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  CHAPTER 53

  Jack roused himself from the vision that had momentarily paralyzed him, but the feeling remained. This room reeked of knowledge so old and terrible that something within Jack quailed in its presence. Believing he had to be imagining things, Jack nevertheless made his way past the reading chairs and over to the center bookshelf. Switching his gun to his left hand, Jack switched on the IR flashlight and began examining the titles on the bound volumes.

  Most were old and written in German or Spanish, but neither of those languages presented a problem to Jack. The sight of an aging first edition of Mein Kampf would ordinarily have made Jack laugh, but right now he failed to see the humor in Conrad Altmann’s worship of the psychotic Führer. And it wasn’t this book that bothered him. It was the thin, unlabeled binder next to it.

  When Jack reached out to take it from the shelf, tension spread through his shoulders and neck, as if someone with a rope were desperately trying to drag him out of the room. If there was an effective counter to fear, it was anger, and this was really starting to piss him off. Gripping the binder, Jack pulled it from the shelf and laid it on the small round table that separated the two reading chairs. Fighting back the urge to drop the thing on the floor, Jack opened it. The hand-printed title page read Excerpts from the Journal of Francisco Pizarro González.

  Jack popped open the binder’s three metal rings, removed the pages within, and rolled the thin sheaf into a tube that he shoved inside his utility vest. He would investigate it later. He’d already wasted too much precious time on a weird feeling.

  Shifting the IR flashlight to his left hand, Jack took a tactical grip, aligning the light beam with the H&K’s barrel. Jack left the study and followed his gun back down the hall to the stairwell entrance. Silently opening the door, he cleared the stairwell and moved inside. Where before he’d sensed danger below, now all he could feel was the damn scroll tucked in his vest.

  Jack had known for some time that he’d grown too reliant on his intuition. But tonight he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way and hope that whatever was screwing with his head wouldn’t get him killed.

  CHAPTER 54

  Absolute darkness does strange things to your senses, making your mind generate ghostly images that flit across your peripheral vision. The longer you keep your eyes open in those conditions, the harder your mind works to compensate for the lack of visual stimulus, making the problem worse instead of better. The way around it is to focus your attention on your hearing.

  There is a popular myth that the loss of a person’s eyesight makes her hearing better. What it actually did was make Janet pay more attention to what she was hearing. Standing behind the concrete pillar in the basement’s pitch-black darkness, her gun hand aimed back toward the stairwell landing, Janet had her attention firmly focused on her hearing.

  She heard the door above open and close softly, heard very quiet footsteps begin the descent, imagined the man following his gun down those stairs. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t be wearing night-vision goggles. But this was Jack Gregory, and those who opposed him didn’t tend to be that lucky. So she would just have to rely on her judgment.

  When she determined he was three or four steps from the opening, Janet spoke up.

  “Hello, Jack. It’s me.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Janet’s voice, clear and confident, echoed from the basement into the stairwell, bringing Jack to a stop just before he reached the corner that would have allowed him to peer into the large room where she waited. He should have sensed her presence, but since he’d tucked the rolled-up journal into his vest, its touch had infected him with an aching dread that he found both distracting and fascinating.

  When he didn’t respond, Janet continued. “I asked you to give me two weeks before you try to rescue Tupac.”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  “Mind if I ask why you decided not to trust me?”

  “For the same reason you didn’t tell me why you needed the extra time.”

  Jack heard Janet pause and debated his next action.

  When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “I’m going to walk to the wall and turn on the light. I’ll appreciate it if you don’t shoot me when I step out.”

  “I didn’t shoot you at my house.”

  “New set of circumstances.”

  “They always are.”

  Janet’s soft laugh tickled his ears, and Jack lowered the IR flashlight and his gun. She walked into his view, a shapely white ghost moving against a dark green background. As she reached for the light switch, Jack pulled the goggles from his face and squinted to avoid being dazzled. When the incandescent bulbs lit the basement, he was glad he had taken that precaution, but it still took several seconds before his pupils fully adjusted.

