of his chest, and dropped to his knees. He tipped forward, landing in the dirt.
Gabriel helped Joyce stand up. Her hand felt small in his and he could feel it trembling. Together they ran toward the tent, staying low. He didn’t let go of her hand till they’d made it to the tent’s entrance. He was acutely aware of her gaze on him, those piercing blue eyes staring out at him from her mud-caked face.
“You saved my life back there,” she said. “Again.”
He bent to pick up one of the guards’ guns. Next to him, Noboru pulled the dagger out of the guard’s chest and wiped the blood on the corpse’s shirt. “Easy,” Gabriel whispered. “Not a peanut in sight.”
Gabriel put a finger to his lips, then slid the muzzle of the guard’s pistol through the tent flap and nudged it aside an inch.
Inside, a half dozen chairs and a pair of folding tables had been pushed to the side. Grissom stood in the empty center of the tent, looking down at something on the floor. It had to be the map. When Grissom shifted position, Gabriel saw he was holding the Star of Arnuwanda over the map with one hand and shining a flashlight through it with the other. So he’d figured out that much. Gabriel moved slightly for a better view of the tent’s interior. He saw Julian standing with his back to them. The grip of his Magnum was visible at the waistband of his pants. He had his hands up at chest height and it looked like he was writing something down. Coordinates of the second Eye? Just how far had they gotten?
There was no time to waste. Gabriel stepped through the flap and had his arm around Julian’s neck before he could turn around. The pen and paper he’d been holding fell to the floor. Gabriel pulled Julian’s Magnum from his belt, dropped it and kicked it behind him so it slid under the tables. “Remember when I said you better hope I never see you again?” he whispered in Julian’s ear. “I wasn’t kidding.” He dug the barrel of the guard’s gun into Julian’s ribs. Julian’s eyes widened.
Grissom spun around, dropping the flashlight but keeping a tight grip on the Star. His eyes darted toward a table by the wall, where their confiscated weapons lay: the two Colts, Noboru’s knife, even the flare gun from the jeep. Grissom made a break for the weapons, but Noboru, darting in, managed to get between him and the table. He raised the dagger. Grissom turned to run the other way and found Joyce blocking his path. She lifted the second guard’s gun.
Joyce held out her other hand palm up. “The Star,” she said.
Grissom looked over at Julian gasping for breath in Gabriel’s choke hold, then at Noboru, who had snatched up one of the Colt revolvers from the table and was pointing it at him. He swallowed hard and held out the Star. “This isn’t over,” he said.
Joyce reached out to take the Star. Grissom started coughing so hard he doubled over, his forearms on his knees. As Joyce bent to pull the Star out of his hand, Grissom swung it at her. The heavy metal disk connected with her stomach, and she went down, the gun skittering out of her grasp. But she managed to hold onto the Star. For an instant, Grissom looked like he was going to try to get it back from her, but she rolled over, clutching it to her chest and cradling it beneath her. Noboru drew back the safety on his Colt and advanced on him. Grissom settled for snatching up the pistol at his feet and, shooting it blindly in Noboru’s direction, bolted through the tent flap. Ducking, Noboru fired off two shots that punched holes in the canvas but it was too late—Grissom was gone.
Joyce stood again, brushing dirt off the artifact in her hands. “It’s all right. Let him go. The Star’s the only thing that matters.”
“Not exactly,” Gabriel said. “Getting out of here alive matters, too.” Julian was still struggling in Gabriel’s choke hold. “Looks like your father left you all alone,” Gabriel said into Julian’s ear. “What do you suppose we should do with you? What would you do to us if our positions were reversed?”
Julian squirmed against his arm, but the hold was too tight. Gabriel started to squeeze, cutting off his air supply, and Julian clawed at him. Then Julian snapped his elbow back into Gabriel’s gut. Normally it would have been the sort of blow he could take easily—but the cuts on his abdomen turned it into a symphony of pain. Gabriel doubled over. But he held on tight, clamping down on Julian’s throat. The younger man struggled wildly, but Gabriel didn’t give an inch. After a minute, the struggles slowed and finally stopped.
“Is he…?” Joyce said
“Not to say I’m not tempted, but no,” Gabriel said. “Just unconscious.” He lowered Julian to the ground and tore the unconscious man’s collar open. He pulled the Death’s Head Key from around his neck. He hung it around his own. Then he took his Colt .45 and holster from the table and buckled it on while Noboru did the same with his knife and ankle sheath. Noboru also stuffed the flare gun into his belt. While they were doing this, Joyce was rifling through everything else on the tables, overturning boxes, opening document folders, and throwing them to the ground in frustration.