Free Hunt at World's End by Gabriel Hunt Page B

around his neck. Five hundred years later, Gabriel had found it, only to lose it again almost immediately.
    No, scratch that. He hadn’t lost it. It had been taken from him at gunpoint. Stolen by someone who claimed to know what the key unlocked.
    “Gabriel Hunt, I presume?” a reedy voice called from behind them.
    Gabriel whirled around. A man stood at the tree line where Gabriel and Joyce had entered the clearing. He was not tall, maybe five-foot-five, and dressed in khaki shorts and a beige short-sleeved shirt. A Tilley hat the same color as his shirt rested atop his head, throwing a band of shade across his eyes. He looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. Behind him stood four men in jungle camouflage, their guns drawn.
    “And this must be the enchanting Joyce Wingard,” the man continued. He tipped his hat. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Edgar Grissom, and I owe you my thanks. You have saved me a great deal of time and effort.”
    Gabriel scanned the treetops. Why hadn’t Noboru sent off a flare to warn them?
    The answer came a moment later when Noboru came into view, his hands behind his back.
    Then Gabriel saw the man behind Noboru. A blond man wearing a thick cargo vest and pressing a Desert Eagle .44 Magnum against Noboru’s neck. The sunlight glinted off a ring on the man’s hand. A horned stag’s head.
    “Ah, there you are,” Grissom said. “Mr. Hunt, I believe you’ve already met my son Julian.”

Chapter 8
    Julian shoved Noboru forward, sending him stumbling toward Gabriel and Joyce. Gabriel reached out and caught him before he could fall.
    “They came up behind me,” Noboru began.
    “It’s all right,” Gabriel said. He glanced at Grissom’s men. With so many guns drawn and pointed their way, there was no chance of running. Certainly Noboru couldn’t, not with his arms tied behind his back.
    Gabriel watched Julian walk over to his father. At six feet, he towered over the elder Grissom.
    “It was in one of the suitcases,” Julian said. He reached inside his cargo vest and pulled out the Star.
    Grissom snatched it out of his son’s hand and held it up so that it gleamed in the sunlight. “The Star of Arnuwanda,” he murmured. “Oh, you have saved me a great deal of time and effort indeed.”
    “How did you find us?” Joyce demanded.
    Grissom handed the Star back to Julian. “It wasn’t difficult. We knew where you were staying, but you’d already left the guesthouse by the time we got there. The old woman there was distinctly unhelpful, but in spite of that we were able to follow your trail here.”
    Joyce blanched. “Merpati…”
    “Was that her name?” Edgar Grissom said. “Remarkable woman, really. Took three bullets before she finally stopped swinging that damned shovel.”
    Joyce took a step toward Grissom, but suddenly five guns were aimed at her. Gabriel stuck out his arm to block her, shaking his head. Joyce clenched her jaw and stepped back.
    Grissom walked toward them, flanked by his men. “Tie them up,” he ordered.
    The four gunmen came forward, surrounding them. One reached into Gabriel’s holster and pulled out his Colt, while the others yanked his and Joyce’s arms behind their backs and knotted lengths of rope around their wrists.
    Julian and his father inspected the door excavated from the hillside. Grissom ran a hand over the metal. “Iron,” he said. “The Hittite Empire was always ahead of its time. They were working with iron as early as the fourteenth century B.C., almost two hundred years before the rest of the ancient world.” He turned to Joyce. “But that wasn’t all that set them apart, eh, Ms. Wingard? There is also the little matter of the Spearhead. The power of the storm, harnessed and ready to be wielded like a broom to sweep their enemies from the face of the earth.”
    “So that’s what you’re after,” Joyce said. “Destruction.”
    “A weapon so powerful no army can stand against it?” Grissom replied.