THE HILLS FORMED A U-SHAPED enclosure around their highland ledge. Harry and the ladies rested on a shelf that jutted out from about two-thirds up the peak. A narrow lip of rock extended from the wall across from where they had just entered, sweeping around the rim. Harry studied the way ahead, trying to hide his impatient two-step. Emma passed Storm the water bottle and said to Harry, “Oh, go ahead before you explode.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Storm watched him almost skip across the ledge, round the corner, and disappear. “How does he do it?”
“I doubt he even saw the drop.”
Harry came swinging back around the bend. “There’s no cave.”
Storm cried, “Are you kidding me?”
“Calm down.”
“We came up here for nothing?” Storm reached toward Emma. “Pass me your gun.”
“We came here for a lot. Ease up a notch and come give me a hand.”
But Storm was not really done until her stomping fit carried her too close to the edge and she stared straight down. “Oooh.”
Harry was instantly there, gripping her arm. “Steady. We’re almost there.”
“I never knew I hated heights until right now.”
“It’s not far.” He led her back to the wall and retied the rope around both the ladies. “Grab the rocks. Eyes on the wall. One step at a time.”
There were actually two outcroppings, both about eight inches wide. One at chin height, the other Emma did not dare to look down at. They rounded the rim, one baby step at a time. Then, “This is it.”
This time, Harry did not let either lady go down. They stood upon a second ledge, this one oval and eight feet wide. He guided them to the verge and faced them almost directly west. “Take a good look.”
Beside Emma, Storm moaned.
“This is important. Okay. There’s the military base, the flags, the front gates, the statue. Follow the cliffs around, see where the trees thicken, there’s the monastery.”
Emma thought her gut was completely numb from what she’d just been through. But looking out and down was good for another wingless swoop. She swallowed hard and made herself focus. The monastery was a tiny square of pebbles, set in a postage stamp of green. “I see it.”
“So do I.” Storm walked back to stand in front of the rock face. “But there’s no cave.”
“No.”
“So this must be the wrong place.”
“This is it. The dark indentation over your head there was what I saw from below.” He pointed at the cliff face above them. “I’ve been aiming for this point where it splits like a zipper coming open. Which is right here.”
“But there’s just an empty ledge!”
Harry walked back to the edge and dropped to his knees. “It’s got to be here somewhere.”
“What?”
“We’ll know when we find it. Start looking.”
Storm and Emma exchanged a look. Emma said, “Don’t ask me.”
Harry started brushing the earth. When he had exposed one segment of rock, he moved over a fraction and started again. “Look around and tell me what you see.”
“Mountains.”
“Mountains and caves. Hundreds of caves.”
Emma had been so spooked by the climb she’d missed that entirely. But Harry was right. The surrounding mountains were riddled with caves. Like a hive of giant rock-eating worms had spent centuries going to town. “So?”
“So how come we’re directed to the only place in sight with no cave?” Harry slid over another fraction. “Storm, take the rock face. Emma, start on the floor over by where we just came in. Work your way toward me.” He scrambled in his pack, came up with a T-shirt, handed it to Emma. “Protect your hands.”
Vines grew up the left side of the cliff, emerging from a crack where the ledge met the face. Storm pulled a sweatshirt from her pack, tucked her hands in the sleeves, and started clearing the rock.
Emma said, “Tell me what we’re looking for.”
“Something unnatural. Something man-made.” Harry brushed clear another area, the clean bit covering maybe a couple of square yards now. The dirt formed too thin a covering to permit much in the way of weeds or grass. Harry’s hands worked in a steady sweeping motion, hurried yet gentle. Like he’d done this a thousand times before. Emma knelt where they had arrived and began.
There was a skill to this work, along with dogged determination. She mimicked Harry’s actions. Sweeping, blowing, inspecting, moving, doing it all again.
“Hang on a second.”
Both ladies turned around.
