Free Island of Thieves by Josh Lacey Page B

discarded halfway down the hillside.
    I thought Miguel might shoot us and toss our bodies over the edge after the Honda. Instead he checked us for weapons, confiscated our phones, and ushered us into his own car.
    We sat in the back seat with one of the thugs, who kept a watchful eye on us, cradling a pistol on his lap. Miguel sat up front with the driver. Our bags were in the trunk. And off we went.

15
    It was late afternoon when we came to a high white wall and a pair of steel gates that looked strong enough to stop a tank. The driver hooted his horn. One of the gates inched open, and a man in a poncho peered warily out. When he recognized the car, he pulled back both gates, letting us in. He had a rifle slung across his shoulder and a pistol tucked into his belt. There were more guards milling around the gatehouse, equally heavily armed. This place was a fortress. Outsiders couldn’t get in, and once you were inside, you’d never get out again.
    We drove up a long, curving road. Neatly trimmed lawns stretched away on either side. Men in green dungarees were bent over the grass, working with rakes and spades.
    Soon we arrived at a large house built around a courtyard. Whitewashed walls reflected the last of the afternoon sun. Seven black cars were parked in a line in front of the house. Through an archway, I could see the shimmering blue glare of a swimming pool.
    Miguel led us into the house, down one corridor and then another. He knocked on a wooden door and waited for an answering shout, then ushered us into an enormous room with a huge fireplace at one end and a glass chandelier dangling from the ceiling. Attached to one wall there was literally the biggest TV I’d ever seen in my life. Two massive white sofas faced the screen. Otto was sprawled on one of them with a laptop on his knees. When he saw us, he snapped the computer shut and threw it on the sofa. Then he came toward us like a bull, shoulders hunched, fists raised, ready to fight. I took a step backwards. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to be run down by him. My uncle was braver. He even managed to smile. “Hello, Otto,” he said. “This is a—”
    Otto grabbed his throat with both hands, his fingers digging into my uncle’s neck, squeezing the air out of him.
    I was about to dart forward and join the fight when something prodded me in the middle of my back. I half turned. Miguel was standing behind me, holding a pistol. I stood very still, not wanting to give him any excuse to shoot.
    My uncle wriggled and writhed, trying to get out of Otto’s clutches, but he wasn’t strong enough. With each second, his face went a brighter shade of scarlet. His eyes bulged as if they were going to pop out of his head.
    Suddenly Otto pushed him away.
    Uncle Harvey doubled over, clutching his throat with both hands and gasping for breath.
    â€œYou think I don’t find you?” said Otto. “In
my
country? Huh?”
    â€œI’m very sorry,” my uncle managed to say. His voice sounded scratchy and high pitched. “I tried to—”
    â€œI don’t want to hear no excuses,” interrupted Otto. “Just don’t do it again. Because you can’t. You understand?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou too, Tom. You understand me?”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œGood. Come here. Sit down.”
    We followed him to the white sofas. He sprawled on one and we sat opposite him. I looked at my uncle. He was still rubbing his neck. I could see the bruises on his skin, the red marks of Otto’s fingers.
    â€œNow, you’ve got one chance to make things good,” said Otto. “You tell me what you find. Where’s this gold, huh?”
    Uncle Harvey must have decided that there was no point in lying, because he told Otto exactly what had happened to us since we left Lima. The only things that he didn’t mention were Francis Drake, the
Golden Hind,
and Alejandra, simply