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ell us that the treasure was carried to a coastal port and loaded on a great number of ships. The voyage north lasted a total of eighty-six days. The final twelve days were spent sailing across an inland sea until they came to a small island with high, steep walls that rose out of the water like a great stone temple. There, the Incas beached their ships, unloaded the treasure and carried it down a passageway to a cavern deep inside the island. At this point, however you interpret it, the glyphs claim the gold hoard was stashed beside the banks of a river."
Oxley unrolled a map of the Western Hemisphere and traced the sea route from Peru past Central America and along the Pacific coast of Mexico. "The inland sea must be the Gulf of California."
"Better known as the Sea of Cortez," added Moore.
Sarason also studied the map. "I agree. From the tip of Baja to Peru it's all open water."
"What about islands?" asked Zolar.
"At least two dozen, maybe more," replied Oxley.
"It would take years to search them all."
Sarason picked up and read the final page of the Moores' translation of the glyphs. Then he stared coldly at Henry Moore. "You're holding out, my friend. The images on the golden suit have to give exact guidelines to finding the treasure. No map worth the paper it's printed on stops short of pinning down the final step-by-step instructions."
Zolar carefully examined Moore's expression. "Is this true, Doctor, that you and your wife have not provided us with a full solution to the riddle?"
"Micki and I have decoded all there is to decode. There is no more."
"You're lying," said Zolar evenly.
"Of course he's lying," Sarason snapped. "Any moron can see that he and his wife have held back the vital clues."
"Not a sound course, Doctor. You and Mrs. Moon would be wise to abide by our agreement."
Moore shrugged. "I'm not such a fool as you think," he said. "The fact that you still refuse to identify your selves tells me the three of you don't have the slightest intention of carrying out our bargain. What guarantee do I have that you'll hold up your end? Nobody, not even our friends and relatives, knows where we were taken. Bringing us here wearing blindfolds and holding us virtual prisoners is nothing less than abduction. What were you going to do once the full instructions for finding Huascar's treasure were in your hands? Blindfold us again and fly us home? I don't think so. My guess is Micki and I were going to quietly disappear and become a folder in a missing persons file. You tell me, am I wrong?"
If Moore wasn't such an intelligent man, Zolar would have laughed. But the anthropologist had seen through their plan and called their hand. "All right, Doctor, what will it take for you to release the data?"
"Fifty percent of the trove when we find it."
That pushed Sarason over the edge. "The bastard, he's holding us up." He walked over to Moore, lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall. "So much for your demands," he shouted. "We're not taking any more of your crap. Tell us what we want to know or I'll beat it out of you. And believe you me, I'd take great joy in seeing you bleed."
Micki Moore stood there, as calm as if she was standing over a stove in a kitchen. Her uncanny coolness did not seem logical to Zolar. Any other wife would have demonstrated fear at a violent threat toward her husband.
Incredibly, Moore smiled. "Do it! Break my legs, kill me. And you'll never find Huascar's golden chain in a thousand years."
"He's right, you know," said Zolar, quietly gazing at Micki.
"When I'm finished with him, he won't be fit for dog food," Sarason said as he pulled back his fist.
"Hold on!" Oxley's voice stopped him. "For efficiency's sake, better that you take your wrath out on Mrs. Moore. No man enjoys watching his wife ravished."
Slowly, Sarason let Moore down and turned to Micki, his face taking on the expression of a pillaging Hun. "Persuading Mrs. Moore to cooperate will be a pleasure."
"You're wasting your time," said Moore. "I did not allow my wife to work on the final translation with me. She has no idea of the key to the treasure's location."
"The hell you say?"
"He's telling the truth," Micki said, unruffled. "Henry wouldn't allow me to see the end results."
"We're still left with a winning hand," said Sarason coldly.
"Understood," said Oxley. "You work over Mrs. Moore as proposed until he cooperates,"
"Either way, we get answers."
Zolar stared at Moore. "Well, Doctor, it's your call."
