Harley and Feldman had dragged Skunk back onto the drawbridge and were holding him down while they knotted a tourniquet around his bicep to quell the spurt of blood from the stump of his arm.

"What the hell is that?" Vincent marched around in circles well away from the huge metal blade that Skunk had triggered.

"Someone after my own heart, " Claude mused, looking at the trap.

"Sick bastard. The guy lost his arm."

"And doesn't know where to find it . . . you wanna play with the bad guys, Vincent, you accept the consequences." Claude strolled over to where Skunk was still moaning and thrashing in pain. "Can you shut that noise up?" He said to Feldman.

"I gave him some morphine, he should quiet soon."

"He better, or I'll quiet him."

Harley jumped up and ran down the ramp at Claude, taking him by surprise and driving him backwards into the rough wall. Vincent began shouting for order and Feldman calmly walked down to the scuffling men, holding his rifle close to their faces as he cocked the hammer.

"At this stage, I don't care which of you gets it or even both of you. Now back off and stay backed off. We've got a job to do."

Claude pushed Harley away and got to his feet breathing heavily through his nose. A trickle of blood ran down into his lips and he licked them slowly. "You like songs, Ace, remember this one-No More Next Time Doin' Me Wrong."

Harley staggered to his feet and shrugged his jacket straight, sneering. "I'll remember, Ace. Don't you worry."

"Are we all through? Are we done with the macho bullshit? There used to be seven of us, remember? Now we're down four and three friggin' quarters!" Vincent stared at the three men with wild eyes. All I ever wanted was to prove I could be a go to guy for Gravestone. Maybe earn a snug position next to the power. Instead I'm trapped in a stinking, sweaty jungle with a band of psychos! "Can we get on with our mission?"

"Harley, you stay with Skunk. Keep your rifle and the two packs, we'll take the lanterns with us." Feldman cocked his head at the others awaiting comments.

"How do we get past those traps?" Vincent whined.

"We put you at the point," Claude said.

"Screw you, Claude. You're the big bad guy, you go first."

Claude snorted a derisive laugh and flicked on his light, striding brazenly across the interior. "Comin', Pussy?"

"I'd just love to see one of those things rise up and dice that bastard." Vincent followed Claude's path, urged on by Feldman's calming hand.

*****

"I'm surprised they used the same key symbol." Arnold said, as Gretta pushed open the stone slab ahead of her.

"You becoming an Olmec expert now, Arny?"

He grabbed her arm and stopped her from going through the opening. "Actually, I am. Try pulling the key out first."

She gave him a shrewd look and tried the key. Nothing happened. The key came out with no apparent activity. "Scary, eh?"

"Here's the lamp. Light it inside and see if there's another slot to get back out."

"Arny! I'm impressed."

"Could we keep the mutual admiration until later, I'd like to get inside." The professor pleaded.

Gretta checked and confirmed another slot on the inside that accepted the key and then moved further inside followed by the eager professor and finally Arnold. They stopped almost shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the room, each gazing in awe at the interior.

There was a slow hissing of breath as they all relaxed their lungs together, converting the action to stunned gasps. In the lantern's light they were dazzled by the reflection from the symbolic designs covering the entire inside of the room; reflections from the most brilliant yellow gold they had ever seen, and on top of that, gems glittered from around the room like starlight, flashing like strobes as the lantern wavered.

"What spectacular workmanship!" Greta tentatively touched the wall in front, her fingers barely tickling the the brilliant stones that covered the room's interior. How did they manage such intricacies in torchlight?"

"My goodness . . ." The professor said, weakly, sinking to his knees.

"Indeed," echoed Gretta. "So what do think, Arny? Worth the trip?"

"Is this real? I mean, real gold and- and gemstones?" His mouth had dried and he struggled to swallow.

"It ain't chopped liver."

"You have to stop confusing me with your scientific terms, Gretta." He shone his light and strolled across the room, finding each area more amazing than the last. "How do you make this available to the people of San Lorenzo?" When she didn't answer, he turned to find three men holding guns on Gretta and the professor.

"To answer your question, you don't." Claude waved him over by the others then took the lantern and aimed it at the ceiling. "Even I am impressed by this."

Gretta looked at Vincent and the professor but neither seemed to acknowledge the other and she crinkled her brow in a frown. Instead of worrying about it, she decided to initiate conversation and find out exactly what their circumstances were.

"What are you going to do with us and what happened to Thomaso, Vincent?"

"Thomaso sleeps with the fishes. Literally, I'm afraid."

"You killed him." It wasn't a question but a flatly delivered accusation.

"Actually, no. That honour goes to that gentleman over there." Vincent's sneer accentuated the answer.

Claude turned and gave a slight bow, continuing his inspection of the walls.

"What I want to know is how you got the better of Pedro and Herman." Feldman directed his question at Arnold.

"They were sloppy," Arnold said, hoping to protect Gretta, although, in his memory, she didn't seem to need it.

"Where did a wimp like you learn to shoot?" Vincent challenged.

"I guess when you trashed my place you missed my marksmanship awards, jerk-" Vincent started toward him. "-and my black belt citations." Arnold couldn't believe his own audacity.

"That's excellent," Claude noted, finishing his circuit of the room. "We get rid of you and our troubles end then."