  Standing ten feet away, Janet had turned to face him, her gun hand hanging at her side, a mirror image of his stance. A scene from Gunfight at the O.K. Corral leaped into Jack’s mind, and it brought a grin to his lips.

  Janet raised an eyebrow. “So what happens next?”

  “That depends on what Tupac tells me.”

  “And if he says he wants to stay?”

  Jack considered. “I’ll tell you what. If he says he wants to stay here, I’ll leave without him. But if he wants to go, I’m taking him with me. Can you live with that?”

  A moment of silence hung in the air between them as she weighed the consequences of what he’d just asked her. When her eyes again met his, she nodded.

  “If Tupac wants to go, my mission has already failed.”

  “I don’t suppose you care to enlighten me on that mission.”

  “Not at the moment.”

  Jack nodded toward the door. “Okay, then. Lead the way. The clock’s ticking.”

  Janet holstered her Glock, and Jack mirrored her action, clipping the goggles and flashlight to his vest. When she pulled on the door, the hinges creaked and groaned as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Then Janet surprised Jack by stepping aside.

  “Sorry. I can’t go down there with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Tupac thinks I’m one of the bad guys. Since I’ve been waterboarding him, he’s got damn good reason to think it. If he sees me with you, it’ll blow my cover.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to walk down into the dungeon while you stay up here and guard the door?”

  “You didn’t have any trouble falling asleep on the couch with me watching over you.”

  Jack had to admit that she had a point. And that hadn’t been the first time he’d put his life in her hands.

  “What the hell.”

  Jack flipped the light switch just inside the door. A bare bulb illuminated ancient narrow steps and damp stone walls. As he descended, the stink of stale dungeon air entered his nostrils. When he opened another of the creaking doors at the bottom, the smell got worse. Finding another light switch, Jack turned it on, illuminating another series of bare bulbs that extended down the center of the arching dungeon passage. A groan from the second cell on his right alerted Jack to Tupac’s presence.

  When Jack stepped up to the bars, he saw the shaman struggle to a sitting position, his huge right hand held up to shield his eyes from the unaccustomed light. Even though Tupac had been held captive for only a week, to Jack’s eyes, it looked like the man had been here for months. It didn’t really surprise him. Jack had learned from personal experience what torture could do to a man.

  “Hello, Tupac. Sorry it took me so long to come for you.”

  The stunned disbelief in Tupac’s face transformed into joy. “Jack! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’d love to tell you all about it. But first let’s get you out of here.”

  Jack saw the expression on Tupac’s face change as he leaned back against the far wall.

  “You shouldn’t have come. I can’t go with you.”

  Jack stared into Tupac’s dark-brown eyes and saw his jaw clench in determinatio
n.

  “Why?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Try me.”

  “Altmann has something that belongs to my people. This is my one chance to get it back.”

  Jack snorted. “And you’re doing a damn fine job of it.”

  “Leave me and get out while you still can.”

  As Tupac lay down to rest his head on his wadded shirt, Jack’s eyes were drawn to the tattoo on the shaman’s chest. The bare bulb outside his cell cast stark shadows across Tupac’s chest, making the image shift so that it appeared that the robed man held his staff out toward Jack. Again Jack felt himself pulled back into the waking dream he’d experienced in the study, but this time he angrily repressed it. He might be losing his damn mind, but he refused to do it here in front of this man.

  Then the sound of a distant alarm siren echoed down the stairs and into the dungeon.

  CHAPTER 56

  Drawing his gun, Jack raced back to the stairwell, flipped the dungeon light off, and slammed the door behind him. When he reached the basement level, Jack was surprised to find the lights off. Switching off the lower stairwell light, he closed the door behind him. Unhooking the IR goggles, Jack slid them back on his head and switched them on, moving quickly up the stairs to the ground level.

