The Lost City (Joe Hawke Book 8)

by Rob Jones

  “You are over two minutes late.”

  “I apologize.”

  The man in the boring suit, whose name was Zhou Yang, was the second in command of the General Office of the Central Investigation Department. He also ran a small subdivision of ruthless assassins informally named the Zodiac Syndicate. Sitting opposite him, with the scar, was the man they called Tiger. Zhou had long forgotten his real name and would have to search his files to retrieve it, something he was not particularly inclined to do this morning.

  “Have you found her?” Zhou said quietly.

  “Yes, sir. She is working with an independent Western agency.”

  “Based where – London?”

  Tiger shook his head. “Not London, but we don’t know beyond that.”

  “Last known location?”

  “Cartagena.”

  Zhou nodded, unsurprised. “The little dragonfly has flown to Colombia, I see.”

  “Your orders?”

  “She is to be terminated, and so are any of her associates. We do not know what she has told them and we do not take risks.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure you take only your best people with you.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “I await your final report with restrained excitement.”

  Tiger rose from is chair, bowed to the man and left the office. By the time he had closed the door Zhou was already on his feet and peering out his little window across the enormous courtyard at the center of the Ministry’s sprawling compound.

  It was too bad the Dragonfly had betrayed him. Once she had been a loyal servant of the State and it was with disappointment that he had ordered her death. Such a beautiful and merciless creature as that would have had a glowing career ahead of her at the Ministry, but crossing him was unforgivable, and in their trade letting her live would be bad etiquette so he had no choice.

  He sighed and buzzed his personal assistant again.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “One cup of white tea, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He cut the connection and nodded his head slowly.

  Very bad etiquette indeed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Back at their hotel in Lima, the ECHO team and Luis Montoya grabbed a few cold beers and took stock of the mission. This was the first real chance any of them had to think about Ryan Bale surviving the Seastead battle and being back in the team, but it was bittersweet because of Maria’s death. They had also lost Professor Balta to Saqqal and Kruger, but they had finally got hold of the infamous Mask of Inti.

  Now, they stared at the ancient golden mask in awe. It was vaguely circular and around twelve inches in diameter, formed into what was clearly a burning sun, with wild flames around the outside. In the center was a rendering of the face of Inti himself. He stared back at them with blank gold eyes and elongated, decorated ears.

  Thanks to gold being the least reactive metal, no oxides had formed on the mask, so despite its ancient provenance it was still as glorious as the day it had been forged by the Incan goldsmith. Scarlet especially had a hard time keeping her eyes off it.

  “You all right, Cairo?” Hawke asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s that the way you’re looking at old Inti there I wondered if you two wanted to be alone for an hour.”

  “An hour? Don’t judge everyone by your own standards, darling.”

  He gave her a wry smile but turned away to face the Peruvian. “We’re going to need your help now, Luis.”

  “Golden masks were very common in Inca legend,” Luis began. “Gold played an enormous part in their culture because they believed it was literally the sun’s sweat. They would use it for all kinds of jewellery and ornaments and they would beat it down into thin sheets and make plates, disks and of course masks from it.”

  “No wonder the Spanish thought they’d hit the jackpot.” Lexi said.

  “I’ll say,” said Scarlet, unable to take her eyes of the glittering mask.

  Luis frowned. “The pillage of Inca treasure by the Spanish is a sad story full of violence and theft. When Francisco Pizarro led his conquistadors into the Inca lands back in the early 1530s and took Atahualpa prisoner, it is true that they couldn’t believe how much gold was here. Even today Peru is one of the largest gold-producing nations in the world.”

  Scarlet walked to the balcony and looked out over the city. She let out a long sigh as she lit a cigarette. “I’ve finally found home.”

  Luis glanced at her. “For most of the people in my country, Peru has a very low standard of living by most Western standards.”

  Hawke cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to the mask.”

