Then the gun went silent. Maddock rolled a couple more times just in case, then scrambled to his feet in a fighting stance. Only there weren’t any enemies left standing. Angel was kneeling over the man who had just tried to shoot Maddock, hammering him mercilessly with her fists, and Miranda was straddling the man that had tried to shoot Angel, pinning him down in a classic front-mount position.
Somebody taught her how to fight, Maddock thought, absently.
That left the two men that Angel had flattened during Maddock’s initial charge. One of them — the guy with the big Magnum revolver — was down for the count, but the other man was struggling to rise. Maddock pounced, flattening the man with a two-handed hammer blow.
Another flash of movement from the cenote caught Maddock’s attention. He whirled around, ready to meet this new threat, but it was just Bones, crouching over in a fighting stance and gripping his dive knife, ready for combat.
Maddock let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, then grinned at his friend. “Perfect timing.”
CHAPTER 8
As Bones and Maddock secured the four attackers with zip-ties and heavy tape, Miranda and Angel tended to Charles Bell. He had a one-inch gash in his right temple, courtesy of a savage pistol-whipping administered by the thug with the big gun. The blow had knocked him out cold, but he roused easily and reported none of the worrisome symptoms that would indicate a concussion. The wound was shallow but bloody. Fortunately, Angel knew a thing or two about wound care. She cleaned the laceration with bottled water and closed it with butterfly sutures from the first aid kit they had packed in.
Miranda glanced over at the row of captives, and pointed to one of them. “This is the guy that was running away when you showed up.”
“His buddies made it here awfully fast,” Maddock remarked.
Although they were only about ten miles from the coastal resort city of Tulum, the cenote was in a remote corner of the archaeological preserve, accessible only by primitive Jeep trails and a two-mile cross-country hike.
“What are we supposed to do with them?” Miranda asked.
Bones fixed one of the men — the one that had earlier menaced Angel and was presumably their leader — and nodded his head toward the cenote. “I say we just make ‘em disappear.”
Maddock knew that his friend wasn’t seriously proposing cold-blooded murder, but their captives didn’t know that. The local man went pale and shouted something into the strip of tape that covered his mouth.
“Not a bad idea,” Maddock said, playing along, “but first, we should find out what they’re doing here and who they’re working for.”
“What makes you think they’re working for anyone?” Miranda countered. “Maybe they’re just banditos.”
“Banditos,” Bones echoed, savoring the word. He reached out and yanked the tape away, unleashing a stream of curses from the captive, all in Spanish.
Bones glanced over at Angel. “You must have hit him pretty hard. He completely forgot how to habla Ingles.”
He pressed the tape back into place, then drew his knife and held the blade close to the writhing man’s eye. “Now, let’s try again, bandito. I’m going to take the tape off, and then you’re going to tell us what you’re doing here and who you’re working for. Comprende?”
The man glowered at him for a moment, but then nodded.
Bones ripped the tape away again, eliciting another curse, but then the man spoke in English. “It’s like she said.” He nodded at Miranda. “We are bandits. We saw them diving for treasure in the cenote. The treasure belongs to us, not some gringos.”
“How did you find us out here?” Miranda asked.
Maddock shot her a warning glance, hoping she would get the message. Let Bones handle this.
“Two gringos driving out in the forest? It wasn’t hard to find you.”
As the man spoke, Bones kept the knife in his view, testing the edge of the exposed blade with his thumb. Now he lowered the knife and picked up the big revolver the man had dropped. “This is a nice gun,” he said.
He wasn’t wrong. It was a Smith & Wesson Model 686, an L-Frame revolver with a six-inch barrel, chambered for .357 Magnum ammunition. It was a hefty gun, too, though in Bones’ massive hands, it didn’t look quite so intimidating.
“I think I’ll keep it,” Bones continued. “You don’t mind, do you?”
The man said nothing.
“But what I can’t figure is how a piece of crap hoodlum like you managed to get his hands on a piece like this. Makes me think you’re more than just a… ” He grinned. “Bandito. So, let’s try again. Who are you working for?”
The man set his jaw, pursing his lips together to signal that he was done talking.
Bones regarded him for a few more seconds, then let his gaze drift to the other men. “All right, I didn’t want to have to do this, but it looks like you’re not giving me a choice. Maddock, I’m gonna need a quart of motor oil and four sticks about seven inches long. You know, twice the length of your….”
“Yeah, we get it,” Maddock said quickly, cutting him off. He rose and headed over to where they had stacked their gear, pretending to look for the items.
“What are you going to do with those?” Miranda asked, feigning innocent curiosity. She knew exactly what Bones was doing, and didn’t seem the least bit appalled by it.
Something about that bothered Maddock. He thought about how she had fearlessly and efficiently taken down one of their assailants, and decided there was more to Miranda Bell than was apparent at first glance.
“It's a trick I learned in the service,” Bones replied with gleeful anticipation. “Guaranteed to make a man talk… unless he dies first. It's pretty ugly. The motor oil is the most important part. See, there’s no way to get that stick in without it.”
“In where?”
Before Bones could answer, another of the captives began squirming and shouting into his gag.
“Hold up, Maddock,” Bones called out. “Let’s hear what this joker has to say.”
He gagged the first man again, then ripped the tape off the second man’s mouth. “Okay, amigo. Start talking.”
“They hire us to follow them,” the man said, nodding at Bell and his daughter. His English was broken but passable. “Give us guns and money. Said to follow them. Ten thousand pesos if we take whatever they find.”
“Who hired you? Cartel?”
The man shook his head. “No. Two men. I don’t see them before. Rich guys. They try to hide it, but I see their fancy haircuts and girly fingernails.”
“Mexicans? Gringos?”
“They don’t sound like gringos, but… ” The man shrugged. “They say just the old man and the girl. Didn’t know they have company.”
“Yeah, we like to screw up the best-laid plans of dirtbags and dipshits. You guys are the latter, in case you were wondering.”
Maddock knelt next to Bones. “Come on, you’ve got to know more than that. How did these guys know to come to you?”
The man shook his head, helplessly. “I swear. I don’t know.”
“Anyone else coming? Got some friends waiting out there in the woods?”
The man shook his head.
Bones looked at Miranda. “What do you think? He telling the truth?”
Miranda considered the question with exaggerated gravity. “I don’t know. Seems like there’s only one way to really know for sure. Stick and motor oil.”