Valley of the Templars by Paul Christopher

Author:Paul Christopher [Christopher, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9781101586723
Google: TRahDL_U-R0C
Amazon: B0073XV998
Barnesnoble: B0073XV998
Goodreads: 12290885
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2012-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

The four-seater Polish Wilga cruised at five hundred feet over the rugged, jungle-covered hills. “Are you sure about this?” Black asked, putting his hand on Montalvo Arango’s scrawny shoulder from the rear seat of the little plane.

“The caves near Aserradero is what the man said, senor,” said Arango, raising his voice over the rattling tumble of the unmuffled engine. “I only know what he tell me.” For five hundred dollars they had convinced a reluctant Arango to come with them, but only with the promise that if the Tiburon Blanco was stolen the British government would replace it. Without batting an eye, Will Black solemnly agreed.

“You know what he’s talking about?” Black said to Laframboise. “It all looks like Cambodia down there to me.”

“Sure,” said the pilot, his right hand gently tweaking the stick in front of him. “This whole area is full of sinkholes and caves.”

“Any of them particularly well known?” Carrie asked.

Laframboise laughed. “If this guy’s on the run, dearie, I doubt he’s going to hide out anywhere famous.”

“True enough,” said Carrie, “but is there anyplace local that’s got some kind of story attached to it?”

“What kind of story?” Laframboise asked.

“A ghost story maybe, a kid getting lost. Some old legend.”

“La caverna de los asesinados,” said Arango, crossing himself. “In the time of the bandito war.”

“They murdered men there?” Black said, doing the translation in his head: the cavern of the murdered ones.

“The militiamen trapped them there. The militia were only boys, fourteen, fifteen years old. Edito’s brother, Domingo, was one of them. Their leader made them throw gasoline bombs into the cave. Those who were not burned to death were killed as they tried to escape, then thrown back into the flames. No one will go there for fear of los fantasmas inquietos.”

“The restless ghosts,” said Black.

“Sí.” Arango nodded.

“Well, Domingo Cabrera would certainly remember it,” said Carrie, seated beside Black. She glanced down at the rolling landscape below. “The question is, how do we find it?”

“It is sixteen miles east of Aserradero,” said Arango.

“Are you sure?” Black asked the aging man.

“Yes, I am sure,” said Arango.

“Why?” Carrie asked. “I thought you told us Domingo Cabrera didn’t tell you where they were going when they left with his brother and Holliday.”

“There was no need for him to tell me,” said Arango darkly. “I was the militia leader who ordered those young boys to burn the Batistardos out of the cave. I was the one who threw the first cóctel Molotova into the cave to show the boys how it was done.”

There was a long silence in the cabin of the little aircraft, the roaring of the engine filling the air. Finally Black leaned forward and spoke to Laframboise. “You know where he’s talking about?”

“Near enough.” The pilot nodded.

“Any place to land?”

“There’s a river but it’s too wild and narrow to put down.”

“Anywhere else?”

“I heard stories about a guy with a hunting lodge and a private airstrip in that area. He was a doctor and a friend of Batista. His name was Martinez, I think.

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