  “As I was saying, it was previously thought that Pizarro held Atahualpa hostage until a ransom was paid, and because he was such a mighty emperor, they got their blackmail money. His people delivered more gold and silver than the Spanish had ever seen before – historians claim it was more than could be carried by fifteen thousand Incas – and the invaders happily took it all, including presumably this mask. Today we think it more likely that Atahualpa offered the incredible amount of treasure simply as a way to keep himself alive.”

  “Did it work?” Reaper asked.

  Luis shook his head. “It definitely did not work. Atahualpa’s generals, including the famous Rumiñawi continued to make war against the Spanish in a bid to free their emperor, so Pizarro staged a show trial for Atahualpa and found him guilty of rebellion. He was sentenced to be burned to death.”

  “Bloody hell,” Scarlet said.

  “An especially wicked sentence because it was the Inca’s belief that if you were burned to death your soul would not reach the afterlife. Luckily for Atahualpa, a Spanish friar managed to persuade Pizarro to reduce the sentence and he was garrotted to death.”

  Lexi raised an eyebrow. “Yes, that does sound lucky.”

  “I know what you mean,” Luis said with a smile. “But it was lucky for the emperor because at least that way his soul could go to the Hanan Pacha, their concept of heaven.”

  “Anything else we need to know?” Hawke said.

  Luis shrugged his shoulders. “Many years after Atahualpa’s death, another Spaniard named Valverde got married to a princess of the same Inca tribe and according to legend she took him to the famous lost treasure – the greatest collection of plates, goblets, salvers and sculptures ever created. The legend said he became very wealthy overnight and then returned to Spain where he wrote what is now known as the Derrotero de Valverde, or Valverde’s Path in which he carefully described how to find the treasure.”

  “But obviously no luck?” Lea asked.

  “None at all. After Valverde died he bequeathed the map to King Charles V of Spain who in turn sent the map back to South America and ordered a renewed search for the rest of the treasure. Sadly, all expeditions to find the treasure using Valverde’s Path led to nothing but strange disappearances and deaths… unless you count the Blake and Chapman expedition.”

  “Do tell,” Scarlet said.

  “In 1857, a British botanist named Richard Spruce was on a scientific expedition to discover new plants. He was in South America with the hope of finding a malaria cure when he stumbled upon the map sent there hundreds of years earlier by King Charles. Through a series of conversations over many years, the map ended up in the hands of two Royal Navy sailors named Captain Blake and Lieutenant Chapman.”

  “This is getting sexier by the second,” Scarlet said.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Luis said. “Soon into the treasure hunting expedition Captain Blake died and they buried him in the Andes but Chapman returned to his ship claiming he had found the treasure and he brought samples to prove it. He left the map with a friend called Albertson in Boston while he took the samples to London for appraisal by the British Museum and then planned to return with a team to find the treasure, except he fell overboard on his way to Albertson in Boston and died.”

 
“I see what you mean about everyone who searches for this treasure dying,” Lea said.

  “So where’s the map?” Hawke asked.

  “No one knows. Albertson in Boston was the last person to hold it – if indeed it ever existed. I think with the discovery of this mask we have a much better chance of finding the treasure than anyone with Valverde’s Path.”

  Lexi picked up the mask and held it in front of her face for a moment, looking through the eyeholes at the others. “I am your god!” she said.

  Luis took it away from her with a frown. “This mask is clearly a priceless work of art simply for its historical and archaeological significance,” he said, “but the merest suggestion that it might contain some kind of clue to the location of Paititi raises its importance to the highest level. This mask could potentially be the greatest archaeological discovery in the history of our country, and maybe the world if the rumors about Paititi are even halfway true. I must say, I still have my doubts, although I am being persuaded slowly that perhaps the Lost City exists after all.”

  “We’re not there yet,” Hawke said, taking the mask and turning it over in his hands.

  “No, but this is still an amazing artefact. Until the raising of the galleon no one had ever seen it before so this is the first time anyone has really had a chance to see if they are more than mere legends.”

