Barely an hour had passed since sunup yet the oppressive heat was already making Brand sweat. He wished it was still raining. Since the downpour had stopped the heat had returned, drying their clothing and sucking the moisture from their bodies. He trailed behind Richard Hunt’s erect figure, envious of the Britisher’s almost casual disregard of the overpowering climate, but determined not to let his own discomfort show. To himself he admitted an obsessive longing to lie down and say to hell with it all. Not that he ever would. Brand was no different to anyone else. He had his weaknesses, his fears, but he kept them to himself and made a show of outer toughness. He often wondered why. Vanity? A need to prove himself against an uncompromising world? Or simply the camouflage required to enable a man to survive? The answer, whatever it was, never revealed itself too clearly. Hunt glanced over his shoulder, a smile showing through the grime of his face.
‘There she is, Jason,’ he said.
Following the Britisher’s raised hand Brand caught sight of water glinting in the bright sunlight. Hunt had been right about the river. He’d been right about the distance too.
‘How far before we reach that road?’
Brand still had the nagging feeling the longer they wasted out here, the more certain he felt Kwo Han was going to get away. He believed now that somewhere not too far away the Chinese was preparing to move his gold.
‘Two, maybe three hours,’ Hunt answered.
‘Any chance we might be able to pick up a boat? Something to get us downstream quicker.’
Hunt didn’t answer straightaway. Pushing through the foliage along the bank of the river he stood at the water’s edge, looking first up and then downstream. He turned as Brand joined him.
‘I wanted to make sure just where we are,’ he said. ‘If I’m not mistaken there’s a small village about half a mile upstream. I daresay we could borrow a boat there.’
They moved off again, conscious all the time that somewhere behind them were Kwo Han’s men. Since the gunfight in the swamp they hadn’t had any more contact with the men chasing them. But they had heard them during the hours of darkness. Still following, though at a discreet distance now. When daylight had come Kwo Han’s men had fallen even further back, not wanting to reveal themselves to the accurate fire of the two they were following. Their pursuers’ caution had given Brand and Hunt a strong lead. They didn’t however fall into the trap of becoming complacent. Both of them knew that Han’s men were still on their trail, and they knew the penalties for over-confidence.
During the odd times they had rested during the night Brand had learned the facts concerning Hunt’s capture by Kwo Han. The Britisher had done nothing to conceal the fact he’d made a bad mistake in letting himself walk in to the trap set by the Tong Master. Kwo Han had made it clear to him that Hunt’s life meant nothing. He only required Hunt for the information he could impart. The Chinese, though he hadn’t said it in so many words, had been obviously worried over his position in Yucatan. He needed to know how much Hunt was aware of, and to whom he had given his information. Hunt had maintained a steadfast silence. It had cost him a deal of discomfort, but staying silent and listening had furnished Hunt with enough facts to be able to realise his guess had been right. Kwo Han was contemplating a merger with an American criminal group. The gold was to be used as finance. Hunt had learned also, from a boasting Dwyer, that Harvey Ruger had been killed, leaving the way open to a fifty-fifty partnership.
The more Brand thought about it the more certain he became of the way Kwo Han’s mind would be working. The Chinese, an old hand at survival, lived by his wits, his ability to keep one step ahead of trouble. He would have made his decision by now, based on the facts that both Brand and Hunt were free, capable of using the knowledge they had to harm him. Mexico’s previous availability as a refuge had come to an end, and Kwo Han’s very nature would prompt him to undertake swift action.
Hunt’s low voice, taut with concern, broke through Brand’s deliberations. He caught the Britisher’s gesture for silence, and looked beyond Hunt’s shoulder. Coming through the tangled mass of foliage and trees ahead of them was a band of mounted men. Brand swore softly, snatching the Colt from his belt.
Damn, did it never end?
How many more had Kwo Han sent after them?
But then he heard Hunt laugh. He glanced at the Britisher and saw the man’s grin. For a fleeting moment be wondered if the man had gone crazy.