  As he stepped out into the hall, he heard Janet’s yell from the foyer. “He went around the east side of the building. Don’t let him get to the gate!”

  As a thank-you for her efforts, Jack tossed a flash-bang grenade toward the foyer and then raced back into the master bedroom. Behind him, an explosion lanced the night, shattering the windows in the front part of the house. Not a very nice thank-you, but it would put her down for the remainder of this fight and protect her cover story. Reaching the open window, Jack glanced out. Crouched by the west wing were two more guards, their weapons aimed toward the spot where the flash-bang grenade had just blown out the sliding glass doors that opened onto the pool deck.

  Jack fired four 9mm rounds into them, sending both men sprawling. One of their submachine guns chattered, raking the side of the house with bullets. Then Jack was outside, racing toward the spot on the north side of the pool where his hidden rope hung down the cliff face.

  As he neared the rope, another guard peeked around the side of the electrical shed, his weapon firing wildly as it swung toward Jack. Ducking behind the hot tub’s stone housing, Jack felt water splash down upon him as bullets chopped the water’s surface. With his left hand, Jack grabbed a grenade, popped the pin free, and hurled it toward the gunner. The explosion pelted the pool and hot tub with shrapnel, but the submachine gun quit firing.

  Throwing off his goggles, Jack moved to the edge of the cliff, snapped the rope through the carabiner on the left side of his rappelling harness, and took a wrap from the anchored end. Sliding his left hand into the rappelling glove, he grabbed the rope, leaned outward, and jumped, letting the rope race through his gloved hand as he plunged face first toward the ground a hundred feet below.

  When the momentum of his outward jump carried his feet back to the cliff, Jack ran straight down, only slowing himself just before he reached the bottom, letting his weight stretch the rope so that his feet swung off the wall and onto the ground. Without slowing, Jack ran forward, letting the remainder of the rope slide through the carabiner until he was free. Then, as a smattering of gunfire from above slapped the nearby trees and rocks, Jack entered the dense woods and disappeared.

  As he raced through the dark woods toward his distant vehicle, a new thought occurred to him. Despite all his preparation, Jack had nothing to show for his efforts but a rolled-up old journal that, for some crazy reason, scared the shit out of him. That and a whole new batch of questions.

  When Jack stepped out of the woods at the sheltered spot where he’d parked, he stopped in his tracks, unable to believe his eyes.

  Shit! Some worthless bastard had stolen his goddamn car.

  CHAPTER 57

  “What?”

  Conrad Altmann’s sudden fury burned so hot that he wanted to hurl the phone through the plate glass window. Renaldo’s call had awakened him from a good dream to word of The Ripper’s attack on his Cochabamba estate.

  “Sir, the good news is that he failed in his attempt to free Tupac Inti. Janet Mueller intercepted him as he was headed for the stairwell. But he tossed a flash-bang grenade that knocked her out before she could get a shot at him.”

  “How the hell did he penetrate my compound?”

  “It looks like he scaled the cliff behind the pool. Once up, he killed a guard and bypassed the alarm system before breaking into the house through your master bedroom window. Another of the roving guards found the dead one’s body in the electrical shed and then removed the bypass circuit, triggering the alarm. Once that happened, Janet Mueller yelled to the gate guards that Gregory was around the east wing. That’s when the flash-bang grenade went off.”

  “How the hell did The Ripper get back out?”

  “He fought his way out, killed three more guards, and rappelled down the cliff before the van arrived with our ten-man response force. They lost him in the woods. We’ve initiated a full sweep of the surrounding area.”

  “Get ahold of the Cochabamba police commander, Captain Lopez. Wake him up if necessary. Tell him I want road blocks set up all around the city. And tell him to keep his police out of my compound. I’ll brief him on the situation personally after I get on the ground there. As for you, get ready for company. I’ll be on my way in with reinforcements. I want The Ripper dead. ”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Altmann hung up and then dialed Dolf, who picked up on the first ring. Sometimes Altmann wondered if the albino ever slept.

