The Mayan Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF Page A

position and making such a request. No, he decided, “young” wasn’t the right word. More like “keen” or “zealous.” Perhaps that’s what people looked like when they still believed in what they did. He couldn’t remember.
    “No questions asked?” he guessed.
    “Not many that I can answer.”
    He’d try another tack, one she’d be able to confirm, at least to some extent. “And what do you know about me?”
    “Enough,” she said.
    “Enough?”
    “Enough to wonder what someone with your reputation is doing in the middle of nowhere.”
    “People who trusted me died,” he said, thinking that if she didn’t know that, she didn’t know
enough
. “You still want to hire me?”
    She appeared unfazed. “The people I work for do. You were the only name on a short list. Chosen personally, it seems.”
    “By whom?”
    She took another sip of the coffee, maneuvering the glass carefully and examining the chips in the rim as she placed it down. For a second he thought she wasn’tgoing to answer, but then her eyes flashed at him again. Apparently she’d made him wait long enough. “Stuart Gibbs,” she said. “The NRI’s director of operations.”
    The name rattled around in his head. Hawker didn’t know the man, but he’d heard of him. Gibbs had been fairly high up in the Agency when Hawker had left, a rising star with a reputation for arrogance and ruthlessness. And now he ran the NRI, or part of it anyway. Such a nice little organization.
    As he considered the offer, every instinct in his body shouted at him to turn it down, to tell this zealous young woman that Director Gibbs could go to hell and take his offer with him. After all, the only right that those in exile retained was the privilege to remain that way. But another thought had begun to form in his mind: the possibility of a door opening, one that he’d expected to stay forever closed. It began with Director Gibbs and his personal interest in the operation.
    “How long have you been with them?” he asked.
    “Seven years.”
    “Almost from the start,” he said, showing her that he knew a little something about the organization. “And Gibbs?”
    “From day one,” she replied, annoyed by his probing. “As you’ve probably guessed.”
    Hawker had guessed exactly that and it only reinforced his intention to say no, but she didn’t give him the chance.
    Suddenly, the tiger was tired of playing. “Look,” she said, “I can see this is going nowhere. I didn’t come out here to waste your time. We just want an American pilotfor what is essentially an American expedition. Obviously, you’d prefer to remain here.” She looked around. “And why not? I mean, who’d want to give up all this.”
    She handed him a business card. “My problem is time—I don’t have a lot of it. Here’s my number. Call me before noon tomorrow if you change your mind. Wait any longer and I’ll have someone else.”
    Hawker watched in detached amusement as she stood and turned to leave. He stole a quick glance at the battered old Huey. Whatever the other considerations were, the job would pay well. More than he could make in a year or two in a place like Marejo. Not to mention the half-dozen things on the Huey that he could repair or replace and bill to the NRI, things that weren’t likely to get fixed any other way. Simple choice, simple compromise—that’s how it always started.
    “Relax,” he said. “I’m interested. But you have to understand: I don’t take checks.”
    She halted her departure and looked him in the eye. “Somehow, we didn’t think you would.”
    The next thirty minutes involved negotiations over timing, charter fees and operating costs. Formalities really, and for the most part quickly out of the way. When they were done, Hawker stood and walked her back to the waiting Land Rover.
    “I should be in Manaus by tomorrow night,” he said, holding the door as she climbed in.
    “That works,” she replied, her lips curving