  “The second time,” Hawke said with regret. “Kruger’s already had his filthy mitts on it so we have to work fast.”

  “Of course,” said the young Peruvian.

  “So where are we going next?” Scarlet said.

  “Remember what Balta said,” Lea said. “About the mask’s reference to the Nazca Lines?” She called up Google Earth and they zoomed in on the Nazca Lines. Moments later they found the Mandala glyph.

  “Professor Balta told us that these pictograms told us we have to ‘Follow the Sun, Cross and Sacred Stone and The Tomb of Pachacuti will illuminate the Path to Paititi.’”

  “He also told us no one knows where the Tomb of Pachacuti is,” Lexi said.

  “No, that’s not right,” Lea said. “He told us the location of the tomb is disputed.”

  “That’s correct,” Luis said. “Some say Machu Picchu but others say Toqocachi, near San Blas.”

  “So how does this Mandala thing in the Nazca Lines help us?” Hawke said.

  “Balta said it could be some kind of compass.”

  They stared at the Mandala again. Do you remember that Balta said he thought we had to line up the sun and the cross of this thing and it would point us in the right direction?”

  Hawke nodded. “Use the tool to draw a line through the cross and sun.”

  Lea selected the line tool and made the line. “All right – it’s going straight though the middle of the cross and sun, which is making a bearing of about sixty degrees or so. Now what?”

  “Balta said it was Fifty Tupus,” Luis said.

  Scarlet giggled. “And I think Fifty Tupus…”

  Hawke raised his hand. “Don’t even think it, Cairo.”

  “Where does it lead?” Reaper said, leaning over Lea’s shoulder.

  “Funnily enough,” the young Irishwoman began, “the dropdown menu on Google Earth doesn’t feature any ancient Incan terms of measurement.”

  From beside Scarlet on the balcony Ryan called over his shoulder. “It’s about three hundred and thirty kilometres.”

  Scarlet twisted her head and faced him. “Christ almighty, Ryan – you really are full of useless drivel.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lea selected kilometres and a second later her eyes widened like two saucers. “I guess that’s pretty unambiguous then.”

  Hawke stared down at the iPhone screen. “Machu Picchu… Pachacuti’s tomb is at Machu Picchu after all.”

  “But look carefully,” Luis said. “The line is going just north of the ancient citadel. I don’t think this is a calculation error. I think the entrance to the tomb is just outside the city.”

  Scarlet blew out the last of her cigarette smoke and flicked the butt off the balcony. Ryan also turned and they each came back inside the room. “Let’s stop pissing about then and get there,” she said. “Kruger will have beaten this out of Balta by now and he’s probably already halfway there.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  On the flight from Lima to Cusco, Hawke felt jumpy and tired. There was still no word about Eden’s condition back in London and every time he closed his eyes he saw Maria, the young Russian woman savagely cut down in her prime.

  He tried to bring himself back on message by swearing for the hundredth time that he would bury Kruger’s bones if it was the last thing he ever did, but every time reality crawled up from the pit of his despair and clawed at his conscience until he felt bad all over again. At least Ryan was here, alive and well. But he had changed, and this time Hawke knew it was forever.

  He looked over at Lea but turned away and shut his eyes before she noticed. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking anymore, and it felt like she was drifting away. Or maybe he was the one drifting. He didn’t know. It was obvious everyone was feeling the pressure of the losses of the Atlantis mission. Reaper was sleeping on the couch in the center of the small jet and Luis was reading through the professor’s files opposite him, but Lexi and Scarlet were sitting at the table in the rear of the jet and arguing. They’d been grumbling for a while, but now their voices were rising in volume.

  “Hey!” Lea shouted, keeping her head facing forward. “Trying to get some sleep up here!”

  “Come down here then and I’ll slap you to sleep,” Scarlet said.

  “Hey – what are you chewing?” Ryan asked Scarlet.

