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Antonio stared at her, confused, and then he shook his head and cursed in Spanish. “No. Why on earth . . . ?”
Maribela shrugged. “Shut up, Antonio. This is for the best. We have the photographs. The actual emerald isn’t going to do us any good—it’s not like we’re going to get a bonus for locating it. You yourself said that the treasure of the Toltecs was their history. We’ll still have that.”
Sam shook his head. “What kind of woman are you? Men died because of . . . what, greed? How much is he paying you? How much does it cost to betray everything you’ve worked for? I’m curious.”
Janus waved his statement off. “That’s none of your concern. Though I can’t deny that the lovely Maribela will be handsomely rewarded for her efforts. Now, go. We don’t have much time.”
Antonio looked devastated. “Maribela . . .”
“Let it go, Antonio. Trust me on this. In a week, we’ll be able to fund our own explorations and not have to beg for coins from the government. You may be fine living like this but I’m not,” Maribela said scornfully, and then pointed to the opening in the floor. “Come on, Reginald. I’ll show you the way.”
“Wait. I am going with you,” Guerrero snarled in heavily accented English.
“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Janus said. “You’re rather more in need up here, I should think.”
“I am going,” Guerrero insisted, eyeing Reginald distrustfully.
“Ah, well, then, I see. But who will take care of this lot in your absence?” Janus asked, his civilized demeanor cracking, if only momentarily.
Guerrero walked over to where he’d kicked the guard’s Beretta pistol and scooped it up, then handed it to Janus, who held it like it was a live snake.
“You can. I’ll be back. When I am, I’ll finish the job for you,” Guerrero said with an ugly smirk. He called outside and a gunman holding an assault rifle filled the temple doorway. “Come in and watch these two,” he ordered in Spanish. The gunman moved inside.
Guerrero turned to Maribela and switched to English. “Lead the way. Your boyfriend’s right about one thing—we need to hurry. It won’t be long before the security force from the plant gets here, and we don’t want to have to shoot it out with a squad of soldiers.”
Maribela stepped down into the gap. Reginald descended the stairs behind her, his pistol in his belt, a look of false bravado on his face as his eyes nervously tracked the tunnel ceiling.
“Don’t worry. It’s held up for a thousand years. It should be safe for five more minutes,” Maribela said.
“I’m not worried. I just don’t much care for confined spaces,” he said, his voice cracking on the final words.
“Many people don’t.”
They made their way to the cave, where the work light was still illuminated, and approached the emerald.
“Bloody hell. That’s bigger than I thought it would be. Massive, isn’t it?” Reginald said in awe.
Maribela nodded, her gaze locked on the stone. Reginald stepped closer to it.
“The Eye of Heaven. It’s magnificent. Truly breathtaking,” he whispered, avarice and cunning in his eyes as he took in the priceless jewel.
“It is. There’s no telling how much a collector will pay. Many millions. Perhaps hundreds of millions,” she said, calculating her likely cut.
Reginald drew his pistol and turned to Maribela. “You really are a greedy bitch, aren’t you?”
Shock and fear played across her face. “No. I’ve . . . I’ve done everything you asked.”
“Which makes you stupid, in addition to greedy.”
She shook her head, panicked. “Your brother gave me his word . . .”
“Yes, well, I didn’t. I’ll take care of Janus. He’ll see the light when he’s saved the twenty percent he was going to pay you.”
The 9mm parabellum round struck Maribela in the center of the forehead. Her body stiffened and she collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. The sharp crack of the pistol reverberated in the stone chamber like a bomb detonating. Reginald slipped the weapon back into his belt and returned to the emerald. Guerrero grinned and clapped Reginald on the shoulder as they eyed the priceless jewel.
“So, cabrón, you like your money as much as I do, eh? Good. More for us!”
In the temple, the cartel gunman’s eyes never left the Fargos, his finger on the trigger of his Kalashnikov rifle, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Janus held the Beretta on Antonio, distaste evident in his expression at having had to sully his hands with the vulgar task.
