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The truck's headlights illuminated the rise and fall of the land alongside the road where it cut through the fingers of land and over the gullies between. To the right, Gator caught the occasional flash of the water. While the larger lagoon reached inland north of them, touching the location of Guererro Negro, down here, a smaller lagoon stuck into the peninsula, with a few other salty ponds he glimpsed between the dunes and crags.
"Got it!" Monty's hand thrust forward as the edge of a painted panel came into view.
Gator slowed and swerved inland. Something, or someone, thumped the side wall behind him, and Monty shot him a look.
"What?" Gator said.
"Be a bummer if she dies by accident and Rowe stops cooperating."
"Assuming he even is."
"You seemed pretty confident of that."
Gator shrugged. "If he's not, we still get the bounty."
"Heh. Mutiny on the bounty, isn't that some pirate shit?" Smitty asked.
"British colonial shit, I think," said Monty.
"Even better." Gator turned his attention to the world outside.
The broad entrance of one gully flattened into a bowl between spits of land maybe fifteen or twenty feet high. One of these sheared away to leave a smooth, rusty-colored section of the sort the natives preferred for their artwork. In this case, a few arrays of jagged lines and vaguely human shapes accompanied the turtle both the old woman and Rowe had mentioned. Must be a sign of the turtle that guide mentioned way back on the boat. They'd come to the right place, and no sign of Rowe. He was probably hoofing it along the gully.
"Monty, you're with me. Smitty and Flick, keep an eye on our cargo." He checked his sidearm and spare mags, then reached back, and Flick placed a rifle in his hand, offering another to Monty. "If Rowe shows up, you can take him, but gently, right? Still want the gold if we can get it." He flashed a grin to his comrades. "And I believe we can."
"Yes, sir," Smitty said.
"Obvious presence?" Flick inquired, moving to the front seat as Monty and Gator climbed out.
"Yep. He knows we'll be here, no need to hide the fact—or the fact we came armed for bear." Gator displayed his rifle. Felt good to have the weapon back in hand, a comforting weight, a chilling power. From what he'd seen of Rowe so far, the man was brave to a point, but pretty inexperienced around fighting men. Hardly took this kind of advanced weaponry to intimidate him, but Gator was fine with overkill.
"Take point," Gator ordered, and Monty obeyed, the pair of them moving briskly past the headlights into the darkness. They moved efficiently—not rushing in unfamiliar territory like this. When they had a chance, one of them might split and follow the rise, but no access readily presented. "Keep an eye out for a route up to either side."
"Copy that."
Each man had a tactical light, neither one employed it. As Gator's eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the headlights, he found the starlight to be adequate for seeing cactus, rocks and outcrops. A few animals skittered away at their approach, nothing much bigger than a chipmunk. Bats wove in the sky overhead. He spotted eyes that might be a fox, but they vanished almost immediately.
After a couple of miles, Gator started to hear other noises. He gave a soft whistle, and Monty, a few paces ahead, paused, then looked back, tapping his ear.
Gator nodded. Sounded like a voice, still low or distant. He flicked his hand in the go gesture, and they picked up the pace. Apparently, Rowe remained at camp. Might as well surprise and capture. The sound came over the wall to their left, and a pathway wound between rocks and down the slope to that side. Monty sprinted upward, then hunkered down at the top. He peered into the neighboring gully, then waved Gator up beside him.
A dry riverbed curled along an overhang, complete with a few big trees, and stone walls forming something like a house against the cliff. A heavy curtain covered the front of one cove, with a bit of light peeking around the edge, and a distinctive British voice droning from within. "...oh, and Tesanee, be sure that you check the light levels on those new videos. I'm concerned we'll need to equalize them given the time shifts between the two reels. Also—"
Sounded like he was leaving instructions for somebody. Perfect. Gator gestured toward the camp, and pointed to Monty. He mimed grabbing the curtain and pulling it open, then pointed to himself and lowered his weapon to the ready position. Monty gave a nod, and both men hustled down the slope, silent.
They raced to the front of the makeshift dwelling, and Monty prepped his hand over a fold of cloth, waiting for Gator's signal. At the nod, Monty snatched the curtain and swept it back while Gator leveled his gun, shouting, "Hands up!" then, "Shit!"
A wave of wings swept toward him, wildly fluttering. Swooping shadows rushed his face and Gator stumbled back, sweeping his weapon before him as moths and bats slapped into him.
With a snarl of fury, he pivoted to the entrance and opened fire.