"What are you going to do with us?" Gretta asked again.

"First, we're getting out of here and back outside." Claude ordered them toward the doorway with all their stuff.

"What about this?" Vincent pleaded.

"Well why don't you just scrape it all off and bring it along, Vincent." Claude shoved Gretta and the professor through the door after Arnold.

"You weren't really ever planning on giving this to some little village, were you?" Arnold asked her on the climb down the stairs.

"The truth, Arny?"

"Would be a nice change."

"My name is Gretta Lawrence, I am an agent for the Congress of International Antiquities and I was posing as William Howard's niece to help protect what I think I have just lost."

Arnold jumped off the last few steps and turned to face her, his flashlight glancing off the smooth texture of her cheek. "Congress of International Antiquities. CIA. I love it. Jesus, Gretta, you take the cake."

"It's not the CIA, Arny. I'm telling you the truth. I go all over the world on assignments like this."

He held out his hands and wagged his head. "So you're what, secret agent double oh, thirty-eight dee?" The stinging slap took him by surprise and he stumbled down onto his backside, the flashlight rolling away to the side.

"Grab her!" Claude tried to push his way down past Feldman and the professor as Gretta made a run for the exit. They stumbled over the sprawled Arny as Greta disappeared down the tunnel. "Call your man up there. Get him to stop her . . . alive!"

Feldman took off at a gallop, hollering to Harley what was happening. When he reached the ramp, Harley was in a heap on the floor and Skunk was snoring loudly from the dose of morphine. "She got away!" He yelled back to Claude.

"You are going to be very sorry my friend," Claude warned, dragging Arnold to his feet by his hair. They hurried to the exit, Arnold running on tiptoes to keep his hair from being yanked out. "Where's that asshole, Noise Box?"

"I sent him after her, she can't be far. She took our radio."

Vincent shrugged helplessly at Claude's glare.

"What happened to him?" The professor asked, biting his tongue when he saw the bloody stump. He glanced at Arnold questioningly, concluding the trap didn't reset a second time since they all exited without any accidents.

"He tripped that Veg-o-Matic in there," Vincent said dispassionately.

"He needs a doctor."

"You think?" Claude tossed Arnold on the ground and manhandled the professor over next to him then he stepped out in front of the statue and cupped his hand around his mouth. "You come on back down here, lady or I start with the knees on the old man."

The professor pulled his legs into a fetal position and began a dangerous panting sound.

"You let them go and I'll give you back your man in one piece." Gretta's voice drifted down from above them somewhere.

"Shit . . . she's got Harley." Feldman looked to Claude.

"Who cares?"

"I care, asshole. Make a deal with her." He brought the barrel of his rifle up level with Claude's chest.

"Hey! Hey, settle down. This is not a good time to be argu-" Vincent grabbed his ears and gaped at Feldman who was wavering on his feet, poking his finger into the hole in his stomach. "Claude! Christ man, soon we'll all be dead and they'll still be here!" Vincent watched Feldman sag to the ground, grunting. "Somebody help the guy, he's gut shot."

"Leave him." Claude commanded. "You can keep that other jerk, lady, I don't want him back. I want you down here now, or I start maiming people."

Arnold grabbed the professor's arms and sat him up. "Are you okay? You sound awful."

"I think- I- my chest hurts..."

"Oh Christ! He's having a heart attack, Gretta," Arnold screamed. "The professor's having a heart attack!"

Gretta released Harley's arm and rolled him onto his back, one foot on his chest. "Your friend isn't your friend anymore."

"He never was," Harley spat.

"I can understand why. I've had a little chat with a policeman friend of mine on the radio and I find that he's actually nobody's friend. But that old man is my friend, and if something-anything-happens to him, or the other guy, you will wish someone was your friend."

"I ain't afraid of you, sweetheart, you just got lucky and surprised me."

"That so. Well, surprise again." Swiftly, Gretta stepped back and grabbed both his legs, did a three quarter spin and let him go twenty-five feet through the air to a bone crunching landing beside Claude. "I'm coming down too." She called loudly.

Claude bent over the writhing Harley, toeing the broken end of bone sticking out of his thigh. "I think I'm gonna like this little lady... a lot." He looked up sharply when he heard a moan and a curse from around the side of the statue.

"I twisted my ankle and I'm caught in the rocks. You want to give me a hand? Hello? Hey, I'm trying to co-operate here but I'm stuck." Claude took out a cigar and lit it, smiling and blowing a stream of smoke into the warm air. "Okay fine, don't help, but I can't get any further." Gretta's voice trailed away like Claude's cigar smoke.

Claude motioned Arnold to get up and to keep his mouth shut. "Okay, I'm coming. No tricks though, I'll come back and do your pals." He pushed Arnold in front of him, the point of a very sharp knife pricking through the material of his shirt and drawing a trickle of blood. "Not. A Peep." He whispered.

Arnold prayed that Gretta was not impulsive. He imagined her waiting to smash his head in with a boulder as soon as he rounded the rock. Seeing Harley flying like a human Frisbee into the dirt didn't surprise him at all; Gretta was a mean killing machine, a secret agent for the Congress of International Antiquities. Give me strength! He moved ahead carefully, one hand out on the rock face for support, Claude's knife keeping him erect from behind.