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    Upon A Pale Horse

    Page 31
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      “A caveat?” Drake repeated, instantly suspicious.

      “Yes. You’re to open the package while seated in this room, and read the note inside. After that, if you choose to do nothing else, I will return with another check for your two thousand dollars of expense money, and you may leave the contents of the package with me. I’ve been instructed, if that’s your choice, to forward it on to the largest museum in New York, and you may leave, your part in the matter finished.”

      “Wait. All I have to do is read a note from some lady I never heard of?”

      “Your aunt. Recently departed.”

      “Sure. Okay, go get the check. This won’t take long.”

      “As you wish. I’d suggest you be careful with the wrapping. You don’t want to tear the note,” Lynch said with a frown, and then stood. “I’ll be back shortly.”

      Drake waited until the heavy door had closed and smiled to himself. Fine. He’d humor the old codger. Play along, pretend interest, and then take the money and run. Twenty-five big ones. No, counting the extra two, twenty-seven. Added to the five he’d just gotten for Cranford, that was enough to lounge around on the beaches of Baja for a good year, if not longer.

      He leaned forward and began tearing at the brown paper, which to his eye was an old sandwich bag hurriedly sliced up and used for wrapping, and then remembered Lynch’s warning about going easy. He folded back the flaps, the cheap tape yellowed from age, and found a single creased sheet of binder paper sitting atop a five-by-seven battered brown leather book, held closed with a grimy piece of twine. Drake gave it a cursory glance and opened the note. A flowing, clearly feminine hand filled the ruled page in blue ballpoint ink.

      Dear Drake:

      If you’re reading this, I’m dead. How or why isn’t important. What is important is that you know some things about your past. Important things. About your father.

      My brother.

      After his death, I moved from Portland, leaving everything behind. I did so because the men who killed him would be looking for me. As they would for your mother, who was a saint. By the way, I’m sorry she passed away. She’ll be missed.

      Where do I start? Best at the beginning.

      I was at your baptism. At your first four birthdays. At countless outings, picnics, dinners. Then everything changed. Your father went away and never returned. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

      Do you know the story of your name? You’re named after one of the greatest adventurers of all time: Sir Francis Drake. Your father admired his courage no end, which was probably his undoing. And your real last name is Ramsey. Drake Ramsey. Your mother and I changed our names after your father died, and yours, too. Why you don’t use the Ramsey name is one of the topics of this letter.

      Your father loved you more than life itself. Words can’t describe his joy when you came into the world. It breaks my heart that you never really knew him.

      Your father, Ford Ramsey, was an adventurer. A treasure hunter. He was a good man, but with a wild streak that couldn’t be tamed. Your mother knew it when she married him, and she did so willingly.

      He was killed searching for a lost Inca city said to contain the greatest treasure ever known. The journal contains his notes and his reasoning, up until he left for South America. Word arrived later that he’d died in the jungles there. Murdered, although the details are muddled. I know this because his trusted friend, who also changed his last name and is now using the name Jack Brody, returned from that trip with the news of his death.

      I have left you whatever money I’ve managed to cobble together in my new life. And the most precious gift I can offer – the words of your father, in his own hand, chronicling his thinking, and ultimately, his journey to his fate. Read it and guard it well. Its value is substantial.

      Your loving aunt,

      Patricia Ramsey

      Preview and purchase at Amazon

      To get your free copy, just join my readers’ group here: http://bit.ly/rb-jet

      Go back to Contents

      Table of Contents

      Books by Russell Blake

      About the Author

      ONE

      TWO

      THREE

      FOUR

      FIVE

      SIX

      SEVEN

      EIGHT

      NINE

      TEN

      ELEVEN

      TWELVE

      THIRTEEN

      FOURTEEN

      FIFTEEN

      SIXTEEN

      SEVENTEEN

      EIGHTEEN

      NINETEEN

      TWENTY

      TWENTY-ONE

      TWENTY-TWO

      TWENTY-THREE

      TWENTY-FOUR

      TWENTY-FIVE

      TWENTY-SIX

      TWENTY-SEVEN

      TWENTY-EIGHT

      TWENTY-NINE

      THIRTY

      THIRTY-ONE

      THIRTY-TWO

      THIRTY-THREE

      THIRTY-FOUR

      THIRTY-FIVE

      THIRTY-SIX

      THIRTY-SEVEN

      THIRTY-EIGHT

      THIRTY-NINE

      FORTY

      FORTY-ONE

      FORTY-TWO

      FORTY-THREE

      FORTY-FOUR

      FORTY-FIVE

      FORTY-SIX

      FORTY-SEVEN

      Epilogue

      Afterword

      Excerpt from Ramsey’s Gold

     

     

     



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