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"Not that it's of use to you, but I am Cyrus Samson."
"I can't say I'm pleased to see you again."
Sarason moved closer, peering over Pitt's shoulder at the interior of the helicopter. His face lost the gloating smile and twisted into tense concern. "You are alone? Where are the others?"
"What others?" Pitt asked innocently.
"Dr. Kelsey, Miles Rodgers, and your friend, Albert Giordino."
"Since you have the passenger list memorized, you tell me."
Please, Mr. Pitt, you would do well not to toy with me," Sarason warned him.
"They were hungry, so I dropped them off at a seafood restaurant in San Felipe."
"You're lying."
Pitt didn't take his gaze off Sarason to scan the decks of the ferry. Guns were trained on him. That was a certainty he knew without question. He stood his ground and faced Miller's killer as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"So sue me," Pitt retorted, and laughed.
"You're hardly in a position to be contemptuous," Sarason said coldly. "Perhaps you don't realize the seriousness of your situation."
"I think I do," said Pitt, still smiling. "You want Huascar's treasure, and you'd murder half the good citizens of Mexico to get it."
"Fortunately, that won't be necessary. I do admit, however, two-thirds of a billion dollars makes an enticing incentive."
"Aren't you interested in knowing how and why we were conducting our search at the same time as yours?" asked Pitt.
It was Sarason's turn to laugh. "After a little persuasion, Mr. Gunn and Congresswoman Smith were most cooperative in telling me about Drake's quipu."
"Not very smart, torturing a United States legislator and the deputy director of a national science agency."
"But effective, nonetheless."
"Where are my friends and the ferry's crew?"
"I wondered when you'd get around to that question."
"Do you want to work out a deal?" Pitt didn't miss the predator's eyes staring unblinkingly in an attempt to intimidate. He stared back piercingly. "Or do you want to strike up the music and dance?"
Sarason shook his head. "I see no reason why I should bargain. You have nothing to trade. You're obviously not a man I can trust. And I have all the chips. In short, Mr. Pitt, you have lost the game before you draw your cards."
"Then you can afford to be a magnanimous winner and produce my friends."
Sarason made a thoughtful shrug, raised his hand, and made a beckoning gesture. "The least I can do before I hang some heavy weights on you and drop you over the side."
Four burly dark-skinned men, who looked like bouncers hired from local cantinas, prodded the captives from the passageway with automatic rifles, and lined them up on the deck behind Sarason.
Gordo Padilla came first, followed by Jesus, Gato, and the assistant engineer whose name Pitt could not recall ever hearing. The bruises and dried blood on their faces showed that they had been knocked around but were not hurt seriously. Gunn had not gotten off so lightly. He had to be half dragged from the passageway. He had been badly beaten, and Pitt could see the blotches of blood on his shirt and the crude rags wrapped around his hands. Then Loren was standing there, her face drawn and her lips and cheeks swollen and puffed up as though stung by bees. Her hair was disheveled and purplish bruises showed on her arms and legs. Yet she still held her head proudly and shook off the guards' hands as they roughly pushed her forward. Her expression was one of defiance until she saw Pitt standing there. Then it turned to cruel disappointment, and she moaned in despair.
"Oh, no, Dirk!" she exclaimed. "They've got you too."
Gunn painfully raised his head and muttered through lips that were split and bleeding. "I tried to warn you, but. . ." His voice went too soft to be understood.
Sarason smiled, unfeeling. "I think what Mr. Gunn means to say is that he and your crew were overpowered by my men after they kindly allowed us to board your ferry from a chartered fishing boat after begging to borrow your radio."
Pitt's anger came within a millimeter of driving him to inflict pain on those who had br
