“He's in the barn,” Austin said.

The deputy hustled into the barn, and when he came out a moment later his face was white.

“Jeezus,” he said, fumbling for his sidearm, “Old Bucky is dead. Stuck with a pitchfork. Which one of you two did it?”

Hastings gestured for his deputy to calm down and call the county homicide team. “Could you tell me what's been going on, Mr. Austin?”

“Martin tried to kill us with that shotgun next to the body. I had to kill him. I was trying to slow him down, but that's not the way it worked out.”

“Thanks, but I mean what's really going on with this whole thing, me getting calls from Washington and all.”

“Washington?”

“You bet. First the governor's office calls and tells me to hold, then they patch through this maniac Admiral Sandecker. He says his man Austin is in danger and I'd better get out to Martin's place or there will be a killing. When I asked what makes him think somebody's going to be killed, he promises to rip me a new belly button if I don't stop asking dumb questions and get on my way.” He grinned. “Guess he was right.” He turned to Buzz. “What's your name?”

“Buzz Martin.”

The sheriff blinked in surprise. “Any relation to the deceased?”

Austin and Martin looked at each other, not sure how to answer the question.

Finally Austin shook his head and said, “Hope you've got time, sheriff, because that's a long, long story.”

NUMA 2 - Blue Gold

CHAPTER 25

The drums had been beating steadily for an hour. The sound was cadenced at first, coming from a lone drum at the same throbbing tempo as a human heartbeat. Then other drums had joined in. The hollow thumping accelerated in pace, and a monotonous chanting could be heard in the background. Francesca paced back and forth in the throne room like a caged lion, her hands clasped behind her, head bent low in thought. The Trouts sat next to the throne, waiting patiently for Francesca to speak. Tessa had pulled her vanishing act again.

Something caused a commotion at the entrance. Seconds later Francesca's two handmaidens rushed into the throne room, threw themselves on their knees, and babbled excitedly. Calming the young Indians with her soft voice, Francesca gently lifted them to their feet and brushed their disheveled hair away from their faces. She listened to the women speak in turn, then took two bracelets made of airplane parts and slipped them onto their wrists. She kissed her attendants on the tops of their heads and sent them on their way.

Turning to the Trouts, Francesca said, “Events are moving faster than I anticipated. The women say Alaric has talked the tribe into moving against us.”

Gamay frowned. “I thought they wouldn't enter your palace.”

“I've always said Alaric was intelligent. He sent my servants to tell me his plans, evidently to exert psychological pressure. The drums are his work.” She pointed to the ceiling. “The palace walls are clay, but the roof is made of dry grass. They will light the place on fire. He says the true gods will rise from the ashes. If we run outside to escape the flames it will prove that we're the frauds he says we are, and they will cut us down.”