‘It’s Rumboy,’ Hunt said. ‘Damned if he hasn’t brought half the Rurales force with him, too.’
Brand watched the riders approach, feeling tension drain out of his body. He let the Colt sag towards the ground. Hunt had been right. The riders were Rurales, and Major Ruiz was at their head.
‘Hey, Captain. Mr. Brand.’ Rumboy’s dark face split in a wide smile. He slid from his horse, coming to meet them. ‘I sure hope you don’t do things like this very often. All the time I been thinking we goin’ find you dead.’
‘We’re all right,’ Hunt told him. ‘Listen, Rumboy, we haven’t got time to waste. What word have you got on Kwo Han?’
‘He’s running, boss. Mr. Brand’s fire done burned him out.’
‘You know where he’s gone?’ Brand asked.
Rumboy nodded. ‘He left pretty good tracks. That wagon he took with him is leaving marks a blind man could follow.’
‘You were right, Jason. He’s taking the gold with him,’ Hunt said. ‘And he won’t be able to move too fast. The ground will still be pretty soft after all that rain.’
‘Where do you think he’s making for?’ Brand asked.
‘I reckon Bay of Caves,’ Rumboy told him. ‘Nearest place for a big ship to come in close.’
‘Same place I came ashore,’ Brand said. ‘Angel told me Bay of Caves.’
Hunt nodded. ‘It’s a likely place. Deep water and sheltered. Han’s ship could get in and out without trouble.’
‘He’s got plenty of riders with him,’ Rumboy said.
‘It appears our Chinese friend has hired himself some help,’ Hunt said. ‘He had a bunch of Mexican guns with him at the big house.’
‘You are sure?’ Ruiz asked.
‘That’s right, Major,’ Brand said. ‘There were Mexicans in the party chasing us through the night.’
‘They are nothing but scavengers,’ Ruiz said. ‘Look at Cruz and you see them all. They swagger around believing they are old time banditos. They are nothing. Toss them a few pesos and they would slit the throats of their own mothers. If they had mothers.’
‘Major Ruiz, I get the feeling you would be happy to get rid of them.’
‘Agua Verde does not need these dogs. My predecessors did little to solve the problem, but I cannot stand around and let them plague us. They are like flies around a jar of honey.’ Ruiz suddenly smiled. ‘This could be the opportunity I have been waiting for. To catch them in a criminal act. It would give me the freedom to engage them and rid our town of their presence.’
‘You’re welcome to ride with us,’ Brand said. ‘We’d be grateful for your assistance.’
‘Better a dozen than just three,’ Hunt pointed out.
Ruiz nodded. ‘You have convinced me.’ He called over his shoulder. ‘Sergeant, bring up those extra horses. Then have the men ready to ride at my command.’
A pair of saddled horses were led to where Brand and Hunt waited. They hauled themselves into the saddles. Brand felt more comfortable sitting the wide Mexican rig.
Major Ruiz told them that he and his men still had work to do at Han’s former home, rounding up the people who had been working for him. It appeared that Cruz had been doing a lot of talking, implicating Han in illegal activities in and around Agua Verde.
‘Nothing like someone wanting to save his own skin,’ Brand said.
Rumboy grinned.
‘I think it might be to do with him having been half scared out of his wits by Mr. Brand.’
The Rurales Major directed a section of his troop to ride for the house and carry out the task, then turned back to Brand.
‘Now we are ready.’
‘Rumboy, let’s ride,’ Brand called.
Rumboy nodded and wheeled his own horse around and led the group across country. They pushed their horses hard, forcing a gruelling pace. It went against Brand’s grain to misuse a horse, but he was driven by an almost desperate need to reach Kwo Han before the man had time to escape. The realisation crossed his mind that he had yet to come face-to-face with the Chinese. Kwo Han was just a name to him for the present. A mysterious figure lurking in the shadows handing out his instructions. Brand found he was becoming curious. He wanted to see what this man looked like. He found that he was cold as far as emotions went concerning Kwo Han. The man had proved himself to be totally ruthless...an unfeeling, calculating man who could order another’s death without concern. He had done his best to have Brand killed. Now, maybe, the boot was on the other foot.