Harry started working at a feverish pace. Muttering between blows over the dust, “Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy.”
Harry blew and rushed and blew. Then stopped and leaned back. “This is better than Christmas.”
A crude fish symbol was carved into the rock face. The head pointed out over the cliffs.
Harry said, “I saw a smaller version of this cut into the chapel’s window frame. It was pointed directly at this ledge.”
Emma said, “And you’re telling us about this now?”
He traced a finger around it, as though making sure it was real. “I wasn’t certain that it meant anything until this moment.”
Storm said, “So it’s a sign. Find this and…What?”
Harry’s finger slipped into a shallow indentation at the tail. He bent over, blew, inspected it, and asked, “Can I have your pen?”
Emma did not realize her hands were shaking until she had trouble unzipping the pack’s side pouch.
“Thanks.” Harry fitted the pen into the hole and used it to swab out more dirt. He ran his finger out in a straight line, beyond the head of the fish, hunting. And stopped. He leaned forward and began clearing a second hole. “Do you have a second pen?”
“No.”
Storm stepped away and came back with a straight section of vine. “Will this do?”
“Great.” The branch was thicker than the hole, so Harry had to jam it in. He lay down prone on the earth and leveled the pen with one hand, the vine with the other.
He crawled back. Motioned to the ladies. “Tell me what you see.”
Storm said, “You first.”
Emma also lay prone and lined up the two implements like oversized rifle sights. “Oh, wow.”
Out in the lavender distance, where the afternoon sunlight joined the sea with the cliffs and the cliffs with the sky, rose the rocky islands they had seen from their seaside campsite. In the middle of the closest cluster rose a conical peak, almost like a minivolcano.
The sights pointed straight at the peak.
THEY RACED THE DWINDLING LIGHT back down the hill. Harry did not push them to move faster only because both women were on the verge of dropping. Returning over the precipice went marginally better than the ascent, but not much. Fear as much as fatigue kept the ladies stumbling and their lungs gasping for their next high-altitude breath. So Harry kept the pace easier than he wanted and murmured things not even he heard very clearly.
They lit the final segment of path by flashlight. When they reached the Suzuki 4WD, Harry pretended not to see how they dribbled water down their fronts, trying to gasp and drink at the same time. He fed them the last two energy bars and loaded their gear and resisted the urge to do a wild highland jig around the car.
The car remained utterly silent on the ride back to the cottage. It was a risk returning there. But the only other places open to them this time of night would be hotels, and going there would heighten the threat of being located by the growing number of wrong people. When they parked in front of the cottage, Harry started to run through the hundred things that needed saying and doing before the next dawn. But he watched them drag their packs along the walk, their shoulders slumped, and knew he was just going to have to wait. He followed them inside and entered the kitchen.
Storm lay on the living room floor, spread-eagle. She moaned with the pure pleasure of not needing to go anywhere, at least for a few moments. Emma asked, “First bath?”
Storm used one finger to wave her forward.
The cottage was filled with the sound of a ringing phone.
Emma called from the back, “That’s yours, Storm.”
She groaned, rolled over, fished the phone from her pack, said, “What.”
Storm listened a minute, then snapped the phone shut and sent it skittering across the floor. “Talk about hitting a girl when she’s down.”
Emma reappeared in the bedroom door. “Who was it?”
“Boucaud.”
Harry froze in the process of chopping vegetables.
Emma said, “And?”
“Noon tomorrow. Saint Hilarion’s castle.”
Harry resisted the urge to stab his knife through the counter and shout his frustration at the night. He stood staring down at the pair of clenched fists. Just one thing after another, the whole world trying to stand between him and his treasure.
His treasure.
Storm made it to her feet and staggered over. She leaned in the kitchen door. Emma closed in behind her. “What do we do?”
Harry did not look up. “We’ll do this thing. Then go for the treasure.”
He tried to tell himself he had no choice in the matter. But his gut was screaming otherwise.