The Medallion
Somewhere in the jungles of Honduras, computer flash-drives revealing the activities of a Central American arms and drug dealer are delivered to U.S. authorities. When the plane carrying the disks explodes over the sea after take-off, Lucius White’s search for Indian artifacts in northern Idaho is interrupted by U.S. Attorney Graham Brochette who coerces him into using his ocean treasure-hunting skills to recover the lost disks.
While in Honduras, White stumbles onto a surprising connection between the arms/drug dealer and his expedition in Idaho.
After recovering the lost discs in a death-defying dive, White escapes an attack by the arms/drug dealer’s gun-boats by powering his yacht through a hurricane.
The kidnapping of Leslie Halloran, White’s lover and leader of the Idaho expedition, leads to the discovery of a plot to break into the Army’s top-secret toxic weapons storage facility under a mountain in northern Montana on the Idaho border.
When it is learned that toxins are missing from the Army’s facility, White must return to Honduras where he is pitted against the arms/drug dealer in a race against time to prevent the delivery of the toxins to Mideast terrorists.
SAMPLE CHAPTER
The crushing humidity of the jungle night wasn’t the only reason for the perspiration that formed on Jose Lazaro’s forehead and ran down his cheek. Someone, maybe more than one someone, was being double-crossed. He didn’t know who, or why, and he didn’t want to know. He was only following orders. But that would mean nothing if his presence was discovered. He would be just as dead.
Lazaro fought to control the trembling of his hand as he tapped his cigar on the open window of his battered pick-up truck. Without moving his head, he glanced at the screen of the laptop computer resting on the knees of the stranger in the passenger seat. The man was an American. That alone was enough to make Lazaro nervous. But the American knew the code words. Only the person he was supposed to meet would have known the words. Only the man he was supposed to meet would have known about the rendezvous in this remote location. But why would he be delivering the disks to an American? Lazaro knew better than to ask questions.
For thirty minutes, the stranger hadn’t said a word as he scanned the contents of the six computer disks. The silence was broken only by the sound of buzzing insects and the occasional cry of a parrot.
Lazaro’s thoughts of his departure from Honduras, one of the terms of the agreement to deliver the disks, were interrupted by the sudden darkness when the computer was turned off.
The stranger removed a folded envelope from the pocket of his safari jacket and handed it to Lazaro. Lazaro nervously shoved the envelope into his shirt. The stranger fitted the disks into a black, watertight case, firmly closed the lid, snapped the latches and spun the combination dial. Without a word, he opened the door and stepped into the night.
Only one more thing to do.
Lazaro started the engine and began to head cautiously up the rutted track that passed for a road along the valley floor. Branches of the thick jungle foliage scraped against the side of the truck and over the windshield. He took one last look in the rearview mirror. The stranger turned on a flashlight and followed the path into the jungle in the direction of the short airstrip before the underbrush closed in behind him.
The old truck strained as it climbed the rise, cleared the thick jungle and rolled onto the flat plain. The road was overgrown with vegetation making his passage difficult. He had only minutes—four, maybe five—to reach the bluff overlooking the valley. From there he would watch the plane take off. He didn’t know why that was important, but orders were orders.
He was sweating again as the truck crawled the last hundred yards to the spot he had been told about. He stopped in the middle of the road and crept to the place on the edge of the bluff. Below him, he could see the river and, in the distance, the open sea.
Lazaro didn’t have long to wait. Only seconds later he heard the sound of the airplane engine starting. He waited for the sound of a second engine, but there was none. That’s odd, he thought. In his position, it wasn’t healthy to think too much. But Lazaro had a natural curiosity and tried to understand what was happening. His life might depend on it. He had heard the rumors and knew, or thought he knew, that the disks were being taken to the United States. The presence of the American seemed to confirm the rumor. But could a single-engine plane make the long flight to the United States? Who would attempt to fly more than a thousand miles over open water in a single-engine plane? Perhaps a larger plane couldn’t have landed on the small airstrip on the edge of the jungle. Maybe the plane would land somewhere and the disks taken to another plane for the trip to the United States. That had been the plan. Lazaro relaxed as he settled in to wait.
To his right, the lights of the small airplane swept over the grass as it taxied to the end of the dirt runway and turned into position for takeoff. A light flashed in the darkness far to Lazaro’s left. Lazaro froze until he realized that the light marked the end of the runway.
The plane’s engine roared louder, but the plane didn’t move. Lazaro could imagine the pilot straining to hold the brakes, waiting until the engine reached full power. Even a small plane needed all the speed it could manage to take off on the short runway.
After what seemed like hours, the plane began to move forward, gathering speed as it rolled down the dirt runway. Slowly, the plane rose into the air, just before it reached the place where the light had flashed. Lazaro could see the plane clearly as it climbed above the jungle and into the clear night sky. The moonlight glinted off its wings as the aircraft banked to the north and made a half-circle before dropping low over the river, shimmering like a silver snake, that would guide the plane for a mile to where the river emptied into the sea.
Lazaro continued to listen as the sound of the airplane faded into the night.
It was over.
Now all he had to do was return to his village and wait. Tomorrow, perhaps the next day, they would send for him. They needed the paper the stranger had given him. Then he would be able to leave.
Lazaro was reaching for the door of the truck when he heard the explosion. Turning quickly, he saw the glow of a fireball in the night sky. In that instant, he knew he would not leave Honduras alive.