The landscape had taken on a fresh look following the storm, the green foliage interspersed with bright flowers and the whole radiating a lush aura.
An hour before noon they sighted the coast. Soon after Rumboy pointed out the wagon tracks in the still soft earth. They could also see the hoof prints from a number of horses that accompanied the loaded wagon. The riders rode in a tight formation, protecting the wagon.
‘Bay of Caves just along here,’ Rumboy said. He took them in amongst the trees bordering the shoreline and they dismounted. Ruiz ordered his men to do the same. Rumboy led them to where the greenery gave way to the steep slope leading down to the white beaches surrounding the wide, circular bay. They were able to see the whole of the Bay of Caves. It was a good half-mile across. A sheltered lagoon circled by a rim of white sand and a wall of weathered rock dotted by countless caves. Beyond the rock the greenery took over, trees and foliage spreading back on to, the mainland. Close in to the shore The Gulf Queen rode at anchor.
And two long rowing boats were pulled up to the beach. Both were heavily laden with wooden cases taken from a wagon standing near the water. A group of armed Mexicans clustered around the wagon.
‘There they are, boss,’ Rumboy said. ‘All we got to do is stop them.’
Brand eased himself into a comfortable position against a tree trunk. ‘Which one is Kwo Han?’ he asked.
Hunt leaned forward, studying the figures crowded around the wagon and boats. ‘The one in the brown suit. That’s your big bad Chinaman.’
‘This time he doesn’t walk away,’ Brand said. ‘He’s caused enough death and misery to get his hands on that gold. It’ll be my pleasure to take it away from him.’
‘I will take my men and we will come around from the other side,’ Major Ruiz said.
‘Go ahead,’ Brand said. ‘We’ll give you a few minutes to get into position.’ As Ruiz turned to go Brand called, ‘Good luck.’
Ruiz nodded. ‘And you.’
Brand watched as the Rurales led their horses back into the trees, waiting until they were some distance away before mounting up. The Rurales eased into the heavy thickets and timber, disappearing from sight.
‘I hate this,’ Hunt remarked, then added, ‘Waiting, I mean.’
‘We won’t be doing it for long,’ Brand said, spinning the Colt’s cylinder to check it.
They allowed a few more minutes until Rumboy nudged Brand’s arm.
There had been a sudden flurry of movement near the boats. Brand realised that they were being pushed away from the beach. He stood up, shrugging out of the jacket he was wearing, making certain he took the extra .45 bullets and dropped them in his pants pocket.
‘You feel up to some exercise?’ he asked Hunt.
The Britisher’s bruised, unshaven face grinned at him. ‘I do believe, Mr. Brand, that you intend to cause discord and altercation amongst our brothers.’
‘If I knew what you meant I’d probably agree.’
Rumboy shook his head. ‘I ain’t sure I know what either of you is talkin’ about, but whatever we goin’ to do, how we goin’ to do it?’
Brand didn’t answer. He simply moved off along the tree line, keeping in the shadows where the sandy beach gave way to the greenery of the foliage. Hunt followed him and Rumboy brought up the rear.
They had only gone about thirty feet when, without warning, a Mexican carrying a rifle stepped out of the shade of a thick palm tree. He was no more than a few feet ahead of Brand, and there was no hope of avoiding being seen. Brand carried on moving forward, and as the Mexican started to glance in his direction Brand lifted his right arm, then brought it down in a brutal chopping movement. The barrel of the Colt caught the man just behind the left ear, dropping him instantly. But as he fell the Mexican jerked the trigger of his rifle and it went off with a blast of sound.
‘Damn,’ Brand said bitterly.
