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Smith comes up beside us. “And what do we have here? Open them,” he orders.
I crouch next to the chests and study them. The stone lids aren’t secured by a lock, and when I try to lift the first, it’s heavy but it gives. I raise the lid enough to slide it over to the side and lower it to the ground, careful not to let go too quickly so as not to damage it, no matter how much my straining muscles are screaming at me to just drop the damn thing.
Once the top slab is safely on the floor, I lean forward to examine the interior of the chest. But when the light on my head comes into contact with its contents, a silvery sheen dazzles me, blinding me for a second.
“Whoa!” Winter exclaims next to me.
Soon, my eyes grow used to the gleam, and when I peer inside the chest again, I realize with a gasp that it’s filled with uncut diamonds, most of them of considerable size.
“Yes!” Smith shouts. “This day keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it? I’m going to be the richest man in the world. The black market is getting flooded with diamonds.”
The mercenary hunches over and picks up a few, only to let them drop into the chest again.
“You realize you have to carry these through an entire jungle before you can even reach the black market,” I say. “With no one catching you.”
“You’re quite right, Professor,” Smith croaks. “But let’s first see how many stones we’re talking about.” He gestures for me to open the other chests.
I begrudgingly follow his orders and set to work pulling the heavy stone lids off the other two chests. Both are filled to the brim with precious gems—not diamonds, but a mix of rubies, emeralds, sapphires…
“Hoorah!” Smith chants and looks about himself. The room has come to a dead end. “Well, then, this is it. Great.”
The rogue soldier walks back to the wooden chests of coins and beckons us to follow him.
“Better get to work,” he says. “We have what? Sixteen… no, eighteen boxes of gold to move, gems to relocate…” He turns to the patch of lighter stone with a rueful glint in his eyes. “Pity whatever stood there got stolen already.” He sighs and shrugs. “All right, let’s get started. Give me the light, Professor, and you can begin moving those boxes outside.”
I unstrap the headlamp and surrender it before I pick up the first box. It’s heavy—must weigh about twenty pounds—but easily transportable.
Smith wiggles the flashlight at Winter. “You, too, Miss Knowles. In the army, we’re all for gender equality.”
She glares witheringly at him, but the gun in her face leaves her little option but to do as she’s told. Winter picks up a box and follows me outside as Smith illuminates the way.
We repeat the journey through the vaulted path nine times. And once all the boxes are stored outside, Smith motions for us to go back inside. When we reach the treasure chamber, he unhooks his backpack from his shoulders and tosses it to Winter.
“Empty it,” he orders.
Rather unceremoniously, Winter capsizes the bag, its contents tumbling to the floor: various food provisions, a water canteen, a hunting knife, a lighter, and a first-aid kit. She doesn’t spare the objects on the floor a second glance; she’s too busy glaring at the colonel. But my eyes immediately fly to the blade, and Smith’s malevolent gaze follows mine there.
“Give that a kick, Professor,” the soldier says.
I do as he orders, sending the weapon skittering out of my reach.
“Now, Miss Knowles.” Smith jerks his chin toward the empty backpack. “If you’d be so kind as to fill the bag with all the gems over there, I’d be terribly grateful.”
Winter walks back to the stone chests and, kneeling on the floor, makes a quick job of transferring the precious stones into Smith’s backpack. Once she’s done, she re-joins me in the center of the room, glaring at the soldier.
“You can stay there and slide the bag toward me,” he instructs.
She does, and Smith, keeping his eyes carefully trained on us, bends down and slings the now heavy sack over his shoulders.
“Okay,” the colonel says, theatrically pointing the rifle back in our faces. “This has been tremendous fun, but I’m afraid I must leave.”
“What?” Winter protests. “You can’t mean to leave us locked up in here!”
“Apologies, Miss Knowles, but I must.”
“But we’re going to die if you trap us in here!”
“Oh, hush, don’t be so negative. You have to survive a couple of days—three, tops. I’m sure someone will come and rescue you, eventually.”