  “This is Dolf.”

  “The Ripper just attacked us in Cochabamba.”

  “Inti?”

  “The Ripper didn’t get to him. But he killed four of our people and got away.”

  “I thought Fraulein Mueller was supposed to put a stop to that.”

  Altmann felt his anger stir again. “You just focus on the job at hand, and leave her to me. Tell my pilot I want him ready to fly in fifteen minutes. Round up two dozen men, and get them loaded on a couple more choppers and on their way to Cochabamba. I want you there too. We’re going to kill this son of a bitch before he manages to slip out of the area.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing. I told Renaldo to call Captain Lopez, but I want you to alert the police commanders in Santa Cruz and here in La Paz to set up roadblocks coming into town from Cochabamba. We don’t know what he’s driving, but I want every incoming vehicle checked just in case he manages to get out of Cochabamba.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Altmann ended the call and set the phone on his dresser. Without bothering to shower, he dressed rapidly, pausing only long enough to brush his shoulder-length hair and beard. He wanted to be presentable when he looked into Janet Mueller’s eyes and started asking her questions. And if her answers didn’t satisfy him, he might just let Dolf have her.

  CHAPTER 58

  The sun had just peeked over the horizon, but Janet’s head still hurt like hell. Although she’d slowed the flow to a dribble, her tissue-plugged nose hadn’t stopped bleeding. She was pissed off at Jack for coldcocking her with a flash-bang grenade. What the hell had he been thinking? She’d been managing the situation just fine up until then.

  Come to think of it, he’d had a wild look on his face when she’d encountered him in the basement. Janet had originally written it off as Jack being dazzled by the sudden brightness when she’d switched on the lights. But replaying it in her mind yielded something different. Although she wouldn’t have believed it, Jack had looked spooked.

  The sound of helicopters heading toward the compound got Janet moving toward the pair of twelve-foot-tall doors that formed the entry. The doors, with their decorative iron vines winding upward, stood closed, although their glass panes lay in shattered bits and pieces spread across the ti
le floor and out onto the front steps. Janet tugged the rightmost door open, feeling glass crunch beneath the leather soles of her black boots as she stepped outside.

  As she stepped into the driveway, the smallest of the three helicopters settled onto the helipad, buffeting her with its rotor wash. The other two helicopters landed just outside the compound’s main gate, spilling armed men as their wheels touched down. Beyond them, the flashing lights of parked police vehicles barred the road. The fact that no police had entered the compound, despite having arrived on the scene more than two hours ago, spoke volumes about the power and influence the neo-Nazi godfather wielded in certain parts of Bolivia.

  When Conrad Altmann exited his helicopter, clad in white cotton pants, navy button-down shirt, and an off-white blazer, he made his way directly toward Janet, anger flashing in his eyes. That was fine with her. She wasn’t in the mood to take any crap from this ass.

  When he reached her, his eyes took in her paper-plugged nose and bloodshot eyes. Then Altmann launched his verbal assault.

  “Didn’t you tell me you were going to kill The Ripper when he came for Inti?”

  “You weren’t listening. I told you that The Ripper would come for Inti and I needed to be here when he did. I was here and he failed. The fact that I didn’t kill him yet is irrelevant.”

  Janet saw Dolf step up beside his boss, towering over the older man.

  “Irrelevant!” Altmann sputtered. “He killed four of my men. Look at my goddamn house!”

  “Hire better men. As far as I could see, they’re the ones who put all the bullet holes in your beloved home. The Ripper’s flash bang just broke some windows. The other grenade just damaged your electrical shed and part of the outer fence.”

  Conrad Altmann leaned in until Janet could smell the spearmint chewing gum on his breath. “You want to tell me why he didn’t use a frag grenade on you instead of the flash bang?”