“See to your injured man,” the General continued, “and be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I am not sure if you will come back home or if you will have another mission. It all depends what we learn from the rubbing.” He paused to give weight to his following words. “I am proud of you, son.”

“Thank you, Father. It’s all I ever want you to be.” Espinoza hung up. He had more on his mind than simply waiting for orders. He wasn’t sure what the Americans had learned from the old man, but it wasn’t unreasonable to guess they might show up at his private island.

CABRILLO HAD ALWAYS HELD the belief that if you threw enough money at a problem, it would go away, and he figured getting to the bottom of the Treasure Pit should be no different.

He and Max spent two hours in the woods watching the cheery glow of the fire as James Ronish’s little ranch house burned to the ground. They waited that long to make sure the better-armed Argentines had left the area. Nothing remained of the house but a toppled chimney and smoldering ash piles that spat and hissed in the rain. As a parting gift, all four tires on their rented SUV had been shot out, forcing them to drive back to the motel on flats.

Before they could think about hot showers and beds, they had to cut up the tires to retrieve the bullets so when they brought the truck to a garage the mechanic wouldn’t report the incident to the police. They also smashed a headlight and keyed dozens of random lines into the glossy paint. Coming on the heels of such a fatal fire, it wouldn’t do to arouse any kind of suspicion in the sleepy little town. The truck looked like the victim of juvenile vandals.

It was this kind of attention to detail, no matter how minute, that made the Corporation such a success.

The next morning, while Max went to find a garage to get the truck repaired, muttering about ‘those damned kids these days,’ Juan set up a video conference with his brain trust. When he told Mark and Eric that he had no choice but to dive the Treasure Pit, they looked like they were ready to jump ship to join him.

“My question to you is: How do I do it? How do I duplicate what only the Ronish brothers managed to accomplish on the eve of World War Two?”

“Have you gone over the information you recovered from the Flying Dutchman?” Eric asked. Juan had caught them eating breakfast. Over Stone’s shoulder, Mark Murphy was munching on a banana. “They could have left a clue there.”