  “Acullico. Want some, boy?”

  He nodded and she passed him some. He put it in his mouth and started to chew. “What the hell is this stuff?”

  “Coca,” she said flatly. “Grabbed me some back in Lima.”

  “Bloody hell!” Ryan said. “You could have told me.”

  “You should know not to accept strange things from strange people by now, Ry,” Lea said.

  “Spit it out if you don’t like it,” Scarlet said.

  Ryan closed his eyes and carried on chewing. “No, you’re all right.”

  “Get some rest, everyone,” Hawke said. Thankfully they listened to him and quietened down. He was losing focus and the squabbling of his team as they slowly unwound wasn’t helping him get things back together one little bit. Any thoughts he’d vaguely circled about quitting ECHO were destroyed the second Eden went into the coma.

  How could he walk away from his friends and leave them without a leader? But the truth was he wasn’t sure he could lead them, at least not back on the island. His skills were all in the field. He had no idea of how Eden funded ECHO, or who or what the Consortium was. He looked around the cabin and realized he didn’t even know how Eden paid for jet fuel.

  The fact Eden took care of the strategic level while he focussed on tactics in the field was why it all worked so well, not to mention Ryan’s brilliant polymath mind that was so adept at finding patterns in the chaos. The truth was the team had been smashed but he still had to pick up the pieces and try and move forward.

  He used the new peace to focus on the mission again. The Lost Inca Gold was probably the greatest missing hoard in the world. No other treasure was so infamous and so cloaked in mystery and the lust for wealth and power. People had been searching for it for hundreds and hundreds of years, and dozens of expeditions had been commissioned into the jungles of Peru, Bolivia and Brazil just in the last century. While these things excited him, they also highlighted just how unrealistic it was that they were going to have any more luck than all the previous failures.

  At least they had decoded the cryptic inscription and symbols on the Mask of Inti. This alone meant they had a better chance than most of the treasure hunters who had gone before. He thought about Professor Balta now in Kruger’s hands, and what they might have done to him to make him spill the
beans on the location. He prayed Balta was still alive and decided to try and get some sleep before they touched down at Cusco Airport. From there he would be piloting a hired chopper into the foothills of the Andes.

  *

  Lexi Zhang was dreaming. She was sitting in the back room of her parents’ home and watching her mother grind ink. She had just finished washing the tea inkstick and was now ready to grind the inkstone. First she poured some water into the grindstone and then unwrapped the block of tea ink and began to grind it into the water.

  How many times she had watched this didn’t matter, because in this dream it was happening now, and she was just a child. She watched as the black tea-stained pigment pushed out into the water, slowly getting thicker as her mother pushed the stick around the small green Duan inkstone.

  The sunlight illuminated dust motes as they danced around her mother’s face but she was concentrating too much on the ink’s consistency to notice any distraction. Outside in the yard she heard the gentle call of a hawfinch as it hopped around their neighbor’s pear tree. She loved that tree. It reminded her of morning walks around Xiangshui Lake.

  When the ink was ready, her mother selected a soft calligraphy brush and began to write the poem on the paper.

  It was so peaceful, she thought.

  What happened to my life?

  Her mother began to fade, and she was suddenly aware of her surroundings on board the Gulfstream. The gentle grinding of the inkstone and the hawfinch’s song now replaced by the hum of the air-conditioning and the white noise roar of the air outside as the plane cut through it at a thousand kilometres per hour. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she yawned and stretched her arms over her head instead. Real life never went away just because you wanted it to, and somewhere down there Dirk Kruger had to be stopped.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Machu Picchu

  Hawke flew the team from Alejandro Velasco Astete Airport in Cusco through the meandering valleys of the Urubamba River. At the end of the flight he increased altitude to fly over the top of a high peak to the south of the small town of Aguas Calientes and then they were all shocked to see the incredible site of Machu Picchu, perched on the backbone of a mountain ridge in the middle of the mountains.