CHAPTER ONE
The Colombian sun burned over the old Colonial city without mercy. The city was established in 1533 by the Spanish who named it after Carthage, and the small bay had been a safe haven for people for five thousand years. Today, the port city was a bustling place kept alive mainly by tourism.
The Naval Del Caribe, or the Naval Museum of the Caribbean, was tucked away in the Old Town of Cartagena, deep inside the city’s Sixteenth Century walls. This was one of the finest Colonial cities in all of Latin America, but none of that mattered to the man in the skull mask as he rattled through the stifling humidity of the old town’s back streets in the front of an ancient Hyundai pick-up truck.
“We’re almost there,” he said, and clicked a fresh magazine into his Heckler & Koch MP5. “Pull your bloody masks down.”
The other two men obeyed, and moments later they all had eerie Halloween masks covering their faces as they turned the final corner and pulled up across the street from the museum.
“No security on the door,” said the man in a Frankenstein mask.
A third man who was wearing a Scream ghost mask turned to face the Skull. “Just as you thought, boss.”
In the front seat, Skull was scanning the street ahead of him and then used the mirror to check behind. “Remember, it’s in and out,” he said, leaving no room for excuses later. “Then we take the object to the Syrian and go from there, right?”
“And you think you can trust the Syrian?” Frankenstein asked.
Skull didn’t respond at once. The truth was he had no idea. The Syrian had come to him, not the other way around. He had spoken eloquently about his life’s dream, and he reassured him that he could deliver the sort of manpower needed to achieve such a demanding mission.
The Syrian had heard about the Skull from his involvement in previous museum raids and other lootings. He now knew, the Syrian had patiently explained, where there was more gold and treasure than anywhere else on earth. More precious stones than any man could dream of in his wildest imagination.
Skull had listened and nodded in all the right places. He’d heard all the right buzzwords — Incas, lost treasure, gold, emeralds, and then even a few words that concerned him — Hezbollah, freedom-fighters, revenge… but the Syrian had made a compelling argument that only together did they have the skills to find the treasure, and he’d even spoken in hushed tones of something much more awesome lurking amongst the lost gold. Skull had reluctantly agreed to the partnership. If there was one thing he was short of it was manpower.
And as for trust… he was with Aesop, and never trusted the advice of a man in difficulties. The Syrian looked like he had more difficulties than most, but Skull had left the matter untouched. He didn’t want to scare the man away with too many impertinent questions.
He turned to face Frankenstein. “Don’t even trust your own reflection,” he said sourly. Then he turned to the bound and gagged man on the back seat. “Wouldn’t you agree with that?”
The man looked back at Skull with fear in his eyes but made no reply due to the gag tied around his mouth. The many beatings the young man had received at the hands of Skull and his friends had taught him not to aggravate these men, and now he sat in passive silence. He dreamed of escaping from their grip, but his value to them was too great, and they never let him out of their sight.
A hard jab in his ribs knocked him from his daydream and he was suddenly aware the other men were all now laughing at his inability to reply on account of the gag.
“I thought you’d agree,” Skull said, turning in his seat and knocking him out with the butt of his weapon. He twisted back around and turned to the masked men. “Let’s go.”
Skull checked the mask was secure and they jumped out of the van. Their rehearsal paid off when they were through the lobby and up the stairs in less than thirty seconds leaving only two dead security guards behind them.
They scanned the museum’s upper level for any sign of the target and their hunt was cut short when their prey saw them and tried to get away.
“There he is!” Frankenstein said, pointing at the door at the end of the corridor. A man in a linen jacket had already seen them and was moving toward the door with speed. “We need him alive!”
Skull directed his men forward and they thundered down the short museum corridor with their submachine guns. A woman with a pair of glasses balanced on her nose opened her door to see what all the fuss was about but after seeing the guns she thought better of it and disappeared back inside her office.
Héctor Barrera slammed the door, turned the key in the lock and stood up against the wall as he strained for breath. His asthma was exacerbated by stress and now his heart was beating nineteen to the dozen as his panicked mind raced in a bid to evade his pursuers.
He knew who they were, and he had been expecting them — but not like this. He had visualized a business meeting. A cosy chat and a simple transaction. You get the mask, and I get the brown envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills. After a few short breaths he could feel his chest tighten and the sound of his high-pitched wheezing now filled the silent room.
“Give us the mask,” the voice said in Spanish. Barrera thought the accent sounded Mexicano but with a tinge of Guatemalan around the edges. He couldn’t be sure but the man was certainly not a local. Then another man’s voice — this time speaking in English.
“We know you have it, old man. Hand it over and we will let you live.”
The second voice was gravelly but clearer — Dutch, or New Zealand, maybe — but before his mind could think about it any further there was a crash at the door and he felt it judder in the frame. He heard some swearing and then he felt someone kick the lower panel of the door but it held in place.
“Last chance and we do it the hard way,” the gravelly voice said.
Barrera’s mind raced again as he strained to think of a way out. Opposite him on the far wall of the office was the window, but he was on the third floor and there was no fire escape. Nothing beyond that glass except a long drop to the asphalt and a very hard landing.
“Who are you?” he said, stalling for time. “What do you want with me?”
“You know who we are, Barrera — don’t play us for fools. We want the mask from the galleon and we know you have it.”
Before he could reply there was more swearing and then a gunshot. He nearly jumped out of his skin as the bullet tore through the upper panel a few inches from his head and buried itself in his map of Colombia on the wall beside the window.
“Okay… okay — it’s here! Please don’t kill me.”
“Waste a bullet on you?” Skull said.
The door began to open and Skull helped it on its way with a violent kick of his boot. It smacked open so hard it began to wobble shut again requiring a second kick. Barrera walked backwards in fear, clutching a golden mask to his chest as if it would make him bullet proof. He was horrified to see they were wearing masks — a skull, a Frankenstein monster and a ghost, and all carrying guns.
The man in the front took off his skull mask and stared at the ancient artefact, his dark eyes settling on the glittering golden mask in the academic’s shaking hands.
“You!” Barrera said.
“I see you have it,” Skull said.
“It wasn’t easy getting it out of the vaults — please… I’ve done everything you asked of me.”
“This is true,” Skull said snatching the mask from him. “You have done everything I need you to do for me.”
A nervous smile played on Barrera’s trembling lips. “And the settlement?”