The figures by the wagon all turned towards the source of the shot. One of the Mexicans opened up with a rifle. Bullets peppered the sand around Brand. He pressed in close to the rough trunk of the palm, snatching up the rifle dropped by the unconscious Mexican. He put it to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. His first bullet ripped a long sliver of wood from the top board of the wagon side. The figures near the wagon scattered, a ragged volley of shots coming from their guns.
‘Spread out,’ Brand yelled. He lunged forward, seeking the cover of a boulder half buried in the beach, bullets chewing up angry gouts of sand close to his body. He hit the hot sand, hugging the curve of the boulder, wincing as he heard the high, vicious whine of bullets striking the rock. Dragging himself to one end of the boulder Brand poked the rifle into view. He spotted a slim figure racing along the beach towards his hiding place – this time one of Han’s Chinese. Brand fired twice, putting the bullets close together in the chest of the yelling Chinese. The man was knocked off his feet, his body arching in pain as he struck the ground.
There was no time to see how Hunt or Rumboy were faring. There was no time for anything but trying to stay alive. Firing and firing again, Brand kept glancing out to where the two rowing boats were moving slowly towards the waiting ship. He thought of the gold on those boats, and all the misery and suffering it had caused. Too many people had died because of it to allow it to vanish again. He turned his attention back to the wagon. Two more of Kwo Han’s Mexicans were down. Even as he looked another fell back, blood squirting from a wound in his throat.
From the wagon came a heavy burst of fire. Brand drew back into the shelter of his boulder, bullets striking the hard rock. Stinging chips of stone peppered his face. He rolled to the other end of the boulder, peering round the edge. Three Chinese were coming along the beach. They were moving fast, in a zigzag pattern that presented a difficult target. Brand saw movement off to his right. He saw Richard Hunt, up on one knee, his revolver gripped in both bands, taking steady aim. The Britisher ignored the bullets coming his way. He held his ground for long seconds before he fired. His single shot took one of the running Chinese in the head, the impact of the heavy bullet seeming to tear the man’s skull wide open.
While the Chinese was still falling Brand dropped a second man with a bullet through the leg. The Chinese fell heavily, his body twisting in pain, but still tried to use his rifle. Brand shot him again and the man became still. The remaining Chinese reached Brand’s boulder before he was stopped, bullets from both Hunt and Rumboy ripping into his body.
And then Ruiz and his band of Rurales came galloping into view, pushing their horses hard and firing as they came. The Mexican bandits turned to engage them and the beach area erupted with the harsh crackle of gunfire. Men and horses were screaming as bullets found their mark. There was no distinction in the thick of battle. Bullets carried no conscience when it came to inflicting damage.
The violent exchange of fire, the swirl of powder smoke, the reek of death was a frantic panorama for everyone involved. It was not a place for the fainthearted. The lack of compromise was absolute. Each man, from whichever side he came, struggled to the same end. His own survival and the death of the enemy. In that frame of mind there was no room for good intentions, or staying the hand, or voicing concern over the other. Blood for blood, bullet for bullet, the opposing sides waged their isolated little engagement until the final bullets were fired and the churned sand was dappled with spilled blood and the wretched bodies of the dead. Although the main victory went to Ruiz and his Rurales, his force was not without loss. Two men were down and would not be standing again. Three more were wounded. Kwo Han’s own Chinese and his mercenary Mexicans were all dead, scattered around the wagon they had been defending.
As the firing came to an end it became very quiet. Brand tossed aside the empty rifle and took out his Colt. He stood up slowly, his eyes on the empty wagon. He could see only one figure behind it now. A broad, erect shape. Bareheaded and wearing a brown suit.
Kwo Han.
Brand approached the wagon. He sensed Hunt and Rumboy just beyond him. The sun was warm against his body and he could feel the heat from the sand burning through the soles of his boots.
Kwo Han’s figure stepped out from behind the wagon. Brand tensed, his finger easing back against the Colt’s trigger. But Kwo Han was not even looking at him. The Chinese had turned to face the water. His words when he spoke rang clearly out across the placid surface of the bay. Brand couldn’t understand the language but he was made quickly aware of the meaning.
