He moved down the hall with ghostlike steps. Reaching the cabin he lowered himself to peer in, his old knees popping. Mercer was in the bathroom, bent over what Sun believed to be the body of Liu Yousheng. He’d seen so much death he could recognize it at any distance.
The range was shorter than the shot he’d just taken, but Sun took his time bringing up the heavy pistol. Mercer’s back was still to him. The pip on the front sight came level with the V notch of the rear sight. A round was in the chamber and the trigger started coming back. Sun’s hand trembled. He eased off the trigger, took a breath that rattled in his stringy lungs and refocused his aim.
This time he had his man.
Some sixth sense made Mercer turn at the last instant. He saw Sun crouched at the cabin door, an automatic in his hand. Mercer’s weapon was down by his side. He was fast, but not that fast.
Sun had time to smile.
And then he screamed as a gleaming shaft of tempered steel sprang from his chest and pinned him to the deck. A gush of arterial blood spilled from his mouth; his eyes went wide and lifeless. The blade was withdrawn and Harry stepped into the cabin. The top two feet of his sword were covered in crimson.
“That’s three you owe now.” He reached down and un-snapped the watch on Sun’s skeletal wrist. “TAG Heuer. H’mm. Looks like yours.” He tossed it to Mercer. “I think this proves that whatever this prick took from you is yours to take back.”
Mercer looked at the watch and at his friend, stunned, grateful, overwhelmed. He could barely speak. “Harry, I’m going to tell you something that if you repeat I will deny until the day I die.”
“I’ve known all along.” Harry’s voice was thick as his sudden bravado failed him. His eyes filled. “And I love you too, boy.”
Epilogue
With everyone up at the volcanic lake, Mercer and Miguel were left alone to walk along the banks of the River of Ruin. The remnants of Gary Barber’s camp looked much as they had a few weeks earlier. A couple more animal tracks maybe, and some new growth of jungle amid the ripped tents and scattered equipment, were the only verifiable differences. Yet there was something that man and boy both felt as they ambled in silence.
The ghosts were gone.
The spirits of Gary and his staff, including Miguel’s parents, had been put to rest by the sacrifices everyone had made since that first day when Mercer discovered the bodies. There was no need to talk about it. It was as obvious as the heat and humidity in the tight little valley.
“Will you be happy with Roddy and Carmen?” Mercer asked when they found a comfortable place to sit along the river’s edge.
“I think so,” Miguel answered honestly. “They are very kind and I like their children.”
“What about school? Are you excited to go?”
He made a face. “They will tease me because I can’t read as well as the other kids my age. And I don’t know as much as they do about other stuff.”
“Don’t you think that if you study hard you will learn what they already know?”
“Maybe,” he hedged.
“Maybe, nothing,” Mercer said and laughed. “In a year you will be the smartest kid in your whole school.”
“You think so?” The boy brightened.
“I know so. And do you know what else?”
“What?”
“If you get good grades, you and Roddy’s family can come to my home in Washington, D.C., for Christmas vacation.”
“Wow! Will Mr. Harry be there?”
“Believe me, Mr. Harry is always there.”
“Then I will get good grades.”
He spoke as if merely saying it would make it true. Mercer suspected that with a kid as bright as Miguel that was probably the case. He was an exceptional boy, perceptive and responsible beyond his years. With the love and support that Roddy’s family could provide, he’d get past his trauma with the resiliency only a child possessed.
“What about Lauren? Will she be there too?”
Now it was Mercer’s turn to hedge. The two of them hadn’t discussed plans beyond this trip to the River of Ruin. In fact, he’d seen very little of her in the week since they’d ended Liu Yousheng’s bid to place nuclear missiles in Panama.
The final act of the drama had left dozens of unanswered questions and she’d been sequestered with officials from the CIA, FBI and the Department of Defense trying to answer them. It had taken two days just to learn the civilian Mercer saw murdered on the Korvald was in fact a highly placed general named Yu Kwan. No one yet understood what he was doing on the ship, nor did they understand why the missiles recovered from the ship’s hold by a crane barge were fakes. The outer casings looked legitimate, but inside was nothing but concrete filler to give them the weight of real ICBMs.
“I don’t know if she’ll be there or not,” Mercer finally answered. She was due to arrive this afternoon for a two-day stay at the lake. This would probably be the only opportunity he’d have to ask her.
Mercer himself had been at the lake for three days with Foch and his team. Rene Bruneseau had left for France soon after the coast guard rescued them from the sinking refrigerator ship and he’d flashed his diplomatic passport claiming immunity. Mercer didn’t blame him for avoiding the night in jail the others suffered through until the American and French embassies, along with representatives from the Pentagon, could wade in.
Before their rescue, Roddy Herrara was already organizing men to seal the broached lock doors. Because of the tremendous surge of water, the operators didn’t dare try to close the remaining ones, rightly fearing that the hydraulics couldn’t prevent the flow from twisting the steel and ruining the gates. That meant there was nothing they could do but let the water trapped between the earthen plug in the Gaillard Cut and Pedro Miguel continue to run. The spillway at the dam near the Miraflores Locks could handle the volume, but they needed to close the topmost doors there if they were to prevent Miraflores Lake from draining entirely.
That was where Roddy and a couple of other canal pilots came in. They commandeered a freighter trapped on the lake and ran heavy cables from its stern to hard points on the working gates. Using the ship as a giant sea anchor, they had better control over the inward-closing doors and managed to seal them without the two leaves slamming against each other and warping.
With water no longer escaping, the danger of losing use of the canal for years was past. There was only one set of spare doors kept in the zone and they would soon be installed at Pedro Miguel. A contract was about to be awarded to an American foundry to fabricate another set to replace the ruined doors at Miraflores. It would take several months to get them in position, though it would take much longer to dredge the debris that had collapsed into the Gaillard Cut. However, excavating equipment from the bogus Twenty Devils Mine was already en route to begin the arduous task of clearing the rubble. It would soon be supplemented by dredges and other machines kept by the Canal Authority.
That took care of the physical repercussions of what Liu had attempted. The political ramifications would take years to sort out, though at this stage Mercer couldn’t care less. For him, it was done.
What had brought him to the isolated river in the heart of the Darien Province was his hunch that he could find the Twice-Stolen Treasure. Foch and his men, including the driver who’d been released from custody, and Gerard, the soldier who’d lost part of a finger at the mine, had joined him. He needed their help because to get at where he thought the treasure lay hidden required some heavy blasting first.