The two Chinese in each of the rowing boats rose to their feet, abandoning their oars. They began to rock the heavily laden boats from side to side. Water spilled over the sides.
‘What the hell,’ Brand yelled.
‘They’re sinking them, boss,’ Rumboy said. ‘Capsizin’ the boats.’
The first boat tipped to one side as the heavy cases of gold shifted. The two Chinese dived clear and began to swim out towards The Gulf Queen. Already the clipper had begun to raise its anchor. The calm water of the bay foamed as the dead weight of the cases slid from the overturned boat. They sank immediately. The second rowing boat sank stern first as water surged in, the weight of the cases dragging it beneath the surface.
Rumboy sighed. ‘Hell, boss, it’s gone.’
‘What do you mean?’ Brand demanded.
‘Ain’t nobody goin’ to get that gold now, boss. Too damn deep here. I talked to people about this place. This bay, she go down twenty, maybe thirty fathoms most places I heard. Bottom, ahh, she full of big holes. Ain’t nobody been able to find out how far down.’
Jason Brand stared at the blue water of the bay. Already the disturbance had vanished, the foaming water settling, leaving the surface as placid as it had been before. He felt a momentary anger at the loss of the gold, but it faded just as quickly. There was nothing he could do about it. If McCord wanted his gold he was going to have to come and get it himself. It was ironic. The gold had been lost at the start of his assignment and now it was lost again. For all the good it had achieved it might as well have stayed where it had been back in New Mexico. If it had a number of people might still be alive. The Confederate gold had cost a great deal in human suffering and spilt blood.
Had it been worth it, he wondered?
‘Well, old chum, at least we put a stop to Han’s empire of crime,’ Hunt said. ‘Once we get him behind bars the rest of his organisation will fall apart. That should keep both our governments happy.’
Brand drew his attention back to the waiting figure of Kwo Han. The Chinese returned his stare with stony indifference. It seemed strange to be finally face to face with the man who had engineered this whole episode. Brand could see why Kwo Han’s employees had been so fiercely loyal. The Chinese made an impressive figure, silent and still as he was. It was easy to see why he’d been able to instil such fear in those who worked for him.
‘I congratulate you, Brand,’ Kwo Han said in perfect English. ‘Now I can see why you have survived for so long. It is unfortunate that we are on opposite sides. If you had been working for me and not against me there would have been a different outcome.’
‘Yeah? You’ll have plenty of time to think about that,’ Brand said. He gestured with the barrel of his Colt. ‘Move.’
Kwo Han hesitated for a fraction of a second. When he did move it was with a terrible speed and a deadly purpose. He took a short step to one side. His right hand slipped inside the open jacket of his suit, and when he withdrew his hand it was grasping the handle of a small hatchet. Kwo Han moved with the agility he had always possessed, and though it had been many years since he had practised the art he found he had lost none of his skills.
Only Brand’s acute reflexes warned him of Kwo Han’s attack. Even so he was slow in putting up any kind of defense. In the split-second left to him he pulled his body away from the downward slash of the gleaming blade, believing he had avoided it. Dimly he heard Richard Hunt’s warning yell. By this time he was bringing up his Colt, lining it up on the angry face before him and jerking back on the trigger. His mind was full of the horror conjured up by the sight of that glinting blade, its keen edge already so close. The reflection of the blade against the bright sun hurt his eyes and he saw images flash into view.
Bare sandy beaches and blue water. Green foliage and the rich red of blood. There was a stunning roar of sound – his Colt going off. Kwo Han’s face disintegrating into a bloody mask. And then Brand felt a stunning blow to his skull as the back haft of the hatchet slammed against his skull. Pain exploded inside his head and there was pain so acute it numbed him. He opened his mouth to yell but nothing came out. He knew he was falling. It didn’t seem to stop. He sank into a silent, dark void…and after a while he found it wasn’t so bad after all…he gave up resisting and let the darkness claim him…he didn’t care…it didn’t seem important any more…